Chapter Eighteen
“I hope I can count on you to help with the wedding plans.”
Anki put down her coffee cup. “I thought you put the marriage on hold, indefinitely?”
“I did. But . . .” Willa groaned quietly. “I’m praying that between now and October, Joe will find someone else to torture, and it’ll be safe for us to marry. I want to be ready when the time comes, so that nothing will interfere with our plans.”
Anki nodded. “I understand. But you might want to ask someone else. My memories of my marriage to Dan have grown dim.”
Willa stood the steam iron on its end and sat across from her. “You don’t really expect me to believe you’ve forgotten the most beautiful, wondrous day in your life, do you?”
Now, Anki’s fingertip drew invisible figure eights on the tablecloth.
“Maybe you need a reminder of just how much you’re treasured. By everyone. Dan, Frannie, me . . . and Max . . .”
At the mention of her name, the baby held up her empty cereal bowl. “Anki eat?”
How anyone could sit there, sullen and silent, with this precious child in the room, Willa didn’t know. She gave in to the impulse to hug the sad-eyed woman, then gave her a gentle shake. “I need you, Anki. I’m new to all this ... this Amish stuff. Without your input, I’ll probably do something stupid and get the bishop all fired up. You don’t want to be responsible for him taking back my baptism, do you?”
The barest smile lifted one corner of Anki’s mouth. “Only a grievous sin would cause him to do that.” She looked away. “I will try to help you.”
I will try. So why did Willa get the impression Anki had wanted to add, “. . . if I am still here”?
Turning her loose, Willa tried another tack. “Will you pray with me, Anki?”
“All right.”
And why had that sounded like she wanted to say, “If I must . . .”?
Willa grabbed her hands and jumped right in:
“Oh God, I pray that You will bless my dear friend Anki with the gift of Your peace. Deliver joy into her heart, Almighty Father. Let her feel Your presence in this room, see it in the memory of the winter we’ve just survived, in the bloom of every spring flower You have delivered, hear Your voice in the songs of the crickets and sparrows, and in the words of her loving husband and friends. Amen.”
“Aye-men!” Frannie said.
And when Willa looked up, she saw that her little girl had perfectly copied her own pose ... eyes closed and head bowed, and hands clasped under her chin. Oh, how she loved this beautiful, big-hearted, brilliant child!
The words Max had spoken when he proposed fit this moment, perfectly. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve a gift like Frannie, she thought, but if You ever see fit to show me what it was, I’ll do it again and again!
“Is it true I have to wear a blue dress?”
“Most women do, but not all.” She took another sip from her mug. “When Lydia Bontrager married Abel Hochstetler, she wore pale pink. Her sister wore light green. I have seen lavender and yellow, as well.”
“What color was your wedding dress?”
“Gray.”
Her voice was as gloomy as the hue, and it told Willa that Anki’s mood swings had likely begun long before the community shunned Abigail . . . and before her twin committed suicide. If that hadn’t been the source of Anki’s misery, what was?
“Max says that he and Dan are making great progress on the cabins at Lover’s Leap. Why don’t we go and see for ourselves? I’m not scheduled at the clinic today . . .” Thanks to Anki’s erratic attitude, she and Dan had decided to make sure one of them could always keep an eye on Anki. “I’ll pack a picnic lunch for all of us, and afterward, you and I can go shopping.”
“Shopping? For what?”
“As you pointed out just a few days ago, now that winter is over and Frannie is running everywhere, she needs shoes with hard soles. I saw an advertisement in The Budget. They are on sale at the supercenter this week.”
“That place!” Anki groaned. “You do not need me. I will stay home. Besides,” she said with a dismissive wave, “Dan already has a lunch. I watched him pack it this morning.”
Willa had watched, too, offered to do it for him, as she had on so many other mornings. “Oh, now she asks,” he’d teased, “when I have almost finished!” But not before shooting a disappointed glance in Anki’s direction.
Perhaps she should view dealing with Anki’s surly attitude as practice for when Frannie became a teenager and began testing her talent for sassing and pouting.
The past four Sundays, Anki had blamed headaches for her refusal to attend services, but offered no reason for rejecting offers to enjoy the warm sunny weather from the comfort of the porch swing. Breathing nothing all winter but indoor, woodstove-heated air had taken its toll, slowing her pace, draining color from her face. What will you do when Frannie’s old enough to behave like a spoiled brat? she asked herself. You’ll put a stop to it, that’s what!
