Newbury Acres: An Amish Christian Romance Novel: An Amish Romance Adaptation of Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey (The Amish Classics)

by Sarah Price

  After supper, Henry excused himself to harness the horse and hitch it to his buggy. Catherine helped Ellie clean the dishes.

  “You should go and get ready,” Ellie suggested. “If you want to anyway. I can handle the dishes.”

  Catherine glanced down at her dress. She wore her light green dress and hadn’t soiled it during their walk or dinner preparations. “I don’t think I need to change. Besides, I wouldn’t feel right leaving you with all of this work.”

  “Then go help Henry.” She set a wet plate onto the dish rack. “I can handle this.” She gave Catherine a pleasant smile. “Go and have some fun.”

  Since Ellie wouldn’t take no for an answer, Catherine hurried outside, secretly pleased to have that extra time with Henry.

  She peeked her head around the open door to the horse stable. She saw Henry in the stall with the horse. “Need any help?”

  He peered over the horse’s withers. “Nee, I’ve finished grooming him already.”

  He opened the stall door and led the horse outside. With swift hands, he quickly managed to harness the horse and led it to the doorway. She watched as he walked the horse in a circle and backed it between the two shafts of the open-topped buggy. Without being asked, she hurried over to help guide the one shaft into the tug stop. Then she attached the trace to the hook on the end of the whiffletree. Finally, she attached the brake strap and stood back as Henry walked around to her side.

  “Oh.” He looked surprised. “You work fast, don’t you?”

  “Easier with two, ja?”

  “Indeed it is.” He tossed the reins over the dashboard of the buggy and waited for Catherine to step on the mounting step. Then he climbed up beside her. “Ready?”

  For the next hour, he drove her along some of the back roads of Newbury Acres, pointing out the school where he and his siblings had attended to eighth grade. He showed her where they shopped, at an Amish market which was next to a garden supply store, also Amish owned. To her surprise, she realized that there were almost no Englischers living in Newbury Acres.

  “How is that possible?” she asked when Henry confirmed her observation.

  He shrugged. “I suppose we’ve just managed to hold onto the land. Seventy years ago, there was nothing here. Our great-grandfather moved here with four other families. The land was cheap and they worked it. New families joined them when they married and couldn’t afford land in the other communities. When land became unavailable for new families, that was when my father came up with the idea of the farming co-op. And any farmer who has land that tries to sell it, always sells to other Amish people.”

  “Even if it’s a financial loss?”

  He nodded his head. “Ja. They’d rather it stay within the community than risk having Englischers come in and develop the land.”

  She wondered why other communities didn’t do the same thing. Even though she wasn’t bothered by the Englische who lived in Fullerton, she knew that it would be much nicer to have fewer outsiders, who often built stores or restaurants which attracted tourists.

  “It’s nice here,” she said when the silence between them grew.

  “I agree.” He turned the horse down a lane. “This is the road behind our farm,” he said as he pointed out the window. Despite being wooded, a fence bordered the road.

  “Are we going back already?” She couldn’t hide the disappointment in her voice.

  His mouth twitched when he glanced at her. “Not ready yet?”

  She shook her head.

  “Then I will show you my favorite place. Would you like that?”

  He guided the horse down another road that was hidden by tall grass on the other side of the road. She listened to the horse’s hooves pounding on the dry dirt that made the lane. She wondered how the horses fared during the rainy season that always accompanied April and October. Surely the roads were too muddy then to travel by buggy.

  As the horse rounded another bend, she could see a small white farmhouse sitting almost in front of a red barn with a tall white silo. A windmill spun next to the house. To the east of the house was a large grassy field that seemed to go on for as far as she could see. To the west was a fenced paddock for the horses. The two-story house had a covered porch that wrapped around the side that faced the barn. In front of the house was a white picket fence that surrounded what she imagined was a garden that had not been planted that year.

  “Who lives here?” she asked.

  “You like it?”

  How could she not like it? “It’s a perfect setting. The house looks as if it’s been loved through the years.” She looked at him. “But you didn’t answer my question. Who lives here?”

  “No one.”

  His answer stunned her. “No one? But it’s in perfect condition.”

  “Danke for noticing.” His eyes twinkled.

  It took her a moment to realize where he had taken her. “Is this your mother’s childhood farm?”

  He nodded. “It is indeed. We call it the Woods farm.”

  She returned her gaze toward the house. “I don’t understand why no one lives here. With so many people wanting to farm …” It made no sense to her. Gid Tilman was so outspoken about the Amish staying close to their agricultural roots. Why didn’t he rent it out? That would have been better than having it sit vacant.

  As if he read her mind, Henry took a deep breath and sighed. “Her parents did outlive her, Catherine. And when they passed last year, we talked about renting it. But I admit that I wasn’t fond of that idea. One day I would like to live here.”

  She caught her breath. “But your daed’s farm …”

  He shrugged. “I love the dairy and the cows. I’d have a small herd here. But my heart is in working the soil.”

  “Does your father know this?”

  Once again, he nodded. “He does. Perhaps if Ellie married a man interested in farming, he would consent. Or if Freddie ever settled down and had sons …” He left the sentence unfinished. Neither scenario seemed likely to happen anytime soon. It was just one more way that Gid had managed to control his children, pressing his own ideals of happiness upon them.

