Susanna's Dream: The Lost Sisters of Pleasant Valley, Book Two (5 page)

“It’s the least my mother would expect, ain’t so?” He clasped her hand for an instant. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He made a hasty retreat before she could argue. And all the way back to the shop, he wondered how it had happened that instead of giving Susanna an ultimatum about the shop, he’d ended up stuck with going to Pleasant Valley with her.

* * *

Chloe
bent over a tomato plant, emulating Lydia’s actions as she picked plump, red tomatoes for slicing. The aroma teased her senses in a way a store-bought tomato never could.

“Anyway, I’m sorry. I never should have attempted to tell Susanna the truth without having you there.”

She’d arrived at Lydia and Adam’s farm that afternoon to confess what a mess she’d made of things and had found Lydia in her garden, picking vegetables for supper. The two boys were chasing each other through the apple orchard, followed by Shep, the mixed-breed dog who was devoted to them. The sound of a hammer in the barn gave away Adam’s location.

Lydia had been quiet for so long that Chloe had begun to wish she’d yell, or scold, or something. But that wasn’t Lydia’s way. She finally straightened, stretching her back as if bending over had become more difficult in recent days. The Amish dress and apron might have been designed to hide a woman’s pregnancy, but nothing could hide the joy Lydia felt at being pregnant again at last.

“Don’t worry yourself so much about it,” Lydia said. “It’s done now. It’s certain-sure that however we did it, the news would be a shock, I fear.”

Chloe nodded, her throat tightening at the thought of Susanna’s frozen expression. “Poor Susanna. She seems so alone, and if her partner wants to give up the shop, I don’t know what she’ll do. I just wanted to help.”

“Ach, I know that, and I’m sure Susanna will understand it, someday.”

“Someday.” Chloe grimaced, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “That sounds like a long time.”

“It took you a while to get used to the idea, as I recall.” Lydia smiled. “You had some funny ideas about the Amish as well, ain’t so?”

“Most of those ideas were planted by my grandmother.” Chloe shook her head. “But I can’t lay all the blame on her. I’m not sure how I could study Pennsylvania folk art and yet remain so ignorant about the Amish culture.”

“You’re not ignorant now. I heard you talking to the boys in Pennsylvania Dutch.”

“Using my few words,” Chloe said. “Daniel and David are awfully patient with their aunt.” She paused, her hand wrapped around a sun-warm tomato. “I suppose I thought the news might be a little easier for Susanna to accept since she’s Amish. Maybe it would have been if it had come from you.” Guilt reared its head again.

“There’s no easy way to tell someone she’s not who she thinks she is.” Lydia turned toward the pepper plants, standing like neat little trees in a row. “Just a couple of peppers, and that’s enough.”

“Let me get them.” Chloe stepped over a sprawling winter squash vine. “My little niece or nephew is probably tired of being squished every time you bend over.”

Lydia shook her head at that, but she let Chloe pick the peppers and put them in her basket.

“Do you think I should go and see Susanna?” Lydia asked as they moved toward the edge of the garden.

Chloe hesitated, unsure. “Maybe it would be better to let her get used to the idea for a couple of days. Let her adjust to it, and then we can both go and try again.”

Lydia nodded. “Ja, all right. Monday, then. I can get a driver—”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll come for you.” It was a pleasure to be able to provide transportation when Lydia needed it for the places she couldn’t easily reach by horse and buggy.

“Denke. That would be kind.” At least she’d stopped arguing every time about Chloe driving her. “You’d think those boys would tire out, but it doesn’t happen.” Lydia glanced toward the orchard where the game, whatever it was, was still going on.

Chloe followed the direction of her gaze. It seemed to satisfy some longing in her just to glance across the pastoral scene. Even the angle of the sun announced the turning of the seasons, and Lydia’s garden was a band of bright color across the field, overflowing with pumpkins, winter squash, tomatoes, deep purple eggplants, peppers in every color, and the late crop of lettuce Lydia had planted as the days grew cooler.

Chloe had to laugh at herself. She was starting to think like someone accustomed to the land, instead of a yuppie whose closest approach to a garden used to be a stroll through a city park.

Beyond the lane that led out to the road, the orchard stretched to the next farm—that belonging to Seth Miller’s family. The apple trees were heavy with fruit already starting to ripen. Lydia had promised, or maybe
threatened
was a better word, to teach her to make apple dumplings this fall.

