by Ruth Reid
Faith plopped down on the rocky embankment where she’d left her shoes.
Gideon sat beside her. “I’m worried about Olivia.” His words spilled out of his mouth. Faith was a good listener and so easy to talk to that she made it easy for him not to have to censor his words.
“I don’t know how Olivia spends her free time, we’ve never been close. But she still covers her shifts at work. She hasn’t left Mamm in a lurch.” Faith sighed. “Some people need longer to sort out their decision of baptism and joining the church. Besides, hanging out at the library doesn’t seem that bad.”
“We were supposed to get married.”
Her smile faded. Faith shifted her attention downstream to where a blue heron fished for food. “Like I said,” she said, breaking the silence, “some people need more time. And it isn’t like she’s drinking or experimenting with drugs like others have done on rumspringa.”
“I’m nett so sure.” He inhaled the scent of dank river water and let the breath out slowly. “I saw her giving money to an Englischer.”
“And?”
“The library might be a location for drug exchange.”
“I don’t believe that.” She grabbed her shoes and climbed the embankment.
He hadn’t meant to upset her. He’d better tell her another time about the rumors he’d heard. His foot slipped on a rocky section and he came down hard on his knee. “Ouch!”
She glanced over her shoulder. “You okay?”
“Jah.” He limped up to the top of the embankment. A strong breeze threatened to steal his straw hat, but he pressed it firmly on his head.
Faith smiled.
“You think mei big ears curling under this brim are amusing, don’t you nau?”
“Your ears aren’t overly big.”
“Overly,” he repeated. Growing up the youngest, he’d taken the brunt of many jokes for his big ears, but seeing Faith struggle to smother her smile, he would wear his hat like this every day.
The tall grassy meadow bent in the wind, and a large flock of iridescent blue grackles took flight as dark clouds moved toward them. “Kumm on, it’s getting ready to rain,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”
“Danki, but I can walk.” In no hurry to leave, she swept sand off her wet dress.
“Why are you being stubborn, Faith?”
She looked up. “Olivia’s already mad at me. Things will get worse if she gets the wrong idea about us spending time together.”
“That’s nonsense. You’re like . . . a little sister—Olivia’s little schweschaler.” He needed to make the relationship clear for his benefit as well. He’d already had his heart broken by one Pinkham woman; the likelihood of developing a relationship with her sister was as slim as the sliver of sunlight peeking through the gloomy afternoon clouds. At least that’s what he needed to keep telling himself. Especially after spending any amount of time with her. The woman’s laugh was contagious. Stop, Faith is a friend—nothing more.
“You don’t understand. When it comes to Olivia . . . Well, let’s just say I’ve turned my cheek so many times, I’m dizzy.”
“I’m sorry she’s curt with you.”
“Olivia has always thought Mamm and Daed treat me differently. Even as kinner, she used to say I didn’t belong and that our parents should send me back.”
Gideon chuckled. “That would be rather difficult.”
The wind picked up and Faith turned, shielding her face. She balanced on one leg and shoved her foot into her black leather loafer, then readjusted her balance and put on the other shoe, her teeth chattering the entire time. “I have to go before someone sees me like this.”
“You’re wet and kalt. I’m taking you home.” Gideon placed his hand on her back.
She stood a little straighter, building a wall of resistance in her stare, then crossed her arms over her chest and narrowed her eyes.
“Kumm on,” he persisted. “I can get you home a lot faster.”
Faith glared at him a half second longer. “Fine, I’ll ride with you, but if something gets back to Olivia, or the bishop, or—”
“Don’t worry. Nothing will keep you from being baptized and joining the church.” He hobbled barefooted down the pine-needle path, Faith walking more than an arm’s length away off to his side. Her enthusiasm to join the church was something he’d only seen in someone pledged to wed—unfortunately, he’d never seen the same glint in Olivia’s eyes.
