Abigail's New Hope (The Wayne County Series)

by Mary Ellis

  “Aren’t there people to help with that sort of thing? I saw an ad in an English newspaper about loans against farm equity.”

  “That’s Daniel and Abby’s business, little sister. Don’t go sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong—it might get bit off.” He started down the steps with Catherine on his heels.

  “She’s my schwester and I’d bet she’s suffering in that cell. I’d say that makes it my business.”

  James stopped short. He turned around so fast she bumped into him. His facial expression needed no words of explanation.

  “At least it’s somewhat my business.” She backed up two paces.

  “Remember that I warned you, Catherine. But you’ll probably listen the same way you heeded my warnings about the honeybee hive and the pond’s thin ice. Just keep our neighbor’s phone number handy, and I’ll come get you—missing a nose and all.” He strode toward his buggy with a broad grin.

  She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Both of those incidents were more than ten years ago,” she called.

  “Tigers and willful sisters seldom change their stripes.” With a wave of his hand, James left for home, leaving Catherine in the dusty driveway. She glanced toward the barn—still no sign of her brother-in-law—and then she looked at the house. Her niece was peeking from behind the kitchen curtain again. Catherine walked back to the house to chickens that needed frying and a niece and nephew who required reassurance. But a tiny seed of unease took root in her heart and began to grow.

  Five

  Daniel Graber had always been content with his life. The Lord had blessed him with a good wife, healthy children, and acres of productive land to farm. He grew most of the food they ate, raised dairy and beef cattle, and owned good-laying hens. For water he had a deep well, a spring-fed pond stocked with trout, and access to a fast-flowing river for summertime dips. He loved his wife. She had never given him one sleepless night in ten years of marriage. Now, through a misjudgment on her part, a misstep that broke an English law, she was locked in a jail cell instead of being home where she belonged.

  Why would an English judge require half a million dollars to make certain Abigail would appear in his courtroom? If he asked her to come back another day to state what happened at the Fisher farm, she would show up—not that she hadn’t already explained the events several times to the EMTs, the sheriff, the coroner, Dr. Weller, and to her court-appointed attorney. Did Englischers who ran afoul of the law pay such sums to the court? He couldn’t fathom it. Abby’s fancy-dressed lawyer had stopped over to explain the bondman’s business, and it smacked of money-changing in the temple in Daniel’s estimation. Plain folk didn’t put up titles to their farms to strangers in exchange for a guarantee that a man would appear in court, except that this person was a woman—and his wife, no less.

  In all his life, Daniel could count on one hand the number of Amish folk who had ever been arrested. And the crimes committed had usually been for rumschpringe pranks of mischief.

  Never a woman and certainly not the daughter of a bishop.

  Each time he thought about the situation, he was filled with shame and anger. If that newcomer Nathan Fisher had called for an ambulance the way he should have, Abby wouldn’t be sitting in jail for doing nothing other than delivering a baby. Tomorrow, the bishop would visit with the other ministerial brethren to discuss what should be done. They would know how to get Abby back home where she belonged.

  With tired muscles and a weary spirit, Daniel finished feeding the livestock and washed up in the former pump house. The old copper bathtub still leaned against the wall—a nostalgic reminder of Saturday night baths before the days of indoor plumbing and propane hot water tanks. His grossmammi used to heat kettles of water on the wood-fired stove and then scent the steaming tub with bayberries and cloves. Now they showered with soap-on-a-rope, and their Plain lifestyles had grown easier but not simpler.

  When Daniel entered the house, he found Laura and Jake already seated at the table. His sister-in-law was pulling a fry pan from the oven with giant mitts. “Gut nacht, Catherine,” he mumbled, hanging his hat on a peg. He ruffled the downy blond hair of his son and pulled one of his daughter’s kapp strings.

  “Good evening to you, Daniel. I was about ready to look for you. Laura said you liked to eat earlier than this, and everything has been finished for an hour.”

