A Plain and Simple Heart (The Amish of Apple Grove)

by Virginia Smith

With a grin, the girl folded Rebecca’s fingers around the coins. “It’s yours. I might not be one of those women who run after Mrs. Diggs, but I can make a donation to help my friend if I want, can’t I?”

  Touched, Rebecca looked gratefully up at the girl. Her friend. Yes, in a few short days Sassy had become a friend.

  Maummi would be scandalized.

  On impulse, she stepped closer and wrapped Sassy in an embrace. Unaccustomed to physical demonstrations though she was, it felt good to wrap her arms around her new friend.

  Mrs. Evans lingered after Sassy swept out of the jail with a toss of her hair and a flounce of her skirts. The elderly woman paused in the doorway of the cell, her expression disturbed.

  “Child, I’ve done something.” She tossed a quick glance over her shoulder toward Colin, whose attention was focused on a newspaper spread across his desk. “I hope you won’t mind.”

  “What have you done?”

  Creases deepened on her brow while watery eyes held her gaze. She stepped back into the cell and whispered. “I’m working to gain your release. You know I want only what is best for you, don’t you?”

  Warmth for the woman standing before her washed through Rebecca. Mrs. Evans had done nothing but help her since the moment Rebecca arrived in Lawrence. For the second time in as many minutes, she embraced a new friend. She pressed her cheek against the soft one that smelled faintly of lavender.

  “I am grateful for all your efforts on my behalf.”

  “Oh, I hope you—”

  The door opened and a man stuck his head into the room. “They said I’d find someone from the millinery here? My men are ready to install a window.”

  “Oh!” Mrs. Evans turned and bustled away. “Thank goodness. We’ll talk more later, my dear.” A hand waved above her head as she hurried after the carpenter. “Don’t worry about a thing!”

  When she had gone, Rebecca stood at the cell bars for a moment to watch Colin. Engrossed in his newspaper, he didn’t look up. She pulled her cell door closed and returned to her rocking chair. The time passed so much more quickly in conversation, but he was not so inclined today.

  With a sigh, she picked up the next piece of stitching.

  Amos sat on the train bench with his satchel in his lap, his hands clutching the handle. His back protested hours of inactivity, accustomed as he was to working on his farm, plowing and planting and milking and feeding the livestock. This hard bench’s continual swaying with the train’s motion was far worse than a buggy on an uneven path, and the good food Mrs. Switzer packed for his lunch had gone uneaten for fear his stomach might revolt.

  He shifted his weight to ease the numbness in his limbs. The train had made several stops since leaving Hays City, but he had remained in his seat rather than risk missing the whistle. Now that he had set out to fetch Rebecca Switzer, he was eager to have the task complete and return home, where they both belonged.

  At least he’d had a bench to himself for the whole trip. The passengers behind him in the half-full train car had kept up a nearly continuous chatter that Amos was happy to be left out of. He did not feel comfortable talking with strangers. Or, in truth, with anyone. Silence had served him well his entire thirty years, and he enjoyed the peace of his own thoughts.

  His glance slid to the Englischman across the aisle and one row ahead. When the man selected that bench during the last stop, he had turned in his seat to glare around the train car, and his gaze had settled on Amos. His eyes had narrowed to slits as he noted the traditional Amish garb in which Amos had dressed his entire life. The round hat, the black trousers held up by braces over a white shirt, the collarless coat—in Apple Grove these garments symbolized the bond he enjoyed with his Amish brothers. All the same, with no signs of rank or privilege. Here, in the Englisch world, they made him conspicuous and uneasy. A sneer had curled the nose of the fellow traveler, and he had spat upon the floor in an obviously offensive gesture. Amos could not fail to notice the pair of guns hanging from the man’s belt, and his pulse had sped up to a trot. He managed, he hoped, to maintain a properly peaceful countenance, drawing on the familiar words of the Confession, “According to the example, life, and doctrine of Christ, we are not to do wrong or cause offense or vexation to anyone.” When the scowling man turned to face forward, Amos had closed his eyes and offered up a prayer of thanksgiving.

