In Plain View (13 page)

Emerson turned his palms up. “How? I never met Maria. I’ve never even met Magdalena. And I certainly did not see whoever Jacob thinks he saw—which may have been a complete stranger.”

“But if it was Maria—”

Jacob put a hand on his sister’s shoulder. “Emerson’s right. I’m not even sure what I saw. The rain distorts many things.”

“But if it was Maria, then she is here in Philadelphia. We can ask around. You have connections. Emerson knows a lot of people. We could at least try for a few days.”

Jacob shook his head. “Katie is due to have the new baby in a few weeks. I promised this would be the last trip for a while. This is no time for me to linger in Philadelphia. “No, it couldn’t have been her.

The crowd thundered again.

“That’s it,” Emerson said. “They’re demanding a new government, and I believe we’re going to get it. The Assembly will have no choice but to vote themselves out of existence because of their own incompetence. When the Continental Congress meets next month, Pennsylvania will vote for independence.”

From where Magdalena sat, she could see Nathanael clearly. He always sat in the same place during church. No matter whose home the congregation met in, Nathanael managed to put himself along the outside edge among the unmarried men. Magdalena learned long ago that she could sit on the same outside edge, in the facing women’s section, and see Nathanael clearly during most services.

Nathan helped his father work both their farms, but he had never moved into his own cabin. Just last week Magdalena had stopped in at the cabin and saw that someone was squatting there. Though Nathan’s mother had outfitted the cabin with basic supplies when he acquired the land, anyone passing through now could see it was untended. What was to stop someone from taking up occupancy?

Mrs. Buerki often invited Magdalena to supper, where she sat next to Nathan and smiled as she passed dishes around the table. Nathan was polite and ate well. He seemed to find some pleasure in her silent company after meals. As far as anyone knew, he slept well at night. His family said he was the first one to wake in the morning and out to the barn to tend the animals. If asked a question, he answered as simply as possible, but never discourteously.

But he was not
her
Nathanael any longer. Magdalena wondered if it would be worse to give up hope that he would return to her, or worse to be certain he never would.

It had been a year and a half. In a few weeks another wedding season would begin—the third since she and Nathan talked of marriage. Magdalena was tempted to stop stitching linens for her chest. What was the point?

She sang the last hymn with half a heart, feeling as if it were moving at half the usual ponderous pace of the hymns from the
Ausbund
. This one had fourteen stanzas, and they would sing them all. Once it had been one of Nathanael’s favorites, and whenever they sang it she would catch his eye with a shy smile.

This time, as soon as the final phrase of the hymn dissipated into the air, Magdalena stood and swiftly moved out of the congregation, out of the house, out of the close air that was strangling her next breath.

She ran, and she did not answer the voices calling her back.

Thirteen

I
f you do what I ask, you can see for yourself.” Annie, with her feet up on an ottoman in the living room, tilted her head and snared her sister’s eyes.

“I don’t know, Annie.” Penny tossed a pillow at Annie.

“Please.” Annie caught the pillow. She intended to milk her little-sister status for as much as she could get. “You could see my house. Meet my friends.”

“You mean meet Rufus.”

“Well, yes, but others in his family as well, if we catch them at home.”

“I’m afraid I’ll stare.”

“You won’t. I know you have a lot of questions about what I’ve been doing the last few months. If you come and stay overnight—”

“Whoa. Overnight?”

“Yes, overnight. You can see what my house is really like, even at night. You always say you like to visit people where they live so you can imagine them in their own homes.”

“By ‘always’ you mean I said that once when I was thirteen.”

“And maybe one other time when you were seventeen. Pretty please?”

“It’s Wednesday. It’s my last full day here, Annie. I fly out tomorrow afternoon.”

“Come on, Penny, you’ve seen all your friends. We’ve had family meals coming out our ears. Frankly, I think Dad would like his peace and quiet back.”

“You’re the noisy one.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.” Penny sighed. “If I’m back in time to have lunch with Mom before my flight tomorrow, it might work.”

Annie swung her feet from the ottoman to the hardwood floor with a thud. “Perfect. I’ll go pack.”

“We can’t take Mom’s car, you know,” Penny said.

“I know. We’ll take the Prius, but you drive. I’ll send Ruth a text.”

“Ruth?”

“Ruth Beiler. If we’re just going overnight, she’d probably like the chance to see her mother.”

“Are you even supposed to be texting her?”

“So now you’re the Amish police?” Annie laughed and opened her phone. “Last time. I promise.”

“Why did Ruth Beiler leave if the Amish are so phenomenal that you’re trying to get in?”

“It’s not a question of ‘getting in,’ Penny.” Annie nimbly thumbed in the text message to Ruth. “It’s following a calling. It’s choosing something, rather than being run over by the stampede of everybody else.”

“Are you sure you’re not just choosing Rufus?”

Annie set her phone down on the cushion next to her to await Ruth’s response. “Would it be so terrible if I were?”

