“Gut night, sweet Loretta,” he murmured as he held her close. “There’s no church tomorrow, so you and Rosalyn and your dat are having dinner at Asa’s, jah?”
“That’s the plan. What can I bring for the meal?” she asked. “What are you hungry for?”
Drew yearned to answer honestly, but he merely smiled. “Whatever you can easily put together tonight, as I’ve kept you out late. Anything you bring will be my favorite.”
Loretta smiled. “I’ll bake a batch of cookies, and we have a fresh gallon of cherry chip ice cream in the freezer.”
“Doesn’t get any better than that.”
Life doesn’t get any better than this, Drew thought as he pulled up to the house and helped Loretta from the rig. May it always be so, Lord.
Chapter Nineteen
From her lawn chair on the deck of Wyatt’s deluxe double-wide trailer, Rebecca had a fabulous view of the barn raising that was just getting underway. It was early Friday morning, September 16. Amos and Owen Coblentz had arrived, along with several Amish workmen and wagonloads of lumber and building supplies. Several men from Willow Ridge were showing up to assist them as well.
“This will be an amazing day,” Rebecca said, shading her eyes with her hand. “By sundown, you’ll have a barn where there’s only a concrete foundation now.”
Wyatt smiled, grasping her hand. “I hope you’re not disappointed that I didn’t publicize this event,” he said. “I thought the carpenters should have a day of working without spectators who might get in their way.”
“You’re probably right,” she admitted. “I’ve heard of farmers who brought in a lunch wagon and sold concessions to the crowd—made quite an event of it. But this way it’s a work in progress that won’t turn into a circus.”
“And instead of lunch wagon food, we’ll all be going to the Grill N Skillet for our lunch break,” Wyatt said with a nod. “Your mother has also organized some of the ladies in town to bring in refreshments around nine thirty and again at three this afternoon. The congeniality—the sense of community purpose in Willow Ridge—astounds me.”
Rebecca smiled proudly. Wyatt had always been a gracious man, appreciative of good craftsmanship, and he’d come a long way in understanding the Amish mind-set over the past month as well.
“For these folks, the only thing more important than family and friends is a sincere love of God,” she said softly. “While the English world spins faster and faster, tethered to technology and microscopic computer chips, the Amish have maintained their people-oriented priorities.”
“The two cultures are worlds apart, yet they coexist pretty well.” Wyatt rose from his lawn chair, waving his hand high above his head. “Amos wants to go over some blueprint details with me and the carpenters before they begin. Come along, if you want.”
Rebecca smiled. It felt good to be included in his grand plans. “You go ahead, and I’ll catch up. Amos and Owen prefer to deal with men—and once the structure begins to take shape, I’ll snap some photos from a respectful distance.”
Wyatt’s smile lit up his alluring eyes. “You’ve got a thing for muscular men wearing tool belts, don’t you?” he teased. “I suspect I’ll see several shots of Amish masculinity among the photos you take today.”
Rebecca laughed out loud. “Maybe you should buckle on a tool belt and find out,” she shot back. “Believe me, all these guys will remain fully clothed, even in the heat of the afternoon.”
The sound of heavy hoofbeats made her look toward the road that ran in front of Nora’s shop. “Here comes the wagon with the big watercoolers. Those black Percherons pulling it belong to the Detweiler brothers.”
“Fine-looking horses, too,” Wyatt remarked. He watched more closely as the wagon turned to cross the mill’s parking lot, approaching them. “Looks like Savilla Witmer’s riding along—most likely delivering our first round of refreshments a bit early. We certainly won’t go hungry today.”
He gazed at Rebecca, making her insides quiver. “But then, some hunger goes far beyond food, dear heart. I’ll catch up with you later.”
Wyatt turned with the graceful ease of a man accustomed to handling high-dollar horses in a show ring while dressed in a suit and tie. His Western-cut shirt hugged his broad shoulders and tapered into the trim waist of jeans that accentuated his long legs.
Rebecca smiled. She hadn’t yet seen an angle of him that didn’t appeal to her.
