The Amish Wedding Promise

by Laura V. Hilton

He shifted in his seat as the buggy zoomed too fast for his comfort onto the road without so much as a pause at the mailbox. He pinned his gaze on Gracie. “You’re dangerous. What if there was a car coming?”

  “There wasn’t.”

  “But what if there was?”

  “I looked both ways as I neared the road. We’re fine.” She had a weird tone in her voice, as if she were trying to pacify an overly worried toddler or something. It was the smiley voice that preachers’ wives used with difficult church members.

  He wasn’t pacified. “Admittedly, I live in Shipshewana where there are a lot more cars and tourists around, but even here vehicles move a lot faster than horses and you should be a little more cautious.” Or a lot more.

  “I could beat Timothy in a buggy race,” Gracie stated. “Not with this horse, but with Author Itis.”

  Zeke’s breath lodged in his throat. This woman was reckless and lived dangerously. Timothy’s overprotectiveness suddenly made sense. When you loved someone, you wanted to make sure they were safe. Zeke would withhold any further judgment on Timothy.

  “Well, I’d like to live long enough to get back home and see my family again, so if you don’t mind slowing down some and being a little more careful, I’d appreciate it.” Then the horse’s name sunk in. He barked a laugh. “Author Itis? Another horse your grossdaadi named?”

  She flashed a quick grin in his direction. “Jah. And Ben Gay.”

  “Charlie Horse, Author Itis, and Ben Gay.” Zeke would love to meet her grossdaadi. Not that it would happen. He was here for cleanup and rescue, among other things, not to meet extended family members of his host family.

  She took another turn at breakneck speed, bumping over rubble in the road, and swerving around a tree. If a vehicle had been on the other side, she wouldn’t have seen it until it was too late.

  Zeke fought the temptation to fall to his knees and beg the Almighty Gott for his life. Instead, he gasped for air and gripped the edge of the seat. “Please. Slow. Down.”

  “Sure. We’re at Toby’s haus anyway. His real name is Tobias, but everyone calls him Toby.” She guided the horse into a narrow drive with deep ditches on both sides so fast Zeke could’ve sworn the buggy tilted on two wheels. Whether or not it did was debatable.

  “I’m driving to the next place,” he stated.

  “You like to take it slow and easy, do you?” she said, turning to look at him as Charlie Horse stopped in front of a barn.

  Well, actually, he’d never thought so, but…He nodded. “Jah. Jah, I do.” And compared to her, he definitely did.

  She reached over and patted his hand. “There, there. That was nothing. When Author Itis is found, I’ll show you what fast looks like.”

  He was hunting for some sarcastic remark when an older, sober-faced man with red-rimmed eyes emerged from the barn.

  And Zeke knew.

  Tobias was no more.

  * * *

  Grace’s heart sank. Without a word, she climbed out of the buggy and wrapped Toby’s daed in a brief hug. “I’m so sorry.”

  He cleared his throat a couple of times, then nodded toward the haus. “My wife…” He coughed and turned away, shoulders heaving as he walked toward the barn.

  “Of course.” Grace grabbed the picnic basket from the back seat and glanced at Zeke. “You might want to help Toby’s daed—his name is Luke—in the barn.”

  She entered the not-quite-quiet farmhouse and found Toby’s body lying on a quilt on the dining room table. His clothes were soaked, one shoe on, one off, and the foot with the missing shoe had a sock dangling from it. His mamm, Tabitha, huddled on a chair, bent double, sobbing into her apron.

  She looked up as Grace entered.

  “Oh, Gracie.” Her name came out on a teary sigh. “My Luke just found his body in the backfield. He said he was going to call the police and told me not to disturb anything. I mean, my son died in a tornado, but they might investigate it? Isn’t that just adding insult to injury?”

  Grace didn’t know. Her heart hurt. She hadn’t wished anyone dead. She’d only wanted the wedding stopped. “You’re here alone?” She gave her a hug, then glanced around as if Timothy would walk into the kitchen as he had so many times before. Pure foolishness, considering if Toby was gone, then chances were good that Timothy…

  She choked on a sob.

