A Time for Peace (14 page)

"I couldn't catch her."

"Maybe she just needs to cool off," she told him.

"I don't want her catching a cold."

"Perhaps she'll come back quickly. It's not like her to become so upset and walk off like that."

"I don't blame her." He hung her jacket on a peg. "I should have told her. Maybe not back then. But when she came back here, I should have told her."

Phoebe straightened. "We did what we thought was best."

"I'm not so sure about that any more." He poured himself a mug of coffee. "Are you?"

"
Allrecht,
I had my doubts sometimes. But when she came back and the two of you looked at each other again, I thought, well, God's giving them a second chance. It's all worked out. There was no need to make her upset at her father. She had enough upsetting her being so injured, so despairing."

She walked over to the refrigerator, opened it, and pulled out a plate with a defrosting roast on it. "I'll start supper," she said.

He'd been so happy to hear that she wanted to cook earlier. Now the thought didn't give him any pleasure.

"
Gut,"
he said and tried to appear enthusiastic. "I'm going out to the barn."

"Jenny!"

Chris. She walked faster and pretended not to hear him but when she felt his hand on her arm, she stopped.

"Something wrong?"

"I just wanted to go for a walk."

She tried to surreptitiously wipe the tears from her cheeks but he turned her around to face him and frowned when he saw she'd been crying.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

She shook her head. "Listen, I just want to go for a walk."

"You're cold," he said, mistaking her trembling for being chilled. He took off his jacket and slipped it over her shoulders.

"I'm fine. Really." But she was grateful for the warmth and slipped her arms into the sleeves.

"Okay," he said, drawing out the word as he studied her. "Can I walk with you?"

"Hannah—"

"Will be fine with my parents. Mom's telling her all about how I was growing up. And Dad? Well, save me from Dad.Please." He frowned as he fell into step beside her.

"Still not getting along?"

"Still? Ever, you mean. Stubborn old codger."

"We could never use that word to describe you, could we?"

"Codger? You better not."

She suppressed a smile. "I meant stubborn."

He slanted a look at her. "Me? Stubborn? Absolutely not."

"It seems I remember your discussions with the bishop about some of the
Ordnung
rules before you joined the church."

"You can't say you agree with all of them. Even though I learned respect for authority in the military, you can't be passive."

"And then there was the way you persisted in planting certain crops against the advice of others."

"Worked, didn't it?" His grin was cocky.

"And then—"

"Hey, is this a list?"

"No." She smiled.

She bent to pick up a brightly colored leaf from the side of the road. Looking up, she scanned the gray sky. She'd come here when it was a bleak and bitter winter years ago. The ground had been covered with snow. Soon it would be again.

"Just saying maybe the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"Better watch it if you say I'm like my dad," he said, his voice a low growl.

But she saw the teasing glint in his eyes before his expression became thoughtful.

"I guess we get some of both parents, don't we?" he asked. "I know I can be stubborn. If I wasn't, there'd never be an argument with Dad. I'd just say, 'yessir' and that would be the end of it."

"You'd probably give him a stroke if you did that now," she warned. "He'd think you were just trying to get him upset."

He laughed. "Right."

"I think you got your work ethic from both of them. Your dad hasn't rested since he came here. He's always looking for something to do."

"Tell me about it. He doesn't understand that we need a little bit of a break after harvesting the old-fashioned way, without all the modern machinery."

"What do you think you got from your mother?"

"I'm not sure. I don't cook much. Thank goodness that's not encouraged in males so much here as in the
Englisch
world."

"I think you got some of her thoughtfulness, her sweetness."

"Hey, watch it. You're talking to a former military guy here. I'm a manly man."

"Uh huh. I see how you act around Hannah. You do so many sweet things for her. Like the cradle."

"You didn't—"

"No, I didn't tell her. She still thinks she's going to use the one Matthew made for the children."

She felt tears sting her eyes again and furiously blinked them back.

"What is it?" he asked suddenly. "Why were you crying earlier?"

They heard the car behind them at the same time. He moved to the other side of her, forcing her to walk closer to the grass, and shot a sharp look at the car passing them. The driver gave them a wide berth and drove on.

"It's nothing."

