The Search (7 page)

Lainey tried again. “Did Samuel know?”

Bertha took her time answering. “No. The very week Rebecca had her baby, Samuel’s brother in Somerset was laid up in the hospital for a bleeding ulcer. Samuel went to go help finish up spring planting on his brother’s farm. He hadn’t laid eyes on his own granddaughter yet. But he came back as soon as I sent word about the accident.”

Lainey felt the words lock in her throat. “Why . . . why didn’t you ever tell?”

“When Jonah found out that Rebecca had died, it was like the light had gone out of him. His back was broke to smithereens.”

Lainey’s eyes went round as quarters. “He’s paralyzed?”

“No. His spiney cord wasn’t hurt, but his lower back was broke. He had to learn to walk all over again. Knowing Bess needed him was all that kept him going.”

Lainey stared at Bertha for a long time. She rubbed her forehead. “Are you saying that Jonah doesn’t know?”

Bertha shook her head and looked away. “You know how fast babies change and grow. By the time Jonah was able to see her and hold her, she was already holding her head up and rolling over.” She sighed. “But Jonah never knew. I planned to tell him. I meant to. But there never seemed to be a good time. And then weeks and months turned into years.”

Lainey closed her eyes and squeezed her fists tight. She should have realized! She should have known! The color of Bess’s hair—white blond—and those turquoise eyes. Simon’s hair color. Simon’s eyes. She looked at Bertha. “So . . . Bess . . . is my half sister?”

As Bertha nodded, a single tear fell on Lainey’s cheek, followed by another and another, until she couldn’t hold them back anymore. She covered her face with her hands and wept.

When Bertha Riehl invited Billy for Sunday lunch, even then, he felt a pang of unease. He should have known that she would have something up her sleeve. She had a reputation for doing the unexpected. He had been working for her for over two years now, and she had never once invited him for Sunday dinner . . . until today. Normally, he got a kick out of Bertha’s unpredictable methods of getting what she wanted. But he had never been the object of her finagling. He liked working for her. She paid him well, and he knew she needed his help around Rose Hill Farm. But now he was stuck babysitting her granddaughter for the rest of the afternoon—a girl who acted as nervous as a cottontail and had a hard time stringing more than two words together that made any sense. He found younger girls to be tiresome: they giggled a lot and refused to take anything seriously.

A horrible thought darted through his mind. He hoped Bertha wasn’t trying her hand at matchmaking. He was real fond of Bertha, even if she was crafty, and he didn’t want to lose this job. It was more than a job to him. It was his future. This was what he wanted to do with his life. He could never work up much enthusiasm pushing a plow behind a team of mules, but this—experimenting to create a better plant—this felt like something he was born to do. He studied books about roses, he wrote away to experts and asked their opinions, and he kept precise records—something Bertha had no interest in. It was a sin to be prideful and he was careful not to indulge in it, but it did please him when folks said they drove long distances to buy rose stock from Rose Hill Farm. Last week, an English lady came all the way from Pittsburgh because someone at Penn State told her this was the only place to buy a rose that smelled like one grown a hundred years ago. “The hybrids might be the rage,” the lady told Billy, “but they have no fragrance. But these roses”—she scanned the fields—“you can tell they’re grown with passion.”

How his father and older brothers would laugh at that comment. They thought his ideas were nonsense, so he stopped doing experiments and bringing his horticulture books home from the library. But his mother had understood. She and Bertha had been good friends and neighbors. His mother must have told Bertha the kinds of things Billy liked to learn about, because at his mother’s funeral, she asked him to come work at Rose Hill Farm.

But as much as he liked and admired Bertha Riehl, as much passion as he felt for the roses, he knew he would never be passionate about this skinny girl sitting on the buggy seat next to his cousin Maggie. He guessed Bess could hardly weigh ninety-nine pounds soaking wet. She had an unnaturally scrubbed look, like she’d been dipped in a bottle of bleach and came out with ultra blond hair and white eyelashes. And that anxious-to-please expression on her face made him nervous.

He was glad his cousin was with them. Maggie could talk to a brick wall and never notice it wasn’t answering back. At least he was off the hook from trying to come up with any more painful attempts at conversation, like he had to do—just out of politeness—when Bess was out helping him pick roses.

Still, the least he could do was to be nice, for Bertha’s sake, so he took the long way to the Smuckers to show Bess his favorite spot on earth, Blue Lake Pond. A little jewel of a pond with pine trees that lined the shores. It was deserted, just as he expected. That was another thing he loved about this lake. He stopped the horse, hopped down, and tied its reins to a tree branch. He took a few steps and then stopped to wave to the girls. “Well, come on.”

“Not me. I’m going to stay here,” Maggie said, pushing her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. “I don’t want to get my shoes dirty.”

“Suit yourself,” he said. “What about you, Bess? Every visitor to Stoney Ridge needs to get acquainted with Blue Lake Pond.”

Thrown that small morsel of encouragement, Bess leaped off the buggy and trotted behind Billy.

