The Amish Wedding Promise

by Laura V. Hilton

  After he’d ordered a hot mocha, they got back into the van.

  Zeke reclaimed his window seat and looked at the scenery. Now that they were closer to Hidden Springs, signs of damage were everywhere. A church was gone, but the sign remained. The words read HE CAN CALM THE STORM. Zeke snorted. Jah, He could, but apparently He didn’t want to.

  Trees were down all over the place, shoved partially off the road, and men in orange vests and hard hats worked around downed power lines. Zeke supposed they’d turned off the electricity so they could move the lines from the road and work on them, but he didn’t know for sure. Electricity was foreign to him.

  The driver pulled into a large parking lot at a school. A few cars, pickups, and vans were already parked there, and someone carried a box filled with towering stacks of paper cups inside. Someone followed with a large yellow picnic jug.

  Zeke forced his cramped legs into movement and climbed out of the van. Hopefully, his duties wouldn’t require him to climb into the back seat of another Englisch van. He’d prefer a horse and buggy. Or to travel by shank’s pony, though someone in the van had mentioned the Amish and Mennonite host families might provide transportation.

  Kiah jumped out of the van and moved to stand beside Zeke. The Red Cross hadn’t arrived yet, but considering this was a disaster, they no doubt would arrive in a few days. Until then, the Mennonite missionaries they’d ridden with were in charge of giving directions. Or rather, whomever they reported to here in Hidden Springs.

  Today, the sun was shining, and other than the stray shingles, siding, and chunks of insulation lying in the parking lot, Zeke didn’t see any damage at the school.

  “Leave your bags in the vehicle until you meet up with your host family.” The Mennonite driver paused in front of them. “Go on inside, report, and get your assignments.”

  Zeke nodded and followed the others in his group who’d already headed in that direction, Kiah by his side.

  As they neared the building, a large, white Siberian husky mix with dirty, matted fur approached. He looked well-fed but was minus a collar. Most of his group ignored the dog, but Zeke crouched down, hand extended.

  An older Amish man came around the corner.

  An injured Englisch man wearing ratty jeans and a green T-shirt and smoking a cigarette kicked at the animal. The dog cowered. “Stupid stray.”

  “You shouldn’t be cruel to him,” Zeke said, peering up. “You’re displaced, too. In fact, we all are for now.”

  The man grunted, crushed out his cigarette, and went inside. The Amish man smiled and said something under his breath that Zeke didn’t catch.

  The dog sniffed his fingers, wagged his tail, and licked Zeke’s hand, then sat in front of him, staring up at him with one pale-blue eye, one brown.

  Zeke stood. “You can be my dog while I’m here. I’ll find you a good home. I think I’ll call you Shadow.”

  Kiah had gone into the building without Zeke, so he turned and followed his friend. The dog stayed on his heels until he reached the door; then he stopped and sat.

  “You’re well trained, aren’t you, boy?” Zeke patted the dog’s head. “Stay.” He went inside, followed by the Amish man.

  A square folding table stood just inside the door. A piece of paper taped to the front read, SIGN IN HERE. Someone’s smartphone lay abandoned on the table, along with a pen, a stack of index cards, and a half-empty paper cup of black coffee. An unoccupied gray folding chair stood behind that, and about half of his group loitered there, staring at the abandoned paper. Zeke joined them. No one seemed to know exactly what to do.

  The Amish man walked past and disappeared through another doorway. Since Zeke didn’t know him, he probably was a local.

  “The driver went to find someone in charge,” Kiah said. “I hope they put us together.”

  “Me, too.” Zeke would much rather be with his friend than with his distant cousin Vernon, who was also on this trip. He and Vernon barely tolerated each other.

  Zeke glanced around the gymnasium. Pullout bleachers and basketball hoops were on the perimeter of the room, while colorful tape circles, lines, and half circles marked the open area. Over by the far wall, someone had set up a few cots, along with a long table and more gray folding chairs. A few Englischers sat there, holding phones or computer tablets. The driver stood beside the table, talking to a lady in blue jeans and a gray T-shirt. Aside from the colorful tape on the floor, the whole windowless room appeared bland. The woman gestured to a door at the side of the room, and the driver went in that direction, disappearing from sight.

