Becky scooted down in her seat until her head sank below the window.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She continued with her instructions. “You want to take Quaker Street. Grover is off Quaker.”
I turned onto Quaker.
“Grover is the third street on the right.”
I leaned over the steering wheel anxious to see the street where I would spend the next two years of my life. Only two years. Right, God? Surely God was unfazed by my Appleseed Creek timeline. However, it didn’t hurt to be specific.
With the square behind us, Becky sat up straight again. “Turn here.”
The car and trailer rocked onto Grover, a brick one-way street barely wide enough to host a motorcycle, or so it seemed.
“There’s your house,” Becky said.
She pointed at a white two-story house. At least what was left of the paint was white. Most of it was cracked and had flaked onto the overgrown bushes below the first-story windows. The wraparound porch, a big selling point for me when I discovered the house online, appeared dangerous. Rusted nails held the warped, untreated boards in place. Now I knew why the rent was so low.
I put a brave smile on my face and pulled into the short driveway. “Home sweet home.”
Becky hopped out of the car, and I followed. The back end of the trailer hung over the sidewalk. Hopefully I wasn’t breaking any town ordinances. Next time I’d hire movers.
I glanced at Becky’s outfit, a long, gray canvas skirt and blouse covered with tiny blue flowers. Her dress wasn’t Amish per se, more like Amish-ish. Growing up in Ohio, I’d seen many Amish people. The women wore plain navy dresses and bonnets on their heads. Becky’s head was uncovered. When I was a little girl, a trip to Holmes County was an annual pilgrimage with my parents. We’d visit the shops to buy homemade trinkets and stop at a local restaurant to eat too much Amish food.
That was before the accident, and before Dad met Sabrina and created a new family without me.
I shook thoughts of Sabrina from my head. She couldn’t be farther away, sitting in some California spa drinking sparkling water while getting a pedicure.
Becky could be Mennonite, I decided.
After some pushing and pulling, I pried Gigabyte’s cage from the back of the RAV4. He yowled at a pitch and volume that only a true Siamese could achieve. “We’re home, Gig.”
Another yowl came from the carrier.
Becky, who stood at the base of the front steps, glanced back at me. “Is your cat hurt?”
“He’s fine,” I said. “It must be all the clean country air. He’s not used to it. He’s a city cat.”
She cocked her head and her braid fell off her shoulder. It was as if she were trying to decide something about me.
The porch’s first step groaned under my weight. The second step gave ever so slightly. Speed was the safest option, so I skipped up the final three steps and gave a sigh of relief when the porch floor, although uneven, felt firm under my flip-flops.
Becky skipped up the steps, too. The landlord told me the key would be under a flowerpot, and a large terracotta pot sat beside the front door. Something brown and withered languished beyond recognition inside the vessel. I tipped the pot on its side and found the silver key lying underneath. “I guess security’s not a big concern around here.” I couldn’t imagine anyone in my old neighborhood in University Circle hiding their house key in such an obvious place. At least, not if they wanted their television and computer to be there when they got home from work.
I inserted the key into the lock and turned the doorknob. As I did, it broke off in my hand. A thunk sounded inside the house as the second half of the doorknob fell to the floor. I stared at the half doorknob in my hand and peered through the gaping hole its absence left. “Now what am I supposed to do?” My voice jumped an octave. Small town or not, no way would I be able to sleep in a house with a hole in the front door.
Becky nudged the door with her foot and swung it open. The interior was dark. In front of us, the stairs—if I could believe anything the real estate website told me—led to three bedrooms on the second floor. To our left was the living room, and in the dim light, I made out a fireplace.
Becky stepped into the house and threw open the drapes that covered the living room’s huge picture window. “Call someone on your little phone to fix the door.”
Mr. Green, Tanisha’s father, came to mind, but he was in Italy. Then I thought of Tanisha’s fiancé, Cole, but he was in Florida. I was on my own.
“There’s no one I can call.” Panic began to rise within me. “The owner of the house lives in Cincinnati. He’s not going to come all the way here to fix the doorknob.”
What was I doing here? Who was I to think I could move away from everything and everyone? My hand, now clenched into a fist around Gig’s cat carrier handle, began to ache. And what about Gig? He could get outside with the door open like that. He could get eaten by wolves or something. Okay, not wolves. There hadn’t been any wolves in Ohio since the nineteenth century, but he could get hit by a car.
“Don’t worry. I’ll call my bruder.” Becky stared at me with blue eyes. “He’s a carpenter and will fix the door for us.”
I blinked at her. “Your bruder?”
She blushed, her pink cheeks making her even prettier. She must be popular on the square dance circuit or wherever young Amish went to meet each other in Appleseed Creek. “I’m sorry. My brother.” She pronounced “brother” carefully and drew out the two syllables.
“That would be wonderful, Becky.” I tried not to worry about the “for us” part. I chewed the inside of my lip. Did Becky think she was moving in?
I handed her my smartphone. She stared at the screen and handed it back to me. “I’ll tell you the number and you dial.”
