So was Alton sleepy or drunk? Either way, it was best Joshua dealt with the problem. His father had enough on his agenda the next day with the harvest and the cranky tractor that required constant tending. It would be selfish to wake him if it was something Joshua could handle. He dressed quickly and crept quietly down the stairs.
As soon as Joshua joined him on the front lawn, Alton wrapped an arm around his neck. The smell of wine caused Joshua to step back. He didn’t reprimand his brother. That would have been a waste of words. Instead he growled, “What’s the problem this time?”
“A little spell, I mean spill, with the truck. I was hoping you could bring the tractor. Help a brother out.”
Joshua escaped his brother’s drunken embrace and walked three steps away. Then he turned and studied him in the moonlight. “You want help?”
“Pull me from the ditch with the tractor.”
“You could have done that yourself.”
“It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Joshua shook his head and weighed his options. If he didn’t help Alton, his parents would have to do so and the coming day would be busy enough. They had fifteen acres of corn to be harvested, followed the next week by twenty-two acres of soybeans. The sorghum, their largest crop at sixty-two acres, would be harvested last. Then the planting of winter wheat would begin. It was a busy time for farmers, and his father didn’t need this latest situation with Alton complicating things.
“The tractor will wake everyone. Best to take Blaze.” Of the two workhorses, he was the easiest to control. Percherons in general did well behind a plow but were less predictable in strange situations. He could count on Blaze to remain calm and follow instructions. Plus, the gelding could use the exercise.
Too much of their work was being done by the tractor now. He’d even heard his parents talk of selling the two workhorses, but Joshua was fairly certain they wouldn’t do it. Selling Blaze and Milo would be akin to selling the family pets. Everyone knew their blue heeler, imaginatively named Blue, wasn’t going anywhere. Joshua’s gut told him neither were the Percherons.
“Splash some water on your face while I get Blaze. Maybe it will help you sober up.”
“Gut idea.” Alton said, but instead of walking toward the barn, he sprawled onto the porch stairs. “I just need to close my eyes for a minute—”
“Oh, no you don’t, little bruder.” Joshua had him by the shirt collar before Alton realized what was happening. He yanked him to his feet and gave him a shove in the direction of the barn. “You created this mess, whatever it is. You are not sleeping through it.”
“All right. All right. You don’t have to be so pushy.”
But Alton was grinning, which in Joshua’s opinion was part of the problem. His brother didn’t take the trouble he fell into seriously. Why should he? They were constantly bailing him out. If he didn’t straighten up soon, he’d find himself knee-deep in something he couldn’t get out of. If he didn’t change his ways, Bishop Levi was bound to become involved. The man was patient but not stupid. He was looking the other way because an Amish teen’s rumspringa was ignored whenever possible, but when someone could get hurt, or when the Englisch police became involved, Levi was quick to intercede.
To Joshua’s way of thinking, they were past the point where Levi should become involved. Perhaps he would talk to the bishop. Was it his place to do so? He wasn’t perfect, and he’d had his share of rebellion—though it focused mainly on fishing and a little travel. He’d never owned a car, though he had driven a truck for a time—a job he was glad he no longer needed. He’d tried alcohol only once and hated the taste of the stuff. He certainly didn’t step out with any Englisch girls.
“What’s so funny, bruder?”
They were walking the horse down the dirt lane. Rather, Joshua was walking. Alton was stumbling. The moon cast enough of a glow for them to see their way. The light allowed Joshua to make out his brother’s silhouette. Alton was still gangly. His hands and feet often seemed too large, causing him to be clumsy. The same height as Joshua, just shy of six feet, his frame was a bit too thin. His too-long blond hair flopped constantly into his eyes. Just the day before their mother had reminded him to come home early so she could cut it, but apparently other activities had kept Alton occupied until the wee hours of the morning.
“I can practicing, I mean practically, hear the gears in your brain turning.”
“I was thinking about how different we are.”
“You are half as good looking but twice as bright. Isn’t that what Mammi used to say?”
Their grandmother had passed the previous spring, and Joshua missed her still. They turned onto the two-lane blacktop road fronting their property.
When he didn’t answer, Alton said, “You might as well lecture me now. I know you’re going to do it sooner or slater—I mean later.” He covered his mouth as the laughter threatened to bubble out.
“And what gut would that do?”
Alton stumbled, but regained his balance before falling. “None at all! But it’s your duty as the oldest son.”
“Hardly.”
Alton made a gagging sound, covered his mouth with his hand, and ran to the side of the road, vomiting into the ditch. Joshua didn’t bother waiting on him. Five minutes later his brother had caught up and resumed their conversation as if nothing had happened.
“I was only seven when you were my age. I barely remember your rumspringa.”
“That’s because there’s nothing to remember.”
“Ya? The older boys still tell stories about the fishing boat and your attempt to pull it to Samuel Schwartz’s pond.”
“I did pull it to Samuel’s pond, and I shared the catch with him too.”
“But you wrecked the tractor in the progress.” Alton hiccupped. “I mean process.”
To Joshua, those times seemed so far in the distant past as to be ancient history.
