Elsie laughed again, a deeper, richer sound.
And then he was there, his dark form filling the lantern light, a wide grin on his face. Elsie saw him and stopped laughing.
Amos said sternly, “Elam’s here.”
“I see.”
It was all Elsie could think of. He appeared different, somehow. His face was pale, drawn, as if he were not feeling well. His eyes were serious, dark, as if he had experienced a sobering event that he needed to share with her.
“I had a ride on Elsie’s horse,” Amos told him. “We just got back. We’re cleaning up the forebay. Where’s your horse?” Amos asked, his face like a cherub peering out from the lowered stocking cap.
“I didn’t bring my horse. I walked.”
“Not even Cookie?”
“I wouldn’t fit on Cookie too well these days,” Elam replied. And still he did not smile.
He said, “Can I talk to you, Elsie?”
She gestured toward Amos, raised her eyebrows.
Elam nodded toward the house.
“Bedtime, Amos. I’ll take you to the house.”
“Why?”
“It’s late.”
When she returned, Elam was finishing the job of sweeping wisps of hay. He looked up, his face still a set mask, like a wax figurine.
“That didn’t sit well with him,” she said, hoping to lighten his mood. “He wanted to tell you about his llama farm.”
Elam merely lowered himself onto the old express wagon, as if his knees would give way if he stayed on his feet a minute longer.
“Sit down, Elsie.”
He patted the seat beside him. She bent to scrape away the wood chips and bits of bark left on the wagon from hauling wood from the shed into the house.
“What’s wrong, Elam? You don’t have the flu that’s going around, do you?”
“No, I … I’m all right.”
A silence hung between them like a veil, the only sound the steady grinding of Gold’s teeth as he chewed the good hay.
The battery lantern shone steadily, its white light illuminating the shabbiness of the old barn, the cracked windowpanes, the one replaced by a piece of plywood, the blue plastic half barrel set on cement blocks for a watering trough.
She felt the old misery of being poor, of having this half barn, half shed as a shelter for the beautiful Gold. And Fred. Fred, the old, plain Standardbred driving horse with his discolored halter, torn on one side.
Well, this was who she was. Plain Elsie. Davey Esha ihr Elsie. Handicapped Davey, with one hand and most of his arm missing. And they were doing well. They had remained independent, had made a living, even if it had always been a bit hardscrabble. They had risen together as a family, buoyed by love and kindness, tremendous caring for each other, and Elam would simply have to look for another girl if she would never be good enough.
“Elsie. I miss you.”
“Well, I’d be over, but it will be another few weeks till Christmas is past. We’re really busy at the bakery.”
“No. I miss you more than I can say.”
“But … I don’t …”
“I can’t go on another day without telling you how I feel about you. I’m not good with words, OK?”
She nodded, dumbfounded.
“Do you ever think of me in the way that … I mean, do you come over to help with the horses for just that? The horses? Or do I count?”
“Well, I …”
Why aren’t you dating? Most of your friends are.”
“I just never wanted to.”
“You still don’t?”
For a moment that seemed like hours, Elsie did not give him an answer. Who was she to tell him? He would not understand.
“I guess not really, or I would have accepted.”
“Accepted who?”
“You know. The ones that have asked me out on a date.”
“Yeah. I guess. Why didn’t you take them?”
“I don’t know.”
This was going all wrong. Elam had the distinct sensation of being bogged down in unrelenting mud, with no available help.
Elsie wanted to tell him she wasn’t dating because she could not accept anyone except him. His beloved face was the one she wanted to see when she woke up in the morning, the face that would be across the table from her at every mealtime. He was her friend, her confidant, the one who knew everything about her, every dream, every goal, her attitudes both good and bad.
“So you won’t be dating anytime soon?”
Elsie took a deep breath to steady herself, embracing the clear and precise feeling of flinging herself off a cliff, abandoning all convention and common sense.
“I can’t date anyone when it’s you I love,” she whispered.
She felt him draw back, heard his sharp intake of breath.
“What did you just say?” he asked hoarsely.
“I love you, Elam. No one else.”
“Elsie,” he said thickly.
He stood then, and reached for her hands. He drew her up, his eyes never leaving her face. He dropped her hands, his going to her face.
“Beautiful, talented girl. I can’t believe what you just said. Elsie, you are the love of my life. A love that grew so big it was way out of proportion, and became scary and, well … I’m not much of a man, I guess. After that first time when you turned me down, I never had the nerve to tell you how I felt.”
And then he drew her close, found her lips, and kissed her with a great tenderness, a quiet longing. Elsie was carried away to the place of a love that was real, a hundred times more than she could have imagined.
The old barn with the leak in the roof became a haven for the two people who felt the beginning of a love that would last a lifetime. The kind God gives freely to those who love Him, the enduring love that rides on the wings of admiration and respect.
Outside, the first snowflake of the season settled on the rusted old roof and winked at the two of them as it slowly melted into a tiny rivulet of winter. Christmas bells rang deep and true across the land, some evening service coming to a close as the silvery snowflakes came down in earnest, blessing the two as they remained in each other’s arms, a declaration of the wonder of love.
Glossary
Alaubt—allowed
Ausbund—songbook
Gook mol—look
Kopp-duch—head scarf
Maud—maid
Roasht—roast chicken and filling
Rumschpringa—a time of courtship, in which Amish teenagers participate in organized social events
Schtruvvel—disheveled
Schtruvvlich—messed-up hair
Ungehorsam—disobedient
OTHER BOOKS BY LINDA BYLER
About the Author
Linda Byler was raised in an Amish family and is an active member of the Amish church today. Growing up, Linda loved to read and write. In fact, she still does. Linda is well known within the Amish community as a columnist for a weekly Amish newspaper. She writes all her novels by hand in notebooks.
Linda is the author of six series of novels, all set among the Amish communities of North America: Lizzie Searches for Love, Sadie’s Montana, Lancaster Burning, Hester’s Hunt for Home, The Dakota Series, and the Buggy Spoke Series for younger readers. Linda has also written five Christmas romances set among the Amish: Mary’s Christmas Goodbye, The Christmas Visitor, The Little Amish Matchmaker, Becky Meets Her Match, and A Dog for Christmas. Linda has coauthored Lizzie’s Amish Cookbook: Favorite Recipes from Three Generations of Amish Cooks!
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A Horse for Elsie Page 11
