The Shepherd's Bride

by Patricia Davids

  “Hi, Carl. How is Duncan? Is he with you today?” She reached the cart and hung on to the side to catch her breath.

  He relaxed as he grinned at her. He could be himself around Amish children. They hadn’t been baptized and wouldn’t be required to shun him. Joy had Down syndrome. Her father, Caleb Mast, had recently returned to the area and rejoined his Amish family. “Hello, Joy. Duncan is fine, but he is working today moving Joe’s sheep, so he couldn’t come for a visit. Has your father found work?”

  “Yes, I mean, ja, at the sawmill. Mrs. Weaver is glad, too, because that silly boy Faron Martin couldn’t keep his mind off his girlfriend long enough to do his work.”

  Carl heard a smothered chuckle from Lizzie. He had to smile, too. “I’m not sure your grandmother and Mrs. Weaver want you repeating their conversations.”

  “Why not?”

  The two boys reached her before Carl could explain. The oldest boy, Jacob Imhoff, spoke first. “Joy, you aren’t supposed to run off without telling someone. You know that.”

  She hung her head. “I forgot.”

  Joy had a bad habit of wandering off and had frightened her family on several occasions by disappearing without letting anyone know where she was going.

  The younger boy, her cousin David, took her hand. “That’s okay. We aren’t mad.”

  She peeked at him. “You’re not?”

  “Nee.”

  She gave him a sheepish smile. “I only wanted to talk to Carl.”

  A car buzzed past them on the highway. Jacob patted her shoulder. “We don’t want you to get hit by one of the Englisch cars driving by so fast.”

  “This was my fault,” Carl said quickly. “I should have turned into the lane to speak to Joy and not stopped out here on the road.”

  Joy stared at him solemnly. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

  If only he could gain forgiveness so easily for his past sins. He quickly changed the subject. “How is your puppy, Joy?”

  “Pickles is a butterball with legs and a tail. She chews up everything. Mammi is getting mighty tired of it.”

  Joy could always make him smile. “Tell your grandmother to give your pup a soupbone to gnaw on. That will keep her sharp little teeth occupied for a few days.”

  Joy looked past him at Lizzie. “Is this your wife? She’s pretty.”

  He sat bolt upright. “Nee, sie ist nicht meine frau. She’s not my wife.”

  * * *

  Lizzie watched a blush burn a fiery red path up Carl’s neck and engulf his face. It was amusing to see such a big man discomforted by a child’s innocent question, but she was more interested in his answer. He had denied that she was his wife in flawless Pennsylvania Dutch, the German dialect language spoken by the Amish.

  Carl King might dress and act Englisch, but he had surely been raised Amish to speak the language so well.

  He gathered the reins. “You should get back to your game, kids. I have to take this lady to the bus station.”

  He set the pony moving again, and a frown replaced the smile he had given so easily to the little girl. Lizzie liked him better when he was smiling.

  “Your Pennsylvania Dutch is very good.”

  “I get by.”

  “Were you raised Amish?”

  A muscle twitched in his clenched jaw. “I was.”

  “Several of the young men in our community have left before they were baptized, too.”

  “I left afterward.”

  Lizzie’s eyes widened with shock. That meant he was in the Bann. Why had her grandfather allowed her to travel with him? Her uncle wouldn’t even speak with an excommunicated person. A second later, she realized that she would very likely be placed in the Bann, too. Her uncle would not let her rebellious action go unpunished. She prayed her sisters were not suffering because of her.

  She glanced at Carl and noted the tense set of his jaw. The rules of her faith were clear. She could not accept a ride from a shunned person. She was forbidden to do business with him, accept any favor from him or eat at the same table. Her grandfather had placed her in a very awkward situation. “Please stop the cart.”

  Carl’s shoulders slumped. “As you wish.”

  He pulled the pony to a halt. “It is a long walk. You will miss the bus.”

  “Then I must drive. It is permitted for me to give you a lift, but I can’t accept one from you.”

  “I know the rules.” He laid down the reins and stepped over the bench seat to sit on the floor of the cart behind her.

  She took the reins and slapped them against the pony’s rump to get him moving. He broke into a brisk trot.

  “How is it that you work for my grandfather? Has he left the church, too?”

  “No.”

  “Does he know your circumstance?”

  “Of course.”

  She grew more confused by the minute. “Surely the members of his congregation must object to his continued association with you.”

  “He hasn’t mentioned it if they do.”

  She glanced toward him over her shoulder. “But they know, don’t they?”

  “You’d have to ask Joe about that.”

  As she was on her way to the bus depot, that wasn’t likely to happen. “I would, but I doubt I’ll see him again.” She heard the bitterness in her voice and knew Carl heard it, too.

  Her grandfather had made it crystal clear he wasn’t interested in getting to know his granddaughters. His rejection hurt deeply, but she shouldn’t have been surprised by it. To depend on any man’s kindness was asking for heartache.

  As the pony trotted along, Lizzie struggled to find forgiveness in her heart. Her grandfather was a man who needed prayers, not her harsh thoughts. She prayed for Carl, too, that he would repent his sins, whatever they were, and find his way back to God. His life must be lonely indeed.

