The Amish Widower's Twins and the Amish Bachelor's Choice

by Jo Ann Brown

  He knew, with the bit clamped in the filly’s mouth, a steady pullback would do no good, so he began with alternating pulls and releases. There was no reduction in the horse’s speed. At least they were more on the road now, although encroaching over the centerline. With the narrow bridge over the town’s namesake getting closer with every lunge, Malachi figured this was a good thing. Or so he thought until he heard Ruth’s gasp and looked ahead of the flying black mane to see a car approaching from the opposite direction.

  Please, please don’t honk, he beseeched the driver when it became evident they were going to meet on the bridge. Malachi’s fingers clenched the reins and he gritted his teeth as the clatter of the shod hooves changed tenor when the filly’s churning legs crossed the metal expansion joint from blacktop to bridge. The vehicle flashed by, the other driver’s startled face only a few feet away. The car’s protruding side mirror passed within a whisper of the buggy wheel.

  Once they passed the bridge, the filly headed for the ditch again. The buggy tilted abruptly as the wheels on the ditch side left the blacktop. Harsh crunching sounds resonated through the buggy as they tore through fingers of snowdrifts that edged the road. Drifts that’d dwindled, but had been through numerous melt-and-refreeze cycles, causing the buggy to jerk in their direction at every impact. Even if it didn’t tip, the buggy wouldn’t hold up much longer with that kind of abuse. Wincing at the pain in his still-bandaged finger, Malachi pulled hard on the left rein, throwing the filly off balance and getting her back on the road.

  Sour Grapes’s chin tucked against her shoulder but her jaw was locked against the bit and she was still running. The buggy was rocking as she swerved, fighting for control. Malachi shot a glance ahead. The road was open. Taking a deep breath, he gave the filly a little more rein, letting her run. She’d eventually have to wind down.

  Between alternate pulls on the right and left reins to keep her off balance and varying tugs and releases to slow her, he regained control. The filly eased into a trot and finally a walk. Malachi pulled her over to the nearest field entrance. The horse stood, lathered and quivering, as Malachi’s hands slowly unclenched. Blowing hard, Sour Grapes extended her neck, demanding more rein.

  Malachi gave her some, as what lay ahead of them was an open field with a foot of snow. She wouldn’t get far if she took off again. He set the brake anyway. He was shaking. Not over fear for himself, but in terror that an accident could’ve hurt or killed Ruth. During the ordeal, his attention had been on the bolting filly. He’d been aware of Ruth bouncing and swaying on the seat beside him, but he hadn’t been able to glance at her, much less give her any assurance, through the harrowing adventure.

  The reins shifted in his hands, which were now sweating. Malachi shot an apprehensive glance at Sour Grapes, but she was just dropping her head to blow some more. She wasn’t going anywhere. He could see Ruth’s right arm, braced against the dash. Her fingers were white-knuckle in their grip. She was probably trembling with fear. Fear he could deal with. He’d pat her hand, reassure her that everything was all right now.

  If she was crying... Ach, nee. He’d never dealt with a crying woman before. Not even his sisters. But any woman would deserve to cry over the past few minutes, even this little badger. Bracing himself with a few deep breaths, Malachi turned to face her.

  Her bonnet was askew. The normally neat bow that tied under the stubborn little chin was undone, the tails trailing down the front of her cloak. Malachi had been partially right. The face that turned to him had wide eyes, but her green eyes were wide with excitement, not fear. They matched glowing cheeks and an openmouthed smile.

  Malachi couldn’t help himself. He didn’t even think about it. Leaving the reins in his right hand, he leaned over and cupped her cheek, gently holding her face still for the kiss he placed on her lips. Malachi’s heartbeat quickly elevated beyond its rate during the wild buggy ride.

  The leather reins moved in his hand. The buggy shifted as the filly took a step forward. Breaking the kiss, Malachi reluctantly leaned back, sliding his fingers away from the silken skin of her cheek. Ruth’s eyes fluttered open and held his as he regarded her solemnly. He couldn’t interpret what was behind them. No surprise there. He couldn’t define anything in his brain, either, at the moment. Except that he wanted to kiss her again.

