by Ruth Reid
“He’s a gut man,” Daed finally said. “He offered to drive you home.”
She nodded slowly, then turned to head up the stairs. Maybe her father didn’t know. It wasn’t a date.
Once inside the cabin, Jordan dug his hand into his pants pocket and pulled out the treasured photograph of his mother.
“I don’t understand this way of life, Mom. Why do you want it for me when you couldn’t live it yourself?” He sat in the chair next to the fireplace, taking her photo with him. “Maybe I’d fit in better as a truck driver. Travel the country like my father.”
The empty eyes that stared back from the photograph uttered words only his heart understood.
Forsaken.
“Jordan, you are not forsaken. God loves you,” Nathaniel said. He stirred the embers in the fireplace to gain Jordan’s attention. “Read the Living Word, child. It is a lamp to bring you out from darkness and to light your path.”
Jordan sucked in a breath when flames shot up in the fireplace. The wood had been consumed. He moved closer. Ashes don’t flare up. The room filled with an orange and red glow. He turned a complete circle. The open Bible on the lamp table caught his attention. His mother’s Bible.
Chapter Eight
Northern Wisconsin is colder than Michigan.” Mamm read to Sadie. “Fanny says April there feels like March here.”
“The way I feel, I’d rather it be cold than hot,” Sadie said, patting her belly. Five months pregnant and Sadie looked debilitated sitting with her legs propped up on the kitchen chair beside her. Because of her size, nearly everyone believed she would have twins.
Mamm continued reading highlights from the letter. “Their garden is small. They planted late so they aren’t anticipating much yield.”
Rachel went to the kitchen window where she could watch Jordan and Daed talking near the barn. She’d read Fanny’s and Iva’s letters when they arrived yesterday. Then she heard them at dinner as Mamm read them aloud to her father.
Mamm’s reading droned on. The part in the letter where Fanny asked about her came next.
“ ‘So Rachel cut Jordan’s hair? Should we be saving our money to kumm home for a wedding?’ ”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Please tell me you’re nett going to read that letter at the sewing frolic later.” The thought of entertaining similar comments was dreadful.
Mamm folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. “I’ll skip the stuff about you and Jordan when I share the news.”
Gut. Since last week, Jordan had been colder than a fish stored in the ice haus. Even if she wanted, she wouldn’t be able to figure out Jordan Engles. Wearing the clothing, suspenders, hat, even the haircut, didn’t make him Amish. Her sisters should know, not many outsiders became Amish as adults.
“Timothy says Jordan is a hard worker.” Sadie sipped her tea.
“Jah. Your daed is very pleased.”
“According to Timothy, Jordan could become a building framer if he wanted.”
The entire family sang Jordan’s praises. Rachel frowned. Why couldn’t they see he was nothing like Timothy, who was a role model of a gut husband for her? If she married, she would want the man to love her the same way Timothy loved Sadie. Rachel wanted someone grounded in faith, who read the Word daily . . . like her daed. She closed her eyes. Grounded in faith. Why would she require of him the thing she could not do herself? Her own faith was a constant struggle. Not that she had fallen away. She loved God, she just doubted whether she had a purpose. A God-given purpose. From an early age, Sadie knew she wanted to marry and have children. So did Fanny and Iva. Most Amish women shared the same desire. Rachel used to but now had lost hope for marriage and children.
God, please forgive me if I’ve messed up your purpose for me . . .
“Sadie? Are you feeling okay? Your face is awfully red,” Mamm said.
“It’s this heat.” Sadie fanned her face.
“Why don’t you go lie down? There’s still plenty of time before the women arrive.”
Sadie lowered her feet to the floor. “I think that’s a gut idea.”
Rachel waited for Sadie to leave before whispering, “Is something wrong?”
“She’s retaining a lot of fluid,” Mamm said. “But so did Ellen Fischer when she was pregnant with twins.”
Rachel nodded, but one thought led to another and soon she was thinking about her cows near their delivery dates. Since she wasn’t working in the barn, she hadn’t kept a close eye on them.