  As lonely as Clara’s would be married to a man she didn’t love and without her sisters around her. Lizzie had failed her miserably.

  After they had traveled nearly a mile, Lizzie decided she didn’t care to spend the rest of the trip in silence. It left her too much time to think about her failure. Conversation with a shunned person wasn’t strictly forbidden. “Is Joy a relative?”

  “A neighbor.”

  “She seems like a very sweet child.”

  “Yes.”

  “Who is Duncan?”

  “My dog.”

  His curt answers made her think he’d left his good humor back at the schoolyard. She gave up the idea of maintaining a conversation. She drew a deep breath and tried to come up with a new course of action that would save her sisters.

  All she could think of was to find a job in town, but she didn’t have enough money to rent a room. She had enough to pay for her bus fare home and that was it. She didn’t even have enough left over to buy something to eat. Her stomach grumbled in protest. She hadn’t eaten in more than a day. Nothing since her last supper at her uncle’s house.

  If she returned to his home, she would have to beg forgiveness and endure his chastisement in whatever form he chose. It would most likely be a whipping with his favorite willow cane, but he sometimes chose a leather strap. Stale bread and water for a week was another punishment he enjoyed handing out. She would be blessed if that were his choice. She shivered and pulled her coat tight across her chest.

  “Are you cold?” Carl asked.

  “A little.” More than a little, she realized. There was a bite to the wind now that they were heading into it. A stubborn March was holding spring at bay.

  Carl slipped off his coat and laid it on the seat. “Put this on.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t take your coat.”

  “You are cold. I’m not.”

  She glanced back at him sitting brac
ed against the side of the cart. “Nee, it wouldn’t be right.”

  He studied her for a few seconds, then looked away. A dull flush of red stained his cheeks. “It is permitted if you do not take it from my hand.”

  “That’s not what I meant. I don’t wish to cause you discomfort.”

  “Watching you shiver causes me discomfort.”

  It was hard to argue with that logic. She picked up the thick coat and slipped it on. It retained his body heat and felt blissfully warm as she pulled it close. “Danki.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  They rode in silence for the rest of the way into town. As they drove past the local inn, she turned to him. “I wish to stop here for a few minutes. Since my grandfather won’t help us, I must try to find a job.”

  “He told me to take you to the bus station.”

  “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  He grudgingly nodded. “A few minutes and then we must go. I have work to do.”

  “Danki.” She gave him a bright smile before she unwrapped herself from his coat and jumped down from the cart.

  When she entered the inn, she found herself inside a lobby with ceilings that rose two stories above her. On one side of the room, glass shelves displayed an assortment of jams and jellies for sale. On the opposite wall, an impressive stone fireplace soared two stories high and was at least eight feet wide. Made in the old-world fashion using rounded river stones set in mortar, it boasted a massive timber for a mantel. A quilt hanger had been added near the top. A beautiful star quilt hung on display. Two more quilts folded over racks flanked the fireplace.

  At the far end of the room was a waist-high counter. A matronly Amish woman stood behind it. Tall and big-boned with gray hair beneath her white kapp, she wore a soft blue dress that matched her eyes. “Good afternoon and willkommen to the Wadler Inn. I’m Naomi Wadler. How may I help you?”

  Her friendly smile immediately put Lizzie at ease. “I’m looking for work. Anything will do. I’m not picky.”

  “I’m sorry. We don’t have any openings right now. Are you new to the area? You look familiar. Have we met?”

  Lizzie tried to hide her disappointment at not finding employment. “I don’t think so. Might you know of someone looking for a chore girl or household helper?”

  “I don’t, dear. If I hear of anything, I’ll be glad to let you know. Where are you staying?”

  Lizzie glanced out the window. Carl was scowling in her direction. He motioned for her to come on. She turned back to Naomi. “That’s okay. I thank you for your time. The quilts around the fireplace are lovely. Are they your work?”

  “Nee, I display them for some of our local quilters. Many Englisch guests come to this area looking to buy quilts. These were done by a local woman named Rebecca Troyer. I’m always looking for quilts to buy if you have some to sell.”

  All she had was her mother’s quilt, and it was too precious to part with. “My sister has a good hand with a needle. I’m afraid I don’t, but I can cook, clean, tend a garden, milk cows. I can even help with little children.”

  Naomi gave her a sympathetic smile. “You should check over at the newspaper office, Miller Press. It’s a few blocks from here. They may know of someone looking for work.”

  Lizzie started for the door. As she reached it, the woman called out, “I didn’t get your name, child.”

  “I’m Lizzie Barkman. I have to go. Thank you again for your time.” She left the inn and climbed into the cart again. “They don’t have anything. I wish to stop at the newspaper office. There might be something in the help-wanted section of the paper.”

  “Joe can’t move all the sheep without help. I should be there.”

  “It will only take a minute or two to read the want ads. I’ll hurry, I promise. Which way is it?”

  He gave her directions and she found the Miller Press office without difficulty. Inside, she quickly read through the ads, but didn’t find anything she thought she could do. Most of them were requests for skilled labor. It looked as if going home was to be her fate, after all.