A tall figure moved through the orchard toward them.

“There is Seth coming,” Lydia said. “I’ll take the vegetables in. I’m certain-sure he’s coming to see you, not me.” Lydia’s eyes danced with mischief.

Chloe tried not to think about the kiss he’d given her earlier, for fear Lydia would read it in her face. “I’m not so sure. I hear he had a crush on you when you were younger.”

“Silly boy and girl stuff,” Lydia said, laughing. “Go on, now, before Seth thinks he’s not wilkom here.” She headed off to the house.

It was just a kiss, Chloe repeated as she walked toward the orchard. Just a kiss, that’s all.

Before she reached Seth, her nephews spotted her and came running, Shep lagging behind. Daniel and David might not be tired, but Shep’s tongue was hanging out.

“Aunt Chloe! Did you come to play ball with us?” Daniel showed her the softball he’d been tossing. At nearly nine, he was more comfortable speaking English than David, who’d just started to learn the language last year.

David gave her a throttling hug. “Please,” he said, blue eyes pleading.

“I have to talk to Seth a little first,” she said, managing to meet Seth’s eyes as he approached. “Then I’ll play.”

“Then we’ll both play,” Seth said, catching on. “Okay?”

“Ja, great.” Daniel tugged his younger brother’s arm when David seemed about to protest. “Komm. We’ll finish our chores, and then we can play ’til supper.”

David pouted for perhaps thirty seconds. Then he nodded, grinned, and the two boys raced off.

“Must be serious,” Seth said. “I don’t usually come before your nephews.”

Chloe suspected he could see her embarrassment. Any protest at his assumption would lead in a direction she didn’t think she wanted to go.

“Let’s sit down for a moment.” She led the way to the bench Adam had created from the stump of an old tree that had come down in a storm back in the spring. The other apple trees arched over them like the roof of a church, apples glowing yellow and red.

Seth followed her, sitting down and looking warily at her. “Well? What is it?”

“I told Susanna the truth today,” she said bluntly. “I shouldn’t have, but it just came out.”

Somewhat to her surprise, his expression didn’t change all that much. She’d expected some sign that he was disappointed in her.

“What happened when you told her?” His tone was carefully neutral.

“It didn’t go well. She was shocked, upset, disbelieving.” She felt the weight of it dragging her down.

“Pretty much like you were when I told you,” Seth said.

She shrugged. “Just about. Isn’t this where you remind me that you said this would happen?”

“I don’t want to give you a reason to explode,” he said, his lips twitching.

“I am not given to exploding,” she said, and couldn’t help but relax a bit.

Seth shrugged, clasping his hands around his knee. In jeans and a navy T-shirt, he seemed to fit into his surroundings, but he definitely didn’t look Amish. “Maybe it would have been better to wait, but I’m not sure the result would have been any different. It was bound to be a shock. What does Lydia say?”

“Just about the same thing,” Chloe admitted, managing a rueful smile. “You know, I’m like Daniel and David, wanting her to say it will be all right.”

“Everybody needs to hear that from time to time,” Seth said. “It’s not a sign of weakness.”

“No?” She arched an eyebrow at him.

“No. And while we’re on the subject of confessing, there’s something I should get off my chest.”

He was going to bring up that kiss, and it was the last thing she wanted to talk about. “You don’t need to—”

Seth stopped her with a gesture. “Yeah, I do. I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to kiss you last night.”

Chloe decided to throw caution to the wind. “Why not? I mean, not that I’m saying you should have, but we’re both adults. It was only a kiss.” A kiss that left her longing for more, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Unfortunately, we’re not in our usual surroundings, either one of us. How would Lydia react if she heard about it? Or my mother, for that matter?”

“They’d be filling a hope chest for me.” He was right, she had to admit. “A casual fling isn’t in Lydia’s vocabulary.”

“Nor my mother’s. I’d feel like a sixteen-year-old on his way to his first singing if they knew we . . .”

He hesitated for so long she thought he wouldn’t finish. And she certainly wasn’t going to help him out. This conversation was like juggling dynamite.

“. . . were attracted to each other,” he said finally. “If we don’t want a lot of unwelcome attention, we have to be discreet.”

“Discreet,” she repeated the word. “So what exactly does that mean?”

His hand slid over hers where it lay on the bench between them. He began to trace small circles on the back of her hand with his fingertips.

“It means not giving them anything to talk about,” he said, but the glint in his eyes seemed to belie the words.

