Anna's Return Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  EPILOGUE

  GLOSSARY OF PENNSYLVANIA DUTCH WORDS AND PHRASES

  RECIPES

  Teaser chapter

  PRAISE FOR THE PLEASANT VALLEY SERIES

  Rachel’s Garden

  “Perry’s realistic characters deal with love and loss in the second Pleasant Valley book. The strong, original plot can be enjoyed as a stand-alone.”

  —Romantic Times

  Leah’s Choice

  “Leah’s Choice has everything a reader could want—strong, well-defined characters; beautiful, realistic settings; and a thought-provoking plot. Readers of Amish fiction will surely be waiting anxiously for her next book.”

  —Shelley Shepard Gray, author of the Sisters of the Heart series

  “A knowing and careful look into Amish culture and faith. A truly enjoyable reading experience.”

  —Angela Hunt, author of Let Darkness Come

  “I was moved and challenged by Leah’s honest questioning, her difficult choices, and most of all by the strength of her love and faith. Leah’s Choice is a lovely book. Simply lovely.”

  —Linda Goodnight, author of The Wedding Garden

  “Marta Perry [has] done an exceptional job describing the tradition of the Amish community. Her writing enables the reader to gain a visual of each scene as it occurs. Leah’s Choice is a wonderful start to what is sure to be a very memorable series. I look forward to continuing the journey on future books to come.”

  —Romance Junkies “Leah’s Choice takes us into the heart of Amish country and the Pennsylvania Dutch, and shows us the struggles of the Amish community as the outside world continues to clash with the Plain ways. This is a story of grace and servitude as well as a story of difficult choices and heartbreaking realities. It touched my heart. I think the world of Amish fiction has found a new champion.”

  —Lenora Worth, author of Hometown Princess

  “I loved Leah’s Choice by Marta Perry! More than just a sweet Amish love story, it is a complex mix of volatile relationships and hard choices. I couldn’t put it down. I highly recommend it!”

  —Colleen Coble, author of Lonestar Homecoming

  “Leah’s Choice is a wonderful, fresh addition to the growing collection of novels about the Amish life. Marta Perry has created characters that I came to care for deeply and a plot that kept me guessing at every turn.”

  —Deborah Raney, author of Above All Things and the Hanover Falls novels

  “Leah’s Choice captured me on the first page—complex characters, unexpected conflicts, and deep emotion. Make the right choice. Savor this special book.”

  —Lyn Cote, author of the Texas: Star of Destiny series

  Other Pleasant Valley novels by Marta Perry

  LEAH’S CHOICE

  RACHEL’S GARDEN

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group Ireland, 25 St. Stephen’s Green, Dublin 2, Ireland (a division of Penguin Books Ltd.)

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  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty. Ltd.)

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  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd.)

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  South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  This is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  Copyright © 2010 by Martha Johnson.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions. BERKLEY® is a registered trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. The “B” design is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  PRINTING HISTORY

  Berkley trade paperback edition / June 2010

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Perry, Marta.

  Anna’s return / Marta Perry.

  p. cm.—(Pleasant Valley ; bk. 3)

  eISBN : 978-1-101-18804-0

  1. Amish—Fiction. 2. Lancaster County (Pa.)—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3616.E7933A83 2010

  813’.6—dc

  22 2010008674

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  This story is dedicated to the treasured friends

  whose unfailing encouragement and support helped to

  make it possible—you know who you are!

  And, as always, to my husband, Brian,

  who always believes in me.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’d like to express my gratitude to those whose expertise, patience, and generosity helped me in the writing of this book: to Erik Wesner, whose Amish America newsletters are enormously helpful in visualizing aspects of daily life; to Donald Kraybill and John Hostetler, whose books are the definitive works on Amish life; to Louise Stoltzfus, Lovina Eicher, and numerous others who’ve shared what it means to be Amish; to the unnamed Plain People whose insights have enriched my life; and most of all to my family, for giving me a rich heritage upon which to draw.

  CHAPTER ONE

  She was beginning to fear that the prodigal daughter wouldn’t make it home after all. Anna Beiler pressed on the gas pedal. “Come on, you can do it.” The old car responded with nothing more than a shudder.

  Daad would probably say that this was what she got for depending on something so English as a car to get her home, and maybe he’d be right. Just the thought of seeing her father made her stomach queasy. How would he, how would any of the family, react to Anna’s turning up at her Amish home three years after she’d given up all they believed in to disappear into the English world?