"Matthew doesn't strike me as the type of man who would hurt a woman," he said slowly, carefully. "But I've heard of several men in the community—"

"Oh, it's not that," she said quickly, horrified. "Matthew would never hurt me."

"There's hurting and hurting. Words can hurt more than a hand."

She nodded. "No, if anything, I've hurt him by—" she stopped and shook her head.

"I don't believe you've done or said anything to deliberately hurt him."

"You'd be surprised." She sighed. "No, what I'm really upset about—I can't talk about right now. But I handled something badly. Really badly."

"When you're ready to talk, let me know."

He glanced up at the sky. "I think we should be heading back. Looks like rain."

She turned back as he suggested. "You're quite the farmer, aren't you?"

"
Ya,"
he said, chuckling.

They were silent as they walked back toward the farms. She thought about what they'd been talking about—what Chris got from his parents and what she had from her own.

Her mother had encouraged her in education, always stressing that Jenny had to be a good student. She'd have learned more from her if she hadn't died when Jenny was young. She knew she'd gotten her sense of helping others from the missionary work her father had done during two summers—and dragged her along to do as well.

But what kind of lesson had she learned from a father who had taken her from the man she loved and given her no choice in the decision?

They were back at the farmhouses. Dusk was falling and light shone from the battery and kerosene lamps inside. Family dwelled inside both, with all the joys and problems that came with family.

And with all the love.

She took a deep breath and told herself that Chris was right. She'd start with prayer—the best place—and ask God for guidance.

"Thanks for walking with me," she told him, handing him back his jacket.

He hugged her. "It'll work out, whatever it is that's bothering you. I'll pray for you." He sniffed, then set her away from him. "Interesting perfume you have on today."

"Perfume? I don't wear perfume."

"Smells like 'Eau de Filly' to me," he said. "You been out in the barn with the horses?"

The liniment. She thought she'd washed off the smell. "Very funny!"

He grinned. "
Gut nacht,
Jenny."

Whistling, he began the short walk home.

Matthew watched Chris hug Jenny and felt an unaccustomed tug of jealousy.

She'd turned to another man for comfort.

He wasn't jealous. No, he knew Chris too well to feel that he'd behave less than honorably with Jenny.

But he'd wanted to comfort Jenny and instead, Chris had been the one to do so. He hurried away from the front window as she climbed the steps and walked into the kitchen. Somehow he didn't think she'd appreciate that he'd been watching.

And she deserved her privacy.

But he had to find a way to talk to her. There was no place for distance between them.

J
enny walked into the house and immediately, the familiar, delicious aroma of pot roast enveloped her.

Phoebe looked up from the bowl of apples she was peeling.Her expression could be described no other way than wary.

"You look cold," Matthew said.

Rubbing her arms, Jenny nodded. "A little."

She turned to Phoebe. "You didn't have to start supper. I wasn't gone long."

"I wanted to. I can let you finish—"

"No, you go ahead. I've got a headache. I'm going to go upstairs and lie down for a little while." She glanced at the clock. "The children will be home soon."

Opening a cupboard, she found the bottle of ibuprofen and shook out several, taking them with a glass of water.

Phoebe started to say something and then she caught herself and nodded. "Why don't you take a cup of tea up with you? The water's hot."

"No, thanks. Maybe later."

"Jenny, we need to talk—"

Jenny shook her head which just made it pound more. "Not now. Please. I need to lie down."

She ran up the stairs, closed the door, unpinned her
kapp,
and then threw herself on the bed. The headache wasn't an excuse. Her head really pounded now after all the emotion, after the suppressed tears. The tension of wanting an explanation after finding the letter.

Yet as she lay on the bed staring up at the ceiling she felt even more conflicted. She'd told Chris she'd handled something badly and her eyes filled again with tears as she thought about how the hurtful words had spilled out. Her heart ached.She didn't know how to fix what had happened.

She couldn't think. Closing her eyes, she tried to still her racing thoughts. Gradually, the medicine began to work and she felt herself relax.

When sleep came, it came with restless dreams she couldn't remember when she woke.

Jenny paused with her hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. With all that had been happening, she found she needed to compose herself before she opened the door.

"Jenny Banana!" Sam cried and grabbed her around the knees.

"Sam the Ham!" she said and reached down to hug him."You're getting so big."

