by Emma Miller
Again, she wondered at Luke’s ease with her children. He always seemed to know what was best to do or say to them to gain cooperation or turn disruptive behavior to good. Anke was still shy with him, but Elijah, Tanner and Justice seemed to have accepted him as part of the family. She knew that might cause some difficulty when he finished the work on the house and barns and had to leave, but she had decided to be grateful for it while she had it.
Their own father had never had much patience with them or with childish games, and he certainly had not encouraged them to sing with him. Had Silas ever raised his voice in song? In service, certainly, as was expected of a church member. But had he ever sung for the fun of it or to soothe tired children? She didn’t think so.
“Oh, Susanna,” Luke sang loudly in English, “Don’t you cry for me. I come from Alabama, with a banjo on my knee...”
“What’s a banjo?” Justice demanded.
“I think it’s an English chicken,” Tanner supplied in Deitsch.
Honor chuckled. “A banjo isn’t a chicken. It’s an Englisher thing that makes sound...music.”
Luke picked up the word and supplied chicken for banjo through the remaining verses, much to the delight of Zipporah and Greta, who sang backup.
One by one, the other buggies turned off the road and their blue and red flashing lights grew dim in the falling snow. Then Honor and Luke and the children were alone in the night, the horse moving gaily along, everyone inside the buggy warm and happy, singing together. “Oh, Susanna” was followed by “She’ll Be Coming Around the Mountain” and then “Silent Night” in Deitsch. As the miles passed, the singers in the back grew fewer, and finally, it was just her and Luke to finish off the last chorus of “Jesus Loves Me” to the sound of Greta’s snoring.
For a few moments there was only the swish of the battery-operated wipers and the muffled clicking of the horse’s hooves, and then Luke said, “I guess my plan didn’t work.”
“I guess not,” Honor replied and then chuckled. “But it was fun.” So much fun, in fact, she admitted, that she was sorry when Luke reined in the horse to turn into her lane.
“It was,” he murmured.
The snow was a little deeper in the driveway, but the fence posts on either side made it easy for the horse to see where it was going. The animal, sensing the warm barn and perhaps a scoop of grain, picked up the pace.
Go slower, Honor thought to herself. Don’t be in such a hurry, Luke.
She didn’t want the evening to end, and she didn’t want to deal with more serious subjects like the length of Luke’s employment and the newspaper article that she needed to talk to him about. Better to just enjoy the moment than to consider the consequences of what she might be encouraging. She was tired of making decisions all the time, of being responsible, of being in charge.
Anke stirred and sighed in Honor’s arms, bringing back her sense of duty. She couldn’t allow herself to be swayed by foolish thoughts or emotions that swirled like the snowflakes on the night air. Instead, she turned her mind to what Aunt Martha had told her. And of the photograph in the newspaper. “Luke, is it true?” she asked, her voice a little harsher than she’d intended.
“Is what true?”
Honor forced her voice to a whisper. “Martha showed me a photograph. In the newspaper. It looked like you. They said that there was an accident. With a bus.”
He reined in the horse and they came to halt on the far side of the gate. “Ya,” he answered, turning to her on the bench seat. “It’s true.”
“You did those things? You saved those people from the water?”
“I could hardly climb out myself and leave them. There was a woman with a baby. And others. The driver was unconscious. He could have drowned. I had to do what I had to do.” Luke sighed. “But I didn’t ask to have my picture taken. You know how they are with their cell phones. The English. They take pictures of everything.”
“You didn’t give them your name,” she observed. “If you had wanted to show off, I would think you would have told the newspaper people who you were.”
“And I wouldn’t have said I was a cowboy.” She could feel him looking at her, even though she couldn’t really see his eyes. “Believe me, Honor. All it did was make me feel foolish.”
She narrowed her gaze. “So why did they call you a cowboy?”
He shrugged. “My church hat, I suppose. Someone not used to Amish clothing?”
She smiled in the darkness. The English could sometimes have some pretty funny ideas about the Amish. “Why didn’t you say anything to me about saving those people?”
“How would I have brought up the subject? You would have thought I was bragging.”
She thought about that for a moment. Maybe that first day she would have thought so. But not now. Now she knew him again. Better. “I think it was brave of you to help those people,” she said softly. “You could have gotten out of that bus and left the Englishers to save themselves.”
“Ne,” he said simply. “I couldn’t.”
“Now I feel ashamed.” She rested her chin on Anke’s little head. “To question you. I should have known you would never do anything to draw attention to yourself.”
“I’m glad you asked. Better to ask than to wonder what the truth is,” he said as he took the leathers between his hands again. “It’s what I’ve always admired about you, that you speak your mind.”
She sat up a little straighter on the buggy seat and shifted Anke’s weight to her other shoulder. The baby whimpered in her sleep and Honor patted her back to soothe her. “Silas always said that I was too forward for a woman. That I should think and talk less.”
“I don’t believe Silas and I would have had much in common.”
“He was a good man, a faithful member of the church. And he was always first to lend a hand to anyone in need,” she defended her husband. “He took his role as a man of our faith seriously. Isn’t that what the preachers tell us a man should do?”