  The car gave an ominous sputter. It might be her prized possession, but she didn’t know much about its inner workings. Still, that noise and the shaking couldn’t be good signs.

  She gripped the steering wheel tighter, biting her lip, and faced the truth. She wasn’t going to m
ake it to the Beiler farm, the place where she’d been born, the place she’d left in rebellion and disgrace. She’d been almost nineteen then, sure she knew all about the world. Now, at twenty-two, she felt a decade older than the girl she’d been.

  But there, just ahead, she spotted the turnoff to Mill Race Road. Two miles down Mill Race was the home of her brother and sister-in-law. Joseph and Myra would welcome her, wouldn’t they?

  Forced into a decision, she’d have to take that chance. She turned onto the narrow road, earning another protesting groan from the car. Her fingers tensed so much that she’d have to peel them from the steering wheel. Worse, now that she was so close, all the arguments for and against coming here pummeled her mind.

  Was this the right choice? Her stomach clenched again. She didn’t know. She just knew returning was her only option.

  It was strange that things looked the same after three years. Pleasant Valley, Pennsylvania, didn’t change, or at least not quickly. Maybe there’d been a little more traffic on the main road, but now that she was off that, not a car was in sight.

  The fields on either side of the road overflowed with pumpkins, cabbage, and field corn that had yet to be cut. Neat barns and silos, farmhouse gardens filled with chrysanthemums, sumac topped with the dark red plumes that made them look like flaming torches—this was September in Pennsylvania Dutch country, and she was coming home.

  Maybe she should have written, but when had there been time? There’d been no time for anything but to get out of Chicago as quickly as possible. And there was no way she could explain the unexplainable.

  She glanced into the backseat, and her heart expanded with love. Gracie slept in her car seat, good as gold, just as she’d been throughout the long trip. At not quite a year old, she could hardly have understood her mother’s fear, but she’d cooperated.

  The neat white sign for Joseph’s machine shop stood where it always had. Anna turned into the narrow gravel lane, determination settling over her. It was far too late to worry if her decision would work. She had to make it work, for Gracie’s sake.

  Joseph and Myra’s place was a hundred-year-old white frame farmhouse, identifiable as Amish only by the fact that no electric lines ran to the house. They owned only a few acres, not enough to farm but plenty for the machine shop that her mechanically minded brother ran.

  In the pasture to the right of the lane a bay horse lifted his head, eyeing her curiously, probably wondering what a car was doing here. Tossing his mane, he trotted a few feet beside her along the fence.

  If Gracie were awake, she would point out the horsey, something that up until now Gracie had seen only in her picture books. Everything about this place would be strange and new to her.

  Not to Anna. For her, it all had an almost heartless familiarity. The very sameness made it seem to her that Pleasant Valley had gotten along quite nicely without her, thank you very much, and could continue to do so.

  Joseph’s shop was in the large outbuilding at the end of the lane, while off to the left beyond it stood the horse barn. Surely there’d be room in one of them to store the car.

  Get it out of sight—that was all she could think. Get the car out of sight, and then they’d be safe.

  Maybe she ought to drive straight to the shop. She could park behind it, if nothing else. As if it had read her mind, the car gave one last sputter, a cough, and died, just short of the house.

  “No, don’t do this,” she muttered. She switched the key off and then turned it on again, touching the gas pedal gently.

  Nothing. The car seemed to sink down on its wheels, like a horse sagging into clean straw after a hard day’s work.

  She pounded the steering wheel with the heel of her hand. Still, at least she was here. Joseph would help her, wouldn’t he? He’d always had a tender spot for his baby sister.

  Mindful that Gracie still slept, Anna slid out of the car, leaving the door open for air, and straightened, groaning a little. Her muscles protested after all those hours in the car, to say nothing of the tension that had ridden with her.

  She glanced down at the faded blue jeans, sneakers, and wrinkled shirt she wore. It might be less harrowing for Joseph and Myra if she’d arrived in conventional Amish clothes, but she’d certainly have drawn attention to herself driving a car that way.

  Not giving herself time to think about their reaction, she walked quickly to the back door.

  She knocked on the screen door, paused, and then knocked again, louder. Nothing. The inner door was closed—odd on a pleasant September day. She opened the screen door, tried the knob, and the realization seeped into her. The luck that had gotten her all the way here from Chicago had run out. No one was home.