Gideon swallowed the bitter memory and fed his mind with uplifting thoughts. It’s a new day. The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. He viewed the canopy of velvety green maple leaves above them, shaking in the breeze, and smiled, declaring to himself that no matter what trial came, his faith wouldn’t be shaken. Not by Olivia, not by anyone.
“So are you still going to marry my sister when she returns from rumspringa?”
“She won’t return.”
“But if she does,” Faith prodded.
“Nay,” he said sharply, more to tamp his wishy-washy thoughts than to stifle their conversation. But Faith kept silent during the last stretch of the wooded path.
At the buggy, he opened the back end and removed a quilt he kept stashed for winter weather. He came up behind her and draped the cover over her shoulders. “This should help warm you up. I hope it doesn’t smell too much like Bay.” The horse blanket was all he had. Hopefully she wouldn’t recognize it as the quilt Olivia had made for him. After she ditched him, he’d found a more fitting use as a cover for his horse than on his bed.
“This is perfect.” Faith snuggled into its cottony softness, pulling it tighter around her neck. “It’s strange how it can feel kalt in the middle of summer.”
Northern Michigan was unpredictable. Lake effects even in July could send a damp chill to your bones. He scanned the sky. It wouldn’t be too much longer before the sun fell behind the trees, claiming even more daylight. He opened the buggy passenger door and helped gather the bulk of the blanket so Faith could climb onto the bench. “I need to run down to the river and grab mei boots,” he said once she was situated. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Gideon sprinted the few yards to the edge of the river, retrieved his boots, and hurried back to the buggy as the clouds burst with rain. “It’s going to get bad fast,” he said, disengaging the buggy brake.
He didn’t mind getting wet. The rain would be good for his blueberry plants and apple orchard, but Bay didn’t like the rolling thunder. The young, spirited horse and strengthening storm wasn’t an ideal combination. Bay tossed his head. Lightning flashed and seconds later a large oak split down the middle. The cracking timber sound spooked Bay and the reins slipped between Gideon’s wet hands.
Chapter 7
The sudden downpour sent streams of water fingering out over the dirt road and dumping into the ditches. Sections of the passageway started to flood as the heavy amount of runoff overwhelmed the culverts. Fortunately for Faith, Gideon had insisted on driving her home. Otherwise she’d be stranded somewhere trying to wait out the storm. As it was, Mud Lake Highway was disappearing underwater.
Gideon’s face tensed as the buggy jerked in a chugging motion. No longer trotting, the Standardbred went from a clumsy gallop to a spirited run within seconds of a flash of lightning and a crack of nearby timber splitting.
“Easy, Bay. Easy.” Gideon worked the reins, but the gelding kept thrusting his head forward, pulling for more length. “Hold on, Faith.”
The buggy wheel dipped into a washed-out area of the road, and Faith clutched the edge of the bench with a white-knuckle grip. Jostled again, she sucked in a sharp breath and held it. As if she and Gideon were kernels of corn on a hot stove top, they popped up and back down as Bay stumbled.
It wasn’t until they reached the intersection and pulled onto the pavement on Leer Road that they noticed Bay favoring his front right leg. Gideon guided him to the shoulder of the road to stay ou
t of the way of car traffic. Accidents happened on days like today when visibility was less than a few feet.
Faith tapped his arm. “You think Bay’s badly hurt?”
“Hard to say.” He spoke over the pelting rain drumming the top of the buggy. “I won’t know until I can get him somewhere safe and can check if his leg is swelling.”
An oncoming car flashed its headlights, blinding Faith for a half second. She squeezed her eyes closed as the car sped past, a whoosh of rain spraying the side of the buggy. Opening her eyes, she peered at Gideon, who, staring straight ahead, appeared unfazed. Another vehicle passed them from behind. She focused on the yellow line dividing the road. They’d be home soon. Out of this horrific weather. Sipping a cup of herbal tea. Her mouth watered for a slice of cinnamon-raisin bread and a sip of lemon-ginger tea.
