Woodland Miracle (9781401688332)

by Reid, Ruth

  The rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers lulled Ben’s senses, and he yawned. After traveling three days confined to a cramped seat on a bus, he was exhausted.

  The driver, or Clutch, as he said his friends called him, adjusted the wiper speed to match the downpour. “I imagine you’ve seen plenty of rain like this, living in Florida.”

  Ben nodded. “But never this cold.” Three days ago it was ninety degrees and he would have welcomed rain.

  Clutch pressed a button on the dashboard and the vents blasted hot, dry air. “Better?”

  “Yes, thanks.” Ben repositioned the passenger side vent toward the back, then glanced over his shoulder at Toby. “Can you feel it?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Ben gazed out the window. Trees. He already missed the white, sandy beach, the salty scent of the ocean, the sun. At least Florida wasn’t this overcast and gloomy.

  “I suppose while you were waiting for a ride, you heard on the news about the crazy man escaping the mental ward.” The driver peered into his rearview mirror. “I heard about it right after I said I’d give you a lift.”

  “We really appreciate the ride,” Toby said.

  Clutch steered the car with one hand and tapped his leg to the beat of the music blaring out of the speakers with his other. “Wasn’t sure if I should trust you or not, you know what I mean?” He snorted. “Wouldn’t want to accidentally give a lunatic a ride.”

  Ben eyed Clutch. The Englischer wasn’t much older than Ben and Toby, but he wheezed like he had the lungs of an eighty-year-old with pneumonia, and everything he said ended with a nervous laugh or snort.

  A moment later, the driver pulled to the shoulder of the road. “Sorry to drop you off in the rain, but this is as far as I can take you. I’ve gotten stuck on that road before.”

  Ben looked out of the passenger window at the road. He’d seen bike paths wider—and paved. “How far is it?”

  “Half mile.”

  “We appreciate you taking us this far,” Toby said. “How much do we owe you?”

  Clutch shook his head. “Just being neighborly. Don’t worry about it.”

  Ben and Toby thanked him and climbed out of the car with their bags.

  Ben shivered. At least the rain was warm in Florida. Here it felt more like an ice pelting. “I can’t believe we were swimming the other day.”

  “Don’t remind me.” Toby tromped down the trail, grumbling under his breath.

  “I didn’t force you to jump in the pool.” Ben’s foot sank into the soft ground and made a sucking noise when he pulled his shoe out.

  “Nay, but you poked fun at me for being indecisive.”

  “We’re here nau, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Let’s make the best of it.” Ben’s other foot sank, this time past his ankle. Why would anyone choose to live this far into the woods? On a washed-out road? Ben stumbled over an exposed root. No wonder the driver refused to take his car down this path.

  The rain turned into a drizzle. Still cold and miserable, Ben and Toby hiked in silence, but the birds chirped like they had something to celebrate.

  Reaching a fork in the road, Toby sighed. “Nau which way?”

  “Gut question.” The tease of sunlight that poked out from the clouds would fade behind the trees in mere minutes. The wrong direction could mean their sleeping outside. Ben motioned to the right. “Those look like fresh tracks.”

  His friend inspected the ground, then looked at him. “How can you tell?”

  Ben shrugged. He was freezing. Any tracks, fresh or otherwise, meant someone lived around here. They needed to keep walking and hope that the road led to an Amish farm. Doubts formed about Clutch. This wasn’t a half-mile hike—it was closer to two.

  The wind shifted. Ben sniffed. Smoke. “Do you smell that? Something’s burning.” He picked up his pace, his foot sliding in the mud. How could anything burn after all this rain?

  Finally, nestled between a copse of birch trees, a cabin came into view. Tendrils of smoke curled from a stone chimney. Someone was home. Ben took in the primitive surroundings as they neared the dwelling. An empty clothesline, which stretched between two poles, waved in the wind. A few yards away sat an old barn. A horse poked his head out of the stall door and neighed. Three small shacks took up most of the property. One had wood piled against the side of the building. Another looked like it might house equipment, and the smallest shed had a pipe protruding from the roof. This certainly wasn’t anything like Florida where his mother’s flowers lined the side of the house and his father repaired shoes inside an aluminum shed. He peered up at the sky. Nothing like Florida. He couldn’t even find the sun with so many dark clouds in the sky.

