Susanna's Dream: The Lost Sisters of Pleasant Valley, Book Two (17 page)

She smiled, hoping she didn’t look as glad to see him as she felt. “Hi. Have you heard the good news? The water is back on again.”

Seth grinned. “I’m sure I never expected to see Ms. Chloe Wentworth of Philadelphia so delighted at the prospect of water coming out of the tap.”

“Go ahead, laugh at me.” She swatted at him with the damp sponge. “You’d be happy, too, if you’d spent the day trying to cook and clean up using cold water from jugs.”

“It’s called roughing it,” he said, leaning one hip against the edge of the table.

“Yes, well, I never did like summer camp. I wouldn’t have made a good pioneer woman. Your little sister can work rings around me.”

A shadow dimmed Seth’s smile. “Has Jessie been all right today?”

“You worry too much. She’s been fine. Do you want me to get her?”

She took a step toward the kitchen, but Seth caught her arm, arresting her motion. Somehow she ended up standing very close to him.

“In a minute,” he said, his voice low. “I haven’t seen you in days.”

“You just saw me yesterday,” she protested, discovering that her breath was behaving strangely at his nearness.

“To say hello in passing. I’m talking about being alone together.”

She met his gaze and then realized that might not be such a good idea. She couldn’t seem to look away. “I thought that was the idea. Remember our bargain? That was your thinking, as I recall.”

“Stupid idea,” he muttered, close enough that his breath was warm against her cheek. “I’m suggesting we should amend that deal.”

This is a bad idea,
a little voice in the back of her mind was saying, and she silenced it with a ruthless slap. She didn’t want to be sensible, or cautious, or any of those other boring things.

“What did you have in mind?” Her lips were an inch away from his, and something stronger than gravity was pulling them together.

“I’d say—”

“So that’s it!” The shrill voice had them spinning apart. Jessie stood in the kitchen doorway, fists clenched.

“Jessie . . .” Seth began, but she swept over him like the tide.

“Acting like you want to be my friend.” She advanced on Chloe, fury contorting her face. “Lying to me.”

“Jessie, I do want to be your friend. Honestly.” Chloe’s heart thudded against her ribs.

“No, you don’t. You just want to get close to Seth, that’s all. No one wants to be my friend.”

Jessie raised her fists. Chloe took a step back, bumping into a metal chair and sending it clattering to the floor.

“Jessie, stop it!” Seth’s voice commanded. He grasped his sister’s wrists. “That’s enough. You’re being foolish.”

“You mean I’m being crazy.” Jessie practically spat the words at him. “That’s what you think. That’s what everyone thinks.” She burst into a storm of hysterical weeping, struggling against his grip.

Appalled, Chloe reached out to help.

“No.” Seth’s tone stopped her. It was as curt as if she were an interfering stranger. “It’s better if you go. Now.”

Chloe wanted to argue. Wanted to stay and help. But it seemed obvious that just the sight of her was disturbing Jessie.

“I’m sorry,” she said, aware of how feeble that sounded. Chloe backed away, hurried to the kitchen, and sprinted out the back door.

She stopped, grasping the metal railing. Her thoughts reeled. She’d wanted to help, but she’d just made things worse.

And if anything had been needed to show her just how firmly Seth was tied here, this had been it.

* * *

Packing
up the second floor of her shop with Lydia and Chloe the next day was certainly less fraught with emotion than doing it with Nate, Susanna thought with a sense of relief. Their chatter should stop her from replaying Nate’s kiss over and over again, at least.

“I think we should be able to finish this afternoon,” Lydia said, straightening and stretching her back. “Is it all right if I use the rest of the space in this dower chest to store these table runners?”

“That’s fine.” Susanna carefully averted her eyes from the chest. Better that Lydia should do it than that she should.

She hadn’t been able to avoid seeing Nate, since she was staying at his house. He had been cheerful and much as usual, while she felt as if she’d been struck dumb in his presence. Apparently that hadn’t been too obvious, though. Dora hadn’t commented on it, other than to ask several times if she felt all right.

If only she knew what he was thinking, or more important, what she herself was thinking. Her head seemed a ragbag of memory and emotion.

Chloe was talking nearly as fast as she was packing—too fast, as if, like Susanna, she was trying to keep from hearing her own thoughts.