As though Wyatt sensed she was watching, he turned and blew her a kiss—right in front of all the men gathering to build one of his barns. She’d learned over these past few weeks that spending time with an older man had a lot of advantages, one of them being that he treated her like a queen. As Wyatt approached the bearded Amish men in their straw hats, short-sleeved plain-colored shirts, and broadfall trousers, he was welcomed with hearty voices and wide smiles.
Wyatt shook hands all around, looking each man in the eye and taking the time to greet him and call him by name. Rebecca watched with a deep pleasure as the Detweiler brothers, the Hooley brothers, the Brenneman brothers, the Wagler brothers, Will Gingerich, and Bishop Tom gathered around Wyatt, Amos Coblentz, and his crew for a few words about their building strategy.
Rebecca raised her camera to her eye, steadied the large lens with her left hand, and found the shutter button with her finger. She stood absolutely still, poised to shoot a series of images, a study of male faces intent on their purpose. Wyatt’s deep blond hair and pale blue shirt stood out in contrast to the black straw hats and darker Amish clothing around him—and in truth, he didn’t need a tool belt to appear manly. Swinging a hammer wasn’t his forté, and he was comfortable admitting it.
Rebecca took a few shots of the water wagon, as well as one of Savilla sitting on the back edge of it, dangling her sneakered feet. In her goldenrod dress with a white apron and a pleated white kapp covering her black hair, she looked as fresh and pretty as a daisy—and apparently Will thought so, too, because he sauntered over to see what was in her covered containers.
They make a handsome couple, Rebecca thought as she focused on them. Or maybe she had romance on her mind—because when she instinctively shifted her camera back to the crowd of men, she found Wyatt gazing at her. Her knees turned to jelly as she shot a rapid succession of photos that were more for her to gaze at than for his website.
When she zoomed in on his face, the intensity of his eyes told her things he hadn’t said with words. Rebecca found herself yearning for his touch, his kiss, and as she lowered her camera, she sensed it would be a day to record images that would touch her heart forever.
* * *
By the time the construction crew was walking down the hill to the Grill N Skillet for their noon meal, Wyatt was amazed at the progress the men had made. The lumber skeleton of a barn, complete with roof trusses and ceiling beams, rose into the sky as a testament to their teamwork—their ability to follow Amos Coblentz’s plan without anyone second-guessing him or insisting that he had better ideas.
Wyatt was tickled that Amos had put him to work—unskilled laborer that he was—and he’d gladly fetched boxes of heavy screws and replaced batteries in the men’s drills. Wyatt stood in awe of the way they charged their batteries using a car battery and an adapter and the way they put together an entire wall of studs and trusses on the ground before raising it into place with a pair of horses and a pulley system. Rebecca had been right: an Amish barn raising was poetry in motion, as efficient and graceful as a choreographed dance.
Wyatt found Rebecca waiting for him in front of his temporary house, her ball cap and jean shorts setting her apart from the crowd—yet at midmorning, she’d served cold water, lemonade, and cinnamon rolls alongside Savilla and Nora with the same comfortable ease with which she handled her camera.
“What a morning!” Wyatt crowed as he slipped his arm around her shoulders. “Can you believe how much those men accomplished?”
“Told you so,” Rebecca teased as they walked between the mill and the
Simple Gifts shop. “Turn around and look at it from here.”
When Wyatt pivoted, a shimmer of awe coursed through him. “Wow,” he murmured. “This will be a barn to outshine all the barns I’ve had built before. Even before the walls and roof are finished, I can see it’s going to be magnificent.”
“Just like the man who owns it,” Rebecca said softly. “Got some great shots for your website—and for my own gratification.”
Wyatt chuckled as heat rose from under his shirt collar. In many ways Rebecca was still as skittish as a filly around him, yet her words resonated in his soul—and there was no arguing about the quality of her photography or her design expertise. As he grasped her small hand and they continued toward the Grill N Skillet, he sensed that she’d never given herself physically or emotionally to a man. He believed patience and persistence would pay off as he tried to win her.
“After smelling Josiah’s grills all morning, I’m ready to chow down on a lot of fine eats,” Luke remarked as he reached the café’s door and held it open.