“So no more kisses, you’re saying,” she said. Dynamite had been the right comparison, judging by how his touch was affecting her just now.

“Right,” he murmured. Their gazes collided, and he seemed to lose track of his intent. “Well, except maybe on special occasions. What—”

“Seth, are you holding my aunt Chloe’s hand?” Daniel’s accusing tone had them pulling apart.

She didn’t know about Seth, but Chloe felt ridiculously guilty.

“No, of course not.” Seth held up both hands. “See? Now, how about some ball-playing?”

Seth rose, and Chloe followed suit, hoping neither of her nephews noticed how pink her cheeks were.

She loved having a family. She really did. But they certainly could complicate a person’s life.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

S
usanna
hesitated, her hand on the cash box, looking at the teenage girl Nate had brought to the shop to help. “Do you want me to go over it again, Anna Mae?”

There was the faintest toss of the head in response, and something that was probably resentment showed for a moment in the girl’s eyes. “You don’t need to. I get it fine.”

Nate, who’d been waiting with a semblance of patience, gave her a sharp look, and pretty little Anna Mae was suddenly all charm. “Please don’t worry, Susanna. I am happy to watch the shop for you, and I’ll do just as you’ve shown me.”

“Gut. Denke.” There seemed nothing else to say, so Susanna donned her sweater and bonnet.

Anna Mae, perhaps to make up for her momentary annoyance, was exclaiming over the assortment of candles on the counter. Susanna was about to respond when she realized that the chatter was aimed not at her but at Nate.

Well. Did Nate realize that the girl had a crush on him? She didn’t suppose Nate missed much.

Anna Mae must be at least twelve or thirteen years younger than Nate. Still, that age gap seemed to work out fine in some marriages. Nate, a widower for so long, couldn’t be blamed if he responded to the glowing youth and prettiness of the girl. Next to her, Susanna felt old, awkward, and washed out.

“Are you ready?” Nate said, perhaps preventing himself from adding “finally” at the end of the question. He was probably regretting his offer to take her to Pleasant Valley to see the bishop.

As for her . . . well, now that the time had come, Susanna felt a fierce longing to stay right here where she belonged. But she couldn’t, so she’d better put a good face on it.

“Ja, I’m ready.” She went resolutely toward the door and the car that waited outside, but she was quailing inside. Did she really want to know the truth about her parentage? And of more immediate concern, what on earth would she find to talk about to Nate during the half-hour drive?

Nate opened the car door for her, and she got in. He slid into the backseat next to her, startling her. She’d thought perhaps he’d ride with the driver up front. He leaned forward, exchanging a few words in English with the stocky, middle-aged Englischer, and then he settled back on the seat as the car pulled from the curb.

Susanna swallowed her panic. Like it or not, she was on her way.

By the time they reached the bridge that spanned the river, Susanna was desperate to break the silence between them. She cleared her throat, afraid her voice was going to come out rusty.

“How is your mamm feeling today? Better, I hope?”

Nate inclined his head toward her. “Ja, a little, I think.” He frowned. “I didn’t like leaving her alone in the house for a couple of hours, but she chased me out, insisting she is fine and I should stop bothering her.”

She could hear Dora saying it in a tone of sheer exasperation. “Surely she will be all right as long as she doesn’t exert herself?”

“Ja, but could I count on her to do that?” A faint gleam of amusement showed in his eyes. “Like as not she’ll take a notion to clean the windows or redd out the closet.”

“Dora would be more sensible.” She hoped, at least.

He shook his head. “
Stubborn
, that’s the only word for my mamm. I arranged for one of my sisters to drop in this afternoon.”

“That won’t fool Dora,” she said, and then wished she hadn’t spoken. She didn’t want to enliven this trip with a quarrel.

But Nate surprised her with a sudden grin that seemed to turn him into a different person. That must be how he’d looked when he was younger, before responsibility and sorrow had carved those lines in his face.

“I never have been able to fool Mamm,” he said. “But Donna is bringing her kinder, and that will keep my mother happy, for sure.”

Something flickered briefly in his eyes as he said the words. Regret, maybe, that he had no kinder? But it certainly wasn’t too late for Nate to marry and have a family.

“I suppose your sisters share your concern about your mamm’s health.”

“I think . . .” He paused, as if changing his mind about what to say. “Perhaps not. But they’re busy with their own families and not seeing her every day like I do, and my brother has so much to do on the farm this time of the year. I’m the oldest, so Mamm is my responsibility.”

