The Amish Wonders Collection

by Ruth Reid

  She peeked inside the oven, then removed the cookie sheet and placed it on a cooling rack. “You’re just in time to sample the first batch.”

  “They smell great.” His mouth watered, watching her place the cookies on a plate.

  She set the dish on the table. “You might want to give them a minute to cool,” she said with a chuckle as he reached for one. Erma pulled the chair out from under the table opposite him and sat. “So, tell me how you found Grace. I was worried sick about you two.”

  “Do you believe in miracles?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Just as it was getting dark, the entire sky lit up in color. It was a miracle.”

  Erma patted his hand. “That was the northern lights. I’m sure living in Florida you’ve never seen them. Although, in all mei years, I’ve never seen them so bright that they lit the sky like it was daylight.”

  “A miracle,” he said, reaching for a cookie. “I prayed for the sun to stand still. I wouldn’t have found Grace had God nett provided the light.”

  “That reminds me of the verse in Psalms, ‘Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.’ ”

  He took a bite of the soft, warm cookie and chewed it slowly. He had read that scripture many times—even prayed for God’s Spirit to light his path spiritually—but he’d made so many mistakes in the past, he’d stumbled off the path. Maybe the biggest miracle was that God heard and answered his prayer. Although God would have done that for Grace, not necessarily for him. His sins went too deep.

  “I’m worried about Grace,” Erma said.

  Ben pulled the cookie away from his mouth. “Why? Is she sick?”

  “Something is . . . different. She’s nett herself.”

  “She was traumatized. I’m sure in time . . .” In time what? She would forget what happened that night? He didn’t want her to. Narrisch fool.

  Erma picked up a cookie and inspected it. “How long were you and Grace together last nacht?”

  Ben choked on his cookie and took a swig of his coffee.

  The door opened and laughter flooded into the room. “We’re back, Aenti. I smell your cookies.” Grace rounded the corner of the kitchen, Philemon behind her.

  Ben took another sip of coffee.

  “Ach, I didn’t know we had company,” she said, then looked at Philemon. “Are you staying for kaffi?”

  “If you’re offering a cookie to go with it.” He pulled out the chair at the head of the table and sat. “So, how are you doing, Ben? Are you as exhausted as Gracie?”

  “Nope. I slept like a boppli last nacht.” Ben eyed Grace at the stove. “Couldn’t you sleep, Grace?” Up all night, wondering why you never said anything to me about your bu? No wonder she’d asked Ben why he’d called her Gracie. She should have told him about Philemon.

  Coffee spilled over the rim of the mug, and she sucked in a gasp. She mopped up the spill with a rag, then brought it to the table and gave it to Philemon.

  Ben waited until she sat before lifting his mug. “Can I get a refill?”

  She motioned to the stove. “There’s some left in the pot. Help yourself.”

  Erma started to stand, and Ben stopped her. “Let me.” He pushed off the chair. “A minute ago she referred to me as company. If I pour mei own kaffi, does that make me like . . . a distant cousin?” A kissing cousin twice removed. He enjoyed watching Grace shift uneasily in her chair.

  “You’re family to me.” Erma beamed.

  He finished refilling his mug. “Would you like another cup, Aenti?”

  “Nay, danki.”

  Ben returned to his chair. “You two aren’t cousins by chance, are you?”

  “Nay, just friends,” Philemon said, smiling at Grace.

  Thwack! Ben rubbed his shin, twisting slightly in his seat to peek under the table. Grace tapped her shoe against the floor. He looked across the table at her and grinned.

  Grace glared. “Doesn’t the bishop have work for you today?”

  “Ben brought your father’s gun back,” Erma interjected.

  Grace’s eyes widened. “You went and got it? Danki.”

  He nodded. “There’s a lot of wildlife down by the river. I’ve never seen an eagle close up before. He swooped down and snatched a fish right in front of me.”

  Grace stared pensively at her mug.

