by Kelly Long
She stared up at the two men until the doctor rocked back on his feet. “So how much do I owe you?”
She glanced at the basket before her—then had a sudden inspiration. She smiled. “You’re my first customer, ever, so please just take the things for free today.”
“Thank you, Miss King.”
“You’re welcome, Dr. Williams.”
He inclined his head and picked up the basket. He moved to turn, and Jacob was forced to back away to give room for him to go down the steps.
“Have a good day, both of you,” the doctor called. There was something knowing in his brief look back that annoyed Sarah. He must think that she and Jacob were a couple.
She frowned up at Jacob when the doctor had reached the high road. “And what was that about, I’d like to know? You were rude.”
“Was I?” Jacob asked, picking up an apple.
“I was just making our new neighbor feel welcome, and you had no right to interrupt. I can make conversation with whomever I choose.”
He laid a few coins on the table and took a bite of the apple with his strong teeth.
“I’ve known you since we were babes, Sarah King, and I know when your eyes shine that you’re happy. Don’t go getting happy over some Englischer.”
“You’re narrish,” she snapped, opening the money box and depositing his coins.
“I’m not crazy; let’s just call it protective.” He reached his tanned fingers to brush her cheek and she drew back. He dropped his hand.
“You are my friend, Jacob Wyse, that’s all. I’ve told you . . .”
He nodded; his hazel eyes, very much like her own, shining with renewed good humor. “And, as my friend, you know how patient I am.”
She rolled her eyes, then straightened as a large brown car pulled up and several Englisch women in makeup and colorful dresses climbed out.
“Go away,” she hissed. “I’ve got customers.”
“All right. But beware of Englischers wanting promises . . . or anything else for that matter.”
She sighed aloud as he went down the steps and tipped his hat to the ladies as he passed. The women smiled in return, clearly charmed.
They approached the stand and glanced over the produce. One of them stared at Sarah for a long minute and then asked in a casual voice, “Honey, is there any way we can buy your clothes?”
Sarah’s head began to ache once more as she schooled her expression of disbelief into politeness and smiled at her customers.
Grant Williams whistled along the dirt road that led home. He’d found the Amish stand and the young girl charming and decided he’d visit the roadside stand often, at least as long as the obviously protective Mr. Wyse allowed. He had no desire to get off on the wrong foot with any of the local Amish. He was nodding to the workers mixing cement on his front lawn when a terrible banging echoed from inside the house, followed by Mrs. Bustle’s abrupt shriek.
He took the stairs two at a time with the basket in his arms and entered the house, letting the screen door slam behind him. The sounds had come from somewhere in the back, and he made his way to the kitchen where Mrs. Bustle was sobbing and Mr. Bustle was patting her back.
“What’s wrong?” Grant asked, depositing the vegetables on the counter.
“I was about to light the stove, which is really a pain in the neck, Mr. Grant . . . when I opened the draught and a mother rat and her babies came tumbling out as cozy as can be. I might have cooked them!” She shuddered. “Now they’re running all over everywhere. I can’t have rats in my kitchen!” Her voice rose as her ample bosom shook in its household apron.
“Of course not.” Grant met Bustle’s eye and struggled not to laugh out loud. “Why don’t you go into the front room and have a seat while we catch up the rats and . . . take them out back.”
“Mr. Grant, I’ve known you since you were little, and I’d do anything for you, but please don’t expect me to just sit down when those . . . creatures might be crawling anywhere.”
Her eyes grew saucer wide and she didn’t contain her scream. “Ahhh! There’s one now! Get me up on the table, up, up, uuuup!” Grant and Bustle were helping her up to sit atop the kitchen table when a firm knocking sounded on the back door. Everyone froze until Grant scooped up a cringing baby rat, slipped it into his shirt pocket, and opened the back door with a flourish.
A serious-faced Amish woman in a staid black bonnet stood with hand raised to knock again. She held a linen-wrapped package in the other.
Grant loved the spontaneous, and this was too fun. “Hello, ma’am. May I help you?”