  A few minutes later, the same older Amish man from outside reappeared. He was small, slight of build, wiry, and had a bustle in his step. He hurried up to their group, the driver behind him.

  “Welcome! We’re so glad you’re here to help us.” Despite the lack of size, his voice boomed. “Follow me, please, and we’ll let you know where you’re going and what you’ll be doing. This way.” He turned on his heels and hurried back the way he came from.

  Zeke glanced at Kiah, and they followed.

  “This way,” the man said at the doorway, and he took off at a fast trot down a long hallway with lockers—also gray—lining the beige walls.

  “Apparently color interferes with higher education,” Kiah said.

  Zeke laughed, earning a glance from a brown-haired young Englisch man about their age, wielding a wide broom. He wore ragged jeans with holes in both knees and a bright-green T-shirt with a name of a soft drink printed on it—the same man who had kicked the dog. His hair was longer than most Englischers’, with unruly curls throughout. A large white bandage was wrapped around the top of his head and a red gash marred one cheek. His eye was swollen shut. Maybe he was the janitor?

  The Amish man led the way into what must be a classroom, though it was unlike any Amish classroom Zeke had ever seen. Tables instead of desks. A computer at the teacher’s desk. A screen instead of a chalkboard.

  A skeleton, taller than the man who took them there, stood guard beside the desk. Next to the bony hand, another half-full cup of black coffee waited.

  Zeke stumbled to a stop and scratched his neck, staring at the staging of the bony hand and the coffee. This was getting weirder and weirder.

  “The school is being used as a meeting place for the volunteers and a temporary lodging for the families who’d lost their homes,” the Amish man explained as he approached the desk and sorted through a mess of papers. “Ah, here we are.” He started calling out names and handing an index card to the person who answered.

  “Ezekiel Bontrager.”

  “Um.” Zeke cleared his throat and forced his attention away from the bony hand. “Here?”

  “Don’t be afraid, son. If you know the answer, just shout it out.” The man chuckled. With a tilted head, he surveyed Zeke for a long, silent moment as if gauging his worth. “Ezekiel Bontrager,” the man said again with a look that made Zeke want to be a better man. “You’ll do.”

  What? Zeke frowned. Had his reputation followed him here from Shipshewana?

  The Amish man shuffled through the cards, pulled out another one, and handed it to Zeke. It had the name Seth Lantz written on it along with an address. “Roads are bad out that way. Lots of damage. You’ll likely end up walking partway. Be sure to avoid downed power lines. Seth knows you’re coming, and he’ll give you and your buddy a place to stay and your assignments.”

  His buddy? Zeke edged closer to Kiah and glanced at his card.

  His best friend’s card had a different name.

  Could they trade with someone so they had the same destination?

  “Don’t ask to trade.” The slight, wiry man shook his head. “I was told to keep you boys separated.”

  Well, that was unfortunate. But it probably was wise if the organizers wanted them to interact with the community instead of each other.

  Zeke would make the best of it. “The place I’m staying…Any unmarried daughters?”

  The thin,
wiry man smirked. “Twelve sons. Ain’t it a wonder?” He laughed as if he’d made a joke. But his eyes held a measure of something. Mischief, maybe.

  Zeke didn’t get it. But apparently a pretty girl to spend his downtime with wasn’t in the forecast, either.

  The Mennonite missionary who was also in the room eyed Zeke sternly. “There’ll be no dating on this trip. Period. You are here for assistance only. That no-dating line is drawn in quicksand. Not mere sand. That means it won’t be overlooked. Immediate punishment.”

  * * *

  Grace cleaned the entire upstairs, sweeping and scrubbing the floors. She made the beds with fresh sheets, including the ones in the spare rooms. They might be asked to house an Amish family whose home became uninhabitable due to storm damage. Mamm took the sheets to wash and hang outside.