  With lagging steps, she returned to the cart. She followed Carl’s succinct directions to the center of town. When the bus station came into view, she felt the sting of tears again. She’d arrived that morning, tired but full of hope, certain that she could save her sister.

  It had been a foolhardy plan at best. She stared at the building. “My sister was right. I’m nothing but a dreamer.”

  A short, bald man came out the door and locked it behind him. Carl took Lizzie’s suitcase from the back of the cart and approached him. “This lady needs a ticket.”

  “Sorry, we’re closed.” The man didn’t even look up. He started to walk off, but Carl blocked his way.

  “She needs a ticket to Indiana.”

  The stationmaster took a step back. “You’re too late. The westbound bus left five minutes ago. The next one is on Tuesday.”

  “Four days? How can that be?”

  The little man raised his hands. “Look around. We’re not exactly a transportation hub. Hope Springs is just down the road from Next-to-Nowhere. The bus going west departs at 3:00 p.m. on Tuesdays and Fridays.” He stepped around Carl and walked away.

  She wasn’t going back today. She still had a chance to find a job. Lizzie looked skyward and breathed a quick prayer. “Danki, my Lord.”

  She wanted to shout for joy, but the grim look on Carl’s face kept her silent. He scowled at her. “Joe isn’t going to like this.”

  Chapter Three

  “What is she doing back here? I told you to make sure she got on the bus!” Joe looked ready to spit nails.

  Carl jumped down from the back of the cart and took Lizzie’s suitcase and her box from behind the seat. He knew Joe would be upset. He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation.

  “She missed the bus. The next one going her way is on Tuesday. I couldn’t very well leave her standing on the street corner, could I?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Joe grumbled.

  Lizzie got down for the cart and came up the steps to stand by her grandfather on the porch. “I’m sorry to inconvenience you, Daadi, but I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t have enough money to pay for a room at the inn until Tuesday and get a ticket home. I won’t be any trouble.”

  “Too late for that,” Carl muttered. She had already cost him half a day’s work.

  “What am I supposed to do with you now?” Joe demanded.

  “I can sleep in the barn if you don’t have room for me in the house.”

  She actually looked demure with her hands clasped before her and her eyes downcast. Carl wasn’t fooled. She was tickled pink that she had missed the bus. He half wondered if she had insisted on making those job-hunting stops for just that reason. He had no proof of that, but he wasn’t sure he would put it past her.

  Joe sighed heavily. “I guess you can stay in your mother’s old bedroom upstairs, but don’t expect there to be clean sheets on the bed."

  Lizzie smiled sweetly. “Danki. I’m not afraid of a little dust. If you really want me to leave, you could hire a driver to take me home.”

  Scowling, Joe snapped, “I’m not paying a hired driver to take you back. It would cost a fortune. You will leave on Tuesday. Since you’re here, you might as well cook supper. You can cook, can’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  He gestured toward the door. “Come on, Carl. Those shearing pens won’t set themselves up.”

  She shot Carl a sharp look and then leaned toward Joe. “Daadi, may I speak to you in private?”

  Here it comes. She’s going to pressure Joe to get rid of me.

  Carl didn’t want to leave. He enjoyed working with the sheep and with Joe. In this place, he had found a small measure of peace that didn’t s
eem to exist anywhere else in the world. Would Lizzie make trouble for the old man if he allowed Carl to stay on?

  Joe waved aside her request. “We’ll speak after supper. My work can’t wait any longer. Carl, did you pick up the mail, at least?”

  He shook his head. “I forgot to mention it when we passed your mailbox.”

  Joe glared at Lizzie. “That’s what comes of having a distraction around. I’ll go myself.”

  “I’ll go get your mail.” Lizzie started to climb back onto the cart, but Joe stopped her.

  “The pony has done enough work today. It won’t hurt you to walk to the end of the lane, will it?”

  She flushed and stepped away from the cart. “Nee, of course not. Shall I unhitch him and put him away?”

  “Put him in the corral to the right of the barn and make sure you rub him down good.”

  “I will.”

  As she led the pony away, sympathy for her stirred in Carl. Joe wasn’t usually so unkind. “I can take care of the horse, Joe.”

  “If she’s going to stay, she’s going to earn her keep while she’s here. I don’t know why she had to come in the first place.” Joe stalked away with a deep frown on his face.

  Carl followed him. The two men crossed to the largest shed and went inside. Numerous metal panels were stacked against the far wall. They were used to make pens of various sizes to hold the sheep both prior to shearing and afterward.

  They had the first three pens assembled before Joe spoke again. “You think I’m being too hard on her, don’t you?”

  “It’s your business and none of mine.”

  “What did she have to say on your trip into town and back?”

  “Not much. She’s concerned that her sister is being made to marry against her will by their uncle Morris. It’s not the way things are done around here.”

  “Nee, but it doesn’t surprise me much. I never cared for Morris. I couldn’t believe it when my daughter wanted to marry into that family. I tried to talk her out of it. I’ve never met a more shiftless lot. The men never worked harder than they had to, but they made sure the women did. In my eyes, they didn’t treat their women with the respect they deserved.”