by Anna Schmidt
“I would be your friend, Greta,” Luke repeated in a high falsetto voice that mimicked his own. “No wonder you are not yet wed,” he groused as he returned to work.
* * *
All the way back to the house, Greta thought not about her own troubles or even about Josef. She found herself thinking about Luke Starns—the gentleness of his words, his offer of friendship. Lydia was right. He was a good man.
“Well?” her sister asked the minute Greta stepped into the kitchen. It was as if Lydia had been holding her breath the entire time Greta was gone.
Greta shrugged. “We talked a bit.” She took down a jar of candied orange rind the sisters had put up the previous winter and selected one of the sweets, then held out the jar to Lydia who waved it away impatiently.
“And?” she demanded.
Greta shrugged. “He said that he will not pursue you if that’s your wish.” She sucked the sugar off the orange rind. “Of course, in my opinion, you are making a huge mistake.”
Lydia snorted with derision. “This is hardly a matter for levity, Greta.”
“I’m not laughing.”
Lydia frowned. “I thought you went there to set matters straight regarding a courtship with you.”
“We discussed that, as well—briefly.” Greta popped the last of the orange sweet into her mouth and then licked her fingers.
“Well, to what end did you discuss matters?” Lydia asked.
“I told him that I thought you had simply suffered a bout of nerves.”
“I have suffered no such thing. I know my mind, sister.”
“He seems to have accepted that. It would appear that the two of you are well matched in your determination not to be swayed.”
This time the sigh that Lydia released was one of relief. “Well, at least there is that.” She focused her attention on Greta. “But my concern is for you—you and your dream of starting a home and family of your own, Greta.”
“With Josef.”
“So you thought.”
“So everyone thought,” Greta corrected.
“Even so, it appears that God has given you—and Josef—a new direction. However that does not mean that His intent for your future has changed. Luke would make a fine husband and father. He is a good provider and a solid member of the community. You could not do better.”
“Nor could you.”
Greta almost laughed when she saw Lydia’s mouth working but no sound coming out. Her sister was always at a loss for words on those rare occasions when Greta made a strong logical point. The role of teacher turned student was not a comfortable one for Lydia.
“But I will accept your decision in the matter,” she added.
“Gut,” Lydia announced, taking charge once more. “Then my decision is that you and Luke Starns will begin seeing one another for the purpose of determining whether or not this is the direction God is leading the two of you.” She stopped Greta’s protest with a raised hand. “In fact, while you were out, I came up with the perfect plan to give you both the time and privacy you will need to become better acquainted. Should things not work out, no one will be the wiser.”
Greta sat on the edge of a kitchen chair, her chin in her hands. There was no sense arguing with Lydia. She would have her say and once she had spoken, Greta would do as she always had. She would go her own way. “I’m listening.”
“As of last evening, the whole community thinks that Luke has begun his courtship with me,” Lydia began. “That means that should they see you and Luke talking or walking together or riding somewhere together, they will not so much as raise an eyebrow. As my sister—and presumably someone who is helping the romance along—it is perfectly acceptable for you to be seen with Luke.”
Greta was completely confused. “So, you are saying that you wish for Luke to court you after all?”
“No,” Lydia exclaimed. “Don’t you see? Because everyone will assume that he is courting me, you and he will be able to spend time together without any pressure or expectations.” She drummed her fingers on the kitchen table as apparently a new wrinkle in her plan came to mind. “Of course, it will be expected that he will come to call on me in the evenings after you have retired for the night, but no matter. It will be dark and the two of you on the porch will look no different to anyone passing by than if I was the one sitting there with Luke. Yes, this will work beautifully.”
“Aren’t you forgetting one small thing, Lydia?”
“I don’t think so. I have gone over this idea thoroughly and...”
“You do not have Luke’s agreement—or mine—to pursue this.” But even as she said those words, her mind had already begun racing with the possibilities that Lydia’s plan could work for her. It would take the attention off her troubles and place the focus on Lydia and Luke. Besides, the limited time that Greta had spent with the man had not been unpleasant. Not at all. And she could possibly coach him in ways to pursue Lydia—ways that would make Lydia fall in love with him.
“Greta, I am asking you to give the idea a try. Where is the harm in that?”
Greta knew her sister well enough to understand that Lydia had made up her mind on this matter and would not be moved. “All right,” she said. “If Luke Starns agrees to your plan then I’ll do it.”
But later that night long after Lydia had gone to sleep, Greta lay awake trying to work through the jumble of thoughts that came with the idea of putting Lydia’s plan into action. Finally she threw back the light quilt and went to stand at her open window, hoping to catch a breath of air in the still steamy night.
And that’s when she saw the smoke and then a flash of orange—a flame reflected in the window of Luke’s shop.
“Fire!” she shrieked as she grabbed her shawl and ran toward the blacksmith’s shop.
Chapter Seven
“Fire!” Greta shouted again and pointed to the blacksmith’s shop when a sleepy-eyed Lydia stumbled onto the porch, barefoot and confused.
