In Plain View (8 page)

Lauren tipped her blond head in a practiced gesture. “Yep. He has a month’s leave before being reassigned for his new tour. I’ll see him next weekend.”

“I’m so glad for you.”

Lauren stood, and Ruth saw once again the uneven gait that had resulted from a fractured kneecap—and which kept Lauren out of the army herself. Her father, an officer stationed at Fort Carson in Colorado Springs, had served three tours in Iraq. Her brother, stationed out of North Carolina, had been abroad for most of the last two years.

Despite Lauren’s enthusiasm for all things military, she was Ruth’s favorite suitemate. Neither of them dressed to fit in. Lauren favored her army clothes, and Ruth dressed in long skirts and modest blouses.

Ruth lifted the full kettle. “I was about to make tea. Want some?”

Lauren shook her head and let her feet thud to the floor. “My study group is meeting in a few minutes. I should get my junk together and go.”

“Another time, then.” Ruth stepped toward her room. “It would be good to chat.”

“Tomorrow night.”

Ruth looked up again. “Tea tomorrow?”

Lauren shook her head. “Let’s go out. Dinner will be my treat.”

“Oh.” Ruth could not find a place to fix her eyes, except on the kettle in one hand. “I probably should stay in. I have an exam on Tuesday morning.”

“You need to let loose, Beiler. Just relax for a change. Between your classes and your job at the nursing home, you never take a minute for yourself. Let’s get a decent meal.”

“Maybe we should decide tomorrow.” Ruth had never been out on a Sunday night, except for the singings at home. Going to a restaurant did not seem like keeping the Sabbath.

Lauren laughed. “When my parents say something like that, they mean no. But I’m not going to let you get away with that, Beiler.”

Ruth rubbed the end of a sleeve between thumb and forefinger. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

Back in her room, she plugged in the kettle, took a tea bag out of the box, and dropped it in a mug.

The letter tugged at her.

Elijah’s tight, meticulous script had brushed her heart when she removed the envelope from her student mailbox. It was not his first. In the last six months, he had written four times and he lost no opportunity to make plain his undimmed affection for her. More than affection. Love. The difference was that this letter was the first since she replied to one of his.

Almost as soon as she pushed her letter through the slot in the sidewalk mailbox, Ruth regretted it. She had not written anything particularly personal, certainly not a true expression of her own feelings. But writing at all would encourage Elijah, and that was wrong. he was a baptized member of the Amish church, and she had run out on her baptism.

Run out on Elijah. Run out on the future they dreamed of.

How he could still feel anything for her after that, she would never understand. There was no going back. While she still felt plain at heart and lived simply, she would never go back to the Amish church. God had made her to be a nurse, and she intended to answer the call. She refused to be the reason for Elijah to break his vows to the church.

The kettle whistled, and Ruth once again turned away from the unopened letter.

Penny’s flight was fourteen minutes early.

Annie stood between her parents just beyond the security line on the main level of the twelve-gate Colorado Springs airport. Her mother had been tracking Penny’s flights on her phone since before she left Seattle. In front of them, an eager three-year-old sighted his grandmother among the disgorgement of plane passengers. Calling and running toward her, he violated the security zone. Though his father snatched him back, it was too late. The alarm blared, startling everyone. The boy wailed briefly but instantly settled when his grandmother reached for him.

Business travelers looking for drivers holding signs with their names.

Families dragging strollers and diaper bags.

Solo passengers looking lost and weary.

And people like Penny, who strode at a confident clip pulling pilot cases behind them and knowing exactly where they were going.

In the moment that she hugged her sister, Annie was glad she had come home with her parents. She did not often admit to herself that she missed Penny—especially since she had given up using a cell phone and e-mail—but she did.

“Did you check a bag?” Brad Friesen asked his eldest daughter.

Penny tapped her carry-on. “Everything’s in here.”

Brad took over towing the bag. Myra had one arm around Penny’s shoulder as they stepped side by side onto the escalator that went down to the exit. Annie pulled up the rear, feasting her eyes on this family she loved. Her throat thickened with the thought that her choices might well separate her from them.

Sumptuous. That was the only word Annie could think of to describe dinner at the downtown restaurant. In the candlelight, her mother’s face lit with the bliss of having her family together. Myra had raised two daughters to be independent and take care of themselves. When she shared a table with them once again, though, a newness flushed across her face. Sitting across from Myra, Annie realized how much she loved seeing her mother look this way.

“I have presents,” Penny said as soon as they passed, satiated, through the front door of their home.

Annie smiled. Penny never came home without gifts. Annie used to think it was because Penny felt guilty for living so far away. Over the years, though, she came to see that generosity spilled out of most of what Penny did. Why she had not realized this as a child, Annie did not know. she supposed she was too busy being the competitive little sister.

Penny unzipped a front pocket of her bag and extracted several small packages. To her father she presented a soft leather e-reader cover case.

“We both know you want it,” Penny said.

While Brad turned the cover over in his hands, Penny handed Myra a small bottle of perfume.

Annie knew the bottle had not come cheap. She used to buy the same scent herself. Myra raised her eyebrows and flashed Penny a smile.

Then Penny turned to Annie. “I saw this and thought of you. You’re the only one I know who has the figure for this dress.”

