by Mary Ellis
Donna ate her cereal dry. “That guy is my boss, and in the real world a person is not permitted to tell a boss to get lost.”
“He would probably find his way home anyway,” offered Kristen, eating her berries first.
“That’s why I refuse to have a boss. I shall work for myself, painting cityscapes in a loft in Paris or seascapes in a cottage on the Mediterranean.” Amber pondered the merits of one location over the other. “Wherever my creative spirit takes me.”
“You’d better plan to marry a rich man, then. France is filled with starving artists.”
“You’re so old-fashioned, Mom. Women don’t need to marry in this day and age.” Amber rolled her mascaraed eyes. “So where are we going—the mall? I need jeans and sweaters. It’s starting to get cold.”
“It does every year about this time,” said Donna, shaking her head. “But no, we’re going to the horse farm that gives tours. It’s Kristen’s turn to do something she likes.”
The younger Cline sibling beamed.
“Fine,” said Amber, “but maybe we can swing by the mall on our way home. I don’t have anything to wear to Saturday’s dance.”
“Go naked,” suggested Kristen with a bout of uproarious laughter.
“You are such a—”
“—delightful little sister.” Donna finished Amber’s sentence with a warning glare.
Soon the Cline women had finished breakfast and were on their way to an enjoyable autumn outing. At the horse farm, Donna spotted the pretty blonde while still fifty feet away. Surrounded by senior citizens, she was handing out papers and nodding her head energetically. “That must be the tour over there. Hurry up, girls.”
Her daughters complied, but as they joined the group, a round of “thank-you’s” and “we had a nice time’s” indicated the tour had concluded. They waited patiently to speak with the young woman.
“Hi, we’re the Clines from Russell Springs. Can we join the next tour?”
The guide’s face fell. “Oh, dear, we just finished. The next one won’t be until two o’clock.”
“That will be too late to hit the mall,” whispered Amber.
Donna ignored her firstborn. “We’ll wait. Is it all right if we walk around a while?”
“Of course,” said the guide, pulling her gaze from Amber. “But there’s no reason to wait. How would you three like a private tour?”
“That would be super! Thanks so much,” Amber answered without a second thought.
“Are you sure that won’t cut into your lunch hour?” Donna shifted to stand in front of her daughter.
“I’ll have time to eat before the next group arrives. I feel guilty doing nothing during downtime anyway.”
“Where do we pay our money?” Amber sidled around her mother. “My little sister just loves horses and can’t wait to get up close and personal.”
“She’s my kind of girl. I’m Rachel King. Welcome to Twelve Elms. You can follow me and pay at the end, six dollars a head.”
They fell in step behind her with Kristen chattering like a magpie. Autumn leaves swirled along the path, while the sun still provided plenty of warmth. Donna silently rejoiced over today’s choice of outings.
Suddenly the guide stopped in front of a huge canopied wagon—a conveyance that could carry several dozen people. “We’re riding in that?” asked Kristen. “But there are only four of us.”
“Maybe we could walk the tour,” offered Donna. “I, for one, could use the exercise.”
“Give her time to think, Mom.” Amber wasn’t one to break a sweat unless absolutely necessary.
Rachel turned her head left and right for half a minute, deep in thought. “It would be ridiculous to ride around in so large a wagon when I have something smaller. Why don’t you wait here and I’ll be right back.” She pointed at an elm and took off running. In a few minutes, she returned driving an open carriage. “Climb aboard, ladies, and we’ll start our tour.”
Donna climbed into the backseat with Amber, allowing their horse lover the premier spot. Kristen scrambled up without hesitation. Rachel clicked her tongue to the horse and they were off. “Isn’t this an…Amish buggy?” asked Donna after a few minutes.
Rachel smiled over her shoulder. “It is conservative Mennonite, to be exact. Not that there’s much difference.” When she shook the reins, the horse picked up his hooves and went along at a brisk pace.
“Why would you have one?” asked Amber. “This stable isn’t owned by Mennonites, is it?”
Donna slanted Amber a warning look. “Feel free to ignore my daughter’s nosiness,” she said.
