Susanna's Dream: The Lost Sisters of Pleasant Valley, Book Two (7 page)

“I guess. Sometimes I think I’d be better off chucking the job entirely and finding something that doesn’t demand so much traveling.”

Chloe frowned, and there was something he didn’t quite understand in her eyes. “Maybe you’ve started thinking the world out there isn’t right for you after all.”

“Maybe not,” he said, nettled at her tone. “What difference does it make?”

“None at all.” Chloe focused on her packages, sliding the smaller bags inside the larger one. “I’d better get home. I have some things to do. Thanks again for letting me know about Bishop Mose.”

She gave him a perfunctory smile and headed for the door, leaving him to follow or not.

Seth stared after her. What had just happened? Yes, they’d said they’d have to cool things between them, but this wasn’t just cool, it was downright frosty.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

S
usanna
stared down at her hands, clasped loosely on the lap of her black dress, and tried to focus on the minister’s teaching. John Fischer, the older of the two ministers who served this church district, had a soft, slightly wavering voice, so concentration was called for.

Worship this Sunday morning was held in a large barn on the farm belonging to the Brand family, on the outskirts of Oyersburg. The buggies had been lined up in a long row for nearly three hours now. She had, as usual, been picked up by Dora’s eldest daughter and husband for the drive, since their home was closest to hers, and Donna had been quick to offer. She was as forthright and kind as her mother, and Susanna appreciated the way Donna made her feel a part of the family.

Once inside the barn, scrubbed spotless by the Brand family for their yearly turn at hosting worship, the group had separated, with Donna heading for the group of young mothers where her baby and toddler would be at home. Susanna fell into line, and soon they were filing into the barn, men sitting on one side, women on the other, as always.

Susanna sat on one of the backless benches, unmarried women on either side of her.
Young
unmarried women, and it seemed to her they grew younger with each passing year. Next to all their blooming youth she felt far older than her twenty-seven years.

When Mamm was alive, she’d sat with her because there was always the possibility her mother would feel ill and have to leave worship. The first Sunday back without her had been a difficult one. Folks had been kind, many of the women going out of their way to say a word about her mother.

Her mother,
Susanna repeated to herself. Mamm was her true mother, not some unknown Englisch woman. Bishop Mose had said that her mamm’s love had pulled her through after the accident. Surely that meant more to the relationship of mother and daughter than an accident of birth.

Unfortunately, thinking of Bishop Mose led her right back to the thing that had been troubling her since Friday—her outburst against Nate. Her words had been true, she was certain-sure, but they had not been kind, and after Nate had gone to all the trouble of taking her to see the bishop. Mamm would be ashamed of her.

The preaching ended, and she slid to her knees for the prayer, knowing she had to ask forgiveness. Not just from God, but from Nate, as well. She could not let their disagreement fester in silence.

Making up her mind to apologize to Nate was one thing—finding an opportunity to do it quite another. When the service ended, there was a bustle of movement and talk as women headed for the kitchen to help with the food while the men began converting the backless benches used in worship into the tables at which they’d eat.

Susanna could see Nate easily enough on the men’s side, hefting a bench with ease. His height and his light blond hair made him stand out. But he was surrounded by other men still, and there’d certainly be no chance of a quiet apology until later.

Church Sunday wound through its usual routine. By the time everyone had been fed and the food cleared away, most people were ready to sit and chat, letting the kinder play. The men would most likely be talking about the weather, the crops, the need for more rain, the likelihood of an early frost, and such things.

Susanna joined Dora and Donna, who’d found seats in the shade of an oak tree with Donna’s two little ones. Baby Joshua was sound asleep on a blanket, and Susanna had to smile at the intensity of his sleep—arms and legs sprawled, plump cheeks rosy, rosebud mouth moving once in a while as if he were nursing.

“That one will fall asleep anywhere, anytime,” Dora said, seeing the direction of Susanna’s gaze. “But little Barbie is so lively she hates to give up and shut her eyes, no matter how tired she is.”

Donna had been attempting to get the two-year-old to rest on her lap, but Barbie wiggled fretfully until her mother let her slip to the ground. She toddled first to her grandmother, then to Susanna, making the fussy noises that showed her need for a nap.

“Here, Barbie.” Susanna drew the little girl against her skirt. “Why don’t I make babies in a cradle for you, all right?”

She spread a handkerchief out on her lap, folded it into a triangle, and began rolling the ends in to make the babies. A quick twitch of the pointed end turned it inside out, becoming a cradle if you had enough imagination, and she let it swing between her hands.

