“What do you have in mind to do with the house?” Ted asked.

Fiona pointed up the stairs. “My living quarters will be up there. The old parlor will make a perfect waiting room, and I’ll partition the other rooms to be an exam room, an office, and maybe space for birthing classes, if there’s a demand for them,” she said.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if there was,” Ted said. “Plenty of Amish women prefer home births. You should be able to build a good practice, if you stay.”

“If?” Her eyebrows shot up. “I’m not going through all this trouble with the intent of leaving. I’m not going anywhere.” She stroked the intricate carving of the newel post. “This is home.”

Her voice trembled with emotion on the last word, touching him. It made him want to know what lay behind that emotion. But he didn’t figure he had the right. Not yet.

MARTA PERRY

has written everything, including Sunday school curriculum, travel articles and magazine stories, in twenty years of writing, but she feels she’s found her home in the stories she writes for Love Inspired.

Marta lives in rural Pennsylvania, but she and her husband spend part of each year at their second home in South Carolina. When she’s not writing, she’s probably visiting her children and her beautiful grandchildren, traveling or relaxing with a good book.

Marta loves hearing from readers and she’ll write back with a signed bookplate or bookmark. Write to her c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279, e-mail her at marta@martaperry.com, or visit her on the Web at www.martaperry.com.

Restless Hearts
Marta Perry

MILLS & BOON

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And we know that in all things, God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to His purpose.

—Romans 8:28

This story is dedicated to my granddaughter,

Estella Terese Johnson, with much love from

Grammy. And, as always, to Brian.

Contents

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

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

She was lost in the wilds of Pennsylvania. Fiona Flanagan peered through her windshield, trying to decipher which of the narrow roads the tilted signpost pointed to. Maybe this wasn’t really the wilds, but the only living creature she’d encountered in the last fifteen minutes was the brown-and-white cow that stared mournfully at her from its pasture next to the road.

Clearly the cow wasn’t going to help. She frowned down at the map drawn by one of her numerous Flanagan cousins, and decided that squiggly line probably meant she should turn right.

She could always phone her cousin Gabe, but she shrank from having to admit she couldn’t follow a few simple directions. Both he and his wife had volunteered to drive her or to get one of his siblings to drive her, but she’d insisted she could do this herself.

The truth was that she’d spent the past two weeks feeling overwhelmed by the open friendliness offered by these relatives she’d never met before. She’d spent so many years feeling like an outsider in her father’s house that she didn’t know how to take this quick acceptance.

The pastures on either side of the road gave way to fields of cornstalks, yellow and brown in October. Maybe that was a sign that she was approaching civilization. Or not. She could find her way around her native San Francisco blindfolded, but the Pennsylvania countryside was another story.

The road rounded a bend and there, quite suddenly, was a cluster of houses and buildings that had to be the elusive hamlet she’d been seeking. Crossroads, the village was called, and it literally was a crossroads, a collection of dwellings grown up around the point at which two of the narrow blacktop roads crossed.

Relieved, she slowed the car, searching for something that might be a For Sale sign. The real estate agent with whom she’d begun her search had deserted her when he couldn’t interest her in any of the sterile, bland, modern buildings he’d shown her on the outskirts of the busy small city of Suffolk. But she didn’t want suburban, she wanted the country. She had a vision of her practice as a nurse-midwife in a small community where she’d find a place to call home.

Through the gathering dusk she could see the glow of house lights in the next block. But most of the village’s few businesses were already closed. She drove by a one-pump service station, open, and a minuscule post office, closed. The Penn Dutch Diner had a few lights on, but only five cars graced its parking lot.

The Crossroads General Store, also closed, sat comfortably on her right, boasting a display of harness and tack in one window and an arrangement of what had to be genuine Amish quilts in the other. And there, next to it, was the sign she’d searched for: For Sale.

She drew up in front of the house. It had probably once been a charming Victorian, but now it sagged sadly, as if ashamed of such signs of neglect as cracked windows and peeling paint. But it had a wide, welcoming front porch, with windows on either side of the door, and a second floor that could become a cozy apartment above her practice.

For the first time in days of searching, excitement bubbled along her nerves. This might be it. If she squinted, she could picture the porch bright with autumn flowers in window boxes, a calico cat curled in the seat of a wicker rocker, and a neat brass plate beside the front door: Fiona Flanagan, Nurse-Midwife.

Home. The word echoed in her mind, setting up a sweet resonance. Home.

She slid out of the car, taking the penlight from her bag. Tomorrow she could get the key from the reluctant real estate agent, but she’d at least get a glimpse inside in the meantime. She hurried up the three steps to the porch, avoiding a nasty gap in the boards, and approached the window on the left.

The feeble gleam of the penlight combined with the dirt on the window to thwart her ability to see inside. She rubbed furiously at the glass with a tissue. At a minimum she needed a waiting room, office and exam room, and if—

“What do you think you’re doing?” A gruff voice barked out the question, and the beam of a powerful light hit her like a blow, freezing her in place. “Well? Turn around and let me see you.”

Heart thudding, she turned slowly, the penlight falling from suddenly nerveless fingers. “I was just 1-looking.”

Great. She sounded guilty even to herself.

The tall, broad silhouette loomed to enormous proportions with the torchlight in her eyes. She caught a glimpse of some metallic official insignia on the car that was pulled up in front of hers.

The man must have realized that the light was blinding her because he lowered the beam fractionally. “Come down off the porch.”

She scrabbled for the wandering penlight, grabbed it and hurried down the steps to the street, trying to pull herself together. Really, she was overreacting. The man couldn’t be as big and menacing as she was imagining.

But at ground level with him, she realized that her imagination wasn’t really that far off. He must have stood well over six feet, with a solid bulk that suggested he was as immovable as one of the nearby hills. In the dim light, she made out a craggy face that looked as if it had been carved from rock. A badge glinted on his chest.

She rushed to explain. “Really, I didn’t mean any harm. I understand this building is for sale, and I just wanted to have a quick look. I can come back tomorrow with the real estate agent.”

She turned toward her car. Somehow, without giving the impression that the mountain had moved, the man managed to be between her and the vehicle.

Her heart began to pound against her ribs. She was alone in a strange place, with a man who was equally strange, and her cell phone was in her handbag, which lay unhelpfully on the front seat of the car she couldn’t reach.

“Not so fast,” he rumbled. “Let’s see some identification, please.”

At least she thought he said please—that slow rumble was a little difficult to distinguish. She could make out the insignia on his badge now, and her heart sank.

Crossroads Township Police. Why couldn’t she have fallen into the hands of a nice, professional State Trooper, instead of a village cop who probably had an innate suspicion of strangers?

“My driver’s license is in my car,” she pointed out.

Wordlessly, he stood back for her to pass him and then followed her closely enough to open the door before she could reach the handle. She grabbed her wallet, pulling out the California driver’s license and handing it to him.

