Hearse and Buggy

by Laura Bradford

  She cast about for something to say, something to let him know she got it even if she didn’t entirely agree. “Maybe there’s some truth to what you say, Arnie, but you can’t make a blanket statement about everyone. I think an awful lot of tourists who come here come because they admire people who can live such a simple life.”

  If he heard her, he said nothing, opting, instead, to grab a handful of mixed candy from the bowl and shoving it into his pocket. “You sure Esther will be in tomorrow?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Then I’ll be back.” Arnie started toward the door, then stopped at a bin of Amish reference books. “I didn’t know you had these.”

  She moved in beside him and reached for her favorite. The twenty-page picture book covered many of the basics people liked to know about the Amish—home life, religion, farming, clothing, beliefs. “This one gives some good background. Though, living here for a month, as you are, you’ll probably be able to go a bit deeper.”

  He nodded. “My research started months ago. Being here is just the final step in the process. It makes it come alive, you know?”

  Glancing at the counter, she set the book back in the bin and gestured toward her notebook. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something regarding your research. Do you have a minute?”

  Surprise flickered in Arnie’s eyes, and he turned from the book bin. “You want to talk about my thesis?”

  “More about something you said at dinner a few nights ago. About hate crimes and the Amish.”

  He shrugged. Bypassing the candy in his pocket, he reached for the bowl and yet another caramel. Only this time, he placed the wrapper on the counter rather than the floor. “I remember. Only the particular case that was discussed was the one that precipitated your boyfriend leaving his Amish roots in favor of police work.”

  “My boyfriend? Jakob Fisher is not my boyfriend. I barely know the man.” She hated the defensive note to her voice the second she heard it, but it was too late to recall it without looking even worse.

  “You looked mighty chummy out on the porch the other night. Dinner for two usually implies a relationship in my book.”

  “Not in mine, it doesn’t.”

  Arnie flashed a devilish grin. “You don’t have to get all touchy. I just made a statement.”

  She inhaled to a silent count of ten. When she reached the last number, she regained control of the conversation. “In your research for your paper, have you come across other hate crimes against the Amish?”

  His eyes narrowed on her face. “Why are you asking?”

  “Curiosity, mostly. I guess I equate hate crimes to people who feel threatened by a particular group of people and so they lash out. Something that seems implausible where a group like the Amish are concerned.”

  “Oh, it’s plausible alright. Happens all the time in and around Amish communities all across this country.” Arnie turned around, braced his back against the counter, and hoisted himself onto it, planting his now-seated body smack-dab in the middle of everything. “There are documented cases in Ohio, Indiana, Wisconsin, here … You name it. If there’s an Amish community somewhere, there’s been at least one hate crime committed against them.”

  “But what on earth is there to hate? I mean, they don’t cause trouble. They don’t get involved in other people’s affairs.”

  “Some people simply hate anything that’s different.”

  She leaned against the register and considered Arnie’s statement. “You think that’s all of it?”

  He shook his head. “No. But it’s some.”

  “And the rest?”

  “And the rest comes down to ignorance, plain and simple.” He gestured toward the front window and the horse and buggy that passed from view. “Ever been in a hurry to get somewhere and been trapped behind one of those? They’re slower than molasses compared to a car.”

  “So a person takes it out on the guy driving the buggy?” she asked.

  “It’s not always a big act of aggression, Claire. Sometimes it’s a simple case of gunning a car around the buggy and then cutting in really quick and spooking the horse into an accident. Stuff like that has killed everyone in the buggy more than a few times.”

  She gasped.

  “Then there’s the people who think the Amish don’t pay taxes. They assume, quite ignorantly, that because the Amish don’t utilize city services and government-funded schools that they aren’t paying the same taxes everyone else is paying. So, rather than educate themselves to the reality, they lash out through vandalism, theft, and a boatload of other ways.”

  “That really happens?”

  Pushing off his hands, Arnie jumped to the ground. “Just ask your friends next door. I believe your aunt said they have broken milk bottles and stolen pie boxes to prove it, didn’t she?”

  All she could do was nod. If there was any truth to what Arnie had said, the brains behind the shenanigans at Ruth’s bakery were ill-informed at best. “So how does it stop?”

  “My guess is, it doesn’t. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.” Arnie shuffled over to the door and yanked it open, the jingling bell overhead doing little to bolster her mood.

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, people will believe what they want to believe regardless of the facts staring them in the face. It’s easier, somehow.”

  “Thanks, Arnie. I really appreciate your help.” And she did. She just wished he hadn’t emptied out her candy supply in the process. “Stop by again tomorrow. I’m sure Esther will be happy to talk with you.”

  He stopped, one foot on the porch, one foot in the store. “It’s hard to miss that fact, ain’t it?”

  She cocked her head, trying to retrieve whatever conversation piece she’d obviously missed, but she came up short. “Miss what fact?” she finally asked.

  “That she digs me. Only, in my case, it’s reciprocated.”

