“Denke, but not tonight,” he replied. “I’m in the mood to cook.”
His father laughed. “You need a wife.”
Yes, Eli too often knew what his son was thinking.
Luke said nothing, settling on the front bench seat, waiting until his father joined him and had picked up the reins. Luke had bought a buggy big enough to haul furniture right away as well as a retired harness racehorse, a big gelding. Half of the days or more, though, Eli came by for him in the morning. There was no sense in making two horses spend the day confined to a small paddock beneath the sycamore behind their building. Polly was older and seemed not to mind drowsing away the heat of the day as long as she had water and a feedbag.
“I saw the way Rebecca King watched you Sunday,” Eli continued. “November is not so far away.”
That was a not-so-subtle nudge. November was the traditional month for Amish weddings.
Luke had seen the way she looked at him, too, and done his best to steer clear of Rebecca. She was pretty enough, but too young, too . . . He didn’t know. He couldn’t put whatever it was that he craved into words yet. Yes, he had chosen this life, but he wasn’t the same man he would have been if he had never left it. He was careful not to look at Englisch women, however, like the one who had come in today to apply for the job.
The one his father had hired despite Luke’s wishes.
He was disturbed that he could so easily picture her. Although only medium height, she was long legged. He had thought she was too thin, and had dressed to hide any curves, not show them off. Her hair was a dark auburn, drawn back into some kind of bun at her nape. The severe style, much like the way Amishwomen wore their hair, only emphasized high cheekbones and a sharp chin. He’d only been so aware of the rich color because she didn’t wear a kapp. Creamy white skin would suffer under the Missouri sun, he had thought, bothered that he would care. Even more bothered to have been so aware of her astonishing eyes, a velvety brown lit with gold striations. Her eyelashes—
Luke shook his head hard.
The Leit, the people, lived apart from others. The separation was an essential tenet of their faith. They had neighbors and good customers among the Englischers, might even have some they called friends, but that wasn’t the same as being drawn to a woman. The temptation could pull a man away from his faith and deepest beliefs. Luke didn’t imagine it happening, but this Julia had undeniably disturbed him. Best not to have her around, he had thought, but his father disagreed. Although he might not have if Luke had admitted to his momentary weakness.
This brief attraction wouldn’t matter. He would soon find that she was shallow or selfish or vain, and she would no longer appear so beautiful.
He was relieved when his father stopped to let him off at the foot of the long driveway leading to the old house he’d bought. He waved goodbye and enjoyed the walk and surveying his own property.
Charlie, his Standardbred buggy horse, trotted toward the fence to meet him. A brown so dark he was almost black, Charlie had perfect conformation. He had been gelded, Luke was told, because he had been too difficult to handle as a stallion. His later success on the racecourse made his owner deeply regret the necessity, but it was Luke’s good fortune that Charlie couldn’t be sent to stud.
Luke stopped to scratch the horse’s poll and slide a hand over his neck and shoulder. “Does dinner sound good to you, too?” he asked.
Charlie snorted, and bobbed his head. He stuck close to Luke until the fence stopped him short of the house. Watching his person walking away, he looked forlorn. As herd animals, horses needed a companion.
A sound escaped Luke’s throat. He was lonely, too, but not for just anyone.
Once he married, he’d need a second buggy and horse.
The next church Sunday, he could attend the worship in a different district. No one would mind, and he could meet other people his age. He wondered if he would be happier with a widow. Most never-married Amishwomen were in their late teens or early twenties. A ten-to-twelve-year gap between man and wife felt too much like an abyss to him. But would a widow have any more interesting conversation than an eighteen-year-old girl did?
Irritated with himself, he shook his head. Amishwomen were homebodies. That was exactly what he needed. He had made the decision to forsake the outside world, and that included pretty auslanders.
He let himself into his oppressively hot house and indulged in a brief fantasy. Englisch women he didn’t miss, but air-conditioning, that was something else again.
Chapter Two
JULIA CALLED HELLO from the kitchen when Nick arrived home from work. She had only a glimpse of him in his daunting, dark green uniform and badge, with the big black pistol on his hip, before he headed upstairs to change clothes. It was easier to think of him as her big brother once he returned in faded jeans, athletic shoes, and a ragged T-shirt.
“Mom would throw that away if she saw it go through her laundry,” Julia pointed out.
He laughed. “Over my dead body. Man, that smells good. I’m starved.”
She’d put together a meatloaf, sautéed small red potatoes, and green beans, fresh from the garden. She knew, because she’d seen the neighbor picking them. An elderly man, he’d immediately offered her some and wouldn’t take a polite no for an answer.
Once they were seated and dishing up, Nick asked, “Good day?”
She knew his question wasn’t entirely casual. He’d always been protective of her. He had suffered because he hadn’t been there to keep her safe the one time that really mattered. Since then, she was never sure if he was capable of turning off his worry for her.
