Susanna's Dream: The Lost Sisters of Pleasant Valley, Book Two (3 page)

They both knew why she’d had to work so hard, though neither of them would mention it. His father had been that most unusual creature, a lazy Amish man, constantly worrying about his own health and doctoring himself with one quack medicine after another while his wife worked to feed their kinder. And it hadn’t been his imagined ill health that had taken him in the end but a reckless driver and his own habit of walking on the road after dark.

“I’d rather wear out than rust out,” his mother said testily. “Now stop bothering me with such talk.”

He was wise enough to know arguing wouldn’t get him anywhere, but he had to try. “You could at least think about giving up the shop.”

He seemed to hear Susanna’s voice, as sharp as a tack in his mind.
Maybe she knows better than you do what’s best for her?

“Why would I do that?” His mother looked at him in what seemed to be genuine amazement. “I like the shop, and besides, Susanna couldn’t manage it alone. I can’t let her down.”

“I’m sure Susanna could—”

His mother interrupted sharply. “Enough. I’m not in my dotage yet. And I forbid you to say a thing about this foolishness to Susanna. She has enough on her mind right now.”

He nodded meekly enough, but his mind buzzed with the implication of what she’d said. It seemed to him that her devotion to running the shop had more to do with Susanna than with her own wishes.

It wasn’t right. His mother had worked herself to the bone for Daad, for him, for his brother and sisters. He wasn’t going to let her do the same for a woman who wasn’t even kin.

Susanna might be a nice enough woman, but she couldn’t stand in the way of his taking care of his own mamm. He wouldn’t allow it.

* * *

The
gift shop was busier the next day, with its bell tinkling happily as folks came in and out. Maybe the weather had something to do with it—a few days of rain had given way to a sparkling September day, warm and with only the slanting angle of the sunshine to remind a person that fall was on the way.

Susanna found herself watching Dora from time to time, looking for any evidence of . . . well, whatever it was that had Dora’s son convinced she should retire. She was ashamed that her first instinct had been for her own future. She should have been concerned for her friend.

And Dora was a friend, despite the difference in their ages. They had worked together for five years, with never a cross word between them. Dora, despite being older and the senior partner in their business, always treated Susanna as an equal, valuing her opinion and ideas.

Try as she might, she could see no sign of worry on Dora’s face. Still, there had been that doctor’s appointment yesterday.

They were working together at the moment, stacking the quilted place mats a customer had pulled out. The woman had, it seemed, looked at everything in the shop before deciding she didn’t want to buy anything today after all. “Looky-Lous,” Dora called people like that.

Susanna smoothed a nine-patch runner flat with her palm, sending a cautious sideways glance at Dora. “I didn’t ask you yesterday when you got back, but how was your doctor’s visit? Everything all right?” She made an effort to keep her voice casual, but she feared worry might show in it.

Eyes bright, Dora darted a quick look toward her. “You, too? You’re as bad as Nate, fussing so over a little doctor’s visit. I’m fine.”

“So Nate’s worried about you?” She carefully kept her gaze on the quilted pieces, not wanting to give away Nathaniel’s visit.

“Ach, he’s a gut boy.” Dora’s tone was indulgent. “He worries too much, is all. Just because I had a few headaches—”

“You didn’t tell me that.” Alarm threaded Susanna’s voice.

“Pooh, everyone gets a headache once in a while. The doctor did say my blood pressure was a little high, and it was time I went on medicine for it. That’s nothing for Nate to make a fuss about.”

“I’m glad that’s all it is.” Relief swept through Susanna. That surely wasn’t anything too bad. Lots of people Dora’s age had to take medication for high blood pressure.

Maybe Nate had just reacted too soon with his talk of Dora retiring. “You wouldn’t like it if your son wasn’t concerned about you, ain’t so?”

“I suppose that’s true, but I don’t want him to worry.” It was Dora’s turn to stare down at the place mats. “He’s always been the responsible one, even before his daad died. I don’t know how I’d have raised the younger ones without his help. He just seemed born to take care of others. Too bad he doesn’t have a houseful of kinder.”

Susanna wasn’t sure what to say to that comment. Other folks mentioned sometimes how devoted Nate was to the memory of his beautiful young wife, dead before they’d been married even a year. But Dora had never talked about why Nate was the way he was.

“He’s a gut son,” she finally said.

He was also rather bossy and intent on having his own way, but Dora probably didn’t see that aspect of him.

