Hidden Life (9781455510863) Page 9

  “Because…?”

  “Because she had Grant Weaver for twelve whole years. And I would give twelve years off my life if I could have him even for one.”

  Chapter 8

  Don’t look out the window.

  Emma brushed her teeth and braided her hair, keeping her back to the two layers of drapes that hid the brightly lit skyscrapers sprouting up out of the dark. One look had been enough—she’d stay on the far side of the room, thank you very much, just in case the building decided to shrug and flip her out into twenty stories of cold space.

  She chose the bed closest to the sparkling modern bathroom, warm and toasty from the luxury of a shower that had lasted at least thirty minutes. She’d never taken one that long in her life, mostly because the hot water tank in the Daadi Haus wasn’t big enough for two people taking ten-minute showers consecutively, never mind thirty minutes.

  So there was one good thing about New York. The shower in the hotel room.

  When she woke at six the next morning, she’d discovered a second good thing. The mattress. It was like waking up in a cloud, rested and happy.

  You got a new couch. How difficult would it be to get a mattress like this?

  Maybe not so difficult in a practical sense, but very difficult in every other way. A person was meant to mortify the flesh, not loll in fluffy, luxurious mattresses pampering herself just because she could.

  She was to meet Tyler West in the lobby at eight, and he had promised to take her to breakfast. So, on the dot of eight, she stepped out of the elevator with her case in hand, her away bonnet inside it so he could find her by her Kapp.

  Maybe he would have forgotten the words she’d blurted at him in the dark—words she would give nearly anything to take back.

  She tried not to notice people staring at her, keeping her gaze instead on the elevators going up and down the enormous central column of the hotel like so many hummingbirds. No wonder her stomach felt queasy.

  “Emma.” She turned to see Tyler coming toward her, his hand held out.

  She shook it. “Guder Mariye.”

  “Guten Morgen,” he replied in hoch Deutsch.

  “Try it my way.”

  But his tongue stumbled on the simple syllables, which only made him laugh. “Come on, I’m starving.” He guided her into the revolving door and out the other side. They turned away from Times Square, moving west. “I tried to clear my calendar for this morning, but no luck. I have to be in the office for a meeting at ten, but I’ll put you in a cab to Penn Station before I go.”

  “You don’t have to do that. I can walk.” The fewer trips in those crazy yellow cabs, the better. “Just point me in the right direction.”

  He still wasn’t convinced by the time he’d located the restaurant and the waitress had shown them to a table. “I don’t want you getting lost, Emma. I still have hopes that you’ll let me rep your book. For all I know, you might wind up on the front steps of some other agent’s office, be taken in, and I’d never see you again.”

  “You’d get along with my friend Carrie,” she told him, sipping coffee that tasted better than anything except the little bites at Eleven Park West. “She’s always saying whimsical things.”

  He ordered pancakes. She wasn’t about to have anything she could make at home, so she picked the most foreign thing on the menu. The problem was, she had no idea what it was, never mind how to say it.

  “Huevos rancheros,” Tyler told the waitress, following Emma’s pointing finger. “Good choice. They make their own salsa here. I meant it, Emma. I still hope you’ll give in about the book.”

  “You’re more persistent than my nephew Nathaniel. And I’ll tell you the same thing I tell him. Nei. It can’t be done.”

  “So why did you enter it in that contest?” He buttered a tiny muffin the size of his thumb with short, precise strokes. Imagine feeding her painting crew with such muffins. They would climb back in their buggies and leave for greener pastures. “It said right in the rules that the winner would be offered a book deal. If you didn’t plan to take the deal, why waste your time?”

  Why waste the judges’ time? she heard. “It was a contest. I wanted to see how it would do. I never expected to win, and I didn’t.”

  “You should have. But there are other ways to win. The advance the contest winner got was only five grand. We could do better.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Why won’t you understand that what I have is enough? People read it and thought well of it and it went to the final round. I don’t need any more than that.”

