The Amish Nanny (45 page)

“Coffee, anyone?” Morgan asked, eyes twinkling.

“None for me,” Daniel replied, “but I bet there's a
krapfen
in there with my name on it.”

Smiling, we all turned toward it. The building was three stories high with green shutters at each window and a ribbon of smoke coming out of its chimney. The proprietor met us at the door and, speaking in English, said they were about to close, but he would serve us. We chose streusel, almond cookies, and several
krapfen
, which turned out to be a deep-fried pastry. Daniel insisted on paying, and while he did, I moved around the side of the counter. There, above a closed wooden door, was a small carving. I stepped closer. It was a meadow with a mountain behind it, crowned with a ring of clouds. It was the same mountain as in the carving in the ballroom at Amielbach, I was sure. And the steeple in that panel could easily be a depiction of the church here in Frutigen. I squinted and leaned closer, my head tilted upward. The group of figures standing in a semicircle in the meadow weren't in the carving at Amielbach, I was sure of that, but the style of the carving definitely appeared to be Abraham Sommers', although it appeared more primitive than his work at Amielbach.

Morgan was behind me now, snapping a photo. Daniel joined us, the bags of goodies in his hands. “Wow.” He crowded next to me. “I didn't
expect to find anything of Abraham's. I thought he would have been too young when he lived here.”

Before I could say more, the baker came up behind us.

“There's a story behind that carving,” he said, “but I can't remember it.” He sighed apologetically. “My father-in-law is upstairs. I will ask him.”

We stepped aside and he passed through the door. Morgan zoomed in on the carving with her camera. Another customer entered the shop and Daniel spoke to him in German, telling him the proprietor would be right back. The customer waited for a while and then left.

Finally the door to the upstairs opened and the baker returned, holding the arm of an elderly man. The old man was tall, well over six feet, with a bald head fringed with snow-white hair. His blue eyes were clear, and the bones of his face jutted out like cliffs on a mountainside.

“This is Christian Sommers,” the baker said.

My mouth dropped open. Sommers.

Daniel glanced at me and then stepped forward and reached for the man's hand. “How do you do?” he said.

“
Hallo
,” the old man replied, and added, “my English is not very good anymore.” It sounded perfect to me.

Daniel introduced Morgan first and then me. “We're interested in the carving. We're doing research on Anabaptists in the area, on a man named Abraham Sommers in particular.” Daniel grinned. “It looks like we came to the right place.”

“And you are Anabaptists?” Herr Sommers asked, looking at me as if he hadn't heard what Daniel had said.

“I'm Mennonite,” Daniel answered, and then motioning to me said, “and Ada is Amish—and a descendant of Abraham Sommers.”

“Ah.” He turned toward me. “You are the most conservative,
ya
? With your
kapp
and apron. Your people drive horses and carriages still?”

I nodded.

He smiled and then stepped forward and turned, so he could see the carving. “That was done by my father's great-great uncle. And yes, his name was Abraham Sommers.”

“No way!” Morgan cried. “If his father's great-great uncle was your great-great-great- grandfather, then that makes the two of you…” Her voice trailed off as she looked from me to Herr Sommers and back again. I could see that she was trying work it through, counting off with her fingers as she mumbled things like, “…second…third…twice removed…”

“Cousins,” the younger man said finally, causing us all to laugh.

“What can you tell us about Abraham Sommers?” I asked the old man, eager to hear whatever he might say.

Eyes twinkling, he replied that Abraham had been the youngest in a large family. “The parents both died and the older children raised him. But then they split on religion when the oldest brother joined the Mennonites. He was very vocal about his beliefs and tried to get the others to join as well, but most of them stayed with the Reformed Church instead, including the brother who ran the bakery.”

“This bakery?” I asked.

“Yes,” the younger man replied. “It has been in the family for three centuries.”

Behind me I could hear Morgan sigh. Three centuries of my family history was right here, under our feet and all around us. Incredible.

“Eventually the authorities grew suspicious of the oldest brother, thinking he was probably meeting with other Mennonites in secret. Once they had proof of it, they arrested him and took him to Thun and put him in the castle.”

So another of my ancestors had spent time in the dungeon too.

“Then soon after that, young Abraham went into the military. Sadly, when his time was finished, he chose not to come back home at all but instead made a life for himself elsewhere.”

“Why did he do that?” Morgan asked.

The old man shrugged his shoulders. “No one ever knew. It does seem odd, does it not? A young man completing his military service, and then simply staying away for the rest of his life?” He shrugged again. “It is a mystery. My guess was that he had been so heartbroken at the imprisonment of his oldest brother that he could not bear to live here without him. They were both artists—young Abraham showing talent as a carver, and his oldest brother already an accomplished weaver—so perhaps they shared a special bond. Whatever his reasons, Abraham never returned. As the story goes, when the family realized he was not ever coming back, they hung this old carving he had done right here in the bakery, and here it has hung ever since.”

“Wow,” Morgan whispered, echoing my thoughts exactly.

“Do you know where Abraham went when he left?” Daniel asked.

“No idea at all. Though, now that I have met you,” Herr Sommers said, gesturing toward me, “I have to wonder if maybe he emigrated to America. Do you know if that was the case?”

We shook our heads, explaining that Abraham had ended up living near Langnau. His daughter, Elsbeth, had been the one to emigrate to the U.S., continuing the family line that eventually led down to me.

“I see,” the man said, nodding. “Well, whatever the reason for Abraham's turning his back on Frutigen, all I know is that the other siblings were devastated when their family broke apart at each end—the oldest brother carted off to the dungeons, the youngest disappearing to who knows where. Even several generations later, my aunts and uncles were still mindful of that sad, sad story.”

