An Amish Miracle

by Beth Wiseman

  “Don’t shoot!” he yelled.

  She lowered the gun. He crossed in front of her and struck the large dog with the rake. A hen thudded to the ground, and the yelping dog bolted for the corral, where it crawled under the fence and slipped into darkness.

  He bent a knee next to the motionless chicken.

  Rosa leaned over his shoulder. “Is she dead?”

  Probably, Adam thought. It was difficult to tell if the bird was dead or in shock because of the large oak blocking the moonlight. “I don’t know. I can’t see.”

  “I’ll get a lantern.” She turned and sprinted toward the house.

  “Hey.” Adam waited for her to look his way. “Don’t run with a loaded gun in your hand.”

  Rosa slowed.

  Once she disappeared behind the door, he resumed his inspection of the chicken. If it wasn’t already dead, he had a notion to put it out of its misery before she returned with the light. The other hens kept their distance yet continued to cluck.

  The screen door snapped. Unarmed, she trotted back with the lantern.

  Rosa dangled the lamplight over the lifeless bird. “That rotten dog killed her.”

  Adam reached down and picked up the chicken by its neck. “I guess you’ll be making dumplings to go with this.”

  “That’s nett funny. That was Penny.” Her voice cracked.

  He wasn’t sure why, but it surprised him that she named her chickens. He cleared his throat. “At the risk of sounding insensitive, where do you want . . . Penny?”

  She sighed. “In the haus.”

  At least she wouldn’t let the meat go bad. Carrying the mangled chicken, he followed her up the porch steps and into the house. He’d barely crossed the threshold when he heard a loud gasp.

  “What’s wrong?” Adam thought he might have trailed chicken blood on her floor. Then his eyes met hers, and he understood immediately.

  She stood before him clutching the woolen cape closed at her neck. Adam’s gaze traveled downward, over the hem of her nightdress, to her bare ankles and curled-under toes. Without waiting for direction from Rosa, he took the hen into the kitchen, crossed the room to the sink, and plunked it into the basin.

  She snatched a folded paper from the table and shoved it into a nearby drawer.

  “I’m sorry to get you out of bed at this hour,” she said.

  “That’s all right. I wanted to make sure you were safe.” He turned the tap on and rinsed his hands. “I didn’t realize you knew how to shoot a gun.”

  She shrugged slightly, reached under the sink, and handed him a bar of soap. “I’m nett so sure I do. I’ve never shot one.”

  The woman was more dangerous than he thought.

  “Danki,” he said, accepting the towel she offered. “Maybe I better unload the gun so you don’t try to shoot something else in the middle of the night.” He finished drying his hands and handed her back the towel. “Where is it?”

  She led the way to the sitting room.

  He spotted the shotgun propped up against the wall and groaned under his breath. She hadn’t set the safety either. Clearly she had a lot to learn about firearms.

  “It’s best to unload it outside.” If she joined him, he would demonstrate the proper technique, but she didn’t. It was probably just as well; she didn’t need a lecture tonight. One dead chicken to pluck was enough to deal with at this late hour. He opened the 12-gauge barrel and dislodged the shell. Adam flipped the safety lever to the locked position even though the gun was no longer loaded.

  She wasn’t in the sitting room when he reentered the house. He placed the gun on the rack and slipped the shell into his pocket. Pots and pans clanged in the kitchen. Adam ducked his head into the room. “Hopefully the dog won’t bother your chickens again.”

  She looked up from filling a large pot with water. “I hope you hit him with the prongs of that rake.”

  He frowned. He had overheard her plenty of times talking lovingly to her animals. “Rosa, you don’t mean that.”

  “Ya, I do.” She placed the oversized pot on the stove to boil. “That dog’s attacked mei chickens before. Penny laid the most eggs—the biggest too. I found several double yolks from her box. I can’t afford to lose any egg sales.”

  “Don’t worry about tomorrow, for—”

  “For tomorrow will worry about its own things.” She opened a drawer and removed a butcher knife. “It’s after midnight. This is tomorrow—and I am worried.”

