Plain Admirer Page 9

  It wasn’t until early Saturday morning that Joann had a chance to get away and go fishing again. She packed a couple of pieces of cold fried chicken left over from lunch, a few carrots and an apple along with a pint jar filled with lemonade into her quilted bag. She left a note for her brother and his family telling them she wouldn’t be home for the noon meal. When she arrived at the hollow log, she wasn’t surprised, but she was disappointed when there was no message waiting for her.

  She left her pole in its hiding place. She didn’t really feel like fishing. She just needed to be by herself. The day had been warm, so she slipped off her shoes, gathered up her skirt and waded knee-deep into the cold water.

  The muck and moss squished between her toes. When she stood still, she could see tiny minnows swimming around her feet, eager to investigate the new intruder in their watery domain. She looked over the calm surface of the lake and blew out a deep breath. It was such a good place. She always felt happy when she was here.

  A splash off to the left made her look that way. She didn’t see the fish, but something white caught her attention. She waded toward a stand of cattails. Nestled among the reeds at the edge of the water was a plastic bag. She picked it up and recognized her letter tucked inside. With growing excitement, she opened the bag and pulled out her note. On the back, she saw her unknown friend had written another letter. Quickly, she waded back to shore and sat down to read it.

  Dear Happy Angler,

  I’m glad the pole has been returned to its rightful owner. Strange how things work out sometimes. You don’t owe me any thanks, but I appreciate the lure. I caught two nice four-pounders with it in the spot you suggested. Your gift brought me much more than a pair of fish. It brought me closer to someone I care about. Thank you for that. Like you, little seems to be going right in my life. I won’t bore you with the details. I will say that something about this peaceful spot makes my troubles seem smaller. Perhaps it’s only that I’ve gained some perspective while enjoying the quiet stillness of this lake. It’s a good place to sit and refresh my soul. I hope it has refreshed yours. The sunset tonight leaves me in awe of the beauty God creates for us. It is a reminder for me that He is in charge and I am not. Sometimes, it is hard to accept that.

  Have you caught anything good lately?

  A Friendly Fisherman

  Joann hugged the letter to her chest. How strange and yet how wonderful that this person had found the lake was a place to soothe away the problems of life. What problems did her unknown friend face? She wished she knew. She wished she could help.

  Joann smoothed the letter on her lap as she considered what to do next. Her first impulse was to write a note to the Friendly Fisherman, but was that wise? Was she really going to start a correspondence with someone she knew nothing about? Her innate good sense said it would be foolish.

  Yet something in the letter she held called to her. Someone else faced troubles and was still able to appreciate the beauty of the natural world.

  She read the letter again. There was nothing to tell her if the author was Amish or Englisch, single or married. She strongly suspected it was a man. He’d signed it the Friendly Fisherman, not Fisherwoman. Joann had encountered few of her gender who enjoyed fishing as much as she did. And there was the rub.

  The unknown writer probably assumed she was a man, too.

  What would he think if he learned she was an Amish maiden? Would he laugh at the thought that she spent her free time making fishing lures and studying the lakes and ponds around Hope Springs? Would he even reply to her note if he knew the truth?

  She wrestled with her conscience. It was wonderful to find someone who saw this place the way she saw it: as a God-given gift that refreshed her soul.

  On the other hand, exchanging letters with a stranger would be frowned upon by her family. If he were Englisch, her brothers might forbid it outright. Joann realized she had started down a slippery slope. First, by hiding the pole her brother had tossed in the lake. Now, she was considering a secret correspondence, as well. The thought of doing something forbidden was romantic and exciting. When would something exciting come into her life again? Quite likely, never.

  She read the letter for a third time. This fisherman, whoever he was, wasn’t eager to be known. Otherwise, he would’ve signed his true name. He might be someone she knew who was troubled. Didn’t she have an obligation to help in her own small way?

  The smart thing to do would be to toss the note away and not write another one.

  Joann, who had long accepted that she was a smart woman, chose the unwise course. She pulled out her journal and wrote another letter.

  When she was finished, she read it over. Nothing hinted that she was a female. She’d taken pains to make her writing dark and bold. Nothing hinted that she was Amish, either, only that she had faith in the healing power of God’s love. She hoped it would find its way into the Friendly Fisherman’s possession and cheer him.

  With that in mind, she drank the rest of her lemonade, then rinsed and dried the jar with a corner of her apron. She tore the page out of her journal, put the letter inside the jar and screwed on the lid. The log had a knothole in its side where a branch had broken off the tree long ago. The jar fit perfectly inside the cavity.

  Would the Friendly Fisherman find it? It wasn’t apparent to the casual observer and that was the way she wanted it. She gathered a handful of small pebbles from the shore and laid them on the ground in the shape of an arrow pointing to the knothole. It was a subtle clue, but if the other fisherman was looking for a reply, he would see it.