“Ca-li-for-ni-a.” He seemed to pronounce all of the syllables separately.

“Yes, California.” Nerves edged her voice. “Is that a problem, Officer?”

She snapped her mouth shut before she could say anything else. Don’t make him angry. Never argue with a man who’s wearing a large badge on his chest.

“Could be.”

She blinked. She almost thought there was a thread of humor in the words.

He handed the ID back. “What brings you to Crossroads Township, Ms. Flanagan?”

“I’m looking for a house to buy. Someone from the real estate office mentioned this place. I got a little lost, or I’d have been here earlier.”

She shifted her weight uneasily from one foot to the other as she said the words. That steady stare made her nervous. He couldn’t really detain her for looking in a window, could he?

She looked up, considering saying that, and reconsidered at the sight of a pair of intense blue eyes in a stolid face made up entirely of planes. Don’t say anything to antagonize him.

“I see.” He invested the two words with a world of doubt. “You have anyone locally who can vouch for you?”

Finally she realized what she should have sooner. Of course she had someone to vouch for her. She had a whole raft of cousins. Family. Not a word that usually had much warmth for her, but maybe now—

Ted Rittenhouse saw the relief that flooded the woman’s face. She’d obviously come up with a solution she thought would satisfy him.

“I’m staying with a cousin, Gabe Flanagan.” She was so relieved that the words tripped over each other. She snatched a cell phone from her bag. “Look, you can call him. He’ll vouch for me. Here’s my cell phone. You can use it.”

“Seems to me I’ve heard of those newfangled gadgets,” he said dryly, pulling his own cell phone from his uniform pocket. “You have his number?”

Even in the dim light provided by the dome lamp of her car, he could see the color that flooded her fair skin at that. He assessed her while he punched in the number she gave him. Slim, erect, with a mane of strawberry-blond hair pulled back from a heart-shaped face.

A pair of intelligent gray eyes met his directly, in spite of the embarrassment that heightened her color. Something about the cut of her tan slacks and corduroy jacket suggested a bit more sophistication than was usually found in Crossroads Township, where the standard attire was jeans, except for the Plain People.

“Mr. Flanagan? This is Ted Rittenhouse, Crossroads Township Police. I’ve got a young lady here who says she’s staying with you. Fiona Flanagan, her name is.”

“Fiona? She’s my cousin.” Quick concern filled the man’s voice, wiping away some of Ted Rittenhouse’s suspicion. Potential housebreakers didn’t usually come equipped with respectable-sounding relatives. “Has she had a car accident? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing wrong. She maybe got a little lost is all. I’ll guide her back to your place all right.” The Pennsylvania Dutch cadence, wiped from his voice during his years in the city, had come back the instant he’d moved back home to Crossroads. “If you’ll just give me directions….”

As Flanagan gave him the directions, Ted realized he knew exactly where that farm was. The next township over, but he knew most of the back roads and landmarks in the county, even if that area wasn’t his jurisdiction. Somehow you never forget the land that meant home when you were a kid. Maybe that was especially true of a place like this, where the same families had owned farms for generations.

When he slid the phone back in his pocket, he realized Ms. Flanagan was watching him with wariness in those clear eyes.

“It’s not necessary for you to guide me anywhere. I can get back to my cousin’s on my own.”

“No problem at all. It’s not out of my way. I’ll guide you there.”

“I’d prefer to go alone.” She enunciated the words as if he was a dumb hick who couldn’t understand.

Well, fair enough. In her eyes, he probably was. But he wasn’t going to let her just disappear, not until that last faint suspicion was cleared up. As the law in the township, he was responsible and he took it seriously.

“Sorry, ma’am. You heard me tell your cousin I’d guide you home, and I’m not about to let you get lost. Again.”

For a moment longer she glared at him, sensing he was poking mild fun at her. Then she jerked a nod, as if to admit defeat, and rounded her car to slide into the driver’s seat.

He paused, flashing the light around the old Landers place and then over Ruth Moser’s general store next door. Be a good thing if someone bought the Landers place. It had been standing empty too long. But Ruth wouldn’t appreciate it if someone up and put a phony Pennsylvania Dutch tourist trap right next to her shop.

Course he didn’t know what the Flanagan woman had in mind for the building. He didn’t think anyone who dressed like she did would sell plastic Amish dolls made in some third world country.

No sign of life in the general store, and everything looked locked up tight. He’d advised Ruth to put in an alarm system, but so far she hadn’t listened. Folks liked to think this was still the quiet countryside it had been fifty years ago, but that wasn’t so.

He walked back to the patrol car and slid in. Vandalism, petty crime, the theft of some handmade Amish quilts out at Moses Schmidt’s place…Even Crossroads Township had its share of crime. And when he’d pinned this badge on, he’d made a vow to protect and to serve.

A familiar pang went through him at the thought. He pulled out, watching the rearview mirror to be sure the Flanagan woman pulled out behind him. He thought he’d made the right choice in coming back home after the trouble in Chicago, but maybe a man could never know until the end of his life if he’d been following God’s leading or his own inclinations.

As it was, there were those he loved who’d never understand his choices. Thank the Lord, they were willing to love him anyway.

At least he’d been coming back to something he knew when he’d come here. What on earth would bring a woman like Fiona Flanagan to buy a place here? The address on her driver’s license was San Francisco. Did she have some pie-in-the-sky dream of rural bliss? If so, she’d no doubt be disappointed.

He’d frightened her when he’d accosted her so abruptly, and he was sorry for that. All he’d seen had been a dark figure at the window of the empty house, and he’d reacted automatically. Still, she’d recovered soon enough, ready to flare up at him in an instant.

There was the gate to the Flanagan farm. When he saw the fanciful sign with its cavorting animals, recollection began to come. He’d heard about this place—they trained service animals for the disabled. If she really belonged here, Ms. Flanagan was probably all right.

She tooted her horn, as if to say that he could leave her now. Instead, he turned into the lane and drove up to the house. It was full dark, and it wouldn’t hurt to see the woman safely into her cousin’s hands.

The farmhouse door opened the moment his lights flashed across the windows, and a man waited outside by the time he came to a stop. The other car drew up under the willow tree with a little spurting of gravel, as if the driver’s temper were not quite under control.

He got out, leaving the motor running as he took the hand the man extended. “I’m Ted Rittenhouse.”

“Good to meet you. Gabe Flanagan.” Flanagan turned to his cousin, who came toward them reluctantly, probably too polite to just walk away from him. “Fiona, we were getting a little worried when you weren’t back by dark. I’m glad you ran into someone who could help you get home.”

She managed a smile, but he suspected she was gritting her teeth. “Officer Rittenhouse was very helpful.”

“It was my pleasure, ma’am.” He would have tipped his hat, but he’d left it in the car. “I hope you’ll stop by and see me if you ever come to Crossroads again. I’d be glad to be of help to you.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Thank you for leading me back.” She hesitated a moment, and then she held out her hand.