“We’re going, and that’s that.” Last time Willa tried a similar approach, Anki had flatly reminded her that she was an employee in the Hofman house, and as such, had no right to issue orders or ultimatums. With thoughts of the stinging barb fresh in her mind, she added, “You need fresh air, so if you stop whining, we’ll go to Page’s Ice Cream afterward.” She softened things with, “I’d love a hot fudge sundae, wouldn’t you?”
The treat was Anki’s favorite, and Willa hoped it would lure her out of the house.
“I can’t recall the last time I had one. What time will we leave?”
“As soon as I get the breakfast mess cleaned up, I’ll see if Frannie will take a nap—she’s almost outgrown the morning one—and start the laundry. Once I have the bedsheets on the line, I’ll throw the leftovers from last night’s supper into a basket, and off we’ll go.”
Anki looked into her lap, tidied the folds of her skirt. “I am not changing my clothes.”
“Neither am I.”
“I do not want to wear a bonnet, but . . .”
Translation: Who might see my still-short hair?
“We’ll only wear them in the ice cream parlor.” Willa laughed. “Wouldn’t want the bishop revoking both of our baptisms, now would we?”
“Silly Willa.”
And there it was again, that hint of a smile that fueled the flicker of hope in Willa’s heart.
* * *
“Things are lookin’ great, Max.”
Coming from the stoic Steve Leventhal, it was high praise.
“The wife loves the way you’ve positioned all the cabins in a semicircle around the lodge, and overlooking the Alleghenies. She thinks people will make reservations just for the photographs.”
And Max loved the way he called the building—slightly more than twice the size of the cottages—a lodge.
“She loves the poured concrete registration counter you made for her, too. I thought it’d look cheap, but I’m surprised by how classy it looks.”
Other contractors that Steve had interviewed about the development had passed on contracting. “You’ll be sorry,” they said, “because like every other son-of-the-boss, he’s an arrogant gasbag, and he’ll drive you to the poorhouse, demanding add-ons and changes.”
At first, Max had written off the slurs, and blamed it on Englishers’ tendency to resent those more well-to-do than themselves, especially when that wealth came the easy way ... inheritance . . . as in Steve’s case.
“We aim to please,” he said.
“I want you guys to switch the asphalt shingles for metal. Green, so the roofs blend into the tree line.”
“My crews are completing other contracts,” Max explained. “Once a few men are freed up, we will revisit the change order.”
“Change order? You mean ... extra charges?”
“Good one,” Max said, smiling. “You are a businessman, so I know you realize that metal roofing is triple the cost of asphalt. Plus, removing what is there, then replacing it with metal will require additional man-hours.” He shrugged. “But we appreciate your business, and we are happy to write up that change order for you.”
It looked to Max as though Steve couldn’t decide whether to return his smile ... or frown. In the end, he extended his hand. “Sounds fair to me,” he said as Max grasped it. “Let me know how soon your men can get busy, because until the change is made, the little woman won’t give me a moment’s peace.”
He’d heard it before, many times. Since he’d always run the customer service side of the business, it wasn’t likely his partner could make the same claim. But trying to ease his worries about Anki by telling him that even their most affluent clients had similar marital issues would only invite a recitation of why the Plain life was preferable to any other.
Steve had just driven away when Dan’s pickup rolled onto the site. “What did he want?”
“Just stopped by to ask us to replace the roofing material with metal.”
Dan slammed the driver’s door. “You told him no, I hope!”
“I told him the truth: Our crews are involved with other projects right now, but when we free up a few men, we’re happy to write up a change order.”
Snickering, Dan dropped a hand on Max’s shoulder. “You are a better man than me. I would have told him no. Period.”
Max believed that’s exactly what Dan would say. But that wouldn’t be good business. Steve owned properties throughout Western Maryland; burning that particular bridge didn’t make fiscal sense. Not when I’m about to take a wife and start a family!
Family. The notion made his pulse pound. He and Willa hadn’t discussed having children of their own, but based on everything she’d done to protect her little girl, Max believed Willa wouldn’t want Frannie growing up an only child. Besides, why waste all that maternal love!
God, please tell me enough time has passed!
* * *
“I can’t stay long,” Willa whispered, “because Anki is in the truck with Frannie.”
Emily stopped typing and peered over the top of the computer monitor. “Why?”
