by Mary Ellis
“Uh-huh. Well, you might as well throw them into the washer. I would assume by now they could use laundering.” Sarah’s tone was cool and crisp as she began peeling turnips.
Rachel pulled the jeans from her bag. “I’m sorry if I disappointed you, but girls back home sometimes wear English clothes during rumschpringe.” She slipped an arm around Sarah’s waist at the sink.
“I’m not your mamm, Rachel. Goodness, I’m not old enough for that. But I think you should write to grossmammi and tell her about your uniform. She might have something to say. If you would fix a salad and set the table, we’ll be ready for supper soon. I’m starving, aren’t you?”
“Famished.” Rachel dropped the jeans into the washer before scrubbing her hands and arms at the stationary tub.
“There’s a social tonight for young people,” Sarah called from the kitchen. “A volleyball game just down the road, not too far. Everyone will be from our conservative Mennonite district—only horses and buggies, no cars. You should feel right at home.”
“Do Amish folks ever attend your get-togethers?” Rachel dried her hands on a checkered towel.
“Sometimes. It depends on how far they feel like driving their rigs.” Sarah studied her curiously. “You’re twenty, right? Were you courting someone back in Pennsylvania?”
“Yes, I’m twenty. But no, I hadn’t starting riding home from socials with anyone.”
“But you had gone to socials, right?” Sarah’s left brow arched.
“Of course. I went to singings and volleyball parties and cookouts. I had been waiting for my older sisters to marry first.” Rachel carried in a basket of lettuce and tomatoes from the porch to wash and slice.
“Good to hear you’re not planning to jump the fence.” Sarah stirred the chopped turnips into her soup. “And now both Amy and Nora have married.” She shot Rachel a grin before heading out the door to hang the last load of sheets on the line. Although Sarah owned an electric dryer, she preferred the scent of sunshine in her bed linens.
Rachel focused on making the salad. “Looks like I’m going to a social whether I want to or not,” she muttered. Truth was she had been ready to start courting, but her parents’ deaths had put a damper on everything. How could she smile and make polite conversation while torn up by grief? But now that two years had passed, she was as ready as she ever would be. She’d planned to fall in love someday, get married, and have a houseful of children. But that someday had always been far in the distant future. If Sarah had her way, she would be returned to grossmammi with a brand-new ehemann in tow. “He just better be a horse lover,” she said to the tomatoes.
During supper Rachel ate a bowl of soup and another of salad, and then she walked the two miles to the volleyball party. Surprisingly, Isaac said he needed the rig tonight, even though he usually went to bed at eight thirty. Sarah insisted that Rachel take a pan of fresh-baked walnut brownies. Amish or Mennonite, Plain folk loved their desserts. As she walked up the driveway, she struggled to recall the names of people she’d already met at church. Fortunately, one of her few acquaintances spotted her the moment she arrived.
“Rachel,” called Bonnie. “Come join us.” She patted the long grass beside her.
“I’m glad you remembered me.” Rachel handed her dessert to the hostess and strolled toward the volleyball game. As often happened when games continued for a while, the teams ended up all male while the girls found comfortable spots on the lawn to watch. Most women disdained sweating far more than men.
“Let me introduce you,” said Bonnie. “This is Ruby, Rosanna, Abby, Joanna, and Mary.” She aimed an index finger at one blue or green dress after another. “Everybody, this is Rachel King from Lancaster County. She’s staying a spell with her cousins, the Stolls, on 738.”
For the next forty minutes, Rachel found herself an object of curiosity. Once Lancaster County was mentioned, the questions began to fly. Everyone knew people who still lived there and was eager for news. Unfortunately, she didn’t know many of their inquiries, and of the few she did, she possessed no current information. But the girls were so friendly that Rachel tried her best to be a good sport. Not until the volleyball landed squarely in the center of their circle did their barrage of questions pause. Unaccustomed to being the center of attention, she welcomed the interruption.
