The Englisch Daughter

by Cindy Woodsmall

  For herself, Jemima looked forward to living out a long-held dream and bringing money into the household budget. But just as important would be her ability to teach a trade to her daughters. Learning to cook was one thing; being able to run a business with that skill was completely different.

  How many conversations had Roy and she had while courting and throughout their marriage about her acquiring a food truck and building a business? Careers for newlywed women and the ones with young children were frowned upon, but Roy and she had been careful to pay their dues and step lightly so that no one frowned on this plan even though she still had little ones.

  Forty-five minutes after leaving home, Jemima parked the rig, got the children their hot chocolate and treats, and set them up on a quilt near the auction block. Where was Roy? While watching for him, she saw other bidders arriving. The minutes on the digital clock in front of the town bank kept changing until only ten minutes were left before the bidding would begin. But there was still no sign of her husband. She should’ve thought to borrow Abigail’s cell. At least that way she could call him. But when her husband gave his word about where he’d be and when, he always kept it.

  She searched the sidewalks.

  Warm hands rested on her shoulders. “Hey.” Roy kissed her cheek.

  Her anxiety eased, and she turned. “Goodness. You’re finally here. Is everything okay?”

  He nodded, but his eyes told a different story. “We need to talk,” he whispered.

  How many times this past year had she seen that look of concern? “What’s going on?”

  He turned to the children. “Laura, you and Carolyn watch your brothers. No one leaves the quilt. Ya?”

  Laura nodded, and the girls returned to whatever patty-cake game they were playing with their brothers.

  “Kumm.” Roy put his arm around her shoulders and led her a few feet away.

  She stopped cold. “I’m good right here. What’s going on?”

  Roy’s lips moved as he talked, but his words made little sense, and his promises to make this up to her seemed like a foreign language spoken by a stranger. Everything around her seemed to be happening in slow motion.

  She stared into his eyes. “I…I don’t understand.”

  “I’m so sorry, Jem.”

  “All of our savings is gone? How?”

  Before he could answer, an electronic popping crackled through the air. A man holding a microphone spoke. “Testing. Testing. Okay, it’s working. The auction will begin in five minutes. If you haven’t…”

  His voice faded, drowned out by the noise inside Jemima’s head. Her blood pounded. She paced while fisting her hands and then opening them wide over and over. “How is this possible?” She stopped abruptly, studying his face. “How, Roy?”

  “I haven’t handled much of anything right since the accident. That’s how. It’s my fault, every bit of it.”

  “Are you saying all forty thousand was used for medical bills?” she screeched, and the moment the words left her mouth, she regretted it.

  He didn’t answer.

  He carried a lot of guilt for the accident even though it wasn’t his fault. The road had signs for Englisch drivers, warning that they shared the road with slower-moving horse-drawn carriages. The driver who hit her husband and oldest child had passed such a warning sign a hundred feet before running into them. Still, her husband’s guilt persisted. Now she stood here adding to it.

  Thoughts of how much he’d changed this past year tugged at her compassion. Laura had remained in the hospital for a month after the accident, and Roy stayed with her every night and continued to work seven days a week—doing as little farm work as possible on Sundays. When Laura was released, Roy took Jemima and all three children to her Mamm’s place, which was an hour from the horse farm. He stayed home and muddled through his pain and trauma without any aid from his wife, trying to keep as much stress off her as possible. When money and time allowed, he hired a driver and visited Jemima at her Mamm’s, sometimes for only a few hours, sometimes for a night or two.

  Her husband had put everyone ahead of himself, and they’d survived. Her blood pressure had returned to normal. Simeon was born healthy, and it seemed to her as if Roy might keel over from relief. He sat in the rocker beside her bed, and whenever Simeon wasn’t nursing, Roy held him, unable to take his eyes off their healthy son.

  She wiped the cold sweat off her forehead. She was sweating in February? “Why are you just now telling me about this?” She knew she sounded accusing, but she couldn’t find any other tone.

