Anna's Return (7 page)

The Englischer got out, tugging his ball cap into place. With his jeans and flannel shirt, he looked like most of the English farmers in the valley, but most of them wouldn’t be driving such an expensive rig. Farmers put their money into stock or equipment, not something fancy to ride around in.

“Good day.” The man nodded, looking from one to the other of them. “I’m looking for Samuel Fisher.”

“I am Samuel Fisher.” Making the switch to English was easy enough. Dealing with reminders of the outside world was not. “How can I help you?”

“I’m Jase Bartlett.” The man thrust out his hand. “Have a place over on Shady Point Road.”

Samuel shook hands. The name was familiar, even if the face wasn’t. “You have the horse farm, ain’t so?”

“That’s me.” Bartlett didn’t seem surprised that he was known. He’d come to the valley more than a year ago and snatched up a farm that several Amish had had an eye on. He’d torn down the old farmhouse and put up something new, torn down the barns and sheds as well, putting in new stables and what seemed like miles of rail fences around acres of pastures.

“I’ve been hearing about you, Fisher. People say you’re pretty good at training difficult horses. That true?”

Samuel kept his face expressionless. “I like to train horses, ja.”

Bartlett raised his eyebrows. “The way I heard it, you’re some kind of horse whisperer, able to get through to any animal.”

The man seemed intent on making Samuel brag about himself. “Are you wanting some work done with one of your horses, Mr. Bartlett?”

Bartlett’s face seemed to darken. “I’ve got a new gelding that’s proving troublesome. Good breeding, and I paid a fancy enough price for him, but he’s a mean one. Not that I couldn’t break him of his bad habits myself, but I just haven’t got the time right now. So, what do you say? You interested?”

Somehow Samuel thought that if Bartlett were able to train this expensive animal himself, he wouldn’t be here. His instincts were telling him that both the man and the horse might be more trouble than they were worth.

“I am sorry, Mr. Bartlett, but working with horses is a sideline for me. We have much to do in the shop right now, and I don’t think I’ll have time to take on a raw animal now.”

Bartlett’s flush deepened. It seemed he wasn’t one to take no easily. But before he could speak, Joseph clapped Samuel on the back.

“Ach, it sounds like a job made for you. Don’t worry about the shop. We’re not so busy right now that we can’t spare you.” Joseph switched to Pennsylvania Dutch to add, “Besides, a man like this will pay well.”

“Sounds like your friend can spare you,” Bartlett said quickly. “What do you say? If you do a good job, there’s more work I can throw your way.”

Samuel glanced at Joseph, who nodded encouragement. “Well, I guess I could give it a try. When did you want to bring the gelding over?”

The slam of the back door punctuated the question, the screen probably caught by the breeze. Anna stood on the back porch, seemingly frozen in place by the sight of the Englischer.

Then, before Jase Bartlett could turn to look that way, she whisked back into the house, closing the door behind her.

Bartlett rattled on, talking about the arrangements, and Samuel nodded and responded. But inside, he was back to wondering and worrying about Anna’s return. Did he think she was telling the truth? That had been what Joseph really wanted to know, even if he hadn’t come right out and said it.

The answer wasn’t a simple one. Samuel did believe that what Anna had said was true. He just didn’t believe she had told them everything.

 

 

The
Englischer was gone. Anna pressed her hand against the screen door, surprised that her thoughts had taken that form.

Her alarm really had nothing to do with the fact that the man was different from the Amish, but only with the reminder of the outside world, where Pete might be looking for her.

That was foolish. The fear that curdled her stomach was irrational. She had to believe that.

But could she? Probably not as long as her memory of the last time she’d seen him was so vivid. He’d been high—she’d realized that the moment she’d opened the door.

Her fingers tightened on the handle she held now, as if she could go back, relive that moment, and not open the door.

That’s what she should have done, but she hadn’t. How was she to know? She hadn’t seen or heard from Pete since long before Gracie was born. She’d hardly expected him to decide, after all that time, that he wanted to see the baby.

