Between You and Me

by Susan Wiggs

  Before Caleb put the shirt on, Mose inspected her handiwork. “Get some help looking after that wound, you hear?”

  “I hear.” Caleb took his hat from a hook. “Come to supper, Reese,” he said. “Hannah would love to see you. Mose, we’d be obliged if you and Ida would come too.”

  17

  “It’s not a date,” Reese said to Ursula that evening as she got ready to visit Middle Grove. The conversation reminded her of one she’d had with her mother last fall. “It’s just supper.”

  “I saw the way you were looking at him,” Ursula said, crowding into the upstairs bathroom they shared.

  “Fine. It’s a date. A date with my preceptor and his wife and an Amish guy.” She wore a cotton dress and sandals, and no makeup other than tinted sunscreen. Though she hoped it didn’t show, the prospect of seeing Caleb again electrified her. After so much time had passed, she should have moved beyond this, but she was stuck. Stuck on him.

  “So you and this guy . . .” Ursula leaned toward the mirror and lavished on the mascara.

  “There is no me and this guy.” Maybe if she said it enough, it would be true. “We met because of Jonah, and he stayed with my neighbor in Philly for a while last fall.”

  “Got it.” Ursula applied gloss and smacked her lips.

  “You’re like that snippy older sister I never had,” said Reese. “Where are you heading?”

  “Unlike you, I’m not afraid to call a date a date—that radiology resident I was telling you about. We’re going to a sweet corn and barbecue festival over in Mountain View. I plan to drink just enough beer to let him have his way with me.”

  “Nice,” Reese said, grabbing her keys and phone.

  “I’ll be back by lunchtime tomorrow,” Ursula added. “My folks are coming up for a visit.”

  “Even nicer,” said Reese. “I miss my parents. I keep hoping they’ll get over being mad at me for going with this program.”

  “Have you told them that?” Ursula dropped a few condoms into her purse. “If not, you should.” She was one of those people who made things seem simple. Reese had never been that kind of person. Picking up the phone, she scrolled to their home number and initiated the call.

  Voice mail, of course. No one answered their phone anymore. “Hey, parents,” she said, her voice a little too chirpy. “Just calling to say I miss you . . .”

  “We’ve known the Stoltz family since, oh, I don’t know, do you, Ida?” Mose asked. He was in the passenger seat of Reese’s car, half turned as he spoke to his wife.

  “Must be twenty years or more,” she said.

  “I’d say more,” Mose agreed. “Asa’s wife, Jenny, used to bring the boys to the clinic for their shots. I remember that, because she had to keep it a secret from Asa.”

  Reese stiffened. “He wasn’t in favor of immunizations?”

  “Seemed that way. Next time I saw the older boy, John, it was to set a broken arm.”

  “Caleb told me his brother broke his arm when he jumped off a bridge,” Reese said. “It was a suicide attempt.”

  “It was,” Mose admitted. “That family’s had more than its share of trouble. I was on call the night John and Naomi were murdered. I hope you never have a call like that, but you have to be prepared for any test.”

  As they drove through the rolling hills to Middle Grove, Reese tried to tamp down her excitement. Jonah was not her patient. Caleb was not her boyfriend. Yet she had to see them again.

  “It’s so beautiful here,” she said. “It’s hard to imagine trouble in places like this. Which is a ridiculous observation, I realize. Trouble doesn’t seem to care what it sees out the window.”

  Mose nodded. “You’re learning.”

  “It’s harder to imagine out here,” Ida said. “But this community can be just as hard to survive as the inner city. I still think it’s magic, though. If I hadn’t come here forty-six years ago fresh out of nursing school in New York City, I never would have met Mose. We were a regular Romeo and Juliet, weren’t we?”

  Another nod. “The city girl and the country mouse. We still have a few family members who don’t speak.”

  “What made you move from New York?” asked Reese.

  “A broken heart,” Ida said simply. “Some people come here to escape, some to hide, some to heal.”

  “Which one are you?” Mose asked Reese.

  The blunt question took her aback. “Suppose I said I came here simply to find my way past the politics and red tape of big-business medicine? Don’t you think I’m young and idealistic enough to want my career to be about patient care and healing?”

