In Plain View (34 page)

“I did not want you to be disappointed.”

“Knowing she was alive—that’s all I would have needed.”

“I’m here now,” Maria said, “and I’m ready to tell you where I’ve been.”

Jacob gestured for everyone to sit. Katie and Hannah shared the settee, each one first bending to pick up a toddler. Elizabeth sat in the rocker Jacob’s father had made. Maria stood at the stone fireplace, one hand on the black oak mantel with fingers tenuously exploring its familiarity.

“I remember when
Daed
found this piece of wood,” Maria said. “He knew it would be perfect here.”

Jacob had been too young to remember. At the moment, he wanted to hear a piece of more recent history. She let her fingers trace over a few of the ridges of stone rising from floor to ceiling then turned to face her expectant listeners.

“Ethan came to Irish Creek when I was sixteen. He was only here a few weeks. An
English
. He hired himself out for odd jobs. I met him one day when I was visiting at the Stutzman farm and he rode through looking for work.”

“They would never have hired him,” Elizabeth said. “Not the Stutzmans.”

Maria smiled. “You are right. But it was all the introduction we needed. I followed him, and we walked along the creek. It was love. I was
in lieb.”
She raised her eyes to Elizabeth. “Suddenly I understood why
Daed
would consider leaving the Amish to marry. But I was Amish. Barbara and Anna and Christian were Amish. I was next. I was supposed to be baptized.”

“We all thought you wanted to join the church,” Elizabeth said.

“I suppose I would have, if I had not met Ethan. Then it did not seem as if keeping the family happy was a good reason to take such a step. I wanted to explain to Christian. I knew he was the one who would be most hurt. We could have worked it out in time, I think. But Ethan wanted to keep moving, and he wanted me to come with him. He did not propose anything unseemly. He said we could go to Reading and be properly married. Then we would go west.”

“I do not understand all the disguises,” Jacob said.

“That came later.” Maria turned and held her hands out to the fire’s warmth. “We did go west. Ethan did not take me anywhere I did not want to go. I knew adventure was waiting for us, and we found it.”

“Where did you end up?”

Maria laughed. “We did not end up anywhere. We moved around western Pennsylvania and into Ohio. Trapping. Selling furs. Helping people outfit to go even farther west. God did not bless us with children, and perhaps it is just as well. That left us free for our new work when the time came.”

“New work?”

“We did not hear about the citizens of Boston dumping tea into the harbor for a long time. But as soon as we learned of it, we wanted to be part of forging this new country. By the time we got to Boston, fighting had broken out. Boston was not the only place in trouble.”

“New York?” Jacob asked, trying to recall the early turning points in the war. “And, of course, Philadelphia.”

“And many places in between,” Maria said. “Our experience in the wilderness suited us well for moving behind enemy lines, posing in all sorts of roles.” Her voice thickened. “But we often worked separately, with a common base. When Philadelphia fell to the British, Ethan got trapped in the city, and I was beyond the British line. I haven’t seen him in months, and none of my connections has heard anything about him. I was at Valley Forge all winter, on the fringes of Washington’s camp.”

“Valley Forge?” Elizabeth sat up straight. “The last we heard, Joseph was at Valley Forge.”

Maria shook her head. “I didn’t know. Who knows if we would recognize each other if we were face-to-face.”

“He should have come home.” Elizabeth sank back into her chair. “Washington has done nothing but try to survive the elements.”

“Joseph is an officer,
Mamm,”
Jacob said. “He cannot leave his post simply because he would be warmer at home.”

“It’s brutal,” Maria said. “Not enough food for the soldiers, much less all the people following the camp hoping to find work. Clothing is in short supply, illness in long supply.” She turned her gaze to Elizabeth. “I finally had enough. If I could not be with Ethan, or do some good for the cause, then the suffering is pointless.”

“So you came home,” Elizabeth murmured.

“The siege can’t last forever,” Jacob said. “General Washington has not given up. Abandoning Philadelphia would be tantamount to abandoning the United States.”

Maria sighed heavily. “I know. But it’s hard not knowing what happened to Ethan. Before now, I never realized how hard it must have been on all of you when I left.”

Jacob watched Maria’s eyes drift around the room, then back to Elizabeth’s and settle there.

“I would have tried to sneak past the British lines,” Maria said, “but I’m fairly certain someone betrayed me. The British were warned to watch for me. And I was so tired. I
am
so tired. A hot bath—do you have any idea how long it has been? Years! I’m weary of not eating. I’m weary of sleeping on the ground in the cold.”

Elizabeth stood up and wrapped Maria in her arms. Jacob met his mother’s pleading eyes over his sister’s shoulder.

“I cannot promise anything,” Jacob said, “but we have some connections of our own. When David gets here, I will talk to him. Perhaps we can get word to Sarah. She might know somebody who knows Ethan.”

Maria laughed nervously. “What a rebellious bunch we all turned out to be. Christian must be scandalized.”

Jacob watched his mother blossom in Maria’s company. On the first morning, they walked to Lisbetli’s grave, where they shared a long cry. Elizabeth cooked meat as fast as Jacob could hunt it and pulled potatoes and vegetables from the cellar at rates reminiscent of the days she was feeding ten children. She insisted Maria sleep late in the mornings and drop off for a nap whenever she wished. Often when Jacob climbed the hill to the big house in the late afternoons, Maria slept on a mat in front of the fire, and Elizabeth watched over her, stitching a new dress for Maria or making over an old dress of Sarah’s. Maria seemed to fatten up by the day and moved with increasing energy. She took long walks with her nieces and nephews, surprising Jacob with visits to the fields or the tannery.

Jacob measured Maria’s return to health carefully and with pleasure. However, he did not forget that she had come to Irish Creek expecting to find Christian, her only full-blooded brother.

