"It's not up to us, though, is it?" one boy had asked.
"No," Michael had said. "It's not up to us. But we can influence it. We'll have to do a good job. We'll have to be convincing."
"Hi, Michael." Celine appeared at his office door. She wore a smile he couldn’t read. "It's almost seven-thirty."
He nodded, touched his mouth with his napkin. "Be right there," he said.
Celine disappeared, and with a reluctant sigh, Michael stood up to face the unknown.
There were seven people in the group, but two were missing that evening. Next to Celine sat Ian Jackson, who like Michael had come to the Mennonite faith through marriage rather than being raised in a Mennonite family. Frank Howe sat on the other side of Celine. He was the father of the boy Michael had seen at Hershey Park when he'd been with Rachel. Next to Frank was Ellie Ryan, probably the most conservative member of his congregation. She had moved from Bird-in-Hand to Reflection and always made a point of the fact that she was merely trying the Reflection church on for size. Even though she'd been part of the congregation for two years now, she had not yet pulled both feet in the door.
"Hey, Rev." Ian moved his chair to open the circle and let him in. No one in this church called him Reverend, except Ian. And with Ian he knew it was a term of affection. He'd met the young man five or six years ago, when Lily drew him into the church. He'd counseled the couple before they got married, and what always stuck in his mind was Ian's answer to his question about how they met. Ian had been doing volunteer work at the ASPCA when Lily came in to exercise the dogs.
"I watched her for a while," Ian had told him, "and then I said to myself, 'Ian, this woman is like a greenhouse.'"
"A greenhouse?" Michael had asked.
"Yes. She has a purpose, she's efficient, yet she's warm to the point of giving off heat and she's so open you can see clear through her."
Michael had known right then that those two were a match. Since that day, every time he saw Lily he couldn’t help but picture the clear glass and warm confines of a greenhouse.
Although none of them were assigned to lead the group, he or Celine usually got things rolling. Tonight it was Celine.
"Let's check in," she said. "You want to start, Frank?"
Frank drew in a breath. "Well, things are better with Sean," he said, referring to his son. He must have talked about Sean at the last meeting, the one Michael had missed.
"He caught Sean smoking," Celine said to Michael.
"Well, I didn't make a big deal out of it, like you all said," Frank reported. "And it's all blown over. I don't think he'll be doing it again." He looked at Ian, who took the cue.
"I'm doin' good," Ian said. Ian was almost always "doin' good." He rarely had anything urgent to report, although occasionally he'd talk about his longing for children and Lily's fear of having them. "Nothing major going on." He nodded to Michael.
"Well," Michael said. "Jace really misses Katy." He realized the instant the words left his mouth that he always used Jace in here. Jace was the one worry in his life he was willing to present to the world. He couldn’t see himself discussing his other concerns with the group. Some role model. He was playing a game. But it was to protect the others, wasn't it? How would people feel if they thought their minister didn’t have his act together? Let them think he had an unhappy, troubled son. He held Jace up to them like an offering. The realization took him aback, and it was a moment before he continued. "This separation is hard on him," he said.
"When's Katy due back?"Ellie asked.
"Mid-October." He'd spoken with Katy the night before, and she had returned to her cool and guarded self again. It was as if a different woman had made that tearful, middle-of-the-night phone call to him. Michael turned to Ellie, wanting to get the spotlight off himself. "And how was your week?" he asked.
Ellie offered some response, but he didn't really hear her. Nor did he pay much attention to Celine when she checked in. He was waiting for what he knew was coming, and after a moment or two of silence, it began.
Frank shifted in his chair. "We talked about your situation last time, Michael," he said. "You weren't here, and we had some…some bad feelings about talking about it without you, but we had to. It was pressing on us. I guess we were all hoping it would just go away. But it hasn't."
"No," Celine said gently. "No. The whole situation seems to have intensified this week."
