Home to Stay

Willa leaped up and grabbed it from its place on the mantel and said, “She never wakes up during the night.”

He heard the concern in her voice, and thanks to the device’s flashing red lights, saw it on her pretty face.

As she dashed up the stairs, Max considered possible explanations for the baby’s uncharacteristic fussing. Perhaps she’d sensed that the power was out. Or maybe, without electricity to power the furnace, Frannie had grown cold.

He got up and poked at the logs in the woodstove, squinting into the blazing heat emanating from its belly. Plenty of warmth, he decided, to float from the ceiling grate and into the floor vent into Frannie’s room. When she’d leaned in to accept his good-night kiss, she’d looked more rosy-cheeked than usual, but Max had attributed it to the excitement of the day, and the snow that had dampened her face and hair.

Willa hurried into the room, holding the baby to her chest. “She has a low-grade fever. Will you hold her while I get some acetaminophen?”

“Sure,” he said, and as soon as he held out his arms, Frannie reached for him. As she snuggled close, Max admitted that he loved her little girl, too. A completely different kind of love than what he felt for Willa, but every bit as deep and abiding. And based on the trusting way Frannie clung to him, she felt the same way.

“Aw, my little angel girl,” he whispered against her cheek.

Tiny fingers opened and closed on the locks of hair that curled over his collar. “Aww,” she echoed. “Nice Max.”

She’d said those very words, dozens of times. So why, this time, had they put tears in his eyes?

Willa returned just then, and seeing his reaction, pressed a palm to his cheek. “Don’t worry, sweet man. It isn’t a high fever, and she has no other symptoms.” She unscrewed the cap of the bottle and poured half an inch of purple liquid into a tiny plastic cup. “We’ll get this into her, and I’ll feed her a bottle of water, and God willing, all will be well by morning.”

Frannie and Rafe spent all day, every day at the Baker Clinic. No telling what sort of germs they’d been exposed to, inhaling the air over there! An intense need to protect Frannie overwhelmed him.

And as the baby dutifully swallowed the medicine, Max thought of Joe . . .

He hadn’t thought to ask where the greedy, evil-eyed man would wait for his payment. No doubt the blizzard had trapped him, too. It would only take county officials a couple days to clear the roads. Would he wait until the bank employees could make their way to town? If not, would Joe find Willa, make good on his threat to drag her and Frannie away from Pleasant Valley? A reflexive shudder passed through him as he considered the dark and dangerous ways the evil man would use them to get back his money.

He couldn’t let that happen, wouldn’t let it happen, even if it meant draining his savings account or taking out a loan to satisfy the maniac.

Willa wiped the medication from Frannie’s lips, and recapping the bottle, said, “There it is again ... that look that tells me you have something on your mind.”

She’d always been caring and perceptive. It was what made her a good mother, a good friend to Anki, a good nurse. It was also why she sensed he was keeping something from her.

“Frannie is not well. Breaks my heart to see her so listless.” He hoped the half-truth would satisfy her.

Eyes narrowed slightly, she studied his face. “Okay. I guess that’ll have to do . . . this time.”

Max returned her smile. But his heart wasn’t in it. Sooner or later, he’d have to tell her about the deal he’d made with Joe. Would Willa agree it had been the right thing to do? Or would her pride and independence make her resent him for it?

* * *

It only took a few days for the county to make the roads passable. A blessing, Max believed, since it meant he could uphold his end of the bargain with Joe. Once the transaction was complete, he’d sit Willa down and explain what he’d done ... and why: It didn’t matter that the money had been earned by way of illegal activity. As long as Joe believed she’d stolen from him, Willa and Frannie were in danger.

Standing exactly where he’d been when the crook left him, he rehearsed his plan, and hoped his threat was menacing—and believable—enough to ensure that this was the last time they’d see or hear from Joe.

“I’m surprised you showed up,” Joe said.

“Guess the people you usually do business with do not take promises seriously.”

“Y’got me there, Amishman.” He lit a fresh cigarette with the one between his lips. “So? Did you get the moolah?”

“I did. But before I give it to you, there are a few things you need to know.”

Moving closer, he bored into Joe’s rheumy eyes, and spoke slowly: “There is an audiotape of our earlier conversation.” He pointed at the phony surveillance camera he’d bought at the twenty-four-hour discount store and hung earlier that morning. “It will back up what’s on the film.” Max slid the envelope from his pocket and held it aloft. “If I see you again, if you contact Willa, ever, I will take both to the police.”

“Seriously?” He laughed, long and loud. “You actually expect me to believe an Amish guy used technology to—”

“I am a businessman, and use whatever tools are necessary.” He took yet another step closer. “A friend in law enforcement explained that my, ah, technology will provide prosecutors with all they’ll need to open a deeper investigation. . . which will turn up enough evidence to put you in an eight-foot cell for the rest of your life.”

