Where the Heart Takes You

by Virginia Wise

  “That is a relief.” Ruth pressed a hand to her heart. “A broken bone out here in the backcountry . . .” She shook her head and did not finish the sentence.

  “Give her a few days. She will recover on her own.”

  Ruth nodded and hurried to the corner of the cabin where she stored herbs and foodstuffs. “I have vinegar to bring down the swelling.”

  Jacob nodded, his expression hard and unreadable.

  “And I will brew her some tea.” Ruth smiled. “It is not real tea, of course, only redroot.”

  “A cup of redroot will do her good, I am sure.”

  “Ja. I have grown fond of it.” Ruth laughed. “Of course I have almost forgotten the taste of real tea.”

  “As have I. But redroot will serve her better. It can bring down swelling, I have heard.”

  “I have heard that as well. There is a wealth of medicines hidden in these woods, if you know where to look.”

  Jacob gazed down at Greta, as if he would say something, then nodded and turned away, a serious expression on his tanned face. He strode out the door and pulled it shut behind him. Greta stared at the closed door. She could still feel the gentle strength of his embrace, the warmth of his chest through his homespun shirt as he carried her home. She could still feel the comfort of his low, soothing voice.

  Ruth studied her with a raised eyebrow. “Well, Greta, what do you think of Jacob Miller now?”

  “Oh, I . . . I don’t . . .” She bit her lip and shook her head.

  “You don’t what, Greta?”

  Greta broke into a grin. “I don’t know what to think.”

  “Oh, I think you do.”

  Greta blushed and looked down, but her heart was still smiling.

  * * *

  They heard a knock at the door a few minutes later. Ruth opened it to find Jacob’s large frame blocking the doorway. He wore a wooden shoulder yoke with two buckets of water suspended from it. “This should last until tomorrow.” Jacob crossed the small cabin and set the buckets down beside the fireplace, careful not to let the liquid slosh over the sides. “And the cow is in the barn, safe and sound for the night.”

  “Thank you, Jacob, for taking care of everything.”

  “Ja. We are Amish. What else would I do?”

  “Ja. Amish. Of course.” Greta looked at her lap, flustered. He seemed so attentive, so caring. I thought maybe . . . She pushed the thought from her mind, embarrassed. No, you are being presumptuous. He is just doing his duty. Why else would he attend to a girl who seems so outrageously incompetent?

  When Greta looked up again, Jacob was already gone.

  * * *

  Jacob could not stop glancing back at the cabin. The settlers used oilcloth instead of glass, so he could only make out a haze of light and shadow where Greta sat. A soft voice drifted through the oilcloth and he imagined the laughing eyes and lively spirit that went with it. He frowned and forced himself to look away.

  That night, as he stoked the fire and gazed into the glowing coals, Jacob wondered why Greta had stumbled into his path. He shook his head and pushed away the obvious answer. No. Absolutely not. Oh ja, she can be captivating—but that is completely irrelevant.

  Jacob sighed, unfastened his leather shoes, and pulled off his woolen hosen. Walking through muddy fields kept his feet and calves uncomfortably damp, so he laid the woolen hosen across the hearth to dry.

  Jacob sighed again and picked up his Bible. He flipped through the worn pages as he searched for confirmation about his attitude toward Greta. I know what happens when you fall for a sweet young woman and dare to dream of a happy future. He turned to the list of births, marriages, and deaths recorded on the first page of the book. His finger ran over the handwritten words as he whispered the name of his wife and son. Jacob Jr. had lived just a few hours after Marta’s death. There would have been a midwife to call if we had still been in Germany. They might have lived. But instead we were here, alone in a strange, hostile land.

  He closed his eyes and tried to push away the surge of guilt that threatened to overcome him. I chose to bring my family here. I chose to expose them to the perils of the backcountry. He swallowed hard. I chose to come here for a higher purpose. How could it have ended like this?

  Jacob remembered the bold excitement he had felt to be one of the first Amish families to set down roots in the New World. He and Marta journeyed from Germany’s Rhine Valley a year before the Charming Nancy set sail. He thought that his family would pave the way. Instead . . .

