by Jo Ann Brown
Gideon would ride with Samuel, hopping off to guard the corner on the one crossroad of the journey and the far side of the road once the wagon made the turn into the lane. She and Malachi would walk behind, keeping the entourage moving and addressing any traffic that might come upon them during the short trip. A little hay was loaded on the wagon as extra incentive for the cattle to follow. Cattle were herd animals. The younger ones should follow the cow led behind the wagon. There shouldn’t be any issue.
Upon observing the new purchases in the lot, Ruth could tell the young cow wouldn’t be a problem. She seemed docile and stayed close to the older Guernsey the dairy farmer was currently haltering. But the shorthorn steer was another story. Ruth knew by looking at him that the roan would not be easy. Head up, spooky-eyed and snorting in the chilly morning air, he waited a few moments after the cows exited the pen before dashing after them, kicking up frozen clods of dirty snow behind him.
Ruth fell in step a cautionary distance behind him, not too far back that she wouldn’t have time to head them off if necessary but not too close that the already-nervous steer would bolt. The shorthorn would watch warily a few moments as she and Malachi slowly advanced on him. Then he’d trot, head and tail high, to keep up with the steadily moving cows before stopping to watch and snort again. Half a mile down the road, Ruth was already tired of his antics.
She began to think of him in terms of how she’d like to see him cooked.
“Come on, Rib Eye. Just settle in there behind the girls,” she urged soothingly when the steer snorted, spun and raced after the placidly plodding cows again.
“Easy there, Hamburger,” she murmured as the shorthorn spooked when he saw Gideon standing a few yards down the opposing road when they turned the corner.
“We’re almost there, Chuck Roast,” she encouraged when he nosed the side of the road like he was thinking of checking out the ditch.
Malachi was quiet on his side of the road, content to let her prompt the steer along. Ruth was very aware of his solid presence and the slight smile touching his face.
While the Wellingtons were useful for doing chores in sloppy conditions, they weren’t so comfortable walking a few miles on a hard surface. Still, Ruth supposed she could handle walking the few miles between the farms if pioneer women could walk the hundreds of miles on the Oregon Trail, as she’d learned in school.
Ruth had liked school. She’d missed it for a while but had soon started working full-time for her father in the furniture shop. That was when the business really took off. With her father’s encouragement and the previous bishop’s approval, Ruth had taken some accounting correspondence courses. She’d set up their accounting system. Her fingers had itched to get on a computer, as some of their customers and other Englisch businesses had. Ruth’s eyes flicked over to the man who walked steadily on the far side of the road. When she left the Amish community, a computer course was going to be the first class she took.
A startled holler from Malachi reminded Ruth she needed to focus on the present. Perhaps the spooky shorthorn understood her nicknames and figured out what his destiny would be after a few months of fattening up. Or maybe the lure of the open field was too tempting. For whatever reason, Round Steak saw the possibility of freedom and made a dash for it. Just before the final turn into the lane, the roan-colored steer swished his tail, jumped into the ditch and was through a break in Atlee Yoder’s dilapidated fence before Ruth could take the first jarring step down the steep decline.
She scrambled up the far side of the ditch, using tall grass that peeped above the snow to pull herself through. Ruth clambered over the downed fence, muttering as she went.
Dashing out into the snow-covered field, Ruth ran at an angle to the steer to keep him from escaping into the woods that fringed the back part of the property. Gideon slipped over the fence behind the barn and hustled across the field to cut off the steer from that direction. The shorthorn stopped, snorting, head and tail up, before bolting to cut between them.
“Oh, you, Stew Meat,” Ruth chuffed as she struggled to increase her speed across the rough field. Her boots were breaking through the recently frozen crust and getting mired in the muddier ground underneath.
