The Heart's Frontier

by Lori Copeland;Virginia Smith

  She would, though. Before this day was over, she would find a way to speak with him alone and lay out her request.

  A voice rose above the buzz of the crowd, tinged with indignant shock that boosted its volume to drown out every other sound.

  “It’s our Emma!”

  Her gaze snapped to the edge of the crowd of onlookers, to a pair of black-clad men with unmistakable bushy beards and round straw hats. Her jaw slackened and her mouth hung open when she recognized them both. Amos Beiler and Bishop Miller.

  The bishop drew himself upright, sparks from his disapproving eyes snapping at her all the way across the river of cattle. “Emma Switzer, down from that animal you will get and come with me now.”

  Her heart sank into her shoes.

  Emma stood beside their wagon, her head bowed and her hands folded quietly before her while Bishop Miller spoke in an even but stern tone to Papa. Beside her, Rebecca had adopted the same pose, though Maummi’s chin tilted defiantly upward and her lips were pursed. Cattle continued to file past them, though the end of the stream was now in sight. Slightly behind the bishop stood Amos, his face a mottled red and his gaze fixed on the hard-packed dirt in front of his feet. Emma shifted her weight. How embarrassing to have him witness the verbal discipline of her family.

  “And what witness did you bear, Jonas?” The bishop’s voice, though disapproving, remained soft and controlled. “Representatives of Christ we are. Did Christ allow His women to ride about on horses with their…” He closed his mouth and drew a slow breath through his nose. “It is unseemly, and not worthy of our Lord or our Amish district.”

  A protest rose in Emma’s mind, a reminder that the Lord’s mother rode a donkey. But she kept the thought to herself because there was certainly no evidence that Mary had herded cattle or dressed in men’s trousers on her way to give birth to her blessed Child.

  “We owed a debt. I judged our assistance appropriate repayment.” How Papa managed to keep his tone mild and return the bishop’s stare without looking away, Emma couldn’t imagine. A spark of pride in her father flickered to life, but she squelched it immediately. Such feelings were surely sinful because they were clearly at odds with their church leader.

  Bishop Miller’s eyebrows edged upward until they disappeared beneath his hat brim. Behind him, Amos shuffled his feet and inspected the wagon wheel carefully.

  “I think it will be best to continue this conversation later in private,” said the bishop. “Amos and I have business here in the morning, and then we will return home. Jonas, I will pay a visit to your farm on Tuesday.”

  His eyes moved as his gaze swept the group. Though she kept her eyes downcast, Emma felt the weight of his stare when it rested on her. She did her best to remain stiffly erect and not flinch. With a final sad shake of his head, Bishop Miller headed in the direction of the town.

  Before he followed, Amos sidled up to Emma. “I’m glad you’re coming home to Apple Grove.”

  She couldn’t force herself to return his gaze but merely nodded mutely.

  “We will talk later. Yes?”

  She managed another nod, though as far as she was concerned there was nothing unsaid between them. Now that she’d seen him again, her resolve was stronger than ever. She would not become Mrs. Amos Beiler.

  Left alone, no one spoke. The Switzers stood in silent commiseration, each one bearing the weight of disapproval. Emma knew the fault lay entirely with her. She had pushed Papa to help Luke, convinced him that their duty was to lend aid to the one who had aided them. Would they be disciplined, perhaps even rejected, by their Amish neighbors? She couldn’t bear being responsible for that.

  Jesse’s voice interrupted the gloomy silence from the other side of the hutch. “Sounds like somebody slipped a burr under his saddle. Don’t any of you Aim-ish people have a sense of humor?”

  His observation acted like a tonic. Papa’s stiff posture relaxed. Emma raised her head in time to see him spare a small smile toward the wagon.

  “We opt, instead, to teach our children manners.” Maummi addressed her scold toward the wagon. “Respecting one’s privacy is the first lesson they learn.”

  “Hard not to overhear with all that shouting going on a few feet away.”

  Because it was impossible to imagine Bishop Miller shouting at anyone, Emma couldn’t help smiling.

