She let Wart out and set him out in the corral before going back to let out the filly. Her leg had stiffened, making it hard for her to bend it enough to walk. “It’s all right, girl.” Ginger protested, but Abby kept encouraging her until she was halfway down the ramp. She let her take a short break and then asked her to slowly move. “Back, girl.”
When all four hooves hit the ground, Abby praised her and relaxed a little. Getting her out of the trailer was the hardest part. Now she had to make her comfortable until after dinner, when she could tend to the wound. The walk to the barn took some time, but once there, Abby decided she should take a look at the injury. Jim might be upset, but she’d dealt with that before, and this was worth the chastising. The leg was swollen just below the knee joint. As long as the swelling went down, there was a good chance it would heal on its own. That’s what she hoped for, because they didn’t have the money to pay a vet.
She felt rushed, knowing Jim didn’t like to wait on his meals, so she let the leg breathe until she could get back to the horse after supper.
When she got to the old, one-story ranch-style house, she washed and got to work. She was careful not to trip over the bubbled linoleum floors at the corners of the kitchen and looked past the avocado green countertops with matching appliances. “Waste not, want not” was Jim’s motto, so she did her best to keep the place clean and sanitary, but she never felt it was.
Jim was in the kitchen with a drink in hand, common since the loss of her mother, but a sure sign he would be difficult once the liquor sunk in. She could see his boots out of the corner of her eye, but she ignored him, busy preparing the food. They always had one of three dishes, none she ate much of—chicken, pork, or beef with potato, baked or mashed. The repetition kept her figure slim—more than was healthy—but it kept Jim satisfied, and that was what mattered.
He turned and leaned his back against the counter, crossed his arms, and stared at her. “You got something on your mind?” He was a frail man, but his brash personality made her forget that most of the time. His intimidation pulled on her self-consciousness.
“Just thinking about the filly.” She pushed her food around in the pan, waiting for him to leave so she could finish preparing the meal.
He’d stared her down many times, but this was different. “And what else?” His fingers tightened against his ribs, turning them white at the tips.
“Nothing.” She frowned. The fewer words, the better.
“Humph.” He pushed off the counter and walked outside, and she heard him hack and spit. He chalked it up to allergies and didn’t want to bother with doctors to get any relief, so Abby guiltily let it go.
She was ready to finish frying the rest of the chicken. Abby methodically prepared the meal and was setting the table when Jim walked down the hall. A sudden panic rushed over her, worrying that he would find the hat. It had been childish for her to hide it. She would get rid of it the first chance she had.
She held her breath when he started back to the kitchen. He sat in one of the three chairs. She filled his plate and sat next to him, leaving her mother’s chair empty. They rarely talked at meals, so she was surprised to hear him speak.
“How’s the horse?”
“I’m not sure yet. I’ll check her again after dinner.” She could tell he knew something was wrong, but she didn’t want him to know. Animals paid the bills and put food in their stomachs. If they didn’t, they were done away with.
“She walked to the barn, didn’t she?” He stuffed a chunk of chicken in his mouth and chewed.
“Yeah, she did.”
On three legs.
But he didn’t need to know that. She’d fix her up before he had a chance to even wonder about it.
“Hope you didn’t spend much on her.” He lifted his head just enough to catch her attention. “I won’t be paying to board a horse that isn’t gonna produce.”
Abby wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that, but when it came to money, he was a shrewd man. He reasoned with dollar signs, not emotions. A new sense of urgency grew in her chest, and she lost any appetite she had.
When Jim glanced up at her, she knew he was suspicious. He took an extra few moments to study her before he set down his fork and pushed his plate away.
“Do we understand one another?”
She didn’t. Abby didn’t want to know—not yet. Whatever he was suggesting was premature. Once she got her hands on that horse, she’d make things right. She just had to keep him out of it.
“I haven’t had a chance to work on her yet.”
He grunted. “One more mouth to feed.” One side of his upper lip lifted as he stood and walked out of the room. His loud, long strides warned her not to explain. He wanted results, and that meant seeing to believe.
Abby hurried through her meal and left the dishes for later. The house needed to be picked up too, but driving to get Ginger had taken up her entire day, and the accident had made the drive longer. She slipped out before he decided it bothered him enough to make her clean up. The one good thing was that she didn’t have to cook another meal.
He must be going into town to watch some sports game we can’t get on our television…or maybe he didn’t pay the bill again and it doesn’t work at all.
She rarely watched any shows; there never seemed to be anything worth watching. She preferred the outdoors where she could be around the animals, smell the air, and feel the sun on her back. And Jim was always inside.
The locusts sang their lonely song as she walked to the barn. Ginger had the injured leg lifted just far enough off the ground to keep from touching. The swelling hadn’t gone down, but it wasn’t any worse. She calmed her with long strokes from her neck down to her thighs and then took her out by the hose. She turned the water on low and let it run over the wound to soothe the pain and decrease the swelling.
Flipping a pail over, she sat while she moved the hose around and then let her mind wander, fretting over what would happen if the filly’s leg didn’t heal. With no money for a vet and unable to ask anyone for help, she was on her own.
But then a realization made her suck in her breath.
