Anna's Return (33 page)

An Excerpt from

BOOK ONE

by Marta Perry

Available now
from Berkley Books

Knowing
your proper place was a basic tenet of Amish life. Leah Beiler smiled as she watched her class of thirty-five scholars living out that belief. The number was up by three with the addition of the Glick children just today, and they were all in their assigned seats. Thirty-five heads bent over the work she’d set for her first- to eighth-graders, and not a whisper disturbed the stillness of the one-room school.

Despite the quiet, ten years of teaching had given Leah an extra sense where her scholars were concerned. Excitement rippled through the room, even though no head lifted for a furtive look at the battery clock on her desk. The prospect of a picnic lunch to welcome the newcomers had everyone, including, she had to admit, the teacher, excited. It would be a welcome break in the usual routine, with the Christmas program now in the distant past and their end-of-school-year events not yet begun.

The April weather had cooperated today, bathing Pleasant Valley, Pennsylvania, in sunshine rather than showers. Through the window, she could see the horses and buggies lined up outside that told her the scholars’ mothers had arrived with food for the picnic.

She clapped her hands, amused at the alacrity with which pencils were put down. “It’s time for our picnic lunch now, scholars. We’ll eat first, and then there will be time to play. You may go outside.”

It wasn’t necessary to add that they should go in an orderly manner. Order was another precept of Amish life, ingrained since birth. Pencils were in their grooves on the desktops and books were closed before the children stood, murmuring quietly among themselves, and filed toward the door.

Leah followed her scholars between the rows of wood and wrought-iron desks, and out the door at the rear of the classroom that led onto a small porch and then to the schoolyard.

The white school building, looking like every other Amish school she’d ever seen, stood in a grove of trees, its narrow dirt lane leading out to the main road, a good half mile away. The Esch farm lay to their east and the Brand farm to the west, so that the schoolhouse seemed to nestle in their protective, encircling arms.

A trestle table had been set up under the oak tree that sheltered the yard. Her volunteer mothers and grandmothers, probably also happy with the break in routine, had spread it with a bountiful lunch—sandwich fixings of cheese, chicken, cold meat and bread, an array of salads, bowls of fruit, and jars of milk and lemonade. Trays of cupcakes and brownies were covered, reminding the children that dessert came last.

Rachel Brand, Leah’s special friend since girlhood, hurried over, apron fluttering, to thrust a well-filled plate into her hands. “Leah, I fixed a plate for you already, ja. If you waited for everyone else to be served, you might miss my macaroni salad.”

“Never,” she said, her pleasure at the day’s treat increased by the presence of the friend who was as dear to her as a sister. “It’s wonderful kind of you, Rachel, but we should be seeing to our guest of honor first.”

Daniel Glick, the newcomer, stood out in the group, the only adult male in a bevy of women and children. If that bothered him, he didn’t show it. He was accepting a heaping plate from Leah’s mother, bending over her with courteous attention.

“Your mamm is taking good care of him,” Rachel said. “And if she wasn’t, someone else would jump at the chance, for sure. A widower just come from Lancaster to join our community—you know every woman in Pleasant Valley will be thinking to match him up with a daughter or sister, they will.”

“They’d do better not to matchmake. Daniel Glick looks well able to decide for himself if he needs a wife.”

Daniel’s firm jaw and the determined set to his broad shoulders under the plain work shirt he wore suggested a man who knew what he wanted and who wouldn’t be easily deflected from his course. He was probably a gut hand at avoiding any unwanted matchmaking.

Rachel, her blue eyes dancing with mischief as if they were ten again, nudged her. “You’d best tell that to your mamm, then. I expect she’s already inviting him to supper so he can get to know you.”

“Me?” Her voice squeaked a bit, so she was glad that she and Rachel stood a little apart from the others. “Rachel, that’s foolish. Everyone has known for years that I’m a maidal.”

“Years,” Rachel scoffed, her rosy cheeks growing rounder with amusement.

Rachel did still look like the girl she’d once been, her kapp strings flying as they’d chased each other in a game in this same schoolyard. Leah couldn’t remember a time when Rachel hadn’t been part of her life. They’d shared enough joy and sorrow to bond them forever.

“I know very well how old you are, Leah Beiler,” Rachel continued, “because we were born within a month of each other. And you are only an old maid if you want to be.”

Leah crinkled her nose. “A maidal,” she said firmly. “And I’m a schoolteacher with a love of learning besides, which frightens men off.”

Rachel’s smile slid away suddenly, and her smooth brow furrowed. “Leah, it would break my heart if I thought you meant to stay single all your life because of Johnny.”

The name startled her, and it was all she could do to keep dismay from showing on her face. When Johnny Kile left Pleasant Valley, fence-jumping to the English world like too many young men, he’d left behind his family, including his twin sister, Rachel, who’d loved him dearly.

