The Shepherd's Bride

by Patricia Davids

  A nurse in surgical garb entered the room. “Mr. Shetler, your granddaughter is here. Would you like to see her before we take you to surgery?”

  “Nee, let’s get this over with.”

  The nurse looked surprised, but said, “I’ll show her where the waiting room is.”

  A few minutes later, more people came in. Joe was wheeled from the room. Carl followed them to a large set of double doors.

  One of the nurses gestured toward a side hall. “The waiting room is the first door on the left. The surgeon will come talk to you as soon as he is finished.”

  Carl laid a hand on Joe’s arm and leaned close. “God is with you, my friend.”

  “I know. I just hope He is with the Englisch doktor, too.”

  Carl managed a smile. When they took Joe through the double doors, he walked down to the waiting room.

  Lizzie was seated alone by the window. Her hands were clasped together and her eyes were closed. He knew that she was praying. As if she sensed his presence, she looked up and rose to her feet. “How is he?”

  “They just took him into surgery.”

  She sank back onto her chair. “He didn’t want to see me.”

  “Don’t dwell on it. When he gets out of here, you can ply him with more of your wonderful cherry cobbler.”

  “I don’t think my cooking can undo the damage I’ve done today. Do you?”

  He didn’t have an answer for that.

  They waited together in silence until the surgeon finally came in to tell them Joe’s surgery had gone well. Later, when Joe was moved to a room, he refused any visitors. Carl, knowing Joe wouldn’t change his mind about seeing her, convinced Lizzie to go home.

  By the time the driver delivered them to the farm, it had grown dark. Carl stood on the bottom porch step as Lizzie opened the front door. She looked back at him. “I wish there was more that I could do for him. I feel so bad about this.”

  The urge to take her in his arms and comfort her was overpowering. He clenched his hands into fists at his sides to keep from reaching for her. “We are to take care of his sheep. That is all Joe wants from us. Get some rest, Lizzie. Tomorrow will be a long, busy day.”

  In the days to come, she would be working by his side. The joy the thought brought him was bittersweet. They would have a few days together, maybe a few weeks if she stayed through the lambing, but she wouldn’t stay with him forever.

  * * *

  Carl wasn’t surprised to see Lizzie just after dawn the next morning. He hadn’t slept well and he doubted she had, either. She came down to the barn dressed in a faded green dress with her hair covered by a matching green kerchief instead of her usual black kapp. She carried a basket over one arm. When she drew near, he could see the puffiness in her eyes. She must have cried herself to sleep.

  He longed to offer a comforting hug, but knew she wouldn’t welcome such a gesture.

  She held out the basket. “I have some cold biscuits and sausage with cheese and a thermos of coffee. It’s not much.”

  “It’s fine. I’m not that hungry.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “Save them for later.”

  She set the basket aside and pulled on a pair of her grandfather’s work gloves. “I promise to do only what you tell me and exactly what you tell me. Where do I start?”

  “You can start by not being so hard on yourself.”

  “I have put my grandfather in the hospital and made twice as much work for you. I’m not being hard on myself.”

  “Okay. First, we need the floor clean around where I’m working. You’ll need to keep it raked and swept to prevent hay and other bits of debris from getting into the wool.”

  She grabbed a broom and began cleaning the old wooden floor of the barn with a vengeance.

  Carl smiled at her eagerness. She was determined to be as much help as another man. He knew she felt badly about the accident, but she was going to wear herself out if she kept trying so hard. “Pace yourself, Lizzie. We have a lot more to do.”

  When they had the floors cleared, Carl brought in the rams that hadn’t been shorn the day before. He wouldn’t let Lizzie help until they were done and outside in their own separate enclosure.

  He kicked the fleece aside and said, “Now we can move the first bunch of ewes into the catch pen. I’ll need you to catch a sheep and bring her to me. When I pull her out and hold her, you need to squirt a dose of medicine into her mouth and then make note of it in our record book.”

  “I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

  She made a grab for the first animal and tried to pull it to where he stood. It was amusing to watch a one-hundred-and-twenty-pound girl trying to pull a two-hundred-pound animal with four splayed feet and a lot of determination across the pen. Finally, she gave up and the ewe scampered away from her.

  Carl started to laugh until he caught sight of Lizzie’s face. There were tears in her eyes. “I can’t do any of this,” she wailed.

  “Sure you can. You just have to learn how to control sheep.” He caught a ewe in the corner and said, “Come here. You place your hand firmly under her jaw and around her nose like this.” He demonstrated. “Then you lift their nose up. This move will keep an ewe still if you press her against a wall or fence so she can’t spin away.”

  Lizzie wiped her cheeks with the back of her hands. “So how do I get her to you?”

  “You keep her nose up, put a hand on her hind end, and you walk her backward like this.” He demonstrated moving the reluctant ewe to the shearing gate. “They won’t all come easily, but most of them can be convinced this way.”

  He proceeded to give the sheep her medicine and then said, “Now I want you to hold this one here while I step out.”

  Lizzie looked dubious, but she did as he asked. The sheep, sensing a weaker hand, began to struggle, but Lizzie leaned into her, pushing her against the wall and holding her still.