“You wrecked it coming home when the boat—” He put his hands together in front of him and mimicked a fish swimming through water. “Swerved off the road.”
“I did.”
“How long did it take you to earn enough to pay for the repairs?”
“All of my extra money for two years. I got off light. Someone could have been hurt. I should have never attempted to drive back in the dark.”
“So you’re not perfect.”
“Never claimed to be.” They had reached the place where the two-lane met the larger four-lane road. The moon was quickly setting, but Joshua could see well enough. His brother’s truck sat nose down in the water that filled the ditch.
“It’ll be dawn soon. Best do this as quickly as possible.”
He made sure that Alton was the one standing in the water and hooking up the chain they had brought. He attached it to the rear bumper of the Ford. Joshua had fitted the horse collar harness on to Blaze before leaving the barn. With it, the horse could pull a sleigh filled with people or a truck from a ditch. Joshua stood by the horse, murmuring to him, promising him a nice bucket of oats when they returned.
“Easy, Blaze. Forward, now. Forward. That’s gut.”
Some would be surprised that the horse could pull the truck, but Blaze weighed in at nineteen hundred pounds and stood seventeen hands high. He was a beauty all right, and the truck was no problem for him.
A splash and groan told Joshua that his brother had slipped and fallen. He resisted the urge to laugh, but the sight of Alton climbing out of the ditch, trailing water and mud, filled his heart with hope. Perhaps the bishop wouldn’t be needed. It was possible that God would see to his brother’s training.
CHAPTER 3
Becca Troyer stepped out onto the front porch of her parents’ home. Her grandfather was the local bishop, and her father was the only ferrier for their small community. The property he’d purchased on moving to Cody’s Creek was shallow but wide—resembling a rectangle with the longer side fronting the two-lane road. Less than t
en acres, it provided ample space to corral the horses that were left in his care and still enough land remained for the family garden, which was large by Englisch standards but small compared to many Amish plots. Because they only had three to feed—Becca was a rare only child in an Amish community—the small garden was perfect.
She’d stepped outside to watch the sun come up. It was something she usually did with her mamm, but this morning her mother was busy in the kitchen, preparing both breakfast and lunch for her father. A sew-in was scheduled for later in the day, and her father had declared he’d rather eat in the barn than fall into a bevy of chattering women. Suzie had laughed at that, reminding him that they worked while they chattered.
Becca’s parents were like that—easily teasing one another, smiling, even occasionally kissing when they thought Becca wouldn’t see. She liked that they liked one another. It gave her a sense of solidness, as if the foundation of their home was something that couldn’t be shaken. She didn’t know if she’d ever find love like that, but at twenty she realized it was ridiculous to worry about such things. Though in an Amish community, twenty was no spring chicken.
Becca laughed at that idea as she watched the sun slowly rise over their little farm. Two mares stood at the fence, watching her, no doubt wondering if she was going to bring them a treat. The old tabby barn cat made its way slowly across the drive and wound between her legs. Yes, the day looked nearly perfect, and the morning sew-in would be a welcome break from their regular chores. She found herself looking forward to the chance to visit with the other women.
But she needed this time of peace and reflection. The quiet mornings watching the sun rise seemed like a way to ground herself for whatever the day might hold. She’d been watching the sun come up from their front porch since she was a small child, cuddled against her mother’s side. Her mother had shaped her life with a wise hand. Her father had provided the love and guidance she’d needed. Yes, Becca counted herself blessed. So why was she sometimes restless? Why couldn’t she be satisfied with the life she had?
The sun peeked over the horizon, dispersing a virtual palette of colors—tangerine, rose, magenta, and lilac. Becca’s mother was an artist—a painter, to be exact. Becca had grown up asking for the slate crayon from her box instead of the blue-gray one. She’d absorbed her mother’s love of color, although she had no artistic ability herself unless you counted the flower garden bordering the front of her parents’ house or the quilting she did only marginally well.
Now she sat on the front porch steps, enjoying the warmth of the coffee mug in her hands, the smell of the roses near the steps, and the miracle of another sunrise in front of her. And that was when she saw Joshua Kline leading a workhorse down the lane, followed by someone driving a battered Ford pickup. The sight might appear incongruous to someone not from their area. For Becca it was typical of what she’d come to expect of Cody’s Creek. She could suddenly envision how her mother would paint it, and she had to press her fingers to her lips to stifle her laughter.
At that moment, Joshua’s horse headed toward the side of the road, having apparently spied something that looked eatable.
“Whoa, Blaze. Let’s go, boy. This way.”
The large horse ignored Joshua and began cropping at the roadside weeds. Becca set her coffee on the porch and popped into the house.
“Something wrong?” her mamm asked.
“Nein. Well, I don’t have a problem, but it seems Joshua does.”
Her mother had been at the table making sandwiches for her father’s lunch. Suzie stood and walked to the window, a wistful sigh coming from her lips. “That would make a wonderful picture, wouldn’t it, dear? With the dawn splashing across the road… ” She shook her head and returned to the table. “Some pictures are meant to be remembered but not actually painted. On the other hand, your father will need lunch while we’re busy sewing.”
“It’s a fine-looking horse.”
