Maura winced as Belle shifted her weight from Maura to Jimmy’s arm and he escorted her away.
“I’m worried about her,” Maura said to the sheriff.
“You’re a loyal friend.” Sheriff Byler took the end of his beard between two fingers in thought.
“Belle has always been so sensible. We always saw eye-to-eye until this. I tried to warn her away from John Twigg, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”
“Love is a powerful force,” Sheriff said.
“But if the Twiggs use this as a reason to carry their guns a little closer…well, I hate to see Belle in the middle of it.”
“We’ll have to help her get on with her life,” Sheriff said. “She still has her work as a teacher, and her father cares for her.”
“But he never liked John Twigg. He has no sympathy for John’s death.” Maura dipped her hat in the direction Belle had gone. “You saw Jimmy. He’s trying to claim Belle as one of theirs. She could lose her own family because of this.”
“I hope it does not come to that.” Sheriff put both hands in his trouser pockets.
“Sheriff, isn’t there anything you can do?”
“What result would you be looking for, Miss Woodley? Did you want to see the Dentons bound over to trial and hanged in a public spectacle?”
“No, of course not.” Maura’s answer was swift. “But I wish we could do something to prevent this from going further.”
“I am the sheriff,” he said. “I cannot take legal action because a man’s attitude strikes me as cocky. I must have at least the suspicion of a crime.”
Maura expelled her breath heavily. “I fear there will be no time between suspicion and more tragedy.”
They walked together to the doors and exited the building. Joseph and Zeke were waiting at the bottom of the courthouse steps.
“Thank you both for what you did on that fateful day,” Maura said, “and for being here now, even though you did not feel you could come in.”
Both men nodded, their black hats bobbing in counterpoint.
“The Amish do not use weapons this way,” Zeke said, “but we do not turn our hearts from those who do when harm results.”
Maura opened her purse and pulled out her mother’s white gloves. She would not put them on. She only wanted to hold them, to having something to grip in her fist.
Joseph lifted his chin in the direction of the Denton brothers. “I would have thought they would go home immediately.”
Lee and Ing approached.
“You two have been here for several weeks,” Lee said. “We figure you might be looking for work.”
Joseph and Zeke looked at each other; then Zeke said, “We are on a mission for our church.”
“Even a mission needs money,” Ing said. “We want you to work for us.”
“I don’t think our bishop would approve of us working in an English store,” Joseph said.
“No, not the store,” Lee said. “Clearing land on the bluff along the river.”
“First thing tomorrow,” Ing said. “At Denton’s Ferry on the White River.” He glanced at Maura. “Miss Woodley can tell you where to find it.”
Maura looked at Zeke and then settled her gaze on Joseph. Every time she saw him, his violet-blue eyes pierced her concentration. Behind them, she knew, was a man of kindness and patience. She had no doubt the Amish men carried the ethic of hard work, but did they understand what the Dentons were asking? They would be taking up sides.
Joseph and Zeke had left the hotel after two nights to conserve funds. Instead, they negotiated with the livery owner in Gassville to sleep on the ground outside the stables in exchange for mucking stalls and watering horses. They were free to cook in the open air, and if it rained, they could move inside. For the extra effort of exercising horses whose owners did not call for them, Joseph and Zeke’s animals would be well fed.
At daybreak the morning after the grand jury’s verdict, Joseph woke and nudged Zeke. “Time to get up. We have work to do today.”
Zeke turned over and punched the small pillow under his head. “I am not sure we should go. We did not promise.”
“They offered a good wage,” Joseph said. “Better than good. And they will pay in cash.”
“You know I love an adventure,” Zeke said, “but we’ve been here more than two weeks. We’ve seen all there is to see of Gassville, Mountain Home, and the land in between.”
“We haven’t seen everything. We haven’t been out to the bluffs over the river.”
Zeke sat up. “The landscape is beautiful. But there is no place to start a peaceful Amish settlement around here. Danger hangs in the air.”