“First thing I plan to do is drink a pitcher of iced tea,” Ben said as he removed his straw hat to step inside. “We’re all grateful to Bishop Tom for allowing the Witmers to air-condition their restaurant.”
“Hear, hear!” Asa called out. “And we’re grateful to Wyatt for feeding us in fine style.”
“Sure beats sitting outside, even in the shade,” Owen Coblentz agreed as he wiped his forehead on his shirtsleeve. “Local gals always provide gut food at our construction sites, but they can’t cool us off in this heat. Feels like we’re at the peak of Indian summer, hot as it is for September.”
“Happy to make you men comfortable during your break,” Wyatt said as he entered the café behind Rebecca. “Josiah’s set aside the back dining room for us, and you’re to fill as many plates at the buffet as you care to.”
It was a sight to watch the crew of men heading toward the back of the restaurant, hanging their straw hats on wall pegs as they entered the room or headed toward the restroom. The savory aromas of grilled beef and pork mingled with the sweeter scents of cornbread, muffins, and the array of vegetables on the steam table. Pitchers of ice water and iced tea sat in the centers of the tables, which were built in a sturdy, rustic style that matched the simplicity of the building’s interior.
Savilla came in from the kitchen rolling a cart of desserts. “We made these special for you fellows,” she called out as the men eyed her pies, cakes, and platters of cookies. “I’ll take whatever’s left over, plus fresh pastries, to the work site for your afternoon break.”
“You really think we’ll have any left over?” Seth Brenneman teased.
The men’s congenial laughter filled the room. As they headed for the buffet line, many of them shook Wyatt’s hand and thanked him personally for providing them such a fine meal.
“I want you to come back to build the second barn—and stables and a house, eventually,” Wyatt pointed out. “If there’s anything more I can do for you, just let me know.”
“I should be able to come back next week to get that second barn raised,” Amos said. “All depends on the weather, of course, but I’ve blocked out some time on my calendar so your livestock buildings should all be completed by mid-October. I know you’d like to get your horses delivered and get your business up and running.”
“I appreciate your doing that for me,” Wyatt said with a nod. He smiled at Amos, admiring his sturdy, compact build and brown eyes that sparkled in a tanned, lined face framed by black hair and a beard shot with a little silver. “Rebecca has told me you and Owen are the best builders around, and she’s absolutely right.”
Amos chuckled. “Our women are usually right, ain’t so?” he teased as he smiled at her. “Owen’s been hounding me to get a website, even though word of mouth has kept us busy and fed since before he was born. I’ll let you know if he talks me into it, Rebecca.”
“Fair enough,” she said. “Most Amish men can say the same thing, and you should do what you’re comfortable with—and what your bishop allows.”
“Bishop Vernon and your Bishop Tom go way back,” Owen put in as he joined them. “I don’t think it’ll be a problem to get his permission—but Dat has a point. Doesn’t make sense to advertise for work you don’t have time to do right.”
As he followed Rebecca through the buffet line, Wyatt knew a deep sense of satisfaction. He felt he belonged among these Amish, and he admired their work ethic—their down-to-earth methods of completing a task at hand. He smiled at the way Rebecca was selecting ribs, meat loaf, cheesy hash browns, and a variety of vegetables. Then she placed a square of cornbread and a banana muffin on top of it all.
“It’s good to see a woman eat like she means it,” he said softly. “And please don’t interpret that as a put-down.”
Rebecca’s smile made Wyatt hold his breath. She’d removed her ball cap, so she had a slight ridge around her layered brown hair. Her blue eyes twinkled in a radiant face bronzed by the sun—no tanning salons for this young woman. “I don’t think you have it in you to put me down, Wyatt,” she said breezily. “Interpret that any way you care to.”
With that, Rebecca plucked a biscuit from the buffet basket and started toward the back dining room, leaving Wyatt chuckling. She was right. He was attracted to her in so many ways, he couldn’t leave her alone . . . and he didn’t want to live alone much longer, either.