“She’s stuck in a really weird mood, so I thought we’d take a picnic lunch to Dan and Max. A two birds with one stone thing: Get her out of the house, give the guys a treat. Afterward, we’re going shopping to get Frannie some nice new walking shoes ... or should I say running shoes,” she said, grinning. “Last stop, ice cream at Page’s.”
“If you’re here to ask if I’d like you to bring something back for me, the answer is yes!” She patted her quickly rounding belly. “Hand-dipped chocolate malt. M-m-m-m.”
“I’m happy to do that. But the real reason I stopped by was to ask your advice about something.”
She glanced out the window and saw Anki, staring straight ahead, despite the animated gestures of Frannie, in the back seat. “My advice? Unceasing prayer. Because unless she’s willing to submit to medication and therapy . . .”
“I was just hoping that maybe this weekend, we could get the families together, and—”
“And you want me to take her aside, give her a good talking-to?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have put it quite that way, but yes. Dan is beside himself with worry, and frankly, so am I. If she doesn’t get help soon, only God knows what she might do.”
“I’ll talk with Phillip and let you know whether Saturday or Sunday is best.”
“Friday night, even,” Willa said. The sooner, the better, because suicide tendencies run in some families. “The other day, I was outside with Frannie, getting the flower beds ready for new planting. I’d left her in the parlor, reading another romance novel. She seemed perfectly content, so I was surprised, when we came back inside, to find her in her room. With the door locked. What a fright that gave me!”
“With her sister’s history, I can see why.” Emily paused, slowly shook her head. “I hate to say this, but it’s beginning to look like her only hope is hospitalization. Garrett Regional has a great inpatient mental health program.”
“Yeah, I was afraid of that.” Willa glanced toward the truck again. “We’ll definitely need Dan on our side to make that happen.”
“You don’t think he’ll go for it?”
She thought of her one-on-one conversation with him yesterday morning, when he’d come so close to sobbing as he shared his concerns about Anki that she’d almost cried, too. “I’m really not sure. He’s sick with worry, so maybe. On the other hand, he’s a very private man.”
“I’ll talk with him first, then express my concerns as Anki’s doctor. That way, when I broach the subject with her, she’ll know he’s onboard.”
“Thanks, Em. You’re the best.”
She wiggled her eyebrows, then said, “Are Max and Dan expecting you?”
“Nope. This’ll be a complete surprise. I owe Max an apology.”
“Uh-oh. What did you do?”
“Oh, Em, you wouldn’t believe the awful things I said to him.”
“Because of the Joe thing?”
“Exactly. And after all he’s done for me, I feel just horrible.” Willa shook her head. “I can’t wait to see him!”
Emily gasped and her eyes widened as she read the crawl at the bottom of the computer screen. “Willa . . . is this Joe and yours the same guy?”
Joining her at the counter, Willa leaned in as Emily double-clicked a small window in the upper right-hand corner. She was about to say “He isn’t my Joe” when Emily turned up the speakers.
The young reporter announced that the state police had raided a local motel, one well-known for drug deals and numerous other illicit activities. In addition to confiscating multiple weapons, ammunition, and several pounds of cocaine and marijuana, five people had been taken into custody. The suspects’ mug shots filled the screen, but Willa zeroed in on just one: Joe. Pending trial, the reporter said, the group would be held without bond at the Garrett County Detention Center; thanks to ample evidence found at the scene, each detainee faced up to forty years in prison. And because Joe and two others were also linked to an unsolved triple homicide case, they were looking at consecutive life sentences.
“I . . . I don’t know what to say.” Willa slumped into a waiting room chair. “I can hardly believe it. Is it possible that it’s over, really over?”
Emily sat beside her. “Looks that way to me.” Pulling her close in a sideways hug, she said, “Oh, thank You, Lord. Thank You!”
“I can’t wait to see how Max will react to this!”
“If he looks anything like you do right now, he’ll positively glow.”
“I’d better get out there,” she said, standing. “Don’t lock up too early. I’d hate to eat all that chocolate malt by myself, especially after devouring a hot fudge sundae!”
During the drive between the clinic and Lover’s Leap, Willa’s thoughts wavered between the news that Joe would spend the rest of his life in a federal penitentiary, her need to repair the rift she’d caused between herself and Max, and the sight of Anki, stiff as a statue and staring through the windshield. Wouldn’t life be grand if, in addition to every other blessing they’d received, Anki agreed to intensive inpatient therapy! Again, she pictured the way Dan had looked during their talk . . . shoulders hunched as if they carried the weight of the world. In a way, she supposed they did.