“Absolutely. I ignore her all the time,” added Kristen.
Rachel laughed. “Questions are no problem. The Bradys, who own Twelve Elms, aren’t Plain, but the owners of this buggy are Mennonite. I’m staying with them while I visit from Pennsylvania. I’m Old Order Amish.”
“Cool,” replied Amber.
“How come you don’t look Amish?” Kristen sized up their guide as though she’d missed something.
“I do when I’m not at work. It’s just easier to wear your type of clothes here. Now, at our first stop you’ll notice fields of alfalfa hay, oats, and barley on our left.” She began her tour in earnest to the rapt attention of both Cline daughters. Kristen asked several questions Rachel seemed happy to answer. Even Amber asked a few to prove the tour had captured her imagination too.
But Donna’s mind whirred a mile a minute as she sat back and enjoyed the buggy ride—her first in her life. Our guide is Amish and lives with Mennonites? Could this be the entrée I need for access into a private, closed culture? Once they climbed down in front of the stable office, Donna followed Rachel to pay their admission. “Thanks so much for the private ride. We enjoyed ourselves immensely.”
“It was my pleasure. As you can guess, horses are my hobby. There is our gift shop and ice-cream parlor.” Rachel pointed to a white cottage with red-striped awnings. “Here are brochures in case anyone is interested in boarding or riding lessons.” She looked directly at Kristen.
“Thanks. I am interested.” Kristen accepted the pamphlet and pressed it to her heart.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Amber said to her sister. “Dad will never buy you a horse, but I’ll buy you an ice-cream cone.” She pulled her sibling toward the shop.
Donna remained behind on the shaded lawn. “May I speak to you about something, Miss King?” She waited until her daughters disappeared into the store. “This is a professional matter concerning my job at the county board of health. You might be able to assist me.”
“Of course, if I can.” Her sweet face couldn’t have looked more sincere.
Donna poured out her story about polio and a potential epidemic in their community, and how she’d spent the past week of her life.
Rachel listened wide eyed and then shrugged. “If there’s anything I can do to help, it would be my pleasure.”
“That takes a load off my mind.” Donna felt herself relax for the first time in weeks.
SEVEN
How precious did that grace appear
Saturday’s second mounted tour was every bit as exciting for Rachel as the first. Jessie again took charge as promised, so Rachel was able to gain even more confidence on Calamity Jane. She’d exercised the mare twice that week after work, riding around the paddock and down the lane. Jane was smart, responsive, and not overly high-strung. Keeley declined joining the group today because the riders were experienced and uninterested in a lesson or instruction of any kind. These repeat guests were well-acquainted with the history, landmarks, and available services of Twelve Elms. The group rode hard into the hills for hours and then stopped for lunch on the shady bank of a slow-moving creek. When they returned to the barn, everyone spent more than an hour grooming their mounts and cleaning tack. Today’s customers had either trailered their horses to the stable or boarded there on a monthly basis.
During her drive back to the Stoll farm, Rachel contemplated her opt
ions regarding Calamity Jane. Maybe she could offer the Bradys a fair price because she and the mare seemed of like-minded temperaments. Although she gave Sarah most of her paycheck for room and board, Rachel had inherited one quarter of the farm sale proceeds following her parents’ deaths. She could write a check drawn on her Lancaster account. Or if Calamity Jane wasn’t for sale, perhaps Jake knew of a suitable mare that was. Never before had she so yearned to own a horse. Not the family’s buggy horse or one rented by the hour or an animal loaned by a generous employer. She wanted one that would be hers alone.
But what would happen when I return to Lancaster? Have her shipped back in a crate? Her grandmother would think her batty—Thoroughbred riding horses were unheard of in Mount Joy. Rachel parked the buggy next to the Stoll barn, unhitched the gelding, and rubbed him down, still mulling her conundrum.
“There you are, finally.” Sarah marched into the stall and grabbed Rachel by the sleeve. “Come along. I’ll send Isaac to tend the horse. You need to take a quick shower and get ready.” She dragged Rachel from the barn like a sack of grain.
“Get ready for what? I’m exhausted.”