“Are you going to let the new girl come up for air?” A sandy-haired young man approached from the volleyball game. “Or will you scare her off, never to be seen again?” His lips drew up into a smile.
Five women giggled while Bonnie rolled her eyes. “We let her breathe five minutes ago, Reuben Mullet. I think you’re just angling for an introduction.” Bonnie tossed him the ball with more force than necessary.
“Guilty,” he stated without hesitation. “I haven’t seen a friendly face in this crowd in a very long time.”
While the girls made a variety of dismissive noises, Reuben reached a hand down to Rachel. “Reuben Mullet, at your disposal.”
Rachel shyly clasped his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “Danki. I’m Rachel King.”
“The only thing that should be disposed of is you, Reuben,” Bonnie teased without a hint of malice of her voice. Everyone laughed, including him. Bonnie scrambled up, dragging another girl with her. “Don’t worry, Rachel. He won’t bite, and if he does, he’s had all his shots.”
Reuben tossed the ball back toward the game. “It’s true. I have a piece of paper in my wallet in case you need to see it.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“That won’t be necessary.” To Rachel’s horror, the other girls wandered off, leaving her alone with him. It was as though they followed some unwritten code that allowed males equal time to make first impressions. She felt lost without a road map.
“I saw you at church services last week,” he said. “I tried everything to get your attention from across the room except stand on my head.”
“Back in Pennsylvania, standing on heads during a sermon would be frowned on by the bishop.”
“It is here too.” Reuben pushed his hat to the back of his head. “That’s why I decided against it. Plus my daed kept clearing his throat and jabbing me in the ribs each time I looked at you.”
“I’m sorry I made your thoughts stray during church.” Rachel walked in the direction the women had headed.
“Are you going to the barn for a snack? I would love to try something you brought.”
She laughed, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “Subtlety is not your strong suit, is it?”
“I believe patience and subtlety are highly overrated.” His blue eyes twinkled with amusement.
“Goodness, I feel right at home.” They had walked into a cavernous barn, where plates of cake, pie, and cookies covered the surface of several long tables. “Old Order Mennonites must be as fond of sweets as the Amish.” They joined the line at the end.
“I’d heard that an Amish gal had infiltrated our ranks.” He scratched his clean-shaven jaw. “Have you come to steal our soybean secrets?”
“Nope. I’m here to work with Thoroughbred horses.”
Reuben’s forehead furrowed with creases. “A woman who loves the noblest of beasts? Be still my heart. Tell me which one of these delicacies you brought.” He flourished a hand over the buffet.
When Rachel pointed at the pan of walnut brownies dusted with sugar, Reuben loaded his plate with five of them, ignoring all of the other desserts. Rachel took two peanut butter cookies and a glass of lemonade before sitting down to eat.
Reuben devoured the five brownies one after another and then smacked his lips. “Those were the best I’ve ever tasted,” he declared, brushing sugar off his shirt.
“I’ll be sure to tell Sarah when I get home because she baked them, not me.” Rachel hid her grin behind a napkin.
“I stuffed myself with those for nothing?” Mischief danced in his irises.
“I thought they were the best you ever tasted. What did you hope to achieve if I
had baked them?”
He leaned against a hay bale. “You would be so flattered you would let me drive you home.” His lower lip protruded like a pouting child.
“But we’ve only known each other for ten minutes.”
“It’s just a ride home, Rachel, no strings attached. And I promise not to say anything embarrassing.”
She studied him over her cup. “Okay. Honestly, I’m not eager to walk another two miles. Bonnie says you’re harmless, and I can probably outrun your horse anyway.”
“Tonight you would be able to since I plan to take my time.” Reuben blushed to a deep shade of scarlet, as though he’d been surprised by her answer.
Surprised, but definitely pleased.