Annie gulped. A dress? She had not worn any dress but Amish dresses in so long she hardly knew what it felt like. Her hands trembling slightly, Annie took the lightweight flat package from Penny. How could she possibly wear anything Penny gave her now?

A gasp shot past Annie’s best intentions as she raised the dress by the shoulders and saw how it shook out and found its drape. It was silk. Good quality silk. A rich red in color, the dress had a modest V neckline and cap sleeves. At the waist, the fabric overlapped itself and gathered to one side, where a small gold buckle was the only adornment.

“Oh, Penny!”

Myra slid a careful hand against the back of the dress, and Annie watched her mother’s face. Was it only a few hours ago that she had laid her clumsy quilt in her mother’s lap? Suddenly everything about Annie’s new life seemed frumpy and unskilled.

“It’s spectacular, Penny.” Annie handled the dress gently, cautious to keep it on the white paper it had been wrapped in rather than let it brush against the roughness of her jeans. If she snagged it, Penny could not take it back.

“It will look spectacular on you,” Penny said.

“Penny, it’s so generous! And gorgeous. But I don’t see…well, under the circumstances, it would not be practical for me to keep it.”

“It won’t hurt to try it on.”

Penny raised her eyebrows. Annie knew that look.

“Just try it on,” her mother urged. “Those black heels you used to love are still in the closet of your bedroom.”

“I’ll help you put your hair up,” Penny said.

Annie closed her eyes briefly before saying, “Okay.” For a few minutes she could go back in time to the sisterly habits of fifteen years ago. What harm would it do?

Thirty minutes later, Annie stood in front of the full-length mirror attached to the closet door of her childhood closet. She hardly recognized herself.

For the last eight months, she had let her hair grow uncut. She wore it either in a ponytail or braided and twisted back in the disciplined Amish style Franey taught her. Penny had swept it high on her head, leaving tendrils to frame her face. The dress fit as though Annie had been the model for the pattern. Cool, sleek silk against her skin set off sensory reactions she thought were long gone. The bodice covered well, yet left no doubt of the form beneath it. The skirt fell just above her knees. When she stepped into the black heels, the muscles in her calves found old memories.

“You. Look. Fantastic.” Penny grinned.

Annie grimaced but said, “I do, don’t I?”

“You have to show Mom.”

“You go ahead. I’ll be right out.”

Penny left, and Annie tried out several angles in the mirror. If only Rufus could see her now.

Annie had never had trouble getting a man to kiss her if she wanted him to—until Rufus. She waited weeks—even months— between kisses, then afterward, invariably, he seemed sorry. He did not say he was sorry, but why else would he wait so long before doing it again? If he saw her now, he would come close and brush a tendril from her face and bring his lips close to hers. His hands would go to her waist as his mouth found hers.

Annie shuddered, ashamed. The image in her mind was everything Rufus was not. How could she even consider trying to make him kiss her like that? She pulled one pin, and then another. Her hair tumbled free around her shoulders.

“What’s taking so long?” Penny stood in the doorway. “Wow. I think I like your hair down even better.”

Annie did, too. Setting her hair loose only made her miss Rufus more sharply.

“Come show Mom.”

Annie complied, feeling every bit as beautiful as her family told Her she was. What she had not expected was to love the feeling.

Her father had been the first to fade, and her mother soon followed after securing agreement from everyone to attend church in the morning. They had not been to church together as a family in—Annie was not sure how many years.

After their parents turned in, Penny ensconced herself on Annie’s bed and leaned against the wall with a bowl of popcorn.

Annie straightened the red dress on the hanger and put it in the closet. She rummaged through the old clothes. “I didn’t think we’d be going to church. I didn’t bring anything to wear.”

“Excuse me! Did you not just hang up a smokin’ hot dress?”

“For church?”

“Why not? No plunging neckline. No bare shoulders.”

Annie moved a few more hangers before admitting that everything in the closet was, well, too high school. Why hadn’t her mother given this stuff away years ago? “I could probably wear nice jeans.”

“You’re wearing the dress, girl. It will turn a few heads.”

“Maybe I don’t want to turn heads.” Annie let her hand drift over the red silk one more time before closing the door.

Penny tilted her head back and dropped several popped kernels into her mouth. “So how serious are you about this Amish thing?”

“I’m figuring that out.”

“I don’t think Mom is taking it all that well.”

“No kidding.”

“Is it Rufus? Is that it? You can’t be with him if you’re not Amish?”

Heat crept up the back of Annie’s neck. “Well, that’s part of it.” With more notice that she would see her sister face-to-face, she might have prepared her words better. “But it’s more.”

Penny shifted on the bed, meeting Annie’s eyes.

“I was wired into everything before I met the Beilers,” Annie continued.

“Technology, having it all. Lots of money. But was I happy?”

“I guess I’ve been gone too long,” Penny said. “I didn’t know you were unhappy.”

“I didn’t know myself.” Annie picked up a throw pillow left from her adolescent purple phase and sat on the bed. “It hasn’t been easy to unplug, but most of the time I think it’s worth it.”

“Most of the time?”

Annie licked her lips. “I have moments. But simplicity has more moments.”

“Can’t you just live a simpler life without giving everything up? No law requires you to own a big-screen TV. What’s so evil about electricity?”