  “I must finish chores before settling down to a meal.” He cast her an appraising glance. Was she scolding him on her first day in his home? Catherine was younger, smaller, and more opinionated than Abigail. It didn’t surprise him that no man was seriously courting her. Besides an ornery temperament, her dark hair was drab, whereas Abby’s auburn mane was as fiery as an autumn sunset. And Catherine’s eyes were a watery shade of blue instead of the rich sapphire of his wife’s.

  “I said shall I scoop some noodles for you?” She hovered next to his chair with Abby’s favorite ceramic bowl in hand.

  “Jah, give me a spoonful.” He speared two pieces of chicken from the platter and then placed a drumstick on each of the kinner’s plates. “Abby doesn’t use that bowl for everyday. She saves it for good.”

  Catherine served noodles to his children and then sat down in his wife’s chair. “Why not? Using a bowl won’t wear it out like table linens or bed sheets.” She looked genuinely perplexed.

  “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask your sister that question.” He bit into a chicken breast. The breading was greasy yet the meat tasted dry. “Is there nothing to drink with this meal? Some cold milk or iced tea?”

  “Sure, I’ll get the milk, but I didn’t make any tea. No one told me you favored it over milk or water.”

  “I don’t particularly favor one over the other. Abigail sets both on the table and lets me decide.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Catherine took four glasses from the cupboard and the pitcher of milk from the refrigerator.

  “The young ones use plastic cups, not glass.” Daniel watched her while trying to swallow the dry meat.

  Her shoulders stiffened as she filled two glasses with milk and returned to the cupboard for another selection. “Will these red, white, and blue ones suffice or are there particular plastic cups I should learn about?”

  Daniel glanced up to see if she was teasing him. She appeared earnest while waiting for his reply. “The stars-and-stripes will do fine.”

  She poured the milk and then sat down to her own dinner. She’d taken small helpings compared to Abby’s.

  “What did you put in this salad?” he asked.

  A smile bloomed across Catherine’s face. “I found some cooked bacon strips in the fridge. So I crumbled them up and tossed it in with the spinach. That’s how they fix spinach salad in fancy restaurants. The only difference is that I didn’t see any mushrooms, but I did mix up a fresh garlic-and-buttermilk dressing.”

  “We seldom have mushrooms on hand because we don’t have a cave on the farm.” After a moment, a thought occurred to him. “Is this the bacon from the green Tupperware container? I was saving that for bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches for tomorrow’s lunch.”

  “Oh, my. I’m sorry, Daniel. I’ll fry some extra bacon tomorrow at breakfast. And pick another tomato if any more are ripe.” Her focus fell on the chopped tomato ringing the edge of the salad bowl.

  “All the rest are still green,” Daniel whined. He wasn’t sure why he was making a big deal out of a vegetable, but he didn’t like the way Abby’s sister had just taken over his kitchen.

  Catherine set down her fork and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “You don’t have a problem with Abby inviting me to stay here, do you?”

  “No. I’m grateful you are here. Jake and Laura need someone to look after them while I work the fields. And I don’t have time to wash clothes and cook meals along with the farm chores, even if I knew how.” He glanced at his daughter. Laura was listening to their conversation with great interest. “I didn’t mean to sound like you’re not welcome, Catherine, b
ecause you are.”

  “Danki for that. I’m happy to help out until Abby returns.” She looked directly at Laura. “But I must admit, I’m rather poor at reading folks’ minds. So if you will leave notes on what you don’t want touched, I’d be much obliged.” She smiled, displaying a mouthful of gloriously white teeth.

  Daniel decided to let the matter drop. It was only day one with their houseguest. As he had no idea how long this arrangement would last, it would be better to not get off on the wrong foot over bacon strips and ripe tomatoes. He ate everything on his plate, including a second helping of buttered noodles so there would be no hard feelings. Women loved to see clean plates.

  While Catherine scraped dishes into the slop bucket, Daniel fixed another plate from the leftovers and poured milk into a travel mug. She eyed him nervously. “You’re eating more, brother? I wouldn’t have started clearing the table if you weren’t finished.”

  “No, I’m done. I’m fixing this plate for my cousin.” He dumped the rest of the noodles onto the plate and poured her spinach concoction into a small bowl.

