by Beth Shriver
“That was a kind thing Jonas did for you.”
“For us; that buggy is ours.” He went down a path behind the Fishers’ farm that was only tumbleweeds and dry ground.
Elsie sat back and stared at Gideon. “Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.” He narrowed his eyes.
She smiled. “What are you up to?”
“If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise.” His grin made her more curious.
He stopped at the top of a hill that stood out over the Rio Grande River in the distance, the spring of life for their crop, their ability to exist there.
“This is a nice view.” Large oak trees in full bloom lined the river, and overgrown bushes with colorful leaves hedged the waters edge.
He pulled her close, and she laid her head on his shoulder, resting after a long day. “I’m glad you like it. We’ll be spending a lot of time here.”
“What do you mean?” She turned to look him in the eyes. Could she dare to think he was saying what she’d been waiting for?
“This land is ours with a little help from your daed and mine.” He smiled, watching her reaction.
“I’d hoped for a home, but this is more than I could have ever imagined.” She whispered, hardly able to believe it. “And a buggy too.”
He boldly moved forward and kissed her. “Will you marry me, Elsie Yoder?”
Although it was assumed, Elsie loved hearing the words. Her lips slowly rounded into a full smile. “Jah, I will, Gideon Lapp.”
They stayed there watching the sun easing down and the water sparkling across the river. He kissed her again, and she snuggled into his chest, knowing they needed to leave but not wanting to ever let him go.
Glossary
ach — oh
Ausbund — hymnal
bruder — brother
daed — father
danke — thank you
dawdi — grandfather
Dietsch — Pennsylvania Dutch
Englisher — non-Amish person
glaawe — faith
Gott — God
gut — good
hallo — hello
haus — house
jah — yes
kapp — prayer covering
mamm — mother
mammi — grandmother
narrisch — crazy
nee — no
Ordnung — order of Amish ways
rumspringa — teenagers running around
shunned — disregarded
Um zu essen — come and eat
wilkom — you’re welcome
wunderbaar — wonderful
COMING FROM BETH SHRIVER IN FALL 2013
HEALING GRACE
BOOK 3 IN THE TOUCH OF GRACE SERIES
Chapter One
MOSE FISHER WATCHED Joe Lapp walk out of the office. If he got a job at the shop, it would be awkward. Ever since Elsie Yoder had chosen Joe’s brother, Gideon, over Mose, he hadn’t found anyone to take her place. Their community hadn’t grown much since their move to Texas, and the new community on the other side of town was still unfamiliar to him. Mose wasn’t one to go looking for a wife, but being twenty-two years of age, he should be. He shook his head, pushing away thoughts of her.
He’d finished his work early, so he figured he’d leave and avoid Joe. He walked through the shop and to the curing and painting area next door. He’d almost made it when he heard Joe call out, “Mose, wait up.”
Mose turned and watched him walk over. He looked a lot like Gideon, with dark hair and brown eyes, but he was shorter and skinnier. “Joe.”
Joe offered his hand. Mose lifted his, which was a greater gesture than Joe could realize.
“The boss man just hired me.” He was smiling from ear to ear. It wasn’t always easy for daeds to let their sons leave the farm and take work in town, but it had become a necessity to make ends meet, at least for a short time, now and then.
“Congratulations.” Mose couldn’t think of much to say, so he turned to leave again.
“Danke. This is sorta like barn raisings and setting up Sunday church together.”
He was making his point well, so Mose conceded. “Jah, just like it.” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his words. He started to turn again, but Joe continued.
“I’m not my brother, Mose.” Joe gave him an even gaze, and Mose felt a sliver of respect for him zip up his spine.
“Nee, I guess you’re not,” he mumbled, and walked away. He and Joe had always gotten along, were tight friends since moving from Virginia. It was time to let go of the grudge of which Joe should not bear the brunt.
The sun was hot as blazes. Sweat drenched Mose’s shirt as he drove down the asphalt highway in his buggy with no top. His brother had taken a group to singing, and their daed always wanted the top off, but Calvin never put it back on, and Mose hadn’t had time to deal with it earlier.
He’d finished his business in town early. He was always done before the English woodworkers and felt somewhat guilty taking off before the rest, but the owner didn’t go by a clock. He’d learned to judge by the quality of a man’s work. Mose missed working the land, but this was a season to grow, not to harvest or plant, and he liked the extra income.
