Chapter Eleven
Frannie, asleep on her tummy, had folded her knees and elbows under her. As Willa gently tucked the blankets around her round, raised bum, she sighed contentedly. Oh, to enjoy the deep sleep of an innocent baby. She resisted the urge to finger-comb curls from her daughter’s forehead.
Dan’s throaty snores filtered across the hall, so she pulled the door shut, making sure not to let the latch click against the strike plate. She tiptoed downstairs, avoiding the creaky step third from the top, and found Anki right where she’d left her, still unmoving, still expressionless. But as she walked farther into the room, what she saw stopped her: huge kitchen shears in Anki’s right hand, a foot-long mass of blond hair in the other.
Willa took the scissors and whispered, “Anki . . . why?”
In the brittle silence that followed, Willa acknowledged that, even in the New Order Amish world, women followed most Old Testament tenets. One plainly stated “shorn locks are shameful.” In this case, Willa agreed, because Anki’s hair was exquisite. Dozens of times, she’d shampooed the lustrous, slightly wavy tresses that hung far past Anki’s waist. Afterward, while Willa styled it into braids or buns or twists, they’d discuss the weather, Frannie’s antics, whether to serve chicken or beef for supper. And she’d wish aloud for hair half as beautiful. Amish rules about pride forbade Anki from agreeing, but Willa could tell ... Anki loved her hair, too. The fact that she’d hack at it with shears designed to cut legs and wings from raw roasting chickens . . . Willa didn’t understand that at all!
She dropped the tool into the sink and knelt beside the chair, and grasping Anki’s free hand, repeated, “Why?”
The woman responded with a hesitant shrug. “I thought . . .” She gawked at her handful of hair as if seeing it for the first time. “I was still dreaming ... about Abby.”
Abby . . . Abigail . . . her twin ...
Willa and Frannie had been with the Hofmans for nearly six months, and according to Max, Anki had lost her twin shortly before their arrival. Day by day, she’d become more withdrawn and less predictable. If she didn’t get help soon, what might Anki do next?
Willa slid a chair alongside Anki’s. “Tell me about the dream.”
For a second, Anki made eye contact with Willa. All too quickly, though, she locked her gaze on an unidentifiable spot across the room.
“I was outside, helping Mama gather eggs, and when I came inside . . .”
Her voice, a dull monotone, was barely audible. Willa leaned closer, not wanting to interrupt.
“. . . I saw her. On the floor. In front of the sink. The sun was shining through the window. It reflected from Mama’s butcher knife. There was blood. So much blood . . .”
Tears filled Anki’s eyes, and when she blinked, one slid down her cheek, and landed on her shoulder.
“I dropped the eggs. The whole basket. They broke. And mixed with the blood. Then Mama walked in. And fainted.”
Willa knew that Anki’s mother couldn’t have witnessed her daughter’s suicide, because according to Max, both parents had died soon after Abigail moved away. Anki couldn’t have seen anything, either, since the shunning had taken place many months before her twin’s death. With bare snippets of information, delivered by a well-meaning neighbor, Anki’s imagination had drawn terrifying mental images of her sister’s last hours.
“How awful,” Willa said, squeezing Anki’s hands. If only she could think of something more helpful to say!
“I hate her,” Anki blurted out. “Hate, hate, hate her.”
Willa wished she’d paid more attention during the suicide unit of her psych class. Should she encourage Anki to talk more about it? Or change the subject?
“I’m sure it was hard. Very hard. For all of you.” The words sounded hollow and pointless. Lord, help me to help Anki!
“It was such a selfish thing to do. She was so much more than my sister. She was my dearest friend. We shared everything. Everything. When she went away with that ... that man . . . she took part of me with her. But I had faith. I trusted God to answer my prayers and bring her home someday.”
Oh, how she wished Max hadn’t left. He’d known Anki for years. Surely he’d know how to comfort her. Then again, maybe she wouldn’t have opened up at all.