“I’m Mrs. King, from next door. We’re neighbors.” Her voice was pleasant, though she looked doubtfully at him. He noticed that she didn’t try to peer over his shoulder as others might have done, and he appreciated the lack of nosiness.
“Mrs. King, please come in. I just had the pleasure of . . .” He paused, uncertain as to whether he should mention meeting her daughter in case the girl might get in trouble for socializing. “Of . . . helping my housekeeper clean up a bit.” He held the door wider and the tiny rat chose that moment to peek up out of his shirt pocket.
Mrs. King stepped inside and nodded to the Bustles, who were still frozen. Then she glanced at Grant’s pocket and looked to the floor.
Grant patted his pocket and glanced at Mrs. Bustle. “We’re having a few guests of the rodent variety, I’m afraid.”
Mrs. King lifted her head and offered him the linen package, then she began to roll up her long blue sleeves. “That’s friendship bread—it’s real tasty. Now I’ll help you round up the rats, although that one in your pocket appears pleased to be staying.”
Grant laughed, charmed once more. Here was a practical woman who was willing to truly be a neighbor. “I’m Dr. Williams, but please call me Grant. And this is Mrs. Bustle, my housekeeper, and Mr. Bustle, my jack of all trades.”
Mrs. King smiled and nodded again. “All right, Dr. Williams. Mrs. Bustle. Mr. Bustle. I think I should have brought you a kitten instead of the bread.”
Mrs. Bustle was adjusting her skirt and answered in a quivering voice, “That would be a blessing, I’m sure.”
Mrs. King bent and caught up another baby rat, which she handed to Grant, who deposited it with its tiny sibling in his pocket.
“I’ll send one of the boys over tonight with a cat.” She glanced at the poor condition of the old stove, then spoke again. “Or We’d be pleased to have you all to supper, if you’d like, and you can take your pick from the barn cats and perhaps enjoy a story or two afterward from my husband. He loves to entertain.”
Grant accepted with alacrity. He knew that being invited to supper in an Amish home was a big step toward establishing a relationship with the community.
“Thank you, Mrs. King. We would love to come, wouldn’t we, Bustles?”
The older pair nodded.
“Ach, here’s the mother,” declared Mrs. King, grasping a long pink tail.
Mrs. Bustle fainted neatly, and Grant caught her not inconsiderable weight without fuss before she could roll off the table. He met Mrs. King’s blank expression and nodded his blond head.
“Have I told you how much I appreciate your neighborliness?”
CHAPTER 3
Sarah had never been so happy to see her brother as when he pulled the wagon up to the front of the stand at dusk. She felt exhausted emotionally and physically, and even the thought of a good supper with the family did not inspire her.
“How did it go?” Luke stacked empty baskets while Sarah sorted through the few remaining vegetables.
“I sold nearly everything.”
“Then it was good, jah, Sarah?”
She considered as she lifted things into the wagon and took her seat, holding the cat and the money box.
“It was a long day. I could see the washing hanging on Mamm’s line—it made me lonely.”
“Not as lonely as plowing while staring at the back ends of four horses.”
“
Some of the customers were interesting. I met our new neighbor.”
“And?”
“He was . . . nice.”
Luke grunted. “Well, we were all glad that you forgot the load of baked goods Mamm prepared for the stand. The rhubarb pies were gut at lunch.”
Sarah let her eyes drift over the fields. She’d also forgotten her own lunch and had to make do with some crisp apples. She would be better prepared tomorrow, though she realized that in addition to her evening chores, she would now have to do an after-dinner baking to take with her each following day. Mamm had helped this first time, but now it would be her responsibility. It seemed too hard, and she couldn’t believe she’d have to do it all again tomorrow. She also had to find the time to start Chelsea’s baby quilt and felt depressed at the thought.
“You’d better hurry up,” Luke urged her when the wagon stopped at the farm. “Mamm’s got guests for dinner.”
“Guests? Who?”
Luke led Shadow into the barn and didn’t reply. Sarah wearily straightened her head covering and brushed at her dusty black dress. Even her favorite wine red blouse was limp in the sleeves, but there was no help for it—guests meant socializing and smiling, and extra work, all of which she needed to be glad to do.
