“So you’re angry,” Solomon replied.
“I’m realistic.”
“But you aren’t over her either,” Solomon countered.
“I never will be!” Johannes said shortly. “I think you get a chance with a woman who sinks into your bones once a lifetime, and she was mine. But that doesn’t mean I can’t love again, or have a family, or find some happiness, does it?”
“So . . . you’ve asked Sovilla to marry you, then?” Solomon asked.
“Last night.”
“And she obviously agreed.”
“The wedding will be in a week. The bishop is already getting the local women to help put something together. It’ll be a small wedding, but it’s worth a celebration.”
“And you’ll be a father—just like that,” Solomon said. “Are you ready for that?”
“No,” Johannes replied. “Of course not. But I don’t think any man is actually ready for fatherhood. Besides, Sovilla said she’d help me with that, and she’d give me tips about getting them to behave and how to connect with them. Sovilla knows her children.”
“She’s a good woman, isn’t she?” Solomon asked quietly.
“She’s a very good woman. She has a strong reputation in Edson, and our bishop speaks very highly of her, too.” Johannes looked over at Solomon, and his expression relaxed. “It might not be the family I was imagining for myself, but I’ll have a wife and kinner, and hopefully a baby on the way soon enough. We can live with my parents for the first year or so, until I get something else lined up, and it will be good because Sovilla will have help with the girls, and it won’t be just the two of us while we get used to each other. I think it will be . . . good.”
A marriage with a relative stranger and children to provide for that he hadn’t even met. It was risky, but Solomon thought he could understand. Sometimes a man couldn’t be with the woman who sank down into his bones, as Johannes had put it, but he couldn’t simply stop living either. Those years were going to pass one way or another, and a man had to keep putting one foot forward.
“You’re the only one who can know what will make you happy,” Solomon said.
“And I’m the one who will live with my choices,” Johannes replied.
Solomon was the one who’d live with the fallout of his choices, too.
Johannes pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and squinted at the address on the next driveway. Then he tucked it away again and turned the horses down the drive.
This was paved and, ahead, Solomon could see some buggies already parked, as well as a few pickup trucks. A farmer stood in gum boots, his arms crossed over his chest, talking to a group of men—a mixture of Amish and English—who were already in the back of a work truck. The farmer was middle-aged, with a green John Deere baseball cap. He slapped the side of the vehicle, and it rumbled off down a twisting drive.
“Good morning!” Johannes called. “I saw your post looking for workers.”
“Sure thing,” the farmer said, and he waited while Johannes reined in the horses. “You two want to work?”
“Yah.”
“You’ve got fencing experience?” the farmer asked, squinting.
Johannes spread his hands and grinned. “Come on. We’re Amish. If we can’t build a fence, we have no right to the name.”
“Right.” The farmer laughed at Johannes’s humor. “Okay, but I need one of you to be able to drive a truck, so unless you can do that, I’m afraid I won’t be able to hire you on—”
“Oh . . .” Johannes licked his lips. “I can take the buggy, but—”
“It won’t make it. Your wheels are too narrow,” the farmer said with a shake of his head. “And that truck is full.”
Johannes heaved a sigh, and Solomon nudged his cousin.
“I can drive,” Solomon said.
Both men looked at him in surprise. The farmer pushed his hat back on his head and rubbed a hand over his chin.
“You can?” Johannes raised his eyebrows, then shrugged. “Yeah, of course you’d be able to.”
“You can drive stick?” the farmer asked skeptically.
“Yah. I wasn’t always Amish,” Solomon replied. “I drive stick and automatic, no problem. I can drive tractors and forklifts, too, if that makes you feel any better.”
“Your church lets you do that?” the farmer asked.
“I’m . . . okay with driving,” Solomon said, unsure even how much to say. “My conscience is clear.”
The farmer shrugged. “So what we’re doing is replacing fence all along one side of my pasture. Most of the posts are okay, but a few need to be replaced, plus I want new barbed wire up . . .”