Anki inhaled a sharp breath, let it out slowly. Shifting slightly in the chair, she faced Willa. “I am sorry. It was wrong of me to burden you with—”
“Shhh,” Willa interrupted. “You listened to all my troubles when I first got here. Friends share things. Good things. Bad things.” She squeezed Anki’s hands. “Hurtful things. Especially hurtful things. It’s good to have someone you can trust, someone you can talk to.” Another squeeze, and then, “I’ll always be here for you, Anki. Always.”
Knuckling her eyes, Anki took another deep breath and smiled. Not much. But the attempt gave Willa hope. She made a decision: Tomorrow, right after her visit with the bishop, she’d ask Emily’s advice on the situation. If it made Dan angry, so be it. All that really mattered was getting Anki the help she so desperately needed.
“Dan will really hate me now.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Willa insisted. “He loves you!”
She shook her head. “He is angry with me. Always, so angry with me.”
“That’s because he loves you. He’s worried about you, and you know how men are ... always wanting to solve problems for the women they love ... He wants to help you, and because he doesn’t know how, he says things that hurt your feelings. The person he’s really angry with is himself, because he feels helpless.”
Anki slipped her hands free of Willa’s grasp, stroked the hair still clutched in her hand. “When he sees what I have done . . .”
Willa got up, held out her right hand. “Give that to me.”
Like an errant child, Anki dropped the hair into Willa’s upturned palm. “Now I will be ugly on the outside, too.”
“Too” . . . meaning the anger she’d been harboring made her feel ugly on the inside?
“Stay right there,” Willa instructed, “while I get your sewing scissors. They’re sharper than the kitchen shears, and I can use them to . . .” She almost said, To straighten up this awful mess you’ve made! She used her fingers to imitate scissors. “I’m sure with a few snips here and a few snips there, we can even things up.”
“What I have done is sinful. A snip here or there cannot change that.”
“I’ve read those Old Testament Scriptures. First of all, they only say that ‘shorn hair’ was unpleasing to God. Was,” she said, emphasizing the word, “because Jesus’s death changed all of that. And secondly . . .”
Willa darted into the parlor, where Anki kept her sewing basket, and returned with the scissors. She opened, then closed them with a snap.
“He will hate me.”
“He won’t. He doesn’t,” she said again. Bending at the waist, Willa lifted Anki’s chin and forced her to make eye contact. “Your hair will grow back, you know.”
“It took thirty-three years to reach this length!”
Straightening, Willa chuckled. “Remember my hair when I got here?”
“Yes. It looked like little Rafe’s.”
Emily often lamented how quickly he was growing up, using his ringlets to measure the passage of time: The once-bald baby now sported a mop of curls that completely covered his ears.
Striking a model’s pose, Willa used one hand to fluff her shoulder-length waves. “And just look at it now!”
In all the months she’d been in Pleasant Valley, Willa had never seen Anki look more enthusiastic. But as quickly as her happiness appeared, it disappeared.
“I will have to wear my cap inside and out.”
“To hide your hair from Dan?”
She lowered her head. “It will be a sin of omission.”
“Do you trust Dan?” Willa asked.
Frowning, Anki said, “Yes . . .”
“And you love him?”
“Of course I do. He is my husband!”
“Then trust him, Anki. Just . . .” She shrugged, feeling helpless, and a little bit stupid. “. . . just tell him the truth. About your dream. About how Abigail’s shunning, and her death, hurt you.” Willa paused. “And don’t give me that nonsense about him hating you. He won’t. Ever. Period.”
“But . . . he will be angry . . .”
“Maybe, but you know what they say ... all bark, no bite ... He’ll get over it. He always does.”
“Yes . . . all right.”
Willa tugged at the tablecloth and draped it around Anki’s shoulders.
It was heartbreaking, watching the mound of hair grow near Anki’s feet. But fifteen minutes later, at least it was all one length.
“There. All finished.” Carefully, she removed the makeshift cape and carried it onto the enclosed back porch, where she added it to the laundry basket. On her way back inside, Willa grabbed the broom and dustpan, and began sweeping up the evidence of Anki’s folly.
“My neck is cold,” she said, pulling the robe higher. On her feet now, she said, “I will sleep in the parlor.”
No need to ask why. Anki didn’t want her newly shorn bob to be the first thing Dan saw in the morning.
From the doorway, Anki said, “You should stop playing hard to get.”