I’ve been on my own since Mother died.
Chapter Four
MOSE WALKED THROUGH the furniture store glancing from left to right, looking for his lost hat among the rockers, tables, benches, and chairs that he’d made. He’d misplaced it somewhere. He hadn’t had time to deal with it earlier.
He’d completed his day of work early and was determined to find that hat before he left. He nearly always finished the pieces he was working on before the English woodworkers and felt somewhat guilty taking off before they did. But the owner didn’t go by a clock; instead, thankfully, he judged by the quality of a man’s work.
Mose missed working the land on his family’s farm, but this was a season to grow, not to harvest or plant. Besides, he liked the extra income.
He was halfway through the large building when he noticed another Amish from his community walk out of the manager’s office. Mose could easily duck past him and hide behind the pieces of large furniture.
He groaned inside. It was Joe Lapp. He wondered if Joe was looking for work. Ever since Elsie Yoder had chosen Joe’s brother, Gideon, over Mose, things had been awkward. And Mose hadn’t found anyone to take her place in his heart.
Their community hadn’t grown much since their move to Texas, and the new community on the other side of town was still unfamiliar to him. Mose wasn’t one to go looking for a wife, but at twenty-two years of age he should be. His thoughts lingered for a moment on Elsie, then he quickly pushed away thoughts of her.
He hurried through the shop, hoping Joe wouldn’t notice him behind the forest of rockers and tables and chairs, heading toward the curing and painting area next door. He’d almost made it when he heard Joe call his name. “Mose, wait up.”
Mose turned as Joe walked toward him. He looked a lot like his brother Gideon. Same dark hair and brown eyes, though shorter a
nd skinnier. “Joe.”
Joe offered his hand. Mose lifted his, which was a greater gesture than Joe could realize.
“The boss man just hired me.” He was smiling from ear to ear. It wasn’t always easy for daeds to let their sons leave the farm and take work in town, but it had become a necessity to make ends meet, at least for a short time, now and then.
“Congratulations.” Mose couldn’t think of much to say, so he turned to leave again.
“Danke. This is sorta like barn raisings and setting up Sunday church together.”
He was making his point well, so Mose conceded. “Jah, just like it.” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his words. He started to turn again, but Joe continued.
“I’m not my brother, Mose.” Joe gave him an even gaze.
There was something in his eyes—a hint of apology perhaps?— that raised Mose’s respect for him a few notches.
“Nee, I guess you’re not,” Mose said in little more of a mumble, and then walked away. He and Joe had always gotten along, were tight friends since moving from Virginia. It was time to let go of the grudge. After all, Joe should not bear the brunt of what his brother had done. But Mose just wished he wasn’t so stubborn.
Mose’s boss waved him over, and Mose obliged.
His boss’s son, a bright-eyed, redheaded young man, was standing beside him. “My son tells me he’s ready to make those pieces of wood as smooth as you do, Mose.” His boss grinned and tipped his head toward his son, whose passion shone in his eyes.
“Maybe I could come watch one day.” The boy shrugged. “Just to get the hang of your way of doing things.”
“I do it the old-fashioned way.” Mose winked as if it was a secret. It was just the right way of doing things. “I can teach you how.” Mose moved away from the sander that was one of the many buzzing, pounding, and pulsating machines in the large work area.
“I can’t do the magic like you can, Mose. But I’d be glad to clean up after you.” Most of the workers knew the owner’s son tried hard, but he just didn’t have the touch or the patience to do carpentry. With his daed being who he was, the kid wanted to show him he could do the job.
But in truth, most of the English furniture wasn’t the same as what the Amish made in his community, so it was harder to get repeat customers. Some of those places didn’t care whether people came back. They were just glad to sell the junk in the first place. His boss was the exception.
“That’s one nice chair, Mose. Somebody will be proud to own it.” His boss walked closer and touched the wood for grooves. “Smooth as silk. Can’t see a single screw hole, either.”
“Sure would like to learn how to do that.” The young man looked longingly at Mose’s work.
“You can come and watch, and learn, anytime.” Mose pushed his chair back toward the wall next to the others.
“See you tomorrow, Mose. Second shift. And thanks.”
He preferred the first shift so he could still have a good part of the day to help his daed with his blacksmith shop. If he had a later shift, he’d stay overnight at the woodwork shop. His boss was good enough to set up a cot in the back room if Mose needed it. The shop was a thirty-minute drive by motor vehicle from his community, but a good two hours by buggy.
He walked through the large room that accommodated about six workers at a time, but there were only four working this shift. The noise of pounding hammers and saws made it hard to hear. Sawdust covered the floors, and sawhorses were set up at each station. Lines of tools filled one wall, and there wasn’t a single window in the place.
The bottoms of Mose’s boots scraped the cement as he pulled the door handle. Sawdust floated in the air and tickled his nose with the sweet smell of cedar. He blew out a breath from his lungs as he opened the door and took in the fresh air when he stepped out of the shop. He missed working outdoors, but he was making a nice nest egg for himself, one he’d like to share someday.
The wind blew through his hair and reminded him again that he needed to find his hat or buy a new one. There was a place in town that sold them, but he hated to break it in, let alone shell out the money.