“Thank you for sharing it with us,” I said earnestly.

The man reached out his hand to me and I took it. “You are welcome. It is nice to meet you, cousin,” he said. From the smile slowly spreading across his face, I could tell he was enjoying this as much as we were. I had a feeling he was also getting a kick out of having an Amish woman as a relative. Little did he know how many more there were of us back home.

Morgan asked the man if she could take his photo. He said only if I were in it too. I agreed but turned my head to the side just before she pressed the button.

We thanked Christian Sommers and his son-in-law profusely and then hurried back through the streets of Frutigen. The sun was low, and
a cold wind blew through the valley. Clouds scudded across the mountain peaks, covering them up as we walked. By the time we reached the car, my face and hands were icy cold.

We had an hour's drive or more before getting back to Langnau, and I started to feel anxious about being away from Christy for so long. I hoped she'd been a help to Will today.

“Isn't it interesting,” Morgan said, “that one of the brothers was a weaver?”

“It was pretty common back then,” Daniel said. “I came across information in my research. The farmers could grow flax in the summer and then process it and weave it during the winter. That is, until the textile mills opened in Bern in the mid–eighteen hundreds. That put an end to the bulk of the weavers' trade.”

“I didn't mean that,” Morgan said. “I meant because Giselle weaves.”

“Lots of Amish and Mennonite people work with fabric. It's an acceptable art form for Plain people.” Daniel always had an answer.

Morgan shook her head. “I still think it's interesting.”

Alice was sitting up in bed and appearing to feel much better when we arrived back at the hospital. She had a little bit of color in her face and her forget-me-not blue eyes were brighter than they had been in days. George was there too, keeping her company while Will and Christy were having dinner.

“The doctor said we can definitely fly home soon, maybe even by the day after tomorrow,” Alice said.

“Depends on what's available,” George added. “I told Will I'd help him book the flights when you're ready to go.”

The day after tomorrow? I tried to look pleased for Alice's sake, but I wasn't, not at all. There was still so much I wanted to do here. Find the missing agreement. Hear the judge's final ruling. Explore the waterfall. See more of Switzerland. Make up my mind about Daniel.

If I really did decide to be courted by Daniel, I would also need to talk to Giselle about living with her when I returned. In fact, I realized, that was one conversation that should happen sooner than later. Depending on her answer, the big plan he had proposed might not even be possible.

After glancing at Daniel, I asked Alice if she knew where I might find Giselle.

“I'm sorry, dear, but I haven't seen her all day,” Alice replied. George added that he hadn't either.

“She's probably been in her studio, working on that new piece,” Morgan suggested.

That sounded likely to me, and suddenly I was eager to get going. Before I could decide about a future with Daniel, I needed to know if the basics of such an arrangement could even work.

We were just leaving when Will and Christy returned from dinner. Will wanted to stay longer, but Christy was looking pretty tired, so I suggested she ride to Amielbach with us.

“Thanks, Ada,” Will said with a grateful smile, looking pretty tired himself.

George said he would stay until Will was ready to return to the inn, so Daniel, Morgan, Christy, and I headed toward the car, with Christy and Morgan leading the way. When we reached the parking lot, I slowed my pace a bit until the two of them were out of earshot. Then, turning to Daniel, I lowered my voice and told him I needed a favor.

“From me?”

“Yes. When we get to the cottage, I'm going to talk to Giselle about coming back to live with her. I want to have that conversation in private, so I'm wondering if you would mind keeping Christy occupied for a while. Maybe you and Morgan can talk her into playing a board game or something.”

“Oh! Absolutely!” Daniel replied, his face lighting up in such a broad smile that I realized he had misunderstood. He thought I had already made my decision, and that my conversation with Giselle was after the fact. I came to a stop there in the middle of the parking lot and, after a beat, he did too.

“Don't get the wrong impression,” I said gently. “I haven't yet decided about us courting. I'm just exploring the possibility for now.”

“I see,” he replied, his smile fading a bit. “Well, if you do, and if Giselle says you can live with her, then you should just stay and not go back to Pennsylvania with the others at all.”

I gaped at him for a moment. “I would still have to go back home first, regardless.”

“Why?” he asked, sounding like a petulant child.

“I can't bow out of my commitment to take care of Christy, not to mention that I would never be so disrespectful to my parents.” Suddenly, I was feeling kind of petulant myself—and more than a little defensive. “Don't forget, Daniel, that I have a whole life back there. Affairs I would need to settle. Possessions I would have to pack. Friends and relatives who deserve a goodbye from me in person. If I'm really moving to Europe, there's a lot I have to do first.”

“Seriously?” he asked. “The way I see it, you have no job and no boyfriend. You haven't joined your church. What's to miss? You should just stay.”

I stared at him, incredulous. His words may have contained some truth—okay, maybe they even closely echoed words I had said to myself recently—but in that moment I realized how wrong he was. How wrong I had been.

In the distance I could hear the sound of car doors opening and then closing, and I hoped Morgan was adequately distracting Christy from our discussion out here. Breathing in deeply, I asked myself why I was having so much trouble accepting the one thing I'd thought I had wanted most, an exciting future with a man who said he cared for me. Then again, if he really did care, wouldn't he know that what I needed right now was patience, not pressure?

“Listen, Ada,” he said finally, stepping closer and taking my hand. “You do what you think you need to do. I'll try to back off a little, but I
can't wait around for your answer forever. Make up your mind soon, okay?”