The Heart's Frontier

by Lori Copeland;Virginia Smith

  With a contrite bob of her head, Rebecca handed it over and dropped to her knees beside the rocking chair. “Are you all right, Maummi?”

  “Ach, I’m fine. I don’t think it’s my time. Yet.”

  Emma wrung the excess water from the cloth before draping it across the back of Maummi’s neck.

  “Danki.” The elderly woman realized that the men had stopped working in order to watch her, and she waved her hand in a shooing motion. “Place those quilts over my hutch before you load anything else! Mind, Jonas, no scratches.”

  Papa shook his head, though a smile tugged at his lips. “Ja, I remember.”

  The gray head turned toward Emma. “Granddaughter, see they take proper care.”

  “I will, Maummi.”

  Katie joined Emma to oversee the wrapping of the hutch. When Samuel Miller offered a strong arm to help Katie up into the wagon, Emma hid a smile. No doubt she would receive a letter at her new home soon, informing her that a wedding date had been published. Because Samuel was the bishop’s son, there was no fear he would not receive the Zeugnis, the letter of good standing. Rebecca would be thrilled at the news of a proper wedding in tiny Apple Grove.

  But Emma would be far away in Troyer, and she would miss her friend’s big day.

  Why must I live there when everything I love is here?

  She draped a thick quilt over her end of the hutch and sidled away while Papa secured a rope around it. The faces of her friends and family looked on. They filled the area between the house and the barn. She loved every one in her own way. Yes, even Amos Beiler. She sought him out among the crowd and smiled at the two little girls who hovered near his side. Poor, lonely Amos. He was a good father to his motherless family. No doubt he’d make a fine husband, and if she married him she wouldn’t have to move to Troyer. The thought tempted her once again, as it often had over the past several weeks since Papa announced his decision that she would live with Aunt Gerda for a while.

  But she knew that if she agreed to become Amos’s wife she would be settling. True, she would gain a prosperous farm and a nice house and a trio of well-behaved children, with the promise of more to come. But the fact remained that though there was much to respect about Amos, she didn’t love him. The thought of seeing that moon-shaped face and slightly cross-eyed stare over the table for breakfast, dinner, and supper sent a shiver rippling across her shoulders. Not to mention sharing a marriage bed with him. It was enough to make her throw her apron over her face and run screaming across Papa’s cornfield.

  He deserves a wife who loves him, she told herself for the hundredth time. Her conscience thus soothed, Emma turned away from his mournful stare.

  “That trunk goes in the front,” Maummi shouted from her chair on the porch. “Emma, show them where.”

  Emma shrank against the gigantic hutch to give the men room to settle the trunk containing all of her belongings. An oiled canvas tarp had been secured over the top to repel any rain they might meet over the next week. Inside, resting on her dresses, aprons, bonnets, and kapps, was a bundle more precious to her than anything else in the wagon: a quilt, expertly and lovingly stitched, nestled within a heavy canvas pouch. Mama had made it with her own hands for Emma’s hope chest. The last stitch was bitten off just hours before she closed her eyes and stepped into the arms of her Lord.

  Oh, Mama, if you were here you could convince Papa to let me stay home. I know you could. And now, without you, what will happen to me?

  Yet, even in the midst of the dreary thought, a spark of hope flickered in the darkness in Emma’s heart. The future yawned before her like the endless Kansas prairie. Wasn’t there beauty to be found in the tall, blowing grasses of the open plain? Weren’t there cool streams and shady trees to offer respite from the heat of the day? Maybe Troyer would turn out to be an oasis.

  “Emma!”

  Maummi’s sharp tone cut through her musing. She jerked upright. Her grandmother appeared to have recovered from her heart episode. From the vantage point of her chair, she oversaw every movement with a critical eye.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Mind what I said about that loading, girl. The food carton goes on last. We won’t want to search for provisions when we stop at night on the trail.”

  An approving murmur rose from the women at the wisdom of an organized wagon.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Emma exchanged a quick grin with Katie and then directed the man carrying a carton of canned goods and trail provisions to set his burden aside for now.