Not just see. Take. Her skin crawled with the memory. He’d gone from tears to fury and back again, talking wildly about running off with Gracie. He’d go to Mexico, or Canada, where no one would look for them. He’d be a good father to his little girl.

She’s not yours
. That’s what she’d screamed at him.
She’s not yours
.

He’d come after her then, tossing her out of his way as if she were a rag doll. Her ribs still hurt from where she’d hit the floor.

That was what her neighbors had heard. Two college boys, who hadn’t seemed interested in anything more serious than girls and games, had rushed to the rescue, hustled Pete out, and told her to call the police.

She hadn’t. Maybe she’d still been more Amish than she thought. The Amish didn’t turn to the law to settle their problems.

Instead she’d packed up everything she could carry, put Gracie in the car seat, and fled.

She shook her head, trying to make the memory go away. Pete had never known anything about her background, so even if he wanted to come after her, he couldn’t. The Amish, living off the grid, possessing no computers or cell phones or credit cards, could not easily be traced. They were safe here.

That should make her feel better, but she knew she wasn’t going to be content until she was sure that visitor had nothing to do with her.

She went out onto the porch, picking up the basket she’d dropped when she’d seen the truck, and glanced across the yard. Joseph had disappeared, probably into the shop. Samuel stood where he’d been, watching her, as if he knew she would come and speak to him.

Swinging the basket as if the garden were the only thing on her mind, she went across the yard, the grass whispering under her feet. The walnut tree was heavy with nuts, the green pods starting to fall and blacken.

Mamm had always said the black walnuts were the most delicious—that they had to be because they were so difficult to harvest. She could help Myra with that, if she was still here. Samuel watched her, his face unreadable. She gestured with the basket.

“I’m going to get some peppers to roast. Myra wants to put some up.”

He nodded, looking at her as if knowing that wasn’t all that was on her mind.

Annoyance pricked at her. “Who was the Englischer?”

“His name is Bartlett.”

He was telling her as little as possible. Why?

“Did he say anything about me?”

Now something did flicker in Samuel’s eyes—surprise, maybe. “Mr. Bartlett has a troublesome horse he wants me to work with. That’s why he came here, to ask me about the animal.”

“I see.” She tried to smile. “I’m glad you’re getting some more business.” She hitched up the basket. “I’d better get on with the peppers.”

She started to turn away. Samuel reached out, his hand clasping her wrist. She stopped, startled, feeling the warmth of his grip.

“Why would you think the Englischer had come about you, Anna?”

“I . . . I don’t.” She’d been an idiot, asking him that. “I just wondered. I mean, I suppose my coming back made a lot of talk.”

“Among the Leit.” The Amish. “Why would the English know? Or care?”

“They wouldn’t.” She tugged at his hand, feeling the strength of his grip. “What are the Amish saying, then? You’re in a position to tell them plenty, aren’t you?”

His face tightened, making him look far older than she knew him to be. “I would not do that, and I think you know it.”

She’d rather hang on to her anger, but he was right. That didn’t make her feel any more kindly toward him. She took a breath. “Sorry.” The apology was ungracious, but it was the best she could do. “I don’t believe you’d gossip about me.”

He let her hand go, a smile flickering across his face. “I’m the last person who’d do that. I remember too well what it was like when I came back.”

“Plenty of talk, I suppose.”

“Ach, it soon died down. They found something else to talk about.”

“
Someone
else, more likely.” Her shoulders moved, as if to shake off the sense of people watching. Commenting. “That was one of the reasons I left. I hated everyone thinking they had the right to talk about what I was doing.”

“Even when it was kindly meant?”

“That was the worst.” He wouldn’t understand. How could he?

Samuel’s hazel eyes were serious, intent on her face. “You don’t like people taking an interest in you.”

“Not when it means they think they have the right to judge.” Her temper flared again in an instant. “I didn’t like it then, and I don’t like it now.”

He continued to stare at her without a visible reaction, his face impassive. “That might make it a little hard to go before the congregation with a humble heart, don’t you think?”

