An Amish Miracle

by Beth Wiseman

  “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Tate Wade.” His smile was warm enough to melt a slab of butter straight from the icehaus, but she wondered briefly if it was completely genuine.

  “Mr. Wade, I’m not sure if you’re aware of it, but your dog killed one of mei chickens.” His expression went blank. She wanted to give him the benefit of doubt, but how could he have missed the commotion? Frown lines stretched across his forehead as she continued. “The ruckus late last night.” She hesitated. “You do own a large dog, don’t you?” She made a hand gesture a few inches above her knee to indicate the approximate size.

  “I own several, but I don’t allow them to roam free.”

  Was he implying her chickens shouldn’t be allowed to roam? It would be different if her chickens had been on his property when the attack took place. She cleared her throat again. “One of your dogs attacked my chickens. In my barnyard.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest.

  If only she had left a note in his mailbox instead of confronting him. “I’m not asking you to pay for the chicken,” she said in a calm tone. “Only that you keep your dog out of my yard—out of my chicken coop.”

  “I told you. My dogs are in the kennels.” He pointed toward the barn. “Even if they escaped the kennel, they wouldn’t have escaped the barn. And on the off chance that one did, it’s unlikely that he would break into a chicken coop. All of my dogs are highly trained.”

  “I leave the door to my coop open so my chickens can come and go.”

  “I wouldn’t advise that or you’ll have more trouble with wild animals.”

  She shook her head. “It wasn’t a wild animal. It was a dog. I saw it with the chicken in it’s mouth.”

  “Then it’s probably a stray.” He made a slight nod as if trying to coax her into agreeing. When she didn’t, he shrugged. “I don’t know what else to say.”

  “I’ve heard that once a dog has a taste for blood its disposition often changes. I just wanted to make you aware of the situation. Good day, Mr. Wade.”

  She turned and stepped off the porch. There was nothing more to do. No doubt he’d deny unleashing the dogs last weekend when they went off in the direction of the woods. Sure, the dogs responded to the man’s whistle, but that didn’t mean one wouldn’t chase her chickens if its master wasn’t around.

  What would she have to do now, stand watch day and night?

  Adam washed up and changed into his Sunday clothes before supper. He wet the comb with tap water, then slid it through his hair. But every time he flattened his hair down, the curls flipped back up, exposing his missing earlobe. He touched the grafted area on his neck where he’d been burned. Without a collar on his shirt, he couldn’t even pull the material up to cover the scars. This was one time when he wished the Ordung didn’t have such strict rules about the way they dressed.

  He didn’t consider it vanity, the wish to hide the scar from Rosa. Looking at him had to be a raw reminder of her losses. He foolishly went inside the blazing barn to free the horses, and there hadn’t been a day since that Adam wasn’t painfully aware of what that decision had cost. His best friend, Uriah Hostetler, died to save Adam. Guilt tore through him when he looked into Rosa’s eyes and found restrained animosity. He didn’t blame her. But Adam begged God to give her the desire to forgive.

  He tossed the comb aside. Nothing he did could shield the scars. Nothing could hide the past. It would have to do.

  Rosa hadn’t arrived yet when he entered the kitchen.

  His mother paused from pouring coffee, tilted her face up, and sniffed at the air. “What’s that smell?”

  “Soap. The same stuff I use every day.”

  “You must nett have rinsed it off.” She continued filling the cups, then shot him a sideways glance as he reached into the cabinet for a water glass. “I’m glad you changed your clothes. We’re having company.”

  Adam cocked his head sideways, but before he could remind his mother that he was the one who told her about Rosa planning to bring chicken tonight, someone knocked on the back door.

  He opened the door expecting Rosa, but instead Claire Milner stood on the stoop. “Claire,” was all he could muster for a greeting. They had only seen each other once outside of church meetings since the fire.

  She smiled nervously. “I brought an apple pie.”

  He looked beyond her at the buggy leaving.

  “Mei bruder dropped me off,” she said.

