David took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair, cut Englischer short. “Amos wasn’t as shocked as I thought he’d be.”
“I noticed that. It got me wondering what he knows about our brethren that we don’t.”
Startled into a laugh, David said, “I hadn’t thought of that. Huh. Now I won’t be able to help doing the same.”
Luke slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Can you use help this morning?”
“I can.”
Luke unharnessed his handsome gelding—Charlie, he called him—and turned him in to pasture with Dexter. Too bad Charlie was gelded. He would have made a fine stud.
The two horses wandered toward each other, touched noses, and were soon grazing side by side. Luke took a tool belt from the buggy, buckled it on, and followed David to the barn.
The men collected lumber from a pile left by Hiram and carried it out to where David had already torn down the remnants of the existing chicken coop.
“I have to have chickens,” he said, “but I remember how much I hated collecting the eggs and cleaning the coop.”
“I feel the same. Julia and I still haven’t started a flock. We depend too much on my mamm and daad, maybe, but with her working, too, we’ve made changes slowly.” He glanced at David. “I don’t know if you’ve heard that she was Englisch.”
Even as the men talked, they laid out the basic structure and began to work.
“Mamm told me in a letter,” David agreed. “It was big news, her converting and your marriage.”
Luke nodded, obviously unsurprised. Lacking e-mail, social media, and phone calls, the Amish were excellent correspondents. The women in particular stayed in close contact with dozens of friends and family members in other parts of the state and country.
“Once I was baptized, working with Daad, and owned my own home, I planned to get married. That came next, you see. Buy house, get married. I was determined to catch up to the men who’d never left the way I did.”
David finished sawing a board and then set it down, waiting.
“I couldn’t find an Amish woman who felt right. It didn’t take me long to realize that a big part of me was still the man who’d lived a very different life. I never wavered in believing I’d made the right choice in coming home, but it took me a long time to accept that I couldn’t pretend those years hadn’t happened. A good Amishwoman would never have understood me. I would have had to hide a part of myself from her.”
Nailing together a corner of the structure, David thought about what Luke had said. “Julia understands all of you.”
“Ja. New to our faith, she stumbles, and I understand, as she accepts the worldly part of me.”
“I’m . . . not thinking about marriage yet, although I have no doubt my mother will start prodding me.”
Luke chuckled. “Mine never let up. Even Daad pushed. I think they kept being afraid I’d leave again. Marriage would tie me here with big knots, they were convinced. Your parents may feel the same.”
“I was less happy and successful than you were out there,” David said after a minute, “but the reasons I left, the things I shouldn’t have felt, they’re still with me. I want to believe I can let them go with confession, but I’m not sure.”
Luke straightened to meet David’s eyes. “That’s what I want to say. It won’t happen overnight. Don’t expect to find peace so easily, however important it is that you kneel to confess and receive forgiveness. I beat myself up when I didn’t meet my expectations. I hope you won’t do that. Accept that you are not the man you were when you left. You never will be again.”
David blinked at the blunt statement. He didn’t want to be that tormented young man again—but he had imagined that he could patch himself back together in the near future. Work hard, become an accepted part of the community, quit thinking about what couldn’t be changed.
Some of that was happening, but the weight of guilt had become heavier, if anything, now that he’d seen Miriam and Esther. Perhaps he should only hope that the load lightened gradually.
After a moment, he said, “Denke for saying that. I’ve been unrealistic. It will help if I don’t get mad at myself for stumbling, as you put it.”
Luke smiled. “I hope we can become friends. You and I have more in common than I do with many of my old friends.”
“That would be good,” David said readily. “I look forward to meeting your wife. I hear you have a little girl, too.”
“I do, and we hope to have other kinder. You’ll meet my daughter today, since Abby is with Mamm, who plans to come with plenty of food. Miriam, too. She won’t admit her cookies are better than anyone else’s, but even Amos says they are.”
David laughed, though he wished Miriam had been busy with her job today. Probably the quilt shop closed for the same two days as Bowman’s did. On worship Sundays, he could keep his distance from her, but when she was here, in his own home, radiating warmth, somehow more vivid than other young women as she had always been to him, he couldn’t conspicuously ignore her.
Very well, then, he must think of her as a friend and use as an excuse the limitations put on unmarried women and men who were not courting. That ought to be safe enough.
He did take heart from what Luke had told him. Nothing stayed the same. With time, he might discover his feelings had changed. Luke Bowman was right, David decided. He wasn’t the person he’d been, even if he still had to take responsibility for the failings of his younger self.
* * *
* * *
Judith Miller stood with her hands on her hips. “We brought folding tables, but nothing to sit on because Hiram had some benches. I hope they’re still in the barn. I should try to find Isaac or your daad to get them.”
“I’ll find Daad,” Miriam said. “Or go look myself.”
“Now, don’t you try to carry them!”
She made a noncommittal noise and circled the house toward the big barn with a silo behind it. Carrying one end of a long wooden bench wasn’t beyond her capabilities. Judith was as bad as her own mother, both worrying too much. Wanting to protect all their kinder, when that wasn’t always possible.