“Here we are,” she announced, parking between Dan’s truck and Max’s. She saw them, a hundred or so yards away. Heard their power saws, too. “Oh, Anki, just look at those cabins. Didn’t they do a beautiful job!”
“They always do good work.”
Rather than react as she wanted to—by exhaling a sigh of frustration—Willa waved in the hope of catching Max’s attention. But he was too preoccupied with the long board on his sawhorses to notice. She was about to turn away when he looked up, and even from this distance, she could see his bright smile.
“Here, Anki,” she said, handing over the picnic basket. “Will you spread the blanket? I want to let Max know that we’ve brought lunch. Frannie and I will only be a minute, promise.”
He met them halfway, grinning with every step. “What are you doing up here?”
“I wanted to see the cabins, and thought why not bring lunch while I was at it. A four birds with one stone sort of thing.”
“Four?” He touched noses with Frannie, whose giggles seemed to bounce from every nearby tree.
Counting on her fingers, she said, “Cabins, lunch, an apology, and wonderful news.”
He looked curious, and a little bit uneasy.
“You didn’t do anything to deserve the way I treated you, the things I said. I have no good excuse for behaving like a grouchy old crone when I learned about the whole Joe thing. I’m sorry, Max, truly sorry.”
He removed his hat, drew the back of his hand across his brow. “I am sorry, too. I never should have—”
“Shh,” she said, shaking her head. “Let’s just call it even.”
“And the good news?”
She listed the highlights of the news story, ending with, “Joe is going to prison for the rest of his life. We’ll never have to worry about him again.”
Relief softened his features. “Do I sound like a beast for saying the news is the answer to prayer?”
“You sound human. And for your information, I feel the same way.”
“You are one of a kind, Willa Reynolds, and I thank God for you every day.”
Until that moment, she hadn’t given much thought to her surname.
“Willa Lambright,” she said, mostly to herself. “I like the sound of it!”
“It is a good strong name, one I have been honored to carry. But it has never sounded better than when paired with yours.”
“Max!” Dan bellowed. “We have too much to do for you to stand there, staring like a moony-eyed boy!”
Willa leaned in close. “For your information,” she said again, “Frannie and I love moony-eyed boys.”
“Ah, Willa,” he breathed, “thank you.”
“For what? You don’t even know what I packed for your lunch!”
He kissed her forehead. Kissed Frannie’s, too. “Moony-eyed boys are not picky.”
“Once things are ready, I’ll holler.”
She watched as he returned to his sawing, then made her way to the blanket. It surprised her a bit, seeing that Anki had fallen asleep. Rather than disturb her, Willa put Frannie down and let her toddle across the grassy expanse that separated them from the men. The baby squatted, poked at a blade of grass, then picked up a small pebble and inspected it.
She extended her hand. “Give it to Mama, sweet girl.”
And Frannie said, “Mine!”
Willa pulled a doll from the diaper bag, grabbed the rock, and quickly replaced it with the toy. She had a hard time stifling her laughter when Frannie looked none too pleased as her gaze flitted from her hand to the doll and back again. “Aw, give your dolly a hug . . .”
The baby gave it a moment’s thought, then grinned and echoed Willa’s words.
“Look at the pretty trees,” Willa said, pointing skyward.
But Frannie seemed distracted by the airplane that buzzed overhead. “Ooh! Mama!”
“Plane,” Willa said.
And just that quickly, Frannie’s attention returned to the toy. Pressing her fingertip into the doll’s face, she said, “Eyes?”
While some Amish dolls had faces, most did not. “We are all alike in the mind of God,” she’d learned. But what harm could come from drawing simple features on the white cloth?
Willa found a pen in the bag, got to her knees. “Eyes,” she said, drawing small black dots on the doll’s face. Three strokes of the pen gave each eyelashes, another two provided tiny brows, and when Frannie saw it, she cut loose with a joyous squeal. “Eyes!”
Now, Frannie pointed again. “Hoppy?”
“Yes, sweetie, she’s very happy, just like you!” And to prove it, Willa drew a minuscule semicircle, prompting another gale of gleeful laughter.
Anki sat up with a start. “What is wrong with her!”
“She’s just excited.” Willa carried Frannie to the blanket. “Show Anki your pretty dolly, sweet girl.”
Pointing and babbling excitedly, she said, “Eyes! Happy!”
