The Englisch Daughter

by Cindy Woodsmall

  Chris took his hat from his Daed. “I can’t stay in these parts.” Now that the ministers knew about tonight, if Chris stayed, they’d be like detectives trying to unravel a mystery, and their findings would eventually land squarely on his brother’s doorstep. But if Chris left, the ministers would have no cause to keep digging into tonight’s events. They would assume that the fighting and gambling began and ended with Chris and he’d moved on.

  But there would be a rematch. It just couldn’t happen under his bishop’s jurisdiction.

  Who would’ve thought that the worst thing wasn’t losing everything that had been riding on his winning tonight’s fight? The worst thing was that his parents were hurt, and the ministers now knew too much.

  Daed fidgeted with his long, bushy beard. “Do you have somewhere to go?”

  “Ya.” But it would mean leaving the well-paying job he currently had for something that barely paid. Although he’d had compassion for the fix Roy Graber was in and Chris had agreed to work on the man’s horse farm part time until Roy found someone else, Chris had hoped to avoid leaving his good-paying job. Still, it would be a windfall for Roy Graber, and maybe the man needed that.

  “I never expected something like this of you.” His Daed’s voice cracked. “Your Mamm and I knew you had some worldly thinking from your teen years, but all this time later we believed you’d grow into a good and godly man, especially since you were going through instruction to get married.”

  “That ending has nothing to do with the reason I’m here now.” It didn’t, right?

  His Daed drew a ragged breath, and the confusion in his eyes haunted Chris. “By the time you were born, the sixth son, we were tired, maybe too tired, to teach you the way you should go.”

  He hated this for his parents. “You were gut parents.”

  They were so very good, and he hurt for the pain this would cause them. In all his scheming and efforts on Dan’s behalf, he’d never imagined this would be the outcome. But Dan had a wife and young children to protect. He was clean now. No more gambling. But he couldn’t get free of those he owed money to until he paid off the debt.

  Chris’s left eye ached, and he knew it was swelling. His opponent had popped him a good one when the bishop called Chris’s name, pulling all his concentration from the fight.

  “Your Mamm sent your clothes.” His Daed pointed at two brown grocery bags near the entrance of the barn, each one apparently full.

  His Daed’s words meant two things: Mamm didn’t want to see him, and he was no longer welcome to enter their home.

  Chris hugged his Daed, and his Daed held him tight. Should Chris tell him the truth? Would that lighten their disappointment or make it worse? “I’m sorry, Daed.”

  His Daed sighed and backed away. He gestured toward Chris’s scraggly beard. “I guess this means no one will hassle you to stay clean shaven.” Daed smiled, but Chris saw the tears in his eyes.

  Chris rubbed the stubble on his chin, playing along as his Daed both complained and joked with him. Chris wasn’t leaving the Amish, although it did seem the bishop had a point: get in or get out. Still, he was going to a new Amish community, and he would have to shave before the next Amish church meeting in that district. But with church Sundays held every other week, he grew plenty of stubble in the fourteen days between meetings. If Graber’s district held church services on different Sundays than Chris’s, he might have an extra week before needing to shave.

  He and his Daed walked out of the old barn. His Daed got in the buggy and tapped the reins against the horse’s back. Chris wouldn’t go to Roy’s tonight. He needed time to think. He pulled out his cell phone and opened the Uber app.

  * * *

  Abigail rode horseback across her brother’s land, taking in a glorious Saturday morning as Pippi trotted. If this wasn’t every teacher’s dream, it should be—to be in a saddle, riding freely for at least an hour on the weekend. Despite having on riding pants under her cape dress and wearing her thickest winter coat, she shivered as cold air rustled her dress and the strings of her prayer Kapp. But spring would arrive next month.

  Frost glazed the grass under the sun of a February morning, and sunlight sparkled off the patches of remaining snow. Any morning in any season when she was astride her beloved Pippi, smelling the leather saddle and the aroma of the horse, was a good one.

