by Jo Ann Brown
“If anyone can, it’ll be him.” Nathaniel looked into the box in front of her and grinned. Reaching in, he pulled out a pair of roller skates. He set the pairs of wheels spinning. “I remember these. Grossdawdi bought them for me when my parents refused to let us have roller skates. Mamm feared we’d break our necks—or get used to going fast so we’d never be content driving a buggy instead of a fast Englisch car.”
“She thought you’d get what the kinder call the need for speed.”
He laughed. “Ja. My grandparents kept the skates here and never told my folks about them, though I suspect Mamm grew suspicious when I returned home from visits too often with the knees on my trousers ripped. She never asked how I’d torn them, so the skates remained a secret.”
“I remember you bringing them to our farm. You and my brothers used to have a great time skating in the barn.”
“The only place smooth enough for the wheels other than the road, and your mamm wisely wouldn’t allow us to play there.” He set the skates on the floor beside the box. “Did you ever get a pair of your own?”
“I did. Hand-me-downs from one of my brothers, but I was thrilled to have them so I didn’t have to walk to school in the fall and spring.” She picked up one skate and appraised it. The black leather shoe wasn’t in much better shape than the baseball glove, but with some saddle soap and attention it could be made useful again. “These look close to Jacob’s size.”
“I’ll give them to him if you’ll skate with us next Saturday.”
“What?”
His eyes twinkled. “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me promise your brother—our preacher—I’d make sure Jacob was kept safe. If I’m going to give him these skates, then we should make sure the boy has a place to enjoy them and someone to watch over him so he doesn’t get hurt.” He grinned. “I’ll need someone to show me how to patch his trousers when he tears the knees out of them, too.”
“You don’t have any skates, do you?”
“I can get a pair. Does your brother sell them at his store?”
She shook her head. “Amos mostly sells food and household goods.”
“There must be a shop nearby that sells them. I’ve seen quite a few boys and at least three or four men using Rollerblades to get around.”
“Why don’t you ask Amos? He usually knows where to send his customers for items he doesn’t carry.” She set the wheels on the skate spinning and grinned. “I used to love roller skating.”
“Do you still have your skates?”
“Not the ones from back then. They were about the same size as these.” She laughed as she held one against her foot. “My feet have grown since then. Besides, I don’t skate any longer.”
“Too grown-up?” he asked with a teasing smile, but she heard an undertone of serious curiosity in the question.
“Too busy to stay in practice.”
He took the skate from her and set it next to the baseball bat. When he looked at her, his smile was gone. “I should have said this first thing. Danki for having your sister day here. I’m amazed at what you did downstairs in a few hours. Everything is clean, and many of the chairs are gone. Where did you put them?”
“Leah and I took most down to the cellar. We stacked the ones that would stack. The rest are out of the way behind the racks where your grossmammi stored her canned goods.”
“Danki. That’s a gut place for them until I can start donating them to mud sales in the spring.”
“You may be able to get rid of them before then. Isaiah mentioned at supper last night that plans are being made for a community fund-raiser to help pay for Titus’s hospital bills.”
“I’d be glad to give the chairs to such a gut cause.”
“I’ll let him know.”
He studied the attic again. “I should have known you’d be up here. You always liked poking around here when you and your brothers came over to play.”
“Your grossmammi enjoyed having someone who’d listen to her stories about your ancestors who lived here long before she was born.”
He squatted beside her. “Do you remember those stories?”
“A few.”
“Would you share them with me?”
“Now?”
“No.” His voice softened, drawing her eyes toward him. “Sometime when I can write down what you remember.”
“You don’t remember her stories?”
“I didn’t listen.” His mouth twisted in a wry grin. “I was too busy thinking of the mischief I could get into next to worry about long-dead relatives.” His gaze swept the attic before meeting hers. “Now I’d give almost anything to hear her tell those stories again.”
Her hand reached out to his damp cheek. He leaned against it, but his eyes continued to search hers. What did he hope to see? The answers to his questions? She doubted she recalled enough of his grossmammi’s stories to ease his curiosity.
“We learn too late to value what we have,” he whispered. “By then, it may be lost to us forever.”
Were they still talking about his grossmammi’s stories? She wasn’t sure, and when he ran a single fingertip along her cheek, she quivered beneath his questioning touch. His finger slid down her neck, setting her skin trembling in anticipation of his caress. When his hand curved around her nape, he tilted her lips toward his.
A warning voice in her mind shouted for her to pull back, stand, leave, anything but move closer to him. She heard it as if from a great distance. All that existed were his dark eyes and warm breath enticing her nearer.
“Nathaniel, komm now!” Jacob exploded into the attic. He bounced from one foot to the other in his anxiety. Water pooled on the floor beneath him.
Esther drew away, blinking as if waking from a wunderbaar dream. She came to her feet when Nathaniel did. He glanced at her, but she looked away. She wasn’t sure if she was more distressed because she’d almost succumbed to his touch or because they’d been interrupted.