“What is the harm of a few more days?” Joseph tidied his bedding into a tight roll. “We cannot project our expenses if we continue west or south.”
“So you believe we should continue scouting?” Zeke folded his bedroll haphazardly.
“We have not yet completed the task the bishop charged us with.” Joseph put his bedroll against the wall of the stable, under the eave.
Zeke paused to lift his eyes and hands to the brightening sky. “This is the day the Lord has made.”
“Let us rejoice and be glad,” Joseph responded.
“Okay. We will go to Denton’s Ferry and see what this work is. But we should send a letter to the bishop.”
“Then we will have to wait for his response,” Joseph pointed out.
“Yes, I suppose so.”
Joseph nodded. They would stay in Gassville for at least a week, maybe several weeks. He wondered how Miss Maura Woodley spent her days and whether she ever used Denton’s Ferry.
Zeke rummaged in their foodstuffs and produced some dry biscuits. Joseph lit a fire in the ring of stones they cooked over and prepared the coffeepot.
By seven o’clock, Zeke and Joseph sat on their horses on the thickly wooded bluff overlooking Denton’s Ferry.
“It is a shame to think of clearing this land,” Zeke said. “They have a thriving ranch, a popular store in town, and a prosperous ferry business on the river. What need do they have for so much wood?”
“None,” Joseph answered softly. “We are stepping into the middle of their fear.”
Zeke looked at Joseph full on. “You were the one who wanted to accept this work.”
“I still do.” Joseph dismounted and let his eyes soak up the panoramic view of the gushing foam of the White River and the lush land on the other side. “In the days of our ancestors, the men would have cleared the land along the river so that the Indians could not surprise them with their presence.”
“That is what you think this is?” Zeke’s horse whinnied, and he patted the animal’s neck.
Joseph gripped the bridle on his mount. “If you were one of the Dentons, would you not fear ambush?”
Maura rinsed the rag then wiped down the counter one more time. The kitchen was clean. A roast was in the oven with potatoes, onions, and carrots. She had dusted every crevice of the parlor before lunch and beaten clean the rugs in the hallway. After making sure the home she shared with her father was clean and comfortable, what was left of the afternoon belonged to her. She had a few errands on Main Street.
Maura offered up a brief prayer for a peaceful, uneventful excursion and picked up her purse and a flour sack in which to carry home a few small purchases.
Walter was there with his broom in front of Denton’s Emporium.
“How are your fingers?” Maura asked.
“I just saw Doc Denton this morning,” Walter said. “My knuckle may be a little knobby, but I’ll be good as new.”
“Are the Denton brothers here today?” Maura tilted her head toward the store.
“Lee was for a while. Ing is out on the bluff with the crew they hired.”
A crew that included Joseph Beiler and Zeke Berkey.
“They come and go by the back of the store and always try to have somebody with them,” Walter added.
“They must be so fearful after the verdict yesterday.�
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Walter pointed down the street. “Wouldn’t you be? Look at the Twiggs’ store.”
Maura peered down the street. Jimmy Twigg sat on a bench in front of the store, his rifle on his shoulder.
“He’s been like that all day,” Walter said. “The Dentons don’t dare walk down Main Street.”
“They can’t live like that,” Maura said.
Walter shrugged. “What else can they do?”
“There must be some other way than waiting to be shot.”
Walter pointed with his chin. “Here comes one of those Amish men.”
Joseph Beiler rode up the street and dismounted in front of the emporium.
“Good afternoon, Miss Woodley. Walter.”
“Good afternoon, Mr. Beiler.”
He looked bedraggled, weary with the evidence that he had accepted the Dentons’ offer of work. Perspiration soaked his shirt—his only shirt, she knew, since he sacrificed the other to Walter’s wound.
“My friend and I are low on our foodstuffs,” Joseph said. “I thought I would get a few things from the emporium. Mr. Denton offered us an account as long as we are in their employ.”
“Do you cook outside?” Walter wondered aloud.
