by Dale Cramer
“Just take yours,” he said.
Domingo’s brow furrowed. “But I have no horse.”
Caleb nodded toward the barn, toward Star. “That one is yours. Take her, and be good to her. She is a fine animal.”
“But this is your horse. I cannot accept such a gift.”
Caleb’s eyes turned to Domingo. “It is not a gift, son, it is fair payment. I have enough horses, and I have my daughter yet. Because of you. In my mind . . . in my heart, I owe you much more than a horse. There are three saddles in the barn. Take your pick.”
Domingo pondered this for a minute, then nodded slowly and said, “Gracias, Señor Bender. I will take good care of her.” He hitched the bandoliers higher on his shoulders and turned toward the barn, but then he stopped and looked back at Caleb. “There is one more thing. I have made up my mind. I still think perhaps you are a little bit foolish, amigo, but you are surely the most honorable man I have ever met.” Then he lowered his head and went on up to the barn.
Domingo’s words stuck to Caleb’s mind like cockleburs, and in spite of bone-deep fatigue he knew he would need to comb them out before he went back inside. His house and yard were full of life and light and clamor, and he wanted to be alone just now. A full moon had risen enough to light his way, so he buttoned his coat, turned up his collar and wandered up toward the dark ridge, trailing a callused hand on the top rail of the fence as he passed the barn lot.
“Cualnezqui.”
Miriam jumped, startled. She didn’t know the soft-footed native was standing behind her until he spoke.
“Your father has given me this horse,” Domingo said.
She glanced toward the house and a little smile turned up the corners of her lips.
“Sí,” she said. “That’s my father.”
Domingo picked out the oldest and plainest of the saddles. Miriam helped him cinch it in place, and then walked with him across the backyard, out to the edge of the wheat field.
“Domingo,” she said, and he turned to face her in the moonlight.
“Sí ?”
“I don’t know how to say it. There are no words for what I feel after what happened today. Nothing in my life has prepared me for such a thing. It’s just – ”
“Gracias will do,” he said. “I did only what I have been taught. I will not let harm come to my friends.”
Friends. She wanted more, she knew that now. She wanted desperately to bridge the gulf between them, to declare herself, to let him know how she really felt, but it was a terrible risk – if he didn’t share her feelings, she would look like a foolish child and the gulf between them would grow impossibly wide. She studied his face in the moonlight. His eyes betrayed nothing, but there might never be another moment like this, another chance. On an impulse she closed the distance between them, put a hand on his neck and reached up to kiss his cheek.
“Gracias,” she said softly, and waited for his reaction.
But there was none. He was holding the reins in front of him, and his hands did not move to embrace her. His expression did not change, except for a slight blink that might have been only surprise. If anything, he backed away from her an inch or two.
He nodded stiffly. “You are welcome, cualnezqui. You and your family have become very dear to me. I swear to you, as long as I am able I will protect you with my life.”
And then, with great tenderness and something very close to love, he looked up at the horse and stroked its face.
“It is late. I must go now,” he said. With a heartbreakingly casual grace he swung up into the saddle, and then, looking down on her, said, “I forgot to thank your father for the saddle. Please let him know I am very grateful.”
Then he spurred his new horse and trotted off across the field without once looking back.
Standing in the yard watching him ride away, Miriam’s heart shattered like glass. He had been very gracious, and yet his words didn’t satisfy her. Domingo knew nothing of this cauldron of feelings that roiled and steamed inside her, and he certainly did not share it. To him, she was only a good friend who taught him to read and granted him respect. In the end she was as devoid of hope as ever, only now she was hopeless and suffering – the penalty for her desire. She wanted to scream and cry, and at the same time she wanted to turn about and forget, to erase her feelings the way she erased a blackboard. Perhaps it was for the best. Perhaps in time, with Gott’s help, the ache would lose its grip. Perhaps the longing would fade into nothingness one day and she would be content to be his friend, as comfortable and familiar as a worn-out shoe. Conflicting thoughts pelted and plagued her as she stood in the edge of the light from her father’s house, fighting back tears.
“Miriam? Are you all right?”
Rachel’s voice. Miriam was careful to put on a thin, noncommittal smile before she turned around.