  The fence line of the east pasture came into view. Her Daed used to own all this property, but Roy had purchased the horse farm and accompanying property years ago. Roy and she had four other siblings, but none of them lived in the state. They were all married with children and living near their respective in-laws.

  Roy’s prized stallions, Lucky and Thunder, were majestic as the sun glistened off their well-groomed coats. Several other horses—colts, yearlings, mares, and geldings—were grazing quietly in a separate pasture from the stallions. Most had their heads down, but something about the way Lady Belle’s head drooped indicated she still wasn’t feeling well. Abigail had first noticed cold symptoms a couple of days ago. Had the old girl eaten anything recently? Maybe she should check her temperature again.

  Movement deeper in the field and along the edge of the woods caught her attention, and excitement ran through her.

  Jonas Fisher. Her cousin appeared to be out enjoying this beautiful morning. Was he off work today? Maybe he was running an errand. She would check Lady Belle’s temperature in an hour when her free time was over. Right now she wanted to race her cousin, and she urged Pippi toward the edge of the wood. Pippi gained speed.

  Her cousin was quite the rider, and it’d been months since they’d raced. Her desire to challenge him pumped through her veins as Pippi went faster and faster.

  “I’m coming for you, Fisher!” she screamed with all she had.

  He glanced back at her, and despite her blurred vision from riding a galloping horse, she saw his horse pick up its pace. She leaned in, urging Pippi onward, and soon she passed him, laughing. They rode for several minutes, and then she no longer heard hooves behind her. She slowed Pippi and turned around, to stare into the bewildered, handsome face of a complete stranger.

  Abigail blinked. “You’re not my cousin.”

  The man didn’t seem amused, but he nodded with a hint of a polite smile. His horse stayed put, and she squeezed her heels into Pippi, and her horse walked toward him.

  He wasn’t clean shaven, nor did he actually have a beard. So was he married or not? He looked to be about her age—late twenties—and most men had a thick beard from several years of marriage by then.

  Her curiosity was piqued. Once beside him, she tugged on the reins, stopping Pippi. “I hope I didn’t startle you.”

  She’d given her horse a full head of steam as she’d come up behind him. What she’d thought was their racing for a few minutes could well have been his horse panicking because of the thunderous hooves from behind. The horse was one of theirs that boarded at the Kurtz farm, so the man had borrowed it or leased it, but she wouldn’t mention that right now. He seemed rather addled.

  His golden-brown eyes stayed focused on her. His horse pranced about, and he tugged the reins one way and then the other until the animal grew still. But he said nothing, just stared. He seemed rugged enough, especially with a puffy, bruised eye, broad shoulders, and a beard that even had a mustache to it. But the bruise on his face indicated he’d recently taken quite a hit. Maybe her stunt had been too much for him in his state. She’d need to get closer to see if his pupils were dilated.

  “Are you okay?” She dismounted. “Kumm.” She dropped the reins to Pippi, knowing the horse would stay put. Abigail motioned for him to get down. “Let’s walk for a minute.”

  He drew a breath and chuckled. “I’m fine.” He patted the horse.

  Still, she would feel better if he would walk with her so she was sure he was thinking clearly and could find his
way back home. “Please.”

  He nodded and dismounted. His stare was intense as she moved in close, studying his pupils. They appeared normal. Maybe they should walk to the creek, give the horses a drink, and watch water ripple past them. Watching any natural body of water was comforting, restorative to the soul in a way nothing else was. She took Pippi by one rein, and he did the same with his horse. They walked slowly.

  “You’re new to our neck of the woods.”

  “Here on business, ya.”

  She didn’t recognize him, so wherever he lived, it had to be more than a day’s ride by horse in any direction. Her uncle was the bishop, and she knew every Amish person under his church responsibility.

  This man wasn’t a talker, at least not right now. “I’m Abigail.”

  He fidgeted with the leather rein. “Chris.”

