CHAPTER THREE

Matthew leaned against Sarah’s skirt, and she put a hand on his shoulder without thinking. “Were you Teacher Dorcas’s best friend? Like me and Mark?”

“You and Mark are twins, so I guess that’s even better than best friends. But yah, Teacher Dorcas was almost like a sister to me when we were little.”

“Not now?” he piped up.

Kinder did have a way of asking awkward questions. Before she could come up with an answer that took into account ten years apart, Dorcas took over.

“Now, too,” she said firmly. “Now I’m going to walk home with my best friend. Don’t you two forget to practice your spelling words. Tomorrow’s Friday, remember?”

Matthew nodded, looking as if he’d rather not be reminded, but Mark tugged at him. “Let’s go practice.”

“That’s right,” Noah added, gathering the boys together and heading them toward the house. “Homework first, and then your chores.” He glanced at Sarah. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yah?”

She nodded. “Tomorrow.”

But she wasn’t thinking about work. She was thinking about what Dorcas had said. Were they still the best of friends after all this time? Once they’d told each other everything, shared every secret, but now . . . even the letters they’d exchanged might not have bridged the gap of the years.

Dorcas smiled, her dimples showing. “Ready to go? I promise not to take any shortcuts this time.”

“Promise? No racing the bull to the fence?” Sarah reached inside to take her jacket from the hook near the door.

“I don’t do things like that now.” They fell into step on the lane that lead to the Miller farm. “I’m not eight any longer.”

“Were we eight when that happened?” Sarah shook her head. “Old enough to know better, anyway. You should have heard the scolding I got.”

“That’s okay. I had one of my own, after your mother told my mother.”

A little silence fell between them. Sarah wondered if Dorcas was looking back, as she was, and questioning where the time had gone.

“We were a little more sheltered than kinder are now, I think,” Dorcas said, her usually smiling face looking grave. “Some of the things my scholars say startle me. They seem to know much more about the outside world than we did.”

Sarah nodded, thinking about her own brothers and sister. Certainly they were more aware than she’d been in those days before Mammi’s death had changed everything.

“How are Thomas and David? And little Nancy—it seems impossible that she can be old enough to be married.”

“She was only nineteen.” Sarah felt a familiar pang at the thought of saying good-bye to her baby sister. “I thought it was too young, but no one else did. And he’s a gut man, with a fine job in his father’s carriage business and a farrier on the side.”

“But it was hard to part with her.” Dorcas understood what she didn’t say, just as she always had.

“She was the baby, after all—only nine when Mammi died, so I had to mother her more than I did the boys, in a way.” Sarah shook her head, shaking off sad memories. “Enough about me. Tell me about you. How did you ever get to become a teacher?”

“After being such a wild teenager, you mean. Surprising, isn’t it?” Dorcas’s eyes regained their sparkle.

“Ach, you weren’t that bad.” But they both knew that Dorcas had gone very close to the line during their rumspringa.

“You don’t believe that. If there was trouble around, I was sure to get into it. And if the school board members knew the half of it, they wouldn’t want me near the school.” Her voice went suddenly serious. “And I couldn’t stand that. Funny that I never realized how much I’d like to teach until the opportunity fell into my lap. Now . . . it would be hard to give it up.”

“I’m glad.” She was. And maybe just a touch envious. Dorcas seemed to have no doubts at all about her path. “You’re fortunate to have found something you love to do.”

“I am. But what about you? Are you happy about this job you’ve taken on?”

The lane swung through a section of woods, shading them, and it was suddenly much colder. Sarah snugged her jacket around her more closely.

“I’m not sure happy is the word. I’m wonderful glad to have a job, though. My cousin Eli was all ready to sign me up to help his wife with the kinder and the house, whether she wanted me or not. I needed a job if I didn’t want that to be my life.”

Dorcas gave her a searching look. “Feeling regrets?”

