Leaving Lancaster (11 page)

But if Holly stayed in Lancaster County, how would Esther survive?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A motor vehicle stopped out back of the house and honked. Mary Ann gobbled another gingersnap. “Julie, Martha, Francine. Time ta go.”

After one last cuddle, I laid Lydia on Mommy Anna's lap, then Greta and I helped my other aunts gather their children, then stream through the kitchen toward the back door.

The driver, a middle-age fellow, wearing modern clothing and sideburns, leaned out his window. “Everyone ready? I'm running late.”

“We're comin',” Francine said, carrying her toddler. She paused to kiss my cheek. “So gut to meet ya, Holly. I hope this ain't good-bye forever.”

“Me too. I wish you could have stayed longer.”

“Move with us to Montana,” Julie said. “We could see each other every day.”

The women hastened down the steps and into the van. They spoke to their children in Pennsylvania Dutch; I picked up bits and pieces. Could I learn the language? Yes, given enough time.

The last to leave, Mary Ann gave me a sparse kiss that hovered several inches from my cheek. She clasped my upper arm and said, “Don't ya let Esther go runnin' off again and break Anna's heart.”

When I thought about it, I supposed I did have influence. Why had I arranged our trip with such a short turnaround time? Oh, yeah, I didn't want to come to begin with. But now that I was here, I felt a kinship to my newfound relatives and this beautiful history-filled county where my father was born and raised. If we stayed another week I might learn more about him.

My aunts' driver revved the engine. I waved good-bye, but as he sped away I doubted the women could see me, packed in as they were with sacks of groceries and wriggling preschoolers. And laughter. I compared their get-togethers to my life in Seattle. I had one best girlfriend, but when she got home from her honeymoon, she and her husband would be eager to spend every moment together. Who could blame them? Sure, I knew Larry and people at church and through the Amish Shoppe, but our relationships were superficial—my fault, no doubt.

I stepped inside, made my way to the sitting room, and saw my mother gathering the drinking glasses, one at a time, like she was sapped of strength.

“I'm headed to Beth's house,” I said. “I left my laptop at her place to recharge the battery.”

Her face bunched in on itself like a prune. “Dressed like that?”

“Sure, why not?”

“I agree,” said Mommy Anna from the couch. She handed baby Lydia to Greta, then pushed herself up to a standing position. “Why would Beth mind Holly lookin' like one of us?”

“I haven't seen you on your cell phone,” Mom said, standing between Mommy Anna and me like a brick wall. “Does it need charging too?”

“Thanks for reminding me.”

“Have you spoken to your young man from church group?” Mom asked, and Mommy Anna craned her neck to get a look at me.

“He left a couple messages.” Phooey, why had I admitted there was a man? Mom could always extract information from me. She was sneaky that way. “If you're talking about Larry, I consider him a friend,” I said. “We've never gone out on a real date.” Although I did accept his paying for lattes. If I were honest with myself, I was leading him on.

“He may have written you an email,” my mother added, as if trying to drive home a point for Mommy Anna's sake. Were they both vying to marry me off?

I reminded myself: I should be on the prowl for a spouse. And kids. At least one, before my menopausal timer binged. But not here in Lancaster County; that would be like searching for a rooster in the middle of Lake Washington.

Steering my rental to Beth's house, I felt drained of energy. I'd appreciated my aunts' attention, but wasn't used to a barrage of advice. Would these dear women drive me nuts if we got together on a regular basis, or would I merge into their conversations, finding their words a sign they cared about my future?

My thoughts turned to Dori, whom I'd always considered an aunt. But she wasn't, really. With three hours' time difference, she'd be working in the Amish Shoppe right now. Saint Dori, I might dub her for managing the store in Mom's absence. Odd, Mom hadn't asked to use my cell phone to call her. My mother's thoughts usually encompassed her business; she verged on being a control freak when it came to the Amish Shoppe. And her knitting. She hadn't begged me to purchase her new needles nor had she borrowed a pair from Mommy Anna or Greta—not that I'd seen either woman knitting.