Jake hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on his parents that rainy Thursday night. He was exhausted from teaching students and working with Eager to Please along with his regular chores. He planned to check e-mail to see if any of his employment offers had been accepted. Somebody must be willing to move to Charm for a chance to train a colt with impressive bloodlines. But Mom’s plaintive voice caught his attention before he reached the door to the home office. Jake stopped dead in his tracks.
“I know I agreed to go along with the family decision,” said Taylor, “but as the weeks pass I’m becoming fearful about our future.”
Jake could almost see his mother winding a lock of hair around her finger—a habit whenever she was stressed.
“What are you afraid of in particular?” asked Ken. From the squeak of the swivel chair, Dad was leaning back precariously.
“We just paid for Jessie’s tuition and books in addition to our homeowner and business insurance for another year. We paid the health insurance for our employees, the property taxes, and the vet bills. Soon winter will be here, and if we get a cold one, heating the indoor arena for lessons and shows will cut deeply into whatever profits we might have made.”
“Everything you mentioned sounds like business as usual to me,” said Ken. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“That’s true. But we’ve never had a second mortgage before, especially not with a payment larger than our first mortgage.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, as though even mentioning so much debt might make the situation worse.
“Just send minimum payments wherever you can and we’ll cut back on household expenses.”
“The family still needs to eat, Ken, and so far no one has acquired a taste for oats or alfalfa.”
Jake swallowed hard. He couldn’t let his mom put doubts into his dad’s head. Only a winning attitude would pull them through, not her defeatist outlook. He popped his head in the door. “Sorry, Mom and Dad. I heard you talking so I stopped to listen.”
“To eavesdrop, you mean.” Ken sounded disappointed. “You know better than that, son, especially because we keep no secrets from you.”
Jake’s shirt collar tightened around his throat. “I apologize, but the budget concerns me too.” He looked his father in the eye. “I’m trying quite a few things to generate new clients. My ideas seem to be working, but profits won’t show up overnight or even in a few weeks.”
“We know that. Your mother and I are proud of the way you’ve stepped up the business side of Twelve Elms a thousand percent. We’re getting more customers every day besides plenty of positive feedback.”
Taylor perched on the arm of the upholstered chair. “Jake, we’re not critical of you in the least.” She smiled with effort.
“But your mom deals with the financial reality of life, like paying bills and grocery shopping. The best-laid intentions still need to pay their debts.”
“That’s why I wanted to go the other route with your banker.” Based on his past experience, Jake tried not to sound defensive.
“What other route?” Taylor looked from Jake to her husband and back again without blinking.
“A route I already rejected.” Ken glared at his son. “That’s why I didn’t mention it.”
Taylor slid down onto the chair and crossed her legs. “Perhaps you should tell me now.”
Jake leaned against the door frame, trying to calm down before explaining. “Mr. Moore presented another option for financing that involved a shorter term with a balloon payment at the end. His rate of interest was a little higher because it’s a riskier investment for the bank, but the good part was that no payment would be due during the duration of the loan. We’d have no trouble paying our regular bills because it would be business as usual.”
Ken growled low in his throat. “It’s not quite as rosy as that.” He swiveled to face his wife. “The interest rate is substantially higher. And it can’t be forgiven even if we repay the loan the day after signing the contract. At the end of the term the entire principal plus balloon interest is due without the possibility of renegotiation.”
Jake slumped into a chair, somewhat deflated. “These loans are written all the time in the business world.”
“Yes, because the horse racing industry is full of gamblers and high rollers. You know what the preacher says about gambling.”
“It’s a business loan, Dad. We’re not plunking money down at the pari-mutuel window.” Jake’s tone turned sarcastic despite his good intentions.
“Aren’t we risking everything based on the outcome of one race?” Ken’s voice rose too. “That sounds like a gamble to me!”
“Wait just a minute,” demanded his mother. “What would happen if Eager to Please loses the race and finishes out of the money?” She leaned toward them on the edge of her chair.
“Tell her, son.”
Jake cleared his throat. “The bank could take the farm because the property would be pledged as assurance.”