“Nonsense. You’ll perk up with a bite to eat and a cup of coffee.” As though fearful Rachel might escape, Sarah didn’t loosen her grip. “I made a pot of chicken stew.”
“Danki for making supper without me, but why do I need to perk up?” She climbed the porch steps on Sarah’s heels.
“Bonnie, Ruby, and Joanna will pick you up in an hour. Ruby’s cousin has a car. There’s a singing in the western part of Casey County, so there’s a good chance Amish will come.”
“Your conservative district isn’t much different than mine, so it’s not that big of a deal.” Rachel dug her soiled English clothes from the bag.
“No, but I’ll tell you what is a big deal.” Sarah lowered her voice as Isaac passed them on his way out. “Reuben Mullet has been asking about you from everyone he bumps into.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because Bonnie called and said so.” Sarah furrowed her brow.
“Jah, I forgot your district has phones in their homes beside businesses.” She pulled out the knob to start the washer. “I wonder why he’s been asking about me.”
Sarah pressed the back of her hand to Rachel’s forehead. “Were you too long in the sun without your bonnet? Surely you know why a man asks about a woman.”
“Oh, that.” She tried to hide her smile.
“Oh, that. Jump into the shower and use plenty of soap. You don’t exactly smell like peaches and cream at the moment. I’ll have a bowl of chicken stew cooling.”
Sixty minutes later a black sedan pulled up the drive and stopped by the porch. A young man yanked opened the back door. “Your carriage for the evening, Miss King.” Ruby’s cousin, Josh, turned out to be sweet and attentive…to Bonnie, thank goodness. He hung on every word she said and laughed at all her jokes and stories.
Rachel had time to ponder the Calamity Jane question, but all too soon they joined the throng entering their host’s barn, where loud singing drowned out her thoughts. She enjoyed raising her voice in hymns of praise, along with a few contemporary songs, even though Beth insisted she sang like a bullfrog. After the singing, Rachel had little chance to meet new people, whether male or female. On the way to the snack table with Bonnie and her friends, Reuben headed her off at the turn.
“Hi, Rachel. I’m so glad you came. Quite a crowd tonight, no? I was afraid there wouldn’t be anywhere to sit after the stampede went through the line, so I staked out two lawn chairs around back.” He yanked on his suspenders. “Want to have a cup of hot chocolate with me?”
“I hate to just rush off from my friends,” she said, turning to Bonnie for support.
“Don’t be silly. You run along. I’m looking for Josh and a private place we can talk.” Bonnie hurried away as though in some kind of race.
“All right then, but in your haste to leave the barn, I hope you didn’t trample anybody into the dirt.” Rachel focused on Reuben’s crisp new haircut. Someone must have trimmed his hair right before he came.
He paled. “Certainly not! I would never knock a person down. And if I did so accidentally, I would stay to help—”
“I was teasing, Reuben. It was a joke.”
He clutched at his chest. “Jah, of course. I’m not used to girls with a sense of humor. The women around here are droll as old grossmammis.” He spoke in a whisper. “Come see what I saved for us.”
She followed him around the barn to the grapevine-shrouded entrance to the garden and berry patch. Two folding chairs had been set up under the arch with taped scraps of paper proclaiming “Saved.” A paper napkin covered an upturned bucket that held two cups of cocoa and a mounded plate of baked goods.
“Goodness, that’s quite an assortment. Which small village will be joining us?”
He hesitated only a moment. “Another joke? I’m getting used to you already.” He pulled out one lawn chair as though they were in a fine dining establishment.
“Danki.” Rachel stifled a laugh. She felt a tad foolish sitting under the arch. Everyone else at the get-together chatted in large clusters, while she was alone with a stranger. She ate two brownies in short order, chewing each bite carefully while Reuben talked about his father’s dairy farm, mentioning he was the eldest of three sons and the fact their farm never failed to turn a profit.
“So how was work today at Twelve Elms?” he asked upon exhausting his topic.
