A Little Bit of Charm

by Mary Ellis

  “Very funny. Eat your Fruit Loops and be a good little girl.” He pulled Keeley’s ponytail.

  “Breakfast?” asked his mom. “We’re leaving in five minutes.” She pushed a box of glazed doughnuts across the table.

  “I think I’ll choose the breakfast of champions.” Jake poured Wheaties into a bowl, added milk, and then wolfed down his cereal. He took a donut to eat on the ride to Charm. “I’ll drive separately. No sense cramming five people into one car.”

  Taylor handed him a travel mug filled with coffee. “In that case, Virgil can ride with you.”

  Jake looked at his younger brother with a pang of guilt. When was the last time they had thrown around a football or raced the quads, just the two of them? Whenever Virgil asked him, Jake was always too busy. “Good idea. I can find out which teams look good this fall.” He ruffled a hand through Virgil’s hair. “Nobody knows stats like my brother.”

  For twenty minutes, Virgil explained the prospects for every major NCAA football team. Before Jake knew it, he was following his dad’s car into the parking lot of First Baptist Church of Charm. Old ladies wearing big hats along with young ones in pretty dresses milled around the steps, gossiping until the last minute.

  Jake slipped into the pew on the end, cramming Virgil against Keeley. His father pressed himself against the wall to make room. The only alternative would be to take the empty seat in the row ahead. However, Becky Thompson resided there—a woman who talked boatloads any chance she got. Not fond of chitchat, Jake planned to let his thoughts drift to a blue-eyed Amish gal with the prettiest face in Kentucky. But after the Bible reading, two hymns, and a contemporary praise song, Reverend Bullock caught Jake’s attention with his first sentence.

  “Christians often think they need to obey the Commandments and follow Scripture so they won’t be judged harshly at their death, so they can one day find a place in the Promised Land. Some young folks think they have plenty of time to worry about that. After all, barring an accident, they’re not going anywhere for a while.”

  Jake blinked. Had this preacher read his mind while still miles from the church? What sort of tricks did they teach at theological seminary?

  “But if they think like that, they might miss the incredible gifts God has in store for His believers. In Ephesians, children are instructed to obey their parents because it’s the right thing to do. Everyone knows that. But if you read further, it also promises life will go well for you and you will enjoy a long life on earth. Right here and now—no waiting for the next life. God promises us comfort, guidance, and joy if we only surrender our will. Put down your burdens and follow Him. We don’t have to worry about what we’ll eat or wear as long as we have faith. God has never let me down. Sometimes He tells us we must wait and be patient. Sometimes the answer is no because our plans aren’t in keeping with His. But if you build a relationship with Him, you won’t be disappointed.” Reverend Bullock’s flushed face began to perspire as he surveyed the congregation.

  No one in the room doubted the man’s sincerity…except maybe one. Oh, yeah? Then why are there Christian homeless people? Why do sick folks still die even though a whole town full of believers prayed for healing? And why are there so many Christians in jail if we’re all supposed to walk the straight and narrow? Caustic thoughts and recriminations flitted through his head, yet Jake knew the minister believed every word he spoke. Where did faith like that come from? Jake leaned forward in the pew to focus on the sermon. While he listened, he grew irritated at times or at least defensive, but by the end something gnawed at him.

  Give up control?

  Surrender your destiny?

  No matter how hard he worked and must continue to work if his dream with Eager to Please were to come true, Pastor Bullock said the future was out of his hands.

  After the service, Jake followed his brother outside, only partially aware of Virgil’s plans for the afternoon. Jake’s head swam with things he didn’t like, but the idea that continued to bother him came back to Rachel. Without stepping one foot inside an Amish church, without understanding much about the various Plain sects, Jake knew she believed every word the minister uttered…lock, stock, and barrel. And how would that bode for their future?

