by Marta Perry
“When Mamm first wanted to start the shop, I was doubtful,” Nate said, moving cautiously toward the stairs. “But she had always worked so hard to provide for us kids that I thought she should have her dream.”
Susanna followed in Nate’s footsteps, thankful for the pair of boots he had provided.
“You were fairly young when your daad died, ain’t so?”
Nate paused on a step. “Sixteen. But even before his accident, he didn’t—”
Susanna looked up at him, shocked at the bitter note in his voice. “He didn’t what?”
Nate’s face twisted in a smile that expressed the opposite of humor. “I guess you wouldn’t know, not growing up here. My daad was that rare thing, an Amish man who was lazy. Oh, Mamm made excuses for him, but I saw him for what he really was. Bone lazy.”
Dora seldom spoke of her late husband, and Susanna had no way of knowing whether Nate’s assessment was correct or not. But his feelings were genuine, whether he’d been right in his judgment or not.
She struggled to find the words to respond. “You’ve more than made up for him, taking care of your mother and sisters the way you have.”
She began to see where that bossiness of his had originated. He must have felt from the time he was small that the responsibility for the family lay on his shoulders.
“I tried.” They emerged into the room at the top of the stairs, and Nate seemed to shrug off the subject. “Let’s have a look for anything we should take out of here.”
Susanna nodded, respecting his boundaries. He probably wouldn’t have said all that about his father if not for the shock of seeing his mother’s dream in such a state.
Susanna brushed her hands on her skirt and opened a drawer in the large cabinet where they stored extra items made of fabric. The holiday-themed place mats and wall hangings seemed as bright as ever, but she could smell the damp filtering into the upstairs already.
“These fabric things should go right away,” she said. “But I don’t think we can carry them all.”
“No, likely not.” His gaze passed over the quilted pieces with little interest. “If you can stack things that should be moved first near the steps, I’ll send the boys down to get them today. And I’ll have to get a carpenter in as quick as possible.”
“We’ll need to get the mud out before a carpenter can start work.” Her thoughts scrambled through the enormous list of things that had to be done before the shop could reopen. She realized Nate was staring at her. “What?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t mean a carpenter to start repairs yet,” Nate said. “To give me an opinion on whether the building is salvageable.”
Susanna straightened, looking at him blankly. “Salvageable?” She repeated the word, its syllables leaving a bad taste in her mouth.
Nate’s square jaw seemed to harden. “I know it’s not what you want to hear, Susanna, or my mother, either. But before I sink money into fixing the building, I have to know whether it’s worth fixing.”
Logical. Of course it was. But in her heart, it felt like a death knell for her dreams.
* * *
Chloe
glanced at Susanna as she drove down the winding country road toward Lydia and Adam’s place on Saturday afternoon. She’d feared Susanna would change her mind at the last minute about coming, but thank goodness she hadn’t. Getting her there was another step forward, and Chloe was in a mood to look for hopeful signs.
“This is pretty country, isn’t it?” Chloe hated making stilted conversation about the scenery, but it was better than sitting in silence.
“Lovely. It’s good to see something so . . . so untouched.” Susanna gestured at a field of cornstalks turning golden in the fall sunshine.
“That’s what I was thinking, too. Maybe we need a little relief from the troubles once in a while.” If Chloe was right in what she hoped, Susanna would end this day feeling closer to her family. How could she resist her nephews? Chloe couldn’t help smiling at the thought of their little faces.
And she had a lot of respect for Lydia. If anyone could get through Susanna’s reserve, it would be Lydia.
“There’s the lane.” She pointed ahead of them. “I see they have the Apples for Sale sign up.” The sign, roughly painted on a piece of plywood, leaned against the fencepost at the end of the lane.
“Lydia spoke of the orchard several times when she came in the shop. Before . . . well, before I knew, I mean.” Susanna leaned forward. “She obviously loves it.”