  Toby knocked on the door. “I hope this is mei onkel’s haus. I don’t feel like walking anymore.”

  “Neither do I.” Ben spotted a woman leaving the barn and nudged his friend. The woman’s head was aimed at the ground and she gingerly carried a steaming pot. Approaching the porch steps, she glanced up and stopped abruptly, sloshing amber liquid over the side of the pot.

  “Sorry, we didn’t mean to startle”—Ben furrowed his brow—“you.”

  Chapter Three

  Grace suppressed a cry when the hot solution from the steaming pot soaked into her dress and burned her skin. She narrowed her eyes at the men standing before her. “Who are you? And why are you following me?”

  “I’m Toby Graber.” The curly-haired man motioned to the pot. “Would you like me to carry that?”

  She shook her head.

  The door opened. “I thought I heard someone knock.” Aenti Erma waved them inside. “Kumm in where it’s warm.”

  “Ah . . . they are—” No use trying to object. The men had stomped their feet and were heading inside.

  The taller one removed his straw hat, exposing a mop of blond hair that offset his tan skin. He eyed Grace. “You didn’t get burned, did you?”

  Grace followed his gaze to the oily spot on her waistline where she’d spilled the poultice. “Nay.” She crossed the room at an even pace, but once she placed the pot on the counter, her legs trembled such that she needed to lean against the cabinet for support.

  “Nice place you have,” the one who hadn’t introduced himself said, directing the comment to Aenti Erma.

  “Danki.” Aenti’s gaze dropped to the man’s duffel bag. “I, ah . . .” Perhaps she was figuring out that they were not from this district. “I’m Grace’s Aenti Erma,” she said, finding her voice again. “You can set your things by the door.” She turned to Grace. “Why don’t you offer your friends a cup of kaffi.”

  Grace shifted so that only her aunt could see her face and mouthed, No.

  “Danki, but we can’t stay,” Toby said.

  The other man set his bag down anyway. His eyes wandered over every nook of the kitchen. “Mei mamm used to talk about cooking on a woodstove where she grew up.” He cleared his throat. “I’m Ben Eicher.”

  Toby stepped forward. “We’ve traveled from Florida to visit mei onkel. Alvin Graber. Do you know him?”

  “Jah,” Grace said with reserve. She still wasn’t sure about the purpose of their visit. Anyone traveling such a great distance would have made arrangements.

  “He’s at the timber camp,” Aenti said.

  Why did her aunt offer detailed information? Grace cleared her throat. “That’s right. He’s nett home. And his haus is locked.”

  “Great,” Ben muttered under his breath.

  Toby cringed. “How far is the camp from here?”

  Aenti Erma tapped the ladder-back wooden chair. “A few miles upriver. You two have a seat and I’ll bring you a cup of kaffi.”

  “If the camp is a few miles away,” Toby said, looking at Ben, “we should get going.”

  Jah, they should. But Grace couldn’t live with herself if she allowed them to wander into danger. Even if they found the area of the river that was still iced over, crossing at night wasn’t a good idea. “You won’t make it across t
he river. Nett with all the rain we’ve had.”

  Aunt Erma motioned to the chairs. “Please, have a seat.”

  The floor squeaked under Ben’s wet shoes as he moved to the table and sat. Toby hesitated a moment longer, but finally left his bag by the door and sat next to Ben.

  Aenti Erma filled two mugs with coffee.

  Both men sat straighter in their chairs when Grace’s younger sister, LeAnn, breezed into the room. LeAnn greeted them with a cheerful smile. “Hiya.”

  “Hello,” the men said in unison, their attention solely on her. “I’m Ben and this is Toby.”

  “It’s nice to meet you. I’m LeAnn.”

  Grace pulled a wooden spoon from the drawer and stirred the simmering poultice. The pungent odor caused her eyes to water. Her friend Mattie had given her the ingredients and liniment recipe, something Mattie had developed using dried herbs. Grace wasn’t sure wrapping the medicated rags around her legs would help decrease the inflammation in her joints, but the eye-watering scent surely cleared her sinuses.

