Chapter Thirteen
“Sorry, boss. I looked everywhere. Talked to everyone who knew her, but no luck.”
Joe threw the mug he’d been holding, narrowly missing Arnie’s bearded face. It hit the wall hard, and rained glass on the grit- and grime-covered floor.
“I’m not paying you to hunt for four-leaf clovers, you idiot.” He stomped across the room, stood nose to nose with the taller, leaner man. “Go to a barbershop, you long-haired freak, and maybe you’ll actually be able to find some clues!”
Arnie shook his head, effectively shifting the bangs out of his eyes. “Look, Joe, she’s been gone for what, seven months? How come all of a sudden you want her back?”
He put the final twist on a joint and growled, “She’s worth a lot of money, that’s why!”
“You never did say how much you owe Seamus . . .”
“Because it’s none of your business. I’ll tell you this much: If I had thirty thousand dollars right now, I wouldn’t have to lick that fool’s boots.”
“Thirty grand? That’s all you need?” Arnie’s high-pitched snicker grated in Joe’s ears. “That’s chump change for a dude like you.”
“Just . . . shut up, fool, and get back out there. And this time, you’d better bring her here.” He hoped Arnie wouldn’t make him spell it out: He had plans for Willa. For that baby, too. If Arnie came back without them—or at the very least, a solid lead to them—the would-be hippy would regret it for the rest of his minutes-long life.
“Awright, Joe, but it ain’t gonna be any easier than it was last time. She’s smart. Smart enough to hide someplace nobody would ever think to look for her.”
“Then use your head for something other than a place to hang that smelly old baseball cap and start looking there.”
Arnie tugged the hat lower on his forehead. “Okay, but I’m gonna need money. For gas and food, maybe a motel room or whatever.”
Cursing under his breath, Joe tugged the stainless steel chain that hung from a belt loop and opened the wallet attached to the other end. “There,” he said, tossing five hundred dollars at Arnie’s feet. “But you’re not getting another dime until you drag her back here, understand? So you’d better spend it wisely.”
Stooping, Arnie picked up the bills and stuffed them into an inside pocket, then zipped his camouflage parka. “What number you want I should call? You know, if I find her.”
Joe held a match to one end of the joint. “Not if, but when. Call the burner phone.”
Once Arnie left, Joe took a long, deep drag and held it. Eyes closed, he instantly felt his jangled nerves calm. Free drugs and booze were the only perks of this job. Since Willa had run off, that is. Since then, he’d run the operation single-handedly, answering to no one but Seamus Hanrahan. So far, he hadn’t given the man any reason to complain or question his judgment. A good thing, too, because cold hard cash, not loyalty, was the only thing of value to the burly Irishman. Mistakes could be costly. Or deadly. So Joe didn’t make them. Ever. Aside from easy access to “product,” it was a tough, scary job. Not that he’d admit it. To anyone. But then, no one had put a gun to his head and forced him to sign on with the crazy redhead. Fact was, it had been far too easy to get involved.
If only getting uninvolved was as easy. Should’ve stayed in school, earned your accounting degree. It wasn’t likely to give him access to hundreds of thousands of dollars and all the drugs and booze he could handle, but at least he wouldn’t have to sleep with one eye open, worrying that even a minor misstep could cost him his life. Literally.
Hanrahan’s latest implied threats were one hundred percent Willa’s fault. In the first weeks after she’d left, Joe had stayed so high that he barely noticed she was gone. That’s what a ready supply of drugs going out and money coming in will do for a man. But now, the cops were watching. Watching closely. And that was bad, real bad, for business. If Hanrahan decided to conduct one of his impromptu audits, he’d take the missing money out of Joe’s hide. Maybe even—how did he like to put it?—plant him facedown and six feet under. Unless she’d changed a lot, he could put her back to work and bank that thirty grand in a few weeks. And if he sold the kid, he could double that amount.
Smirking, he squinted into the sweet-smelling smoke that encircled his head. Because girls, even baby girls, commanded a high price in the right marketplace . . .
* * *
Anki sat in the rocking chair, staring out the parlor window. “Looks like a snow sky,” she said, mostly to herself. “I hope Dan gets back before it starts.”
She looked cold, sitting there hugging herself, so Willa draped a quilt over her legs. “And I hope the forecasters are right ... strong winds and a drop in temps, but no snow.”
“I love the snow.”
Typical, Willa thought, of people who didn’t have to deal with it. Stop being so negative, Will. Anki would help if she could.