They passed Bishop Zook’s farm on the left, but she didn’t notice the Zooks’ fence dividing the property lines until they were right up on it. On a clear day she would be able to see her farm from this distance. Her father’s barn was nestled on a hillside and one of the tallest in the areas.
“This rain isn’t letting up,” she said, not thinking the obvious remark would cause Gideon to take his eyes off the road.
Gideon studied her. “Are you still kalt?”
“Nett wrapped in this quilt. Are you?” She lifted the corner. “I’ll share.”
“Nay.” Gideon snapped his attention back on the road.
Nay. He said that fast. Oh, what was she thinking offering to share the blanket? At least he was watching the road and not her cheeks blaze. Faith pulled the quilt up higher, burying her face up to her eyes. Bay’s scent on the blanket wasn’t too strong, but some of the loose horsehairs tickled her nose. Olivia must not know he used the quilt as a horse blanket. Otherwise she’d have something to say.
Faith breathed a sigh of relief once Gideon pulled into her drive. Home safe. Now to find Daed. He had a special way of treating injured animals. He would know how to care for Gideon’s horse. She craned to look for light coming from the sitting room window. On rainy days like today, Daed was often spotted sitting in his favorite chair reading the Bible by lamplight. But that wasn’t the case today. The sitting room was dark. She glanced at the barn. Although it was too early for him to be doing the evening milking, her father often found things to tinker on in the equipment room. But the barn was closed up tight with no sign of activity through the milking parlor window.
Gideon stopped the buggy next to the house. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”
“Nay, it doesn’t.”
Lightning flashed. Faith spotted her mother’s clothesline down. The dresses she’d washed earlier that morning were now scattered on the ground.
“Are you going to be all right alone?”
“You need to stay,” she said. Then, seeing his brows lift, her heart nearly burst with embarrassment. “Bay might not make it another three miles.” Gideon’s family farm was closer to Metz Township than Posen and down a pitted dirt road that was treacherous to travel even on good days. Driving home now was foolish. “What if your road is washed out? You can’t risk him going lame.”
“True.”
“So put him in one of our stalls and wait the storm out here. It’ll give Bay time to rest, and you can have supper with us.”
Detecting Gideon’s reluctance, she added with less emotion, “Mei daed knows what to do for a sprained leg. Our plow horse had problems last spring.”
He twisted his body to look upward. “The entire sky is gray. I’m sure the rain won’t let up any time soon, and you’re probably right about mei road being underwater.”
She motioned to the barn. “Park next to the gate, and while you unharness Bay, I’ll open the stall.”
“Okay.” Gideon gave the reins a light tug, and Bay limped to the barn.
Faith eased the quilt off her shoulders, leaving the warmth on the bench. With it raining so hard, there wasn’t a good time to jump out. Her feet landed in a pool of water and soaked through her shoes. She ran to the barn and tugged the sliding door open. Rain drenched, she adjusted her prayer kapp over the mound of limp wet hair. No telling how disheveled she looked. Normally she liked a hard summer rain and the fresh scent it left behind, but at the moment, she wasn’t feeling fresh at all. It seemed the rain had mingled the scents of fried food embedded into her clothing from the restaurant and the stench of river water, which was hardly a pleasant aroma.
Finding the box of wooden matches on the shelf next to the lantern, Faith set the wick ablaze. She passed the first two stalls, both empty, and opened the third. It wasn’t surprising for her father to be stuck somewhere waiting out the storm just as Gideon was waiting it out here.
Clumsy-sounding horse hooves clomped across the barn’s concrete pad. Faith poked her head outside the stall door and frowned at Bay limping. “He’s really favoring it, isn’t he?”
“Jah,” Gideon said, sadness in his tone.
Faith grabbed the feed bucket. “I’ll fetch some oats while you get him settled.” She eased over to the door, giving Bay a pat on the shoulder as she passed. From the feed barrel, she could hear Gideon talking softly to the horse. Faith recalled how her father had doctored the plow horse with liniment last spring. She searched the equipment room and found a jar with the milky-looking paste. One whiff of the strong medicine caused her eyes to water. She lowered the feed bucket, then handed Gideon the liniment.
