by Mary Ellis
“Announcements from married couples usually mean one thing. I would start knitting baby blankets if I were you. And regarding the peculiarity of birds, I once had a crow stalk me every time I drove the tractor. He flew behind me squawking until I finished work. I never figured out if he liked me or hoped I would mire down in the mud.”
“Crows are very intelligent birds. He was probably trying to figure out what you were doing.” As usual, Rachel relaxed in Jake’s company. He had a way of putting her at ease with his effortless conversation.
All too soon, however, they reached the overflow parking lot of Twelve Elms. Jake drove in on an access road and parked behind the house. Mrs. Ingraham and eight of her students were waiting for them under a large elm tree.
“Hi, Miss King. Thank you, Mr. Brady,” she called. “We’re so excited about today’s rodeo.”
Bethany waited to hear from which direction footsteps approached. Then she charged toward them at full speed, hands extended. The other girls followed on her heels. “Rachel, Jake! Will either of you be barrel racing or calf lassoing? How about riding the jumper course?”
Rachel was soon enveloped in a group hug by three little girls. “Not me. I get to spend the day with you!”
Jake received almost as enthusiastic a welcome from the boys. “No riding for me either. Rachel and I have the day off. Our only assignment is to see that you have a great time.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult.” Mrs. Ingraham pulled two knotted ropes from her bag. “We’re already enjoying ourselves. And I can smell the barbecue cooking.” She pressed the rope into each girl’s hand. “The girls will hold Miss King’s rope while the boys will stick with Jake. I’ll bring up the rear to make sure we’re all together.” While she organized the children, Mrs. Ingraham asked Jake, “Don’t you have to work this event?”
“My mother and her friends insisted on using volunteer staff, so the family gets to enjoy the rodeo. But I’m sure my dad will find something to do. He doesn’t know how to relax.” Jake made sure each boy had a firm hold on the rope.
“Before we enter the arena, we’ll stand in line for popcorn, cotton candy, or candy apples,” said Mrs. Ingraham. “But remember, only one treat per person. You don’t want to spoil your appetite for the buffet later.”
Jake gave each child their own ticket to hand to the collector. As they passed into the show barn, a volunteer clown from a nearby church gave them free balloons that advertised their private school. Seats had been reserved for them in the first row so they could avoid climbing the bleachers. Rachel didn’t know what to look at first.
“Step right up and take your seats, ladies and gentlemen.” A voice resonated over the loud speaker. “Our first show is about to begin—the Twelve Elms hunter-jumper class. You’re in for a treat.”
Jake leaned over toward Rachel. “I recognize that voice! It’s my dad. He must be helping the professional announcer.” The boys were sitting on his right, flanked by the teacher.
Rachel was on his left with the girls. “This probably isn’t work for him. It sounds like he’s having fun.”
While the children ate their treats, the loudspeaker announced each contestant. Rachel did her best to explain the pattern of fences for the jumper course and the riders’ maneuvers to her girls. Sighted or not, the children loved the show, clapping loudly for each performer. Afterward they stayed in their seats while workers set up for the professional rodeo. The kids chattered away while the fences were removed and barrels carried into the arena.
Jake decided to narrate the rodeo events to both the girls and boys because he was more knowledgeable than either Rachel or Mrs. Ingraham. With the boys on both sides of him and the girls sitting at his feet, he explained barrel racing, calf roping, team roping, and bareback riding in succession.
“Will there be bull riding?” asked a freckled-faced little boy.
“No, my mom doesn’t like it or bronc riding either. She thinks both are too dangerous for man and beasts alike.”
The kids clapped enthusiastically during the nonstop action, wild with enthusiasm. But Rachel found herself watching Jake more than the contestants.
“Who’s ready to chow down?” he asked after the final event. The chorus of replies nearly damaged their eardrums.
