11

No one had ever told David what the best part of grandparenting was: it conjured up all those tucked-away memories of his own babies, minus the bone-tired fatigue of sleepless nights. David dropped by Moss Hill as often as he could to see his grandchildren. Little Anna was two years old now, the spitting image of his daughter Katrina. Strawberry red hair with a peaches-and-cream complexion. Newborn Benjo had more of Andy’s coloring—olive skin, with a patch of dark fuzzy hair on his tiny head.

Birdy had packed up a hamper full of food for Katrina, to encourage her to rest and enjoy her newborn. As David set the hamper on the buggy seat, he wondered how Birdy was able to give so much to others when her own heart’s desire went unfulfilled. On his drive to Moss Hill, he turned that thought over in his mind, as he had done countless times before.

Birdy never complained, but he knew she longed for a child of her own. As each few months passed, their hopes for a baby diminished. If he brought the subject up, Birdy would insist that she already had a quiver full of children. And she was an extraordinary stepmother. She seemed to know how to give each child what they needed from her. Not more, not less. Birdy never talked down to his daughters; she always took them seriously. She had the most mother-like role with the twins, and a very friendly relationship with Molly and Ruthie, Jesse and Katrina. But wouldn’t it be wonderful if she could have a baby of her own? Their child. His and Birdy’s.

He thought of the example of the psalmists, almost demanding God’s attention. “Awake, O Lord.” “God, listen to my prayer.” “Have mercy on me.” Audacious demands! With the kind of familiarity of an irate child speaking to a parent. Yet it struck David that such intimacy didn’t offend God at all, but pleased him. He looked up at the sky. Lord, he prayed, you are a promise keeper. You promised you would give us the desires of our hearts. Give Birdy the desire of her heart, Lord. If it’s your will, let us have a baby.

On this humid summer morning, David walked right into the farmhouse of Moss Hill and scooped up little Anna as she ran to him. He breathed in deeply, smelling the satisfying aroma of hot brewed coffee.

“I was hoping for a cup of coffee,” he said.

Thelma, sitting at the table with Katrina, lifted an eyebrow. “How about a cup of chamomile tea?”

Ugh. He hated this meal-monitoring business. The women in his life were in cahoots, determined to keep his diet bland, beige, and boring. But then, where would he be without their vigilance? Popping Tums throughout the day, gripping his middle whenever he felt shots of pain. Or worse. He should be grateful for his wife’s and daughters’ surveillance but, oh! how he missed that cup of coffee in the morning. “No thanks. Already had one.” Chamomile tea might be easier on his stomach ulcer, but it sailed right past his taste buds. He went over to the Moses basket in the corner of the room to see how little Benjo was doing and found the infant sound asleep. “He’s grown, I think.”

“Since yesterday?” Katrina smiled. “Not likely.”

“How did he sleep last night?”

“Awful. He has his days and nights mixed up.”

He turned and looked around the small house. “Weren’t you going to have a mother’s helper?”

“I had one lined up, but she changed her mind.”

Thelma lifted a piece of paper. “We were just making a list of possible mother helpers.” She frowned and picked up the pen. “But there aren’t many options.”

David saw Andy come up the driveway from the mossery. “I’ll be right back. I wanted to ask Andy a question.” With Anna in his arms, he walked down the hill to meet his son-in-law. When Anna saw him, she wiggled out of his arms to run to her father.

Andy might not be her biological father as he was Benjo’s, but he was, in every way, Anna’s father. When he had told David he wanted to marry Katrina, a single mother with a six-month-old baby, David questioned him about all kinds of things, but he made a point of asking how Andy would feel as more children arrived. He knew that Andy was desperately in love with Katrina, and he knew he adored Anna. But would he feel differently about Anna then? Favoritism could be toxic in families.

Andy had responded by pointing to the large kitchen garden next to the house, with its neat rows of tomatoes, beans stalks, sprawling pumpkins, spiky carrot tops. “The way I see it, any fellow can plant seeds. It’s the way the seeds are cared for, tended to, nurtured, grown, and harvested that makes the difference. Anna will belong to me just the way our other children will belong to me. I’m the farmer in this family.”

After that conversation, David never had another doubt about Andy. He never needed to.

