by Mary Ellis
Once they’d settled down, huddling together far from the edge, Phoebe asked in a soft voice, “What was I doing the day you followed me at the fund-raising auction?”
Eli’s focus remained on the river. “Don’t you remember? You walked up the hill behind the barn and sat drawing horses that were in the neighbor’s pasture. I was dying to see if your drawings were any good, but then you would know I’d stalked you.” He laughed easily. Nothing seemed to make this man nervous or uncomfortable.
Phoebe reflected on this as she pulled out her drawing tablet. She had tucked it into the waistband of her skirt, under her full-length apron to keep it dry. “Want to look now and judge for yourself?”
Eli met her eye and took the pad. Slowly, he perused each of the sketches contained within. Some were older works she’d completed while babysitting for her cousin’s sons. Eli smiled at the antics of toddlers at play. But when he arrived at her illustrations of his story about Miss Taylor, his eyes grew very round. He stared at them, fascinated, while Phoebe held her breath.
Never had a human being’s opinion mattered so much to her. She barely knew Eli Riehl, yet it seemed the rest of her life hung by the slender thread of his approval. She practically passed out waiting for him to finish. “Well?” she asked, sounding as insecure as she felt.
Eli shut the tablet. “They are…incredible, Phoebe. You have talent that’s far beyond what I’d expected. I was all set to flatter you politely because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. But these? Phoebe Miller, where did you learn to draw like this?”
Phoebe gasped a bit raggedly. “Same place you learned how to spin a good yarn.”
His mouth thinned into a crooked line. “Fair enough, but talking is something we pick up as kinner. Not too many folks learn to draw like this.” Eli peered at her final rendering of a white-as-snow cat and then at the turbulent water. “I bet you’d like to draw this view, but we had better start back. My stomach tells me it’s getting close to dinnertime. And my belly is more reliable than any pocket watch.” He helped her up and they started back across the three narrow bridges tenuously connecting tuffs of land to the State of New York. They didn’t hurry, nor did they worry when the trolley took a long time to arrive. With the excitement of new friendship, they chatted about one subject after another. And when the trolley finally completed its circuit and deposited them at the state park archway—the appointed pickup location—it took Phoebe quite a while to realize their bus was long gone. Then tears flooded her eyes, threatening to ruin her new, grown-up mystique. What was Dad’s number-one command? Don’t let yourself become separated from the group.
Eli Riehl gently lifted her trembling chin with one finger. “I didn’t let you and Mary fall out and drown on the boat ride, did I?”
Unable to speak, she shook her head no.
“Then trust me when I say I won’t let you miss supper our first night in New York.”
SIX
Leah Miller Byler had had a bad feeling all morning. She wasn’t sick—far from it. Because the humidity had broken last night with the rain, she felt extra peppy. No, it was a creepy kind of feeling, like the time she ventured out to the barn looking for Jonah after dark. Suddenly, the door had swung shut behind her and all the mice decided to come out to play just when the batteries in her flashlight died. As they had that night, the little hairs on the back of her neck had stood on end since she’d woken up this morning.
Grossdawdi refused to eat his scrambled eggs at breakfast. He said he never ate eggs with “stuff chopped up and thrown in.”
“Since when?” Joanna asked. “You’ve always loved my ham-onion-and-cheese omelets.”
“No, not me. I’ve never touched the stuff in my life. You must be thinking of my brother.” Amos Burkholder sipped his coffee black, forgetting his usual cream and two sugars.
Joanna glanced at her son, who was consuming his eggs and stack of toast with jam as though the plate might disappear at any moment. “Why don’t you taste a little, grossdawdi?” asked Jonah. “You might find out you like them as much as your…brother does.” Jonah took a swallow of coffee and cut another portion of omelet with the spatula. Holding the eggs aloft, he winked at Leah.
Since Leah had met the Byler family, she’d never heard anyone mention Amos having a brother. The poor soul probably had that disease starting with the letter A. She’d never heard two Englischers pronounce that difficult name the same way twice.
