Secret, The (29 page)
“And, Heather, I’d like you to meet my longtime friend, who also happens to be my neighbor . . . Adah Esh.” Marian motioned for Heather to join them. “Care for some tea?”
“Thanks.” The young woman nodded and smiled. Adah and Marian were both wearing dark green cape dresses with an apron to match, and Heather appeared to be taking it all in. “Your kitchen smells fabulous,” Heather said, sitting at the table.
“Guess we should offer Heather some of your delicious pastries,” Marian said, opening the basket. “After all, they won’t be this warm tomorrow . . . or near as fresh.”
Heather laughed softly—like she was singing—before reaching in to pull out a great big bun, oozing sugar.
“Nobody can eat just one,” Adah said right quick, glancing at Marian.
Heather bit into the bun and her eyes grew as wide as quarters. She nodded her head again and again, apparently unable to speak. When she was finally able, she said, “Wow. A person could get addicted to this rich stuff.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” said Adah.
“None of us should eat so much fat . . . or sugar,” Marian added.
“What we
should
do and what we do are often very different,” Adah put in. Goodness, but she’d surprised herself by saying right out what was in the depths of her heart.
Oh,
Lettie . . .
She realized anew how empty Judah’s big house must seem to him and the children.
How very empty.
And for a moment, she felt nearly afraid.
Heather found herself completely taken in by the back-woodsy talk at Marian Riehl’s table. She loved the comical topsy-turvy idioms of the Amish. Things like, “throw the horse over the stall some hay,” or “those naughty boys oughta get more birchings—switchings!” and “outen the light.” To think she was going to spend her summer in the middle of all this charm!
Although Marian was a real sweetie, Adah Esh’s spunk and folksy wit appealed more to her. The way the older woman paused before speaking, her lips parted, seemingly thinking how best to express herself, caught her attention. She could just imagine Adah’s thoughts swirling . . . and what striking gray eyes!
“Your last name’s Nelson?” Adah asked her during a lull.
“That’s right.”
Marian raised her cup to her lips. “We don’t hear that name much round here.”
“You know, I heard a man named Nelson bought a small piece of land up a ways.” Adah tilted her head. “Could it be someone you know?”
The grandmotherly woman put things together faster than an e-book could download. “Might be my dad.”
The Amishwomen looked at each other.
“Unless there’s other land for sale nearby.”
Marian shook her head. “Land’s at a premium anymore— you just can’t get your hands on it. I’d say your dad’s mighty fortunate, if true.”
“What’s your father’s name?” asked Adah.
“Roan Nelson,” replied Heather. “He’s talked of building an Amish-style farmhouse on the four acres.”
“Oh?” Marian’s eyes brightened. “Will the house have electric?”
Heather laughed. “I sure hope so!”
“Will you raise a few head of cattle or have a dairy cow or two, then, also?” Adah asked.
“Neither one, I’d guess.”
This brought a trill of laughter, and Heather could see they were equally as interested in her as she was in them—if not more so.
Grace’s younger brother, Joe, came in for a drink of water, and she leaned against the counter, listening to him talk about the Riehls’ latest boarder. “Mammi Adah says she brought all kinds of stuff with her,” Joe said, talking up a storm.
“What sorts of things?”
“Armloads of books, mainly, Mammi said.” He scratched his head. “You must’ve heard ’bout this Virginia girl already, jah?”
“Mammi told me she was coming.”
Joe gulped down a tall glass of water and went to the sink for more. “Mammi says she’s come to stay put for a while. Has something called a thesis to write.”
Grace hadn’t heard this. “Must be highly schooled, then.”
“It’ll be interesting having another Englischer in the neighborhood, jah?”
Grace thought suddenly of Martin Puckett, certainly considered English, too. “Listen, Joe, I want you to help me stamp out the rumors ’bout Mamma and Martin Puckett. Okay?”
He nodded. “I was thinkin’ the same thing at Preachin’. He’s such a nice man . . . always so helpful to us.”
“
Gut,
then. Tell everyone you know that Martin’s at home and not off with Mamma. He never was, either.” Just saying it made her feel queasy.
Joe frowned, rubbing his chin. “Well, that might quiet the tittle-tattle where Martin’s concerned, but Mamma’s still gone. That much ain’t a rumor!”
“Gone, jah.”
Though hopefully I can change that.
T
he uncommon stillness awakened Heather the morning after her arrival. She lay in bed, pressing her fingers gently into her armpits to find the same tiny nodules—still no pain. She moved her hand along her rib cage, relieved there were no changes there, either. Her getting away might prove to be truly therapeutic. That, and being free from a deceitful toad of a fiancé!
She lay there relaxing, stretching, and pleasantly aware of the comfortable surroundings. She sighed, realizing she’d never again be held in Devon’s strong arms.
Where did I go wrong with Devon?
But she couldn’t let herself think of him anymore. He was out of her life through his own actions. Wasn’t it better this way than finding out later, closer to the wedding . . . or worse yet, even after?
She rolled over, fighting back a jumble of emotions—anger and sadness and bewilderment—and reached for her phone.
Sitting up, she checked for any missed calls during the night, never having been one to sleep with her phone on—and without electricity here, she needed to conserve her battery. She was glad to have brought along several replacement batteries for her laptop, but the phone had little power left, thanks to using the GPS so much yesterday. She’d have to go out and charge it up at a coffee shop somewhere, maybe look into getting a charger to use in her car, too.
