by B. J. Hoff
Today, though, she felt raw and bruised. She couldn’t bring herself to face the meal and fellowship that followed services. Truth be known, she had sensed the stares of a number of her friends, including Samuel, whose gaze seemed to follow every move she made throughout the morning. Did she only imagine that once friendly eyes now looked upon her with disapproval or even censure?
Defiance heated her blood, but she managed to keep her gaze straight ahead as she stepped down off the porch. In the side yard, she told her mother and Fannie to stay, that she would walk home. “I have a headache. I think the fresh air might be good for me.”
She really did have a headache, but that wasn’t her only reason for wanting to be alone. Mamma studied her for a long moment before answering. “Ja, you go on then. I’ll bring Fannie to you later, after the meal.”
Rachel started to walk away and then turned back when her mother spoke her name.
“It won’t be much longer, daughter.”
Rachel nodded, understanding Mamma’s meaning.
She started walking toward the road. Mamma was right. Gant wouldn’t be needing to stay much longer. He was able to stand and put his weight on the injured leg for several minutes at a time now. Dr. Sebastian said he was doing remarkably well.
Once he was gone, her problems with the church leadership would also go away. Why, then, did she feel no relief at the thought of his leaving?
She found him sitting in the rocking chair, staring out the window of the bedroom. He’d propped up his leg on a footstool Gideon had fashioned out of an old toolbox. He still looked pale and drawn. He also looked thoughtful and perhaps a little sad.
He seemed surprised when she walked in, as if his mind had been far away and he hadn’t realized she was in the house.
Now that he could get dressed and sit upright, Rachel was more aware of his presence, of the way he seemed to fill a room just by being in it, as though there were no surroundings, only him. Though he was tall, he was lean—not a heavyset man at all—and yet he seemed to occupy so much space.
She stood just inside the room, suddenly feeling awkward and at a loss for words.
“You folks have long church services,” he said. The way he was watching her made her feel more uncomfortable than ever.
Rachel hesitated, then walked the rest of the way into the room. He smiled at her as if he knew she was feeling ill at ease. That was foolishness, of course. There was no way the man could know how she was feeling or what she was thinking.
“Our preaching services are probably different from yours.” She stopped. “Or…do you go to church?”
Still smiling, he shrugged. “When I’m near a church, I go. But it’s not always possible when a man is on the river.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“I’m no heathen, Rachel. I told you, I’m a God-fearing man.”
She reminded herself that he couldn’t know what she was thinking, and she was glad of it, for the thought that crossed her mind was an unkind one: Jeremiah Gant might not be a heathen, but there was a worldly, mocking air about him that didn’t seem to mark him as a godly man either.
But now she was judging, and he still a stranger. Stung by guilt, she attempted to change the subject. “I hope you ate the lunch I left for you, Mr. Gant.”
He sighed. “Ah, we’re back to ‘Mr. Gant’ again, are we?”
Flustered, Rachel didn’t respond to his smile. “It feels—rude to simply call you by your last name. And you don’t seem to like your given name.”
“I have nothing against my given name, Rachel, other than the fact that it doesn’t suit me. Not only is it a mouthful to be saying, but I don’t feel comfortable wearing the name of an Old Testament prophet. ‘Jeremiah’ is surely meant for a visionary or a saint. ’Tis too big a name for me by far. Clearly my mother’s hopes for me exceeded my character. And yes, ma’am, I ate my lunch—it was delicious, thank you very much.”
Rachel studied him. Unlike herself, he seemed to find amusement in being scrutinized. “I wonder…do you ever take anything seriously—Gant?”
He grinned. “If ‘Gant’ makes you choke, Rachel, you may call me ‘Jeremiah.’ And, yes, to answer your question. I take many things seriously.”
He paused, and the glint of humor in his eyes died. “I take you seriously, Rachel Brenneman. I take you very seriously.”
Rachel had no idea what he meant, nor did she want to know. Without saying another word, she turned and quickly left the room.
As she hurried to the kitchen, she could almost feel that probing blue gaze following her all the way.
Gant gripped the arms of the rocking chair so tightly his wrists cramped. Only when she was completely out of sight did he relax his grasp.
The woman was making him crazy. No question about it, he was daft entirely. For days now he could scarcely think of anything but her. When she entered a room, he was immediately aware of the difference her presence made. And when she left, all the warmth and light of day seemed to follow her.
Madness.
For one thing, he hardly knew her. Moreover, he’d warrant she was little more than a girl. Never mind that she was a widow. She was a young widow. He knew a little about the Amish, and one thing he knew was that they often married young.
And then there was the way she sometimes looked at him, as if she feared he might come after her with an axe.
But worst of all—the one thing that made the situation unthinkable and altogether impossible—she was Amish. Oh, aye, Rachel was very Amish.
She lived by rules. Rules not of her own making but rules set down and enforced by her church. And a fierce set of rules at that, no doubt. Young Gideon had given him to understand what a fix Gant had placed her in just by showing up on her doorstep and staying on. From what he’d learned from the lad, these people were strict to the extreme. Sounded to him as if there were a lot more “don’ts” to their faith than “do’s,” but then he didn’t know everything there was to know about these people.
