by Marta Perry
They came to a halt in front of the house where Susanna rented the first floor.
“It doesn’t look too bad. I’ll bet some of your clothes and personal belongings are salvageable.” Chloe was trying to be cheerful, but she had a point. The yard had been scoured away and the porch hung loose at one side, but the house still stood. Judging by the water marks, the flooding had reached about a foot or two in the first floor.
“You’ll be allowed to go in and bring things out once the house has been checked for safety.” The officer spoke slowly, as if not sure Susanna understood.
She nodded, turning away, and Nate realized she was yearning toward the shop. That was apparently home, even more than the apartment was.
He didn’t have a good feeling about the shop, and his fears were realized once they were close enough to get a look. The creek must have flowed unimpeded across the road and straight into the shop. A deep channel was cut along one side of the building, exposing the foundation. Water must have gotten to the four– or five-foot mark in the first floor. The only good thing he could think to say was that the structure was still standing.
His mother put her hand over her mouth, and he saw that she was holding back tears. “Our poor shop,” she murmured. “It’s all broken.”
He put his arm around her, trying to comfort her, and looked at Susanna.
She took a step toward the shop, shaking off her sister’s restraining hand. “No,” she said. “No.” She lunged forward, startling them, but Nate caught her before she could reach the building, pulling her back gently.
“You can’t go inside, remember? There’s nothing we can do right now.”
She looked up, eyes wide and shocked. But dry. Somehow it might have been easier to deal with her if she’d collapsed in tears.
His mother put her arm around Susanna, and the two of them stood together, looking at what was left of their shop.
“What do we do now?” Susanna said, but not as if she expected an answer.
Mamm hugged her. “Now we rebuild, of course.”
It was a fine, hopeful thing to say. Nate wasn’t foolish enough to argue now. But looking at the devastation, he had his doubts that rebuilding would ever happen.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Susanna
arranged cans of soup on a shelf at the bulk foods store the next day, aware that Anna Mae was watching her with a critical eye. When Susanna had volunteered to help out in the store between her shifts at the shelter, Nate and Dora had both tried to dissuade her.
All their arguments made sense, but Susanna had the feeling that if she didn’t stay busy, her whirling thoughts would spin her around like a top. If only she and Dora could get into the shop—
Anna Mae had offered to show her what to do, and she seemed intent on making it clear that she was the knowledgeable one here. Perhaps she’d felt Susanna was too critical the day Anna Mae had watched her shop. Whatever Anna Mae’s motive, Susanna had no objection to being the underling. Let Anna Mae have her moment in the sun.
Susanna started another carton of soup. Canned goods had been flying off the shelves since Nate had reopened the store this morning. Small wonder, since most stores in town, with their dependence on electricity, remained closed. The downside was that no one knew how long it would be until trucks started coming in to restock. Nate had been giving so freely to the shelter that his storeroom was emptying quickly.
Nate didn’t seem to count the cost of his giving. While she wouldn’t have expected any other reaction, Susanna still found that admirable. He could so easily have held some back with the excuse that he had to provide for his own people first, but he hadn’t.
An Englischer brushed past her with a laden cart, and Susanna realized she’d been standing in the middle of the aisle, lost in thought. Murmuring an apology, she stepped aside to let him reach the back counter where Anna Mae was checking people out.
Susanna glanced at the contents of the man’s cart as he passed her and then looked down the aisle at the canned meats section. Thomas had just restocked that area a short while ago, but now it was empty, and the Englischer’s cart was filled to the brim with canned meat and fish.
Frowning, Susanna moved to the counter, her gaze on Anna Mae. The girl was tallying the cans as the man put them on the counter, not seeming to feel that there was anything wrong with his order.
“This shopper has taken all the canned meat we have in stock.”
She spoke quietly to Anna Mae in Pennsylvania Dutch, trusting that the Englischer wouldn’t understand. He was young, in his twenties maybe . . . not the typical shopper at a bulk foods store.
“So?” Anna Mae smiled at the customer. “Nate will be pleased that I made a big sale.”
“I don’t think . . .” Susanna began, troubled.
“Why don’t you get back to stocking shelves?” Anna Mae’s tone was tart. “This is my job.”
Maybe Anna Mae was right, but it didn’t sit well with Susanna to see someone buying so much that there was nothing left for anyone else. Turning her back on the half-emptied carton, she went in search of Nate.
She found him in the storeroom, pulling a carton from the shelf. At the sight of her, he shoved it back. “Are you ready to take a break?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Perhaps this is none of my business, but it troubled me a little. There’s a man . . . a customer . . .” She had difficulty getting the words out. He’d think she was foolish. She shouldn’t interfere.
“Ja?” Nate leaned his elbow against the shelf, seeming in no hurry.
“He’s cleaned the shelves of all the canned meat and fish you had stocked. Anna Mae says that’s fine, but I thought you would want to know.”
Nate had straightened before she finished speaking, his brows drawing together in a frown. “You thought right,” he said, and strode toward the front of the store.