  “Good girl.”

  He stepped out of the shearing gate, grabbed the sheep from her, took it down to the ground and began to snip away. “While I’m cutting the fleece off, I want you to look up the ear-tag number in our flock record book and mark that she has been wormed. You’ll see a place for a checkmark for the medication, a place to write a note if the animal needs a closer checkup because she’s sick or acting strange.”

  “Okay.” She flipped through the pages of the book and quickly made a note.

  By the time she finished making the entry, he had the fleece off and allowed the ewe to regain her feet. Bleating loudly, she scampered down the runway and out into the corral beyond.

  “Ready to bring me the next one?”

  “Aren’t you going to roll up the fleece?”

  “I’ll wait till we have a few piled here, and then we will clean and bag them.”

  From the group milling in the small pen, she grabbed the next one and moved it within Carl’s reach. He pulled it from the pen and proceeded to shear it. In this way, they went through the morning. Sometimes, Lizzie managed to have one ready for him. Often, he had to step in and help her. By midmorning, he made the catch pen smaller so the sheep had less room to evade her.

  At noon, Lizzie dusted off the front of her apron. She was breathing hard, but looked pleased at her accomplishments. “That was the last one.”

  “Twenty down, one hundred and ninety left to go.”

  Her eyes widened. “One hundred and ninety more?”

  “Give or take. There will be a half dozen or so that we will cull, so they won’t be sheared.”

  “What will we do with them?”

  “I’ll take them to the sale barn later this spring. Some will be purchased for slaughter, but a lot of them become fluffy lawn mowers. It’s not a bad way for a sheep to live out its days. Come, I’ll show you how we take
care of the fleece.”

  He laid the first one from the pile on the table. “We pick off the really dirty wool and any grass or hay that might be stuck in it. Then we fold them up like this.” He demonstrated and carried it to a gigantic plastic bag that was held upright by a large wooden frame with boards a few feet apart like a ladder on the sides of it.

  “I’ve been wondering about this thing. It looks like a windmill without a top.”

  “The slats are so that I can climb up and get inside the plastic bag to tromp down the wool.”

  “That sounds like something I can do for you. It’s got to be easier than wrestling sheep.”

  “It is easy, but, honestly, you don’t weigh enough to pack down the fleece.”

  She looked for a second as if she wanted to argue with him but quickly thought better of it. “I’ll fold the fleece, and you stuff the bag.”

  “It’s a deal.”

  “Is it time for me to bring in more sheep?”

  “It’s time for a rest and some lunch. After that, I’ll sharpen my shears, sweep off the platform and we’ll start all over again.”

  She grimaced as she rubbed her hands together. “I had no idea their wool could be so greasy.”

  “It’s lanolin. It gives you soft skin.” He held out his hand. She ran her fingers across his palm. In a heartbeat, his mouth went dry. He inhaled sharply as his heart beat faster.

  She must’ve sensed something, because her gaze locked with his. He wanted more than the brief touch of her fingers. He wanted to hold her hand. To reach out and pull her close. He wanted to learn everything there was to know about this amazing woman.

  She quickly turned away. “I’d better get something ready for lunch. I hope cold sandwiches will be okay.”

  “That will be fine.”

  “Goot.”

  He watched her hurry away and wished he had a reason to call her back.

  Lunch and the rest of the afternoon passed in an awkward silence. Carl tried to keep his mind on his work, but he was constantly aware of where she was and what she was doing. Her boundless energy began to lag in the late afternoon. He called a halt to the work even though he hadn’t finished nearly as many animals as he had hoped to.

  He went to clean up while Lizzie returned to the house. An hour later, he came in to find his supper waiting for him. Lizzie was seated in her usual place, but she was fast asleep, slumped over the table with her head pillowed on her arms.

  Carefully, so that he wouldn’t wake her, he picked up his plate, meaning to take it outside. Instead, he found himself frozen in place watching her sleep.

  He studied the wisps of wild red curls that wouldn’t be contained beneath her scarf, the high cheekbones of her face, the way her eyebrows arched so beautifully. He had never seen a more lovely woman.

  Once, he would have had the right to court her. To drive her home after a Sunday singing or to slip away with her after dark to attend a barn party or simply take a long walk in the woods. Once, but not now.

  Such a thing was impossible. He had failed God with his weak faith. He should have died alongside his sister. He should have accepted the fate God willed for him and for one small girl and joined them in Heaven. Instead, his cowardice made him break his covenant with God.

  Any future he might imagine with Lizzie was nothing but a wisp of smoke pouring from the barrel of a fired gun. A puff of white mist lost in the wind that could never be called back.

  Lizzie squirmed into a more comfortable position and sighed deeply. He had no future with her, but he had this moment to remember all his days.

  His food was cold by the time he let himself out the door. Duncan was lying on the porch waiting for him. The dog sat up. “Stay. Guard,” Carl told him.

  The big dog moved in front of the door and lay down. Knowing Duncan would alert him to any problems, Carl walked down the hill to his cold and dark hut.

  Chapter Eight

  For Lizzie, the following day started out much like the day before, except she ached from head to toe. There wasn’t a muscle in her body that didn’t hurt.