  It took everything she could muster not to laugh out loud or rewind the conversation a few sentences to the one where Arnie himself had talked about people who couldn’t accept simple facts. To do either, though, would be an exercise in futility. Instead, she simply waved good-bye and reached for the last remaining caramel in the bowl.

  Chapter 14

  From the time Claire had first moved to Heavenly, Aunt Diane had insisted that her niece claim a night to herself—a night to bury herself in a book, take a long soaking bath, or while away the hours watching sitcoms on the small television in her room. In the beginning, she’d balked, seeing the various tasks around the inn as her way of paying the woman back for allowing Claire to stay with her in the first place.

  But when she’d opened Heavenly Treasures a few months later, she’d conceded that one night off each week was probably a good idea. And so Tuesday became that night.

  More times than not, she spent her evening off performing tasks for the store. Candles were made, inventory was scoured, and the financial books were brought up to date. The fact that she could do them in front of the TV helped them feel less like a chore.

  Occasionally, she spent a Tuesday reading in the parlor or sitting on the front porch talking to guests. When she opted for the latter, her aunt simply shook her head, convinced that Claire wasn’t truly enjoying the hard-earned respite her niece needed.

  What Diane didn’t fully understand was how isolating Claire’s time in New York had been. That despite living in one of the most famous cities in the world—where people were in abundance—she treasured Heavenly for the human contact she’d desperately needed.

  Tonight, though, was different. Tonight she wanted to be alone, to try her best to make sense of everything happening around her. Which is why, after locking up the shop, she turned right instead of left.

  It was a perfect evening for a walk, thanks to the faintest hint of an autumn chill that seemed oblivious to its too-early arrival. And, thanks to the evening hour, Lighted Way was less crowded than normal, the bulk of the cars and horse-drawn
buggies heading home for the night.

  Still, she couldn’t help but release a sigh as her feet left the commercial district and headed toward the quieter, more peaceful side of town, where buggies were the norm and cars the exception. Though, with the fast-approaching dinner hour, buggy sightings were growing rarer as well.

  She envied the Amish families who were preparing to share the evening’s meal with loved ones. It was like dinner at the inn, only better because the people at those tables didn’t leave after a few days. They stayed. For life.

  Or, at least, most did.

  Jakob was an exception.

  She followed the finely graveled road as it wound to the left and headed down into a valley of farmland, the peace and tranquility of her rapidly approaching surroundings allowing a sense of true contentment to seep in past the worry she’d felt lapping at her heart all day long.

  So much of what was weighing her down really wasn’t her concern. Yet, because it affected people she cared about on some level or another, she simply couldn’t shirk it away. It was the way she was, the way she’d always been. And it was why the whitewashed world she’d been living in for so many years prior to coming to Heavenly never truly fit.

  A slow clip-clop just over her left shoulder made her stop and turn, her hand instinctively rising to block out the last of the evening’s rays.

  “Good evening, Miss Weatherly. May I offer you a ride to wherever it is you are going?”

  She stepped into the shadow of the buggy as it stopped beside her, the now-clear view of the driver and his knee-weakening blue eyes making her wish for a fan or a sudden acceleration to the breeze that cooled her face. “Hi, Benjamin. I … I appreciate the offer but I’m not really going anywhere in particular.”

  His brows furrowed beneath his black hat. “Oh?”

  “I guess my brain just needs a break from work. I didn’t even really know where I was going until I locked up the shop and my feet took me in this direction.”

  Benjamin looked down the road stretched out before them, the brim of his hat shielding the sun from his view. “But there is nothing this way except Amish land.”

  She followed his field of vision and felt the last of the day’s tension disappear from her body. “I know. That’s why I’m going this way.”

  His gaze left his people’s land and focused again on her. “I do not understand.”

  Inhaling deeply, she tried to verbalize what Benjamin’s lifestyle did for her, how it made her feel alive and hopeful. “Very often, a person has a place he or she likes to go to regroup. To relax. To think. I’ve come to realize that this place”—she stretched her arms in front of her—“does that for me.”

  For a moment she was afraid she’d said something stupid, something he didn’t understand or maybe even found silly, but after a long pause he proved differently. “I have such a place.”

  She wasn’t sure why his admission surprised her, but it did. Somehow, she’d assumed a person living such a simple, uncluttered life wouldn’t need a place to reflect or regroup. Then again, he was human. Just like she was.

  “Perhaps if I show you such a place, you will like it as well?” he asked, surprising her still further.

  Shifting from one foot to the other, she stared up at Benjamin, dumbfounded by both the suggestion and the notion that such a quiet man, whom she’d just met, would make such a generous overture in her direction.

  “Are you sure? Don’t you have to get home for your meal?” It was a fair question, based largely on Amish traditions she’d learned about from Esther.

  He let the reins slacken as he reached up and tipped the brim of his hat upward just a bit. “I live alone and, at times, dine alone.”

  And, just like that, she was transported back to Martha’s home and the unexpected news that Benjamin Miller was a widower. Suddenly, this quiet man’s need for a place to ponder life made perfect sense.

