Leaving Lancaster (21 page)

She noticed the phone shanty off to her right. She'd told Holly she was going to call Dori, and she should. Was it too early in Seattle? No, but Esther placed her priorities in order—she'd tackle the hardest job first. She passed by the phone. If Holly asked, she'd say someone else was using it. No she wouldn't. No more lies. Not after a lifetime of fabrications. She asked God for the strength to keep honest with Holly. With everyone, including herself.

She clambered, the boots several sizes too big, to catch up with Nathaniel, but couldn't. His pace was long and purposeful. He didn't stop until he circled his house and reached his back steps, where he stomped his feet to loosen caked mud.

By then she was panting. “Nathaniel! Wait up.”

His eyebrows rose. “Esther.
Willkumm.”

She felt a blush of embarrassment for chasing after him.

“It wonders me ta see you here.” He removed his hat and raked a hand through his flattened hair. “Have ya come with your answer? To make this old-timer happy?”

Was he toying with her? Trying to make himself look meek, when in fact he held all the cards?

“You're not old,” she said, catching her breath and hoping to sound nonchalant. “You're younger than I am.”

“Not by much, as I recall. When you get to be our age, who's countin' anymore?”

“You're still young enough to start another family.”

The back door blew open and a bouncy young woman strode outside, her creaseless apron and dress swishing above trim ankles. “There you are, Nate. Glad you're back.” Her blonde hair was parted down the center and nary a rogue curl peeked out from behind her pressed prayer cap. Her blue eyes sparkled as her gaze enfolded Nathaniel. Holly's junior by eight to ten years, the young woman's creamy-white skin seemed as smooth as Esther's favorite porcelain teacup.

“I was gonna run home while the banana bread's in the oven, but didn't want to leave the house.” She caught sight of Esther and the young woman's rosebud mouth transformed into a contrived smile, her lips covering her teeth. “Gut mornin',” she said, her voice losing its enthusiasm. “I didn't realize we had company.”

“Esther, I'd like ya to meet Lizzie,” Nathaniel said.

Esther assumed Nathaniel would introduce Lizzie as his daughter or niece, but upon second thought, no daughter or niece ever gazed at her father or uncle with such appreciation. The twenty-something, well into marrying age in these parts, was infatuated, Esther thought—in love with Nathaniel. Surely he must know.

“Hello.” Esther attempted to muster a smile. She hadn't bothered to peek in a mirror before leaving the house. She'd never felt so dowdy and obsolete.

“Nice ta meetcha.” Lizzie inspected Esther's slacks and clunky boots. “I'll be right back before the bread's done.” Then she flitted out of the barnyard and onto a lane, what must be a shortcut to her parents' farm.

“I see you have an admirer,” Esther said, her mouth dry.

“She comes once a day to help clean and cook. She's like a daughter to me.”

“She's—she's young enough to be your daughter.” Esther felt a prickle of envy, making no sense. Why would she care whom Nathaniel married? Didn't she suspect his proposal was a scam? Some in the community might think Nathaniel's accumulation of land was a sign of greediness—but a marriage might satisfy the bishop and muffle wagging tongues.

The aroma of banana bread wafted through the screen door and Nathaniel sniffed the air. “Yah, she's like a daughter,” he said with fondness in his voice. He glanced across the barnyard as if waiting for Lizzie to return.

“I imagine she'd like to be more than a housekeeper.” Esther figured fair-haired Lizzie had many suitors since she'd turned sixteen, but was saving herself for Nathaniel. “Perhaps your wife?”

He chortled. “Get hitched to an old coot like me?”

“Sure, why not?” She glanced around Nathaniel's estate, taking in the size of his barn, outbuildings, silos, and house. Neat as a pin, Dori might say. Esther admired his attention to orderly detail, but kept her thoughts on the subject looming ahead. “Don't you want more children? How can you run your farm without Kinner?”

“Don't worry about that. There are plenty of young men lookin' for work in these parts. You probably don't know how much has changed since you left. There's not enough land for every man and his family to farm, so a whole lot are workin' for others or starting their own businesses. Some get bussed to construction sites with lunch pails, which the bishop don't like one bit.”

“My dat would have hated working anywhere but the farm,” Esther said, trying to visualize Amishmen laboring in factories. “Farming is all he ever knew or wanted. How can the Amish way of life continue without the man of the house at home teaching his children how to farm? Not to mention the women. Must they work outside the home too?”