  She wasn’t used to such physical labor. She kept house for her uncle and sisters and did all the cooking, canning and most of the laundry. Twice a day she helped with the milking, but she didn’t have to wrestle the Holsteins into their stanchions.

  Sheep were stubborn, smelly and loud. She had no idea why her grandfather thought so much of them. But he did, and she would help Carl care for them until Joe was able to do so himself. For however long it took.

  By midmorning, she was working some of the kinks out of her shoulder when she spotted a wagon turning into the drive. She looked at Carl. “Are you expecting someone?”

  He finished clipping the ewe he had between his knees and then straightened to look out the barn door. “No, I’m not expecting anyone. Joe doesn’t get visitors.”

  A buggy turned in behind the wagon. “I hope it’s not the bishop’s wife.” Lizzie had no idea how to prevent the woman from entering Joe’s house if she wanted to.

  Together, she and Carl walked out of the barn. On the front seat of the wagon, she recognized Adrian Lapp and his son, Kyle. Several young Amish men she didn’t know jumped down from the wagon bed behind them.

  The buggy pulled in with Katie Sutter and Sally Yoder on the front seat. They got out and began pulling large picnic hampers from the back.

  Lizzie glanced at Carl. He just shrugged. “It looks like we’ve got some help.”

  Adrian and his young men approached them. Adrian said, “I’ve heard that your animals don’t spit when you shear them. I thought I would come see this wonder for myself.”

  He gestured to a gray-haired man in blue jeans and a plaid shirt behind him. “This is Sheldon Kent. He’s not Amish, but he says he knows how to get the wool off a sheep.”

  The man held up a pair of hand shears identical to the ones Carl used. “It’s been a few years, but I reckon I still know my way around a fat woolly,” he said in a thick Scottish brogue.

  Carl broke into a wide smile. “Fat woollies I have aplenty. This way and thanks for the help.”

  Lizzie turned to Katie and Sally. “How did you know?”

  “Faith Lapp told Bishop Zook about Joe’s accident. He knew Sheldon Kent from over by Berlin and went to see if he could help shear. It’s a blessing that Sheldon was free and could come. The bishop stopped by to tell us yesterday about his plan. We found a few more volunteers to help and here we are. Where would you like this food?”

  “In the house, I guess. Is the bishop’s wife coming?”

  “Not today. Why?” Katie asked slowly.

  “For some reason, Grandfather doesn’t want her in the house.”

  Katie and Sally looked at each other and burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?” Lizzie asked.

  Katie struggled to control her giggles. “Esther told my mother-in-law that she wouldn’t set foot on Woolly Joe’s property.”

  “The bishop’s wife said that? I wonder what it’s all about.” Lizzie knew her grandfather wouldn’t explain even if she asked him.

  “We may never know. Grab that box off the backseat, Lizzie. We’d best get ready to feed our men.” Katie marched ahead into the house.

  Sally waited until Lizzie extracted the box and then walked beside her to the house. “Tell me, have you found out anything about your grandfather’s hired man?”

  Lizzie looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

  “He is something of a mystery around these parts. No one knows where he came from. He rarely speaks to anyone except the children. Some people think he’s ex-Amish. Some people say he’s a weird Englisch fellow that’s soft in the head.”

  Lizzie bristled. “Carl is not soft in the head, but he was raised Amish.”
r />   “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult your friend.”

  “We’re not friends. He lives and works here, that’s all. He works hard, and he’s a good shepherd. He cares about the sheep. My grandfather respects Carl’s privacy and I do, too.”

  “You are right to do so. I was being nosy. Forgive me.”

  Lizzie realized she had spoken too harshly. “There’s nothing to forgive. I’m tired and short-tempered today and worried about my grandfather.”

  Sally smiled. “Of course. I think a hot cup of tea is called for. Come in and rest.”

  * * *

  With so much help, the shearing was finished by the end of the day. Carl thanked the men who had come. Joe would be happy to learn the job had been finished in record time. When the wagon finally rolled out of the yard in the late afternoon, Carl looked at Duncan sitting beside him. “This will give us a few more days to get ready for the lambing.”

  He knew how to do that, but he didn’t know how to take care of a convalescing patient with a broken hip. Or a young woman who was so determined to make a place for her family.

  Would Lizzie stay and help take care of her cantankerous grandfather, or would she move to the Sutters’ farm as she had planned? It was something they should talk over. Perhaps now Joe could be convinced that he needed his granddaughters to come stay with him. Lizzie would be thrilled if they could all stay together.

  Carl went to his hut and changed out of his grimy work clothes. Wrapping them and a few other items in his sheets, he carried them all to the back porch. It was his intention to do his own laundry, but Lizzie heard him filling the machine with water and came outside.

  “I can do those for you, Carl.”

  “I can manage.”

  She took the box of laundry soap out of his hand. “You have been working all day, while I wasn’t allowed to do anything harder than brew a pot of coffee.”

  “You’ve been working nonstop since you arrived. I think you deserve a few hours of rest.”

  “And now I’ve had them. Supper will be ready in a little while. I’m going to walk over to the telephone booth and call the hospital to check on my grandfather.”