I left Becky talking to her brother on the porch and stepped into the living room, its wooden floors beautifully worn. I imagined generations pacing across those floorboards. The fireplace was marble, and dark wood crown molding surrounded the ceiling. The house had been a showpiece once. Could I make it one again? I shook my head. Why did I allow myself to think like that? I was renting. I would only be in Appleseed Creek for two years. Two years was not worth the work. Restoring this house would take a lifetime.
Becky entered the room. “He will be here later this afternoon. It’s on his way home from work.” She had a peculiar pinched look on her face, as if she’d just bitten into a lemon.
“You said he was a carpenter.” Becky followed me into the kitchen where I opened and shut all the cabinets. Every one of them needed a good scrub down before I would put any of my dishes in them.
“He has his own workshop, but is working on a project at the college this summer.”
“Do you mean Harshberger College?”
She ran her hand along the Formica counter. “Do you know it?”
“It’s the reason I’m here.”
“You’re a student?” Becky opened and closed a kitchen drawer.
I shook my head. I suspected Becky wouldn’t be the last person in Appleseed Creek to assume I was a college student. “I start working there tomorrow as the Director of Computer Services.”
“That sounds important.”
It was important, but I pushed worries of the next day out of my head. Today’s worries were sufficient. A larger concern came to mind. “Becky, who were those two men on the side of the road?”
“They were only Englischers, who think they are tough by teasing an Amish girl. They were joyriding.” She said “joyriding” as if testing out the word.
I glanced at her. “So, you are Amish?”
A determined expression settled over her face “I was. I’m not anymore.”
Chapter Three
Three hours later, I knelt on the floor in my new b
edroom putting my bed frame together. Taking the bed apart had been easy. Putting it back together was a bit more difficult. As I worked, my thoughts wandered to the two men in the pickup. Who were they? What did they want with Becky? Would I see them again? I hoped not.
I slid the bolt into the eye socket, but it wouldn’t move into a locked position. I gave the metal frame three good yanks, and finally, the bolt slid into place, nicking the index finger on my right hand in the process. “Ow!” I popped the pinched finger into my mouth.
“Chloe? My brother is here.”
I turned my head and found myself staring at jean-clad legs and work boots. I scrambled into a standing position, my face coming within inches of a man’s. Startled, I took one huge step backward and stumbled over the bed frame, but righted myself before falling to the dusty hardwood floor below.
Both Becky and her brother jumped forward to help me. My hands fluttered in front of me as heat raced up the back of my neck. I wrapped my arms around my waist to still myself.
Becky wore a huge grin on her face. “Chloe, this is my brother, Timothy.” She tugged her brother’s sleeve. “Chloe starts working at the college tomorrow. You should stop in and see her while you’re there.”
Timothy smiled, and his eyes lit up.
My knees weakened, but I told myself it was from the humiliation of the near fall. Becky’s brother was as handsome as she was beautiful. He had the same white-blond hair and blue eyes. His muscles flexed under his shirt as he put an arm around his sister’s shoulder.
Buggy boy! Tanisha’s teasing voice played in my head. She’d be thrilled with this latest development. My face grew warm. Lord, why did You have to make me blush so easily?
Timothy broke into my thoughts. “Which building will you be working in?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen the campus yet. The college interviewed me over the phone.” My words tumbled out in a rush. Pull it together, Chloe.
Timothy examined the half-assembled bed frame. “Do you need help?”
“No, no, I got it.” I tucked the injured hand behind my back.
His blue eyes twinkled. “If you say so.”
My gaze flicked over to his left hand. No ring. My face grew even warmer. Why did I do that? Had Becky and Timothy noticed my glance? How embarrassing! Tanisha would get an earful for putting that buggy boy idea into my head.
“Th-thank you for coming to fix the door. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise.”
“It’s no trouble.” He frowned at his sister. “I was glad to know my sister is safe.”
Becky didn’t look at him, but that peculiar pinched expression crossed her pretty face again.
Timothy sighed. “I’d better get to work. It was nice to meet you, Chloe.”
“You too.” Out of habit, I held out my hand for a handshake.
After staring at my extended hand for what felt like a decade, he shook it. I pulled my hand away as if I had been shocked.
I had only been in Appleseed Creek for a few hours, and already I’d made a fool of myself in front of the first attractive man I’d met. As I sat on the floor for round two with the bed frame, I tried to shake off my embarrassment.
Thirty minutes later, the bed frame was together with my box springs and mattress on top of it. As I struggled with the fitted sheet, angry voices floated through the open window. I gave up the battle and tiptoed over to the window. Becky and Timothy were in a heated argument below. I could not understand a word, as they spoke Pennsylvania Dutch.
Becky crossed her arms. “I’ve made up my mind.”
Her brother sighed, as if in defeat.
I stepped away from the window, guilty for eavesdropping. But was it really eavesdropping if I didn’t understand most of the conversation?
Becky entered my bedroom. “Timothy finished fixing the doorknob. Would you like to see it?”
I nodded, then followed her down the stairs while running my fingers through my hair.
Timothy stood by the closed front door. A new shiny doorknob took the place of the gaping hole. “Give it a try.”
I turned the knob, relieved that it felt sturdy in my grasp. As I pulled the door open, an enormous brown and black dog rushed in and jumped up on my shoulders. I screamed and stumbled back into Timothy, who caught me before I hit the floor.