She fixed her shoulders and started to march around the house to the back door, intent on washing her face and hands at the outside pump. She stopped dead at the sight of the red sports car blocking the pump and blinked in the dusky light. If an elephant would have been standing there, she would have been less surprised. She couldn’t recall a time when her father had an automobile on the property, except for when the family needed to accept rides from the local van to visit the hospital or go to a funeral too far from home. It could mean only one thing—the guests were Englisch, and the remembrance of a sunny pair of blue-gold eyes made her groan in disbelief. She was sweaty and dusty, and she felt unsettled by her reaction to the new vet. She told herself that she had no desire to see him again, and certainly not as she felt now, but she remembered Father’s urging from weeks past to be neighborly.
So she inched between the car and the pump, laying a hand on the low door to keep her balance. The sudden screeching alarm made her jump to cover her ears. Luke came running from the barn, the cat hissed, and a flood of people emerged from the back door. She cringed as the horrible whooping sound continued, terrified that she’d done something to break the automobile.
Father and Mamm and the boys were running toward the car when Dr. Williams overtook them, pointing his keys in the direction of the vehicle. The sudden silence rang in its relief, but the experience was too much for Sarah’s frazzled nerves. She longed to burst into tears and run to Mamm, but instead she slipped out from between the car and the pump and hugged her arms across her chest.
“I’m so sorry.” Dr. Williams was patting her shoulder. “That’s the alarm . . . I always forget to turn it off.”
Sarah’s teeth were chattering, and she realized how struck she was to see him again, and to have his large hand on her shoulder. “Then . . . I didn’t break it?”
Dr. Williams stopped patting her. “No, of course you didn’t break it.”
He looked at the gathered group when Father burst out with a laugh. “Jah, you gave our Sarah a good scare. I personally thought that the world was crashing in.” His joke broke the silence and everyone talked at once, except Sarah.
Dr. Williams leaned close to her ear. “Tell me the truth, Miss King. Have I given you one too many reasons to be annoyed with the English today?”
Sarah listened to his warm voice and thought absurdly of heated water pouring in languid rivulets down her shoulders and spine. She frowned at the idea.
“If you remember,” she returned in a low voice, “I never promised to tell you the truth.”
He laughed. “I’ll move the car, so you can use the pump in peace.”
“No thank you, Doctor . . . I’ll wash up inside.”
She slipped through the throng and entered the kitchen. She washed at the water basin, grateful for the chill of the water after her ridiculous reaction to the doctor, and brushed the damp towel over the back of her neck just as everyone began to troop back in. They all settled at the main table and the adjacent smaller table that Mamm used for guests, forming an “L” shape that made it easier to serve. Chelsea and John Kemp had left earlier in the day, and Sarah recognized two new English faces as guests.
“Sarah, Mr. and Mrs. Bustle are visiting us also,” Father pointed out from his position at the head of the main table. Dr. Williams was seated in James’s place at Father’s right hand while the Bustles were at the adjoining table.
She smiled in greeting and turned to help Mamm, who hurried from the stove with a platter of potato cakes, delicately fried.
“Sarah, danki—thank you, but take your place. You’re tired, I’m sure.” Mamm brushed past her, and Sarah slid into her spot. Dr. Williams smiled at her across the table and she nodded vaguely.
Father bowed his head to pray once Mamm had returned with the large platter full of sliced ham, and the table quieted. Sarah darted a look at the doctor and was pleased to see his head bowed and eyes closed. After prayer, the meal proceeded in a pleasant manner. The boys had been trained to make social conversation, and there was a spirit of goodwill in the air that soon revived Sarah’s flagging spirits.
Father looked at her when she laughed quietly at something Luke had said. “Ach, Sarah, and your first day at the stand—how did it go?”
“Fine, Father.”
“More than fine,” Dr. Williams interjected. “I was her first customer, and I got a full basket of vegetables and fruits. You are fortunate to have such a daughter, sir. And such a family as this.”
Sarah flushed, but Father was pleased; she could tell.