Pulling to the side of the road, I punched in the store's telephone number. It rang four times, then Dori answered with a breathy, “The Amish Shoppe. This is Dori speaking.” She told me she was having a blast, but was too busy to chat. “I'm in the middle of ringing up a sales transaction. I sold a bench—the one by the fireplace—and two pillows. Got to run.”

Minutes later, I parked in Beth's driveway. Again, I admired the look of her home's stone facade, extensive lawn, and garden. I spotted Beth raking maple leaves onto a plastic tarp. She waved, then gathered the tarp's corners and tossed the leaves into a compost bin at the side of her garage.

Her dog, Missy, trotted toward me with wagging tail. Beth set the rake aside, propping it against the garage. “What a lovely surprise.” Her gaze canvassed my dress and apron. “Don't you look—different.”

I stroked Missy between the ears and she leaned against my leg. “It's a loaner from Nathaniel, left over from his daughters. And a straight pin is sticking into my waist at this very moment.” I reached behind my apron, extracted the pin, and slid it in the apron's pocket. “My mother was horrified when she saw me dressed like this.”

“Understandable, after all this time. I imagine she has many memories. I'm glad she has you to keep her company.”

“Oh, we've had plenty of that. Four aunts stopped by, all wanting my mother and me to get baptized Amish and move to Montana with them.”

Beth chuckled. “There's no shortage of advice around here.”

Missy nuzzled her nose against my hand, begging for attention, which I gladly bestowed upon her.

“May I speak to you in confidence?” I asked Beth. I'd decided I could trust her.

“Yes,” she said. “What you tell me stays here.”

“I don't believe Mommy Anna wants to move.” I ran my fingers across Missy's satiny ear. “I can't help wondering if my aunts do, either. Don't they have a say in their future?”

“Yes. But ultimately, the bishop, preachers, deacons, husbands, and men in general hold higher positions on the hierarchy.”

“Couldn't Mommy Anna stay, somehow?” I assumed Beth knew of Mommy Anna's health problems. Or did she? Since Beth wasn't Amish, she might not be privy to family issues.

Beth lifted her chin to survey the two-story garage, its taupe exterior turning apricot from the setting sun. “I suppose Roger and I could rent her the bedroom and bathroom over the garage. The upstairs would only require cleaning and a coat of paint, and new space heaters. It even has a phone, which Anna could use since this would be a rental. We could charge her a nominal amount. In fact, she could pay us back by baking bread, on days she feels up to it. She'd be more than welcome to use my kitchen.”

“That sounds perfect.”

“She was a lifesaver when I was at my lowest. I'd do anything for her. But honestly, I think Anna would miss her children and grandchildren too much. And I'm not sure she's strong enough to live by herself.”

“Yet she's too frail to travel across the country,” I said.

“I have no say there. If I had my way, I'd drive her to Philadelphia to a physician who specializes in fibromyalgia. Not that we don't have fine doctors in the area and a top-notch hospital. One reason my father moved here when I was a teen.”

“Which brings me to another question, if I'm not being too nosy. I did the math in my head. I figure you and my mother lived next door to each other for at least a year.”

Beth took the rake, turned it upside-down, and picked dried leaves from its tines. “Yes. At that time, my mother had lung cancer, which ultimately took her life.” She leaned the rake against the garage, but it tipped over, landing on her foot. I retrieved it and propped up the handle.

“Your mother was stepping into Rumspringa, joining what's called a gang,” she said. “In all fairness, I was younger. I don't think Esther noticed me. If I'd been Amish, maybe our paths would have crossed more.”

“And you would have been friends?”

Her face drained of color. “I don't know if I'd go that far.”

“How could she not notice you, her next-door neighbor?” I asked.

“The truth? Esther never seemed to like me.” Her words took me by surprise.

“After my mother died, while Dad was working—he had to support us—I was on my own after school,” she said. “Soon after Esther left, I ventured down to Anna's and she took me in. She had a heart for the sad and lonely, maybe because she was so despondent herself, what with missing Esther and losing her husband.” Beth glanced down the road toward Mommy Anna's farm. “Anna hired me after school and on the weekends to help look after her sons and clean house. She paid me back with eggs and milk, and sewing and cooking lessons. And hugs.” Beth wrapped her hands around her forearms. “I needed those the most.”