  “If you have the time and you’d like to share your special place with me, I’d be honored. Truly.” Reaching up, she grabbed hold of the buggy’s edge and lifted herself onto the seat beside him, the beat of her heart vacillating between fast and slow. “Thank you.”

  With a slight nod of his head, Benjamin jiggled the reins, prompting the horse to resume his previous pace, the clip-clop of his hooves lessening the severity of their sudden silence. She looked to her right, and then her left, the farmland she’d viewed from her car window not more than three days earlier more alluring than ever.

  “When I was out here the other day, the fields were filled with people working. And now … they’re so quiet.”

  “The workday is over.”

  It was such a simple sentence, yet, after spending nearly five years with a man who was either not around to talk or dominated the conversation when he was, she found it more than a little refreshing.

  She pulled her focus off the scenery and fixed it, instead, on Benjamin. “What do the Amish do once the evening meal is over?”

  “We visit with family. In the summer months, we sit on the porch.”

  She leaned her head against the side of the buggy and peered out at the first home they passed, a modest white farmhouse with several clotheslines and a wide front porch. “That sounds nice.”

  “What do the English do?”

  “At my aunt’s, where I live, we visit in the parlor. We talk about our day, discuss books we are reading, and enjoy our guests.”

  “Guests?” The horse and buggy continued down the road, passing one farmhouse and then the other.

  She nodded. “My aunt owns Sleep Heavenly at the English end of Lighted Way. It’s a bed-and-breakfast. People who stay there come from all over the country, and, sometimes, their stories of home allow us to experience places we’ve never been.”

  “Do you like that?” he asked as he cast a sidelong glance in her direction, his deep blue eyes lingering momentarily on her face.

  “I like getting to know people. I like learning about them.”

  “Do you let them learn about you?”

  The question caught her up short, its depth not something she would have expected from any man, much less one who was Amish. “I … I don’t know. I think I listen more than I talk.”

  With the barely perceptible tug of his hand, Benjamin steered the horse and buggy to the left, taking them up a long climbing hill and through a one-lane covered bridge and out the other side. Where the road narrowed still further and wound off into the woods, he pulled to a stop and swept his hand to the right. “We are here.”

  She peeked out the side of the buggy and sucked in her breath, the lush green fields of the Amish stretched out before them as the sun began its descent. “Oh, Benjamin. It’s beautiful.”

  The outer edges of his mouth spread outward, and he nodded his head ever so slightly in agreement. “I come here when I am troubled. As I am about Eli.” Releasing the reins, he stepped down from the buggy before crossing around to the other side and offering Claire his hand.

  Unsure of what to do, she shyly deposited her hand in his and vacated her seat, walking alongside him until they reached a large, flat boulder. “Is Eli alright?”

  “He has a temper. He does not always do as he should.”

  “But he has a good heart.” She perched on the edge of the rock and looked out over land that Benjamin himself farmed each day. “He keeps a close watch on your sister, helping her in whatever ways he can. He is polite and kind.”

  “He has been shunned many times.” Benjamin leaned against the rock and glanced down at his hands, his tone hard to read. “He always repents and always forgets.”

  “He’s still young, Benjamin.”

  “Not that young.” He met her gaze and held it for a few beats. “People form opinions of a man. Those who are respected and trusted are looked to for guidance. Those who are not are seen differently.”

  She weighed his words against the facts as of late. “Are you afraid this talk surrounding Walter Snow’s death will affect people’s
perception of your brother?”

  “I do not know how to protect him from himself. Yet it is hard to wash my hands of him. He is my brother.”

  “Why would you wash your hands of him?”

  “His action brings shame, and now it may bring heartache to friends.”

  She looked a question at him, the answer coming before a single word ever left her mouth. “Is it so wrong for Esther and Martha to come in contact with Jakob?”

  “Yes.”

  “But he loves them,” she insisted.

  “Jakob made his choice.”

  “And he’s made the choice to come back.”

  “He can never come back.” The statement, while simple, reverberated around them with heartbreaking finality.

  “Do you think that’s fair?” she finally asked.

  “It is our way.”

  She considered telling him his way was wrong but let it go. It wasn’t her right to judge someone else’s beliefs, someone else’s way of living. Instead, she said the only thing she could. “Walter Snow was found behind my shop, mere feet from the alley between your sister’s bakery and my shop. Jakob will need to ask questions of English and Amish alike. It is his job. But if I can help as some sort of middleman, I’m happy to do so.”

  “That is very kind.”

  She looked off into the distance and tried to pick out Lighted Way, the lines of the shops and the lampposts working their familiar magic on her heart. “I love being here, in Heavenly. And I love this spot, too. Thank you for sharing it with me.”

  “I found it after my wife passed on.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “It was God’s will.”

  “Can you remarry? Is that allowed?” The words were barely through her lips before she was shaking her head at her insensitivity. “I’m sorry. I had no right to ask that.”

  “I can,” he replied softly. “I do not know if I will.”

  All she could do was nod. “My aunt Diane says that anything is possible if you simply open your heart to everything and everyone around you. I’m not sure I always believe that, but I certainly think it’s worth a try.”