He shrugged. “I guess she’s just ready to come home. It’s been six years. She’s not a kid anymore.”
His use of the word “home” surprised me a little. Sure, this had been where Priscilla lived back when her parents were alive, but had it still felt like home to her once they were gone? Her dad had died of natural causes, if I recalled correctly, but her mom’s death had been sudden and shocking, the result of a fall down a flight of stairs. Considering that this farm was connected with such loss for Priscilla, it seemed strange to me that it would hold any appeal for her at all.
“So, if you don’t mind my asking, why did she go away to Ohio in the first place?”
Owen seemed to consider my question as he hung his tongs in descending order along a row of hooks on the wall.
“Priscilla was…how do I say it…overcome with grief when her mother died. It was odd. Disturbing.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. I wasn’t one for big emotions myself, but I’d seen the impact losing a parent could have on a child because of my nephew Tyler. He’d come to live with us after his mother—one of my older sisters—died of a brain aneurism when he was just six years old. He had grieved her deeply, for a long time, and there had been nothing odd or disturbing about that. Death was always painful, even for those who knew the promise of heaven.
“Isn’t that kind of understandable?” I said finally. “It was her mother, after all. And Priscilla was just a teenager at the time.”
“Yes, of course, but…” Owen shot me a meaningful glance. “It’s hard to explain. She really fell apart, to the extreme. Mamm and Daed gave her room to work through things at first, of course, but after a while they grew worried for her. She couldn’t seem to accept what had happened. So finally Daed contacted his sister, my Aunt Lorraine in Ohio, to see if Priscilla could live with them for a while. Everyone was hoping a change of scenery might help, I guess. I don’t think anyone thought it would be permanent. To be honest, I’m surprised she stayed away from home as long as she did.”
Again, the word “home” caught my ear, and I hoped home for her was more than just a building, because technically, Owen and Treva lived in Priscilla’s home now. Once she got here, she’d be staying in the main house with her grandparents. I was about to ask Owen if that was going to be awkward, but before I could say anything, we heard the sound of a car crunching up the gravel driveway.
“They’re back,” he murmured, putting away the last of his tools and heading out.
As the car continued up the driveway, I quickly finished closing the shop. Then I took Patch’s reins from the hitching rail and led him out the back door and across the gravel to the smaller of the two horse barns. I stabled him next to my own mare, Willow, and forked some hay into the feeding trough for both of them. Hearing the sound of voices on the breeze, I decided that Owen’s family members must have been watching for Priscilla’s arrival from the house, because soon the back door began to fall shut over and over as the volume and pitch of their chatter grew. By the time I finished with the horses and headed out to join the crowd, the driveway was filled with Kinsingers and the hired car was gone.
I stayed several yards back, letting the family welcome their niece and cousin home after six long years. I couldn’t see Priscilla at first, surrounded as she was by Owen’s sisters and brothers and their children. But then the crowd parted somewhat and I got my first glimpse.
Priscilla had grown in the years she’d been gone. She was tall and slender, her hair nearly black under her kapp, and she bore the womanly build of a twenty-year-old. I almost looked away for a moment, so surprised was I at how pretty she had become. I wondered if she would even remember me.
When she finally glanced my way, I was startled by the color of her eyes, which I’d forgotten were the deepest shade of violet. They were the same color the sky gets just before a drenching thunderstorm—the kind you want for the sake of the crops but the kind you fear a little too.
She looked down to grab the handle of one of her bags, but then she raised her head toward me again—quickly, like she had just figured out who I was—and met my eyes with her own.
Her face was expressionless, giving away nothing. I tipped my hat to her and offered a slight smile. In return, she just stood there for a long moment, holding our gaze.
Then she was again enveloped in a sea of cousins and ushered into the house.