“What’s this?” He unscrewed the lid, lifted it to his nose, then pulled it away and coughed.
“Daed used it on Calliope when her leg started bothering her after plowing season.”
“It worked?”
She shrugged. “I think so.”
Gideon scooped a glob and squatted next to Bay. The gelding’s leg must have been sensitive to Gideon’s touch because he tossed his head and neighed. “Easy, boy.” Gideon applied the liniment, rubbing it from the horse’s forearm, to his knee, and down to the area around his hoof. Once he finished applying the medicine, he stepped back and frowned as he studied Bay.
“The liniment needs time to work,” Faith said.
Gideon slipped out of the stall and stood next to Faith in front of the half door. After several seconds of staring at the gelding, he said, “I’m going to get something to dry him off. I’ll be right back.”
Faith leaned against the doorframe of the stall and sighed. Bay was the first horse she’d known to hang his head low without nibbling on hay or oats. The poor animal was pitiful to watch. She leaned down and snatched the oat bucket and gave it a shake to get the horse’s attention. Bay lifted his head and perked his ears, but he didn’t move. She shook the oats more. “Aren’t you hungry, boy?”
Bay dropped his head and sniffed at the hay-covered floor.
The barn door popped open and Gideon came inside, rain running off his hat and soaking into his shirt.
Noticing the quilt from the buggy in his arms, Faith hardened her expression. “You’re nett thinking about using that to dry him, are you?”
“I was.” He used the corner of the quilt to wipe rain water off his face. “Why?”
“Gideon Rohrer. You know why.” Olivia wouldn’t think kindly of him using the quilt she’d made to dry his horse, injured leg or not.
His lips played into a mischievous smile. He planned to put it on the horse anyway, she could see it in his eyes as he unfolded the quilt. Faith moved away from the stall door, but instead of him going inside with Bay, he wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, his hand gently brushing against her chin as he brought the quilt around. “Better?”
His gaze soaked deep into her eyes, Faith was sure he could see her soul. She couldn’t get her voice to work with him standing so close, and he seemed intent on waiting for her answer before he moved. “So”—her heartbeat galloped wildly, causing a quiver in her voice that made her words come out as wisps—“you think I’m a horse nau? I need toweling off?”
A soft chuckle erupted.
Gideon moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, pinning her with a gaze that turned his eyes from cobalt to a piercing indigo blue. Then as he leaned even closer to the point that his features blurred, his words about not marrying her sister echoed in Faith’s mind, and she closed her eyes.
The barn door creaked open, and Faith glanced over Gideon’s shoulder as her sister’s shadowy figure moved into the glow of the lantern light. A whoosh of dread washed over Faith as she sank a little deeper under the cover.
Gideon turned and followed Faith’s line of vision to the barn door. He jumped back, breathing noticeably huskier. Redness spread from his neck to his ears and over his face in a matter of seconds.
Olivia planted her hands on her hips. “What’s going on?”
Chapter 8
It’s nett what you think, Olivia,” Gideon said. He distanced himself a little more from Faith.
“He’s right,” Faith said, thrusting the balled-up quilt she’d been huddled in at his chest. “It’s definitely nett what you think.” She shot an icy look at him over her shoulder, then stormed away. A few seconds later, the wooden door closed hard, rattling its hinges.
Gideon groaned under his breath. It’s nett what you think. Who was he trying to fool, other than himself? He’d almost kissed Faith. Now she was upset, embarrassed . . . He glimpsed Olivia moving into his peripheral vision and spun to face the stall. It’d been months since they engaged in a lengthy conversation. They had nothing in common—nothing to talk about.
He peered over the half wall at Bay nibbling on oats, but Gideon’s mind refused to register if the horse was putting weight on his leg or not. An image of Faith’s hardened expression, disappointment hooding her dark eyes, pitted his stomach.