Eyes and lips narrowed, Joe swallowed. Hard.

Max waved the envelope in the air. “Do we have a deal, or not?”

“It’s against the law to tape anyone without their knowledge or consent.”

“My first offense,” Max said with a nonchalant shrug. “If they issue a fine, I will gladly pay it.”

Joe shoved the envelope into his jacket’s inside pocket, and as he turned to walk away, Max added, “This meeting has been recorded, as well ... for your information.”

“Yeah? Whatever.” Then Joe got into his car and drove away.

“Aren’t you going to be surprised,” Max said around a grin, “when you open that envelope.”

He’d find one hundred one-dollar bills. Old ones, thickened by years of handling.

Tonight, he’d beg the Almighty’s forgiveness for lying about the tapes, but right now, Max felt better than he had since Joe’s shadow had fallen across his work before Thanksgiving. Since he’d be on his knees anyway, he might as well ask whether or not to bother Willa with the sordid details of his encounters with her ex.

Because the more he thought about it, the less he believed she’d react well.

* * *

The Pleasant Valley children put on a glorious Christmas pageant, singing songs and acting out adorable skits that had their families and friends laughing and applauding and singing along. They’d made hand-stamped cards, too, and passed their colorful flowers, stars, lambs, and ducklings throughout the building. After a chorus of happy well-wishes, the churchgoers left for their own Christmas celebrations.

Willa and Emily had talked about sharing the holiday, as they had on Thanksgiving, but when Hannah’s boys came down with colds and little Rafe caught the bug, they decided separate, smaller celebrations might be better.

Before leaving for the service, Willa had surrounded a rump roast with potatoes and carrots, onions, and green beans, and slid the roasting pan into the oven. She’d promised to bake a cherry pie for Max—his favorite—and a chocolate cake for Dan. After the meal, they’d open presents, and she could hardly wait.

She’d hand-stitched a lovely yellow dress for Anki, a fat little doll for Frannie, and three oversized bandannas for Dan. Max’s had been hardest to wrap, but it would be worth every painstaking moment to see his reaction to what she’d made for him.

The sumptuous aroma of the roast overpowered the scent of pine garlands she’d made to drape around the windows and candle holders. A simple, unadorned wreath hung on the front door, and one just like it decorated the back porch, too.

She’d set the table and stoked the fire, and now, with Frannie catching a quick nap before dinner, Willa didn’t know what to do with herself. She tried reading, but couldn’t pay attention. So she paced. Fussed with the decorations. And paced. Rearranged the tableware. And paced. Finally, the sound of tires grating up the gravel drive ... Max’s truck!

He’d barely shrugged out of his jacket when she welcomed him with hugs and kisses. “Merry Christmas, Max!”

“I love you, too,” he said, laughing. “Dan and Anki will be home soon, so before they get here, I wondered ... should we tell them about the engagement today?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

He looked even more surprised than he sounded. “Why?”

“Because you haven’t actually asked me to marry you, for starters!”

“Ah,” he said, laughing, “I suppose you have a point.” Taking her hand, he led her to the table and pulled out a chair. “Sit, and let me tell you all about the way weddings happen here in Pleasant Valley.”

He pulled out a chair, too, and facing her, sandwiched her hands between his own.

“Usually, people get married after the fall harvest. October, most often, because the weather is more predictable.”

“Is it true that Amish boys and girls make commitments at the tender age of sixteen?”

“In some cases, yes. But they will not make things official until they are twenty.”

“And they both have to be Amish. And baptized.”

“Yup.”

“No rings.”

“Nope. But the man will give the woman a practical gift.”

“Like a toaster?” she teased.

“Something like that. And once things are set in motion, the bride-to-be will tell her parents, and the bishop will announce their intentions at the end of a Sunday service ... a service that the couple will not attend.”

“Why not?”

“Because they are at the home of the bride’s father, sharing a private meal ... and talking.”

“About?”

“To be honest, I am not sure.”

“What happens to us? I mean, you can’t ask my parents’ permission. And we can’t share that private meal at their house.”

“We have friends. Good, trustworthy friends.” He squeezed her hands. “They will be our family.”

“Yeah, that makes perfect sense.”

“You will wear a blue dress, and I will wear a bow tie.”

“What, no tuxedo?” She laughed. “And no long wedding veil trailing behind me as I walk down the aisle?”

“There will be no aisle. Just a simple ceremony followed by a feast that might last for hours.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Tradition states that the newlyweds should spend their wedding night in the bride’s parents’ house. Since there is no such thing, we’ll just have to go home.”

“Home. I like the sound of that.” She sighed. “Will there be a honeymoon?”

