Tired, with his tongue lolling, the black-and-white English shepherd walked beside Carl toward the house. Carl reached down to pat his head. “You did good work this morning, fella. We’ll start shearing them soon if the weather holds.”
The sheep needed to spend at least one night inside the barn to make sure their wool was dry before being sheared. Damp wool would rot. There wasn’t enough room in the barn for all two hundred head at once. The operation would take three to four days if all went well.
It was important to shear the ewes before they gave birth. If the weather turned bad during the lambing season, many of the shorn ewes would seek shelter in the sheds and barn rather than have their lambs out in the open where the wet and cold could kill the newborns. Having a good lamb crop was important, but Carl knew things rarely went off without a hitch.
Duncan ambled toward his water dish. At the moment, all Carl wanted was a hot cup of coffee. Joe always left a pot on the back of the stove so Carl could help himself.
He opened the front door and stopped dead in his tracks. An Amish woman stood at the kitchen sink. She had her back to him as she rummaged for something. She hadn’t heard him come in.
He resisted the intense impulse to rush back outside. He didn’t like being shut inside with anyone. He fought his growing discomfort. This was Joe’s home. This woman didn’t belong here.
“What are you doing?” he demanded. Joe didn’t like anyone besides Carl in his house.
She shrieked and jumped a foot as she whirled around to face him. She pressed a hand to her heaving chest, leaving a patch of white soapsuds on her faded green dress. “You scared the life out of me.”
He clenched his fists and stared at his feet. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“Who are you? You’re not Joseph Shetler. I was told this was Joseph’s house.”
He glanced up and saw the defiant jut of her jaw. He folded his arms over his chest and pressed his lips into a tight line. He didn’t say a word as he glared at her.
She was a slender little thing. The top of her head wouldn’t reach his chin unless she stood on tiptoe. She was dressed Plain in a drab faded green calf-length dress with a matching cape and apron. She wore dark stockings and dark shoes. Her hair, on the other hand, was anything but drab. It was ginger-red and wisps of it curled near her temples and along her forehead. The rest was hidden beneath the black kapp she wore. Her eyes were an unusual hazel color with flecks of gold in their depths.
He didn’t recognize her, but she could be a local. He made a point of avoiding people, so it wasn’t surprising that he didn’t know her.
She quickly realized he wasn’t going to speak until she had answered his questions. She managed a nervous smile. “I’m sorry. My name is Elizabeth Barkman. People call me Lizzie. I’m Joe’s granddaughter from Indiana. I was just straightening up a little while I waited for him to get home.”
As far as Carl knew, Joe didn’t have any family. “Joe doesn’t have a granddaughter, and he doesn’t like people in his house.” He shoved his hands into his pockets as the need to escape the house left them shaking.
“Actually, he has four granddaughters. I can see why he doesn’t like to have people in. This place is a mess. He certainly could use a housekeeper. I know an excellent one who is looking for a position.”
Carl glanced around Joe’s kitchen. It was cluttered and dirty, unlike the clean and sparsely furnished shepherd’s hut out in the pasture where he lived, but if Joe wanted to live like this, that was his business and not the business of this nosy, pushy woman. “This is how Joe likes it. You should leave.”
“Where is my grandfather? Will he be back soon?” Her eyes darted around the room. He could see fear creeping in behind them. It had dawned on her that they were alone together on a remote farm.
Suddenly, he saw another room, dark and full of women huddled together. He could smell the fear in the air. They were all staring at him.
He blinked hard and the image vanished. His heart started pounding. The room began closing in on him. He needed air. He needed out. He’d seen enough fear in women’s eyes to haunt him for a lifetime. He didn’t need to add to that tally. He took a quick step back. “Joe will be along shortly.” Turning, he started to open the door.
She said, “I didn’t catch your name. Are you a friend of my grandfather’s?”
He paused and gripped the doorknob tightly so she wouldn’t see his hand shaking. “I’m Carl King. I work here.” He walked out before she could ask anything else.
Once he was outside under the open sky, his sense of panic receded. He drew a deep, cleansing breath. His tremors grew less with each gulp of air he took. His pounding heart rate slowed.
It had been weeks since one of his spells. He’d started to believe they were gone for good, that perhaps God had forgiven him, but Joe’s granddaughter had proved him wrong.
His dog trotted to his side and nosed his hand. He managed a little smile. “I’m okay, Duncan.”
The dog whined. He seemed to know when his master was troubled. Carl focused on the silky feel of the dog’s thick fur between his fingers. It helped ground him in the here and now and push back the shadows of the past.
That past lay like a beast inside him. The terror lurked, ready to spring out and drag him into the nightmares he suffered through nearly every night. He shouldn’t be alive. He should have accepted death with peace in his heart, secure in the knowledge of God’s love and eternal salvation. He hadn’t.
He had his life, for what it was worth, but no peace.
Joe came into sight driving his wagon and team of draft horses. The wagon bed held two dozen bales of straw. He pulled the big dappled gray horses to a stop beside Carl. “Did you get that ewe penned and doctored?”
