The Amish Heiress (The Paradise Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  After the fight with her papa, things had been quiet for a week. It was like pounding down a wild, whitewater rapid and then, after the final set of huge rocks, sliding into a deep, calm stretch of the river. But soon Jonathan seemed to forget his promise and started riding her about little things again; the way she did her chores, the way she wore her clothes, her devotion to Bible study or lack thereof. Everything seemed to touch a sore spot in her daed and bring forth a caustic comment or a curt instruction. That is, when he was her papa. At other times, he seemed confused and disoriented, looking for the telephone that wasn’t there or asking where his guitar was.

  It had been four years since Jonathan returned to Paradise. He had been gone for eight years, and the day of his return, though miraculous and joyous, had been the first day of the most confusing and vexing time in Rachel’s life. She knew it had been difficult for her mother too, because Rachel could see the sadness in Jenny’s eyes as she watched her husband when he wasn’t looking.

  As Rachel pushed her scooter along, she tried to remember the days before the accident, when she and her papa had been so close. But the memories were hard to come by, like fragments of a wonderful dream that seems so real in the safety of slumber, but, upon awakening, can only be recalled in bits and pieces, finally to dissolve in the shadows of forgetfulness. And that was Rachel’s remembrance of her papa—a dream that could not be recaptured, a golden time that had somehow been replaced with the reality of a confused and angry man who did not seem to care if Rachel loved him or not.

  At last, Rachel came to the crossroads. She turned right and began to walk along the side of The Old Philadelphia Turnpike. She loved the houses along this road. They were grand and palatial—so different from the Amish houses—and Rachel wondered what life was like for the people who lived in them. She could only imagine what it might be like to be the daughter of one of these wealthy families. In her mind’s eye she could see herself attending a private high school and then having to make the hard decision about which college to attend. She dreamed of all the things that rich girls would do—things like dating and proms, playing sports and owning a car, taking long vacations to romantic places.

  I feel like a foreigner. Look at me, pushing this stupid scooter down the road in this silly outfit, wearing this dumb hat. Why can’t I just be like everybody else?

  Rachel wondered if it was a sin to think that way. After all, she was Amish, and Amish were supposed to be so religious and somehow more Christian than everyone else.

  If they only knew what really goes on behind the four walls of a typical Amish home. We are just the same as everyone else. We fight, we treat each other badly, we can’t figure out our relationship with Gott, or even if He’s real...

  Rachel stopped and looked up. She had never thought about the reality of Gott in this way and it made her nervous. She felt like He might send a lightning bolt down because she was thinking such awful thoughts, but the only clouds in the sky were high up and wispy. After an anxious moment, she walked on, trying to get her thoughts back to romanticizing the lives of the people who lived in the mansions along the Pike. But somehow her thinking about Gott got in the way of her dreaming. She was tense and ill at ease, and suddenly she felt like she might throw up. She wanted to take the scooter and fling it into the ditch. She wanted to pull off this silly kappe and let her long auburn hair flow free in the wind. She felt her heart racing so she stopped and took some deep breaths.

  I have to do something. I have to get away from Papa...

  “Rachel?”

  The buggy had been driving on the grass along the side of the road, and she was so lost in thought she had not heard it approach. She jumped involuntarily and then turned. Daniel King sat on the seat with the reins in his hands.

  Rachel felt a surge of anger toward Daniel. “Oh my goodness, Daniel, sie erschraken mich! Why are you always sneaking up on me? What are you doing here? Why are you following me?”

  Daniel frowned and then he lifted his hand to silence her. “Rachel, I need your help. Your mama told me you would be coming this way. Contrary to what you think, I’m not spying on you.”

  Suddenly Rachel felt foolish. She blushed and lowered her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “One of my mares is foaling and the baby is positioned wrong. There’s a good chance of dystocia.”

  “Have you called the vet?”

  “Yes, but he’s not available. He’s away over on the far side of Lancaster, and my papa is in Hallam looking at some draft horses. I can’t wait for them. The mare might die. That’s why I’m asking you to come help me.”

