The Mending

by Susan Lantz Simpson

  “It seems like fall wants to move in early this year. Look, Tim, there’s another fuzzy caterpillar.” Malinda pointed out the light brown furry-looking creature inching its way across the path. “The old folks say they’re a sign of a hard winter.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I, for one, am anxious for fall to arrive.”

  Tim winked at Malinda, causing warmth to creep into her cheeks, even though no one was close enough to see them. He reached for her hand and threaded his fingers through hers.

  “Timothy! That’s your hurt hand.” Malinda stopped in her tracks. She grabbed his other hand. “Squeeze both at the same time.”

  Timothy squeezed.

  “Squeeze harder. I can take it. I’m tough.”

  Timothy chuckled. “That you are.” He squeezed harder.

  “It’s the same, Timothy! You squeezed equally hard with both hands!” Malinda practically jumped up and down in her excitement. She looked up at his amused expression. “You knew that, ain’t so?”

  “Jah.”

  “You didn’t tell me your strength had completely returned.”

  “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “Well, you certainly did that.”

  “I have another surprise.”

  “Really? What is it?”

  “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.”

  “You tell me right now, Timothy Brenneman.” She stomped a foot for emphasis.

  “Or what?”

  “Or I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”

  Timothy burst out laughing. “You sure are cute when you’re mad.” He bent to kiss her cheek.

  “I’m not mad.”

  “I know. I’m teasing. But you sure are cute.” He held up a hand before she could comment. “Okay. I won’t torment you any longer. I’ve started making our kitchen table. I’m using walnut instead of oak.”

  “Our table?”

  “Jah. And I’ve decided on the style of rocking chair to make for you to rock our bopplin in.”

  Malinda clapped a hand to her fiery cheek. “You have? What if I can’t . . .”

  Timothy placed an index finger on Malinda’s lips. “No more what-ifs. Remember?”

  Malinda nodded. Her attention was captured momentarily by a movement in her periphery. She shifted her eyes to take in a plump gray squirrel scampering off with an acorn. “It looks like he’s getting ready for fall, too.”

  “I think fall will be my favorite time of year from now on.”

  “Why is that?”

  “It will always remind me that is when you became my fraa. You will marry me in the fall, won’t you, Malinda? You aren’t still worried about your illness . . .”

  This time Malinda stood on tiptoe to press a finger to Timothy’s lips. “Our love will be able to mend any rift in my health or overcome any disappointment we may face. Jah, Timothy, I will marry you. Hurry up, fall!”

  Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of

  Susan Lantz Simpson’s

  THE RECONCILIATION,

  coming soon!

  “Hey, Isaac,” Atlee Stauffer called as he closed the door of the Clover Dale Dairy behind him. He took long strides to catch up with Isaac Hostetler. He and Isaac had completed their workday and headed out into a blustery January wind. Darkness would creep in early on this cloudy winter day, so both young men hurried to hitch up and get home to do their outside chores before daylight entirely vanished.

  “Jah?” Isaac slowed his pace a tad but didn’t stop. It seemed to Atlee that Isaac generally tried to steer clear of him. He probably felt embarrassed after the mess he’d made of things with Atlee’s sister, Malinda. It was pretty hard to blend into the background, though, in a small community, and hard to avoid each other when they worked at the same place.

  “Are you going to the singing on Sunday? I hear the visitors from Oakland may postpone their trip home. There might be some new acquaintances to make.” Atlee gave Isaac’s arm a playful punch.

  Isaac pulled his jacket tighter around his neck as if trying to keep the brutal wind from flying down to numb his torso. He hadn’t been to singing in a long while. Atlee sincerely doubted this coming Sunday would be any different—even if there were some pretty girls in the load visiting from another community—but he thought he’d inquire anyway. Isaac gave a noncommittal shrug.

  “You aren’t still pining away for Becky, are you?”

  “Good ol’ Atlee. You can’t let a subject die a natural death,” Isaac muttered, not quite under his breath.