Surprised, he took it. It felt small but strong in his. “Good night, Ms. Flanagan.”

“Good night.” She might have wanted to add “good riddance,” but either manners or common sense kept a slight smile on her face. She turned and walked toward the house, her back very straight.

Fiona crossed the guest bedroom at Gabe and Nolie’s farmhouse a few days later, charmed again by the curve of the sleigh bed and the colorful patchwork quilt. Maybe she’d have something like that in her new house. Her house, officially, as of ten o’clock this morning.

She had to admit she’d hesitated about buying the place in Crossroads after her experience there the other night. But the house was irresistible, and, in the clear light of day, she had to admit the police officer was just doing his duty.

Besides, the lure of the place overrode everything else. Home, it kept saying to her. Home.

Crossroads, she’d learned, was a fairly large area, encompassing several small villages on the outskirts of Suffolk, as well as farmland. Surely a township police officer like Ted Rittenhouse would be too busy with his other duties to bother about her. Or to annoy her.

She picked up her jacket and slipped it on. October had abruptly turned chilly, at least for the day. Still, anyone who’d grown up in San Francisco was used to changeable weather. That wouldn’t bother her.

She paused at the dresser, letting her fingers slip across the painted surface of the rectangular wooden box she’d brought with her across the country. It was all she had of the mother she’d never known. How much had that influenced her decision to come here? She wasn’t sure, and she didn’t like not being sure about something so important. When her advisor in the nurse-midwife program had mentioned that his part of Pennsylvania had a growing need for midwives, something had lit up inside her. Some instinct had said that here she’d find what she was looking for, even if she didn’t quite know what it was.

“That’s a replica of a dower chest,” Nolie spoke from the doorway. “It’s lovely. Did you buy it here?”

Fiona smiled at her hostess. With her fresh-scrubbed face, blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, jeans and flannel shirt, Nolie Flanagan looked more like a teenager than a busy wife and mother, as well as an accomplished trainer of service animals for the disabled.

“I brought it with me. It was my mother’s.” She hoped the shadow she felt when she said the words didn’t show in her voice. “I hate to show my ignorance, but what is a dower chest?”

Nolie came closer, tracing the stiff, painted tulips with their green leaves, fat little hearts and yellow stars in circles that decorated the box. “A traditional dower chest is much larger than this—like a cedar chest—for Pennsylvania Dutch girls to store the linens they make in preparation for their wedding. This smaller one was probably for a child to keep her treasures in.”

It hadn’t occurred to her that Nolie would be a source of information, but her Aunt Siobhan had said that Nolie’s family had lived on this farm for generations. “When you say Pennsylvania Dutch, do you mean Amish?”

Nolie leaned against the dresser, apparently willing to be distracted from whatever chores called her. “The Amish are Pennsylvania Dutch, but not all Pennsylvania Dutch are Amish.” She grinned. “Confusing, I know. And to add to the confusion, we aren’t really Dutch at all. We’re of German descent. William Penn welcomed the early German immigrants, including the Amish. They’ve held on to their identity better than most because of their religious beliefs.”

“It can’t be easy, trying to resist the pressures of the modern world.”

“No. There are always those who leave the community, like your mother.”

Fiona blinked. “I didn’t realize you knew about her.”

Distress showed in Nolie’s blue eyes. “I’m sorry—I didn’t pry, honestly. Siobhan mentioned it, when she told us you were coming.”

Her Aunt Siobhan and Uncle Joe knew about her mother, probably more than she did, of course. During the week she’d spent in their house she’d wondered if they’d talk about her mother, or about the reason her father hadn’t spoken to his brother in over twenty-five years. But they hadn’t, and Fiona was too accustomed to not rocking the boat to mention it herself. In any case, the breach between brothers meant they’d know little of what happened after her parents left.

“It’s all right. I don’t know much about her myself. She died shortly after I was born.”

“I’m sorry,” Nolie said again. “But your father must have spoken of her.”

“No.” She transferred her gaze to the chest, because that was easier than looking into Nolie’s candid eyes. “My father couldn’t take care of me—I was in foster care for years. By the time I went to live with him, he’d remarried.”

And he hadn’t particularly wanted reminders of that early mistake. She wouldn’t say that. She wasn’t looking for pity, and she’d already said more than she’d intended.

Nolie’s hand closed over hers, startling her, and she repressed the urge to pull away. “I know what that’s like. I was in foster care, too. And with a great-aunt who didn’t want me. It can be tough to get past that sometimes.”

Fiona’s throat tightened in response, but the habit of denial was too ingrained. She used the movement of picking up her handbag to draw away.

“It was a long time ago. I don’t think much about it now.” At least, she tried not to.

Nolie made some noncommittal sound that might have been doubt or agreement, but she didn’t push. “I suppose you’ll want to look up your mother’s family, too, now that you’re here.”

Fiona shook her head. She’d been over this and over it, and she was sure she’d made the right decision. “I don’t plan to do that. It’s not the same thing as coming to see the Flanagan family. Aunt Siobhan always tried to keep in touch, and I knew she’d be glad to see me.”

“But they probably—”

“No.” That sounded too curt. She’d have to explain, at least a little. “My mother’s family never made any effort to contact me. The one time my father spoke to me about it, he said they’d rejected my mother for marrying him. It’s hardly likely they’d want to see me.”

“You can’t be sure of that.” Nolie’s face was troubled. “I’d be glad to help you find them. Or maybe that police officer you met could help.”

“No. Thanks anyway.” She forced a smile. “I appreciate it, but I’ve made my decision. I don’t want to find them.”

Because they rejected your mother? The small voice in the back of her mind was persistent. Or because you’re afraid they might reject you?

“If that’s what you want—” Nolie began, but her words were interrupted by a wail from downstairs. “Uh-oh.” She smiled. “Sounds like trouble. That music video keeps her happy for a half hour, but then only Mommy will do. All my years of taking care of animals didn’t prepare me for the demands of one small human.”

“And you love it.” Fiona picked up her corduroy jacket and handbag. “Go ahead, take care of little Siobhan. I’m fine, really.”

Nolie nodded. “If you ever want to talk—”

“Thanks. I’m okay.”

The wails soared in pitch, and Nolie spun and trotted down the steps. “Mommy’s coming. It’s all right.”

Fiona followed more slowly. The maternal love in Nolie’s face was practically incandescent. Seeing that when it happened for the first time was one of the best rewards of being a midwife. Once her practice got on its feet, she’d have that opportunity again and again.

She was off to take possession of her new house, the first step toward her new life.

Lord, please bless this new beginning. Help me not to dwell on the difficulties of the past, but only on the promises of the future.

Chapter Two

When no one answered his knock at the old Landers house, Ted pulled open the screen door and stepped into the hallway, glancing around. Come to think of it, he’d have to start calling this the Flanagan place. Or Flanagan clinic, maybe. Rumor had it she was starting a midwife practice here.