“Not could take, but would take the farm. We would lose our life’s work and the legacy from my grandfather, as well as the home we live in.” Ken rubbed his eyelids.
“Heaven help us,” she murmured with an expression of horror. “All on the outcome of a horse race?”
“We would still have options,” said Jake. “We could go to a different bank for a regular loan to pay off the balloon payment.”
Taylor stood abruptly. “Are you even listening to yourself, Jake? Because I am, and my head is starting to spin. This tangled ball of yarn keeps getting bigger and bigger.”
“He’s a great colt, Mom. We opted to give him a chance to prove himself. Nothing has changed since the family vote.”
Ken held up a hand—“the raised palm of reason” as Jessie called it. “You’re right. Nothing has changed. Things will stay as they are. We’ll make the second mortgage payment and manage bills the best we can.”
“Because I need to open the pharmacy at six a.m., I’m going to bed,” said Taylor. “I think I’ve heard enough to give me nightmares anyway.”
“Okay, but remember that one of my offers for a professional trainer is bound to be accepted eventually. Then we’ll have that man or woman’s salary on top of everything else. It needs to be factored in. But we won’t win unless somebody gets Eager to Please ready to race.”
Visibly paler, Taylor shook her head and marched from the room.
Ken sighed as though housing the homeless, feeding the world’s hungry, and ending all wars rested on his shoulders. “I understand. That will throw a monkey wrench into our tight budget, but let’s not act rashly.”
“Dad—”
“No, Jake. You’re tired. I’m tired, and I need to pray about this matter. God has never failed me whenever I’ve turned a problem over to Him, and He won’t now. Get some rest. Maybe a little praying on your part wouldn’t hurt the situation.” Ken shuffled from the room.
Jake sat, speechless and immobile. What could God do? Deliver a giant check to their front door like some magazine publishing outfit? A check large enough to make the Brady family problems disappear overnight? Sometimes Dad acted as though they were the Brady Bunch, that television family from the 1970s. Everything will be all better after church on Sunday, so let’s just put on a happy face.
Jak
e shook off his bad temper and opened his computer. He might as well catch up on e-mail because sleep wouldn’t come for a long while tonight. Scanning down the ads from tack suppliers and feed co-ops, he answered a few queries about rates and arena availability. Then his gaze landed on a name that rang cowbells in his ears—Alan Hitchcock—one of the many Lexington trainers he’d contacted by mail. With a shaky hand, he clicked on Mr. Hitchcock’s message:
Dear Mr. Brady,
Due to a recent change in circumstances, I might be interested in your offer to train your colt. I’m familiar and impressed with his bloodlines. I’m willing to drive to Charm to meet the horse and to see if agreement can be reached regarding terms of employment. Kindly reply to this e-mail to let me know when we could arrange a mutually convenient meeting.
Jake dug a handkerchief from his pocket because his eyes had filled with tears. He hadn’t cried in too many years to remember. But with his life’s dream moving one step closer, he couldn’t seem to stem the tide.
Friday
Donna was filling bowls with cereal as her daughters came into the kitchen.
“You have the day off?” asked the older of the two.
“Pretty cool. The same day as the teacher’s in-service day.” Ten-year-old Kristen retrieved the gallon of milk and three glasses.
“Don’t be a blooming idiot,” said fourteen-year-old Amber. “The fact we’re home is why Mom took the day off. She doesn’t want us dyeing our hair purple or painting our rooms orange.” Amber pulled out the bowl of sliced strawberries.
“Nobody is an idiot.” Donna sipped her second cup of coffee, which she considered necessary fortification for dealing with teenagers. “Purple hair or orange walls never occurred to me. I just love spending the day with my sweet girls.”
Kristen grinned, while Amber snickered. “Yeah, but you also probably needed a break from your office. Does that guy still have you going door-to-door?” She drowned her cornflakes with milk. “I’d tell him to get lost.”