  Rachel threw her scooter into the back of the buggy and climbed up on the seat beside Daniel. He turned the horse and started back toward Leacock and the King farm. Rachel sat on the seat with her head down and her cheeks burning.

  After a while, Daniel spoke. “I’m your friend, Rachel. I only want the best for you. I came to find you because, next to the vet, you’re the best person with sick animals that I know.”

  “Yes, and if my papa would let me go to college, I could be a vet.”

  Daniel chucked the horse again and replied, “You’re eighteen years old. You can make some decisions for yourself.”

  “Yes, but the Ordnung forbid girls going to school past the eighth grade. What about that?”

  “The policy toward extra schooling is not as harsh as you think. Often girls are allowed to continue if the elders see that there will be benefit to the Amish community. In your case, the benefit would be a good, non-Englischer vet to help the Amish farmers around Paradise. After all, Rachel, like you said, it is 1990. We don’t live in the middle ages anymore.”

  “But you don’t understand. I have a dream. I don’t want to take some community college classes and become someone who works for a vet. I want to go to Cornell University’s College of Veterinary Medicine.”

  “But that’s far away, isn’t it?”

  “Ithaca, New York, to be exact.”

  Suddenly Rachel was excited and she reached in her pocket and pulled out a folded up piece of paper. “It’s the very best college of veterinary medicine in the whole county. Listen to their mission statement.”

  Rachel began to read.

  “To advance the health and well-being of animals and people through education, research, and public service.”

  Rachel grabbed Daniel’s arm and began to rattle off the college blurb. “They have 211 faculty and 732 non-academic staff members for only 360 students. They have an incredible graduate studies program where you can work toward either a Master of Science or Doctor of Philosophy degree. There are internships and residency programs. Oh, Daniel! Wouldn’t it be wonderful?”

  Daniel sat quietly and then smiled. “You must have that brochure memorized. Does Jonathan know about this? And how are you going to get in? You only have an eighth grade education.”

  Rachel slumped down in her seat. “I know, but I got straight As in school, and I did take some courses at the Junior College in Lancaster before Papa came home. I did really well in my studies there. And...I’ve already written a letter to the Dean of Admissions explaining my situation. Maybe they would let me in as a hardship case.”

  Daniel shook his head. “You have a lot to overcome. It might be very difficult.”

  Rachel felt a twisting inside her. She felt like she wanted to scream at Daniel, but she kept her thoughts to herself as she clutched the college flyer in her hand.

  You just don’t understand, Daniel. I don’t want to be Amish, I don’t want to be married, I just want this!

  They sat in silence as they rolled into the lane leading to the King farm. Daniel drove straight back to the barn, and they climbed out and hurried in. The mare was lying down on her side in a stall, and her legs were sticking out straight and stiff. Rachel could see the muscles contracting as she pushed to get the foal out.

  “Get a bale of grass hay and spread it all around the stall. And then get me a clean bed sheet. Quickly, Daniel
!”

  Daniel ran to get the sheet as Rachel knelt beside the mare.

  She shouted after the retreating Daniel. “And bring a blanket, Ivermectin, and Banamine, if you have it. Oh, and a squirt bottle of iodine!”

  Rachel turned back to the mare and gently caressed her face, rubbing around the ears.

  “Come on, mama, we are here now. Don’t worry, we will help you get this baby out.”

  The mare continued pushing. She was grunting softly and her tongue flicked in and out. Daniel arrived back with the supplies.

  “Give me the sheet, Daniel!”

  Rachel spread the sheet under the mare’s hindquarters and examined the mare closely. “I see the birth sac and I can feel the foal’s nose, but it looks like the shoulder is wedged inside. I’m going to reach in and grab a leg and shift the baby.”

  As she did that, the mare moved and suddenly the foal’s nose and two front hooves emerged. Rachel tore away the sac and grabbed the front legs.

  “Help me pull, Daniel, but only pull downward, just one tug.”

  Daniel took hold of the foal with Rachel and together they gave a quick tug downward. The head and shoulders popped out and Rachel moved back and smiled.

  “Things will happen rather quickly now.”