Whatever she was doing, Ms. Flanagan really shouldn’t leave her door standing open that way. Then he noticed that the latch had come loose when he pulled on the screen door, probably one of hundreds of little things to be fixed.

“Ms. Flanagan?”

The two large rooms on either side of the central hallway were empty, except for a few odds and ends of furniture left by the last inhabitants. He could see what attracted the woman to the house—under the dust and neglect were beautiful hardwood floors, and the rooms were graciously proportioned, with bay windows looking out toward the street.

“Hello, is anyone here?”

A muffled call answered him from somewhere upstairs. Taking that for an invitation, he started up the staircase, running his hand along the curving banister. An oval stained-glass window on the landing sent a pattern of color onto the faded linoleum someone had been foolish enough to put over those beautiful stairs.

Sunlight poured through the tall window at one end of the center of the second floor landing. He paused, blinking at the sight of a rickety stepladder under what had to be the opening to the attic. A pair of sneakered feet balanced on the very top. Nothing else was visible of Fiona but a pair of trim legs in dust-streaked jeans.

The stepladder wobbled dangerously, and he grabbed it, steadying it with both hands. “What on earth are you doing up there? Trying to break a leg?”

As soon as the words were out, he realized that was more or less what he’d said that first night when he’d spotted her. Now, at least, she owned the house, but that was no excuse for endangering herself.

Fiona poked her head down from the dark rectangle of the attic opening, looking disheveled and annoyed. “What are you doing here?”

“At the moment, I’m keeping this ladder from collapsing under you.”

“It’s perfectly fine.” Her weight shifted, and the ladder swayed.

He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to let go?”

Her lips clamped together. “No.” She seemed to force the word out. Then, hands braced on the edge of the opening, she started lowering herself.

He caught her elbows and lifted her the rest of the way to the floor. The stepladder, relieved, collapsed in a heap on the dusty floorboards.

For a moment Fiona looked as if she’d like to kick the recalcitrant ladder, but then she managed a rueful smile. “Much as I hate to admit it, it looks as if you’re right.”

“I’ll find something sturdy to stand on and close that for you. No problem.”

“I’d say I don’t need help, but that would just convince you I’m totally irrational.” The smile warmed a bit, and her eyebrows lifted. “Did you come for something in particular?”

“Just being neighborly,” he said mildly. He glanced around, spotting a solid-looking chair in the nearest room, and hauled it over. Fiona wouldn’t be able to reach the ceiling from it, but he could.

He climbed onto the chair, reached up and eased the hatch back into place. It set off a puff of dust as it settled into its groove. He stepped back to the floor.

Fiona, apparently aware of how dirty she was, attempted to transfer the dust from her hands to her jeans, not looking at him. “Thank you.”

“Any time.”

That fierce independence of hers amused him, but it also made him wonder what was behind it. If she couldn’t accept a little nosy neighborliness, she’d never fit in here. He’d had to get used to that again when he came back.

She straightened. “I’m glad this isn’t an official call. As you can see, I’m rather busy just now.”

“Looking over your new purchase from top to bottom,” he agreed. The girls he’d grown up with had had plenty of spirit, giving as good as they got, but Fiona was different. Defensive, almost, and the cop part of his mind wondered what she had to be defensive about.

“It’s a beautiful house, really. It’s just been neglected.” Her smile flickered, and he thought her pride of ownership was getting the better of her wariness with him. “Once I have the renovations done, you won’t know it’s the same place.”

“What do you have in mind to do?” He was happy to keep her talking about the house, because it seemed to put her at ease. Since she was moving in, she was part of his responsibility, and he liked to stay on friendly terms with folks.

“My living quarters will be up here.” She gestured. “At first I thought I’d have to install a kitchen on this floor, but there’s actually a back staircase that leads down to the current kitchen, so I can just use that.”

“A remnant from the days when people had servants, I guess. What happens downstairs?”

“The old parlor will make a perfect waiting room.” She started down the steps, gesturing as she talked, and he followed. “The other rooms will have to be partitioned to make an exam room and an office, maybe space for classes. The birthing clinic where I worked in San Francisco ran a lot of childbirth classes, but I don’t know how much demand there will be here.”

He shrugged, coming down the last step to stand beside her in the hall. “You may be surprised. Plenty of women among the Plain People prefer home births and might enjoy the classes. You should be able to build a good practice, if you stay.”

“If?” Her eyebrows shot up at his words. “I’m not going to all this trouble with the intent of leaving. Why would you say that?”

He shrugged. “You wouldn’t wonder if you knew how this state has been losing medical personnel to other places. We’ve seen too much coming and going, mostly going, to take anything for granted. Folks just start to rely on someone and then find they’ve moved on to greener pastures.”

Especially city-bred people like you, he thought but didn’t say.

“I’m not going anywhere.” She stroked the intricate carving of the newel post. “This place is going to be my home.”

Her voice actually trembled with emotion on the last word, touching him, making him want to know what lay behind that emotion, but he didn’t figure he had the right.

He was here because it was his duty to protect and serve all the residents of his township, he reminded himself. Not because he had a personal interest in a woman like Fiona Flanagan, with her quick tongue and urban manners.

“Well, if that’s what you plan to do with the house, I guess you’re going to need someone to do the carpentry work, won’t you?”

She nodded. “Is there any chance you might be able to recommend someone?”

“There are a couple of possibilities among the Amish carpenters, it being fall and the harvest is in. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Amish,” she repeated, and he couldn’t tell what emotion tightened her face for an instant.

“They’re good carpenters, and this is an Amish community. I’d think you’d want an introduction to them.”

“Yes, of course, that would be perfect.” Whatever the emotion had been, it was gone. “Do you think they’d be able to start soon?”

She looked up at him with such appeal that for a moment he’d do most anything to keep that hope shining in her eyes.

“I’ll see if I can get hold of Mose Stetler. Maybe he can come over today or tomorrow.”

“Thank you so much.” All her wariness was washed away by enthusiasm. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He took a reluctant step toward the door. “I’ll see what I can do.”

And while he was at it, he’d best give himself a good talking to. Fiona’s blend of urban sophistication and innocent enthusiasm was a heady mixture, but he couldn’t afford to be intrigued by a woman like her. If he ever decided to risk himself on love again, it would be with a nice, ordinary woman who understood the balancing act between two worlds that he maintained every day of his life.

By midafternoon, Fiona had finished cleaning the room intended for her bedroom and even hung some clothes in the closet. It wasn’t going to take much more than elbow grease and a little furniture to make her upstairs apartment livable. Now, if Ted came through on his promise to contact the carpenters, she could actually have an opening day in sight.

She’d already gone through the arduous process necessary to get her certification in order, and she’d contacted several obstetricians and the hospital in Suffolk, as well as a birthing center in the city that could use her services on a part-time basis until she got her practice on its feet. Now all that remained was to complete the office and find some clients.