“I’m fine,” she lied. “Just enjoying the evening air. The moon is lovely tonight.” A full moon hung low in the east, big as a washtub and bright as a beacon. It mocked her. In its light she could still make out a tiny spot of white bobbing in the distance – Domingo, a half mile away and getting smaller.
Rachel came and stood beside her, hooking an arm in Miriam’s. “Jah, it’s very nice.”
They stood that way for a long time, two sisters side by side contemplating the night sky, and then Rachel said very quietly, “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
Miriam weighed the question inside her for a moment. She did not wish to lie, to her sister or to herself.
“It takes two,” she said. “I would rather have no hope at all than pine for a man who cannot see me. To him I am just a friend. His ugly little cualnezqui.”
Rachel laughed. She actually covered her mouth with her hand and giggled. Miriam pulled away and turned to face her.
“This is funny to you? I have trusted you with the thoughts of my heart, Rachel.”
Rachel laughed harder, shaking her head and holding a calming hand out to Miriam because at the moment she couldn’t speak. Finally she managed to say, “No, wait. You don’t understand.”
“I don’t understand? I understand my own sister is laughing at me when I have bared my soul to her.”
“No,” Rachel said, at last bringing her laughter almost under control, “it’s not like that at all. Listen – let me tell you. Kyra came yesterday to bring Emma some native herbal remedy that’s supposed to make her well. Kyra is our friend, so when she went to leave I said to her, ‘Vaya con Dios, cualnezqui,’ and she turned around and gave me the strangest look. Her mouth opened a little, like she was shocked, and there were tears in her eyes. She asked me if I knew what I had said.
“I told her everybody knows ‘Vaya con Dios’ means ‘Go with Gott.’ But she said no, the Nahuatl word – cualnezqui. So I told her yes, I know what it means, because Domingo calls Miriam that sometimes; it means ‘friend’ or ‘neighbor.’ Kyra shook her head and laughed a little then, but she was crying at the same time.”
Miriam’s eyes narrowed. “You’re saying cualnezqui doesn’t mean friend?”
“No! She told me the Nahuatl word for friend, but I can’t say it, it’s too hard. It’s not even close to the same.”
Miriam harbored a profound suspicion that she was being ridiculed, but Rachel’s laughter was nothing compared to the humiliation she would feel if she learned that Domingo had been making fun of her all this time. She crossed her arms on her chest.
“So what does it really mean?”
Rachel’s grin faded, and in the pale blue moonlight Miriam could see her eyes. There was a deep caring in those eyes, and a trace of fear.
“It’s what Kyra’s late husband always called her when he thought no one was listening,” Rachel said softly. “Beautiful one. Miriam, cualnezqui means beautiful one.”
Caleb went only a little ways up the ridge, stopping at the first scattering of trees when he came to a waist-high outcropping of rock. A perfect spot. He sat himself down on the cold stone, took his hat
off and laid it beside him.
Rubbing his bald head, he turned his face up to the stars and muttered, “Have I been foolish? Was it only blind stubbornness that brought my family, and now our friends, to a place half a world away where bandits roam the roads, my sons plow among snakes, our babies crawl among scorpions, and no one speaks our language or shares our beliefs? What have I done?”
A deep sigh welled up from the cold edge of doubt, and Caleb lowered his gaze. As was his way in quiet moments, he waited for Gott to answer – for that gift of clarity to descend like a dove and bring him peace.
But nothing came.
After a while a little rusty squeak distracted him, the vanes of his windmill nudged by a light breeze. His thoughts turned to irrigation, and his eyes roamed over endless rows of corn shocks and twice-plowed fields ready for planting. Fat cows and sleek horses grazed in a newly fenced pasture. A swell of laughter drew his eye first to the campfire in his yard, then to the yellow light spilling from his home and the lamplit windows of his daughters’ houses, one to the east and another to the west, where three new lives had begun in the last year.
He heard the faint pounding of hoofbeats – his friend and protector Domingo riding home at the end of a long and eventful day, skirting a field thick with winter wheat. A prayer kapp glowed pale blue in the moonlight, a girl standing on the edge of the yard. He knew the shape and stance of his daughter Miriam, even at night and from a distance. A moment later the back door opened – Rachel, venturing out to join her sister. He could see them quite clearly, his fine strong daughters arm in arm under the stars, and he sat contentedly for a long time, admiring them.