“Hey!” she shouted, trying to distract the steer and send him back to the barnyard, where the docile cows waited. It wasn’t working. Using one hand to hitch up her skirt, Ruth ran as fast as she could across the rough, snowy ground. Hitting another muddy patch, she stumbled when the boots didn’t move as fast as her legs did. The shock of her stocking feet breaking through crusty snow had her shrieking in the next few steps but didn’t stop her dash to head off the steer.
Ruth looked back to see her black Wellingtons sticking out of the field like short posts. The mud had sucked the loose boots right off her moving legs. Although her feet were colder, she was faster without the Wellingtons. As she ran, the field threatened to rob her of her socks, as well. Gideon increased his speed at her abbreviated scream. He and Ruth converged on the corner where the steer headed. The roan skidded to a halt. He looked at them warily before glancing back at the barnyard. Apparently thinking that he’d join the ladies after all, he turned and trotted toward where the cows waited, already in the pen, where Samuel had thankfully secured the older Guernsey.
Panting to catch her breath, Ruth scanned the field, looking for the black stumps of her boots. Now that the adventure was over, her feet, in wet and muddy stockings, were freezing. Hopping from one foot to the other as she tried to warm them, she figured she might as well hop like a rabbit back toward her boots. She cringed at the thought of cold wet feet in rubber boots on the long ride home.
She startled when a dark figure appeared beside her. Ruth’s heartbeat slowed only slightly when she recognized Malachi, an unreadable expression on his face. He must have followed her, probably at a more sedate pace, across the field. Ruth couldn’t imagine him scrambling up the ditch and running, coat flapping, across the field.
Ruth shrieked when Malachi swept her up into his arms and began walking across the field to the barnyard. Her heartbeat raced faster than the galloping steer as she felt his strong arms around her shoulders and under her knees. Hopefully he wouldn’t feel it thumping against his chest. Hopefully he would think her breathlessness was from her race with the shorthorn and not from the sight of his beardless jaw just inches from her face. So close that she could lean just slightly forward and kiss him. If she so chose.
To keep from choosing to do so, Ruth curled her fingers into her palms until she could feel her nails cutting into the flesh. Wiggling for escape only caused the work-hardened arms to tighten.
“Put me down.” Her command lost its impact when she could hardly find enough air to get the words out.
Malachi shook his head before dropping his chin to glance at her. “No.”
Ruth’s eyes widened. The drop of his chin put Malachi’s well-shaped lips only a few inches from her own. Before she did something incredibly foolish, she turned her head toward the barnyard.
Her black bonnet had fallen during the run and hung by the bow still loosely tied under her chin. Fortunately her kapp was still secure, but Ruth could feel some pins coming loose. She could also feel the soft and steady thump of her head against Malachi’s well-muscled shoulder with every step he took. Strange that the time it took to run to the corner of the field seemed a lot longer than the time it was taking to be carried back in Malachi’s arms.
Samuel was standing by the pen gate, which, fortunately, the renegade steer had edged through. Ruth was surprised he hadn’t spooked the shorthorn again as he was doubled over with laughter. Gideon, approaching from where he’d run to cut off the steer, looked like he was trying to suppress the mirth that’d taken over his bruder.
“Gideon, go get her boots,” Malachi directed as he carried Ruth past.
As they approached the farmyard, Ruth’s socks were getting icy from the c
ombination of wet material and the winter wind that was kicking up. Otherwise, she was amazed at how warm she was in Malachi’s arms. If she was getting frostbite, she wouldn’t know it until she got home. And if she was, she currently didn’t care.
When they finally reached the barn, Malachi shouldered open the gate from the field. “Samuel, quit your laughing and get that gate secured before you’re the one chasing them all over.”
Bess swung her head around as Malachi approached the buggy and set Ruth on the seat inside with her feet hanging out the door. Ruth sighed. She refused to interpret whether it was with relief or dismay that his arms were no longer around her.
“I don’t suppose you brought other socks.”
“I didn’t think that I would need them.” She could finally get words out, now that his lips weren’t inches from hers. “What are you doing?”