  “I’ve seen a bear in the river before.” Philemon took a long drink, emptying his mug. “I don’t have anything to do today. Would you like to go fishing, Ben?”

  “Sure.” Ben looked at Grace. “Did you want to go with us?”

  “Nay.”

  “Then do you mind if I use your pole?”

  Grace gathered her and Philemon’s mugs from the table. “Make sure you put it back.”

  “I have to run home and grab mei tackle box and pole. I’ll meet you at the river in a few minutes,” Philemon said over his shoulder as he left the kitchen.

  Ben crossed the kitchen to where Grace was running water in the sink. He leaned against the counter. “I found this down by the river,” he said, lifting the Mason jar.

  “That was Gordon’s.” She dried her hands on a dish towel. “May I?”

  He handed her the jar.

  “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Gordon. Do you think he’s all right?”

  Ben nodded. But he wasn’t concerned about Gordon. Ben wanted to know if she had been thinking about him.

  The farther upstream Ben and Philemon went, the rockier the terrain became. Ben edged along the side of the river, his back against the slick slab of limestone as the footpath narrowed.

  “Nett many people know about this spot,” Philemon said.

  “Jah, I think I know why.” The six-foot drop onto boulders below would detract most. Ben studied his footing, grateful that Jack took Grace downstream and they were spared this trek in the middle of the night.

  Philemon descended. Ben was anxious to get into the stream and drop his line, but he paced himself, moving cautiously in the awkward rubber waders. “I see why Grace doesn’t fish with you anymore if this is where you brought her,” Ben said, landing on the rocky shore.

  “She was boiling mad at me that day.” Philemon set the tackle box on the ground. “She has a temper.”

  “Don’t doubt that.” Ben unraveled several feet of line. He swiped his index finger along the side of his nose, then slipped the line between his thumb and index finger, using the oily residue to coat the line.

  “Here’s some beeswax.” Philemon tossed the caked wax to Ben. “That pole hasn’t been used in a while.”

  “Since her boots filled with water?”

  Philemon nodded. “And she wasn’t going to drown, as she likes to tell the story.”

  “Her fear of the water seemed real to me.” Ben greased the line. Very real, he thought, remembering her death grip around his neck.

  “When she was eight, a group of us were cooling off in the river one summer. Her foot got pinned between a rock and she panicked. I think she did come close to drowning that day.” He cast his line. “She had gone fishing with me before, but after her waders filled with water, she refused.” He motioned to the pole in Ben’s hand. “She threatened to snap that rod in half.” He pulled his line back and recast. “She put it in time-out instead and it hasn’t been used since.”

  Ben entered the river. He brought the pole back, the pang in his shoulder muscle as he snapped the line forward reminding him of Grace. The line sailed across the water and floated on the surface. He wished he could cast his care for Grace so easily. Cast all your care upon God, for He cares for you.

  “Yep, Gracie’s a handful,” Philemon said.

  Ben retrieved his line and sent it sailing through the air again.

  “You two seem to get along well.” Philemon tugged on his line.

  He must not have noticed when Grace kicked him under the table or the glare she’d given him. “I suppose people . . . bond easier in stressful situations.”

  “
I’ve never seen her with her hair down. Well, other than when she was a young maedel.”

  Beads of sweat collected at the back of Ben’s neck, and he pulled his collarless shirt away from his skin. “I think her prayer kapp was ripped off her head. I found it by the river.”

  Philemon looked off his shoulder at Ben for a long moment. “That’s what she told me too.”

  Ben released more line from the reel and moved farther into the water. He didn’t think they would catch many fish midday, but he wasn’t expecting to catch flack either. If Philemon had questions about last night, he should interrogate Grace.

  After several minutes of silence, Philemon asked, “So, how long do you intend on staying in Michigan?”

  “I haven’t made any plans.” Ben studied Philemon’s profile. His jaw remained set, and if he wasn’t pleased with Ben’s answer, it didn’t show.

  “You don’t have a maedel at home?”

  “Nay.”

  “Have you been baptized?”

