by Marta Perry
“How is your mamm feeling today? Better, I hope?”
Nate inclined his head toward her. “Ja, a little, I think.” He frowned. “I didn’t like leaving her alone in the house for a couple of hours, but she chased me out, insisting she is fine and I should stop bothering her.”
She could hear Dora saying it in a tone of sheer exasperation. “Surely she will be all right as long as she doesn’t exert herself?”
“Ja, but could I count on her to do that?” A faint gleam of amusement showed in his eyes. “Like as not she’ll take a notion to clean the windows or redd out the closet.”
“Dora would be more sensible.” She hoped, at least.
He shook his head. “Stubborn, that’s the only word for my mamm. I arranged for one of my sisters to drop in this afternoon.”
“That won’t fool Dora,” she said, and then wished she hadn’t spoken. She didn’t want to enliven this trip with a quarrel.
But Nate surprised her with a sudden grin that seemed to turn him into a different person. That must be how he’d looked when he was younger, before responsibility and sorrow had carved those lines in his face.
“I never have been able to fool Mamm,” he said. “But Donna is bringing her kinder, and that will keep my mother happy, for sure.”
Something flickered briefly in his eyes as he said the words. Regret, maybe, that he had no kinder? But it certainly wasn’t too late for Nate to marry and have a family.
“I suppose your sisters share your concern about your mamm’s health.”
“I think . . .” He paused, as if changing his mind about what to say. “Perhaps not. But they’re busy with their own families and not seeing her every day like I do, and my brother has so much to do on the farm this time of the year. I’m the oldest, so Mamm is my responsibility.”
Susanna could only nod, understanding his feelings, even though she feared he sometimes mixed up caring for his mamm with telling her what to do.
“You understand,” he said, his voice warming. “After all, you’re an only child—” He stopped short, a flush coloring his cheekbones. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually so dumb.”
“I keep doing the same thing,” she admitted. “I get busy and forget for a moment that supposedly I have sisters. Then the truth crashes down on me again.”
“Ja.” The word was heavy, as if he’d known the experience. “If you want to talk about it, I’m certain-sure glad to listen. Or would you rather be distracted?”
Nate was being nicer than she’d had reason to expect, and her throat seemed to choke. For an instant she longed to pour out all her doubts and fears. But whatever Nate said, he couldn’t want to cope with the emotions of a woman he barely knew.
“Distracted, please. Why don’t you tell me about Pleasant Valley?” she asked.
He nodded. “It’s a pretty place, I’ve always thought. The town is smaller than Oyersburg, for sure, but it’s very nice, and the valley has fine farmland.”
Since they were at the moment driving through some of the farmland, it was natural enough for him to start pointing out various farms. Many of them were dairy farms, often with some sort of secondary business on the property. It was hard for a farm to produce enough income to provide for a family. Up a side road she noticed a typical Amish schoolhouse, white frame with a small playground and ball field.
Nate pointed to a small sign. “That’s Joseph Beiler’s machine shop. He can fix just about anything, so people say.”
“You seem to know everyone,” she commented.
Nate shrugged. “I do business with a lot of them. And those I don’t, I generally hear about, one way or another.”
Natural enough, she supposed. He’d spent his life in Oyersburg and had to be familiar with all the Amish in the area. She hesitated, not sure she wanted to ask the question that hovered on her tongue.
“You said you did business with . . .” She let that trail off, but she suspected Nate knew her thought anyway.
“You’re wanting to ask about Lydia and her husband, ain’t so?”
She nodded. “I know Lydia a little, from her coming into the shop and bringing Adam’s clocks for us to sell. We’ve talked on several occasions.”
Nate darted a look at her. “And what did you think of her, before you heard about her maybe being your sister?”
“I liked her.” Maybe that was part of what troubled her. “I thought we were growing to be friends. And now it seems she was hiding something from me all along.”
