by Jo Ann Brown
Elijah was tempted to laugh at that, but one look at the woman squelched any such impulse. “Ya. Ya, I see what you’re saying. But since I’m in a buggy, it wouldn’t be much of a getaway. You could jump out, land in the snow and be fine. Then I’d no doubt be arrested. I suspect a police car would have no trouble catching up with me.”
“Maybe you ride around looking for women to prey upon.”
Elijah’s amusement gave way to irritation. “You have a suspicious nature.”
“I’m careful.” Her gaze darted down to the babe. “I have to be.”
Like snowflakes disappearing on fingertips, his irritation melted away. He stepped closer, but not too close. “I can assure you that I mean you no harm. I saw you standing here and the bus leaving. The mercantile is closed, though there is a pay phone on the other side of the building if you need one.”
“Nein. I don’t need a phone.” The words were soft, emphatic, and seemed to hold the heartache of a thousand sleepless nights.
“Perhaps you could contact your bishop for me.” She cleared her throat, glanced again at the child and then spoke more boldly. “I would appreciate that very much, if you would.”
“Sure. I could do that.” Elijah turned the collar of his coat up to keep the snow from hitting his neck. Now that he was standing closer, he could see that her coat was quite threadbare, and the child was wrapped in a blanket that had been patched many times.
“Old Eli doesn’t have a phone in his house, though there’s a phone shack with a message machine he checks regularly. When it’s an emergency, we usually just send someone to his place.”
“Would you... Would you fetch him for me?”
“I’d be happy to. He’s on the other side of town, though. In this weather, it would take an hour for me to get there and him to get back.”
When she didn’t respond, he added, “You and the babe would be warmer if you’d just get in my buggy and let me take you to his place.”
Her eyes widened in alarm, and she clutched the babe even closer.
“Look, miss. I was just driving through town to my place. There’s no need for you to be afraid, but if you’d rather, I can take my horse Boots down to the police station and have them ferry you out to the bishop’s in a patrol car.”
“Nein. I’d rather not ride in an Englisch police car.” She closed her eyes, pulled in a deep breath and glanced toward his buggy. “We would appreciate the ride.”
“I’ll just get your bags, then.”
He figured she must be on a short visit as she had only a large diaper bag, a small suitcase and a purse with the strap angled across her body as if to ward off any potential purse snatchers.
He picked up the two bags and motioned with his head toward the buggy.
Fortunately he’d left the heater on and the warm air blasted out as soon as he opened the door. He tossed her bags into the back, then turned to help her, but she’d already managed to scramble up with the child. He unwrapped Boots’s reins, tossing them up into the buggy, and hurried around to the driver’s side.
If Boots was upset about the change in direction, he kept it to himself.
“My name’s Elijah...Elijah King.”
“Faith.”
He noticed she didn’t offer her last name or the child’s name. She certainly wasn’t much of a talker, or maybe she was simply tired.
“Nice snowfall we’re having. They say we could receive a couple feet before morning.”
“Which is why I’m stranded here.”
“You’re stranded?” He glanced her way, but could see only her profile as she was staring out the side window. “Where were you headed?”
“Michigan.”
“Ah.”
“The bus driver said the roads were closed once you crossed the interstate.”
“That happens a couple of times a year. The state will get the roads cleared by tomorrow morning or midday at the latest, but until then... I guess it could be quite inconvenient.”
She nodded in agreement. The expression on her face said that inconvenient didn’t begin to cover it.
They rode along without speaking for a few more minutes. When the silence became more than Elijah could stand, he made another attempt at conversation. “You have family in Michigan?”
“How far now to the bishop’s?” she responded.
“Only a few more miles. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“And he’s... He’s a gut bishop?”
“Old Eli? Ya. Most certainly he is. Not that old either—I think he turned fifty-five last year. We call him Old Eli because there’s also a Young Eli and a Too Tall Eli, and then I’m Elijah—never Eli.”
“Too tall?”
“Taller than me even.” Elijah was used to being teased about his height. At five foot eleven, he’d always been the tallest boy in his class.
The babe began to fuss, and Faith attempted to console her. Elijah wondered if she had any food in that diaper bag, then decided it was none of his business. The bishop would take care of anything she needed.
“What’s her name?”
“Why?” Faith’s voice rose in alarm.
“Just being friendly is all.”
“Oh.” Faith’s shoulders slumped a little. “I suppose I’m a bit jumpy. Her name is Hannah.”
“Let me guess her age. I’m pretty gut at this as I have quite the brood of nieces and nephews. I’d say she’s eight months, maybe nine.”
“Hannah turned a year last week.”
“She seems smaller. Must take after your husband, being as you’re nearly as tall as me.”
Faith didn’t answer that. Instead she murmured something in Hannah’s ear and kissed her cheek. That image tore at Elijah’s heart and reminded him why he’d vowed to change his focus for the year. To have a fraa and a boppli would make his life complete. Though he’d prefer one more friendly and lighthearted than the woman sitting next to him.
