“Knock knock,” a deep voice said. She peeked into the living room. The door having been left open, her brother walked in, official in his uniform, star pinned on his chest, big black gun at his hip.
She beamed. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
After a glance around, he grinned ruefully. “It’s better than my house. Sorry to be late, but you don’t seem to be hurting for help.”
Deborah and Miriam stole wide-eyed looks at him from the kitchen. He nodded and smiled at them.
Julia had begun introducing everyone he hadn’t already met—specifically, the women and Elam—when the moving company man thrust a clipboard at her.
“Looks like we have everything. I need a signature, and we’ll be on our way.”
Flustered, she said, “Wait. Let me take a quick look around.”
The dresser and bedside stand had gone by without her noticing, and yes, her small dining set was in place right where sunlight poured in tall windows.
“Unless a box is missing—”
“We’re careful, ma’am,” he assured her. “Here’s the phone number if you have any problems. We’ll be back through the Kansas City area in about a week.”
“Oh. Okay.” She signed and handed him the clipboard. Was she supposed to tip him? He didn’t act as if he expected any such thing. In fact, he departed with such dispatch, Eli had to step hastily out of his way.
The wonderful aroma of fried chicken came to her.
“The Bowman women brought food.” Lots of food, including German potato salad, cornbread, and several different desserts.
Standing beside her, Nick said, “Apparently. I was going to take off since you obviously don’t need me, but now I think I’ll hang around.”
Julia ventured into the kitchen to find Deborah and Jane had begun warming what was bound to be a generous meal in the microwave and oven. The food didn’t surprise her as much as their practical willingness to use electrical appliances when there wasn’t an alternative.
Seeing her expression, Miriam said, “How can we have a work frolic without food?” She opened a cupboard to show unpacked dishes. “I can move them if you’d rather, or you can later. I thought this was closest to the sink and dishwasher.”
“That’s perfect.” Julia looked around, dazed. Laughter came from one of the bedrooms. Elam and Luke were inserting the metal pins in the sides of her bookcases so that they could install the shelves. In another half hour, her possessions would all be put away, the boxes flattened, and she’d be moved in. “This is . . . is wunderbaar.”
* * *
* * *
LUKE HADN’T ARGUED with his mamm’s suggestion that they must help Julia move into her new apartment. He even agreed that this was the right thing for them to do. She was too new to town to have made Englisch friends, and her brother could be called away by his job even if he offered to help. As had happened.
Luke had guessed, as his womenfolk hadn’t, that Julia could have done without a horde of assistants. Once he set eyes on the fresh paint, gleaming wood floors, and shiny new appliances and fixtures of this apartment, he had been sure she could have managed alone, if not so quickly. But no Amishman or -woman would ever make a move like this alone, and even moderns had what they called “housewarming” parties, which might be more about bringing food, like the women of Luke’s family had, and gifts the new homeowner might need than about offering manual labor.
He’d enjoyed seeing Mamm, Aenti Barbara and the others sweep authority from Julia’s hands while still asking her preferences. He could also concede that the apartment smelled better now than it had. That “new house” smell was all very well, but now he caught scents of lavender so real, he almost turned his head in search of a clump of the deep purple flowers. Lemon, too, ja, it made the best cleaning products, if his mother was to be believed. And, of course, there was the food. Nobody was a better cook than Deborah Bowman, although since coming home he’d learned Rose had a fine touch with pies, and Miriam might make the best cookies he’d ever had, especially her snickerdoodles.
Thanks to the moving men, he and his daad didn’t have much to do. Elam was summoned and used shamelessly by the women to put boxes on upper shelves in closets and the like. He cast an occasional beseeching look at his father and brother. Luke grinned each time like a Cheshire cat, a reference nobody here but Julia would understand.
That disturbed him, when he thought about it. He’d come back to his faith, his family, but a much larger part of him than his family understood was still worldly. Along with getting a college education, he’d read voraciously. He would make his choices of reading material more cautiously now, but didn’t intend to give up something he enjoyed so much.
Here he was thinking that, while standing out of the way beside one of the four tall bookcases he had helped put together. After eating, he would help empty the cartons of books stacked close by onto the shelves. It would be interesting to see what Julia liked to read. They were unlikely to have tastes in common, but he didn’t know her well enough yet to guess what she did read.
Except even today she wore chinos and a loose brown T-shirt. Dull. The Amishwomen wore brighter colors than he’d yet seen Julia in. Their dresses and aprons were more formfitting, too. He couldn’t help noticing how hard she tried to deflect attention from men. The reason for that—no, this was a bad time to speculate on that.
He wanted to shake his head. What was he thinking? An Englisch woman, employee or not, was none of his business.
Wouldn’t you know, she emerged from the kitchen just then, laughing at something Miriam called after her. Luke froze. That laughter lit her fine-boned face to true beauty, and she needed none of the paints modern women used. Happiness, he thought; that was what she needed, and must be seeking with this move to Tompkin’s Mill.
