An Amish Miracle

by Beth Wiseman

  He had so looked forward to eating supper with her. Now he just wanted to go home.

  Rosa sipped her coffee as she waited for sunrise. Adam was right. She had lost her mind. She’d spent most of her sleepless night praying for the dog, its yelping cry replaying in her mind. How could she have let anger take control of her actions? She was ashamed of her lack of self-control. She hadn’t intended to shoot the dog, only to fire into the air. The gun went off accidently while she was loading it.

  Still, if the dog died . . .

  Rosa glanced out the kitchen window. The sky was turning a lighter shade of blue. She pulled her cape off the hook next to the door, pushed her feet into a pair of shin-high mud boots, and headed outside. No matter what Adam said, she was going to search for that dog.

  The cool morning air frosted her breath as she walked. She slipped under the pasture fence and plodded over the furrowed ground. Birds chirped as she entered the woods. She hiked the winding, red- and yellow-leaf-covered path and stopped at the creek. The dog wasn’t anywhere in sight.

  Perhaps it didn’t run off to the woods to die. Maybe it was all right. Even so, she had to keep searching. She chose a different path home, weaving around the towering oaks and maples with no success.

  Finally, she tromped out of the woods, but instead of coming out on her property, she found herself on her neighbor’s land. She had already cut halfway across the field when she decided to double back. Since Tate Wade’s dog pens were on the backside of his barn, it wouldn’t be too difficult to count the number of dogs in the kennels.

  As she neared the cages, the dogs charged and she jumped back, clutching her chest. This wasn’t a good idea. The noisy commotion was bound to draw attention. She took a quick count. One missing.

  Behind her, a man cleared his throat.

  She turned toward him, smoothing out the wrinkles on the front of her dress with her hands. “Good morning, Mr. Wade.”

  “Mrs. Hostetler.” His tone was as cold as his unblinking, dark eyes. “What do you plan to do, destroy my other dogs?”

  “I, ah . . .”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I had no idea how cruel you were. I thought Amish people didn’t believe in violence.”

  She flinched. No one had ever described her that way. Then again, she’d never taken a shot at someone’s dog. She lowered her head.

  “My prized German shorthaired pointer’s leg was shot.”

  “I’m sorry. It was an accident.”

  “For your sake, he’d better recover. His champion bloodline will cost a great deal to replace.” Rosa watched, alarmed, as his face flushed a dark red.

  For your sake? Was that a threat?

  “I do hope your dog makes a full recovery,” she said. “But I’d like him to live on your side of the property line, not mine.”

  “I don’t want to see you near my kennels again.”

  Rosa nodded. “Again, I’m sorry.” She circled to leave. The quicker she could get home, the sooner her heart would stop pounding so hard.

  “I’ll let you know when I receive the final bill from the vet.”

  She turned and traipsed across the pasture that separated their properties and came up on the backside of her barn. He expected her to pay? She had suffered losses too.

  “The dog might be a champion, but he’s also a killer,” she muttered under her breath. “The man doesn’t care about the chickens I lost.”

  Rosa stomped closer to the fence talking to herself. Even as she fumed, she realized that this wasn’t about evening the score. The gun might have misfired, but that didn’t erase the fact that she shot the dog.

  Adam looked up from cleaning a horse’s hoof. “What do you do, go to bed mad and wake up even madder?” He lowered the mare’s front leg and straightened his back, hoof pick in hand. His stare followed her as she closed the gap between them.

  Last night he was too upset to eat supper, or to even let her know he’d left the chicken feed on the porch. She didn’t want him upset with her today. “Guder mariye,” she said, keeping her voice calm.

  He stepped closer. “Were you out looking for that dog?”

  She nodded.

  “Rosa . . .” He shook his head.

  She winced at his tone. “I felt awful. The gun went off accidently.” Her throat tightened as her mind reeled with what could have happened.

  “That’s a gut reason for you nett to have a gun in the haus. You don’t know how to use it.”