Barbie seized it, entranced. “Bopplis,” she announced.

“That’s right, two of them. Maybe you should sit down on the blanket next to your bruder and rock them to sleep.”

Barbie plopped herself down, and in five minutes she’d fallen asleep, the handkerchief cradle clasped in her pudgy hands.

“Gut job,” Donna said softly, eyes crinkling. She had the same coloring as Nate, except that where he was ruddy, her face was freckled, making her look even younger than she was. “You have a gift for kinder, Susanna.”

Susanna smiled and nodded, trying to ignore the pain in her heart at the thought of the children she most likely wouldn’t have.

“Look at Nate,” Donna said. “He’s another one who’s gut with the kinder.”

She nodded toward her brother, who was tossing a young boy high in the air, causing giggles they could hear from where they sat. Nate’s head was tilted back, and he was laughing just as much as the child.

“Who is the little boy?” It wasn’t one of Dora’s grandchildren. Susanna knew all of them.

“That’s Mary Ann’s little nephew.” Donna shook her head, face solemn. “Such a shame, her dying so young before the two of them had a chance to start a family. If Nate had a couple of kinder of his own, he might have married again by now instead of turning into a grumpy old bachelor.”

“Your brother is not grumpy,” Dora said, her tone a bit tart. “And he’s only two years older than you are.”

Donna didn’t seem overly impressed by her mother’s opinion, but she didn’t argue. She rose, tiptoeing around the sleeping children. “I’ll get us lemonade and some cookies. You sit still, Mamm.” She scurried off.

Dora shook her head. “I wish they’d stop acting as if I’m helpless.”

“I’m sure Donna doesn’t think so.” Pacifying Dora about her children’s attitudes was becoming a habit with Susanna.

“Actually, I’m glad Donna left us for a moment, because I wanted to ask about your visit to Bishop Mose.” Dora leaned toward her, concern in her face. “Nate told me what happened with Chloe. I hope you’re not upset that he did so. He seemed to think you were satisfied with the answers you got, but I wanted to be sure he wasn’t just seeing what he expected.”

It sounded as if Nate hadn’t mentioned their dispute, and Susanna gave wordless thanks. She wouldn’t want Dora to think they were quarreling. Or know what the quarrel was about, for that matter.

“Nate was wonderful kind to take me,” she said, which was true enough. As to his motives . . . well, the least said the better. “Bishop Mose explained how it happened that the children were separated, and he certainly knew all about me. So I have to accept that the story is true, hard as it is to believe.”

“And?” Dora’s shrewd gaze zeroed in on her face. “How are you feeling about it?”

Trust Dora never to beat around the bush, even if sometimes a person might wish she would.

“I . . . I’m not sure.” That was honest, if not very satisfactory. “I suppose I should be happy to learn I have sisters, but . . .” Susanna let that trail off, not sure how to describe what she was feeling.

“You can’t love two strangers like sisters all at once,” Dora said. “Not even if you wanted to.”

“That’s exactly right,” she said, relieved that Dora understood. “Everyone seems to think I should rush into getting to know them, but I’m not sure I’m ready. They may be my sisters by blood, but that doesn’t mean we’ll automatically have feelings for each other.”

“Ja, it wouldn’t be easy.” Dora seemed to mull it over. “Since the two of them have known for a time, they’ve had a chance to get used to the idea. It must have been a shock for them, as well, when they first heard. If they care about you, they’ll give you the time you need.”

“Nate seemed to think I’d be eager to get to know them,” she said cautiously, wondering if he’d voiced his opinion to his mother.

“Ach, what does Nate know about the way women think? I wouldn’t let Donna get away with criticizing him, good as he’s always been to his sisters, but she was right in one thing. He is starting to act like an old bachelor.”

Susanna had to smile at Dora’s tone. “He’s young, still. I’m sure there are plenty of women who’d be interested in him.” Involuntarily, Anna Mae’s pert face popped into her mind.

“Plenty that are willing to chase him, that’s certain-sure,” Dora said. “As for him being willing to be caught—well, that’s another story.”

“Folks say that he loved Mary Ann so much that he doesn’t want to put anyone in her place.” Susanna hoped she wasn’t saying too much. Dora had never talked so openly before about her son.

A shadow seemed to cross Dora’s face. She was silent for a moment, and then she made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “Folks will say anything,” she said. “You can’t believe half of it.”

