A Cowboy at Heart

by Lori Copeland

  Katie’s eyes flew open, startled at the harsh accusation in his voice. “I-I merely forgot the date, that is all.”

  “You have forgotten far more than the date. You have forgotten your place as Samuel’s widow.”

  Her irritation of a moment before swelled. “And what place is that? To go about my days with a long face and bitter disposition? How would that honor Samuel’s memory?”

  “Never have you shed a tear for him.” The bishop’s nostrils flared, and spots of color appeared high on his cheeks where his graying beard grew thin.

  Breath entered her lungs with an outraged whoosh. “What do you know of my tears? Of the mornings I have woken with my bed stiff from salty tears shed in the night?” She snapped her mouth shut. Her private moments of grief were hers alone, not to be trotted out and displayed for approval by this man or any other. “Samuel loved laughter and pulling pranks and the joy of being the first to smile at the rising sun of a morning. Tears do not honor his memory.” She straightened and looked him full in the face, letting him see the anger there. “Nor does a life lived in a dark cave of prolonged bitterness and grief.”

  “You would chastise me for grieving his loss?” His eyes narrowed to slits. “You, who ensured that his line would die with him? It is thanks to your barren womb that he has no son to follow him. When I am gone, his memory will disappear with me, and that is your doing alone.”

  Katie stepped backward as though slapped. The harsh words, sharpened by his fury, flew straight at her heart and hit their mark. Pain erupted inside her ribcage, so vivid it robbed her of breath, and she raised both hands to press against her chest.

  The bishop’s shoulders heaved, whether from anger or unshed tears, she did not know. He tore his gaze from her face. “You have spent enough time tending this Englisch cowboy. Today you will return home.”

  The pronouncement barely penetrated the heavy cloud that had invaded Katie’s thoughts. Because his piercing eyes continued to watch her for a sign that she understood, she managed a nod. He turned and retreated in the direction they had come, leaving her alone beneath the apple trees. His heavy footfalls receded into silence behind her.

  Katie collapsed against a tree. Rough bark prickled the cheek she pressed to its trunk, and salty tears ran in tiny rivers down its length. The bishop’s harsh words battered her mind over and over. Barren womb. No son to follow. Her fault.

  Dear God, if I could change, I would. You know I would.

  But nothing could change the fact of her barrenness. The only thing she could do was make sure no other man suffered the childless fate of her beloved Samuel on her behalf.

  An image arose in her mind, of Samuel’s laughing face, his eyes shining with admiration for her. In the next instant she realized it was not Samuel’s eyes she saw, but Jesse’s.

  Jonas intercepted Bishop Miller as he stepped from the shade of the apple trees into the open sunlight. He had been walking off the plot of land at the eastern border of his property—on this side of the Englisch man’s fence—in preparation for plowing. That field had remained uncultivated in all the years since he had moved his small family here, providing good grazing for his cows and goats. Though saddened at the necessity, he planned to plant his corn there next week because his cornfield was denied to him. The bishop’s arrival provided a welcome interruption to his work.

  “Guder mariye.” He called the greeting as he neared. “A pleasant day to you.”

  The man halted his walk toward the house and turned. Jonas nearly stumbled at the fury he spied on his flushed face. Did the bishop come bearing bad news? Or was he ill, perhaps? Before he could form a question, Bishop Miller spoke.

  “I have instructed Katie to return home. Long enough have you kept her here to tend your Englisch friend.”

  Jonas stared at the man while trying to make sense of the words. Was the bishop accusing him of holding Katie here against her wishes? Nothing could be further from the truth. “I did not—” He snapped his mouth shut on the explanation, stunned at the raw display of emotion on the face before him. Surely inappropriate for an Amish man, and doubly so for a bishop. The man was not thinking clearly. Best not to explain, lest the explanation be mistaken for argument.

  “Of course her family misses her at home,” he replied instead. “We have been grateful for her help.”

  The bishop made a visible effort to get himself under control. His shoulders heaved with several deep breaths, and when he next spoke, the sharpness of his tone was much reduced.