Anna’s squeals of joy jolted him back to the present. Andy lifted her high in the air, then down low, then up high again like a human swing.

“Morning, Andy.”

Andy stopped swinging Anna and settled her onto his hip. “Good morning to you. I saw you drive up. Time for coffee?” He cringed. “I mean, um, tea? Water? Juice?”

David laughed. “Never mind. Katrina already offered. Actually, I just stopped by to ask you a few questions.” They walked toward the house, matching strides. “Is the oil company still sending out more land agents?”

“Yes. They seem to keep coming. They’re convinced that the oil traps on Moss Hill indicate more undiscovered oil in the region.”

“And more leases are being signed?”

“Yes. I heard of two, just last week. The Noah Zooks and the Henry Smuckers.”

David nodded. The leases brought in an initial signing bonus—usually ten to twenty thousand dollars, but the big money began rolling in when the oil wells were drilled and pumps installed. Each homeowner received a royalty percentage of the oil. For Moss Hill, it was a staggering amount. The first year, especially, the royalty check amount was beyond anything they could have imagined. Hundreds of thousands of dollars! That was the start of the turnaround for the church of Stoney Ridge. The first year’s income was entirely donated to the church and helped wipe out heavy debts that had been piling up. David had hoped that Moss Hill would be a sterling example to everyone in the church. How to manage riches? Hold on to them lightly.

David felt a familiar niggling of distress . . . something he kept trying to throw off, but it kept returning to him, like a boomerang. As they reached Thistle and the buggy, he stopped. He’d gotten the information he came for. “I’d better head over to the store.”

“Hold on a moment. I had something I wanted to discuss with you too. The end of the three-year lease will be coming due in a few months. The land agent has already asked about renegotiating. We’re in a strong position. That oil trap has been a steady producer. Nothing like the first few months, but it’s still going strong.”

“I’ll be in prayer over renegotiating.” He climbed into the buggy and clucked to Thistle to back her up. He waved to Andy and Anna as he passed by, reading from the expression on his face that he hadn’t given Andy the answer he wanted.

Yes, David pondered as he drove down the hill, that oil trap might be a strong producer of crude oil, but what else might it be producing in the church of Stoney Ridge?

Jesse smelled the corn fritters the moment he woke, the fry-oil scent in the air, the sweet corn aroma wafting down from the farmhouse. He bolted out of bed and changed his clothes, then hurried over to Fern’s kitchen, throwing a casual wave at Amos as he tossed hay to the sheep in the pasture. It came as a shock when he found Jenny Yoder standing by the stove, stirring a simmering pot of oatmeal.

“You,” Jesse said in a flat voice.

“You,” Jenny said in an equally flat voice. She added a dollop of butter and wiped her fingers on her apron.

“Why are you in Fern Lapp’s kitchen?” His timing, as so often occurred with Fern, was unfortunate, as she was not ten feet away in the family room.

“Because Jenny lives here now.”

“What?” Jesse must have sounded horrified because Fern pinned him with a look. “But how do you even know Jenny? She’s from Ohio!”

Jenny ignored him and pulled some bowls out of the cupboard, like she knew exactly where everything belonged. Why was that?

Fern read his mind. “I thought you knew. Jenny’s older brother Chris married Amos’s youngest daughter, Mary Kate.” She smiled at Jenny, or as close to a smile as Fern ever got. “She’s family.”

Jesse sank into a chair, buffaloed by that news. “So she’s actually living here.”

“I can hear you,” Jenny said, putting a bowl of oatmeal down in front of him. “It’s rude to speak of people as pronouns if they’re standing right in front of you.”

That, he decided at once, proved to him that this was the same Jenny Yoder he had known throughout grades three through six. Always correcting him. Always thinking she was smarter than him. Always right.

He was just about to make a clever retort when Fern cleared her throat. He glanced at her, knowing exactly what that throat clearing meant. So often Fern could quiet a sharp reply with the slightest look or touch. He lowered his eyes to the bowl of gray, pasty oatmeal. “I was hoping for corn fritters.” He could see them cooling on a tray on the counter.

“Not possible,” Jenny said. “We’re having a comfort quilt bee today.”

We, she said. Like she owned the place.