  “Maybe I do,” he mumbled around the muffin, and did not meet her eyes.

  Oho. He wasn’t the only one who could ask painfully personal questions. “What do you mean? Do you think it will make money for you?” He’d told her that he would get 15 percent of whatever money came to her. As far as she was concerned, 15 percent of five thousand dollars was nothing to sneeze at.

  “I know it would. This kind of book—heartwarming but bone-scraping honest about people—would fly off the shelves. But that’s not what I meant.” He took a sip of his coffee. “You don’t have a way to make a living, do you?”

  The waitress brought two piping hot plates of food, and Emma waited until she’d filled their mugs and gone. Then she tasted her eggs, lying on top of squished-up beans in a blanket of melted cheese, with—what had he called it?—salsa running down the sides.

  “Oh, my.” Hot chile exploded in her mouth, the flavors of fresh tomato and cilantro twisting with the beans and melted cheese.

  “Chiles too hot for you?”

  She shook her head. “Ischt gut. Aich gut.” Her eyes were like to roll back in her head in sheer ecstasy. They sure knew how to cook here in New York. That made four good things.

  “I’m glad you like it. But you didn’t give me an answer about making your living.”

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re nosy?”

  “They don’t have to. I already know.” She expected him to lift his gaze and twinkle at her, but his eyes were somber.

  It never occurred to her to give him anything but the truth. “No, of course not. I keep house for Mamm. I’ve already said so.”

  “And what happens when Mamm shuffles off this mortal coil?”

  “If you mean what happens when she dies, I imagine I’ll move back into the big house and help Karen with the children.” She ate the egg and half the beans, but they no longer had the intense flavor they had in the beginning. Or maybe more than just food was losing its flavor.

  “Is that all you want?”

  “It is not. But it’s what I’ll get, if God wills it.”

  “Emma, if you sell that book, you’ll have an independent income. It may not be much at first, but since you’re not likely to blow it on liquor and gambling and cruises around the world, it would probably keep you until you write another. And you wouldn’t have to depend on a room in Karen’s house. What if Karen decides she needs that square footage for something else?”

  “She’d sooner double up the Kinner in their rooms. She won’t turn me out, if that’s what you’re worried about. She’s my sister. We both grew up in that house.”

  Instead of nodding and finishing off his pancakes, he took another sip of coffee, as if the caffeine were fortifying him somehow. “So. You’re just going to move into the family home, then, and let Grant marry someone else?”

  The shock of hearing her worst nightmare spoken into the world took her breath away. “He will never do that. I told you, he’s married already. So I ask you to forget I ever said anything about him.”

  “It’s forgotten. As soon as you tell me.”

  It took a whole egg and the rest of the salsa to regain her balance. “It’s foolish and wicked even to think of it. I had my chance over a decade ago when we had a buggy ride together, and he chose someone else. I don’t need the humiliation—I’m capable of that on my own.”

  “I thought the Amish valued being humble.”

  “There�
�s a big difference between being humble and being humiliated.” Even though there were some who might not make that distinction.

  “I don’t see why the poor guy has to be alone for the rest of his life if his wife left him. It’s not his fault.”

  “The Bible says, what God has joined together let no man put asunder. Period. Until death do you part.”

  “Well, say death did part them. Then what? Would he give you a do-over on that buggy ride?”

  Goosebumps broke out on her arms, and she rubbed her sleeves briskly. “Don’t say that. Besides, he wouldn’t.”

  “He’d be crazy, then. Heck, if you didn’t have to catch that train, I’d take you over to the park again and give you a buggy ride myself.”

  She’d seen the fancy carriages with their tired horses. “I wouldn’t go. I couldn’t resist telling those drivers how to care for their animals.”

  “You know what I mean.” She eyed him. “Any man would be proud to have you in his buggy, Emma.”

  Hot color flooded her cheeks, and she couldn’t blame it on the chiles in the sauce. “Even if he was single, it wouldn’t matter. He still loves Lavina. He’s been corresponding with her ever since she left, probably begging her to come back. And now he’s trying to find her and get her to come home.”