  Ben hesitated. He wasn’t sure where this line of questioning was going, and he wasn’t sure how many more questions he would answer. He sighed. “Nay, I haven’t made that decision.”

  Philemon looked at Ben with a scrutinizing gaze. “You’re still on rumschpringe? I would have thought you were old enough to have made that decision already.”

  “Then why did you ask?”

  Philemon shrugged. “Just curious.”

  The man was starting to sound as self-righteous as Grace. Ben tightened his grip on the pole. Those two deserved each other. “Mei character is flawed, if that’s what you’re curious about.”

  “We’re all sinners.”

  The muscle in Ben’s jaw twitched. “Some more than others.”

  “True. But nothing so great that God cannot forgive.”

  Philemon apparently never had a large laundry list to confess. Ben was so wretched, the dirt would be difficult to scrub off. He doubted baptism would cleanse him of the stench. He tugged his line, let it go slack, then tugged it again. He moved slowly, giving his full attention to the end of his line.

  They continued casting and reeling in their lines, neither one catching a fish. Too much talking. Ben and Toby used to fish all day together and barely say a word to each other, and even then, it was a whisper.

  “Well, I suppose we should start heading back,” Philemon said. “I don’t think we’re going to catch anything.”

  “Doesn’t look like it.” Ben glanced at the sky. In another hour or two, the fish would be jumping for insects. If he were alone, he would stay. But he’d rather clean out the bishop’s barn than go through another hour of Philemon’s questioning. “I think I’ll take the river back. Maybe fish along the way.”

  “Give me a minute to grab mei tackle box.” Philemon waded through the water, a wake following his stride. He snatched the tackle box from the shore and made his way back to Ben. “I suppose you figured out there’s about three unmarried women to each unmarried man.”

  “I met several of the men last nacht when we crossed the river, but I didn’t count.”

  Philemon smiled. “There’s a singing tomorrow evening. I’m sure you’ll have a chance to meet everyone there.”

  “Sounds like fun.” Ben headed downriver. Every so often he would spot a mottled green-and-brown brookie that would hover near the bottom of the river, but he didn’t stop to fish. He’d promised the bishop he would be back for supper, and he didn’t want to disappoint him by showing up late.

  Ben had tossed in bed for hours. Finally, through with wrestling his thoughts, he climbed out of bed and slipped on his pants. Grace had some explaining to do and he wasn’t waiting until morning.

  He finished dressing and tiptoed out of the house, grabbing the pole leaning against the side of the house on his way. The moon shed enough light to stay on the path and it didn’t take long to reach Grace’s house. He collected a few pebbles from the driveway and lobbed them one at a time at her window. After pinging the plate glass several times, she opened the window. “Are you narrisch?” she whispered.

  “Probably. Kumm out here.”

  “Nay. It’s late.”

  He tossed the remaining stones in the air and caught them. “There’s a whole driveway filled with pebbles to throw.”

  “You are narrisch.”

  “Kumm out here. I want to talk to you.”

  She closed the window, disappeared from view, and a few moments later appeared on the porch. Grasping her cloak tight at the neck, she limped toward him. Without wearing shoes, her legs’ unevenness was much more pronounced. “What’s so important?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Ben.” She said his name with a hint of disgust. “You woke me up to tell me that?”

  “I didn’t think you were sleeping.” He grinned. “I thought you were lying in bed thinking of me too.”

  She stiffened. “You were wrong. What did you really kumm here for?”

  “I wanted to return your fishing pole.” He motioned to the shed. “I put it away.”

  “Ben, go back to the bishop’s. It’s late and we have church in the morning.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about Philemon?”

  “We’re friends.”

  “He calls you Gracie.”

  “It’s a term of endearment,” she said smugly. “Nau, I’m going back into the haus, and I’m going to sleep. Like a boppli. I suggest you do that as well.”

  “Grace, we kissed. What are you going to tell Philemon?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Those kisses were a mistake. They shouldn’t have happened.”

