by Amy Clipston
“Ain’t likely Daed will allow that, after what happened with my brother and Leila. No one is working in town anymore.”
His tone was matter of fact, but losing a bruder to the outside world surely caused Joseph pain. Leila and Jesse had left the district so Jesse could be a minister and they could practice a different form of faith. Frannie often caught sadness settling on her aunt’s face in the midst of baking a pie or canning or washing clothes. She never wanted to cause such pain for her own mudder. Surely Joseph, having lost a bruder, felt the same about his mudder and daed. “That’s understandable. What about you? Working in your daed’s store then?”
“Nee. My cousin Will does most of that. I’m helping Daed break horses and build buggies. I like being outdoors more. I don’t abide with spending time with the Englisch folks who come into the store itching to take pictures and wanting to know why we don’t have more quilts for sale.”
The disdain in his voice made Frannie squirm. She’d enjoyed working as a waitress. Maybe too much. Rocky’s visits became the highlight of her days even as she knew they could lead nowhere. The other Englisch folks might have been curious, but they tipped generously, and their questions were born of a desire to know and understand. Most showed the courtesy of waiting until she turned away to snap a photo. “It will all work out for the best, I reckon.”
“There’s been lots of talking. Working at the school would shut the grapevine down.”
Undoubtedly. “Folks should mind their own p’s and q’s.”
“That’s for certain.”
“I came back to Bee County to honor my parents’ wishes.”
“Jah, but the look on your face yesterday when that Englischer showed up said it all.”
“You’re wrong.” Nee, he surely wasn’t. “Then why did you come to fetch me tonight?”
A molted red crept across his whiskerless cheeks. “Your aenti Abigail . . . she made it sound like you might have an interest. I realize now that was her way of steering you from your Englisch man.” Heat burned Frannie’s face. She hadn’t known until right this moment of Joseph’s feelings. “Rocky’s not my Englisch man.”
Joseph cleared his throat. “Remember school? You learned Englisch faster than any of the rest of us, and you were the best at kickball and volleyball—for a girl.”
“I was okay. No better or worse than the rest.” Surely he thought of how Englisch would be helpful if she courted an Englisch man. “Anyway, not skills likely to help me be a good fraa and mudder now.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
Nothing to say to that. Silence again.
Twin bright lights lightened the darkness on the road ahead, blinding Frannie. The deep rumble of an engine filled the air. A truck engine. The horse whinnied, an uneasy sound that matched the feeling in the pit of Frannie’s stomach. She recognized that rumble. She’d spent more than her share of evenings in that truck, rambling on about her family and her faith and trying to make a man understand why Amish didn’t mix with Englisch.
A man trying to rebuild a faith shattered by circumstances beyond a young boy’s control. Could Leroy understand such a situation? Surely Onkel Mordecai could after losing his first wife in a van accident that scarred his son for life. Frannie understood it, and the worst thing that had ever happened to her was the loss of their house and everything down to their last bit of clothing in a fire caused by a lightning strike. Life was hard. People like Rocky deserved a chance.
She shouldn’t be sitting next to Joseph and thinking about Rocky.
Illuminated in the buggy’s battery-operated lights, the black-and-silver truck drew even with them. The driver’s-side window was down. The AC must be out again. His expression hidden in the shadows, Rocky waved and gunned the engine. The truck rocketed past them. Exhaust fumes filled the night air, a schtinkich that reminded Frannie of the enormous chasm that existed between her buggy-paced world and the man driving the truck.
As if she didn’t already know. No need to rub it in, Gott.
Joseph jerked on the reins as if to stop the buggy.
“Nee, nee, keep going.” Frannie stuck her hand on the reins. He couldn’t stop. Nothing good would come of it. “Don’t stop.”
Joseph pushed her hand away, a gentle, warning motion. “Are you sure?”
Nee.
“Jah. Very sure.” She took a deep breath and focused on the road ahead. Joseph had come for her. She owed him the courtesy of paying attention to his conversation. “Breaking horses must get exciting. Ever had one throw you?”
Murphy’s Law. Rocky glanced at the dashboard and groaned. The CHECK ENGINE light shone brilliantly in the dark, like a big stop sign. A headache gathered strength behind his temples. He should turn the truck around and head to Beeville now. That way he’d be close to an auto repair store and mechanic’s shop come daylight. The engine temperature continued to climb. No sense driving on to Mordecai’s house.
Rocky knew all this, but he couldn’t help himself. If he turned around now, he would simply overtake the buggy and then have to pass them again. To see Frannie in there with that Amish man, snug as a bug. He knew all about the courting rituals. He’d shared them with Frannie while her parents—her mudder and daed—had slept blissfully unaware. The mudder and daed. She laughed at how he pronounced the Deutsch words.
No one laughed now. Rocky rolled in to the Kings’ front yard with its withered grass and weeds trying valiantly to survive in a sea of brown dirt. He switched off the lights and the truck. His hands gripped the wheel until his fingers hurt. He forced himself to ease his grip. No. No. He smacked his fist on the wheel. “Ouch.”