Nolie, who knew the area well, had advised her to build word of mouth by meeting as many people as possible, and she might as well start on that today. After a shower and a change of clothes, she went outside, hesitating for a moment on the porch. She’d much rather be judged on her professional expertise than her personality, but if she planned to build her own practice, this had to be done.

Taking a deep breath and straightening her jacket, she headed for the general store. She’d already noticed how busy it was, and since it was right next door, it was a logical place to start.

The sign on the front door read Ruth Moser, Proprietor. Maybe Ruth would be the friendly type of neighbor who’d let her post her business card where people would see it. Another deep breath was necessary, and then she opened the door and stepped inside.

The store was bigger than she’d thought from the outside—extending back into almost cavernous depths where aisles were stocked with what she supposed were farming supplies, as well as hardware and tools she couldn’t begin to identify. The front part of the store carried groceries, and through an archway she glimpsed what must have been the tourist section—quilts, rag rugs, cloth dolls with blank faces—all the souvenirs a visitor to Pennsylvania Dutch country might want to take home.

“Welcome.” The woman who came toward her wore a print dress with an apron over it. A white prayer cap was perched on abundant gray hair pulled back into a bun. Her smile echoed the welcome. “I’ll spare you the usual Penn Dutch spiel. You’re not a tourist.” She held out her hand. “I’m Ruth Moser.”

Fiona found her hand caught in a grip as strong as a man’s. “I’m Fiona Flanagan. I just bought the house next door.”

“And you’re a nurse-midwife,” Ruth finished for her. “We already know that about you, we do. Hard to keep any secrets in a place like Crossroads, believe me.”

The woman’s smile was contagious. Bright blue eyes in a weathered face inspected Fiona, but it was a friendly inspection that she didn’t find intimidating.

“I guess I don’t need the explanation I’d planned to give you then, do I?”

“Ach, well, you’ll have to forgive us. Folks who live in an area like this all know each other so well that an incomer is a nine days’ wonder. Everyone in the township knows about the new midwife, and welcome news it is. The closest Amish midwife is nearly twenty miles away, and folks out here don’t like going clear into Suffolk, either.”

“I’m certainly glad to hear that.” This was going better than she’d imagined. “I’d hoped you might be willing to post one of my business cards where your customers would see it.”

“Give me a whole stack of them, and I’ll pass them on to anyone who might be thinking of babies,” Ruth said promptly.

“That’s wonderful.” She pulled a handful from the side pocket of her bag. “I’ll bring some more over later, if you can use them.”

“Sure thing.” Ruth took the cards and slipped them into an apron pocket. “I suppose Ted Rittenhouse told you how short of medical help we are around here, unless we want to go into Suffolk.”

Why would she suppose anything of the kind? “Ted Rittenhouse?”

Ruth seemed oblivious to the edge in her voice. “Ted certainly is a nice fellow. Born and bred in the township, and glad we were to have him come back home again after that time in Chicago. You like him, don’t you?”

“I—I thought he was very helpful. When I got lost, I mean, the first time I came to see the house.”

“Helpful, yes. Kind, too. Why, I’ve known that boy since he was running around barefoot. There’s not a mean bone in his body.”

“Yes, well—I’m sure that’s true.” And why on earth did the woman think she needed to know that? “Do you mind if I look around your store?”

“I’ll show you around myself. Not exactly busy on a weekday in the fall, though weekends we still get the rush of tourists trampling through, oohing and aahing over the Amish and blocking the roads every time they spot a buggy. Still, their money helps keep me afloat.”

“You seem to carry just about everything anyone could want in here.” A cooler marked Night Crawlers sat next to a rack filled with the latest celebrity magazines.

“That’s why it’s a general store.” Ruth looked around with satisfaction at her domain. Apparently she felt the same way about her store as Fiona did about her practice. “I have something for everyone from the Amish farmers to the senior citizen bus tours. No good Pennsylvania Dutchman ever turned down profit.”

Fiona glanced at the woman’s print dress. “You’re not Amish, I take it?”

“Mennonite. First cousins to the Amish, you bet.” She brushed the full skirt. “You can tell by the clothes. You’ll soon get onto it.” The bell on the door tinkled, and she gestured toward the archway. “I’ll just get that. Go on through and check out the other section. I’ve got some lovely quilts and handmade chests if you’re looking to furnish your house local.”

She hadn’t thought of that, but obviously it would be good public relations to buy some of what she needed locally. She walked through the archway. The rag rugs would be beautiful against the hardwood once the floors were cleaned and polished. And—

She rounded the end of the aisle and lost her train of thought. The back part of this area was a large, well-lit workroom. Finished quilts lined the walls, their colors and patterns striking.

Two Amish women bent over a quilt frame, apparently putting the finishing touches to a quilt whose vibrant colors glowed against their dark, plain dresses. Another sat at a treadle sewing machine. All three glanced at her briefly and then lowered their eyes, as if it were impolite to stare.

But she was the one who was being impolite, unable to tear her gaze away. Was that what her mother would have looked like now, if she hadn’t run away, if she hadn’t died? Dark dress, dark apron, hair parted in the center and pulled back beneath a white cap, seeming to belong in another century?

“Looks like plenty of work is being done in here.” The voice from behind startled her into an involuntary movement. Ted nodded coolly and strolled past her to lean over the quilt on the frame.

“Another Double Wedding Ring? Haven’t you made enough of those in the last year, Em?”

The woman he spoke to surprised Fiona by laughing up at him in what could only be described as a flirtatious way. “That’s what the English want, Ted Rittenhouse. You know that well, you do.”

“Well, give the customers what they want, I suppose.” He nodded toward Fiona, apparently not noticing that she stood frozen to the spot. “You meet the new midwife who’s setting up next door, did you?”

Apparently now that he had, in effect, introduced her, it was all right to stare. Three pairs of eyes fixed on her as Ted mentioned the women’s names: Emma Brandt, Barbara Stoller, Sarah Bauman. Emma was probably in her thirties, although it was difficult to judge, and the other two probably in their sixties.

Fiona nodded, trying to get past the unexpected shock she’d felt at the sight of them. These were people who might introduce her to prospective clients in the Amish community, so she’d better try to make a decent impression.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. The quilt is wonderful. I didn’t realize you actually made them here.”

“Ruth says the tourists like to see the work done.” Emma seemed to be the spokeswoman for the group. “We do special orders for folks, too.”

“That’s great.” Fiona knew how stupid she sounded, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. She’d assumed all Amish women were cloistered at home, taking care of their families, instead of out earning money. How much more didn’t she know about her mother’s people?

Ted strolled back toward her. “Could I have a moment of your time? I’ll walk out with you.”

She nodded, saying goodbye to the quilters, and preceded him toward the exit. When the door closed, its bell tinkling, he spoke before she could get a word out.

