Keys of Heaven (11 page)

Had Mrs. Parker come in here looking for soap or extra towels, and somehow dropped her glasses in the cleaning basket?

Not wrapped up in a rag, she hadn't.

But if a certain someone wanted to stall his parents' departure long enough, and knew where she kept the cleaning things—things that weren't likely to be disturbed by anyone but his secret ally—then it made perfect sense.

“What have you got there?”

Priscilla jumped and dropped both rag and glasses, which landed in the basket.

“Are those my mom's?” Justin fished them out. “Mom! I found them!”

Isabel Parker burst out of the Peace Room—which had not been living up to its name so far today—and snatched the sunglasses from Justin's hand. “Thank goodness! I
knew
they were in the house somewhere. Where were they?”

“Right there, in with the Lysol and the toilet brushes.”

Priscilla was about to retort that there was no such thing in her basket, when she saw Mrs. Parker's face and the words dried up on her tongue.

“Why were my sunglasses in with the cleaning things?”

Why was she looking so angry again? She was supposed to be happy they'd been found! “I—I was—”

“You were what? Going to steal them?”

Priscilla's mouth opened and closed, the breath knocked out of her by sheer shock that this woman could believe she'd do such a thing.

“Well? Answer me, or I swear I'm going to call the police!”

T
he phone at the Rose Arbor Inn rang through to the answering machine a second time and Henry gave up. He couldn't leave a message, because then Eric's secret would be out. And the kid wasn't picking up when his own cell phone rang—goodness knows why. Maybe he'd forgotten to charge it, or an angry parent had confiscated it. In a normal world, Henry would take a photo of the kid's nearly dry project and e-mail it to him, but guess who hadn't charged his phone, either?

So there was only one thing Henry could do, and that was to mosey on over to the Inn and deliver his message in person.

It was another beautiful June day, though in the distance above the hills, he could see thunder-bumpers forming. They'd had a string of sunny days, but the downside to that was the humidity that kept on rising until a storm came up to break it.

Henry climbed down into the creek bottom to take the shortcut to the Inn. With any luck, he'd make it there and back home before the rain started. Sure, he could take his car, but he welcomed the opportunity to walk after wrestling clay for several hours, and he set a fast pace along the path.

A group of Amish teenagers were swinging out into the creek on a rope swing and dropping into the deep hole, as kids had probably done around here for generations. A couple of boys hanging in the tree waved at him, and he waved back.

No reason not to be friendly.

He emerged from under the old covered bridge, and crossed the grassy slope that led up to Ginny's fence. After closing the gate behind him, he walked into the parking lot and saw a big SUV with stuff all over the ground around it.

And even from here, he could hear the shouting.

Ginny. In trouble.

He sprinted down the walk and through the open door. The voices were coming from upstairs—Ginny's—Priscilla's—and a number he didn't recognize.

As he climbed the stairs, the people gathered in the communal space off which the rooms opened came into view.

“I'm telling you, she stole my sunglasses and hid them in her cleaning stuff!” shouted a woman in artfully faded jeans, stabbing a lacquered fingernail at a basket full of spray bottles and rags that sat abandoned on the floor.

“And I'm telling
you
that it's impossible,” Ginny snapped. “Priscilla is Amish. They. Don't. Steal.”

The knowledge that anyone would believe Priscilla Mast capable of theft rocked Henry on his heels. He stepped out onto the landing and saw Priscilla huddled up on the sofa between two bookcases, crying silently into her apron.

“Then why were they in there?” The woman's voice rose again. “Huh? Why? Because I didn't roll them up in a dirty rag and stuff them in that closet.”

In the door to one of the rooms, the kid called Justin lounged against the frame. And beside him, looking like a deer caught in the hunters' headlights, was Eric.

Eric, who had made them all promise not to tell his parents about his pottery project. Eric, who had said last night as he left the barn that he would just have to find a way to delay their going home today, no matter what.

Henry had a very bad feeling about this.

“What's going on?” He crossed the room, and in doing so, separated Ginny and her guest, who were practically nose to nose with the claws about to come out. Then he sat beside Priscilla, who attempted to turn away until he put one arm around her and drew her into a hug. He could feel her thin body shake as she tried not to draw attention to herself by sobbing.

Poor kid. This had to stop. “What's the matter, honey? What's this about sunglasses?”

“Who are you?” The guy was obviously Eric and Justin's father.

“Henry Byler.” And then he met Eric's panicked gaze. Well, keeping secrets was one thing, but when it hurt other people, it was time to come clean. “I'm a potter. I've been teaching your youngest boy here how to work clay.”

The man's jaw dropped, and then snapped shut again. “He never said a word to us. What are you talking about?”

Rather than answer, Henry cocked an eyebrow at Eric. “Want to let your dad in on what's been going on?”

Eric shook his head.

“I think you're going to have to, if this is how you planned to stall them long enough for the clay to dry. Bad plan, Son. You owe Priscilla here an apology.”

“What—what—” Eric's mother got her mouth under control. “Who are you and what business do you have talking to my son like that?”

