Leaving Lancaster (24 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

“Isaac, I'm staying here too,” Esther said. She would not allow her brother, even a preacher, a man chosen by God, to intimidate her or Holly.

Isaac let out a guffaw. “I'm bettin' you'll both be gone in a month. 'Tis
narrich
. Crazy. No way three women can make it on their own.” Several men in the room chuckled and nodded in agreement.

“I'll be taking care of planting the crops and milkin' the cows,” Nathaniel said. He shot Esther a grin. “I'll leave the women the chicken coop, provide them with fresh milk, and look after their horse and buggy.”

Holly folded her arms across her chest. “Mom, what about the Amish Shoppe?”

Esther couldn't blame her daughter for her doubts—like ravenous crows cawing in Holly's ears. How long would it take to rebuild the bridge between them? If ever.

“I spoke to Dori yesterday,” Esther said, feeling as if she were on stage under the cone of a spotlight. “We have an arrangement worked out.”

Dori had sounded ecstatic when Esther mentioned she'd met a man. “It's your turn, Esther,” Dori had said. “Jim and I can handle everything at this end.”

“I'll help Anna,” Beth said, garnering everyone's attention. “After all these years, I know her as well as anyone. Zach will lend a hand too, won't you?”

“Sure.” Zach smiled in Holly's direction. Were the two flirting with each other right in the middle of a family crisis? Esther felt like demanding his intentions, but feared Holly would ask Esther about Nathaniel, who was moving to her side like a benevolent companion.

Ach, no two ways about it, Esther did love Nathaniel.

Was Samuel watching Esther from heaven? Would he be disappointed or pleased? Surely he'd approve of a righteous man like Nathaniel King.

“None of yous got no business meddling in our family affairs,” Isaac said, his voice booming.

“I'm Anna's daughter too.” Esther tried to exude self-assurance when in fact she was trembling. “Like it or not, Isaac, I am family.”

“Some daughter you've shown yourself to be,” her sister-in-law Mary Ann said, her hands akimbo. “Beth's more a daughter to her than you are.”

Beth funneled her words to Esther. “Have you told Holly and the bishop everything?” she said.

Esther didn't dare ask what Beth was referring to. Esther wished she'd spilled the whole can of beans when it came to Samuel's death and the army benefits, but she wasn't about to backtrack now.

“Mom, there's more you haven't told me?” Holly said.

Esther felt like an injured squirrel with buzzards circling overhead. Her hands covered her ears, then slid to the base of her throat.

“That's enough, everyone,” Nathaniel said. “Leave Esther be.”

“And I won't stand by listenin' to you squabble on the Lord's Day,” Bishop Troyer said. “You must agree to let bygones be bygones.”

“But I deserve honest answers,” Holly said. Chin lifted, she strode over to Esther. “I have the right to know every detail.”

“Show respect to your mother,” Nathaniel said. “That goes for you, too, Isaac.”

Esther was so filled with thankfulness she couldn't help herself from widening her mouth into a smile. Yes, she would marry him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The Boeing 757 touched down on the Philadelphia International Airport tarmac with a bump and a skid. A rough landing, but nothing about the last couple of weeks had been as soft as the satin pillowcase I'd left behind in Seattle.

The bottle blonde in the next seat closed her book. About my age, she wore a plunging magenta V-neck sweater and a black above-the-knee skirt, giving the world a view of her sculpted legs.

She poked her toes into her high heels. “Are you here for work, on holiday, or headed home?” she asked me, the first words she'd spoken since we'd embarked after my layover in Chicago.

“I'm not really sure.” Conflicting memories reverberated in my thoughts. I recalled my first night in Lancaster County, Mom and my staying with Beth, then Mom's hesitation to see Mommy Anna the next morning. I still didn't comprehend my mother's motives, why she'd left and never returned when she had two loving parents. Why she'd lied to me.

My fellow passenger shoved the paperback into her sack purse and ran a hand over her pantyhose, a contrast to my wrinkled slacks. “Sounds more intriguing than the book I'm reading.” She must have detected trepidation in my voice.

“Sorry if I sounded snippy,” I said. “It's been a long day.” My retrospections reeled back to the blow-up in the kitchen, to Bishop Troyer's admonishing Beatrice to forgive Mom. The two women embracing each other. Their tears.

“My immediate plans are to visit relatives,” I said, noticing I'd dribbled coffee down the front of my blouse—also wrinkled. I wouldn't mention where I was headed; I was too exhausted to answer questions.
Ferhoodled
, Mommy Anna would call me.

I'd been hesitant leaving my grandma for the few days I'd spent in Seattle gathering winter clothes and sending Mom her knitting supplies. “
Da Herr sei mit du
—the Lord be with you,” Mommy Anna had said as I climbed into the passenger van headed for the airport several days ago. Mom stood at her side, their arms linked, a sight I never imagined witnessing. Perhaps it was a temporary truce to placate me.

Three days ago, part of me had been tickled to land in Seattle, but my hometown seemed too hectic and the air laden with exhaust fumes. A honking car in the alley woke me in the middle of the night, followed by a siren out on the main street. The next morning, while helping me box up my mother's yarn, needles, and patterns, Dori riddled me with questions about Mom, who'd revealed a pending marriage proposal from a widower. According to Dori, Mom wouldn't return to visit Seattle until late February, when snow blanketed Lancaster County.