  A little while later, after everything had been loaded and secured under an oiled canvas, the men stood around to admire their handiwork. Samuel even crawled beneath the wagon to check the support struts, and he pronounced everything to be “in apple-pie order.”

  Emma felt a pluck on her arm. She turned to find Katie at her elbow.

  “This is a gift for you.” Her friend pushed a small package into her hands. “It’s only a soft cloth and some fancy-colored threads. I was fixing to stitch you a design, but you’re so much better at fine sewing than I am that I figured you could make something prettier by yourself.” She ducked her head. “Think kindly of me when you do.”

  Warmed by her friend’s gesture, Emma pulled her into an embrace. “I will. And I expect a letter from you soon.” She let Katie see her glance slide over to Samuel and back with a grin. “Especially when you have something exciting to report.”

  A becoming blush colored the girl’s cheeks. “I will.”

  Emma was still going down the line, awarding each woman a kind smile and a farewell nod, when Bishop Miller stepped up to the front of the wagon and motioned for attention.

  “It’s time now to bid Jonas Switzer Godspeed and fair weather for his travels.” A kind smile curved his lips when he looked to Maummi and then to Emma. “And our prayers go with our sisters Marta and Emma as they make a new home in Troyer.”

  He bowed his head and closed his eyes, a sign for everyone in the Apple Grove district to follow suit. Emma obeyed, fixing her thoughts on the blue skies overhead and the Almighty’s throne beyond. Silence descended, interrupted only by the snorts of oxen and a happy bird in the tall, leafy tree that gave shade to the porch.

  What will I find in Troyer? A new home, as the bishop says? A fine Amish husband, as Papa wishes? I pray it be so. And I pray he will be the second son of his father so that he will come home with me to Apple Grove and take over Papa’s farm when the time comes.

  A female sniffled behind her. Not Katie, but Rebecca. A twist inside Emma’s rib cage nearly sent tears to her eyes. Oh, how she would miss her sister when Rebecca left Troyer to return home with Papa. She vowed to make the most of their time together on the trail between here and there.

  Bishop Miller ended the prayer with a blessing in High German, his hand on the head of the closest oxen. When the last word fell on the quiet crowd, Maummi’s voice sliced through the cool morning air. “Now that we’re seen off proper, someone help me up. We’ll be gone before the sun moves another inch across the sky.”

  Though she’d proved earlier that she could make the leap herself at need, Maummi allowed Papa and the bishop to lift her into the wagon. She took her seat in her rocking chair, which was wedged between the covered hutch and one high side of the wagon bed. With a protective pat on the hutch, she settled her sewing basket at her feet and pulled a piece of mending onto her lap. No idle hands for Maummi. By the time they made Troyer, she’d have all the mending done, and the darning too, and a good start on a new quilt.

  Emma spared one more embrace for Katie, steadfastly ignored Amos’s mournful stare, and allowed the bishop to help her up onto the bench seat. She scooted over to the far end to make room for Papa, and then Rebecca was lifted up to sit on the other side of him. A snug fit, but they would be okay for the six-day journey to Troyer. Emma settled her black dress and smoothed her apron.

  “Now, Jonas, mind you what I said.” Maummi’s voice from behind their heads sounded a bit shrill in the quie
t morning. “You cut a wide path around Hays. I’ll not have my granddaughters witness the ufrooish of those wild Englischers.”

  On the other side of Papa, Rebecca heaved a loud sigh. Emma hid her grin. No doubt Rebecca would love to witness the rowdy riots of wild cowboy Englischers in the infamous railroad town of Hays.

  Papa mumbled something under his breath that sounded like “This will be the longest journey of my life,” but aloud he said, “Ja, Mader.”

  With a flick of the rope, he urged the oxen forward. The wagon creaked and pitched as it rolled on its gigantic wheels. Emma grabbed the side of the bench with one hand and lifted her other hand in a final farewell as her home fell away behind her.

  TWO

  After three long days on the trail, the jostling wagon had jarred Emma’s body until every muscle ached. She couldn’t bear one more day sitting on the hard wooden bench and took to walking beside the wagon, as Papa did.