“Ja, he is,” Dora agreed, smiling. “I’m not ready for the rocking chair just yet, but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to take things a little easier if that would make him happy.”

Susanna nodded, but worry wound a tighter knot in her chest. If Dora wanted to make her son happy, how far might she go? Far enough to want to give up the shop?

“There, that’s done.” Dora gave the stack of place mats a pat. “I think I’ll put the kettle on. Do you think our visitor would like a cup of your herbal tea?” She raised her eyes briefly to the ceiling.

Susanna smiled. Their visitor was not, as one might suppose from the gesture, in Heaven, but only in the upstairs storage rooms of the shop.

“I’ll ask her,” she said quickly, and headed for the steps to the second floor.

Chloe Wentworth had started dropping by the shop several months earlier, but it had only been since she’d moved in down the street that she’d become such a frequent visitor. The young Englisch woman had such an interest in Plain Crafts that she was writing some sort of paper on them as part of her degree program. Dora and Susanna had been able to put her in touch with two of their craftspeople who were willing to talk to her, and Dora already had ideas of others.

In the meantime, Chloe was photographing and writing about the different items in the shop, using the upstairs storerooms as a work area.

“Chloe?” Susanna emerged into the upstairs, glancing around the two large rooms. “Where are you?”

“Here.” Chloe’s head popped up behind a stack of boxes. “Sorry. I was looking through this box of table runners. I’m surprised you don’t have them on display.”

Chloe was slim and quick, with a mop of auburn hair and a pair of lively green eyes. She wore, as usual, faded jeans and a T-shirt, and her black-rimmed glasses were pushed up on her head. Sometimes Susanna thought she used them more to hold her hair back than to see through.

“No room,” Susanna said, making her way between boxes toward Chloe. “We could use twice the display space we have. Dora says if you’re ready for a break, come down for a cup of tea.”

“Sounds good.” But Chloe was studying the postage-stamp quilting on a table runner with such intensity that Susanna wasn’t sure she’d heard. “Just hold the end of this, will you, so I can get a picture.”

Susanna took the end obligingly. “Take pictures of anything I own except my face,” she said, only half joking.

Chloe, nodding, focused on the detail of the quilting. “I might not be an expert on the Amish, but I do know not to take your picture,” she said.

“You know more than most Englischers,” Susanna said. A totally unexpected friendship had formed between the two women in the past month. When Susanna thought about it, she couldn’t really explain it, but there just seemed to be a link between them.

Maybe it was partly because Chloe was new in town, although she’d said she had family near here. Even though Susanna had lived in Oyersburg for seven years, she hadn’t formed the close friendships with other women her age that she might have hoped for.

Natural enough, though. Amish women her age were married with families, and a maidal like Susanna was an anomaly. Since she hadn’t moved here until she was in her twenties, she didn’t have the shared history of school and rumspringa to create lasting friendships.

Daad had thought the move a smart idea when Mamm’s cancer had been diagnosed. The doctors had given Daad a list of places where she might best be treated, and among them had been the big medical center in Danville, only thirty miles away from Oyersburg with its thriving Amish community. He’d been familiar with the area, and Susanna hadn’t cared where they went as long as Mamm got the best of care.

Chloe slid the camera back in its case. “There, that’s done.” She smiled. “I got some great shots of Ada Klinger making her hooked rugs—only her hands, of course. And some even better stories. She loves to talk.”

Susanna chuckled. “Dora said we should have warned you what a blabbermaul she is, except then maybe you wouldn’t have gone.”

“She was well worth it,” Chloe said. She paused, studying Susanna’s face. “What’s up? Is something wrong?”

Startled that she was so transparent, Susanna tried to deny it, but the words died in her throat.

“Not . . . not exactly,” she stammered. “I didn’t know it showed.”

“We’re friends,” Chloe said, reaching out to touch Susanna’s hand lightly. “And it’s a good thing you don’t make a practice of lying, because you’re not good at it.”

Susanna chuckled, though she felt close to tears at the unexpected understanding. “I don’t lie, anyway.”

“You could tell me it’s none of my business.”

“I wouldn’t do that, either.” Susanna sighed. “It’s probably nothing. I’m just exaggerating the whole thing in my own mind, most likely.”

“Well, I’d give an opinion if I knew what we’re talking about,” Chloe said.