“And your father?”

“He lives in a Mennonite retirement center not far away. He gave Roger and me this house as our wedding present.”

“He sounds great.”

“He is. I hit the jackpot in the father department.”

Unlike me, I thought, then reminded myself Beth had lost her mother at an early age.

With Missy at her side, Beth moved toward the kitchen door. The dog bolted ahead, letting out a yip.

“She wants her dinner,” Beth said. We followed Missy on the stone path.

“I wonder how many pups she'll have,” I said. “I bet they'll be adorable.

“Zachary thinks six. He's usually right about everything when it comes to animals.”

“No wonder she's hungry. I wish I could be here when they're born.”

“According to Zach, she's got another month to go. Can you wait?”

“I'm guessing a border collie wouldn't make a good stay-in-the-backyard-all-day dog while I'm at work.”

“You're right. She demands constant activity or she'll entertain herself. Like chasing the chickens or herding the neighbor's sheep.”

“My mother's in the shop during the day—”

“Then a fluffy, cuddly lap dog might be best for her,” Beth cut in. “If Esther even likes dogs.” For the first time, her voice took on a raspy tinge of sarcasm. She paused, as if deep in thought, then moved to the kitchen door around the side of the house. “Have you come to use your computer?”

“Yes, if it's no trouble.” I'd temporarily forgotten about my laptop. I preferred conversing with a woman who might answer my many questions.

First on the list: Why had neither my mother nor Beth mentioned they'd lived almost next door to each other? Another thought: Had Beth known my father? She must have noticed him passing by her house before he took off. Not to mention my queries about Nathaniel and his deceased wife. Had Beth known her? How did the woman die? Had Nathaniel remained single by choice? Was he infatuated with Lizzie?

Missy circled back and wove between Beth and me as we proceeded to the kitchen.

“Is your husband home?” I asked.

“No, not yet. Three more days in LA at a conference. Roger's in construction equipment, the regional manager. He's always traveled, so I'm used to it. Which doesn't mean I don't miss him.”

“I imagine you would.” I tried sounding sympathetic, when in fact the only man I had to miss was my dad.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” She gave me a sly wink. “But I have our three children and two grandchildren. How about you?”

“I'm still single.” I slouched my shoulders like I felt sorry for myself. I suppose I did.

“Waiting for a knight in shining armor to come riding up on a white steed?” she said.

“No, I'm more realistic than that. But it does seem a component is missing from every man I meet.” At least Nathaniel owned a horse, I reminded myself.

“I know an eligible young man,” she said. “My Zachary's coming for dinner tonight. Would you care to join us? Ham, string beans from the garden, and scalloped potatoes.”

“Sounds delicious. I'm tempted.” I glanced down at my Amish apron and dress, and pictured myself through Zach's scrutinizing eyes. “My aunts certainly think highly of your son.” I imagined he was used to having women fawn over him. He probably considered himself superior; that's how he came off this morning. A Mr. Know-It-All. No, I was being overly critical.

“I'd better get back to my grandma's for supper,” I said. “She's taking a nap right now.”

“I can't blame her for wanting every moment with you, but I doubt she's awake yet.”

“You know more about my grandmother's habits than Mom and I do.” I felt like a book missing its cover and half its chapters.

She pulled open the kitchen door as Missy zeroed in on her empty food bowl.

I inhaled the bouquet of baking ham, cloves, and brown sugar. “Smells delish. After my huge lunch, how can I contemplate eating again?”

“That was hours ago. And it sounds like you've had a busy day.” She poured kibble into Missy's dish and the dog dove in.

“Did I tell you about my buggy ride with Nathaniel King?” I said.

“Nathaniel took the afternoon off? That doesn't sound like him. Although it's not every day Anna's granddaughter comes to town.”

“My grandma practically forced him, but I think both Nathaniel and I had fun. And I got to borrow this outfit.” Never mind that I'd scudded across the mud like a walrus to earn it.

She tilted her head. “Which buggy did you use?”