  The train lurched. Thrown sideways, he clutched at the bag while maintaining his seat. He could not afford to release his grip even for a moment. If the angry Englischman knew he carried money in this bag, he would most likely be robbed. His community back home would find no fault when he responded with peaceful nonresistance, but the failure in his mission would burn in him. He would buy Rebecca’s freedom and take her home to her family and community, where she belonged. And maybe even to a new family, if she were grateful enough to accept his offer.

  The train’s whistle blew, and the speed of the landscape rushing past the windows slowed. Behind him, his fellow passengers began gathering their belongings. The train must be approaching Lawrence. Relief washed through him. Though grateful that the train had reduced the time of his journey, he nevertheless would be glad to be quit of it, at least until the return trip, when Rebecca would be by his side.

  As the car drifted to a stop, Amos studied the town outside his window. His heart pounded with increased speed at the sight of all the buildings, rows of them, lined up for a long way to the south of the train. Some of those buildings were houses, no doubt, where the townspeople lived practically on top of one another. With longing he thought of the solitude of his farm as he had seen it last night, the sun setting over the neat rows of corn in the western field.

  The train ceased to move, and shortly afterward the door in the front opened. A tall Englischman wearing a uniform and an odd little hat came into view. The conductor, he had called himself when Amos boarded back in Hays City.

  “Lawrence,” he announced as he pulled a watch from a pocket in his vest and inspected it. “Five thirty-five. Five minutes early.”

  The passengers moved toward the exit but stopped when the man with the guns rose from his bench. He half turned and aimed his scowl around the car again. Before Amos could do more than acknowledge the nerves that threatened to destroy his peaceful countenance, the man stepped into the center aisle. An audible sigh rose from the other passengers as he left the car. Only when he was out of sight did they continue disembarking.

  Amos stood politely in place, his bag clutched in both hands, and waited for the last of them to file by. Then, when he was the last passenger left on the train, he followed them.

  The conductor, standing on the platform, raised a hand toward him.

  “I’ll hold that while you climb down, sir.”

  “Danki, no.”

  Amos gripped the bag’s handle with his left hand and used his right to grasp a bar beside the door to steady himself as he moved down the steps from the train car. When he stood with both feet on firm soil, he paused for a minute to offer a prayer of gratitude for a safe arrival. Then he took a look around him. The area was alive with activity. Men were unloading cargo, hauling crates out of the cars toward the back of the train, and piling them on wagons. Others stood nearby, waiting to load yet more crates and boxes onto the train. Men astride horses passed by, intent on their errands, and in the distance, a carriage turned a corner and disappeared from view. The passengers who had shared the car with him were heading for the buildings in pairs and small groups. Within moments the town would swallow them up. The man wearing the guns was nowhere in sight. Amos released a relieved breath.

  “Have a good evening, sir.” The conductor started to step away, heading toward the cargo cars.

  Amos held up a hand quickly to stop him. “You will direct me, please?”

  “Sure. You need a place to stay? The Eldridge is the best hotel in town. Not the cheapest, mind you. There are boardinghouses, and some of them are even clean.”

  A hotel or even a boardingho
use was not his immediate concern.

  “Where is the jail?”

  The man’s eyebrows arched. “The jail?”

  Though curiosity fairly danced across the man’s features, Amos offered no explanation but merely waited patiently for directions.

  Finally, the conductor lifted an arm and pointed toward the far end of town.

  “It’s about halfway down Massachusetts Street. It’ll be on your right, just past the feed store and livery.”

  “Danki.”

  Amos bobbed his head in thanks, tightened his grip on his bag, and turned in the direction the man’s finger pointed. He was aware that the conductor stood watching him for a long moment before he returned to his duties.

  Rebecca stood on the chair and thrust her face toward the metal bars in the window. The sounds of a busy afternoon drifted to her from outside—the clop of a horse’s hooves, the rumble of a wagon, a woman’s voice calling to a child. She could see little beyond the building behind the jail, which she had discovered housed a laundry business. The sight of clothes dangling from the lines strung between the buildings stirred nostalgic feelings inside her, though no Amish clothesline ever held such a variety of colors. When the clothes had been newly laundered, she could smell the soap as the breeze stirred the fabric. But this late in the day, the lines were empty and the odors were different. Somewhere not far away livestock was housed. That was also a familiar scent, though not nearly so pleasant.