  “I’ll pray that your dream comes true,” she said softly.

  For a long few minutes, they sat in the buggy staring at the house. While she would have liked to have seen the inside, she knew that it would be improper for her to ask. Henry would never consent to her entering the house alone, and it would be improper for the two of them to be alone in an unoccupied house. If anyone caught sight of them, her reputation would be ruined.

  Finally, he looked up at the sky. “Sun’s setting. I reckon we better head home. We’ve a lot of work to do tomorrow.” He made a playful but sad face. “Vacation is over.”

  He stepped off the brake and slapped the reins against the horse’s rump, urging it to start walking again. This time he drove back toward the lane that ran behind the Tilmans’ farm. Disappointed that the ride was ending, she was grateful that it still took thirty minutes to travel the roads to their driveway.

  “Danke for sharing that with me,” she said when Henry stopped the buggy in front of the house.

  He nodded.

  Carefully she stepped through the door on her side of the buggy and stood away from the buggy, watching as Henry drove it toward the stable. Quietly, she entered the house, not surprised that the kitchen was empty. As Henry had said, their vacation was over. Gid had looked tired during the supper meal, and Ellie would have to get up early to make coffee and start preparing breakfast. At eight-thirty in the evening, it was bedtime on a farm. Even though the sun had not yet fully set, Catherine didn’t mind that the day was ending. She settled into her bed, the kerosene lantern burning on her nightstand and her latest book clutched in her hand, ready to read. For her, it had been the perfect Sunday.

  Chapter 19

  When morning came, Catherine found the house unusually quiet and Ellie already at work in the kitchen.

  “Good morning,” Catherine said as she wal
ked down the steps. “I can’t believe it’s almost seven-thirty! I never sleep this late!”

  Ellie turned from the sink and smiled at her friend as she entered the kitchen. “Then you must’ve slept well!”

  “I did,” Catherine admitted. She noticed that Ellie was already in the middle of making bread, the flour on her black apron giving away her most recent chore. “What might I help you with? I love to bake bread.”

  For the next two hours, the two women worked side-by-side, talking and laughing as they kneaded the dough and worked on making cheese from the fresh milk that Henry had brought in from that morning’s milking. Catherine learned quickly from Ellie and found that she liked cutting the curds and setting them into the cheese press. It was a chore that she had never done before, and as she set the weights on the end of the press, she knew that she had just discovered something new that she enjoyed doing.

  “What types of cheese do you make?” she asked Ellie.

  “Oh, many different kinds, but my favorite’s the Colby cheese. It is so creamy and moist. And it comes out in a perfect round.” She motioned toward the cheese press. “I don’t know if it’s the press or the milk, but I often make twelve rounds a week, and they are always in demand from the local people, both the Amish and the Englische. It seems that I can’t make enough to satisfy their demands.”

  Catherine glanced around the kitchen at the mess that they had made. “We should make more then,” she said. “Two hands and lots of milk … we can press twice as many rounds, don’t you think?”

  So, the challenge was set.

  At Ellie’s urging, Catherine wandered out to the dairy barn to retrieve more fresh milk for another batch of curds. She lingered by the door, staring at the long aisles of Holstein cows. Some had already been turned out into the pasture while some still remained standing in the large holding pen. She knew that they had already been milked so she wasn’t certain why they hadn’t been turned out.

  “Come to milk some cows then?”

  Catherine quickly turned around and took a step backward, pressing her hand against her chest as she faced Henry. “You startled me!”

  “Did I, now?” He leaned against the wall and smiled at her. “You’re fun to startle, Catherine Miller.”

  Playfully, she scowled at him. “Please don’t make a habit of it,” she said. “My heart can’t take too much startling!”

  He laughed.

  “Ellie sent me to fetch more milk,” she said, changing the subject in the hopes that she could contain the blush that threatened to cover her cheeks.

  “Oh? More?” He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes as he studied her.

  “Ja, more. We’re going to double her cheese production. She says everyone loves her cheese rounds so much that she has more demand than she can supply. I figured that two sets of hands can make double the cheese and, therefore, double the sales.”

  Henry didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he raised his hand to his bare chin and rubbed it as if in deep thought. Not once did his eyes leave hers. “You like making cheese then, Catherine?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve only just learned how thanks to your sister. And she’s going to teach me how to make macramé wall hangings and pot holders, too.”

  “All of these things are new to you?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Ja. I like learning new things, though.”

  “What else do you like doing?”

  She thought for a moment. He already knew that she loved to read books. What else did she enjoy doing? Suddenly, it came to her. “There is something I do like doing.”

  “Oh, ja?” His eyes lit up. “And what is that?”

  “Being helpful. If I’m to be a good guest at your haus, I’d like to help your sister as much as I can.”

  He smiled at her, a soft and kind smile. She could see that his eyes softened and there was something curious about the way he stared at her. “That’s very kind, Catherine. I know that she enjoys your company. Such a shame that you don’t live closer.”