“I did.”
“Goot. We’ll get this hay stored in the big shed so we can have it handy to spread in the lambing pens when we need it. We can unload it as soon as I’ve had a bite to eat and a cup of coffee. Did you leave me any?”
“I haven’t touched the pot. You have a visitor inside.”
A small elderly man with a long gray beard and a dour expression, Joe climbed down from the wagon slowly. To Carl’s eyes, he had grown frailer this past year. A frown creased his brow beneath the brim of the flat-topped straw hat he wore. He didn’t like visitors. “Who is it?”
“She claims she’s your granddaughter Lizzie Barkman.”
All the color drained from Joe’s face. He staggered backward until he bumped into the wheel of his wagon. “One of my daughter’s girls? What does she want?”
Carl took a quick step toward Joe and grasped his elbow to steady him. “She didn’t say. Are you okay?”
Joe shook off Carl’s hand. “I’m fine. Put the horses away.”
“Sure.” Carl was used to Joe’s brusque manners.
Joe nodded his thanks and began walking toward the house with unsteady steps. Carl waited until he had gone inside before leading the team toward the corral at the side of the barn. He’d worked with Joe for nearly four years. The old man had never mentioned he had a daughter and granddaughters.
Carl glanced back at the house. Joe wasn’t the only one who kept secrets. Carl had his own.
Chapter Two
Lizzie had rehearsed a dozen different things to say when she first saw her grandfather, but his hired man’s abrupt appearance had rattled her already frayed nerves. When her grandfather actually walked through the door, everything she had planned to say left her head. She stood silently as he looked her up and down.
He had changed a great deal from what she remembered. She used to think he was tall, but he was only average height and stooped with age. His beard was longer and streaked with gray now. It used to be black.
Nervously, she gestured tow
ard the sink. “I hope you don’t mind that I washed a few dishes. You have hot water right from the faucet. It isn’t allowed in our home. Our landlord says it’s worldly, but it makes doing the dishes a pleasure.”
“You look just like your grandmother.” His voice was exactly as she remembered.
She smiled. “Do I?”
“It’s no good thing. She had red hair like yours. She was an unhappy, nagging woman. Why have you come? Have you brought sad news?”
“Nee,” Lizzie said quickly. “My sisters are all well. We live in Indiana. Onkel Morris and all of us work on a dairy farm there.”
Joe moved to the kitchen table and took a seat. “Did your uncle send you to me? He agreed to raise the lot of you. He can’t change his mind now.”
She sat across from him. “Nee, Onkel does not know I have come to see you.”
“How did you get here?”
“I took the bus. I asked about you at the bus station in Hope Springs. An Amish woman waiting to board the bus told me how to find your farm. I walked from town.”
He propped his elbows on the table and pressed his hands together. She noticed the dirt under his fingernails and the calluses on his rough hands. “How is it that you have come without your uncle’s knowledge? Do you still reside with him or have you married?”
“None of us are married. Onkel Morris would have forbidden this meeting had he known of my plan.”
“I see.” He closed his eyes and rested his chin on his knuckles.
She didn’t know if he was praying or simply waiting for more of an explanation. She rushed ahead, anxious that he hear exactly why she had made the trip. “I had to come. You are the only family we have. We desperately need your help. Onkel Morris is forcing Clara to marry a terrible man. I fear for her if she goes through with it. I’m hoping—praying really—that you can find it in your heart to take her in. She is a good cook and she will keep your house spotless. Your house could use a woman’s touch. Clara is an excellent housekeeper and as sweet-tempered as anyone. You must let her come. I’m begging you.”
He was silent for so long that she wondered if he had fallen asleep the way old people sometimes did. Finally, he spoke. “My daughter chose to ignore my wishes in order to marry your father. She made it clear that he was more important than my feelings. I can only honor what I believe to be her wishes. I will not aid you in your disobedience to the man who has taken your father’s place. You have come a long way for no reason. Carl will take you back to the bus station.”
Lizzie couldn’t believe her concerns were being dismissed out of hand. “Daadi, I beg you to reconsider. I did not come here lightly. I truly believe Clara is being sentenced to a life of misery, or worse.”
Joe rose to his feet. “Do not let your girlish emotions blind you to the wisdom of your elders. It is vain and prideful to question your uncle’s choice for your sister.”
“It is our uncle who is blind if he thinks Clara will be happy with his choice. She won’t be. He is a cruel man.”
“If your uncle believes the match is a good thing, you must trust his judgment. There will be a bus going that way this afternoon. If you hurry, you can get a seat. Go home and beg his forgiveness for your foolishness. All will be well in the end, for it is as Gott wills.”
“Please, Daadi, you have to help Clara.”
He turned away and walked out the door, leaving Lizzie speechless as she stared after him.
Dejected, she slipped into her coat and glanced around the cluttered kitchen. If only he would realize how much better his life would be with Clara to care for him.