“Are you sure you should be doing all that bending?” Chloe attempted to take the quilted table runners from Lydia, but Lydia swatted her away, laughing.

“I’m fine. Why are you fussing so much?” Lydia sat down on the floor and began stacking the pieces in the chest.

“You’re pregnant. Is it good for you to do so much bending?”

“You’re as bad as Adam,” Lydia said. “I’m fine and healthy, and it’s another three months yet. And whatever you do, don’t say anything to Adam about pregnancy.”

“Why not?” Chloe countered. She wiped off her hands with the tail of the oversized T-shirt she wore. “If he agrees with me—”

“He’d be embarrassed, that’s why. Expected babies aren’t talked about in mixed company.”

Chloe looked from Lydia to Susanna. “That’s so . . . old-fashioned.”

“I guess it is, but it’s how we do things,” Lydia said, as if that finished the matter.

Susanna could see that Chloe was about to burst out, so she spoke quickly. “Amish clothing is supposed to hide pregnancy and give privacy for nursing mothers. All the women know, of course, but we only talk about it to each other. Or between husband and wife, of course.”

Chloe seemed to conquer her desire to say something critical. Instead she smiled at Lydia. “If you’re supposed to hide your pregnancy, you’d better do something about your face. You’re absolutely glowing.”

“Happiness can’t be hidden, they say.” Lydia put her palms to her cheeks. “I’ve so longed to have another baby, and now it’s coming.”

“A little girl, maybe?” Susanna asked, mentally sifting through her supply of baby quilts. There was a postage-stamp crib quilt in shades of pink that would be perfect.

“Maybe.” Lydia looked at Chloe, mischief sparkling in her eyes. “What about you, Chloe? Have you thought about having babies?”

Chloe’s expression seemed to freeze. “I’m not even close to it.”

Susanna realized she and Lydia were both staring at their little sister. The discouragement in her tone couldn’t be missed.

“I thought Seth . . .” she began, and then thought she shouldn’t.

“Seth isn’t thinking of romance right now,” Chloe said, and the very finality of her tone spoke of pain.

Susanna exchanged looks with Lydia, and they both converged on Chloe.

“What is it, Chloe?” Lydia touched her shoulder with a loving caress. “You can tell us.”

Chloe shook her head, and Susanna saw that Chloe . . . tough, modern Chloe . . . was fighting back tears. “We had agreed that we’d take it slowly. But yesterday, when we were alone, I thought . . .” Her voice trailed off miserably. “Jessie saw us embracing, and she just flew off the handle. Screaming and crying—I’d never seen anything like it.”

Susanna put her arm around Chloe’s waist, feeling her quiver with unshed tears.

“I know.” Lydia stroked her hair. “I saw her lose control like that once. It’s no wonder you were frightened. I surely was.”

“Not frightened. Just shocked. I wanted to help, but Seth wouldn’t let me.” She shook her head vigorously, hair flying. “He’s so obsessed with his responsibilities that he won’t let anyone in, even me. And if he should go back to the church—”

Chloe stopped, sucked in a breath, and rubbed her face with her hands. “Enough. He’s the worst guy in the world for me, and I’m an idiot for falling for him.”

“I don’t think it’s idiotic to love someone,” Lydia said, her voice gentle. “Even if it doesn’t work out, it’s gut to love. And you have to admire Seth for wanting to take care of his family.”

Chloe took a step back, trying to smile. “He’s more like Nate than either of them would believe, I guess.”

Chloe’s mention of Nate’s name seemed to echo in Susanna’s head. But Chloe didn’t suspect anything, surely. She couldn’t know about Susanna and Nate. She was just trying to steer them away from her own hurt.

“From what I’ve seen of Dora, she doesn’t want to be taken care of,” Lydia said, quietly accepting Chloe’s reticence. “What do you think, Susanna?”

“About Nate?” She should never have said his name, because she could feel her cheeks grow hot, and she had to struggle to keep from looking at the dower chest and remembering Nate’s hands on it, the expression on his face, the moment when his lips had touched hers.

“About Nate,” Lydia repeated, and both she and Chloe stared at her, awareness dawning in their faces.

“Susanna!” Chloe exclaimed, seizing her hands. “You and Nate? I wouldn’t have believed it.”

“No, no.” Susanna shook her head. “I don’t think . . . I mean, I’m not sure, and he’s not sure . . .” She let that trail off.