Nonetheless, she’d missed him when he left the Cleveland PD for this job in a relatively small Missouri town. The change was so drastic, she knew something had gone wrong, either on his job or in his personal life. Of course, he’d never been willing to talk about it. She hated knowing he believed she was too frail to be asked to bear anyone else’s burdens.
Having hoped to save her news until after dinner, she said, “Your day has to have been more exciting than mine. Fair’s fair. Your turn to go first.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I barely left my office today. Figured out who could take vacation when, talked to an officer about losing his temper with a group of admittedly provocative teenagers, took a dozen calls, and pored over the budget trying to find a few extra dollars to pay for training courses my officers urgently need. That pretty well sums it up. The lack of catastrophes explains why I made it home before six.”
“Oh. Um . . . what kind of training?”
He proved willing to talk. She’d cleaned her plate and he was dishing up seconds when he said, “Okay, out with it.”
Julia carefully set down her fork. This was her life. Much as she loved him, he had no say.
“I applied for a job today. I’ve decided to stay in Tompkin’s Mill.”
Nick froze with a full serving spoon halfway between the bowl and his plate. “Why?”
“I like it here.” She hesitated. “It’s peaceful. Quiet. You’re here. I think I’ve already begun to make friends at the quilt shop.”
“We have crime.”
“But not like Cleveland.”
“No, this isn’t a big city.” He finally dumped the potatoes onto his plate. “What job?”
When she told him, lines deepened in his forehead and he stayed quiet long enough to send her nerves skittering.
“Is this about the Amish?” he asked at last. “You’re not kidding yourself that they’re saintly, are you? They have domestic violence and drunkenness, like any other group. It just stays below the radar because they refuse to report it to authorities.”
“It’s not about the Amish,” Julia retorted . . . and didn’t know whether that was another lie or truth.
* * *
* * *
LUKE WANTED TO start a new
project, but he had stained several almost-completed pieces of furniture late yesterday. It would make sense to apply the first layer of finish, except if he did that, he shouldn’t operate a saw. The fine particles of wood floated throughout the workroom. Feeling disgruntled, he decided to work on the finish. This was good timing, since his father intended to spend a couple of hours with their new sales assistant.
That was the title Daad had decided to give the Englisch woman.
Later, he could hand-saw dovetail joints for drawers if he stayed well away from the drying finishes—or even worked in the alley.
A timid knock on the back door brought his head up. It had to be her. Had Daad told her to park back there? He hoped she hadn’t scared Charlie, who was still somewhat jumpy around noisy cars.
“It’s open. Come in,” he called. It would be interesting to see what she thought was appropriate to wear. Something about her yesterday had scraped at his skin like sandpaper, but today she would be just another woman. Not interesting at all.
The door opened, the sunlight so bright for a moment he saw her only as a dark shape with a halo. He had to blink a few times even once she shut the door behind her.
She hovered just inside. And no, he decided after scanning her, those weren’t the same clothes she’d worn yesterday, but they were very similar. A khaki skirt instead of pants, sandals with thin straps she must consider dressier than yesterday’s, and a white shirt. It was just oversize enough to serve as a disguise, except that she had tucked it in, allowing him to see how slender her waist was. His hands would nearly span it. His fingers twitched at his side as he had the thought.
Maybe she had been sick or suffered some trauma that led to a significant weight loss. That would explain a wardrobe of too-large garments.
She offered a smile as tentative as her knock had been. “Good morning.”
“Gute mariye.” He could be polite while using language as a barrier.
“That means good morning, doesn’t it?”
“Ja.” Blast it, she knew he spoke English fluently. “Yes.”
“I do want to learn Deitsh.”
He corrected her pronunciation. Her lips curved again, more naturally. Had she not had reason to smile often? He’d wondered yesterday. This smile was better than the first, or any of yesterday’s. It was gentle and beautiful. She looked . . . hopeful.
That they would become good friends? She’d quickly learn that wasn’t happening. He’d be civil, that’s all. Help her on the job when she needed it.
Having his gut tighten only because she’d walked into the room wasn’t really about her so much as his discomfort with having to work at all closely with a young, unmarried woman who was not Amish. He hadn’t expected this to happen after he returned home. He had accepted baptism six months ago, after Bishop Amos had become convinced Luke was sincere in his repentance and desire to embrace the faith.
The sound of steel-rimmed buggy wheels crunching on gravel stopped right behind the store. Thank the good Lord, his father had arrived to rescue him.
While they waited for Daad to remove the harness from Polly and set her up in an enclosure near Charlie’s, Julia walked around the workroom, studying tools and pieces of furniture at various stages of completion. She asked questions, which Luke had to answer. He would get this over with, he decided. She needed to know these things if she was to represent them to the public.
Careful to maintain a distance so that they never brushed against each other, Luke led her into the temperature-controlled lumber room, pointed out different woods, showed her samples of various stains on each kind of wood.