  Again her husband’s eyes didn’t meet hers, but that didn’t hide the embarrassment etched on his face. “I thought I had everything worked out with the bank.”

  Something didn’t add up. It just didn’t. They’d had a lot of bills from the accident, and she hadn’t kept up with them. She’d left them unopened and put them in the stack of mail for Roy to take care of. But their family was one of the few Amish who had medical insurance. And the man who ran into Roy and Laura had insurance. So why had Roy needed to empty their earmarked savings?

  “Look, I know you’re disappointed about how busy I’ve been lately and about our finances, but I’ll make it up to you, Jem. I promise.”

  Her heart clenched. Her husband and daughter had survived. None of them were the same, but they were together.

  Her anger drained. “You’re doing your best. I know that.” Tears choked her, and she hugged him.

  Roy held her tight as if trying to save her—or maybe him—from drowning.

  Five

  “Geh langsam and schtamdhaft. Langsam and schtamdhaft.” Chris encouraged the last of the twelve horses to go slow and steady as he guided the animal to back down the ramp of the trailer. The driver of the truck and horse trailer shut the doors and lifted the ramp. He waved and then left as Chris led the horse to a pasture and closed the livestock gate. Roy was in a nearby corral, trying to calm a new horse. The new horses were placed in separate corrals in groups of three. If the farm had more corrals, they wouldn’t have put any of the horses together until they settled down and acclimated. As it was, even in groups of three, the horses had to be monitored closely for the next few days. Roy and Chris needed to be ready to single out the domineering ones so they wouldn’t bite or kick other horses. Roy had put his prized stallions, Lucky and Thunder, in the stables before the new string arrived, aiming to keep them calm during this transition. If they got flighty or combative, people and horses could be injured. Based on the way Roy looked after Lucky and Thunder, Chris was sure they were more valuable to this farm than all the new horses combined.

  Chris climbed the split-rail fence and took in the sight: thoroughbred, standardbred, and American saddlebred stallions, geldings, and mares, but no colts or fillies.

  The string of horses that were here before the new arrivals were in a nearby pasture, some running back and forth at the fence line, others jerking their heads in frustrated excitement and maybe in a desire to get at and run off the new horses or at least set the hierarchy straight.

  A thoroughbred stallion reared up, punching his hooves uncomfortably close to a smaller stallion. Chris hopped off the fence and yelled long and loud to get the thoroughbred’s attention. Then he calmed his voice and talked softly as he approached. This one needed to be isolated for a spell.

  It would take days, maybe weeks, to establish trust and get the horses in a routine so that Roy and he could begin training them. How had Roy intended to handle all this on his own? Maybe he’d had a backup plan Chris didn’t know about. It wasn’t as if they’d talked much since Roy and Jemima returned empty handed from the food-truck auction.

  “Roy?” Abigail sounded agitated again, but he couldn’t see her. Apparently school had let out for the day.

  He’d been snared two days ago when he first saw Abigail. Music seemed to ring in his ears,
and a voice inside him whispered words he couldn’t quite make out.

  It had felt like a spiritual experience, as if God Himself was behind him, shoving until Chris landed here. Their outing to the cave had been beyond great, and the fun continued as they spent most of Saturday working side by side. Ya, he’d been caught in rare but full-on attraction.

  Then around five o’clock Saturday evening, Roy had come out of the house, looking for her. They walked away to somewhere more private, but as Chris continued feeding the horses and giving them fresh water, he heard her yelling, “You did what? Why would you do that? Who does that?” Those were familiar browbeating phrases that Chris hated. At that point, he couldn’t resist moving a few steps so he could see her, and she had her finger in Roy’s face, telling him he needed to get help—another phrase Chris had heard and hated with all that was in him. In his experience the person screaming those words was the one who needed help. She’d stormed off and returned to the stables, barely speaking to Chris as she slung objects and mumbled the word men a lot.