  “How long will the cowboy remain in your care?”

  Jonas glanced toward the porch, where Jesse sat rocking slightly, watching them from a distance. “He is weak still but gaining strength every day. I believe Katie mentioned that it would be several weeks—”

  “One week.” Bishop Miller snapped the words. “By then he should be strong enough to return to his own home.”

  Jonas took special care to keep his expression calm. That the bishop wanted Jesse gone, far from Apple Grove, was obvious. What had occurred to set him against Jesse? A movement behind his shoulder drew Jonas’s attention. Katie walked beneath the apple trees, her shoulders drooping and her head bowed. The reason for Bishop Miller’s behavior became clear.

  “It is because of me that Jesse Montgomery was hurt.” He spoke mildly, hoping as he did so that the bishop would not take offense. “Is it not my Christian duty to offer aid to my fellow man?”

  His tactic did not work as planned. The man’s chest swelled with a swift indrawn breath. “Do you venture to instruct me on Christian duty?”

  “No,” Jonas rushed to say. “I only thought—”

  “Your thoughts give me much concern.” Bishop Miller’s mouth formed a tight disapproving line beneath his clean-shaven lip. “Word has reached me that you are not, perhaps, as dedicated to obeying the Ordnung as you once were.”

  Jonas’s jaw dropped. How could anyone doubt his dedication? He had devoted his whole life to Amish practices, to living as Christ instructed. He was still casting about in his mind for a response to the stunning accusation when the bishop continued.

  “Did you ride astride the Englischer’s horse?”

  For a moment his mind was blank. Then he remembered. He’d ridden Jesse’s horse to the Beachys’ farm, and then to Hays City to fetch the doctor. “Only in the interest of saving a life. Had I tarried to hitch the buggy and travel at the slow pace of my horse, my friend would have died.”

  “Is there a weapon in your house at this moment?”

  “Yes.” He answered truthfully, if reluctantly. “But it is not mine. It belongs to my injured friend.”

  “Your friend.” The bishop’s gaze strayed toward the porch, his nostrils flared wide. “You have many friends among the Englisch. And family too. I grow concerned that their ways may entice you from your Amish faith. Is this not the very reason we insist on separation from the world, so that our lives will not become corrupt from their evil practices?”

  An anger that rivaled Bishop Miller’s rose from deep in Jonas’s gut. A dozen answers came to mind: that men’s actions must be ruled by charity; that Christ urged love for others, sinners as well as righteous, Amish as well as Englisch; that his daughters might not follow the Amish practices in which they were raised, but they were not evil. Because he could not muster the strength to speak in a peaceful voice, he held his silence.

  “One week,” the bishop repeated. “By then the Englisch cowboy should be well enough to return home where he belongs.”

  Without a word of farewell, Bishop Miller left Jonas standing alone in his yard, his arms dangling helplessly at his side. Stunned by the conversation, he watched the bishop climb up onto the seat of his buggy and pick up the reins. A moment later, the horse started forward. As the buggy turned in the yard and headed toward the road, Mader came through the door, a laden tray in her hands.

  “Jonas,” she called across the yard. “Did you not ask him to stay?”

  Jonas couldn’t an
swer. All he could do was watch the bishop’s retreating back, the words still tumbling like stones in his mind.

  TEN

  I don’t understand.” Jesse’s tight grip on the straight-back chair was born out of necessity. “That man can march in here, tell you to pack your stuff, and make you go home?”

  A smile curved Katie’s soft lips. “You do not need me anymore. Look at you, standing under your own strength and taking meals at the table beside everyone else. It is time for me to leave.”

  He considered releasing his grip on the chair so she could judge for herself how weak he still was, but pride kept him upright. She’d already seen evidence of his weakness more than he liked to think about. Besides, Butch stood nearby holding her horse’s lead. He hated to embarrass himself in front of the boy.

  “That isn’t the point. If you want to go home, go, but decide the timing for yourself instead of jumping when someone tells you to jump.”

  “I want to go home. I miss my family.”

