Leah's Choice (9 page)

“We have to talk.” He moved next to her, stroking Betty’s silky neck.

“Not here.” She sent an apprehensive glance toward the stable door. “Someone could come in. Someone might have seen you.”

“No one saw me.” Johnny’s hand stilled on the horse’s neck. “I was careful, just like I always was when we used to meet here. Remember?”

There it was—the plea to her memory. She remembered. It would be far better to say that she didn’t, but it would be a lie. So better to say nothing.

Still, he knew. They’d used her habit of visiting her horse every night to steal some quiet time alone together. She’d rush in, a carrot or sugar cube for the mare in her hand, and find him waiting. His arm would encircle her waist, his lips brush her cheek.

They’d been innocent times, but she’d felt guilty, nonetheless, sitting on a straw bale, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder, talking about the future. But it was a future they’d never had.

“You remember,” he whispered, and he was close enough that she’d feel the touch of his breath if he moved another few inches.

“It doesn’t matter.”

She took a step back and was reminded of Daniel, stepping carefully away from her when his daughter called him. For a moment her mind clouded with confusion. Too much was happening, too soon.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said again, more firmly. “I’ve done everything I can for you, Johnny. I cannot change your parents’ minds for them.”

“I can’t believe they refuse to see me.” He turned away with a quick, restless movement. “I’m their only son. How can they treat me this way?”

She forced her heart to harden against him. “You are the one who left.”

“Now I’ve come back. Even the prodigal son had a warmer welcome than this.”

“The prodigal son admitted his wrong and was willing even to be a servant,” she reminded him.

“Is that what you expect of me?” He threw his anger at her.

“I don’t expect anything,” she said. “But I can see what’s in front of my face.”

“And what is that?” The sudden sarcasm that hardened his voice made it easier to feel that this was not the Johnny she knew.

Gut. That would make it easier to say no to whatever it was that had brought him here tonight.

“You want to keep your English life and have the advantages of being Amish, too. You can’t have it both ways. You should know that by now.”

Some emotion crossed his face—regret, she thought.

“Maybe so.” He shook his head. “But that’s not what’s important right now.”

Her stomach clenched. They were getting to it, then. To whatever it was he wanted from her.

“What is important, if not your family’s grief?” Could he dismiss that so easily?

“I accept that I can’t change them, and I’m sorry. But that doesn’t alter the reason why I came back to Pleasant Valley to begin with.”

“Your work at the clinic.” Somehow she’d known they’d get around to it eventually.

“I need cooperation from the families of affected children. They’re not going to open their doors to me.” He paused, his gaze intent. “But they might to you.”

The breath went out of her. She took a step back. “No. I can’t.”

“Of course you could.” He dismissed that with an impatient gesture. “It’s not difficult—it’s just a matter of interviewing the parents and writing down their answers.”

She fought to control her irritation. Did he really think that she’d refused because she thought herself incapable of such a simple task?

“That’s not the point. I’m too busy with my teaching and with the duties I have at home as well. I can’t take on another job.”

“This wouldn’t be a real job. Just volunteer work. You could probably get it done in a few hours a day, plus the travel time, of course.”

“I don’t have a few extra hours in my days.”

“You could wait until after school is out to start,” he countered. “As long as I know that the data will be coming in, I can get to work.”

He was as impatient as always, eager to bend everyone else to suit his needs, and that enthusiasm of his had always had a way of sweeping her along with it. Not this time.

“I can’t,” she said firmly. “There would be too many problems with my family and the church if I were to do such a thing.”

Especially with Johnny involved. There would probably be fewer objections to the clinic than to her seeing so much of him.

He brushed that away with a sweep of his hands. “You’re an adult. You can make up your own mind what to do.”

Her eyebrows lifted. “Have you been away so long that you’ve forgotten what it means to be Amish? It is not just a matter of what I might want to do. You can’t judge me by English standards.”