Or would she? Willa thought of Dan who, until she and Frannie moved in, had spent every minute of his free time cooking and cleaning, because his wife couldn’t.
Anki tucked her feet under her and pulled the quilt up to her chin. “Everything looks so clean and pure, covered in a blanket of white.”
“It’s pretty, I’ll give you that.”
Frannie, hands on the curved wooden arms of Anki’s chair, leaned left and right, effectively rocking it as her sweet two-note song filled the room. “Wocky-wocky-wocky,” she chanted, a baby-talk version of what Willa had crooned while rocking her to sleep. After a few seconds, Willa stood quietly, studying Anki’s face. Even at her age, Frannie understood that Anki’s mind was elsewhere, and the realization prompted a disappointed sigh. Something outside caught her attention, and she dropped to her knees and crawled to the low-hung window. Then, pressing her nose to the glass pane, she pointed. “Kitty!”
Willa dropped to her knees, too, and pulling her daughter into a sideways hug, followed her line of vision to the gray tabby that sashayed toward the shed. “Yup. Cute kitty!”
Now Frannie pressed a forefinger against the glass. “S’ing?”
“No, sweetie, we can’t swing right now. Too cold outside.”
Eyes wide, Frannie pretended to shiver. “Co’d!”
“Very cold!” This winter would mark the baby’s first experience with snow.
On her feet now, Willa went to the woodstove, where Dan had loaded the old coal scuttle with kindling and stacked logs beside it. “God bless Dan! Thanks to him, we have everything we need for a fire,” she told Anki.
No response.
Crouching, she wadded newspapers into tight balls, and upon hearing the crinkling sound, Frannie said, “Hot!”
“Yes, sweet girl.” She forced a warning tone into her voice. “Very hot.”
Still leaning into the windowsill, the baby nodded, and matched her mother’s serious expression.
Willa reached for the matchbox that Dan kept on the top shelf of the cupboard beside the stove, lit one, and ignited the paper and tinder she’d layered in the stove’s belly. Minutes later, after adding a few dry logs, she closed the door and adjusted the damper.
“There!” she said. “We’ll be toasty-warm in no time!”
“Toe-tee!” Frannie echoed. And then she yawned. A long, lung-filling yawn that she punctuated with an exaggerated exhalation.
“Goodness!” Willa said, scooping her up. “We’d better get some lunch into your belly, then put you down for a nap.” Standing beside the rocker, she said, “Would you rather have a ham or turkey sandwich, Anki?”
Still no response. “All right then, I’ll feed Frannie and settle her into the crib, and then I’ll bring you a plate.” She waited for a reply, and receiving none, looked into Frannie’s lovable face. “Max brought some chocolate syrup last time he came for supper. How about I squirt some into your milk?”
“Mi’k!”
“And a sliced apple?”
“Ah-puh!”
The baby was talking more and more these days. Soon, she’d form sentences, and learn to pronounce every word properly. She’d walk without holding on to furniture, then run, and ...
Tears stung Willa’s eyes. “Oh sweet girl,” she said, putting her into the high chair, “please don’t be in such a hurry to grow up.” Willa pressed a lingering kiss on her forehead. “Mama loves her baby girl!”
“Ah-puh?”
Laughing, Willa took an apple from the fruit basket centerpiece and then grabbed a cracker. “Munch on this while I cut and peel it for you.”
After handing Frannie the cracker, Willa peeled and cut the apple into bite-size cubes, then did the same with a slice of ham. Piece by piece, the food disappeared as Frannie babbled happily.
Night before last, she’d chattered, too, and Max had responded as though every word made perfect sense. Oh, how Willa missed him! The feeling reminded her of last night’s supper, which hadn’t been nearly as enjoyable, thanks to Dan’s straightforward announcement:
“No need to set a place for Max,” he’d said, hanging his hat and coat near the door. “He will not be here tonight.”
“Oh no. He’s all right, I hope!”
Even now, Willa heard the almost-pleading, disappointed notes in her voice. She stood, absentmindedly stirring chocolate syrup into Frannie’s cup of milk, picturing Dan’s teasing smirk. “He will be fine once he plows through that mountain of dirty clothes.”
Willa would gladly have offered to wash them ... if he’d so much as dropped a hint about the ever-growing mound. But asking for help wasn’t in his nature. She’d grown accustomed to his gentle smile. His soft-spoken voice. The way he locked his gaze to hers, whether she was asking him to pass the salt or describing her work at the clinic. He laughed easily—and oh, how she loved the sound of it!—and displayed a sense of humor that inspired her and Dan and even Frannie to laugh.