He needed to do a hundred push-ups, fifty sit-ups, then run ten miles. Maybe then the ache in his chest would ease enough to allow him to turn around and drive home. All the way to Missouri.
The silence pressed on him. He’d driven nearly a thousand miles and almost twenty hours with stops for repairs to get to Bee County. And for what? Thinking that for once God would answer his prayers. He hadn’t brought Rocky’s dad back. He hadn’t saved Uncle Richard. What made him think God would see fit to give him this happiness?
“Who’s out there?” A light blinded Rocky, then danced away. A flashlight. “I said, who’s there?”
Had to be Mordecai. Rocky took a breath and pushed his door open. “Me. Rocky. Rocky Sanders.”
Mordecai lowered the flashlight. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Rocky could see that the tall, muscle-bound man seemingly unfazed by middle age stood on the porch, his shirttail out, no suspenders, head and feet bare. His hair, usually covered by a straw hat, looked like he’d stuck his finger into an electric socket. If he had one. Most days, Rocky could say the same about his own. “Figured as much.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I keep telling my fraa—my wife—that it’s none of our business.” He moved down the steps, his bare feet slapping on the wood. “Rumspringa and all.”
“Nothing to worry about. Your wife—your fraa—will be pleased to know I just saw Frannie on the road in a buggy with that Amish man who was eating dinner with you last night.”
“That would be Joseph.” Mordecai sniffed. “That was Abigail’s idea. We don’t abide much by matchmaking.”
Rocky leaned against the truck’s bumper. His legs waffled under him. An exhaustion the likes of which he’d never experienced before invaded his muscles, head to toe. The hood steamed against the back of his shirt. A faint burned smell wafted around him. “Why not?”
“Because Gott knows what’s best for each one of us. He’ll provide. He has a plan. We need only obey and try to stay out of His way.”
“You really
believe that?”
“I do.”
“Your bishop is allowing me to come to church next service. He thinks once I see how you worship, I’ll get the picture and leave.”
If this news surprised Mordecai, Rocky couldn’t tell in the darkness. The man plopped down on the step and leaned back on his elbows as if it weren’t the strangest thing in the world to be having this conversation with an Englisch man—a virtual stranger—in the dark of night. “Leroy has been bishop for many years. He’s a wise man.”
“You think I don’t know there’s a mountain separating Frannie and me right now.” Rocky did know, but couldn’t every mountain be climbed with the right amount of persistence, perseverance, and dedication? Olympic athletes knew it. Folks who climbed Mount Everest knew it. Triathlon athletes knew it. “It’s not in me to be a quitter.”
“I wouldn’t be so prideful as to claim I know what Gott’s plan is for Frannie or for you.” Mordecai rolled the flashlight from one hand to the other and back. “But it’s my job to hold her close and pray that she makes choices that are pleasing and obedient to Him.”
Choices that couldn’t include an outsider named Rocky Sanders. “I best get home and let you get back to sleep.” Rocky trudged to the truck door and slid onto the ragged cloth seat. It seemed he’d spent the better part of the last year in this truck that looked as weather-beaten as its owner. “Sorry to have bothered you.”
“No bother. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
He had. Or so he thought. No sense in trying to make sense of it. “Thanks.”
He turned the key. The engine cranked, coughed, then fell silent. He tried again. More coughing. Smoke seeped from the front end and dissipated in the late-night breeze. Rocky bowed his head, fighting the urge to smash his fist against the wheel again. “Come on, don’t do this to me. Not now.”
He cranked again. Nothing except more smoke.
“Looks like you’re having some trouble there.” Mordecai stood outside the truck passenger window. His big hand rested on the frame. “You know about fixing these things?”
“A little.” Rocky dug his flashlight from the glove compartment and slid from the truck. “Thing is I don’t have the tools or the parts I’ll surely need.”
Mordecai rounded the front end and stood there as if offering silent commiseration.
Rocky shoved open the hood. Smoke billowed out. He staggered back, doing his own coughing. “Great. Perfect.”
Mordecai crossed his arms over his chest. “Something you can fix?”
An oil leak, most likely. It had expensive written all over it. “No.”
“I reckon you have one of those cell phones to call for help?”
“I do.” He only kept it for his mother’s sake. He wasn’t much for talking on the phone or for electronics in general, though they came in handy for emergencies. Like this. Rocky glanced at his watch. “It’s late, and I don’t know if they’ll be able to find us out here in the dark.”
“It’s not like the auto fix-it folks have to come to our place much.” Mordecai’s dry chuckle eased Rocky’s discomfort. “I have a stall in the barn with your name on it. You’d be surprised how comfy a bed of straw can be. I reckon we have a few horse blankets out there as well.”
“I don’t know. What about your wife?” Not to mention Frannie. She would come back with her date to find his truck parked in front of the house. “I don’t want to upset anyone.”
Mordecai cocked his head toward the house. “My fraa puts out a good spread for breakfast. Stop in and eat while you’re waiting for the tow truck.”