Mamm opened the cookie jar and peered inside. “We can make a batch of peanut butter cookies for the frolic.” She closed the lid. “But first we’ll get a load of laundry washed so it can dry on the line while we’re quilting.”
“I’ll fill the washtub.” Rachel headed to the door. The wash haus was near the barn. She could check on the cows while she was out there.
“Be sure to gather Jordan’s clothes for washing. He’s part of the family,” Mamm called out from the kitchen.
“Sure.” She pulled the door open.
Tangus smiled. Rachel’s inner rebellion would play nicely into his hands. “Soon your mamm will call him son,” Tangus jeered. “He’s part of the family . . . James is no more. Nearly forgotten.” He swooped closer to his prey. “But you can get rid of Jordan. The power is in your tongue. He doesn’t want to be here anyway. You would do everyone a favor to convince him to go.”
Rachel kicked a rock, then winced when it didn’t budge. Her thoughts were wrong—twisted with sin—but Lord help her, she didn’t want to rebuke them.
She opened the door to the wash haus and got a bucket to fill with water. It took seven buckets to fill the tub depending on the size of the wash load. She usually sloshed more water on her dress than what made it into the tub.
Opening the door to the grossdaadi haus, she paused. The wooden floors shined as if Jordan had applied a fresh coat of mineral oil. As much as she polished the floors in the sitting room, she’d never had them shine like this. She wiped her finger along the fireplace mantel, then inspected it for dust but found no trace. There was no doubt Jordan was tidy. In the bedroom, his clothes were folded neatly too. Rachel plucked the garments he’d worn from the bed. She stopped midway across the wooden floor. Her wet footprints had created a trail from the door to the fireplace to the bedroom. Since the floor would likely dry before Jordan returned, she continued on her way.
A nest made of twigs and straw on the window ledge caught her eye. She rose to her tiptoes and leaned over the porch railing. She counted three bright blue eggs, another wonderful sign from God that it was spring. There were always many nests in the trees about their farm. But it was unusual to find one low enough for her to see into.
Inside the washhouse she dumped the pile of laundry into the water.
The door opened and Mamm stepped inside with a basket of dirty clothes. “Room enough for these in the tub?”
“Jah.” Rachel added the clothes and pushed them under the water. On days like today, she wished they owned a gasoline-powered wringer washer like Naomi’s family. But Mamm never wanted to ask Daed for a gasoline washer, not with a household of women who were able to hand wash. Perhaps now that her sisters were all married, her mother would change her mind about what she termed an expensive convenience.
Mamm rolled her sleeves to her elbows and dipped the piece of clothing up and down. “Too much soap again.” Mamm glanced at Rachel’s wet dress. “I see you overfilled the tub too,” she said playfully. She chucked her daughter under the chin. “A husband will expect his fraa to be neat and keep a clean haus.”
Rachel knew her mother was making light of the situation, but how many times would she hear what a husband expects? She wasn’t like her sisters. She tried, failed, and accepted her shortcomings. She only wished her mother and father would.
Rachel cranked the handle as Mamm fed the clothes between the rollers. The flattened pants came out the other side and fell into the basket. In between each piece, Rachel changed
arms to turn the crank. Some of the heavier work pants of her father’s took both hands and all her strength to send through the wringer.
After the last article of clothing fell into the basket, Rachel paused to wipe the back of her neck. She was glad they had a washhouse. She and Mamm generated their own heat in the closed area so they didn’t require a potbellied stove in the winter. It was tough in the warmer months.
Rachel took hold of the basket. “I’ll hang them.” She took the clothes to the line and set the basket on the ground. Rachel reached for a pair of pants and gave them a stiff shake before she clipped them to the line. In the distance, Jordan and Daed worked the field. From where she stood, she couldn’t see if Jordan’s rows were straight. From the way his head was bowed, she decided they were not. He certainly wasn’t much of a farmer—he still hadn’t brought in a full milk bucket.
