The Shepherd's Bride

by Patricia Davids

  Sally bounced down the steps of the porch and stopped beside Lizzie. “Good, those two have gone to make sheep’s eyes at the sheep instead of at each other. For two people who couldn’t stand one another just a year ago, they certainly get along well now.”

  Lizzie watched Carl explaining something to Joann and wondered if there was someone in his past that he loved, or was loved by in return. Were the letters he burned from his mother or a sister? Or were they from a wife that he’d left behind? How many letters had he ignored? More important, why?

  Katie soon claimed her attention, and Lizzie went inside to discover a lunch had been laid on her table with enough food to feed an army.

  She passed an amazing day with her new friends. They laughed and told stories about each other and about her grandfather. They made Lizzie feel as if she had always been a part of their circle of friends.

  Their closeness reminded her of her sisters. Katie was a lot like Clara. They were both quiet, deep thinkers. Greta, with her love of animals, would find a kindred spirit in Faith. Sally was only a little older than Betsy, but Lizzie could imagine them as friends and confidantes, boldly speaking their minds and giving the local boys a heartache or two.

  If only she could get her sisters to Hope Springs, life would be so much better for all of them.

  The afternoon passed quickly, and when the last of her visitors had gone, Lizzie walked out onto the porch and took a seat on one of the two green metal chairs along the side of the house. From the scuff marks in the railing’s white paint, she suspected that both Carl and her grandfather spent evenings here with their feet propped up.

  She had been sitting only a few minutes when she saw Carl leave the barn. He glanced in her direction. She raised a hand and waved. He hesitated, as if torn between coming to the house or going to his hut. Duncan had no difficulty making a decision. He loped across the yard and up the steps to sit between the chairs. Lizzie reached down to pet him. He licked her hand in doggy gratitude.

  When she looked up, Carl was coming her way. He silently climbed the steps and took a seat. She almost giggled when he tipped his chair back and propped his feet on the rail in front of him. “You’ve had a busy day.”

  “I have been overwhelmed with visitors, that’s true. You will be amazed at the amount of food that is on the table. They insisted on leaving everything. I may not have to cook for a month.”

  “That would be a shame. You’re a mighty good cook.”

  She blushed at the compliment. “It seems that Grandfather has many friends. I had no idea. Do they visit often?”

  “Not since I have been staying here, and that’s almost four years now. Naomi Wadler comes a few times a year, but she never stays long. She keeps Joe’s larder stocked with jars of garden produce, jam and fruit from her orchard and puts up the stuff he grows, too.”

  “Really? I wonder why. Are they related?” It was common practice for Amish families to care for their elders.

  “Not that I know. I always thought she was sweet on him. I’m glad she does it or we would end up eating nothing but muttonchops and crackers.”

  “Sweet on my grandfather? Are you serious? He’s old!”

  Carl chuckled. “He may be old, but he can keep out of her way fast enough. She may be chasing, but he isn’t ready to be caught.”

  “Naomi wasn’t here today, but I met her daughter, Emma. I like her very much.”

  “I’ve never met her, but if she is anything like her mother, she is a formidable woman.”

  “I noticed you talking to Joann and Roman Weaver. Are they friends?”

  “Don’t you mean do they know I have been shunned?”

  “Nee, I meant no such thing.” Maybe she had been wondering that, but she wouldn’t admit it now.

  “Joann and Roman like to go fishing at Joe’s lake. I speak to them now and again. A few times, they have left their catch with us. Joann is something of a bookworm. She was telling me today that llamas make good guard animals for sheep, plus, you can sell their fleece.”

  “Do they spit?”

  He chuckled. “Worse than an alpaca.”

  “Let’s stick with Duncan. He never spits.” The dog wagged his tail at the mention of his name. She reached down and stroked his head.

  “Is this what the off Sundays are like where you come from?” Carl asked.

  “Nee. We seldom have visitors. Uncle Morris doesn’t like it when our friends come over. He complains that we can’t afford to feed everyone. What about you? What were Sunday afternoons like when you were growing up?”

  “A lot like this. My mother has twelve brothers and sisters, and my father has five, so we were always inundated with cousins, aunts and uncles or we were traveling to visit them.”

  “You must miss that.”

  “Sometimes, but I like my privacy.” He shot her a pointed look.

  She ignored it. “Do you keep in contact with your family?”

  “No.”

  “How sad. I thought perhaps the letters that came for you are from someone in your family. I saw the name on the return address was Jenna King. I know it’s not my business...”

  “You’re right. It’s not,” he said abruptly.

  She took offense at his attitude. “If you intend to be rude, I’m going inside.”

  He quickly stretched his hand toward her. “No, wait. Don’t go yet. I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t like to talk about my past.”

  “Talking helps, Carl.”

  “It can’t change what has happened.”

  “No, but it can show us that we aren’t alone in our troubles.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, Lizzie, I like being alone.”

  “In case you haven’t noticed, Carl King, you don’t.” She rose and stomped into the house.