  The buggy shifted once more. His mind whirling, Malachi adjusted the reins to both hands and released the brake. He looked over his shoulder to ensure traffic was clear and backed the filly, now willing, onto the road. The buggy rolled smoothly along as he clicked to the filly and she swept into an easy ground-covering trot. Malachi didn’t feel the anxious vibe through the reins, so hopefully Sour Grapes wouldn’t take them on any more misadventures on the ride home.

  Sensing the horse was now on better behavior, he transferred the reins to his right hand. Reaching out, he took the graceful, yet deceptively strong one that rested on the seat beside him. After a brief hesitation, her fingers curled around his. They stayed that way for the remainder of the journey to her farmstead. No words were spoken, but his thumb rubbed gently over the smooth skin at the base of hers during the trip.

  The filly slowed her gait when they turned into the unfamiliar lane. Malachi urged her toward the barn. As the buggy rolled to a halt, Ruth tugged her hand from his. It was with reluctance that he let go. Before he could set the brake, something he’d always do with this horse, Ruth opened the buggy door and scooted off the seat.

  “Thanks for the ride.” Her voice was a little breathless. She hastily stepped away from the buggy.

  “Open the barn door.”

  “What?” Ruth’s face, under the still-cockeyed bonnet, popped back in the opening.

  “Open the barn door. I want to take a look at Bess’s hoof.”

  “Oh, there’s no need. I can do that.”

  “I know you can. I don’t see a lot of abscesses and I want to see how it’s treated.” Lifting the reins, he shifted on the seat, tipping his head to stretch his back. “Besides, I’d like to get out from behind this idioot filly for a bit.”

  Ruth shot a look at the lathered, still, but currently white-eyed bay. A smile crept across her face. “I can understand that.”

  She hurried to the barn door and pushed it open. Malachi drove the filly through. Sour Grapes entered hesitantly into its dim interior until she heard a welcoming nicker from Bess. Malachi secured the reins, set the brake and stepped down from the buggy. Ruth had disappeared into the side room he knew held the tack and feed, as well as other equine essentials. Before he reached Bess’s stall, where the cantankerous mare had her head out, ears laid back, Ruth returned with a hoof pick, cotton balls and a bottle of iodine.

  Malachi held out his hand. A Band-Aid still covered his cut finger.

  Ruth hesitated. “Are you sure?”

  “I learn best by doing.”

  “You’ll get the Band-Aid dirty.”

  “I’ll put on a new one.”

  She frowned but placed the items in his hand. Opening Bess’s stall door, she entered and held it for Malachi to follow her through before she closed it. “When you clean out the hoof—it shouldn’t be too bad as she’s been on straw for the day—you’ll see where the plug is. Pull out the existing cotton ball, pour iodine in the hole and plug it with a clean cotton ball.”

  Malachi nodded as he stroked his free hand over the mare’s neck and across her shoulder before sliding it down her front leg to pick up the hoof Ruth indicated.

  “Be careful, she’s cranky.”

  “Well, that seems to be the nature of all females who live on this property.” Malachi positioned the hoof on his bent leg and applied the pick.

  There was a muffled snort, followed by a brush against his shoulder as a slender hand reached out and lightly back-fisted him on it. Malachi smiled as he located where the cotton ball was wedged against the hoof wall.

  �
�You seem to forget that we are a nonviolent community.”

  “You seem to keep provoking me.”

  Malachi deftly pulled out the cotton plug, filled the cavity with iodine before handing the open bottle to Ruth and secured the fresh cotton ball in place. Bess, apparently determining that his administrations were complete, or needed to be, snaked her head around with laid-back ears.

  “Look out!”

  Malachi jerked back at Ruth’s warning, barely missing Bess’s nipping teeth. Losing his balance in his crouched position, he knocked into a bent-over Ruth, who had been closely watching the proceedings. She fell under his greater weight, the iodine bottle, still open, flying against the wall. They both tumbled into the straw.