Susanna could only nod, understanding his feelings, even though she feared he sometimes mixed up caring for his mamm with telling her what to do.

“You understand,” he said, his voice warming. “After all, you’re an only child—” He stopped short, a flush coloring his cheekbones. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually so dumb.”

“I keep doing the same thing,” she admitted. “I get busy and forget for a moment that supposedly I have sisters. Then the truth crashes down on me again.”

“Ja.” The word was heavy, as if he’d known the experience. “If you want to talk about it, I’m certain-sure glad to listen. Or would you rather be distracted?”

Nate was being nicer than she’d had reason to expect, and her throat seemed to choke. For an instant she longed to pour out all her doubts and fears. But whatever Nate said, he couldn’t want to cope with the emotions of a woman he barely knew.

“Distracted, please. Why don’t you tell me about Pleasant Valley?” she asked.

He nodded. “It’s a pretty place, I’ve always thought. The town is smaller than Oyersburg, for sure, but it’s very nice, and the valley has fine farmland.”

Since they were at the moment driving through some of the farmland, it was natural enough for him to start pointing out various farms. Many of them were dairy farms, often with some sort of secondary business on the property. It was hard for a farm to produce enough income to provide for a family. Up a side road she noticed a typical Amish schoolhouse, white frame with a small playground and ball field.

Nate pointed to a small sign. “That’s Joseph Beiler’s machine shop. He can fix just about anything, so people say.”

“You seem to know everyone,” she commented.

Nate shrugged. “I do business with a lot of them. And those I don’t, I generally hear about, one way or another.”

Natural enough, she supposed. He’d spent his life in Oyersburg and had to be familiar with all the Amish in the area. She hesitated, not sure she wanted to ask the question that hovered on her tongue.

“You said you did business with . . .” She let that trail off, but she suspected Nate knew her thought anyway.

“You’re wanting to ask about Lydia and her husband, ain’t so?”

She nodded. “I know Lydia a little, from her coming into the shop and bringing Adam’s clocks for us to sell. We’ve talked on several occasions.”

Nate darted a look at her. “And what did you think of her, before you heard about her maybe being your sister?”

“I liked her.” Maybe that was part of what troubled her. “I thought we were growing to be friends. And now it seems she was hiding something from me all along.”

Nate seemed to stiffen, as if her words had hit a sore spot. But what would someone like him have to hide? “That’s hard to forgive, ain’t so?” His tone was normal enough.

She considered. “I would have said it was hard to understand. I hope I would never be unforgiving.”

“You’re a gut woman, in that case.” But he seemed to draw away from her, as if they weren’t in agreement after all. “Well, you asked about Lydia and Adam Beachy. They have an orchard—apples mostly, but some cherries as well. Adam used to work at the camping trailer factory over toward Fisherdale, but he’s not doing that now. I guess the orchard and his clock-building and repair are enough.”

“Some of that Lydia has mentioned. She obviously loves the orchard.”

Nate frowned as if struck by a thought. “It seems to me I heard that the orchard came to them through Lydia’s family. That might be something you have a right to know about, if what Chloe Wentworth told you is true.”

She nodded, but the ownership of the orchard seemed a small matter with all the other things she had to fret over. A house appeared at the side of the road, then another, and her stomach tightened in protest. They were coming into the town.

“Bishop Mose has a harness shop right on Main Street,” Nate said, doing a good job of pretending he didn’t sense her stress. “That’s Paula Schatz’s coffee shop and bakery, and there’s Katie’s Quilts—you probably know about it.”

Susanna nodded, but her gaze was fixed on the small shop with harness and tack in the window. The car pulled up to the curb, and once again Nate leaned forward to speak to the driver. Their words were nothing more than a buzzing in her ears, and she seemed frozen to the seat.

“Here we are.” Nate cupped her elbow in his big hand for a moment to help her out. It was the sort of gesture he’d make toward his mother, and there was nothing in it to set up this fluttering inside her.

“You’ll soon have answers,” he said, his voice a deep rumble in her ears as he steered her up the two steps to the harness shop door.

Susanna managed a nod.
Be brave,
she told herself. She drew in a breath. She would, somehow. But she was very glad she was not alone.