“No, not regrets, exactly.” She tried to find the words. “Sorrow, I suppose, that I missed the life I’d have had here. But I could never regret taking care of my siblings. Loving them, trying to make up for the loss of Mammi . . . that was the most important job in the world, it seemed to me.”

“They couldn’t have done without you, that’s certain-sure.” Dorcas hesitated for a moment. “What about your daad? What’s he doing now?”

“He’s off chasing a new life again, in Colorado this time. He urged me to go with him. I think he honestly didn’t understand why I wanted to come home. It wondered me . . .”

She let that trail off, but she might have known Dorcas wouldn’t be content with not knowing all of it. “What?”

“Was it my duty to go along and take care of him?” It was the first time she’d put the question into words. “I . . . I still keep second-guessing myself. He depended on me for so much, and I went off and left him on his own. If he gets into trouble . . .”

“That’s nonsense.” Dorcas was quick to respond. “What trouble could he get into? He’s not a child. If he chose to go off someplace new, that’s his business.”

“I suppose.” She wasn’t convinced, but she saw no way of being sure she was right. “How did you get so much common sense? That was never your strong point.”

Dorcas laughed. “It wasn’t, was it? That I learned from sad experience.” She sobered for a moment. “Anyway, you’re here now and getting settled. If this job doesn’t work out, at least it gives you time to look around for something else. Just promise me you won’t go brooding about your daad. He can take care of himself.”

“All right, I promise.” And she’d try to keep that promise. “You’re right. I am getting settled, and I love living with Grossmammi.”

“No problems with Ruthie, is there? She seems like a sweet girl.”

“Yah, of course she is. But naturally, she wouldn’t want someone taking over her house and running it their way. No young wife would.”

“And she thinks you couldn’t help running things.” Dorcas had a laugh in her voice. “We always knew Sarah was the one to take charge.”

“As it turned out, that was just as well.” Did she sound defensive? She didn’t mean to.

“I know you did what you had to. It’s just a shame—” She stopped, not finishing, but Sarah knew the rest of it.

“It’s a shame we didn’t stay here. But Daad was sure it was best to move. He wanted to get away from the memories, I think.”

Dorcas looked at her skeptically. “Was it necessary to move all those times to get away?”

Anger flared for an instant, and then died like a spark sputtering out on stone. “You’re right. I don’t know why I’m still trying to defend him. He just likes to wander. When Mamm was alive, she could dissuade him.” She made a face, trying to cover the sense of failure she carried. “I never could.”

Dorcas reached out to clasp her hand for a moment in silent sympathy. “I’m just glad you’re here to stay. I was afraid . . . well, afraid your daad would talk you out of it.”

“He tried.” She shrugged off the memory. “He just couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to take off to Colorado with him. But I was born without that wanderlust. All I ever wanted was a settled home.”

“Now you have it. It’s a shame poor Noah didn’t marry someone like you. Janie . . . well, she was always thinking there was something she was missing in life.”

“I just can’t imagine any woman being willing to leave her babies behind like that. I could hardly believe it when he told me.”

“He told you?” Dorcas blinked. “I’ve heard he never speaks about it to anyone.”

“He didn’t want to.” She couldn’t forget the pain and anger that had radiated from him. “I didn’t know about it, and I blundered into saying something.”

“How did he react?”

“About like you’d think. He was angry, but at least he understood that I hadn’t known.”

“It’s a wonder he wanted to hire you, then.”

Sarah had to smile. “You forced him into it with your teasing. What else could the man do?”

“We both blundered with Noah, I guess. But I’m glad it’s working out, anyway.” She put her arm around Sarah in a quick hug. “I’m wonderful glad to have you home.”

“Not as glad as I am to be here.” Her fears that they wouldn’t be able to bridge the gap of the years had been foolish. Dorcas was still the same, and the gap she’d imagined had never been there at all.

They’d reached the path to the farmhouse. “Come in with me, why don’t you? Grossmammi would love to see you, and I’d guess she has lemonade and cookies ready.”