A strange sense of unreality settled on Rocky. He was too tired to do anything else but wait for Mordecai to show the way. He slipped into the house and returned a few seconds later with a lit kerosene lamp. He led the way to the barn where he dropped a pile of blankets in a stall next to three others occupied by some decent-looking horses. “Don’t be surprised if a mama cat joins you. I think she’s about to have a litter, and she’s already staked out her territory.”
“There’s plenty of room.” Rocky squatted and smoothed the blankets, folding one at the top to serve as a pillow. “Thanks for the hospitality. I hope it doesn’t get you into trouble.”
“Kindness and hospitality don’t count as trouble in our book.” Mordecai shoved the stall gate closed. “I don’t know what you’re looking for, but it don’t seem likely you’ll find it here. Frannie is a good girl with a good heart. Pursuing her can only cause her misery. Yourself too.”
“I’m getting that.” Rocky turned his back and rearranged the blankets. Heat burned behind his eyes. He heaved a breath and turned to face Mordecai again. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I got in my truck and drove down here. It seemed like the only thing I could do. Nothing else made sense. Haven’t you ever felt that way?”
“Yep, I have, but we don’t know each other well enough for that story. In my case, a girl’s life with her family and her community—her church—wasn’t at stake.”
“But what about that plan you were talking about. God’s plan. You claim to know what that is?”
“Nee. I am Gott’s humble, obedient servant.” Mordecai’s expression was kind, but his tone stern. “I would never be so arrogant as to say or think such a thing. We believe in what’s called Gelassenheit.”
Rocky shook his head. “Gela-what?”
“Gelassenheit. Yielding to God’s will and forsaking selfishness. Thy will be done.”
“So you think me coming here for Frannie is selfishness?”
“That’s something only you can know. Ask yourself, whose will is being done here?”
Could love and selfishness come in the same prettily wrapped gift? “Then maybe we should just see how it plays out.”
Mordecai’s head bobbed. He strode to the barn door, tugged it open, and looked back. “We also value the virtue of patience. We wait on God’s plan instead of rushing to judgment or conclusion.”
“Exactly.”
“Godspeed, son, and sweet dreams.” He shoved the door shut. The barn went dark and sweet silence like a soft blanket fell over Rocky.
Son. He closed his eyes against the pain of that one word. No one had called him ‘son’ in a long time. He inhaled the scent of hay and manure and dust, familiar smells that had grounded him his entire life. Working on the land, sowing and reaping. God’s work. That’s what his uncle always said. He never understood Rocky’s desire to leave home and teach sports to kids. “You want to play games for a living? That’s almost as bad as hitting guys for money.” He’d shove back his white, sweat-stained cowboy hat and shake his head. “Putting food on people’s tables, now there’s an honorable living.”
Hard work, honest work. Close to the land. Close to God. That was Uncle Richard’s life. Could it be Rocky’s too? God, if You’re really there, help me. I’m too stupid to figure this out. I need a hint.
The answer was as clear as the night sky. A broken-down truck sitting in front of Frannie Mast’s uncle’s house despite every attempt to drive him away. What more direction did he need?
He closed his eyes and slept.
CHAPTER 5
Frannie’s hands shook. She smoothed her apron. Ridiculous. Her stomach roiled at the mingled aromas of kaffi and baking bread, normally two of her favorite smells. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She wavered at the end of the hallway that led to the stairs that would take her to the front room. No point in procrastinating. A quick peek from the window had confirmed the worst. Rocky’s battered two-tone black-and-silver pickup truck still took up space in the front yard, just as it had when she returned from her ride with Joseph. No way J
oseph had missed it. He simply doffed his hat and snapped the reins, his disapproval apparent in the rigid set of his broad shoulders.
She didn’t invite Rocky to come. Yet she could think of nothing else now but seeing him.
What would Onkel Mordecai think? And Aenti Abigail? She must be having a cow or even two.
Frannie closed her eyes, breathed a quick prayer, and opened them. Squaring her shoulders, she marched into the front room. She plowed to a stop. There he sat. Eating a pancake slathered in butter and dripping with syrup. Across the table from her uncle, who sipped kaffi from his usual chipped blue mug. He smiled at something Rocky said.
Not so with her aunt. She plopped a pan of corn mush on the table and turned. From the expression on her face, she’d apparently eaten an entire jalapeño, seeds and all. “It’s about time you got out of bed. I’ve already made breakfast. I reckon you can clean up.”
With that, she flounced from the room.
Rocky turned to stare. He had bits of hay in his ruffled hair. His khaki pants and gray checkered western shirt were wrinkled. Lines around his eyes spoke of a restless night. He smiled. “Hey.”
How dare he “hey” her? Any minute the women would start showing up for the sewing frolic. Their tongues would wag until they fell off over that pickup truck sitting in the yard at the crack of dawn. Had it been there all night? How could her uncle allow it? What would Leroy say? They’d be gobbling like a rafter of turkey hens. “What are you doing here?”
“He had some trouble with his truck last night.” Onkel Mordecai set the cup on the table and burped gently. “He’s already called for a tow truck.”
“I’ll be out of your way soon as they get here.” Rocky rose and dropped his napkin by his plate, his smile gone. “Thank you for the hospitality, Mordecai.”