Joseph laughed softly. “Cook and sleep and everything. The livery owner is generous with his water, though, so at least we can clean up.”
“Mr. Beiler,” Maura said, “how would you and Mr. Berkey like to have a home-cooked meal with all the trimmings?”
The widening of his eyes made her smile. “I have a roast in the oven that is far larger than my father and I require. You would make me happy if you would agree to be my guests tonight.”
Joseph had done his best to rinse out his shirt and hang it in the late afternoon sun to dry. When he donned it, lingering dampness stuck to his skin in places, but he was confident that once he put on his suit jacket the moisture would not be visible. He brushed dust out of his trousers as vigorously as he could manage.
“So you insist on going?” Zeke gulped cool water from a tin cup.
“Miss Woodley offered the invitation in kindness. We should go.” Joseph had already made up his mind he would go whether or not Zeke came with him.
“I do not question her motive.” Zeke splashed the rest of the water on his face. “Yours concerns me.”
Joseph slapped at the dust in his pants one last time. “Miss Woodley will be disappointed you did not come.”
“Quite possibly she will be happy to have you to herself.”
Joseph met Zeke’s eye. “Then for the sake of propriety, you ought to come.”
Zeke stood. “Yes, perhaps I should.”
Joseph brushed his horse while he waited for Zeke to clean up and put on the shirt he had washed and left to dry the night before. They arrived at the Woodley home promptly at the appointed hour. Smiling, Maura opened the front door to welcome them.
Her scent filled the rooms. Joseph inhaled her allure above even the fragrance of the roast ready for the table. End tables held lamps but also bowls and figurines. Fabric with lively floral prints adorned the furniture. A painting hung over the fireplace. Joseph recognized the bend of the White River and the grove of trees he had helped to cut down that day.
“My mother painted that,” Maura said.
“It’s breathtaking.” Joseph wondered if Lee and Ing Denton might someday appreciate this visual preservation of the land they were so eager to alter. His own mother would have told him that a painting was a graven image and producing one a sinful waste of time. He turned to Maura, wondering if her mother had painted Maura. “Thank you again for your kind invitation.”
“It is my pleasure. Give me a moment to bring out the rest of the food and we will be ready to eat.”
A man entered the front room. “Hello. I’m Woody Woodley.” He extended a hand, which both Joseph and Zeke shook. “Funny name, I know. It’s a childhood nickname that stuck, and I suppose I like it better than Francis.”
“Thank you for welcoming us to your home,” Joseph said. “I am Joseph Beiler, and this is my friend, Ezekiel Berkey.”
Maura reappeared with a platter of sliced meat and a basket of rolls. “Daddy, why don’t you come ask the blessing for the food?”
They stood behind their chairs, heads bowed, as Woody Woodley spoke aloud a prayer of gratitude. Joseph had never heard an English meal blessing before. His people prayed privately, a moment of silence before a meal rather than a rush of words. Joseph rather liked the poetic lilt of Woody’s prayer. Just before the Amen, he lifted his eyes and found Maura smiling at him.
His lips turned up in response.
Sixteen
Annie rode in the blue Prius with Ruth to the Stutzman farm for church on Sunday morning. She had only a thin sleep Saturday night. Instead she wondered about Leah, prayed for Leah, hoped on Leah’s behalf. And she crafted a speech for Leah’s mother. Whatever Mrs. Deitwaller said, Annie would proceed with the next sentence of her speech. Her words would not castigate or blame or accuse. Rather, though outwardly Mrs. Deitwaller might not seem receptive, Annie believed that deep down any mother would want to know about the well-being of her child. Annie’s words would reassure as much as possible.
“Leah is safe for now.”
“I’ve made sure she has food.”
“She can come and stay with me if she wants to.”
“I’ll let you know if I hear from her.”
If Mrs. Deitwaller threw barbs about Annie’s intentions, Annie would take a breath and keep going until she said it all. Then she would pray that something penetrated Mrs. Deitwaller’s veneer.