  The July sun beat down mercilessly from a clear blue sky. A refreshing wind had swept across the prairie only the day before, but today the air gathered like a stagnant pool around her. Oh, how she wished she could shed the heavy black dress and apron the way Papa shed his coat. She glanced to where he walked up at the head of the oxen, at the line of his suspenders fastened to the back of his trousers and up over white-clad shoulders. His shirtsleeves had been rolled up to the elbows, exposing the tanned skin of strong arms. Even that relief from the sweltering heat inside her dress would be welcome, but the Ordnung forbade women to bare their arms in the open.

  “I’m hot.” Rebecca’s whine came from the bench behind the oxen. “And the sun is coloring my face. By the time we get to Troyer I shall be beet red. Papa, can I wear one of your hats to shade my face?”

  “Ach, what a question.” Maummi straightened in her rocking chair to scold her younger granddaughter. “We’re not three days from home, and already you’re throwing aside the Plain ways. Put on your bonnet, girl.”

  “My head will bake inside that black cloth.” If Emma hadn’t been walking near the bench, she wouldn’t have heard the rest of Rebecca’s sullen answer. “When I have my rumspringa, I’ll wear hats if I choose.”

  Emma was confident her sister would do that. She hoped Rebecca would find nothing more troublesome to do in Apple Grove than wearing hats during her rumspringa. No doubt that was why Papa insisted that Rebecca return with him while Emma and Maummi stayed in Troyer. The opportunities to get into trouble during her time of running around before she was baptized would be far fewer in Apple Grove than in a larger community.

  Emma made a practical suggestion. “Cover your head with a light-colored cloth, like your apron.”

  A playful dimple creased Rebecca’s cheek. “You mean like this?” She picked up the skirt of her apron and pulled it up over her face and head.

  Emma laughed. “You look like you did when you were little and Maummi hung your favorite blanket out to dry. You’d pull a stool beneath the laundry line and sit with your face and head covered in wet blanket.”

  A muffled chuckle came from beneath the white fabric. “A fine fool I’ll look riding into Troyer this way. But at least the sun can’t find me here.”

  The sound of horse hooves reached Emma almost at the same moment she saw eight mounted men top a ridge to their left. Alarm zinged along her nerve endings. They looked road weary, and she didn’t spot a single smile among them. Papa saw them too, and he put a hand out to stop the oxen. The wagon rolled to a halt, and Emma stepped closer, her back against the wooden side rails. Maummi’s hand gripped her shoulder, while Rebecca uncovered her head and scrambled over the back of the bench to crouch in the space at Maummi’s feet.

  The horses galloped toward them without hesitation. When they arrived, four of the men crossed to the other side of the wagon, and then they all spread out until they formed a menacing circle of horseflesh around them. The expressions of the men were not kindly as they inspected the women and the wagon. Fastened to the sides of their saddles were rifles, and Emma caught a glimpse of a pistol at the belt of the man closest to her. She shrank backward, and Rebecca let out a whimper.

  The man in the lead halted his horse near Papa. “Where you headed, mister?”

  “My family and I are going to Troyer.”

  Admiration for Papa’s calm voice filled Emma. Wasn’t he afraid of these rough men? She couldn’t have forced a single word through her teeth, much less spoken in such an even tone.

  The cowboy pushed his hat back off his forehead. “Folks there are some kind of religious sect or something, ain’t they?”

  Papa’s straw hat moved up and down with his nod. “We are Plain people. Amish. Troyer is the home of our kin.”

  “Is that why you dress in them weird clothes and shave your mustache while your beard grows wild?”

  Papa merely nodded again.

  The horse in front of Emma skittered sideways, the man on its back staring into the wagon behind her head. “What have you got under that cover?”

  Maummi’s grip tightened on her shoulder. Emma raised a hand and covered her fingers.

  Papa answered in the same even tone as before. “Household belongings.”

  The man jerked a glare back at him. “Any weapons?”

  “None. We are a peaceful people.”

  “Hey, I’ve heard of the likes of them,” one of the men behind the wagon shouted. “They don’t believe in fighting, even if someone steals from them.”