Solomon listened while Johannes unhitched, and as he mentally tallied up the instructions, he realized he was doing the right thing. Even today, if he hadn’t learned to drive, they’d have come all the way out here for nothing. Jobs could be scarce, and if employers didn’t want education, they certainly wanted skills that a lot of Amish workers didn’t have, like driving.
“All right, I’m ready,” Johannes said when he’d finished with the horses.
“Okay, well, here’s the keys,” the farmer said, fishing a ring of keys out of his pocket and nodding toward a rusted-out Ford pickup. It was more putty than metal, by the looks of it. “You got tools?”
“Yah, right here.” Johannes lifted a canvas bag.
“Good. So, you want to follow that road down and carry on east . . .”
They’d earn some money, Solomon and Johannes, but for different goals. Johannes wanted to have some extra money in his pocket for his new life with a woman he’d barely met and kinner who’d need a whole lot more than Johannes was probably even anticipating. But Solomon needed some cash to help out his grandmother so that she could stop selling produce and stay safely behind her property line.
That’s all he wanted—a bit of cash to hand over.
When he left the Amish life this time, he’d do so with empty pockets and a clear conscience. Johannes was getting his fresh start with an arranged marriage. Solomon would get his on the other side of the fence.
* * *
“It was a letter from Anke,” Elizabeth said, shaking out a wet sheet to find the corner. “She’s coming home.”
“Oh?” Bridget deposited another basket of wet laundry next to the one Elizabeth was working on. “She said that?”
“I didn’t see the letter, but that’s what Solomon said,” she replied. “He also said his mamm was under the impression that he’d come back penitent and ready to be Amish.”
Bridget’s cheeks pinked. “I may have given that impression when I wrote to her, but that was faith, Elizabeth. I do believe that Gott is working and He’ll keep that boy at home. I do!”
Elizabeth smiled ruefully. “If prayers could be enough—”
“Prayers are more than enough,” Bridget replied. “Prayers are more powerful than any of us imagine. They open up Gott’s gates and bring us straight to the presence of the Almighty.”
It was true, but Solomon seemed quite determined to go the English way, and she couldn’t blame him. The Amish life was wonderful when you had a community to encourage you and need your contributions. What was an Amish life without that community but hardship and loneliness?
Elizabeth shook out the sheet and climbed up onto the stepladder, then flung it over the line. She headed down the stairs to pull it straight across the line from the ground, then accepted the stepladder that Bridget passed over the railing to her so that she could reach to add some pins to hold it in place. A gust of wind caught it and it flapped with a satisfying snap.
“I knew she’d come back for him,” Bridget said. “Anke was furious with her son for leaving, but she’s a mother, and a chance to see her prodigal son . . . she wouldn’t give that up.”
“He misses her,” Elizabeth said.
“Our mamms are part of us,” Bridget said. “They’re a physical piece of us, and Gott intended it that way. You can run from a great many thin
gs in life, but you can’t run from your own mamm.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I miss mine.”
“Yah. Your mamm loved you kinner dearly. And I daresay she was the one who held your daet up straight. Without her . . .” Bridget sighed, but she didn’t finish. She didn’t have to. They both knew what had become of Abe Yoder without his beloved wife.
The sound of hooves made Elizabeth turn, expecting to see Solomon and Johannes returning, but it wasn’t—it was Isaiah. Elizabeth put the bag of clothespins on the deck and waited for her brother to rein in the horses.
“Good morning!” she called.
Isaiah shot her a fiery look and jumped down from the buggy. He strode across the gravel drive and didn’t even bother saying hello to Bridget.
“What’s the matter?” Elizabeth asked, and she crossed the grass, meeting her brother at the edge of the gravel.
“I heard about the Englishers,” he said. “Englishers attack you and you don’t tell me a thing?”
“I meant to,” she said. “I’m sorry about that, Isaiah, but the police dealt with it, and Sol has been here with us, so we haven’t been alone.”