“Do you want a honeymoon?”

“Not really. I’d much rather jump right into the whole marriage thing with both feet. Besides, why spend money on a trip . . .” Willa paused. “Besides, if we did have a honeymoon, where would we go?”

“Pennsylvania. Ohio. New York. Indiana. Anywhere we might have relatives to visit.”

“Oh no. Just ... no!” she said. “We’ll stay home.” She wondered if he had relatives in other states. “Unless there’s someone you’d like to see . . .”

He kissed her again. “I feel as you do. Let’s jump right into this whole marriage thing with both feet.” Another kiss, and then, “I hear Dan’s truck.”

“Rats. And this was just getting interesting.”

Everyone enjoyed the meal. Even Anki took a second helping of Willa’s roast. “Only one thing could make this better,” she said. “Dill pickles, thinly sliced, on buttered bread, with a thick slice of this tender roast.”

It was the most she’d said in days, so Willa hopped up to get the open jar of pickles from the fridge. She buttered two slices of bread, layered the sandwich with pickles and a hunk of beef, and handed it to Anki.

It shouldn’t have surprised her when Anki shook her head, and yet it did. Surprised her, and disappointed her, too, that the woman couldn’t hold it together, even on Christmas day!

“When can we open presents?” Anki wanted to know.

Willa made herself smile. “Let me put the perishables away, and then we can dig in. Sound good?”

“I suppose we have no choice, do we?”

“Anki, sweetie, if it means this much to you, the clearing can wait.” Willa took her by the hand, led her into the parlor. “I’ll get Frannie and tell Max and Dan it’s time. Okay?”

“Thank you, Willa. You are always so understanding.”

“No, Anki.” She kissed the top of her head. “I love you, and I want you to be happy, whatever it takes.”

Soon, the little family had gathered around the coffee table. Dan passed out presents, starting with Frannie. He helped her tear the shiny silver paper from what he’d carved for her ... a sweet toy train. Engine, coal car, and caboose. Squealing happily, she sat on the floor, pushing it back and forth and singsonging, “Choo-choo-choo!”

Anki had sewn an adorable little apron for the baby and made one just like it for Willa. “I know how much you like the pockets,” she said, “so I made them extra wide and extra deep.”

Willa took off the apron she was wearing and replaced it with the new one. “I love it,” she said. “Thank you, Anki!”

“This is for Frannie,” Max said, and the baby quickly uncovered a box, slightly bigger than Willa’s. Instead of initials, he’d engraved her name on its lid.

She was clearly torn between the train and the tiny box that opened and closed with a quiet click, and while she tried to spend equal time with each, the adults laughed.

Everyone but Anki, that is.

“Here,” Dan said to her. “For you.”

She peeled away the bright red wrapper, exposing a leather case. Inside was a set of brushes, arranged in an artful, upside-down V, each held in place by its own tiny leather pouch: Filberts, round and fan brushes, liners and pallet knives, and more. Willa held her breath, waiting for Anki to show emotion of some kind. When she didn’t, Willa said, “They’re wonderful, Anki! Think of all the beautiful paintings you can create with them!”

A faint smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “Thank you, Dan,” she said, almost timidly. “Willa is right. They are wonderful.” Then, reaching behind her, she pulled a thin, rectangular box from behind the throw pillow. “For you,” she said, handing it to him.

Dan lifted the lid, held up a shirt. Collarless. Cuffless. Pocketless. “A man cannot have too many white shirts,” he said, folding, then returning it to the container.

Max gave him a new, perfectly weighted hammer, and the men roared with laughter when Dan presented Max with an identical tool.

“Great minds think alike,” Max said.

“And as my grandpa used to say, fools seldom differ!” And although Dan was smiling, Willa could see that he still hadn’t shed the disappointment of Anki’s reaction to his thoughtful gift.

She gathered the wrapping paper, wadded it up, and held it in her lap, hoping no one would realize that she was stalling, so that her gift to Max would be last.

He’d wrapped her present in the same pink paper he’d used for Frannie’s, and inside, Willa found a soft, fringed scarf. Holding it to her cheek, she said, “It’s gorgeous, Max. I needed one, but even if I didn’t, I’d love it!”

“Hmpf,” Anki said. “Who can love an article of clothing?”

Everyone, it seemed, had chosen to follow Willa’s lead, and ignored the inappropriate remark.

“I hope it will fit,” Max said, inviting a new round of laughter.

And then Willa got up, slid a package from behind the sofa, and leaned it against Max’s knees. He lifted it. Shook it. Pretended to smell it. And feigning a frown, said, “A stack of architectural paper, for drawing house plans.”

“Spoilsport,” she said, going along with his guess.