Gigabyte hissed; the sound of his nails scratching the wood floors as he made his escape echoed throughout the house.
Timothy extended his free arm toward the animal. “Bad dog, Mabel! Down!”
The dog fell on all fours.
I caught my breath.
Timothy let go of me and took hold of Mabel’s collar. “I’m sorry. She usually doesn’t behave like that.”
Mabel whimpered. The dog had a short ruff that resembled a collie, but the pointed ears and disposition of a German shepherd.
Timothy pointed to the floor. “Lay down.”
She obeyed.
Becky’s eyes grew wide . “Are you afraid of dogs, Chloe?”
I shook my head. “I was taken off guard. I didn’t expect her to be there.”
“I didn’t expect her to be there either. She was supposed to wait in the truck.” Timothy’s face turned red all the way to the hairline. If anything, his embarrassment made him even more handsome.
He cleared his throat, and in the awkward silence that followed, Timothy began demonstrating his handiwork by opening and closing the door. “I added a deadbolt because you didn’t have one.” His voice turned softer. “Appleseed Creek is a safe town, but you can never be too careful.”
“Thank you. How much do I owe you for the parts and the labor too? I’d like to pay you for your trouble.” I moved toward my purse on the lone armchair in my living room. The measly collection of furniture from my one-bedroom apartment back home seemed pathetic in such a large house.
His jaw twitched. “Not necessary. I should go. It’s my turn to cook dinner tonight at home.”
At home? Was he married? I swallowed. Maybe Amish men didn’t wear wedding rings. “I hope we didn’t keep you from your family.”
Becky stepped forward. “Timothy doesn’t live on the farm any- more. He lives with freinden in a house in town. It’s a street or two over from here.”
“Oh.” I tried to keep a ridiculous smile from forming on my face.
Timothy glanced outside. “Is that your U-Haul in the driveway?”
I nodded.
“If you’re finished with it, I can return it on my way home.”
“Thank you!” After driving for three hours, I wasn’t looking forward to climbing back into my little SUV again to return the trailer.
He smiled. “Mind keeping an eye on Mabel as I hitch it up to the truck?”
I reached for the dog.
A few minutes later, the U-Haul was hitched to Timothy’s pickup. Becky and I sat on the crooked front porch steps, Mabel laying across our laps.
Timothy laughed as he approached us. “She thinks she’s a lapdog.”
I scratched under her ruff. “I don’t mind. She’s a good girl.”
He wiped his hands. “Schweschder,” he said to Becky. “Think about what I have said.”
She pushed Mabel off our laps and stood.
Mabel gave a little woof of displeasure.
Becky raised her chin a fraction. “You made your decision, and I have a right to make mine.”
Timothy sighed and slapped his hand to his thigh. “Come, Mabel. Good-bye, Chloe. Take care of my sister. She can be a handful.” The pair jumped into the pickup and drove away with the U-Haul hitched to the back.
Later that evening, Becky and I ate fast food on the hard floor of my nearly empty living room. Gig rubbed my leg, and I broke off a little piece of hamburger to give him. I popped a frenc
h fry into my mouth, wondering if I should ask Becky about the argument I’d overheard between her and Timothy, and if she planned to stay the night. She’d didn’t appear to have plans to leave.
“I saw your Bible and books in one of the boxes,” Becky said. “I hope you don’t mind me looking at them.”
“I don’t.”
“You are a Christian, then?”
I nodded.
She smiled. “Gut. That’s what I thought and told my brother so. He wasn’t happy when I said I met you on the side of the highway.”
I felt my face flush again. I hated to guess what Timothy thought of me. “Did you tell him about the two men?”
She put her strawberry milkshake on the floor. “No, he would worry. My brother forgets I am nineteen years old. I am an adult.” She took a big bite out of her hamburger. Ketchup ran down her chin.
I handed her a napkin. “What do you mean?” I gave Gig another piece of hamburger. He deserved it after his harrowing journey in the car.
“He thinks I should go home, back to the farm. My family wants me to give up my rumspringa and marry Bishop Glick’s son.”
“But you don’t want to.”
“No. Isaac is a gut man and will make someone a gut husband, but I want to study art. I won’t be able to do that if I marry him. I’ve been taking classes the last year.” She twisted the napkin in her hands. “I haven’t told my parents about the lessons, but I can’t give them up, not yet.” She stood and retrieved her canvas bag from where she’d left it beside the stairs. “I have something to show you.” She removed a black portfolio from her bag, opened it, and took out several sheets of watercolor paper. The first painting was of an Amish girl and a brown horse.
“The girl is my schweschder, my sister, Ruth. She’s twelve.”
The painting looked lifelike, as if I could reach through the paper and pet the mare’s head. Becky had captured the special twinkle in her younger sister’s eyes, too, a twinkle much like her own. “Becky, this is beautiful.”
She smiled and showed me another painting, this one of a young man leaning against an Amish buggy. He had dark hair, brown eyes, and a patient expression on his face. “This is Isaac.”
Appleseed Creek Trilogy, Books 1-3 Page 2