  The leader stared at Papa for a long moment. Then he pulled a revolver from the holster at his side. Emma’s breath caught in her chest and blood pounded in her ears. Please protect Papa, Lord!

  The man’s voice held an insult. “Do you mean if I point this here gun at you and tell you I’m meaning to take your wagon, you wouldn’t try to stop me?”

  For a moment Papa didn’t answer. Would he defy them? Though part of Emma, an unrighteous part hidden way down inside, wished he would do that, she knew he would not. The Plain people were peaceful. If struck, Papa would turn the other cheek, as was right.

  After a long moment during which the cowboy’s eyes narrowed, Papa held himself a little straighter. “We believe and confess that the Lord Jesus has forbidden His disciples and followers all revenge and resistance, and has thereby commanded them not to return evil for evil, nor railing for railing.”

  The words came straight from the Amish Confession of Faith. A proud smile curved Emma’s lips.

  Papa’s voice then took on a less formal tone. “I will not raise a hand against you, but I will ask, from one man to another, for mercy. My mother is elderly, and my daughters are young. If left to wander the prairies on our own, I fear for their safety.”

  The man cocked his head sideways, his lips pursed as he considered. Then he nodded. “No reason to be uncivilized if we don’t have to be, I figure.” He returned his pistol to its holster. When the weapon disappeared, Emma slumped with relief. The man intended to let them go.

  He spoke to his men. “Earl, take charge of those oxen. Lester, you and Porter give them your canteens.”

  Lester wasn’t happy with his boss’s order. He spat at the ground by Emma’s feet. “What fer?”

  “Because I’m being merciful, like the man asked. Now get them women out of our wagon and give them your canteens. And mind your manners, you hear? These ain’t no saloon girls.”

  Our wagon. Emma’s heart fell. He was planning to steal their wagon and leave them on the trail with nothing but a couple of canteens. A strange brand of mercy these Englischers practiced.

  Lester grumbled as he and another man dismounted and approached the wagon. Emma turned to give her sister a warning glance. Don’t make trouble. Do as they say. Her message reached its mark and Rebecca nodded, and then she allowed herself to be lifted down to the ground by the man’s rough, dirt-encrusted hands.

  For a moment Emma feared Maummi wouldn’t be as pliable. The spirited woman’s jaw jutted forward, and her lips gathered into a furious pucker. When
Lester held his hands toward her to lift her down, she clasped the arms of her rocking chair with a white-knuckled grip and glared.

  “Young man, with his own hands my dearly beloved made this hutch forty years ago. You’ve never see a finer piece of furniture in all your born days.”

  A smirk twisted Lester’s lips, revealing a set of crooked, blackened teeth. “I’ll keep that in mind. Ought to bring a good price when I sell it. Or, when the weather turns cold, it’ll make me a good fire to keep my backside warm while I sleep.” His laugh rolled over the plains around them.

  A purple-red flush suffused Maummi’s face, and Emma feared for her heart. But after a moment the old woman set her jaw and rose from her chair with the air of one who deigns not to answer a taunt. She allowed herself to be lifted down from the wagon, and when Lester had set her on her feet, she straightened a wrinkle from her apron.

  When she accepted the canteen from Lester’s hand, she looked up into his eyes. “I’ll keep you in my prayers, young man.”

  Even though their situation was dire, Emma bit back a smile. No doubt the Almighty would get an earful about Lester and the others tonight, and she doubted if Maummi would be praying for their souls.

  Emma stood beside Rebecca, Maummi, and Papa off the side of the trail and watched the thieves turn their oxen around to head in the direction they had come. No doubt they were heading for Hays, where they would sell all their possessions. She reviewed the contents of her trunk. Her clothes wouldn’t fetch much of a price, but Maummi’s hutch certainly would. The only other thing she possessed worth anything was—

  Tears stung her eyes. Mama’s quilt.

  No!

  A lump swelled in her throat. A stranger’s hands would finger those beloved stitches and rub across the beautiful squares, the quilt made especially for her, meant to adorn her wedding bed.