The words twisted Katie’s heart. Since she’d returned to her parents’ home four months ago, she had only seen her family-by-marriage a few times outside of the district’s twice-monthly church services. But though she loved them, there were too many reminders here. She and Samuel had lived in this house during the five years of their marriage. At this very table they had sat side by side for meals with Hannah and Mader and Fader Miller. In the room at the top of the stairs, they had slept as husband and wife. A sense of grief threatened to overwhelm her.
She shook it off and tugged playfully at one of the laces dangling from Hannah’s kapp. “If you do, next time I shall make the ointment doubly smelly just to plague you.”
Hannah wrinkled her nose, and Katie tweaked it.
“Off with you, now.” Mader Miller snatched a basket off of the counter and pressed it into Hannah’s hands. “The hens have waited long enough for their breakfast, and the eggs need to be gathered.”
When the child had skipped out the door, the older woman set a mug of coffee on the table in front of Katie. “It is good to see you, daughter. Too long has it been since you visited.”
Unable to meet her mother-in-law’s eyes, Katie stared at the steam rising from the mug. “I know. I am sorry.”
Silence fell. Katie glanced up to see Mader Miller’s unfocused gaze fixed on something visible only to her. A sad smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. With a rush of guilt, Katie realized she wasn’t the only one whose memories of Samuel wedged like thorns in her heart.
She broke the silence with a whisper. “I miss him.”
Mader Miller nodded. “As do I.” Her eyes focused on the window. “And so does John.”
At the mention of Fader Miller, an uncomfortable knot formed in Katie’s stomach. Though she and Mader Miller had grieved Samuel’s passing as only a wife and mother could, their grief combined could not touch that of his father’s. In the span of a few months, Katie had watched the man go from mourning to near-obsession with his son’s death. A mournful cloud hovered over him, and instead of dispersing with time, it grew darker and denser and more distressful for those around him. Though he continued to administer his duties as bishop to the Amish community of Apple Grove, grief had made him rigid. Because he found no comfort for his pain, how could he give comfort to the families who looked to him for leadership? The community of Apple Grove sympathized with the devastating loss of a son, but they whispered that their bishop should attempt to put the tragedy behind him instead of wallowing in his grief. Thus would he advise others, but he seemed unable to heed his own advice. At home every conversation centered on Samuel until finally, unable to bear the constant reminder of her loss, Katie had moved back to her parents’ home. There she had been able to begin to let go of the pain of Samuel’s death, and more and more remembered the joy of his life.
Until today. Coming back here tinged all her memories with pain.
Mader Miller reached across the table and laid a hand on her arm. The touch was brief, only a moment, but Katie drew strength from the contact.
“Life is not meant to be lived in sorrow. You are young, daughter. One day the Lord will guide you into happier times.”
Katie looked up into eyes glazed with tears. Much time these past months had been spent asking the Lord what the future held in store for her. Surely love such as she and Samuel had shared came only once in a lifetime. Had the Lord not given her a task to occupy her lonely days? She had begun to learn the ways of doctoring and birthing, and through that had discovered the deep satisfaction of tending to those whose hurts were physical and therefore easier to heal. And yet…
She squeezed her eyes shut. Was she to always remain a widow, forever denied love and happiness until she quit this world for the next?
Mader Miller’s hand pulled away. Katie opened her eyes to see her staring through the window. “A visitor has come.”
“This early?” Katie twisted around to look through the glass. An Amish buggy approached, clouds of dust from the road rising beneath the wheels.
The buggy rolled past the house and continued toward the barn.
“That is Jonas Switzer.” The older woman rose. “I will put on more coffee and warm some rolls. Go, daughter, and invite him in when he has finished his business with the bishop.”
Obediently, Katie rose and headed toward the door.
The morning sun still hung low on the horizon, its brilliant rays shafting through the leaves of the apple trees that bordered the Millers’ yard. Mr. Switzer’s buggy had come to a stop, and Fader Miller emerged from the barn. He stood erect, waiting for Mr. Switzer to climb down from the bench and stand before him. Mr. Switzer began to talk, calmly at first. Then he waved his arms, churning the air around him. Clearly something had upset the normally unruffled man.