“Ya,” Luke agreed. “But there’s no harm in taking joy in it. Having a wife and young children is a great responsibility, but they can also give great joy if you let them.”
“You might think differently if you had children of your own.”
“I don’t believe so. Think about your own father, for example. He was one to enjoy life,” Luke reminded her. “I’ll never forget the time he organized a trip to Delaware Bay for our school. He had us all rescuing horseshoe crabs by turning them over and letting them go back to the water. Remember how he took off his shoes, rolled up his pant legs and waded in the water with a crab net? He scooped up all those small creatures and let us see them before he put them back.”
“I do,” she said, smiling at the memory. “Dat always found a way to make whatever he did fun. Once, we had a tomato-throwing contest with rotten ones we found in the field. And he made a tire swing for me when I was really too old to be playing children’s games.”
“I was so sorry to hear that he passed away.” Luke’s voice grew husky with emotion. “Such a small thing to take his life.”
Honor nodded. Sometime after Luke had moved away, her father had been helping a neighbor pull old wire from a fence around a cow pasture. Her dat had sliced his thumb on a nail, a puncture wound that had been slow to heal. And then, suddenly, a midnight trip to the emergency room had turned into days in the hospital and then he was dead of tetanus. Her mother had never recovered from the shock. And years later, when the doctors said she suffered a heart attack, Honor wondered if it was the loss of her mother’s beloved husband that had killed her.
“It was a small thing to take the life of such a healthy man,” she said. “And you’re right. Dat did find pleasure in the smallest things. And he loved children, not just me, but all children.”
“But you were privileged to have him as long as you did,” Luke said. “I always admired your fat
her. His only failing was his bad eye for horseflesh.” He chuckled. “Remember when he bought that blind horse from Reuben Coblenz?”
She joined in his amusement. “You still remember that?”
Luke grinned. “It was only blind in one eye. But he bought the horse for a ten-year-old, and the beast had seen three times those years and had bad knees, to boot.” He pulled the buggy up close to the back door. “You stay here while I go in and turn on more lights and stoke the fire. Then I’ll help you get the children up to bed.”
“I appreciate it,” she said. “Then you should take the horse and buggy back to the mill. You can bring them home tomorrow morning.” She twisted around. “Wake up, girls,” she called to Zipporah and Greta. “We’re here.”
A short time later, Luke carried a sleeping Elijah and Justice, with a drowsy Tanner tagging close behind. He removed their coats, hats, mittens and boots, and tucked them in while Honor did the same for Anke. Ordinarily, all the children would have changed into sleeping gowns, but not tonight. They were tired, and it wouldn’t hurt them to sleep in their clothes, for once.
“I feel bad sending you out into the snow,” Honor said, when the teenage girls and children were all tended to and abed. She and Luke stood in the kitchen, warming themselves in front of the woodstove. “I’m serious about you taking the horse and buggy.”
“Nah.” Luke held his hands out to the stove and rubbed them together. “It’s not that cold, and a little snow never hurt anyone. I’ll put the horse up, rub him down and give him a good measure of oats. He served us well tonight, and I’ll not ask more of him. Besides, I’m wide-awake, and after so much good food, the walk will do me good.”
“You’re certain?” She was oddly reluctant to have him leave. She should have been exhausted, but she, too, was far from sleepy. “How about a cup of herbal tea before you leave, then? It will warm you inside and...” She trailed off and picked up the kettle.
He turned to her, his face gentle. “I’d like that, Honor.”
“I’ve apple pie, if you’re interested.”
“Not another bite,” he protested, holding up both hands. “I’ll burst. Just let me run out and put the horse up.”
He was back in ten minutes, which was perfect timing because the teakettle was just whistling. He took two mugs and a bottle of honey from the shelf. “Milk?”
She shook her head.
“No, not with herbal tea, I suppose. Me, either.” He took the tea bags from a tin container labeled Tee and decorated with red and yellow painted tulips. “Sit,” he said. “I can pour.”
She did as he bade her, feeling light and a little giddy. She couldn’t recall once in her marriage when Silas had poured her a cup of tea.
“I had a good time tonight,” Luke said as he brought the mugs to the table. “And I think you did, too.”
“Ya.” She nodded. “I did.” He handed her the small plastic container of honey and she squeezed some into her tea and stirred it with the spoon he’d brought for them to share. “And I’m glad you saved those people.”
He took the spoon she offered and didn’t answer.
She couldn’t resist the barest smile. “Aunt Martha told me something else when she showed me your picture. She said that your brother ran away from the Amish to sing in a country-and-western band in Nashville.”
Luke had just taken a sip of tea, and he was so surprised that he nearly choked on it. “My brother did what?”
She giggled. Saying it out loud made it seem all the more ridiculous. “That’s what she said. I’m sure it’s wrong, but...I guess I thought I should ask you for myself.”
“Wait, wait.” He wiped the drops of tea off his chin. “Was she talking about my cousin Harvey?”
“She said your brother.”
“My brother can’t carry a tune.” Luke was laughing now, laughing so hard that he could hardly speak. “My cousin joined a Mennonite choir, when he was still rumspringa. Years ago.”