* * *

As
he guided Susanna into Bishop Mose’s harness shop, Nate was a bit surprised that he hadn’t been wishing himself out of this situation long since. The time in Susanna’s company hadn’t been difficult, though he’d been on edge that her emotions would spill over and he wouldn’t know what to do.

Still, the sooner Susanna knew the truth about her family, the better. If this story the Englisch woman had told her was true, Susanna would be occupied with a brand-new family. And if she had a family to support her, he was certain-sure it would be easier for her to do what he wanted with the shop.

A glance at Susanna’s face told him she was very pale. He could only hope she wasn’t going to faint or make a scene. Whatever happened, he’d let himself in for this, and he’d have to see it through.

The smell of the harness shop struck him as he closed the door behind them. Rich scents of leather and neatsfoot oil mingled, telling him where he was even if he were blindfolded. New harnesses hung on the walls, while saddles and bridles were displayed on their own racks. It looked as if the bishop was picking up more business from the Englisch horse people than he used to.

The Englisch couple that was wandering down the aisles didn’t look like locals. Tourists, he’d guess, in here only to look, not to buy. He felt their stares as he guided Susanna to the back of the shop.

Here was where much of the work was done. No Amishman would buy new until the old couldn’t be fixed any longer, and Bishop Mose was known for his expertise in mending harnesses. Behind the back counter, several heavy machines for sewing leather were connected to the power source by the heavy belts that ran through a slot in the floor to the cellar below.

The bishop sat at a worktable, bending over a buckle, but he looked up at their approach, his keen eyes moving from Nate’s face to Susanna’s.

“Nathaniel Gaus. It’s been a time since I’ve seen you in my shop.” He stood, laying aside the work and wiping his hands on the heavy apron he wore. His beard, nearly all white now, reached to the middle of his chest, and his face bore as many wrinkles as the leather he worked.

“It’s gut to see you, Bishop Mose. I’ve brought Susanna Bitler to meet you.”

The Englischers were staring again at the rapid rattle of Pennsylvania Dutch, and he was irrationally annoyed. He was inured to stares, but Susanna didn’t need to be subjected to their curiosity when she was in such a vulnerable state.

Bishop Mose nodded at the introduction, and it was obvious from his expression that he recognized the name. “Ja. Wilkom, Susanna. In a way, I was expecting you might komm to see me at some time.”

Since Susanna seemed bereft of speech, Nate figured it was up to him. “Susanna needs some answers. I told her you might be the best person to ask.”

“I will do my best.” The bishop’s face was grave. “Komm. There are chairs on the back porch, and it is warm today. Go and sit, and I’ll close the shop and be right with you.”

Nate nodded and steered Susanna to the back door. As he went out, he could hear Bishop Mose explaining to his nonbuyers that it was closing time. The woman seemed inclined to argue, but he hustled them out firmly.

The porch ran the width of the shop, and it was furnished with four bentwood rockers and a couple of small tables. The yard stretched to a small stable, and the buggy horse in the adjoining paddock lifted its head to stare at them for a moment before lowering it to crop at the grass. Beyond, a row of trees bordered the small stream that ran parallel to the main road.

Nate settled Susanna in a rocker. “Take off your bonnet and sweater, why don’t you? It’s pleasant out here.” He followed his own advice by removing his hat and dropping it on the nearest table before taking the chair next to her.

Susanna removed her bonnet, smoothing her hair back to her kapp in the automatic gesture women had. The sunlight touching it brought out glints of bronze in the brown, making him remember that the Englisch woman, Chloe Wentworth, had reddish hair.

He studied Susanna’s face, looking for a clue to her attitude. She had obeyed him about the bonnet almost automatically, as if it was easier to do it than to argue. She didn’t look quite as pale as she had earlier, her skin smooth and even but no longer ashen.

Footsteps sounded, coming toward the porch, and her eyes widened. “This is a mistake.” Her fingers dug into the arms of the chair. “I don’t want to find out.”

Before Nate could come up with an answer, the door opened and Bishop Mose joined them. His keen gaze swept them, and then he pulled up a chair and sat facing them.

“You know, I think I would have recognized you even if I hadn’t heard your name, Susanna. You have a look of your mother about you.”

Susanna’s lips tightened. “Elizabeth Bitler was my mother.”

This meeting would be doomed if Susanna were prickly from the start. “I think the bishop meant your birth mother,” Nate said.

“Ja, that’s so,” Bishop Mose agreed. “Elizabeth was your mother, and she was wonderfully devoted to you.”