by B. J. Hoff
“I can’t think what to do, though, Mamma. How can I keep a man—an outsider—here in my house, and me a widow?”
The look in her mother’s eyes was a clear indication that she was already working on a solution to the problem. “We’ll figure that out later. We need first to see to this—Captain Gant. Dr. Sebastian said he’ll require a close watch and special care.”
“I confess I don’t quite know where to begin.”
Her mother lifted an eyebrow. “We begin by giving him a bath. That man stinks of the river and—who knows what else?”
Rachel stared at her. “A bath? But, Mamma—”
“Yes, a bath. And don’t look so shocked, daughter. You’re not maidal. You were married. You know about men.”
“But he’s a stranger—an auslander.”
Mamma was already rolling up her sleeves. “An outsider in bad need of a bath. Truth is, I’d hoped we could put Gideon in charge of this, but who knows where that boy is tonight?” She gave a shrug of annoyance. “Out with some of his Englisch friends, no doubt. Well, let’s get to it. We’re going to need plenty of hot water and soap. Did you keep any of Eli’s clothes?”
“I—” Unwilling to part with the few items of her husband’s clothing she still had, Rachel stumbled over her words. “This man…is too big for Eli’s clothes. They wouldn’t fit him.”
She felt herself grow warm under her mother’s studying gaze. “A nightshirt, Rachel,” Mamma said, her words gentle. “That’s all we need. A nightshirt would surely fit.”
Rachel almost refused. She wanted to refuse. But a sense of her own pettiness struck her, and she finally nodded. “I’ll find something,” she said, hurrying from the room.
A good hour later, Rachel stood on the opposite side of the bed, watching as Mamma turned Gant on his side, keeping the sheet pulled discreetly above his waist.
Suddenly her mother gasped, staring at the wounded stranger’s back with an expression akin to horror.
“Mamma? Was ist letz?”
“Komm!” Her mother beckoned for her to come and look.
Rachel crossed to the other side of the bed, watching Mamma and then turning her gaze to Gant, who stirred but didn’t wake.
Mamma clasped Rachel’s hand in hers as they stood staring at the riverboat captain’s bare back. A map of deep, angry scars crisscrossed his skin, seared for all time against his flesh and bone.
Rachel blanched. “What—would have caused this?”
“This man has been whipped,” Mamma said tightly, still clutching Rachel’s hand. “Whipped like a beast, he was.”
“Who would have done such a thing?” Rachel whispered.
Mamma shook her head. “Only the Lord God knows.”
“I’ll get some salve—”
“There’s no point,” her mother said. “Those are old scars, already healed.”
She expelled a breath, saying, “Let’s finish his bathing and give him some peace. He’s getting restless.”
As if in reply, the stranger groaned, arched his back, and then let out a sharp cry as if the movement had been too much for him.
Painful as it was to see, Rachel could scarcely take her eyes off the scars. She couldn’t imagine what pain this man must have endured with each lash of the whip that had sliced his skin.
When they were finished, she smoothed a quilt around the sleeping man’s shoulders, trying not to mind too much that her dear Eli’s nightshirt now clad another man’s body. Clothing was meant to be worn, after all, not packed away. And Rachel had a certain sense that Eli would have approved of the disposition of his nightshirt.
Now that the ordeal was over, she actually felt a small satisfaction at the difference their attentions had made. The stranger did look more comfortable—and there was no denying that he smelled considerably better.
Her satisfaction was quickly replaced, however, by a disconcerting awareness that in spite of the scars they’d discovered, their efforts had also served to reveal an unexpectedly handsome man in his prime. Long-limbed and hard-muscled, this was a man who, even in his weakness, gave off an unmistakable power. His raven hair, though randomly laced with silver, was glossy and thick, his features rugged but strong-boned and well-set. And that heavy mustache—forbidden to Amish men—gave him a strange appeal that Rachel found difficult to ignore.
The entire time she was helping to bathe him, she had been uneasily mindful of how long it had been since she had touched, or been touched by, a man. Truth was she’d missed the warmth of Eli’s touch, the comfort of his arms, ever so much—had missed him to the point of weakness at times. The intimate act of caring for the riverboat captain had evoked old, all but forgotten feelings and the same aching, sick emptiness she had felt during the first months after Eli’s death. More than once she had to clench her jaw and deliberately will those feelings of longing and loneliness away.
But almost as troubling as those forbidden emotions was the unexpected wave of something near to pity that came washing over her at the sight of a man who must have once been able-bodied and fit. He now lay weak and helpless as a babe—badly scarred by a vicious whip—and nearly destroyed by a bullet meant for another.
Greater love hath no man than this…
Her mother’s voice jerked her back to their surroundings. “It’s fortunate he slept through most of his bath.” Mamma’s tone was wry. “Big as he is, he could have given us a scuffle.”
Rachel nodded. Gant had attempted a feeble protest at first, but so weak was he that he lapsed almost immediately into the same deep sleep from which their efforts had first roused him.
“From what you told me,” her mother said, “the man was nearly dead when he showed up at your door. This sleep is the body’s way of closing his mind to the pain so healing can take place. David—Dr. Sebastian—says it’s a healing sleep now, not a dying kind.”