Halfway to the barn, she saw the frame and roof of a new chicken coop had been erected, some cubbies already built and installed. A large roll of chicken wire lay on the ground. Daad, Isaac Miller, and her brother Luke stood in a semicircle discussing what still needed to be done and whether it could be finished this afternoon.
Just then, David appeared in the open doorway of the barn, so she kept walking. When she got close enough, she said, “Mamm has sent me to search for some wooden benches she’s sure Hiram kept. Have you seen them?”
He held a glass canning jar full of those U-shaped nails, she saw. “I did notice them and wondered what they were for. I meant to say something, in case they got left off the bench wagon by accident the last time my onkel hosted worship.”
“No, we have some like them, too. Do you mind helping me get them? They’ll certain sure need cleaning.”
He glanced toward the other men as if meaning to call out to them, but seemed to change his mind. He set down the jar and led the way into the shadowy interior of the barn. A dart of movement above caught her attention. A swallow, making agitated circles among the rafters. She must have a nest up there.
A chestnut horse poked his head out of a stall and nickered. Miriam diverted to pet him and murmur, “I’m sorry I don’t have a treat for you.”
“Watch that he doesn’t bite you.” David came to her side. “I don’t know if he got knocked in the head when he was a colt or just doesn’t have any sense.”
She laughed at him. “Don’t young men kick up their heels and act crazy for a while?”
A smile relaxed his face. “And young women don’t?”
“Fewer of us, maybe.”
“That’s probably true,” he agree
d. He touched her shoulder. “This way.”
They found the long backless benches stacked in a corner. “I should get Daad,” David said suddenly. “These are too heavy for you.”
Her chin came up. “Nonsense. I’m strong.”
“Have to prove yourself, do you?” It sounded like teasing, and his nod came almost immediately. “Let me get the top one down. Best if you get out of the way.”
Despite his warning, she stabilized one end while he lowered the other to the barn floor, then came to take the weight from her. He shook his head. “Levi used to say—”
She froze inside and out. What had Levi told David? Oh, why had she imagined she wanted to reminisce about Levi with this man who had been his best friend? And, ja, she’d considered that doing so might open old wounds for him. What she hadn’t considered was the possibility that she’d be the one ending up sliced to the bone.
But he was smiling. “Agasinish was the word I heard most often when he mentioned you.” It meant both “stubborn” and “contrary.” “You were so small, always smiling and gentle, I wondered what he was talking about. But now I see.”
Although light-headed with relief, she summoned an impish grin. “I know when I’m right, that’s all. Now, we should get going, before my mother sends out a search party.”
He laughed. “I’ll take the front, you the back. No, don’t argue.”
She chose not to, deciding to let him take the awkward end.
Of course, they’d no sooner emerged from the barn than the other men saw them. Within seconds, her daad seized her end from her.
He frowned. “Why didn’t you tell us you needed help?”
Miriam backed away. “Didn’t I help you load the wagon with furniture just the other day?”
“There wasn’t anyone else to do it. Today, you don’t need to.”
She rolled her eyes and said, “We’ll need another one. I’ll show Luke and Isaac where they are.”
“Good idea,” David said gravely, then winked at her.
She floated in an odd little bubble of delight back into the barn.
Chapter Five
Miriam was setting out silverware, her mother next to her with plates, when they both heard another buggy driving up the lane. A few steps away, Judith beamed. “Ach, that will be my brother, Paul, and his family.” She hurried away.
Miriam started to rise to her feet as she saw Luke’s five-year-old daughter racing to meet the buggy. Instinct had her wanting to chase after, but her own mother was closer, catching the tiny blonde and sweeping her up in loving arms.
Mamm hadn’t seemed to notice. “They aren’t in our church district, but I remember Rebecca being a quilter.”
“Oh, ja, her quilts are beautiful. She helped with that auction last year. Her oldest girl has taken after her mamm. They’re in the shop often. I didn’t realize they were so closely related to Judith.”
Normally, any two Amish women or men would quickly establish how they were related. Quilters might be an exception, often too interested in each other’s work or a surprising use of a traditional pattern to bother with such niceties.
In a given area, like here in northern Missouri, it sometimes seemed that everybody was related, and often in multiple ways. It got confusing, and must be worse in long-established settlements. The three church districts clustered around Tompkin’s Mill had been formed only in the last thirty years or so, and families had come from all over, mostly in search of affordable farmland. Even now, an occasional new family arrived, like the Esches, who would soon be related to the Bowmans through Elam, determined to marry Anna Rose Esch. When they first joined the same church district as the Bowmans, Mamm had tried to nudge Miriam toward the oldest son, Caleb. She’d resisted, as she had all of her mother’s other attempts to persuade her to consider this man or that as a prospective husband.
It struck her, suddenly, that Mamm hadn’t done that in a long time. As much as two years, maybe? She must have given up, accepting that her youngest daughter would never marry. How strange, Miriam thought, that she hadn’t noticed. And . . . why was she shocked at the realization? Hadn’t she made that decision herself? Why should it bother her that her own mother saw her as a perennial spinster, an aenti but never a mother?