A wagonload of uncertainties still lingered in the recesses of my mind, haunting me. Were mysteries hiding under Mommy Anna's rag rugs? What about Jeremiah's letters that never reached Seattle? If my Grandma Beatrice hadn't given them to Mommy Anna, why didn't she confess her lying to the bishop? I had to wonder if one of my grandmothers had her own secret shoebox full of letters just like Mom's. My major concern was: Could I be content living in a rural community populated with men wearing beards, suspenders, and straw hats, their attire mandated by church law? The saying “Clothes don't make a man” looped through my brain. Should I wear a dress and apron fastened together by straight pins? What did I know about country life, about keeping chickens and gathering eggs, not to mention harnessing a horse and driving a buggy?

The jet rolled to the terminal and the hatch opened. I glanced out the window and saw the sun hovering above the horizon. Almost dinnertime, but I hadn't eaten more than a mini bag of pretzels for eight hours.

“Hope your trip goes well,” the woman said, giving her coifed hair a fluff.

“Thanks. You, too.”

She shimmied her arms into her Chanel-style jacket matching her skirt, a suit I would have coveted if I were still working for Mel. I noticed she was wearing a diamond tennis bracelet, but no wedding band.

I stretched to my feet, clonking my head on the overhead bin, and checked my empty seat, making sure I hadn't forgotten any belongings. In truth, I'd left everything behind: neighbors I'd known my whole life, luxuries like TVs, dishwashers, central heating. And cars. I did a self-inventory. I was a thirty-seven-year-old over-the-hill has-been with zilch in the bank, no job, and no husband or children.

But I'd gained what I longed for most. A family.

Of sorts.

I followed the slow-moving passengers into the terminal, descended to baggage claim, and scanned the area awash with strangers. I searched for Beth, who'd agreed to pick me up and take me to Mommy Anna's. On the drive to the farm I planned to delve into conversation with her. I had an inkling she knew more about my mother's history and my father's death.

Or should I abandon the sketchy past? Let go and let God, a slogan I'd seen on car bumpers that might serve me well. If I was willing to allow a pilot—a complete stranger—to transport me across the country, why didn't I trust God to make all things perfect? Because he never had before.

Soon I'd get to see Mommy Anna again, but my future was like the fog the aircraft had muscled through back at Sea-Tac Airport. How did the pilot know which way to steer the jet?

Amidst the Philadelphia airport's hubbub I felt alone and glum. I decided to take a moment to pray, an uncustomary practice.

Eyes open, I began in my head:
Dearest Lord, I'm sorry I haven't been checking in with you …

When I prayed, I often felt weak and powerless because I was giving up control to an entity I couldn't see or touch. Were my prayers like floating ribbons of dissolving smoke?

A blaring sound assaulted my eardrums, startling me, indicating luggage was being discharged onto the metal conveyer belt. I trailed the crowd to its perimeter and noticed Zach across the way. He waved and strode over to me. He wore a sports jacket over a collared shirt and slacks rather than his usual work clothes. He looked better than I'd remembered.

“Hello, stranger.” He gave me a one-arm hug, reminding me of the jet's recent landing: awkward and clumsy. I didn't know how to respond. In truth, I'd daydreamed about Zach while I was gone, weighing the possibility of a future relationship.

I gazed up at his handsome features. Part of me wanted to hug him back, but I didn't trust my emotions. Did Zach and I share common ground, or were our paths destined to travel in opposite directions?

“Why are you here?” I said, not the cordial greeting he deserved. Sometimes I sounded as brusque as Grandma Beatrice. “I mean—hello, Zach. I was expecting Beth.”

“Hope you don't mind. My mother gave me your flight number.” He took my carry-on and slung the strap over his shoulder. “Good to see you,” he said.

“Even after I ruined Mommy Anna's party?” I shuddered to think how abominably I'd acted. “I wouldn't blame everyone for wanting to be rid of me. I'm glad I had the foresight to apologize to the bishop.”

Zach's eyes focused on my face so intently I wondered if he were the bearer of bad news, but then the corner of his mouth hinted of a smile. “I think you'll find,” he said, “you've been forgiven.” He turned and glanced at the parade of suitcases straggling past us on the carousel. I pointed at the bulky suitcase Dori had given me and said she didn't want back.

“Could you get that for me?” I asked.

“Would you please grab mine, too?” the svelte blonde who'd sat next to me said, giving Zach a winning smile, her lips glossy mauve. I hadn't paid her much attention until now and realized she was stunning: willowy, with a flawless face that was Miss America material.

“Sure.” Zach dragged both suitcases off the carousel. “There you go,” he told her.

“Thank you, kind sir.” She winked at me, her lashes lavish enough for a Maybelline advertisement. “You said you were visiting family. Are you two related?”

“Good friends,” Zach said.

“In that case.” She handed him her business card. “If you're ever in Philly, give me a jingle.”

