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

by Sarah Price

  With a knowing smile, Ellie nodded. “No other thought crossed my mind,” she said in a gentle tone.

  Henry walked away toward a clearing that led to the pathway back to the farm.

  “Perhaps this week we might walk over to surprise Henry. Mayhaps Wednesday. Then we could ride home with him in the buggy,” Ellie whispered.

  Catherine nodded. “That would be fun. The outside of the house is charming. I can’t imagine what the inside is like.” She paused before asking the one question that was on her mind. “But if it’s so close, why does he stay there?”

  “Despite it being so close, it takes over thirty minutes to drive to it. Even though that’s not a lot of time, it seemed enough of a reason to convince our daed that Henry should stay there when he’s cutting the hay.” She lowered her voice. “Frankly, I think Henry fancies the place and likes spending time there. Makes him feel closer to our maem, I suspect.”

  Lowering her eyes at the mention of their mother, Catherine felt sadness in her heart. She simply could not imagine not having her mother to talk to every day. Just thinking about it made her feel more than a little homesick. After all, it had been almost a month since she had been home. She wondered what her family was doing at that very moment. Most likely, the younger children were outside playing while James and Richard helped their father with the last afternoon chores.

  At they began to walk home, Henry stayed ahead of them, his mood having changed from jovial to more reflective and somber. Catherine and Ellie walked side-by-side, talking about what they would do in the morning before the big fishing excursion. Once Catherine noticed Henry glance back in her direction, but she couldn’t read the expression on his face. Her self-confidence began to fade. She wondered what he was thinking, and when he didn’t even smile, whether he was still thinking of their fishing trip with the same enthusiasm as when he extended the invitation to her.

  Ellie seemed to read her thoughts. “Don’t fret, Catherine. He always gets a little sullen and reflective whenever the Woods farm is brought up. I told you. He fancies the place. I reckon that’s why Daed never sold or rented it.”

  Still, there was something else lingering beneath the surface, and Catherine couldn’t stop worrying that it had something to do with her. The sporadic furtive glances he cast in her direction during their walk back to the house only added to her anxiety. She wasn’t used to this side of Henry and she felt panicky. When they finally returned to the farm and Henry wandered off to the dairy barn, her nerves were frayed and she excused herself to go upstairs and lie down for half an hour. Like Henry, she too needed some quiet time and space to reflect.

  Chapter 21

  The edge of the water lapped against the large rock where Henry and Catherine stood, fishing poles in hand and a cooler of bait by their bare feet. The sun hid behind a cloud, keeping the heat at bay. In the distance, there was a boat with two young Amish boys who sat back-to-back with their own fishing poles, lines in the water as they waited for a nibble on their hooks.

  Earlier that morning, rather than take his horse and buggy, Gid had left with a hired driver to return to Banthe. It was only a twenty-minute drive, and he hadn’t wanted two horse and buggies there. As soon as he had departed, Catherine felt rejuvenated, almost as if her vacation with the Tilmans had started anew. She sensed the change in Ellie and Henry almost immediately. Ellie spent more time at her regular chores, not worried about ensuring that dinner was ready exactly at noon. She also sang as she embroidered, something Catherine had not heard her do while Gid was around.

  As for Henry, he invited Catherine to help him with the cows, a task she readily accepted. She never would have done that if Gid was lurking around the farm. Even though he did not always come home for the noon meal, he would pop into the house at odd times as if checking on what his two children were doing. And his appearance was always followed with some complaint about something they were—or were not—doing to his satisfaction. Without Gid at home, Henry seemed even more relaxed and cheerful than he usually was.

  Shortly after one o’clock, Henry had indicated that they should walk to the pond. He would need to return at four-thirty to oversee the evening milking. Now, thirty minutes later, they were almost alone at the pond with the song of nature to entertain them as Henry tried to teach her how to fish.

  “What type of fish again?” Catherine asked, feeling awkward for the first time in Henry’s presence. While she didn’t consider their fishing together a date—he had invited his sister to join them—she did feel that something was shifting in their friendship. She had never courted anyone, and she wondered if this might be a precursor to such a relationship. The thought made her hopeful.

  “Bass. It’s stocked with large-mouthed bass and crappies,” he said.

  “And those boys over there. Who are they?”

  He fiddled with his pole, trying a new hook on the end of the line. “They’re the sons of two of our workers. Nice boys. They help with the haying at my maem’s old farm. At least during the summer.”

  “Will they be helping you on Monday then?”

  He nodded but did not reply, his attention focused on what he was doing.

  She watched as he worked, amazed at how he managed to knot the thin line around the hook. When he finished, he reached for the cooler and opened it, revealing several Styrofoam cups of dirt. He dug through the dirt with his finger and pulled out a large worm. It wiggled and she made a face.

  “You don’t like that, eh?”

  She shook her head. “Mayhaps you can do that part. Putting the worm on the hook.”

  “Kum now, Catherine. It’s just a little worm. To be a real fisherman, you need to learn how to bait your hook.” But he pushed the hook through the worm and wrapped it around twice. “See? That’s not so bad, ja?”