I hope Emma and Rebecca are well.
Jonas’s daughters had been Katie’s friends since childhood. Though she rarely saw them now that they had both left the Amish and lived almost two hours’ ride away, Katie stayed informed through their grandmother.
She slowed her approach, unwilling to eavesdrop on the men’s conversation. But Mr. Switzer was so upset that his voice rose and fell, and she couldn’t help but overhear a few snatches.
“…weapons…fence…shoot me on my own land!”
Oh, dear. Someone had shot at him?
Because Fader Miller faced her way, she heard his answer more clearly.
“You must go to this Mr. Littlefield and explain to him the mistake. Perhaps he will listen and respond honorably.”
Katie stopped several yards away and politely turned her back, though she could still hear.
“You will go with me? I fear to go alone will result in violence.”
A stern note crept into the bishop’s voice. “You threaten violence?”
“From me, no. From them? They are Englisch. Their honor is different from ours. If two of us go—”
“If two go, they will see a threat. If one man calls upon his neighbor to discuss a shared problem, it is a friendly visit. Have Marta bake a snitz pie.”
Jonas’s voice grew loud. “You would send me to the home of an Englisch man with rifles armed with a pie?”
Katie winced. Mr. Switzer must be distraught indeed to raise his voice to the bishop. She would never have the nerve.
Fader Miller’s reply was low, alarmingly so. She couldn’t make out the words, but the tone was one that would have set her knees to shaking if it had been directed at her. The sound of retreating footsteps followed.
Katie turned in time to see the bishop disappear into the barn, his back rigid. Mr. Switzer stared after him, shoulders slumped and arms hanging at his sides. Moving cautiously, she stepped toward him, and he turned at her approach. A struggle lay plain on his creased brow and troubled eyes.
She bobbed a quick curtsey. “Mader Miller says won’t you come in for coffee and warm rolls?”
For a moment she thought he must not have heard her. He stared at her without answering. Then he set his jaw.
“Danki, no. I must go.”
She stepped back and watched him climb into his buggy. Seated, he picked up the reins and then stopped. He looked at her as though seeing her for the first time. “Katie Miller. A favor you would do for me?”
“Ja. If I can.”
“Take a message to my house. Tell my mader I have gone to Rebecca and Emma, and will return after the noon meal.” He tossed a glance toward the barn, and his chin jutted forward. “I go to see my son-in-law, the Englisch sheriff.”
Without waiting for an answer, he flicked the reins. Katie stepped back as his buggy rolled forward. She almost called after him, “Give my greetings to Emma and Rebecca,” but somehow she doubted he would remember.
TWO
Uncle Jesse, can I help? Please?”
Jesse Montgomery paused in his task of running a currycomb over his horse and made a show of cocking his head to eye the dark-haired boy standing beside him. Four-year-old Luca
s hopped from one foot to another, his expression eager.
“Well, I don’t know.” Jesse pushed back his hat and scratched his head. “You’re not tall enough to reach Rex’s back, and he’s a might touchy about having his legs groomed. When you have another foot or so of height on you, I’ll be glad for the help.”
The child’s smile faded, his expression serious. He heaved a sigh and then disappeared in the direction of the barn. Chuckling, Jesse continued running the brush in a circular motion across the horse’s shoulder, working his way past the withers and onto Rex’s back. Little Lucas had taken a shine to him in the past year since he’d come to help out on the farm of the boy’s father, Jesse’s old buddy Luke Carson.
Jesse paused in the act of flicking a chunk of dried dirt out of Rex’s chestnut hair. Who was he kidding? He didn’t come here to help out. He came to dry out. Luke and his wife, Emma, had been kind enough to take him in a year ago, even though he’d been nothing but a shaking, shivering bag of bones with booze flowing through his veins instead of blood. If they hadn’t been willing to help him, he’d probably be dead by now.