  Tabitha pulled her back into her arms and returned her hug. “So much loss. So much destruction. We haven’t notified family yet. I just want to be alone with my baby one last time. At least until the police come.”

  “I’m sorry for intruding. I brought sandwiches and cookies.”

  Tabitha exhaled. “You’re a sweet girl, Gracie. They’ll certainly come in handy in the days ahead. I’m really sorry about Timmy.” She wiped her eyes with an already soggy tissue.

  “Was Timothy found with Toby?” Grace asked without thinking.

  “No. Not in our field, at least. But the boys were spending the evening together doing crazy stuff like racing buggies. During a storm, no less.” Tabitha shook her head. “And if Toby didn’t survive it, I daresay Timmy might not have.”

  Jah. It was what she feared. Tears pricked her eyes.

  “Is there any way I can help?” Grace glanced at the sock dangling half off Toby’s foot.

  Tabitha sighed. “I want to be alone. But maybe call the bishop and leave a message on his phone if no one answers. We’ll need his help planning the visitation and funeral.”

  “I’ll do that.” She wanted to call home and tell Mamm, too, but the phone was gone along with their barn.

  Grace gave Tabitha one last hug. “I’ll sure be praying. And I’ll get the word out.”

  She emptied half of the sandwiches and cookies out of the picnic basket and went out to the small phone shanty just beside the barn. She lifted the receiver, but there was no dial tone. Of course. She should’ve thought of that. If electrical lines were down, then phone lines would be as well. She’d stop by and tell the bishop in person, but he might not even be home. Not if he lost his roof.

  Grace hung up the receiver and picked up the picnic basket she’d set at her feet while she attempted to make the call. She carried it out to the buggy, then went to find Zeke. His head was bowed as he apparently prayed with Luke.

  A half-finished casket was on the worktable. Toby and his daed were furniture makers, but they also made caskets for the community and the local funeral home. Grace’s heart hiccupped. Toby had likely worked on his own casket.

  The men looked up as she started to back out of the room. Luke scrubbed at his eyes with his fist. “I couldn’t even call the police. Another way I failed my wife. Phone’s dead.”

  “I can do that for you.” Zeke stood and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He pressed something.

  “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” a female voice said from the speaker.

  Zeke handed the phone to Luke, reached for Grace’s elbow, and led her from the room. “He needs his privacy for this call,” he said quietly. “I don’t think they should be alone while they wait for the police and the coroner, but I don’t know who to contact to come help them.”

  “The bishop’s phone number is posted on the wall in the phone shanty. Not that it’d do much good since the lines are down. I’ll run to the haus next door and tell them. They’ll come if they can.”

  Zeke raised his hand and his thumb brushed against her cheek. His blue eyes gazed into hers. “You’re sweet, Gracie. A true angel of mercy as Timothy’s mamm said.”

  For a second, she was tempted to lean into the comfort of his touch, maybe even step into his embrace and cry on his broad shoulders, but it would be ever so wrong. She tried to find a smile. Hopefully, she succeeded.

  His mouth flexed, a dimple flashed, and he pulled away.

  “You’re dangerous, Gracie Lou. Dangerous.”

  Her smile faltered. “It’s Grace Lynn. And you aren’t exactly safe, either.”

  At least not to her wounded he
art.

  * * *

  Zeke watched as Gracie ran up the driveway and turned right on the road. He stood there, not moving, until she was out of sight, then he turned to go back inside the barn. Hopefully, he’d be able to talk Luke into going into the haus and sitting with his wife. Zeke didn’t have a whole lot of experience with this type of thing, but it seemed to him that neither should be alone. They needed each other.

  And maybe to be reminded that Gott is still Gott in the bad times.

  The sign in front of the destroyed church that said something about God calming the storm flashed in Zeke’s memory, and he snorted. The physical storm might be over and past, but the emotional storm was still ongoing. And he didn’t see any effort on the part of the Almighty Gott to calm either one of them.

  Although it could be because his focus was on the storm and not on Gott.