  He didn’t believe her, not when she refused to look him straight in the eye when she said it. And why was the tender skin around her eyes red and slightly puffy?

  The door behind him opened and Maummi Switzer exited with a cloth-wrapped bundle in her hands.

  “For your mader, to thank her for loaning her daughter to us.” The elderly woman handed the bundle to Katie. “It is apple bread with walnuts and a jar of blackberry preserves.”

  “Danki.” She took the gift with her free hand, her other holding the rim of her sewing basket. “You will send for me if need arises?”

  From the gaze that searched the older woman’s face, Jesse knew that Katie wasn’t only referring to him.

  Maummi Switzer waved a dismissive hand in his direction, more than likely purposefully misunderstanding. “Him! If he gives me trouble, I will take my broom to his backside.”

  The corners of Katie’s lips turned up. “I left red clover in the kitchen. See that he drinks the tea each day.” Her smile faded into a meaningful look. “And hawthorn berry as well.”

  The older woman busied herself with brushing an imaginary speck of dirt from her apron, but when Katie continued to stare, she finally jerked a nod. “Ja, I know.”

  The door opened again, and Jonas exited. He picked up the bulging bag Katie had set on the wooden boards near the step and carried it to her buggy. The trio on the porch watched him store it on one side of the bench.

  Katie crossed the two steps that separated them. “Please sit down so I can leave without fearing that you will fall.”

  He started to argue, but he gave in to the imploring look on her face. Gritting his teeth, he managed to round the chair and sit without falling, though a faint buzzing in his ears threatened a return of the dizziness.

  “Danki.” She stood looking down at him. “Take care, Jesse. Do not lose patience with your healing. Remember that a babe first creeps and then crawls before he walks.”

  He scowled. “If you think I’m going to crawl on the floor like a baby, you don’t know me.”

  A faint smile curled the soft lines of her mouth. “I know enough to know that you will try to run before you walk.”

  She started to turn away. He was gripped by a sense of urgency that bordered on panic. When would he see her again? He grabbed her arm to stop her. Surprised, she turned a questioning glance on him.

  “I wanted to thank you for…you know.” He shrugged. “For all you’ve done.”

  The smile broke free, and a curious lightness invaded his mind.

  “Gern gschehne,” she replied. “You are welcome.”

  She turned away, but not before he glimpsed the glitter of moisture in her eyes. Or maybe he had imagined it.

  Maummi Switzer moved to his side, and together they watched as she approached Butch. Her tone, but not her words, carried faintly on the breeze. The boy glanced at them on the porch, and then he returned his gaze to her face and nodded. Then she approached the buggy, and Jonas lifted her up onto the bench. With a final wave, she flicked the reins and the horse lurched forward. Jesse watched her leave, afraid to blink lest he miss the moment if she turned and waved again. Was it his imagination, or did the sun’s rays darken as she turned the buggy onto the road, heading away from them? Away from him.

  When Katie passed out of view, Maummi Switzer turned a stern gaze on him. “Your wounds are clean enough,” she announced. “I will pour the liquor out this minute.”

  At another time Jesse might have teased her and told her how he’d tricked her into thinking he’d taken a couple of swigs from the bottle, but at the moment the idea of a shot of whiskey didn’t sound all that bad. It might ease the tightness that had gathered in his chest. “Maybe you should.” For the first time in months he didn’t trust his judgment. Butch and Jonas strode side by side to the porch.

  “You want anything?” the boy asked, his expression intent.

  Jesse shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

  “If you need something, holler for me. I’ll listen for you.”

  Jesse nodded, and Butch ran off toward the barn. A moment later he appeared with two buckets, crossed to the pump, and began filling them.

  Jesse became aware that Jonas was studying him.

  “A fine woman, our Katie.”

  Because the statement didn’t require a response, Jesse kept his gaze fixed on the road down which she had traveled. How far was it from here to the Beachy place? He would have asked Jonas, but he didn’t want to say anything to cause that probing stare to turn to concern.

  A moment later Jonas went inside the house. He returned with Jesse’s belt, the holster and six-shooter dangling a few feet above the porch. “I must move this to the barn.”