Rachel glanced at him during their supper of barbecue beef, corn, coleslaw, and pulled pork. He patiently wiped chins, poured lemonade, and cleaned up spills while never tiring of their endless questions. Even Mrs. Ingraham remarked what an unusually patient young man he was.
He’s unusual in just about all respects. The more time she spent with him, the fonder she became. That realization frightened her as much as it pleased her.
“May I have dessert, Rachel?” asked Bethany. “I’ve finished my supper.” She tilted her clean plate in Rachel’s direction.
“Oh, course. Who else wants chocolate cake or cherry pie?” Rachel scrambled to her feet and then hurried to the dessert table with two requests for pie and two for cake.
“I hope you’re not eating all those yourself, Miss King.” Jake appeared over her shoulder. She hadn’t seen him leave the table.
“No, but I might sneak back later once my dinner settles, as long as no one is looking.” She grinned up into his handsome face.
“You and I can have dessert later, but Mrs. Ingraham said they’re leaving after this.”
Rachel blanched at the news, secretly wanting the evening to go on forever. “But why?” she asked. “There’s still the parade of show horses and dressage later. And what about winners of the silent auction gift baskets?”
“She said dressage would be too hard to explain to blind students, and none of her kids bought raffle tickets. Anyway, most of them are tired. She said that makes them accident-prone. Let’s finish picking out desserts. My boys all want chocolate cake.”
Rachel couldn’t hide her disappointment on the way back to the table. She distributed her pie and cake with forced gaiety.
“But I’ll sit with you during the parade,” he said, over the children’s heads. “And you can ask me any question you like.” He winked while no one else was looking.
“Sounds like a plan.” Without thinking, she winked in return. Oh, goodness, what in the world am I doing? But that was one question she didn’t dare answer.
Jake and Rachel walked an overexcited group of kids to their bus in the parking lot. None were ready to leave, but Mrs. Ingraham insisted they had taken advantage of Brady hospitality long enough. Truth was, as much as he enjoyed his students, Jake was eager for some time alone with Rachel.
“Where to now?” she asked when the bus turned onto the highway. Both of them waved until they could no longer see the children.
“Anything you like. You pick.”
“Let’s watch that fancy-schmantsy dressage. Those horses and riders all look like snobs.” She lifted her chin high and wiggled her nose in the air.
“Don’t let Jessie hear you say that. She trained most of those dressage students.”
“I’ll behave, don’t worry. Then I want to watch the fund-raising in the show barn. I have my eye on basket number twenty-seven. I bid thirty dollars and I’m hoping to win.”
“Thirty bucks?” Jake took her arm as they walked back to the arena through the crowd. “Must be something special in that one.”
“You’re not kidding. It’s loaded with bubble bath, shower gel, body lotion, candles, tins of flavored teabags—tons of great stuff.”
“All sounds rather smelly to me.”
“Yes, but a gal shouldn’t smell like horses all the time. I want to smell like peaches and raspberries and the ocean on my days off. Look, there’s Keeley.” Rachel pointed at his sister. “Is she juggling?” Rachel took a step toward a cluster of people.
“She is.” Jake grabbed hold of her arm. “People throw money into her hat for charity. How about if we spend the rest of the evening as just the two of us? Haven’t you had enough company for one day?”
She looked a tad apprehensive but nodded. “Sure, let’s head into the arena. I would hate to miss any of the high-class horses in action.”
After dressage they wandered into the show barn, where his mother had created a wonderland. White linen covered every round table and padded chair, while strings of tiny lights twinkled overhead. Bowls of flowers and mixed nuts waited on each table. Even Jake was amazed by the transformation. “It looks like a wedding reception in here,” he said. “Let’s take that one over there.” He guided Rachel to a small table for four.
“Not like any Amish wedding. Is this where they’ll announce the winners of the baskets?” She peered around as though in a trance.
“Yep, the final event. Look, now my dad’s wearing a tux.” Jake waved at a well-dressed waiter. Ken Brady and the celebrity chefs circulated around the room with long-stemmed glasses of pink lemonade.