  Joann ate the remains of her lunch and enjoyed a pleasant few hours watching a family of ducks paddle and dunk for food in the lake. Glancing at her note’s hiding place one last time, she realized she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t continue the correspondence unless she was completely truthful. She didn’t have to add her name, but her unknown friend deserved to know he was writing to a single, Amish woman. If he was a married man, his wife might take a dim view of their perfectly innocent letters. She took out her note and added a postscript. Then, she started for home with a new and profound sense of excitement bubbling through her. She’d come as often as she could to check her makeshift mailbox.

  Perhaps she might even meet her Friendly Fisherman.

  Chapter Eight

  “What’s the lesson for today, teacher?”

  Joann kept her temper in check by praying for patience. It was finally Wednesday morning. Only two more days of his constant company. She could hardly wait.

  Roman leaned on the counter in front of her with that annoying grin on his face. He knew she hated it when he called her teacher in that mocking tone. Oh yes, he knew, and he made a point of calling her that every day since he’d started.

  “What’s the matter, teacher? Has the cat got your tongue?”

  She was determined to be pleasant in spite of his taunts. “We’re going to the Walnut Valley school board meeting.”

  Walnut Valley was one of several Amish schools that dotted the county. Leah Belier was the teacher there. The school stood a few miles west of Hope Springs, on Pleasant View Road.

  He grinned. “So my teacher is taking me to school.”

  “Ja. Be careful, or you’ll learn something,” she snapped as she walked out the door. He followed close behind her.

  She had driven her pony and cart to work that day, so she wouldn’t waste as much time getting to and from the school. She unhitched Barney and climbed into the cart. Roman climbed in beside her and reached for the reins. “I’ll drive.”

  “I’m quite capable of driving my own cart to Walnut Valley without any assistance from you.”

  His hand closed over her wrist in a firm grip. “No point in taking two vehicles. I may only have the use of one arm, but I can handle a pony cart. I drive or we sit here all day.”

  “Okay.” She quickly relinquished her hold and tried to rub away the tingling sensation his touch caused.

  He frowned at her.
“Did I hurt you?”

  “Nee, I’m fine.” She folded her arms tightly across her chest and scooted to the far edge of the seat. She’d never admit his touch did funny things to her insides. It wasn’t that she liked him. It had to be something else.

  * * *

  Roman glanced at the woman seated beside him. She looked as jumpy as a cricket in a henhouse. Why was she so nervous? Surely, she wasn’t afraid to be alone with him. Her tongue was sharp enough to fend off any man.

  She noticed his gaze. “It would be nice if we weren’t late,” she said tartly.

  No, she wasn’t afraid. He backed the tawny-brown pony into the street and sent him trotting down the road. After traveling in silence for a mile, he asked, “What kind of things will you report from this meeting and others like it?”

  She began to relax. “Not me. You’ll be writing up this report. Did you get a notebook as I suggested? If not, I have one you can use.”

  “I brought a notebook and two pens, teacher. I’m prepared.”

  She bristled. “Basically, you should take note of things that are important to the community. People want to know if the school has enough funds for the coming year. They want to know who the new school board officials are and if there are any needs among the children.”

  “What kind of needs?”

  “Well, last year one of the children starting in the first grade was in a wheelchair. The school needed to install ramps and make all areas of the school wheelchair accessible. Your uncle ran the story in his paper and a large number of people, including your father, showed up to help remodel the building.”

  “I remember the day. He took a load of wood with him to donate.”

  “Were you there?” she asked.

  “I stayed to work in the sawmill, but my mother and brother went to help.”

  She fell silent for a while. He concentrated on driving. “I haven’t asked what your father thinks of you working for Otis,” she said.

  “My father looks forward to the day I can return and work with him.”

  “So you see this job as a temporary one. I get it now.”

  “You get what?”

  “Why you don’t seem interested in learning the business.”

  “Maybe I don’t seem interested because I don’t have a good teacher.”

  That silenced her. She clamped her lips closed and looked off to her side of the road. He regretted the harsh remark almost instantly, but before he could apologize, a red sports car whizzed past as they were cresting a hill. It narrowly missed an oncoming car and had to swerve back quickly in front of them. Roman closed his eyes.

  He heard the crack of splintering wood a split second before the truck hit him. He heard squealing tires as he flew through the air. He landed with a sickening impact and tumbled along the asphalt. There was blood in his mouth. He couldn’t get up.

  “Roman, watch out!”

  He opened his eyes to see the pony had swerved dangerously close to the edge of the deep ditch. He managed to bring the animal back into the roadway without upsetting them. As soon as he could, he pulled to a stop.

  He drew a ragged breath. “I’m sorry.”

  Joann didn’t make the snide remark he expected. “Are you all right?” she asked quietly instead.

  It was too late to disguise how shaken he was. He wiped the cold sweat from his face with his sleeve. “I think so.”

  She took a deep breath and sat back. “Take your time. We can go when you’re ready.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to be late.”

  She didn’t reply. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. He didn’t want to see pity in her eyes. “I expect you’ll insist on driving now.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with your driving. Barney can get skittish when traffic is heavy.”