“Lizzie—” Her brother took her by the shoulders. “This isn’t safe.”
“If it isn’t safe for me, it’s even less safe for Bridget alone,” Elizabeth said, lowering her voice. “She needs someone here with her for a reason. She’s an old woman. What would you have me do?”
“You can both come to our place,” Isaiah said, raising his voice.
“That would be a squeeze,” Bridget called from the deck.
Elizabeth looked over her shoulder. Bridget pulled the clothesline with a squeak and the sheet jerked out farther, leaving space for her to pin up a pillowcase.
“You have Daet with you,” Elizabeth said quietly. “You and Bethany are doing enough.”
“Daet left this morning,” Isaiah said curtly.
“What?” Elizabeth stepped closer to her brother and lowered her voice. “Where did he go?”
“He left a note saying he was leaving to find Lovina.”
Elizabeth and her brother exchanged a somber look.
“What does that mean exactly?” she asked.
“That’s all he said,” he replied. “That he was going to find Lovina, and that he’d let us know when there was news. That’s it.”
Elizabeth let out a pent-up breath. “Does he know where to look?”
“He told me earlier that he heard about a few different places where runaway Amish find shelter and he wanted to check them.”
“That will cost money,” she said.
“I don’t know.... He must know where to get that, too,” he replied.
Elizabeth sighed. “This will be worth it if he finds her, you know.”
“Yah, but what happens if Daet doesn’t and he just ends up hurt, or lost, or—”
“He’s no newborn kitten, Isaiah,” she said curtly. “He ran a farm and raised a family. He can sort out some Englisher directions, I’m sure. You don’t have to shoulder the responsibility for everything. At least he’s doing something instead of sitting in that rocking chair, pretending nothing’s changed.”
Her brother eyed her for a moment. “You haven’t forgiven him either, have you?”
Elizabeth sighed. “Lovina leaving was his fault, you know that. It would be . . . appropriate . . . if he brought her home.”
Isaiah nodded slowly. “The last couple of days he’s been talking about preaching again, too.”
Elizabeth felt her face pale. “He wouldn’t . . .”
“He wants to.” Isaiah pressed his lips together. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with him. He can’t be the preacher he was before all this. But we can’t abandon him either.”
“The bishops will never welcome him to preach in their communities,” Elizabeth said.
“No,” Isaiah agreed. “They won’t, and it will be another embarrassment if we can’t talk him out of trying.”
Did their father really believe so little had changed? Or was he just needing something to think about? After preaching his entire adult life, how did a man simply . . . stop?
“Lizzie, you can’t stay here,” Isaiah said. “It isn’t safe.”
“We have Sol here,” Elizabeth replied. “Trust me, we’re safe.”
“He was beaten very badly—”
“He didn’t have to do that,” she said. “He learned to fight in prison, Isaiah, and he’s very competent. He wanted to let me get away, and he thought that not fighting would give me more time.”
She felt strangely proud of that. Solomon was strong, fast, competent. And with him, she knew she was safe, at least physically. Her reputation, on the other hand, was hanging by a thread.
“He did that for you?” Isaiah frowned.
“Yah.”
“So, he’s in love with you . . .”
“No, he’s—” Was he? The thought hadn’t occurred to her yet. What did love have to do with any of this? Was that what it meant when a man was willing to hand over his body for a beating to protect a woman? She caught her breath. Her brother was watching her face, and his expression fell.
“Lizzie, he’s an ex-con! He comes to Bountiful and violence follows! You wanted a good Amish life. You wanted the best Amish life! What happened to that? Solomon’s not going to be in good standing with the church . . . ever!”
“Isaiah,” Elizabeth said quietly, “I’m not going to stay in Bountiful anyway. I want to go to another Amish community and start fresh. I do want the Amish life, but if I stay here, I’m just going to be the daughter of the man who defrauded the community and who keeps trying to preach!”
