by Marta Perry
And being Amish? The voice of her conscience questioned. Are you ready for that? Or are you playing a part?
She pushed the thought away. Get something for Gracie to eat—
The back door opened. Samuel stood there, filling the doorway, his mouth agape. This must be the first time she’d actually disturbed that stolid countenance of his.
“Do I look Amish again?” Sure of herself on this, at least, she watched him.
He lifted those level eyebrows that gave him such a serious expression. “You forgot something.”
“What?”
He pulled a paper towel from the rack and handed it to her. “Amish women don’t wear stuff on their lips.”
The lack of mirrors had done her in. She’d forgotten the lipstick. Quickly she scrubbed her lips with the towel until it no longer came away with the slightest tinge of color.
“Better?”
“Ja. You don’t need that stuff anyway.”
“That might almost be a compliment, Samuel. If it weren’t for your disapproving frown.” She let her irritation show in her voice. “I should think you’d be a little more understanding than most people.”
Her tart words didn’t make a dent in his composure.
“Ja, I was a fence-jumper, too.” The words seemed heavy, as if laden with something. Guilt, maybe? “That’s how I know it’s not easy to come back. Do you think you can be again the girl you were?”
“I don’t want to be.” The words came out quickly, before she had a chance to think that she didn’t want to have this conversation with him. She shrugged. “I’m three years older. Maybe a little wiser, I hope.”
“And you’re certain-sure you’re ready to be Amish again?”
The question pricked at her, sending her tension soaring. Did he see through her so easily? No, he couldn’t possibly know why she’d returned. No one could.
She squared her shoulders, facing him. “My readiness will be a question for my family to answer.” Not you.
“True enough.” He glanced out the door at the sound of buggy wheels. “I suppose you’ll know that soon. Here they are.”
CHAPTER TWO
Myra passed another plate for Anna to dry. She gave her a shy smile, as if still getting used to having this unexpected guest in her house.
“You didn’t have to help. I’m used to doing the supper dishes by myself, I am.”
“I’m glad to do it.” Besides, it might keep her from thinking too much.
Myra glanced across the kitchen to where almost-three-year-old Sarah played on the floor with her new little cousin, as if checking to be sure they were all right. So far, at least, the girls seemed happy to share the blocks, but who knew how long that would last?
Myra turned back to the sink, plunging her hands into the sudsy water. “It’s wonderful gut to have someone to talk to over the dishes. To tell the truth, I missed this time with my sister once I was married.” She flushed a little. “Not that I’d want Joseph to think I had any regrets. But we used to have the best talks while we were doing the dishes. I’ll bet you and Leah did, too.”
“Ja, that we did.”
At the thought of her older sister, Anna’s throat muscles contracted. Even with the ten years’ difference in their ages, she and Leah had always been close. When she left, Leah had been the only one who seemed to understand.
She’d promised Leah that she’d stay in touch. She hadn’t kept that promise. She hadn’t been here for Leah’s wedding or the birth of her little girl or when Mamm had died. Could Leah forgive that?
She cleared her throat, trying to evade those thoughts. Things she’d been able to banish to the back of her mind when she was far away were loud and insistent here, demanding answers.
“I want to thank you again for the use of the clothes.” She brushed at a tiny soap bubble that had landed on her sleeve. “It’s kind of you.”
“Ach, it’s nothing at all.” Myra might not know just how to react to her sister-in-law’s return, but she followed her generous heart. “I’m happy to share them. I’m not sure I have the black covering for church for a single woman . . .” She stopped, a flush mounting her cheeks. “I mean . . .”
“I’m not married.” Anna pushed the words out, steeling herself for the response. This was how it would be, trying to explain herself to the family and the community. She’d better get used to saying those words. “But the white one is fine.”
After all, how silly would that feel, to be wearing the single woman’s black kapp with a baby sitting on her lap? She hadn’t even thought of what it would be like to go to worship here again, to feel all those people watching her.
Myra, at least, had no condemnation in her eyes. “I’ll get out another dress or two for you,” she said, avoiding the subject of whether Anna would wear the black kapp expected of a single woman at worship.
“Denke,” she said softly. Unexpected tears stung her eyes, and she blinked them away. She must be tired. She never cried.
It had been a very long day. She could only be thankful that Gracie had slept so much in the car. Of course that meant that now she was full of energy. The baby banged a block on the floor, getting a quick smile from Myra.
“Ach, your Gracie is such a bright little one. So active, too. She must keep you busy.”
“She does that.” Of course, back in Chicago, other people had cared for Gracie while she worked double shifts, trying to bring in enough money to support the two of them. That would seem strange to someone like Myra.
It wouldn’t be necessary here, she realized. At least, not if the family welcomed her back.
She concentrated on the plate she was drying. If she looked at Myra, Myra might see the fear in her eyes.
Her heart filled with a longing she hadn’t anticipated. If only the others reacted as Joseph had . . . with concern, yes, but also with immediate love and support.
It all depended on Daadi; all three of them realized that. Even as they’d talked over the supper table, she’d known that was what lurked in Joseph’s mind, behind his words.