“Nein,” argued Amos. “I just want this here bread.” With a shaky hand, he lifted two slices of toast from the stack and brought one piece to his lips for a small bite.
Leah noticed that his color looked worse than ever—a dull gray instead of his usual pale white.
Amos rose unsteadily to his feet. Joanna rushed from the stove to support his arm. “Stop fawning over me, daughter. I’m a grown man, not some boppli you need to fuss with.” Carrying his toast, Amos limped over to the row of pegs by the door. He shrugged into his chore coat, despite the temperature being already in the eighties, and settled his hat on his head.
“Give me a minute to finish breakfast and I’ll head to the barn with you.” Jonah took a huge forkful of eggs.
“Take your time. Finish eating while I get the milking started.” Clumsily, Amos pulled open the door and walked out to the porch.
Jonah looked panic-stricken. He and his hired workers had finished milking the heifers before breakfast. Joanna placed a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Eat, son. Don’t gobble your food like a goat. He’ll forget all about milking cows by the time he reaches the barn. He’ll be fine until you get out there. You need a decent meal to see you through until lunch.”
Jonah allowed Leah to refill his coffee cup and then slowed down to finish his food. When Leah returned the pot to the stove, she watched Amos make slow progress to the barn. The two forgotten slices of toast slipped from his fingers to the dusty path. His trusty dog, usually close to his heels, quickly consumed the evidence.
Watching his laborious gait, Leah’s unsettled feeling ratcheted up a notch and hadn’t diminished by the time she headed to the henhouse. Joanna insisted on cleaning up the kitchen alone and shooed Leah outdoors. After scattering a bucketful of feed for hungry hens, she carefully lifted those still roosting to check for eggs. She received a few ornery clucks but no pecks on the arms today from those not happy about surrendering their potential offspring. By the time she filled her basket with fresh brown eggs, her bad feeling had escalated into a sensation of dread. When a white-faced Jonah strode from the barn, not running but with a purposeful walk, it didn’t surprise her in the least.
Carefully setting her basket in the grass, she ran to meet her husband. “Jonah,” she murmured when she reached his side.
He gazed at her with his deep-blue eyes, soft as a robin’s eggshell, and spoke in a shaky voice. “He’s gone, Leah. My grandfather is dead. I went looking for him when I got to the barn. I found him sitting on a hay bale near the milking stanchions. His head was leaning against the stall wall, so I thought he was just resting.” Jonah’s voice broke as he glanced off toward the house. He cleared his throat before continuing. “When I touched him, I saw that his eyes were staring off into nothingness. I shook him, but I knew there was no need anymore. He had a little smile on his face, as though the last thing he saw before leaving this world and entering the next had pleased him greatly.”
Leah wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged as tightly as she could. “I’m so sorry, Jonah. What can I do to help?”
He hugged her back. “He’s in God’s hands—the best place to be. I suppose you can take those eggs and start baking a few extra pies. Better make some extra blackberry if we still have any preserves left in the cellar. Grossdawdi loved to see blackberry pie on the dessert table.” Jonah released her and started for the house, but not before she spotted tears in his eyes.
Leah waited a few minutes to give Jonah time with his mamm. When she carried her basket of eggs into the kitchen, Joa
nna Byler emerged from the bathroom already dressed head to toe in black. She hurried to wrap Leah in a hug. Leah broke into tears and was comforted by her mother-in-law instead of the other way around. Jonah went back into the milking parlor, where they had a business phone line, to call the sheriff and the undertaker. The undertaker would pick up Amos Burkholder, prepare his body for burial, and then return him to the Byler home for viewing.
The next few days passed in a blur. Leah and Joanna cleaned the house from top to bottom. Leah baked bread, cookies, and pies, although her heart wasn’t in it. Folks dressed in black stopped by for the viewing, every one of them bringing something to eat or drink. Amish people never seemed to go anywhere empty-handed. Jonah and his mother greeted each person cordially, agreeing that Amos looked the same and thanking their visitor for yet another apple crumb cake. Leah, because a Byler by marriage, remained perfectly composed…until her own parents walked through the doorway into the crowded kitchen. Then she dissolved into an abyss of sorrow and apprehension for what was to come.
