The Amish Nanny (46 page)

I closed my eyes, wishing that the touch of his hand made me shiver the way Will's did.

“I'll try,” I whispered, opening my eyes and giving Daniel a reassuring smile.

Then I let go of his hand, turned, and walked the rest of the way to the car, wondering if I could ever learn love anyone other than Will Gundy.

When we reached Amielbach, the others stayed up at the main house to look for a game while I headed down to the cottage to talk to Giselle. I went straight to her studio, but she wasn't there. In fact, she wasn't anywhere.

Looking around at the whole cottage, I could find no signs that Giselle had been there today at all. No dirty dishes. No books left out. Nothing out of order anywhere. Her car was still exactly where it had been this morning. Yet her heavy coat was missing from the rack by the door.

Where is she?

Sometimes God impresses us, puts a feeling in our gut to let us know something is wrong. That's how it was for Aunt Marta when she rescued Lexie from the creek all those years ago. That's how I felt right now. Somehow I just knew that Giselle was in trouble, and it was up to me to help her.

Heart pounding, I left the cottage and ran all the way up the main house. When I got there, I tried to explain that Giselle was missing, but the others didn't seem nearly as alarmed.

“She came by here this morning,” Oskar said, shrugging. “She talked to Father for a few minutes and then left, saying she needed some fresh air.”

That didn't help much. She could be anywhere. And maybe she'd been gone all day, or maybe not. She could have come back to the cottage and then gone out again.

“Father's in his study. He might have an idea of where she went.”

Daniel led the way down the hall, with Christy right behind him. He knocked rapidly and a faint voice welcomed us in.

Herr Lauten was at his desk, but he looked as if he'd been sleeping.

I stepped forward and asked him about Giselle.

He shifted in his chair a little. “Yes, she did stop by this morning. And she was upset. I told her Amielbach was about to change forever. That seemed to upset her even more. Then…” He took a deep breath. “Well, I said something I shouldn't have. I told her if she'd kept track of that box, we'd be in better shape.” He stopped.

“And?” I stepped closer to the desk.

“She said back then the box was the least of her worries.” He gripped his cane with both hands. “I'm afraid I hurt her—even though I have no idea what she was referring to.”

“She was referring to me.” I turned to face Daniel. “And my sister, Lexie. Giselle is our birth mother,” I said, looking back at Herr Lauten. “She gave us up and moved to Switzerland. Lexie was adopted by a couple from Oregon, and I was adopted by my Aunt Klara, Giselle's sister, who became my mother.”

A wave of shock passed over Daniel's face, and Herr Lauten turned a sickening gray. “Poor Giselle,” he said, standing. “I had no idea. She wouldn't bring harm to herself, would she?” He looked at me and then at Daniel and then at Morgan. I looked at Christy, wondering if she realized what Herr Lauten was alluding to.

But the truth was, none of us really knew what Giselle might do. “Let's get flashlights and go look for her,” I said, whispering up a prayer, apprehension gnawing at my gut.

A
s it turned out, Daniel didn't think we should go look for Giselle at all, at least not until the next day. “She's a middle-aged woman. She's probably at a friend's house.”

“Don't you think we should at least call the police?”

“And tell them what? There's nothing suspicious about her disappearance. If she doesn't show up in a couple of days, then they would get involved…” His voice faded away.

I turned toward Morgan. “He's right,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

Oskar was already back in the kitchen, and Herr Lauten was shuffling down the hall to his study.

Christy said she was tired, and so she, Morgan, and I decided to head down to the cottage. I was miffed at Daniel for not wanting to help find Giselle and quickly told him goodnight.

As we walked down the steps of Amielbach, I said, “I can't imagine her staying out in the cold like this.”

“Who says she's in the cold? Maybe she has a boyfriend we don't know about,” Morgan said. “Or maybe she barhops.”

I couldn't imagine either.

A half hour later, Morgan and I were in the kitchen when we heard a knock at the door of the cottage. I ran to it and swung it open in relief, expecting Giselle. But it wasn't her—it was Will.

“Hey, Ada,” he said, a little out of breath. “George and I just got back. Oskar told us what was going on. You're concerned for Giselle's safety?”

I nodded, hating how much better I felt just knowing he was here. I invited him in, but he shook his head, remaining there on the porch.

“We know Giselle struggles with depression,” I explained to him from the doorway, keeping my voice low. “What if my coming to see her has made that worse?”

He couldn't answer the question, but at least he didn't try to soothe me with empty reassurances. Instead, he simply promised to pray for her—and for me.

“You must think my family is such a mess…” I said, my face growing hot. I couldn't imagine what he thought about me or my past or my parentage.

He didn't reply for a long moment, and when he did, his words surprised me.

“To tell you the truth, Ada, I've been thinking a lot about Giselle and what she went through way back then,” he said, his voice soft. He cleared his throat, shoved a hand in his pocket, and smoothed the brim of his hat. “Actually, do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” I said, pulse surging. I glanced toward the kitchen, where Morgan was busily making tea, and then I stepped out onto the stoop and pulled the door closed behind me. Will and I took a few steps up the brick pathway and then stood facing each other. His brown eyes were tired but kind.