Jacob’s face was as gray as the storm clouds. What was wrong? She peered out the attic window. Through the thick curtain of rain, no other buggies were in sight, so Jacob couldn’t have received any news about his onkel.
Nathaniel asked what was wrong in a voice far calmer than she could have managed, and the boy began to talk so quickly his words tumbled over one another, making his answer unintelligible. She thought she picked out a few phrases, but they didn’t make sense.
...in the side of the barn...
...just missed...
Hurry!
The last he repeated over and over as they followed him downstairs and outside.
What had happened?
Chapter Eight
Wind-driven rain struck her face like dozens of icy needles, but Esther didn’t return to the house for her bonnet or shawl. She ran to keep up with Jacob and Nathaniel. The boy didn’t slow as he reached the barn. Throwing open the door, he vanished inside.
The interior of the barn was darker than the rainy day. Scents of hay and animals were thick, but not unpleasant. She blinked to get her eyes to adjust to the dimness, glad the roof didn’t leak. Seeing Jacob rush through the door leading outside toward the pasture where the alpacas were kept, she swallowed a groan, ducked her head and followed.
The rain seemed chillier and the wind more ferocious. It tugged at her bandanna, and she put a hand on it to keep the square from flying off.
Looking over his shoulder, Jacob motioned for them to hurry. He ran toward the alpacas, for the first time not being cautious with them. The frightened creatures scattered like a group of marbles struck at the beginning of a game. At the far end of the field, they gathered together so closely they looked like a single multiheaded creature. Something must be horribly wrong for Jacob to act like this.
Her foot slipped on the wet grass, and
she slowed to get her balance. Ahead of her, Nathaniel had caught up with the boy.
“Here! See it?” Jacob pointed at the side of the alpacas’ shed.
She heard Nathaniel gasp. She ran faster and slid to a stop when she saw what the boy was pointing to.
An arrow! An arrow was protruding from the side of the small building. She choked on a gasp of her own.
Whirling, she ran into the shed. The steel point of the arrowhead protruded from the wall. She didn’t touch it, knowing the point would be as sharp as a freshly honed razor.
She came back outside to see Nathaniel pulling the arrow out of the shed. He held it carefully and scanned the fields around the house and barn. She did, too, squinting through the rain trying to blind her.
“Where did it come from?” Nathaniel mused aloud.
“Probably a deer hunter,” she said.
“They shouldn’t be firing close to the alpacas.”
She scowled. “I doubt it was close to the alpacas. More likely, someone was aiming at your herd. The light brown ones are fairly close to the color of a deer.”
When Jacob cried out in horror, she regretted her words. Why hadn’t she thought before she’d spoken?
“They don’t have antlers, and they’re not the same shape or size as a deer.” Jacob looked at Nathaniel for him to back up his assertion.
She selected her words carefully, not wanting to upset the boy—or Nathaniel—more. “At this time of year, archers can shoot does as well as bucks. Irresponsible, over-eager hunters have been known to shoot at anything that moves. Ezra always has his Brown Swiss cows in a pasture next to the barn during archery season. Once the hunters can use guns, he brings the whole herd inside for the winter.”
“You’re joking.” Nathaniel put his arm around Jacob’s shoulders, and she noticed how the boy was shaking.
With fear or fury? Maybe both.
“No,” she replied with a sad smile. “Some hunters shouldn’t be allowed to hunt because they don’t take the proper precautions when they’re in the woods or traipsing across the fields. They ignore farmland posted No Trespassing. They’re a danger to themselves and everyone else. Don’t you remember how it was when you lived here years ago? Every fall someone loses a dog or some other animal because of clueless hunters.”
“I remember.”
“To be honest, we count ourselves blessed when no person is hurt or killed.” With a sigh, she wiped rain out of her hair. “Right now, we need to check the herd and make sure none of them was hit. As frightened as they are, clumped together, it’s impossible to tell if one is bleeding.”
“Bleeding?” cried Jacob. “No!”
Nathaniel put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Let’s pray they’re fine. But we need to check them. Do you remember how Esther got the alpacas into the shed?”
Jacob nodded.
“Gut. I’ll need your help and Esther’s, so we can examine them. They’ll have to stay in until...” He looked at her.
“Until mid-December,” she said. “I’m not exactly sure when hunting season is over, but I can check with Ezra. He’ll know.”
“That’s a long time,” Jacob grumbled. “The alpacas like being outside.”
“When they can come out again, it’ll be nice and cool.” Nathaniel smiled. “With their wool getting thicker, they’ll be more comfortable then.”
Jacob jumped to another subject with the innocence of a kind. He pointed to the arrow Nathaniel still held. “Can I have that?”
* * *
Nathaniel didn’t wait for Esther to reply. Though she’d be cautious with the boy—after all, she seemed to be cautious with everything now—he didn’t want to delay getting the alpacas into the barn. Not just the herd, but Esther and Jacob, too. The hunter might still be nearby and decide to try another shot at the “deer.”
With a smile, he said, “I’ll give you its feathers, Jacob. How’s that?”
“Great!” His grin reappeared as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“Let’s get the alpacas inside first.”