  The placid pony was standing with his head down and one hip cocked. He could have been asleep on his feet except his tail swished from side to side occasionally.

  Roman had to smile. “I think you’re maligning your horse’s character to make me feel better.”

  “Do you feel better?” she asked softly.

  “I’m getting there.” His pounding pulse was settling to a normal rate.

  “Then Barney is glad he could help. Does it happen often?”

  Did he really want to talk about it? Something in her quiet acceptance of the situation made it possible. “Nee, and I’m thankful for that. The doctor calls them flashbacks. It feels as if I’m caught in the accident all over again.”

  “I never knew exactly what happened. Would it help to talk about it, or would that make it worse?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never talked about it before.”

  “Maybe you should. It happened at night, didn’t it?”

  “It was dusk, but not full dark.”

  “Were you going someplace special?”

  “I was coming home from seeing Esta.” He clicked his tongue to get Barney moving.

  “So you were alone when it happened.”

  “Ja.”

  “I imagine you were thankful she wasn’t with you.”

  “It wasn’t a pretty sight, that’s for sure.” He stopped talking as he thought back to that evening. Some of it was a blur. Some of it was painfully clear.

  “My horse had started limping. I thought that maybe he’d picked up a stone in his shoe. I pulled over to the side of the road and got out. It was a cold and windy winter evening. I left the door open. I don’t know why I did that.”

  “Maybe to block the wind off you while you checked the horse.”

  “Maybe. I don’t remember. The man said he didn’t see me. He went around thinking he had left enough room. Only, he hit the door and then me. It happened so fast. One second I’m standing by the side of the road and the next second I’m lying face down, and I can’t get up.”

  “It must have been terrible.”

  “I could taste blood in my mouth but couldn’t get any air into my lungs. I thought I was dying. We’re supposed to think about God when we’re dying. I didn’t. I just wanted to get up and take a breath.” He was ashamed of that. It was a betrayal of his faith. Why had he told her that?

  She was quiet for a time, then she said, “You may not have been thinking about God, but He was thinking about you. We really are his children, you know. Children sometimes get frightened. That doesn’t make them bad children. Our Father understands that.”

  She had managed to hit the nail on the head. He had been terrified of dying. The fear still lingered.

  The sound of a siren startled them both. They turned to look behind them. The sheriff’s cruiser, with red lights flashing, swept past them. He turned off the roadway a quarter of a mile ahead of them.

  Joann stood to get a better look. “I think he’s going to the school. I wonder what’s wrong.”

  “Sit down and I’ll get us there a little faster.” He slapped the reins against the pony’s rump. Barney responded with a burst of speed. Within a few minutes, they were turning into the schoolyard. A dozen buggies were already there. Men were clustered in a group at the side of the building. Some of the women and children were weeping openly. The smell of smoke lingered in the air from a charred hole in the side of the schoolhouse.

  * * *

  Joann looked frantically for Leah and was relieved to see her being comforted by Nettie Imhoff and Katie Sutter. Sheriff Nick Bradley stood talking to them, a notebook in his hand. Joann jumped down from the cart and raced toward them. “What has happened?”

  Leah looked up. Her eyes were red and there were streaks of tears on her face. “Someone tried to burn down the school.”

  “Who would do such a thing?” Joann was shocked.

  “We don’t know, but we must pray for them, whoever they are,” Nettie said. Everyone nodded in agreement.

  “Tell me exactly what you saw when you arrived, Leah,” the sheriff said.

  She wiped her face on her sleeve, and then stretched her arm toward the building. “I
came early to get ready for the school board meeting, and I found it like this. Someone had piled the school’s books and papers against the building and set it on fire. All the children’s artwork, all my grade books and papers, all gone.” She broke down and started crying again.

  Nettie enfolded her in a hug. “God was merciful. The rain last night must have put out the fire before the whole building went up.”

  “Have you noticed anything suspicious in the last few days or weeks?” Sheriff Bradley asked.

  Leah shook her head. “Why would they burn our children’s books?”

  “I don’t have anything but speculation at this point. Maybe it was a group of kids horsing around and things got out of hand. Maybe it was something more sinister. Not everyone loves the Amish.” Nick Bradley had family members who were Amish. He understood the prejudices they sometimes faced.

  “You think this was a hate crime?” Joann asked in disbelief.

  “It’s my job to find out.” He walked to where the men were gathered at the front of the building.

  Leah gave a shaky laugh. “I’ve been complaining that we need new schoolbooks. I hope no one thinks this was my way of getting them.”

  Joann managed a smile. “No one would possibly think that.”

  “At least we’ll have time to get the damage repaired before school starts again in the fall.”

  Roman, along with Nettie’s husband Eli Imhoff, the new school board president for the coming year, joined the women. “This is not how I expected to start my term,” Eli said. “Do not worry, Leah. We’ll have our school back together in no time. Roman, please tell Otis I’ll be in to see him about ordering new textbooks.”

  Roman glanced back to where Sheriff Bradley was speaking to the men. “I’m surprised to see the sheriff involved in this.”