by Ruth Reid
“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “You never said when it really warms up.”
“August.”
His jaw went slack. “Nay.” He couldn’t wait for August to feel his toes again.
She chuckled quietly to herself.
“August. Really?”
“Sometimes it gets hot by July.”
They came to a split-rail fence that separated the pasture from the woods. Grace crawled between the rails. “When does it get warm in Florida?”
“I thought you weren’t interested in Florida.” Ben winked.
She furrowed her brow.
Ben bounded over the fence and nearly tripped. The borrowed mucking boots slowed him down and made for a clumsy stride. He ducked under a low-hanging oak branch and spotted Grace near a cluster of birch trees.
“Florida is warm year-round, or at least you don’t need a coat. Well, some days I suppose it’s kalt enough to wear one. But I—” A thick pine branch she’d pushed out of her way snapped back and hit him in the chest. He dodged multiple other prickly branches as they trekked deeper into the woods.
They didn’t seem to be on any trail. For all he knew, she was leading him deep into the forest to leave him to fend for himself. He looked around, trying to get some sense of direction. Trees blocked the sun and the splotches of light made erratic patterns on the ground. Some of these fallen logs looked familiar—if that was possible. He had a sneaky feeling she was leading them in a large circle. “Do you know where you’re going?”
“The sawmill.”
“Mmm . . . I can’t imagine Bishop Yoder taking this route.”
“I thought you’d enjoy the scenic route. You’re nett still afraid of wolves, are you?”
He underestimated her wry sense of humor. “I’m flattered you would want to spend this much time with me.” His comment caused a bright cherry-red tint to spread over her face and neck like a bad rash. Ben winked. “I see I’ve gotten under your skin.”
“Like a festering splinter.” She tromped between a stand of jack pines, leaving a wave of prickly limbs floundering in her wake.
After he was slapped in the chest a few times with pine needles, Ben hung back a few feet. A careful observation of the side of the tree the moss was growing on explained why they didn’t seem to be going anywhere. She’d taken them in a circle. He jogged up to her on the trail. “So, how much farther?” Not that his endurance was waning. He just didn’t like the idea of wandering in the woods at night.
“Oh . . . probably another . . .” Her lips twisted and she lifted her face toward the sun and squinted.
He would let her ponder their course. They still had plenty of daylight and he rather enjoyed her company. “So, did you really kumm by the bishop’s haus every day to check on me?”
Her face flamed.
“All joking aside,” he said. “That was very nice. Danki.”
“Well, I did feel responsible for you getting sick. This harsh environment is different than what you’re used to and the river current was just too strong.”
“I am a gut swimmer.” He squared his shoulders, his muscles flexing involuntarily.
She turned and started walking.
“I am.”
Glancing over her shoulder, she barbed him with a patronizing smirk. “I’m sure you are.”
“I swim better than you hike . . . At least I don’t swim in circles,” he muttered under his breath.
“Did you say something?”
“I’m nett opposed to walking in circles with you, but you could have just said you wanted to spend time with me.”
She stopped midstep. Her back stiffened.
“I’m nett complaining. I think it’s rather creative of you to lure me into the woods.”
She gasped. Her hands fisted at her sides. “I did no such thing.”
“You do know you’ve taken us in a circle.”
She shook her head.
“Jah, since we rounded that last bend you’ve been veering off.” He pointed to the left. “I think you want to head that way.” He shrugged. “But it’s up to you. You feel up to walking more, I’ll stay the course with you.”
Her jaw twitched. She continued in the same direction several feet, then stopped. Lifting her finger to her mouth, she pointed to the right.
He scanned the area. Trees. Ferns. A fallen log. And then he saw the spotted fawn a few feet away. The sight of it wobbling on spindly legs nearly stole his breath. He leaned closer to Grace. “Where’s its mamm?”
“I think she’s lying down in the ferns,” she whispered.
Standing perfectly still, their shoulders touched. Grace was too interested with the fawn to move, and he wasn’t complaining. He wasn’t as concerned with the fawn’s well-being as he was with shoring up his friendship with Grace. She wasn’t as coarse as she pretended and that sparked his curiosity. A few moments later, another freckled fawn, not much larger than a dog, stood up.
“Twins,” he said.
Her eyes glazed and she nodded.
What was it with women and newborns? She reacted to the wild creatures as though they were human bopplis. Another time he might have snickered at her overtly sentimental reaction, but something quickened within him and he didn’t wish to disturb this moment. He stared at her as she gazed at the fawns. Everything about her had softened.
Grace sighed. “I’ve only seen—” She stepped back as if she realized how close they stood to each other. Branches crunched underfoot and her attention snapped to the deer. Standing up from the bed of ferns, the doe sniffed at the air. She flicked her tail, and a moment later the doe and the fawns were deep into the underbrush.
“We shouldn’t waste any more time.” Grace broke a new trail.
Ben traipsed behind her. “You’re always concerned about wasting time. Don’t you do anything spontaneous?” A pine-needled branch slapped him in the chest. He pushed it aside.
“You’re an adventurous soul, Ben Eicher,” she said in a condescending tone. “You’ll never be satisfied with anything mundane, will you?”
