Brush of Angel's Wings

by Ruth Reid

  He glanced at her truck. “Do you think when you’re feeling better you could drive me into town? The library should have computers. I’d like to go online and get information on truck-driving schools.”

  She smiled. “Sure, but you don’t need the library.” She dug her hand into her pocket, pulled out a rhinestone-studded phone, and held it out. “You can search the Internet on this.”

  His phone, before the contract expired, had only the basics—and they could barely afford that. It didn’t even have texting options like most of his high school friends had.

  She touched it and the screen lit, then handed it to him. “Just type in what you want to search.” She nudged the door open. “Come inside.”

  Jordan looked at his grubby clothes and mud-covered shoes. “I better not.” He extended his hand to give back the phone.

  “I’ll get it from you later. I have unlimited texting, calls, and Internet. Call your friends if you want.”

  Jordan smiled. “I lost track of them after high school. They left for college, and I started working at the stables. I would like to do some searches, if you’re sure you can do without it.”

  “That’s the least I can do for someone who rescued me.” She leaned closer. “Besides, I have a laptop and a phone in my room. I won’t miss it—much.” She laughed. “It’s so weird how our parents never had these things, and we can’t live without them.”

  “Thanks.” He looked down at the phone in his hand, then back up at her, taking in her beautiful eyes. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt badly.”

  “You mean other than my pride?”

  “That will mend.” He waved and continued down the driveway, glad it seemed she was getting stronger by the minute. With each step he took, a battle raged within him. He attempted to push away all that enticed, trying to settle his mind on what his mother would say was truly important.

  Chapter Ten

  Rachel held Ginger at a steady trot until she caught up with Jordan walking along the edge of the dirt road. When he saw her, he jammed something sparkly into his pocket. She stopped the buggy and waited for him to board.

  “I figured you’d be enjoying Kayla’s hospitality.” Ach, why couldn’t she keep the sarcasm out of her tone? She glanced behind her out the window and, spotting another buggy, she signaled Ginger to trot.

  Jordan inched closer to her on the bench. “Careful, jealousy is a sin.”

  “I’m nett—”

  His grin widened.

  “What did you shove into your pocket? Are you trying to hide something?”

  He reached into his pocket. “You’re awfully nosy for someone who isn’t jealous.” He showed her the shiny item and said, “It’s a phone.”

  “I wouldn’t have guessed your style to be so fancy.” She had a good idea Kayla gave it to him so they could stay in contact.

  Rachel snapped the reins and Ginger picked up her speed. Maybe they would reach the house before Jordan pried open a deeper gash in her heart. Kayla was beautiful. She certainly had plenty of worldly stuff to entice him. Jealousy was a sin, and the last thing Rachel wanted was to admit her jealousy.

  She heard the clip-clop of a fast horse coming up from behind them. She gave the reins another light snap and Ginger picked up her pace.

  He glanced behind them, then glared at her. “Are you racing that buggy?”

  She ignored his question.

  He reached out and firmly covered her hand with his.

  A discharge of current zipped through her body and curled her toes. Distracted by the effects of his touch, she released control of Ginger to him.

  “Whoa.” His shoulder brushed against hers as he pulled back the reins.

  Ginger obeyed, slowed her pace, and stopped when Jordan called, “Whoa,” again.

  Before he started lecturing about buggy racing, she blurted, “We don’t believe in worldly—”

  The phone suddenly blared with a song Rachel had never heard. Jordan fumbled and nearly dropped it before answering the call.

  “Okay . . . Yeah . . . Yeah . . . Okay, thanks for letting me know.” He jammed the phone back into his pocket. “That was Kayla. She wanted to tell me how to find the songs and games on this thing.”

  Rachel’s hands trembled as she straightened the folds on her dress. “You’re bringing sin into mei father’s haus.”

  Jordan’s eyes broke from her gaze. He straightened his position on the seat, took up the reins, and used the words the horse understood. “Geh on, Ginger.”