  “You’re doing it again. Deflecting. We were talking about you, not him. I have sisters, you know. I know how it’s done.”

  “Then stop being so personal, Tyler West. You mustn’t say such things to me.”

  “It’s only the truth. You’re an attractive woman with a good mind. If the men in your town don’t see that, too bad for them.”

  If he didn’t stop, her face would spontaneously combust. She had never been called attractive in her life. She was tall, plain, big-boned Emma who did what had to be done without complaint. Who never set a foot outside the Ordnung, never did the unexpected.

  Except for those letters painted on the side of the house.

  Ja. Except for those. And her book. That was definitely stepping outside the Ordnung. And look what it got her. A holiday in someone else’s world and the companionship of an Englisch man whose merry eyes saw far too much.

  “I’m sorry, Emma. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. Do you know how many years it’s been since I saw a woman blush?”

  “It can’t be that many. You have to be five or six years younger than me.”

  “I’m thirty-six.”

  Goodness. “Are you married?”

  “Not I. Haven’t found anyone who would settle for me.”

  Thirty-six and not married. “And here I thought I had problems.”

  “Mostly because I haven’t got time to date. I work long hours, and on the weekends I read people’s manuscripts. It’s all I can do to get to the gym three times a week.”

  “You need to come to Whinburg. John would have you out in the fields tilling the corn. You wouldn’t need to find time to work out then.”

  He grinned at her, making him look even younger. “Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll do more than stalk you on Google Earth.”

  “You’d better not. Bad enough I’m going to have to explain my trip to the city. I couldn’t explain you at all.”

  “Maybe I’ll give the guys out there some competition. That should open their eyes.”

  He expected her to laugh, but unaccountably, her own eyes filled with tears. She tried to hide behind her coffee cup, blinking furiously, but it did no good. Ach, this was why a woman should wear her away bonnet out in public—so she could use modesty to keep the whole world from intruding on her emotion.

  “Emma, I’m sorry.” Tyler moved to the chair next to her and pulled her napkin off her lap. He handed it to her. “I feel like I’m spending all our time together apologizing. I didn’t mean to make you cry. It was thoughtless. Forgive me.”

  “You’re f-forgiven.”

  But it was not his words that had touched her on the raw. It was the certainty that even if someone did give the men of Whinburg a little competition, it would do no good at all.

  To Emma’s enormous relief, Carrie waited on the other side of the barrier at the Lancaster station. She had been shaken so far out of her normal self that she hugged her hard, surprising both of them.

  “Emma? Are you all right?”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat before it got big enough to push out tears. “I’m fine. I’m just glad to see you and not—” She stopped.

  “Not Joshua Steiner?”

  Emma sucked in a long breath and gripped the handle of her traveling case as though it were a life raft and she a swimmer trying to climb out of the water. “How did you know?” Carrie’s cheeks had turned pink—the very shade of Emma’s. “Look at us. Please don’t tell me the whole Gmee knows he rode up here with me yesterday.”

  “The whole Gmee, plus every relative outside it who might have gotten a letter from someone today.” Emma closed her eyes and resisted the urge to scream while Carrie went on, “Honestly, I offered to come with you. You should have let me.” Carrie waved at one of the cars in the parking lot, and the driver started the engine. “We’ll talk more later.”

  So Emma had time to cool off during the drive down to Whinburg. Carrie chatted about inconsequential things, like what progress she and Amelia had made on the quilt yesterday, and the vegetables the two of them had planted now that the weather had finally committed itself to spring.

  When they reached Whinburg, Emma leaned forward. “We’ll drop my friend off first, please. I’ll walk from there.”

  Carrie gazed at her in surprise. “Are you sure? It’s three miles. And you have to cross the county highway.”