Had she held on to hope, somewhere deep inside, that she would still be loved by a man and know the joy of holding her own boppli for the first time?
Hands now empty, her mother looked around with pleasure. “I’m glad Hiram chose David to take over this farm. There was a time no one knew what would become of that boy, but he’s grown up to be a fine man.” She nodded. “Ja. We should all have known.”
Surprised, Miriam asked, “What are you talking about?”
But her mother had planted her hands on her hips and was staring in the direction of the barn. “Why aren’t they back with the other benches? Not such a big job. Here we are ready to eat, and they’re dawdling.”
Miriam smiled to hear their voices. A moment later, they appeared. David and his father carried one bench, Luke and her daad the other. David’s gaze had gone right to her, and stayed on her face even as he followed Isaac’s directions about where to set down their bench. A few creases on his forehead made her wonder what he’d seen on her face—and why he cared what she felt.
No, she told herself, she was making a big assumption. He might have a muscle aching in his back, or one of the other men had told him something worrisome. Why would he be thinking about her?
Smiling vaguely in his direction, she knew she must be satisfied that he’d been friendly today, even relaxed enough to tease her. That was all she wanted from him.
She’d barely placed the last piece of silverware on the table when she saw Abby running to her. A familiar tug at her skirt had her crouching to lift the little girl into her arms, just as Mamm had earlier. Ach, Abby had captured all their hearts. It didn’t matter to any of them that she wasn’t Luke’s biological child at all. In fact, Miriam admired him all the more for taking on a desperate, traumatized child as his own.
Perhaps her own brother had kept her from giving up entirely, it occurred to her. There must be other men capable of such generosity, such love.
She was smiling at Abby, who patted her cheek gently with a small hand, when instinct caused her to lift her gaze again to see that David was still watching her. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen such turbulence in a man’s eyes. Was she responsible? And, if so, what had she done?
* * *
* * *
David wasn’t sure how it had happened that the only open place to sit was next to his cousin, Katura, who had Miriam on her other side. Miriam’s niece Abby was squeezed between her and Luke.
When he carried his heaped plate toward that end of the bench, Katura beamed and scooted out from behind the table.
“Sit between us, why don’t you? You know Miriam because of Levi, ja?”
“Ja,” he agreed, if tersely. Did Katura know he was under the bann? Not that it mattered so much, with only family and friends. Sitting so close to Miriam, though . . . He’d enjoyed teasing her too much. He needed to be careful. Still, he slid into place, his cousin promptly sitting beside him.
Silly to be surprised, but . . . “You’ve grown,” he told her.
She laughed. “I’m seventeen, almost eighteen. Not a little girl anymore.”
No. Katura was taller than Miriam, as the women in his family tended to be, her light brown hair smoothed back beneath her kapp. She’d been a dignified child, and now held herself gracefully, her back very straight.
“Have you been baptized yet?” he asked. “I don’t remember Mamm saying.”
“No, I’m enjoying my rumspringa.” She made a face. “Not as much as some of my friends, because I love to quilt. I’ve sold, oh, at least a dozen quilts at A Stitch in Time.”
The store in town where Miriam worked.
“Rich, are you?” There he went again, teasing even as he thought about Miriam.
On his other side, Miriam said, “We can sell as many quilts as Katura can make. She and her mamm both have a fine eye for color, and use such tiny stitches.”
Talking past him, his cousin said, “You know there are many as skilled as Mamm and I are. Starting with you.”
“That’s kind of you to say. I’m too busy helping customers decide on fabrics and cutting them to spend as much time as I’d like at my frame.”
He chuckled. “Good Amish women, both of you. If only you were Englischers, you’d believe deep down that your work was the finest.”
“Are you implying we’re secretly puffed up with hochmut?” Miriam asked with clear suspicion underlaid by amusement.
“Pride? You? Never!”
His cousin laughed. “The fun of quilting is seeing each other’s work. Better yet, a frolic, where we finish a quilt together.”
Miriam lowered her voice. “I’ve started piecing the top for a wedding quilt for my brother. I’m hoping once it’s ready that you and your mamm and others will join me in quilting it.”
“Your brother?” David asked. Hadn’t Luke been married for some months now?
“Ja, Elam. Do you remember him?”
“I’d almost forgotten. He was behind me in school.”
“He’s twenty-five now, twenty-six this fall.”
He nodded, picturing a tall, skinny boy who might look like Luke now. There’d been something about his smile, though, that made David think of Miriam. Elam had the same bright blue eyes as both Luke and Miriam, too.
Ach, this was the brother starting an organic farm.
Miriam became momentarily occupied persuading her now restless niece to eat more.
“Abby looks like you,” he said, nodding toward Abby.
A fleeting, odd expression on her face caught his attention, but then she made a face at him. “Because she’s small, you mean.”
Mending Hearts Page 5