Rachel positioned her chair next to the quilting frame. Because of the overcast sky, the diffused light entering the sitting room made watching her mother’s hands difficult.
“Make your stitches fine.” Mamm drew the needle up from the fabric. “Like so.”
Rachel followed her mother’s lead. This wasn’t her first sewing lesson—she’d had many—but she still hadn’t been able to master stitching. She watched Mamm demonstrate how to feed the needle through the fabric and pull the thread taut.
“Nau load your sharpie with as many stitches as possible.”
Rachel’s already tender fingers fumbled with the needle.
“Gut,” Mamm said. “Nau keep your stitches evenly spaced and on a straight line.”
This wasn’t an easy task. Rachel would rather keep Clyde plodding straight across the field than aim her needle along an imaginary line.
Judith Lapp rested her hoop over her pregnant belly. “It kumms natural after practice, Rachel.”
“Jah, for sure and for certain,” Sadie added. Her belly wasn’t much smaller than Judith’s, yet she had several more months before term and Judith was due any day.
Katie lurched forward to check Rachel’s work. “Are you getting the feel for it?”
Rachel forced a smile. “I’m trying.”
“Judith, have you names picked out for the boppli?” Mamm asked.
Judith shared a smile with her mother-in-law, Mary, Bishop Lapp’s fraa, before answering, “Andrew Zechariah if a boy, and Mary Elizabeth if a girl.”
“After you, Mary. How lovely.” Mamm winked at Sadie. “You’ll have to think of names.” Mamm beamed. “Maybe twins, ain’t so?”
Aenti Leah turned to Aenti Esther. “Twins,” she said loudly.
“I’m nett deaf,” Aenti Esther replied.
“How is your bruder Samuel?” Sadie asked Judith.
Judith’s face lit up. “Growing stronger every day. He helps Andrew after schul nau.”
Katie looked up from her sewing. “I heard there are plans to build another schul.”
“Jah, this fall,” Mary Lapp replied.
Rachel waited for someone to mention her as the possible teacher. Not that she hadn’t considered asking the bishop for the position. If God intended for her to remain unmarried, teaching would provide an income.
A shadow spilled over Rachel’s hoop, making the stitching difficult to see. She glanced out the window at the clouds. “It looks like we’re going to get rain.”
“I hope nett,” Mamm said.
“Ouch.” Rachel pulled her hand out from under the hoop and examined the needle stick. It wasn’t bleeding, but it was enough to make her put her work aside until there was more light. She stuck her needle in the fabric to mark her spot. “I’ll make kaffi.”
“Give me a minute and I’ll help.” Naomi quickly finished her block. She was working on a much larger log cabin block. Having mastered her technique years before, Naomi could stitch quickly while alternately lifting her head to carry on a conversation. Naomi had added incentive to finish the quilt for her hope chest now that William had shown interest in courting.
Naomi tied off her thread and pushed her work aside while the others continued looping their stitches. With all the years the womenfolk spent sewing, they could keep a straight line in any amount of light.
Once in the kitchen, Rachel opened the side of the woodstove and fed a few sticks of oak onto the bed of embers. Then she filled the kettle at the sink.
Naomi came up beside her. “I thought it was cute when Jordan called you Red.”
Rachel glanced at the kitchen entry, making sure they were still alone. “He did his best to embarrass me all nacht. In front of Peter too.”
“I caught Jordan gazing at you. He pretended not to be part of the group, but he was watching you closely.”
Rachel set the kettle on the stove, then leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. “He thinks he’s in charge of me. Like he’s mei bruder.”
“Your eyes are foggy if you can’t see that he wants charge over you, but certainly nett like a bruder.”
Steam rose from the whistling kettle, expelling a blast that drifted toward the ceiling. Rachel lifted the kettle and placed it on the wire rack away from the direct heat. “Tell me about the size of the garden you put in.” They shared a knowing smile. When a girl started planning a wedding, the family automatically increased the size of the garden. Most information was kept between the couple, but Naomi and Rachel were too close to keep such secrets from each other.
