The Amish Bachelor's Choice

by Jocelyn McClay

It hadn’t been an issue when her father was alive, Ruth reflected as she gathered iodine and cotton balls from the house. They’d just traveled together in his buggy behind Silas, her father’s gelding. But after Daed died, she’d sold Silas and her father’s buggy. Maybe she should get a pony cart and pony for times like these. But that’d be foolish. The smarter thing would be to sell the mare and get a more reliable horse. And there were means of transportation that didn’t require a horse. If she left. Ruth swallowed hard. She meant when she left.

  But for the time being, Ruth still had her crabby mare to deal with.

  Bess had personality. And Ruth wasn’t ready for another loss of someone in her life. Her father had purchased Bess when Ruth had started her rumspringa, giving his daughter increased independence in her late teen years. Selling the mare would mean losing a little more of her father from her life. With the recent loss of the business, she wasn’t ready to do that. Even if it meant she’d be walking for the next few weeks in the frigid Wisconsin winter.

  She treated the mare the way the repeated visits of the veterinarian had taught her. Opening and draining the abscess, then pouring iodine into the wound and stuffing it with cotton to keep it clean. A task to be done twice a day for a while to the thankless horse, although Ruth could tell the mare already felt relief. She’d pick up an equine painkiller tomorrow from the veterinarian when she walked into town.

  Others would gladly give Ruth rides in the meantime, should she ask them. But she’d taken care of herself, her father and the business for so long that she shied away from the idea of depending on others if not absolutely necessary.

  Ruth and the puppy went to bed early that night. The next few days would involve extremely early mornings to get everything done and walk to work on time. She’d been late once. She didn’t want it to happen again.

  * * *

  Malachi finished unloading the new lumber and led Huck and Jeb to the shed for a well-earned rest. The load was heavier than Kip could pull so he’d driven the Belgians into town today to pick up the lumber from the sawmill. Pleased with the geldings, Malachi ran a hand down the fuzzy chestnut shoulder of Huck, the one closest to him. They were willing, strong and a well-adjusted pair. The other horses nickered as he led the big boys into the shed.

  Absently glancing over at the other horses after he’d attended to the geldings’ needs, Malachi frowned and ran another quick count. It was one horse shorter than normal. His brother’s high-strung filly was there, watching him warily, as were the placid bays of the rest of his workforce. All were present except Bess. Ruth’s mare was missing. A rapid scan revealed that her buggy was absent, as well.

  Malachi narrowed his eyes. He knew she hadn’t been in the workshop while he was unloading the wood. Because he’d looked. But he’d just assumed she’d been in the store during that time. Was she here today? Ruth never missed work. Was she sick? No one had commented on her absence. With a sudden urgency in his step, Malachi headed to the front of the shop.

  Ruth looked over in surprise from where she was doing some bookwork at the counter when the door burst open with a wild jangle of chimes. Hoping his reddened cheeks would be attributed to the brisk weather outside, Malachi gave her a curt nod and strode through the store to the workshop door. He jerked open that door and stepped through, taking a deep, steadying breath as he did so.

  After a brief glance to see who’d come through the door, the rest of his employees returned their focus to their work. Slowing his stride to a more leisurely pace, he walked to the rack to hang his coat and hat. His eyes touched on two of his employees as another possibility regarding the missing Bess surfaced. Had one of the single men given Ruth a ride to work?

  He quickly eliminated Jacob. Ruth treated her redheaded coworker as a fond but exasperating brother. But Benjamin on the other hand... Their dark-haired coworker had earned a number of smiles. And rare, shared laughter, Malachi recalled, rubbing a thumb over the still-sore injury the laughter had caused him.

  Shedding his coat, Malachi studied the broad back of his employee. He supposed a woman would find him attractive. Benjamin was certainly a good worker. Talented. Reliable. He’d be a good provider. He was pleasant. Had a sense of humor and an easy smile, which women seemed to like. Malachi turned and jabbed his hat on the peg hard enough that it dented the black felt. He really hoped Ruth hadn’t ridden in with Benjamin. Ruth had said she wasn’t interested in being courted by Amish men, but women changed their minds. They were always changing their minds.