“I never could resist your grandmother’s cookies.”

Together they walked toward the house. Grossmammi evidently saw them coming, because she came out on the back porch, pulling a black shawl around her.

“Ach, Dorcas.” Grossmammi swept her into a hug. “I wondered how long it would take you to come around after my snickerdoodle cookies.”

“I think I must have smelled them all the way from the schoolhouse,” Dorcas said, returning the hug. “Everyone thinks the kinder need a snack after school. The teacher needs it even more.”

Grossmammi smiled in response, but Sarah detected something serious in the look her grandmother directed at her.

“What is it?” Her mind skittered from one thing to another.

“Nothing, nothing.” Grossmammi patted her arm. “I was chust checking the answering machine in the phone shanty, that’s all. There’s a message from your daad.”

Sarah stiffened. She’d thought Daad had finally realized she’d meant it about coming home. If he hadn’t . . .

“Maybe he just called to see how you’re getting settled,” Dorcas suggested.

“Maybe.” She tried to smile. “Forget it. We’re ready for cookies now. I’ll take care of calling back later.”

But she couldn’t so easily dismiss it from her thoughts. She’d have to call him back, and then what? Another fruitless argument? She’d always believed Daad wanted what he thought was best for his family. But she knew now that they’d never agree on what the best thing for her was.

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—

ON FRIDAY MORNING Noah found himself unwillingly moving furniture. Sarah had decided that the workshop would function better if her work area and the finished pieces were in the addition, leaving the larger space for his works in progress.

Wasn’t that just like a woman—coming into a man’s workshop and rearranging it?

They each took an end of the desk. “Sure you can manage that? I could do this sometime when Daad is here.” And maybe he could put it off indefinitely.

“I’ve got it,” she declared. “Let’s go.”

Trying to control most of the weight with his hands, he backed toward the addition. The desk was a heavy oak piece that his grandfather had built years ago, and he wouldn’t have thought of moving it if not for Sarah.

He could have said no, of course. But somehow he’d felt he owed Sarah something in exchange for embarrassing her yesterday. She had been embarrassed at having to admit that he hadn’t actually hired her yet.

There hadn’t been any good excuse for his hesitation, anyway. He needed help and she had the skills. The fact that he felt vaguely uneasy with her there wasn’t a reason for denying her the job.

Teacher Dorcas had put an end to his waffling, that was for sure. With all of them looking at him, he’d had to firm up the job with Sarah.

That being the case, he ought to put a good face on this reorganization idea of hers. He lowered his end of the desk into place. “Here?”

She considered and then shook her head. “Just a little farther toward the back wall, I think.”

“Right.” He tried to sound cheerful about it as he hefted the heavy desk another foot or two. “This okay?”

“Fine.” Sarah’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. “Why do men hate to rearrange furniture?”

“Do we?”

“I think so. I always had to drive my brothers into getting the house in shape each time we moved. They’d just put everything down and leave it wherever it landed.”

He couldn’t help but stiffen at her reference to moving so often, but he tried not to let it influence him. Sarah couldn’t know how he felt.

“Maybe if we understood the need for the rearranging, we wouldn’t mind it so much,” he suggested.

“Can’t you see it?” Sarah stood behind the desk, looking around the small addition. They’d already moved her shelves and files, so he trusted they were nearly done. “When someone comes to buy, they’ll come in here to see the finished pieces on display. And when they do buy, the records will be right here. No need to write receipts on a scrap of paper.”

The last of his resistance disappeared in his amusement. “I take it you didn’t think much of my record-keeping.”

She smiled back, and there was another moment of what might be friendship between them. “I wouldn’t say that. After all, you’re my boss.”

“Don’t let that stop you. I’m used to criticism, with three older sisters.”

Sarah shook her head, smiling. “I won’t say a word, except denke for agreeing to move the furniture with me. I think this will work out better.”