“I’d say if you want to have an Amish clientele for that practice of yours, you’ll have to stop looking at them like they’re animals in the zoo.”

“I didn’t!” But she probably had. “I was just surprised, that’s all. I didn’t realize anyone was back there.” How did the man always manage to put her in the wrong?

“Uh-huh.” He managed to infuse the syllables with such doubt that her embarrassment was swallowed up in anger. She certainly wasn’t going to tell him what had precipitated her behavior.

“Excuse me. I have things to do.” She turned, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Don’t you even want to know what I had to tell you?”

She gritted her teeth. Be polite, Fiona. “Of course. What is it?”

“The carpenters will be coming around in an hour or so. Try to get over your feelings about the Amish before then, will you?”

Before she could respond, he walked off across the street.

“Well, it’s not exactly what I expected.” Fiona cradled the cell phone against her ear with one hand and continued scrubbing the kitchen sink with the other. She might have to rub all the enamel off to get it clean.

“Better or worse?” Tracy Wilton, her closest friend from midwife training, sounded as if she were in the next room instead of three thousand miles away. “You could always come back, you know. They haven’t filled your job here yet.”

“I’m not sure whether it’s better or worse, but it’s definitely different.” She thought of Ted’s obvious doubt that she’d stick it out. “I’m staying, though. I’ll make it work.”

“I bet you will. Listen, if your practice gets too big for one person, just give me a call. Especially if you’ve found any great-looking men among those Pennsylvania Dutch farmers of yours.”

Fiona pushed an image of Ted Rittenhouse from her mind. “I’m not looking for any. Trust me. Getting my practice up and running is enough to occupy me for the moment. All I’m worried about right now is whether my money will hold out that long.”

A rap sounded on the front door, and she headed into the hallway. “Listen, Tracy, someone’s here. I’ll give you a call later, okay?”

“Okay. Take care.”

Fiona snapped off the phone as she swung the door open and saw what appeared to be a whole congregation of Amish men in black trousers and dark shirts filling her porch. She blinked against the late-afternoon sunlight and realized there were only four, surveying her silently.

What on earth?—and then she realized they had to be the carpenters Ted had said he’d send. The oldest man, his beard a snowy white, nodded gravely.

“I am Mose Stetler. Ted Rittenhouse said as how you are wanting some carpentry work done. Said you needed it in a hurry.”

“Yes, he told me he’d talked to you. I’m Fiona Flanagan.” She nodded to the men and held the door wide. “Please, come in. I’m glad you were able to come so soon.”

And a little surprised Ted hadn’t told them to forget about coming after their exchange earlier.

“Oh, we had to.” He jerked his head toward the youngest of the men, hardly more than a boy, with rounded cheeks above a rather straggly beard. “Young Aaron, here, he’ll be needing your services before long, won’t you, Aaron?”

The boy blushed, his prominent ears reddening. “My Susie…” He stopped, apparently embarrassed to actually say that his wife was expecting.

“Well, then, all the more reason to get my practice up and running. But I’ll be happy to talk to your wife anytime, even if my office isn’t ready.” She started to say the woman could phone her, and then realized that she couldn’t. “Just have her send a message if she’d like to talk.”

He bobbed his head, flushing when one of the other men said something to him in what sounded like German. She didn’t understand the words, but the teasing was obvious.

“So, now.” Mr. Stetler rubbed callused palms together. “You show me what you want done, and I will figure out a price.” His eyes twinkled. “A fair price. You’re one of us, after all.”

She blinked. Surely he couldn’t be referring to her mother. No one knew except the Flanagans. “One of you?”

“A resident, not a tourist,” he explained. Apparently tourists were fair game, but not someone who planned to live here.

She showed them over the downstairs, explaining what she needed. Mose made several helpful suggestions for the arrangement that she hadn’t thought of.

Finally he took out a stub of pencil and a scrap of paper and figured a price. She looked at the paper with a sense of relief. It was high, but she’d known it would be, with the cost of materials, and it was well within her budget.

“Fine. We have a deal. When can you start?”

Stetler beamed. “Right away. We do some measurements now, and then be back here at eight o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“Excellent.”

By the time they’d finished up the measurements and were heading out the door, they were on a first-name basis, even with Aaron, the shy expectant father. She was just assuring him that he wasn’t going to feel a thing when one of the other men said something that made them all double over with laughter.

“He said unless Aaron’s wife hits him for getting her into that predicament.”

Somehow she wasn’t surprised to see Ted Rittenhouse standing by the porch, one large boot propped against the front step and a grin on his face.

“I’ll protect him,” Fiona shot back, her gaze challenging his. She’d let him see that she was getting along perfectly well with his Amish friends.

Ted nudged at the step with his boot. “Hey, Mose, you’d best put fixing this step at the top of your list.”

Mose nodded gravely. “Before you put your big foot through it, yes.” For some reason, everyone thought that was funny, and they all trooped off, laughing, toward the wagon and its patiently waiting horse.

She was very aware of Ted, standing silent beside her. When he didn’t speak, she realized there was something she had to say. She turned toward him, and found him watching her.

“Thank you very much for sending Mose and his crew over. I’m so relieved to have the project underway.”

“They’ll do a good job for you. And they’ll be honest about the price, too.”

She nodded. “I’m sure they will.” She hesitated, and then decided she’d better say the rest of what she’d been thinking. “You know, I thought maybe you’d change your mind and tell them not to come.”

He looked surprised. “Why would I do that?”

“Well, you weren’t exactly happy with me earlier.”

“That doesn’t mean I’d make things difficult for you. Maybe you have something to learn about folks around here.”

Those words might have been said snidely, but she couldn’t detect anything other than genuine concern in his voice. Concern, and perhaps even kindness.

“Maybe so.” She struggled to speak over the sudden lump in her throat. “This move is a big change in my life. I know I have to adjust some of my attitudes if I’m going to make a go of it here.”

His lips twitched in a slight smile. “You’ll be fine. You have something to offer. Just give yourself a chance. And give us one, too.”

The gentleness in his voice drew her. She looked up to find his intense gaze so focused on her face that it seemed to generate warmth. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t even seem to draw breath. Was it the afternoon sunlight dazzling her eyes, or was it the man?

And then he took a step back. It was hard to tell with that stolid face of his, but she had a feeling he felt just as shocked as she did.

Chapter Three

Her mother’s box now sat on her brand-new dresser in her own bedroom in the house in Crossroads. Fiona touched it, smiling a little at the sound of hammering from downstairs.

She’d moved in yesterday, in spite of Nolie and Gabe’s repeated urging to stay with them until the work was completely finished. Much as she’d appreciated their kindness, she’d given in to the need to be here, on the spot, supervising the renovations.

She had a bedroom and a kitchen—at the moment she didn’t need anything else. Once she’d found time to paint the room that was going to be her living room, to say nothing of getting some furniture in it, she’d be ready to entertain. She could invite her Flanagan cousins over.