  She stopped at the creek’s embankment. He held out his hand to her and motioned for her to go first. With Pippi’s rein in one hand, she took his hand and stepped two feet lower. The rich, sandy soil easily shifted under her feet, and he held tight to her hand as she tried to find steady footing.

  A loud boom ricocheted, making the air tremble. Chris clutched her hand tighter as Pippi reared. He tried to grab her reins and help Abigail hold on to her, but he missed, and Pippi pulled free of Abigail’s grasp. Whinnying, both horses took off. What was happening? The blur of events seemed to be occurring in slow motion. Another explosion thundered, sounding closer than the first.

  Gunfire!

  She tightened her hand around his and pulled him down the embankment. They landed on their backs and ducked their heads under the earthen rampart so that they came nearly face to face with thin, scraggly roots. A third shot fired, and Chris rolled on top of her, wrapping her head with his arms.

  “I appreciate the gesture, but please get off.” She pushed him, but he didn’t budge. They had thick coats on, and he wasn’t trying to be inappropriate, but he wasn’t being helpful at all. “Seriously? Move, please!” She shoved at him, and he rolled off her. She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hello! People are here! Hello! Stop shooting!” Her breathing was labored as she waited. “Hello!” She elbowed Chris. “Join me. Yell ‘Stop shooting’ on three.” She counted and they both cupped their hands and yelled, “Stop shooting!” several times.

  They lowered their hands, listening. Probably a hunter, and maybe he’d heard them, but she wasn’t moving from the safety of this embankment. She leaned her head back against the dirt, gasping for air. “You okay?”

  “Ya.” He grimaced as he bent his right leg at the knee back and forth with great care.

  “You sure?” She pointed at his leg.

  “I’m fine, just sore. Landed hard.”

  “Welcome to Mirth, Pennsylvania.”

  He panted as he fell back against the soil. “So far there’s been nothing cheerful about it.”

  “You just described half of everyday living here, but the other half tries to make up for it.”

  Neither of them spoke for nearly a minute.

  He brushed his palms against his black coat, wiping muck from his hands. “I wanted some time to think, so I rode out this way.”

  She had so many questions. Where was he from? Why did he have one of their horses from the Kurtz farm? How had he managed to meander into her riding area without knowing the lay of the land? But she wouldn’t ask, not yet anyway.

  He rested his hands on his chest. “The woods were so quiet, and I was praying while feeling uneasy.”

  “Uneasy? Did you see someone, maybe a person with a gun?”

  “No. Definitely not.” His brows barely wrinkled into a frown. “A better word would be haunted, I guess.”

  “Haunted?” He considered that a better word? Seemed like a weird one.

  “Ever had a plan that seemed good, but while it helped someone you love, it hurt others?”

  She couldn’t think of a time that had happened, but he didn’t sound as if he expected a real answer.

  Still lying on his back on the slope of the embankment, he stared at the barren treetops or maybe at the sky beyond them. “Anyway, the next thing I knew I heard a voice rumble across the land, ‘I’m coming for you, Fisher.’ ” He looked at his filthy palms, saying nothing for several moments. “I’m Chris Fisher, by the way.”

  “Oh.” She stifled a laugh. “Sorry about that.” It would be startling to be in prayer over something troubling and from nowhere hear someone scream your name and say what she had.

  “Not your fault. Then when you stopped your horse and turned, I couldn’t believe my eyes.” He held up his index finger. “No, I’m not elaborating.”

  She didn’t know what that meant. Was it a compliment or an insult? Had he been unsure if she was real or an apparition? Did she remind him of someone he’d rather forget? “I do have that effect on people. It’s the coppery color of my hair and freckles. Perhaps you were unsure if I was a woman or a large penny on horseback.”

  “Uh, nee. That wasn’t it at all. And then”—he cupped his hands to his mouth and blew warm air into them—“about the time I got my head wrapped around the situation, we were shot at.”

  “You’re in a place that is filled with Amish who have the same last name as you, and the gunfire wasn’t aimed at us. Just hunters.”