Nate seemed to stiffen, as if her words had hit a sore spot. But what would someone like him have to hide? “That’s hard to forgive, ain’t so?” His tone was normal enough.
She considered. “I would have said it was hard to understand. I hope I would never be unforgiving.”
“You’re a gut woman, in that case.” But he seemed to draw away from her, as if they weren’t in agreement after all. “Well, you asked about Lydia and Adam Beachy. They have an orchard—apples mostly, but some cherries as well. Adam used to work at the camping trailer factory over toward Fisherdale, but he’s not doing that now. I guess the orchard and his clock-building and repair are enough.”
“Some of that Lydia has mentioned. She obviously loves the orchard.”
Nate frowned as if struck by a thought. “It seems to me I heard that the orchard came to them through Lydia’s family. That might be something you have a right to know about, if what Chloe Wentworth told you is true.”
She nodded, but the ownership of the orchard seemed a small matter with all the other things she had to fret over. A house appeared at the side of the road, then another, and her stomach tightened in protest. They were coming into the town.
“Bishop Mose has a harness shop right on Main Street,” Nate said, doing a good job of pretending he didn’t sense her stress. “That’s Paula Schatz’s coffee shop and bakery, and there’s Katie’s Quilts—you probably know about it.”
Susanna nodded, but her gaze was fixed on the small shop with harness and tack in the window. The car pulled up to the curb, and once again Nate leaned forward to speak to the driver. Their words were nothing more than a buzzing in her ears, and she seemed frozen to the seat.
“Here we are.” Nate cupped her elbow in his big hand for a moment to help her out. It was the sort of gesture he’d make toward his mother, and there was nothing in it to set up this fluttering inside her.
“You’ll soon have answers,” he said, his voice a deep rumble in her ears as he steered her up the two steps to the harness shop door.
Susanna managed a nod. Be brave, she told herself. She drew in a breath. She would, somehow. But she was very glad she was not alone.
* * *
As
he guided Susanna into Bishop Mose’s harness shop, Nate was a bit surprised that he hadn’t been wishing himself out of this situation long since. The time in Susanna’s company hadn’t been difficult, though he’d been on edge that her emotions would spill over and he wouldn’t know what to do.
Still, the sooner Susanna knew the truth about her family, the better. If this story the Englisch woman had told her was true, Susanna would be occupied with a brand-new family. And if she had a family to support her, he was certain-sure it would be easier for her to do what he wanted with the shop.
A glance at Susanna’s face told him she was very pale. He could only hope she wasn’t going to faint or make a scene. Whatever happened, he’d let himself in for this, and he’d have to see it through.
The smell of the harness shop struck him as he closed the door behind them. Rich scents of leather and neatsfoot oil mingled, telling him where he was even if he were blindfolded. New harnesses hung on the walls, while saddles and bridles were displayed on their own racks. It looked as if the bishop was picking up more business from the Englisch horse people than he used to.
The Englisch couple that was wa
ndering down the aisles didn’t look like locals. Tourists, he’d guess, in here only to look, not to buy. He felt their stares as he guided Susanna to the back of the shop.
Here was where much of the work was done. No Amishman would buy new until the old couldn’t be fixed any longer, and Bishop Mose was known for his expertise in mending harnesses. Behind the back counter, several heavy machines for sewing leather were connected to the power source by the heavy belts that ran through a slot in the floor to the cellar below.
The bishop sat at a worktable, bending over a buckle, but he looked up at their approach, his keen eyes moving from Nate’s face to Susanna’s.
“Nathaniel Gaus. It’s been a time since I’ve seen you in my shop.” He stood, laying aside the work and wiping his hands on the heavy apron he wore. His beard, nearly all white now, reached to the middle of his chest, and his face bore as many wrinkles as the leather he worked.
“It’s gut to see you, Bishop Mose. I’ve brought Susanna Bitler to meet you.”