“Thank you, Doctor. I am blessed.”
“Will you tell me how it is that you have such an abundant array of vegetables and fruit?” the doctor asked.
Father smiled and Sarah had to still her feet to keep from bolting from the table; she knew how Father loved to tell stories. “It’s our Sarah, here. Der Herr . . . the Lord has given her a wondrous garden since she was a little girl. Much of what you’re eating was canned from our abundant harvest last fall.”
Dr. Williams laughed. “So your daughter has a green thumb.”
Father pursed his lips, then smiled as he deduced the Englisch expression. “A green arm, I would say.”
Everyone laughed but Sarah, who had no desire for the attention to focus on herself, gardening or not.
“I’m a bit of a gardener myself,” Dr. Williams went on. “Just an amateur, really. But I would love to get a garden going for Mrs. Bustle to use, and for myself—herbs, you know. Sometimes herbal medicines are the best for the animals I treat.”
“Jah,” Father agreed. “I use some herbs as well on the dairy cows, though I cannot seem to always cure their feet. Perhaps you might have a look at them, Doctor.”
“I’d be glad to.”
“And Sarah will be glad to come over with one of the boys this Sunday after church meeting to help start your garden. Jah, Sarah?”
“Of course, Father,” she murmured, knowing she’d been looking forward to an afternoon of rest from the stand, but intrigued nonetheless at the prospect of seeing the doctor’s home. She resolutely ignored the voice in her head that whispered she’d also be interested to see the doctor again.
Dr. Williams shook his head. “I can’t let you do that, Miss King. Surely you have better things to do on a Sunday afternoon?”
“I may,” she admitted, ignoring Father’s glance. “But I love to plan new gardens. It would be my pleasure.”
Father smiled in approval. “Gut—good!”
She glanced down at her plate, then up again, intrigued by the blue-gold eyes that held her.
“On the contrary,” said Dr. Williams with a tilt of his glass of milk. “The pleasure will be mine.”
“And,” Mrs. Bus
tle interjected with appreciation, “it would be my pleasure to learn how you make potato cakes, Mrs. King. They’re wonderful!”
Mamm smiled and nodded, and Sarah was grateful for the turn in the conversation.
After dinner, Father walked outside with the guests to give them a cat from the barns, and Sarah listened as the odd sound of the car engine broke the night’s silence. Father came back in as Sarah and Mamm finished the dishes.
“They are fine people and will be good neighbors,” Father pronounced, and Sarah’s heart gave a peculiar leap to hear this affirmation of Dr. Williams.
“Ach, I think so too,” she enthused, her eyes shining.
“Which brings me to a certain point, my daughter.” Father came to stand before her. “I could not help but notice that Dr. Williams seemed a bit taken with you and perhaps you with him?”
Sarah couldn’t help the blush that stained her cheeks at her wayward thoughts about the doctor. It was one thing if Father noticed, but she hoped she hadn’t been as transparent to everyone.
“You are old enough and wise enough to have your own mind, of course,” Father continued. “But I think that you know that it would never be our desire for you to date an Englischer.”
“Jah,” Mamm chimed in. “A girl sometimes has a funny way of marrying the man she dates.”
Sarah shook her head. “I don’t want to marry anyone.”
Mamm clucked her tongue disapprovingly. “Jah, and poor Jacob’s heart is broken because of it.”
“Jacob Wyse aside,” Father continued. “We want you to know that we trust you, Sarah, and we will trust you to manage your future, with Der Herr’s help, of course. We love you and want what’s best for you, but marrying an outsider, no matter how good a man, would result in you being forced to leave our community . . . and our family.” He reached to squeeze Sarah’s shoulder reassuringly. “Now, enough about this. What will you make for tomorrow’s stand?”
Sarah tried to push the embarrassing conversation out of her mind and considered the merits of apple tartlets over whoopee pies.
“And before I forget . . .” Father smiled. “Sarah, you worked hard all day. We’re proud of you, and it is not fair that you should have all of your chores and still keep up with the stand. The boys will take over your morning and evening work so that you may do your gardening and baking.”