  Noise drew her attention from the window. She turned, still standing on the chair, and scanned the jail. Colin sat with his head bent over a piece of paper, working with industry on something. The scratch of his pen had continued all afternoon.

  The noise came again, a quiet rapping, though so timid she might have missed it if there had been any other sound in the room. Colin, intent on his writing, didn’t raise his head.

  “Someone is knocking, I think.”

  He glanced up at her. “Knocking? Nobody knocks on a jailhouse door.”

  Setting his pen aside, he rose and crossed the floor. Rebecca watched as he cracked the door open to peek outside. Then he turned to look her way.

  “I believe you have a visitor.”

  Another of the ladies of the movement most likely, though it was late in the day for them. No matter. She was grateful to all who spent a few moments talking with her. Anything to relieve the boredom of long, tedious hours with nothing to occupy her time except more sewing.

  When Colin swung the door open, Rebecca’s mind at first did not register the identity of the person standing in the entryway. In a glance she took in the familiar Amish clothing, the untrimmed beard. When she looked into the man’s face, recognition struck her a blow so sharp she nearly fell off her chair. The round face, the slightly cross-eyed stare.

  “Amos? Amos Beiler?”

  His eyes moved as he inspected her cell. His thoughts of the furnishings he kept hidden behind an impassive mask, though Rebecca had no doubt her shock at his unexpected appearance was quite visible on her face.

  “We don’t stand on ceremony around here.” With a sweeping hand, Colin invited him inside. “If you’re here to visit the prisoner, come on in.”

  Amos nodded. “I am here to speak with Rebecca.”

  Rebecca shot Colin a hurt look. Must he mention the fact that she was a prisoner and be sarcastic to poor Amos? It was true that the jailhouse door swung open as frequently as the Lucky Dollar these days, but folks were only being kind.

  As she climbed off of her chair, questions swirled in Rebecca’s mind like dust devils on the open range. The appearance of someone from Apple Grove was unexpected and unwelcome, but it should not be surprising. She had written to let Papa know of her safe arrival in Lawrence, though she certainly did not expect him to come after her. And he had not. But Amos?

  With a nervous gesture, she smoothed a wrinkle from her skirt before facing him, the cell bars a comforting barrier between them.

  “Why are you here?”

  Amos did not approach the cell but came to a halt in the center of the room. Behind him, Colin closed the door and returned to the desk.

  “I am sent by Bishop Miller to represent Apple Grove.”

  The bishop knew of her whereabouts? She hid a cringe.

  “How?” She had worded her letter so carefully. “How did you know to find me here?” She waved to indicate the cell.

  “Jonas received a letter.” He stooped to place the black bag he carried on the floor at his feet. From inside he withdrew a piece of paper, which he extended toward her. “You have a gut friend. She wrote your papa to alert him to your need.”

  She covered a groan with her hands. So this was what Mrs. Evans was referring to this morning. She had taken it upon herself to write to Papa to ask for money to pay the fine. Amos’s presence told her Papa had responded, but why did he not come himself? Was his disappointment in his daughter for breaking the law too much for him to tolerate?

  “I will not take Papa’s money. He has little to spare.” She turned away. “Take it back to him.”

  “The money did not come from Jonas.” Out of the corner of her eye she watched him bend over the bag again. This time he pulled out a pouch. “Everyone helped. Together we collected one hundred and twenty dollars. Enough to pay the fine and for your train ride home.”

  Her head spinning, Rebecca wavered on her feet. “Everyone?”

  “Ja.” The round hat bobbed up and down. “The whole community.”

  Humiliation burned in her face. Everyone in Apple Grove knew she was in jail?

  “Well, now. That should make you proud.” Colin stood up. “You can pay your fine. I’ll get my jail back. Miz Evans can start sleeping in her own bed again, and you can go home with—Amos, was it?”