“Fair enough.” He had the grace to look a bit abashed at the reminder. “I won’t judge you, Leah. If you feel you need to consult the bishop about it, that’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine. I’m not going to work with you on this, Johnny.”

He’d have to make of that what he would. She wasn’t going to put herself in a situation where every day might be spent reliving the past.

He took a quick step toward her, coming into the circle of light from the lantern. His face was set, his gaze steady.

“This isn’t about you and me. This is about those children. You can dismiss me if you want. But can you dismiss them so easily?”

Her heart twisted, thinking of the children she knew who suffered from the genetic diseases. Not as many here, probably, as back in Lancaster County, but even one was too many.

There were two of the Miller children, over near the cross-roads, spending hours of the day and night under the special blue lamps that helped the children affected with Crigler-Najjar syndrome. Without a liver transplant, they’d never be well.

And there were the babies gone in an instant, it seemed, from a form of sudden infant death syndrome, turning a family’s hap piest time into one of grief.

Others, some in their own church family, suffered from diseases that seemed to have no known remedy.

No, she couldn’t dismiss the children. The fact that her own siblings and their young ones had escaped the inherited diseases didn’t mean her heart didn’t break each time she heard of a child’s suffering.

She looked at Johnny. He must still know her too well, since he’d stood quietly, letting her think. Knowing where her thoughts had gone.

“How could anything I do help those children? I’m not a scientist.”

“No, but gathering the information is nearly as important as applying the science.” He took a quick step toward her, his face lighting with enthusiasm. “We have the tools to start unlocking the secrets of some of those diseases. But without the cooperation of the families, even those who seem free of the illnesses, we can’t use the tools we have.” He held out his hand to her. “Isn’t that something you’d want to do, if you could?”

She was so tempted simply to agree—to be swayed by his enthusiasm and by the ache in her heart for any hurting child. But she needed to think this through, away from John’s passion about it.

“I’ll think about it.” She lifted the lantern so that she could see his face more clearly, see him start to speak. “No, don’t try to persuade me. Just let me think it over and come to a decision. Surely you can do that.”

He nodded, reluctance in the movement. “All right. But at least come to the clinic and see for yourself the work we’re doing on genetic diseases. There’s no reason not to do that, is there?”

“I’ll think about it,” she said again.

His face fell, but he nodded, maybe seeing that further argument would push her away. “I guess that’s the best you can do. I’ll go now. Thank you for listening, at least.”

He walked to the door, his stride quick and impatient. Slipping out, he turned away from the house so that the open door would shield him from the gaze of anyone looking out the windows.

He probably thought she was a coward for refusing to jump at the chance he offered her. She stroked Betty’s neck, taking comfort in the solid warmth of the animal. But then, he already knew she was a coward, didn’t he?

CHAPTER SIX

Leah
sat at the small pine table in her bedroom, going over lesson plans. The gas lamp cast a yellow glow on the page, and she leaned back in the chair and rubbed her eyes. She’d fallen behind on schoolwork this week, and she didn’t like to do that, especially with the end of the year barreling at her like a runaway wagon.

But it couldn’t be helped. Mamm and Daadi were moving to the daadi haus tomorrow. Levi and Barbara were moving into the farmhouse at the same time. Her days had disappeared into a haze of trying to organize, pack, keep her mother from doing too much, and keep her sister from exploding.

She certainly hadn’t had time to give more than a passing thought to Johnny’s proposal. She could imagine how annoyed he’d be to know that, but he didn’t have family to consider in his plans. That was sadder than he realized, to her way of thinking.

She hadn’t exchanged more than a few words with Daniel, either. Her heart still ached for those children. Whatever had happened to send them away from the world they knew, it must have been traumatic.

When she tried to imagine it, she ran up against a blank wall of ignorance. If Daniel could only bring himself to confide in her about it—

She didn’t think that was likely. He clearly wasn’t ready to talk about his family’s trials.

As for the surge of attraction that had flared so surprisingly between them—well, neither of them would want to discuss that.