The Englischers were staring again at the rapid rattle of Pennsylvania Dutch, and he was irrationally annoyed. He was inured to stares, but Susanna didn’t need to be subjected to their curiosity when she was in such a vulnerable state.
Bishop Mose nodded at the introduction, and it was obvious from his expression that he recognized the name. “Ja. Wilkom, Susanna. In a way, I was expecting you might komm to see me at some time.”
Since Susanna seemed bereft of speech, Nate figured it was up to him. “Susanna needs some answers. I told her you might be the best person to ask.”
“I will do my best.” The bishop’s face was grave. “Komm. There are chairs on the back porch, and it is warm today. Go and sit, and I’ll close the shop and be right with you.”
Nate nodded and steered Susanna to the back door. As he went out, he could hear Bishop Mose explaining to his nonbuyers that it was closing time. The woman seemed inclined to argue, but he hustled them out firmly.
The porch ran the width of the shop, and it was furnished with four bentwood rockers and a couple of small tables. The yard stretched to a small stable, and the buggy horse in the adjoining paddock lifted its head to stare at them for a moment before lowering it to crop at the grass. Beyond, a row of trees bordered the small stream that ran parallel to the main road.
Nate settled Susanna in a rocker. “Take off your bonnet and sweater, why don’t you? It’s pleasant out here.” He followed his own advice by removing his hat and dropping it on the nearest table before taking the chair next to her.
Susanna removed her bonnet, smoothing her hair back to her kapp in the automatic gesture women had. The sunlight touching it brought out glints of bronze in the brown, making him remember that the Englisch woman, Chloe Wentworth, had reddish hair.
He studied Susanna’s face, looking for a clue to her attitude. She had obeyed him about the bonnet almost automatically, as if it was easier to do it than to argue. She didn’t look quite as pale as she had earlier, her skin smooth and even but no longer ashen.
Footsteps sounded, coming toward the porch, and her eyes widened. “This is a mistake.” Her fingers dug into the arms of the chair. “I don’t want to find out.”
Before Nate could come up with an answer, the door opened and Bishop Mose joined them. His keen gaze swept them, and then he pulled up a chair and sat facing them.
“You know, I think I would have recognized you even if I hadn’t heard your name, Susanna. You have a look of your mother about you.”
Susanna’s lips tightened. “Elizabeth Bitler was my mother.”
This meeting would be doomed if Susanna were prickly from the start. “I think the bishop meant your birth mother,” Nate said.
“Ja, that’s so,” Bishop Mose agreed. “Elizabeth was your mother, and she was wonderfully devoted to you.”
Susanna’s expression softened. “Did you know her then?”
“I did. I got to know her during that terrible time of the accident. Do you want to hear about it?”
It was smart that the bishop began with Susanna’s love for Elizabeth. She might be more willing to listen. Still, Nate hoped that the bishop might use his influence to reconcile Susanna with her family, and not just because it would make things easier for him with the shop. He hated seeing anyone so alone as Susanna seemed to be.
Susanna hesitated for what seemed a long time. Finally she nodded. “Please.”
Bishop Mose leaned back in the rocker. “Ach, well, sometimes it’s hard to know where to begin. Your mother . . . your birth mother, that is, was named Diane Wentworth.”
Susanna came to attention at the name. “So she really was Englisch, then?”
“Ja. She met your father, Eli Weaver, when he was working out west. Eli’s family lived here in Pleasant Valley. Still does. But he had a yen to see a bit more of the world, so he went to Ohio, where he had kin.”
That fit together, Nate thought. Susanna and her parents had lived in Ohio before they came to Oyersburg.
“Apparently Diane had left home, and she didn’t seem to have anyone. But those two fell in love, and the way I heard it afterward, there was no turning back. Diane decided to become Amish, and by the time they moved back here, she had the language so well that folks who didn’t know would have a hard time guessing she’d ever been Englisch.”
He paused, as if waiting for Susanna to ask a question, but she remained silent. Nate stirred. It would be more natural for her to be besieging the bishop with questions.