He blinked as he looked down the road. A few yards ahead of him a car zoomed by a truck pulling a horse trailer. The driver swerved drastically, causing the trailer to fishtail and dip into the shoulder and off the road. The tires screeched as the driver yanked the truck to the left, but the weight of the trailer pulled it into the ditch.
It happened so fast, Mose felt like he was moving through sludge as he jumped out of the buggy. The smell of burnt rubber wafted to his nostrils as cars whizzed by, creating a gust of wind that blew off his hat. He ran toward the trailer that lilted to the side as the horses squealed and kicked, trying to get out.
An older man and young woman crawled out of the truck and came his way. Mose got to the rear gate first and grabbed the handle. Finding it jammed, he put all his weight into it.
“Let me try.” The young woman didn’t look at him, just moved his hands and wiggled the lever until it clicked. Mose strained to pull the metal gate open. The angle of the trailer made it difficult, so she grabbed on and pulled with him. The squeak of the hinge as the door opened caused the horses to thrash around in the large trailer.
When one of the horses started to calm down, Mose took the opportunity to move forward. He felt a hand grip his forearm.
“I’ve got this.” She spoke in a calm tone to the two equines as she made her way to the front of the trailer. They pranced around nervously as she moved forward, landing a kick to her leg and nearly a blow to her back, but she moved quickly and didn’t stop until she untied them.
Mose held out his hand. “Give me a lead.” She took two seconds before giving him the rope and grasping the other one, then started to urge the bay filly out of the trailer. Mose gave them room and then clucked to the black gelding. As Mose made his way to him, he took in the missing tufts of hair, swayback, and worn hooves. When he kicked, he had little range of motion, but it wasn’t because he was hurt. He was old as the hills.
Mose spoke sweet nothings to him to let the old horse know where he was, due to the cataracts in his eyes. Old Blackie moved, slow but sure, and made his way out without much trouble at all. Mose checked for injuries and found him to be in good shape.
“Let me see if I can get this rig out of here.” The older man walked to the truck and started it up. Mose barely had time to shut the trailer door and step out of the way.
When the old man hit the gas, the tires sped until they caught the asphalt, causing the filly to spook. She tried to run, but one of her legs couldn’t take the weight.
“She’s hurt,” he informed the young woman while holding on to Blackie.
“I know. I hope it’s not too bad.” She met his gaze before holding out her hand to shake his. “Thank you for taking care of Wart.” Her bright-blue eyes and frowning, yet be
autiful, face was frozen with worry. Maybe it was from the shock of the event, or maybe it was that her daed didn’t seem to have any manners.
“Wart?” Mose preferred his name for the old black horse. The English didn’t seem to think of good horse names.
When he clasped her hand, he felt a connection and looked at her to see if she noticed it as well. Her eyes were focused down at their hands. She quickly tried to pull away, but Mose held on a second longer. “I can help you load them back in, if you like.”
She glanced at the truck and then back to him. “I can manage.”
Mose put his hands in his pockets, not ready to leave just yet. “You gave me Wart because you didn’t think I could handle the filly?”
“I just bought her. Spent a lot of money too.” She looked down at the horse’s damaged leg.
Mose had a passion for horses and hated to see one in pain that he couldn’t get his hands on to doctor. “Do you want me to take a look at it?” he offered, but by the way she kept looking over her shoulder, he already knew the answer.
“No, I better not.” She looked at him straight-on but still hadn’t changed her expression.
He could have continued the debate but wanted to ease her discomfort, and the only way to seem to do that was to leave. “What’s your name?”
She hesitated, taken off-guard that he changed the conversation. “Abigail.”
“That’s a mouthful.” He grinned, but she didn’t. “Pretty, though.” The Amish used nicknames, made it friendlier. He wanted to know if she went by one, then wondered why he cared. “Mose Fisher.”
“Thanks, Mose.” She turned away. The expression on her pretty face remained frozen during their entire conversation. Mose wondered what she’d look like if she smiled, but didn’t figure he’d find out.
“Abby!” The older man came around the trailer.
Her expression thawed into anxiety as her hair fell over her face, covering her pinched forehead. She immediately moved away from Mose and began to coax the filly into the trailer. It took everything he had not to help her with the horse, but he knew his services were no longer wanted.
“Get those horses loaded.” Her daed nodded to Mose and walked off.
Mose tethered Wart and turned to leave. He looked back once, to see her look away.
Abby.
He’d remember the name.