“Some single women do, like Lizzie. A few wives operate their own businesses, apart from their husbands. That's why your brothers are buying farmland where they can expand for generations. They don't want their children learning an industrial trade when they could be plowing and sowing, raising livestock, and keeping the family and faith strong. It was a tough decision. Isaac and your brothers prayed long and hard, consulted the bishop, and asked God for direction.”

“I didn't know their reasons or that making a living in these parts was so challenging.”

“The local economy ain't that bad, what with the tourists. A couple years back, a friend leased out his farm. He opened a business building diesel engines and installing them in used electrical appliances for the People. When his company grew too big and prosperous, with ten employees, he sold it to an Englischer for a tidy profit. Then my friend and his family up and moved to Indiana where he bought several farms for his children, with money left over.”

“You've done well for yourself, too, Nathaniel.”

“My organic produce is popular all over the state. 'Tis the Lord's doing.” He tugged his beard. “I have more than I need, for sure.”

“Then why are you gobbling up my mamm and Isaac's property?”

“Hold on.” Nathaniel set his hat back on his head, pushing long bangs over his eyebrows. “Ya make me sound like a swindler. I made an above-market-rate offer on Anna's farm. She and Isaac accepted.”

“What were you and Isaac arguing about?”

“Nothing to do with money, that much I can promise.”

“In any case, you're a wealthy man, Nathaniel. What we call an eligible bachelor in Seattle.”

“If you're referring to my expanding farm, my bishop says 'tis essential not to become proud. My financial success is a gift from God. But in other ways I ain't so successful. I've been a lonely man for many a year.”

“I bet Lizzie would like to give you companionship,” Esther said. “She ogles you like you're a movie star.” Lizzie was probably prohibited from attending the movies unless still in her Rumspringa and could do as she pleased. Who knew what favors she'd granted to Nathaniel. No, Esther couldn't stand to let herself visualize him with another woman. Yet she had no right.

He positioned his hat at a jaunty slant, enough to tell Esther he was amused. “Lizzie's my daughter Tina's best friend, her husband's younger sister,” he said.

“Then you're already related, but not by blood. An easy transition to matrimony, when you think about it.”

He let out a belly laugh. “I have plenty of friends and relatives. What I need is a wife.”

He took Esther's hand and she felt a tingling rush of warmth cascade through her arm and chest, like back in the days of her youth. With Samuel. Nathaniel could never replace her beloved Samuel any more than she could replace his former wife. Still, Esther had been desperately lonely.

Her fingers wrapped around his. She couldn't control them. She stared at their hands, entwined—his almost twice the size of hers—and savored the feel of his calloused skin.

She stared up into his face, drank in his rugged features. The two stood motionless, like the hickory trees growing behind his barn.

She shuddered inside as a hurricane of forewarnings brewed through her mind like the stormiest winter's wind. She hardly knew Nathaniel aside from childhood. She lived in Seattle. She was too old to remarry. She owned the Amish Shoppe and had planned to live out her days running it.

She wouldn't allow impetuous actions to steer her life as they had in the past.

“What am I doing?” she said, and let go of his hand. Hers fell against her thigh like a lifeless appendage, but his remained outstretched.

“We're not equally yoked,” she said. “You know 'tis true. No bishop would marry us. Even should I decide to bend at the knees and be baptized, I would still love the Lord Jesus above all and continue to study his Word.”

“As it should be. We'll make it work, my dearest Esther.
Ich liebe ich
. I love you.”

Esther remembered the Dionne Warwick song “The Look of Love.” Did she see “the look” in Nathaniel's eyes? He'd seemed to gaze into Esther's very soul the other night and again right now, but maybe his intensity was a sham. There was too much she didn't know about him.

She felt dizzy, teetering on the edge of a cliff, contemplating giving up her previous world and falling into Nathaniel's waiting arms. Would he catch her?

“
Ich auch
—me too—I love you, too, Nathaniel,” sailed out of her mouth. Her other hand flew up to cover her lips. What had she just said? Words she swore she'd never repeat to a man other than Samuel.

Nathaniel found her hand and kissed her fingertips. “Gut, we can announce our plans tomorrow on nonpreaching Sunday. We'll tell your daughter, your mamm, and Isaac.”