The urge to confide in someone was too strong. “It’s Dora’s son, you see. He thinks she ought to retire and let him take care of her. But if she does, the shop . . .” Susanna let that trail off, not sure she wanted to say that much.

“You’re partners in the shop, right?” Chloe said. “Does he expect you to buy her out?”

Chloe grasped things quickly, that was certain-sure.

“I doubt he’s thinking about the effect on me. Well, I wouldn’t expect him to,” she added hastily. “But Dora is getting on, and naturally I knew someday she’d want to give up working so much. I just didn’t expect to face it now.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I don’t know that Dora wants to do any such thing. And if she does . . . well, I’ll have to figure out what I can do.”

Chloe’s eyes were clouded with concern. “You wouldn’t have to give up the shop, would you?”

“I won’t.” Her voice was sharper than she intended. “The shop is all I have now. Whatever happens, I won’t let it go.”

C
HAPTER
T
WO

C
hloe’s
thoughts were still on her conversation with Susanna as she walked out onto the deck of the tiny house she was renting just down the street from Susanna’s shop. The deck was her favorite part of her new home. Surrounded by trees, which gave privacy, it overlooked the rippling waters of the creek.

This end of the town of Oyersburg was almost a peninsula, with the Susquehanna River flowing along one side and the creek dancing its way along the other. A glance upstream showed her the red covered bridge she’d noticed in several of the paintings in Susanna’s shop.

But even the tranquil view couldn’t quite settle her mind. She longed to pick up the phone and call her sister Lydia Beachy, but one disadvantage of having a sister who was Amish was that Lydia had no telephone. Chloe could drive over to Pleasant Valley, but . . .

A knock at the door interrupted her line of thought. She slipped back inside, crossing the small kitchen and minuscule living room in a few steps to swing open the door.

“Seth.” The lilt in her voice startled her. Seth Miller would think she’d been missing him if she wasn’t careful. “I thought you weren’t getting back until tomorrow.”

Seth smiled as he loosened the collar of the blue dress shirt that reflected the blue of his eyes. “I wound up my business and managed to get an early flight. Thought I’d stop and see how everything’s going before heading over to Pleasant Valley to check on my mother.”

Seth’s smile could charm the birds from the trees, her sister Lydia claimed. That was when he’d been Amish, like Lydia. But Seth had had dreams that extended beyond Pleasant Valley, and he’d left for the outside world when he was just a teenager. Now he was a successful designer with a software company, but that smile, combined with the cleft in his chin and the laughter in his eyes, was still pretty irresistible.

“Come in.” She waved a hand toward the deck. “I was outside. Something to drink? Iced tea? Soda?”

“Tea sounds good.” He stepped out onto the deck, pulling the two chairs to either side of the small round table. The breeze ruffled his wheat-colored hair, and he brushed it into place with an automatic gesture.

She opened the refrigerator door, relieved to discover that she did indeed have a pitcher of iced tea. Somehow she hadn’t quite mastered the seemingly effortless hospitality of her Amish relatives, who produced food and drink for even an unexpected guest at the drop of a hat.

Seth had been her introduction to those relatives. He’d shown up in her office at the museum where she worked in Philadelphia a little over four months ago, shocking her with the announcement that the parents who’d died when she was a baby had other children—two sisters whose very existence had been kept from her by the grandparents who’d raised her.

She hadn’t believed him, of course. True to her patrician grandmother’s tenets, she’d suspected he was after something, probably money. But Seth had a dogged persistence behind that charming smile, and eventually she’d given in to his determination that she at least meet one of her sisters.

Her reunion with Lydia had been a bit rocky at first, but with a bit of give and take on both their parts, it had blossomed into a relationship she treasured. But Susanna—well, they hadn’t yet told Susanna the truth. Lydia had been convinced that it would be too upsetting to tell Susanna when her adoptive mother was ill.

But now . . . Chloe had to fight back the words every time she was with Susanna. At least she could talk to Seth about her, she supposed. Chloe didn’t want to lean on him, but it was a little late to start being reticent about her Amish relatives.

Chloe carried the glasses out on the deck. Seth leaned back in the chair, gazing at the rippling brook, the lines in his lean face relaxing. Did he realize how tense he looked each time he returned from a business trip that took him back to the world he’d thought he wanted? She wasn’t sure.

He turned toward her when she sat down, his face easing into that smile again. “So, how is your project going?”