Seeing her happy stirred feelings too dangerous for him to acknowledge. Yet at that moment her eyes sought his, and for seconds—minutes—their gazes remained locked. Luke couldn’t have looked away if Bishop Amos Troyer had laid a firm hand on him. Luke knew for the first time what a fish felt like, the hook embedded deep.
Color warmed her pale skin. Her lips parted, softened. Gold shimmered in her warm brown eyes. His chest ached. He couldn’t remember last breathing.
A deep voice sounded in his ear. Daad, he realized, so stunned he hadn’t parsed the words. But Julia blinked hard several times, as if also hearing his father, or perhaps his mother in the kitchen, and spun away. Luke’s brain played back what his father said. Another saying most of his people wouldn’t understand.
“Your mamm is calling us. Time to eat!”
“Ja, gut,” Luke got out, hoping his voice wasn’t as guttural to his father’s ears as it was to his own. Praying no one else had seen the way he and Julia had looked at each other.
But when he turned his head, he saw that his prayer had not been answered. For all the jovial words, Daad watched Julia hurry down the hall, before transferring the same worried gaze on his son. Oh, ja. Daad had seen.
All Luke could do was strive to act natural, to keep as many of his relatives between him and Julia as possible, to not so much as look her way. He was afraid his hope that Daad wouldn’t talk to him about this was futile. Lying to his father would be a sin. Yet what if Daad decided they shouldn’t keep Julia working for them? That might be best for Luke, but he feared what the rejection would do to a woman who anyone could see had suffered, who had begun to blossom.
No, he couldn’t let his father do such a thing. The problem was his, and she should not suffer for it. He had to put her out of his mind. It would be best if he started to court a faithful Amishwoman . . . if only he could find one who stirred a fraction of the interest in him that this Englischer did.
No, he was overreacting, he told himself. Although the bishop had been convinced that his commitment was sincere, had baptized him, Luke had known all along
that he couldn’t slam the door shut on the past ten years and never give any of it a thought. There had to be an adjustment, the gradual letting go of that other way of life, forgetting emotions and actions wrong for an Amishman. These inappropriate feelings were part of that, surely. It wasn’t as if he’d been drawn to an Amishwoman but distracted by Julia. The part of him that responded to women simply hadn’t made that adjustment yet. A year ago, he would have wanted Julia Durant, not a kind, domestic girl with only an eighth-grade education and no interest in the wider world, though she would be the right wife for him, for the life he’d chosen.
Satisfied by his rationalization, he carried dishes and duffels filled with what cleaning supplies were left to the buggies while his father and Elam put Julia’s books on the shelves. Luke took his time, not hurrying back up to the apartment.
When they left shortly thereafter, he only nodded at Julia’s thanks without quite meeting her eyes.
* * *
* * *
JULIA TRIED TO cling to the precious sense of belonging the Bowman family had given her when they chose to treat her as their own even though she discovered barely an hour into the following morning that she had also lost something that day. The friendship, or at least helpfulness, that Luke had begun to extend to her was no more. If he had to focus on her, his eyes were cool, his responses to her questions as brief as he could make them.
By closing on Thursday, she had resolved to go to Eli whenever possible with those questions raised by customers. On Friday, after he explained what a catalyzed conversion varnish was and why he and Luke preferred to use it to finish most of their furniture pieces—durability and resistance to water damage—she asked a bit timidly if she had offended Luke during the moving party.
Eli surprised her by going silent for a moment, his gaze on the traffic outside the front windows of the store. “No offense,” he said at last, slowly, “but he is a single man and you are unmarried, too. It’s best for both of you if you avoid being alone or too friendly.”
She wanted to argue, to say, What you’re afraid might happen never will, but given the lump in her throat, she could only nod.
“You understand?” he asked kindly.
She lifted her chin, schooled her face to show nothing but polite surprise. “Of course I do. If I was too friendly, I apologize.”
Creases formed between his eyebrows, but he said, “It’s not that. Just . . . Luke being careful. As he must be, still new to the faith.”
How she smiled, she didn’t know, any more than she understood why Luke’s attitude and his father’s approval of it stung. More than stung. It hurt, even though she hadn’t wanted a closer relationship with Luke. Especially not physically closer. That wasn’t possible for her, would never be possible. Maybe it was only that he’d made her feel safe in a way that gave her courage, too. But she couldn’t explain that to his father, could never admit to the terrifying thing that had happened to her, or the shame that still lived in her.
“I won’t pester him,” she said, still holding on to that smile. “I promise.”
The front door opened and a middle-aged couple entered, the woman already exclaiming about the beautiful furniture and reaching out to run a finger over the satin finish.
Julia wondered if Eli was as grateful as she was for the interruption.
Chapter Six
LIKE A BOY, Luke resisted the need to fidget with a painful effort. Then, he’d been ever conscious of his father’s stern gaze. His father wasn’t here today, and he wasn’t ten years old and too restless to sit still for three hours straight, but it seemed that boy was still in residence. Consisting of hard benches with no backs, the seating for worship wasn’t designed for comfort, but that didn’t normally bother him. Unfortunately, the minister currently speaking had a delivery that was dry as a cornfield in a drought, interrupted by long pauses.