“Okay.” He ran to get the two branches Nathaniel used to move the alpacas.
“Well done,” Esther said quietly, and he knew she didn’t want Jacob to overhear. “He can’t hurt himself with feathers. If he had the arrow, he’d be sure to nick himself.”
“I’ll make sure it gets disposed of where no kinder can find it.”
“Gut. There can’t be any chance Jacob will decide to see if he can make it fly.”
“As we would have?”
She scowled. “We were foolish kinder back then. I’ve learned it’s better to err on the side of caution.”
“You?” He began to laugh, then halted when she didn’t join in.
“Ja. I don’t know why you find it hard to believe.”
He could have given her a dozen reasons, but she walked away before he could speak. Pushing his wet hair out of his eyes, he watched as she took the branches from Jacob and sent the boy running to open the barn door.
What had changed Esther so much? It was more than the fact that she’d grown up. He had, too, especially after facing cancer, but he hadn’t lost his love of the occasional adventure. Yet whenever he hinted at fun, she acted as if he’d suggested something scandalous. What had happened to her, and why was she keeping it a secret?
Her shout for him to get inside with Jacob so the alpacas didn’t see them spurred him to action. As he went into the barn, making sure the door was propped open, he saw the alpacas milling about, frightened and more uncooperative than they’d been since he’d arrived at the farm.
More quickly than he’d have guessed she could, she moved the herd into the pen at one side of the barn. He closed the door and dropped the bar, locking it into place so the alpacas couldn’t push against the door and escape.
Esther moved among them, talking softly. She might be perturbed with him, but she was gentle with the terrified beasts. While she checked the alpacas in the center of the herd, he and Jacob walked around the outside, keeping the creatures from fleeing to the corners of the pen before she could look at them.
Nearly a half hour later, she edged out of the herd and motioned for him and Jacob to step back. The alpacas turned as one. They rushed toward the door, halting when they realized the opening was gone. Moving along the wall, they searched for it.
“They’ll calm down soon.” Esther wiped her apron. It was covered with bits of wool and debris that had been twisted into the alpacas’ coats. “Are you going to let the police know what happened?”
Nathaniel couldn’t hide his shock because the Amish didn’t involve outsiders unless it was a true emergency. “Why? Nobody was hurt.”
“This time.”
He shook his head. “I won’t go to the police without alerting Reuben and my district’s preachers first.”
“Talk to them. No one was hurt this time, but someone fired off an arrow without thinking of where it could fly.” She glanced at Jacob, who was watching the alpacas intently, but didn’t speak his name.
There was no need. He understood what she hadn’t said. Jacob was near the alpacas whenever he could be. A careless shot could strike him. Nathaniel needed to protect the boy who was his responsibility while his onkel was in the hospital.
As if the boy had guessed the course of his thoughts, Jacob asked, “Can I take the feathers and show them to Onkel Titus?”
This time, Nathaniel didn’t have a swift answer. He thanked God that Esther spoke in a tone suggesting it was a question she’d expected, “As soon as the doktors say we can visit the hospital, you can take the feathers and tell your onkel about today.”
“He’ll be proud of me for not pulling out the arrow myself.” The boy grinned.
“Ja, he will.”
“H
e says no one should handle any weapon until they’ve learned how to use it the right way.”
“Your onkel is a wise man.” She returned his smile, and Nathaniel tried to do the same, though the expression felt like a gruesome mask.
“Because he’s old.” Jacob spoke with the certainty of his eight years. “He’s had lots of time to learn.” He pulled his gaze from the alpacas, which were already less frantic, and glanced over his shoulder. “That’s what he tells me when I make a mistake or touch his stuff when I know I shouldn’t.”
Esther’s smile grew taut, and Nathaniel gave up any attempt at one. Every time the boy mentioned his onkel’s obsession with those piles of junk, Nathaniel was torn between hugging the boy and wishing he could remind Titus that Jacob was more important than any metal or broken wood.
Jacob began to croon to the animals, but they wouldn’t come closer to him. He whirled in frustration, his fists tight by his sides, and stomped his foot. At the sound, the alpacas turned and fled to the farthest corner of the barn. The boy’s face fell from annoyance to dismay.
“Why don’t they like me?” he asked.
Esther gave him a gentle smile. “They don’t know you yet.”
“I come out here every day. I help Nathaniel feed them. I make sure they have plenty of water. Why can’t they see I won’t hurt them?”
“Alpacas take a long time to trust someone. You have to be patient, Jacob.”
“I have been.”
“They still don’t trust me completely,” said Nathaniel, “and I was taking care of them for more than a month before you came here.”
Crestfallen, Jacob nodded. “I wish they liked me.”
“If you give them time, they may,” Esther said.
“I want her to like me.” He pointed to a light brown female. “I want her to like me before she has her boppli.”
“How do you know she’s pregnant?”
“She told me.” He grinned. “Not with words. I’m not out of my mind, no matter what other kids say. She told me by the way she looks. Like our dog did when she was going to have puppies.”