  ELEVEN

  And grace will lead me home

  Ken closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose for the third time that afternoon. He’d spread the November bills across his desk to see what he was dealing with. When they covered the surface two deep and he still had a stack in his hand, he opted for a different approach. Next, he separated bills into a pile for household expenses, one for their boarding and training operation, and a third for the training of Eager to Please. Alan Hitchcock had brought with him a tidal wave of financial demands. Between improvements to the barn; a new staff of grooms, exercise boys, and a part-time secretary; regular veterinary checkups; and an array of supplements and special feed, Eager to Please had become an expensive juvenile. At least Alan had agreed to move into the bunkhouse, saving them the added expense of his stay at Florence’s bed-and-breakfast.

  None of the new expenses had been unexpected, and it wasn’t as if the Brady family didn’t have sufficient funds to pay these obligations. Thanks to the jumbo loan Ken had taken out, their business account contained enough for at least six months, if not a year. It just felt wrong to pour this much money into a pipe dream. Sure, some men took these kinds of chances on a regular basis, but those people weren’t descendants of Jeremiah Brady.

  Inhaling a deep breath, Ken pulled the checkbook from his desk drawer and attacked the piles one at a time. Systematically he wrote checks, affixed stamps, and lowered their bank balance bit by bit. Two hours later, he focused on the Twelve Elms balance sheets. Due to Jake’s diligence with their website, blog, Facebook, and whatever other marketing wizardry he set up, their business had grown threefold. Every stall had been leased, and they had a waiting list with another dozen names. Neither Jake, nor himself, nor their other trainers could handle additional classes. Even Rachel King and her wagon tours brought in more income than usual during the fall. Yet none of it made him feel proud or content or even hopeful for the future.

  Keep your life free from the love of money, and be content with what you have. Ken’s grandmother had stitched the words of Hebrews 13:5 into a sampler and hung it on the wall. Maybe that’s why their expanded business failed to bring him joy. A man who constantly obsessed over money didn’t have his focus where it should be. All he had ever wanted to be was a horse trainer…the everyday kind who helped people win blue ribbons at county fairs, raised kids’ self-esteem and gave them a sense of responsibility by caring for an animal, and took folks on overnight journeys to discover the great outdoors. That had been all Jake wanted too until he was bitten by the fame-and-fortune bug. Now some days Ken barely saw his son. And when he did, the young man seemed to have become a stranger.

  Ken left his office in search of a strong cup of coffee. He found the subject of his concern poring over a packet of papers at the kitchen table. “That must be something special to drag you out of the barn in the middle of the day.”

  Jake glanced up and smiled. “This could be good news, Dad. Keeley delivered this to me when she brought up the mail.” He plucked out one sheet to peruse.

  Ken poured coffee and sat across the table, noticing dark smudges beneath his son’s eyes. “Tell me what gold mine you’ve discovered.”

  “The Kentucky Department of Development is offering grants to expand the therapeutic riding program in this state. They have concluded that the relationship developed between horse and rider can assist individuals to relate better to people as well. They will award grants of up to two hundred thousand to buy horses, build another barn, plus a lodge for a life skills camp. With this grant, Twelve Elms can train handicapped adults for future jobs such as grooms, exercise boys, and stable workers.” He dropped the paper on the table.

  Ken stared at his son. “Haven’t we already bitten off all we can
chew?”

  “Not really. Hitchcock has taken over my work with Eager to Please. He’s brought his own personnel, freeing up regular Twelve Elms employees. I know our client list has grown, but don’t you understand? We can help more than just one school for blind children. There are plenty of kids and adults with physical and developmental disabilities who could benefit from therapeutic riding.” Jake’s face glowed with the energy of a new idea.

  Ken hated to derail his enthusiasm with practical considerations. “Leave the papers on the table for me to read after supper. Right now, my brain is exhausted from too much time spent on the books. I’m going to saddle up for a ride into the hills. With as cold as it was this morning, who knows how long the trails will be ice-free?” He patted his son’s shoulder on his way to the door.

  Jake jumped up. “Hang on. I’ll saddle up Pretty Boy and ride with you. Clearing my head sounds like a great idea.”