“Okay. Thanks.” He slipped the card into his breast pocket, then pulled up the handle of her suitcase. “Can you manage okay?”

“Sure, I don't work out five days a week for nothing. What's your name?”

“Zachary Fleming.”

If they set up a date right in front of me I was going to scream. “Sorry, we need to be on our way,” I told her. “We're expected somewhere.” I extended my suitcase's handle and stepped between them. I was tempted to roll its wheels over her shoes' pointy toes.

“Perhaps another time,” she said to Zach, her voice as creamy as Mommy Anna's caramel pudding.

Minutes later, Zach maneuvered my suitcase through the garage and stowed it in the back of his pickup. After he paid for parking, we headed to the outskirts of New Holland. My new home? Again, I relived my jangled nerves the night Mom and I first arrived. I felt just as nervous this evening, but in a different way.

“I wondered if you'd return,” Zach said, “or if you'd prefer your real life in the big city.”

“I don't know what's real, anymore.” I fished my hand in my purse to make sure I had my wallet, cell phone, and keys. Not that I needed car keys anymore. “Sleeping in my comfy bed was a treat, as was using my hairdryer.” I forced myself to settle into the pickup's bench seat. “Thank you for coming to get me,” I said, remembering my manners. And because I was glad to see him, particularly after fending off that determined blonde.

“My pleasure,” he said. “My assistant was in this afternoon and my answering service will call if an emergency arises.” He brought out his cell phone to glance at the screen, and the blonde's business card fell to the floor. Zach ignored it—maybe for my benefit. Would he scramble to retrieve her telephone number later? I felt protective—and possessive.

I wouldn't mention my dinner date last night with Larry Haarberg, who'd hinted he'd come see me if I didn't return to Seattle on my own. “I thought about you the whole time you were gone,” Larry had professed over chicken parmesan at his favorite Italian bistro. “Don't be surprised if I show up at your grandma's doorstep.”

I hadn't kissed him good night or even hugged him. I could do a lot worse than Larry, I reminded myself, crossing my ankles. Our friendship might have developed into love, given time. But I could say the same about Zach. Unless he'd only picked me up as a favor to Beth.

“I received a tempting job offer while I was in Seattle,” I told Zach. “My former boss offered me a new position. But I turned him down.” The dumbest move of my life? “I told him I couldn't because I'd promised to take my grandmother to a quilting bee in a couple days, and he laughed out loud.”

Zach glanced my way and chuckled. After witnessing my erratic behavior, he most likely wondered why anyone would hire me to work in the stock market.

“I'm all thumbs and nervous about going to this quilting frolic.” I tightened my seat belt, then loosened it. “Are these fingers too old to learn new skills? Am I stuck a city gal for life?”

“You're too young to be stuck.”

“I wish. Did you know I'm in my late thirties?” I held my breath—out of fear.

“Yes,” he said. “About my age.” He flipped on his radio to an oldies station, the volume down low.

“Growing old always looks better on men,” I said.

“Hold on, neither of us is over the hill yet.”

Amidst a caravan of cars and trucks, we drove past factories and urban sprawl. I relived Mom's and my first night here, learning Mom hadn't contacted Mommy Anna to announce our arrival, panic thrumming in my arteries as I jockeyed through traffic to Beth's home. I'd felt like Alice in Wonderland plummeting into a cavernous hole.

Zach angled us west, choosing back roads instead of the highway. The lowering coral-pink sun, suspended in the sky like a Chinese lantern, drew us to the horizon. The mellow scenery of rolling hills, farms, and pastureland unfolded ahead of us like a panoramic movie screen. I cracked the window and breathed in the rich essence of drying cornhusks. After an hour or so, I saw a horse and buggy approaching from the opposite direction. My heart filled with elation. Yet I noticed I was gripping the door handle.

I detached my fingers and laid my hands in my lap, but found myself fiddling with my purse.

Zach slowed us to a crawl when we passed a buggy, a red reflective triangle on its rear. The driver waved and Zach raised a hand in return.

“Do you know him?” I asked.

“No, just being friendly.”

“I like that people are welcoming and considerate here. In the city, hand gestures are often shows of frustration, to put it nicely.”

“For the most part folks are hospitable, although we get millions of tourists each year. Some of them are rather impatient.”

“Like me?”

Zach chuckled.

I initiated chitchat about the Amish Shoppe and its new website. “Business is better than ever without Mom or me being there.” I tried to sound upbeat when in fact fatigue enveloped me. “Did I tell you we have a real Amish buggy sitting out on the front porch? I used to play in it as a child.”

“Holly, it almost sounds like you haven't planted both feet here.”

“No, I'm still undecided.”

“Straddling the fence, as they say. Half in and half out of the Plain life.”

“My laptop is in my carry-on and my cell phone's in my purse. I don't want to give them up.”

“You won't have to unless you're planning to get baptized Amish. You should check out our Mennonite church. Want to come with me on Sunday?”

Zack's arms were relaxed, his fingers tapping the steering wheel to a tune by the Byrds, a group long since disbanded, barely audible on the oldies station—a song my Mom sometimes hummed. Had she and Dad sung it in San Francisco? I could only remember the opening line: “To everything, turn, turn …”