  Mamm darted around the corner. “I’m so glad you were able to kumm for supper.” She took the pie so Claire could remove her cape. Then after nudging Adam to take the cloak from their guest, Mamm led Claire to the kitchen.

  Just as Adam hung the garment on the hook, someone else knocked on the door. This time it was Rosa. “Hello.” He swung the door open wider and stepped aside, but she didn’t move from the threshold.

  “I just wanted to drop this off.” She extended the dish toward him.

  “You’re nett staying?”

  His mother bounded out of the kitchen. “Is that Rosa?” She reached in front of him for Rosa’s hand and led her inside. “I hope you don’t mind. I had already invited Claire Milner for supper before Adam said you were bringing over a chicken.”

  “Nee. There’s plenty of food. But—”

  “I have the kaffi already poured,” Mamm said, helping Rosa out of her cape. “I missed you at the last widows’ get-together.”

  Rosa’s jaw twitched.

  His mother didn’t seem to notice. She directed Rosa to the kitchen.

  Adam followed behind them carrying the warm meal. He set the dish in the center of the table next to the bowl of pickled beets and plate of sliced bread.

  “Hiya, Rosa,” Claire said. “Do you take cream or sugar in your kaffi?”

  “Just cream, please.”

  Adam craned his neck toward the dish. “So what did you make out of—?” Penny, he remembered. The hen’s name was Penny. He stopped himself before finishing the sentence. Don’t be an insensitive fool, he thought. “Did you make dumplings?”

  “Chicken casserole with acorn squash.”

  Claire set a steaming mug of coffee in front of Adam as Mamm set one with cream in front of Rosa.

  “Adam told me about the neighbor’s dog,” Mamm said once they were all seated and grace was given.

  “The neighbor won’t admit his dog did any harm.”

  “You talked with him?” Adam’s jaw went slack.

  Rosa nodded. “It didn’t do any good.”

  The dog had only killed one chicken. Adam found it odd that Rosa didn’t just let it go. Then again, she named her chickens. And last night she was angry enough to consider shooting the dog.

  “Hopefully the dog won’t bother you anymore,” he said. “Then it won’t matter if the neighbor admits to owning the dog or nett, right?” He spooned a large helping of casserole onto his plate and passed it to Claire.

  “This was very kind of you to share with us tonight.” Mamm sampled the food and smiled. “It’s very tasty.”

  “It’s a recipe passed down from mei grossmammi to mei mamm, and then down to me.” Rosa’s voice faded.

  Mamm was too busy adding pickled beets to her plate to notice how Rosa’s expression changed. Adam suspected it had nothing to do with the actual family recipes, and everything to do with not having children to pass them down to.

  “I have a book saved with recipes to pass on to mei kinskind one day.” Mamm shot an obvious glance at Claire and smiled.

  Adam coughed and cleared his throat. After the fire, he and Claire had put their courtship on hold. He didn’t want to get married until things were back on course with his horse-training business. That, and he had promised Uriah that he would look after Rosa. Claire seemed to take the postponement well enough, although neither of them thought it would be this long.

  “Did you hear about the get-together tomorrow at Katherine’s haus?” Mamm asked Rosa.

  Rosa shook her head.

  “A
few of us widows are getting together to sew.” His mother droned on about the planned frolic, unaware she had lost her audience, except for Claire who must have felt it her duty to follow along.

  Mamm seemed oblivious, but Adam noticed how Rosa winced every time the word widow was used.

  “Why don’t you plan on joining us, Rosa?”

  “Oh, I don’t think I can. I have plans.” Rosa fiddled with the corner of her napkin.

  His mother stared at Rosa for a moment, then gently shook her head and forked the casserole on her plate. “Did you put garlic in this?”

  The conversation shifted to spices and cooking, with Claire chiming in about her favorite dishes. Adam ate silently but observed closely. Until today he hadn’t compared Rosa with Claire. But watching them now, he could see that Rosa was reserved, while Claire giggled and shared lofty plans of cooking for a large family one day.