“Since I haven’t met him, I reserve judgment.”

“Thank you for being fair. But no, I don’t think it’s just about Rufus. Maybe I belong with the plain people even if I don’t belong with Rufus.”

“Annie, if you join the Amish, am I even ever going to see you again?”

“Of course you will.” Annie answered quickly, but the color was gone from Penny’s face. “They’re not some kind of cult that brainwashes kids and cuts them off from their families.”

Annie watched as her sister swallowed hard. Then Penny sucked in a ragged breath.

“It will be all right, Penny,” Annie said. “We’ll still be sisters. We may just have to get better at writing letters.”

“Won’t they ask you to believe a bunch of crazy stuff?”

“What do I believe now, Penny? That’s the bigger question. What kind of faith do I have? Do I make choices that have anything to do with Jesus, or do I buy into thinking I deserve everything at my fingertips?”

“Surely those aren’t the only two choices.”

“Perhaps not. I’m still asking a lot of questions.”

“I go to church,” Penny said. “There’s plenty to believe without being so drastic about it. Why can’t you join a normal church?”

“Who decides what’s normal?”

Penny pushed the pillow off her lap. “Never mind. Let’s just do this.”

A couple of hours later, Ruth opened a rear door of the Prius and settled into the backseat. Annie made the introductions. Penny was polite, but she made no effort to strike up a conversation with Ruth. Every minute or two, Annie saw Penny glance in the rearview mirror and she wondered if Ruth were looking back, inspecting her sister at regular intervals. Ruth and Annie’s occasional murmurs softly infused the awkwardness that settled over the car.
One step at a time
, Annie told herself. Penny did not have to love Ruth today. But Annie did wonder what tomorrow’s drive back would be like, when Penny and Ruth would be alone in the car.

Rufus knelt and fished through his open wooden toolbox, not finding what he wanted.

“What have you lost now?” Mo, owner of the motel, put one hand on her hip and gazed down at Rufus.

Rufus looked up, pushed his hat out of his eyes, and gave a halfhearted smile. “Does it seem to you that losing things has become a habit?”

“Yes, I seem to hear you rummaging in that toolbox more often these days.”

“I prefer to believe I haven’t lost anything. It’s a matter of not anticipating what to bring with me from my shop. I did not anticipate needing a small corner chisel.”

“I can offer you an ice pick.”

Rufus smiled and shook his head. “I’ll manage somehow. Thank you again for the new project.”

She waved him off. “This place is a perpetual remodeling effort. I’m lucky you’re available.” Mo picked up a pile of fresh towels and headed down the hall.

The only chisels Rufus had with him were too large and awkward for the fine corner work he needed to do. The task would have to wait for another day. He doubted anyone would notice if he did not tap off the barely visible overhang at the end of the closet, but he wanted the work to be right.

He stood up and wiped his hands on a rag then swished the rag over the trim he had been bent over. Another doorway across the hall was waiting for its custom trim installation. Spring air gusted through the propped-open front door of the motel and threatened to take his hat. As Rufus picked up his toolbox, he heard a horse whinny—and it was not his. He grimaced as he craned around a corner to see what other Amish person had business at the motel.

Beth Stutzman. Driving her family’s brand-new buggy.

She did not have business at the motel, he knew, except to find him. The temptation to step quietly out of sight flitted through his head. Instead, he stepped into view. “Hello, Beth.”

Beth grinned, making her seem a little too enthusiastic to see him. She carried a thermos.

“I thought you might like something cold to drink.” Beth unscrewed the lid, which doubled as a cup, filled it with the liquid, and handed it to Rufus.

“That’s kind of you.” He took a swift swallow—lemonade, it turned out to be—and handed it back to her. “What brings you out this way?”

“I wanted to see if I could be any help to you.”

“You would not happen to have a small corner chisel in your apron?”

“No, but I’ll be happy to go fetch it for you.” Beth’s face lit up. “Did you leave it on your workbench?”

He had not expected that response. “Do you know what one looks like?”

“Of course. My father uses a corner chisel all the time.”

That answer made sense. Ike Stutzman was the first person to demonstrate how to use a corner chisel to Rufus two decades ago.

“Mine is part of a set of small tools wrapped in a leather pouch,” Rufus said. “But it’s not urgent. I’ll bring it the next time I come.”

“Nonsense. You’re here now. You might as well get the job done. I’ll be back before you know it.” She thrust the thermos at him and swished her skirts back through the lobby and out the front door.

Round-trip, the errand was eight miles. Then she would have to scour his workbench to find the packet of chisels. Most of an hour would pass before she returned.

It was too late to stop her now.

Franey was sitting on the front porch of her home when they drove up. Her face lit when her daughter stepped out of the Prius, and Annie saw the curiosity that piqued when she and the driver emerged as well.

“What do we have here?” Franey asked as her daughter kissed her cheek.