  The door to the shop opened and she came through. Moving over to the project he was working on, Malachi watched surreptitiously as she walked through the workshop to see if she paid any special attention to Benjamin. He frowned in confusion when the two didn’t even look at each other.

  “Everything all right?” Malachi almost jumped when Samuel spoke at his shoulder.

  “Ja. Of course. Why do you ask?”

  “You seem a little distracted, bruder. I don’t normally see you like this. Is everything all right with the business?”

  “The business is fine.” Malachi’s lips twisted. “Thanks to previous management, we have even more growth opportunities than I’d expected. The challenge may be in keeping up with all the orders.”

  Samuel gave him an odd look. “You don’t look happy about it.”

  “I’m happy,” Malachi muttered.

  “Then what’s the issue?”

  “I’m not sure about the possibility of hiring more employees when I don’t know if I can manage the ones I have now.”

  “You’ve never had a problem with employees before.”

  A small smile touched Malachi’s lips in appreciation for the surprise and loyalty evident in Samuel’s response. He focused on not letting his eyes slide to where Ruth turned on the belt sander. “Not until now,” he agreed.

  Malachi wondered all afternoon about Bess’s whereabouts. Then he wondered why it bothered him so. He’d never spent so much time worrying about a horse. Ruth didn’t speak with Benjamin that afternoon, or make any moves to hurry and get ready when the dark-haired young man left. When Ruth put on her cape and bonnet, Malachi was ready to go out the door behind her. To his surprise, she headed directly for the street, not the shed. Perhaps she’d ridden in with someone else in town? There was one way to find out.

  “I didn’t see Bess in the shed today.” He fell into step beside her.

  “Ach, she picked a fine time to have a hoof abscess. I’d rather she limit them to summer.” Ruth looked up at him with a wry smile on her face. “More pleasant days for walking then.”

  Malachi halted, trying to absorb a strange sense of relief and the normal, growing feeling of exasperation he felt around this stubborn woman. “You walked to work today?”

  “How was I to get here if I didn’t?”

  “That’s several miles.”

  Ruth smiled tiredly. “Ja, my feet know it well.” She looked in surprise at the hand he’d placed on her elbow.

  “I’m giving you a ride home.”

  Her feet dragged a little as he pulled her gently along toward the shed. “No, you’re not. It’s miles out of your way.”

  “But Kip is used to covering miles. It won’t be an issue for him.”

  “You brought Kip in to get the lumber from the sawmill this morning?”

  No, he had not. He’d totally forgotten that in all his thinking about horses today. “Actually, no, I brought the team of Belgians.” Malachi paused briefly at the realization and how it affected his sudden plans. It’d be a slow trip home with the geldings. But the prospect of that much time with Ruth didn’t bother him. In fact, an unexpected sense of anticipation began to grow at the thought.

  His eyes narrowed. He’d be late getting back to the farm after taking her home. Well after dark on the shortened winter days. Time wasn’t the issue; it was the equipment. The heavier wagon was used
for day work and didn’t have lights that his buggy did. It could be a hazardous trip home in the dark with little visibility for Englisch drivers to see him. Hazardous for him and the geldings, too. Malachi frowned. He couldn’t risk their safety. He remembered his recent inventory of the shed and smiled. The Belgians hadn’t been the only Schrock horses in attendance.

  “My brieder can take the geldings and I’ll take you home in Samuel’s buggy.” Decision made, he continued to the shed. Ruth’s slight weight was no obstacle to his firm but gentle hand under her arm.

  She continued to drag her feet. “I don’t know. Samuel may not let you. He seems pretty proud of that filly.”

  “He shouldn’t be. She’s a nuisance.” Their coworkers looked up from where they were involved in various stages of harnessing their horses when Malachi and Ruth rounded the corner into the shed. Fortunately, Samuel was still there, adjusting the harness collar on the already-sweating filly. Malachi shook his head at the high-strung animal. A ride behind her wouldn’t be relaxing, but it would get Ruth home, and both him and the Belgians off the road before dark.