“Easy, child,” murmured Julia, pulling her to the side. “Don’t grieve so. It will make things worse for your husband.”
“I know that, mamm, but I’m so afraid. I never want to lose you or daed.”
“You would deny us our chance at a place in paradise?” asked Julia softly. “Don’t be ridiculous. When my time comes, I’ll be ready to go. You just remember that. I have no fear, so you start working on getting rid of yours.” Julia kissed her forehead. “Now, take me over to say goodbye to old Amos. Then you and I will share a big slice of that blackberry pie.”
Charm, Ohio
Emma Miller Davis stood on her front wraparound porch and peered to the west. The sun’s brightness nearly blinded her. Shielding her eyes from the glare, she thought she saw a lone horseback rider galloping in the distance.
That would most likely be James—her dear husband of almost seven years. How he still loved things that went fast, even if it was a Thoroughbred horse. And how she loved him. After converting to the Amish faith so they could marry, he’d sold his truck to his brother and given away his blue jeans, screen-print T-shirts, plaid flannels, and even his wristwatch. He also got rid of his video games, country music CDs, action movie DVDs, and his collection of computer software games. Their New Order sect allowed him to keep his cell phone, use the computer for farm business, have electricity in the house and outbuildings, farm with diesel tractors and harvesters, and use modern technology.
However, the sacrifices he’d made to marry her hadn’t been minor. His clothing was now Plain, while his mode of transportation to visit a friend, attend church services, make bank deposits, or take his wife out to dinner in town was now a horse and buggy. And he had to learn their German dialect, Pennsylvania Deutsch, if he wanted to understand anything being said in church.
Emma smiled, walking slowly down the steps to their very green front lawn. The Davis family employed a farm worker whose sole job was lawn maintenance for the huge elder Davis house and their own smaller home. Their plot of land and the cost of materials had been a wedding gift from his parents, while members of their new district had donated the construction labor.
She glanced up at the semicircular balcony of their second-floor bedroom. The setting sun reflected off the French doors, making them glow like fireplace embers. She loved the house. It wasn’t overly big, but with four bedrooms they would have plenty of space for more children. “Jamie,” she called to her son. “Gather up your toys and put them in your wagon, along with the baby’s too.” James Davis IV glanced up with the aplomb of a typical four-year-old. “Why, Mommy?”
Emma bent low to lift his younger brother, Sam, from the quilt where he’d been playing with toy building blocks. “Let’s see,” she said, closing the distance between herself and Jamie. “It’s almost time for supper, you don’t want to lose any toys when it gets dark, I see your dad coming home, and because I said so.”
It was the third reason that triggered the boy’s immediate compliance. “Daddy!” he squealed, seeing James approach at full gallop. The child shoved building blocks, toy farm animals, and plastic snap-to-gether fencing into his red wagon with both fists.
Emma settled the baby on her hip and used her other hand to block the glare.
James reined to a stop within twenty feet of his family and slid smoothly from the saddle as though a descendant of Chief Geronimo rather than a Quaker preacher from Connecticut. “Has anybody missed me?” he asked, lifting his older son high into the air and swinging him around.
Squeals of delight could be construed as an affirmative answer from little Jamie. “What about you, woman?” James placed the boy on his shoulder just as a groom appeared to take his horse. They had a small barn behind the house for their buggy horses, James’ riding mount, and a pony for the boys’ cart. He waited until the man walked away before buzzing her cheek with his lips.
Emma took the handle of the red wagon to drag it onto the patio. She tried to hold back her grin. “I think so…what did you say your name was again?” she asked, using a coy tone of voice.
James growled like a bear waking from winter hibernation. He set Jamie down and wrapped his arms around his wife. “Say my name ten times and give me a real kiss or I won’t let you go.” He tightened his grip as the baby cooed and smiled.
“Then you’ll miss your favorite dinner, as I have no intention of participating in such vain foolishness.” Emma struggled ineffectively. “James, stop. I need to check on the pork roast.”