“He just told you, Mom,” Justin said.

“Stay out of this!” both his parents snapped at him, and he drew his chin in like a turtle, clearly not used to being spoken to in such a tone.

Eric looked like he wanted to climb out a window, but Henry had had enough. Priscilla didn't deserve this. “Eric? Time to come clean.”

Here was what one of his college professors used to call a
defining moment
. Either the kid would grow a spine and tell his family the truth, or he'd try to cover up his lie and let poor Priscilla take the fall. At which point Henry would step in, but by then the damage to both the kid and Priscilla would already be done.

Come on, Eric. Stand up for yourself.

His thoughts must have been plain on his face, because Eric lifted his chin and took a breath. “It's true, what he says. I've been learning about pottery in Henry's studio since Monday. I have a project that's drying and I needed us to not go home until I could go over there and get it.”

His parents both stared at him as though he were a changeling and they were wondering where their real son was.

“Was there a reason you didn't just say to your dad, hey, Dad, I need a couple of hours until my project dries?” Ginny asked quietly. “Did you need to swipe your mom's sunglasses and hide them in Priscilla's things and get her in all this trouble for nothing?”

The kid's initial spurt of bravery began to dissolve. “I needed a place where they wouldn't look,” he said miserably. “I thought I could get them back before Priscilla started work.”

“So…you took my sunglasses? And hid them in there?” His mother waggled her fingers at the basket on the floor.

Eric nodded. “Sorry, Mom.”

Henry cleared his throat.

Eric shifted his gaze to Priscilla. “Sorry, Pris. I didn't mean to get you in trouble.”

Priscilla scrubbed her cheeks with her apron and didn't answer. And then Ginny stepped back into Eric's mom's line of sight and lifted an eyebrow expectantly.

The woman blinked. “What?”

Ginny tilted her chin in Priscilla's direction. Her meaning was clear:
Since we're apologizing, there's one left to go.

“I hardly think—well, honestly, she was the obvious—what was I supposed to—”

“Mom!” Eric's face said it all:
If I can admit I was wrong, why can't you?

Which was probably what caused her to huff and turn toward Priscilla. “I'm sorry,” she bit out, and walked into the Peace Room. “I hope you're happy now.” The door closed behind her.

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Now that that's settled, Henry, why don't you and Eric and Trent Parker go into the TV room and talk things over while Priscilla and I get started on these bathrooms?”

Priscilla started up. “
Ach, neh
, Ginny,
ich kann
—”

“It's okay, sugar. I feel a powerful need to take out some emotion on a dirty shower. That's one thing about housework. Sometimes it can be downright therapeutic.”

T
he tomatoes were growing fast in the warm weather—the plants had bushed out and were already above Sarah's head as she knelt next to their hoops, weeding. And, she was very glad to see, the calendula planted as a border to her crazy-quilt garden was doing its job to keep the slugs away.

She would need to harvest the calendula flowers soon. Just a couple more days and they would be fully opened, ready to offer their healing power for tinctures and teas.

What a wonderful world the
gut Gott
had given His people. All things—even petals and the leaves in the field—really did work together for good to them who loved Him, and were called according to His purpose.

“That smile is like lemonade on a hot day.”

Startled, Sarah lifted her head above the starry yellow tomato flowers, and got to her feet, dusting soil off the skirt of her black bib apron.

“Henry! I didn't know you were there.”

He stood in the grass with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, in a relaxed posture that contradicted the pinched expression at the corners of his eyes. He must have walked over the hill from his place, because there was no car in the lane.

“That's why I didn't say anything. There is something soothing about a woman working in her garden.”

“What you call
soothing
is really relief because you don't have to do it.” She was glad to see him smile, so she added, “In the fall, you should turn over Sadie's garden. It always used to do so well and it's a shame to see it growing nothing but starts and weeds.”

She had her opinions about a certain life that was like that, but she was smart enough to keep them to herself. If it was her place to say any more than she already had on the subject, God would prompt her in the moment and give her the words to say.

In the meantime, if he found her company soothing, then she would try to give him peace.

“Maybe I will,” he said. “It looks like I'll still be here in the fall, so I should start thinking long-term instead of pretending I'm only a guest in Sadie's house.”

“Is that why you need soothing? Because you're not sure you want to stay?”

He knelt on the other side of the tomatoes, outside the calendula border, and began to pull weeds. With the scented bushes between them like a screen, he said, “No, that's not it. I'm just feeling bad because of something that happened up at Ginny's.”

What had happened at the Rose Arbor Inn? “Shouldn't you be talking it over with Ginny?”

“No, it's not safe yet. She might be annoyed with me.”

He'd said
something that happened
. So it didn't sound like something personal between him and Ginny. “Is it that boy who's staying there? Caleb told me you were teaching him about making pottery—that he has a school project or something?”