  Atlee knew the fiasco with Becky had been ever so much worse than the failed relationship with Malinda, but it was time for Isaac to get over that and move on. That was Atlee’s humble opinion, anyway.

  “Nee.” Isaac rubbed a gloved hand across his eyes. “Getting involved with Becky was a mistake from the very beginning. I was too much of a dummchen to realize that.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You weren’t the only fellow to fall prey to Becky’s charms. Besides, we all make mistakes.”

  “Some of us make more than others. I was stupid enough to think she really cared. Was I ever wrong! I threw away anything Malinda and I had, but I guess that wasn’t right, either. Maybe I’ll never get it right.”

  “You will. That’s what rumspringa is for—to learn and find out what we want, ain’t so?”

  “I guess so, but you haven’t fallen flat on your face twice.”

  Atlee chuckled. “Who knows what blunders I’ll make? Think about Sunday.” Atlee clapped Isaac on the back and hurried to hitch his own horse.

  * * *

  Atlee barely had to cluck at the horse to get him moving. He was as anxious as Atlee to get home and out of the cold. Atlee glanced at the heavy gray sky in front of him as they trotted away from the dairy. If it didn’t snow tonight, it was missing a gut chance. One thing you could always count on about Southern Maryland weather was that you couldn’t count on Southern Maryland weather. In a matter of a few short hours the weather could go from sunny to stormy. Some years they had snowfall after snowfall, and some years they didn’t even have a trace of snow.

  They’d had a mere dusting at Christmas this year, just enough snow to cover the grass and coat the tree limbs, like cream cheese frosting on Mamm’s carrot cake. At mid-January, they weren’t out of the woods by any means. They still had plenty of time for snow. Some years, winter seemed to last until almost May.

  Atlee rubbed first one hand and then the other on his pants leg to create some warmth. He must have left his gloves at home that morning. He’d have to remember to search for them. Frostbite or cracked and bleeding fingers were no fun, that was for sure and for certain.

  Atlee’s stomach rumbled louder than the clip-clopping of the horse’s hooves. He hoped Mamm or Malinda had cooked a big pot of beef vegetable soup or chicken noodle soup. He could almost feel the hot broth sliding down his throat. Maybe his younger bruders, Ray and Roman, would have finished helping Daed with the chores by now.

  He still missed Sam. Older by two years, Sam had married Emma Swarey last November. He would probably be a daed before too long. Atlee’s only sister, Malinda, two years younger, already had a beau. She’d gotten over Isaac in record time. Now she and Sam’s best freind, Timothy Brenneman, were courting. That was all hush-hush, of course, as was the Amish way, but everyone expected Timothy and Malinda to end up married. That was probably a big part of the reason Atlee held no grudge against Isaac. If his little schweschder had been weeping and moping about, forgiving Isaac for hurting her would have been a lot harder.

  Maybe Atlee should heed the advice he had offered Isaac earlier. Maybe he should check out the visitors at Sunday’s singing. He hadn’t felt ready to settle down before, but those settling-down feelings had been stirring more and more of late.

  He shook the reins to get the horse moving a little faster. “Kumm on, Star. We’re almost home.” Star—what a name for this big, sleek beast. Too bad Daed had let Malinda name him. Even if he di
d have that tiny white star-shaped spot above his eyes, he deserved something more powerful. At least Chestnut, their other driving horse, had a slightly more dignified name.

  Catching the lights of an approaching vehicle in his side mirror, he slowed Star and tried to scoot horse and buggy over as far as he could toward the edge of the country road that had no shoulder to drive on. Most Englischers who regularly traveled this road looked out for buggies and patiently waited to pass them. Every once in a while, though, someone unfamiliar with the area or someone in a big hurry made travel downright scary. Since he was able to see around the curve up ahead, he leaned out of the buggy to signal the driver that it was safe to pass him.