  He supposed that was a normal dream for most women. Still, he wished Claire wouldn’t talk so much. Didn’t she see Rosa’s down-turned mouth? Couldn’t she tell that Rosa was torn up?

  “A slice of your pie sounds gut,” he said to Claire.

  Mamm stood. “I’ll pour us more kaffi while Claire serves dessert.”

  It was late by the time they were finished. Rosa stood. “I’ll help with dishes, Eunice.”

  “Nee, I need something to do.”

  Adam glanced at Claire. “I’ll hitch up the buggy so I can take you home.”

  Rosa scooted to the door, slipped on her cape, and reached for the doorknob.

  He snagged his hat from the hook, grabbed his coat, and followed her outside. “Would you like me to walk you home?”

  “I’ll be all right.” She disappeared into the darkness before he could thank her for the meal.

  Adam quickly readied the buggy and drove Claire home. Neither spoke on the ride other than to agree how chilly it had turned since the sun went down. He stopped the buggy next to her house, and Claire reached for his arm.

  “You didn’t know your mamm invited me tonight, did you?”

  “Nee.”

  “When do you think you’ll be ready to . . . ?” Her voice quivered.

  “Claire, I told you before. I gave Uriah mei word that I would watch over Rosa.”

  “What does that mean exactly? It’s been two years. Surely you’re ready to move—” She paused a moment before continuing. “I don’t want to wait any longer, Adam. Mei friends are all getting married, and I’m watching mei life pass me by.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t share the same feelings for me anymore, do you?”

  He wanted to be truthful. The fire had changed him. It seemed more and more he wanted Rosa’s approval. He wanted her forgiveness.

  “I don’t know how I feel.” He reached for Claire’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “But I don’t want you to feel like your life is passing you by either.”

  “Mark Raber has asked me to go for a ride in his buggy next Sunday afternoon.”

  “He’s a gut man.”

  “Then you think I should say yes?”

  He understood the ultimatum. “I want you to be happy. If I hear someone else is courting you, I’ll understand.”

  “I see.” Claire opened the buggy door. “Gut-bye, Adam.” She hurried into the house before Adam had time to set the brake. He turned the horse for home. Without fully understanding why, relief washed over him.

  A light shone in Rosa’s kitchen window as he pulled into the drive. He took care of his horse, rolled the buggy under the lean-to, then meandered across the yard and knocked on her door.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  “I didn’t want you to be alarmed when a strange truck pulls up to your barn. I have a potential buyer who wants to look at mei horses tomorrow.”

  “I know you’ve worked hard to train them. I’m glad you’ve found a buyer.”

  “Ya, well, I won’t know that until tomorrow.”

  “Would you wait a minute? I have something I’d like you to take home.” She disappeared behind the door and a moment later returned with a small basket. “Ask your mamm if she will give these eggs to the widows tomorrow at their get-together.”

  “That’s very kind, but why don’t you join them?”

  “Adam, it’s late. I need to go to bed now.” She said good night and closed the door.

  He trekked over the leaf-covered lawn and stomped the dirt and debris from the bottom of his boots before entering the house.

  “You weren’t gone long.” His mother eyed the basket as he set it on the counter.

  “Rosa sent some eggs for your get-together tomorrow.” He grabbed The Budget to scan the newspaper for upcoming horse auctions. He expected his mother to quiz him about Claire but she didn’t.

  “Rosa is such a thoughtful dear.” Mamm lifted the cloth covering the eggs. “She needs a husband.”

  He stared at the newspaper’s typed words but hadn’t read a line.

  “I was thinking Peter Zook would be a gut husband for Rosa.”

  Peter? Had his mother gone narrisch? He cleared his throat. “Peter Zook is almost twice her age.”

  “Exactly.”

  Mamm wasn’t usually this far removed from reality. Peter had married and buried three wives and fathered fourteen children. He certainly didn’t need to add Rosa to his lot.

  “She’s barren,” his mother said. “No young man would knowingly marry her. She needs a husband who is beyond child-rearing days. A widower like Peter is perfect.”