  Jacob closed the Bible and stared into the dying fire. The flickering light danced against the cabin’s rough log walls and cast moving shadows across his face. He felt alone in the wilderness, even though his neighbors’ cabins peppered the forest with warm, inviting hearths and familiar faces.

  Chapter Six

  Greta did her best to hobble around the house and complete her chores. But each step sent a stab of pain through her ankle. She frowned when Ruth shuffled into the house with her back bent under a load of firewood.

  “Ruth, you should not do that. It is too much for you.” Greta wondered how the elderly woman had managed on her own since her husband died.

  Ruth shook her head. “Greta, you worry about me too much. I am fine. Just rest and take care of the spinning. You can do that sitting down.”

  Greta collapsed onto a bench and picked up the handheld drop spindle from the mending basket. She fed a portion of wool around the shaft, then dropped and rotated the spindle. Gravity and the spinning motion worked together to transform the piece of wool into yarn. Greta glanced up from her work to check the water bucket by the hearth. Almost empty. She hated to think how Ruth would struggle to haul water back from the creek.

  A loud knock interrupted Greta’s thoughts. Ruth opened the rough oak door and grinned. “Jacob! What a pleasant surprise.”

  Jacob nodded, but did not smile.

  “Hello, Jacob.” Greta felt her cheeks redden as he swept his eyes past her. She looked down and felt her heart beat faster. Has Jacob come to call on me? The way he carried me home yesterday . . . That twinkle in his eye when he looks at me . . . Maybe . . . She glanced back up but his attention was on the bucket by the hearth. She studied his tall frame and serious expression. She remembered the way it had felt when he swept her into his strong arms and carried her all the way home. She blushed harder and focused on turning the drop spindle.

  Jacob rolled up the loose sleeves of his long linen shirt and picked up the bucket without looking her way. “Just stopped by to take care of a few chores.” He noticed the pile of sticks stacked beside the bucket and frowned. “Ruth, you should have waited for me.”

  She shrugged. “I hate to be a burden.”

  “You are no burden, Ruth. You have earned your rest.”

  Ruth chuckled. “You and I have lived in the backcountry longer than most. We know how to work.”

  “Ja. That we do. And you have put in enough work for a lifetime. Time to let others help you for a change.” Jacob hurried out the door before Ruth could respond.

  * * *

  Jacob sighed as soon as he left the cabin. He had done his best to avoid Greta, but ignoring the young woman did not cleanse her from his thoughts. Whenever he gazed at her pretty, blushing face, he felt drawn to her, despite his firm resolve. Her sparkling green eyes danced across his mind. She had looked so pleased to see him, so hopeful and expectant . . . Jacob shook his head. I should not encourage her. The elders have already made their thoughts on the matter clear—they want me to take her for a wife. But they do not understand. I am responsible for Marta’s death. And I won’t be responsible for any harm coming to another naïve young woman. I am not the man that she needs. No matter how enchanting she seems . . .

  Jacob drew a bucket of cold, clear water from the creek and trudged back to the cabin. Next, he split logs and hauled in a good store of firewood. “This should last a while,” he announced as he stacked the last cord by the hearth. Greta watched him under lowere
d lashes and waited for him to return her stare. He didn’t.

  “Thank you, Jacob.” Ruth stirred the big black cauldron that hung over the fire by a chain. “Stay for dinner.” The rich, earthy smell of pumpkin wafted through the tiny cabin. “It is not much, but we would like to share.”

  Jacob shook his head. “I best be getting back to tend to my own chores.”

  Ruth nodded. “Thank you again.”

  “No need to thank me, Ruth. It is our way to help one another.” Jacob turned on his heels and strode through the threshold. Greta watched him until the door shut with a bang. She was still blushing, but this time her cheeks were red from embarrassment instead of sheepish hope.

  “Oh, Ruth! He never once spoke to me. Not one time!”

  “Hush, Greta. Oilcloth is not soundproof, you know. The shutters are open.”

  Greta lowered her voice to a whisper. “You would think I had the plague!” She turned the drop spindle so forcefully that it nearly flew from her hand. “I just do not understand! After the way he took care of—”

  A half smile appeared on Ruth’s lips. “After the way he took care of whom?”