  He was right. Rosa had never shot a gun before last night. She didn’t want to admit that she nearly dropped the gun when it kicked.

  “I’ve never seen you like this.” He softened his tone. “I’m worried.”

  She forced a smile and pulled her emotions back. “I’m going to put a pot of kaffi on after I feed the chickens. Would you like a cup?” She fully expected him to decline.

  “Sure.”

  “Oh . . . okay.” Rosa motioned to the barn as she started walking in that direction. “I have to feed the chickens first.”

  Inside the barn, she leaned into the barrel and scooped up the last remnants of corn. In a pinch, she could use some of the chick feed, but it contained additives that she didn’t like to feed to her egg-producing chickens.

  The feed barrel was a metaphor of her life—empty. She was at the bottom of the barrel, both figuratively and literally. Financially and emotionally, she was barely scraping by.

  She stepped outside and shook the can. Several hens flocked around her as she rattled the grain. One of her noisiest hens, Gabby, was missing. So were Chuckles and Chops. She tossed the remaining grain and hurried into the coop. Gabby was on the ground dead.

  Rosa gritted her teeth and turned her eyes to the heavens. “Why, God?”

  She felt a tug on her arm and turned to see Adam at her side. “Kumm on.”

  “I have to . . . gather the eggs . . . and . . .” All her reserve failed her, and the tears came.

  “Shh.” As though she belonged in his arms, he steadied her against him and guided her head to his shoulder. “I’ll bring the eggs inside.”

  She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of soap. For a moment she just rested there, comforted by the feeling of his arms around her. Then she opened her eyes and caught a glimpse of his mother staring in their direction as she hung laundry on the line.

  Rosa pushed away from him and ran to the house. The only man to have enfolded her in his arms was Uriah. She never believed another man would hold her.

  A few moments later Adam knocked on the back door and came into the kitchen. “Had you already gathered some eggs?”

  “Nee, why?” She got up and prepared the teapot. Anything to calm the jitters.

  “I only found six.” He extended his hands, each holding three brown eggs.

  “What?”

  “I looked through all the roosting boxes.”

  “How can that be?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe the dog traumatized them. I wouldn’t worry about it. You’ll have eggs tomorrow.”

  “I am worried. I have deliveries scheduled. People are relying on those eggs.” As it was, the six he collected were the ones she had promised to the Thompsons to make up what they’d been shorted.

  “Folks will understand.”

  She shook her head.

  The lines on his forehead crinkled. “Do you want me to look again?”

  “I’ll do it.” Without putting on her cape, she went outside.

  Adam followed her into the coop. She searched each nesting box, but he was right. All forty-some chickens had stopped laying.

  Adam washed down the last bite of peanut butter sandwich with a drink of milk. His mother had paced the kitchen since serving him lunch. He wasn’t sure if he should ask her why or pretend she wasn’t fretting about something.

  “What did Claire and her mamm prepare for supper last nacht?”

  “I didn’t have supper with the Milners.”

  His mother didn’t look too surpris
ed. Perhaps she’d heard the gunshot and the commotion in Rosa’s yard. She wrung her hands together, busied herself at the counter for a moment, then turned to face him. “You’re spending a great deal of time at Widow Hostetler’s haus.”

  The widow reference wasn’t lost on him. His mother liked Rosa, or he thought she did. The only negative comment he’d ever heard was about Rosa’s inability to have children. Perhaps his mother viewed barrenness as a curse.

  “I wish you wouldn’t spend so much time with her.”

  Adam pushed his chair away from the table. “I promised Uriah I would look after Rosa.”

  “Isn’t it asking a lot for Claire to wait for Rosa’s time of mourning to pass? I’m sure Uriah didn’t expect you to spend so much time—”

  “Before you finish, you might want to look again at this.” Adam jerked the hem of his collarless shirt down and pointed to the burn scars on his neck. “Uriah died trying to save me.”

  “And I’m grateful. It’s just that . . .”