  Jesse arched a brow. “Why?”

  Jonas looked embarrassed and did not meet his gaze. “It is against our Ordnung to house weapons that may be used for violence.”

  “You have guns. I’ve seen them.”

  “Not pistols,” he returned quietly. “Rifles for hunting only, and not kept in the house.”

  “A rifle can kill a man same as a pistol whether it’s stored in the barn or the bedroom.” Jesse shook his head. “It’s that bishop, isn’t it? He’s been on you because I’m staying here.”

  Though his friend didn’t answer, Jesse saw from the misery in his kind eyes that it was so. Frustration gripped his stomach with a fist. Their ways were different, but disarming a man who was fighting a war could lead to real trouble.

  Jonas spoke in a calm voice, his expression tranquil. “I submit to God’s authority.”

  “You mean to Bishop Miller’s authority,” Jesse corrected.

  “The one is the same as the other. He was chosen to lead Apple Grove, to ensure our adherence to the Ordnung.”

  “I respect your belief, Jonas, but letting one man control your life…I’d have to question that practice.”

  Though Jonas maintained his trademark placid mask, one hand rose to tug at his beard in an unconscious gesture of discomfort. “Since his Samuel’s death, the bishop grieves. And who would not, to lose his only son as a young man?”

  Jesse tried to understand the point. Not having children he couldn’t put himself in the bishop’s boots directly, but he could imagine the grief of losing someone you love. Hadn’t he wanted to dig a hole and crawl in when his pa died, and then again a few years later when Ma followed? That’s when he’d had his first taste of whiskey, as a twelve-year-old boy who had just learned of his mother’s passing. But not everybody who lost a child turned into a sour-faced tyrant who took his grief out by bossing others around. “Jonas, Katie was telling me that some Amish are allowed to wear blue shirts instead of white. Do some keep their rifles in the house as well?”

  Jonas cocked his head sideways to consider. “Ja, I suppose this is so.”

  “So what you’re saying is that the rules here are more demanding than they are other places.” When Jonas didn’t answer, Jesse continued. “Who sets these rules, anyway?”
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br />   “Many are dictated by the Confession, and die Bibel, of course.”

  “And the others?” Jesse prompted.

  The fingers tugged at the beard with renewed energy. “The others are defined by the Ordnung, the practices by which an Amish community lives.”

  “And that Ordnung is written by the bishop?”

  “The Ordnung is not written,” he said quickly. When Jesse continued to stare, waiting for an answer, he nodded. “It is given to shape the lives of the Amish, to build community and help prevent temptation so we can live like Christ. Ja, the bishop provides leadership by helping us apply the Ordnung to everyday situations.” He leaned forward, and Jesse sensed his desire to convey the depth of his belief in the words he spoke. “The bishop is appointed by God’s own hand. We who live by the Ordnung must follow his leadership. It is the only way to ensure a Plain life, a life of peace and simplicity.”

  Jesse stared at the man, moved by the sincerity, the passion in the eyes fixed on him. Peace. He’d had enough violence, enough rowdy living, to fill five lifetimes, and he would like nothing more than peace.

  If I were Amish, I might have a chance with Katie. The thought rose unbidden in his mind, bringing with it a longing that had nothing to do with passive living. He shoved it away, but it sprang back like a coil.

  A chance with Katie? He frowned. The head wound must have addled his brain. What would that pure, wholesome girl want with a no-good like Jesse Montgomery?

  “I don’t know, Jonas.” He spoke slowly, shaking his head. “I think if I were Amish, I’d start looking for a district where the rules made sense.”

  Jonas started at the words, his fingers frozen in the act of tugging on his beard. After a long moment he turned and left the porch, mumbling something about getting to work on his field.

  “That’s it, boy. Just one more round.” Jesse wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or Rex, but his grip on the saddle horn was tighter than a fat foot in new boots. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, followed by another. His teeth ground together in the effort of putting one foot in front of the other. Rex was more carrying him than supporting him, but he did his best not to let on to the boy walking beside him, watching him with an anxious expression.