“Looks pretty obvious to me. I’m taking off your wet socks before you catch a cold.” Malachi looked up at her from under the black brim of his winter hat. His blue eyes glinted under his lashes. When had he gotten such long eyelashes?
“I need you healthy at work. We’re having challenges filling orders in a timely manner as it is.” Ruth got goose bumps when his warm fingers touched her knees. She had trouble hearing the rest of what he was saying. “Or were you really serious about this barefoot business you mentioned Sunday?”
“I try to limit that to the months of April through October.” The chills that ran up her legs as he peeled down her muddy socks had nothing to do with the cold. “I can do that,” she insisted, reaching down to push his hand away.
“So can I. And since you were kind enough to help me by driving cattle, I think I’ll return the favor with the act of servitude by cleaning your feet.” Ruth’s heart thumped heavily as she looked down at his lopsided grin. How anyone could think that Samuel was the more charming brother, she didn’t know. She exhaled a breath she wasn’t aware of holding, relieved when Malachi turned his attention to his brother as Gideon dropped her black Wellingtons by the wheel of the buggy.
“Almost had to get a pair of pliers to pull them free.” A smile still lit Gideon’s face. “I washed them off at the hydrant.”
“Thanks. Go into the house and get a towel and a pair of socks.”
His younger brother looked surprised at the request. “Whose?”
“Doesn’t matter. Any. If we have any clean ones,” Malachi added drolly.
After dropping the soaked socks just inside the door of the buggy, he cupped her chilled feet in his warm hands.
Ruth almost slid off the leather seat. She searched for something, anything, to distract her from the enthralling sensation.
“So you can get them to bring food, but you can’t get the single women to come over and do laundry yet?”
Malachi looked up from where he’d been examining her feet. “I’m not the one getting them to bring over food.” He grinned. “But a clean load of laundry or two wouldn’t go amiss.” He returned his attention to where his thumbs rubbed slowly over the arches of her foot.
Ruth bit her tongue to keep from volunteering to march into the house barefoot to do laundry for him. She swallowed hard and quipped hoarsely, “You’ll have to work on that.”
“I suppose. But I’m not quite ready to let a woman have free rein in the house yet. Some are like a spoiled horse. You give them a little and they’ll take advantage and go where they want to go. Makes it pretty hard to get control back.”
Samuel’s head popped into view through the door of the buggy. He took in the sight of her feet in his brother’s hand. “She gonna live?”
“Ja. Even walk again. But for the time being, she’s going to be wearing a pair of our socks.” Malachi turned at Gideon’s approach and took the well-worn towel and worn but intact socks from his brother. He flipped the socks over his shoulder and used the towel to further warm Ruth’s feet.
“How long did you have to search before you found socks without holes?” Samuel clapped a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder.
“It’s not any of yours, Samuel. It’s hard to tell with yours which end the foot goes in—there are so many holes on the other end,” Gideon retorted. “I brought a pair of Malachi’s.”
Ruth flushed at the thought of wearing Malachi’s socks. Or maybe it was due to his hands gently tugging the dry socks up her now very warm feet and legs.
Malachi frowned when the socks slid back down her slender calves. After another attempt to secure them, he let them alone, much to her relief.
“You coming in to eat what you brought over?” Samuel nodded toward the house.
“Ah, no. I...I need to get back home. I left Rascal in the house as kind of a test. One I’m pretty sure he’ll fail.” It was as good an excuse as any. Ruth’s normally tightly reined control was running amok, and unlike the recently herded beef, she didn’t know if she’d be able to corral it before it escaped completely.
“You aren’t avoiding it because there’s something in there we should be concerned about, are you?”
“Nee, Samuel. Unlike you, I do unto others as I would have them do unto me,” she retorted.
“It was only a little ice. Besides, it didn’t work.”
“That’s because yours is only a little brain.”
Samuel grinned at the comeback. “You’ll do. Thanks for coming over and helping today, Ruth.” He gave her a finger salute and tapped the edge of the buggy before turning to head for the house. Malachi watched his departure unsmilingly before returning his attention to Ruth.