“Anything else you’d like me to do? Tear out a wall? Raise the roof?” He gestured toward the rafters, wanting to prolong her smile.

“No, I think this is enough for now.” Laughter filled her eyes. “I’ll just bring in the rest of the files, and you can get back to work.”

It seemed like that was something he should be saying to her, but he let it slide. Sarah, like a lot of oldest sisters, had a way of taking charge. For the moment, he’d go along with it.

But by the time Sarah was happily settled organizing her files and he’d gotten back to work, he had to admit this was probably a better way of setting up the workshop. He had a sense of freedom now that he felt alone in the shop. Not that he was—Sarah was right around the corner. But still, it felt more normal to him, as if he had his work space to himself.

The telephone was the only thing he had yet to move. He’d have to pick up a longer cable to do that. But it rang so seldom that it was no hardship to stop work long enough to answer. Still, a business needed to have a phone, especially now that he hoped to be in contact with Mr. Portman about his furniture.

Thinking of furniture, it was time he got back to his business. He’d started work on a small table, and the piece of cherry he’d been saving would be perfect for the top. He smoothed his hand over it, carefully considering the grain before he decided on any cutting.

Funny, really, that he found it easier to ignore Sarah just because she was out of his line of sight. He’d always thought he had better concentration than to let something like that distract him.

Had Sarah sensed his uneasiness in her presence? Maybe she’d come up with this arrangement to make him feel better. He didn’t like thinking he was so transparent.

Or perhaps it was Sarah who felt ill at ease working alone with a married man. More to the point, a married man who lived apart from his wife.

Either way, this arrangement was probably the best way. Given how much he’d been grumbling since she’d suggested it, maybe he ought to tell her so. Turning from his work, he skirted the bench and went to the archway between the rooms.

Sarah was copying something into a ledger, but she looked up inquiringly at the sound of his footsteps. “Do you need something?”

“Just to tell you this was a gut idea, despite all the complaining I did about moving things.”

Her lips curved. “Yah, I do seem to recall a few murmurs. But I’m wonderful glad you like it.”

“When Mr. Portman comes back, I’ll show him into the new display room.” He nodded to the few finished pieces, noting that Sarah had grouped them in a way he wouldn’t have thought of. Not that he thought most folks bought furniture because of the way it was displayed, but it did look nice.

“Have you heard anything more from him?”

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t expect to this soon. Maybe next week he’ll have some news.”

Even as he said the words, the telephone rang, startling both of them. Sarah smiled. “Maybe he’s calling.”

But when he went back and picked up the phone, a strange male voice spoke in Pennsylvania Dutch, asking for Sarah. Startled, he put the phone down.

“Sarah? It’s for you.”

“For me?” He could hear the chair scrape the floor when she shoved it back and the quick, light sound of her footsteps.

The moment it took her to reach him was long enough to allow him to wonder who’d be calling her here. It certain-sure hadn’t been anyone he knew. Maybe she’d left some man behind out west who was interested in her.

That wasn’t his business, he lectured himself, handing the receiver to her.

He moved back to his workbench, trying not to listen, but he couldn’t help noticing that she didn’t seem very happy about the call.

“How did you get this number?” she asked.

The man had the sort of booming voice that seemed to use the phone as a loudspeaker. Loud enough, anyway, that Noah caught a reference to Sarah’s grandmother. Whoever he was, Etta Miller had apparently thought it appropriate to have him call here. Nathan could hardly argue.

He turned back to the piece of cherry, but half his attention was still on Sarah. It sounded as if she were turning someone down. Saying no to him. Had she been courting before she moved back? Well, if she’d had any serious intentions, she wouldn’t have returned, would she?

Come-calling friend or not, the man was persistent. He obviously didn’t want to let Sarah go. And just as obviously, she was upset. He could hear the strain in her voice even when he couldn’t make out the words.