  Within half an hour father and son reached the highest point on Brady land. The sun had already begun its western descent as daylight hours grew shorter and shorter. They sat side by side gazing over pastures that soon would be muddy from rain or buried beneath a layer of snow. “I never get tired of this view,” Ken said after a minute.

  “I love late fall.” Jake rotated both shoulders to relax. “When the harvest is finished, yet there’s still time for trail rides.”

  “Plus we’re less busy in November.” Ken contemplated asking about Hitchcock’s progress with the colt but squashed the idea. They spent enough hours talking business. “How goes it with Rachel? Your mother tells me you two are dating. Jessie thinks it’s a smashing idea, according to her last e-mail.”

  Jake turned toward him in the saddle, squinting from the sun. “We are. This Saturday will be our second official date, even though we eat together whenever she works. We plan to attend Mom’s fund-raiser and sit with our blind riding students. Along with Mrs. Ingraham, we’ll make sure the kids understand everything that happens during the rodeo.”

  “That should be quite an event. Prince William’s wedding to his bride, Kate, was no better orchestrated than your mother’s affair. She and her friends have seen to every detail.” Ken loosened his grip on the reins, letting his horse graze on sweet grass, normally forbidden on trail rides.

  Surprisingly, Jake allowed Pretty Boy to do the same. “I really like Rachel. To quote Jessie-the-romantic, she might just be the one. At least, on my part.”

  Ken exhaled through his teeth. “Wow, I never saw that coming. Don’t you think her being Amish might make long-range plans difficult?”

  Jake shrugged but looked his father in the eye. “I don’t know why it should. Amish people are Christians, the same as Baptists. What’s the big deal?”

  “The big deal is the Amish take their faith very seriously. It’s the central driving force of their lives.”

  “Rachel can’t take religion more seriously than you and Mom. You two pray about everything. Sometimes I think you seek divine guidance to decide which movie to see at the Somerset mall.” His smile indicated he was being playful, not cynical.

  Several responses sprang to Ken’s mind.

  But you don’t take your faith seriously.

  You seldom pray about anything.

  When was the last time you sought divine guidance for even a monumental decision?

  He chose not to voice any of them. He would only hurt his son’s feelings and drive a wedge in their already fragile relationship. “I wish you the best of luck with that young woman. She seems very nice besides being hardworking and pretty as a picture, just like your mother when I met her at school.”

  “Speaking of Mom, shouldn’t she be home from work by now? I hope she’s started supper. I am starving.” He pulled up his reins. “Let’s go, Pretty Boy. I’m ready to tie on the feed bag too.” Jake galloped down the trail, leaving his father in his dust.

  But Ken appreciated a slower-paced ride back to the barn. That gave him time to contemplate his son. And this conundrum had nothing to do with finances for a change.

  Second Saturday of November

  “I’ll make a deal with you, sweet birds. If you let me cross your pen without attacking my shins, I’ll scatter extra dried corn besides your regular feed.” Rachel held her gathering baskets in one hand while placing the other on the gate.

  Most of the chickens paid no attention as they went about normal business. But two or three hens studied her menacingly. It was as if they knew she was about to steal their eggs. Fortifying her courage, she opened the latch and entered their sanctum as though walking on proverbial eggshells.

  Rachel had promised to collect eggs before she left for work because she had extra time that morning. Instead of driving Isaac’s horse and buggy to work, Jake was picking her up in his truck. She had finished two barns already, delivering the eggs to Sarah for washing and sorting. But this pen, flock number three, always contained a few members who resented her intrusion. She walked gingerly among the birds, careful not to step on toes or talons or whatever they were called. As she passed two of the three troublemakers, Rachel made soothing clucking sounds, with an occasional “that’s a nice birdie” thrown in for good measure. Reaching the barn, she rushed inside and slid the door closed. Hens with evil intent would have to climb the narrow ramps and enter through small openings in the wall. Those led directly to their nesting boxes. Rachel worked as quickly and quietly as possible, gathering today’s efforts to fill her baskets.