“You mean the paper on Amish folk art part of the project or the getting-to-know-Susanna part?”

“Either or both,” he said.

She lifted up her glass, ice cubes clinking, and then set it down again. “I think we’ve waited long enough. We should tell Susanna that she’s our sister now.”

Keen blue eyes studied her face. “What does Lydia think?”

“I haven’t talked to her about it in the past few days, but—”

“Susanna is Lydia’s sister, too.” His tone was one of patient reminder, and it annoyed her. “You can’t make the decision without her.”

“Lydia never thinks the time is right.” She tapped her fingers on her glass. “First we had to wait because Susanna’s adoptive mother was so ill. Now she thinks we should wait because Susanna is still grieving her.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I take it
wait
is a dirty word in your vocabulary?”

“I’m not Amish,” she reminded him tartly. “In my world, things move along, and if they don’t, you push them.”

“As I recall, you weren’t exactly pleased when I broke this news to you.” His lips twitched, which probably meant he was remembering her threat to have him thrown out of her office.

“I thought you were trying to con me.” Because that sort of caution had been drummed into her by the grandmother who’d raised her.

People are always after the Wentworth money or influence. You can never assume people like you for who you are. Everyone wants something.
Gran’s mantra had been pervasive, and sometimes Chloe had almost believed it.

“I don’t suppose Susanna would think that about you,” Seth said. “But she might not believe you.”

He let it rest there, but his silence was more powerful than any argument would be. If she told Susanna the truth—that she’d been adopted after the accident that killed both her parents, that she’d never been told about her sisters—and Susanna refused to believe it, their tentative friendship would be at an end.

Seth let her think, and he seemed to be following the progression of her thoughts fairly well.

“You’d lose what you have now,” he said finally. “What’s the rush? I thought you and Lydia agreed that it was best to get to know Susanna gradually before hitting her with the truth.”

“I know that’s what we talked about doing.” She turned her glass on the table, absently watching the rings of condensation it made, intersecting and overlapping, like the circles of people in her life. “But she was upset about something today, and she probably told me more than she meant to.”

Seth leaned toward her, face intent. “What?”

“Apparently, from what she said, her partner’s son is trying to get Dora to retire. If she did, Susanna doesn’t know what would happen to the business.”

“She’s a partner, isn’t she?” He frowned. “But being Amish, they probably don’t have a formal partnership agreement that would spell out her rights in that situation.”

“She didn’t say. But I have the impression she can’t afford to buy Dora out, and the shop means so much to her.” She could still see the pain in Susanna’s face at the prospect of losing her store. “Maybe, if she knew she had family, she’d let us help her.”

“Financially, you mean?” Seth considered it. “Could you actually do that, if she agreed?”

Chloe shrugged. “Depends on how much it is, I guess. I do have some money that my grandfather left me directly. Everything else is controlled by my grandmother.” She hesitated, lips tightening. “She’s Lydia and Susanna’s grandmother, too, but she seems willing to forget that fact.”

Her relationship with her grandmother, never exactly warm, had been fraying at the edges since Chloe had discovered that not only had her grandmother hidden the existence of her siblings, she’d had no interest in them. She’d only wanted Chloe, the baby, the one least likely to have been influenced by her daughter’s new life among the Amish.

“Even if you could, Susanna might not be willing to accept financial help.” Seth’s tone was practical. “So there’s no point in leaping ahead.”

“Wait, in other words.” Chloe met his gaze as she said the words, and they suddenly seemed to take on a different meaning. Wait. The way they seemed to be waiting each time the attraction flared between them, which it was doing more and more frequently in recent weeks.

What if they stopped waiting, and let whatever might happen between them happen? Her heart seemed to be thundering in her ears, and she couldn’t tear her gaze away from Seth’s.

He shook his head, as if chasing away something that clouded his thoughts. He drew back, but he was breathing as quickly as if he’d been running.

He cleared his throat. “At least talk to Lydia before you do anything. Once you tell Susanna, there’s no going back.”

“I suppose that’s right.” And maybe that’s what was going on between them, as well. Neither of them wanted to take a step from which there would be no going back.

“I’d better get moving.” He stood up, the action abrupt.

Chloe followed him through the house to the front door, opening it. “Say hello to your mother and sister for me.”

He caught the door, stopping its movement. She looked up at him, a question on her lips . . . a question that was drowned by a quick, hard kiss. It tasted of longing, desire, and maybe regret. Almost before she could react, he was gone.