  “Jordan, the Master is calling,” Nathaniel said, standing over the charge’s bed.

  Jordan forced his eyes open. Had someone tapped his shoulder? He peered around in the darkness. Of course, there was nothing and no one. Just a dream, he thought, and closed his eyes.

  “Jordan,” Nathaniel repeated.

  Now fully awake, Jordan sat up in bed. From under the door, yellow light seeped into the otherwise dark room. It crawled along the floor in a dense fog. Suspended in a dream state, he saw himself throwing back the bedcovers and rising. Given freedom to move about the room, he stepped into the warmth of the fog and, as it coursed its way, he was drawn to the source of heat.

  An icy breeze alerted Jordan’s senses. He opened his eyes fully. Familiar with his surroundings, Jordan understood he was seated in the sitting room’s rocking chair with the Bible lying on his lap. He touched the vellum texture and heat radiated off the pages.

  “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.”

  Jordan let the words of Jeremiah sink in. “Future and a hope . . .” Did any of this have to do with the information he’d been able to gather about truck-driving school?

  Timothy motioned for Jordan to follow him out of earshot of the Sunday crowd. “So Rachel was racing again?”

  “Who said Rachel was racing? When?”

  “Yesterday. On Davy’s Road.”

  Jordan tapped his chest. “I had control of Ginger when the buggy passed.”

  Timothy nodded pensively. “I was driving the other buggy, and seeing Rachel on the driver’s side, I assumed she was racing.”

  Jordan smiled. “She didn’t willingly give me the reins, but I don’t want her in trouble with Micah. She already thinks I’ve come between them.”

  “She needs to understand her place.”

  Jordan crossed his arms and shifted his stance, feeling unreasonably defensive for this girl.

  Timothy slapped him on the back. “Don’t get worked up. I’ve always been fond of Rachel, but I’m afraid she’ll stay leddich.”

  “Leddich?”

  “Unmarried.” Timothy rocked back on his heels. “She’s too competitive. She isn’t a gut cook.” He chuckled. “Would a man want to say he lost a buggy race, and then lost his heart to the winner?” Apparently, he didn’t expect Jordan to answer. Timothy continued, “Sadie won mei heart with her cooking.”

  Rachel needed practice. Sure, her eggs were inconsistent, sometimes hard and sometimes runny, but he ate them.

  “Let’s eat.” Timothy’s expression changed suddenly, his forehead creasing.

  “What is it?” Jordan followed Timothy’s gaze to his wife holding her belly.

  “Sadie, she isn’t feeling gut.” He picked up his pace across the yard. “I need to take her home so she can rest.”

  Jordan continued into the house. He bowed his head, as though in a silent prayer of thanks with the rest of the folks, until he heard others moving about. He filled a plate and grabbed a cup of coffee. He moved toward the door, hoping to pass through the crowd unnoticed. Watching his feet instead of his surroundings, he bumped into Rachel, spilling the coffee all over himself. He buried a yelp. The hot liquid soaked through his vest and thin shirt and dripped down his pant leg. His skin felt scorched. Thankfully, the coffee had spilled over him and not on her Sunday dress.

  “Ach, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’ll find you a towel.” She rushed o
ver to the sink.

  With his plate in one hand and his half-empty coffee cup in the other, he couldn’t stand in a room full of people and remain silent in his pain any longer. He fled the house, stopping under the maple tree. Placing his plate and cup on the ground, he lifted the corner of his saturated shirt to inspect the burn. He hadn’t thought of himself as a spectacle until he heard Rachel’s gasp.

  He looked up at her wide eyes and dropped the corner of his shirt.

  “I brought you a towel.” She extended her hand. “Are you . . .” Her eyes darted up and down the soiled area.

  “Burned?” He reached for the towel in her hand. “It isn’t bad.” He dabbed the cloth over the soiled area of his shirt.

  “Your gut clothes too. I’m sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” When he glanced up, an unexpected jolt struck his core as he caught the concern in her eyes. Why didn’t the unmarried men see this side of her?