  * * *

  Duncan whined, sensing the tension that Carl tried hard to control. Lizzie enjoyed needling him. He reached out and ran his hand over the dog’s silky head. “We used to like being alone, didn’t we?”

  Until Lizzie showed up and constantly made him aware of how barren his life was. Working, eating, sleeping and watching over the sheep had been satisfying enough for him until a week and a half ago. How could such a little slip of a woman turn things topsy-turvy in a matter of days?

  Maybe he was drawn to her because she reminded him so much of Sophia. Like his youngest sister, Lizzie’s enthusiasm sometimes outweighed her common sense. Still, he liked that about her. She saw what she wanted, and she worked to achieve it. But no matter how hard she worked at prying into his past, she was going to find herself up against a dead end. His crime was his own. He wouldn’t share the story of how he fell so far from grace. He couldn’t bear to see the look on Lizzie’s face if she found out he had murdered someone.

  The door opened and Lizzie came outside again. Her normally sweet expression was cold. She thrust a foil-wrapped plate into his hands. “Enjoy your supper...alone. I won’t be cooking tonight.”

  She turned on her heel and marched back into the house. She didn’t quite slam the door, but she shut it with conviction.

  Duncan lifted his nose toward the plate. Carl held it out of his reach. “Oh, no, you don’t.” He raised his voice and shouted, “This is mine, Duncan, and I’m going to enjoy it alone!”

  Somewhere in the house, a door slammed. Feeling slightly gratified at having had the last word, he walked down the hill toward his hut. At the door, he paused. As much as he hated to admit it, Lizzie was right.

  There was a wooden chair outside his front door. He grabbed it and carried it toward the small creek that meandered through the pasture. He stopped beside an old stump that he could use for a table. From this vantage point, he could see the house up on the hill. Somehow, just knowing she was up there was a comfort.

  He settl
ed down to snack on cold fried chicken, carrot sticks and biscuits that were flaky and good, but they didn’t measure up to Lizzie’s. Not by a long shot.

  * * *

  The next day began with a flurry of work. Knowing that her grandfather would be unable to put in his garden or do such chores for several weeks, Lizzie attacked his garden plot with a vengeance. The weather had turned cold again. The taste of spring had been just that, a taste. March wasn’t going to go out like a lamb.

  It was nearly noon when she noticed Carl standing outside the fence watching her. Finally, she couldn’t bear his stoic silence any longer. She thrust her spade into the ground. “What are you staring at?”

  “I have some composted manure and straw I need to get rid of. Shall I haul it over here? I don’t want to do you any favors.”

  “Shall I go in the house so you can do it alone?”

  He struggled to keep a grin off his face and lost. “I reckon I deserved that. I’m sorry I was cross with you yesterday.”

  “And I am sorry for being a nosy busybody. Your life is your own, Carl. It was wrong of me to pry. Can we be friends again? I really dislike eating alone.”

  “So do I, but can we be friends?”

  She smiled. “I don’t see why not. You are invaluable to my grandfather, and I wasn’t joking when I said I didn’t know how to run a sheep farm.”

  “You have been a good learner. Next year, you’ll be able to wrestle the sheep to me with barely a thought. I may even teach you how to use the shears.” He opened the garden gate and carried in a spade. He took a spot beside her and began to turn over the dirt.

  “Next year. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I’ve been so focused on getting my sisters here. Will I even be here a year from now? So much depends on my family.”

  “Have you heard anything from them?”

  Lizzie shook her head. “I only sent them my letter a week ago. I should hear something soon. I have another letter that I need to mail today. I had to explain how my foolishness has landed our grandfather in the hospital. I want them to be prepared for what they will find when they arrive.”

  “Did you tell them about me?”

  “Only that you live on the property and you take care of the sheep.”

  He stopped digging to look at her. “Nothing else?”

  “Nothing else.”

  He nodded and began to spade up the soil again. Working together, they finished half of the garden before Lizzie called a halt to the work. “I want to get my letter to the mailbox before the mail carrier goes by. We can finish the rest tomorrow.”

  Carl stepped on his spade, driving it deep into the earth. “I thought I would call the hospital and see how Joe is today.”

  “Let me get my letter and I’ll walk with you part of the way. That is, if you don’t mind?”

  He chuckled. “I don’t mind. Is there any coffee left from this morning?”

  “I have tried keeping some on the back of the stove, but it just gets bitter. It won’t take me long to make a fresh pot. You must tell me what vegetables Grandfather will want planted this spring.”

  “He’s fond of kale and radishes, I know that. He likes cucumbers and the squash casserole Naomi brings over in the summer.”

  “I’ll check with her for the recipe and see what variety of squash she uses.” Lizzie walked through the garden gate ahead of Carl, happy to be on good terms once more.