When he looked up again his eye was drawn to the dark ridge looming over the opposite side of the valley, and it occurred to him that the ridges and mountains wrapped themselves around his new home rather like the arms of Gott.
Only then did he remember what he had come here for. He hung his head, chuckling sheepishly.
“I am foolish,” he muttered. He had come to this rock to be alone, to ask Gott an honest question, but like a child he’d gotten distracted and forgot to listen for an answer. And like a father, Gott had answered him anyway. His heart was full to bursting.
A shiver ran through him, the night air beginning to seep into his old work coat. Sliding to his feet, Caleb stuffed his hat back on his head and started down the hill, still smiling at himself, whispering a line from a psalm he’d learned in his youth, forty years and a thousand miles ago.
“ ‘If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.’ ”
Author’s Note
In the early 1920s, five Amish fathers were arrested and jailed in Holmes County, Ohio, for violating the Bing Act of 1921. Their children were taken from them and placed in a children’s home, had their hair cut and their Amish clothes confiscated. Later, the men actually did find a pamphlet advertising land for sale in Mexico for $10 an acre in a place called Paradise Valley, owned by Hacienda El Prado. The colony began with one pioneer family and grew to well over a hundred people. While in Mexico, the Amish built adobe houses, dug community wells, traveled three days round trip to market in Saltillo, learned to speak Spanish, went without a minister, were hounded by the remnants of Pancho Villa’s army and later by Federal troops. These are facts.
The author’s great-grandfather was the elder statesman of the colony; his grandparents lived in Paradise Valley, and his father was born there. However, written records are scant and few firsthand accounts have survived, so the author used the known history and geography of the colony to create a backdrop. But this is a work of fiction. While the historical context of the novel is fairly accurate, the characters and their stories are entirely the author’s creation.
Acknowledgments
This novel could never have been done without the generous help and gentle correction of friends and family. I owe a debt of gratitude to the following:
First, my wife, Pam, who has somehow endured the madness that is a writer’s life and given me her unflagging support. When I began writing this novel I let her know I was in trouble. “It’s about women,” I said, “and I don’t know the first thing about women.” I’ll never forget the compassion in her eyes when she looked up at me and said three words I’ve been waiting thirty-five years to hear: “You’re absolutely right.” She proofed the manuscript repeatedly, saving me from many a male blunder.
My father, Howard Cramer, shared a wealth of inside knowledge about Amish life and culture, and my cousin Katie Shetler did her best to keep me out of trouble with my Amish kin.
Marian Shearer, a local writer who grew up in Mexico, gently corrected my Spanish and graciously shared insights into Mexican life, culture and geography.
Lori Patrick, a freelance editor and friend, wrote the back cover copy. It’s good to have talented friends.
Larry McDonald, Terry Hadaway, and Joe Nolan all endured hours of exploratory chats and brainstorming sessions, helping me work out the direction of the story, and a number of other friends read early drafts, offering encouragement and advice. I won’t try to list all of them here for fear of forgetting someone, but they know who they are.
My long-suffering editor, Luke Hinrichs, and a host of others at Bethany House went above and beyond this time, showing me how to turn a lump of clay into a work of art.
My agent, Janet Kobobel Grant, always takes care of business, leaving me free to write. She’s also a keen-eyed editor and wise counselor who always has my back.
Last, but certainly not least, this work owes a great deal to a book by David Luthy titled The Amish in America: Settlements That Failed, 1840–1960. To my knowledge, it is the only comprehensive written record of the Paradise Valley settlement, and it was instrumental in creating the backdrop for the novel.
About the Author
DALE CRAMER is the author of the bestselling and critically acclaimed novel Levi’s Will. He lives in Georgia with his wife and two sons.
For more information visit Dale’s Web site at dalecramer.com, and his blog at dalecramerblog.com. Or readers may write to Dale at P.O. Box 25, Hampton, GA 30228.
Books by Dale Cramer
Sutter’s Cross
Bad Ground
Levi’s Will
Summer of Light
THE DAUGHTERS OF CALEB BENDER
Paradise Valley
Table of Contents
COVER PAGE
TITLE PAGE
COPYRIGHT PAGE
DEDICATION
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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