  She glanced away rather than respond to his comment. It was true that she lived too far away from Newbury Acres to visit on a regular basis. It would take a driver almost an hour to return her to Fullerton. But Catherine certainly wanted to enjoy her budding friendship with Ellie while she was staying under the Tilmans’ roof. And, of course, spending any extra time in Henry’s company was definitely a benefit, too.

  “Well, here’s the problem with her requesting more milk,” Henry said, still rubbing his chin. “The milk’s already been picked up for the day.”

  Catherine looked up, disappointed to learn that there was no milk to be had.

  Henry, however, held up his hand to stop her. “Now don’t look so crestfallen,” he said lightly. “Several of these girls haven’t been milked yet. We use them to feed the veal calves who need to be fed throughout the day. So, what do you say to helping me milk them? We can do it together and have the freshest milk possible, right from your own hand.”

  To Catherine, that sounded like a fine idea. She nodded her head and eagerly followed Henry as he went to retrieve a milking stool and a clean bucket from the back room.

  While she knew how to milk cows, she hadn’t done it by hand since she had been a little girl. On her father’s farm, they used mechanical milkers, all powered by a propane generator. Milking by hand, however, always seemed like such a peaceful way to collect the milk. Using the milking machines was far too impersonal, a process rather than a connection with nature.

  Henry set the stool down beside one of the cows and instructed her to take a seat.

  “Now, place the bucket under her udders,” he said in a soft but authoritative voice. “Then sanitize her teats with this.” He handed her a plastic container with a green cup on top. “Just place the cup under each teat and then dip the teat into the liquid. That’s it! You got it, Catherine.”

  She did as she was told, reacting to his voice as well as his encouragements to how well she listened to him. She thought that she could sit there and listen to him for hours. If Henry Tilman talked to all of his workers in the same manner, they must enjoy working for him.

  “Okay, now grab one of her teats and roll your hand down the length of it.”

  Catherine did as he told her but nothing came out. She tried again to no avail. “Oh, help and bother!” she fussed. “What am I doing wrong?”

  Henry laughed. “Nothing, Catherine. It just takes some time to get used to it. Here, let me help.” He leaned over her shoulder and reached down to cover her hand with his as he gently helped her properly grasp the teat and press her fingers into the sides as she rolled her hand down. This time, a steady stream of milk came out and hit the side of the metal bucket. The noise sounded like rain on tin. Delighted, Catherine immediately did it again, not paying too much attention to the way that Henry still lingered over her shoulder.

  “I’m doing it! I’m doing it!”

  Once again, Henry laughed. “Ja, that you are! And doing a good job at it, might I add. Now, keep working on that one, and if you are feeling adventuresome, you can use your right hand to work on another one. True milkers can do two teats at once.”

  Never one to step away from a challenge, Catherine did as he told her, and within a few minutes, she had managed to get two streams of milk going into the bucket at nearly the same time. She would tug at the one teat and then pull at the other. She began to sense a musical rhythm to how she was milking, and in her mind, she could hear the song of milking cows. It was a beautiful tune.

  Still, Henry never left her side. He lingered by her shoulder, his one arm pressed against hers. When she stopped listening to the music of the milk, she could hear the sound of his heart in her left ear. The pulsing beat made another song, one that she hoped was beating extra fast simply because he was near her. But she knew better than to ask. It was safer—and more proper—to simply make up her own romantic story in her head. If Henry fancied her, she wasn’t entirely certain. But she wa
nted to believe that he did so, the sound of his heart beating only adding to her yearning for him to stay near her side.

  By the time she finished milking the cow, the bucket was brimming with fresh, pure, white milk.

  Henry straightened up and took a step backward, clearing his throat. When he spoke, his voice sounded husky and thick. Strange indeed for a man who never seemed at a loss for words.

  “Well then, that’s a job well done,” he managed to say, a throaty tone to his voice. “Now, let’s move the stool and I’ll carry the bucket to the house for you, Catherine.”

  She knew full well that she could carry that bucket without his assistance. After all, her father raised cows, and while the boys helped him in the barn, Catherine certainly helped, too, especially when James was traveling for his work.

  Regardless, she let Henry carry the pail. She liked that he took charge, helping her in a protective kind of way. Back at her father’s farm, her brother James often did the same, taking on the burden of the harder chores even though he knew that Catherine and even his younger brothers were more than capable. To Catherine, that was an indication that her brother would be a good husband one day. Now that she saw the same signs of chivalry in Henry, she suspected that he, too, would treat his own wife with gracious understanding and solicitousness.

  In silence they walked side-by-side back to the house.

  Ellie already had three large pots ready. She looked up from where she sat at the table, reading the newspaper, and smiled when they walked in. “That didn’t take long,” she said with a smirk on her face.

  After setting the bucket onto the counter, Henry wiped his hand on his pants. “The milk had already been picked up, so we had to do it by hand, sister,” he explained. “But Catherine’s a real expert at hand milking,” he teased gently. “I reckon she could hand milk all those cows faster than my machines.”

  “What. Ever!” Catherine said in jest, but she knew that her cheeks had turned pink from his compliment.

  Ellie laughed and Henry winked at Catherine before he slipped through the door to finish his other chores.