  “Your cousin? Is he here?” She drew back the curtain and peered out the window toward the driveway.

  “He lives out back in a cabin by the river. You can’t see his place from the house. The barn, orchard, and woods block the view.”

  Catherine approached, wiping her hands on her apron. “Why didn’t he come up for supper? I would have set another plate.”

  Daniel gritted his teeth. Hopefully, every Graber family custom won’t be brought up for discussion and review. “He likes keeping to himself. He usually takes his meals on the back porch, but if he spotted you in the yard earlier today, he’ll stay away until full dark.”

  Following her perplexed expression, he added, “He’s shy, that’s all. He doesn’t like strangers.” Daniel tucked silverware and a napkin into his back pocket. “It’s nothing for you to be concerned about. Besides, this is the time Abby gets the kinner into the bathtub.”

  He forced a pleasant smile, snapped a lid on the travel mug, and headed outside before the next round of questions. He knew that telling Catherine to pay something no mind was like telling a thirsty man to ignore an oasis, but because she was Abby’s sister and was doing them a favor, he would try to overlook her constant questions. Daniel had grown accustomed to his wife’s quieter nature, which didn’t have the need to rehash everything to death.

  As he walked the well-worn path around the barn and through the orchard toward the river, he knew much of his dissatisfaction was with himself. The look on Abby’s face when they had led her from the courtroom had nearly broken his heart. He didn’t understand what she had done to be charged with a felony. The authorities generally ignored midwifery that was confined to the Amish community. How could they charge her with practicing medicine without a license? That was absurd. Did the fact that Mrs. Fisher had died change the situation? Surely they wouldn’t keep Abby locked up until the trial…that could be months from now. His tenderhearted wife wouldn’t last among worldly, hardened criminals. If he had to mortgage his farm to bring her home, then so be it. But her daed, their bishop, would have an opinion in the matter.

  The slanted rays of the setting sun reflected off Isaiah’s cabin as Daniel rounded the last bend in the path. Early settlers in Wayne County had cleared this patch of land on the bank of the Tuscarawas River and constructed a crude cabin. After his cousin had come to live with them and discovered the ramshackle shack, he had seen possibilities among the cobwebs and entwining grapevines. Isaiah had laid hardwood planking over the original dirt floor and installed double-paned windows purchased from a resale shop. He’d added a wood-burning stove bought at auction for cooking and winter warmth. Cool breezes through the pinewoods stretching high into the hills kept even the hottest July days bearable. His reclusive cousin had dug his own well, built a flagstone fireplace into one wall, and replaced the rotted roof with steel sheeting from the salvage yard. Then he’d crawled onto the roof and painted the metal dark green to blend in with the forest. The bishop probably wouldn’t approve of so fancy a roof, but Isaiah loved the fact that it would last forever.

  Daniel knew his practical cousin wasn’t half as simpleminded as folks thought him to be.

  “Isaiah?” he called at the clearing, but he heard only the faint rush of the river and birds high overhead. Then Daniel saw his cousin round the back corner of his cabin carrying an armful of firewood. His constant companion, a large yellow dog, loped by his side. Isaiah’s thick, straight hair was combed back from his tanned face and, as usual, his hat was nowhere in sight. With bare feet and his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, he looked more like a Native American from schoolhouse storybooks than an Amish fellow. But he didn’t need to conform exactly to the Plain style of dress because weeks would pass without his seeing anybody other than family members.

  He added his load to the neat stack near the front door for his old-fashioned stove. He had no use for the propane Daniel and Abby used at the main house. “Hullo,” Isaiah called with a grin. Daniel was one of the few people the younger man ever tried to communicate with.

  “You didn’t come up to the porch for supper,” said Daniel, “so I brought it to you.” He held up the food containers and travel mug.

  Isaiah sprinted to the pump to wash while Daniel set out his meal in the outdoor dining room—a rough-hewn picnic table and two handmade benches under the slanted porch roof. Isaiah dried his hands on a gingham towel that hung from a tree branch and slipped onto a bench, graceful as a cat. He could sneak up on a deer and pull her white tail, he moved so silently.

