by Beth Wiseman
“That’s a far drive by buggy in this snow.” He put both hands on the counter and hung his head for a few moments, then looked up as his mouth pulled into a sour grin. With an unsettling calmness, he leaned forward and said, “Just one more thing I can’t stand about this place.”
Emily took two steps backward, which caused her to bump into the wall behind her. “Then leave,” she whispered as she cast her eyes down on her black shoes. She couldn’t believe she’d voiced the thought, and when she looked back up at him, the stranger’s eyes were glassed with anger.
“Please don’t hurt me.” She clenched her eyes closed.
DAVID COULDN’T BELIEVE what he’d heard. “What? Hurt you? What are you talkin’ about?” He’d never hurt anyone in his life. He walked around the counter and reached his hand out to her, but she cowered against the wall.
“I’m sorry. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. Please, don’t cry.” He touched her arm, and she flinched as a tear rolled down her cheek. He pulled back and said softly, “Please. Don’t cry. Look . . .” He showed her his palms, then backed up and got on the other side of the counter. “I’m leaving. Don’t cry.”
He rubbed his forehead for a moment and watched her trying to catch her breath to stop the tears from flowing. She swiped at her eyes and sniffled, then looked up at him. He noticed a scar above her left brow. A deep indentation that ran nearly to her hairline.
The bell on the front door chimed, and David looked away from the woman and toward the sound. An Amish fellow around his own age stepped inside. He glanced at David, then took one look at the woman against the wall and hastily rushed over to her. He brushed past David, almost pushing him, and touched the woman on the arm.
“Are you all right?”
“I didn’t do anything, I promise.” David watched the young man wrap his arm around her and whisper something in her ear. “I mean, I guess I acted like a jerk, but I never meant to . . .”
The fellow waved a hand at him and shook his head before turning his attention back to her. “Go on back to the haus.”
David’s eyes followed the young woman as she scurried out the door, her chin tucked. Through the window, he saw her trudge through the snow toward a white house on the other side of a picket fence, her brown dress slapping at her shins as she hugged herself tightly. David pointed to a black wrap hanging a rack by the door. “She forgot her cape,” he said and looked out of the window again. He wondered what exactly had just happened.
“I’m Jacob.” The man walked closer and extended his hand to David, who forced a smile.
“I’m David, and I’m real sorry. I came in here in a bad mood, and I guess I must have scared her or something.” He dropped his hand and shook his head. “But I sure didn’t mean to. Really. I’m just real sorry.”
Jacob peeled off a snow-speckled black coat, walked to the rack, and hung it beside the forgotten cape. He turned to face David. “It’s not you. My sister just gets like that sometimes. I try not to leave her alone, but I heard one of the horses in the barn kicking at the stall, and I was gone longer than I should have been.”
“Is she . . .” David wasn’t sure how to ask. “Ab im kopp?”
Jacob chuckled. “Nee, she ain’t off in the head.” His expression grew serious. “She’s just . . . I reckon she’s just going through a hatt time right now.”
The bell on the door chimed again, and David saw a small girl enter. She was bundled in a black bonnet and cape and was breathing hard. “Are you the one who made Emily cry?” She thrust her hands on her hips and drew her mouth into a frown. David opened his mouth to answer, but Jacob cut in.
“Betsy, what are you doing out here? You’re supposed to be helping Mamm get those jams labeled so she can carry them to Abby’s bakery later. Does she know you ran over here?”
The child untied the strings of her bonnet, pulled it off, then tucked loose strands of blonde hair beneath her kapp. “I reckon this is more important.” She folded her small arms across her chest as her hazel eyes bored into David. “What did you do to Emily?”
“Betsy, he didn’t do nothing. Now, get on back in the house.” Jacob stacked papers on top of the counter, dismissing the child.
Betsy walked to David, her hands landing back on her tiny hips. She squinted her eyes and pursed her lips together. “I want you to know that if your behavior instigated this outpouring of emotion from my sister, it would be best for you not to visit us here again.” She nodded her head once, but David was too stunned to say anything. The women in this family are crazy.
