Susanna's Dream: The Lost Sisters of Pleasant Valley, Book Two

by Marta Perry

  The bishop looked troubled. “Be sure she comes to me if she needs to talk about it, ja?”

  Nate nodded. “I hope I didn’t do wrong in pushing her to see you.”

  “I’m glad you did. Now, I think, we must wait and trust God to work this tangle out for the best.”

  Waiting had never been Nate’s strong suit—or trust, for that matter. He followed Susanna back through the shop and out the front door.

  He didn’t speak until they reached the sidewalk, when the vision of what he had hoped for from this meeting started slipping away.

  “Komm, Susanna. Aren’t you cutting off your nose to spite your face? You have two sisters who want to know you. You can have family to help and support you. What is wrong with taking what is offered?”

  Susanna tilted her head to look into his face, and her expression was one he’d never seen before. “Is that why you are being so helpful, Nathaniel? Because you think having this ready-made family will loosen my grip on the shop?”

  “No, of course not.” He tried to sound offended at the notion. Tried to sound sure of himself.

  Unfortunately, he knew in his heart that what she said was true.

  * * *

  If

  he really intended to cool things off with Chloe, Seth reflected, he probably shouldn’t be searching after her on Saturday. He’d been telling himself that his job was, as it had been from the beginning, to serve as Chloe’s translator to Amish life, but he had a feeling that excuse was growing thin.

  Still, excuses aside, he’d called her. And she’d said she was at the community market, held every Saturday at one of those fraternal lodge buildings that used to be prominent features in small Pennsylvania towns. This particular brick building, right on the main square in Oyersburg, had seen a variety of uses in recent years. The Saturday markets were especially popular, so he’d heard.

  The large room on the first floor, once used for fraternal social events, was filled with a bewildering array of vendors. People crowded around tables featuring everything from doll clothes to woven baskets to racks of jams and jellies. Down at the end of the row, a local church group was doing a brisk business in sausage and pepper sandwiches.

  He was staring around, trying to spot Chloe in the crowd, when someone tugged on his sleeve.

  Chloe smiled at him. “You were so busy looking around, you missed me. This is great, isn’t it?”

  “Are you saying that as a consumer or as a student of Pennsylvania folk art?” He nodded toward the bag she carried.

  “A little of both,” she admitted. “I found some handmade jewelry I couldn’t resist.”

  “Not an Amish vendor, then.” He took her arm and tugged her aside to avoid a woman pushing a stroller that contained, instead of a baby, several bags of milled flour.

  “No, but I’ve heard there’s a stand run by an Amish family that has handspun yarn, and I’d love to find them.” She looked around, apparently infected with shopping fever.

  “That’s probably the Brand family. I’ll help you locate them.”

  Chloe nodded, but as they started down the row of vendors, her expression turned pensive.

  “Problems?” he asked, keeping his tone light.

  Chloe shook her head. “Not exactly. Lydia and I decided we’d wait a few days before trying to talk to Susanna again. Together, this time.”

  “You’re not still blaming yourself for telling her, are you?”

  “I don’t see anyone else around to blame, do you?” She shook her head. “Sorry. Lydia refuses to scold me for it, so I guess I have to do it myself.”

  He pressed her hand, feeling her fingers curl around his. “Try forgiving yourself,” he suggested.

  She smiled, but with a slight shake of her head. Chloe might sometimes be impulsive, but she also had high standards for herself. He’d seen that in her attention to her work and her family.

  “You said you had something to tell me.” She paused at a table filled with crocheted baby caps and sweaters, fingering the soft wool as gently as if she touched the baby for whom it was intended.

  “Right.” He pulled his thoughts away from the pleasure of watching her. “Apparently, if my sources are right, Susanna went to Pleasant Valley to see Bishop Mose yesterday.”

  Chloe swung toward him, her eyes widening. “She did? Are you sure?”

  “Sure as I can be without asking the bishop, and I can hardly do that. Paula Schatz saw her, and she was interested since she knew your mother. She knows Susanna by sight, as well as the man who was with her. Nathaniel Gaus, who runs the bulk foods store here in town.”