* * *

“Ach,
yet another Looky-Lou,” Dora exclaimed when the door closed behind a customer who’d examined everything in the shop and left without buying. “Sometimes I wonder why they think we’re in business.”

“Perhaps she’ll come back and buy another day.” Susanna straightened the row of handmade wooden toys that were a new addition to their stock. Dora, it seemed to her, had been out of sorts all morning. “I can handle things here, if you want a break.”

Dora’s annoyed expression smoothed out to her usual smile. “Don’t mind me. I’m chust fratched this morning over Nate’s fussing and this new medicine the doctor has me on. I think I felt better before I started taking it.”

Knowing Dora was fully capable of throwing the medication away without telling anyone, Susanna sought for a comforting word. “Sometimes it takes your body time to get used to new medication, ain’t so? I know it was that way with my mamm. The doctor would say to give it a few days, and most of the time, that solved the problem.”

“You’re right, and I’ll stop my complaining, ja?”

Susanna nodded, smiling, but there was worry under the smile. She’d spent the previous evening going through her finances and come away more discouraged than she’d been before she started. Daad had been a careful man with his money, but the cost of Susanna’s partnership in the gift shop, followed so soon by his death and the expenses of Mamm’s illness, had gone through the comfortable bank balance at an alarming rate.

The bottom line was that if Dora did decide to give up the shop, there was no possible way that Susanna could afford to buy her out.

“These wooden toys will sell fine come time for Christmas shopping.” Dora lifted down a small train engine to examine. “Who did you say brought these in?”

“Lydia Beachy, from over in Pleasant Valley. Her husband, Adam, is the one who makes the clocks.” She’d met Lydia in the spring, when she’d first come into the shop, and had seen her often now that they were handling her husband’s work.

“He’s a gut craftsman, that’s certain-sure.” Dora set the toy back on the shelf. “Someone was in just the other day asking when we’d have a new clock in. I can’t call to mind who, but I wrote it in the green book.”

The green book was nothing fancier than a schoolchild’s notebook, where they listed items folks were looking for. A surprising number of repeat sales came that way. Oftentimes they were able to find exactly what a customer wanted just by asking among the craftspeople.

“I’ll drop Lydia a note and ask her when we can expect another clock from Adam,” she said. “They have an apple orchard, though, and this is probably a busy time of year for them.”

Dora nodded. “True enough. The orchard must be a big part of their livelihood.”

“Lydia says they’re sehr thankful for the outlet for Adam’s clocks. It means he doesn’t have to work away from home now. So it helps us and them.” That was a satisfying thing, to bring together a craftsman and the buyer who would love his work.

“You’ve done a fine job of finding new crafts, like the clocks,” Dora said. “You have a gift for the business—I knew it from the first day you came to work.”

“I love it,” she said simply. Her gesture took in the displays . . . from hooked rugs to candles to quilted mats to pottery to paintings . . . Everywhere there was color, and every object seemed to express the personality of its maker. “Just walking in the shop makes me happy. I never dreamed something like this could be partly mine.”

“More than partly, I think,” Dora said. “Your heart is in the shop. I’ve been wonderful lucky to have you as a partner.”

It was an unusual expression of feeling from the practical Dora, and while it warmed Susanna’s heart, it also caused her a touch of wariness.

“Your daad was wise to see how much the partnership would mean to you,” Dora went on. “Not every father would see the importance of a business opportunity for his daughter.”

Susanna shrugged ruefully. “I think by then he realized I wasn’t going to marry. It was a way of being sure I was taken care of.”

“Ach, that’s foolish talk,” Dora scolded, her eyes snapping. “You talk as if you’re a hundred and two. You’re not even in your thirties, and any man would be lucky to have you as a wife.”

Susanna just shook her head. Dora meant well, but Susanna had accepted the truth a long time ago. Her limp hadn’t kept her from having all the usual friendships when she was growing up, but when boys and girls started pairing off during rumspringa, she’d been the one left behind, the boys talking to her, even seeking her advice about the girls they fancied, without ever seeing her as a possible mate.

“Just because you’re not arguing doesn’t mean I can’t see what’s in your mind,” Dora chided. “It’s true that a seventeen- or eighteen-year-old boy might not understand your worth, but a grown man ought to be a bit smarter. Mark my words, love will come along for you when you least expect it.”