“I expect that’s true,” Susanna murmured, not sure what was in Dora’s mind.

“Ach, well, I shouldn’t be jabbering on about his business. We were talking about you, not him.” She reached out to pat Susanna’s hand. “You take all the time you need to adjust to this news. Don’t let anyone rush you.”

“Denke.” It warmed her heart, knowing that Dora understood and supported her.

“And if you wouldn’t mind, just get Nate’s attention and tell him I’ll be ready to leave in about half an hour.”

“Ja, of course.” Susanna stood, using one hand on the chair for balance as she always did. “I’ll let him know.”

And while she was at it, she would do her apologizing. Everything else aside, she couldn’t be on bad terms with her partner’s son.

Nate must have realized she was coming to see him, because he turned away from the folks he was talking to and walked quickly to meet her.

“Is Mamm getting tired?” He glanced toward his mother, a slight frown wrinkling his forehead.

“Not tired, exactly, but she wanted you to know that she’ll be ready to go in about half an hour.” Susanna took a breath, praying for the right words. “I . . . I’m glad to have a chance to speak with you, Nate.”

“Ja?” His gaze rested on her face, and she forced herself to meet his eyes. She had the sense that he knew what she wanted already but wasn’t inclined to make it easy for her.

“I spoke out of turn on Friday, and I’m sorry.” Get the apology out, and the rest should be easier. “It was wonderful kind of you to arrange for my visit to Bishop Mose, and I repaid you poorly by biting your head off the way I did.”

Nate’s reserved expression eased, and something that might have been amusement seemed to tug at his lips. “There I was thinking you were always such a quiet little thing. I didn’t know you had such a temper.”

“I don’t usually let it get the better of me.”

“Maybe you should let it loose once in a while. We wouldn’t want you to explode like an unvented pressure cooker, ain’t so?” The laughter in his voice invited her to join him.

“I . . . I guess not.” She wasn’t sure how to deal with his teasing. “Anyway, I’m sorry you were the target.”

“Maybe you had a point. Maybe I was thinking that having kin here would make you think differently about the shop.” His expression grew more serious, and he studied her face so closely that she could feel the blood rise beneath the skin. “I don’t want to be on bad terms with you, Susanna. All I can say is that I’ll make every effort to settle this business of the shop in a way that satisfies all of us. I can’t say fairer than that, ja?”

Susanna nodded. What else could she do? But she didn’t feel particularly reassured. After all, Nate’s idea of fair might be nothing like hers. Still, it was the best response she was going to get just now, so she’d have to accept it.

* * *

Sunday
evening was time for Chloe’s weekly phone call to her grandmother. She pulled out her cell phone and sat down in the corner of the sofa, sensing a deep reluctance to make the call.

She loved her grandmother. After all, Gran had been the only mother figure she’d ever known. But the revelation that Chloe had two sisters her grandmother had kept secret all those years had put a wedge between them, and Gran’s subsequent implacable opposition to Chloe’s efforts to become acquainted with Lydia and Susanna had turned the wedge into a chasm.

Chloe didn’t understand, maybe would never understand, her grandmother’s attitude. Lydia and Susanna were just as much Margaret Wentworth’s granddaughters as she was, but Gran had wiped them out of her life as if they’d never existed.

Lydia apparently didn’t have any problem forgiving her grandmother’s attitude, but then the concept of forgiving if you would be forgiven was an integral part of Amish faith. Chloe was having far more trouble eliminating her resentment.

Still, she was trying, and making her weekly phone call was part of her effort. Each time she talked with her grandmother, she tried to open Gran’s heart. Maybe one day she’d succeed.

Chloe hit the number and prepared to be conciliatory, even if it killed her. “Hello, Gran. How are you?”

“Fine, as always. Where are you?”

Chloe pressed down the annoyance the question always roused. It was as if Gran conveniently forgot Chloe’s decision to move to Oyersburg for a few months.

“I’m in my little cottage in Oyersburg.” She kept her tone pleasant.

“I hoped you had gotten tired of this whim of yours by now.”

There wasn’t a hint of bending in Gran’s attitude. Chloe could picture her sitting very upright in the Queen Anne chair that was her favorite, every white curl in place, touching the pearls she always wore.

Maybe ignoring the negative was the best course. “I was able to interview two new craftspeople for the paper I’m writing, and I got some excellent photographs. I’ve been thinking that I might be able to work up several journal articles, in addition to the research project.”