What could she do? Admit that she had feelings for him but that she couldn’t believe he was really serious about her?

“All right. We won’t tease you about it,” Lydia said, enveloping Susanna in a hug.

Chloe put her arms around both of them. “But if you want to talk, you have us. That’s what sisters are for, you know.”

Susanna’s throat was tight with unshed tears. She didn’t know about Nate, but somehow Lydia and Chloe made it easier to believe that someone might love her for herself alone.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

N
ate
had barely reached the front counter in the store the next morning before Anna Mae came to confront him. He suppressed a flood of exasperation. The girl had been like a kettle coming to a boil for days now, despite everything they all had to keep them busy, and obviously she was now ready to explode.

“I want to talk to you before we open,” she said, planting herself in front of him, her pert face challenging.

He began putting fives and tens into the cash register. “Can it wait, Anna Mae? I’m busy.”

“I want to get this settled now. I should be the one to be in charge when you’re not here. I’ve worked for you the longest. I know much more about the store than Thomas or Susanna or anyone else.”

Nate gave her a sharp look designed to remind Anna Mae that he was the boss. “Susanna isn’t employed here,” he pointed out. “I appreciate your efforts, Anna Mae. But I am the owner, and I make the decisions based on what I think is best for the store.”

Her eyes flashed, and he suspected she was on the brink of saying something that would end in his having to fire her. He gritted his teeth in exasperation. Why did females have to get so emotional about business decisions, anyway?

“Before Susanna started hanging around, you depended on me.” Her voice was raised. Thomas, stocking a shelf in the pasta aisle, came to the end to see what was going on, and Susie, Anna Mae’s sister, took a few hesitant steps toward them.

Nate tried, and failed, to sympathize with the girl. “You are being foolish, Anna Mae. Susanna is my mother’s partner and an experienced businesswoman. It is kind of her to help out in the store when we’re so busy.”

“She’s . . .”

Susie rushed to grab Anna Mae’s arm. “Hush. Stop now. You’ll get in trouble.”

Anna Mae shook the restraining hand off. “Susanna is nothing but a crippled old maid. She—”

“Enough.” Nate fought down a flash of pure rage. “You will have to find someplace else to work, Anna Mae.”

“You’re firing me?” She looked at him in disbelief.

He’d smile, except that there was nothing funny about it. What did the foolish child think would happen when she spoke to her employer that way?

“I will send you your final check for this week.”

She stared at him a moment longer, and then she turned and ran out of the shop. Her sister stared after her, and from the expression on her face, she thought she’d be next.

“Susie, you had best see that your sister gets home. Take the rest of the day off. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Ja, I understand.” Galvanized, Susie headed for the door. “I’m sorry.” The words floated over her shoulder as she hurried out.

Nate met Thomas’s startled gaze, and the boy came to him. “I— Is there something I can do?”

Nate shook his head. “I’ll get someone in to replace her in a day or two. But not another teenage girl, that’s certain-sure.”

Thomas’s face lost its apprehension, and he grinned. “Anna Mae’s ferhoodled, acting that way. Susanna . . .” He paused, as if considering. “It was plain bad temper, saying that about Susanna. Susanna’s a smart woman, and kind, as well.”

Ja, that she was.

“We’d best get ready to open. If we get too busy in the front, I’ll ask my mother to help out.”

Thomas nodded and began picking up the boxes from which he’d been stocking shelves. The store seemed suddenly very peaceful.

Nate suspected he should have seen that Anna Mae was getting ideas and done something about it before now. That was the trouble with hiring young girls. They had too many dreams in their heads. Next time he’d look for a nice older widow.

Thomas had spoken the truth about Susanna, startled though Nate had been to hear him say it. Susanna was kind. That was a quality easily overlooked by young men starting to court, but it did more for a happy marriage, he suspected, than any flirtatious glances.

The truth was that Susanna hadn’t been far from his thoughts in days. He couldn’t deny he was thinking seriously about a future with her.

But they were neither of them teenagers, flirting at singings and trying out the idea of falling in love. At their age, anything they felt had to be serious enough to last a lifetime. Could he really make someone happy for the rest of their lives? He just didn’t know.

No sooner had he removed the
CLOSED
sign from the door and unlocked it than the telephone rang in the back hall. A business had to have a phone, but he had to confess that he got tired of being at its beck and call.