  Twenty minutes later, she exited the barn like a thief in the night, but she didn’t get far. One fat, red-faced, ruffled-feathered hen blocked her path. Other curious chickens clustered nearby to see if there would be bloodshed. Holding out her baskets as though they were shields of protection, Rachel advanced. “Look here, Henny Penny, these eggs haven’t been fertilized, so they couldn’t grow into a baby chick anyway.”

  The hen marched toward her, pecking the ground with eager anticipation. Rachel ran for her life. Through the flock she hurried, shoving aside those directly in her path with her baskets. She didn’t slow down until the latched gate was safely closed behind her.

  “Why are you so out of breath?” asked Sarah in the sorting room. She peered at Rachel over her reading glasses.

  “They came after me again in number three.” Rachel began carefully unloading her eggs onto the conveyor belt.

  “Did you get pecked or scratched?” Sarah glanced down at her ankles.

  “I outran them this time.”

  “Are you sure this isn’t all in your head?” Sarah appeared to be biting her cheek.

  “I don’t think so. I’ve made three enemies in that flock. If I had a say-so, those would be sent to market next. They would look good on somebody’s dinner table up in Louisville.”

  “Nein, those are all young laying hens in number three. You’ll just have to make your peace with them.” Sarah focused on the quantity of eggs. “Thank you for your help.”

  “You’re welcum. Now I’ll change for work.”

  “Change? But you didn’t get dirty. Why not just wash your hands?”

  “I’ll wear English clothes today, and because Jake is picking me up, I might as well put them on right now.”

  Sarah switched off the conveyor belt. “Why is your boss picking you up?” Her expression rivaled that of the beady-eyed red hen.

  “Because today is the Brady charity rodeo. This year they’re raising money for the Juvenile Diabetes Association. People pay thirty dollars a ticket but see several shows, including one by professional riders, and eat their fill from a barbecue buffet.” She replaced her empty baskets on the shelf. “All the money collected goes to charity.”

  “What does this have to do with mounted horseback tours?” Sarah ignored the dozens of eggs waiting to be sorted and washed.

  “Nothing. Twelve Elms doesn’t schedule tours during this annual event.” When she noticed Sarah’s eyebrow arch, she quickly added, “But it’s still a workday for employees. I will be helpin
g Mr. Brady.”

  “The young one?” Sarah’s resemblance to Rachel’s adversary increased.

  “Jah.”

  “Help him do what, exactly?”

  The atmosphere turned almost as ominous as Rachel stiffened her spine. “I will sit with him and his blind riding students. We will describe the various events in the arena for the visually impaired.”

  Sarah snorted, switched on the conveyor belt, and resumed sorting eggs.

  Rachel knew her cousin had nothing against the blind, so she let the matter drop. “I’ll see you after work.” She strode quickly toward the house wearing a smile triggered by only one thing—spending the day with Jake.

  When he pulled into the Stoll yard in his shiny red pickup, Rachel was waiting on the porch. She wore brand-new blue jeans and a long-sleeved, peach-colored sweater beneath her flannel-lined, quilted Twelve Elms jacket. She’d purchased the jeans and sweater at the Charm discount store while running errands with Jessie late one Saturday. Her freshly shampooed hair was tucked under her ball cap. No bun or ponytail on such a special occasion.

  “Hi, Jake,” she greeted, jogging down the walkway. Her pace rivaled that in the chicken pen.

  He opened the passenger door with a gallant bow. “Your carriage awaits, my lady. It might not be as quaint as yours, but it’s faster.”

  As he turned around next to the house, Rachel spotted Isaac and Sarah in the doorway. They stood shoulder to chest, not smiling. She felt a twinge of guilt, followed by a spike of irritation. Wasn’t she a grown woman capable of making her own decisions?

  “I know we just saw each other, but tell me your news since yesterday at four o’clock.” Jake flipped back a lock of hair from his face.

  Rachel relayed her egg collection drama and Sarah’s assertion that she might be delusional. Then she detailed the contents of Amy’s last letter, which had been waiting on her bed. “She thinks she might have news for me, but prefers to wait until her next doctor’s appointment. Hmm, I wonder what that could mean?” She pressed her hand to her mouth and chuckled.