“Hold on. I didn't say I'd marry you.”

His grin widened. “But you haven't said no, either.”

“Holly won't be happy.”

“Why not?” Nathaniel stroked Esther's cheek with tenderness. “She can't expect her father to come back from the grave any more than I expect my former wife to return.” He leaned down and gave her a brief kiss.

She pined for more, to be enwrapped in his powerful arms. But she stepped back a few feet.

“Nathaniel, you and I need to talk. I'm a master at sweeping the dust under the carpet. But not this time.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

“I've come to a monumental decision,” I told Beth as I opened my laptop. Dressed in my slacks—after battling the zipper—and a turtleneck, I perched on the love seat in her living room while she sat on the carpeted floor mending a small rag rug, looping stitches over unraveled threads.

Beth pushed the needle through the thick fabric and gave it a tug. “I hope this means you'll be sticking around.”

Missy lay against Beth's leg, the dog's ribs further expanded with her litter of pups. I reached out to stroke Missy's belly and felt movement, making me want to own a puppy. Or to feel a child growing within me? No, too late, I told myself. Give up on that fantasy.

I opened my laptop and logged in. “I'm not leaving until I solve the riddle of Mommy Anna's poor health. I'm baffled the family hasn't made her physical and mental welfare their main concern. I watched her bumbling around the kitchen today, getting out egg after egg, but no one's mentioned her memory lapses.”

“They've tried their best, taking her to physicians and using home remedies. Isaac let me escort Anna to my naturopathic doctor, who tested her for everything she could think of, including Lyme disease. But each lab result returned negative.” She punched her needle into a pincushion—a miniature stuffed quilt. “I wish I could give you better news.”

“So Uncle Isaac will drag Mommy Anna across the country where she'll die in pain or wander off and get lost?”

“Maybe the fresh air and altitude will agree with her.” I figured Beth's words were meant as encouragement, but her gaze remained downcast.

“Surely you've noticed my grandmother's memory is coming unglued,” I said.

“Yes, it's muddled, and yes, I'll miss her terribly. I've been keeping my distance to give you and your mother more time, but I usually visit Anna every day.”

“Is there no way to stop her from leaving?” I asked. “Besides the stress of the trip, in a new environment she'll be disoriented and more likely to fall. I'll bet there isn't a decent hospital in the area if she breaks a hip.”

“We don't know that.” Her smooth face gave the impression of serenity, but she fumbled with a needle, tangling the thread. “Montana isn't a third-world nation,” she said.

“True.” I scanned my messages. Ever since we'd been here, I'd forgotten to keep tabs on the stock market, my usual ritual.

“Any news from home?” Beth asked.

“Nope. A dozen spam and two emails from Larry, a guy I know. He wants me to come home right away or says he'll jump on the next plane and visit me here.”

“Sounds serious.” Beth sat taller. With her blonde hair and elegant posture, she was a beautiful woman. Unlike Mom, who didn't wear makeup and never changed her hairdo. Although, when I thought about it, Mom fit right in around here. And her skin was naturally smooth.

“Has he popped the question?” Beth asked.

“No, no—we've never even been out on an official date. I'm surprised by his persistence. My guess is Larry's chasing after me because I'm so far away.”

“Don't discount yourself, Holly. I wager many a man would find you irresistible.”

I wondered: Was I still pretty, or had I turned bland? Today, I was wearing makeup, but might feel more comfortable with a freshly scrubbed face, clad in the Amish dress and apron. Before I'd left the house, I told Mommy Anna I'd help her wash them and my jeans.

I crossed my ankles. “Larry really is a nice, supportive guy, but the last thing I need is another distraction. Which reminds me, I should call Hertz. I can pick up another car, but I'm too nervous to get behind the wheel after my accident. I never thought I'd be afraid to drive.” I longed for the slowpoke pace of a buggy ride. “Here's a thought: Larry could rent a car and chauffer me around.”

“My Zach and I can do that. Just say the word.”

“After waiting for me to get cleaned up and then drive me over here, Zach is probably sick of the sight of me.”

“No, he's not.” Beth tickled Missy behind her ears and the dog closed her eyes. “I shouldn't be telling you this, but I think my son's sweet on you.”