  One of the preachers—Kiah’s daed—had said something about that last Sunday in Shipshewana. He’d spoken about Peter seeing Jesus walking on the water during a storm and how Jesus had beckoned Peter to come ahead and walk on the water to Him. But when Peter stepped out of the boat, the waves swelled around him, he took his focus off Christ, and he began to sink.

  Zeke’s focus wasn’t on Christ, either. It was on the destruction. The death. The despair. And maybe—though he’d never admit it to anyone but himself—on the very pretty and very appealing Gracie.

  He really should’ve prayed when Gracie did instead of thinking about her dress shade and how her eye colors changed and whether or not they’d be temporary friends. None of that was important.

  Focusing on Gott during this storm was.

  It wasn’t too late to pray now.

  Zeke changed directions, stepped into the built-into-the-barn phone shanty, and lowered himself to his knees on the dusty floor. He bowed his head, his thoughts still on the sermon. What had Jesus said when Peter began sinking? Zeke pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose and tried to remember.

  And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him, and said unto him, O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?

  Zeke closed his eyes. He doubted. That was for sure. And his faith was indeed small. Lord, help my faith to grow. Help me not to doubt. Help me to help this hurting community. And maybe prove to Daed that he wasn’t a big goof-off, after all, and was worthy of someday…

  Nein. That was turning the prayer selfish. Whether or not Daed ever trusted him should have nothing to do with Zeke’s prayer life. His faith. His trust.

  The door opened with a whoosh.

  Zeke looked up.

  Luke shuffled into the room, his shoulders hunched like an old man’s. He handed Zeke his cell phone and lowered himself to the stool beside the nonworking landline. “No point wasting your time, boy. Prayer isn’t going to change a thing.” There was a curse word inserted in the last sentence.

  Zeke jerked in reaction.

  The doubt, the despair filled the room—again—with the rapidness of a flash flood. And just like that he was sinking in the turbulent waves again.

  Lord, help my faith.

  And immediately Jesus stretched forth his hand, and caught him, and said unto him, O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?

  The verse replayed but did little to combat the hopelessness and anguish filling the atmosphere.

  Gott, give me words. Catch me, Jesus.

  Peace filled him, along with the certainty that Gott did have the storm under control. Somehow.

  But the words to comfort the grieving man didn’t come. There was no comfort in “It was Toby’s time.” There was no comfort in “He can cause the dead to live.” There was no comfort in any of the other platitudes that came to mind.

  “We can’t choose whether or not storms come. But we can choose where we stare during a storm.” The words burst from Zeke, startling him, because he couldn’t remember even thinking them.

  Luke grunted.

  Right. Maybe there was no comfort there, either.

  But somehow, it filled Zeke’s soul with courage. Peace.

  He stood, started to pocket the cell phone, and then noticed he had a missed call.

  He slid his finger over it. It was from Daniel Zook. No message.

  “Police are on the way. Suppose I’d best get to the haus.” Luke stood, too.

  “Gracie went to notify the neighbors.” Maybe someone else would have the words of comfort that Zeke couldn’t find.

  Luke grunted again and left the room.

  Zeke pushed the button to return the call. It went straight to voicemail.

  He stepped outside as a closed buggy, carrying two strangers and Gracie, stopped behind the Lantzes’ buggy. A woman emerged with a casserole dish, wrapped in towels. She raced toward the haus without so much as a glance in his direction.

  The man followed, much slower.

  Gracie grabbed the reins and climbed into her buggy. “Let’s go. They’ve got this, and I’ll tell the preacher or bishop when we pass one of their homes.”

  Zeke stopped beside her. “Scoot over, Gracie. I’m driving.”

  “You have serious trust issues.” Her tone was teasing, and she said it with a wobbly smile, but he nodded.

  “Jah. I do. More than you know.” Should he tell her about it? Probably. Or at least ask if she wanted to hear. “Do you want to know the story?”

  She scooted over. Her smile faded. “Jah. Tell me about it.”

  He wasn’t sure if she seriously wanted to know or if she was agreeing and saying she had trust issues, too. But he decided to take her at face value. He’d tell her once they were on the way.