  Amos nodded, and Colin crossed the room and slapped him on the back.

  “Everything can go back to normal.”

  He seemed eager, almost giddy, to be rid of her. Tears pricked behind her eyes. Not, she assured herself, that it mattered what he thought of her. But after spending the past week together, and after confiding his plans to build his orphanage and church, she might have expected him to at least miss her. A little. Maybe frown. Once.

  Stiffening her back, she turned and walked to the rear of her cell. Through the tiny window she could see the blue sky above the rooftop of the laundry. Oh, how she longed to walk beneath that sky. It had been nine days since she felt the sun’s warmth on her face.

  But to take money from the families of Apple Grove? Why did Papa not come, or Maummi? Were they so ashamed of her that they did not wish to see her? Perhaps they were angry with her. If so, would they be reluctant to accept Jesse when she returned with him?

  Jesse. He would be here within a few days, according to Mrs. Diggs. She’d had word from Mr. Diggs that he was wrapping up his business and nearly ready to head to Cider Gulch, and then home to Lawrence.

  No. She would not take their help. She would solve her own problems and return to Apple Grove on her own. No one would determine the end of her rumspringa except her.

  Blinking back threatening tears, she raised her chin and faced Amos and Colin. She lowered herself into her rocking chair.

  “I will not go,” she announced.

  Colin’s jaw dropped, and she had the satisfaction of seeing Amos’s crossed eyes bulge.

  The sheriff recovered first. He took a step forward. “That’s crazy talk, Rebecca. Take the money and go home. It’s time—”

  Whatever he further intended to say was interrupted by the heavy pounding of boots against wooden boards of the front porch. The door opened and Deputy Callahan, eyes wild, grabbed Colin by the arm.

  “We got a live one, Colin.” His eyes gestured to the door. “Marvin Kaspar just came in on the train not twenty minutes ago, big as sin.”

  It took Rebecca only a moment to identify the name. For the past nine days she’d had little else to read but the wanted posters pinned to the jailhouse wall.

  Colin re
ached for a Winchester hanging on the wall. He stopped long enough to repeat, “Rebecca, take the money and go home.” His gaze locked with hers in a silent plea.

  She crossed her arms. “I will not take money from those who cannot afford to spend, nor will I leave.”

  The bars of her cell rattled with the force of the door slamming behind him.

  SEVENTEEN

  Colin grabbed his horse’s lead from the post in front of the jail and sprinted into the saddle.

  “I was watching the train, just like you said.” John mounted up. “He was first off, and headed straight down Louisiana Street. I thought he looked familiar, but it took me a minute to place him. I’m almost sure it was Kaspar.”

  Colin sent him a sharp look. “Almost?”

  “Well, I didn’t go up and ask his name, if that’s what you mean.” The deputy returned a defensive stare. “Mean-looking fella. Has a scowl that’ll set your innards to shivering. I was afraid to let him out of my sight on account of the others disappearing so quicklike. I followed him all the way up to Pa Parker’s.”

  Pa Parker’s restaurant sat on the river end of Ohio Street, one street over from Louisiana at the northern boundary of town.

  “Let’s hope he’s still there,” Colin said.

  The last thing he needed was another wanted man strolling into Lawrence and back out again without a word.

  Rebecca.

  Her name flashed through his mind. She should take the money and leave. Why did he find the idea worrisome? He thrust thoughts of his pretty little prisoner from his mind. No time for that right now.

  “I peeked in the front window,” John told him. “Made sure he’d taken a seat and ordered a steak before I came after you.”

  “Good work, John.” Nervous tension raced through Colin’s veins as he galloped toward Ohio Street. Maybe now he would finally get some answers.

  The suppertime crowd at Pa’s place bore testimony to the quality of the food. Or maybe it was the prices, which were among the cheapest in town. A half dozen horses waited at the post out front, and a couple of carriages lined the street beside them. Colin reined up. A crowd like this was a bad place for a confrontation with an outlaw. If there was any way to empty the building without alerting Kaspar…