“He wants to get into an art high school, and needs a piece for a portfolio.” Henry yanked a dandelion up with its whole root—which took some energy. “I got him started, but the simple fact is that the project is going to take time. Instead of telling his parents what he was doing like a sensible person, so they could adjust their plans and leave a little later this morning, he took his mother's five-hundred-dollar sunglasses and hid them—in Priscilla's cleaning basket.”

Shocked, Sarah sat back on her heels and craned around the tomato plant to get a clear view of him. “What happened?”

“Priscilla found them when she went to get started, and the kid's mother accused her of stealing them, and it got ugly really fast.”

“Is she all right?” Oh, what a thing to happen to Priscilla!

“She wouldn't defend herself, poor kid, so it was a lucky thing I got there and could clear some of it up. The upshot is that they'll stop by my place on their way back to Connecticut. The piece won't be dry enough to move by then, but at least they can see his sketches and have an idea of what he's trying to do.”

She gave up on the weeds altogether. “But why did it have to be such a big secret? Caleb says this boy was adamant that no one say anything.”

“I think he was so afraid of being ridiculed for something that meant a lot to him that he felt forced to keep it secret. Not that I can blame him for that. The family dynamic is more about buying what you want than creating it. As though somehow if you make something, it has less value and you're free to laugh at it.”

“No good comes of deception.”

“I'll say. And I have a feeling that if they call looking for a reservation at the Inn ever again, Ginny will find a way to make sure all the rooms are booked.”

“So if they aren't taking this clay thing with them, what will happen to it?”

Henry sighed. “I don't know. It's at what we call the
leather hard
stage. Eric trimmed it up last night, but it needs to dry completely and then get its first firing. I could ship it to him then, I suppose, but after all this, I wouldn't want the piece—it'll be a candle lantern when it's done—to arrive smashed and useless. They're fragile at the bisque stage.”

Sarah was silent. How awful, to put Priscilla through such an experience for nothing.

Henry must have been thinking along the same lines, because he yanked another dandelion and said, “The sad thing is, that kid really loved working with the clay. His sketches were good, and you could see he cared about what he was doing in every line. Ten to one he'll go home now and never touch clay again, just because this was such a disaster.”

“If he'd just told the truth, none of it would have happened.”

“I know. Caleb told him so, but evidently the family isn't used to working that way.”

That was her Caleb. He was so transparent himself that deception and trying to dodge around things instead of just facing them were foreign to his nature. He always took the most direct route, even when it might not be the most comfortable for other people. This boy Eric ought to spend some more time in his company. Maybe some of that might rub off.

Sarah sucked in a breath as an idea struck her.

“Henry, what more needs to be done on this piece—this lantern?”

“It'll need to dry some more, which will take a few days. Then like I said, I'll fire it with the batter bowls I'll have ready for the kiln by then. After that, it would be glazed and fired a second time, which takes several days more. It's a long process.” He took his attention off the destruction of the dandelions and looked at her. “I see that face. The one that got me dragged off to the library to stalk people on the Internet. What's on your mind?”

Sarah tried to rearrange her expression into one of dignity. “I do not stalk people, as you say. God brought a family together, and if He used you and me and the Internet to reunite Oran Yost with his son, then it was all in His plan.”

“Okay…. Go on—spit it out.”

She stood, and so did he, facing her over the tomato flowers that would mean good fruit later in the summer. “What if I invited this boy to stay, Henry? He could finish his piece and be friends with Caleb, and maybe we could do him some good.”

She'd surprised him now.

“A thirteen-year-old worldly boy loose in Amish farm country with no electricity, no video games, no iPod, no TV? Do you know what you'd be letting yourself in for?”

Sarah felt sorry for a child whose life consisted of trying to entertain himself. “There's plenty to do here when he's not working on his project with you. And he could go with Caleb and his friends to swim in the creek and play volleyball and baseball. He wouldn't have time to miss his TV and video games.”

Henry gazed at her, thinking out loud. “Priscilla taught him to make a bed, and he learned how to handle clay a lot faster than I thought he would. Maybe you're right. Maybe he is different, and just never had a chance to show it.”

“So you'll ask his parents when they come this afternoon?”

She was not merely offering this visit as a holiday, after all. This was something akin to prescribing herbs for a person with an illness. The patient had a lack, and a cure existed to fill it, or to fix the thing that was causing it. Surely God had prompted her to make the offer. If that was so, then she needed to heed that still, small voice.

Even if secretly, she wasn't sure having a worldly teenager in the house would be smart—or even possible.

“I'll ask them,” Henry said. “If you think you can stand it if they agree.”

“If the boy has a hard time adjusting to life in an Amish household, well, it isn't forever, Henry. We can all survive a week or two. And we don't know—maybe he will like it.”

“Maybe.” The pinched look around his eyes had slowly smoothed itself away.

“So do you feel better?” she asked softly.

His lips quirked up in a smile as he half shrugged. “How could such a crazy plan make anyone feel better?”

“When we do things for others, it often makes us feel better ourselves.”

The smile became a real one, and her heart lightened. “I'll remember that when I go back over to face Ginny.”

Suddenly Sarah felt the urge to yank up a few dandelions by the roots herself.