  “That’s her partner’s son. The one who’s so eager for his mother to give up the shop.” Chloe’s eyes clouded. “I wonder what he was doing there with her.”

  “I thought you’d be wondering what she was doing there,” he said.

  “I am, of course, but I can figure that out. She’d have gone to Bishop Mose to see if the story I told her was true.” He could practically see the wheels turning in her head. “That’s a good sign, don’t you think? That shows she’s interested, and Bishop Mose would surely encourage her to see us. Maybe he’ll talk to Lydia about it.”

  “Maybe,” Seth said, doubt shading the word. “But I suspect Bishop Mose has kept a lot of secrets in his time.”

  “I guess he has.” She frowned, and he knew the secret she was thinking about—the secret that had kept her and Lydia apart for so long. She seemed to make an effort to smile. “In any event, thanks for telling me. We can hope it makes our visit to Susanna easier.”

  He nodded. Whether the bishop’s words helped or not, he had a lot of confidence in Lydia’s tact. And, though Chloe wouldn’t like it, Susanna was more likely to respond to Lydia, who was Amish, than to an Englisch person, no matter how well intended.

  He knew that line between Amish and Englisch—he’d been balancing on one side or the other for most of his life, it seemed. It was a difficult place to be.

  He touched her arm. “Look, there’s the yarn you wanted to find.”

  “Good.” Her face lit. “Don’t laugh, but I want to try crocheting a shawl for Lydia’s baby.”

  “Why would I laugh?” He was relieved to see her attention slip into happier channels.

  “Because my interest in the hand arts has always been strictly academic.” Her lips curved. “I think the last thing I made with my hands was a pot holder when I was about eight. But your mother promised to teach me how to do it, so I want to find the right yarn.”

  His mother? That startled him. Mamm loved to knit, and she’d been doing more of that during her slow recovery from a broken hip this past winter. And Chloe had met his mother often enough at Lydia and Adam’s, but he hadn’t known their friendship had progressed to this stage. Maybe it was just as well that Chloe was already exclaiming over the yarn, so that she didn’t notice his surprise.

  Sarah Brand leaned over the table, showing Chloe various colors of yarn, while her husband, Samuel, showed a customer what a newly sheared sheep’s pelt looked like. He glanced up, greeting Seth cheerfully in Pennsylvania Dutch. The customer moved off, and in a moment Seth and Samuel were deep into reminiscences of their teen years.

  Eventually Seth pulled himself, laughing, from the tale of a certain livestock auction and the trouble a bunch of Amish teenage boys could find to get into. He caught Chloe studying him, a slight frown between her brows.

  “Sorry. We were just reliving old times. Did you find what you wanted?”

  A smile chased away the frown. “Look at this lovely yarn Sarah helped me choose. It’s perfect.”

  He admired the yarn, a delicate shade of yellow suitable, he supposed, for either a boy or a girl. They chatted with the Brands for a few more minutes, and then he and Chloe moved off.

  But somehow he felt as if he’d missed a step in the dark. What had been in Chl
oe’s mind when she saw him laughing with Samuel and looked at him that way?

  Before he could decide whether to ask, his cell phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket, frowning at the name of the caller.

  “The office. I’ll have to get someplace quieter to call back. I hope it doesn’t mean another trip next week. I want to go with my mother for her doctor’s appointment.”

  “The commuting you do is getting old, isn’t it?” The question sounded casual, but Chloe didn’t look at him.

  “I guess. Sometimes I think I’d be better off chucking the job entirely and finding something that doesn’t demand so much traveling.”

  Chloe frowned, and there was something he didn’t quite understand in her eyes. “Maybe you’ve started thinking the world out there isn’t right for you after all.”

  “Maybe not,” he said, nettled at her tone. “What difference does it make?”

  “None at all.” Chloe focused on her packages, sliding the smaller bags inside the larger one. “I’d better get home. I have some things to do. Thanks again for letting me know about Bishop Mose.”