  And then the foal was out and lying next to its mother. Rachel squeezed the liquid out of the tiny foal’s nose with a gentle downward motion. The foal and the mother lay quietly, still connected by the umbilical cord. The foal shifted and the cord broke.

  “Squirt the iodine right on the navel stump, Daniel. Now give me the Ivermectin and the Banamine.”

  Rachel estimated the mare’s weight and gave her an oral dose from each bottle. As she worked, she explained to Daniel what she was doing.

  “The Ivermectin is a wormer and keeps the mare from getting foal scours. The Banamine helps her with the contraction pains.”

  The little colt tried to stand up. It struggled for a minute and then suddenly stood up on shaky legs.

  “It is a filly, Daniel, strong and beautiful. Put the blanket around her and keep her warm. It’s a bit chilly in here.”

  Daniel looked at Rachel with admiration in his eyes. “You were wonderful.”

  Rachel smiled at the praise. “I’m surprised that you didn’t know more about birthing. You love horses so much.”

  “I have watched many times, but my daed always has the vet do it and he helps. So this is the first time I have been able to really assist. You did a great job. My papa will be pleased and grateful.”

  Daniel paused. Then he put his arm around Rachel’s shoulders. “You have a natural gift. If you want to go to college, then I support you in this.”

  Rachel stared at Daniel for a moment and then threw her arms around him. “Thank you, Daniel.”

  Daniel’s arms wrapped around Rachel and they stood that way for a minute and then Rachel realized what was happening. She pulled away, her face burning hot. Daniel’s hands fell awkwardly to his sides.

  “But how will you do it, Rachel? Isn’t it very expensive? And how will you convince your daed?”

  “I do not know the answers to those questions, Daniel. But I know this. If I can get the money to go, I’m going whether Papa gives me permission or not.”

  Chapter Three

  The Inheritance

  Augusta St. Clair marched through the swinging glass door into the offices of Murray, Peterson and Lowell. Augusta was a formidable looking woman with perfectly coifed white hair wearing a low-key, but obviously expensive, charcoal business suit. The extremely handsome young man beside her was dressed in a modern, collegiate way. The look on his face let the world know that he did not want to be there. Behind them trotted an older woman in a frumpy suit and glasses, looking somewhat like a scared puppy. The startled secretary behind the massive reception desk raised her hand to stop the group.

  The nervous woman behind Augusta tried to intervene. “Maybe we shouldn’t go in Mrs. St. Clair. I think—”

  “Shut your mouth, Eva,” Augusta snapped. The young man looked at Eva’s embarrassed face and shrugged as Augusta pushed her way past the protesting secretary and into the inner sanctum of the prestigious law firm. Several pieces of paper were clutched in her hand.

  James Lowell looked up from his desk. When he recognized his visitor, his face paled and he started to protest. “Augusta, I can’t see you right now. I’m in the middle—”

  Augusta St. Clair cut him off with an imperious wave of her hand. “You will see me right now, James, if you know what’s good for you and this firm.”

  James Lowell started to answer back and then looked over at the two men in the chairs facing him, smiling sheepishly. “Well, gentlemen, as you see, something very important has come up. We will have to discuss this matter at another time.”

  One of the men rose and looked at James with steely eyes. “You mean, you’re asking us to leave, James? This is a five million dollar deal we’re discussing. I would think—”

  Before he could finish, Augusta cut in. “Good afternoon, Mr. Carrington. Perhaps you don’t know who I am, but I know who you are and the company you represent. Let me be very clear. If I wanted to, I could buy your crummy little factory and shut it down today. So if you don’t want that to happen, I would suggest you accept Mr. Lowell’s request and come back another day. Goodbye.”

  Without another look, she turned to the man behind the desk as the chastened visitors slunk out the door. The young man who was with Augusta found a chair and started to light a cigarette. At a warning look from Augusta, he put the pack back in his pocket. Eva stood behind Augusta, shifting from one foot to the other as though waiting for a command.

  Augusta shook the stack of papers in front of James Lowell’s face and then flung them down on the attorney’s desk. “Just what is this?”

  Lowell swallowed hard, picked up the top document, and adjusted his glasses. “Oh, you got my letter,” he said with a weak smile.