As for Rachel—rules or not—she seemed content with things as they were. At least most of the time. Once in awhile when she didn’t see him watching her, she took on a look of great sorrow. He expected she was thinking about her dead husband during those times. But more often than not, she appeared at peace with her world, with herself.
Though it rubbed him raw to admit it, he was all too aware that the smartest thing he could do for himself—and the kindest thing he could do for Rachel—would be to leave as soon as possible. Only then could she get on with her normal life, back to the ways that were acceptable to her church and her family. Then she would be free from the trouble he’d brought upon her just by being here.
He was interfering with her life, making things difficult for her, though unintentionally. He had done that once before another time, though with the best of intentions. By interfering he had meant to “save” a woman. Instead, he had prompted her to run away.
He wouldn’t make that mistake again. When the day came that he was fit to leave, he would go.
But every time he thought of that day—which most certainly would come soon—his heart felt to be squeezed in a vise, and he pushed the thought out of his mind to block the pain.
He knew little enough about the Amish and their ways but enough to know that Rachel would most likely be horrified to learn that he had feelings for her. A word to her of the sort, and she would either laugh in his face or run screaming from the house.
Even so he still couldn’t quite bring himself to consider leaving her. Not yet. Besides, didn’t he have a legitimate excuse to stay in Riverhaven for a time? He could hardly leave until Asa returned, after all. The two of them would then leave together, make their way to Cincinnati, to his other boat. He had only part of a crew there. He needed Asa before taking on more cargo and heading south again.
But he couldn’t wait here, in her house. Not much longer.
He would have to find another place to stay. Somewhere in the vicinity a
nd close enough that Asa would have no difficulty finding him when he returned. But far enough away that he’d make no more trouble for Rachel.
The thought of staying nearby, close enough to see her now and then, made the idea of leaving a bit more tolerable.
17
FIRESTORM
Oh! What shall come of
this lonely dreaming?
THOMAS CAULFIELD IRWIN
It started with a fire.
The following week, just two farms down the road from Phoebe and Malachi Esch’s place, Abe Gingerich’s barn burned in the middle of the night. Before enough neighbors and the Riverhaven fire wagon could be rallied to help, the structure burned to the ground. Nothing could be saved except the two draft horses that were rescued from the flames by Abe and his oldest son.
Losing a barn was a grievous occurrence for an Amish family. Not only was a barn built by the Plain People a fine work of craftsmanship, but it often housed their work and buggy horses, sometimes the buggy itself, farm implements, tools, and other items needed for their daily tasks.
Rachel was explaining all this to Gant the day after the fire. “It’s a terrible thing,” she said, “but what keeps it from being even more of a disaster than it might be is that the men in the community will rebuild it quickly. Probably within the next week, if the weather holds out. When something like this happens to one of us, then everyone pitches in to raise a new barn as soon as possible.”
They were sitting at the kitchen table after lunch while Gant helped Fannie draw a map of the routes leading from Riverhaven to Marietta, one of her lesson assignments.
“How do you know these roads so well, Captain Gant?” Fannie asked.
“Oh, I’ve been in the area before, lass. Now and again.”
Intrigued not only by his obvious facility with drawing, but also the rapport he’d developed with Fannie, Rachel watched them work as she let the hem out of one of Fannie’s dresses. “You’re growing up too fast, sister,” she said, feigning a stern tone of voice. “Seems that every time I turn around you’re needing another hem eased.”
Fannie looked up from her paper and grinned. “I’m going to be taller than you and Mamma, don’t you think, Rachel?”
“No doubt about it, at the rate you’re going. Maybe I’ll put a brick on your head to slow you down.”
“Huh-uh. I don’t care if I grow up to be as tall as Gideon.”
“You do that and you’ll have a hard time getting yourself a sweetheart,” Rachel teased. “There aren’t that many tall fellows to go around.”
“I’ll just have to find one like Captain Gant. He’s taller yet than Gideon.”
“Well, now, Miss Fannie, might be I could arrange to stay the age I am now, and you won’t have to look any further than myself.”
Fannie smiled as if she liked that idea, but then her face fell. “That won’t work, Captain Gant. You’re not Amish.”
“There’s that,” he said with a sigh. “So it seems you’ll either need to slow down a bit or else we’ll have to find you a giant when the time comes.”
“Or maybe you could join the church and wait for me.”
Rachel nearly pricked herself with the needle. She avoided Gant’s gaze, but irrational as the thought might be, she wondered how he’d respond to Fannie’s remark.
“I doubt that they’d have me, Miss Fannie. But I’m flattered by your interest.”
“Fannie, take this up to the bedroom now and try it on. I don’t want to iron it until I see if I’ve let it out enough.”
An awkward silence hung over the room when Fannie left. Finally Gant broke it with a question. “Do they have any thought as to what caused the fire?”
“They think it was arson,” Rachel said tightly. “Phoebe said there’s no other explanation. Abe’s sure no lanterns were left burning. And he doesn’t smoke, so there would have been no ash or sparks to ignite anything.”