“I have never had so much fun in my life,” she said, lifting two glasses from his dad’s tray. “Are these for free?” Rachel selected a Brazil nut from the bowl once Ken had moved on to other guests.
“They are. Mom treats the silent auction bidders very well.”
Rachel shrugged out of her jacket and hung it on the back of her chair. “This room is too fancy for baseball caps.” She pulled off the hat, allowing her hair to fall down her back and shoulders. It cascaded like a waterfall of wheat-colored silk.
Jake was transfixed by her beautiful mane of hair, especially since he’d never seen it not in a braid or ponytail.
She noticed his stare and blushed. “I shouldn’t have done that. I got carried away.”
“Why not? I promise not to ogle the next time.”
“There won’t be a next time. An Amish woman never wears her hair down in public. It’s to be shown only to her husband. I’m ashamed of myself.” She quickly coiled it up and jammed it under the cap—messy, but fairly concealed. “There, that’s better.”
“Why? I’m not criticizing, only curious.”
“It’s written in the Bible that a woman’s crowning glory should not be displayed.” Rachel selected an almond from the bowl.
“Do you always take everything in the Bible literally?”
“Well, yes. It’s the Word of God.”
“It was written more than two thousand years ago.”
“What difference does that make to Christians?”
For that, Jake had no immediate reply. He fished through the mixed nuts looking for another Brazil nut.
“You’re a Christian, right? Don’t Baptists take God’s Word seriously?”
“I’m sure they do. Don’t judge Baptists by my example. It’s just that I’m young and still need to make my mark in the world. It easier to be devout when a person’s old and living on a fat pension check.”
Rachel gazed at him with an expression of confusion. “Being a Christian never gets easy. It’s not supposed to. What do you mean ‘make your mark in the world?’”
“I have to establish Twelve Elms as a world-class training facility. If not in the world, at least in the state of Kentucky. And I need to make a living to support a future family someday.”
Her bewilderment didn’t ebb. “Can’t you earn a living and follow the Lord’s path?”
“Generally speaking, yes. I can be nice to folks, give to charity, and try not to get jealous when a buddy buys a new truck. I never kill folks and I don’t steal, unless you count the cookie jar on the kitchen counter.” He looked up, hoping to see her smile.
But Rachel remained stoic. “Why do you say ‘generally speaking’? Nobody can live a faultless life, Jake. By human nature we’re doomed to sin and fall far short of the glory of God, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take the Bible literally and try our best.”
Jake glanced around the room. Everyone else was laughing and enjoying the event, while they were locked in theological debate. “In the Gospels, Jesus told His disciples they must give up their jobs, homes, families—leave everything and follow Him. How does that relate to the twenty-first century? My father is devout, but his family is glad he never abandoned us to follow the life of a monk, praying from sunup to sundown.”
Rachel was silent for a moment. “You and I might not be called to be missionaries, but God can still be central in our lives. We can still pray about all matters.” She reached for his hand.
Her touch washed away his discomfort. “True enough.” He squeezed her fingers in return. “Mom is at the podium. She’s about to announce the winners for each basket and gift certificate.”
Rachel dug a slip of paper from her purse. She had written the number twenty-seven with red marker. “Wish me luck.”
“I have a good feeling about this.” Jake accepted two more glasses of lemonade and settled back in his padded chair. One by one, the highest bid was announced for each donation. When Taylor Brady called out a name, the winner marched forward to claim their prize with face aglow.
“Oh, dear. These baskets are fetching large sums. Somebody probably passed my thirty-dollar bid five minutes after I placed it.”
He forced himself not to grin throughout the first twenty-six donations. Finally, his mom held up the special basket. “Folks, number twenty-seven contains enough goodies to make any woman feel like the Queen of Casey County.”
The friendly crowd of benefactors laughed. “And the winning silent bid is…three hundred fifty dollars!”
Rachel groaned. “Not even close. You can tell I’ve never been to one of these before.” She slumped onto her elbows.