Samuel hadn’t been there, though he apparently usually took his lunch and supper with Joseph and Myra. He’d made an excuse to leave so that they could talk, showing more consideration than she’d expected.
The moment the meal was over and the silent prayer after the meal had been said, Joseph had pushed back his chair.
“I’ll go over and tell Daad you’re here.” His smile had tried to reassure her. “That’s the first thing, ain’t so?”
It was what she had intended, if only the car had cooperated. Instead she’d landed here, putting her problems onto Joseph and Myra.
She rubbed the plate with the towel, trying not to think beyond the action of the moment, but she couldn’t stop her churning thoughts.
“Joseph should be back soon.” Myra probably meant the words to be reassuring.
She nodded. What was happening with Daadi? How was he reacting?
He’d always been fair. That was the first thing people said about Elias Beiler; he was fair.
But he’d babied her, just a bit, she saw now. The last of the family, the girl who’d finally come along nearly ten years after Leah—yes, Daadi had been easier on her, and she’d tried his patience sorely.
And now she was doing it again. Returning after all these years without a word, an unmarried woman with a baby . . .
She hadn’t even come when Mamm died. It was all very well to justify it in her mind—happening as it did just when Gracie was born, when Jannie was dying. But Daad might not . . .
Myra touched her hand gently. “Don’t worry so.”
She tried to smile, but the effort failed. “I can’t help it. If only Daad will see me, I’ll tell him how sorry I am. I’ll tell him—”
But what could she say? Back in Chicago, coming here had seemed a sim
ple solution to the nightmare that surrounded her. She would come home and disappear into the tightly knit Amish community where Gracie would be safe. She hadn’t thought enough about what it would mean both to her and to the family.
“Joseph will do a gut job of telling him.” Myra patted her hand. “You can count on him.”
Myra had always thought the sun rose and set on her young husband. Anna loved him, too, but she had a more realistic picture of Joseph’s ability to communicate such difficult news.
She heard the clop of the horse’s hooves in the lane, the creak of the buggy. Drying her hands twice over, she tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Joseph would have done his best, but what if it wasn’t enough? What if Daad wouldn’t see her?
The door opened. Joseph came in, his face impassive, and she took an impulsive step toward him.
“What did he say?” Her heart was in her throat.
“Ask him yourself.” He stepped aside, and she saw that Daadi was behind him.
“Daadi . . .” Her voice caught on the words, her mouth dry. “I’m sorry . . .”
Before she could get anything else out, her father had crossed the kitchen in a few long strides and swept her into his arms.
She couldn’t have spoken then, not for anything. Her tears spilled over, wetting the soft cotton of his shirt, and she let them fall.
Strong arms around her, comforting her, just as Daadi had held her the time she’d fallen from the apple tree when one of the boys had dared her to climb higher. She’d broken her arm, and her next older brother, Mahlon, had earned a whipping for such a foolish dare.
Daadi had held her then, letting her cry, while Mammi ran for something to immobilize the arm. His shirt had felt as it did now—soft and warm against her cheek, smelling of the clean fresh air that had dried it.
She wasn’t six any longer. She shouldn’t weep on her father’s chest. But it was so comforting to feel the safety and security of that embrace that she didn’t want to let go.
“Ach, it’s all right.” His voice was husky. “Don’t cry anymore, little one. It’s wonderful gut to have you here again at last.”
The love and forgiveness in his voice threatened to bring on another bout of crying, but she stifled it. She drew back, wiping her eyes with her hands.
“I’m sorry—” she began again, but he silenced her with a shake of his head.
“Enough of that,” he said. “I must meet my new little grandchild.”
Fighting for control, she nodded to where Gracie sat on the floor. Daad’s eyes misted, his mouth trembling just a little above the beard that was nearly all white now. He moved to the children, squatted down.
Sarah threw herself at him, of course, and he hugged and kissed her, greeting her gently.
“So,” he said, once Sarah was satisfied with her share of attention. He extended a hand to Gracie. “This is little Gracie, ja? Wie bist du heit. It’s gut to meet you.”
Gracie stared at him for a moment, her blue eyes round. She reached a chubby baby hand and grasped his white beard.
He chuckled. “Ja, that is real, it is.” He held out his hands to her. “Will you come to me, Gracie?”
She studied him for another moment, as if trying to make a decision. Then she smiled and reached for him. Murmuring something so soft only the baby could hear, Daadi lifted her in his arms, holding her as close as he’d held Anna.
Anna blinked back tears that threatened to overflow again. Now was the moment. She should tell Daadi the whole story now. She should trust that when he knew, he’d help her.
But he was bouncing Gracie in his arms, his face filled with love. Joseph and Myra were smiling, arms around each other’s waist as if they had to touch at this moment, too. And emotion she hadn’t anticipated had a stranglehold on her throat.
“We must have some cake and coffee, for soon it will be time to put these little ones to bed.” Myra wiped away a tear and hustled to the stove, lifting the coffeepot. “Komm, Joseph, fetch the applesauce cake from the pantry for me.”
Joseph, with a quick wink at Anna, did as he was told. The moment when she might have spoken was gone.