He didn’t know her story, certainly wouldn’t judge her, but she seemed taciturn, suspicious and gloomy. He couldn’t imagine a worse combination.
“Here we are.” Elijah pulled into the bishop’s lane.
It was close to seven in the evening, and light blazed in nearly every window.
“Your district allows electricity?”
“Nein. The bishop has allowed solar power. He has a good-sized panel on the back of the roof that I installed myself. That’s what I do—King’s Power is the largest solar business in LaGrange County.”
He hadn’t intended to boast, but it wouldn’t have worked anyway. Faith didn’t seem the least bit interested in anything he had to say.
Five minutes later, he’d introduced her to the bishop and his wife, and one of the bishop’s sons had fetched her bags. Elijah would have liked to have stayed and heard her story, but he couldn’t think up an excuse for doing so. Instead he wished her a good night, told Old Eli to call his business phone if he needed anything and stepped back into the night.
As he drove home, he resumed talking to Boots.
“Guess she wasn’t The One.”
Boots didn’t answer. He was showing his full attitude now that Faith was gone—tossing his head and pulling to the wrong side of the road if Elijah let up on the reins at all.
“Being as she must be married and all.”
Elijah felt a familiar heaviness settle over his mood. Being alone was hard, and he didn’t know how to fix that. He could fix nearly anything on a solar panel, but life choices? Well, it wasn’t as if you could go back and choose again.
How could he have been so foolish as to think a potential wife would pop up in the snow, waiting to be rescued.
Ha! He laughed at that image, as it most certainly did not describe Faith. She’d thought he was a kidnapper.
He fought through the cloud of depress
ion. So she wasn’t the woman whom he was meant to marry. That didn’t diminish his certainty that he would find the one, and this year, too. Hadn’t Gotte promised him? At least it had seemed like Gotte’s voice when he’d woken on the first day of the New Year, nearly despondent and wondering what the point of all his success was if he had no one to share it with.
As sunlight had risen over his west fields that morning, he’d realized that he had no one to blame but himself. He was the one who had put business first—and maybe that was okay for a time. Not anymore. It was long past the point for shifting his priorities.
Then he’d opened his Bible.
He liked to open it to a random spot as he drank his first cup of coffee. That morning he’d opened his Bible to the third chapter of Ecclesiastes.
To every thing there is a season...
A time to be born and a time to die...
A time to love...
It was as if the words had been written directly to him. He saw, clearly, that his priorities should have shifted long ago. Throughout the next few days, he’d become convinced that Gotte had spoken to him. He’d practically sent a letter that read,
Dear Elijah,
It’s time you had a wife.
No worries, my son. I’ll send you one.
He pulled into his own lane, mentally slapping himself on the forehead. When he’d seen Faith standing in the snow, standing there waiting for someone to come along and rescue her, his heart had quickened. He’d been so sure that she was the woman Gotte had promised.
She hadn’t wasted any time setting him straight on that point.
She’d certainly wanted little to do with him. Not that she was rude. Nein, he wouldn’t say that. It was only that she was so reserved, as if she needed to keep a wall of protection around herself and Hannah.
He unhitched Boots, stabled the gelding and added the promised oats to his bucket.
Pulling his coat more tightly around himself, he trudged to his back door. Perhaps Gotte was teaching him perseverance. He could stand to learn that. He’d never been a particularly patient man, but he could learn. And then Gotte would send his wife. He was certain of it.
* * *
Faith knew that she would have to be honest with the bishop and his wife. Old Eli and Mary Ann seemed like a kind couple. Their house was filled with kinner and grandkinner, who seemed to understand the situation called for privacy. The large family settled back down in the sitting room and left them alone in the kitchen. Mary Ann had insisted she spend some private time in their bedroom where Faith had changed Hannah’s diaper, nursed her and then slipped on her doschder’s only nightgown—a small white flannel thing that a member from their church district had donated. All of Hannah’s things were donated. There was nothing wrong with that, but oh, how Faith would love to have one thing that had been sewn or purchased specifically for her daughter.
She picked up her now sleepy child and cradled her in her arms. “We’re going to find our way through this—the two of us will. Never worry, Hannah. Mamm will take care of you.”
And with that promise, Faith squared her shoulders and walked out into the kitchen.
“There’s a cradle at the far end of the table.” Mary Ann stood at the stove, waiting on the kettle to boil. “Being as she’s small, she’ll still fit in it. Go ahead and put her there, then sit. You look dead on your feet.”
“Danki.”
“Mary Ann keeps several extra cradles around the house,” Eli explained.
Eli had gray sprinkled throughout his beard, though his hair was still quite brown. Smile lines fanned away from his eyes. Mary Ann was short and round, and the hair that peeped from her kapp was completely gray. There was something about her expression—about the way that she looked at Faith and Hannah—that suggested she understood more than Faith had yet explained. No doubt she’d seen much, as the wife of a bishop. How often had the couple had strangers appear at their door in need of help? Probably they’d heard every conceivable story, even one as woeful as Faith’s.