He glanced toward the vegetable garden where Emma knelt among a row of tomato plants, taking shelter from the sun beneath a huge floppy hat that Luke made fun of in the playful manner of a loving husband who adored his wife. She could have refused to let Jesse stay. After all, she had two impressionable children to think about. Instead, she and Luke had not hesitated to take him in and make him a part of their lives. He switched his gaze to the blanket where little Rachel played in a patch of shade from a leafy oak tree. In a way, the kids had made it easier to leave the whiskey behind. Even in his worst state he cherished their innocence, and he longed to recapture some of that innocence in his own life.
Longed in vain. He’d wrecked any chance he might have had to build a wholesome life. Women like Emma and her sister, Rebecca, chose strong men for their husbands, upstanding men with goals and determination and strength of character. Not broken-down old cowpokes like him.
He gazed across a wide field to the little white church that stood surrounded on three sides by corn. On the fourth side was the sprawling house that was home to Preacher Colin Maddox, his wife, Rebecca, and four orphaned boys with sadder eyes than any child should possess. He’d helped build the orphanage with his own hands, the first decent thing he’d done in years. Jesse’s brush paused over Rex’s back as a sense of helpless frustration washed over him. Those boys had found a home with Colin and Rebecca and were slowly recovering from the trauma of a devastating past. If only he could manage to do the same.
A sound behind him drew his attention away from gloomy thoughts. Lucas exited the barn backward, dragging a sturdy wooden stool across the grass.
“Will this make me tall enough, Uncle Jesse?”
Jesse hid a grin at the boy’s anxious expression. He made a show of examining the stool that he used for milking. “You know what? I think it might. Hop up there and give it a try.”
Lucas’s anxiety turned to instant excitement as he climbed up. Rex turned his head to watch as Jesse instructed the child in the proper use of the brush on his back.
“Run it in circles first to loosen the dirt beneath the hair, and then you can brush it away. But be gentle. Like this.” He demonstrated.
The boy watched closely and then took the brush. “I can do it.” Jesse hid a grin as he watched the child work, and then he gave an approving nod. “Good job. You’re hired.”
A movement in the distance snagged his gaze. A horse and buggy made its way down the main road coming from Hays City and turned between the cornfields down the narrow lane that led to the church. He shielded his eyes with a hand. Hard to tell at this distance, but that looked like Big Ed pulling Jonas Switzer’s buggy.
Emma had seen as well. She came out of the garden, scooped up baby Rachel, and headed toward them.
“What is Papa doing here in the middle of the morning?” Concern etched lines in her forehead. “I hope nothing’s happened to Maummi.”
“I’ll go.” He took the currycomb away from a disappointed Lucas. “You want to help me saddle him?”
A smile lit the child’s face. “Sure!”
When the task was finished, Jesse swung up onto Rex’s back and looked down at Emma and the children.
“Two rings if everything’s okay.” Emma hitched Rachel up on her hip. “Three if we need to come.”
Jesse nodded. The two houses were close enough to each other to see, and the sisters got together several times a week to cook, sew, or enjoy a cup of tea. But when the church bell was installed a few months ago, they had worked out a message system. Every morning Rebecca assigned one of the boys the task of ringing the bell twice, which sent a cheery good morning to Emma and told her things were well at the Maddox house. Three rings meant something was wrong, and Emma and Luke would hurriedly hitch up their wagon for a quick trip down the lane to see where they could lend aid. The system worked well. Only once had the bell rung three times, when the baby in Rebecca’s womb had remained still for a full day and a panicked mother-to-be needed her sister’s advice.
“And if it’s nothing serious,” Emma continued, “tell Papa I will have coffee and biscuits ready for him when he leaves there.”
Jesse nudged Rex forward and took off. Across the eastern field he spied another horse and rider heading toward the Maddox homestead on an intersect course with his. Luke had ridden out not long ago to inspect the seedling corn and had apparently spotted Jonas’s buggy too.
They arrived at the church together to find Jonas talking with more animation than Jesse had ever seen the Amish man display.
“All the way around.” Jonas swung his arm wide as Jesse and Luke dismounted. “A fence! On my land. And I am to be shot if I cross.”