  “Sure I do. That’s why we picked you for the program,” he said. “You did bring some baggage with you, though.” She opened her mouth to reply, but he forged ahead. “I’ve been at this for fifty years, young lady. I know when a person is holding in her pain, thinking that if she doesn’t acknowledge it, then it’ll go away on its own.”

  She caught herself pushing too hard on the accelerator and forced herself to slow down. “Ida, help me out here,” she said.

  “Sorry. When Mose goes into psychiatry mode, there’s no stopping him. I’ve watched my husband teach for years, and one of the great truths of medicine is that the best doctors are the ones who know what to do with their baggage.”

  There was only one paved road into Middle Grove. They passed a cemetery with trim rows of markers, and Amish homes with green window shades and no curtains. The town was a modest collection of wooden and brick buildings. She tried to take it all in—women in long dresses and bonnets, guys in sweat-soaked blue shirts and black hats; tourists browsing a small open-air market and a big mercantile with signs for homemade jam and sausage and handcrafted furniture and quilts; a bakery and a mill with a waterwheel. This was her first glimpse of Caleb’s world, and she felt like as much of an outsider as he probably had in Philly.

  The paving gave way to gravel, tufted with grass down the middle. She slowed down over the bumps, looking at the plain mailboxes along the way. A gentle breeze combed through the fields of wheat and rye. “So no phones or electricity,” she said, enjoying the lack of electrical lines leading to the houses.

  “Folks have their reasons,” said Mose. “There’s modern plumbing to meet health code standards, so they can sell their dairy products. You might see a computer running on a generator in a chicken coop or milk house. Some Amish will speak on a mobile phone, but only while standing out in a field. They favor the innovations that enable a man to stay home with his family rather than going off somewhere else for a job.”

  An even narrower dirt road led to the Stoltz place. The house was bigger than she’d expected, white and boxy, with a line of laundry flapping in the breeze. There were multiple workshops and outbuildings, and a red barn that dwarfed everything else.

  It all looked so idyllic, almost too beautiful to be real, the sort of place where nothing bad could ever happen. She knew that wasn’t the case, though. Beside the barn was a tall silo with a domed top, and she wondered if that was where Jonah’s accident had occurred.

  As she parked near the house, Jonah and a fluffy dog came leaping down the front steps. “Hey, Reese, you’re here!” the boy said. “Hannah, they’re here!” he called over his shoulder.

  His smile was as warm and infectious as the sunshine. “We found you,” she said, leaning down to pat the dog. “Is this Jubilee the wonder dog, the one I’ve heard so much about?” The dog nuzzled her hand, gazing at her with adoring eyes. “I can see why you like her so much.”

  Hannah came outside, pink-cheeked and smiling. Reese waved her over. She tried not to do a double take, but was startled to see that Hannah had put on a bit of weight since last fall. Or maybe not. Could be she looked bigger due to the long layers of her dress and apron. Despite the warmth of the evening, she wore a shawl around her shoulders.

  “It’s good to see you again,” she said, giving the girl a brief hug. “Thank you for having us.”

  “We’ve brought
you a little something,” Ida said, indicating a basket looped around her elbow. “Reese made one of her famous pies.”

  “Hurrah for pie,” Jonah said. “Reese, you make the best pies. I remember that one you made for me when I was in the hospital.”

  “Please, come inside,” Hannah said. “Caleb and Grandfather will be finishing chores soon.”

  The house was shadowy and extremely warm. The slight breeze through the open windows wasn’t sufficient to chase away the heat. The floors were made of wooden planks, and the furniture was sturdy and spare. A folded quilt on a rack off to the side caught Reese’s eye, and she paused to study it. The design was startling, an asymmetric design of abstract shapes and colors undulating from dark to light.

  “Is that your work?” she asked Hannah.

  “It is. I call it sunshine and shadow.”

  “It’s wonderful,” Reese said.

  “You’re very talented,” Ida said.