The past few days had been busy ones, notable only for the absence of one person. Ted hadn’t dropped by again. Maybe he was occupied with township business. Or maybe he’d been as shocked by that moment of rapport as she had been.

In any event, it was fine that he hadn’t been around. She’d been able to write the incident off as nothing—just a random flare of attraction that she could quickly forget. She had nothing in common with a man like Ted Rittenhouse, and even if she’d wanted it, she had no time in her life for romance.

Making a success of her practice had to be the only thing on her mind now, and she’d already made a good start. An invitation had been relayed by Aaron from his wife and had resulted in her first visit to an Amish home.

The simple, painted interior with its large, square rooms and handmade furniture had charmed her. When she’d commented on the beauty of a hand-carved wooden rocking chair, young Susie had shrugged off the compliment, saying the chair was “for use, not for pretty.”

She’d been surprised to find Susie already in her thirty-fourth week, but she learned that the couple had only recently returned to the family farm after living in an Amish community in Ohio where Aaron was apprenticed to a master carpenter. Susie was healthy, happy and eagerly looking forward to the birth, and especially to having her baby at home. Fiona had come away with a sense of satisfaction that she would provide the kind of birthing experience the couple wanted.

And happy that she was wanted and needed—she couldn’t deny that. It was a step toward belonging. And another step might be—

She lifted the lid on the box, her fingers touching the perfectly matched corners. Here was all she had of the mother she’d never known. An Amish cap and apron, put away never to be worn again. A white baby gown, edged with delicate embroidery. And the patches for a quilt, each one sewn with stitches so tiny they were practically invisible.

She carried the pieces to the spool bed which was her latest purchase and spread them out, not sure how they were intended to fit together. Each piece was a rectangle composed of smaller square and rectangular pieces in rich, solid colors. The deep pink shade that predominated made her wonder if her mother might have intended the quilt for a daughter. If so, she’d never know.

But she could have the quilt. She didn’t have the skill to put it together, but the quilters at Ruth’s store did. She could imagine it gracing her bed, symbolizing her ties to her new community.

She gathered the pieces, slipped them into a bag and went quickly down the steps, greeting the carpenters, amazed as always by how much they’d accomplished. The rooms were taking shape before her eyes, and her dream was closer to reality every day.

She hurried over to the general store, eager now to set this project in motion. Ruth looked up when the bell tinkled, but she was busy with a customer, so Fiona waved and went on through to the workroom. Emma Brandt greeted her with a smile, while two older women she hadn’t seen before glanced up, nodded and bent over the quilt frame again.

“Emma, I’d like to show you something.” She approached the quilt frame slowly. It wasn’t too late to change her mind, but Emma was nodding. Waiting.

“Yes?”

For a moment her hand held the bag shut. This would be the first time she’d shown the quilt squares to anyone, and she felt an odd reluctance to have them out of her possession. Shaking the emotion off, she drew out the fabric squares.

“I have these quilt pieces, and I wondered if you’d be able to put them together for me.”

Emma pushed her glasses into place and took them, turning them slowly in her capable hands. “A log cabin design,” she said. “The colors are lovely. This will make a fine quilt for your new bed.”

She was getting used to the fact that everyone seemed to know everything about her. It seemed the rumor mill was always grinding in Crossroads. Emma could probably tell her where she’d bought the bed and how much she’d paid for it.

“That’s what I thought, although I don’t even know how the squares fit together.” She may as well admit her ignorance up front.

Emma quickly moved some of the blocks together. “The traditional manner would be to arrange them like this, so that the darker colors make diagonal lines across the surface.”

The quilt seemed to come to life under her hands, and Fiona could visualize it on her bed. Maybe she could find curtains in one of the solid colors.

“That would be perfect. Do you have time to finish it for me?”

“I’m sure we can.” Emma picked up one of the pieces, examining it closely. “The workmanship is very fine, uh-huh. Did you make it yourself?”

Fiona shook her head. “It’s all I can do to sew a button on. These were given to me. I was told that my mother made them.”

“Ah.” Emma’s look of sympathy said she understood. “Then very special the quilt will be for you.”

“Yes.” She willed away the lump in her throat. “It will be very special.”

One of the older women rose from the quilting frame. She walked toward them, her faded blue eyes magnified by the thick glasses she wore. She reached for the quilt pieces, turning them over in work-worn hands.

Emma said something in the low German that Fiona had learned was the common tongue of the Amish. For a moment the older woman stood frozen. Then she said something that made Emma give an audible gasp.

Their expressions startled Fiona. “Emma, is something wrong?”

Emma shook her head, not looking up. Then, so quickly Fiona hardly understood what was happening, all three women folded up their work and scurried away without a word.

By evening, Fiona was feeling thoroughly exasperated with all things Amish. Ruth had had no explanation for what happened and seemed as mystified by the women’s behavior as Fiona. She’d promised to talk to Emma and try to smooth things over as soon as she could.

But that hadn’t been the worst of it. The carpenters had left for lunch as usual, but they hadn’t come back. They hadn’t sent word, either. They were just gone, with tools left lying where they’d put them down.

Clearly she’d offended someone, but how, she didn’t know. She’d have been happy to apologize for whatever it was, but since she couldn’t get in touch with any of them that was impossible.

She walked slowly from one unfinished room to another. What if they didn’t come back? Panic touched her. Would she be able to find someone else to finish the work? She pulled her cardigan tighter around her. She’d had her share of feeling isolated and helpless in her life, and she didn’t like the sensation.

A knock on the door came as a relief. At last, maybe someone was coming to explain. She yanked the door open to find Ted on her porch, frowning down at her.

“We have to talk,” he said.

She nodded, stood back for him to enter, and gestured down the hall. “Come back to the kitchen. It’s the only finished room downstairs.”

She followed him down the hallway, his tall frame blocking out the dim light she had left on in the office. Reaching the kitchen, she switched the light on and the room sprang to life.

Originally it had been one of those huge, inconvenient rooms that had probably given the cook fallen arches, but at some point it had been renovated. Now the stove, sink and refrigerator made a convenient work triangle, and her few dishes were arranged in the closest of the glass-fronted cabinets.

She started to offer Ted a seat, but he’d already planted large fists on the round pine table. And he didn’t look as if he planned to sit down and relax any time soon. He wore jeans and a blue sweater that made his eyes even bluer, but from the way he leaned toward her, he didn’t seem any less intimidating than when he wore the uniform.

He didn’t need to glare at her as if she’d committed a cardinal sin. A little flare of anger warmed her.

“You may as well stop looking at me that way. I’ve obviously made a mistake and offended someone, but I don’t have the slightest idea what I’ve done.” She folded her arms.

Ted’s face was at its most wooden. “Why didn’t you tell me you were Hannah Stolzfus’s daughter?”

For a moment she could only stare at him. How could he—“How do you know that? I didn’t tell anyone here.”