Rachel didn’t miss her mother’s use of Dr. Sebastian’s given name. But then that shouldn’t surprise her. Titles such as “Mr.” and “Mrs.” weren’t used among the People. Given names, even nicknames, were common.
Besides, the doctor and her mother had known each other for years. He had long ago begun calling Mamma by her first name, and it was probably a natural thing that she would call him by his. Even so, was there a chance her mother might return, even unknowingly, the interest Dr. Sebastian so obviously felt toward her?
She hoped not, though she wished things might have been different. As it was, however, a shared affection could mean only heartache for both of them. Rachel deeply admired and trusted Dr. David Sebastian, but a Plain woman and an Englisch man had no hope of a future together. Even a friendship between the two could mean trouble, and a romantic relationship could bring shunning upon an Amish woman. She could never bear to see her mother hurt in such a terrible way
“Rachel? Did you hear me?”
Her mother’s voice snapped her out of her troubled thoughts. “I’m sorry, Mamma.”
“I said we’d best empty the man’ s suitcase.” She pointed to the big leather bag on the floor near the chair. “Whatever belongings he may have in there will probably be soaked—perhaps already ruined. Why don’t you set everything out to dry? We’ll salvage what we can for him. You do that while I clean up here and put away his bath things.”
Rachel took Gant’s valise to the extra room Eli had built onto the back of the house, the room she thought of as her “workshop,” where she made her birdhouses and kept her supplies. Carefully she took the articles from the bag, placing them one by one on the work table. There wasn’t much to retrieve. A small pouch with a clasp that held some bills and coin. Apparently the pouch had protected the money to some extent, for it was damp but not ruined.
A sodden envelope revealed a sheaf of wet papers, on which the ink had run and smeared so badly she feared they were beyond saving. Still Rachel pressed them out on the table to let them dry. The discovery of a small Bible heartened her, though it appeared to be nearly ruined by water damage.
Still, it might be an indiction that the wounded stranger was a Christian man—reassuring since they would be much together in the days to come.
There were two shirts and a pair of trousers, all soaked through, as were the few other small articles of clothing. But these she could launder, and they’d probably be good as new.
At the bottom was something that felt hard. It seemed to take up a lot of room, and Rachel had to tug at it before she finally pulled it free. It was a case—a case with a strange shape. She opened it, and when she saw what it was, she gasped in surprise.
A fiddle! Gideon’s Englisch friend, Orson Newley had one of these. It made music. Rachel had come upon her brother and Orson in Mamma’s barn once, drawn by the wailing, rasping noise. Under Orson’s hands, it sounded more like a screech owl than music, but every once in a while he managed to coax some pleasant sounds from it.
Had the water damaged this one beyond repair, or had the case kept it dry enough to protect it from ruin? She ran her hands over it and found that, although it felt damp, when she turned it over to let any water drain out of the opening, nothing spilled out on the table. Carefully she shook it, turned it over, and then again, shook it several times. Then she took a dry towel to it, just for good measure. Perhaps it would be all right after all.
For some reason she found it hard to imagine the big, hard-looking man having a liking for music. But then how was she to know what he liked or didn’t like? He was a stranger, after all.
The only other item was an oval tin, smaller than the palm of her hand. Running her index finger over it, she found a small clasp that, when unlatched, opened onto a photograph.
Rachel stared at the image, trying not to be fascinated by it. Photographs were forbidden to the Plain People, not only because of Scripture’s admonition against graven images, but because they also violated their desire for privacy and humility. But the loveliness of the face so captured her interest that she couldn’t resist studying it, verboten though it was. The young woman, who looked out at her with just a hint of a smile, appeared worldly and somewhat exotic, so dark were her eyes and the heavy mane of hair that partly hid one side of her face.
Rachel stood staring at the photograph for a long time. Was this the riverboat captain’s wife? His sweetheart? She must be very special to him, that he carried her likeness on his journeys. And she was ever so beautiful…
An unpleasant and unidentifiable sensation stung Rachel and then flitted away. As if the tintype had suddenly turned hot in her hand, she dropped it on the table. But after a second or two, she picked it up again and dried it off on her apron as best she could before laying it down among the other things.
Everything should be dry by tomorrow, except perhaps for the Bible, the wet papers, and the envelope. She would put the money and the photograph away in a chest of drawers, where they would be safe for the time being.
When she returned to the bedroom, her mother had already cleared away the bath items and gone to the kitchen. As Rachel’s gaze lighted on the sleeping stranger, her mind again went to the tintype she’d found in his belongings. After another moment though, she shook off the dark-eyed image in the photograph and turned to leave the room, her thoughts crowded with unsettling questions and a sense of impatience with herself for caring enough to wonder about this stranger, this Jeremiah Gant.
8
FAMILY BLESSINGS
A home by love and family blessed
is peace on earth and joy expressed.
ANONYMOUS
By the time Mamma left for home that evening, she and Rachel had worked out a tentative plan they hoped would forestall—at least temporarily—any fuss from the bishop and Samuel.