  “Can somebody give me a hand down from this wagon? I’d kind of like to head into town.”

  “Not until we find the doctor.” Maummi’s tone brooked no argument as she marched toward the back of the wagon. “Jonas, will you see to it? Find one who has not spent the day in a saloon, if such a thing is possible in this rowdy Englisch town.”

  “I will send the doctor to you and then find a place to spend the night,” Papa said. “Perhaps in the morning we will travel back to Apple Grove in the company of the bishop. We can pass the hours on the road in prayer and conversation.”

  As she watched him head for the town center, Emma’s spirits plummeted even further. No doubt Papa would insist on riding in the bishop’s buggy so they could converse privately. The time would be spent in defending their actions and convincing Bishop Miller of the Switzer family’s devotion to their district and the Ordnung. She had no doubt that Papa would succeed in the end. But of course that meant the entire journey would be spent with Amos on the wagon bench beside her.

  And Luke would stay behind in Hays.

  A sudden fierce desire arose in her. When Papa returned, he would shepherd them into town and hover over them with the vigilance of a sheriff guarding a prisoner. He would linger near and purposefully thwart her attempt to speak privately with Luke. Her gaze sought him and found him easily, riding in the saddle above the moving mass of cattle. This might be her last opportunity.

  Though Sugarfoot waited nearby, saddled and ready, she didn’t dare mount the horse. Forgiveness might be granted for her riding thus far, but if she expressly disobeyed the bishop mere minutes after his reprimand, she would be disciplined for sure. Her gaze scanned the stockyard. A wide aisle lay between each long row of pens. As the cattle streamed down the aisle to fill each row, Luke moved his sentinel position forward, a guiding figure that served as the end point for the cattle’s journey. If she skirted around the edge of the herd in Papa’s footsteps, she could cross the street and approach Luke from the already filled pens behind him.

  When Papa’s hat disappeared in the crowd of townspeople, she started after him.

  Rebecca’s voice stopped her. “Where are you going?”

  With a quick glance toward the hutch, which blocked Maummi and Jesse from view, she placed a finger to her lips. “I’m going to speak with Luke. I’ll be back shortly.”

  Her sister’s head turned toward the cowboy, and when she looked back at Emma, she wore a wide grin. “I wondered when you would finally get around to talking with him. Are you going to ask him to marry you?”

  Shocked, Emma reared back. The idea! “Of course not!” She lowered her voice. “But if he happens to bring the subject up…” She returned the grin.

  Rebecca giggled and threw her arms around Emma for a quick hug. “I’ll distract Maummi.”

  Heartened by her sister’s enthusiasm, Emma followed in Papa’s footsteps.

  The stocks were only a third full, and the end of the herd had nearly arrived. Cattle pressed close inside each pen, head-to-rump, their sides touching. Cows voiced their confusion, the combined sound so loud they nearly drowned out the shouts of the stockmen. Hugging close to the plank fence on one side, she approached Luke’s position. His attention was focused on his herd and on the cowhands directing cattle through the half-filled aisle in front of him. She came to a halt beside him, her back against the rails, and waited for him to notice her.

  When he did, he started visibly. “Emma. What are you doing here? I thought you were with Jonas and your grandmother and… those other Amish men. I figured they must be friends.”

  “From our district. The older one is the
bishop.” She cut her gaze away for a second. No need to describe Amos.

  “Ah. He didn’t look very happy to see you.”

  An understatement, but that wasn’t what she wanted to talk about. She glanced around. The stockmen were halfway down the aisle, forcing the stream of cattle into an empty stall. Though she would prefer to sit with Luke face-to-face for this important conversation instead of craning her neck to see him up on his horse, time was short. Papa would return soon, and her chance to talk with Luke would be gone.

  “I would like to talk to you about something important.”

  His glance swept the moving cattle before returning to her. “I’m a little busy right now. Can it wait an hour or so?”

  An hour? Papa would return in a few minutes. She shook her head. “No. We must talk now.”