  “Wait here.” He left her by Huck, a gentle giant of a horse. Ruth immediately started cooing to the draft gelding, rubbing the blaze on his face and running her fingers through the flaxen forelock. The big boy nodded his head in appreciation, almost lifting Ruth off the ground.

  Malachi strode down the shed until he came to Samuel’s filly. She jerked her head up, her eye ringed with white at his approach. Gently placing a hand on her croup on the opposite side from where Samuel was working, Malachi stroked her flinching flesh before he started helping harness the spooky animal.

  “Easy, Belle,” Samuel murmured to the filly as his questioning eyes met Malachi’s over the tall brown back.

  “Don’t know why you call her Belle. According to the ownership papers that you left on the kitchen table, her name is Sour Grapes. At least one of those is correct. She’s about as sour a horse as I’ve seen in a while.”

  “Don’t pay him any mind, Belle. He’s just jealous because you can run circles around his boring gelding.”

  “Run being the appropriate word. And if I had Kip here, I wouldn’t be asking.”

  “Asking what?”

  “Wonder if you and Gideon would take the geldings home and I drive Sour here.”

  Samuel blinked in surprise. “Why?”

  “Ruth’s mare has an abscessed hoof and she walked in. I’d drive her home with the geldings, but by the time I got home, it would be well after dark and the wagon doesn’t have any lighting.”

  Casting an eye to where Ruth was now helping Gideon harness the Belgians, Samuel scrutinized her from beneath lowered lids for a moment. “You and Gideon could drive the geldings and I’ll take Ruth home.”

  “No, you won’t.” Malachi was surprised at how fast and firm the words came out of his mouth. From the look on Samuel’s face, so was he. Now Malachi was the one being scrutinized from under Samuel’s lowered lids.

  “No problem,” Samuel finally agreed, a smirk on his lips as he shot a sidelong look at Ruth.

  Benjamin was just finishing harnessing his bay mare next to them. The subtle sounds of the shed—the muffled stomping of hooves, the quiet snaps of buckles on harnesses, the faint murmurs of the men either to each other or to their animals—hadn’t obscured their conversation. “I can give her a ride. I live in that direction.”

  “I got it.” Usually Malachi appreciated the supportive nature of the Amish community, but for some reason, tonight the offers rankled. Benjamin shrugged and backed his mare from the shed. Samuel’s smirk got wider. That rankled Malachi, as well.

  “Anything I should know about Sour?” He prepared to back the nervous filly out to hook her up to Samuel’s buggy.

  The smirk transformed into a huge smile, showing most of his brother’s white teeth. “She’s not Kip,” was the only advice offered as Samuel sauntered over to help with the Belgians.

  Malachi snorted. No surprise there, he acknowledged, taking in the sweating neck of the filly again. They’d hardly left the shed. He eased the shafts down over her, attached the harness to the shafts, called to Ruth and stepped into the buggy. Looking around the unfamiliar interior of the rig and identifying the essentials, he recognized the used buggy as reflecting his brother’s more outgoing personality. The bishop might discourage things that were hochmut, but either he granted leniency to the young men in their rumspringa on what might be considered proud, or the bishop had never stepped into one of their buggies.

  The squeak of an opening door preceded Ruth’s entry into the buggy, an enigmatic look on her face. She sat down, hugging the door, a good six inches between where her cape draped the seat and the edge of his coat. Malachi eyed the space between them before returning his attention to the filly. He pursed his lips. Between the two females with him on the trip, he wasn’t sure which one would be more distracting.

  Chapter Twelve

  As the temperatures were above freezing, Malachi eschewed his gloves and stuffed them in his pockets. He wanted bare hands on the reins to keep a better feel for the unknown, and most likely fractious, horse. With Ruth seated on his left side, they sped down Miller’s Creek’s main thoroughfare. A glance in her direction revealed a smile on Ruth’s face at the brisk pace they set. He had to admit, Sour Grapes was a smart goer. Malachi was beginning to see the allure of the filly. It wasn’t long ago that he’d have wanted one just like her.