"I'm not sure what you mean by 'the situation.'" He would volunteer nothing until he had a clear definition of what they were talking about.
"This is almost exactly what happened at my last church," Ellie said. "When the minister starts to lose his…his integrity, it filters down through the congregation. I don't want to see that happen here."
The skin beneath his shirt collar felt very warm. "Please explain what you mean, Ellie. What do you mean, I'm losing my integrity?"
"That's a little strong, Ellie," Ian said.
"We want to give you all our support, Michael," Celine said, leaning toward him. Celine had once wanted to be a minister, but family commitments had gotten in her way. She had become an elder instead, and she was excellent in that position, but Michael was not accustomed to having her in control. He didn’t like this sudden reversal of roles.
He sighed. "You're talking about the rumors," he said.
"Rumors based on fact," Frank said.
"We're not here to judge Rachel Huber—or you, Michael," Celine said. "We want to help you. You're very important to us."
He was trapped. He leaned forward himself, elbows on his knees. "Please listen to me," he said. "I've known Rachel since I was seven years old. She was one of my best friends. If she were a man and I was spending time with him, no one would be batting an eye."
"If people saw you with your arm around him like they have with Rachel Huber, they'd be batting an eye for sure," Frank said.
Ian made a disgusted sound. He was head of the tolerance committee and didn't take well to homophobic sentiment, but Michael was too struck by Frank's words to notice anything else. Someone had seen him with his arm around Rachel? He couldn’t even remember doing that—at least not in public.
"That's irrelevant," Ellie said. "She's not a man, and she's not just anyone. You know, I lived in Bird-in-Hand when the incident happened with the kids in her classroom, and I was just twelve. It seemed like it was happening far away, like it couldn't possibly happen in my school. When I first moved here, I had a fleeting thought about it. You know how everyone around here equates Reflection with that tragedy. I understand you were good friends, Michael, but many people are distressed. They feel like you're not only betraying Katy, but the church as well."
"I'm not…" His voice was too loud. He worked to lower it. "I'm not betraying anyone," he said. "Too much is being read into this."
"I've been getting a lot of calls," Celine said. "So have the other elders. People are calling totally out of concern and love for you. Some people think that having Katy away this long has been hard on you, having to deal with Jace alone and everything. This is the first time you and she have done any voluntary service separately, isn't it?"
"Yes, but—"
"Please, Michael, for our sake as well as your own, nip this thing in the bud."
"There is nothing to nip." He wanted to be back in the safe and boisterous confines of the youth group.
"Look, Michael," Frank said, "you've been seen all over the place with her, and not just looking like friends, either."
He sat up straight and tried to smile. "There are reasonable explanations for all of this, but I don't like being put in the position of having to defend myself against rumors."
"Maybe it'd help, though, Rev," Ian suggested gently. "I mean if you just addressed the whole issue up front, maybe—"
"Your wife is making a sacrifice," Ellie interrupted. She had tears in her eyes. "She's thousands of miles from home and her family, helping people who need her desperately. Even if your relationship with Rachel Huber is completely innocent—whi
ch I'll tell you frankly, Michael, no one believes—you need to end it."
The meeting seemed to drag on forever. He tried to explain the tenor of his relationship with Rachel. He tried to discount the rumors. He tried to engage the others in helping him put an end to unfounded concerns, all the while knowing that he was being no more honest with them than he was with himself.
* * *
Celine came into his office after the meeting as he was getting ready to leave.
He looked up from his desk.
"I'm sorry, Michael," she said. "We had to address it. It's gotten too big, and I'm very concerned. I see you every day, and I see you holding it in, whatever 'it' is. You don't look at me. Sometimes I've noticed that you have trouble concentrating on whatever it is we're talking about. You stare off into space."
He looked at her sharply. "Do I?" he asked.
She nodded as she sat down. "Can you talk to one of the other elders, maybe? How about opening up to Lewis? You know how much he loves you."