“I should ... What!”
“No need to pretend with me. Friends share things, right?” She paused. “Do you love Max?”
“I’m not sure. I think so.”
“Then trust him, Willa. Tell him how you feel. I have a feeling he will echo your words.”
It was almost word for word the advice she had just given Anki. Willa didn’t know how to feel about that.
“It’s that obvious, huh?”
“Only to those who can see.”
She rounded the corner, and Willa could hear her, fluffing the needlepoint pillow—the only decoration in the plain room—before unfolding the quilt that always hung over the back of the bentwood rocker. Lord, bless her with a restful night’s sleep.
Because something told her that come morning, Anki would need every ounce of strength it would provide.
* * *
“Max, how good to see you.”
If Anki’s dull voice reflected her feelings, he didn’t believe her words.
“Why are you here? I thought Dan said you were going to Cumberland today.”
“I am. Just thought I would stop by, see if you or Willa need anything from town.”
“She is upstairs, getting Frannie ready for the day.” Moving woodenly to the bottom of the stairs, Anki placed a hand on the newel post. “Willa? Can you come down here for a minute?”
“No need to interrupt her.”
“It’s no interruption,” Willa said, joining them in the kitchen.
Their personalities were completely different. Anki’s demeanor summoned thoughts of chilly gray skies. Willa, on the other hand, reminded him of springtime . . . warm and bright and inviting.
“Don’t you look dapper today,” she said, tucking Frannie into her highchair. “Business meeting this morning?”
“Yes. I have been instructed not to name the property owner, but he wants us to build a few one-room cabins near Lover’s Leap.”
“I don’t know which story interests me more . . .” She slid two slices of bread into the toaster. “. . . his secrecy or how the place got its name.”
“All he’ll allow me to say is that he’s an environmentalist. And a preservationist.”
She tied a huge bib around the baby’s neck. “And a guy who knows how to encourage tourists to spend their money,” Willa joked.
He had to agree. Lover’s Leap was a popular Wills Mountain attraction, mostly for the spectacular views from the cliffs overlooking Wills Creek, 1,700 feet below.
“People have leaped to their deaths there,” Anki said.
Frannie tried leaping ... out of her high chair. “Max!” she called out, smiling as she reached for him. He took her hand and said, “Why is she so gussied up this morning?”
“Because she and her mama will meet with the bishop this morning,” Anki answered.
“Oh? Why is that?”
“Tell me more about Cumberland’s Lover’s Leap,” Willa said, buttering Frannie’s toast.
Clever, he thought, how quickly she’d changed the subject. No matter. Sooner or later, he’d learn why she was meeting with Fisher.
A quick glance at the clock told him he had plenty of time before his own meeting with the property owner. Taking a seat near Frannie’s high chair, he began:
“According to the legend, there was a man named Jack Chadwick, who had a reputation for being a fearless hunter. During one expedition, he ran across a chief who lived on the creek with his white wife and their daughter. Because he had sided with the whites, the Shawnee tribe shunned him. Soon, Jack and the chief’s daughter fell in love and wanted to marry, but her father rejected the idea, saying that Jack was too poor. But even if he’d had the money to care for her, she’d been promised to an officer at the fort. It broke Jack’s heart, they say, and on his way back to his cabin, he kicked a rock. A big shiny rock that turned out to be pure silver. No one would call him poor now! And he was right. The chief gave his blessing to the marriage . . . until the officer came to claim his bride. Jack tried to convince the chief to change his mind, but when the man refused to budge, Jack asked the daughter to run away with him so they could be married. But she loved her father and would not disobey him. ‘I cannot live with you,’ she said, ‘but I will die with you.’ So off they went, to the high cliff, and holding hands, they jumped.”
Willa exhaled a long sigh. “How sad that the beauty of places like that can be tarnished by a few dumb choices.”
“Dumb?”
“I’d never kill myself over a man.” She met his eyes. “You wouldn’t do such a thing for a woman, would you?”
“No!”
Anki had been paying close attention, and now she leaned forward. “When will work on these cabins begin? After the Royal Valley Overlook project is finished?”