"I'm seven now," he told her proudly.

She straightened and hugged his father, David, and then turned to Joy. But when she started to put her arms around Joy, she realized that Joy had some kind of backpack thing on.

"We wanted to show you our newest addition to the family," Joy said, grinning.

She turned around, revealing a baby of about six months tucked in some sort of carrier.

Jenny clutched at the door frame for support. "Oh—my! What—when did this happen?"

"About a month ago," Joy told her.

"I'm confused! You never said you were expecting a baby! And this baby looks like she's more than a month old."

"We 'dopted," Sam told her.

Then she realized they were still standing in the doorway and it was chilly outside. "Come in, come in."

Once inside, David lifted the child out of the carrier and bounced her in his arms.

Jenny couldn't help it—she kept staring at the baby.

Sam tugged on Jenny's skirt. "I got to name her. Guess what her name is?"

"Betty? Betty Betty Bo Betty banana banna bo berry?"

"No, silly!" Sam chortled. "It's Emily Ann. I picked out her name."

"A baby." Stunned, she tried to take it in. Her eyes went back and forth, back and forth, from Joy to David. Tears threatened and she tried to blink them away. "You adopted?"

"We got to thinking about what we could do to make a difference and adopting our next child just seemed right. You want to hold her so I can take my jacket off?" David held the baby out.

She felt a momentary panic and used her fingers to wipe away the tears she hadn't been able to hold back. "I haven't held a baby in years!"

"It's easy," he assured her, and thrust her into Jenny's arms.

"She's so tiny." Jenny cradled the child in her arms and breathed in the scent of baby soap and powder. She stroked her cheek. "So soft."

David helped Sam take off his jacket, took Joy's, and then went to hang them all on a peg in the kitchen.

Walking over to the sofa, Jenny sat and began carefully taking off the fleecy one-piece garment the baby wore. Joy joined her on the sofa and dangled a set of plastic keys to entertain the baby.

"I didn't know you were adopting." She looked up at Joy, then David. "You never told me."

"We weren't sure how long it would take. Or even if they'd let us have a baby. So we didn't tell anyone until we brought her home."

She reached up and took David's hand as he stood near them. "We've made a lot of changes this past year. We can't wait to tell you about them."

Sam glanced around. "Where are the kids?"

"They'll be home in a few minutes."

Out of the corner of her mouth, she asked Joy if it was okay for Sam to have some cookies. When she nodded, Jenny turned to Sam and told him there was a plate of his favorites— oatmeal raisin—in the kitchen.

"There's some for you, too," she told David.

"And milk?"

"Of course. I just started some coffee so it's fresh. Maybe you can put the kettle on so Joy and I can have some tea?"

"Sure thing." David followed his son into the kitchen.

"And don't eat all the cookies, you guys!" Joy called after them.

Jenny couldn't take her eyes off the baby. She had the big blue eyes so many babies had, plump cheeks, and little snub nose. When Jenny pulled off the baby's cap she found a mass of fine blond hair.

"Oh my goodness, it looks like chicken feathers," she said with a laugh. "Fluffy chicken feathers."

Then she looked at Joy. "Oh, I didn't mean—"

Joy laughed. "It's okay. It does look like chicken feathers, doesn't it?"

Loud voices and a banging on the door announced the children were home. Annie was first inside and she skidded to a stop as she caught sight of the baby. Her eyes went round with surprise.

"Is that yours?" she asked Joy, dropping her lunch box to the floor with a clang.

The baby startled at the sudden noise, throwing her hands in the air and squalling.

Annie clapped her hands over her mouth, then glanced at Joy. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare her!"

Sam raced out of the kitchen. "What happened?"

He saw the lunch box on the floor, then looked at the baby."Oh, it's okay, baby." He turned to Annie. "She doesn't like loud noises."

"So Sam never makes them at our house," Joy said, rolling her eyes as if to indicate otherwise.

Sam held out a cookie to Annie. "Want one?"

"Sure. Hi."

Mary and Joshua were more reserved, coming to stand close and look at the baby. But while Mary cooed at her and admired her pink outfit, Joshua was quick to tell Joy she was pretty and take off to the kitchen.

"Sorry, she's not a foal," Jenny told Joy. "If she were, he wouldn't be able to tear himself away."