“Is Sol going with you?” her brother asked.
“No. He’s going English.”
Isaiah nodded slowly. “Where would you go?”
“Edson? Bonnyville? Newton? I don’t know. But I won’t get married here, Isaiah.”
Her brother sighed. “I know. I’ve been considering that. It was a miracle that Bethany and I found each other. And you deserve a family of your own.”
“I never thought there was a danger of me ending up an old maid, but now . . .” She shrugged. “It’s a very real possibility.”
“Then we’ll find you something,” Isaiah said. “A job, a family needing a nanny maybe. We’ll find some way for you to meet people in another community.”
“Maybe even in Indiana or Ohio,” she said.
“The further the better?” Isaiah smiled when he said it, but she heard the sadness in his voice. “But we can ask around—check The Budget for any ads. Even if you worked at an Amish shop in another community. We’ll find you something.”
“You’ll help me look?” she asked. “You promise?”
“I’ll help you look, as long as you aren’t bringing Solomon Lantz with you,” he said curtly, and she knew he wasn’t joking.
Elizabeth looked over her shoulder again. Bridget pushed up her glasses on her nose and bent down to pull out another heavy, wet sheet. “I need to help with the laundry, Isaiah.”
“Isaiah, I have pie!” Bridget called as Elizabeth started back toward the porch. She gave the sheet another hard tug and shook it out. “Blackberry and cherry. Your choice.”
“Is it any trouble?” Isaiah asked, but he was already headed toward the porch a couple of steps behind Elizabeth.
“Of course not,” Bridget replied with a smile. “It’s nice to have young men around the house again. It’s a pleasure to feed you. Solomon already tucked into the cherry pie this morning, but I managed to save half of it.”
Elizabeth took the sheet from Bridget as the older woman headed back inside the house. Isaiah followed, and Elizabeth got to work with the laundry. A couple of minutes later her brother came back onto the porch with a plate in one hand, with a generous piece of blackberry pie.
“Do you want milk, Isaiah?” Bridget called from inside.
“Thank you, Bridget, that would be nice!” Isaiah called back.
“I want a husband,” Elizabeth said, casting her brother a serious look. “I want a houseful of kinner. I want a mother-in-law and a father-in-law, and new relatives to get along with. I want what you have.”
“We’ll find you something,” he replied. “And I don’t mind telling you that I’ll be glad to have you away from all this.”
Away from Solomon, he meant. But he was right. If she wanted a fresh start, whatever she was feeling for Solomon wasn’t going to help her achieve her goal.
Solomon was a man with deep feelings and strength of body and personality.... His kisses could empty her brain of all logic. But it was more than that. Her feelings for him ran deeper still, because when she imagined a husband to kiss and curl up with at night, it was Solomon she saw next to her, his dark eyes, his soft lips, his strong arms pulling her close . . .
And that couldn’t be.
She’d have to stop this, because Solomon Lantz was only here until he could start a new Englisher life, and she knew it. She’d known it from the start. Bridget might have the faith to believe that Solomon could start a new life here, but Elizabeth knew better.
Bountiful would remain a sweet Amish hub of worship and work because the ones who didn’t fit into that would leave . . . and that included both Solomon and Elizabeth alike. There was a price for staying home when the space for you closed up, and Elizabeth was not willing to pay it.
Chapter Seventeen
Solomon looked around the quiet street as he headed up to his parole officer’s office, the back of his neck prickling. A woman with a stroller walked down the other side of the street. The toddler pulled off a shoe and threw it onto the sidewalk, and she stopped to pick it up with a soft remonstrance and carried on. A pickup truck rumbled past, and he scanned the occupants. Just an older man with white hair and a dog.
He let out a breath.
He pulled open the door to the office building and went inside. He waited for a few minutes in one of the plastic chairs outside, and when Jeff called him in, Solomon went into the office and shut the door.
The Preacher's Daughter Page 21