“Nate?” Susanna’s voice, sounding breathless. “I’m sorry to bother you. I know you’re busy with the store—”

“It’s not a bother,” he said, cradling the receiver against his ear. “What is it?”

“When I reached the shop, I found a notice tacked on the front door.” Paper rustled. “It’s an orange form, something official looking. At the top, it says mold abatement procedures, and then there’s a list of orders.”

“Where are you calling from?” He’d read something about that in the newspaper this morning, but he hadn’t paid much attention. He should have.

“I borrowed a cell phone from a man working next door. I wasn’t sure what to do. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault.” But it was yet another problem to be dealt with. “Stay there. I’ll come.” He hung up on her protests.

“Thomas!” He leaned around the corner, catching the boy’s eye. “I have to go out, I’m afraid. It’s bad timing, but it can’t be helped. Run over to the house and ask my mamm to come and mind the store for a bit.”

Startled, Thomas nodded and slid out from behind the counter. Nate hurried to the parking lot. Billy Angelo, one of the teenaged Englisch boys who helped out with deliveries, was just getting into the truck. Nate grabbed the door handle and swung in beside him, receiving a startled glance.

“We’ll have to put off the deliveries for a bit. Take me down to my mother’s shop on the west end of Main Street. You know where it is?”

“Yes, sir.” Billy put the truck in gear, looking cheered at the break in routine. “Problem?”

“Maybe,” Nate said. And maybe he was being foolish, rushing down there to the rescue instead of telling Susanna he’d deal with the notice later.

But she’d sounded upset, and he wouldn’t have been able to concentrate if he’d been worrying about her.

They reached the shop in a few minutes. He slid out the minute Billy stopped at the curb. Susanna stood on the steps, a piece of orange paper fluttering in her hand, bright against the somber navy of her dress.

“I shouldn’t have called you away from the store.” Her deep blue eyes seemed darker when she was worried.

“Ja, you should have.” He took the paper from her hand. “I own the building, so anything to do with it is my responsibility.” He scanned the sheet, trying to make sense of the legal-sounding language.

“Is it going to slow down work on the shop?” Anxiety threaded Susanna’s words.

“Worse than that,” he began, and stopped when he saw how stricken she was. “Ach, I’m getting ahead of myself. First I must look and see how bad the problem is. Then we’ll see what comes next.”

Susanna didn’t look very reassured, but she put the key in the lock. He took a step back and gestured to Billy.

“Go around to the side and open the bulkhead doors to the cellar,” he called.

Nodding, Billy started around the building.

“That will let the air in to help dry out the cellar. I probably should have thought of that before.” He went in the shop ahead of Susanna.

“I didn’t think of it, either,” she said, “even when we were talking about the dampness.” She looked so guilty he wanted to reassure her.

“There’s no point in blaming ourselves. We can’t think of everything.” He picked up one of the battery lanterns they’d left at the shop, and started for the basement door.

Susanna came after him, and he waved her back. “There’s no need for you to go down.”

“It’s my shop.” The stubborn way her chin firmed said there was no point in arguing.

But he’d invested in it as well, and there might easily come a point at which he’d be ferhoodled to keep throwing money into it.

He started down the open wooden stairs, hearing them creak under his weight. A patch of sunlight crossed the floor below when Billy threw open the bulkhead doors. It revealed an ominous stain of black mold.

Nate swept the lantern’s beam into the darker corners as he went down. He should have done something about this sooner. It was—

Thought broke off as the stairs cracked and lurched beneath his feet. He threw himself backward, had a quick image of Susanna reaching out to catch him, and the stairs collapsed beneath him. He went crashing down to the cement floor.

The impact stunned him, and dust rose in a cloud, making him choke. He had to get up, but he was tangled in the pieces of broken steps. He couldn’t tell if he was hurt . . .

Stop. Relax a minute. Think. He lay back on the damp floor, hearing a rush of footsteps above him in the shop as Susanna must have been running to the front door. The dust began to settle, and he saw Billy’s white face looking down at him.

He was saying something, but try as he might, Nate couldn’t seem to make out the words, and Billy’s face spun around him. He closed his eyes.

“Is he dead?” The boy’s voice cracked.

“Of course he’s not dead.” Susanna’s voice now, and she was kneeling next to him, taking his wrist in her cool fingers. She must have run around to come through the bulkhead doors Billy had opened.