“I’ll go to the school and ring the bell,” Lydia told her, instantly awake and taking charge as she pulled on her shoes and grabbed her shawl. “You go and make sure that Luke is out and rouse the Hadwells and Yoders and others.”
Greta took off, her loosened hair flying out behind her, her bare feet oblivious to the stones and calcified seashells that pocked the sandy lane. The smell of smoke was strong now and from inside the shop she could hear a horse whinny and the crackle of the flames. “Luke,” she screamed as she started up the outer stairs that led to his living quarters above the shop.
Before she could reach the door, Luke emerged, hooking his suspenders over his shoulders as he ran down the stairs toward her. “Get back to your house,” he ordered. “Go!”
In the background they both heard the clanging of the schoolhouse bell.
“There’s a horse,” Greta told him.
“I know. There are four of them. I’ll take care of that. Just get away from the building now.” He wrapped his arm around her and half carried, half propelled her the rest of the way down the stairs.
A buzz of voices coming their way told Greta that the school bell had done its job and those people living in town were up and responding. Roger Hadwell was already handing out buckets from his hardware store. Someone else was pumping water into a horse trough outside the burning building. A bucket line quickly formed—men, women, children all working in unison to fight the flames that now had broken through to the roof.
Seeing that there was nothing she could do to help the others, Greta ran back to the rear of the shop where she’d seen Luke head after he’d told her to go home—as if she could. As if anyone living in Celery Fields would stay in the safety of their own homes when a fellow citizen was in trouble.
He was pulling a terrified horse from the stables, tugging on the rope as the horse dug in its heels and tossed its head, trying to loosen the rag that Luke had tied over its eyes to lessen the animal’s panic. Luke had also covered the lower half of his face with a towel and no
w Greta did the same, pulling the end of her shawl over her mouth and nose as she ran toward the stables. Luke had said there were four horses. He had saved one, but the others must still be inside.
She ignored Luke’s muffled shouts as she entered the stables where the fire raged at the front of the building. The rear stable area was filled with acrid smoke that stung her eyes and made her breathing come in labored huffs. She felt her way along the series of stalls, unleashing the remaining three horses and sending them one by one running free from the burning building, certain that Luke would be out there to calm them.
As she stumbled back into the yard of the livery, gasping for air, she saw Luke racing after the terrified horses as they dashed away in all different directions. “No!” he shouted as he chased one and then another to no avail. Then seeing Greta, he turned on her as he pulled down the wet cloth he’d used to cover his face. “What were you thinking?” he demanded as he took hold of her upper arms and stopped just short of shaking her.
“I was thinking we needed to get those animals to safety,” she shouted above the din of the gathering crowd and the roar of the fire. Too late now she realized that in letting the animals run free she might have cost Luke a great deal more than the loss of his building and home. The horses were not his. He was providing livery service for their rightful owner. No wonder he was so angry with her. “I didn’t think there was time...”
“You could have been overcome,” he said, his face very close to hers. “You could have been killed.”
It hit her then that what she had taken for anger was not that at all. His first thought had been for her—her safety, her well-being.
“But the horses—you would have lost...” She started to shake uncontrollably as it struck her that he was right. She had put her life at risk to save those animals.
He pulled her close, uncaring of who might take notice as he cradled her head in one large hand against his chest. “Sh-h-h,” he said softly. “It’s all over now. You’re safe.”
And as she gave herself over to his embrace of consolation she realized that in all the times that Josef Bontrager had held her, she had never once felt the safety and certainty that she felt now in the arms of Luke Starns. After a moment he stepped away but kept his one hand tangled in the thickness of her loose hair. Slowly he released her and then he took hold of the edges of her shawl and covered her hair and shoulders.
“Better?” he asked.
Greta managed a nod.
Behind her she heard a cry of alarm from the crowd fighting the flames and turned just in time to see one wall of the large structure collapse, sending a shower of sparks into the sky that was just beginning to show the first signs of dawn. She heard a horse’s snort and saw that all three of the animals she’d set free had wandered back into the yard where they stood in a row, drinking from the trough in back of the hardware store.
Luke released a shuddering sigh and Greta took hold of his hand as they stood side by side, watching the uncontrollable fire. “You can rebuild,” she assured him. “Everyone will help.”
He stared at what had been his business and his home and nodded. “You should join the others,” he told her as he gently pulled his hand free of hers and she knew that he was thinking of her reputation. Lydia was right. Luke Starns was definitely a man who thought of others before himself.
“You’ll need a place to stay,” she said.
“Something will turn up and it won’t be for long.” He smiled at her. “After all, this is Florida. I can sleep under the stars if need be and we can spend every day rebuilding.”
She knew he would have no need to sleep outside and that in just a matter of days work would begin on rebuilding for that was the Amish way. Neighbor took care of neighbor. Luke’s home and the source of his livelihood might lay in ashes today but it would not be long before he was back in business. The people of Celery Fields would see to that.