And he’d left Leah, the girl he’d said he’d loved. The girl he’d planned to marry that November, once the harvest season was over.

Many of those young men who left came back, penitent and ready to rejoin the community, after a brief time in the English world. But not Johnny.

She had to speak, or Rachel would think this more serious than it was. Close as they were, she didn’t want Rachel to know how Johnny’s loss had grieved her. It would only hurt Rachel, to no good end.

“No, of course that’s not why. Johnny and I were no more than boy-and-girl sweethearts, you know that.”

Rachel’s hand closed over hers in a brief, warm grip. “You loved him. That’s what I know.”

“It was a long time ago,” she said firmly, shutting away bittersweet memories.

An Excerpt from

BOOK TWO

by Marta Perry

Available now from Berkley Books

A
flicker of movement from the lane beyond the kitchen window of the old farmhouse caught Rachel Brand’s eye as she leaned against the sink, washing up the bowl she’d used to make a batch of snickerdoodles. A buggy—ja, it must be Leah Glick, already bringing home Rachel’s two older kinder from the birthday party for their teacher.

Quickly she set the bowl down and splashed cold water on her eyes. It wouldn’t do to let her young ones suspect that their mamm had been crying while she baked. Smoothing her hair back under her kapp and arranging a smile on her lips, she went to the back door.

But the visitor was not Leah. It was a man alone, driving the buggy.

Shock shattered her curiosity when she recognized the strong face under the brim of the black Amish hat. Gideon Zook. Her fingers clenched, wrinkling the fabric of her dark apron. What did he want from her?

She stood motionless for a moment, her left hand tight on the door frame. Then she grabbed the black wool shawl that hung by the door, threw it around her shoulders, and stepped outside.

The cold air sent a shiver through her. It was mid-March already, but winter had not released its grip on Pleasant Valley, Pennsylvania. The snowdrops she had planted last fall quivered against the back step, their white cups a mute testimony that spring would come eventually. Everything else was as brown and barren as her heart felt these days.

A fierce longing for spring swept through her as she crossed the still-hard ground. If she could be in the midst of growing things, planting and nurturing her beloved garden—ach, there she might find the peace she longed for.

Everything was too quiet on the farm now. Even the barn was empty, the dairy cows already moved to the far field, taken care of by her young brother-in-law William in the early morning hours.

The Belgian draft horses Ezra had been so pleased to be able to buy were spending the winter at the farm of his oldest brother, Isaac. Only Dolly, six-year-old Joseph’s pet goat, bleated forlornly from her pen, protesting his absence.

Gideon had tethered his horse to the hitching post. Removing something from his buggy, he began pacing across the lawn, as if he measured something.

Then he saw her. He stopped, waiting. His hat was pushed back, and he lifted his face slightly, as if in appreciation of the watery sunshine. But Gideon’s broad shoulders were stiff under his black jacket, his eyes wary, and his mouth set above his beard.

Reluctance slowed her steps. Perhaps Gideon felt that same reluctance. Aside from the formal words of condolence he’d spoken to her once he was well enough to be out again after the accident, she and Gideon had managed to avoid talking to each other for months. That was no easy thing in a tight-knit Amish community.

She forced a smile. “Gideon, wilkom. I didn’t expect to be seeing you today.”

What are you doing here?
That was what she really wanted to say.

“Rachel.” He inclined his head slightly, studying her face as if trying to read her feelings.

His own face gave little away—all strong planes and straight lines, like the wood he worked with in his carpentry business. Lines of tension radiated from his brown eyes, making him look older than the thirty-two she knew him to be. His work-hardened hands tightened on the objects he grasped—small wooden stakes, sharpened to points.

He cleared his throat, as if not sure what to say to her now that they were face-to-face. “How are you? And the young ones?”

“I’m well.” Except that her heart twisted with pain at the sight of him, at the reminder he brought of all she had lost. “The kinder also. Mary is napping, and Leah Glick took Joseph and Becky to a birthday luncheon the scholars are having for Mary Yoder.”

“Gut, gut.”

He moved a step closer to her, and she realized that his left leg was still stiff—a daily reminder for him, probably, of the accident.

For an instant the scene she’d imagined so many times flashed yet again through her mind, stealing her breath away. She seemed to see Ezra, high in the rafters of a barn, Gideon below him, the old timbers creaking, then breaking, Ezra falling as the barn collapsed like a house of cards . . .

She gasped a strangled breath, like a fish struggling on the bank of the pond. Revulsion wrung her stomach, and she slammed the door shut on her imagination.

She could not let herself think about that, not now. It was not Gideon’s fault that she couldn’t see him without imagining the accident that had taken Ezra away from them. She had to talk to him sensibly, had to find out what had brought him here. And how she could get him to go away again.