He also led her into the alley to show her the shed-roof extension that housed the diesel generator that powered their tools and lights. Daad had gotten permission to jog the alley around the extension.
Of course, his father was out there beneath the shed that offered their horses protection from the sun and rain. Apparently in no hurry, he added water to the trough, although he also called a cheerful “Gute mariye.” Julia repeated the words, echoing their intonation.
Daad beamed. “You will speak like us soon.”
Luke’s glare apparently bounced off his father.
The sun lit fire in Julia’s hair, including the heavy mass at her nape. How long was it? Was it wavy, as he suspected? His fingers did some more twitching, although he pushed back before he speculated on what her hair would feel like slipping through his fingers. The gold shimmered in her eyes, too, defying his attempt to block out awareness of her as a woman.
Escorting their new employee back inside, Luke began a lecture. Better if he pretended he was a tour leader, speaking to people whose faces he’d forget as soon as the tour was done.
As pedantically as he could manage, he described how the Amish lit and powered homes and businesses. “Kerosene is fine for lighting in homes, but not here,” he explained. “It can be dangerous when there is sawdust and fumes from finishes in the air. The generator also powers the overhead lights in the workroom, and the skylights give us natural light.” Large skylights studded the ceiling in the showroom out front, too, reducing the need for artificial lights.
“I suppose I pictured only hand tools,” she said thoughtfully.
“We do use those. Saws, hammers, chisels.” He showed her a hand plane. “Without powered saws and sanders, creating something like this desk”—he indicated one he had stained yesterday afternoon—“would take so long, we’d have to price it beyond most people’s means. And if you’re thinking of the name of our business, we are still making every cut ourselves.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “Your furniture is already beyond my means.”
Luke held back a smile, grateful when his father came in the back door just then.
“I’ve heard the phone ringing,” Luke said, earning a surprised look from Julia.
“You should have said. It isn’t good business not to answer.”
“That will be your job.” He didn’t mind answering specific inquiries about their furniture, but callers often liked to talk and ask stupid questions. “What’s your furniture like?” He’d hung up on that caller. His least favorite part was wasting time in the front room with auslanders who had wandered in off the street and only pretended they could afford to buy anything.
Maybe having Julia here wouldn’t be so bad, if she’d stay in front and leave him peacefully alone in back.
* * *
* * *
JULIA HAD TWO personal visitors that afternoon. The first was Miriam from the quilt shop, a cheerful young woman with a curvaceous figure, curly blond hair, and a gently rounded face that might lead some people to describe her as placid. Julia had recognized flickers of sadness in her eyes, and guessed Miriam saw the same in her. She appeared to be in her early- to midtwenties, but still lived at home.
Wearing a lavender dress that reached midcalf with an apron of a slightly darker shade, she also wore the standard white organdy prayer kapp with ties that flew around her shoulders with her quick movements.
“I’m so happy that Daad hired you!” she exclaimed. “Maybe we can have lunch together soon.”
“I’d like that.” Julia had been feeling like a fraud, sitting behind the counter and pretending to callers and the two couples who had wandered into the showroom during the day that she knew what she was talking about. It was always like this, starting a new job, though; a week from now, she’d feel much more confident. “I could use help learning to speak your language.”
Miriam bent forward, speaking in a hushed tone. “I’ve heard people say there is a vocabulary online, and maybe more. I don’t know, but you could look. That might help.”
Julia knew that the owner of the quilt shop might have dispensation from the bishop to maintain a web page just as the Bowmans had for this store, but that wouldn’t necessarily apply to Amish employees—nor did it mean t
hey were permitted to browse the internet. The unwritten Ordnung, or rules, by which they lived their lives, was known by all Amish, or so Julia had read. There must be a delicate balance in living in the modern world yet holding to many practices two centuries out of date.
Miriam went on cheerily, “But I would love to help you. If business is slow and Ruth doesn’t need me, I’ll come over here. Monday we’re having a frolic—a quilting bee, as you would call it, to finish a wedding quilt. It will be at our house. Would you like to come?”
“I’d love to.” Bowman’s was open Tuesday through Saturday. “If . . . well, others don’t mind me.”
“Mind you?” Miriam sounded puzzled.
“Not being Amish, I mean.”
“Oh! No one will mind that. You are a good quilter, that’s all anyone will think about.” Suddenly she aimed her smile past Julia. “Ain’t so, Luke?”
“For quilting, I don’t know,” he said, voice repressive. Even Miriam’s smile dimmed.
Julia refused to turn around. Luke Bowman hadn’t said a word to her since this morning’s brief tutelage. She’d felt his reluctance. She resented his poorly hidden dislike, even as she knew it was best if they stayed away from each other. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled only because of this awareness that he was behind her. Not standing in the workshop door, but closer.
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