  “But they did. And nau you have me half crazy.”

  She grinned. “Only half?”

  “Well, I can fix that right nau.” He pulled her into his arms, tipped her slightly, and kissed her firmly on the lips. Even when she pressed her hands against his chest in resistance, he refused to yield. She was his the moment a soft moan escaped her mouth and the tension drained from her body. He broke from the kiss and stepped out of the embrace. Scratching his jaw, he smiled. “Nau you’ve got me totally out of mei mind.”

  “Gut,” she hissed.

  “Either you tell Philemon tomorrow or I will.”

  She glared, nostrils flaring and deep grooves separating her brows. Moonlight glistened in her watery eyes. She opened her mouth but only released a squeak before clamping her lips tight and sprinting to the house.

  Ben tunneled his fingers through his hair. He’d heaped a shovelful of coals on himself, and now he had more sins to confess.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Ben had to work hard not to nod off during the three-hour church service. Seated on the opposite side of the room, Gracie’s head bobbed, too, which garnered more than a few looks from Erma, seated beside her.

  Bishop Yoder read a passage from First John. “ ‘If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.’ ”

  Ben glanced at Grace. She needed to hear this. The bishop repeated the verse, and this time the words sank deeper. Ben sat up straighter. Did the bishop know he’d snuck out last night? He was looking at Ben, only Ben didn’t sense condemnation from the man as he had with his father over the years. He sensed love and compassion for the weak. The words of the verse rolled around in his mind. Cleansed from all unrighteousness. All. He bowed his head. Is it true, God? I’ve done so many things wrong. I know I’m a disappointment to my father, but I also disappoint myself. I want to be the man of God that You created me to be. But I don’t know how. Please forgive me. Make me whole. I want to walk from this day forward in fellowship with You.

  The service closed as Ben whispered, “Amen,” to his own prayer. Numb and totally at peace with himself, he sat with his elbows resting on his knees and looking down at the plank floors in the bishop’s sitting room. God had forgiven him. Now he needed to make amends with Grace. He’d stolen her kisses and tried to steal her heart.

&nbs
p; The bishop asked for everyone’s attention. “Before we dismiss for the fellowship meal, I wish to make an announcement. Philemon Troyer, would you join me?”

  Ben’s blood went cold.

  “Philemon has asked for a young maedel’s hand in marriage.”

  Ben craned his neck to get a better view of Grace, who was staring straight ahead and smiling wide.

  “Becky Lapp, will you join us, please?” the bishop said.

  The remainder of the bishop’s announcement blurred into the background as Ben focused on Grace. Her smile never faltered. Not once. It looked genuine, too, not pasted on as Ben had seen her do before.

  The congregation was standing, moving around the couple. Grace slipped through the crowd and dashed into the kitchen.

  Ben stood. He made it a few steps, then the bishop caught his arm.

  “I’d like to introduce you to the men.”

  “Uh . . .” Ben glanced at the kitchen. More women were meandering in that direction. He redirected his attention to the bishop. “Okay.”

  Ben shook hands with several men. He answered a few questions about the size of his district in Florida, but his thoughts were consumed with Grace.

  “Ben’s going to start working in the lumber mill tomorrow,” the bishop said.

  Grace’s father stepped forward. “He and Grace are supposed to go to the police station in the morning and fill out a report. The police drove out to the haus yesterday, but Grace had gone grocery shopping, and I wasn’t sure where Ben was.”

  “I went fishing.” Ben’s mind whirled. Having to give an account for everything that happened would be difficult for Grace to relive. “Did you tell Grace?”

  “I plan to this evening.”

  “Ben could tell her at the singing tonight,” Philemon said. “You’re still planning to go, aren’t you?”

  “I, uh . . .” Ben turned to Bishop Yoder. “May I have a word with you outside? I have a few things to get off mei chest.”

  “Grace, you look sapped. How are you handling Philemon and Becky’s engagement announcement?” Mattie popped the seal on the lid to the jar of butter pickles.