“Okay, that’s one. I’ll wait patiently until these two are fast asleep tonight to coax the other nine out of you.” He wriggled his eyebrows. Then he took little Sam from her and carried him into the house.
Emma blew out her breath, waiting in the warm May sunshine until her breathing returned to normal. How could that man make her heart race like that after more than six years of marriage? Soon she would lay the baby in his crib for a nap, wash the hands and face of her toddler, and serve a Tuesday night supper that would be no different than any other. But for one more minute, she stood gazing up into clouds lacy and white as spun cotton and counted her blessings. Despite having a mother-in-law determined to remake her in her own image, Emma Davis was one fortunate woman.
SEVEN
Niagara Falls
Eli Riehl turned out to be a man of his word—Phoebe didn’t miss her first dinner in New York. While she was busy trying to find a tissue to wipe her eyes and blow her nose, Eli took her by the hand and began pulling. “Shouldn’t we wait here under the arch?” she sniveled.
“No, sweet peach. That bus won’t be coming back here. And I fully intend to get you back to the hotel before Mrs. Stoltzfus sends out a search party. Don’t worry, except about what we’re having for supper. I hope it’ll be pizza or maybe burgers with spicy French fries. I love the kind that sets your mouth on fire. My mom hides the shaker of cayenne pepper from me.”
While Eli chattered on, they walked down the street to the corner. At the busy intersection he stood on tiptoes scanning the traffic moving fast in both directions. When he spotted what he was looking for, he waved his arms over his head.
To Phoebe’s surprise and great relief, a car slowed and then made a U-turn halfway down the block. Weaving in between other vehicles, it soon pulled up to the curb and screeched to a stop in front of them. A taxicab—right out of the blue! Eli opened the back passenger door, gave her a nudge, and followed her inside. Once he had slammed the door behind him, the cab lurched back into traffic. Phoebe clutched her drawing pad to her apron as though it were a shield of armor.
“Where to, folks?” asked the cabbie. He peered at them in his rearview mirror. He wore a dark turban and a full beard, while the car smelled as though he’d just finished eating supper.
Eli pulled the brochure of their hotel from his pocket. “Could you take us here, please?”
He barely glanced at the photo before handing it back. “Coming right up. Aren’t you kids a lit
tle late for spring break?”
Phoebe tried not to breathe too deeply because the smell of fried onions was making her queasy. She had no answer for that question anyway. Eli met the cab driver’s gaze in the mirror. “No, it’s still spring for another three weeks, up until the twenty-first.” He sounded earnest but looked confused, as did the cabbie.
Both men shrugged and focused on the heavy volume of cars. In less than ten minutes, their hotel loomed into view. The cab driver turned into the circular driveway and stopped behind a bus.
“That was our bus,” cried Phoebe. “And there’s our tour group.” She leaned over Eli toward his window. “Look! There’s Ava, Rebekah, and Mary. They’re just going in now. We’re not too late.”
“All’s well that ends well,” said the cabbie. His grin revealed a gold front tooth. “That will be eight dollars, folks.”
Eli extracted a ten-dollar bill from his wallet, which he passed to the front. “Thanks a lot.” Opening the door, he slid out and reached for her hand.
Phoebe jumped out and whispered, “You forgot to wait for your change.”
Eli winked at her. “People are expected to tip, Phoeb. Two dollars was a fair amount.”
She wanted to ask how he’d learned all this during one bus ride from Ohio, but Mrs. S. gave her no chance. She bustled up with clipboard and red pen in hand.
“There you two are! What happened?” She perused them over her reading glasses to check for bloodshed or broken bones.
“We missed the bus by a hair. We spent too much time at our…attraction.” Eli smiled sweetly, showing his straight teeth.
“If it had been anybody but you two, I would think you were up to no good. But not Eli Riehl or Phoebe Miller.” The woman actually started laughing at the absurd notion. “Head upstairs to change clothes. We’re meeting here in thirty minutes to walk to dinner. If you’re late again, you’ll be eating sugar and creamer packets in your room.” She waltzed away to speak to the tour operator.