  Greta didn’t answer.

  “Funny you should care so much, dear. I thought that you were not the least bit interested in the man. Is it not a relief that he has ignored you?”

  Greta’s eyes flashed. She slammed the drop spindle into the mending basket. “I never said . . . that is not... !”

  Ruth did not answer. She just stirred the cauldron and grinned.

  * * *

  The Fisher twins knocked on the door early the next morning. They ran to Greta’s side as soon as Ruth let them in. “We heard you got hurt, Greta!” Peter shoved a bouquet of wildflowers in her face. Greta sneezed and grinned. “Oh, thank you!”

  “Let me put that in water for you.” Greta gasped at the sound of Jacob’s deep, comforting voice.

  “Jacob!”

  His large frame hovered in the doorway and blocked the long rays of the morning sun.

  “Do come in!”

  Jacob nodded. The smell of woodsmoke and spices welcomed him as he entered the small cabin. He smiled at Peter. “That was a nice thing to do, young man.”

  “It was my sister’s idea.”

  “Very thoughtful of you, Eliza. Lovely flowers from a lovely little girl.”

  Eliza beamed and reached for his hand.

  Greta smiled at the warm scene. What a wonderful father he would make! He is so gentle and kind with the children. Jacob looked up and caught her watching him. He cleared his throat and looked away. Greta frowned. Stop dreaming impossible dreams. Remember neither one of you is interested in the other.

  “We have to go get our chores done before breakfast,” Eliza announced, and bounded away.

  “Good-bye!” Peter flashed a grin and followed his sister.

  The twins’ absence left the cabin unnaturally quiet. Jacob cleared his throat and walked to the fire.

  “The weather is turning.” He rubbed his palms together. “There is a chill in the air. The first snow will fly within a fortnight, I think.” Jacob made sure that his eyes did not stray from the fireplace. But he could still feel Greta’s presence across the room. He picked up the bucket and hurried away from the captivating young lady.

  “Stay for breakfast.” Ruth motioned him back toward the hearth. “Pumpkin stew again.”

  Greta wrinkled her nose. “I hope I never see another pumpkin again as long as I live!”

  “We are fortunate to have anything in our pot.” Ruth glanced at Greta with a kind but chastising look. “Do not forget how blessed we are to have full bellies. My husband and I came here a year ago with naught but a bag of corn, a bag of nails, an ax, and an iron spider for cooking atop a campfire. We started with almost nothing. And look how much der Herr has blessed us.” She waved her hand through the air. “It is all a Plain woman needs.”

  To the outside observer the tiny cabin looked humble: a hard-packed dirt floor, rough log walls, a few herbs hanging from the rafters, a handmade table with two benches, and a shelf beside the hearth that held two wooden trenchers and one pewter cup. There were no beds, only pallets on the floor that the women rolled up during the day to create more space in the cramped room.

  “Ja.” Jacob nodded. “Those were difficult days. We are blessed to have enough food.” He felt a stab of remorse as he realized how rarely he had thanked the Lord since Marta’s death.

  Greta shrugged. “Well, we were certainly blessed with plenty of pumpkins.”

  Jacob could not help but chuckle. “Ja. It is good that there has been enough for all the newcomers.”

  “More than enough.” Greta let her gaze linger on Jacob as she spoke. He laughed again at her dry humor and their eyes locked. Jacob felt himself fall into her warm green eyes and pulled his attention away. He grabbed the bucket and made a beeline for the front door as Ruth watched with a knowing expression.

  When Jacob returned with the water, Ruth ladled a serving of pumpkin stew onto a wooden trencher. She lifted the trencher and held it under his nose.

  “You must eat a good breakfast for your efforts.” Jacob glanced at Greta. Sweet-smelling steam curled up from the stew and warmed his face. He hesitated and tried to pass the trencher back to Ruth. She kept her hands on her hips and shook her head. “No. You will eat with us.”

  “There is no fighting you, Ruth.”

  She heaped another portion of stew onto the second wooden trencher and then nodded for him to take both trenchers to the table.