“It is time, you know,” Jacob said one day when Maria sat at the kitchen table in the home he shared with Katie.

“Time for what?”

Her eyes told him she knew the answer. “I will take you to Christian,” he said. “You will enjoy meeting his daughter Magdalena. She looks just like you.”

Maria looked away. “They probably think I am dead. Considering what I have been doing, perhaps it is better that way.”

“No, Maria.” Jacob spoke softly. “Bar-bar. Anna. Christian. They all deserve to know what became of you.”

“If I never saw them, how would that change the way things are now?” Maria said. She stood up and began to pace the kitchen.

“Because now I know,” Jacob said. “David knows. John knows.
Mamm
knows. Our
children
know. You can’t ask us to conspire to deceive the rest of the family. And besides, that is not the point.”

“What do you mean?”

“You came here to find Christian. It is time you did.”

Thirty-Seven

A
nnie had plenty to keep her busy while she waited for Joel to prove his word. However, Rufus’s chisel would remain within reach every minute. Rufus would believe her account of how she came to have it. If Joel was smart, he would not take three days.

On Thursday, she prepared for her first sewing lesson. Annie had never been to the home of Betsy Yoder before, but the house seemed especially suited to the task of hosting a group of women with their sewing projects. By the time Annie pedaled to the Yoders’, several buggies stood outside the home, horses hitched to split-rail fencing. Annie’s fabric was folded neatly and laid into the basket hanging from her handlebars. By the end of the day, she hoped, the fabric would be cut according to Franey’s pattern and Annie would have some notion of how the pieces would go together to form a dress.

Inside, the Amish women greeted her politely, offered refreshments, and suggested a table Annie could use to lay out her fabric. Franey soon appeared with her pattern and hovered while Annie flipped and turned pieces, looking for the most efficient way to lay them out. The process was not entirely foreign to her. Myra Friesen knew her way around a pattern, and Annie had witnessed her going through the basics of ironing the fabric flat, arranging pattern pieces, pinning them down, and carefully cutting. In her software-creating career, Annie had often mentally rotated three-dimensional objects and looked for how the pieces fit together. She did not imagine fitting together sleeves and bodice front and bodice back and skirt and waistband fitting was so different. The women watching her cut remembered aloud the first dresses they had made—some with fondness and some with frustration.

Edna and Beth Stutzman arrived just before lunch and seemed to take over the room with both conversation and their own projects. When she decided to participate in this day, Annie had steeled herself to expect the Stutzmans. If she was seriously considering becoming Amish, she would have to find a way to be gracious toward the Beilers’ old friends, no matter what Beth had done to her quilt.

Beth crossed the room where Annie stood at the cutting table. Annie raised her head and looked Beth in the eye with a smile. Beth smoothed her skirt and looked the other direction. Annie managed not to roll her eyes.

Sandwiches and salads appeared on a long narrow side table in the Yoder dining room. Annie set aside the puzzle of fabric, leaving Franey at work while she left to fix a plate. She sat off to one side, where she could quietly marvel at her own involvement in an event such as this one. A year ago she had not even heard of Westcliffe, Colorado. Her own family history was a blur that did not interest her. She was wealthy and likely to become more wealthy. Her life was a string of conveniences and serial immediate gratification.

On the outside, Annie hardly recognized her life now. The inside was another matter. When familiar impulses welled, the challenge of forming new responses loomed.
Humility, humility
,
humility
, Annie reminded herself, even as she followed Beth’s movements around the open, connected rooms.

Beth filled a plate. Annie watched her situate a chair where she could see clearly around the ragged circle.

“It’s terrible what happened to that man Karl Kramer.” Beth rearranged the pickles on her plate. “I’ve heard he’s not a nice man at all, but it’s awful that someone would want to hurt him.”

Murmurs of agreement rose around the room.

“The
English
don’t understand our peaceful ways, I suppose.” Beth paused to take a delicate bite out of a turkey sandwich. “Certainly I will never understand why they feel the need to blow each other up.” She shifted her head toward Annie and raised one eyebrow.

Annie forced food into her mouth to keep herself from speaking. Someone had put too much mustard on the ham sandwich. The spicy kind. It stung her tongue, and her eyes watered.

“The
English
police will sort it out,” someone said.

“It does seem to be taking a long time,” someone else observed. “I’m not sure I understand why. It’s been three days.”

“Many people would have a motive against Mr. Kramer.”

“They have several suspects, I heard,” Beth said. She gave Annie a colorless smile. “But I believe one in particular is coming to the forefront. At a time like this, I take comfort in belonging to people of peace.”

Annie nearly choked on the bread she was stuffing in her mouth.

“I understand you are very technical, Annalise.” Beth had both eyebrows raised now. “What kinds of explosions have you been involved with?”

Annie licked her lips and turned to Mrs. Yoder. “The sandwiches are delicious.” She chewed harder.

“If it were an Amish matter,” someone said, “we could take it to the bishop. I’m sure he could get to the bottom of it.”

“But of course this is not an Amish matter.” Beth took another bite and glared again at Annie. “Annalise, even as an outsider to our ways, you can see that it is plain silly to think our people had anything to do with this unfortunate incident.”

Annie filled her mouth again.

Beth picked up a pickle slice. “The bishop’s time would be better spent reminding our men of their duty to the community.”

Chew. Chew. Chew.

“Rufus Beiler, for instance,” Beth said. “Why would he wait as long as he has to obey God’s will and marry?”

A couple of young women giggled. Annie drew in a long, slow, spicy mustard breath.

Edna Stutzman spoke up. “You are right as usual, Beth. I will speak to your father myself, and he will speak to the bishop. Rufus Beiler is a dear young man, and we should not sit by idly while his faith weakens.”