A slow smile took over his face as it came to him: the gusts of wind from the cars whizzing by the accident scene. His hat sailing away. He didn’t remember retrieving it. Maybe it was still there. Or better yet, could the young woman named Abby have found it?
Maybe someone in town knew her. He would drive out to her place and see if she had it. He almost laughed at the fantasy. Not only were the chances slim that she even had it, but also from her demeanor, he doubted she would ever want to see him again. But he did wonder if she might have found it. Very likely he would never know.
Mose walked down the sidewalk looking for the shop, glancing in the store windows. He felt self-conscious not wearing a hat, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as if he were in the community. To the Amish, wearing a head covering meant obedience to God, and he appreciated the meaning.
Unable to find the shop, he stopped and looked for someone to ask. He knew to avoid the tourists. Although they knew the shops even better than some of the locals, they treated the Amish like celebrities. Some Amish didn’t mind, but he found it annoying,
When he saw a young woman with long, blonde hair about Abby’s build, he cleared his throat to get her attention “Do you know of a hat store around?”
“Yeah, it’s at the end of the street.” She pointed. “I’m surprised you don’t know where it is.” Her pretty smile told him she didn’t mean it sarcastically, but he still felt a little sheepish. “I don’t think I’ve seen an Amish without a hat.”
He felt even more exposed after she made the comment. “I lost mine, and I’m lost, so I’m not doing too well.” He grinned.
She laughed and held out her hand. This was the second time in two days a woman had offered her hand to him. The English didn’t shake the way the Amish did, so it was more awkward than usual. “My parents own the pharmacy across the street.”
Mose nodded. He’d never used the pharmacy, as his mammi made natural herbal medicines, but it was nice to know. “Danke for the directions.”
When he pulled his hand away, he thought about how different it felt when Abby touched him, and it made him impulsively ask, “Do you know of a young woman by the name of Abigail, or Abby?”
She nodded. “Abby Barker. I went to school with her. She lives with her dad over off Old Mill Trail. Do you know her?”
Mose felt like he was intruding in Abby’s life by asking, but he did need his hat. “She may have something of mine.”
“Your hat?”
“Jah.” He nodded. “Danke.”
She grinned and turned away as Mose headed down the sidewalk to get his horse and buggy. Elam ran a restaurant in town and had room behind the building to board Mose’s horse. Once in a while he’d catch a ride from someone who was coming into town. Sometimes Mose thought it might be easier to rent out a place for a couple months until fall harvest. But so far it was working out.
He whistled to Frank, his horse, and hitched him up. The area was small, but he had grass for grazing and a tub that Elam kept filled with water. The only problem was that Frank got anxious during the day with no work to keep him busy. He wasn’t one for farm work as much as he was for pulling a buggy and racing. He was the fastest equine Mose had ever owned, and he’d raced him for fun. Sometimes he had an itch to take him to the local races, but it didn’t set right with him to race for money.
Mose settled into the buggy and clucked at Frank. He was anxious to go, and Mose had to hold him back through town. He would let him run some, once they got to the highway. As he watched his nostrils flare, smelling all the scents his powerful nose took in, Mose started wondering how Abby’s horse was doing. The injury hadn’t seemed too bad, but he hadn’t gotten a close enough look to know for sure.
Her daed was one of the most unfriendly people he’d ever met, but there was something about Abby that interested him. He just couldn’t figure out
what it was exactly.
He knew most of the signs along the highway, but he didn’t remember seeing the one the girl had told him about. After going a ways from town he started to wonder if he’d passed it.
Well, then, maybe it wasn’t meant to be.
The clop of the horse’s hooves kept in beat as he stayed the course down the highway. He’d about given up when he saw the name of the country road. He hesitated.
Now what should I do?
He turned Frank onto the gravel lane. When he got up close to the farm, he stopped to study the place. It almost appeared deserted. The field was overgrown, and fence lines were down. The animals all roamed together in the general area that would usually be used to park buggies or cars in front of the house. He’d never seen neglect like this, and he wondered how the animals fared.
No sooner had the thoughts come to his mind than he realized he was being judgmental. It was a lot easier to run a farm when you had a community helping you tend to your fields and mend your sick animals. If it was only the two of them tending to this place, it would be a lot of work. He felt like rolling up his sleeves and diving in, but he knew with these two, he may barely get a hallo from one of them.
As he got closer, he wondered how much he really wanted that hat, or if it was just an excuse for what he really wanted. He’d like to look in on the horse, but he also admitted that he wouldn’t mind seeing Abby’s pretty blue eyes again. Mose sighed and drove up in front of the house, hoping she would be the one to greet him, but as soon as he pulled in the reins, her daed came out the front screen door, which slapped shut behind him. Mose jumped down and stood at the bottom of the stairs.
Abby’s daed stood at the top of the stairs, smoothed back his gray hair, and stuck a toothpick between his teeth. “You’re the fella on the highway.”
“Jah, Mose Fisher.” He moved forward and lifted his hand to shake, but the man didn’t move, just kept picking at his teeth.
Healing Grace (9781621362982) Page 2