“Daad, please don’t.” That came clearly enough that anyone would have heard it. Her father, then. And he was trying to persuade her to do something.

Nathan tried to think what, if anything, he remembered about Jonas Yoder. It was little enough, since it wasn’t as if he was the parent of any of Noah’s close friends.

In the community, Jonas had had the reputation of being a good salesman, but not one who stuck to anything for long. Right now he was trying to sell Sarah on something, but she wasn’t impressed, it seemed.

“I’m happy for you, Daad.” He could hear the tremor in her voice that she was fighting to control. “But I won’t change my mind.”

There were a few more murmured exchanges, and Noah focused sternly on the workbench.

She hung up. He started to say something to her but he stopped at the sound of a muffled sob. Sarah stood with her back to him, her shoulders shaking.

Exasperation mingled with panic. Should he disappear outside and leave her in private? Or did this situation call for sympathetic words? He’d never been much use when a woman turned emotional.

Since he couldn’t decide, he went over and poured a mug of coffee. “Here.” He thrust it at her. “Maybe this will help.”

“Denke.” Her voice was hardly more than a whisper.

“You . . . you should take a break. Or go home if you want. You’ll catch up with things later, when you feel better.”

Shaking her head, Sarah wiped tears away with her fingers, like one of his sons when he’d been hurt. Noah’s heart seemed to twist.

“No, I’m all right.” Sarah straightened. “I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to embarrass you.” She stifled a sob, and he forgot his embarrassment in pity for her.

“I’m the one who’s sorry. I should have left when I realized it was something private.”

“Ach, why should you? This is your place of business.” Sarah seemed to have herself under control now. “I guess you realized that was my daad.”

He nodded. “I couldn’t help hearing that much.”

“He’s in Colorado now.” She stared down at the dark liquid in the mug. “He says it’s beautiful there, and the Amish community is so friendly. It’s the perfect place to settle.”

“He wants you to come there, too.” He was guessing, but he felt sure he was right.

“For sure.” She rubbed her forehead tiredly with the back of her hand, like his mamm would do when she had flour on her fingers. “It’s wonderful, it’s the perfect place . . . ,” she mimicked. “I might believe that if it weren’t that he said the very same thing about every other place he wanted us to move.”

“He was the one who wanted to keep moving on. Not you.” He’d jumped to conclusions, thinking she, like Janie, had been affected with wanderlust.

“Yah. The first time I thought . . . well, I felt it would be better for me and the kinder to stay here where we had family than to go off someplace else. But he insisted, and I couldn’t let the young ones go off without me to take care of them.”

“So you went along wherever he wanted to. If you’d tried to change his mind—”

“Don’t you think I tried?” Her temper flared in an instant.

“I’m sorry. Yah, of course you did.” He didn’t like it when other people tried to tell him what he should have done about Janie, and now he was doing the same thing.

Her anger faded as quickly as it had come. “Mammi was the only one he ever listened to. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I think he’d have moved on from here a dozen times if not for her. Once she was gone . . .”

Sorrow tinged her words, and he felt her pain almost as if it were his own.

He touched her arm lightly, wishing he knew something to say to comfort her. And wishing, too, that he’d left the workshop when he’d realized the call was for her. Cowardly, he supposed, but just listening to all of this seemed to cross the line between employer and employee.

“Sorry,” she said again, attempting to smile. “I shouldn’t be telling you all of this. Whatever happened, I’m sure Daad always wanted to do what was best for his family.”

He had a few reservations about that. What she’d told him fit into an image he had formed of Jonas Yoder from rumors among the community . . . an image that Jonas was a man quick to hand off his responsibilities onto someone else.

“So you’re sure now that you want to stay here?” For his own sake he needed to ask the question. He didn’t want to rely on someone and then have her disappear.

“I’m not going to change my mind.” Sarah spoke firmly, her gaze level and serious. “I’m back in Promise Glen to stay.” Her smile flickered. “It really is my promised land.”