  The fall knocked Ruth’s much-maligned bonnet further askew. Malachi’s startled glance took in her wide green eyes under the crooked brim. She was so captivating he was tempted to kiss her again. But the confusion in those green eyes and the restlessly shifting black rear legs of the mare in his peripheral vision stopped him. Malachi thought he might deserve a kick in the head for his wayward thoughts.

  He levered himself carefully off Ruth and extended a hand to help her up. Casting a wary eye on the mare’s hindquarters, she placed her hand in his. Malachi pulled gently, surprised at her slight weight when she gave the impression of such strength.

  Her cheeks were flushed when she glanced his way before scurrying out of the stall ahead of him. With a respectful awareness of Bess’s hind legs, he picked up the almost-empty iodine bottle and cap before exiting, as well.

  Ruth had taken off the bonnet, readjusted her kapp and was retying bonnet ribbons when he reached her. She glanced up at his approach. Malachi capped the iodine bottle and set it on a nearby straw bale. Reaching out with a thumb, he brushed at the soft cheek now dotted with a few spatters of iodine.

  “You’ve got a few extra freckles,” he murmured as he leaned in, his hand moving to tip up the petite stubborn chin. His lips touched hers. Malachi’s eyes drifted shut at the contact. Seconds later, they shot open when she jerked back.

  “The puppy.”

  It took him a moment to identify the distant barking. He heard the incessant sound, punctuated with some frustrated yips and baby howls.

  “I have to go.”

  Malachi easily interpreted the words not as “I have to go attend to the barking dog,” but as “I need to step away from this.” He nodded. He needed to leave as well, even though it was not what he wanted. Dropping his hand, he drew in a deep breath and stepped back.

  Ruth self-consciously scrubbed her cheek with her fingers, making no impact on the additional orange dots. “I supposed we should be glad we weren’t knocked into a pile of something worse. This might be harder to wash off, but it smells better.”

  Malachi smiled in response, knowing that was what she’d been hoping for.

  She cocked her ear toward to the puppy’s relentless barking. “I need to go check on Rascal.” At his responding nod, she whirled and hurried to the big barn doors, shoving them open in an obvious invitation for Sour and him to leave. Malachi didn’t need to be asked more than twice. He climbed into the buggy, picked up the reins and released the brake. Fortunately, the filly was now in an amenable mood. She backed up like a champ and they whisked out of the barn. With a bemused smile and an attempt at a casual wave, Ruth sent them on their way.

  Malachi clicked the filly into a brisk trot when they turned at the end of the lane. Sour Grapes seemed satisfied with the pace. Malachi almost wished the filly would bolt again. It would distract him from his now-galloping thoughts.

  * * *

  Ruth latched the barn doors and hustled to where Rascal waited in the repurposed chicken yard, miniature paws propped up against the wire fence. He’d ceased his barking once he’d gotten her attention and scampered over to greet her as she rushed through the gate. After sweeping him into her arms, Ruth nuzzled her nose into his warm neck.

  “Thank you.” She hadn’t yet determined if the pup’s intervention had warded off disaster, or spoiled a treasured moment. Rascal wiggled around to run his rough tongue over her cheek. Ruth doubted he’d have any success with the spots of iodine, either, but appreciated his assistance. She resolved to scrub her face frequently and thoroughly this evening. Not having a mirror—to have one might encourage vanity, and the Amish community had strong opinions against personal pride—she could only hope her efforts would be successful.

  Stepping over the board under the gate that so far had kept Rascal from escaping, she set the pup on the ground. He followed her down the lane, staying in the ruts created by buggy wheels that wove through the melting and refreezing snow, as she went to collect the mail. While he scrambled along successfully, Ruth stumbled and almost fell more than a few times on the rough surface. Her mind was definitely not on the ground ahead. It was on the kisses. She drew in a deep breath of the chilly late-afternoon air, and only a small sense of self-preservation kept her eyes from drifting shut at the enticing memories.

  The wild ride had made her heart race, but not as much as the feel of Malachi’s lips on hers.