When he set his loaded plate on the table and sat down next to Rebecca, she was having an animated conversation with the Detweilers and the Brenneman brothers—all of whom joked and laughed with her as though they were quite comfortable with her living English despite being born into an Amish family. Wyatt found it refreshing that the men around these tables accepted Rebecca even though they would never allow their women to dress in shorts or sleeveless blouses.
He was also relieved that the unattached young men seemed to have no inclination to persuade her back into the Amish fold so they could marry her.
Everyone was eating heartily, with some men making their second trip to the buffet table, when Rebecca glanced toward the door. She sprang from her chair, rushing through the crowd toward a man with thinning brown hair and a pale, kindly face. When he opened his arms and Rebecca rushed into them, Wyatt knew a moment of mild envy.
Beside him, Ben Hooley smiled. “That’s Rebecca’s English dat, Bob Oliveri—the man who rescued her from the flooding river when she was a toddler,” he explained. “I owe Bob a huge debt of gratitude for buying the previous café building for my Miriam when the bishop at that time was trying to weasel it away from her—back when he was dragging my reputation through the mud so she’d marry him instead of me.”
Ben shook his head amiably as he recalled that time in his life. “Bob’s been a real boon to our town. He’s tickled to help us out from time to time, because he knows Rebecca’s happiest living here near her mamm.”
Wyatt laid his cloth napkin on the table beside his plate. “Seems like a good time to make my presence known so Bob can size me up—and get used to me spending time with his daughter,” he murmured. “Thanks for filling me in on who he is.”
As he rose from his chair, Wyatt hoped his smile looked sincere rather than a bit nervous. It had been decades since he’d sought the approval of a young woman’s father, yet he could tell by the way Oliveri was gazing at Rebecca that he was a man whose opinion mattered—a lot. He fought the urge to check the front of his shirt for barbecue sauce, focusing instead on the man who was perhaps ten years older than he was.
When Rebecca saw him approaching, she brightened. “Dad, this is Wyatt McKenzie—the man who’s building that big barn you probably saw on your way into town,” she said eagerly. “Wyatt, this is my father, Bob Oliveri.”
Wyatt grasped Bob’s hand with a nod. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you,” he said. “Ben was telling me about how you rescued his Miriam from a former bishop—and how grateful he is that you did.”
Bob gripped his
hand, laughing. “That bishop was a piece of work—eventually tinkered with Josiah’s smokers behind Miriam’s building and got caught in the explosion. From what I’ve been hearing from Rebecca, you’ve been lighting a few fires as well, Wyatt.”
Seeing the way Rebecca’s cheeks were turning pink with pleasure—and a little embarrassment—Wyatt framed an answer that had nothing to do with his feelings for Rebecca. “Willow Ridge is the perfect place to ease away from Thoroughbreds and racetracks so I can turn my efforts toward more practical animals,” he said. “In your opinion, Bob, would I be smarter to raise Belgians or Percherons? I’ve met a lot more carpenters than farmers these past few weeks, so I haven’t chatted with many who depend upon horses for their livelihoods.”
Bob shrugged, appearing pleased to be asked. “All I know about horses is that the Amish are the most expert trainers you’ll find,” he replied. “I suspect they’ll make do with smaller homes and fewer frills in order to afford the best horses to pull their buggies or their farm machinery.”
Wyatt nodded. He liked knowing that Rebecca’s dad wouldn’t be horning in on his business decisions—and he liked Bob for other reasons as well. Any man who would raise a little girl to adulthood and so graciously accept her decision to live among her Amish relatives had a good, solid heart.
“Well, I’m going to scoot along home,” Bob said, gazing from Rebecca to Wyatt. “I just returned from a cruise on several European rivers—I flew into Kansas City and drove the three hours from there, so I’m tired. Awfully nice to meet you, Wyatt. Rebecca’s told me a lot about you.”
Wyatt exchanged a few more pleasantries with him and returned to his dinner while Rebecca walked her dad to his car. He was guessing Bob had known to come to the Grill N Skillet because Rebecca had texted or emailed her location—which meant she might have engineered their introduction as well.
That’s as it should be. It means she’s close to her dad, and she’s close enough to me that she wants me to meet him. It’s all good.
A Simple Wish Page 17