  He shrugged. “The words of someone with a clean conscience.”

  “True.” She’d like to know what was really haunting him, but since her interest was only idle curiosity, she wouldn’t ask. “So, Chris Fisher, what kind of business brings you to Mirth?”

  “Horses.”

  Her brother had told her a few days ago that he was trying to work out an affordable deal for a skilled horseman to help on the farm.

  “Clearly I’m off to a great start, ya?” He laughed. “Within the first hour of being in Mirth, I’ve lost two horses: yours and mine.”

  “Unless someone stops her, Pippi will go straight home, and your horse will probably follow her lead.”

  He chuckled. “Is it your nature to be sensible in the face of danger?”

  “Um, maybe.”

  As a recovery coach, her bishop uncle gave rooms in his home to Amish who were in recovery or to at-risk teens who were abusing alcohol. Like every other woman in this district and the neighboring ones, she regularly volunteered hours there to help with laundry, cleaning, and meals. With the exception of this past year after Roy was injured, she helped out more at the recovery center than other women did, and she did so for two reasons: she liked her uncle, and being single she could get away from home more easily than most women. But because of her time helping in the men’s recovery home, hearing their stories, and seeing the damage their issues caused their wives, she’d formed an Amish type of Al-Anon to help the spouses understand the addicts in their lives and all the problems that came with addiction. She attended as time allowed, but the women didn’t need her, which was good, since it’d been difficult to get to the meetings the last few months.

  The men at Endless Grace often saw everyday problems as if they were the wages of sin coming to harm them, but she didn’t think that way. Life was filled with mystery and coincidences and God’s love reaching toward His children.

  “Is your husband a jealous man, Abigail?”

  He assumed she was married. Amish women her age—the very elderly age of twenty-seven—were married. All of them except her.

  When she didn’t respond, he leaned on one elbow, looking at her. “You chased me, insisted I walk with you, and then there was gunfire.”

  “Ah, I see. No husband. No boyfriend.”

  His eyes hinted at disbelief. “It seems as if that should not be true.”

  “Ya, well, I find men annoying. Present company included, because although I don’t know you yet, I know that given time—”

  His laught
er startled two crows in a nearby tree, and she couldn’t help but smile. She’d said that to a few men who’d wanted to date her, and they found her attitude ungodly and in need of correction. It was pleasant that this man didn’t mind what she’d said, which was partly in jest but also had plenty of truth to it.

  She stared at the swaying treetops, feeling the cold, damp earth creeping through her winter coat. “But I see what you’re aiming for, and I’ll admit it’s been so long since I’ve had a boyfriend that if my Daed saw us riding or walking just now, he’d throw a celebration.”

  Chris grinned. “Perhaps that’s what we heard—a great-sounding horn of celebration.”

  “Or, you know, hunters. They tend to shoot guns, and it is quail, pheasant, and cottontail rabbit season for a few more weeks.”

  “I see how it is. You lead me to deduce one thing and then turn it around.” He grinned. “A robust rider. Practical. Brave. And beautiful.”

  Beautiful? “I take it you’re not married despite the facial hair.”

  He rubbed his hand over his stubble. “Just lazy, I suppose.”

  “I daresay that few men would be caught in your position, unshaven and resting near a creek while in town on business, and admit it’s because they’re lazy. Kudos to you for that.”

  “Denki.” He lay back. “How long do you think we need to stay on this dank, smelly soil?”

  “I have no idea why a hunter is carelessly shooting his gun, but I’m not taking any chances by jumping to my feet before I’m sure it’s safe. You, however, are free to follow whatever inner leading you wish, Chris Fisher.”

  His brows furrowed as he studied her. “Wow. Did you just encourage me to go first, knowing I might get shot?”

  “No. I laid out the truth plainly and said you were free to do whatever you deem is right for you.” She didn’t waste time or energy trying to convince men of anything. Whether they had hearts of gold or of stone, men did whatever they made up their minds to do. End of story.