  Overhearing LeAnn sigh when the visitors said they were from Florida grated Grace’s nerves. What was her sister thinking flirting with these men? Grace peeked over her shoulder.

  LeAnn sat with her elbows propped on the table and her chin resting in her hands. “Have you seen a shark?”

  “A few.” Ben sipped his coffee.

  Six-year-old Jonas shuffled into the room. He took one look at the strangers and sidled up beside Grace. Normally, she didn’t mind her nephew using her dress skirt as a safe haven. After all, the extra material she used to add fullness and length enough to reach the floor offered more yardage than a tent. But with strangers here, she didn’t want him wrapping around her dress and uncovering her shoes—especially not the homemade shoe on her left foot.

  “How blue is the ocean?” LeAnn’s questions continued.

  Ben smiled. “It ranges. Near the shore it’s a bluish green and out in the deep area it’s dark blue. About the color of your eyes.”

  A soft shade of pink colored LeAnn’s face. “I would love to see it.”

  At seventeen, her sister already had a curious, and often wandering, spirit. Sitting forward in her chair, gazing doe-eyed, LeAnn’s mannerisms now practically begged them to lead her astray. Grace clanged the spoon against the pot, venting her frustration. “LeAnn, shouldn’t you be helping with supper?”

  Her sister stood.

  “Set two more plates,” Aenti Erma said. “I’m sure our visitors are hungry.”

  Grace groaned under her breath. Offering a weary traveler a meal was the right thing to do, but why did this remind her of the time they fed a stray dog and it never left?

  The kitchen door opened and her ten-year-old nephew Mitch entered. Since the weather had changed, Mitch and a few other boys spent their after-school hours down by the river watching for when the ice melted and for a signal from the men. He removed his jacket and hung it on the wall peg.

  “Anything to report?” Grace asked.

  Mitch shook his head as he unlaced his boots.

  Grace’s heart ached for her nephew. Mitch had asked his father multiple times if he could go to camp this year, but Peter wouldn’t allow him to miss the last few months of school.

  Aenti Erma placed her hand on Mitch’s shoulder. “Will you please show our guests where they can wash for supper?”

  Ben and Toby stood and followed Mitch out of the kitchen. A few minutes later, the three of them returned and sat back down, deep in a conversation about fishing. Grace had to hush her nephew so they could bless the meal.

  Once Ben and Toby started eating, Grace refrained from bringing attention to how fast they shoveled food into their mouths. They only paused long enough to answer LeAnn and Aenti Erma’s barrage of questions. Grace could think of a few, too, like how long ago had they jumped the fence? And what drove them so far from home? Hiding from something, or someone, no doubt.

  Ben scraped his plate, collecting the last morsel of mashed potatoes on his fork.

  LeAnn snatched the bowl off the table and passed it to him. “Would you like more?”

  He boldly refilled his plate. “Danki, this is really gut.”

  “So, how long do you plan to stay?” LeAnn fluttered her lashes and smiled.

  Grace glared at her sister, but she turned away. Her sister’s defiant spirit needed caging. At least when Grace pinned Ben with the same stare, he shifted in his chair and redirected his attention to his plate.

  Toby finished his milk and set the empty glass on the table. “Our stay depends on how much work mei onkel Alvin has for us.” He turned to Grace. “Did he say how long he would be camping?”

  Grace set her fork on her plate. “It’s a lumber camp. They—he left at the first of the year.” She stopped short from disclosing that all the men, with the exception of the bishop, were gone. Obviously, Mr. Graber wasn’t expecting company.

  “I wanted to go.” Mitch pushed his peas around on his plate. “But mei daed said I was too young.”

  Grace tapped Mitch’s hand. “Stop playing with your food and eat. You have schul work to do.”

  Aenti Erma blotted her mouth with the napkin. “I’m sure the bishop will be able to offer guidance in the morning.”

  Grace widened her eyes at her aunt. “The morning?”

  “Bishop Yoder’s place is too difficult for them to find on their own.” Her aunt’s voice sharpened. “And it’s too dark to take the buggy down that road. The poor horse might break a leg.”