  She nudged the drawer closed with her hip. “And I will shoot that dog.”

  Chapter Two

  Rosa’s eyes burned from lack of sleep. She hadn’t slept much before the commotion last night, and once she had plucked the feathers, cooked the chicken, and mourned over the loss of her best egg layer, sleep was a lost cause altogether.

  Perhaps she could nap after she returned from her morning egg deliveries. But that wouldn’t happen if she didn’t get started. On a normal day, she would have already been to the bakery by this time. She donned her barn-mucking boots and grabbed the empty basket to collect the eggs.

  Outside, she drew in a deep breath of the crisp morning air. Fall was always her favorite time of year.

  “Guder mariye, girls,” Rosa greeted the clucking hens. The flock clustered around her and followed her to the barn as they did every morning.

  Rosa entered the barn humming “Das Loblied,” one of her favorite praise hymns from the Ausbund. She crossed the concrete floor of the old milk parlor that now served as a storage room for the different drums of livestock feed. As she removed the lid and retrieved the coffee can at the bottom, she noticed with dismay how the melody echoed in the empty drum.

  There wasn’t much feed to collect. Certainly not enough to feed over forty chickens.

  At least it hadn’t snowed early this year. The chickens still had a few weeks to forage bugs, plants, and anything they could scratch up as their primary source of food. But in the morning, she liked to scatter corn for them to eat while she collected the eggs from the nesting boxes.

  She leaned into the barrel and scooped up feed, unaware she had company until she heard someone singing along. She jerked upright, coffee can in hand, and turned toward the doorway of the milking parlor.

  “Please continue,” Adam said. “I’ve never heard you sing before.”

  She hadn’t heard him sing before either, but it didn’t mean she wanted to harmonize with him now, bent over a barrel with her backside facing him. “I usually just hum.”

  Why did she feel the need to explain herself to him? Next she’d be telling him how singing helped keep her mind focused on God instead of her looming tax problems.

  “I see you’re in a better mood this morning. You didn’t shoot any dogs after I left, did you?”

  “You ask, but I know you took the shell.” What he didn’t know was that she had more.

  He smiled. “I wanted to get a gut nacht’s sleep. I wouldn’t have slept a wink if I thought you were out there trying to shoot something.”

  Rosa looked down at the meager amount of corn she’d collected in the can. “At least someone was able to sleep,” she muttered.

  She rarely ran into Adam in the mornings. Usually he tended the horses he kept in her barn while she was out making deliveries. “I’m sorry. Am I in your way?” She stepped away from the barrels. The oat bin for the horses was next to the chicken feed.

  “Nee. I was heading to the tack room to get tools to mend the fence.”

  “Did the horses get out?”

  “Nee. It’s the part I sectioned off to do training.”

  She hadn’t paid much attention to the changes he’d made to accommodate his horse-training business. After a fire destroyed Adam’s barn, he needed a temporary place to keep his horses, and she agreed. It’s what her late husband would have wanted. Uriah thought of Adam as his little brother and looked out for him—enough to lose his life to save Adam’s.

  “You have a nice voice.”

  Rosa wasn’t
sure how to respond. Since Uriah’s death, Adam had pushed his way into her life like a sibling with his finger in the cake batter. In the beginning, he treated her as if it was his duty to look out for Uriah’s widow. Adam’s way of working out his guilt. And probably God’s way of forcing her to face the bitter resentment she harbored.

  “Danki. You’re nett too off-key yourself,” she said.

  His sheepish grin gave him a youthful appearance. So did his shaven face, his long, dark lashes, and his cobalt-blue eyes. Rosa recalled what his mother, Eunice, had said at the widows’ luncheon: “I don’t understand why mei sohn hasn’t proposed to Claire Milner yet. I don’t even know if they’ve seen much of each other since the fire.”

  Eunice seemed to think it had something to do with the third-degree burns on Adam’s neck, arm, and left hand. He’d also lost part of his earlobe. But his scars were not such an eyesore that they should chase away someone as sweet as Claire.