  Reining up, he took off his hat and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “Emma, we’ve had several opportunities to talk but you were never in the mood. Yet you pick now? Your timing could be better.” He shoved the hat back on his head.

  This was not going as she’d hoped. She turned to scan the town behind her, looking for Papa’s hat amid the people on the street. The muscles in her stomach tightened into knots. “I want to know—” Her throat closed on the embarrassing words. With a hard swallow, she tried again. “Luke, will you become Amish?”

  His expression closed, and for a long moment he stared at her. A thousand thoughts darted through her mind, each one pressing against the other like the cows that surrounded them. Foremost among them was the realization that the idea of becoming Amish had never occurred to Luke. Which meant he had never considered a life with her.

  Which meant she had badly misinterpreted his feelings.

  A measure of composure returned, and he slowly shook his head. “Emma…I don’t…” Words appeared to fail him. “I’m not…”

  Hurt and humiliation rose from a sick ball in the pit of her stomach. “You’re not what?” Her tone snapped, and she didn’t bother to filter the emotion.

  His hand rose, and he rubbed it across his mouth. “I’m not an Amish man. I’m sorry. I have my own beliefs. You are good folk, but…”

  He didn’t have to finish the thought. But she was not Englisch. Hot, angry tears sprang into her eyes. No, not angry. Embarrassed. She had offered herself to him, only to be rejected. What must he think of her? She lowered her head toward the ground. Her mind emptied of any response she might make, any words that would restore her dignity and allow her to escape with her pride intact. Instead, she turned blindly to make her exit.

  “Emma! Don’t!”

  She refused to stop, refused to prolong this humiliating discussion any further. Her head down, her vision blurry with unshed tears, she stretched her pace to almost a run.

  In the next moment, she was surrounded by cattle. They pressed her on all sides, lifting her up and hurtling her sideways. Her feet left the ground but she remained upright, swept into the stocks in the midst of the herd. She struggled to move, to free herself, but the smelly hides that surrounded her covered hundreds of pounds of solid flesh. They pressed together, and her breath left her lungs. A searing pain stabbed her chest, and she couldn’t move enough to gasp in a breath. Somewhere in the distance she heard her name, but panic had a firm grip on her. How could she even think about answering when she couldn’t manage to breathe?

  Then panic receded as fog settled over her oxygen-deprived brain.

  I’m going to faint. And then I’m going to die. They’ll bury me on the farm beside Mama.

  Dimly, she was aware of shouts nearby. The wall of beef moved. Air entered her lungs in an agonizing rush. She sank toward the ground.

  And then strong arms encircled her. The pain in her side sent white-hot stars dancing in her vision as a panic-stricken voice rumbled through a mouth pressed close to her ear. Luke’s voice.

  “I’ve got you. Thank God, I’ve got you.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  The doctor’s house sat one street over from the center of town, close enough that the noise from the saloons and even the bawling of the cattle in the stockyard carried easily. Luke’s boots traced a worn path on the planks of the front porch, walking in the footsteps of many worried people awaiting news of a patient from inside the two-story structure. He stopped in front of the open door to peer inside. The entry hall bore evidence that the doctor was married. A lace cloth draped a small table placed against the left-hand wall, and a couple of fancy glass dishes were displayed on top of it. A wide set of stairs led to the second floor, where the doctor and his missus presumably lived. The only person in evidence was Jonas, who stood at the opposite end of a short hallway next to a closed door.

  He did not look up at Luke. He hadn’t spoken to him or met his eye since he arrived.

  Not that Luke blamed him. It was his fault Emma had been injured. He’d handled the conversation badly. No wonder she’d been offended and charged off blindly in the wrong direction. She’d surprised him by asking if he would become Amish, and his reaction had obviously hurt her feelings.

  And what was behind her question, anyway? He could only think of one reason. If he became Amish, they could marry with the blessing of her family and her church.

  Marry.

  The word sent dual shivers down his spine, because the idea of him becoming Amish for any reason was so outrageous he couldn’t pretend to give it serious consideration. Him, be like Jonas? His faith was nothing like Jonas’s, his convictions shallow in comparison. He’d been raised to love the Lord and love the Bible, but the Plain life an Amish man had to embrace? Jonas was right. Luke couldn’t begin to understand.