  “Whatever,” she said, still making a face, and he laughed.

  He handed her the pole and then placed his hands on her shoulders, gently turning her around so that she faced the water. “Now, it’s really easy, Catherine,” he said, his hands still touching her. “You release the lock on the reel …” He moved one hand to show her how. “Be sure to keep your thumb here …”

  “Like this?”

  She sensed that he nodded.

  “Ja, that’s right. And then you are going to pull the rod backward …” This time, one of his hands covered hers as he tilted the top of the rod so that it was behind her shoulder. “And you are going to fling it forward and release your thumb so that the line can sail into the water at a distance.”

  With his help, she did as he instructed. The reel made a whizzing sound as the hook was flung out and into the pond.

  “Perfect!” He took a step backward so that he wasn’t standing so close to her.

  She glanced at him. “Now what?”

  “What do you mean now what?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Now what do I do?”

  He raised his hand and removed his hat, wiping his forehead with the back of his arm. The sun had emerged from behind the clouds and was beating down upon them. “Well … uh … you wait.”

  “I wait,” she repeated.

  “Ja, you wait for a fish to take your bait.”

  “I see.” She turned her head to look back at the pond, trying to see where her line met the water. “And how will I know if that happens?”

  He began to prepare his own rod. “You’ll feel a tug on your pole and, when that happens, you jerk it backwards, just once, before you reel in the line.” She heard him digging for another worm, the bottom of the cup making a scratching noise against the rock. “But I’m here, Catherine. I can help you with that, if the fish is so big that it pulls you into the water. Don’t worry,” he added with a bright smile at her concerned expression.

  After he had cast his own line in the other direction, a silence fell over them. She waited a few minutes before she sat down, dangling her legs over the side of the rock. He did the same. Despite their rods being pointed in different
directions, they sat side-by-side, close enough so that their hips almost touched. For a moment, Catherine almost moved away but thought that he might be offended or take it the wrong way.

  The birds chirped from the trees behind them. Occasionally, something would jump from the water, sending ripples toward where they sat. In the distance, they heard a loud bang, most likely the backfiring of a car on a nearby road. Other than that, it was quiet and peaceful sitting on that rock with the reflection of the sun bouncing off the top of the water.

  “Wish I had brought sunglasses,” she said out loud, more to herself than to Henry.

  “Here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a dark black pair. “Use mine.”

  She hesitated to take them.

  “It’s okay. I wasn’t using them anyway.”

  Reluctantly, she accepted the sunglasses and slipped them on. For a moment, everything looked too dark as she let her eyes adjust. “It’s nice out here,” she commented. “Just sitting here and being. Just being. I don’t think we do much of that. At least I don’t.”

  Henry tilted his head as he looked at her. “Why is that?”

  “At home, there’s always something to do. Between the younger kinner and the chores, there isn’t a lot of time to just sit back and listen to God’s orchestra.”

  “God’s orchestra?” he asked, a soft smile on his lips.

  “Ja, that’s right. His orchestra. The birds. The leaves. The water. Even those crickets. Do you hear them, Henry?”

  She watched as he looked over his shoulder toward the woods behind him. When he turned back around, he stared into her face, his eyes studying her for a long moment. “I do,” he admitted at last. “And it is, indeed, a beautiful song.” He turned back toward the pond. “I’m rather glad that I’m listening to it with you.”

  For another long while they sat in silence, watching and waiting for something to happen with their fishing poles. If she had previously felt uncomfortable being alone in his company, now she began to relax. She could imagine an author writing this very scene into a romance book, and in her mind, she began to formulate the words as if she were crafting it herself. She described the bright green leaves that hung from the trees, the dark water with light ripples, the blue sky with a scattering of clouds. And then she tried to describe Henry.

  A tall and handsome man sat on the rock, his fishing rod in hand, as he waited for a fish to take the bait. His dark hair hung in loose curls that were tucked behind his ears. He wore a white short-sleeved shirt that was perfectly pressed, almost as if it were for Sunday worship. The young woman seated beside him glanced furtively in his direction. She had never been fishing before and prayed that she was doing everything correctly. The last thing she wanted was to disappoint her companion.

  He realized that she was watching him and turned to face her. When their eyes met, a bird began singing from a nearby tree. It was as if the bird sang the song just for the two of them.

  “Catherine?”

  Startled out of her daydream, she blinked and looked at him in surprise. She wondered how long he had been watching her. Embarrassed, she felt her cheeks turning pink. “Ja?”

  He pointed toward her pole. “You have a bite.”

  “A … bite? Already?”

  He tried not to laugh at the expression on her face. “On your hook. If you want to catch the first fish of the day, I suggest you start reeling it in.”

  “Oh!” Quickly, she jumped to her feet, the pole still in her hands. As she steadied herself, she clutched the rod and tried to turn the reel at the same time. Her fingers fumbled as she felt the pole being tugged away from her. “Henry!” She looked at him, pleading for him to help her. She was frightened that in the struggle with the fish she might lose both the fish and the pole. “It’s pulling!”