She set down her third dessert. “It was wonderful. Jessie Brady and I took the customers on miles of trails. We rode into the wooded hills, through the pastures, and even along a river of sorts. Jessie said some of the property doesn’t even belong to the Bradys, but their neighbors don’t mind trail rides as long as we remember to close the gates. They appreciate an extra pair of eyes on their fences.” Rachel sipped the cooled chocolate. “We ate lunch with our feet dangling in a fast stream. Their land takes my breath away. It’s so beautiful.”
Reuben cocked his head to one side. “Sounds like you were gone for hours. Are there many English gals who like to ride?” He downed his drink.
“No, only two girls. The rest were men.” Rachel stretched out her legs.
His smile faded. “Do you think it’s wise to venture hours away from the stable in the company of strange English men?”
“It’s perfectly safe. Jessie does it all summer long. Besides, most of the time we’re galloping hard, not sitting around chitchatting. When we got back to the barn, my jeans were covered with dust.” Rachel realized her error the moment the words left her mouth.
“Your jeans? You wear blue jeans like an English man?”
“Jah,” she answered, drawing out the word. “Or like an English woman. I can’t ride in this.” She pinched up some fabric of her long blue skirt, not hiding her irritation.
After an uncomfortable minute, Reuben leaned back in his chair. “No, I suppose not. I suppose it’s not a problem since you’re still on rumschpringe. That will all change once you’re baptized and get married.” He splayed his palms across his knees. “Say, why don’t I get us more hot chocolate? Something to warm us up.” He left the arbor without waiting for her yea or nay.
Rachel endured a miserable rest of the evening, including an interminable buggy ride home. She had been abandoned by Bonnie, Ruby, Josh, and his car. They had assumed she would happily ride home with Reuben, but she was anything but happy as he droned on about what life would be like in the Mullet household after he married.
Blessed relief finally arrived halfway home. She fell fast asleep and, according to Reuben, snored loudly. He didn’t wake her up until they reached the Stoll side door. Rachel apologized profusely for her rudeness, but she could barely contain her giggles. Once inside Sarah’s cozy kitchen, she buried her face in her hands and laughed until tears streamed down her face. At least he only bored her to sleep. She wondered if there was any truth to the term “bored to death.”
/> Whoever imagined that so many racetracks existed in the United States?
Jake rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to stem the headache building behind his eyes. He’d checked out a stack of horse racing periodicals from the library in Somerset hoping to learn more about the industry he wished to compete in. Good thing he was young, because the more he read the more he realized he had much to learn.
“Is this seat taken or may I sit down?”
Jake looked up to find Rachel standing behind the opposite chair at his table. She wore one of the new long-sleeved T-shirts Jessie had ordered for everyone.
“I’m alone. Sit.” Jake rolled the discarded crusts from his sandwich into the plastic wrap.
Rachel pulled out the chair and opened her lunch cooler. “You’re finished already? I brought enough to share.” She unwrapped a sandwich on the waxed paper. “Chicken salad.” She waved it before his face to tantalize. “With grapes, walnuts, and celery.”
“Sounds delightful, but I already ate bologna on white bread. If only I had waited.”
She took a dainty bite and set the sandwich down. “I hope we’re still friends, Jake. I don’t have that many.” Her blue eyes looked utterly sincere.
The oxygen vanished from the break room. “Of course we are.” He took an apple from his brown bag for something to look at other than her pretty face. “I don’t have many friends either. All work and no play has turned Jake into a dull boy.” He bit into the apple while she took another bite of her delicious-looking sandwich. He stared as though mesmerized. “Anyway, there’s something I’m curious about.”
Rachel dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Ask away. I keep no secrets from folks nice enough to loan me Calamity Jane.”
“Most of the Amish people around here use computers and the Internet, but you sounded unfamiliar with blogs and Facebook when I described the stable’s new website.”
“That’s because most of the folks here are Conservative Mennonite, not Amish. Many Englischers see Plain clothing and assume we’re all Amish. The Mennonites here have electricity in their homes, and some districts use tractors, diesel harvesters, and even drive cars and trucks. But I’m Old Order Amish from Lancaster. We have to ask permission to install a phone line for a business, and most of our electricity is produced by diesel generators, so we use it sparingly.”