“Of course, when all that happened I was just a boy and had no idea what was really going on,” he continued. “Though I knew my
mammi
was very concerned for Giselle, I didn't know the full story about all of that until recently.”

I nodded, embarrassed but in a way also relieved that it was now out in the open between us. I'd already suspected he knew, but now that had been confirmed.

“Anyway, I guess I just wanted to say that your family is not alone in these problems.”

I knew that. “I appreciate it, Will. All of your family has been so supportive of us through the years—”

He shook his head, his beard swaying a little with the movement. “That's not what I'm saying. My family has gone through a…similar problem.”

The way he said it, I knew he meant a child had been conceived out of wedlock. I tilted my head. His family? The Gundys? Surely not his sister, Hannah.

“All families have their problems,” Will said. “Jesus said in this life we will have troubles. No one is immune.” He met my eyes.

Maybe he sensed my confusion. He exhaled and then said, “I can't give you the entire story because, as with most stories, it involves others, but it was Lydia. While we were courting but before we married.”

Lydia?
I never would have guessed.

“She had a baby out of wedlock too, a baby who wasn't mine.” His voice was heavy with sadness. “And even though she moved forward with her life, her grief over that never left her. I see that same emptiness in Giselle. But even though it's hard, I think knowing you will help her in the long run.”

I asked what happened to Lydia's baby.

“The father was married, and Lydia allowed the child to go to him and his wife.”

“The wife knew?” I couldn't imagine.

He nodded. “She's a very good woman. A strong Christian. She didn't take out the sins of her husband on the babe. They're divorced now, and she has full custody.”

So not only had Will's family dealt with a child conceived out of wedlock, but giving up that child for adoption as well! And to think I'd thought he came from the perfect family without anything worse than a little white lie or some such thing.

“Who knows about this?” I managed to stammer.

He shook his head a little as if trying to decide to answer or not. Finally he said, “Your Aunt Marta knows. And your sister. But, Ada, that's all I can say on this—for now. The main point is I know how Lydia suffered from the loss, and I know Giselle must suffer too.”

I tried to soak in the information without growing too curious. I focused on my own story. “Perhaps she feels that loss with Lexie,” I said, “but I don't think she does with me.”

Will's expression was kind. “She had more time with Lexie. That's all. It has nothing to do with who you are.”

I looked up into his compassionate brown eyes for just a minute and then quickly glanced away, overcome by the cold.

“I've kept you out too long.” He gestured toward the pathway.

We didn't speak as we walked the few steps to the cottage, and when we reached the door he said a quick goodbye and turned to go.

“Thank you, Will,” I said, and he turned back toward me. “Thank you for telling me about Lydia.”

He nodded and then disappeared into the night.

I woke quite a while before dawn and crept into Giselle's room to see if she'd returned. Her bed was empty, just as it had been last time I checked. I entered the studio. I knew she wasn't there because it was dark, but still I flipped on the light and looked around. The plastic boxes she and Morgan had moved from the shed were still in the middle of the room. The weaving on the loom was the same as a couple of days before.

I stepped toward the back wall, to the weavings hanging there, my eyes falling on the one of the Amish woman with the three little girls.
Before I'd only focused on the people in it. Now my gaze was drawn to the terrain. Rather than the lush farmland of Lancaster County, these Amish were standing on a rocky hillside, with a waterfall nearby. Moving closer, I decided that it was supposed to be the waterfall next door, on the Kessler Tract. I thought of Giselle's weaving in the shop in Bern with the same waterfall. Now here it was again: the waterfall. It was a recurring theme in her artwork.

Then it struck me. What if she'd gone to the waterfall earlier, to sketch or to think or to explore? She could have gotten injured there and been unable to get back. It wouldn't hurt to check.

A few minutes later, dressed and bundled in my down coat with a gloved hand gripping a flashlight, I ventured out into the night. I had left Morgan and Christy a note, saying exactly where I was going just in case I hadn't returned by the time they awoke. As I reached the creek, snow began to fall, big white fluffy flakes that floated slowly from the black sky. Daniel had pointed out the lone pine, far down from the tree line near the waterfall, where he said rocks went across the creek. I stopped at the bank near there and shone the flashlight around. The snow melted as soon as it hit the water, swallowed in an instant. There were several boulders—but they didn't look like a bridge. The creek was wide, at least twenty feet or more. I hurried along the shore, toward the waterfall, bouncing the beam of the flashlight across to the other side. A few yards beyond the tree, I stopped. There were several flat rocks, one after the other. If I had a sturdy stick I thought I could cross. I hurried back toward the tree, hoping to find a fallen branch. On the far side, under the edge of the canopy, was a small one. I broke off the twigs and then held it firmly. It came to my shoulder and was the right size for me to grip. I hurried back.

Stepping from the bank, I planted my foot firmly on the first stone. I had to stretch to get to the next one and the next and most of the others. I concentrated on each one, determined not to slip. The leap to the far shore was by far the worst. I stood on the last stone, both feet planted firmly. The snow swirled around me now, big, heavy, wet flakes, coming down faster, like powdered sugar out of a sifter. I took a deep breath and lunged forward.