  The second shiver came with the realization that Emma would ever consider marrying him. She had put quite a bit of thought into it, in fact, to come up with her idea. That could only mean one thing. She loved him. Not merely that she shared the attraction he felt, but she felt that same invisible bond that had somehow snaked around them and drawn them together.

  Emma loved him. And, he realized, he loved her.

  The sight of her penned in the midst of those cattle had nearly scared the life out of him. He’d forced his horse into the herd, kicking cows with his boots and shouting to catch the attention of the nearest stockmen. When he finally reached her, after an eternity of frantic, whispered prayers while wading through a sea of beef, he threw himself from the saddle into the press. He still wasn’t exactly sure how he’d managed to force those two steers apart to release her. Maybe his panic gave him extra strength, or maybe it was the prayers. But he’d lifted her into his arms and carried her out.

  Directed by shouting townspeople, Luke had run—literally—toward the doctor’s house while Emma’s soft sobs filled his ears. He’d met the rotund little man in the street on his way to examine Jesse, and he immediately turned around so that Luke could follow him back home.

  After carrying Emma down a short hallway and gently laying her down on a narrow bed in what was apparently an examining room, Luke was shooed out of the room. The doctor wouldn’t even let Jonas in when he arrived, only Mrs. Switzer and Rebecca, who were with Emma now.

  What was taking so long? He strode across the planks to peer inside again. No change, except that now Jonas stood with his head thrown back, his face pointed toward the ceiling with his eyes closed. Praying, probably. Which suddenly sounded like a very good idea.

  No prayers came to mind, only a frantic request. Lord, don’t let her die. Please.

  Noise from inside the house sent him scurrying back to the doorway. The doctor emerged from the examining room, followed by Mrs. Switzer and Rebecca. He spoke to Jonas, his voice loud enough to carry down the short hallway to Luke.

  “A couple of her ribs are broken. As far as I can tell that’s all, though she’ll need to stay here for a day or two so I can keep a watch on her. I’ve wrapped them, and also given her a salve for those scrapes on her face, which will help them to heal without scarring. It’s going to hurt to breathe for a few weeks, but
I think she’ll be fine.”

  Air left Luke’s lungs. He sagged against the doorjamb. She was going to be fine. She wasn’t going to die. Thank You, Lord.

  “You can go on in and see her. I’m going to have my missus fix her up a broth that will help strengthen her bones.” He smiled at Rebecca. “Why don’t you come upstairs with me and bring it down to her when it’s ready?”

  When the two of them had climbed the stairs, Jonas disappeared into the room. Luke stared for a long moment after the door closed behind him. He had no place here. He wasn’t family, he wasn’t Amish, and it was his fault she was hurt. Jonas wouldn’t let him near her, and rightly so.

  It was enough to know she would recover.

  The blazing fire in Emma’s side was somewhat quenched by the tight binding the doctor had applied. She couldn’t draw a deep breath without excruciating pain, but at least the bandages allowed her to take shallow breaths without too much discomfort.

  A shame her feelings weren’t allowed the same comfort and support. The conversation with Luke pierced like an arrow through her heart. He would not become Amish, which meant he didn’t truly love her. Though her ribs hurt with every breath, it was the pain in her heart that hurt the most. From that she might never recover.

  The door opened and Papa came into the room. The sight of him sent a rush of guilty tears into her eyes. She had shamed him again in front of Bishop Miller, who undoubtedly had received a report of her unseemly behavior in seeking Luke out and getting trampled on by cows in the process.

  “Oh, Papa, I’m so sorry,” she said, sobbing.

  Once the tears started, she could not stop them. They weren’t merely tears of guilt. They were tears that came directly from an injured heart.

  Papa sat in a chair beside her bed, sought her hand to hold, and waited until the tears slowed.

  “For what do you apologize?” His soft words and tender tone made it hard to talk without giving in to painful sobs again.