Susanna shouldn’t be kneeling on that wet, dirty floor. He frowned, trying to move his hand.

“Just lie still.” She pressed him back. “Let me see how badly you’re hurt. Billy, try to get the boards off him, but don’t touch him if you can help it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The boy still sounded scared, but he acted in response to her voice.

Susanna’s hands probed gently over Nate’s hair, and he winced. “You’ve hit your head.”

“I can get up—” he began, but when he raised himself on his elbows, the cellar swam around him. He sank back.

“No, you can’t,” Susanna said, her voice firm. She passed her hands over his arms and then helped Billy pull the boards from his legs.

Nate’s mind was clearing, but he made no further attempt to get up. The crack on his head was probably nothing, but he suspected something was very wrong with his right ankle.

Susanna’s hands reached his ankle and stopped, and he heard her indrawn breath. For an instant her fingers trembled against his skin.

“Do you have a cell phone, Billy?” Despite that betraying movement, she managed to sound calm.

“Yes, ma’am.” Billy fumbled in his jacket pocket and brought out the cell phone that was like an extra hand to him.

“I want you to call 911. Say someone’s injured and we need an ambulance at once.”

“Billy can drive me.” Nate managed to prop himself on his elbow.

Susanna put her hands on his shoulders, holding him, her face close to his. “Listen to me. We can’t get you to the truck by ourselves, and if you try to do it, you’ll damage yourself worse. Now lie still until they come.”

Since it seemed evident that Susanna meant business, he let himself be lowered back to the floor. For such a quiet person, she knew how to give orders. And how to be calm in an emergency. She clasped his hand in hers, and he seemed to feel that serenity of hers flowing into him.

Billy’s voice shook so much that the emergency dispatcher probably thought he was the injured one. He clicked off and looked at Susanna for orders.

She was frowning, and she focused on Nate’s face as if gauging how alert he was. “Who is at the store now? Can you tell me?”

“Thomas. My mother. Maybe another driver if he finished his deliveries.”

“Neither of the girls?”

“No.” The incident with Anna Mae seemed long ago.

“That won’t do,” she murmured. She held out her hand for the phone. “I’ll take the phone. Billy, you go out on the walk and wait for the ambulance. Show them how to come in.”

Billy nodded and fled.

Susanna punched in numbers. Thank the Lord Chloe had insisted Susanna memorize her new number in case of need. “Chloe? There’s been an accident at the shop.”

He could hear Chloe’s high voice from several feet away.

“I’m fine,” Susanna said. “Nate is hurt. We’ve called for an ambulance. I need you to go to the store and tell Dora, all right? Do it carefully. Assure her that he’s not hurt badly, but he injured his ankle and it will have to be X-rayed. If she wants to meet us at the hospital, maybe you can drive her, ja?”

Nate could see Chloe’s agreement in the way Susanna’s face relaxed. That was kind of her, thinking of Mamm and not wanting to tell her on the phone. He might have his doubts about Chloe as a suitable sister for Susanna, but she would take care of his mother.

The wail of a siren sounded, coming closer rapidly. Nate lay still, his gaze fixed on Susanna’s face.

“Everything will be all right,” she said, patting his hand.

He nodded, but he knew it wouldn’t. Surely after this, Susanna would understand. The shop would have to go.

* * *

Susanna
opened the door to Dora’s room and peeked inside. Dora had insisted she couldn’t go to sleep in the middle of the afternoon, but she was already out, her kapp askew and her gray hair in disorder. Dora looked older when she was asleep, with all the energy and enthusiasm that usually animated her gone from her face.

As Susanna turned to go, her gaze caught on something that froze her where she stood. She tiptoed to the sewing table that stood in the corner.
Her
quilt . . . the one her mother had made . . . She’d thought it was worth nothing but to be thrown away when she’d found it wet and dirty on the floor of her apartment.

She touched it lightly. Obviously Dora hadn’t thought so. She must have washed it, and a fine sewing needle was stuck in the edge of a ragged square that Dora was clearly mending. A tear trickled down Susanna’s cheek, and she wiped it away. Dear Dora, always thinking of others. Perhaps she meant this to be a surprise, so Susanna would have to do her best to pretend astonishment. Her father’s Bible had been a total loss, but she would have her quilt, thanks to Dora’s love.