Joy laughed. "I understand. I was pretty much into horses at that age."

"Jenny, where do you keep the tea?" David called from the kitchen.

"I'll show him," Mary told them.

"Would you get your father after you do? He's in the barn."

Mary gave the baby one last look, smiled at Joy, and then left them.

"I think she'd like to have a little baby sister or brother."

"No luck yet?" Joy's eyes were kind.

Jenny shook her head.

"It took my sister five years to conceive," Joy told her.

Baby Emily started fussing and sucking on a finger. Joy dug a bottle out of the diaper bag and headed for the kitchen to warm it.

"But—"

Joy turned. "It's okay, I'll be right back. You'll be fine."

Jenny and Emily stared at each other. "What would happen if I did get pregnant?" she asked the baby."I don't know the first thing about babies."

"Joy said there was a surprise in here—" Matthew stopped."Well, well, a
boppli!
That's quite a surprise!"

She smiled. "Isn't she beautiful?"

He leaned down and studied the baby. "
Ya.
Beautiful."

Then he looked at her and frowned. "Why are you crying?"

"They're happy tears, aren't they,
Mamm?"
Mary said. She'd come into the room so quietly they hadn't heard her.

Jenny nodded. "She's amazing."

She touched one of the baby's hands and Emily's curled around it. "It's funny but she looks a little like Sam did when he was a baby."

Mary came to sit beside Jenny and her arm crept around Jenny's shoulders as they gazed at the baby together.

"She's so sweet. I wish—" she stopped and sighed. "Sorry,
Mamm. Daedi
says if it's God's will I'll have another brother or sister."

She glanced at her father. "I hope it's God's will for me to have a baby sister. Joshua spends so much time with the horses I barely see him." She kissed Jenny's cheek and then walked back into the kitchen.

"She's never said anything about a baby before." Jenny's throat was so tight she barely got the words out. "I—I didn't know she wanted another sister or brother. Did you know?"

Matthew took her place on the sofa beside Jenny. "
Ya.
We talked one night. I think she was afraid to say anything to you. She's old enough to know that sometimes . . . it doesn't happen. She asked if we hadn't a
boppli
yet because you'd been hurt."

If she'd thought her heart ached after the quarrel with her grandmother and Matthew, well, that pain paled beside this.

The baby whimpered so Jenny took the pacifier that hung on a ribbon fastened on her sleeper and tucked it into her rosebud mouth.

"I had no idea."

His arm slipped around her waist. She stiffened, then forced herself to accept his comfort. She'd been so consumed by her own pain she hadn't thought of how the children might feel about a baby. The Amish loved children and believed they were a gift of God. Large families were the rule, not the exception here. Why hadn't she thought that the children might be wondering when—
if—
a baby would join the family?

Matthew had reassured her so often that it was God's will if they had more children, and she'd believed him. His faith, grown and nurtured over a lifetime in the Amish faith, had sustained her until recently.

She'd backslid in her own faith journey for spiritual, as well as mind and body, healing and true peace.

"I love you," he said quietly. "It pained me to hear you doubt that. We need to talk and work through this. God brought us together for a reason, Jenny. You must know that."

She didn't know what she believed at that moment but it wasn't the time to talk about it with friends visiting and just in the next room.

"I'm praying for us to understand, to heal, and to gain some peace, Jenny." He searched her eyes. "I'm hoping you are, too."

"Hey, look what I have," Joy called as she walked into the room holding up a bottle of formula.

She stopped when she saw them. "Oh—is something wrong?" She hurried to look at the baby, then Jenny. "Nothing's wrong with her, is it? She's been spitting up a lot."

"No!" Jenny quickly assured her. "She's perfect. Matthew and I were just talking about something else."

Joy sighed. "David's always telling me that I'm a little paranoid about her. But I think every mother's that way about a baby."

She slipped the bottle into the pocket of her sweater and reached for her child. "Come on, precious, bottle time."

"There's a rocking chair in Annie's room if you'd like to have some quiet and feed her."

"Good idea," Joy said, turning and walking toward the stairs.

Jenny slipped out from under Matthew's arm as she stood and faced him. "Let's go see what everyone's up to in the kitchen."

She hurried away from him, escaping into the kitchen.