Susanna lingered behind as Nate reached the counter, indulging in what was probably a futile hope that Anna Mae wouldn’t realize she’d fetched him. Still, she was close enough to hear his voice.
“I’ll take this customer,” he said, gently moving Anna Mae to the side. He eyed the man. “This is all the canned meat we have in the store.”
The Englischer shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “So? It’s for sale, and I’m buying it.”
“I’m afraid not.” Nate’s tone was politely regretful. “I can sell you three of each, if you want.”
“What do you mean, three? It’s none of your business how much I buy.” The man’s face flushed, but Susanna thought uneasiness was mixed with his anger.
“Not today you can’t,” Nate said. “I don’t know when my next shipment will be in, and this is an emergency situation with so many stores closed.”
The customer glared at him for a moment. Then he glanced around the store before leaning on the counter. “Look, I can get a lot more than your price for the stuff in some of the townships. There’s a shortage, see? People expect to pay more. Say I split the difference with you. That’s fair, right?”
“No.” Nate’s pleasant expression didn’t change, but a steely note came into his voice. “Thomas, you can put this stock back on the shelf, please. This gentleman won’t be buying anything today.”
“You can’t do that—”
Thomas slipped the cart away quickly, leaving him standing there empty-handed. He glared, and Susanna’s breath caught in her throat. If he offered violence, what could Nate do?
The moment passed. Maybe the man became aware that everyone in the store, Amish and Englisch alike, was staring at him.
“Dumb Dutchman,” he muttered, and flung himself toward the door.
There was silence for a moment. Then an elderly Englischer stepped to the counter. “It seems like emergencies bring out the worst in some people. Glad you didn’t let him get away with those shenanigans.”
There was a murmur of approval from the other customers, and Susanna found she was smiling. That is, until she caught Anna Mae’s gaze, looking daggers at her.
Well, the girl was young. She would learn. In the meantime, if she wanted to blame Susanna, she could bear it.
Susanna was helping a customer find the powdered milk a few minutes later when she realized Nate was standing behind her. He waited until the woman had moved away, and then he spoke quietly.
“Denke, Susanna. I’m glad you caught what was going on. Anna Mae should have known better.”
“Please don’t say anything to her,” she said quickly. “She was just excited about making a big sale. I think she wanted to impress you.”
“Why? I know she’s a gut worker already.”
Was he deliberately being dense, or didn’t he realize the girl had a crush on him?
“Not impress you as a boss. Impress you as a man. You know what I mean.”
A spark of humor touched his face, softening his mouth. “I know what you mean, all right, but I could never be interested in someone so young and foolish.”
“She won’t always be young and foolish,” Susanna said, enjoying his rare look of amusement.
“Ja, and I’ll still be too old for her, even if I were looking to marry again.” His face stilled, and his eyes seemed to darken.
Without doubt, Susanna knew he was thinking of the words he’d let slip about his wife. His gaze was intent on her face, and her breath caught in her throat. For an instant she thought he was going to speak, to say whatever it was he held back about Mary Ann and their marriage.
A shopping cart rattled in the next aisle, seeming to recall him to where they were. With a sudden shake of his head, he turned away, leaving Susanna shaken.
She glanced across the store, trying to pretend nothing had just happened. After all, nothing had. Neither of them had said a word they couldn’t have said before a roomful of people. Still . . .
Her gaze reached Anna Mae and stopped. The girl was staring at her again, with dislike so open it was almost a blow.
Susanna dropped her gaze, hoping nothing showed in her face, and began straightening items at random on the shelf. Keeping her hands busy might help her regain her balance.
The outside door opened, and young Thomas ran in. She could see the excitement in his face from where she stood.
“Have you heard?” He spoke loudly enough for the whole store to hear. “The bridge is open!”
A babble of voices greeted his announcement, and relief swept through the room like a warm breeze. The bridge was open, so they were no longer cut off from the outside world. It was the first good news many people had had for days. Maybe the end of their ordeal was in sight.
* * *
Seth
was heading out of Dave’s house when he saw Chloe coming down the stairs. She’d avoided being alone with him since that awkward moment when the chasm of being Amish had opened up between them again. He’d begun to feel as if he were walking a tightrope around her. One wrong move, and it was into the net with him.
He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for her. “Have you heard the news? The bridge is open. We’re not cut off any longer.”
Chloe’s face brightened and she came the rest of the way down with a skip in her step. “Terrific! Lydia said they’d come as soon as the roads are open.”
Her thoughts had gone immediately to the sister she hadn’t even known existed six months earlier. She didn’t even seem aware of the dichotomy between her obvious love for her Amish sister and her regret at that Amishness.
“It means other help will be arriving from the outside, too. But Dave says, given how widespread the flood damage is, we shouldn’t expect too much too soon.”
“In other words, we volunteers should get busy, I suppose.” She slung her bag over her shoulder. “Off to work. Where are you headed?”
