cry?” Elizabeth looked up at her, eyes round.
“She used to.” Today she’d come with something different in mind, and that was still to be dealt with. “Or she’d climb up in the willow tree when she wanted to be by herself. Once she went too high and couldn’t get down, and Levi had to bring the ladder to fetch her.”
That brought the faint smile to the child’s face Leah had been hoping for.
She used her handkerchief to wipe the last traces of tears from Elizabeth’s cheeks. “Were you upset because people found out about when you . . .”
She hesitated. What was the right phrase? She wasn’t sure.
“They were talking about my mamma.” Elizabeth burst out with it before Leah could come up with the proper words. “I don’t want them to.”
Leah’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. Sometimes people talk, but they’re not really being mean. They’re just not thinking about the fact that you might be missing her.”
“I don’t miss her.” The child’s hands clenched. “I don’t. I don’t want to talk about her ever again!”
The vehemence in the child’s voice took Leah aback.
“It’s all right. You don’t have to.”
Was this grief or anger? She wasn’t sure, and not knowing the circumstances made it impossible for her to respond the right way. If Daniel had seen fit to open up a little more, maybe she’d be better able to deal with this.
Elizabeth was looking at her with a doubting expression, and all she could do was try to reassure her.
“Really. You don’t have to talk about her at all if you don’t want to.”
Elizabeth stared at her for another moment. Then her face seemed to relax, and she sighed. “Ser gut,” she murmured.
Was it good? She didn’t think so, but she didn’t have the right to interfere.
The barn door creaked open. Daniel loomed for a moment on the threshold, probably to let his eyes grow accustomed to the dim light. Then he strode toward them, scooped his daughter up in his arms, and turned away.
Leah scrambled out of the hay, shaking her skirt. “Daniel—”
He glanced at her, his face shuttered tight against her. “I’ll take care of my daughter,” he said, and walked out.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Leah tapped lightly on Anna’s bedroom door. At a murmur from within, she opened it. Barbara and Levi were on the back porch, watching the children play as twilight drew in. This was probably the one chance she’d have to talk to Anna without anyone hearing.
She closed the door and leaned on it. Anna was rebraiding her hair, meaning that she intended to go out again. A small navy duffel bag lay on the bed, zipped closed.
If Leah looked, which she wouldn’t, she’d probably find it contained English clothes. Many, if not most, Amish teens tried out modern clothing at one time or another during their rumspringa.
If only that was all Anna was doing. It was one thing to have English friends. It was another to be meeting a strange boy in the barn. She murmured a silent prayer for guidance.
“Well?” Anna, apparently tired of waiting, swung toward her. “Say what you’ve been waiting the whole day to say already.”
Leah sank down on the bed. She wanted to have this conversation without blaming or scolding, but how could she?
“What were you thinking, Anna? Why did you invite that boy here today, of all days? With all that had to be done and with half the church here—well, it was foolhardy, at best.”
“I didn’t invite him today.” The defiance in Anna’s face faded, and she shifted her gaze away from her sister. “I’m not that dumb. He just showed up. And don’t call him ‘that boy.’ His name is Jarrod Wells.”
“All right.” At least her little sister had more sense than she’d been fearing. “Why did Jarrod Wells come today, then, if you didn’t ask him?”
Anna shrugged. “I don’t know. He just wanted to talk, that’s all.”
“Talk?”
“Ja, talk,” Anna flared. “I have a right to my own friends,
“She used to.” Today she’d come with something different in mind, and that was still to be dealt with. “Or she’d climb up in the willow tree when she wanted to be by herself. Once she went too high and couldn’t get down, and Levi had to bring the ladder to fetch her.”
That brought the faint smile to the child’s face Leah had been hoping for.
She used her handkerchief to wipe the last traces of tears from Elizabeth’s cheeks. “Were you upset because people found out about when you . . .”
She hesitated. What was the right phrase? She wasn’t sure.
“They were talking about my mamma.” Elizabeth burst out with it before Leah could come up with the proper words. “I don’t want them to.”
Leah’s throat tightened. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth. Sometimes people talk, but they’re not really being mean. They’re just not thinking about the fact that you might be missing her.”
“I don’t miss her.” The child’s hands clenched. “I don’t. I don’t want to talk about her ever again!”
The vehemence in the child’s voice took Leah aback.
“It’s all right. You don’t have to.”
Was this grief or anger? She wasn’t sure, and not knowing the circumstances made it impossible for her to respond the right way. If Daniel had seen fit to open up a little more, maybe she’d be better able to deal with this.
Elizabeth was looking at her with a doubting expression, and all she could do was try to reassure her.
“Really. You don’t have to talk about her at all if you don’t want to.”
Elizabeth stared at her for another moment. Then her face seemed to relax, and she sighed. “Ser gut,” she murmured.
Was it good? She didn’t think so, but she didn’t have the right to interfere.
The barn door creaked open. Daniel loomed for a moment on the threshold, probably to let his eyes grow accustomed to the dim light. Then he strode toward them, scooped his daughter up in his arms, and turned away.
Leah scrambled out of the hay, shaking her skirt. “Daniel—”
He glanced at her, his face shuttered tight against her. “I’ll take care of my daughter,” he said, and walked out.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Leah tapped lightly on Anna’s bedroom door. At a murmur from within, she opened it. Barbara and Levi were on the back porch, watching the children play as twilight drew in. This was probably the one chance she’d have to talk to Anna without anyone hearing.
She closed the door and leaned on it. Anna was rebraiding her hair, meaning that she intended to go out again. A small navy duffel bag lay on the bed, zipped closed.
If Leah looked, which she wouldn’t, she’d probably find it contained English clothes. Many, if not most, Amish teens tried out modern clothing at one time or another during their rumspringa.
If only that was all Anna was doing. It was one thing to have English friends. It was another to be meeting a strange boy in the barn. She murmured a silent prayer for guidance.
“Well?” Anna, apparently tired of waiting, swung toward her. “Say what you’ve been waiting the whole day to say already.”
Leah sank down on the bed. She wanted to have this conversation without blaming or scolding, but how could she?
“What were you thinking, Anna? Why did you invite that boy here today, of all days? With all that had to be done and with half the church here—well, it was foolhardy, at best.”
“I didn’t invite him today.” The defiance in Anna’s face faded, and she shifted her gaze away from her sister. “I’m not that dumb. He just showed up. And don’t call him ‘that boy.’ His name is Jarrod Wells.”
“All right.” At least her little sister had more sense than she’d been fearing. “Why did Jarrod Wells come today, then, if you didn’t ask him?”
Anna shrugged. “I don’t know. He just wanted to talk, that’s all.”
“Talk?”
“Ja, talk,” Anna flared. “I have a right to my own friends,
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