  “Perfect?” He folded the paper and stood. One thing he’d learned since watching over his friend’s widow, she was stubbornly independent. She wouldn’t marry someone who didn’t measure up to Uriah—and nobody could.

  “Claire made a wunderbaar pie, ya?”

  “I have an early day tomorrow.”

  Adam left the kitchen. Before going to bed, he stood at his bedroom window and looked toward Rosa’s house. He rubbed the leathery area of his neck where he’d been burned.

  So much had changed.

  Too much.

  Chapter Four

  Rosa swiped the steamy kitchen window with the dish towel to get a clear view of the truck and horse trailer. She watched as Adam greeted the driver with a handshake and led the man into the barn.

  The glass fogged again. She turned away from the window and removed the hissing kettle from the stove, then filled her cup with boiling water and let the lemony tea bag steep while she buttered a slice of bread.

  After the barn fire, Adam had spent several months recovering from his burns, and afterward the horses needed retraining. He had put his heart and soul into those horses—a form of therapy for himself, no doubt. At first Rose regretted the decision to let him keep his horses in her barn. The horses had nothing to do with lightning setting the barn on fire, and yet she despised the creatures. But the arrival of the truck and trailer this morning made her realize that she would miss the activity once he sold the stock.

  Rosa blew gently over the surface of her tea, then took a sip. She opened the journal where she kept a record of the egg sales, scanned halfway down the list, then stopped. Why did she constantly feel the need to review the list and count her expected earnings? She knew the weekly delivery schedule by heart. Her orders never changed, except when the bakery requested extra eggs over the holidays.

  She slapped the journal closed. When had she become so obsessed with tracking money?

  Rosa knew the answer. But she couldn’t allow the looming taxes to consume her mind. Constantly worrying didn’t help the situation.

  It wasn’t like she had no place to go. Aenti Lilly had offered her a place to stay after Uriah died. At that time, Rosa had respectfully declined. Paradise was her home and starting over again in Ohio wasn’t something she wanted to consider. But now . . .

  She ran her hand over the journal. She needed to sell more eggs in order to keep her house. Or come up with something else to sell.

  A
horse whinnied, and she rose from the chair and looked out the window. Adam’s hard work had paid off. He led the horse up the trailer ramp, then went back inside the barn and came out with another one. By the time the men shook hands, all four of Adam’s horses had been loaded into the trailer.

  Rosa filled the kettle with more water and set it on the stove. She had enough time to share a cup with Adam before retrieving the eggs.

  She smiled at the slight bounce in Adam’s step as the truck and trailer pulled away. But instead of coming to share the news, he was heading home.

  A heaviness filled her chest. Loneliness was normal—understandable—when it came to missing Uriah. But . . . was she really having that response to Adam?

  Rosa rubbed her eyes. She wasn’t thinking straight. Probably the lack of sleep or worry over the taxes. Clearly, Adam was moving forward, and by the furtive glances Claire made toward him at supper last night, there probably was more to the horse sale than met the eye. Now he would have money to put a down payment on a place of his own.

  Rosa just needed to trust God’s provision. He would provide the means to save her farm. Nothing was too difficult for God.

  “Nothing,” she said, snatching the egg basket from the counter.

  She left the house with renewed hope. But when she spotted another dead chicken inside the coop, everything changed.

  The lifeless hen made Rosa’s stomach clench. She couldn’t tell how long the chicken had been dead. Better bury it, just to be safe. She ducked into the barn and retrieved the shovel, then went out back and began to dig. What she really wanted to do was not bury the bird but deposit it on her neighbor’s stoop. He should see what his dog did.

  She dug faster. She had to get the dead carcass in the ground before she allowed bitterness to take root.

  She heard the crunch of gravel and turned to see Hope Bowman climbing out of her buggy. “I’m out here in the garden,” Rosa called.

  Hope lifted Faith off the bench and strolled over to the edge of the dried cornstalks. “I thought you might stop by after your deliveries.”

  “I’m running behind. I haven’t even collected the eggs.” She motioned to the bloody chicken at the bottom of the hole. “Look what I found this morning.”