Had I heard her right? I glanced up from my computer screen and tried to catch her expression, but saw only her profile as she rethreaded her needle.

“He was a lifesaver with the cow,” I said. “And then the tow-truck driver. No wisecracks or lectures about my carelessness, which I certainly deserved.” Perhaps as a veterinarian Zach was trained to encourage distressed pet owners, not to mention local farmers, who depended on their livestock to plow fields and feed families. Or maybe Zach was born with a naturally calm temperament like his mother's. Not such a bad trait.

As always, when I suspected a man was interested in me—not that I thought Zach found me dazzling—I was both flattered and alarmed. Head for the hills, I'd think. He'll lie and cheat on me like my former fiancé. Or worse, he'll disappear like my father. Even though Dad adored Mom and would have loved me, he'd left us stranded. Illogical childish thinking, I knew—because he didn't choose to die. But deep inside an undercurrent of loss saturated my veins.

“I doubt Zach was being anything more than kind to my mother and me,” I said. Now was my chance to do a little sleuthing of my own. “I wonder how he's managed to stay single for so long. He's successful and outgoing.” On the outside, I reminded myself. Who lived inside that handsome exterior?

“People could wonder the same thing about you. You're a beautiful young woman.”

“Ugh, I'm hardly young.”

“Then finding a husband should be a top priority, if you'll forgive me for being so forward.”

“Maybe I don't want a husband.” I forced a chuckle to hide my falsehood, because I did want a soul mate, a man I could trust.

“Most women wish to get married,” she said. “It sure is nice having my Roger around again. He got home last night, but is off running errands. I think you'll like him. How about joining us for dinner tonight?”

“Okay, thanks, I'd like to meet him, but need to check with Mommy Anna first.” My hunch was Beth's meal would include Zach at the table. Was she playing matchmaker? I should be flattered, but a feeling of apprehension grabbed hold of me. Zach couldn't possibly be interested.

“Today I want to focus on my grandma's health.” I got on Google and entered her symptoms. I came across several conditions and diseases I'd never heard of before. “Do you know if she's seen an endocrinologist?”

Beth stabbed the needle back into the pincushion. “I don't think so. I should warn you, at this point Anna may refuse to go to another doctor. And Isaac may forbid it.”

“He already has, but I'm not going to let him stop me from helping Mommy Anna. If the endocrinologist idea comes up empty, I could escort her to Montana and get a chance to meet my other uncles. I hear they'll need a schoolteacher.”

“Who should be Amish.”

“So I hear. Would my being baptized Amish be so terrible?” I'd been mulling the radical idea over in my mind—like picking up an agate at the beach and slipping it in my pocket, fingering its smoothness. “Aren't your Mennonite beliefs almost the same?”

“In many ways, yes. In fact, my grandparents on my mother's side were Amish, but they switched to the Mennonite church for a long list of reasons. As my parents recalled the story, the uproar nearly fractured our family.”

“Like mine. Thanks to my mother.” I was speaking boldly, so why not continue? “What is it about you and Mom? You carry an obvious grudge against each other.”

Beth tossed her pincushion on the coffee table, but it skidded off, plopping on the floor. “When we were young, I didn't make it easy for your mother to like me.” She folded the rag rug in half and reached for the pincushion. “I had a miserable crush on your father and Esther didn't appreciate my attentions one bit. I interpreted her leaving as a ploy to keep Samuel and me apart.”

I pictured striking and gregarious Beth as a young teen enticing my father away from Mom. “You were in love with Dad?” I felt like the cow I hit on the road.

“Puppy love is more like it. Infatuation.” She set the pincushion on the coffee table. “In college, I met Roger, my perfect match, and married him. I wasn't meant to lead the Amish life. Not that I don't love and respect my Amish friends and relatives dearly.” She stroked Missy's throat. “When Esther and Samuel ran off, and then Anna's husband, Levi, died, Anna grew so distraught she could barely function.”

Beth got to her feet and sat on the easy chair, her elbows resting on her knees. “When Anna finally heard from Esther and obtained her mailing address, she begged your mother to come home. And Samuel's father, Jeremiah, also wrote, warning Samuel he'd lose his conscientious objector draft exemption unless he returned right away or went to live in another Amish farming community.”

“What do you mean?”

“I assumed you knew. He would be drafted into the Vietnam War.”