Down by the shoreline, he put his hands on his hips and inhaled deeply. “This is the best lake in the county. In all of Pennsylvania. I spend every free hour on these shores—swimming in the summer, skating in the winter. Fishing in between.” He picked up a rock and skimmed it across the pond. He gave Bess a sideways glance. “Me and my friend Andy go skinny-dipping here every summer.” He paused for her reaction.

Bess’s eyes went wide and her cheeks flamed scarlet.

Billy grinned.

Clearly mortified, Bess turned away from him and walked along the shore. Billy kept skimming rocks. After a while, she stopped to look up in the treetops. “It’s the quietest place in the world.”

“Sure is. Quiet and peaceful.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. I meant it in a strange way.”

He tilted his head. “What’s so strange about a quiet lake?”

“There are no birds singing.”

He searched the skies and the trees. “Huh. You’re right.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s the time of day.”

She walked further along the shoreline. “You’d think there’d be some sign of wildlife. A loon or a duck or a goose. Even a crow or scrub jay.” She looked all around. “Nothing.”

Maggie hollered to them she wanted to get to the Smuckers’ before the gathering was over, if they wouldn’t mind, so they turned around to walk back to the buggy. Before Billy left the shoreline, though, he shielded his eyes from the sun and scanned the lake. He saw plenty of dragonflies skating over the surface of the pond, but he was looking for some sign or sound of a bird in the trees or skies. Not one.

Billy disappeared to join his friends the minute they hitched the horse at the Smuckers’, but Maggie stuck to Bess like glue. She reminded Bess of a pixie, small and dark, with eyes darting here and there, forever watchful. She could talk a person to death. Bess didn’t mind at all; she’d grown accustomed to half listening after being around Sallie Stutzman so much. As they walked around the yard and watched some boys pegging out a game of horseshoes, Maggie pointed out names and gave Bess the full rundown on each person. Bess nodded, vaguely interested, but she kept one eye on Billy the entire time.

Someone tapped Bess on the shoulder. “
Who
are you staring at?”

Bess whirled around to face a tall, shapely girl with sandy-blond hair and dark brown eyes. If it weren’t for the fact that she was glowering at Bess, she could even be called attractive.

Maggie intervened. She hooked her arm through Bess’s and pulled her along. “I should have warned you about Esther Swartzentruber. She set her sights on Billy awhile back and hasn’t let go. Well, most every girl has her sights on Billy, but Esther is the only one bold enough to tell everyone. She watches him like a hawk.” She looked back at Esther who was scowling at both of them. “With you here, Bess, I think it’s going to be a real fun summer. Esther thinks she’s got all the boys pining for her, but look at how they’re sizing you up like a hog at auction.”

Bess was absolutely sure no boy was looking at her, but such a loyal remark earned Maggie a spot in her heart.

Right at that moment, a buggy wheeled into the driveway and pulled to a stop. Out poured four girls. It was the fourth girl who caught Bess’s eye. Actually, it was Billy’s reaction to Girl #4 that she noticed. He stopped playing horseshoes and walked over to greet Girl #4, lingering over her. But who wouldn’t? She was
that
pretty.

Maggie leaned over and whispered, “That’s Betsy Mast. Every boy in Lancaster County is wild over her.”

A wave of pure jealousy came over Bess, shaming her. She said nothing. She was afraid it might show in her voice.

“How could they not be?” Maggie continued. “Look at her big eyes and gigantic pouty lips. Her chest looks like the prow of a ship! I call her Busty Mast. Have you ever seen such enormous—” She clasped her hand over her mouth. “Oh, I
shouldn’t
have said that! Jorie—she’s my stepmom—she’s always telling me to think before I speak. But my mouth does run away from me.”

Bess looked down at her own flat chest and up again at Betsy Mast. She sighed.

“Fellows sure do seem to love the prows of ships. They’re always talking about them.” Maggie spoke in a wise, mature woman-of-the-world voice and patted Bess’s shoulder. “I know these things.” She gave a sly grin. “I have a gift for eavesdropping.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Billy hovered around Betsy like a bee around a flower.

For hours, listening to crickets in the thick, muggy silence, Lainey lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. Bess was her sister.
Bess was her sister!
She still couldn’t believe it. She never dreamed she would see her again. Her thoughts bounced back to that terrible night, when she made a snap decision that altered lives. She had made a bold promise to her mother, who lay dying just two weeks before, that she would take care of her baby sister, Colleen. But within a few days, Lainey was overwhelmed and exhausted. And sad. Terribly sad. She missed her mother. She had found a small amount of cash tucked in the back of her mother’s dresser drawer, but that was disappearing quickly after buying two weeks of baby formula. By now, she had been sure Simon would have returned. She was starting to panic.

When she heard the screech of tires and the horse whinnying and then that horrible crashing sound, she grabbed her baby sister out of the cradle and ran outside to see what had happened. The buggy had flipped to its side. She bolted over to it and her heart lurched with recognition—Rebecca and Jonah Riehl. She called their names, but they didn’t respond. They both looked pale and still. Rebecca was bleeding from her ear.