Once the blue paper fluttered to the floor, he turned it around. “My view,” he whispered. Then, meeting her eyes, he said, “This is the view from my porch. It’s . . . I’m . . . I don’t know what to say, except, thank you. And that seems sadly unsuitable, because it’s perfect.”

“When did you paint that?” Anki wanted to know.

“At night, while everyone slept, I’d come downstairs and worked in the laundry room. The light is good and bright in there. And I had access to water, and the laundry tub, and the folding table to use as an easel.”

“Oil, or acrylic?”

“Acrylic. I didn’t have the luxury of waiting for the oils to dry.”

“Willa,” Max continued, still gazing at the painting, “you only saw this once. How could you have remembered, right down to the old gnarled tree at the foot of Backbone Mountain?”

Her heartbeat doubled. It felt good, so good, seeing that he liked it.

“I will make a frame for it and hang it above the fireplace.”

Soon to be our fireplace, seemed to be the message he was sending by way of those oh-so-blue eyes.

* * *

“It should be fine,” Bishop Fisher said. “I will need to discuss it with the elders, though, and get their approval.”

“Oh, thank you, Bishop. How long does it usually take? To get their approval?” She hesitated, then added, “Do you think there might be a problem? Because of my past?”

Fisher sent her a benevolent smile. “You speak as though every member of the community, from the youngest to the eldest, knows about that. You have my word, dear Willa, that they do not.”

“But . . . how did you explain why Frannie doesn’t have a father?”

“People here are not as caught up with such things as they are in the Englishers’ world. And even if they were, our way is to pray the questions away.”

“You have no idea what a relief that is. I realize it isn’t a guarantee . . . that the elders will approve of my being baptized, becoming Amish . . . but it gives me hope. For that, I thank you.”

“You have only yourself—and the Almighty—to thank. You have worked hard. I have seen great changes in you during your time here. You have contributed much, befriended many. These things tell me that you will be a good addition to our community.”

“If they approve, do you think they’ll make an exception, and allow me to be baptized on New Year’s Day?”

“Pray about it. I will, as well.”

Willa left the bishop’s house feeling hopeful, elated, and excited to share the news with Max. Unfortunately, he was in Frostburg, ironing out some add-ons to the Frostburg contract.

While waiting to hear the elders’ verdict, she threw herself into work, at the clinic, at the Hofmans’, on the surprise she’d been planning for Anki’s upcoming birthday. For that one, she’d made good use of the time she’d once spent studying. The gift was from both her and Frannie, who’d been her usual cooperative self, sleeping deeply all through the night. If she hadn’t been such a deep sleeper, Willa never could have put in so many after-bedtime hours. Armed with cleaning rags, paintbrushes, and good old-fashioned elbow grease, she’d turned the once-dingy shop into a place that, if all went as planned, could open for business by April first.

She’d stayed late at the clinic, determined to complete the supplies inventory so that in the morning, Emily could place the order that would restock every shelf. The mother-to-be had left hours ago, and the only sound Willa heard was the click-clack of her keyboard. The peace and quiet felt good, and soothed her, took her mind off the deliberations that were probably taking place, even as she typed. Discussions that would help—or prevent—her from becoming Amish.

Loud rapping at the door startled her, and she walked cautiously toward the waiting room. When she saw Micah Fisher outside, waving under the overhead light, Willa felt optimistic, then terrified, because she knew he’d come here to deliver the news, good or bad.

“Stop looking so worried,” he said when she let him in. “I am the bearer of good news.”

“They said yes? I can be baptized?”

“Yes, and yes.”

Willa threw her arms around him, and turning in a slow circle, said, “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

Hands on her shoulders, he stopped her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “So sorry. I forgot that the Amish don’t give in to public displays of affection. It’s just that I’m so happy, well, I’m afraid I lost my head.”

He was laughing when he said, “It is all right. No harm done.”

“Please, let me fix you some tea. Or coffee. A glass of milk.”

“No, no.” He held up a hand. “I knew you were waiting for word, so . . .”

“Will you sit with me then? Tell me what happens next?”

“As it turns out,” he began, taking a seat, “seven others have decided to make a fresh start this New Year.”

“Seven!” Willa could hardly believe it.

Boys would sit on one side, he explained, girls on the other. “The service will last a few hours. We will read Scripture. In the High German. The focus will be living a humble and virtuous life, a life pleasing to God. We will pray, all of us together, and kneel in silent worship. You will promise to live by the Ordnung, and commit yourself to this life, for the rest of your life.”

“The sweetest five words I’ve ever heard.” Not as sweet as hearing Max say I love you, but sweet nonetheless. “It’ll be the first day of the rest of my life.”

When the bishop looked as pleased as she felt, Willa knew she’d said the right thing.

And that she’d made the right decision, for herself, and for Frannie.