“Indeed, but I’m not sure boys today know how to handle them, especially our boys, who are more used to tractors. And why is a pickup idling behind him?”
“I have no idea, but hopefully this will help to move the horse.” Becca chose a green apple from the fruit bowl.
“Your dat is in the back pasture feeding the guest horses.”
The term guest horses always struck Becca as funny, as if they ran a bed-and-breakfast for the four-legged creatures.
“Would you like me to call him?”
“I don’t think so.” Becca walked out of the kitchen wishing she had taken the time to comb her hair properly when she’d first awoke. Too often, that was the last thing Becca thought of. She snagged a prayer kapp from her room, hastily tucked her brown curls up into it, and hurried out the front door. Her heart was racing and her palms were sweaty, but neither slowed her down.
Joshua was still trying to coax the horse away from the fence, and now he was joined by his brother, Alton, who apparently had been driving the truck.
“Problem?”
“The night has been full of them.” Joshua shot a displeased look at his brother.
“Morning, Becca.” Alton forgot the horse and walked over to join her. “You’re looking awfully pretty this morning.”
Becca didn’t respond to that. She had no idea what to say. She was a mess and knew it. However, she did notice that Joshua was watching the two of them closely, as if to see how she would answer his brother’s teasing. His expression cemented into a frown as he continued murmuring to the horse.
“A horse and a truck. You two must have big plans for the day.”
“No plans, Becca. Unless you’d be interested in going to town with me—”
“Actually, we’re helping Dat harvest the corn crop today.”
“I don’t know how much help I’ll be with that.” Alton scratched his jaw. “I haven’t slept a wink all night. Had a little too much to drink, but I’m okay to drive. My bruder saw that I was sobered up good and proper before he allowed me to climb behind the wheel.”
“Falling into a creek can do that for a person,” Becca said, eyeing his wet clothes and dirty hair. Even covered in mud, Alton Kline was a good-looking young man. He was also still a child at heart. At least that was how she thought of him.
“If you’re tired, we both know whose fault that is.”
“I’ll admit to that.”
“Well, that’s big of you.”
“Excuse my bruder’s bad temperament.”
“My temperament is bad because of you.”
“He tends toward cranky in the morning.”
“Maybe I am, which is understandable since you woke me up in the middle of the night.”
Listening to the conversation between the two, it wasn’t difficult for Becca to figure out what had happened. Mud was splattered across the front of the truck, the horse was wearing a pulling collar, and there was a muddy ditch a quarter mile down the road. As for Alton, it was well known that he was indulging his rumspringa.
Joshua? Well, he was the responsible one, or at least he had been as long as Becca had known him, which was all of her life. He had finished his last year of school when Becca was enjoying her first. Their paths only crossed at church and social gatherings. When they did, it seemed that Joshua had very little to say. Did he think of her as a child? Maybe as a younger sibling? How could she change his opinion of her? What did she need to do so that he would notice her?
“Perhaps this will help you with the horse.” She pulled the apple from her apron pocket, walked to Joshua, and dropped it in his hand.
“Ya. Maybe so,” he said, glancing away from her as if he were confused.
The horse was a beautiful black gelding—a Percheron with a splash of white between his eyes in the shape of a lightning rod. Blaze. That was his name. Her dat had reshod him a few months ago.
Joshua placed the shiny apple under the horse’s nose, and then he jerked it away when the beast showed interest. The game was on, Joshua walking quickly away with t
he apple in his pocket, Blaze following eagerly.
“Gut thinking,” Joshua called out.
“What my bruder meant to say was danki.” Alton walked around to the idling truck, but before he slipped inside he said, “If you change your mind about going to town with me, give me a call. You have my cell number, right?”
Instead of answering, Becca waved goodbye. She didn’t have Alton’s number, and she wouldn’t be calling him even if she did. For one thing, it would necessitate a walk to the phone shack because she didn’t have a cell phone of her own. Second, it seemed rather a forward thing to do. So instead of answering, she walked back toward the house.
The Kline brothers had stolen her quiet morning and interrupted her moments of reflection, but she didn’t mind so much. It wasn’t every day that she saw two eligible Amish bachelors stalled in front of her home with a Ford pickup and a giant Percheron. Perhaps her mother would paint it after all. No doubt it was a scene the Englischers who purchased her art would enjoy.
As she walked back into the kitchen, she wondered if her mother guessed that Becca felt a thrill of excitement whenever her path crossed with that of the Kline brothers. Probably. Her mother knew her well and seemed to understand even those things they didn’t talk about. Chances were that her mother had even been able to guess which boy had caught Becca’s eye and captured her heart.
CHAPTER 4
Charlie slipped into his usual booth at the diner, one near the front windows that allowed him a view of the water. A crack in the vinyl seat had been covered with duct tape, but the table was clean, the coffee hot, and the food delicious. The walls were adorned with fishing pictures. Several were of students he had taught over the years. Some stood beside giant tarpon, others with large catches of trout and flounder. A girl posed next to an eighty-pound redfish, and a boy—one who had written an excellent paper on Shakespeare—had landed a good-sized shark.
Joshua's Mission Page 2