Maybe that was just as well. She took the plates and forks Myra handed her and began to put them on the table, as swift and smooth as if she were back working in the restaurant again. Sooner or later she must tell Daadi, at least, everything about Gracie.
But later would be better, wouldn’t it, when he’d had a chance to get used to having her here again?
And could she—should she—really tell him everything? Gracie was the important thing. Anna had to be sure of keeping Gracie safe above all, even if it meant putting a barrier between herself and her family.
“Now,” her father said a few minutes later, feeding Gracie a small crumb of applesauce cake, “we must decide where you and the little one are going to live. Joseph, what do you think?”
He was consulting her brother, not her, and making the decision for her as automatically as he’d always done. Once that would have provoked an angry outburst. But she’d learned control during her time away. She couldn’t afford to indulge in emotion now.
Joseph folded his hands and looked at Myra, and she gave a tiny nod. “Anna can stay here.”
“That’s gut of you both.” Daad nodded, as if it was no more than he’d expected. “But Anna and her baby should have the right to move back into her old room at the farm, if she wants.”
Now it was her turn to exchange glances with Joseph. Levi, their oldest brother, and his wife, Barbara, ran the farm with their growing family, while Daadi had moved into the small daadi haus. Living with Levi and Barbara would be like stepping onto a whirling carousel. Dizzying at best, even if she could contrive to keep from getting annoyed with Barbara’s well-meant meddling twenty-five times a day.
“Denke, Daadi, but I think that would make things too crowded for Levi and Barbara.” She glanced at Myra. “If you’re sure . . . With another baby on the way, you might rather have your privacy.”
Something, some faint shadow, crossed Myra’s face, but then she was smiling. “Ja, we’re sure. We have plenty of room.” She reached across the table to squeeze Anna’s hand. “And besides, it will be gut to have a sister in the house again.”
Anna couldn’t speak for the emotion that welled in her. She could only look at the faces around the table, reflected in the mellow glow of the gas lamp above them. Plain faces, filled with love for her.
And she sat here accepting their love, their help, and all the while she was hiding the truth from them.
• • •
The sun had barely finished drying the grass, but Samuel wanted to get in a few minutes’ worth of working the new bay gelding on the lunge line before he started at the machine shop. With the line in one hand and a buggy whip in the other, he started the animal trotting in a wide circle around him.
The field next to the lane gave him a near view of Joseph’s house, making it impossible not to think about Anna’s arrival. And to wonder what had happened when the family found out.
The young horse, distracted by a car going past out on the blacktop road, broke gait, and began to canter. Samuel stopped it and started it again. Patience and repetition—that was what it took to make a gut driving horse.
The screen door banged as Joseph came out on the back porch, saw him, and waved. With both hands occupied, all Samuel could do was nod.
Joseph had certainly been wonderful happy to see his baby sister again. He wasn’t one to hold grudges or dwell on problems. Quick to forgive, forget, and move on. He was sometimes too quick to want unpleasantness over, maybe. Joseph would sure never be the one to ask hard questions.
Forgiveness was part and parcel of Amish life, and usually in a case like this, families welcomed the penitent home with joy. Anna’s situation was more complicated than most, though. She’d come home with
a baby.
He frowned, narrowing his eyes against the sun. Something else bothered him about Anna’s attitude. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he’d sensed something. If you’d been through a challenging situation yourself, it seemed to give you an extra measure of understanding and maybe an obligation to help someone else going through it.
He backed away from that unwelcome thought. Anna had plenty of family to assist her through this difficult time, to say nothing of Bishop Mose and the rest of the community.
Elias Beiler had come to the house last night with Joseph, not that Samuel had been spying on his neighbors. He’d been in the midst of scraping tractor-patterned wallpaper off the walls of the bedroom that faced Joseph’s place, and the windows had given him a clear view.
He’d just been thinking it was a bit of a shame he’d had to get rid of those tractors, put up by the elderly couple who’d sold him the house. They’d wanted to make the room special when their grandsons came to stay. He’d glanced out the window and seen Joseph’s buggy pull up the lane, and recognized Elias sitting next to him.
So that was all right. If the head of the family accepted Anna and her babe, the rest would as well.
For some reason, the thought of Anna was like a splinter under his skin. He couldn’t forget how she’d looked yesterday—drained and exhausted, with all that sassy cheerfulness wiped off her face.
He knew from his own experience that people didn’t find it easy to shed the outside world. Anna had been gone three years. She’d had a child. That was very different from the usual young Amish male taking off for a few months or a year, with the thought always in the back of his mind that he’d come home when he was ready to be baptized, join the church, and marry an Amish girl.
Anna’s experience was not like that, and more different still from his own.
Turning as he gave the command to walk, he saw her. He hadn’t heard her come out, but Anna stood by the fence, the little girl in her arms. She was obviously talking to the child about the horse—something maybe little Grace hadn’t seen in her young life.
He let the gelding walk for another moment or so, gradually drawing in the line so that the circle grew smaller. Finally he stopped him, rubbing his neck and murmuring words of praise in his ear. The bay pricked his ear to listen.