  After finishing upstairs, Grace packed the sandwiches and cookies, prepared in advance for the evening singing after the wedding-that-wasn’t-happening, into a picnic basket. She tried not to think about how, in other circumstances, she and Timothy would likely have been kneeling in front of the preachers at this time. She glanced at the wall clock. It was eight thirty. It didn’t matter. Timothy wasn’t here, the guests weren’t here, and the barn was gone. Disasters trumped weddings.

  With a sigh, she loaded the basket into the back of the buggy that had been rescued from the tree. A couple of Grace’s married brothers fired up chain saws to turn the downed tree into firewood.

  “Where are you going?” Daed looked away from the branches he trimmed off with loppers. He lifted his eyebrows.

  “To take sandwiches and cookies to, uh…” She frowned.

  “Rescue workers. Of course. Good idea.”

  Her oldest brother, Reuben, who had a daughter almost her age, nodded. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”

  Well, actually, she’d thought to visit Timothy’s family, but rescue workers would be better. It would just serve as a bitter reminder that the wedding would need to be rescheduled if she gave the sandwiches to Timothy’s family.

  Daed sighed. “Does your mother know you’re getting rid of the sandwiches and cookies? We might be taking in a couple workers. I told the bishop we would if needed. Plus, we’ll need to have a barn raising.”

  “She knows. She told me to get rid of some of the sandwiches and cookies and told me to take Patience with me to distract her. She hasn’t stopped crying over the barn and the missing animals.” In fact, they hadn’t seen a single one of their cats or their dog since the tornado. Maybe it’d calm her down if she called for the cats or dog while on the road. At least it’d make her feel helpful.

  “You might need this.” Reuben put a chain saw next to the basket in the buggy. “It’s fueled up. Lots of trees down, but don’t get near any downed power lines. I heard they can kill up to twenty-five feet away if they are activated. Or was it thirty-five feet?” He glanced at their brothers.

  They shrugged.

  “Whatever. Just stay away. We don’t want anything to happen to you.” Reuben turned his attention back to the tree.

  “Are you going to check on Timothy?” another brother, Joseph, asked.

  That was the plan, but she hesitated to admit it. Timothy should’ve checked on her. Especially by now.

  The brothers all sighed, probably reading the answer in her eyes. They always said they knew exactly what she was thinking.

  “Don’t judge him too harshly. Maybe he just couldn’t get away. Or maybe they had more damage than I saw. I wasn’t looking too closely,” Jon reminded her. “Be careful with the chain saw.”

  She nodded and went to the house to get her sister. Hopefully this would work to calm her down because Patience was trying her patience.

  The roads were worse than Grace imagined. Jon hadn’t been kidding. Trees were down everywhere. Most of them she could simply drive around, but some blocked the whole road and she had to stop and clear a partial path. But taking Patience through the pastures—where they might face an angry bull or an overprotective cow—wasn’t an option.

  As they reached the road going toward town, an electric company truck was parked on the edge of the ditch, along with a big truck with a basket on an extended arm rising up into the sky.

  Patience stopped crying long enough to stare at it.

  Grace wanted to gawk, too. She was tired, hot, and sweaty and hoped this meant the rest of the way to Timothy’s house was already cleared. She parked the buggy and climbed out. “Stay here, Patience. I’ll be right back.” She grabbed a few plastic bags full of sandwiches and cookies and approached the workers. “Do you want a snack?”

  “Thank you, miss.” One man took a couple. His coworkers gathered around.

  After Grace passed out the sandwiches and cookies to the workers, including a couple for the man in the cherry picker, she turned to the first man. “Can I get through here, or are the lines, um, still dangerous?”

  “They’re deactivated, miss. You can get through.”

  “Thank you. Oh, you haven’t seen any loose cows or horses, have you?”

  He shook his head.

  Should she ask about dogs or cats? But considering how many people let their pets run wild, that would be a waste of time. “Thanks again.” She waved and got back into the buggy.

  Patience was still quiet but sniffling. “I saw a dog.”

  “Ours?” Grace glanced at her sister.

  She shook her head. “Swartzes’, I think.”

  They owned a couple of beagles.