So he asked one himself. “They lived at the orchard where Lydia and her husband live now?”
“Ja, that’s true. They had the three little girls—such sweet kinder.” The bishop sighed. “Chloe, the baby, was only about a year old when they decided to go to Ohio to the wedding of friends. You were three, and Lydia was five.” He paused for a moment. “A truck hit the van they were in.”
“Terrible,” Nate murmured. Folks sometimes feared driving on the busy roads in buggies, but a motor vehicle could be just as dangerous.
“Everyone was rushed to hospitals. It was hard to identify them, but eventually the police came to me. I went with the family to do what we could. Diane and Eli lingered for a day or two. You kinder were in three different hospitals. I thought a married couple should be with each of you to make decisions. Your father’s brother and his wife went with Lydia. Elizabeth and Jonah Bitler, close friends, went with you. But when a cousin and his wife reached the hospital where Chloe was, they found she’d already been taken away by Diane’s mother.”
The bishop stopped there, maybe to let Susanna take it in. Or maybe because it was difficult for him, remembering such a time.
Susanna stirred, smoothing her hand on her right leg. “I was injured in the accident.”
The bishop nodded. “Your leg was badly smashed. You had other injuries, too. The doctors didn’t hold out much hope for you, but Elizabeth never gave up. I always thought it was only Elizabeth’s love that brought you through.”
Tears shone in Susanna’s eyes, but she didn’t speak.
“Lydia was badly hurt, as well, with a head injury. Her aunt and uncle were just as devoted to her. She recovered, but she never remembered her life before the accident.”
“So they decided to split us up,” Susanna said, her voice barely above a whisper.
The bishop nodded. “Lydia’s parents wanted her to know the truth, but Elizabeth . . . well, she wanted you to believe she was your mamm. So, in the end, that’s how it was. Chloe was out of reach in the Englisch world, and it was agreed that this decision was best for the two of you.”
Bishop Mose frowned, staring down at his work-worn hands, slack in his lap. “We don’t know the future. We can only act as seems best at the time. If the decision was wrong, at least it was made out of love.”
“I understand,” Susanna said. “You did the best you could.”
>
That sounded rather final, Nate thought. Wasn’t Susanna going to ask the bishop anything? Her seeming lack of interest made Nate uncomfortable.
“Is there anything you want to ask?” he prompted.
“Ja.” She fixed her gaze on the bishop. “I understand Lydia found out the truth first. I don’t understand why she didn’t tell me then.”
“I fear you must blame me for that decision,” Bishop Mose said. “When Lydia came to me, I already knew how ill your mother was. I thought it might do more harm than good to tell you at such a time. What if it made Elizabeth’s last days difficult? I advised Lydia to wait. So if there is fault, it must come to me.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally Susanna seemed to realize she had to speak. “I don’t blame anyone. I guess it doesn’t really matter any longer. Now that I know—well, that’s an end to it. I don’t have to think about it anymore.”
That was so patently false that Nate exchanged glances with the bishop. Susanna was hurt. He could understand that feeling. But didn’t she want to know her own sisters?
Bishop Mose looked as if he were carefully sorting through the words he might say. “Nothing that happened was the fault of your sisters,” he said finally. “I hope you’ll give them a chance to get to know you.”
Another long silence passed. Nate was developing an urge to shake Susanna, as if that would make her see things more clearly.
“I . . . I’ll think about it,” she said.
Bishop Mose nodded, as if that was all he’d expected. “I pray that God will guide your decision. And if you think of any other questions, you will come to me, ain’t so?”
“Ja. Denke, Bishop Mose.” The words seemed wrung out of her. She got up. Not waiting for either of them, she hurried back into the shop, perhaps hiding her emotions.
It looked as if he and Bishop Mose had done all they could do for the present. Nate rose, pausing to murmur his thanks to Bishop Mose.