  “Of course, it’s pulling! It’s not happy, I’m sure. Would you be if you were caught?” Chuckling, he stood up to help her. Once again, he stood behind her and reached around her shoulders so that he could help steady the rod while she tried to turn the reel, slowly collecting the line. The tip of the rod bent over and she feared that it would break. Henry, however, remained calm and focused, apparently not worried about the fishing pole. “Slow and steady,” he said softly, his breath against her ear. “Easy does it.”

  She shivered, a tingling sensation flooding her body at his nearness, and she thought she heard him give a soft laugh.

  As he helped her by keeping the rod steady and encouraging her to stay calm, she reeled in the line and, with it, one of the largest fish she had ever seen. It wiggled and twisted as Henry reached for the end of the line and swung the fish onto the land.

  “Not bad for a fisherwoman who has never fished before,” he said good-naturedly. “That’s a ten pounder if I ever saw one.”

  “Is that good?”

  He laughed as he stepped on the fish and pulled the hook from its mouth. “Ja, I’d say so. You keep pulling these in and you’ll be eating fish all week!”

  She watched as he tossed the fish into the cooler and hooked another worm onto her line. “That was easy,” she said.

  He gave her a sideways glance. “Easy enough for you to say. Now it’s my turn.”

  For the next two hours, they alternated between sitting on the rock waiting for a fish to take the bait and standing up to reel in their catch. For Catherine, it was the best two hours that she could remember. Besides the excitement of catching the fish, she was able to enjoy spending time with the person who was rapidly becoming more and more dear to her. If she could replicate those two hours every day for the rest of her life, she knew that she would never find better happiness.

  Chapter 22

  The next day, immediately after breakfast, Henry left to visit with some of his friends, declaring that he would be back in time for the afternoon chores. Since there were no worship services for the Newbury Acres Amish community that week, Catherine and Ellie spent a leisurely morning after breakfast. It was verboten to knit, embroider, or quilt on Sunday, and they certainly could not cook. So they decided to pack a light lunch of day-old bread and jam with some freshly cut fruit and snacks so that they could take a walk to the very pond where Catherine had gone fishing the previous day.

  This time, however, they sat at a small picnic table on the other side of the pond. It was shaded from the sun, which was directly overhead by the time they arrived.

  “Did you enjoy yourself yesterday?” Ellie asked her as she unpacked the food onto the table.

  Catherine caught herself gazing across the pond to the other side where she had sat with Henry for so long. “I did, Ellie. It was so peaceful and quiet. And the fishing was wunderbarr!”

  “I know that Henry enjoyed it. He told me as much before he left after supper last night.”

  Catherine wasn’t certain how to interpret that comment. Was Ellie trying to tell her something about Henry’s affections for her? Or was she just being kind and friendly? Rather than question her friend further, Catherine decided to change the subject. “Isn’t it extra work for Henry to manage the two farms?”

  “You mean the Woods farm? My maem’s family farm?” Ellie plucked a ripe cherry from the container and plopped it into her mouth. “Oh, nee! I dare say that he much prefers the farming over there to the work here.”

  That was surprising to Catherine. She was under the impression that Henry spent very little time at the Woods farmhouse. “Is that so? Why do you think?”

  Ellie gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. “Probably because he is free to do as he pleases over there. Our daed rarely goes over to inspect anything. He leaves all of the responsibility to Henry.” She reached for another cherry but hesitated before she ate it. “It’s not a large farm, Catherine. Only fifty acres or so. And the house is just a typical old farmhouse. I never quite understood why Daed was so determined to acquire it.”

  Catherine frowned. “I thought he acquired it because he married your maem?”

  “Ja, that’s true.�
� Ellie gave her a thoughtful look. “You have a right gut memory, Catherine.”

  “So, did he love her or the property?”

  Ellie waved her hand absentmindedly at Catherine. “Oh, who knows? And is it really important? After all, that’s long before any of us were around and it truly doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”

  But Catherine wasn’t so easily convinced. If the three Tilman children had been raised in an environment that was founded in opportunity for advancement and not love, what could be expected of their futures? How would they model their own marriages: after their daed’s forceful demands or their maem’s furtive dreams?

  “Tell me about your parents, Catherine,” Ellie said, turning the conversation away from her own family and back to the Millers.

  “My family? Why, they are just ordinary farmers!”

  “No one is ordinary,” Ellie countered. “Have they always lived in Fullerton?”

  Catherine began to recount her family’s history, what little she knew of it. She talked about how her parents met and how they had moved into the family farm shortly after marriage. It was the only home that Catherine knew and the only one that she could use as a measurement for others.

  “So how do we measure up?” Ellie asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

  The question took Catherine by surprise. How could she answer that? “I didn’t mean it that way,” she offered as an explanation. “I don’t compare us to other families.”

  Ellie raised an eyebrow.

  “I mean that we are just farmers, Ellie. Your family farms, too, but your family is different. It’s …” How could she explain what she was thinking? The last thing she wanted to do was to say the wrong thing and offend her friend. “Most Amish families work together. Your family has different businesses and the family is more divided, with Freddie working at the wood shop and Henry at the farm. And you have help from others. Your daed’s farm is a community project and that’s a good thing, I suppose.”