“To help set up a Salvation Army lunch wagon down on Market Street.” Seth paused. “You want to come and help?”
Chloe shook her head. “I’m scheduled to work at the shelter today. I’d like to be sure I’ll see Lydia when she arrives. I wish she had a cell phone. For that matter, I wish I had a cell phone. Until my replacement phone arrives, I feel lost.”
He chuckled as they went outside together. “Maybe we’re all a little too dependent on our devices.”
“You think?” Amusement flashed in her green eyes, but Seth reminded himself that her improved mood probably had more to do with the prospect of seeing her sister than with anything he might say.
“Nate’s store seems to be a staging area for the Amish,” he said. “I’d guess she and Adam would check there first. You could leave word there that you’re at the shelter.”
“Good idea.” She pulled open her car door. “I’ll see you later.”
He put a hand on the door. “Maybe you could give me a lift as far as Market Street. They asked us not to try and park too many cars down there.”
Did he imagine her momentary hesitation? Then she nodded toward the passenger’s side. “Hop in.”
Silence stretched between them for all of a block. Then Chloe made a slight sound of exasperation.
“This is ridiculous. We may as well get this thing out in the open. I know my reaction annoyed you yesterday, but I think it was perfectly natural. If my mother hadn’t become Amish, I wouldn’t have lost her. Of course I regret it.” She glared at him as if daring him to disagree.
Seth held back a sharp answer. Nobody ever argued someone out of feelings—he’d learned that a long time ago.
“How do you know?” He kept his tone neutral.
Chloe blinked, a frown line appearing between her brows. “I . . . well, I know. If she hadn’t clashed with Gran so much, if she hadn’t left home when she did, she’d never have fallen in love with an Amish man. Therefore she wouldn’t have been in the van the day she was killed.”
“She wouldn’t have had you.” He spoke the truth that was so obvious to him. “ ‘What if’ is a dangerous game to play, Chloe. There are too many variables. You can’t know what your mother’s life would have been if she hadn’t married your father.”
“No, but . . .”
Seth could almost see her sharp intelligence struggling with the belief her grandmother had implanted in her all Chloe’s life.
“I suppose she might still have wanted a life that was different from what she’d known,” Chloe said. She waited while an army reserves truck rumbled through the intersection. “But I have a right to wish I’d known her and known my sisters, for that matter. You can’t deny that our parting was the direct result of the accident.” A flare of anger lit the words. “If our mother had married someone else—”
“You wouldn’t be you.” He studied the face that had become so familiar over the past months—the stubborn tilt to her jaw, the spark of fire in her green eyes, the tender lips he couldn’t help wanting to kiss. “I, for one, would consider that a great loss.”
She darted a sharp glance at him, as if wondering if he was making fun of her. “I’m being irrational, that’s what you’re saying.”
“No.” He hesitated. How risky was it to say what he really thought? “I’m saying I thought you’d lost your prejudice against the Amish.”
“I have,” she said instantly. Defensively. “I’ve accepted that my sisters are Amish. I wouldn’t criticize their lifestyles.”
“You just disapprove of all their choices. Do you think people don’t sense it?” He was pushing too hard, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
Chloe’s lips firmed and she made the turn onto Market Street before she spoke. A water buffalo was parked in front of the library, and people with jugs and bottles were lined up for fresh water.
Chloe made her way around it and drew to the curb in the next block, just short of the barricad
e that still closed the street down to the river.
As he grasped the door handle, she spoke.
“I’ve tried to accept the past.” Her voice was husky. “It’s not so easy.”
The sudden vulnerability in her expression made his heart clench. He wanted to say something that would erase it, but there wasn’t anything. This struggle was one Chloe had to fight alone.
* * *
It
seemed to Nate that the store was like a large pot of stew coming to a boil. All day long people had been in and out, some shopping, some just trying to find out what was going on. The store had always been a hub of activity for the Amish of Oyersburg, but now the circle was growing larger.
Natural enough, he supposed, trying to answer questions, assess his stock, and get through to his usual suppliers. Now that the river had crested, folks were venturing out, checking damage, deciding whether they needed help or should be providing it.
Thomas appeared at his elbow. “Matt Ziegler and his boys are here. They say their farm is fine, and where can they go to help?”
“Wait a minute.” Nate scrabbled through the drift of papers on the counter. “We sent some folks down to Hemlock Street, but I don’t know how many, and—”
He broke off as a list slid into view, showing neatly who’d asked for help, who’d volunteered, and who had gone where. “Susanna?” He glanced at her, startled. “What gave you this idea?”
“I just thought it might be of help. I didn’t mean to interfere.”
“It’s not interfering. It’s just what we need.” He ran a pencil down the list. “Ask Matt and his sons to go down to Ninth Street, Thomas. There’s water backing up from one of the runs there.”
Thomas nodded and darted off, and Nate turned to Susanna. She was stepping away, already effacing herself as she so often did. Maybe she was more comfortable being an observer, but if so, she knew how to put that to good use.
