Chapter Six
Emily walked in the back door, dusting her palms together. “Whew. Next time I try to carry all the trash out at one time, remind me that my name isn’t Atlas, will ya?”
“You should’ve let me do it.” Willa flexed her right bicep. “I’m taller than you, probably outweigh you by twenty pounds.”
“You’re stronger, I’ll give you that, but unless you fibbed on your job application, that’s a bunch of malarkey.”
Willa loved working at the Baker Family Clinic, where her duties included taking calls and scheduling appointments, typing patient data into the computer, and tucking tabbed folders into the filing cabinets. She loved parking Li’l Red beside the big post-mounted mailbox, climbing the brick porch steps, and tucking Frannie into the playpen that stood beside Rafe’s. Facing the exam room door, Willa looked into the waiting room, where two neat rows of blue upholstered chairs sat against pale yellow walls.
“I don’t know what this place looked like before you bought it, but you’ve done wonders with it.”
Emily grinned. “Most of the credit goes to Max. He moved walls, replaced floors, installed new doors and windows, painted, and helped Phillip find and refinish the shelves and filing cabinets.”
“Don’t tell me he designed the sign, too.”
“No, I did that. But Max painted it.”
“Anki said you spent most of your inheritance buying all the medical equipment.”
“Close, but no cigar. I spent exactly what I had to and not a penny more. The rest? I took a page from Pete’s book and invested what was left. God willing, we’ll be solvent for another decade.”
“Pete?”
“My youngest brother.”
“He sounds like a wonderful man.”
“Best guy on two feet. Except for Phillip, of course.” A fond smile of remembrance lit Emily’s face. “That Pete . . . he lived like a monk. Every penny he didn’t need for food and rent went toward savings and investments. He left instructions for me to sell his house and car. Once everything was liquidated, I had more than enough to buy the house, make improvements, and furnish it.”
“Sounds like you put years into planning the clinic.”
“Nope. That happened pretty fast, actually. I met Phillip and Gabe, fell head over heels, as they—” The door dinged, and in walked Micah Fisher.
“I know I am early,” he said, removing his hat. “I will sit right here until Willa has time to talk with me.”
“What? Talk with me? But why? About what?” She looked at Emily. “I had no idea when he made the appointment. . .” She held out her hands, palms up. “He said it was time for a routine exam.”
Emily picked up a clipboard, stuck a ballpoint under the clasp. “I’ll be in my office.” She glanced at her watch. “The bishop is our last patient for the day, so after the, um, exam, we’ll close up.”
After seventy-five grueling hours of studying and memorization, Willa was within weeks of becoming a certified nursing assistant. She’d learned a lot, working beside Emily: Injections. Blood pressure, temperature, and oxygen levels. Sutures. But to conduct a physical examination, all on her own, for someone as important as the bishop! If she had half the confidence in herself that Emily had in her, she might just make it through the next minutes with the bishop.
“Right this way, Bishop Fisher,” she said, unpocketing her stethoscope.
He sat in the hard-backed chair beside the exam table. “No, no, Willa. You do not understand. I am not here to be examined. I made the appointment to ensure I would have enough time to conduct an examination. Of you.”
“Of me?” A high-pitched nervous giggle popped from her lips. “You’re right. I don’t understand.”
“Please have a seat. Looking up at you is giving me a pain in my neck.” Fisher laughed at his own joke, and once she’d settled on the wheeled stool near the door, he cleared his throat. “I am here to talk with you about Maximillian.”
She knew that Max spent half of his working hours driving the highways to secure contracts for the company, and the other half using power tools, or balanced at the top of a ladder.
“He’s . . . he’s all right, isn’t he?”
“Yes, yes.” The bishop waved her question away. “He is fine ... physically.” His features grew serious, and he regarded her over the wire rims of his glasses. “It is the state of his soul that concerns me.”
Now she really didn’t understand.
“I have spoken with the boy.”
Boy? The word didn’t come close to describing her do-the-right-thing friend.
“I have spoken with Daniel and Anki, as well.”
Fisher slid a forefinger back and forth under his shirt collar. Willa tensed, wondering why the normally composed bishop looked so nervous.
“You see, Willa, Maximillian is Amish. And you? You are not.”
Everyone in Pleasant Valley respected this man, and near as she could tell, he’d earned it. That alone was enough to prevent her from exhaling a sigh of frustration.
“I’m grateful to be here, living among you, but I assure you, Bishop, I’d never be so presumptuous as to pass myself off as one of you.” It had never occurred to her to do such a thing, but even if it had? She’d never get away with it! Her clothes might fool tourists and casual visitors, but Willa was acutely aware that the moment she began to speak, everyone recognized her as an outsider.