She took courage in that. While her life had been difficult the past two years, she wasn’t alone. Others had it worse.
“Seems there are always babes visiting.” Mary Ann smiled and pushed a mug of hot tea in her hands. “It’s herbal, won’t keep you awake at all. Are you sure you won’t have a bite to eat?”
“Nein. I had a sandwich on the bus.”
Eli and Mary Ann exchanged a knowing glance, but they didn’t call her on the fact that the sandwich was probably her lunch and not her dinner.
Faith sipped the tea, allowing the chamomile to warm her, soothe her. Finally she raised her eyes to the couple who were waiting so patiently.
“I’m in a bit of a jam, and I could use some help.”
“People who care about each other take care of one another,” Eli said.
Mary Ann added, “It’s not a duty. It’s a pleasure.”
“But you don’t even know me.”
“Yet, Gotte has brought you to our doorstep. We’re happy to help. Share what you feel like you can, and take your time. No one is in a hurry here.”
The hands on the clock showed it was nearly eight, and Faith realized that the bishop and his wife would be rising sometime between four and five. She’d imposed enough. No need to keep them up later because she was embarrassed.
Setting down her mug, she clasped her hands on the table. “I was headed for Michigan when the bus put me out.”
“Because of the snowstorm.” Old Eli glanced at the window. “It’s still coming down and the weather people are predicting over a foot.”
“If you could provide me a place to stay until the buses are running again, I would be grateful.”
“Of course we will.” Mary Ann reached out and covered Faith’s hand with hers. “How could we do any less?”
Mary Ann picked up her knitting—a soft blue yarn that could have been a shawl or a scarf or a blanket. She was just beginning the project, so it was impossible to tell what it might turn out to be—rather like Faith’s life at the moment. The thought simultaneously depressed and intrigued her.
As for Mary Ann, she seemed willing to listen and knit and let her husband pick up the threads of the conversation.
Old Eli tapped the old oak table. “We’ll contact your husband too, so he won’t be worried. I can send one of the kinner to the phone shack at first light—or now if you think it necessary.”
“No need. My husband passed two years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that—we can call your family, then. Surely they’ll be worried.”
Faith met his gaze. This wasn’t the time to indulge in embarrassment or cowardice. The moment she’d stepped on that bus, her life had changed, and she needed to be willing to do whatever was necessary to ensure Hannah’s best welfare. She knew that being honest with Old Eli wasn’t just the right thing to do, it was the most expedient thing to do.
“That’s just it. That’s why I’m going to Michigan. I don’t have any family. Hannah and I...” Why was this so hard? Why did tears sting her eyes every time she tried to speak of it? Not that she’d spoken to anyone about her trials. In Fort Wayne she hadn’t been afforded the luxury of friends.
“Hannah and I are alone. We don’t have anyone who will be worried about us.”
Old Eli was silent as he sat back and studied her, but Mary Ann tsked and murmured, “We are all family in Christ, my dear.”
“No family where you’re coming from...”
“Fort Wayne.”
“What about where you’re going...in Michigan?”
“Nein. I answered an advertisement in the Budget. A widowed woman in the Mio district was looking for someone who would be willing to live on the property with her and help run a small farm.”
Mary Ann and Old Eli exchanged another look. She wondered about that, the way
they were able to communicate without words. She hadn’t been married to Jonas long enough to develop such a thing, and his parents—well, Gerald rarely bothered to speak to Sara. When he did, it was usually a command that was meant to be heeded immediately.
“Putting aside for a minute just how difficult it might be for you to help run a farm...” Old Eli held up his hand to stop her protests. “Even a small one, I’m sure you’ve looked at how far it is to Mio. It’s another three hundred miles from here, nearly to the Canadian border.”
“And it’s a small community besides—and cold. The wind and snow that come off Lake Superior can both try a person’s soul.” Mary Ann raised her eyes from her knitting. “Are you sure that’s where you want to go?”
“I’m sure that I don’t have any other options.”
Old Eli grinned and pushed back from the table. “Then that is where we will begin.”
“Begin?”
“We will pray for options, and that Gotte reveals them to you quickly.”
Thirty minutes later, Faith was tucked into a bedroom that was barely large enough to hold the twin bed and cradle. She thought it might be the room of one of the teenaged girls as there were books stacked in one of the cubbies—including several Christian romances from the public library.
Though the room was tiny, she was grateful for it. The smallness almost felt cozy, and after sitting on the bus for so long, she welcomed the chance to lie down.
Hannah was fast asleep.
Faith checked Hannah’s nappie a final time before turning out the room’s small battery lantern. As she lay there in the dark under Mary Ann’s clean sheets and hand-sewn quilt, her mind wouldn’t quit wrestling with the trials of the day.
Gerald’s haughty coldness as he’d dropped her at the bus station, wishing her good riddance and proclaiming he hoped never to see her again.
Sara’s tears.
The increasing snow and finally the bus driver’s pronouncement that everyone needed to get off the bus before they reached the Michigan border.
Being the last one on the bus.
Getting out at the deserted station.
And then Elijah.