“And the winning bidder is…Jake Brady. My son! Goodness, I never thought him the type for this stuff. Come on up, Jake.”
Acquaintances in the crowd slapped his back as he strode to the podium to collect his prize. Rachel was sitting wide eyed as an owl when he returned. “This is for you.” He set the basket in front of her.
“Have you lost your mind?” she whispered. “Three hundred fifty dollars?”
“The bidding had already reached three hundred by the time I got to the table. That’s what it cost to win.”
“But you could buy that stuff at the mall for a fraction of that.”
“This is a charity fund-raiser for the Juvenile Diabetes Association,” he said, close to her ear.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot.” She fingered the ribbon on the basket. “Thank you, Jake. This is the most generous thing anyone has ever done for me.”
But for the rest of the evening, until he walked her to the Stoll back door, she refused to look him in the eye. It was as though the basket was a giant shame to her, similar to the brief interval without her baseball cap.
TWELVE
The Lord has promised good to me
The November horse sale was a highlight in an equestrian’s year. With a major contender for the Kentucky Derby in eighteen months, Jake had been anticipating this sale for weeks.
“About ready to go, son?” his father called up from the foot of the stairs.
“Be right down.” Jake tightened the knot on his tie before slipping on the cashmere pullover. The sweater had been a Christmas gift from his grandmother. He’d never had an occasion to wear it until now, but he wanted to look like a serious owner, not your average horseman with a few fillies to sell. He had polished his leather loafers until they shone and pressed his chino slacks.
I wish Rachel were coming with us.
That particular errant thought ran through his mind on a regular basis. What interest would an Amish girl have at a horse auction? There would be registered Saddlebreds, Thoroughbreds, and quarter horses. Standardbred buggy and draft horses were usually sold at local county auctions. Yet he wanted her by his side no matter what the occasion. Jake entered the kitchen to a raucous chorus of whoops and wolf whistles.
Keeley looked up from her bowl of cereal. “Who are you?”
Jake ignored her and headed straight for the box of donuts.
“Don’t pay any attention to them. You look nice, son.” His mother buzzed his cheek with a kiss.
“Don’t be silly, Ken. That’s a brand-new flannel shirt. You look nice too.” Taylor bestowed a kiss on her husband’s cheek as well.
Jake devoured his first donut and carried his second out the door. “I’ll check to see how Bob’s coming along with loading the trailer.” He stepped onto the porch. Fog hung low over the fields for as far as the eye could see. The sun was a mere amber glow on the horizon behind the thick haze. Rain threatened, but patches of blue to the south promised clearing later.
“Just about ready to go,” said Bob Sullivan, the barn manager and a longtime Twelve Elms employee. “Two colts and four fillies—more yearlings than we’ve sold in several years.”
“We’re putting our faith behind the colt we’re keeping.” Jake reached between the rails to scratch the muzzle of a lovely brindle-colored horse. Keeley wanted to keep this filly so much, but Jake insisted on the sale. “We don’t need any more riding horses, squirt,” he had told her. “Besides, you have a fine mount.” Now with the filly’s huge round eyes fixed on him, he regretted his decision. “Don’t worry, little missy. Somebody nice is bound to buy you.”
Keeley’s favorite shook her silky mane in disagreement. Their eyes locked between the bars of the trailer as Jake ate the rest of his donut. “Hey, Bob. I changed my mind. Take this brindle back to her stall. She’s not for sale.” He scratched the horse’s nose once more. “Perhaps we’ll earn enough on the others that her price won’t be missed.”
Bob released the ties and led the horse down the ramp. “Keeley will be overjoyed.” He offered a gap-toothed smile.
“Let’s go, son.” Ken latched the trailer door and double-checked the hitch and electrical connections to the taillights. “We have to get these horses unloaded into the sale barn and registered with the director. Then you and I need to check into the hotel and find some supper.” He inserted himself behind the steering wheel.