He acknowledged their arrival with a glance from troubled dark eyes, which then focused again on Colin.
“They just up and strung a fence without a word?” Colin pushed back his hat and frowned.
“Who did?” asked Luke.
“Englisch men.” Jonas’s troubled expression deepened. “Rough Englisch men with guns.”
Rebecca emerged from the house, her hands cupped around the bottom of her round belly, and crossed the distance with a quick step to where they stood. Though her face wore an expression of concern, Jesse admired the way her hair shone in the sunlight. Even heavy with child, she was a lovely young woman. A wave of regret passed over him. If only he’d quit drinking years before, she could have been his wife and the baby his child. She’d crossed the length of Kansas to search for him, and she had found nothing but a wasted hull of a man.
He pushed the thought aside. What she’d found on that journey was Colin Maddox, her true mate. The Lord had worked that out for the best. Never was a couple more suited for each other than Colin and Rebecca.
She hurried toward the little group standing before the church. “Papa, what is wrong? Is Maummi unwell?”
The fact that Jonas did not answer his daughter with a welcoming smile spoke to the depth of his emotions. He nodded in her direction, “Ja, ja. She is well. But my land is overrun by Englischers.”
Jesse remembered his instructions. “Emma’s waiting for news.”
Rebecca glanced across the distance, where Emma could be seen standing in front of her house, staring that way. Though she was too far away for her features to be discerned, her stance was as tense as a bird dog fixed on a bevy of quail.
Rebecca turned to one of the boys who hovered in the doorway of the house. “Butch, would you please ring the bell twice?”
Butch, whose face never lost its slightly worried expression, took off for the church at a run. A moment later the toll of a bell filled the air. Emma waved and then turned to disappear into her house.
“All right now, let’s get to the bottom of this.” Colin assumed the role of questioner. “Jonas, you say you got up this morning and found out that these men had strung up a fence across your property. What did th
ey have to say for themselves?”
“That my land is not mine but belongs to an Englischer named Mr. Littlefield.” He wrung his hands. “It is almost twenty years since we came from Ohio, my Caroline and I, with the Amish to establish Apple Grove. John Miller, Eli Schrock, Melvin Byler, Jacob Helmuth, and others. We rode the land together and picked out our farms.” His chest swelled. “I chose the one farthest west, the most western Amish farm in the whole country. A good land, with plenteous water and rich soil for farming.” His shoulders drooped. “How can this Littlefield say it is no longer mine?”
Luke’s jaw became rocklike. “He can’t. I’ve heard about this sort of thing. A rich man comes along and decides he wants to lay claim to a particular piece of land, no matter if it’s already been claimed.”
Outrage stiffened Jesse’s spine. “They can’t get away with that! There’s a law against that sort of thing.”
They all looked at Colin, who had been a sheriff for several years before he hung up his badge and hung out his shingle as a preacher. His hesitant expression did little to quell the sense of unease growing in Jesse. “I’m not sure what the law says about this. We all know land is plentiful in the West. All a man has to do is claim his hundred and sixty acres. That’s what we’ve done here.” His gaze swept the land around them and shifted toward Luke’s spread as well. “I’ve heard about folks putting up fences to mark off their claims, but I never heard of someone fencing someone else’s claim.”
“Amish do not know about laws and such. We hold ourselves separate from the Englisch world.” Jonas appeared to remember something. “He has cows from Texas he will bring to Kansas.”
“Littlefield?” Luke’s gaze strayed to the sky. “I heard tell of a Littlefield over near Coleman who had a good-sized herd. Can’t say I remember anything about him, though.” He exchanged a look with Jesse and then Colin. “This could be a real problem, gentlemen.”
Jesse nodded as understanding dawned. The days of the open trail were drawing to a close. As men laid claim to Western lands, the fences they erected served as barriers, closing off access for the great cattle drives that had provided occupation for Jesse and Luke and hundreds of roving cowboys like them. It was nearly impossible these days to move a decent-sized herd any distance. Men such as this Littlefield had effectively put Jesse out of business and left him searching for work with skills no longer useful.
A Cowboy at Heart Page 2