“Come on,” she said, taking his arm and guiding him toward the main street where the members of the bucket brigade had faced reality and were standing together, waiting for the fire to burn itself out. As Luke approached the gathering, several men patted his shoulder while the women murmured their sympathies. Greta stood aside and let him be drawn into the circle of the townspeople.
“Is he all right?” Lydia asked, coming alongside her.
“He will be,” Greta replied and in her heart she realized that she intended to make sure that this was the truth.
* * *
In the light of the new day, Luke stood at what had once been the entrance to his business and considered the smoldering remains. Dawn had brought with it a sky that was overcast and one that held the threat of rain. It occurred to him that God would send the showers to smother any embers that might lay hidden beneath the rubble. After that he could start the process of clearing away the rubble left after the fire. Roger had already stopped by to write up the order for the lumber and other supplies that Luke would need.
But as he stared at a thin thread of gray smoke rising from what had once been the stairway that led to his living quarters, he couldn’t help but wonder if God had meant him to receive a different message from the fire. It was from the small kitchen at the top of the missing stairway that he had begun his study of Lydia Goodloe. From there he had watched her leave for the schoolhouse on the mornings when school was in session. He had watched her handle whatever chores needed attention outside the house while Greta apparently took charge of the cooking, laundry and cleaning chores. He had watched both sisters sitting on the porch after services or on the Sundays when there were no services reading or waiting—in Greta’s case—for Josef Bontrager to come calling.
From time to time he would see Greta. Although he rarely studied her as he did Lydia. In those days he hadn’t paid much attention to Greta. But he realized now that he had always been far more aware of the younger Goodloe sister than he had allowed himself to admit. She’d come out to the porch, say something to her sister and then take off walking toward town. Sometimes she would mount the bicycle the sisters owned and head off in the opposite direction toward the main road, toward Sarasota. Once or twice he had seen her return hours later and she would add a large whelk or conch shell to the border around Lydia’s vegetable garden.
Today all that had changed. Today he couldn’t seem to focus on anything other than the sheer panic he’d felt when Greta had run into the stables and not reappeared for some time. The way her hair had felt as it tumbled over his hand. The way her small thin body had felt cradled against his. The lightness of her and at the same time a strength that could not be named—or denied. When he’d looked around and seen her running into the stables—into the very heart of the fire—he had acted purely on instinct, running after her. But he’d not gotten three steps before he was stopped by first one horse and then another and another charging him as they ran for safety. And then there she was and seeing her he found that he could breathe again.
When he’d held her and she’d looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with tears brought on by the smoke and perhaps her own realization of the chance she had taken, the urge to kiss her had been almost overwhelming. So much so that he had stepped away. But he had not released his hold on her hair—thick and yet fine as silk, golden with highlights of red like the flames shooting up to the sky behind her.
Lydia was right. He had set his sights on the wrong sister. But how best to convince Greta of that?
“Luke?”
He stiffened at the sound of Greta’s voice behind him. He might be clear now about his feelings for her, but she was still too close to Bontrager’s betrayal. For that matter she might be in love with Josef. He forced a half smile and looked around. “Thank you again for saving the horses,” he said. “And to your sister for raising the alarm.”
“It’s still a total loss,” Greta replied as she considered the pile of charred debris before them. “Have you found a place to stay until you can rebuild?”
“Haven�
�t really thought about it. Something will turn up.”
Greta released an exasperated sigh. “That’s what you said last night. You’re welcome to sleep in the loft of our barn if you like. Lydia said to offer.”
Luke’s grin widened. “She did, did she?”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Greta advised, clearly mistaking his words for a sign that Lydia was softening toward him.
“I wasn’t. I was just curious how you might feel about the arrangement.”
“People will talk,” she said with a shrug. “Lydia doesn’t care one bit about what other people think or say but...”
“You do?”
She looked down. “Through no fault of our own, my sister and I have been the topic of gossip these last few days. I would like not to be in that position longer than is necessary.”
He wondered if she was thinking about him holding her the night before. He wondered if perhaps someone had seen them and let Greta know that she had been seen in the arms of the man supposedly interested in her sister. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “The last thing I would want is to cause you—or your sister—distress. Tell Lydia that I am grateful for her kind offer but I will make other arrangements.”
“Denki, Luke.” She turned her attention more fully to the ruins before them. Carefully she walked closer, stepping over blackened wood as she reached down to retrieve one of his chisels. “Still warm,” she said when she handed it to him.
“But still useable,” he replied.
She smiled up at him and for a moment he could not find his breath. The business of being unable to breathe normally whenever Greta Goodloe was around was becoming an alarming habit.
“There must be more,” she said. “Let me help you find them.”
“Take care,” he said as he followed her through the rubble. “There are still some live embers.”
“I’ll use this to move them,” she said, holding up a piece of metal the length of a cane or walking stick. “Found another,” she crowed triumphantly, holding up something that caught the sunlight. “We should have a contest to see which of us can find the most.”
