HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
All Scripture quotations are taken from The Holy Bible, New International Version® NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
Cover by Left Coast Design, Portland, Oregon
Cover photos © Andresr, Yuri Arcurs, Dudarev Mikhail / Shutterstock
Published in association with the Books & Such Literary Agency, 52 Mission Circle, Suite 122, PMB 170, Santa Rosa, CA 95409-5370, www.booksandsuch.biz.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events or locales, is entirely coincidental.
THE HEART’S FRONTIER
Copyright © 2012 by Copeland, Inc. and Virginia Smith
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Copeland, Lori.
The heart’s frontier / Lori Copeland and Virginia Smith.
p. cm.—(The Amish of Apple Grove ; book 1)
ISBN 978-0-7369-4752-7 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-0-7369-4753-4 (eBook)
1. Amish—Kansas—Fiction. 2. Families—Travel—Fiction. 3. Outlaws—Fiction. 4. Cowboys—Fiction. 5. Cattle drives—Fiction. 6. Kansas—Fiction. I. Smith, Virginia, 1960—II. Title.
PS3553.O6336H44 2012
813’.54—dc22
2011030459
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Printed in the United States of America
12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 / LB-CD / 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Contents
Acknowledgments
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
About the Authors
Discussion Questions
A Plain and Simple Heart: Chapter One
Other Books by Lori Copeland
AmishReader.com
About the Publisher
Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, “This is the way; walk in it.”
ISAIAH 30:21
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A Note from Lori and Ginny
When we set out to write The Heart’s Frontier, neither of us considered ourselves experts on cattle drives or the Amish lifestyle. We devoured a lot of books on the cattle drives of the 1880s, and we spoke with many people who helped us understand the Amish approach to a simple life.
We’re so glad we did! What a fun period of America’s history, and what an incredibly interesting lifestyle we were privileged to learn about. We’re grateful to those who helped us tell our story with authenticity.
We owe a debt of gratitude to our agent, Wendy Lawton, who introduced us and made this coauthor arrangement possible. We’re also deeply grateful to the good folks at Harvest House who have worked alongside us to bring this story to you. Thanks to Bob Hawkins, Kim Moore, Terry Glaspey, Shane White, Barb Sherrill, LaRae Weikert, and all the others who believed in this book.
We’re each thankful for our supportive families, and especially to our Lord, without whom we could produce no book worth reading.
God bless,
Lori Copeland and Virginia Smith
PROLOGUE
El Paso, Texas
May 1881
Hot diggety!” Shep Carson whipped off his hat and flung it in the air. “I knew I’d make a man outta you yet!”
Grinning, Luke watched his father make a fool of himself in front of the other wranglers. El Paso teemed with cattle this morning as the cowhands loaded the herd into pens. He’d expected as much, but watching Pa grinning like a possum eatin’ a yellow jacket wasn’t easy. “I don’t know why you find my decision surprising. Haven’t I spent the last few years riding herd over your drives?”
Pa’s gaze softened. “You have, and I’m not surprised but a little baffled. It took you long enough to make up your mind.”
The older man sat tall in the saddle. The years had been kind to the cowboy who had spent most of his life driving cattle to market. Until he was old enough to ride with him, Luke barely knew the man, but over the years he’d developed a deep bond with his father, and the proud look shining in his pa’s eyes made him feel good.
“So. Who signed you on?” Cattle jostled the men’s horses while they worked. Sharp whistles and wranglers’ shouts pierced the air as the milling beef bumped flesh.
Luke cut his chestnut to the left and called back, “Simon Hancock.”
“That a fact? What trail?”
“Chisholm.”
Pa’s grin lengthened. “Got yourself a fine trail and a decent boss. It says a whole lot that a man like Hancock would hire you on for your first drive.”
It was Luke’s first drive in the sense that he would be foreman. He had close to twenty drives under his belt but always as point rider. Every cowhand in Texas knew Hancock’s reputation—a quiet man who managed his herds from a nearby hotel—but most wranglers would give an arm and a leg to take Hancock’s beef to market. His stock was the finest around.
“You didn’t happen to have anything to do with his decision, did you?” Luke headed off another stray.
Pa was waiting for the steer. With one nudge to the horse, the bull slid through the shoot. “Not me. I haven’t worked Hancock’s herd in years. He made me mad as a peeled rattler once, and I refused to work for him again.”
The news didn’t surprise Luke. He’d ridden with Pa since he was fourteen, and he couldn’t recall seeing a Triple Bar brand in the herd, but he’d never thought to ask why. Didn’t matter. Luke was sure he could take whatever Hancock dished up. He must have gotten wind that Shep Carson’s boy was looking for his first foreman job and decided to contact him. Hancock and Pa might have crossed swords in the past, but the cattle baron gave Luke’s father the highest compliment. When the young man hired on with a handshake and a thanks, Hancock grunted and merely said, “I don’t have any concerns about Shep Carson’s boy.”