"If I feel it's necessary, I'll talk to him."
She sat down and rested her hands on his desk. "I hope that, even if you're not willing to admit what's going on to us, at least you're admitting it to yourself," she said. "That you're trying to work this through for yourself."
He looked across his desk at her and felt himself giving in. "I am," he said softly, and he felt the sudden shift of power in the room. He had been her mentor until this moment.
"I've looked up to you," she said gently. "You've always shown me that tough things could be handled in a way consistent with our faith. And now…" She shook her head. "You know what it would mean, don't you? If you let your marriage fall apart?"
"My marriage is not going to fall apart. My marriage—" He couldn’t remember what he'd been about to say. There was a blank in his mind where his marriage should have been.
"Aside from the personal element, the professional consequences are immense."
"Celine, please. I'm not going to let that happen."
"You have a responsibility to us, Michael. "
"I know that."
She stood up and smiled at him. "All right," she said. "Enough for now. Good night, Michael, and God bless."
She left the room, and he stared at the empty doorway for a moment afterward. He must be as transparent as a greenhouse himself, he thought. How else could so many people know what was in his heart?
–22–
The nursing home in Lancaster seemed better than most, cleaner and cheerier. The smell was antiseptic but not unpleasant, and a huge bouquet of flowers graced the coffee table in the empty front room. Rachel guessed that Marielle Hostetter had the money to put herself in a decent place.
She tracked down a receptionist who told her to "chust seat yourself dawn" while she looked for a nurse. Rachel sat down on the sofa behind the coffee table with its exuberant bouquet. It was Monday afternoon, and she hadn't told anyone about this visit. Michael and Gram were bound to try to discourage her, and she was determined to make this effort. Granted, the thought of saving the land through simple persuasion of its owner seemed far-fetched at this point, but it sounded as though no one had tried in a while. It could hardly hurt.
The receptionist walked past the door to the waiting room, and Rachel looked at her watch, wondering if they were going to let her in. She pictured Marielle Hostetter's room under guard.
Suddenly, a round-faced woman appeared in the doorway. "You here to see Marielle?" she asked, an expectant smile on her face.
"Yes." Rachel stood up.
"Great. I'm her nurse. Follow me." She led Rachel down a long corridor to an open door at the end. Standing in the doorway; she bellowed above the sound of a TV, "You have company, honey!" Then she turned to Rachel. "Go on in," she said. "Let me know if you need anything."
The nurse disappeared down the hall, and Rachel stepped into the doorway of the small bedroom. A woman sat in a large recliner a few feet in front of a television set on which a game show was playing. The television audience roared, and the woman laughed along with them. She seemed completely oblivious to Rachel's presence.
"Ms. Hostetter?" Rachel took a step into the room, but the older woman didn't turn her head from the TV.
Rachel walked up to the chair and stood at an angle, near the television. "Ms. Hostetter?" she asked.
Marielle looked up at her, then back at the TV. "This is Wheel of Fortune," she said. "My favorite."
What did that mean? Did she not want to be interrupted? Rachel was intrigued by her face. It was—there was no other term for it—misshapen. As if someone had pulled on the corners of a square of putty until it took on this altered, injured look. Along one side of her forehead ran a deep red scar, and Rachel shuddered at the memory of how she'd gotten it. She had never seen this face before. Not in the woods, not anywhere. She would not have forgotten it. Despite its oddness, though, it was not the bat woman's face from her imagination. This woman looked harmless.
"Could I speak with you for a minute?" she asked.
Marielle looked up at her again, then motioned a finger in the direction of the T.V. "Turn that thing down," she said loudly.
Rachel lowered the volume, then pulled a straight-back chair from beneath a small desk and sat down near the older woman.
"My name is Rachel Huber." She studied the woman's face, hunting for any light of recognition at the Huber name, but she could find none.
"Rachel Huber," the woman repeated.
"My grandfather was a friend of your father's."