  “After Times Square, the highway is not a problem. The walk will be good, and I need the time.” Time to come back to her real life. Time to appreciate the silence. Time to slow down. With all this whizzing from city to train to car, she’d hardly had a moment to catch her breath and thank the good Gott for bringing her back in one whole piece.

  Mostly whole, anyway.

  They crunched down the Miller lane, the driver going at a crawl. “I’m afraid I’m going to hit one of these chickens.”

  “Don’t worry,” Carrie reassured her. “They know what cars and buggies are. They’ll move.”

  They got out, and Emma paid him while the chickens crowded around Carrie as if she were the one who had left them for the big city. “Can you come in for some coffee and cake?”

  “Think I can do that, walk three miles, and get home in time for supper?”

  “Only if you don’t have to make it.”

  Emma followed Carrie inside, and closed the door on the disappointed hens. Silly things. Did they think she was going to let them in the house?

  “We’re going over to Karen’s, where no doubt she’ll spend the entire evening grilling me like a pork chop.”

  Carrie spooned coffee into the pot and set water on the stove to heat. “If you wouldn’t go gadding about the countryside with a man, she wouldn’t have to.”

  “He wasn’t the only one.”

  It was a second before Carrie could speak. “What do you mean? Did you meet a man on this trip?”

  “Sure. The man who wrote those letters. Tyler West. The man who sent the train ticket so I could go and see him.”

  “What was he like?” Carrie asked cautiously, as if Emma would spring another man out of her pocket at any moment.

  “He’s thirty-six and unmarried. He’s a literary agent and he spared no expense to convince me to let him have my book to sell.”

  “And did you?”

  “Of course not. Bishop Daniel would never allow it.”

  “The way everyone is talking, you could say you flew to the moon whether he allowed it or not, and people would believe it.”

  “You’d better tell me, Carrie. I don’t want to be ambushed by Karen when I walk into the kitchen.”

  “Maybe you should tell me what Joshua Steiner was doing taking you to the train station in the first place,” Carrie
said. “How did all that come about?”

  “Karen arranged the whole thing behind my back. I came out of the house and there he was in the car. He said he had business in Lancaster, and it was not my place to tell him he could not come.” She took a deep breath and committed herself to the plunge. “And then he asked me to go with him to Lehmans’ for Eli Fischer’s birthday supper on Friday.”

  Carrie dropped the spoon, and the sugar she’d meant for the coffee went all over the counter. “He asked you for a date?”

  “Don’t sound so surprised. Not after all that talk about Aaron King this winter.”

  “Yes, but I knew that wasn’t true. This is different.” Carrie scrubbed at her spotless counter with the dishcloth.

  She couldn’t leave her best friend with such a look on her face. If she’d said she’d gone to a Broadway show with an Englisch man, Carrie couldn’t have been more shocked. So she told her what had happened on the train platform in Lancaster, and when she was done, felt drained. Even the journey itself had not taken this much out of her.

  “Do you care about Joshua?” Carrie finally asked, as carefully as if each word were a bird’s egg, liable to break at a breath. “Is that what’s behind this?”

  It was on the tip of Emma’s tongue to say, No, but if he cares about me, I’d be tempted to settle. But deep down, it would be a lie. She could not settle. If she couldn’t have the man who held her heart in his hand, she’d learn to accept being single. There were worse things.

  So instead, she said, “Is that so bad?”

  Carrie brought two mugs of coffee and slid into her chair. “No, not if you—I mean, if he’s—” Why was she blushing? “He—he doesn’t have the best reputation, that’s all. And you…well, you’re not very experienced with men and I’d hate for you to…”

  Ah. No wonder Carrie’s fair skin was the color of a beetroot. It wasn’t easy to say words like that, even to your best friend. “You’re sweet to be concerned. I mean that, Liewi.” She laid a hand on Carrie’s work-worn one and squeezed. “But I’ve known Joshua all my life. I know what he used to be, and I know what he is now. If he wants to amuse himself by walking me to Lehmans’ and starting up more gossip than any man needs, then that’s fine with me. But my eyes are open.”