Naomi clasped her hands behind her back and swayed. “He hasn’t gained courage to ask for my hand if that’s what you mean. He’s only started kumming to sit with me on the porch.”
“I’m sure you’ve given him plenty of hints,” Rachel teased.
“Of course. He’s shy. I’d still be waiting for him to sit with me in the evenings if I hadn’t told him about the new wooden bench mei daed made.”
“New bench?”
“I told him I’d never sat with a bu on it.” Naomi tilted her head, considering Rachel. “You need to be forward too.”
“I’ve only been asked once to be driven home from a singing and Jordan interfered with that. He could have let me ride with Peter. What harm was there in that?” She balanced the plate of peanut butter cookies over the cups.
Naomi grabbed the other cups. “Forget Peter. He drove Anne home after you left. Jordan is the one. I’m telling you, you’re blind if you can’t see he’s interested.”
Rachel’s mind reeled. He took Anne home?
Naomi nudged her. “You have a porch swing.” She cast her eyes toward the window. “And the evening wedder is pleasant.”
Rachel wanted to tell her friend to leave it alone, but she held her response and headed for the sitting room.
After serving the women, Rachel sat next to the window. The women’s chatter merged into the background as she sipped her coffee and gazed outside, lost in her thoughts. A pickup entered the driveway and stopped in front of the barn. Rachel scooted closer to the window for a better view.
Kayla Davy climbed out from the driver’s seat.
“Is that someone in the driveway?” Mamm craned her neck, as did most of the women.
“An Englisher,” Katie said, taking in the outside activity.
Rachel set her cup on the side table and stood. “George Davy’s girl. She’s probably kumm to check on her horse.” Rachel rose to her toes to see where Kayla had gone. The lilac bushes in full bloom obstructed her view. “I’ll tell her that Daed’s working in the field,” she said, walking to the door.
Once Rachel rounded the bushes, she stopped. Wearing a blue-and-white checkered shirt tucked into a pair of skintight jeans, Kayla rocked on the heels of her boots while talking to Jordan at the edge of the field.
Jordan leaned close to Kayla, his attention never leaving her lovely face.
Chapter Nine
Jordan eyed Kayla Davy’s stance. With her thumbs laced through her belt loops and her fingers tapping the pocket rivets on her Wranglers, he couldn’t help but notice the shiny buckle that was centered o
ver her petite waistline. The adornment boasted of a champion barrel racer, and Kayla seemed mighty proud to wear it as she rocked on the heels of her boots. The sun’s reflection off the silver buckle sparkled.
Jordan cleared his throat. “What can I do for you?”
She smiled. “I thought I would go for a ride.”
Jordan scanned the area. “It’s too muddy for trail riding, and I wouldn’t trust that horse on the road if I were you.”
“Maybe you should be my guide and keep me safe.” She raised an eyebrow.
Jordan steadied his focus on Micah as he approached them. Maybe in the absence of her father, Micah’s caution would influence her not to ride today.
“Good afternoon, Kayla. I hope you don’t mind if I shoe your horse on Monday.”
“That’s fine. I was actually hoping to ride today.”
Micah glanced at the clouded sky.
“I asked Jordan if he wants to ride along with me”—she bowed her head slightly while directing her eyes up at Jordan—“but he hasn’t answered.”
“Not today,” Jordan said. This wasn’t the time for trail riding. It was time for hard work. He needed to prove he was worthy of his pay. He spoke to Micah. “We’ve got that last patch of ground that needs turning.”
She cleared her throat. “Okay, I’ll go alone.” She spun around and walked away.
Tangus chased after the girl, filling her head with flirtatious ideas and movements, while Nathaniel held his position next to his charge.
Dancing around the girl, Tangus caused the sunlight to shift and shadow about her. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she, Jordan? Probably the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen. And she wants to spend time with you! She’d be clay in your hands—moldable to fit your desires.” Tangus curled his lecherous tongue over his lips. “You find her beauty enticing; don’t deny yourself. She’s yours. Don’t let her walk off alone.”