How did he know to press on exactly the point that bothered her most? She fought down the surge of temper that only he seemed able to unleash in her.

“That’s between Bishop Mose and me, Samuel. Or are you wanting to be chosen for a minister the next time it comes around?”

“I could not do that.” He pushed that idea away with a quick, instinctive movement of his hands. “But I do know what it’s like to come back after living English. I can see that something is wrong, Anna. If there’s anything you want to talk about, anything you think maybe the others wouldn’t understand—”

“There’s nothing!” She snapped the words, not sure whether anger or fear predominated in her heart. “There’s nothing wrong, and I’d be pleased if you’d mind your own business.”

Clutching the basket, she brushed past him and hurried to the garden.

Anna
slid the skin from one of the peaches Myra had scalded, the fruit smooth and heavy in her hand. She hadn’t done this in a long while, but the technique came back to her, as if her fingers remembered what her mind had forgotten. The aroma of the peaches, rich and sweet, filled her head, carrying her back to her mother’s kitchen and the easy chatter of women working together.

Helping Myra can peaches kept her hands busy, but it left her mind free to worry about what the evening held. Bishop Mose would be stopping by after supper to talk with her. Daadi had sent word over this morning, which must mean he’d already spoken to the bishop about her.

What would Bishop Mose ask her? And how would she explain herself to him? She needed his acceptance if she was to stay here. She forced herself to loosen her grip on the peach before she bruised it with her worry.

Myra sliced peaches quickly into a bowl of water treated with a pectin solution to keep them from darkening. “The Elbertas are the best ever this year, I think.” She darted a glance at Anna. “But you are not thinking about peaches just now. You are fretting about the bishop’s visit, ja?”

“How did you know?” In the week she’d been here, Anna had begun to discover that for all her outward shyness, Myra could go straight to the heart of the matter.

“Ach, it’s only natural, ain’t so?” Myra’s hands stilled on the peaches for a second, and then she clasped Anna’s hand in a brief, wet squeeze. “It will be all right. You’ll see. Bishop Mose will understand.”

“I hope so.”

But did she hope that, really? As she recalled, their district’s bishop, wise with years, had a way of knowing what was in your heart. She wasn’t sure she wanted him looking that closely into hers.

“I’m certain-sure,” Myra said, her voice warm with affection.

“Denke, Myra.” Anna’s heart filled with gratitude for her sister-in-law’s caring. “I appreciate your saying so.”

Myra took the next peach. “Ach, I just thought maybe you wanted to talk to someone about it, and I’m the only one here. Or you could run over to Leah’s, if you want. I can handle the canning myself.”

“That’s all right. I don’t need to see Leah.”

A chill settled on her heart. That was just as well, since it seemed Leah didn’t want to see her. For all her words of welcome and her warm hug, Leah had made no effort to seek her out for a private talk since her return. It looked as if Leah wasn’t ready yet to go back to being sisters.

She should try to look on the bright side of it. At least this way when she left, she wouldn’t be hurting Leah again.

Her heart twisted. She didn’t want to hurt anyone. If she could have found another place where Gracie would be safe, she wouldn’t have come here.

She had to protect Gracie, no matter what, so she’d do what was necessary. She would submerge herself and her daughter into the Amish world until it was safe to come out.

And then what? How many people would she hurt when she went away again? If she could stay here while keeping her distance from the others . . . Well, that wasn’t worth thinking about. It was next to impossible in a community like this. Nobody kept any distance, it seemed.

Myra lifted clean jars from the hot water bath, and together they began to fill them. The amber slices slid into the glass jars easily, making the glass seem to glow from within.

“Looks nice,” Myra said. “Satisfying.”

Anna nodded. “It does. I don’t know why I used to try so hard to get out of helping with the canning.”

Myra chuckled, smoothing a strand of hair back from her damp forehead with the back of her hand. “Ach, I was the same. Always thinking that Samuel had it better, because he got to work outside with Daadi.”