“Why should I? And more importantly, why are you?”
She shot him a glare. “It’s our way. Simple. Plain.”
“It doesn’t have to be mundane.”
The deer trail they’d been on ended at the bottom of a ravine. He knew by the way she chewed her bottom lip while studying the area that they were lost. Ben smiled. “None of this looks familiar?”
She narrowed her eyes, then proceeded forward.
He followed even though the winding, upward track didn’t seem like the wisest choice. At one point in the climb, his ears popped and he became light-headed. Maybe he hadn’t completely recovered from the flu. The passage narrowed and his foot slipped. Ben grabbed hold of a tree root and pulled himself back up. Was she testing his skills? This wouldn’t be so difficult if he had boots that fit. As it was, his feet slipped inside the boots as much as on the wet hillside. Ben crawled to the top on his knees. He pushed himself up, then extended his hand to her. She surprised him by accepting his help and even thanked him once she was standing.
He peered over the edge at the steep drop. There must be an easier way. He wasn’t about to blindly follow her lead any longer. He scanned the surroundings. The sun, directly overhead, wasn’t much help in determining the direction. He turned his face upward to receive some of its warmth. Despite the cool breeze, this was nice. He breathed in the scent of pine, closed his eyes, and smiled.
“I suppose you have the right idea. I should be praying too.”
He looked over at her. “So you admit that you’ve gotten us lost.”
She snapped open her eyes. “I’m nett lost—just twisted around . . . I think.” She turned in a complete circle, searching the area.
“Admit it.” He grinned. “We’re lost.”
She shook her head, but as she moved in another circle, her confidence seemed to waver. “I suppose mei sense of direction is a little off.”
“A lit
tle?”
Her face contorted.
“Does someone in your district even own this land?”
She shrugged.
“We’re trespassing?” This wouldn’t look good on his record. He’d promised his mother he wouldn’t get into trouble in Michigan. He patted his coat pocket for the letters—still there.
“I haven’t seen a No Trespassing sign, have you?”
“So that makes it okay?” Now he was sounding like Toby.
“Well . . .”
He smiled, captivated by the glimmer of sunlight in her eyes. She could make him forget about warm weather and sandy beaches. Standing here with Grace, he thought the scent of pine trees was suddenly more enticing than the salt air of the ocean. Ben shook his head. He must be still loopy from all the tea he drank over the past few days. This piney scent could never replace the ocean.
“Isn’t this view beautiful?” Her gaze canvassed the massive timber landscape.
He stared at her, feeling a foreboding warmth that drained his confidence and suddenly made him small in her presence. “Jah, the view is . . . overpowering. I’m glad you brought me here.”
She whirled his way, aiming her pointed finger. “I didn’t lure you.”
“Lighten up,” he said, lowering her hand. “I was joking.” But the shot of electrical current that went through him as he touched her hand was no joke.
Grace smiled as if she’d cornered him in a game of cat and mouse. “So you’re nett missing Florida?”
“Jah, well . . .” His throat went dry. He was the mouse. He swallowed hard. “It’s . . . different here.” Now his palms were moist. He must still be sick. Girls didn’t typically affect him like this. He wasn’t sure he liked this weakened state of mind, nor did he trust a cat. “Kumm on,” he said. “Let’s try this direction.” He headed to the right for no other reason than the ridge was wider. “Watch your step.” He didn’t want her tripping on the rocks, and he wasn’t sure he trusted the sandy soil either. It felt loose under his feet.
After they had been hiking awhile, Ben glanced over his shoulder. “You’re awfully quiet. Do you want to stop and rest?”
“Nay, I’m fine.”
He stopped anyway. Across the ravine, what looked like a large opening in the side of the hill caught his eye. “What do you think that is?”
“This must be the area mei bruders talked about exploring when they were younger. The boys used to tell stories about a cave entrance at the bottom of a sinkhole.”
“Sinkhole?” He peered down at the rocky hillside. It had to be over a hundred feet straight down.
“According to the rumors, the cave is over a mile long and comes out at an old prospector’s cabin, or I should say a stone chimney, because that’s all that remained after the cabin caught fire.” She raised her brows and wiggled them. “People say the place is cursed. The prospector’s partner killed him with a shovel and the last family to own the cabin died in the fire set by their deranged son.”
He’d heard plenty of rumors about cursed ships when he worked on the fishing boat, but he refused to believe them. Grace seemed too smart to believe such nonsense. Still, he had to ask, “You believe in curses?”
“Is greed a curse? Supposedly, there’s either copper or silver underground.” She shrugged. “It might just be a bear den.”
“Let’s get out of here. We’re not going down into that sinkhole to find out if that’s a cave at the bottom.”
“Gut. This time of year it wouldn’t be wise. I’m sure there are a few bears that haven’t come out of hibernation yet.”
Ben was thinking more about getting off the rim of a sinkhole and onto safer ground. He hadn’t given any thought to bears. Hungry bears. Another reason—a good reason—they needed to focus on finding their way out of the woods.