  “Are you sure you’re nett burned?”

  “Do I need to remove my shirt to prove I’m fine?” He placed his hands on the top hook and eye of his vest.

  She spun. “I don’t find you funny, Jordan Engles.”

  “I was joking.”

  She marched off without looking back.

  Jordan sat under the tree to eat. Even though the green bean casserole didn’t look appealing, he selected it knowing Rachel had made it. One bite of the mushy mixture, and he couldn’t deny her cooking skills still needed lots of work. He considered dumping the plate of food somewhere near the barn and going through a fast food restaurant in town. His mouth began to water as he considered a greasy hamburger and fries versus mushy green bean casserole. When he spied the host family’s dog, he clicked his tongue and the dog ran to greet him.

  “You like Rachel’s cooking, don’t you, boy?” Jordan waited in anticipation as the dog licked the plate clean. He left the empty dish on the table and headed to his buggy. Once he pulled onto the road, he thought over his decision and wondered if it would be wise. He didn’t want to be disrespectful of Micah or the others in the community by eating in town on the Lord’s day. He sighed, turning the buggy onto a different road than he’d planned. Too bad making the right decision didn’t stop his mouth from watering.

  As Blaze trotted along the dirt road through the farmlands, many of the Englisch farmers were plowing their fields with tractors while the Amish homes were void of activity.

  He admired the Amish way in many things—but at the moment he’d give anything to have that burger and fries followed by the luxury of a hot shower.

  After arriving at the Hartzlers’ house, he unhitched Blaze from the buggy and turned him out to the pasture, then headed to the little house to change into his work clothes.

  He tossed his Sunday clothes over the chair and picked up the pants he’d worn earlier to milk the cows before church. As he fastened the suspenders, he noticed the picture of his mother had fallen out of his nicer pants and was lying on the floor. His breath caught. It looked wet—had the coffee splashed on it? He picked it up and inspected it. Seeing that the photo was not destroyed, he breathed easier and tucked it back into his pocket before heading outside to do the chores.

  Jordan fed the calves and horses, but it was still too early to milk the cows. He scooped chicken feed into an empty coffee can and trekked over to the henhouse. The chickens flocked around him, clucking as he scattered corn over the ground.

  Kayla’s truck pulled into the drive and stopped. She climbed out and waved. He tossed the remaining grain to the chickens. She probably wanted her cell phone.

  “Hello, Jordan,” she said as she walked in his direction.

  “I’ll get your phone.” He set the coffee can on a stump and headed for the little house.

  Kayla followed. “Were you able to find the information you wanted?”

  “Yeah, thanks.” He opened the door and stepped inside.

  She followed him. “Whoa.” She looked around the room. “Does Rachel clean for you?”

  “No,” he said as he continued to the bedroom. “I’m self-sufficient.”

  “You make your bed too.” She smiled as she stood in the doorway.

  He took the phone from the dresser and handed it to her. “Sorry. I ran your battery down.”

  She laughed. “I forgot to give you the charger. Not that it would matter since you don’t have electricity here.” She slid the phone inside her pocket.

  “Let’s go,” he said and led her back toward the front door.

  Kayla stepped outside and put her hand up to shade her eyes. “It’s probably still too muddy for riding. What do you think?”

  “I hope you’re not serious.”

  She smiled. “I guess it would be foolish to ride today.”

  “Yup.” He stopped near the woodpile and took hold of the ax. “Thanks again for letting me use your phone.”

  “Anytime.” She started to walk backward to the barn. “I’m going to check on Pepper.”

  He started to follow her with his eyes, then purposefully focused on the wood to be split. His ax strike hit dead center. As he picked up the split pieces, he noticed Rachel and Micah stepping out of their buggy, each carrying a small bundle. Rachel looked in Kayla’s direction, then at Jordan.

  His heart thumped hard. Had Rachel seen him watching Kayla walk away? He placed a chunk of wood on the block and wielded the ax.

  He didn’t owe Rachel any explanations.