  He unlocked the brakes, clicked to Charlie Horse, and set off toward the road. “Which direction?”

  She pointed left.

  He carefully navigated the end of the driveway, mindful of the deep drainage ditches still filled with muddy water from the rain the previous night.

  “Tell me.” She edged closer and angled herself to face him.

  “You know the story of Jesus walking on the water…”

  Chapter 9

  Grace nodded when Zeke finished his story about feeling as if the waves crashed over him and how he needed to learn to always keep his focus on Gott and not on his circumstances. “Something I struggle with.” She could relate. Especially to his closing statement: “We can’t choose whether or not storms come. But we can choose where we stare during a storm.”

  Oh, to feel the peace and calm that was reflected on his face.

  She swallowed. “It’s easier to think of the problem and worry about that than it is to keep looking at an unseen Gott and trusting Him to take care of it. But you know what catches my attention most?” She hesitated. “Turn right at the upcoming intersection.”

  “Okay.” Zeke glanced at her. “What catches your attention most?” His forearm muscles rippled as he signaled to the horse.

  “Jesus knew the storm was coming, but He went up on the mountain alone to pray.”

  Zeke’s eyebrows rose. “So?” He pulled to a stop at the crossroads and looked both ways.

  “So, what do you think He prayed about?”

  “It doesn’t really matter. We don’t know. And what we think would just be a guess.”

  True. But…“What if He was praying for His disciples out on that boat during the storm, that they wouldn’t be afraid and would trust Him?”

  Zeke shrugged, and his gaze narrowed. He made the turn, then glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. “I don’t understand.”

  “Fifth haus on the left,” Grace directed. “What if Jesus is talking to Gott right now about our faith, our trust? I don’t know. He knows where Timothy is and whether he’s alive or not and if he is, when the wedding will be. And yet, I’m scared and worried.”

  “You don’t act scared or worried.”

  Grace eyed him. “Of course not. I have a lot of practice in not scaring or upsetting Patience.”

  “I guess that’s true.”
Zeke slowed in front of the fifth mailbox. “Whose haus is this? It’s missing the roof and maybe the second floor. At least, part of it.”

  “Bishop Nathan’s haus. It looks like someone’s there, so go ahead and turn in. I need to tell him about Toby.”

  Zeke slowed, turned into the muddy, litter-strewn drive, and parked next to a wagon already piled full of debris.

  A gray-haired man with a long beard emerged from the haus carrying another load of trash. He deposited it in the overflowing wagon, then came to meet them.

  Grace climbed out her side of the open buggy, the side closest to the bishop’s wagon.

  “Grace Lynn. I hope your family is all right—despite the circumstances.” Bishop Nathan’s gaze slid from her to Zeke. “And you are?”

  “Ezekiel Bontrager. From Shipshewana.”

  “Ah. The infamous Zeke.”

  Zeke’s eyes darkened, his lips turned down, and he slumped. He aimed his gaze toward the ground.

  “You heard of him?” Grace’s mouth dropped open. And what was with Zeke’s reaction?

  The bishop glanced at her. “Your grandfather mentioned him.” He turned his attention to Zeke. “Grace’s grandfather is assisting with organizing the helpers at the school coordinating relief efforts. You likely met him. I’m Bishop Nathan Fisher. Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise. Though it’s rather disturbing to know my reputation precedes me.” Zeke didn’t smile. His gaze slid to Grace. “So I met your grossdaadi at the school, then.”

  Bishop Nathan chuckled. His attention swung back to Grace and he sobered. “I’m sorry about the wedding. Any sign of Timothy yet? We’re still trying to figure out how to get his buggy out of my haus.” He grunted. “Actually, we’re waiting on the buggy repairman to come and help us disassemble it in a way that won’t leave it unserviceable.”

  Grace glanced that way but didn’t see the buggy.

  The bishop tugged on his beard. “The tornado lifted off half the second floor, set it down in the cornfield, and set Timothy’s buggy down through the hole in the floor, just as neat as you please.” He shook his head. “I’ll probably use this in a sermon someday. Somehow.”