And he was right about that. Luke might have taken his time to decide what he wanted to do with his life—punch cattle or buy land and settle down—but when he obligated himself to a cause he stuck to it. Now that he was in charge of this ride, he’d see there wasn’t a single hitch. There wasn’t much he didn’t know about cattle. Over the years he’d eaten enough dust and survived enough dry drives to make him one of the best in the business, but until recently he’d been content to follow. Now he wanted to lead.
When the horses pulled up beside one another, Luke took off his hat and wiped his brow. He glanced up when he felt hi
s father’s eyes on him. Eyes brimming with pride.
“What?”
“I’m proud of you, son. Your ma would have been proud.”
“No, she wouldn’t. She hated your job, Pa. And she hated even more that I rode with you. She wanted you home.”
Glancing away, Shep focused on the milling cattle. “Can’t deny your words. I wasn’t much of a husband or father.” His eyes roamed the herd. “The trail gets in your blood, and I had to put food on the table.”
Luke traced his gaze. He didn’t want to be like Pa, not in this way. He liked the work, but someday he knew as certain as he was sitting in the saddle that he’d leave the job. Maybe buy a Texas ranch and raise a family. But for now he knew cattle like the back of his hand, and the good Lord willing, he still had a lot of years ahead of him before he had to decide exactly what he wanted out of life. He’d yet to meet a woman he’d give up bachelorhood for, and with Ma dead and his two brothers scattered, he was free to wander for as long as he wanted.
“It’s a hard life.” Pa’s quiet words broke into his thoughts.
“Driving cattle? I can do it with my eyes closed. And I get along with others, but I can also be tough as nails if necessary.” He figured he’d make a fine trail boss, one any man could respect. Life was as simple as setting your mind to something and following through.
“No, I meant life can get confusing. A man might think he knows all he needs to know, but he’ll soon find out he’s about as dumb as a stump in some matters.”
Chuckling, Luke shook his head. “You’re gettin’ old, Pop. You need a hot bath and a T-bone steak. Life’s only as worrisome as a man makes it.”
The older man’s eyes fastened on him. “Think you got it all figured out, do you? Got your first big job. Feeling mighty good about yourself.”
“Am I certain I can drive cattle as well as my old man?” Luke flashed a grin. “Maybe not as well, but pretty durn close.”
“You think that’s all there is to life? Knowing when to push, when to water, and when to let up?”
“That about sums it up, doesn’t it?”
Shep shook his head. “Young’uns. All fire and stink water.” Reining his horse, he winked. “Have a fine drive, son. And once you get those cattle to Hays, your old pa will buy you that T-bone.” A chuckle rumbled deep in his throat. “Oh…and you can tell me how you’ve managed to hog-tie and lasso life into a tidy little bundle.”
Giving another chuckle, he rode back into the herd.
ONE
Apple Grove, Kansas
July 1881
Nearly the entire Amish district of Apple Grove had turned out to help this morning, all twenty families. Or perhaps they were here merely to wish Emma Switzer well as she set off for her new home in Troyer, fifty miles away.
From her vantage point on the porch of the house, Emma’s grandmother kept watch over the loading of the gigantic buffet hutch onto the specially reinforced wagon. Her sharp voice sliced through the peaceful morning air.
“Forty years I’ve had that hutch from my dearly departed husband and not a scratch on it. Jonas, see that you use care!”
If Maummi’s expression weren’t so fierce, Emma would have laughed at the long-suffering look Papa turned toward his mother. But the force with which Maummi’s fingers dug into the flesh on Emma’s arm warned that a chuckle would be most ill-suited at the moment. Besides, the men straining to heft the heavy hutch from the front porch of their home into the wagon didn’t need further distractions. Their faces strained bright red above their beards, and more than one drop of sweat trickled from beneath the broad brims of their identical straw hats.
Emma glanced at the watchers lined up like sparrows on a fence post. She caught sight of her best friend, Katie Beachy, amid the sea of dark dresses and white kapps. Katie smiled and smoothed her skirt with a shy gesture. The black fabric looked a little darker and crisper than that of those standing around her, which meant she’d worn her new dress to bid Emma farewell, an honor usually reserved for singings or services or weddings. The garment looked well on her. Emma had helped sew the seams at their last frolic. Of course, Katie’s early morning appearance in a new dress probably had less to do with honoring Emma than with the presence of Samuel Miller, the handsome son of the district bishop. With a glance toward Samuel, whose arms bulged against the weight of holding up one end of the hutch, she returned Katie’s smile with a conspiratorial wink.
Emma’s gaze slid over other faces in the crowd and snagged on a pair of eyes fixed on her. Amos Beiler didn’t bother to turn away but kept his gaze boldly on her face. Nor did he bother to hide his expression, one of longing and lingering hurt. He held infant Joseph in his arms, and a young daughter clutched each of his trouser-clad legs. A wave of guilt washed through Emma, and she hastily turned back toward the wagon.