  She stood on the back step, biting her lip, frowning at the car. The dark blue compact, liberally streaked with rust, had been her friend Jannie’s, and now it was hers, the only car she’d ever owned. Pete knew it well, too well. If he’d followed her— That was ridiculous. Pete couldn’t possibly have known where she was going. She had to stop jumping at shadows.

  But her common sense seemed to have fled. All she could think was to get the car out of sight and submerge herself and Gracie in the protective camouflage of the Amish community as quickly as possible.

  Joseph and Myra were away, but one of their horses might still be in the barn. If she could hitch it to the car, she could tow the vehicle out of sight. Hurrying, she checked the sleeping baby. Gracie still slept soundly, her head turned to one side in the car seat, a small hand unfurling like a leaf next to her face.

  Gracie was all right. She just had to keep her that way. Anna turned and jogged toward the barn, urged on by the fear that had pursued her all the way from Chicago.

  She slid the heavy door open and blinked at the dimness, inhaling the familiar scents of fresh straw, hay, and animals. From one of the stalls came a soft snort and the thud of hooves as the animal moved. Thank heaven. If the horse had been turned out in the field for the day, she might never have caught it.

  The bay mare came willingly to her, nosing over the stall boards. It was Myra’s buggy horse, most likely. Wherever they were today, they’d taken the one Joseph drove. Did he still have that big roan?

  Lifting a lead line from the hook, Anna started to open the stall door.

  A board creaked behind her, and she whirled toward the sound, her breath catching.

  “What are you doing with that horse?”

  A man stood in the open doorway, silhouetted against the light behind him. Not Joseph, for sure, but Amish, to judge by the outline of him and the cadence of the words he’d spoken in English.

  Well, of course he’d spoken English. That was what he thought she was, standing there in her jeans and T-shirt—an English woman. A horse thief, maybe.

  He moved toward her before she could find the words for an explanation, and she could see him better. Could recognize him.

  “It’s . . . Samuel Fisher, ain’t so?” The Amish phrase she hadn’t used in three years came readily to her lips. Samuel was her sister-in-law Myra’s brother. Maybe Joseph and Myra had asked him to look after things while they were gone today.

  He stopped a few feet from her, assessing her with a slow, steady gaze. Slow, she thought. Yes, that was Samuel. Maybe deliberate would be a kinder word. Samuel had never been one to rush into anything.

  “So. Anna Beiler. You’ve come home, then.”

  He’d switched to Pennsylvania Dutch, and it took her a moment to make the mental change. After so much time away, she even thought in English.

  “As you can see.”

  “It’s been a long time.”

  “Three years.” She shifted her weight impatiently from one foot to the other. She didn’t have time to stand here chatting with Samuel. The baby could wake—someone could spot the car. “Do you know where Joseph and Myra are?”

  He took his time about the answer, seeming to register every detail of her appearance as he did. “They’ve gone over to Fostertown for the day. Jos
eph didn’t say anything to me about you coming.”

  “Why should he?” The words snapped out before she could moderate them.

  Samuel’s strong, stolid face didn’t register much change—but then, it never had. His already-square jaw might have gotten a little squarer, his hazel eyes might have turned a bit cold, but that was all.

  As for the rest—black suspenders crossed strong shoulders over a light blue work shirt, and a summer straw hat sat squarely on sun-streaked brown hair. He seemed taller and broader than he had when she’d last seen him. Well, they were both older. He’d be twenty-six, now, the same as Joseph.

  “Joseph and I are partners in the business, besides him being my brother-in-law,” Samuel said, voice mild. “Usually he tells me if he expects somebody, ’specially if he’s going to be away.”

  “Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to be rude. Joseph didn’t know I was coming.”

  “Ja, I see. And you thought you’d take Betsy to go and look for them?”

  “No, of course not.” Her fingers tightened on the lead rope. “Look, Samuel, I need . . .” How to explain? There wasn’t any way. “I need to put my car in the barn or the shop, but the engine died. I thought I could pull it with Betsy. Will you help me?”

  He kept her waiting again, studying her with that unhurried stare. Her nerves twitched.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  Samuel’s firm mouth softened in a slow grin. “I see you’re as impatient as ever, Anna Beiler. Ja, I will help you.” He took the rope from her, his callused fingers brushing hers. “But I wish I knew what you are up to, I do.”

  She stepped out of his way as he opened the stall door, talking softly to the animal. He didn’t seem to expect any answer to his comment, and she couldn’t give one.