Chapter Thirteen
Ben found a remnant of an old timber-cut road that wasn’t too far from the sinkhole. Although downed poplar trees and pines prevented vehicles from having access to the road, Ben managed to follow the old trail. It went on for miles and led them through a swampy section. Cutting through the dense underbrush left him wet, cold, and scratched up.
Ben paused and lifted his hand to his ear. “Cars. We must be close to the main road.”
“Finally.”
They maneuvered their way through another stand of pines before reaching the road. A car zoomed by as Ben climbed out of the ditch. He reached for Grace’s hand and helped her up the drainage embankment.
Relief washed over her face and she smiled. “I know where we are nau.”
“Oh gut. I was hoping we wouldn’t have to backtrack.” He coughed into his fisted hand. The cool air on his ears and the long hike had worn him down. He hoped he wasn’t getting sick again.
Grace pointed to the south. “The sawmill isn’t too far from here.”
They walked along the gravel shoulder of the road, which made it faster than stumbling through the woods. Ben didn’t care if he ever saw another tree. He wanted to get off his feet, and judging by the grimace on Grace’s face, she did too.
He walked slower, noticing her struggle to keep his pace. She was a trooper, but by the time they reached the mill, even his steps were dragging.
A horse whinnied as they neared the barn. Smoke billowed from a stovepipe that protruded from the roof. He looked over at Grace and smiled. At least it would be warm inside and they shouldn’t have to walk back.
A blast of warm air and the scent of cedar welcomed him into the pole barn. The room hummed with saws and hammers. It took a few moments for Ben’s eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, but eventually a long table in the center of the building came into view. Several women and a group of young boys guided a piece of lumber down the table and through the large blade of the table saw. Sawdust sprayed the air as Toby and the bishop stood at the opposite end of the saw and received the cut lumber.
Grace tapped his arm and said something Ben couldn’t decipher over the buzz of the saw. He cupped his ear and bent toward her. “What did you say?”
Grace wiggled her index finger and motioned with a nod for him to follow her over to a couple of wooden chairs along the wall. On this side of the barn, a few feet from the generator, a mixture of gasoline and exhaust overpowered the scent of fresh-cut lumber. In the wall behind the machine was a small opening that held a fan, but it wasn’t enough to vent the fumes. He sat.
“You’ll get used to the noise,” she shouted.
Ben wasn’t sure his ears would ever stop ringing, but noise wasn’t the major concern. She should worry about the toxic smoke the old machine was pumping into the room—a stench no one should get used to.
He tapped the empty chair beside him. “Are you going to rest? You must be tired.”
Grace looked around the room as if to see if anyone would object, then sat.
Ben leaned closer. “Feels gut to sit, doesn’t it?”
She nodded.
Taking a deep breath, his chest tightened. He turned and coughed into his fisted hand.
Toby tossed a plank onto a pile at the far end of the pole barn and walked toward them, wiping sawdust from his gloved hands. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to get up today or nett,” he said to Ben. “Are you feeling better?”
“I was.” Thankfully the barn was heated and it wouldn’t be long before he thawed. Ben caught a glimpse of Grace’s downcast expression. “The fresh air did me gut,” he said with an upbeat tone. “I’m feeling like myself again.” He wasn’t, but he didn’t want Grace feeling guilty for getting them lost.
“Gut.” Toby pointed to the stack of lumber. “Those need cutting and there’s more outside. We’re working on an order that will be shipped to Cedar Creek, another Amish settlement about one hundred miles from here.”
“I think Ben needs a hot cup of kaffi first.” Grace rose. “Would you like a cup, Toby?”
“Danki, but I have some.” He pointed across the room to a mug sitting on a knee-high stack of lumber.
Toby glanced at the first envelope, then flipped to the next and smiled. He muttered his thanks without looking up and walked over to where his coffee mug sat.
Ben opened his letter. A five-dollar bill fluttered to the floor. Now he could buy batteries for his transistor radio. He picked it up and blew the flecks of sawdust off it before shoving it into his pocket.
Dear Ben,
I pray your trip was good and that you are adjusting all right. I thought I would have received a letter from you by now. Toby sent a letter home, so I know you both made it to Michigan. How is the wedder? Here, we’ve had rain over the past few days. The azalea bushes are in full bloom, even the ones you and Toby planted by the bank are blossoming.
Your father is busy in his shop. He sends his hello.
Ben paused. Even with thousands of miles between them, his mother was still trying to keep the peace between his father and him. Impossible. His father had lost respect for Ben and he was a man who rarely changed his mind. Daed probably didn’t know anything about the money Mamm sent. She would have snuck it out of her seed fund. He continued reading. She wrote about the large garden she hoped to put in, gave him a quick update on many of the members—nothing he didn’t already know—and ended the letter with her hope to see him soon.
“A letter from home?” Grace stood, coffee mug in hand. She lifted her brows.
“Ah . . . Jah.” He cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry, did I interrupt you? Should I wait over—?”
“Nay.” He folded the letter. “I’m finished.”
She handed him a mug, sat in the chair beside him, then bounded to her feet. “Are you sure I’m nett”—her eyes flitted to the letter in his hand—“interrupting?”
“Nay, you’re nett.” He jammed the letter into his pocket. “Please, sit.”
She hesitated a moment, then sat.