Marielle's eyes remained blank, and Rachel continued.
"I'd like to talk with you about your property, if you're willing."
Marielle's eyes had drifted back to the TV again, although she couldn't possibly hear it. "She should buy a vowel," she said.
"I know you may be under some pressure to develop your land, but you don't have to. You can be the one to have the final say."
Marielle's gaze seemed to be attached to the TV by an invisible rubber band. Rachel wanted to take that boxy head and turn it toward her, hold it there. She was not even certain the old woman was listening to her. Or perhaps she heard her very well and was merely feigning a lack of interest. People were probably right when they said Marielle would speak only through her attorney.
"Maybe you don't realize the impact the development will have on Reflection," she said. She listed every cost to the quality of life she could think of, ending with the possibility of driving the Amish from the area.
"I'm listening to you," the woman said a few times as Rachel spoke, but she seemed transfixed by the silent picture of the game show.
Rachel finally stood up with a sigh. She reached over to turn up the volume on the TV. "Well, please think about what I've told you," she said. "You have a very beautiful piece of land. It seems a shame to destroy it."
Marielle's head suddenly darted up. "I have beautiful land and it's mine," she said. "It says so in my Bible. The land thingy."
Rachel was not dealing with a lucid mind. "In your Bible?" she asked. Perhaps Marielle was religious. Maybe she was following the dictates of some Scripture in making the decision about her land.
"Yes." Marielle pressed the lever on the side of the chair and struggled to raise herself out of it. Rachel helped, her hand on the older woman's elbow. Marielle walked without difficulty to a dresser, where she pulled open a drawer and felt around beneath some neatly folded articles of clothing. "Here," she said, holding her hand out to Rachel.
Rachel put out her own hand, and Marielle dropped something into it. A key.
"It's in the Bible," the older woman said. "The land thingy."
"What is this the key to?" Rachel asked. "Is it to your house?"
Marielle shoved her gently toward the door. "Wheel of Fortune is my favorite," she said.
Rachel stood outside the door, looking in at Marielle absorbed once again in her program. She studied the key in her hand. Marielle either didn’t know what she was doing or k
new entirely too well. Either way, the key had been given to her freely. She slipped it into the pocket of her pants and walked back down the hall.
The small front room was still empty, and Rachel noticed a phone on one of the end tables. She found the receptionist again and asked for permission to make a call, and she chewed her lower lip as she dialed the number for the church. She wasn't certain Michael would want to hear from her. She hadn't spoken to him since Friday night, when he'd called to tell her about his so-called support group—and that he didn't think they should see each other over the weekend. He'd planned to take Jason camping.
But surely he would want to know about this.
"You're where?" he said when she'd reached him.
"At the nursing home. They seemed pleased Marielle had a visitor. It was extremely easy to get in to see her."
"And she actually talked to you?"
"If you can call it that. She really seemed lost."
Michael sighed. "I'm sure her nephews are behind the whole thing. They're the ones who will benefit the most."
"Have you talked to them?"
Michael groaned. "Dozens of times. She has every right to develop her land, they say, and it will ultimately be good for the town. A lot of people honestly believe that. And I suppose there are some factions for whom that's the truth."
"She gave me what I think is the key to her house."
He was quiet for a minute. "The key to her house?" he repeated.
Rachel described the odd exchange, including Marielle's mention of the "land thingy" in the Bible. "She gave the key to me of her free will. I think we should go check out her cottage."
Michael laughed. "Oh, right. I always wanted to see the oven she shoved little kids into."
"Well, she's not shoving anyone in there these days." Rachel sounded brave, although the thought of making her way through those deep woods filled with horror stories from her childhood was not enticing.
"What would be the point?' Michael asked. "What would we be looking for?"
"I don't know," Rachel said. "Maybe she's marked a passage in her Bible that would help us understand why she's taking this stance. Then we could use it to dissuade her. Maybe."