Not one minute later, Hank Lapp burst into the kitchen, desperate for a can of ground coffee. “Edith sent me! We’re fresh out of coffee and she’s as grouchy as a riled grizzly until she’s had her third or fourth cup.” He shuddered. “She looks like a grizzly too.”

Hank Lapp could be described as a man with no filter.

“I’ll get a spare can from the cellar,” Jenny said.

“I’d better go with her,” Fern said. “They’re stacked on the top shelf.” Jenny was not at all tall; in fact, she looked like a child to Jesse.

As soon as they disappeared down the steep cellar steps, Jesse whispered to Hank, “Why would a girl show up in a new town, for no apparent reason?”

Hank leaned toward him, reeking of stale cigar smoke. “ONE REASON!” He slammed the table with the palm of his hand. “Husband hunting.”

Jesse stilled as worrisome thoughts came too fast, one after the other. The only sound was the pot of oatmeal sputtering on the stove. He thumped his chair down on all four legs and bolted to his feet. “Just as I’d feared. I’m leaving before she returns to cast her web around me.” He downed the last of his coffee.

“GOOD FOR YOU!” Hank boomed. As Jesse closed the kitchen door, he heard Hank yell out, “WAIT! WHO’S THE GIRL?”

When Matt Lehman asked David Stoltzfus if he could use the Bent N’ Dent after hours for an official meeting, he said yes, of course. Matt said the meeting was open to anyone in the community who was interested in learning the identity of the stranger who died at the Inn at Eagle Hill.

Naturally, nearly the entire church showed up. Hank Lapp and his cronies, Fern and Amos Lapp, Freeman and Levi Glick and their gigantic families, Luke and Sammy Schrock, more Kings, Zooks, Fishers, and all the Stoltzfuses. Three of the five old sisters from the Sisters’ House—one was home minding Ella. Of course, Rose and Galen, owners of the Inn at Eagle Hill, had come, as did Jesse’s sister Ruthie.

Jesse was glad he had arrived early, because he was able to get a spot in the room where he could watch the reactions of others as people walked in. It was quite interesting. For example, when his cocky apprentice Leroy Glick came through the door, his sister Molly turned bright red. Why was that? Surely, she wouldn’t have a crush on the town’s most obnoxious boy. That was a distressing thought. What made his sisters have such questionable taste in men?

Patrick Kelly walked in and scanned the room as if looking for someone. Then he spotted Ruthie and Molly, standing in the back, and went right to them.

Luke Schrock sidled up to Jesse. “Who’s that guy next to Ruthie?”

“Patrick Kelly. He’s supposed to be staying at the inn for a month. Your inn.”

Luke didn’t look happy. But before Jesse could explain that Patrick wasn’t even Amish, he was distracted by the arrival of Jenny Yoder. Was Hank’s assumption correct—could Jenny be here to husband hunt? Had she been through all the eligible men of Ohio and now was sifting through Pennsylvania bachelors?

Here was where another worry flew in and landed, right on top of Jesse.

When Patrick Kelly walked into the crowded store and made a beeline for Ruthie, she felt a flutter in her chest. There again was that strange bubble of light around him so that he looked like an angel. She blinked rapidly, thinking there was something wrong with her vision.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye after I packed up and moved to the Inn at Eagle Hill,” Patrick said, coming toward Ruthie. “I’m hoping we can continue with the Penn Dutch tutoring sessions. It’s nice to have someone to work with whose assiduousness dovetails with my own.”

Assiduousness. Had anyone before ever appreciated Ruthie’s assiduousness? Usually, her family complained about it. Tyrannical, they called her. Dictatorial. Imperious. Never assiduous.

Dovetail. It was such a soft and subtle word, such an unusual implication to describe how two pieces joined together without need for nails or screws, without conflict or strife. Her brother Jesse would like to hear Patrick’s eclectic vocabulary. Assiduousness. Dovetail. Jesse fancied himself to be a word collector. Lexophile! She could practically hear him correct her.

“I have to confess our tutoring sessions have been the high points of my day,” Patrick said, grinning at her.

Her insides melted, and she couldn’t help but grin back at him.

“Your ears,” Molly said, peering at her curiously. “They’re turning red.”

“Be quiet, Molly,” Ruthie snapped. “Matt Lehman is about to reveal the mystery of the dead stranger.”