  Hannah ducked her head in modesty, then led the way to the kitchen, which was dominated by a scrubbed pine table and a big enameled range with iron legs. A dry sink with a pump was piled with cooking utensils. Here, the heat was nearly unbearable, and Reese was relieved when Hannah announced that they’d be eating outside at the picnic table.

  I love electricity, she thought.

  “How can I help?” she asked Hannah.

  “We just need to carry things outside.” Hannah led the way down the kitchen stairs. Jonah was there already, spreading a cloth over a handmade picnic table. He wasn’t wearing the robotic arm he’d been fitted for, but a simpler mechanical one, which he used with impressive ease.

  Mose lifted an arm and waved at Caleb, who stood with another man—presumably his father—at an outdoor pump, washing up. Caleb took a clean shirt from the clothesline and went behind a shed. A few minutes later, he and his father approached. At the sight of Caleb’s smile, Reese’s heart skipped a beat. She would never get tired of that smile.

  “Thank you for having us,” she said when he introduced her to Asa.

  He was nearly as tall and broad as Caleb, and the family resemblance was strong in their clean-boned faces and blue eyes. His smile was fleeting as he said, “You’re welcome. Mose and Ida, it’s been too long.” He added something in German and shook Mose’s hand. Then he turned to Hannah and said something else—a question, or perhaps a command.

  “Yes, of course,” she murmured and hurried over to the table to finish laying out the plates and cutlery.

  “I’ll give you a hand,” said Reese, and they worked together. “How have you been, Hannah?”

  The girl kept her gaze down, as if setting the table took all her concentration. “Very well, thank you,” she said. “I had to join the church, even though I didn’t feel ready. If I hadn’t accepted baptism, I wouldn’t be able to get married.”

  “You’re so young,” Reese said. “You should take your time.”

  “That’s not how it’s done.” She said a word that sounded like oof givah. “That means to give up yourself, and in that way, you become part of the community. The way a grain of wheat becomes part of the loaf of bread.”

  Reese bit her lip to keep from making another comment. She reminded herself that she was a guest here, and her job was to show respect.

  Hannah’s hands fluttered nervously as she gestured at glass jars lined up on shelves. “It’s canning season, and I’ve been helping out at the neighbors’. Not my favorite chore, I confess, but it’s better when we all pitch in.”

  “What’s your favorite chore?” asked Reese. She tried to picture the girl’s life here—domestic duties in an endless cycle, subjugation to the men of the community, pressure to join the church, prayer and submission. Was it enough for a girl like Hannah? Was it what she wanted?

  “I suppose my favorite would be the quilting,” Hannah said. “To me, it’s not a chore at all. Alma—she’s in charge of the quilt shop—lets me choose any colors I want to put in a quilt.”

  “I’d love to see more of your work,” said Reese.

  Hannah darted a glance at the others. “This way,” she said, motioning Reese to the house. “I’ll show you a few more.”

  The upstairs of the house was even stuffier, though as tidy and plain as the downstairs. Hannah’s room was as spare as the rest of the house, with one window and no closet, just a few dresses and shawls on pegs along one wall. Near the bed was a small shelf with a dish of straight pins and two homemade faceless dolls, not in plain Amish clothes but in bright, edgy outfits.

  Noticing her look, Hannah smiled. “My mother made the dolls for me. I created the fashions myself. Mem probably wouldn’t have approved.”

  “Well, I approve. They’re so cool,” said Reese. “Hipster Amish.”

  Hannah had a small collection of books, including the one she’d borrowed from Reese. The quilt on the bed had a dramatic conceptual design of a delicate feather, the fronds morphing into a flock of birds in flight. Hannah showed her a couple more—one that seemed to depict a hex sign melting into darkness, and another embroidered with the signature phrase of The Princess Bride—“As you wish.”

  “I’m so impressed,” she said. “Hannah, you’re really talented. Have you ever—”

  “Hey, Hannah.” Jonah’s bare feet thumped on the stairs. “Grandfather says come to supper now.”

  “Hey, yourself,” Reese said, exchanging a glace with Hannah. “That doesn’t sound like the nice Jonah I know.”

  His face turned bright red. “Sorry. Can you please come down to supper?”