The women of the congregation mingled in the Stutzman kitchen for a few minutes. Annie added her own spinach coleslaw to the broad refrigerator and helped with wiping the dishes the congregation would eat off of when the worship service was over. She chatted, still accepting congratulations on her baptism, and was mindful of each woman who entered the room.
None of them was Eva Deitwaller.
In a few minutes, it would be time for the women to take their seats on the benches on one side of the Stutzman barn, while the men prepared to process in and sit on the other side. Women and little girls and the smallest boys began drifting toward the barn. Outside the house, Annie paused to look around. A few children ceased their playing and dutifully answered their mothers’ summons. The men were already informally arranging themselves in the order in which they would march in.
No Deitwallers anywhere.
Annie caught Franey Beiler’s eye and said, “I notice the Deitwallers are not here. I hope they are well.”
Franey scanned the assembly for herself. “I have not heard any news, but perhaps there is illness in the house.”
Annie supposed that was possible. She lagged behind, though, still looking for one last buggy to come down the lane.
Rufus smiled at Annalise over the spinach coleslaw on his plate, and she returned the expression. Like most Sundays, they managed to sit at nearly adjoining tables, he with a group of men and she with women. He did not speak directly to her, but her eyes told him she heard what he would say if he could address her.
When the meal began to break up, he lost sight of her for a few minutes and supposed she had gone into the house to help wash dishes. He dutifully began dismantling the tables and benches so they could be loaded onto the wagon that would take them to the farm of the next family to host worship in two weeks.
Wherever he was headed to hang cabinets, Rufus hoped the next church service would find him seated in his usual spot for worship. By then the weather might be too cool to eat outside.
Finally the work was done. Teenagers organized a game of softball between two teams with not quite enough players and irregularly spaced bases. Younger children asked to go feed apples to the horses. Rufus’s brother Jacob led the expedition to the meadow where the horses were grazing for the day.
Rufus lingered in the Stutzman front yard, speaking politely with anyone who wanted his atte
ntion but gradually moving farther from the house. He knew Annalise would be tracking his movements and arranging hers to intersect his path.
When she did, he smiled at the prayer kapp that was not quite straight.
“It’s crooked again, isn’t it?” Annalise reached up with both hands to rearrange her kapp. “I’m beginning to think my head is lopsided. Why else would I have such trouble pinning my kapp on straight?”
“You look lovely, just as you are.” Rufus hoped that becoming Amish would not snuff out the quirks that drew him to her in the first place.
They walked together, staying in sight of the softball game and the horses chomping apples but carving out a private space around them.
“When do you have to go?” Annalise asked.
“Tonight.”
“But it’s the Sabbath.”
Rufus flinched. “I know. But I have to be north of Cañon City ready to work at seven in the morning. Tom is willing to taxi me up there tonight.”
She reached for his hand. “It will be so strange not to be able to picture where you are, not to think of you in your workshop humming hymns as you work.”
“I can still hum from the Ausbund.”
“I hope you will. I hope that will keep you close to us.” Annalise turned to look him in the face. “Promise me that you’ll call me. You can call the shop. Mrs. Weichert won’t mind.”
“I would need a phone,” Rufus said.
“Believe me, the English always have phones.”
“If it is God’s will that I have such an opportunity, then yes, I will try to call you.”
She nodded, as if satisfied. Rufus had expected a stronger insistence because she knew he would not use his own cell phone for a nonemergency call. He was not sure he would even take it with him.
Annalise’s lips were slowly moving in and out. She was distracted in thought, and it was not his job that bothered her at the moment. He would not press her, though. Annalise needed no prodding to speak her mind when she was ready
As they ambled, he gradually steered her into a grove of pine trees. She may have been distracted, but Rufus had one thought on his mind that afternoon. He took both her hands so she was facing him and leaned down to find her mouth. She responded immediately, her lips surrendering their perplexed in-and-out motion to eagerly receive the press of his mouth on hers.
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