Dok lunged for her cell phone when she heard the familiar chiming tune linked to incoming calls from Ed Gingerich. “Hello?”

“Hey there, hon. How goes life in the cornfields?”

She tried not to take offense at the slight. Ed thought buying a private practice was ridiculous. Ludicrous, he called it. Feeling guilty about the way she’d been dismissed from the hospital staff, he promised to look for positions for her in other hospitals despite her insistence that private practice was the right step for her. She was doing exactly what she wanted to be doing. He thoroughly disagreed—he told her she was just overreacting to getting fired and he was going to fix that for her. “It’s fine. Peaceful. How goes life in the hectic hospital?”

“Exciting. Unpredictable. In fact, that’s why I called. There’s an opening for an ER doctor in Harrisburg that would be perfect for you. I’ve got a friend on staff who’s been able to pull some strings to get you an interview. You need to be there tomorrow afternoon. I’ll text you the contact info.”

“Harrisburg,” she said in a flat tone.

“Yes, Harrisburg. I know, I know. But it’s really not all that far. We’ll see each other on weekends.” He paused. “Maybe every other weekend.”

He completely misunderstood her hesitation. “Thank you, but no.”

Another pause. “You can’t just say no to an opportunity like this.”

Dok’s back instantly stiffened. She had a strange flashback: standing in the kitchen on an April morning when she was sixteen years old as her mother told her she had signed her up for baptism class without her knowledge. She had the same feeling that she had now: she was getting pushed too far. “I can say no, Ed. I am saying no. I keep telling you the same thing and you’re not listening. I am doing exactly what I want to be doing.”

Ed tried another tack. “Hon, you sound a little tired. Sleep on this. We can talk in the morning.”

Not a word of kindness, no thought to ask her how she was feeling.

Evasion.

She had worked with him long enough to know how his mind worked. This was Ed’s way of cueing her that he wasn’t coming out for dinner, like they had planned. Earlier this morning, she had bought filet mignon, his favorite.

She was starting to feel angry and knew she’d better hang up before she said something she regretted. “I have a meeting I need to get to. I do appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’m confident I won’t change my mind.”

“Ruth, I think this position is made for you.”

She bit her lip. Ed was right even when he was wrong.

“Promise me you’ll think it over. I’ll call in the morning. Night, sweets.”

She heard the click before she had a chance to respond.

What was wrong with them lately? She used to feel like they were a pair of train tracks, parallel but heading in the same direction. Lately she felt like one of the tracks had slipped out of alignment. Everything with Ed felt uncertain, wobbly, vacillating.

She saw a buggy roll by, then another and another, and grabbed her keys to lock the door. Not that there was much concern of a break-in, but she did have a cupboard that was filling up with prescription drugs. An old saying of her mother’s floated through her mind as she locked up: “Even a saint is tempted by an open door.”

Her mother. Mammi the Meddler. She loved her mother but knew they were better at a distance. They couldn’t be in the same room without sparks erupting. Poor David did his best to try to keep the peace between them. Fortunately, two years ago her mother married a nice, passive-minded widower. Her mother convinced her new husband to move to Ohio because she wanted to be closer to Dok’s older sisters.

What would her mother have to say about Ed Gingerich? She could only imagine. Selfish. Arrogant. Controlling. Dominating.

She went completely still. Why, Ed was all those things. It wasn’t her mother’s voice in her head. It was hers! She hurried to balance out Ed’s character, as if trying to remind herself of why she loved him. He was fascinating, brilliant, one of a kind. They enjoyed all the same things: classical music, long hikes in the woods, leisurely meals.

Everything was fine. Ed hadn’t changed. It was her. She was just going through . . . an adjustment. They’d weathered this kind of misalignment before. Things would settle down between them and get back to a good place soon.

And what place is that? a little voice inside her badgered. Marriage?

She pushed the troubling inner conversation to the back of her mind as she picked up her pace. The Bent N’ Dent was already overflowing with curious Amish. Good! Dok wanted to hear what Matt Lehman’s big announcement was, but she also wanted to meet as many local Amish as she could while she was in the store. Future patients, she hoped.

Matt Lehman had to stand on a wooden crate behind the counter to be seen and heard by everyone in the jam-packed store. “Thanks to the work of Jesse Stoltzfus—”

As those words hung in the air, Jesse changed his mind. He was delighted that Jenny Yoder had arrived at the Bent N’ Dent exactly when she did, and not a minute later.