Was he right? Was her failure God’s will?
With a heavy heart, she carried her suitcase and the box with her quilt in it out to the front porch. Her grandfather was nowhere in sight, but his hired man was leading a small white pony hitched to a cart in her direction.
He was a big, burly man with wide shoulders and narrow hips. He wore a black cowboy hat, jeans and a flannel shirt under a stained and worn sheepskin jacket. His hair was light brown and long enough to touch his collar, but it was clean. His size and stealth had frightened the wits out of her in the house earlier. Out in the open, he didn’t appear as menacing, but he didn’t smile and didn’t meet her gaze.
He and her grandfather must get along famously with few words spoken and never a smile between them.
It was all well and good to imagine staying until her grandfather changed his mind, but the reality was much different. He had ordered her to go home. How could she make him understand if he wouldn’t hear what she had to say? He hadn’t even offered the simple hospitality of his home for the night. He wanted her gone as quickly as possible. She would have to go home in defeat unless she could find some way to support herself and bring her sisters to Hope Springs. She didn’t know where to start. All her hopes had been pinned on her grandfather’s compassion. Sadly, he didn’t have any.
Carl stopped in front of the house and waited for her. She bit her lower lip. Was she really giving up so easily? “Where is my grandfather?”
“He’s gone out to the pasture to move the rest of his sheep.”
“When will he be back?”
“Hard to say.”
“I’d like to speak to him again.”
“Joe told me to take you to the bus station. It’s plain to me that he was done talking.”
She stamped her foot in frustration. “You don’t understand. I can’t go home.”
He didn’t say anything. He simply waited beside the pony. A brick wall would have shown more compassion. Defeated by his stoic silence, she descended the steps. He took her bag from her hand and placed it behind the seat of the cart. He reached for the box that contained her quilt and she reluctantly handed it over.
He waited until she had climbed aboard, then he took his place beside her on the wooden seat. With a flip of the reins, he set the pony in motion. She looked back once. The house, which had looked like a sanctuary when she first saw it, looked like the run-down farmstead it truly was. Tears stung her eyes. She tried not to let them fall, but she couldn’t hold back a sniffle. She wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve.
* * *
Carl cringed at the sound of Lizzie’s muffled sniffling. He would have been okay if she hadn’t started crying.
He didn’t want to involve himself in her troubles. Whatever it was, it was none of his business. He glanced her way and saw a tear slip down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away. She looked forlorn huddled on the seat next to him, like a lost lamb that couldn’t find the flock.
He looked straight ahead. “I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way you wanted with your grandfather.”
“He’s a very uncaring man.”
“Joe is okay.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“He doesn’t cotton to most people.”
“I’m not most people. I’m his flesh and blood. He doesn’t care that his own granddaughter is being forced into marriage with a hateful man.”
Carl looked at her in surprise. “You’re being forced to marry someone not of your choosing?”
“Not me. My sister Clara. Our uncle, my mother’s brother, took us in after our parents died. Onkel Morris is making Clara marry a man more than twice her age.”
“Amish marriages are not arranged. Your sister cannot be compelled to marry against her will.”
“The man who wishes to marry Clara is our landlord and employer. He could turn us all out of his house to starve. My uncle is afraid of him.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“But you are not.” He glanced at her with respect. It had taken a lot of courage for her to travel so far.
“I’m afraid of him, too. Sometimes, I think he enjoys making life miserable for others.” Her voice faded away. She sniffled again.
After a few minutes, she composed herself enough to ask, “Do you know of anyone who might want to hire a maid or a housekeeper?”
“No.” He didn’t go into town unless he had to. He didn’t mingle with people.
“I would take any kind of work.”
“There’s an inn in town. They might know of work for you.”
She managed a watery smile for him. “Danki. Something will turn up.”
She was pretty when she smiled. Although her eyes were red-rimmed now, they were a beautiful hazel color. They shimmered with unshed tears in the afternoon light. Her face, with its oval shape, pale skin and sculpted high cheekbones, gave her a classical beauty, but a spray of freckles across her nose gave her a fresh, wholesome look that appealed to him.
It felt strange to have a woman seated beside him. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed the companionship of anyone other than Joe. Did she know he had been shunned? Joe should have told her. Carl wasn’t sure how to bring up the subject.
He sat stiffly on the seat, making sure he didn’t touch her. If she were unaware of his shunning, he would see that she didn’t inadvertently break the tenets of her faith. The sharp, staccato clip-clop of the pony’s hooves on the blacktop, the creaking of the cart and Lizzie’s occasional sniffles were the only sounds in the awkward silence until he crested the hill. A one-room Amish schoolhouse sat back from the road, and the cheerful sounds of children playing during recess reached him. A game of softball was under way.
One little girl in a blue dress and white kapp waved to him from her place in the outfield. He waved back when he recognized her. Joy Mast immediately dropped her oversize ball glove and ran toward him. He pulled the pony to a stop. Two boys from the other team ran after her.
The Shepherd's Bride Page 2