“Mama?”
The baby’s voice—and the annoying clank of the spoon against the plastic sippy cup—roused her from her reverie. Stifling a chuckle, she popped on the cap. “Sorry, sweet girl. Mama took a short trip to la-la land.”
“Denke!”
“English and Dutch,” Willa whispered. “My smart sweet girl!”
“Mmm-mmm,” Frannie said. “Mi’k!”
Winking, Willa said, “I’ll be sure to tell Max how much you enjoy it.”
The baby turned, and hanging slightly over the chair’s side, looked toward the back door. “Max?”
Willa glanced at the place he’d chosen as his own, here at Dan and Anki’s table ... directly across from hers. Although all six chairs were identical, his looked more bare than the rest. She caught herself smiling, despite the gloom of missing him.
“Max is working, but he might stop by later.”
Frannie yawned again, and this time, stretched both arms toward the ceiling.
“Aw, is my sweet girl sleepy?” She held a clean dishcloth under warm water, wiped the baby’s hands and face, and lifted her from the chair. Upstairs, after changing Frannie’s diaper and dressing her in one-piece pajamas made from old towels, she put her in the crib. The baby sprawled out, drowsy eyes watching as Willa tugged a colorful quilt over her.
“Tell you what,” she said, leaning in to kiss her cheeks, “while you’re sleeping, I’ll bake some cookies.” And if Max decides to join us for supper, I’ll send him home with some.
After settling Frannie into her crib, Willa made her way back downstairs, smiling all the way. “What have you become?” she muttered, rounding the corner into the kitchen. Not all that long ago, she’d balked every time Joe insisted on a meal, a back rub, or some other self-centered favor. Although she’d hated being ordered around, Willa filled every demand to ensure a steady supply of drugs. At first, Joe was generous, handing out pills like candy; then controlled her supply once he was sure she needed them ... needed them so badly that she’d do anything, no matter how repulsive or demeaning, to get them. If cancer hadn’t taken her mother, seeing what her only child had allowed herself to become would have killed her. “Thanks, Lord,” she whispered, putting a huge bowl onto the counter, “for protecting her from that.”
Her mother had never relied on a man. Once, a fellow who considered himself her steady beau tried to tell her what to do. Not only did she read him the riot act, she kicked him to the curb, too. The memory made Willa smile. And then tears pooled in her eyes. When she lost her mom, she’d lost her sense of self, lost her way, lost all sense of right and wrong, and all chances of following in her mother’s footsteps.
The baby monitor flickered, telling her that Frannie had rolled over in her sleep.
Frannie, who’d saved her life.
Frannie, who’d given her reason to live.
“I smell vanilla,” Anki said, plopping onto Max’s chair.
Willa wanted to tell her to get up and sit in her own chair. And then she remembered that here in her own home, Anki had every right to sit anywhere she pleased.
She turned the oven dial to 375 degrees. “I’m making cookies. Want to help?”
For a second there, it looked like she might say yes. Instead, Anki shook her head. “I will just watch.”
“That’s fine.” Spreading parchment paper on the cookie sheets, she said, “It’s still nice, having you here with me.”
“Do you believe Dan is in town buying a print cartridge for the construction trailer?”
Willa dumped two cups of flour into the big bowl. “If that’s what he said, sure. Why would he lie about something so silly?”
“To hide the facts. That he would rather be anywhere than here with me.”
“He wouldn’t be here at this time of day, anyway. He’d be on a jobsite. Or in his office, ordering supplies. Or delivering materials to one of the crews.”
What were the chances, Willa wondered, that Anki might snap out of the doldrums if she had something—someone—to think about other than herself?
She added sugar to the bowl. “Mind if I ask you a personal question?”
Anki shrugged.
“How did you know Dan was the right man for you?”
Anki frowned. Stared at her hands, tightly fisted in her lap. And then the strangest thing happened ... Anki’s face lit up with a wistful smile.
“I saw him at the fall festival, standing with a group of young men, laughing at something one of them said. The sound of it . . .” Anki pressed a palm to her chest. “It warmed me to my core.” She giggled. “I might have fallen in love, just a little bit, right then and there. He stood out, and not only because he was taller and more broad-shouldered than the others.”
“So you didn’t know him then?”
“Not on that day . . .”
“How did you get together?”
That inspired quiet laughter. “I dared my sister to tell him that I thought he was handsome.”
“And she did?”
“Oh yes. Abby was never one to shy away from a dare!”