“Yes, yes,” he said again. “I believe this. But that is not what brings me here.”
He drummed an arthritic fingertip on his knee. Tapped the brim of the hat balanced on the other knee. Tapped his foot.
“My eyesight is not what it once was, but Godheid geprezen, I still see clearly enough . . .”
Oh, how she wished he’d stop praising God and just get to the point!
“Maximillian is Amish, born and bred, and you . . .”
“I am not. Yes. We’ve established that.” She got to her feet. If the exam room had been larger, she might have started pacing, too. “Max is a good man. I respect and admire him, and I appreciate him, too. But—”
“He is good, as good as they come.”
“May I ask what Anki and Dan said? Do they agree that I’m not worthy of a man like Max?”
The bishop’s fair complexion reddened. “It is not a matter of worthiness, dear Willa. It is a matter of faith.”
Her mother had been a born-again Christian who’d raised Willa to believe in the mighty power of God. But why waste her breath, telling the bishop things that he couldn’t accept?
“I am here to ask if you have considered living the Plain life.”
She had, but mostly in passing.
“If your answer is yes, I can help you, as I helped Emily.” He got up and, one hand on the doorknob, said, “I will leave you now, but before I go, I must ask something of you . . .”
Would he suggest that she get in touch with Alice, to see if the social worker could find her a job elsewhere . . . in a community that wasn’t Amish?
“I ask that you pray on your place here. Pray, too, on your place in Maximillian’s life.”
My place as his friend? If she was just Max’s friend, she ought to contact Alice. First chance she got. And ask the woman for help in finding a job in town. Any town. The farther from Pleasant Valley and Oakland, the better.
“At the risk of repeating myself,” Fisher said, “I have seen things.”
She wanted to ask what, exactly, he thought he’d seen. But the bishop had effectively put her back to the wall; she needed to make the best of her remaining days here, for Frannie’s sake more than her own. She couldn’t do that without the bishop’s blessing.
“I have seen that he cares for you, and that you care for him.” He put on his hat. “And this caring? It is much deeper than friendship. So yes, you must ask for the Lord’s guidance. He will lead you to the decision that is His will, for all of you.”
Willa was about to ask if he’d conducted a similar examination of Max when he hurried past, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
Thoughts of Max. Of Frannie. Of her place here in the community.
One thing was sure: She’d do exactly as the bishop had asked, and pray about everything he’d said. Because if he was right ... if Max had said or done something to lead the man to believe he also wanted more than friendship . . .
On the other side of the window, she watched as a horse-drawn buggy rolled by. Inside was Simon Miller with his long white beard, and beside him, Rebecca, waving as Fisher made his way down the clinic’s stone walkway. The couple had been born right here in Pleasant Valley. Had raised three sons and a daughter, also born right here, and like their parents, all four had married members of the community. Their children would do the same. Was their devoutness rooted in beliefs that had originated in Switzerland, centuries ago? Or simply a matter of habit, of going with the flow because this life was the only life they’d ever known?
Yes, she’d pray. Pray as she’d never prayed before. Because as Fisher had pointed out, her decision would impact Max. And Frannie. For a lifetime.
But what if the bishop was wrong? What if Max wasn’t exhibiting feelings of fondness for her? What if instead, he’d consumed a plate of sauerkraut, or had just hit his thumb with a hammer?
She was snickering to herself when Emily walked in. “Bishop Fisher is a lot of things,” she said, “but comedian isn’t one of them. Out with it. What’s so funny?”
“Nothing really.” And in truth, the idea that heartburn or pain had made it appear that Max was love-struck, well, that wasn’t the least bit funny.
* * *
When Willa steered Li’l Red into the Hofmans’ drive, she saw Dan out back, slapping paint onto the shed’s exterior.
“Let’s get you inside for a nap,” she said, lifting Frannie from her car seat.
Yet again, she marveled at Max’s talents. Not only had he extended the cab three feet into the truck’s bed, he’d built an upholstered back seat that was deep enough to safely accommodate the baby seat. When she’d asked how he managed to sand the welds flat and perfectly match the paint and front seat carpeting, he’d grinned and said, “Trade secrets,” and nothing more.
She and Frannie had adapted well to life here in Pleasant Valley. She now felt confident that they’d adjust to whatever difficulties they might encounter in the future. And she realized she was hoping that Bishop Fisher’s perceptions about Max’s feelings for her had been accurate.
Willa made quick work of washing up the dishes Anki had used throughout the day, and slid a chicken into the oven to roast. Boiled potatoes, spinach, and sliced carrots would round out the supper meal quite nicely. With both Anki and Frannie sleeping peacefully, she changed her clothes and walked across the backyard.