“It’s true, then? You’re actually her child?” The passion in his voice reverberated through the room.

She hugged herself tighter as if to shield herself from him. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, my mother’s name was Hannah Stolzfus. She died shortly after I was born, so I never knew her, but I’ve seen the birth certificate. That was her name.”

His jaw seemed to harden, if that was possible. “Why did you come here?”

She looked at him blankly. “You already know why I came here. To open my practice. What on earth is going on? Why did those women walk out of Ruth’s today after they saw my quilt pieces? Why did the carpenters leave?”

“You really don’t understand, do you?” Frustration edged his tone.

“Understand what?” She had plenty of her own frustration to go around. “Why is everyone talking in riddles?”

“All right. No riddles.” His hands pressed against the table so hard it might collapse under his weight. “Just straightforward English words. Emma Brandt is the younger sister of Hannah Stolzfus. And the older woman who looked at those quilt pieces and recognized them is her mother, Louise Stolzfus.”

Her mother, Louise Stolzfus. My grandmother. She could say the words in her head, but not out loud. She tried to stop the inward shaking that she couldn’t let him see.

“I didn’t know.” She spaced the words out clearly. “Don’t you understand? I had no idea anyone would recognize those quilt pieces. No idea that Emma Brandt was any relation to my mother. No idea that my mother’s family was even still around here.”

Ted obviously wasn’t convinced. He straightened, folding his arms. “Do you expect me to believe that?”

“I don’t expect anything of you!” She snapped the words and immediately regretted it. Getting angry at Ted wouldn’t help matters any.

Please, Lord, help me deal with this—with him—in the right way.

“Look, I’m sorry.” She thrust her hand into her hair, shoving it back from her face. “Can’t we talk about this sensibly, instead of sniping at each other?”

His eyes were watchful, but he jerked a reluctant nod. “All right. Talk.”

She frowned, trying to get her mind around everything he’d said. “Are you sure about this? Emma is surely too young to be my mother’s sister. Maybe it’s a different family altogether.”

Some of the harshness seemed to go out of his face. “I’m sure. Amish families are often spread out over a lot of years. Hannah was the eldest, fifteen years older than Emma, who is the youngest.”

“I see.” She had to admit he seemed sure of his facts. “Even if what you say is true, I’m not sure what all the fuss is about. I’m sorry for startling them with the quilt, and obviously I’ll get someone else to finish it for me.”

“And you think that will resolve the problem?” He looked at her as if she were a creature from another planet.

The anger flickered again, but under it was a desolation she wouldn’t give in to.

“I don’t know what else I can do or say. I didn’t come here looking for my mother’s family, and I don’t particularly want anything to do with them. Maybe we can just chalk it up to an unfortunate coincidence and get on with our lives.”

Ted had to remind himself that a city-bred creature like Fiona had no idea what she was talking about when it came to family relationships in a place like Crossroads. He’d pity her, if her coming wasn’t creating such a problem for people he cared about, people he had to protect.

“Did you actually think you could come here and not run into your mother’s family? Why else would you pick Crossroads Township to settle in, if not to find them?”

She shrugged, hugging her slim frame as if she needed protection from him. Her face was very pale, but her gray eyes blazed with life. With anger, probably aimed at him.

“I came to this area because it had a need for nurse-midwives, that’s why. And because I wanted to get to know the Flanagans, my father’s relatives. I didn’t have any ulterior motives, and I certainly have no desire to intrude on my mother’s family.”

“Why not?” He shot the question at her. “You admit you came to get to know your father’s family. Why not your mother’s?”

Her lips tightened into a firm line. She was probably thinking this wasn’t his business, but he intended to know the truth if he had to stand here all night.

“Because they rejected her.” The words burst out of her. “My mother. They turned away from her because she married an outsider. Why would I want a relationship with them now? They haven’t bothered about me all these years.”

“That’s not how it was.” He remembered all he’d heard, all he’d known. “She’s the one who left. She deserted them, not the other way around, and they’ve never recovered from that.”

“How do you know so much about it?” Suspicion edged her tone.

Emma had only been three when her sister left, but she’d remembered how her mother had aged overnight, how all the happiness seemed to go out of the house with Hannah. And he remembered how she’d cried in his arms when she’d told him she couldn’t do the same thing to her parents that her sister had done.

He stiffened. Some things Fiona didn’t have the right to know, especially that.

“It’s a small community,” he said. “I don’t think you realize how small. I’ve been a friend of the family for a long time. I know how much the Stolzfus family grieved when Hannah left. I don’t want to see them hurt again.”

“I don’t want to hurt them. I don’t want to have anything to do with them.” She thrust her hands through her reddish-blond mane as if she’d pull it out in her frustration. “Can’t you just accept that?”

He watched her steadily, trying to read the truth in those gray eyes. Did she really believe what she was saying?

“No,” he said slowly. “I can’t accept that. How can I, when all of your actions have brought you to a place where you’re bound to run into them? You say it’s not intentional, and maybe that’s so. But the results are the same, and people I care about are already hurting as a result.”

“I’m sorry.” She stood very straight, facing him, her face pale and set. “Sorry if this hurts them, and sorry you don’t believe me. But they rejected my mother, and—”

“Will you stop saying that?” He took a step toward her, as if his very nearness might convince her to believe him. “They did not turn her away.”

Her face was like stone. “I read about the Amish, once I was old enough to understand that’s what my mother had been. I read about how they shun people who don’t do what they’re supposed to.”

“That proves the old saying, doesn’t it?” He sighed in frustration. Did he have to give the woman a crash course in what it meant to be Amish? “‘A little learning is a dangerous thing.’ It’s true that someone might be separated from the congregation to help him see the error of his ways, but that doesn’t apply in this case.”

“What do you mean?” Doubt flickered in her face.

“Hannah was seventeen when she left, not yet a baptized member of the church, so she didn’t break any vows by what she did. I’m sure her parents didn’t approve of her choice, but if she’d stayed, they would have made peace with it. They never had the chance. If she’d come back, anytime, they probably would have welcomed her.”

Fiona shook her head stubbornly. “How can you say that? They never attempted to get in touch with her after she left. And after she died, they never tried to find me. My whole life, I’ve never heard a word from them.”

Her pain reached out and grabbed his heart, and for a moment he couldn’t speak. The urge to comfort her was so strong he had to fight it back. He could pity her, yes, but his loyalties lay elsewhere.

“Fiona, what makes you think they knew you existed?”

He saw that hit her, saw the doubt and pain in her eyes, and thought he’d be a long time regretting that he’d put it there. But it had to be done. This was a bad situation, and an impulsive act on her part could make it even worse.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “Could be you think I’m interfering, and maybe I am. But the best thing you can do now is to stay away from the family. You don’t begin to understand them, and you can’t judge them by your California standards. Just leave them alone, before you cause each other more pain than you can bear.”

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