Willa suspected that if she didn’t ask another pointed question, quickly, Anki would veer off track, probably far enough to mire herself in a rut of bad memories about her sister’s death. After measuring out two teaspoons of baking powder, she added, “And she did it right way?”
“Immediately.”
“Oh my goodness!” She mixed the dry ingredients together. “Did you hide?”
“I most certainly did not! We weren’t identical twins, and she was the only one who didn’t think she was the prettiest. I didn’t want Dan thinking Abby was making up the story as a test to see if he was interested in her!”
Softened butter went into a second bowl, and as she cracked eggs into it, Willa said, “Let me guess . . . he came marching right over.”
“No.” The dreamy smile grew. “He was so shy and quiet. He caught me staring, and immediately looked away. But he kept peeking around Abigail. After a minute, she put her hands beside her mouth and hollered, ‘Anki! Come here! This man wants to meet you!’”
“And you went?” Now, she added the vanilla, and a pinch of salt, and beat everything together.
“I tried, but I could not move my feet. I saw her shake her head. And grab his hand. And drag him to where I stood, stiff as a statue and dumb as a post.”
“Oh, how I wish I’d been there for that introduction!”
Giggling again, Anki admitted, “We saw each other three more times after that, at the church social, at his cousin’s wedding, when a neighbor died. I knew his name, and I suppose he must have known mine, but we were not introduced, officially, until Charity Fisher saw us, staring at one another across the headstones. She grabbed his wrist, and mine, and forced us to shake hands. And then she said, ‘Daniel Hofman, this is Anki Nafziger. Say hello to Anki, Dan.’ And he did. ‘Now you,’ she said to me. And once we had that out of the way, she turned us around and gave us a shove. ‘Go. Take a walk. Talk about what a blessing it is that it did not rain on the day of Elmer Yoder’s burial.’”
“And she just left you!”
“And she just left us.” She looked at the wall, where the red, orange, and yellow fall foliage surrounding the photograph of Deep Creek Lake brightened the October calendar page. “We were married one month later, and one month from today, we will have been husband and wife for ten years.”
“Ten years,” Willa said, blending the liquid ingredients with the dry. “I envy you.”
Anki’s mood darkened. “Why?”
“A whole decade with the love of your life. What a beautiful blessing.”
“God does not agree.”
“Anki, of course He does!”
“Then why has He deprived me of children?”
“He must have other plans for you. Alice, the social worker who brought me here, has no children. Yet look at all the good she’s doing for everyone in her care!”
A nearly whispered groan issued from Anki. “The only thing I am good at is driving my husband farther and farther from me. Even God has rejected me!”
“I disagree.” Willa pinched off a lump of cookie dough and rolled it into a ball. “Just the other day,” she said, placing it on the parchment, “I read Luke 23:29. It said something like, ‘Blessed are the barren and the wombs that never bore and the breasts that never nursed!’ He wouldn’t reject you, Anki.”
“No children. A husband who barely tolerates me. A sister who hated life so much that she took her own . . .” She groaned again. “If He hasn’t rejected me, then where is He?”
“I’m going to be honest with you. Because I consider you a friend. A dear, dear friend.” Willa plopped another ball of dough onto the cookie sheet. “You can’t fix what’s wrong with you all by yourself. You need help. Therapy. Medicine. Emily can tell you where to find both.”
“Willa Reynolds, stop this!” Anki got up so fast, she nearly toppled the chair. “Stop it right now! Have I not made it clear that I will not talk to Emily again, that I will not take pills?”
“All right then. In that case, we need to find something positive for you to think about. Something that will make you feel healthy and whole and productive. Like ... like your shop. They’re predicting a long, hard winter. That will give us plenty of time to get it cleaned up and ready to reopen in the spring!”
She sat, hid behind her hands, and, voice muffled by her fingers, said, “What makes you think that a woman who is too weak to seek help is strong enough to run a business?”
“You are stronger than you think.”
Willa was a little surprised, looking at the straight rows of cookie balls that lined the parchment-covered cookie sheets. Had she been so distracted by her conversation with Anki that she’d mindlessly used up half of the dough?
She slid the sheets into the oven and washed her hands, then filled two mugs with milk. “Drink up, Anki. You need protein.”
“Why? Taking care of my health will only prolong the inevitable.”
Flustered, angry, desperate to find a way through to Anki, Willa dropped a fist onto the table, hard enough to rattle the salt and pepper shakers.
“You aren’t deaf or blind, and you’re surely not the only person who has lost a loved one. You’re not the only woman who doesn’t have children, either. If it’s a baby you want, stop feeling sorry for yourself! Get your head right with God! Prepare your head and your heart and look into adopting one of the hundreds of children who need a loving home and caring parents!”