When I’m back in real time,
she thought ironically, surprised at her own reluctance to venture away from the Riehls’ insulated setting.
At that moment, her dad’s cell number showed up and she listened to her voice mail.
“Why such a cryptic note, Heather?
Where’d you go? Please call.”
Hearing his voice made her unexpectedly homesick. He was all she had now. But if he was true to form, he had a zillion office projects to see to—he wouldn’t have been home much even if she’d stayed. And who knows? If she kept feeling this great, she’d keep her word and help him come up with a plan for his new house.
Right down the road . . .
Perhaps one of the Riehls might direct her to Dad’s land. Or better yet, take her there in a buggy.
Heather switched off her phone to preserve the power. Who could go for long disconnected from cyberspace? Could she live without all the bells and whistles of her modern life for several months?
Getting out of bed, she staggered to the window and immersed herself in the refreshing view. Yet in some inexplicable way, the loveliness of the landscape heightened the lingering hurt she felt at receiving Devon’s jolting email.
She turned away from the window and from the splendor of farmland, sky, and trees. Returning to bed, she fell back onto the pillow. “I’m in the most peaceful place on the planet, and I really just need a shrink.”
So is it God who lets this stuff happen? Losing Mom and then
Devon? Not to mention some doctor says I’m going to die if I don’t
get treatment. Yet if I do get it, I could end up like Mom . . . sicker
because of the things that are supposed to help me. And all this is
okay with God?
Burying her face in the pillow, Heather managed to pull herself together. By the time she’d showered—in record time, since she had to share a bathroom with three other guests—she was pretty sure her eyes were no longer lobster red.
When she called her dad, she hoped her voice sounded less froggy, too. Her call went directly to his voice mail, so she left a quick message.
“Hey, Dad . . . I’ve escaped to another era.” She laughed softly. “I needed a break after the last semester, like I said in my note. Maybe I can get out in a horse and buggy to search for the land you purchased. Well, my batteries are dying and electricity is forbidden here, so we’ll have to catch up later. Bye!”
Downstairs, at breakfast, she was surprised at the spread of food—like the ultimate bed-and-breakfast experience, only better. A fluffy omelet with fresh steamed asparagus and topped with cream cheese, a platter heaped with sausages, three kinds of sweet breads, every imaginable jam and spread, and the same decadent sticky buns that Adah Esh had invited her to preview yesterday.
The other guests seemed equally astonished at the offerings as they talked and chewed and passed food. One guest—an attractive man in his thirties—singled her out with his gorgeous hazel eyes, even winking at one point when he thanked her for passing the cream for his coffee.
Real men don’t use cream!
She enjoyed observing Becky and her mom . . . and the lineup of Becky’s six siblings. Who had
this
many children in a single lifetime? She remembered reading the average Amish family had eight children, with some having fifteen and more.
Becky Riehl was as delightful as her mother. After getting settled yesterday in her small, cozy room under the eaves—given the small amount of bureau space and zero closet space, that proved a challenge—Heather had accepted a buggy ride with Becky. They’d driven past the general store and the Bird-inHand farmers’ market, as well as another place Becky thought might interest her, Eli’s Natural Foods.
“You’ll find plenty of
health foods and supplements at Eli’s,”
Becky had said with a Dutchy accent.
Now, taking her first bite of the delectable omelet, Heather was doubly glad her dad wanted to build a house nearby. Maybe Becky could teach her how to cook like this!
She cut into her sausage patty and thought how foolish she was to assume that Becky Riehl might view her as a good choice for a friend.
Not if she really knew me . . .
Dat began shearing the sheep right after breakfast. Grace and Mandy rushed out to help once the dishes were cleaned, dried, and put away. Grace had gotten up early to weed and hoe the vegetable garden, knowing the rest of the day would be taken up with helping to trim the sheep’s hooves—Mandy’s and Joe’s and her chore today. Dat, Adam, and Uncle Ike were the brawny ones who could steady the sheep for the yearly shearing. It was important to shear in the springtime, once the weather was warm enough for the animals to do without their fleece, yet before the hot summer sun had a chance to burn the sheep’s skin.
“Ten minutes per sheep,” Mandy told her. “That’s what Dat wants to try and get the time down to.”
“Even so, it’ll be a long day.” Grace recalled how in previous years Mamma was always one of the first ones outdoors on such a day, murmuring softly to the young ewes while she worked.
“What do you think Mamma’s doin’ right now?” asked Mandy, as if sensing Grace’s thoughts.
Grace kept her eyes on the sheep’s feet. “Depends on where she is.”
“Well, where do
you
think she went?”
“Far enough away to take a train,” Grace answered.
That was all they said about it. Mandy worked her mouth, as if trying not to cry. Dwelling on the negative aspects of their lives was no help to either of them. And Grace needed to work fast today so she had time tomorrow to go to the town of Bart. Maybe there she would have more success than she’d had with Uncle Ike, who had shed no light on the significance of the poetry books or anything else related to Grace’s search for Mamma.
Surely it’s worth a try. . . .
Grace was relieved to see her grandmother come outside to stuff stray clumps of wool into bags.
Many hands make lighter
work,
Mamma had always said. And Mammi Adah—and for a very short time, Dawdi Jakob, as well—helped in this way while the assembly line of sheep, clippers, and shearers streamed along.