“Why would anyone set one of your barns on fire?” Gant said, frowning.
“Perhaps for the same reason they’ve done it before.”
“This has happened before?”
“Three years ago.” The words were hard coming for Rachel. “Before it stopped, three barns and a tool shed burned down. Malachi and Phoebe’s barn was one of the ones destroyed.”
“And did they find who was responsible?”
Rachel shook her head. “No. It just—stopped. All of a sudden. Until now.”
“Surely there were suspects?”
“Not that we ever heard,” said Rachel.
Gant leaned back against the chair, and Rachel noticed that he winced with the movement. “Captain Gant, you’ve been up long enough for now, I think. You’d best lie down for a while.”
He scowled at her, probably because she’d called him “Captain Gant” again. Well, too bad if he didn’t like it. She simply couldn’t bring herself to call him “Gant” or “Jeremiah.” It was too…personal. It seemed to bring him too close.
Somehow she knew she dared not close the distance between her and the man sitting across from her, regarding her with an openly curious expression.
“I feel fine,” he said. “I’ll not coddle myself any longer. So, these fires, then—did anyone come up with a reason for them? A motive?”
“It wasn’t only the fires.” Rachel spoke before she thought and instantly regretted it. She glanced away but felt him watching her.
“What do you mean?”
She looked at him but didn’t answer.
He leaned forward to hold her gaze. “Rachel?” he said softly. “What else happened besides the fires?”
And then Fannie came tripping down the steps and sailed into the kitchen. “Look, Rachel, it’s still not long enough! I really am growing fast!”
Rachel exhaled a breath of relief for the interruption and managed a smile for her sister. “You’re right. I’ll have to start over and let the full hem out this time.”
As soon as Fannie left the room again Rachel got up to follow her. “I think I need to measure the dress on her this time,” she said, starting for the door before Gant could question her further.
But she had seen the questions in his eyes, and he had the look of a man who wouldn’t be satisfied until he had the answers to those questions. Still, if she could put him off until the time came for him to leave, then surely she could avoid telling him anything more than he needed to know.
Gant got up, settled himself on his crutches, and then walked around the kitchen and the bedroom for a few minutes. He had it in his head that if he walked enough, moved about enough, the healing would go faster. Not that the doctor had advised any such thing. It was just something he felt.
The need to heal, to get back to normal, seemed to accelerate every day. Even though he was pretty much stuck in this place, nearly at his wits’ end with nothing to do until Asa got back, he needed to at least feel ready to get on with life. And now something about the news of last night’s fire had added even more pressure to his resolve to quicken his recovery.
Maybe it was just Irish superstition trying to crowd its way into his usually practical nature, but he couldn’t shake the feeling—especially after hearing what Rachel had to say—that last night’s fire might be the harbinger of more trouble ahead for this Amish community. True, he didn’t know enough about the folks in the settlement to genuinely have a care or concern for their well-being, but he did care about Rachel and Fannie. And Rachel’s mother as well. From what he’d seen of Susan Kanagy, she was a lady worth a heap of respect.
Whatever was working on him, he didn’t like it. He felt—pressured. Frustrated. Oppressed by his own haste to heal.
Moonstruck, is what he was.
By a woman with heartache in her eyes and the blush of peaches on her skin and a smile that set the stars to shame.
All that he was feeling—all that he was wanting—was wrapped up in a girl-woman he hardly knew. A woman who considered him forbidden, perhaps even an abomination.
&n
bsp; Suddenly exhausted, he dragged himself on his crutches to the bedroom and sank down in the rocking chair by the window. He sat staring outside at a barren skeleton of a maple tree that appeared as storm-battered as his heart.
18
TWO MEN ON
THE SAME ROAD
Drive the demon of Bigotry home to his den…
WILLIAM DRENNAN
David Sebastian closed his instrument case and bent over the crib for a final look at Peter and Rebecca Schrock’s baby boy. Nearly two months early, the tiny fellow had weighed in at only a little over three pounds at birth. Now, five weeks later, he seemed to be thriving, thanks to God and Rebecca, clearly a successful partnership as seen by all four of the Schrock children.
Rebecca had never carried a baby full-term. David had tried everything he knew with all four pregnancies, but in spite of everything, each time she delivered a few weeks early. Tiny Ben here, as the community was already calling him, had come earliest of all, and David had been seriously concerned about his condition. From the looks of things so far, however, he was getting along just fine.
He checked the hot water bottles that lined the baby bed to keep the infant warm and as always found them just the right temperature. These drafty farmhouses in the winter could work against an infant. It took continual diligence to keep a baby—especially an early baby—warm enough. But Rebecca Schrock was conscientious to a fault when it came to her children. Although each newborn presented its own special challenges at birth and sometimes for months and even years afterward, David doubted that there were any healthier children in the Amish community.
Before leaving he allowed himself the indulgence of a generous piece of apple pie. Had he ever left after a call at the Schrock farm without having a piece of pie or cake pressed upon him? Not likely. Certainly not that he could remember.