  Slowly the van drove up beside him. Before Atlee pulled his head back into the buggy, he returned the driver’s wave and locked eyes with the passenger in the backseat. Becky? Of course it was Becky. No one else had hair the color of honey dripping from a hot, flaky biscuit and eyes a brighter green than his own. Had she returned home to stay? He smiled and waved again, but she dropped her eyes and withdrew into the shadows of the van.

  “Brrr!” Atlee shivered as he closed up the buggy. He didn’t know what was frostier—the air or Becky Zook’s attitude. The girl in the van did not act like the flirty, flighty girl of a few months ago. He wondered what had happened to subdue that carefree spirit that was sort of akin to his own. Atlee shrugged and urged Star on again. No doubt, any news about Becky would trickle down the grapevine soon enough.

  Gut. It looked like his bruders were finishing up the chores. He should be able to get away with simply parking the buggy and caring for the horse.

  “Great timing!” Roman, his sixteen-year-old bruder, called as he exited the barn with thirteen-year-old Ray on his heels. “You managed to show up right when we’re finished.”

  Atlee shrugged. “It couldn’t be helped. I had to work a little later.”

  “Sure you did.” Ray tried to scowl but ended up grinning.

  Atlee thought Ray was the sibling most like himself. Both of them loved to tease and laugh. “I’ll have you know I did not stop off anyplace but raced right home.” Atlee feigned hurt at Ray’s remark. “Where’s Daed?”

  “Still in the barn. He told us to go on inside and wash up,” Ray replied. “I’ll beat you, Roman.”

  Atlee chuckled at his bruders’ playful shoving as they sped toward the house. He had half a notion to run, too. The wind’s bite had intensified, and with the increasing clouds, full darkness was almost upon them. Atlee finished up the same time as his daed, so the two walked to the house together. “I’ve got to find my gloves.” Atlee blew on his hands.

  “I probably have an extra pair somewhere.”

  “Danki. I’ll search for mine and let you know.”

  They clomped up the back steps. Warmth and delicious smells enveloped Atlee the moment he crossed the threshold. “Smells like . . .” Atlee paused to sniff deeply. “Beef stew?”

  Daed sniffed the air. “I believe you’re right.”

  “Great. I’m starving and freezing!”

  “Then we’d better hurry.”

  “Hey, my gloves!” Atlee lifted his heavy dark gray gloves off the kitchen counter.

  “You must have dropped them in your haste this morning,” Malinda said. “I found them near the door. I even sewed up the little hole on the right thumb.”

  “Danki. What would I do without you? Tell me that’s beef stew I smell.”

  “It is.”

  “I knew it.” Atlee scooted past Malinda and took his place at the big oak table.

  After the silent prayer, a plate piled high with thick slices of golden corn bread was passed around. For a few moments, only the clinking of stainless steel spoons against blue ceramic bowls and slurping sounds broke the silence. Then the chattering and laughing began. The Stauffer house was generally not a quiet one. Atlee kept his strange encounter with Becky to himself. What in the world had been going on in her life?

  * * *

  Shadows felt safe. Maryland felt safe. At least she hoped it would be safe. It had to be safer than New York had turned out to be. Rebecca leaned forward only enough to see black-and-white cows happily chewing their cuds in the wide, open field. A windmill spun in the breeze at the next farm. Across the road, a pickup truck and a sports car sat in an Englischer’s driveway. That’s the way it was in Southern Maryland. The Amish and Englisch lived peacefully side by side with fields of corn or soybeans or hay in between them. Nothing like what she had seen in the city. Was it only a little more than six hours ago that she had woven her way among throngs of pedestrians, trying to get to the bus station without being followed?

  Rebecca was beyond tired. Even her eyelashes and toenails were weary. She pulled back into the shadows again and leaned her head against the window, just like she had done on the bus. The vibration rocked her, and the van’s engine sang her a lullaby. She didn’t have much farther to go, but she was powerless to keep her heavy eyes from closing. Scenes from New York played out in her mind. Would she be forever tormented by her horrible experiences, her frightening memories, and finally, her mad dash to escape the city?