  He tossed the chopped oak into a kindling pile and readied another log to split. With his constant pace he had cut enough wood to service the cookstove for a week. But with his thoughts still fixed on Rachel, he needed the hard work of the ax to process them. When he paused to wipe the sweat from his neck, Micah was heading toward him. “I see you’ve been busy,” he said.

  “Yes, sir.” Then, noticing Micah’s sober expression, he asked, “Did I do something wrong? I thought you’d be pleased.”

  “I understand . . . more than you think. Come with me.”

  Jordan sank the ax into a stump and continued on with Micah. Nothing was said until they both entered the barn. “She’s distracting, I know, but Sunday is a day of rest.”

  He wasn’t sure if Micah was referring to Kayla or Rachel, and he wasn’t about to ask.

  Micah motioned to the back door. “Slide it open, please.”

  Jordan did as instructed. He sheepishly waited for the cows to enter.

  Micah chuckled. “Don’t look so grim, sohn.”

  “I view wood as a necessity, like milking the cows,” Jordan said. He slid the door closed after the last cow entered. “I didn’t mean to offend God . . . or your faith. I’ll be more mindful.”

  “You didn’t offend me. And God understands your heart.” He tied the cow to the milking post and arranged his stool. “Hard work tends to keep a man out of trouble.” Micah sat and dipped a washrag in a sudsy bucket. “David certainly had too much time on his hands when he watched Bathsheba bathe.”

  “God forgave him. He didn’t remove him from kingship.”

  Micah looked up from washing the cow’s udder. “God forgave him because he repented of his sin. It is a lesson to us all. We all fall short.” Tossing the rag into the bucket, he stood and placed his hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “Since you’ve arrived, I see your heart is heavy. Is there something you wish to talk about? I could drive you to the bishop’s haus for a visit.”

  Jordan shook his head slowly at first, then with firm refusal. Jordan didn’t know where he’d find what he needed. But he knew the bishop couldn’t offer him relief from his heavy heart. His mother had claimed he would find that relief as a gift of peace that could only come from God.

  “I appreciate your kindness, but I’d rather not discuss it.”

  Micah sat on the stool and positioned his hands. Milk sprayed against the metal bucket.

  Jordan watched a few moments, his hand resting on Florri’s flank. “I gave the cell phone back,” he blurted.

  Micah l
ooked over his shoulder. His forehead wrinkled.

  “Kayla Davy’s phone. I borrowed it.”

  Micah’s expression stiffened.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disrespect your ways.”

  Micah stood. “A cell phone isn’t sinful.”

  Jordan blew out a breath.

  “The reason we choose not to have phones is to maintain separation from the world. Some settlements allow them for business purposes, but nett us. We rely on God’s provision.” Micah patted Jordan’s shoulder. “Did the phone help with what you were looking for?”

  Jordan cleared his throat. “I think so.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Micah added coal to the forge. “Would you fill a bucket with water for cooling the tools?”

  “Sure.” Jordan grabbed the bucket beside the anvil and headed to the pump. He looked forward to learning how to shoe the Davys’ horse even though he wouldn’t need the skill in his future plans. Not that his plans were firm yet. Truck driving beckoned to him. Not because it was the dream career he’d always wanted, but partly because of the freedom it offered. Like his father, he could find his purpose “out there” somewhere. And maybe it would help him understand why his father couldn’t stay with his wife and son.

  Black smoke curled from the pipe extended above the roof of the lean-to attached to the barn. When Jordan stepped back inside bearing a full water bucket, Micah was pumping the piston bellows to get the coal hot.

  Jordan remembered a school field trip to the Pioneer Days exhibit. The man wore a bib-style, oil-tanned apron while hammering the molten metal. How different this was. Micah wasn’t putting on a demonstration to show how blacksmiths once worked; he was a real tradesman.

  Micah looked over his shoulder. “Once the tools are heated, I’ll have you get the horse.” He swept his shirtsleeve over his brow before turning the tools over in the forge. “You can arrange the nippers and hammers according to size.”