Chloe nodded, making the turn. “Our parents lived here, you know, before their deaths. I think Lydia feels the orchard brings her closer to them.”
Susanna turned a startled gaze upon her. “I didn’t know they lived here. And us, too, I guess. I suppose there’s a lot I don’t know.”
Chloe tamped down her urge to plunge into explanations. For once, she wouldn’t jump in without thinking.
“Lydia and I would love to tell you what we know, anytime you’d like to hear it. And Seth’s mother has lived next door for ages.” She pointed at the house on the far side of the orchard. “She’s told me some stories of what she remembers from when we were small.”
“Seth’s family is Amish, ja?”
“Yes.” Seth would probably be here today, and a flicker of apprehension went through her. She couldn’t ignore his background when his family was around.
“It’s strange, thinking that this was my home once and not remembering it at all.” Susanna drew in a breath, and her hands clenched suddenly in her lap.
Chloe looked up the lane and understood. Everyone was outside, it seemed, waiting for them. It must look like a horde of strangers to Susanna.
“I remember the first time I came.” She slowed when she saw the two boys racing toward the car. “I felt so overwhelmed because all these strangers knew things about me that I didn’t know about myself.”
Susanna’s hands eased. “That’s how I feel, too.”
Pulling into her usual spot along the lane, Chloe cut the motor and smiled at Susanna. “It will be fine, I promise. Come and meet them.”
She stepped out of the car and braced herself as Daniel and David rushed to her. David’s hugs were sometimes so impetuous that he nearly knocked her off her feet.
He threw his arms around her. “Aunt Chloe!”
She hugged him, reaching out to pull David into the embrace as well. “How are you? It’s so good to see you.”
“We’re all right. Did you bring our new aunt?”
Daniel’s hand closed on his little brother’s shoulder. “Remember what Mamm said. Don’t rush at her.” He smiled up at Chloe. “Mamm said you were in a flood. Did you get wet?”
“Was it like Noah?” David added. Their blue eyes and smiles were uncannily alike.
“Yes, I got wet. And muddy. But no, it wasn’t as bad as Noah’s flood.” Arms around them, she piloted them around the car to where Susanna was just getting out. “These are Lydia and Adam’s boys, Daniel and David.”
“We’re glad to meet you,” Daniel said, his company manner in evidence. As the older one, he was always the most careful about his behavior.
“Can we call you Aunt Susanna?” David added.
Susanna looked a little startled, but she smiled and nodded. “That would be nice.”
Lydia had reached them by this time, and she touched Susanna’s arm lightly in welcome. Chloe could tell by her expression that she wanted to hug her but was holding back.
“Wilkom to our home, Susanna. Komm, meet the others.”
“What is that wonderful smell?” Chloe asked.
“Apple butter.” Daniel tugged at her hand. “We’re making apple butter today. Komm and see.”
Chloe let herself be hauled over to where Adam was feeding a wood fire under an immense copper kettle. A dark, spicy mixture bubbled gently in the kettle, whil
e Seth stirred it with a long wooden paddle.
“Apple butter? Adam, are you sure you want to let Seth do the cooking?”
Adam straightened, grinning at her. “He’s not cooking. Just stirring. Everyone has to take a hand at stirring. You can be next.”
Seth’s mother, Emma, came to greet her. Her warm smile didn’t quite erase the worry lines in her forehead. “Are these boys trying to put you to work already?”
“They’re trying, but they haven’t succeeded yet. How long has this been cooking?”
“Since early this morning,” Emma said. “It takes a gut eight hours to make apple butter. And mind you don’t let it stick, Seth.”
Seth smiled at his mother’s chiding. “I won’t. Come over here, Chloe. I’ll show you how.”
With a quick glance to assure herself that Susanna was occupied by Lydia and the children, Chloe let herself be persuaded. Careful, she warned herself. The fire isn’t the only source of heat when you’re around Seth.
He put her hands on the paddle, enclosing them in his as he did. “Stir it clockwise, scraping the sides and bottom to be sure it’s not sticking.”