  He looked around the building. “Ever thought about getting a few milk cows?”

  “Nee.”

  “I know you had that bovine respiratory disease run through here, but I thought—”

  She shook her head. “More than half our stock died.” The cattle loss trickled down to the mess she was in today. The taxes wouldn’t be two years past due if they hadn’t had to pay vet bills and hire a company to sanitize the place according to commercial milking standards.

  Rosa recalled the defeat in Uriah’s eyes. The quarantine hadn’t worked. Their dreams went up in smoke with the burnt carcasses.

  She shook the grain can. “Mei girls are waiting for me.”

  Once outside, Rosa resumed singing. Her clucking hens met her at the barn door and chased after the corn she spread over the ground.

  She fell silent as she approached the coop. Last night it had been too dark to see the damage the dog had done. The chicken yard was filled with feathers.

  Perhaps now would be a good time to have a word with the Englischer about his dog. Two summers ago he had moved in next door, not the friendliest Englischer she’d known, but at least not some nosy neighbor who thought nothing of disrupting the Amish way of life by chasing them around with a camera.

  She looked toward the Englisch neighbor’s house, a hundred yards away. There seemed to be no activity. The man’s truck wasn’t in his driveway either.

  Rosa entered the coop and gathered the few eggs from the nesting boxes. The count was down. Way down compared to yesterday. Chickens laid fewer eggs in the colder season, but this wasn’t about the weather. It was the stress and fright of the dog attack. Another reason she needed to have a talk with the neighbor about controlling his animals.

  Rosa took the eggs into the house and washed them. She separated them according to the delivery route, grateful she had enough to fill the existing orders. Then she took the basket out to the barn and prepared to harness Blossom to the buggy.

  She had just removed the harness from the nail stud when the stall door creaked open behind her and Adam stepped out.

  “I’ll do that for you.” He reached for the equipment in her hand.

  “That isn’t necessary. I’m more than capable.”

  He smiled. “I know.”

  After a brief hesitation, she released the harness and followed him to Blossom’s stall. “I appreciate that you came over to check on me last nacht, but . . . well, eventually you’re going to have to move on with your life.” She held her tongue from adding that he could never make up for her losing Uriah.

  Adam’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

  Rosa sighed. Lack of sleep had sparked these emotions. He’d only offered to harness her mare.

  “I suppose I should share the chicken supper since you were kind enough to chase that dog away.”

  “That would be nice.” He guided the straps through the proper metal rings. “What time should I kumm over?”

  Ach! She hadn’t meant for it to sound like an invitation to eat at her house. He must think she was forward, suggesting such an idea. “I’ll bring it over to your mudder’s haus.”

  He paused in buckling the girth belt.

  “It’s a gut size chicken,” she said. “There will be plenty.”

  Adam continued to fasten the harness.

  “What do you like, white meat or dark?” She fiddled with her apron. “Of course, I could bring over a helping of both.”

  Stop, she told herself. Just stop talking. Next she would be rambling on about vegetable side dishes and dessert.

  “Dark.” He led Blossom by her halter out to where the buggy sat under the lean-to.

  Rosa followed.

  He made the final attachments, and after she climbed up on the bench seat, he handed her the reins. “Drive safe.”

  “Danki.” She clicked her tongue and Blossom lurched forward. Once off the gravel drive and onto the road, the mare perked up her ears and trotted faster. Blossom liked the cooler temperatures of fall too. Rosa didn’t discourage the pace. She was already late.

  It wasn’t long before the bakery came into view. The enticing scent of cinnamon rolls filled her nostrils as Rosa entered the cozy storefront. She smiled at Becky Byler, the owner’s daughter, who was busy arranging pastries in the glass display counter.

  “Guder mariye, Becky.” Rosa set the egg basket on the counter and unfolded the cloth covering.

  “Hiya, Mrs. Hostetler.” The girl wiped her hands, leaving a spot of what appeared to be strawberry filling on the front of her apron.

  Rosa tried not to stare for fear that Becky would think she was passing judgment on her figure. At eighteen, Becky Byler was the largest girl in the district. She seemed to take things in stride, but Rosa suspected that the girl’s size was what kept her from smiling more.