“Just pretend she’s not here,” Jacob said as he walked to the girl. He gently grabbed her by the arm and led her to the door. He pulled the door open. “Put your bonnet on and go home, Betsy.”
Betsy stood in the doorway as snow powdered her black cape and the threshold of the shop. She plopped her bonnet back on her head, tied it, then lifted her chin. “I will be going back to tend to Emily, and I suspect you should be heading to your own haus.” She spun around and slammed the door behind her.
David cocked his head to one side and watched Betsy from the window. “How old is she?”
“Seven.” Jacob shrugged, then sighed. “And a handful.”
David scratched his chin and finally pulled his gaze from the window. “I have a sister who is seven, but she doesn’t talk like that.” He paused. “I don’t know many Amish folks who talk like that, even us older ones.”
“Ya, Betsy is special. She’s a real pain most of the time, Mamm and Daed let some Englisch people give her some tests, and they said she’s what they call gifted.” Jacob pushed a button on the cash register, and the drawer swung open. He filled the slots with bills as they talked. “Betsy’s been reading since way before other kinner her age. I reckon she thinks she knows everything.” He chuckled. “Sometimes I think she does, too, using them big words and all. She does math real gut too.”
David nodded. “Oh.”
Jacob slammed the cash drawer shut, then smiled. “In case you were wondering, mei mamm is normal.”
David laughed. “Gut to know. Are those your only siblings?”
“No. I got a younger bruder, Levi. But he works with mei daed doing construction and installing solar panels.”
David had noticed that lots of the Amish homes in Canaan used solar panels, something you didn’t see a lot of in Lancaster County. “How’d your daed and bruder get into that?”
“Daed knew he was going to need to find an outside job here since farming is going to be a challenge, at least in the beginning.” Jacob shook his head. “Can’t believe that there’s only three months of frost-free weather here.” He paused with a sigh. “Anyway, Daed planned ahead and learned about these solar panels before we moved here.”
David nodded again as he considered whether or not his family might benefit from solar panels.
“And me and Emily take care of the shop, and ’course Mamm has the house to tend to . . . and Betsy, which is a full-time job when she ain’t in school.” Jacob scratched his forehead. “What ’bout you? Where’d you come from? I haven’t seen you around here.”
David sighed. “We moved here. Yesterday. We’re not even unpacked, but my stepmother wanted me to pick up a few things.”
“You don’t sound happy about this move.” Jacob sat down on a stool behind the counter and eyed David skeptically.
“I’m not, really. I mean, my whole family and everything I’ve ever known is in Lancaster County. In Pennsylvania. My great grandfather left us some land, so we moved.” David shook his head. “Although . . . I reckon I don’t know why. This is nothing like Lancaster County. It’s—” He stopped when he realized he might offend Jacob if he went on.
“It’s all right.” Jacob took off his hat and ran a hand through wavy brown hair. “You ain’t tellin’ me anything I don’t know. We moved here from Middlefield, Ohio, three months ago. It’s real different here for us too.”
“What made your family move?”
Jacob sh
rugged. “Needed a change.” He pulled his eyes from David’s and his forehead wrinkled as he went on. “And Levi’s got asthma. The weather is better here for him. Less mold, which seems to trigger it.”
David suspected there was more to it than that, but he just nodded.
“Lillian, my stepmother, was wondering where the school is for my sister. I have two sisters, but only Anna is old enough to go to school. She’s the one who’s the same age as Betsy. Elizabeth is almost five, so she won’t start until next year.”
Jacob grunted. “There ain’t no schoolhouse. Hoping to build one soon, though. Right now, the young ones are getting their schooling from Emma Miller, the widow around the corner.” Jacob pointed to his right. “Big blue house on the next road to the right. She teaches them in the barn.”
About the Author
BETH WISEMAN HAS A DEEP AFFECTION for the Amish and their simpler way of living. She is the author of many bestsellers, including the Daughters of the Promise series and the new Land of Canaan series. She and her family live in Texas.