  Her aunt had a point. Unless they knew which path to take through the woods, they would get twisted around on state land and maybe never find the bishop’s haus. Still, Bishop Yoder should be made aware tonight. After all, they were a household of women. It wouldn’t look right. Grace glanced across the table at Ben, then Toby. Their eyes drooped like Rusty’s, the coonhound. Sad. Pitiful. “I suppose you can bunk in the loft.”

  “Or they could take mei room,” her sister offered.

  Before Grace could reject the suggestion, the men chorused, “Nay.”

  LeAnn blushed. “It was just a thought. I don’t mind sharing a room with mei sister. Unless”—she crinkled her nose at Grace—“you plan to wear that . . . wretched-smelling balm to bed.”

  Grace furrowed her brow. LeAnn never missed an opportunity to point out Grace’s infirmity. As if these men couldn’t detect her limp on their own. Long hours on her feet and cold weather always stiffened her joints.

  “Danki,” Ben said. “But we don’t want to inconvenience anyone. You’ve already done enough.”

  Ben smiled at Grace, but his eyes mirrored the same pitiful gaze she’d seen from every man in their district. Her chest tightened at the thought of how blinded she had been about her friendship with Philemon. Growing up, he’d protected her from the other boys’ teasing, but when she reached courting age, Philemon’s attention felt more like pity. Grace chided herself. She should be used to the sympathetic smiles, but it still hurt. She recited the scripture that her mother found comfort in during her infirmity. My grace is sufficient . . . For My strength is made perfect in weakness.

  “Maybe our guests would like one of your cookies, Grace.” Aenti Erma motioned to Ben’s glass. “Would you like more milk?”

  Ben nodded. “Sure.”

  His easy smile gave the impression that not only was he used to the attention LeAnn and Aenti lavished on him, but he enjoyed it. If he discovered that women outnumbered men three to one in their settlement, he might never leave.

  Grace pushed away from the table, but LeAnn jumped up and grabbed the cookie jar first. Just as well, her legs throbbed.

  LeAnn removed the lid to the cookie jar and held it before Ben, who pretended to grab a fistful, then to Toby, who nodded and took one.

  While Ben was playful, Toby’s mannerism was more in line with the Amish way. Even so, Grace wouldn’t trust either of the fence-jumpers.

  A knock sounded on the door, then her sister-in-law, Susan, step
ped inside. “The road is washing out,” she said, wiping her feet on the braided rug. She moved farther into the room and stopped. “Oh, hello.” Her gaze darted between Toby and Ben, then over to Grace. “I didn’t know you had company.”

  Before Grace could introduce Ben and Toby, Jonas eased down from the chair and met his mamm with open arms. Mitch, having some of his father’s traits, rose slowly. He was more reserved with his emotions and stood back as his little brother and mother hugged.

  Grace went to the cabinet and removed a coffee mug. “How is your mamm doing?”

  “About the same,” Susan said, ruffling Mitch’s mop of hair. “Were you boys gut for Aenti Grace?”

  “Jah,” they replied in unison.

  “Any news if the men left camp?” Susan’s brows lifted.

  “Should there be news?” Two days ago, the bishop said he wasn’t certain the men would kumm back early. “Did Bishop Yoder say something today?”

  “Nay, but even if the ice hasn’t melted completely, it’s too thin to—”

  “To cross?” Mitch said, his eyes darting from his mother to Grace. “That’s what you were about to say, wasn’t it?”

  Under different circumstances, Susan would have scolded her son for interrupting an adult conversation, but she placed her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Did you finish all your homework?”

  Mitch nodded. “I’ll get it.” His shoulders slumped as he walked out of the room.

  Grace caught a glimpse of Toby and Ben exchanging puzzled expressions. She groaned under her breath. Now they knew all the men were away at camp and not just Alvin Graber. She lowered her voice so that only Susan could hear. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

  Susan nodded, then, forcing a cheerful tone, asked, “How was your trip, Aenti Erma?”

  Grace filled a mug with coffee, then added a teaspoon of sugar and let Aenti Erma make the introductions. She introduced Toby and Ben as their guests. And LeAnn was quick to add they were from Florida.

  Grace set the mug on the table and motioned to her sister-in-law to take the empty chair at the end.