  Becky carefully transferred the eggs from Rosa’s basket into one of the bakery’s storage bins. The girl opened the cash register and counted out the payment for the eggs, then handed the cash to Rosa. She said little and appeared particularly dejected today.

  “Did your mamm leave a note as to how many eggs she wants tomorrow?”

  “I think so.” Becky rifled through a stack of papers on a nearby counter, then handed Rosa the slip.

  “Danki. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Rosa gave her a beaming smile in hopes that Becky might return the favor.

  She didn’t. “I’ll be here,” she said. “I’m always here.”

  Rosa continued her route and completed the remaining deliveries before she reached Stephen and Hope Bowman’s farm. She wanted to spend some time with Hope and of course dote on little Faith, who always brightened Rosa’s spirit.

  Hope opened the door and welcomed her into the house. “I figured you were too busy to stop for kaffi today.”

  “Running late is all.” Rosa followed her into the kitchen. “Where are the kinner?” Even though she doted on the fifteen-month-old Faith, Rosa was close to Hope’s other children too.

  “Faith is napping. Josie, Emily, and Greta are in schul, and James is outside with Stephen.” Hope looked at Rosa and frowned. “You’re nett sleeping, are you?”

  “I had problems with the neighbor’s dog last nacht. He attacked mei chickens. Killed mei best laying hen.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “I plucked feathers until two in the morning.” She yawned.

  “Kumm sit.” Hope tapped the wooden chair. “The kaffi is hot. I’ll pour you a cup.”

  Rosa desperately needed a nap, but she also wanted to visit with her friend. So much had changed over the past several months. “James is doing well, ya?”

  “He’s adapting more and more every day to our ways.” Hope set the cup before Rosa. “So tell me, was it Adam’s dog that killed your chicken?”

  Rosa shook her head. “Adam doesn’t have a dog. He heard the vicious attack and came over to help me.” She decided not to mention being outside, barefoot and in her nightdress, when he arrived. Still, Hope lifted her brows as though she suspected Rosa had left out important
details. Rosa sipped her coffee before continuing. “It was the Englischer’s dog. The man who bought the haus on the other side of me.”

  “What did the man say?” Hope offered a cookie from the jar.

  Rosa shook her head. “Nothing yet. I plan to talk with him later today.”

  “Once a dog kills, it’s difficult to change him.”

  Rosa set her cup on the table. “That’s what I was thinking too. It might start nipping at the horses next and agitate them. That reminds me, is Stephen interested in buying mei plow team? Bolt and Thunder are only going to get fat and lazy. I need to sell them.”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll ask him.”

  “If I can’t sell them in a week or so, I think I’ll make arrangements for them to go to auction.”

  “You’re in that kind of a rush?”

  Rosa avoided her friend’s eyes by looking into her cup. “I don’t want to feed them all winter just to sell them in the spring.” That should be understandable. She lifted her head and smiled. “Tell me about your sohn. Are he and your daed still getting along?”

  Hope smiled. “I’m still in awe of the miracle. God has been so gut to me.”

  “Ya,” Rosa said with a sigh.

  Dare she pray for a miracle too?

  Chapter Three

  Rosa drew a deep breath and knocked on the back door of the Englischer’s house. Maybe she should have written a note this morning and dropped it into his mailbox. She knocked again, this time harder. No answer. She glanced over her shoulder toward the barn-style shed and debated if she should check there for him. The last owner worked on cars in the building. She wished an Amish family had bought the property when it went up for sale. But real estate prices in Paradise were such that even a small place with minimal acreage was overpriced.

  The door opened, and a man in a navy T-shirt and faded jeans stepped onto the threshold. He looked to be in his thirties, maybe, with broad shoulders and longish brown hair. When he combed his fingers through his hair, she noticed a flash of silver at his temples. “Can I help you?”

  “I hope so.” She cleared her throat. “I’m Rosa Hostetler. I live next door.” She pointed to her place on the right.