“No, the man wants these cabins finished before the snows come. It can be done, easily, if we divert some of the crew from smaller jobs near here. It will provide a new cash source to see us through the winter.”
By now, Frannie had nearly finished her toast, and Willa was packing apple slices and cheese cubes into a paper bag. “A healthy snack for later,” she explained, zipping the backpack’s flap. “In case she starts fussing while the bishop and I are talking.”
“How will you get there? Li’l Red?”
“No, I thought we’d walk. It’s a nice sunny day. There might not be many more of these.”
“But Willa,” Anki said, “it is more than a mile. You cannot carry Frannie and the pie that far.”
She sent a grin in Anki’s direction. “Sure I can.”
“Of course you can,” Max said, “but why not let me drive you? It is right on my way. You can walk home again, and won’t have the pie to carry.”
“What do you say, Frannie? Would you like Max to drive us to the bishop’s house?”
“Max!” Frannie hollered. “Max!”
“All right then,” she said, pouring steaming water into a mug, “thank you, Mr. Lambright!” After adding a spoonful of sugar to the cup, Willa turned toward Anki. “Let’s get you set up in the parlor. I found a novel in my suitcase. It’s the story of a heroine who survives a steamboat explosion and has to raise her deaf brother, all by herself!”
While she got Anki situated, he grabbed a clean dish rag, dampened it, and gently wiped butter from Frannie’s face and fingers. “There now,” he said, winking, “all clean, and no longer shiny. And we saved your mama a few minutes. Time enough, maybe, to inspire her to tell me why you’re visiting the bishop today.”
Frannie opened and closed one plump fist. “Bye-bye?”
“Yes, we are going bye-bye.”
She puckered her lips. “Kiss?”
“How can I say no!” Max leaned over the high-chair tray and deposited a quick peck on her mouth. “Mmm!” he said. “What is in that butter?”
“Honey,” Willa answered. “Sometimes I make honey butter. Sometimes I mix in a little cinnamon and sugar.”
“You are blessed, little Frannie,” he said, winking again.
Willa blushed a bit at his compliment, but hid it by grabbing the baby’s coat from the rack. “What time is your meeting?”
After another glance at the clock, he said, “In just over an hour.”
“Whew.” They headed outside. “You’ll have just enough time ... if we don’t dillydally.”
“Or lollygag.”
“Or shilly-shally.”
Max held up a hand. “I give up,” he said, laughing. Then he realized there wasn’t a car seat in his truck. He hated to withdraw his offer, but ...
“Don’t look so worried,” she said, opening the passenger door. “It’s less than a mile. And it isn’t likely we’ll encounter another vehicle. Besides, you’re a careful driver.”
Sliding into the truck, Willa pulled the seat belt around herself and Frannie. “Well? What are you waiting for, Christmas?”
He returned her smile, then closed the door. Did she have any idea how much he enjoyed being around her?
“Anki was fascinated by your Lover’s Leap story. Almost as if she hadn’t heard it before.”
“She often puzzles me, too.” He sighed. “Dan does not have an easy life.”
“That’s true, in some ways. He’s well regarded in the community and has many good friends. You’re probably his best friend. And you’re the best partner he could have. Why, if not for you, putting up with the moods caused by Anki’s behavior, I don’t know how he’d earn a living.”
They’d almost arrived at the bishop’s house, and Max still hadn’t had a chance to ask her about the meeting.
“Do you think if I stop at the supercenter on the way home, pick up a few staples, I can earn my seat at the supper table? Again?”
“Why would anyone mind!”
“Because Dan is probably keeping a tally of everything I eat, so that he can flash the total next time I make a ‘spend money for the company’ suggestion.”
Laughing, Willa said, “No, he wouldn’t do that.” She faced Max and made an uh-oh look. “Would he?”
Max pulled up in front of the Fishers’ house and jogged around to the passenger side of the truck. “No,” he said, opening the door, “he probably would not.” After helping her exit the truck, he reached into the back seat, slid the pie onto his palm.
“You’re not even interested in what’s on the menu?”
“Every meal you have served so far has been a wonderful surprise.”
“Wow.” She shifted Frannie to her left hip and accepted the dish. “You make it really tough on a gal.”
“Oh?” he said again.