  Grace expelled a breath, clicked at the horse, and drove on. She turned at the corner, away from town, and at the next road turned again.

  And stopped. Another huge tree blocked the road.

  Patience started crying again.

  Grace slumped, staring at the tree and fighting the urge to hold her sister and cry with her.

  Or maybe turn around and go back home.

  This might be why Timothy hadn’t checked on her.

  But not checking on her because of a downed tree made Grace feel like she wasn’t worth the effort. And that wasn’t a message she wanted to convey. Or receive, for that matter.

  Too bad it was received. Loud and clear.

  Unless he had another, better reason.

  And with that hope, Grace firmed her shoulders, climbed out of the buggy, and grabbed the chain saw. Again.

  She turned to Patience as she passed the front seat. “Call for the dog and cats while you wait. I’ll hurry.”

  Patience whimpered, said a half-hearted “Here, kitty, kitty,” then resumed crying.

  At least she tried.

  “I want to go home!” Patience howled.

  The chain saw roared to life, drowning out her sister. Sort of. Because the words still echoed.

  Grace probably should’ve left her sister at home. But Mamm had asked her to take her along.

  This was not easier on Patience or on Grace. At least at home Patience would’ve had some semblance of normality, even if the barn was missing. And the animals gone.

  Grace batted her kapp strings behind her shoulders, tried to ignore her quivering muscles and the blisters already forming on her hands, and went to work. Best cure for depression—work. At least that’s what her grossdaadi always said.

  A vehicle stopped beside the buggy and honked. She glared over her shoulders, but then turned to face the van. The chain saw still rumbled. Maybe they’d get the message that she was working as fast as she could. All things considered. If they wanted to get through faster, they could get out and help.

  An Amish man climbed out of the back seat. “I’m looking for Seth Lantz’s house,” he shouted. His straw hat shadowed his face.

  Grace yelled back, “You passed it. Turn left at the corner. Go down the road about three miles, turn right, and it’s the second mailbox on the left.”

  “Back that way?” He pointed.

  “Jah. He’s my daed.”

  The man glanced from her to Patience, then to the still-roaring chai
n saw. “How about I get out here and help? Looks like you need it.”

  “I’ve got it under control.” She stiffened. But oh, jah, she needed help. Badly.

  The man ignored her. Or maybe he received her unspoken message. He trotted back to the van and retrieved a duffel bag and a dog that looked familiar…

  A dog that barked and jumped up in the buggy beside Patience and snuggled against her. Grace blinked. Their dog.

  Patience threw her arms around his neck and cried into his fur.

  Grace wanted to do the same. But maybe she could have a well-deserved, but private, meltdown later.

  The man said something to the driver. The driver backed up, somehow avoiding the drainage ditches on either side of the road, and turned around, leaving the man there.

  “He’s going to take the man I’ve been partnered with to your haus, so we’ll be reported in, and let them know I’m helping you.” The man tossed his bag into the back of the buggy and approached. “Looks like your, ah, friend knows Shadow.”

  “She’s my sister, Patience. And his name isn’t Shadow. He’s our dog. Where’d you find him?”

  “At the school. What is his name?”

  “Slush.”

  He grinned. “Like melted snow?” He held out his hand. “I’m Zeke. Well, Ezekiel, but my friends call me Zeke.”

  She lowered the chain saw to her side, letting it die. “Grace Lantz. Almost everyone calls me Gracie.” She slipped her hand into his.

  Sparks rocketed through her.

  Her gaze shot to his.

  His eyes were blue. Vivid blue.

  And they widened as he stared at her.

  Her face heated as she jerked her hand free.

  * * *

  Wow. And wow. Zeke had never had that reaction to a pretty woman before. And she was pretty. Light-brown hair that was messy and escaping the confines of her kapp, hazel eyes, full lips, pink cheeks, and…He let his eyes drop. Tree bark and sawdust clung enticingly to her curves.

  She’d probably be embarrassed to realize she looked so disheveled.

  He reached for the chain saw, but she shied away. “Let me help,” he said. “Can you comfort her?”