“My dad could have been exempt if he'd stayed here?” I envisioned his faceless body among the throng of over fifty thousand American soldiers killed in Vietnam. “He was missing in action,” I said, although she must already know.

“Yes, MIA. His body never recovered, finally pronounced dead.”

The uncertainty of Dad's death still clawed at my heart. “Why would he have been exempt?”

“He was a pacifist, instructed from childhood to turn the other cheek—to never retaliate, as are all Amish and most Mennonites. In the fifties, Congress passed laws exempting Amish and other conscientious objectors from active duty due to their religious beliefs, but required them to perform civilian work contributing to the country's health and safety for two consecutive years, such as working in hospitals. Then—I think in 1969—Amishmen were allowed to perform farm labor instead of other duties.”

“Mom never told me.” My hands balled into fists, my fingernails jabbing into my palms. “It's her fault he died. She made him leave this safe haven and live in San Francisco.”

“That's how I saw it. Your grandfather's and then Samuel's death, and Anna's despair spurred my anger.” She unclipped her hair; it drooped forward. “I thought I was past my resentment and was surprised what came surging to the surface when I saw Esther the other night. I was being judgmental.”

“I don't blame you. I'm relieved Mommy Anna let us in the house. But she welcomed us.”

“Your mother didn't mean to intentionally hurt anyone.
She was so young.”

“And selfish.” The reality of Mom's transgressions broiled in my mind like a witch's caldron. “She still is. For instance, she came on to Nathaniel the moment she saw I might have a connection with him.”

The corners of Beth's mouth curved up. “Nathaniel's a good man, but he's too old for you. Are you sure he isn't more like a father figure?”

“A surrogate dad?” Was I that desperate? “You could be right.” My throat tightened around my words. Daddy never held me in his arms. When would the pain of not knowing him fade away? I'd asked God to lift my sorrow, but the void lingered like a black hole.

I felt stinging at the backs of my eyes. “That doesn't change the facts,” I said, trying to compose myself. “My mother lied to me. Did you know she told me Mommy Anna was dead? I have every right to hold my mother accountable.”

“Has she asked for forgiveness?”

“Last week I didn't know I had anything to forgive.”

Beth set the hair clip aside, tugged her flaxen strands back, and braided them. “Sorry if I sound preachy, but withholding mercy is a sin. Truthfully, even if she hadn't asked you, we are admonished by God to forgive others as he forgives us.”

I knew she was right, but my outrage took on an invigorating life of its own. Our pastor at church had spoken of unforgiveness: a chain around our necks holding us down, anchoring us to the past, and keeping us from fulfilling God's commandment to love one another.

“Mom told me my grandmother passed away before I was born and that all our relatives moved to places unknown. Can you imagine anything so cruel?”

“I'm sorry, Holly.” Beth's features turned somber. Missy gazed up at her as if she could understand her mistress's distress.

“I should mention, I wrote Esther,” Beth said. “In hindsight, I shouldn't have, knowing how she disliked me. But I stuck my nose where it didn't belong and my lack of compassion probably made matters worse.” She reached over her shoulder and tugged her braid. “I wrote again after Samuel's death and heard you were born, offering my condolences and also congratulations, and mentioning that since she'd turned her back on the Ordnung and her Amish heritage, she might as well accept the army's death benefits offered to widows. She was living Englisch. Why not take advantage of the army's help raising you?”

“Are you talking about money?” My voice squawked like a parakeet's.

“Yes. I think ten thousand dollars.”

“And she refused it?”

“The Ordnung forbids Amish from buying or accepting insurance benefits.”

“But she wasn't living Amish.” Incredulity rose in my throat like bile.

“I assume Esther was doing what she thought was right. I'm sure your parents' bishop would have agreed. Anna, too.”

The words
all Mom's fault!
screamed through my brain.

“When I was a kid, we were dirt poor. Growing up, I wore frumpy dresses Mom sewed for me. Worse than hand-me-downs. When old enough, I took the bus to the Goodwill and found used clothing I liked ten times more.”

Beth sat forward, clasped her hands. “I was wrong to bring up this subject. I should learn to keep my mouth shut.”

“I'm glad you told me. I deserve to know the truth. She deprived us of what was rightfully ours.” I planned to confront Mom on her deceitfulness, but didn't want Beth feeling guilt-ridden.