The Shepherd's Bride Page 13

  When the van pulled up beside her, she waited impatiently as the man in the gray uniform behind the wheel sorted through the stack in his hand. “Looks like only one today.”

  He held it toward her. “I haven’t seen Joe for a couple of weeks. I hope he’s okay.”

  She glanced at the letter and saw it was addressed to Carl. She put it in her pocket. “My grandfather is in the hospital with a broken hip.”

  “Man, that’s tough. I’m sorry to hear that. My son and I were planning to stop in and buy a club lamb from him later this spring. Should we rethink that?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what a club lamb is, but Carl King is here. I’m sure he can help you.”

  “Great. A club lamb is one that’s raised by a kid in 4-H or FFA, Future Farmers of America. Carl was the one who helped my son choose a lamb last year. It took second place at the county fair. My boy is hoping for first place this year.”

  “I’m sure Carl will be happy to help you again.”

  “He’s really good with kids. My son learned more about how to take care of his lamb from Carl than he did from his 4-H leader. Well, give Joe my best.” He nodded and drove away.

  Lizzie started toward the phone booth next. Was it only two days ago that she strolled along this path with Carl at her side? It seemed as if a century had passed since then. So much had happened. So much had changed. Her mad scramble to get her sisters to Hope Springs had come to a painful stop.

  As had her growing friendship with Carl.

  Her refusal of his gift put his shunning front and center between them. As it should have been all along, she acknowledged.

  Leaving the security and close-knit circle of her family had put her adrift in a sea of change. Nothing was as she imagined it would be. Nothing worked out as she had hoped. Carl’s quiet, reserved strength had offered her shelter from the storm of events taking place around her. It was no wonder she grew to cherish his friendship so quickly.

  He was a good man. She didn’t doubt that, but he no longer believed as she did and that was unacceptable. He knew it, because he had stopped coming by the house. She had seen him out and about on the farm, but he didn’t come in for coffee in the morning or for lunch, or for supper, for that matter.

  In short, he left her alone.

  And she missed him terribly.

  She reached the phone booth and saw Duncan lying outside it. Her traitorous heart gave a happy leap before she could put her hard-won resolve into place. A few moments later, Carl emerged. He stopped short at the sight of her.

  “Gutenowed, Carl.” She was pleased that her voice sounded composed with just the right touch of reserve.

  “Good evening.” He looked haggard and worn, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well.

  “Were you checking on Joe?” she asked.

  He hitched his thumb over his shoulder toward the phone. “Yes. He’s doing much better today. He’s been up walking with a walker. There’s no sign of fever. Looks like the antibiotics have done the trick.”

  “That’s wonderful news.”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “It is. He should be home in a week. Look, I’ve got to go. Are you doing okay?”

  “I’m fine, and you?”

  “I’m managing. Have a nice night.” He tipped his hat and walked past her.

  She watched him until he disappeared around a bend in the path that led to his hut. He never looked back. She wanted to call out to him, but she couldn’t think of a reason to do so. She didn’t want him to know how much she missed having him around.

  Should she have taken the money he offered? It would have been enough, more than enough. She could have taken it, confessed later to the bishop and accepted his forgiveness. There were ways around the rules, but they weren’t just rules to her. They were the glue that bound her Christian community together against the forces that would break it down, both from the outside and from within.

  Because of the Ordnung, every Amish man and woman knew what was expected of them. They knew their purpose in life. The rules of their society weren’t made to be broken or ignored. They were made to guide and to guard against the disruptions of the world that could come between the faithful and God. Accepting the Amish faith came at a great price. It was never done lightly.

  She might regret not using Carl’s gift, but she knew she had done the right thing.

  If only she had her own money or something she could sell, but she owned nothing of value. She had little more than the clothes on her back. Her heart ached as she thought about the life Clara would be forced to live with an abusive husband.

  It would be their mother’s life all over again.

  Lizzie remembered all too well the desperate attempts to keep peace in the house, waiting in agony for the simple spark that would set their father’s temper ablaze. He was always sorry afterward, but his repentant behavior never lasted, yet their mother forgave him time and again.

  Lizzie shuddered at the memories. Clara deserved better.

  Lizzie was lost in her thoughts and didn’t realize a buggy had stopped on the roadway until someone called her name. Sally Yoder waved and beckoned Lizzie to her side. Lizzie didn’t recognize the woman seated beside her. She wore dark glasses and looked to be several years older than Sally.

  “I’m so glad we ran into you. We were just on our way to a quilting bee at my cousin’s house. Have you met Rebecca yet?” Sally asked.

  Lizzie shook her head. “I don’t believe so.”

  The woman in the dark glasses leaned around Sally. “Hi, I’m Rebecca Troyer. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lizzie. Everyone has been talking about the sudden appearance of Woolly Joe’s relative. Almost no one knew he had a family. How is he doing?”

  “He’s better. He may be home in a week.”