“So, he isn’t in Nashville?”
“He is not. Nor is my brother,” Luke said. “Harvey, who can sing, is still Old Order, has a wife and five children and serves as deacon in his church.”
Honor leaned forward and covered her face with her hands, suppressing another giggle. “I should have known. Aunt Martha is usually wrong with her stories, but she had the newspaper article and I thought—”
“Shhh.” Luke reached his hand across the table and took hers. “It’s not your fault. I should have told you about the bus accident. But I knew you were already so angry with me, I didn’t... I guess I didn’t want to...complicate things.”
His hands were warm on hers and tendrils of excitement trickled down her spine and made her knees weak. “I’m sorry I’ve been so angry with you for so many years. You were wrong,” she murmured. “But so was I.” Her throat constricted. Long ago, when they were hardly out of their teens, she had realized she loved him. She could still remember their first kiss. “I think... I think you’d better go,” she managed.
He sighed, released her hand and stood. “I should. But I’ll be back tomorrow to work on the house.”
“Great!” she exclaimed, looking at him over her shoulder.
“And to court you.”
His words settled over her like warm rain on a summer afternoon. She turned back to him. “That’s why Sara brought you here, isn’t it? That was your plan from the beginning.”
“Ya. I hoped Sara could help me get my foot in the door,” he admitted. “But now this is about you and me.” He exhaled. “Honor, I want to court you. It’s why I came back. And you know that.” He went on faster. “Let me make what I did up to you, and give me the chance to show you that I’ve changed. I’m not the boy I was nine years ago.”
She drew in a ragged breath, wondering if he could hear the pounding of her heart. “And I’m not that girl,” she said softly.
He snatched up his coat and hat, holding them against his chest. “I love you, Honor. I always have. I always will and I think we would make a good couple. Husband and wife.”
She gripped the edge of the table and rose slowly. Her legs seemed too wobbly to stand. “I can’t promise anything, Luke.”
He was silent for a moment. “But you’ll think about it?”
Moisture clouded her eyes. “I’ll think about it, but...you’ll have to give me time.” Then she smiled. “Go with God, Luke. Take care.”
“And I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked, putting on his hat.
“Until tomorrow,” she answered. There was a gust of wind as the door closed behind him and she was left alone with her doubts and fears and hopes. “Tomorrow,” she whispered into the gas-lit room.
Chapter Eight
“Boys. Look at those hands!” Honor placed the sauerbraten, a time-consuming roast beef dish, on the table. She pointed with the hot mitt on her hand. “Bathroom. Wash. Now.”
Luke, who was standing in the kitchen doorway, opened his hands, palms up. “I washed. Soap and everything.”
Greta giggled and Honor rolled her eyes. “You know who I was talking to.” She turned her attention back to her two eldest. “Justice, Tanner, move along.”
Slowly the boys climbed down from the bench and made their way out of the kitchen. Honor headed for the stove to pull scalloped potatoes baked in a cast-iron frying pan out of the oven. Usually, she liked to serve the main meal of the day just after noon. But the roast had taken longer to cook than she’d expected, so they’d made do with soup and corn bread. The roast beef she’d started marinating three days ago was finally done, though supper was a full hour later than usual. Why on earth she’d decided to make sauerbraten midweek, she didn’t know.
Actually, she did. She’d made it to please Luke and possibly even to show off her cooking skills. What was it that her mother used to say about hochmut? With pride there’s always a fall? How imp
ressed would Luke be that she couldn’t plan meals or get them on the table on time? Why was she trying to impress him, anyway?
“Can I help you with anything?” Luke asked.
“Ne.” She blushed, embarrassed to have been caught woolgathering. “I didn’t hire you to serve meals. I hired you to fix up my house,” she said, her tone a little short.
Now that Luke had moved to the mill and was working even longer hours than before, it had seemed natural to invite him to eat dinner with the family. Sometimes he even stayed for supper before starting back to the mill. She was already making a big meal, why wouldn’t she share it with him?
She carried the potatoes to the table, checking to see if she’d forgotten anything. Along with the roast beef and scalloped potatoes, there were green beans, a loaf of raisin bread and stewed squash. Leftover corn bread would round out the hearty meal. She’d wanted to make a cherry pie for dessert, but there hadn’t been time.
Tanner and Justice’s angry voices came from the bathroom down the hall. “Boys!” Honor called. “Behave yourselves. Stop that bickering.”
Justice began to wail and Honor let her hands drop to her sides in exasperation. With four children, it seemed as if someone was always crying.
“I’ll go.” Luke volunteered. And before she could say she would handle it, he was out of the kitchen and heading in the direction of the disturbance.
Honor carried the corn bread to the table, pausing to nudge a wooden giraffe out of the way with her foot. The animal went with the toy Noah’s ark Elijah had gotten for Christmas. The boys had been playing with the ark earlier, and she’d asked them to put all the pieces away. As usual, they hadn’t gotten thoroughly picked up. “Elijah, put your giraffe away,” she told him.
Elijah stared at the toy from his place on the bench.
Greta, already in her seat, was eyeing the corn bread.
“No eating until after grace,” Honor reminded the girl.