Dan had removed everything from the shed’s shelves and piled the objects haphazardly on the lawn.
“You are home early today,” he said as she began sorting them.
“Slow day,” she replied, stacking buckets and baskets. “I had an interesting afternoon, though.”
He met her eyes, briefly, then dipped the brush into white paint.
“Bishop Fisher came to see me. Made an appointment and everything.”
“Oh? Is the old man sick?”
“Hardly,” she said, laughing. “He wanted time to speak to me, privately, to make a few things clear.”
The brush stopped, mid-stroke. “What things?”
“He said that he’d paid you and Anki a visit, to see if your opinions matched his.”
“Sometimes, the man is as nosy as an old woman.”
“So it’s true then.”
“If you are referring to his questions about you and Max, yes.”
It’s like that, is it? You’re going to force me to pry the information from you, word by word.
“Did the two of you agree with him?”
He stuck the brush tip into the paint can again. “About what?”
“About whether or not I should dive in, headfirst, and become a card-carrying, badge-wearing Amish woman.”
Dan laughed. “We do not carry cards. And badges, as you know, would be considered jewelry.”
“Yeah, you’re right on both counts. But my point was . . . my point is . . . do you agree? If I do everything that’s required for baptism, could I pass for Amish?”
“Pass?” He moved the ladder, and after re-wetting the brush, climbed onto its first step.
“Dan, help me out a little here, will ya? You’ve gotten to know me fairly well in the months I’ve worked for you—”
“If you do not know by now that you are more a family member than employee, you might not be smart enough to pass the bishop’s tests.”
She returned his smile, then finished organizing the tools that Dan would hang on the hooks screwed into the shed’s walls: Rakes. Brooms. Shovels. Hoes. After tucking hand tools into one bucket, she lined up screwdrivers, pliers, wrenches, and hammers. Rooting in the pail that now held sandpaper, edging tape, and paintbrushes, Willa grabbed a narrow brush and dipped it into the paint.
“What do you hope to do with that?”
“I have a steady hand,” she said, looking up at him. “If I paint the window frames and the doorframes, we’ll be finished in time for supper.”
“We? This kind of work is not expected of you. Besides, you will splatter your dress. Maybe even your shoes.”
“I enjoy this kind of work.” She showed him the threadbare cuffs and collar. “I can peel paint off the boots, and if the dress gets dirty, it won’t matter much, now will it? And anyway, I’ve cut out all the pieces for a new one. Tomorrow, since I don’t have clinic hours, I’ll see about borrowing Anki’s sewing machine and stitch them together.”
“I was wondering when you would make cleaning rags of that old ... rag.”
Again, Willa returned his grin, and as her brush slid alongside the right-side window frame, she said, “Planning to put your trousers into the rag bag?”
He glanced down at the dots and spatters that covered his trousers. “I will wear them next time I paint.”
“I’m surprised you and Max don’t have coveralls for this kind of work.”
“We do.” He snickered. “I was too lazy to go to the construction trailer to get them.”
Using a fingertip, she pretended to write in the air: “‘Daniel Hofman admits a moment of laziness.’ Wouldn’t that make a fantastic headline in The Budget!”
“No one pays any mind to that thing.”
He knew very well that the newspaper provided for the Amish what the Internet gave the rest of the world. Community members looked forward to its delivery. Looked forward to sharing recipes, gardening tips, and items for sale found inside, too.
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“What question?”
She exhaled a frustrated sigh. “Do you think it’s possible for someone like me to fit in here? Permanently, I mean?”
“Yes, I suppose you could.”
She heard the unspoken if in his voice: If she vowed to abide by the Ordnung, which included baptism and so much more. Well, she had an if of her own: If Emily could do it, why not me?
Her next question wouldn’t be as easy for him to answer, so Willa chose her words carefully.
“During our talk today, the bishop hinted that Max has feelings for me. Not just ‘you’re a good egg, Willa,’ or ‘you’re kinda likeable,’ but, you know, feelings. Is that what he told you and Anki?”
Dan climbed down from the ladder. She waited, thinking he’d reload his brush. But he didn’t. Instead, he laid it crosswise on the can’s lid. Then, one hand on each of her shoulders, he turned her to face him.
“Fisher implied as much with us, yes. But Max has not said such to me. At least, not in so many words. Since he has not, I do not feel as though I am betraying a confidence. And ... this is only my opinion, you understand.”
Willa stared into his eyes. How had she spent months working for him, sharing meals with him, without noticing the tiny black flecks that peppered the blue of his eyes?
“If it turns out that he thinks I’m a toad,” she said, “I promise not to hold you accountable.”