  “Don’t play games with me, Jimmy. I want to know what this means.”

  James Lowell pushed his glasses down on his nose as he glanced at the cover page. Then he put the sheaf of papers down and removed his glasses. “I thought I made myself very clear, Augusta. I have looked over all the documents and the family papers, and I have concluded that I must deny your request.”

  “You have concluded?” Augusta laughed. “You little pipsqueak! You don’t deny anything I ask; you do what I say. Now you get on that phone, call the trustees and tell them to sign the papers, or you will wish you had never been born.”

  A bead of sweat formed on Lowell’s forehead.

  He looked down and then back up at Augusta. “I can’t. I tried but they won’t have it. The inheritance directives are over four hundred years old and there is not a person on the whole board of trustees who will deviate from them—not one inch!”

  “Oohh!”

  Augusta’s face began to turn red. Eva touched her shoulder.

  Augusta turned sharply and spoke with a voice like knives. “What is it, Eva? Can’t you see I’m talking here?”

  The woman’s face went pale. “Please, Mrs. St. Clair, you know what the doctor said. You’re not to let yourself get worked up. Your heart...”

  Augusta stared at the woman for a long moment while the muscle in her jaw worked furiously. Finally, she took three deep breaths and raised her hands. Her voice was evenly modulated and low.

  “You’re right, Eva. You’re right. You know I told you never to interrupt me, but I don’t want to have a heart attack right here in this man’s office so I’ll let it go this time. After all,” she said as she turned slowly back to Lowell, “I wouldn’t want to die before Jimmy, now would I?”

  The young man blinked and tried to mollify things. “Threats probably won’t help the situation, Grandmother.”

  “I’ll tell you when to speak, Gerald.”

  Gerald started to respond, but closed his mouth and kept silent.

  Augusta walked ar
ound and sat on the edge of James Lowell’s desk. “Now, James, I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you, so surely there must be another way...” Augusta paused meaningfully while Lowell mulled over the dark implications.

  Then Augusta smiled and patted James Lowell on the hand. “Oh, I’m just playing with you, Jimmy,” she said, but her eyes told a different story. “Now, I want you to tell me exactly what the board said.”

  Lowell wiped the sweat off his brow with a Kleenex from a box on his desk, adjusted his glasses again, and pushed a stack of papers toward Augusta. “It’s all in here.”

  Augusta ignored the papers and kept looking at Lowell. “Just give me the Cliffs Notes version, Jimmy,” she said sweetly, but there was ice in the air.

  Lowell wrung his hands, looked over at Gerald, and then spoke. “You can keep your trust, you can keep the house and the estate, but no one inherits the bulk of the money unless they are a direct descendant of the oldest son and have the Key. That’s the bottom line and I can’t get around it.”

  “The Key? And what is the Key?”

  James Lowell shrugged. “I don’t know. You will have to ask the board of trustees, because I don’t have the slightest idea. I would suggest you contact Michel Duvigney. He’s the director of the board of trustees.”

  Augusta gave Lowell a steely look. She stood up and walked toward the door. Without glancing back, she spoke to Eva. “Eva, be a dear and get the pertinent information from Mr. Lowell and then set an appointment for me with Mr. Duvigney.”

  “Yes, Mrs. St. Clair.”

  Augusta opened the door and then stopped and looked back at James Lowell. “When I settle this, I will settle with you, Jimmy. Nobody stands in my way. It’s a bad decision. Come, Gerald!”

  With that, she picked up the sheaf of papers, turned and stomped out, her grandson and secretary trailing along behind like ducklings trying to keep up with their mother.

  *****

  Three days later, Augusta sat in the dark office of Michel Duvigney. It was small and cramped with red cherry wood bookshelves lining the walls and a small fireplace with a gas flame burning behind glass doors. The desk was the largest piece of furniture in the room and it was covered with books and odd pieces of memorabilia. Pictures of Duvigney with well-known personages, including him shaking hands with three ex-presidents, hung on the wall. Dim afternoon light tried to force its way through the drawn venetian blinds, but the only real illumination in the room came from the small lamp on the desk.