  He glanced out the window at the empty lot where the barn once was. “Rosa’s life wouldn’t have been turned upside down if I had died in that fire instead of Uriah.”

  Mamm bowed her head.

  Adam swiped his hat from the table. “I’m going into town.”

  He needed to buy a roll of chicken wire. Something he should have done after the dog attacked Rosa’s chickens the first time. Erecting a fence was the only way to keep the flock safe, and even that wasn’t a guarantee.

  Tomorrow was Sunday. Rosa needed to get away from the farm, to spend time in fellowship. Lately, she’d become so consumed with her chickens that she’d almost lost sight of the people who cared about her. If he didn’t put up some fencing, she’d spend Sunday services at home watching over those hens.

  He wanted to blame sleep deprivation for her odd behavior, but it had to be something more. She had pulled away when he held her. He could only conclude that she was repulsed by his scars. Thank goodness he hadn’t tried to kiss her.

  Still, the memories of holding her lingered. It felt right to have her in his arms. Her head nestled on his shoulder, her warm breath driving fire to his core.

  He shook his head.

  She didn’t share the same feelings. She would never fall in love with him, not the man who was to blame for her husband’s death.

  Chapter Eight

  After another sleepless night, staying attentive during the three-hour church service proved challenging. Rosa shifted on the wooden bench. The same thoughts of Adam that had assailed her mind last night continued to vie for her attention today. But every time she recalled the warmth of his embrace or the thumping of his heartbeat against her ear, she thought about Eunice, standing at the clothesline gaping at them.

  She could only guess what Eunice thought of her now, after seeing that public display of affection. Rosa had wilted against him as if she belonged in his arms.

  But Adam was just a kind man, that was all. A man who would offer a comforting gesture to anyone in distress.

  Rosa felt a poke in her ribs and glanced sideways at Hope. The service had ended and the members were starting to stand. Rosa stood and stretched. Hope thrust Faith into her arms.

  “Will you hold her while I get mei potato casserole out of the buggy?”

  “Of course.”

  Rosa cradled the sleeping infant and fought against a rising tide of jealousy. It was hard not to be envious of her best friend. Four beautiful daughters and a fine son, not to mention a loving husband. Everything Rosa wanted, Hope had.

  Becky Byler appeared with her arms outstretched. “Do you want me to take her?”

  “Don’t you want to join your friends?”

  Becky shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.” But her downcast expression and slumped shoulders didn’t match her words. It did matter.

  Most of the unmarried girls congregated together during the fellowship hours. Even as they helped with the meal preparations, they stayed tight-knit, whispering among themselves. Becky Byler didn’t fit in with that bunch.

  Rosa released Faith into Becky’s arms. If the girl needed something to do instead of interacting with the other young folks, Rosa wouldn’t monopolize time with the infant. Besides, she hadn’t planned on staying for the meal. She didn’t want to leave the chickens unattended for too long.

  Rosa spotted Hope coming from the house and walked across the lawn to meet her.

  “I’m going to head home,” Rosa said. “Becky Byler is watching Faith.”

  “Home already? Are you nett feeling well?” Hope eyed Rosa suspiciously.

  “I feel fine.” She leaned closer. “I don’t trust the neighbor to keep his dogs in the kennel, and I don’t want to lose any more chickens.”

  “Oh, Rosa, listen to yourself. You’re willing to sacrifice Sunday fellowship to watch your chickens? Don’t let a dog control your life.”

  “It isn’t just mei laying hens. I have to feed mei chicks.”

  “When did you get new chicks?”

  “A gift from Adam.”

  Hope’s brows lifted.

  “Don’t read anything into it,” Rosa warned. “He felt bad that I had lost so many chickens.”

  Hope smiled. “Adam’s sweet, ya?”

  Rosa had already said too much. This wasn’t the time or place to talk about Adam. “We can chat one day next week after I make mei deliveries.”

  “Ya, it sounds like we have some catching up to do.”

  “Don’t be mapping out a spot in mei garden for a celery crop,” Rosa said. “It isn’t like that.”