  Sally smiled in relief. “That’s wonderful news. The reason I wanted to see you was to ask if you would like to ride with my family to the church service on Sunday.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you, Sally. That would be great as long as it’s not out of your way.”

  “Not at all. We will go right past your lane. How are you doing living by yourself out here?”

  “It’s very quiet, but there’s no one to interrupt my work during the day. Grandfather’s house is getting the scrubbing it deserves. I found some half-empty paint cans on the back porch, so I plan to spruce up the kitchen.”

  “That sounds like a monumental task. Are you free this afternoon? Would you like to come to the quilting bee with us? We are making a quilt for my aunt’s fiftieth birthday.”

  “We would love to have you join us,” Rebecca added.

  “I’m afraid I have limited skill with a needle. Rebecca, did I see one of your quilts for sale at the inn in Hope Springs?”

  “Yes, my Lone Star quilt. Naomi sold it yesterday. I’m always amazed when someone buys one.”

  “You shouldn’t be,” Sally said. “You have a wonderful talent. People recognize the value of your work. We should get going. Lizzie, we’ll pick you up at eight o’clock on Sunday morning.”

  “I look forward to it.” Lizzie waved as they drove away, but her mind was already reeling. She did own something of value. Something of enormous value to her, but was it valuable enough to buy one-way bus tickets for three young women from Indiana to Hope Springs?

  She had her mother’s beautiful wedding-ring quilt.

  The very idea of parting with the only thing she had to remember her mother by was painful to contemplate. What if she sold it and her sisters still didn’t come? Then she would have less than nothing.

  She walked the rest of the way home and wrestled with her choices. She could break down and use Carl’s money, sell her mother’s quilt or accept that she could do nothing. None of them were good choices, but there was only one she could live with
.

  When she entered the house, she was surprised to see Carl in the kitchen with a box of oatmeal in his hand. He gave her a sheepish look and set it on the counter, like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I’m out of oatmeal. I knew Joe had an extra box. Do you mind if I use it?”

  “Is that what you’ve been living on?”

  He stuffed his hands in his front pockets. “I like oatmeal.”

  “So do I, but not for three meals a day. I’m having chicken and dumplings for supper. There’s plenty. You’re welcome to have some.”

  He hesitated, glanced at the oatmeal box, then said, “Thanks. Don’t mind if I do.”

  She turned aside to hide the surge of happiness that engulfed her.

  It was just supper. She had to make sure she didn’t let her emotions get out of hand again. “I may have discovered a way to earn the money I need to send for my sisters.”

  “Have you found another job? I can manage without you until Joe comes home.”

  “Nee, I saw Sally Yoder and Rebecca Troyer a little bit ago. They were on their way to a quilting bee. It reminded me that Naomi sells quilts for local women at the inn. She sold one of Rebecca’s recently. I have a wedding-ring quilt. I thought I would take it to her and see if she could sell it for me.”

  She busied herself putting plates on the table and avoided looking at him. She didn’t want him to see how hard her decision had been.

  He was a difficult man to fool. “A wedding-ring quilt is often a part of a young woman’s hope chest.”

  “I don’t plan to marry, so I have no need of the quilt.” She tried to sound offhand but failed miserably.

  “I thought marriage was the goal of every young Amish woman.”

  She turned to face him and wrapped her arms tightly across her middle. “It’s not the goal of this Amish girl. Every family needs a maiden aunt to help care for the elderly and to help look after the children. That’s the life I want.”

  “I can’t see you living a life without love in it. What has given you a distaste for marriage?”

  “I didn’t say I have a distaste for it. I just said it’s not the life I want.” She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her apron and encountered the letter she’d forgotten to give him.

  She held it out. “This came for you. I’m sorry I didn’t remember sooner.”

  He took it from her, stared at it for a long moment, then put it in his shirt pocket. At least he didn’t toss it in the fire this time. Was that a good sign?

  She finished putting supper on the table and they ate in silence. She was afraid he would resume his questions regarding her feelings about marriage, but he didn’t. It was fully dark by the time supper was over. Low clouds had moved in, bringing with them a chilly wind.

  Carl put on his cowboy hat and coat and took a lantern from a hook by the door. He raised the glass and used a match to light the wick. “I have one ewe out in the hilltop pen that I need to check on. I may have to move her into the barn if she isn’t better by morning.”

  “All right. Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, I’m just letting you know so you don’t worry if you see a light out in the field. Good night, Lizzie.”

  “Guten nacht, Carl,” she said and watched him go out. She carried the dirty plates to the sink and glanced out the window. Carl had stopped at the corral gate. He set his lantern on the fence post and took something out of his pocket. Was he going to read his letter? She held her breath.

  He brought the envelope to the top of the lantern chimney. After a few seconds, it caught fire. He held it between his fingers, turning it slightly to keep from being burned until there was only a tiny bit left. He dropped the piece to the ground and watched until the fire consumed all of it. Then he picked up the lantern and walked out into the field.

  Lizzie turned away from the window. Her heart ached for Carl and for the woman who wrote him every week. How she must love him to keep writing in the face of his continued silence.