  She gave him a perfunctory smile and headed for the door, leaving him to follow or not.

  Seth stared after her. What had just happened? Yes, they’d said they’d have to cool things between them, but this wasn’t just cool, it was downright frosty.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Susanna

  stared down at her hands, clasped loosely on the lap of her black dress, and tried to focus on the minister’s teaching. John Fischer, the older of the two ministers who served this church district, had a soft, slightly wavering voice, so concentration was called for.

  Worship this Sunday morning was held in a large barn on the farm belonging to the Brand family, on the outskirts of Oyersburg. The buggies had been lined up in a long row for nearly three hours now. She had, as usual, been picked up by Dora’s eldest daughter and husband for the drive, since their home was closest to hers, and Donna had been quick to offer. She was as forthright and kind as her mother, and Susanna appreciated the way Donna made her feel a part of the family.

  Once inside the barn, scrubbed spotless by the Brand family for their yearly turn at hosting worship, the group had separated, with Donna heading for the group of young mothers where her baby and toddler would be at home. Susanna fell into line, and soon they were filing into the barn, men sitting on one side, women on the other, as always.

  Susanna sat on one of the backless benches, unmarried women on either side of her. Young unmarried women, and it seemed to her they grew younger with each passing year. Next to all their blooming youth she felt far older than her twenty-seven years.

  When Mamm was alive, she’d sat with her because there was always the possibility her mother would feel ill and have to leave worship. The first Sunday back without her had been a difficult one. Folks had been kind, many of the women going out of their way to say a word about her mother.

  Her mother, Susanna repeated to herself. Mamm was her true mother, not some unknown Englisch woman. Bishop Mose had said that her mamm’s love had pulled her through after the accident. Surely that meant more to the relationship of mother and daughter than an accident of birth.

  Unfortunately, thinking of Bishop Mose led her right back to the thing that had been troubling her since Friday—her outburst against Nate. Her words had been true, she was certain-sure, but they had not been kind, and after Nate had gone to all the trouble of taking her to see the bishop. Mamm would be ashamed of her.

  The preaching ended, and she slid to her knees for the prayer, knowing she had to ask forgiveness. Not just from God, but from Nate, as well. She could not let their disagreement fester in silence.

  Making up her mind to apologize to Nate was one thing—finding an opportunity to do it quite another. When the service ended, there was a bustle of movement and talk as women headed for the kitchen to help with the food while the men began converting the backless benches used in worship into the tables at which they’d eat.

  Susanna could see Nate easily enough on the men’s side, hefting a bench with ease. His height and his light blond hair made him stand out. But he was surrounded by other men still, and there’d certainly be no chance of a quiet apology until later.

  Church Sunday wound through its usual routine. By the time everyone had been fed and the food cleared away, most people were ready to sit and chat, letting the kinder play. The men would most likely be talking about the weather, the crops, the need for more rain, the likelihood of an early frost, and such things.

  Susanna joined Dora and Donna, who’d found seats in the shade of an oak tree with Donna’s two little ones. Baby Joshua was sound asleep on a blanket, and Susanna had to smile at the intensity of his sleep—arms and legs sprawled, plump cheeks rosy, rosebud mouth moving once in a while as if he were nursing.

  “That one will fall asleep anywhere, anytime,” Dora said, seeing the direction of Susanna’s gaze. “But little Barbie is so lively she hates to give up and shut her eyes, no matter how tired she is.”

  Donna had been attempting to get the two-year-old to rest on her lap, but Barbie wiggled fretfully until her mother let her slip to the ground. She toddled first to her grandmother, then to Susanna, making the fussy noises that showed her need for a nap.

  “Here, Barbie.” Susanna drew the little girl against her skirt. “Why don’t I make babies in a cradle for you, all right?”

  She spread a handkerchief out on her lap, folded it into a triangle, and began rolling the ends in to make the babies. A quick twitch of the pointed end turned it inside out, becoming a cradle if you had enough imagination, and she let it swing between her hands.