  While he bowed his head, Daniel pulled the plastic wrap from the plate. “Sorry about the dried out meal,” he said. “Abby isn’t home. Her younger sister cooked this, but the buttered noodles aren’t too bad.”

  Isaiah glanced up quizzically while biting into a piece of chicken.

  For some reason, Daniel prattled on whenever he was in his cousin’s company, knowing full well the man couldn’t hear and didn’t understand a word he said. Yet he seemed happier when folks spoke to him—grinning and nodding his head—so Daniel talked whenever they were alone. Isaiah grunted a sound that meant pleasure, so apparently Catherine’s cooking didn’t fall short of the mark for him.

  Daniel patted Isaiah’s strong shoulder with affection. “No need to hurry.” He made a slow, undulating motion with his hand. “Bring the dishes up to the house tomorrow.” He touched the plate, bowl, and cup, pointed in the direction of his house, and then toward the sky and made a forward rolling motion that both men took to mean “tomorrow.” They had devised a similar backward movement to indicate “yesterday.” Over the years Daniel and Isaiah had developed their own simple form of communication.

  When Isaiah nodded in understanding, Daniel slapped his shoulder once more and started for home. As darkness fell around him, he paused a moment to pray for guidance. With Abby gone, he felt like a boat adrift without anchor or paddle. Now more than ever, he needed to stay strong for the people living here who depended on him.

  Catherine watched from the kitchen window as Daniel sauntered off, carrying supper to his mysterious cousin. Shy Amish people might not talk much at meals, but she’d never known any to hide from folks, especially not from their own family. While she washed dishes, wiped down countertops, and swept the floor, her mind invented half a dozen reasons for someone turning into a hermit.

  Had he broken the Ordnung so grievously that the district had cast him out? District members could not take meals, conduct business, or socialize with those who had been shunned, but they could provide food, shelter, and basic necessities. Is that what Daniel is doing—providing subsistence to someone who has been shunned? By the time she had finished cleaning the kitchen, no other explanation seemed logical.

  “Laura, Jake, come take a bath,” she called from the doorway to the front room. “Your daed said it’s time. Laura, you put the toys away in the box while your bruder bathes first.”


  Jake scampered to his feet, carrying a yellow rubber toy.

  “Mamm lets him bring Ducky in the tub,” said Laura, looking pensive.

  “Then Ducky can come for a scrubbing too.” Catherine took the boy’s hand, feeling a measure of relief as Laura began tidying the room without a word of argument. Maybe the kinner would adjust to her presence quicker than their father.

  After Jake was bathed, dressed in his sleep shirt, and headed up the steps with an equally clean duck, Catherine called Laura for her turn in the bathtub. Daniel hadn’t returned from his delivery yet. While the girl splashed around in the bubbles for a few minutes, Catherine started the kettle for tea, watching the back door for his arrival. Fifteen minutes later, her niece padded out in a fresh nightgown and sopping wet hair. Catherine left her window-side vigil to towel dry Laura’s waist length tresses and brush out the tangles.

  “Tell me, niece, how old is your cousin who lives out behind the barn?”

  The child shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know.”

  “Is he young like you, old like me, or somewhere in between?”

  Laura looked up at her and considered. “He’s old like you, but not old like daed.”

  “Hmm, that’s interesting. Do you know his name?” She glanced into the back hallway.

  Laura giggled. “Of course I know his name. It’s Isaiah.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever met him,” Catherine said softly, working her fingers patiently through a nasty snarl.

  The girl lifted and then dropped her shoulders.

  “I wonder why he doesn’t come to preaching services or why I’ve never met him at any social occasion. I don’t think my sister has ever spoken about a cousin living at her farm.” With care, she plied the brush through another tangle, not wishing to cause pain on her first day.

  “Abby doesn’t talk about him because there’s not much to say… unless a person is interested in gossip.” Daniel leaned on the door-frame of the back hallway. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he wasn’t smiling.