  “We’d love to.”

  They gathered around the picnic table under a shade tree. Reese took a seat between Caleb and Hannah. “How is your shoulder feeling?” she asked. “Is it—”

  “We’ll have a proper prayer yet,” Asa said, then bowed his head. There was a good half minute of complete silence. Reese could hear the sound of her own heart beating, and Hannah’s quiet breaths. The quiet ended with the clink of glassware and cutlery as everyone filled their plates.

  Supper was pork chops with potatoes and sauerkraut, and sweet corn just picked from the field. The pork was dry and tough, the kraut extremely tart. “I’m not so good at cooking,” Hannah said.

  “The corn is delicious,” Reese told her. “So is this fresh-baked bread.”

  Hannah nodded. “Jonah and I picked the corn this afternoon, and the bread’s from a neighbor. Baking’s a hard chore in the summer when it’s so hot.”

  “Well, this dinner is a treat, and I’m grateful,” said Reese.

  It did not escape her notice that Asa hadn’t spoken to her directly. He seemed pleasant enough with Mose and Ida, commenting on the weather and the crops, an upcoming auction and a barn they were going to help build for someone in the community. His old-school mannerisms underscored the otherness of the Amish culture and the fact that she was an outsider here. His appetite for the pie was gratifying, though.

  “It’s wonderful to see Jonah doing so well,” she said to Asa. “He was one of the best patients in the pediatrics ward in Philadelphia. You would have been proud of him—”

  “Pride is not something we aspire to.” Asa’s tone was mild, though his stare burned a hole in her.

  She literally bit her tongue. In a strange way, she understood this man, probably better than he understood her. Everything he had done in raising his son had been geared to protect Caleb from the temptations of a woman like Reese—a woman of worldly and ungodly ways. Asa regarded her the way her own father had regarded Caleb.

  I’m not here to steal your son, she thought. Or maybe I am.

  After supper, Hannah and Jonah went to the village to join in a game of baseball, a nightly occurrence in summer. “How would you like to take a buggy ride?” Caleb asked.

  She looked around and saw that his father was sitting in the shade with the Shrocks. “Yes, please,” she said, her pulse speeding up at the prospect of some alone time with him. “I’d love that.”

  He took her to
the barn and introduced her to Arrow, a lovely chestnut horse who stretched his lips in a comic smile as Caleb brought him to the crossties. With practiced movements, he harnessed the horse, his hands flying over the buckles and loops. Then he hitched the horse to a gray-and-black buggy and held out his hand, palm up.

  She placed her hand in his, and the merest touch was an electric sensation as she climbed up to the flat bench seat. There was a fleeting moment when their eyes met, and his expression made her heart skip a beat.

  “You sure you want to do this?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s gonna be a bumpy ride.”

  “I can handle the bumps,” she said.

  He got in beside her and flicked the reins. The horse moved forward in a walk and then extended his stride to a smooth trot as they drove along the gravel lane to the main road. The only sounds were the steady clop of hooves and the jangle of the harness. Evening sunlight gilded the landscape, and a sense of enchantment rose inside her.

  Seeing Caleb in his own home sharpened the sense that they were worlds apart. Still, the heat of their attraction was as palpable as the warm air flowing over her skin and the touch of his thigh against hers. And it felt even more forbidden here.

  “So anyway,” she said, “your father.”

  His mouth twisted in an ironic smile. “My father.”

  “He was looking at me as if I were his private vision of hell.”

  “Sort of the same way your father looked at me.”

  “They’re not so different then, are they?”

  “They both recognize a threat when they see one.”

  “Is that what I am? A threat? I’m not sure how I feel about that. Should I be insulted? Or flattered?”

  “Asa is very clear in what he believes. Outsiders are supposed to stay outside. The rigid rules are a comfort to him. When you know your place, you know what’s expected of you.”

  “Is that what you believe?”

  He shot her a grin. “What do you think?”

  “I think you don’t need rules to know what’s expected.” She hesitated, then added, “Jonah seems different. I mean, he seems to be doing well, but he was sort of bossy with his sister.”