  The day became a pattern for the rest of the week. Over a cup of coffee in the midmorning, they discussed what work needed to be done and made plans to get as much done as they could before the lambs began to drop. Carl finished building the sheep pens while Lizzie continued to work on the garden until rainy weather put a stop to her outdoor activity. In the late afternoon or early evening, they would walk together to the phone booth. Normally, Lizzie was the one who spoke to the nurses and relayed the information to Carl. Joe refused to take phone calls in his room. It was permitted by their church in such circumstances, but the hospital staff respected his wishes.

  As the days passed, Lizzie began to worry that she hadn’t heard from Mary or from any of her sisters. It was likely that Uncle Morris had forbidden them to contact her, but she hoped and prayed they would find a way. It was during those worry-filled times that Lizzie came to rely on Carl’s words of reassurance.

  It was strange that a man who had been shunned by others could be such a comfort to her. More than ever, she wanted to help him find his way back to the community that meant so much to each of them.

  One evening, after hearing from the nurses at the hospital that Joe was doing better, Lizzie and Carl stopped at the mailbox on the way back to the house as had become their habit. Lizzie opened the front panel and pulled out the mail. Excitement sent her pulse racing when she saw an envelope with her name on it. She clutched it to her chest. “Finally! It’s a letter from my friend Mary. Please, Lord, I hope she tells me that Clara is coming.”

  She handed Carl the rest of the mail and quickly tore open her letter. As she read, her excitement turned to shock.

  She felt Carl’s hand on her shoulder as her knees threatened to buckle. “Lizzie, what’s wrong?”

  She managed to focus on his face. “Mary writes that Uncle Morris was furious at my running away. He and Rufus have decided to push the wedding up. The banns were read at last Sunday’s church service. The wedding will take place two weeks from today.” Lizzie pressed a hand to her cheek.

  “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

  Tears welled up in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks unheeded. He pulled his hand away. She missed his comforting touch immediately.

  “What does Mary say about the money you sent? Clara may decide to come now that she knows how little time is left.”

  “She can’t. Mary hasn’t been able to see them or get my letters to them. Uncle Morris has forbidden her to visit. They don’t know where I am or that I haven’t abandoned them. Two weeks! I can’t even return for the wedding. I sent all the money I had to help Clara leave. It was all for nothing. For nothing!”

  She fled down the lane and rushed into the house, leaving Carl standing alone behind her.

  * * *

  Lizzie went through the motions of fixing a meal, cleaning the house and readying the garden for planting. The work kept her busy, but it couldn’t take her mind off the fate of her sisters. She felt marooned in the ramshackle house with no hope of seeing them again. Even Carl’s softly spoken words of reassurance and quiet strength couldn’t lift her spirits.

  She often felt his eyes on her. She tried to put on a brave front, but inside she was miserable. When she went to bed at night, she prayed fervently for the Lord’s intervention and for the courage to accept her failure as His will.

  Late one afternoon, she came in from feeding the chickens and saw an envelope on the kitchen table. She picked it up. Inside was several hundred dollars. For an instant, she thought her prayers had been answered, then she realized who had left the money.

  It was the answer to her prayers, but it was one she couldn’t accept.

  Her hands trembled as she placed the envelope back on the table and turned away.

  Carl was standing outside the screen door watching her. She realized in that moment how much she had come to care for him.

  “You have not taken it from my hand,” he said quietly.

  “But I know it’s from you.”

  “Your grandfather would say this way is acceptable.”

  “It is a wonderful gesture, but I can’t take your money, Carl.”

  He pulled open the door and came in. “Tell me how to make it acceptable to you and I’ll do it. It’s all I have. Please, take it.”

  “I could not accept such a favor.”

  “Would you accept it from me if I had not been shunned?�
�

  “But by your own admission you have been. I must hold true to the vows I spoke before God.” Her grandfather once said shunning was a difficult and painful thing. Until this moment, she hadn’t realized how right he was.

  Carl’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “You won’t accept it even if it means never seeing your sisters again?”

  “Even if it means that.”

  “You live your faith, Lizzie Barkman. God will surely smile on you.”

  “Just as He smiles on all His children,” she said quietly.

  Carl stared at the floor. “I could not hold true to my faith as you do. He has turned His face away from me.”

  She moved to stand in front of him. “That isn’t true, Carl. God never turns away from us. It is we who turn away from Him. We give in to doubt and fear, but He knows our hearts. He knows we need His love. Forgiveness and acceptance are ours for the asking.”

  He shook his head. “I have asked for forgiveness many times, but I have not received it. I don’t know that I ever shall.”

  “If anyone knows you, they must surely see your goodness. Your desire to help me means more than I can say. I know now what my grandfather sees in you. You have such a generous heart.”

  He raised his eyes and stared at her for a long moment. “And you are a strong, brave woman.”

  “Not at the moment.” She picked up the envelope and held it out to him. He took it from her and left the house. She sat down at the table and wept.

  Chapter Ten

  Lizzie stood by the mailbox waiting for the letter carrier to reach her. She spotted the white van stopped at a farm down the road and knew he would come her way next.

  She couldn’t let go of the hope that Mary would write and tell her something had changed. It had to change. Clara couldn’t marry Rufus. It was unthinkable.