  Who was she?

  * * *

  It wasn’t his intention to take supper with Lizzie when he went to the house earlier. He really did need the oatmeal. Even a large box didn’t last long when a man ate it three times a day. Cereal was his only reason for being in her kitchen.

  At least, that was what he told himself as he crossed the dark pasture with a lantern in his hand. He might have been able to convince himself of that fact if he had actually taken the oatmeal with him when he walked out.

  It was still sitting on the counter where he’d left it. He was hungry, but not for food. He craved Lizzie’s company. He longed for a glimpse of her smile, to see her look upon him with kindness and maybe something more.

  Duncan came out of the dark to walk beside him. He glanced at the dog. “I’m a fool, you know.”

  Duncan’s only response was to lope away.

  “So much for venting my troubles to a friend.” Carl walked on. The dog couldn’t help him with his dilemma. It was something he would need to come to grips with on his own. Although he had only known Lizzie Barkman for two weeks, he was falling for her in a big way.

  He’d tried staying away from her, but his efforts had been futile. He was drawn to her in a way that had nothing to do with a home-cooked meal and everything to do with the way she made him feel when she smiled. He was drawn to the warmth of her soul.

  He hadn’t questioned the wisdom of staying in Hope Springs since the day Joe offered him a place to live. Until she showed up, the farm had been a sanctuary for him. A place where he could retreat from the world and the harm he’d caused. Only, now his self-imposed solitude had abruptly lost its appeal.

  Lizzie’s rejection of his offer to help hurt deeply even though he had half expected what her reaction would be. It was his inability to help that hurt the most. It kept him awake at night and made him realize how truly separated he had become from those of his faith.

  As it turned out, she didn’t need his help. She’d found a way without breaking her promise of faith.

  He stopped walking and looked back at the house. The light from the kitchen window went out. He watched as the faint light of her lamp passed through the living room and vanished briefly before it reappeared in the window of her second-story bedroom. Would she sleep beneath her wedding-ring quilt tonight? He recognized the distress she tried to hide when she talked about selling it. The decision hadn’t been an easy one for her.

  He watched her window until the light went out. It was one thing to be alone when it was his choice. It was another thing when he ached with the need to comfort Lizzie but could only watch her struggles from afar.

  A new thought occurred to Carl as he stood beneath the brilliant stars strewn across the night sky. Was Lizzie’s arrival the way the Lord had chosen to call him back to the faith he’d grown up in?

  * * *

  The next morning, Lizzie finished her chores and left a note for Carl telling him she had gone into town. After that, she climbed the stairs to her small bedroom and stared at the quilt on her bed. It was all she had to remind her of her mother. It was the only thing of value she owned in the world.

  She pulled it off the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. It wasn’t the same as being hugged by her mother, but it was as close as she could come until they met again in Heaven.

  Tears filled her eyes. She would never feel her mother’s arms again, but she could have her sisters’ embraces to comfort her. She would have to sell her heirloom to make that happen. In her heart, she knew her mother would understand.

  Laying the quilt on the bed again, she folded it carefully. Then she placed it in the box and tied it shut with a length of string. With it tucked firmly under her arm, she walked down the stairs and out the door with a purposeful stride.

  It took her over an hour to reach
Hope Springs. At the door of the Wadler Inn, she hesitated. She took a moment to gather her courage, then she opened the door and walked in.

  Naomi Wadler wasn’t behind the desk. An elderly Englisch gentleman greeted Lizzie. “Good morning. How may I help you?”

  Lizzie laid her box on the counter. “I have a quilt that I would like Naomi to sell for me.”

  Naomi appeared in the doorway of a small office behind the counter. “Did I hear my name? Lizzie, how nice to see you again. How is Joe getting along? We have all been praying for him.”

  “The doctor told us that he developed an infection, but he has improved with the antibiotics they are giving him. He could come home in a week, but he’ll still need care and physical therapy.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. What can I do for you, child?”

  “I have a quilt I would like you to sell for me.”

  “Is this it?” She motioned toward the box.

  “Ja, it’s not a new quilt.” Lizzie broke the string and opened the box. She pulled out the quilt and tears stung her eyes again at the sight of the intricately pieced fabrics in muted blues, pinks and soft greens.

  “This is lovely. Was it all done by one person? My buyers prefer quilts done by a single hand rather than the ones done at a quilting bee.”

  “My mother made it by herself. It’s very dear to me, but I have no idea what it is worth to someone else.”

  Naomi’s eyes softened. “Are you sure you want to sell it?”

  “I don’t want to, but I must.” Lizzie choked back tears. “It’s the only way I can afford to pay for my sisters to move here. It is desperately important that they come. I know my mother would understand and approve. That makes selling it a little easier.”

  Naomi came around the counter and slipped an arm across Lizzie shoulders. “Surely your grandfather would loan you the money.”

  “I can’t ask him now. He has hospital and doctor bills to pay. His accident was my fault. Besides, you know what a recluse he is. He doesn’t want us here.”