  He set the second trencher in front of Greta and settled onto the bench across from her. There were just two short benches in the cabin, so Ruth remained on the three-legged stool and tended the fire. She only owned two trenchers, so she would have to wait until the others finished before she could eat.

  “Ruth, come eat first,” Greta insisted. “I will wait.”

  Ruth shook her head. “No, I am comfortable here by the fire. It is too cold at the table. You go on and eat.” Greta raised an eyebrow. She knew what Ruth was doing. First the elders try to set me up with Jacob, and now Ruth is too! ? I can make it just fine on my own, thank you very much. And yet, she found herself glancing up at the handsome widower sitting across from her. His presence felt strangely comforting. He was a man of few words, but his thoughtful actions and rich brown eyes spoke volumes.

  Greta tried to pull herself back from her emotions. Do not be silly, Greta. Jacob is only doing his duty to his neighbor. He would help anyone in the settlement. His kindness is not personal. But she dared to hope as she peered up at him and felt her heart quicken.

  Jacob shoveled the stew into his mouth without stopping to look up. Greta searched for something to say as she scraped her spoon against the trencher. He refuses to look at me. The only noise came from the crackling of the fire and the sound of metal thumping against wood. Think of something clever to say! Think, think, think!

  Jacob set his spoon down with a satisfied sigh.

  “Thank you, Ruth. You have always been a good cook.”

  Ruth made a dismissive gesture. As an Amish woman, she was careful to avoid pride and immediately deflected the compliment. “I am just using the abilities that der Herr has given me.”

  Jacob nodded. “Indeed.”

  “Anyway, after my Hans died, it is a pleasure to cook for more than one.”

  An expression of regret passed over Jacob’s face. “Hans was a good man.”

  Ruth sighed and stirred the cauldron. “Ja. Hans was a good man.”

  “And he lived to see a new life in a new land for our people.”

  Ruth nodded. She smiled a faraway but happy smile. “We had wonderful good years together.”

  Jacob nodded. “When the fever came he died peacefully, knowing that you had a good roof over your head and a good crop in the field.”

  “Ja. I lived a full life with my Hans. I am content now.” She moved her eyes to Jacob. “But you, Jacob, you are still a young man.”r />
  “Thirty-five is not too young.”

  “You will think otherwise when you are my age.” Ruth grinned before letting her face drop back to a serious expression. “You are too young to live as if your life is over.”

  Jacob’s eyes hardened. He shook his head. “I work. I have joined my neighbors to create a new settlement for our people. I do not live as though my life is over.”

  Ruth sighed. Her eyes moved from Jacob to Greta, then back to Jacob. “Oh yes. You go through the motions. But life is not about actions only.” She tapped her heart. “It is about something deeper.”

  Greta stared at Jacob and wondered what pain hid beneath his aloof demeanor.

  “We all miss Marta.” Ruth spread her hands. “But life must go on.”

  Jacob pushed his bench back with too much force and stood up from the table. “I am doing all that a good Amish man should do. What more do you want from me?” He shook his head and started for the door.

  “I want you to find peace again. And consider the possibilities for your life. You are still very much alive, Jacob, even though Marta is not. You still have a life to live.”

  Jacob paused and stared at Ruth. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Greta watched his jawline sharpen as he clenched his teeth. He stood in silence for a long moment, then turned and walked away.

  “Jacob!” Greta longed to run after him.

  “Let him go, child.” Ruth turned back to the fire. “Let him go.” She sighed and shook her head.

  “I wish there were something that I could do.”

  “Do not worry. I feel sure that you will help him.”

  “I will?” Greta narrowed her eyes. “I actually threw fried squash at his head a few days ago, you know.”

  Ruth’s eyes softened. “You, my dear, are an answer to my prayers for that man. You might be able to reach him.”

  “Why, Ruth? What happened?”

  Ruth stood up from the three-legged stool and picked up the broom. “His wife, Marta, died in childbirth. And the baby died a few hours later. He blames himself. He thinks that she would have lived if they had stayed in Germany, where he could have fetched a midwife for her.”