  The reference to celery, traditionally served at their weddings, made Hope laugh.

  Rosa turned toward the row of parked buggies. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “You need to consider building a fence for your chickens.”

  “Adam already built one.” She kept walking, ignoring Hope, who was demanding to hear more.

  Halfway to her buggy, Rosa heard someone call her name. She turned. “Hiya, Peter.”

  He ambled closer. “I heard you wanted to sell your plow team.”

  “Ya, are you interested?” Normally buying and selling were not discussed on Sunday, but she took it as a sign from God to keep hope that she could raise the money she needed.

  “Maybe. I’d like to look at them. Say tomorrow?”

  “Sure. I get back from mei egg deliveries around ten.”

  “I’ll see you then.” He turned back toward the crowd.

  Danki, God. The money from the draft horses plus her savings would more than cover her taxes. She caught a glimpse of Adam in the distance, carrying a bean crock in one arm and guiding Widow Esther by the elbow with his other. Since her stroke, Esther wasn’t too steady. Adam showed great patience walking beside her, matching his stride to her short, shuffling steps. The other unmarried men were hanging around near the unmarried women, Claire Milner among the group.

  Rosa continued toward the parked buggies. She had reached Blossom when she heard footsteps behind her.

  “You’re nett leaving already, are you?” Adam asked.

  “Ya.” She untied the reins from the post.

  “I saw you talking with Peter Zook . . .” His voice trailed and he looked down at the ground and toed a stone.

  “He’s interested in buying mei plow team.”

  “I heard you might be selling them.” He looked up at her. “I don’t think it’s wise. You’ll get a better price if you wait until spring.”

  Spring was too late. “I have to sell them nau. I can’t afford to feed them this winter if I don’t have eggs to sell.”

  The womenfolk were busy taking food into the barn while the men loitered in a circle by a piece of farm equipment. They were not within earshot, but she still didn’t want to continue discussing the sale of her horses. It wouldn’t take much to figure out she was broke and selling the team was a necessity.

  “How did your new girls do in the brooder haus I built?”

  Rosa smiled.
“Fine, but I still think there are a lot of roosters in that flock.”

  “Maybe so.” A grin split his face. “I like chicken dinner.”

  Looking past him, she caught sight of Claire and Mark Raber talking next to the barn. Rosa must not have disguised her shocked expression, because Adam turned to see what she was looking at.

  He stared silently.

  “You better get back to the group.” It hadn’t been that long ago that whispers had spread of Adam sitting with Claire on her parents’ porch swing.

  He faced her. “I’d rather talk with you.”

  “I have to check on mei chickens.”

  “Your chickens are safe. Besides, if you leave nau, what will you eat?”

  “Probably chicken.”

  “Rosa.” He frowned.

  “I also want to see if they laid any eggs,” she said. “You said that the fence would give them a sense of security and they’d start producing again.”

  “You hover over those boxes like you expect them to lay a golden egg.” He unearthed another stone with the tip of his boot. “Do you remember the nacht a bunch of us stood under that old oak?” He motioned to the large tree on the far corner of the property.

  As children, they had played under most every tree in the district at one time or another.

  “It was raining.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I asked to drive you home from the singing. You don’t remember?”

  “You were joking.”

  “Nee, I was serious.” Adam leaned toward her ear. “If we walked over to that tree and I asked you today, what would you say?”

  She looked at him. Her heart began to race as if she were nineteen again. “We’re too old to attend the youth singings,” she said, and climbed into the buggy.

  Adam watched as Rosa’s buggy rolled away. He couldn’t have made his intentions any more direct, and she rejected him, just as she had so many years ago. He understood the past. Later that same night she accepted Uriah’s invitation. But now . . .

  Adam sighed. She hadn’t been interested in him then, and she wasn’t attracted to him now. He rejoined the others for the meal, but his appetite was gone. There was only one thing on his mind: how could he fulfill his promise to Uriah to look after Rosa, while keeping his heart at a distance?