“Because now I’ll feel awful if I disappoint you.”
She started up the walk, but he grabbed her wrist. “You could not disappoint me if you tried.”
She blushed. Grinned. Rolled her eyes. “Do you say things like that to embarrass me?”
“The truth should not embarrass you, Willa.” And then, for no reason other than he was tempted to kiss her, Max cleared his throat and said, “You should go inside, and I should get to my meeting. See you around five o’clock?”
When she glanced at the Fishers’ front door, the blush disappeared. In its place was a wide-eyed, uneasy look.
“No reason to worry,” he assured her. “Fisher is more bark than bite.” Gently, he turned her, until she faced the porch. “The sooner you get inside, the sooner it will all be over.”
Nodding, she moved forward, and Max got in behind the wheel. He drove north, then stopped; if the Fishers didn’t answer, he’d take her back to the Hofmans’.
This should be interesting, he thought as she climbed the steps. How would she knock with one hand steadying Frannie on her hip and the other holding the pie?
He watched as she bent one leg at the knee, swung it backward, then forward, until her knee thumped the door. Three times. Shaking his head as the bishop’s wife invited her inside, Max laughed and took his foot off the brake. Oh, but she was a delight, and he’d like nothing better than to spend hour after hour in her company. If only he could forget that she’d been with another man . . .
Despite the unpleasant mental pictures, he drove away, chuckling as he imagined how the Almighty would react to tonight’s prayer: “Erase the pictures from my mind, Father!”
* * *
“Willa!” said the bishop’s wife. “What a lovely surprise!” She opened the door wide and gestured her inside. “Micah,” she called over her shoulder, “come see who has paid us a visit!”
Charity leaned close and rubbed noses with Frannie, cooing in baby talk. And Frannie returned the affection, right down to the last giggle.
“Sit, sit!” the woman said, relieving Willa of the pie. “For us?”
“For you.”
Pulling out a kitchen chair, she called for her husband again, then helped Willa remove Frannie’s cap and coat. After welcoming the baby into her arms, Charity said, “Come, little one, and sit in the grandchildren’s chair.” She dragged it closer to the table. “This was Micah’s. Then, our son’s. Now, his youngest uses it.”
“What a treasure!” Willa said, meaning it. “The oldest thing I own is a locket that belonged to my maternal grandmother.” But what a stupid thing to say. She knew perfectly well that the Amish did not wear jewelry. Not even wedding rings!
“The kind with photographs inside?”
Willa nodded and felt doubly stupid, because pictures were frowned upon here, too.
“I have seen them, in the shops in town. Very pretty.” She met Willa’s eyes. “Whose photographs are in it?”
“My mother and her mother.”
“I see . . .” Then, “I can give the baby a snack, yes?”
“She’d love that.”
Frannie’s eyes opened wide when Charity held up a saucer-sized sugar cookie.
“You too?” she asked Willa, breaking Frannie’s treat into bite-sized pieces.
“No, but thanks.” She wanted to get right down to business, ask the bishop’s permission and guidance about baptism, and get out of here as soon as possible. She had work to do, after all. And Max was coming to supper ...
When the bishop entered the room, Charity filled four stoneware mugs with milk, and placed them around the table. “Sit,” she told him, “and we will have cookies.”
“Cookies?” He pointed. “When I see pie there on the counter?” Laughing, he rubbed his ample belly. “We must not insult Willa, who baked it just for us!”
His wife sent him a sidelong glance and, smiling, doled out plates and forks. Her wide-bladed knife hovered over the crust. “How big, Willa dear?”
“Oh, none for me. There are two more just like it at the Hofmans’. I baked this one especially for you!”
“Two more pies?” Charity asked.
“For tonight’s dessert and . . .” She’d made one for Max, but uncertain about how they’d interpret that, kept the detail to herself.
The Fishers bowed their heads and, eyes closed, prayed silently before picking up their forks. And when they did, Frannie pointed excitedly. “Pie, Mama? Pie?”
“How old is she now?”
“Almost fifteen months.”
“She says much for one so young.”
“That’s my fault. I talk to her, almost nonstop.” She tucked a lock of hair behind Frannie’s ear. “She loves learning, and I’m happy about that.”