  Barbie seized it, entranced. “Bopplis,” she announced.

  “That’s right, two of them. Maybe you should sit down on the blanket next to your bruder and rock them to sleep.”

  Barbie plopped herself down, and in five minutes she’d fallen asleep, the handkerchief cradle clasped in her pudgy hands.

  “Gut job,” Donna said softly, eyes crinkling. She had the same coloring as Nate, except that where he was ruddy, her face was freckled, making her look even younger than she was. “You have a gift for kinder, Susanna.”

  Susanna smiled and nodded, trying to ignore the pain in her heart at the thought of the children she most likely wouldn’t have.

  “Look at Nate,” Donna said. “He’s another one who’s gut with the kinder.”

  She nodded toward her brother, who was tossing a young boy high in the air, causing giggles they could hear from where they sat. Nate’s head was tilted back, and he was laughing just as much as the child.

  “Who is the little boy?” It wasn’t one of Dora’s grandchildren. Susanna knew all of them.

  “That’s Mary Ann’s little nephew.” Donna shook her head, face solemn. “Such a shame, her dying so young before the two of them had a chance to start a family. If Nate had a couple of kinder of his own, he might have married again by now instead of turning into a grumpy old bachelor.”

  “Your brother is not grumpy,” Dora said, her tone a bit tart. “And he’s only two years older than you are.”

  Donna didn’t seem overly impressed by her mother’s opinion, but she didn’t argue. She rose, tiptoeing around the sleeping children. “I’ll get us lemonade and some cookies. You sit still, Mamm.” She scurried off.

  Dora shook her head. “I wish they’d stop acting as if I’m helpless.”

  “I’m sure Donna doesn’t think so.” Pacifying Dora about her children’s attitudes was becoming a habit with Susanna.

  “Actually, I’m glad Donna left us for a moment, because I wanted to ask about your visit to Bishop Mose.” Dora leaned toward her, concern in her face. “Nate told me what happened with Chloe. I hope you’re not upset that he did so. He seemed to think you were satisfied with the answers you got, but I wanted to be sure he wasn’t
just seeing what he expected.”

  It sounded as if Nate hadn’t mentioned their dispute, and Susanna gave wordless thanks. She wouldn’t want Dora to think they were quarreling. Or know what the quarrel was about, for that matter.

  “Nate was wonderful kind to take me,” she said, which was true enough. As to his motives . . . well, the least said the better. “Bishop Mose explained how it happened that the children were separated, and he certainly knew all about me. So I have to accept that the story is true, hard as it is to believe.”

  “And?” Dora’s shrewd gaze zeroed in on her face. “How are you feeling about it?”

  Trust Dora never to beat around the bush, even if sometimes a person might wish she would.

  “I . . . I’m not sure.” That was honest, if not very satisfactory. “I suppose I should be happy to learn I have sisters, but . . .” Susanna let that trail off, not sure how to describe what she was feeling.

  “You can’t love two strangers like sisters all at once,” Dora said. “Not even if you wanted to.”

  “That’s exactly right,” she said, relieved that Dora understood. “Everyone seems to think I should rush into getting to know them, but I’m not sure I’m ready. They may be my sisters by blood, but that doesn’t mean we’ll automatically have feelings for each other.”

  “Ja, it wouldn’t be easy.” Dora seemed to mull it over. “Since the two of them have known for a time, they’ve had a chance to get used to the idea. It must have been a shock for them, as well, when they first heard. If they care about you, they’ll give you the time you need.”

  “Nate seemed to think I’d be eager to get to know them,” she said cautiously, wondering if he’d voiced his opinion to his mother.

  “Ach, what does Nate know about the way women think? I wouldn’t let Donna get away with criticizing him, good as he’s always been to his sisters, but she was right in one thing. He is starting to act like an old bachelor.”

  Susanna had to smile at Dora’s tone. “He’s young, still. I’m sure there are plenty of women who’d be interested in him.” Involuntarily, Anna Mae’s pert face popped into her mind.