In order that Rachel would seldom be alone with the wounded stranger, Gideon and Fannie would take turns staying nights at her house, with Fannie spending a large part of the days there as well. Mamma would also maintain a frequent presence until Gant was well enough to be on his way.
During this time Rachel would take over the part of Fannie’s lessons that Mamma usually supervised. Like many of the other Plain children, Fannie was schooled at home. While some Amish families did allow their kinner to attend the Englisch school in town, most parents preferred to teach their children at home. They believed it lessened the danger of worldly influences and the possibility of turning their minds and hearts away from their Plain upbringing.
The People considered it a fundamental right to raise and educate their children in their own culture, according to their customs and beliefs. They hoped some day to have their own school, but in the meantime, those who were unwilling to avail themselves of the nearby Englisch school made do with home instruction.
There had been talk, however, of problems with government interference. Rachel hoped there wouldn’t be trouble. And so far, perhaps because Riverhaven was such a small, somewhat isolated community, no attempts had been made to force public education on them.
Rachel wondered just how cooperative Gideon would be about spending nights at his sister’s house. He was used to staying out late—sometimes, Mamma fretted, until the wee hours of the morning. When Rachel voiced her doubts to her mother though, Mamma simply pressed her lips together and said that in this instance her bruder would have to consider the needs of his family before his own. His rumspringa goings-on could wait.
Easier said than done, perhaps…
Fannie spent the night. By the time she got up the next morning, Rachel had already milked the two cows, Ginger and Rosie, and started breakfast. As soon as they finished eating, she sent Fannie home to collect her lesson books and other things she might need. “When you come back, you can feed the chickens and gather the eggs.”
“I’ll hurry, Rachel! Promise you won’t do it while I’m gone?”
“I’ll wait for you. But you take time to do anything Mamma might need help with. And stay and talk with her a few minutes. Mamma gets lonely if she’s by herself too long, you know.”
Fannie nodded. “It’s my job to keep you both company as best as I can,” Fannie said, not prideful, but serious as could be. “I won’t shirk Mamma. You needn’t worry.”
Rachel smiled. “I know you won’t. And see that Gideon comes over right away, before he goes to work.”
Her brother was employed by the Englischer Karl Webber at his carpenter shop in Riverhaven. To give him his due, Gideon was a hard worker. When he wasn’t at the shop, he worked the family farm and helped Rachel at her place too. He had also agreed to stop by mornings and nights to help the outsider with his personal tasks. Truth was, Rachel didn’t know what she would do without Gideon, especially now.
She watched Fannie cross the quarter-mile field that lay between her own house and Mamma’s. Back inside, she went to pull the curtain away just enough to peek in on Gant and make sure he was all right.
He was still sleeping, but restlessly, it seemed. He kept turning his head from side to side, making a low rasping sound in his throat as he did. She tiptoed into the room and cautiously put a hand to his forehead. He was still cool. The fever had stayed down through the night.
And then without warning, his eyes shot open. Rachel gasped and jerked her hand away. Even in the gloom of early morning, his look was startled—wild and almost panicky.
He tried to raise himself partway, but the very effort caused him to go white and fall back onto the pillows. His eyes closed for an instant and then opened again. Then, as if he suddenly remembered where he was and what had happened, his gaze cleared.
He made Rachel think of a hawk. Those searching eyes, looking out over a prominently bridged nose, put the bluest of blue to shame, yet held a dark and piercing aspect.
“Asa…” he finally said.
“He left last night. He and your dog. They went with Phoebe.”
A questioning look crossed his face and then faded. “Your friend. Her house—that was where we were supposed to go.”
“That’s right. Do you remember Phoebe being here and talking with you and
Asa last night?”
He attempted a nod with what seemed a great effort.
“I’m sure Phoebe will stop by again sometime today. You can talk to her then. And Gideon, my bruder. He’s going to help you—” She broke off. “Dr. Sebastian will be here later too. He’ll be glad to see you’re awake.”
It occurred to Rachel that she was rambling. Talking too much, she was. He watched her as she spoke, and the way his gaze went over her face made her uncomfortable. Immediately she glanced away.
“What’s your name?” His voice was thin, little more than a whisper. She looked back at him. “I’m Rachel. Eli Rachel.”
He frowned. Probably her use of Eli’s name with her own had confused him. An Englischer wouldn’t understand that. Because so many of the Plain People had the same first name, women often combined their husband’s first name with their own. As for the men, they were frequently identified by such names as “Young Jacob” or “Old Jacob” or even by a kind of nickname name related to appearance or trade— “Tall Noah” or “Carpenter John.”
“Rachel Brenneman,” she clarified.
“Rachel…” He stopped, as if trying to catch a breath. “Thank you.”
Rachel waved off his thanks. The Amish had no use for words such as “thank you.” Helping one’s fellow man was simply expected. Besides, what did he think, that she would turn him away with him near to death?
But in her fear, hadn’t that been her first thought—to turn him away?
“So, then, who might Eli be?”
“What?”
He was smiling a little. Not a taunting smile, but an open, curious one.
“Eli is—was—my husband. He’s gone now. Eli is…dead.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking as if he meant it. “That’s a hard thing for you, Rachel Brenneman.”