From his vantage point up in the wagon bed, Papa held one end of a thick rope looped around the top of the hutch, the other end held by John Yoder. The front edge of the heavy heirloom had been lifted into the wagon with much grunting and groaning, while the rear still rested on the smooth wooden planks of the porch. Two men steadied the oxen and the rest, like Samuel, had gathered around the back end of the hutch. A protective layer of thick quilts lined the wagon bed.
Papa gave the word. “Lift!”
The men moved in silent unity. Bending their knees, their hands grasped for purchase around the bottom edges. As one they drew in a breath, and at Papa’s nod raised in unison. Emma’s own breath caught in her chest, her muscles straining in silent sympathy with the men. The hutch rose until its rear end was level with its front, and the men stepped forward. The thick quilts dangling beneath scooted onto the wagon as planned, a protective barrier from damage caused by wood against wood.
The hutch suddenly dipped and slid swiftly to the front. Emma gasped. Apparently the speed caught Papa and John Yoder by surprise too, for the rope around the top went slack. Papa lunged to reach for the nearest corner, and his foot slipped. The wagon creaked and sank lower on its wheels as the hutch settled into place. At the same moment Papa went down on one knee with a loud, “Ummph.”
“Papa!”
“Ach!” Maummi pulled away from Emma and rushed forward. Her heart pounding against her rib cage, Emma followed. Men were already checking on Papa, but Maummi leaped into the wagon bed with a jump that belied her sixty years, the strings of her kapp flying behind her. She applied bony elbows to push her way around the hutch to her son’s side.
She came to a halt above him, hands on her hips, and looked down. “Are you hurt?”
Emma reached the side of the wagon in time to see Papa wince and shake his head. “No. A bruise is all.”
“Good.” She left him lying there and turned worried eyes toward her beloved hutch. With a gentle touch, she ran loving fingers over the smooth surface and knelt to investigate the corners.
A mock-stern voice behind Emma held the hint of a chuckle. “Trappings only, Marta Switzer. Care you more for a scratch on wood than an injury to your son?”
Emma turned to see Bishop Miller approach. He spared a smile for her as he drew near enough to lean his arms across the wooden side of the wagon and watch the activity inside. Samuel helped Papa to his feet and handed him the broad-brimmed hat that had fallen off. Emma breathed a sigh of relief when he took a ginger step to try out his leg and smiled at the absence of pain.
“My son is fine.” Maummi waved a hand in his direction, as though in proof. “And so is my hutch. Though my heart may not say the same, such a fright I’ve had.” She placed the hand lightly on her chest, drew a shuddering breath, and wavered on her feet.
Concern for her grandmother propelled Emma toward the back of the wagon. As she climbed up, she called into the house, “Rebecca, bring a cool cloth for Maummi’s head.”
The men backed away while Katie and several other women converged on the wagon to help Emma lift Maummi down and over to the rocking chair that rested in the shade of the porch, read
y to be loaded when the time came. Maummi allowed herself to be lowered onto the chair, and then she wilted against the back, her head lolling sideways and arms dangling. A disapproving buzz rumbled among the watching women, but Emma ignored them. Though she knew full well that most of the weakness was feigned for the sake of the bishop and other onlookers, she also knew Maummi’s heart tended to beat unevenly in her chest whenever she exerted herself. It was yet another reason why she ought to stay behind in Apple Grove, but Maummi insisted her place was with Emma, her oldest granddaughter. What she really meant was that she intended to inspect every eligible young Amish man in Troyer and handpick her future grandson-in-law.
Aunt Gerda had written to say she anticipated that her only daughter would marry soon, and she would appreciate having Emma come to help her around the house. She’d also mentioned the abundance of marriageable young men in Troyer, with a suggestion that twenty-year-old Emma was of an age that the news might be welcome. Rebecca had immediately volunteered to go in Emma’s place. Though Papa appeared to consider the idea, he decided to send Emma because she was the oldest and therefore would be in need of a husband soonest. Maummi insisted on going along in order to “Keep an eye on this horde of men Gerda will parade before our Emma.”
As far as Emma was concerned, they should just send Maummi on alone and leave her in Apple Grove to wait for her future husband to be delivered to her doorstep.
Rebecca appeared from inside the house with a dripping cloth in hand. A strand of wavy dark hair had escaped its pins and fluttered freely beside the strings of her kapp. At barely thirteen, her rosy cheeks and smooth, high forehead reminded Emma so sharply of their mother that at times her heart ached.
Rebecca looked at Maummi’s dramatic posture and rolled her eyes. She had little patience with Maummi’s feigned heart episodes, and she was young enough that she had yet to learn proper restraint in concealing her emotions. Emma awarded her sister with a stern look and held out a hand for the cloth.
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