She sat, stone-faced and silent, staring into Willa’s eyes.
Oh Lord, forgive me . . . I’ve said too much. She isn’t strong enough to hear such—
“You are right. I do feel sorry for myself. I am weak and self-centered, too.”
Willa grabbed her by the shoulders, pulled her into a standing position and wrapped her in a fierce hug.
“Now you stop it. What’s wrong with you isn’t your fault.” Standing back, she bored her gaze into Anki’s eyes, gave her a little shake. “Something in here,” she said, gently tapping Anki’s temple, “isn’t working properly. Maybe it’s hormonal. Maybe it’s hereditary. Maybe it’s the trauma of losing your sister in such a horrible, heartbreaking way.” Pulling her close again, Willa said, “I’m sorry, Anki. Truly sorry. I had no right to speak to you that way.” And holding her at arm’s length again, she added, “In the months I’ve been here, I’ve come to think of you as family. I love you, and I’m worried about you . . . worried for you. But that’s no excuse. I should never have spoken to you that way. Will you forgive me?”
Nodding, Anki whispered, “There is nothing to forgive.” Turning from Willa’s embrace, she sat down again. “I can smell the cookies. Do you think they have finished baking?”
“Omigoodness!” Willa grabbed a thick pot holder and, opening the oven door, peeked inside. “Whew!” she exclaimed, closing the door. “A minute, maybe two more, and they would have burnt. Thank you for being so observant.”
“Is there ham enough for a sandwich?”
“Yes! Yes, of course there is!” Leaning into the fridge, Willa stacked the fixings in her arms, then placed them on the table. “I’m so glad your appetite is back,” she said, assembling the sandwich. She cut it on the diagonal, plated it, and slid it in front of Anki. “Some crackers to go with it? Soup?”
“Soup sounds good.” And then, smiling, Anki picked up half of the sandwich. “It has been a while since anyone scolded me like that.” She bit off the point. “Who knew it would stimulate my appetite!”
Willa gave in to the urge to hug her again, from behind the chair this time. “Oh Anki, I didn’t mean to scold you. I’d never do anything to hurt you, because I meant what I said: I love you like family!”
“I know.”
Just what did she know? Willa kissed the top of Anki’s head and went back to the stove. Once the cookies were out of the oven, she gulped down a glass of water, noticed that her hands were trembling, and she knew exactly why: If her outburst had sent Anki deeper into despair ... Willa couldn’t even bring herself to complete the thought. So she prayed, instead. Thank you, Lord, for protecting Anki from my big, out-of-control mouth!
“Will Max be here for supper tonight?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked with him since he was here the other night.”
“Will you do me a favor?”
“Anything, Anki,” she said, meaning it, “anything.”
“After supper, once Frannie is tucked in for the night, take him outside. If he joins us for supper, that is. Take him for a long walk and tell him how you feel. One of you has to make the first move. Why not you, my outspoken friend.”
By now, she’d moved the cooled cookies onto plates, and started a new batch for the oven. “If he joins us, I’ll think about it.”
Anki clucked her tongue. “What is there to think about?” She took another sip of milk. “Look at it this way: If I had not taken the bull by the horns, do you think my bashful Dan and I would be married today?”
“But Anki . . . what if Max isn’t ready for such a big step? What if he likes living alone, where it’s quiet and clean?”
“If you do not see the way he looks at you, if you do not hear the way he speaks to you, maybe you are deaf and blind!”
“It’s definitely something to pray about . . .” Then, “So what do you think? Would you like some help, getting the shop ready to open again in the spring?”
“You are a good friend, a remarkable woman. But Willa, you already have so many demands on your time.”
“I’d make time for something this important.”
“I know you would, and I love you for it. Let us just leave it at this: We will pray about it.”
“Yes. And if it’s God’s will, we’ll do it!”
She took a cookie, handed one to Anki. “Are the Amish allowed to make a toast to good friends?”
Anki tapped her treat against Willa’s. “To good friends,” she said, and took a bite.
Willa wasn’t so gullible or naïve as to believe that Anki’s problems were all solved. But this was a start. A good start. And for the first time since moving to Pleasant Valley, she had hope that her friend could one day know peace of mind.
Lord, let Max visit tonight, because I want to tell him all about this scary, annoying, amazing afternoon!
Would she take Anki’s advice, and admit that she’d fallen in love with him?
If it’s God’s will, I’ll do it!