She pulled the sheaf of lesson plans toward her again, but as she did so, she heard her mother calling her name up the stairs. She went quickly toward the hall. She’d expected Mamm to head straight to bed. Surely she hadn’t thought of something else she wanted to do tonight.

Her mother grasped the newel post at the bottom of the stairs, sagging as if she needed its support. “Barbara is here. Will you come down and help her with these boxes?”

Leah nodded, starting down the steps. Barbara certainly had an abundance of energy. She hadn’t thought to see her again before tomorrow morning, when the official moving would begin, and plenty of church members would be here then to help.

Barbara was in the kitchen, trying to maneuver an overfilled box onto the table.

“Let me take that.” Leah slid the carton out of Barbara’s grip. “We’ll want the table clear in the morning to feed people.”

“Ja, that’s right.” Barbara relinquished her hold. “It’s kitchen things, though, so I thought best to put it in here.”

“I’ll stow it in the pantry. That’s already cleaned out.” She suited the action to the words, sliding the box out of sight into the pantry. “You look tired, Barbara. I’m sure that could have waited until tomorrow. Do you want coffee? Tea?”

Barbara slumped into a chair and fanned herself with her bonnet. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright with barely suppressed excitement. Surely she didn’t anticipate the move that eagerly.

“Water would be gut,” she said. “But I must tell you something.”

Mamm, who had been hovering near the door, seemed to resign herself to the fact that this wasn’t going to be a short visit. She took the seat across from Barbara, leaning back heavily in the chair.

Leah filled a glass with water, her movements stiff. Couldn’t Barbara see that Mamm needed to go to bed?

“Can it wait until tomorrow?” she suggested. “I’m sure we’re all ready for a good night’s sleep.”

“No, no, I must tell you, because he’ll no doubt be here to help.” She gulped down half the glass. “It’s about your neighbor. Daniel Glick.”

Leah froze. Barbara definitely had a nose for news. If something happened in the valley, she wanted to know it first. Was Daniel’s secret out already?

“What about Daniel?” She kept her voice noncommittal. This might be nothing at all.

Barbara leaned forward, her eyes bright. “Miriam Miller, my neighbor, she had a letter today from her cousin back in Lancaster County. It seems that she knew all about Daniel and his family. They belonged to the same church district.”

“I suppose she would know him, then.” Mamm’s voice was stern. “And you know that I don’t hold with gossip, Barbara.”

Looking a bit abashed, Barbara sat back in her chair. “Not gossip. Truth. That’s all. Just the truth about him. And I thought you ought to know, being close neighbors and Leah so interested in the children, and all. I thought to myself, ‘Leah can help those children better if she knows all about it.’ ”

“All about what?” Best just to get it out. Then it could be dealt with.

“His wife left him.” Her voice lowered, as if she didn’t want anyone else to hear. “A Muller, she was, Ruth Muller before they wed. Anyway, Miriam’s cousin says that it was a grief to all of them when Ruth just up and went one day, fence-jumping to the English. And taking the kinder with her.”

“No.” Mamm winced, as if the very thought of it caused her pain.

“She did that. Took them away, and Daniel was nearly mad with the grief of it. Two years they were gone, with him not knowing what had become of them all that time.”

“What a terrible thing,” Mamm murmured. “That poor man. Those poor children.”

“So young to have such a thing happen to them.” Barbara’s eyes filled with tears. She might enjoy being the first to know, but she had a soft heart and was easily moved by a child or an animal that was hurting.

“How did he get them back?” Mamm clasped her hands in her lap, as if sending up a swift prayer for Daniel’s children.

“His wife died. Killed in a car crash, she was, and drinking besides. She’d left the children all alone to fend for themselves while she went out.” Barbara shook her head. “A gut thing, as it turned out, that they were not in the car with her.”

“God watched over them,” Leah murmured, her throat choking with tears.

Small wonder that Daniel didn’t want to talk about what had happened. To go for two years not knowing where his children were—it was unthinkable.