Not his fault, Luke reminded himself; the bishop, ministers, and deacon for each church district were chosen by lot, not by a popular vote because of their charismatic speaking or wisdom. The most ordinary of men might be chosen, and would accept God’s will. That man was offered no formal training and spoke not from notes but from the heart. Yet, most often, he would grow into the position, earning the trust of his district. This fellow was young; he had time.
Luke had no business comparing him to Bishop Amos and the minister in Luke’s own church district, who were both powerful speakers. They had a way of choosing a topic that struck him like an arrow, helping him understand his weaknesses as well as his strengths.
Today, however, he’d decided to attend worship at a neighboring district, hardly more than a fifteen-minute buggy ride farther than the Ropp home, where his own family would be listening to a sermon right this minute.
It had to be coincidence that this boring young minister had chosen, of all things, to talk about 2 Corinthians 6:14: Do not be unequally yoked together with unbelievers. For what fellowship has righteousness with lawlessness? And what communion has light with darkness?
If Luke’s own bishop had chosen the same scripture, he would have suspected his father of putting a bug in Bishop Troyer’s ear. But here, where he’d never attended worship . . . no, it must be chance. Unless, of course, God had whispered in the minister’s ear. If so, Luke ought to pay the closest of attention. He needed this reminder.
Julia was not an unbeliever, nor was she wicked, but she was not Amish. She was forbidden to him.
Letting his thoughts stray to her as often as he did was wrong.
Despite his resolve to open himself to God, his mind kept wandering. Today, he felt as if he didn’t belong. If he’d sat among the unmarried men, he would likely have been the oldest by ten years. These men his own age, some of whom had been boyhood playmates, had beards that reached their chests, wives, and as many as five or six children already. They had followed the path of good Amish boys instead of taking a lengthy detour. Now, he was a fish out of water.
No—he’d come home to take his proper place. He had no doubt at all about that decision. He would never let himself stray from his choice, once made. A wife was what he needed next. It was past time he married. That was the very reason he was attending worship in a neighboring church district rather than his own.
He’d seen a few pretty maidals earlier, met saucy gazes and shyly downcast eyes. His presence had caused a noticeable stir among the young women.
The next time the sermon became only a mumble, background noise, Luke reminded himself that pretty was not so important. He should study the unmarried women who might be plain but have other fine qualities, or be plump and a fine cook. He didn’t laugh often enough; a wife with a sense of humor would suit him fine.
Or a wife who loved to read, who wanted most to care for her husband and children, who would place her duty as an Amish wife and mother before all else, but who also liked to stretch her mind, take flights of imagination, understand people who didn’t think like the Amish.
No, no, that was dangerous territory for many reasons.
Annoyed with himself, he considered other qualities in a woman that would draw him. Her cooking, for sure; his mother had spoiled him growing up. A loving heart. Patience with his sometimes dark moods. An understanding that he had knowledge and experiences beyond that of the other men she knew. A pleasant voice. Beautiful eyes even if her face was plain. Complexities that would keep him from becoming bored.
Movement all around shook him from his brooding. He sent a silent apology to God for his inattention and wondered if it would be heard, but took comfort in knowing that Christ accepted the fallibility of His followers. Luke had dedicated himself to striving to be better, devoted, accepting in his turn the failings of their neighbors and friends. A perfect man would have no need to strive.
Anyway, in thinking about taking a wife from among the faithful, wasn’t he heeding the message God had sent to him today? Or w
as he excusing himself?
“Luke Bowman!” A man clapped a hand to Luke’s back. “It’s good to see you.”
Luke said with pleasure, “Jake Kemp. So long it’s been.”
His old friend chuckled. “I meant to stop at the store to say welcome, but, ach, you know what spring and summer are like on a farm!”
“It’s a busy time for us, too. In winter, there aren’t so many tourists looking at our furniture.”
“Ja, I can see that might be.”
The two joined the other men in carrying the backless benches out to the lawn and converting them into tables for the fellowship meal. Later, they would be stacked on the bench wagon, which would then be moved to the home where the next service would be held.
Looking around, Luke saw that women had already begun to carry out dishes and pitchers of lemonade. As much as the worship, he had come to think, the time spent together afterward cemented the bonds that made this community. Friendship, fun, the pleasure of sampling food from different households, the games that would be played, the gossip, those were all a big part of what, out in the world, he had missed. Here, the gatherings weren’t an excuse to overindulge in spirits. The Amish were wise to keep each church district small enough to allow them to gather in each other’s homes and barns like this, while maintaining ties to the groups that broke away to form new districts.
Yet, disturbingly, Luke continued to feel a distance even as he exchanged stories with boyhood friends, watched them with their children, met their wives, and was introduced to the unmarried women, one after another.
“I worked one summer with your father,” he told one, feeling as old as Methuselah. “Mark was a slave driver, I remember that. More than your grossdaadi, who hired me.” Like most boys, he’d had a period of doubting whether he wanted to do the same work as his father. Harvesting corn late that summer had cured him of any desire to devote his life to the land.
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