Anki’s deadpan expression matched her voice. “Unacceptable. If the bishop sees this . . .” She shook her head. “I would not let him see it, if I were you.”
Frannie, reading the woman’s mood, looked to Willa for solace. But what could she say to a child not even two years old?
Opening the picnic basket, she handed the baby a sugar cookie. “I can’t do this often!” she told Anki. “Food is not a smart substitute for emotional relief.”
“Emotional relief? What does that mean?”
“I should have found another way to comfort her, because if she grows accustomed to eating when something or someone hurts her . . .” Willa smiled, despite the subject matter, because Frannie looked so precious, chomping on the treat. “Let’s just say it isn’t healthy, physically or emotionally.”
Anki’s response was an uncaring wave of the hand. “What time will we eat?”
“Very soon. If you like, we can set things up right now.”
Frannie, sensing Anki’s frame of mind, climbed into her lap. “Happy?”
“Yes, I suppose.”
But she didn’t mean it, and Frannie sensed that, too.
First chance she got, Willa intended to talk with Dan about bringing Anki to Garrett County’s mental health center.
Because every day, it seemed, Anki withdrew further into the dark recesses of her own mind. How long before she stayed there, permanently?
* * *
Max ate heartily, and savored every bite. What he enjoyed most was Dan’s reaction to the women’s surprise visit. He ate with gusto, laughing, cracking jokes, playing peekaboo with Frannie, even teasing Anki in a good-natured way.
Much better to focus on the good things, he decided, than on Anki’s aloof reactions. Good things like the sun’s rays, slicing through slow-moving clouds that hung over the Alleghenies like a snow-white canopy. Thick stands of hemlock, beech, and pine trees grew from the crags and bluffs and absorbed the drone of cars and tractor trailers that hissed and beeped along Old National Pike below.
The panorama reminded him of the painting Willa had given him as a Christmas gift. He’d used weathered beech to frame it, and it now hung above the mantel where he could admire it on a daily basis. This vista had nothing in common with her painting, really, except that she’d taught him to see every facet of God’s creation with fresh, appreciative eyes.
Removing his hat, he drew a forearm across his perspiring forehead, and caught sight of the faint red scar that reached from his wrist to his elbow. She’d taken tiny, closely placed stitches, and promised that the extra time it took would result in little to no reminder of the accident that had sent him to the clinic that day. Then, as now, he hoped she was wrong, because he liked looking at the scar and remembering the tender loving care she’d administered.
He’d run out of two-by-fours, and walked toward the stack they’d piled at the edge of the temporary dirt-and-gravel drive. A week from now, a layer of crushed stone would cover everything, helping with water runoff and keeping mud to a minimum.
As he shouldered a long board, Max glanced toward the women. From where he stood, he saw Willa, back resting against the trunk of a tree, hugging Frannie to her chest. The sight was enough to make his heart pound with love. Oh, how blissful would life be when, finally, she’d sleep beside him! First chance he got, Max intended to speak with the bishop, and ask about scheduling the wedding before October. The sooner, the better.
But wait ... where was Anki?
Turning in a slow circle, he scanned the entire area, from the tidy semicircle of amber-wood cabins to the row of dusty pickup trucks parked nearby, and when he didn’t see her, a sense of foreboding snaked up his spine. Pitching the board aside, he jogged toward the blanket. During lunch, Dan had mentioned a field of wildflowers growing alongside Wills Mountain Road. He wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to hear that she’d taken the short hike alone, instead of waiting for Willa and Frannie to enjoy it with her.
And then he saw her, standing dangerously close to the cliff that overlooked Wills Creek. It was a nine-hundred-foot drop from where she stood to the ground below ... with dozens of jagged, ragged outcroppings between the precipice and the rocky shore. What was she thinking, getting so close to the rim?
If he shouted her name, he might startle her badly enough to send her over the edge. But if he didn’t . . .
A mere seventy-five yards separated them, and he ran it full out, praying with every footfall that he’d reach her before she fell ... or jumped. “Don’t do it, Anki,” he called out. “Don’t do it!”
Whether she heard his frantic voice or the sound of his boots pounding over the grassy knoll, Max would never know. She turned, slowly, and as she met his eyes, Anki sent him an eerie, almost serene smile. Then, arms raised like a swimmer preparing to dive into a calm, crystal-blue pool, she leapt as Max thundered, “No-o-o—!”