  That was familiar behavior, too familiar, and he would never again allow that kind of woman in his life. Besides that, his life was too odd and messy for even a good-tempered woman to deal with.

  Why would the only woman he’d been attracted to since being engaged seven years ago also have fits of rage? That said something about him, didn’t it? But he’d spotted the red flags in less than a day this time. Still, his attraction to her was disturbing. Why had it felt so right, so very God inspired, when he saw her? Maybe he’d been lonely and hadn’t realized it. All the whys aside, he needed to take some steps back and not give off any more vibes of being interested in her.

  Abigail came around the corner. “Roy?” Her voice was louder this time.

  “He was in paddock six last I saw him.”

  She smiled. “You’re in six.”

  “Oh, then he’s in one.”

  “Who’s on first?”

  Her mood was definitely lighter now than it had been since Saturday evening. And he knew the comedic routine she was referring to, but he resisted the urge to banter with her. “Paddock one,” he repeated.

  She paused, tilting her head slightly. “Everything okay?”

  He hadn’t expected her to be so direct, but he probably should have. “Maybe we moved a little too fast.”

  “Too fast?” Her expression hid nothing as inquisitiveness mixed with disbelief. “We’ve not had a date or a kiss.”

  “It’s me, I think.”

  She studied him, clearly waiting for him to give a reasonable explanation. If she wanted him to be blunt, he had no problem with that.

  “Look, I’m not comfortable with any woman who loses her temper like you did with Roy on Saturday.”

  She blinked, obviously disappointed. “But maybe I was in the right and he deserved it.”

  “Maybe so. Still…” He shrugged.

  She stood firm, staring at him as if she might argue back, but then she sighed. “Okay.” She elongated the word. “Not a problem. Denki for your honesty.” She started to walk off and then paused. “Listen, the standardbred five-year-old bay, Houdini, seems to be acting strange. His hind legs seem a little wobbly and he looks lethargic, although I only caught a glimpse of him, so I could be completely wrong. Have you noticed anything unusual?”

  That was it? She was as willing to let go of him as he was of her?

  “Nee, but our hands have been full with the new string.”

  “Ya. Denki.” She walked off and disappeared behind the array of horses and corrals.

  Maybe he’d been wrong about her. Stop. He wouldn’t second-guess himself. People who were endearing at first and yet given to fits of rage knew how to control themselves when it suited them. He knew that.

  The next few hours passed quickly as they walked among the horses, feeding them from their hands, talking to and grooming them, giving those who would allow it a sense of safety. That was the first step in building trust.

  As the horses settled, it was easier to see Roy and Abigail as they worked. Abigail had taken Houdini to the stables a couple of hours ago, and then she tended to the established herd. As she worked with ease despite the horses’ skittish and surly moods, she didn’t seem unreasonable or cantankerous. But that’s how those with hidden rage hooked unsuspecting people. They seemed normal but then flew into fits of rage and lied for no sound reasons. It seemed rather rare for women to fit that mold, but apparently he was good at finding them and being instantly attracted to them.

  Chris and Roy each had a horse by the harness in adjoining corrals, soothing them. Chris had received a few texts today from his brothers, but Roy’s phone seemed to be blowing up with texts.

  Abigail came out of the stable. “Houdini needs to be seen.”

  “What?” Roy’s eyes grew large, as if he was about to panic.

  “His fever is 102.5, and I’ve called the vet, but he’s fifty miles out with several other farms to go to. He said he might be able to get here today, but it’s more likely he won’t arrive until around noon tomorrow.”

  Roy left the corral and confronted his sister. “You called the vet?”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.” Chris slowly went toward them, hoping for Roy’s sake to de-escalate any impending argument, since Roy had seemed to come out on the short end of Saturday’s discussion. Chris remembered all too well similar scenes with his fiancée. “It’s probably a cold. Maybe a flu at the worst.”