He was too close, his arms practically around her as they worked the paddle.
“I can manage. Thanks.”
The glint in his eyes told her he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Okay.” He let go.
Chloe nearly dropped the paddle. The mixture was so thick that the movement was like rowing through molasses.
“Harder than you thought, ja?” Adam said, his eyes twinkling.
“Ja,” she said emphatically, making both men laugh.
Funny. When she’d first met him, she’d thought Adam a dour, humorless chauvinist. It was only when she’d gotten to know her sister’s husband that she realized what she’d seen that first day was his complete devotion to Lydia and his fear that she would be hurt.
Maybe Adam had grown to like her a bit better with time. She hoped so, but she knew he was still wary of the influence of their Englisch aunt on his children.
“Be sure you get the sides of the kettle.” Seth grasped the paddle to help, his hands brushing hers again.
“I never pictured you as a cook.” She made an effort to keep the atmosphere light. “How do you know so much about making apple butter?”
“I wouldn’t claim to know how much sugar and spices go in. That’s for the experts to decide. But everyone has a part in apple-butter making.”
He seemed to have a point. Susanna and Lydia were sorting glass jars on the picnic table while his mother measured spices. Seth’s sister, Jessie, was supervising the two boys as they trundled a wheelbarrow of wood to the fire. Jessie’s blond hair shone in the sunlight, and her blue eyes sparkled when she laughed at something one of the boys said. She looked like the popular image of a young Amish woman, but every day she battled against the bipolar disorder that plagued her.
Adam shoved a last log on the fire. Rising, he said something to Seth in dialect, laughing, and went off to help the boys.
Chloe glanced at Seth, detecting a trace of embarrassment in his expression. “What did Adam say?”
“It was nothing.”
“It was something since it made you blush.”
“You make me sound like an old maid.” He grinned. “Okay, you asked for it. He reminded me of an old saying that courting couples love to stir the apple butter together but they’re likely to let it burn.”
Now it was her turn to feel her cheeks grow hot. “He . . . was just kidding.”
“Sure.” His gaze evaded hers, as if he realized they were venturing onto dangerous ground.
Chloe’s thoughts scrambled to find something to say. Her gaze landed on Jessie again. “Did your mother come to any decision about letting Jessie assist with the flood relief?” That seemed a safe enough topic.
Seth nodded, frowning slightly. “I’ll bring Jessie over to Oyersburg tomorrow to help at the shelter. Are you going to be there? I told Mamm someone would keep an eye on her.”
Chloe discovered a reluctance to become responsible for Jessie. But she was the one who’d thought volunteering might be a good idea, wasn’t she?
“Sure.” She tried to force enthusiasm into her voice. “I’ll be glad to show Jessie the ropes.”
“Great, thanks. I told Dave Hartman I’d help with tearing stuff out of flooded houses tomorrow. They’re supposed to start hauling things away, but nobody’s been able to figure out where they’re going to put everything.”
That was an aspect of the problem that hadn’t even occurred to her. Her eyes sought out Susanna again.
“From what Susanna said, she hopes work can start on the shop in a day or two.”
“Just let me know when, and I’ll be there to help,” Seth said. “Is the building in bad shape?”
“Not as bad as some, but bad enough. Susanna said Nate Gaus is bringing someone in to decide whether it’s worth rebuilding.”
“That’s natural enough, I guess. But if it’s not, what will your sister do? Move the shop to a different location?”
“She doesn’t know.” Chloe looked down at the apple butter, which was slowly darkening with each bubble that came sluggishly to the surface and burst. “I want to help her, but I’m not sure she’s ready to accept anything from me.”
“Give her time.” His voice was filled with sympathy. “She’ll come around. After all, who could resist you?”
She was spared finding a reply by David and Daniel scurrying over. David leaned precariously over the kettle. “Is it ready yet?”