Charity slid her chair closer to Frannie’s, cut off the tiniest bite, and held it to the baby’s lips. “Oh my!” she said, laughing when it quickly disappeared.
“Mmm,” Frannie said. “Denke.” Then, “Mo’e?”
Willa tensed, and seeing it, Charity said, “It is all right, Willa dear. In Old Order times, good manners were considered a symptom of pride. I for one am happy that the New Order way replaced the old custom.”
She was being careful, Willa noted, not to look in her husband’s direction. To his credit, though, it seemed that he agreed with her. So far . . .
He surprised her by saying, “Yes, it is a good thing that such kindnesses are an everyday part of life now.”
After helping herself to a bite, Charity said, “Delicious! Is it a family recipe, Willa?”
“Yes. My grandmother’s.”
“The locket grandmother?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“You do not wear this keepsake?”
“Not since moving here. It’s in a little velvet bag in the dresser.”
“I would love to see it sometime.” Avoiding her husband’s eyes, she quickly added, “To see if you resemble your mother and grandmother.”
Everyone said she was the spitting image of her mother, a compliment that had always been a source of pride. But the Amish and pride ... Willa shook her head and hoped the subject was closed.
Charity speared another small piece of apple and fed it to Frannie. “You remind me of a baby bird,” she said. Facing Willa, she added, “Tell me, Willa, what brings you here on this chilly fall day?”
“Baptism.”
“Commendable,” the bishop said, “but here, we do not baptize children. It is a momentous occasion. A choice not to be taken lightly. That is why we wait until a person is nearing adulthood, so that they fully understand that joining the church is a lifelong commitment. I hope this does not upset you, but little Frannie will have to wait.”
“It doesn’t upset me at all, but the fact is, I’m not here to discuss her baptism . . .”
The Fishers exchanged a wary glance. “Yours, then?” the bishop wanted to know.
“Yes.”
“Mother, will you take this sweet child into the parlor, so that Willa and I can discuss things, uninterrupted?”
“Of course!” Charity rose, lifted Frannie from the high chair, and said, “Come with me, little one. We will take a walk. Would you like that?”
“Wa’k!” Looking over the woman’s shoulder, she waved to Willa. “Buh-bye, Mama! Me wa’k!”
“Yes, you’ll walk. Have fun!”
Once they’d left the room, Fisher folded his hands on the table. “Am I to understand that you plan to stay in Pleasant Valley?”
“Yes. I love it here. The majestic vistas. The friendly people.”
“Will you feel this way after you become a nurse?”
She saw no reason to point out the differences between a nurse and a nursing assistant. Instead, Willa said, “Definitely.”
“You enjoy your work at Emily’s clinic, then.”
“Oh, yes. Helping people is so fulfilling.” And in the event he might see that as prideful, she quickly added, “I’ll never be able to fully repay everyone for their generosity, sharing hand-me-down clothes with Frannie and me, making sure she has a crib and high chair, the playpen at the clinic, but it’s a start.”
“But . . . you are saving your money.”
She didn’t understand what he was getting at, and yet Willa said, “Yes . . .”
“I see,” he said, nodding slowly. “Now, my next question may seem none of my business, but I must ask it.”
Silence, Willa decided, was the best response.
For now.
“Are you fond of Maximillian?”
Fond was hardly the word she’d use! “Yes, I am. But ... isn’t everyone?”
That, at least, inspired a quiet chuckle. “I agree. He is a fine young man, as I have said before. Liked by many. But . . .” His expression grew serious. “His life has not been easy.”
“Oh, I know. Anki and Dan told me some things about his past. Max shared a few things, too.”
“Mother and I care about him. Almost as much as if he were our own son.”
“I’m happy to hear that. Even a man Max’s age needs the advice of a father now and then.”
“We would not like to see him hurt. Life has already tested him enough.”
And then Willa got it: The bishop knew just enough about her past to worry that she might revert to her old ways, and if she did, Max would pay the price.