  By the time they were out of town and approaching the corner where the intersecting road went to Ruth’s farm, lather was already flecking off the filly’s neck and chest. Sour Grapes kept jerking her head forward and playing with the bit. Malachi maintained a gentle hand on the reins. Approaching the corner, he slowed her down and put on the blinker in the buggy. She fought the shortened lines, tossing her head forward to pull more rein. She knew home wasn’t that way and she didn’t want to make the turn. Malachi’s lip curled. How appropriate. The filly was already barn sour, wanting to get to her stall as soon as possible.

  He battled her around the corner, keeping a close eye on the car behind him. Some Englisch drivers were very courteous in sharing the road with Amish buggies. Some were not. Malachi had a feeling the red car behind them might be one of the nots. Swinging wide on the corner, the buggy took up more than its normal share of the road. With a hard pull at the bit, Sour was speeding up. They completed the turn when, engine roaring, the red car honked loudly and accelerated down the road they’d just vacated. At the dual sounds, Sour shot forward at a gallop, every lunge jerking the buggy forward.

  Malachi’s hands tightened on the reins. He sucked in a breath as Sour headed close enough to the ditch that his side of the buggy tipped precariously in that direction. Malachi leaned hard the opposite way, banging shoulders with a bouncing Ruth. A powerful tug on the left-hand rein got Sour Grapes back on the road, where Malachi focused on stopping the bolting filly. Hopefully with the buggy and its occupants in one piece.

  He knew, with the bit clamped in the filly’s mouth, a steady pullback would do no good, so he began with alternating pulls and releases. There was no reduction in the horse’s speed. At least they were more on the road now, although encroaching over the centerline. With the narrow bridge over the town’s namesake getting closer with every lunge, Malachi figured this was a good thing. Or so he thought until he heard Ruth’s gasp and looked ahead of the flying black mane to see a car approaching from the opposite direction.

  Please, please don’t honk, he beseeched the driver when it became evident they were going to meet on the bridge. Malachi’s fingers clenched the reins and he gritted his teeth as the clatter of the shod hooves changed tenor when the filly’s churning legs crossed the metal expansion joint from blacktop to bridge. The vehicle flashed by, the other driver’s startled face only a few feet away. The car’s protruding side mirror passed within a whisper of the buggy wheel
.

  Once they passed the bridge, the filly headed for the ditch again. The buggy tilted abruptly as the wheels on the ditch side left the blacktop. Harsh crunching sounds resonated through the buggy as they tore through fingers of snowdrifts that edged the road. Drifts that’d dwindled, but had been through numerous melt-and-refreeze cycles, causing the buggy to jerk in their direction at every impact. Even if it didn’t tip, the buggy wouldn’t hold up much longer with that kind of abuse. Wincing at the pain in his still-bandaged finger, Malachi pulled hard on the left rein, throwing the filly off balance and getting her back on the road.

  Sour Grapes’s chin tucked against her shoulder but her jaw was locked against the bit and she was still running. The buggy was rocking as she swerved, fighting for control. Malachi shot a glance ahead. The road was open. Taking a deep breath, he gave the filly a little more rein, letting her run. She’d eventually have to wind down.

  Between alternate pulls on the right and left reins to keep her off balance and varying tugs and releases to slow her, he regained control. The filly eased into a trot and finally a walk. Malachi pulled her over to the nearest field entrance. The horse stood, lathered and quivering, as Malachi’s hands slowly unclenched. Blowing hard, Sour Grapes extended her neck, demanding more rein.

  Malachi gave her some, as what lay ahead of them was an open field with a foot of snow. She wouldn’t get far if she took off again. He set the brake anyway. He was shaking. Not over fear for himself, but in terror that an accident could’ve hurt or killed Ruth. During the ordeal, his attention had been on the bolting filly. He’d been aware of Ruth bouncing and swaying on the seat beside him, but he hadn’t been able to glance at her, much less give her any assurance, through the harrowing adventure.

  The reins shifted in his hands, which were now sweating. Malachi shot an apprehensive glance at Sour Grapes, but she was just dropping her head to blow some more. She wasn’t going anywhere. He could see Ruth’s right arm, braced against the dash. Her fingers were white-knuckle in their grip. She was probably trembling with fear. Fear he could deal with. He’d pat her hand, reassure her that everything was all right now.