His brother hauled him back by his suspenders. “Not yet, dummy. Mamm didn’t even put the sugar in yet.”
Chloe tried giving him the look that seemed so successful when Lydia did it. “Are you supposed to call your brother a dummy?”
“I guess not,” Daniel admitted. “I’m sorry, David.”
David didn’t seem to care, apparently immune to insults. Maybe that was part of being brothers, she supposed.
“Do you know what’s the best part of making apple butter, Aunt Chloe?” David said, fixing his round blue eyes on her.
“Eating it?” she guessed.
David grinned, showing the gap where he’d lost his first tooth. “After it’s all poured out, we get a piece of bread and scoop up what’s left in the pot.” He rubbed his tummy. “Yummy.”
Laughing, Seth tapped the top of David’s straw hat. “You have to wait a bit yet.”
The image seemed to imprint itself on Chloe’s heart. The man reaching out, the boy laughing up at him, the golden colors of fall around them, the air filled with the aroma of the wood fire and apples. It was a perfect, beautiful slice of life, and she didn’t want to lose it.
I want a life that’s real. That was what her mother had told a friend, trying to explain the choices she’d made. In this moment, Chloe could almost agree.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
For
Susanna, helping Lydia get the canning jars ready for the apple butter was a soothing, comforting task. The scent of spices, the sun slanting across the grass, even the high voices of the children brought back memories.
“You’ve done this many times before, ain’t so?” Lydia smiled at her, the dimple appearing in her cheek, with the look that was so oddly like her own.
“Every fall for as long as I can remember until we moved to Oyersburg. Daad said we probably shouldn’t have a fire burning all day once we lived in town.”
She was speaking Pennsylvania Dutch, not Englisch, falling into it quite naturally since she was alone with Lydia. Maybe that added to her sense of familiarity.
“It must have been hard to leave your friends behind to move here.” Lydia ran the tip of her forefinger around the glass edge to be sure there were no nicks to spoil the seal.
“In a way, it was.” Susanna hated thinking about
those difficult days when they realized her mother’s cancer had returned. “But Daad and I were both so eager to move Mamm within reach of the specialists that I didn’t really have time to think about it.”
“She went to the medical center in Danville, ja?”
Susanna nodded. “Daad thought Oyersburg was the best place to settle, since it had an Amish community and was only a little over a half hour’s drive to her doctors. And then he passed away just a year later.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. It was odd, wasn’t it, that his decision brought you back to where you’d started, and you didn’t know it?” Lydia glanced at her, sunlight picking out highlights in her light brown hair. A question seemed to hover on her lips. “When you were little, didn’t you remember anything about your life before the accident?”
Lydia so obviously wanted her to say she did, making Susanna feel guilty that she didn’t. “I’m sorry, I don’t. But from what you and Chloe told me, I was only three. I wouldn’t, would I?”
“I suppose not. It’s just . . . well, I’ve felt so guilty that I didn’t remember my sisters. Mamm says the head injury wiped out those memories forever, so I shouldn’t feel bad about it, but I do.”
“Your mamm is . . .” Susanna tried to remember what they’d told her, but the story was muddled up in her mind.
“My daad was brothers with our birth father,” Lydia said. “When I wonder what our birth father looked like, I just look at him. They were very alike, everyone says.”
There would be no photographs of him, of course, and that birth father, as Lydia called him, seemed impossibly remote to Susanna. “If our . . .” She couldn’t say mother. It was too disloyal. Elizabeth Bitler was her mother.
“Diane was Englisch.” Lydia used the first name as if she spoke of a mutual friend. “So of course there were photographs of her. Chloe can show you, if you’d like to see them.”
Something in Susanna rebelled at the thought. “Not . . . not yet.”
“I understand,” Lydia said, her voice soft. “Mamm and Daad—your aunt and uncle—wanted to come today, but they thought it might be too many relatives all at once. They said to say they want to meet you, but not until you’re ready.” There was a hopeful lilt to her voice.