Now, it was Willa who folded her hands on the table. She locked eyes with Fisher and said, “Yes, I care about Max, Bishop Fisher. I care quite a lot. But he is not the reason I’ll never backslide. I’m well aware that I made a lot of mistakes . . . serious, stupid mistakes, because I was stupid. Self-centered. But Frannie changed all that.” She leaned in closer. “She is the reason I’m on the straight and narrow ... the reason I’ll stay there.”
The bishop pursed his lips, stroked his long, thick beard. “Yes. Yes.” He inspected his fingernails. “Are you aware, Willa, that to be baptized, you will have to make a confession?”
So. He wanted details, did he? “If that’s a requirement, I’m all for it. I’ll answer every question honestly, no matter how difficult, no matter how many might judge me once they know the whole truth.”
Fisher smiled, a gentle, caring smile that made it easy to understand why, despite his tendency to butt in where he wasn’t wanted, the people here held him in high regard.
“Child,” he began, “no one will know your answers. Only God, and myself. But even if they did, they would not judge you. In all my years here, I have many times seen evidence of this community’s forgiving nature, and not only in my position as bishop.”
She breathed a sigh of relief and hoped he hadn’t heard it.
“Just one more question, and then you can relax.” He patted her tightly fisted hands. “Would you want to stay here in the community, become one of us, even if there is no future between you and Maximillian?”
What did one thing have to do with the other? she wondered. Had Max sought his advice after she’d shamelessly thrown herself at him? Or were the bishop’s Max questions subtle hints that he’d committed himself to another woman, but hadn’t yet found a way to tell her about it? Willa couldn’t very well ask, or the bishop would have reason to write off everything she’d said.
“Pleasant Valley has earned its name.” She sat up straighter, placed both hands in her lap. “It’s a good, safe place for Frannie to grow up, and I believe it was God’s will that I ended up here, surrounded by people who are more family than neighbors. It’ll be a good, safe place for me, too. That’s why I want to stay.”
“I see. Well, all right, then. We will meet again. Several times. So that I can ask again why you want to be baptized. Once you have demonstrated that your heart is true and your faith is strong, we will study the Bible. Together. I expect that in time, you will convince me you want to renounce the ways of the modern world and commit yourself to living Plain. And then I will convince the elders, and after they vote ... you will become a true member of the community.”
Six months ago, if anyone had asked whether she’d ever consider “becoming Amish,” Willa would have laughed, called them crazy. Me? In plain clothes? No TV? No cell phone? No Internet? But now, after spending time among these warm, welcoming people . . .
“Wow. Man. I . . . I just . . . I can’t wait!” she blurted out.
His bushy eyebrows rose, nearly disappearing under hair the color of steel wool. “You should consider adding more Pennsylvania Dutch to your vocabulary. That,” he said, chuckling, “might prove harder than all the rest!”
Willa laughed, too . . . with blessed relief. So far, it seemed that Bishop Micah Fisher approved of her. Perhaps, in time, Max would, too.
He got up, said, “Wait right here . . .” and went into the parlor. When the bishop returned, he carried three books: the Bible, the Ausband hymnal, and The Martyr’s Mirror. “I hope you will make yourself well acquainted with these.”
“I will.” She caught herself nodding, and it reminded her of the head-bobbing dachshund that sat for years in the back window of her grandmother’s Oldsmobile. “I will take care of them and return them as soon as possible.” She hugged them to her chest. “You have my word.”
“No . . . they are my gift to you.” He smiled again. “Emily has the same books. She took their words to heart. I have faith that you will not disappoint me, either.”
It was high praise, coming from this man, and Willa knew the good feelings they called forth would stay with her throughout their lessons.
“We will talk soon about when the teaching should begin.”
“Yes. Soon.” She glanced into the parlor, and seeing Charity in the doorway, holding Frannie, realized that the bishop’s wife had been listening in. The smile in her eyes said what words needn’t: She, too, was pleased with the meeting’s outcome.
Willa approached the bishop’s wife. “I didn’t hear a peep out of her, so thank you for keeping Frannie so happy.”
“Ach.” She gave the comment a dismissive wave. “She is a joy.” Handing the baby to Willa, Charity added, “We want to help any way we can to make you into a full-fledged Amish woman!”
“I’m looking forward to that.”
Because oh, how good it would feel to finally have a place to call home!