“—who found the stranger’s car on Old Spotted Horse Road.”

“WHO MURDERED HIM?” Hank Lapp asked in his ordinary bellow.

Matt sighed. “Hank, nobody ever said he was murdered. And he wasn’t. The stranger died of a heart attack. Natural causes. No murder. I repeat. There was no murder at the Inn at Eagle Hill.”

Luke let out a breath, slowly, like the air of a leaking tire. Jesse noticed.

The Stoney Ridge Times reporter snapped his notebook shut. “Blast it all. Another dead lead.”

The bells on the door rang and in walked Dok, Jesse’s aunt. Matt was in the middle of explaining that all rumors of a murder were just that, rumors, when he looked over to see Dok and he just stopped talking, midsentence. As if his stream of thought had drizzled down to a drop.

Dok sidled up next to Jesse. “What did I miss?”

“The stranger died of natural causes,” Luke said.

Jesse’s dad was next to Matt, behind the counter. In his preacher’s voice, loud and clear, he prompted Matt to keep going. “Have you found out who the man is? Or, I guess I should say, was?”

Matt jerked to attention, as if he’d forgotten where he was and why he was here. “Yes. We’ve notified his daughter, who lives out in California. She said she hadn’t realized her father had gone missing.”

“WHO WAS HE?” Hank Lapp asked.

“His name is Arthur Baumeister. He’s a sportswriter. He was covering the Lancaster Barnstormers. Apparently he was taking a few days off in between series.”

“No kidding?” The reporter snapped open his notepad and started scribbling down notes.

“Why was there blood on his forehead?” Ruthie asked.

Matt looked to the back of the room, where Ruthie and Patrick stood. “His car veered off the road and into the bushes. The coroner said he must have hit his head pretty hard. Enough to daze him.”

Jesse spoke up. “But why? What made his car veer off the road?”

“His car had a flat tire. Must have been a blowout by the way he skidded and swerved. He lost control of the car and ended up deep in the bushes.”

The bell on the door jingled. Jesse glanced over to see who else had arrived, but then he realized that Luke Schrock had quietly slipped out.

As soon as Matt finished answering the last question, people set out for home. Within minutes, the store was nearly empty. That didn’t surprise Dok—the Amish weren’t ones to linger, especially close to suppertime. She had hoped to meet a few people, but she knew her acceptance into the community was going to take a long time. She turned to leave.

“Dok, hold up.”

She held the door open as Matt hurried to join her. “Did you hear the news?” They walked out on the store porch.

“Much ado about nothing.”

“I thought I’d see more of you now that you’ve set up a practice in Stoney Ridge. But I think I’ve seen less of you the last week than I have in the last year.” He searched her face. “I haven’t seen you at church, either.” They both attended the same Mennonite church in Lancaster, though both of their work schedules made attendance erratic.

“It’s taken more time than I expected to set up the practice.” More money too. Her savings account was rapidly dwindling. If she didn’t start having patients soon, she might . . . well, she didn’t want to think about that right now. One day at a time, David always reminded her.

“Many patients coming in?”

She shrugged. “Not yet.”

“Won’t be long until you’re so busy, you’ll be longing for a day without patients.”

A smile lifted her face, and her spirits came along for the ride. “Let’s hope you’re right.” She turned from Matt and walked down the steps.

“Dok, wait. I hoped you might change your mind and go out with me sometime. Tonight, for example. You know, as long as you have the time. Before things get too busy.”

The answer was a definite no—how could she possibly go out with someone like Matt? There was nothing interesting or exciting about him. He was like the men she knew from her childhood church. Kind, yes, but steadfast, boring. Yet how could she ever tell him such a thing? “Thanks, but I have a few more things on my to-do list tonight.” She looked at him to see if that was enough answer, but she could see it wasn’t, so she got serious. “Matt, I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“It’s just dinner, Dok. Not a marriage proposal.”

His boldness startled her. For a split second, she was tempted. It would be nice to go out with someone who wanted to be with her, only her, the way Matt seemed to want to be with her. But she held on to her wits. She backed a few feet away from him, casually lifted a hand with a “Some other time,” then turned and hurried off down the road.