  “Ya, and I’m hoping for that.” Abigail tightened the black wool scarf around her neck and dusted her leather-gloved hands against each other. “But we can’t take any chances. We need to isolate him and disinfect his stall and everything in it just to be on the safe side.”

  What she was hinting at was every horse owner’s worse nightmare: the dreaded EHV-1. There were a lot of types of EHV, but type one was deadly, and it spread like wildfire through direct and indirect contact.

  “Houdini has a fever and is lethargic. All we need to do is keep an eye on him for a few days,” Chris said. “You checked Lady Belle’s fever half a dozen times on Saturday, and she clearly has only a cold.”

  Abigail angled her head. “Could you drop the accusatory tone, please? It’s not as if I’m making up symptoms just to create work. Houdini is dribbling urine, and he seems to be struggling with his balance.”

  “The phrase ‘seems to be struggling’ is key here. We watch and wait,” Chris said.

  She stepped closer, her brown eyes boring into him. “Your statement didn’t sound like a suggestion, Chris. Look, you and I are frustrated with each other right now, but let’s not allow that to spill over into this. This is about the horses, and my opinion counts.” She turned to Roy. “We can’t take any chances. Once the vet does the test, it could take as long as three days to get the results. If it’s EHV-1, we’ve got to put distance between all the horses and start disinfecting everything, including our hands every few minutes.”

  “You know the chance that you’re wrong is really high.” Chris couldn’t see jumping through hoops just because she felt something needed to be done. Hadn’t he done that enough in the past to last a lifetime?

  “That’s true, but worst-case scenario, we work our fingers to the bone round the clock for a few days for no good reason. However, if I’m right, we will have done everything possible to keep the virus from wiping out the entire string days before we receive confirmation of a diagnosis.”

  Heat ran through Chris, but was he angry with Abigail or with his ex-fiancée? “There’s no time for all that.”

  “We’ll be better at making time now than we’ll be at replacing a string of horses weeks down the road.”

  “Okay. Enough.” Roy held a hand out, palm up, to each of them. “We’ll split the difference. Lucky and Thunder are already isolated. I disinfected everything of theirs earlier today.
Quarantine Houdini. Go ahead and separate Pippi for your peace of mind, Abigail. But we don’t take the time to do anything else special for the older string until the vet gives us his opinion. If he believes it may be EHV-1, we’ll do as you want before getting the test results. Until then, we keep working with the new string.”

  Six

  Jemima’s body felt too heavy for her to remain standing, and her heart physically ached. Fog had taken over her mind, but she was in the kitchen, fulfilling her duties. She lifted the lid from the large pot and stirred the chicken tortilla soup. The aromas of the chicken and vegetables simmering with the cumin, garlic, and chili powder helped her feel grounded, as if doing a chore brought an ounce of normalcy to her world regardless of what was going on inside her. Earlier today while Laura was at school and the boys were down for their naps, Carolyn helped wash the vegetables and add spices. Somehow the familiar routine put salve on Jemima’s raw emotions.

  She’d been sorting through her thoughts and feelings for two days. Maybe if yesterday hadn’t been a between-Sunday for Mirth Amish with no church service, the preachers would’ve shared a helpful insight and she would’ve gotten her thoughts and attitude in the right place. What nagged at her the most was a sense of betrayal she couldn’t shake. Had Roy’s act of emptying the account without telling her been disloyal? It’d been a hard hit. That was for sure. Why had he kept it a secret from her?

  As bad as that was, it only added to the deeper concern. No matter where her thoughts and emotions dragged her, she couldn’t shake this one thing: Roy wasn’t himself. He hadn’t been for quite a while.

  She checked the time. Almost seven. What? She looked outside, and blackness greeted her. She’d had no idea it was that late. Anytime horses arrived on the farm, it was a day of monumental tasks: calming them, cleaning them, fitting the ones that needed new shoes. Roy, Chris, and Abigail had to be swamped. Maybe she should take dinner out to them instead of waiting here in the house.