“You always give folks tests you think they’ll fail?” Malachi asked as he set her boots inside the buggy. Ruth smiled her appreciation, quickly pulled them on and swiveled on the seat to face the front. She didn’t have an answer to that. Thankfully Gideon had untied Bess, which allowed her a hasty exit. She backed the mare away and headed down the lane with a parting wave.
Bess swung into a trot toward home, leaving Ruth free to ponder Malachi’s question. Maybe she did give folks tests she expected them to fail. Was it a way of protecting herself? Somberly, she fingered the reins in her hands. If that was the case, then what kind of test would she unconsciously give Malachi?
* * *
Malachi watched Ruth’s buggy turn right and roll down the road. Taking a deep breath, he headed for the barn. He tried telling himself it was to check on the cattle, but Malachi knew it was to regain his equilibrium before entering the house and facing his surprisingly perceptive brothers.
He stepped through the recently repaired barn door. The sweet aroma of alfalfa hay and clean livestock greeted him. Malachi could see through the dust motes dancing in the light let in by the midmorning sun that the two cows had their heads buried in mangers of hay. The roan steer jerked his head up from where he’d been eating and eyed Malachi warily before chewing again. Samuel had done a good job of settling them in. Malachi knew he would.
Good thing one of the Schrock brothers was thinking straight. Malachi hadn’t since his heart had stopped at Ruth’s scream. Maybe it’d been more of a yelp, but either way, it’d almost scared him out of his boots. He’d been climbing over the downed fence when he’d heard her shriek and was twenty yards into the field before he saw what’d caused it and slowed his frantic run. All he’d known was that Ruth was in distress.
Malachi exhaled slowly, the dust motes swirling in front of him as he eased closer to check the cattle’s bedding. Later, the distress had been his own. His mouth grew dry as he recalled the feel of her slight form in his arms and her dainty feet clasped in his work-calloused hands.
He’d kissed a pretty girl or two in his twenty-four years. He hadn’t kissed Leah—that would’ve sealed his fate—but he’d come close, since she’d been so available. And pretty. But the thought of kissing the prettiest girl in Knox County, Ohio, hadn’t shaken him near as much as the memory of the badger’s surpris
ingly delicate foot in his hand. Malachi jerked his felt hat from his now-sweating head. He’d have a hard time avoiding looking at her heavy black socks under the hem of her dress, now that he knew what was within them. Malachi jammed his hat back on his head in disgust, startling the steer, who whirled away from his hay.
“Easy there,” Malachi crooned automatically, edging back down the alley of the barn. His lips twitched as he recalled the names Ruth had called the steer during the walk to the farm. He’d almost burst out laughing several times during the trip. Only his concern of scaring the animal had kept him from doing so.
Shaking his head as he climbed into the loft, Malachi wondered what was the matter with him. In Ohio, after church the unmarried men would fall all over Leah. Some would even come into the store on some excuse in order to talk with her. Malachi couldn’t have cared less, even as Leah would look over at him with big eyes. But let one beardless fellow, most recently his bruder, interact with Ruth, and he got all riled up.
He climbed over some neatly stacked bales, glad the recently acquired Yoder barn was half-full of quality hay and straw. Making his way over to a small window, he unlatched its wooden door and pushed it open. Lying stretched before him was the acreage he’d purchased, and the gently rolling hills of the surrounding countryside beyond. Big white houses and big barns—some white, some red—dotted the landscape.
Enjoying the view, Malachi eased down onto a nearby bale. It was gut they had moved. Land in Ohio was expensive, and getting almost impossible to purchase with the growing Amish population there. Malachi still had two more brothers at home. Daniel, his youngest brother at fourteen, would inherit his father’s farm, as was the Amish way. Due to the limited land, there was less and less opportunity to stay in farming, which was why many Amish young men turned to earning a living off the farm.