  They had been more than she could’ve hoped for. As was the man. He was more...everything. Smiling dreamily, Ruth opened the mailbox door. Her smile faded. Ruth pulled out a large envelope, glancing without surprise at the return address. Her correspondence course had arrived, reminding her that her plans didn’t include a husband—an Amish one anyway.

  An Amish husband, at least in her district, meant her education would be over. It meant, once she had children, that working outside her home was over. Her responsibilities would be taking care of the home and kinder. She’d have no choice.

  Ja, Ruth wanted a home, a husband and children, but she wanted other things, too, like Englisch women had. They had the ability to have a home and family without giving up other things they loved. It was what she’d desired since she’d reluctantly walked away from the one-room schoolhouse for the last time after graduating from eighth grade. Successfully absorbing more responsibilities at her father’s business had only increased her resolve.

  Her daed had known that. Which was why, before he died, he’d made her promise to pursue her choice. A choice he felt he hadn’t had. With ambitions of being an engineer, Amos Fisher had planned on leaving the Amish community when he went to a Sunday night singing at the encouragement of some friends and fell in love with Naomi Schlabach, Ruth’s mamm. As she was already baptized, he’d abandoned his aspirations and stayed, transitioning his dream of engineering into furniture making. They’d established a life in Miller’s Creek. When she’d died during childbirth, he’d stayed, knowing the tight-knit community would provide much-needed support to a single father. But he’d nurtured Ruth’s skills, encouraged her ambitions and pressed her to follow them, particularly when he’d realized he was leaving her.

  It was the reason Ruth wasn’t baptized. If she left before she officially joined the church, she could still visit and interact with friends and business associates in the community. If she was baptized into the church first and then decided to leave, she’d be shunned.

  Ruth called to Rascal before he ventured any farther onto the road. She crossed her arms over the large envelope, holding it to her chest, and tried not to wish that her arms were instead wrapped around a strong blond man. She’d decided her future a while back, and it was not what was in the buggy she could barely see on the horizon, moving away from her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Ungrateful wretch,” Ruth muttered, rubbing her upper arm after closing the stall door. Bess had taken advantage of her distraction this morning and nipped her arm. Ruth supposed she deserved it for not paying attention. That will teach me. This is what happens when you don’t stay on track. You get hurt. She shot a baleful look at the mare, whose head was buried in the hay Ruth had provided before being bitten.

  “You better enjoy that, you might n
ot get anymore. In fact, maybe I will sell you before...” She paused and then went on, “Before I get some other form of transportation. You’re not doing me any good now anyway.” The pup barked and dashed in front of Ruth, almost tripping her up as he raced to the open barn door. She followed in his wake and looked out in the faint light of the sun, just hinted on the horizon.

  A bay horse was trotting up the lane. A familiar one. Ruth’s heart rate sped up and she drew in a shaky breath. Remember what you decided last night. The admonishment didn’t do any good. A smile spread across her face as Kip drew to a halt in front of the barn.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked as soon as Malachi pushed open the buggy’s door.

  “Making sure my employee arrives to work on time. We’ve got some orders to fill, as she keeps finding us more and more new business.” Breath vapor floated away from the door as he poked his head out into the chilly morning.

  Ruth didn’t hesitate. “Let me put the puppy up and get my things.” She called Rascal to her and they both bounced over to the chicken coop. Securing him for the day, she rushed to the house, closely monitoring the slick ground with her eyes and feet, but her mind wandered.

  You’re not looking for a husband! Her brain accused as she dashed through the kitchen door. Yes, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t explore this, she countered, grabbing her prepared lunch and changing from the Wellingtons to her work shoes. Her gaze fell on the kitchen table, covered with the correspondence course papers. Its allure was quickly supplanted by the memory of smiling blue eyes under a black felt hat. Which one do you want to greet each morning?

  * * *

  The ride into town was much less adventurous behind the sedate Kip instead of the unpredictable filly. Ruth kept her hands folded in her lap on the journey, afraid if she draped the right one casually on the seat between them, he might clasp it in his again. Much to her surprise and relief, the conversation was easy and continuous over the trip. Kip was the first one in the shed that morning. Removing a harness from a horse had never been so quick or enjoyable.