Stepping away from Willa, he used a stir stick to mix the paint. Then, one thumb behind a suspender, he said, “The life he has lived ... it has made him old before his time. But when your name comes up, he changes.”
“Changes, how?”
He mumbled something unintelligible. “Women,” he said, shoving the brush deep into the paint. “Why do all of you demand specifics?” He wiped the bristles against the rim. “Just be satisfied that you are on his mind ... in a positive way.”
Willa supposed he’d made a good point. She went back to work, and repeated his words in her mind: You are on his mind . . . in a positive way ...
“You and Max are friends,” she began, “so if you don’t want to answer this, I’ll understand.”
Dan whispered something like “Goodness” under his breath.
“There are quite a few unmarried women in Pleasant Valley. Has Max ever, you know, has he, is he . . . interested in any of them?”
“If Max confided such things in me, I would not answer your question.”
Well, she’d asked for honesty ...
“But since he has not, I can freely say I know of no one that he is—as you put it—interested in.”
Relief swept over her.
“However, I cannot say the same thing for the young women.” Dan used the brush as a pointer. “One in particular has let it be known that she is willing to begin the Bible studies, songs, and prayers that prepare couples for marriage.”
Willa nearly dropped the paintbrush. Marriage! She hadn’t expected to hear that!
“Does Max know? Is he aware that she has set her cap for him?”
“Cap. Very funny. But if you made a list of things that boy notices, you could roll it up and put it into a thimble.”
Did it mean Max hadn’t noticed? Or wasn’t he interested?
She finished painting the window trim, then started on the doorframe.
“Sorry to have disappointed you,” Dan said. “The Amish . . . we do not believe in flirtation, like you English do. This woman, she cannot flutter her eyelashes or giggle to let him know how she feels.”
Willa decided not to ask how Dan knew so much about the pre-dating rules of Englishers.
“Is that how you and Frannie’s father got together?” he asked.
She’d been completely up front about how she’d made ends meet before moving here, so it made no sense to beat around the proverbial bush. Still, she and Dan had been getting along well. Willa hated to throw cold water on the warm conversation, and decided to keep her answers short and sweet.
“No,” she said, “Joe and I . . . we met quite by accident.” When I was looking for drugs, and he was selling them.
“It took great faith to leave that life, to start over.”
She half expected him to take her to task for the way she’d escaped. Instead, he said, “I am glad, for your sake and Frannie’s, and for Anki’s sake, too, that you made that choice.” He looked over his shoulder to add, “Do you regret it?”
“No.” And she didn’t.
“But this life is very different from your old one.”
“That’s just one of the reasons I don’t regret the change.”
“Mmm. And Max. He is one of those reasons?”
“Well, he wasn’t . . . not at first, anyway.”
“Do you think this Joe will try to find you, to demand his rights as Frannie’s father?”
It would be a lie if she said the question had never occurred to her. “I can only hope and pray that he has moved on and forgotten all about us.”
“Yes. I have said the same prayer.”
“Why?”
“Anki and I, we . . . we do not want to lose you.”
In response to his quiet admission, tears stung her eyes.
“I don’t know what to say, except, I’m surprised.”
“But why?”
Because I’m relieved. And touched to find out that you care about me.
“May I ask . . . is Max one of the reasons you want to stay here in Pleasant Valley?” Dan questioned softly. “I only ask because I think the bishop might be onto something, and I just wonder . . .”
He pursed his lips. Clearly, he’d decided not to complete his thought. Not that she could blame him. So Willa said, “I don’t blame you for being concerned on Max’s behalf. You’re well aware of everything I did in the past, and how Max’s background made him the man he is today. He’s so good and decent. Vulnerable, too. So it’s only natural that those who love him are worried.”
“About what?”
“That I might hurt him.” The words were hard to say. So hard that Willa bit her lower lip.
“Worry,” Dan said, “is little more than a waste of time. Whatever happens, will happen. And it will be God’s will. For Max, and for you.”
For several moments, the only sound in the shed was the quiet shhh-ing of their brushes, stroking the plywood walls. Dan broke the silence with, “If he is looking for family ties, he could do worse, far worse than you, Willa Reynolds.”
Coming from the no-frills Amishman, it was high praise indeed. Overjoyed, Willa crossed the space in four short steps and threw her arms around his neck. “Why, Dan, that’s just about the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me!”
He was blushing when he peeled her off. “I hope that is not true,” he said, returning to his work, “because if it is, you have lived a deprived life, just like Max. You will make a good pair, I think!”
Not even in her wildest dreams would Willa have thought Dan, of all people, might become a true and trusted friend.
Yes, with every passing day, she had a better idea why this place was called Pleasant Valley!