Autumn Winds

by Charlotte Hubbard

  Had she really dismissed the bishop? Miriam’s chest tingled with discomfort at her brazen behavior. And had she just given Ben Hooley a chance to further beguile them with his serpent’s tongue?

  The bishop’s chin stiffened. He glanced at the girls, who were still several yards away. “We’ll talk again, Miriam. You’d better think about what I’ve told you.” He turned and strode toward his carriage.

  “My answer’ll still be no, Hiram,” she called after him.

  “Bishop!” Rachel called out as the two of them approached. “We were just bringin’ out a little picnic supper. Can’t ya stay for a bite?”

  Hiram turned, his frown souring. He hopped into his carriage and then steered his horse in a wide circle so he was pointed toward the road.

  Miriam shielded her eyes from the sunset, walking back the way she’d come. “Well, here ya have it—the bishop’s cake, full of holes on top, like maybe we spoiled his birthday.” She picked it up, chuckling now that the storm had passed—for the moment, anyway.

  “Gut!” Rachel proclaimed. “After the way he’s been actin’, well—we don’t want him gettin’ ideas about hitchin’ up with ya, Mamma. He’d probably expect ya to make a coconut cake for your own wedding, too.”

  Chapter 7

  “Why, Ben Hooley! What’re you doin’ here?” Rhoda gaped at him until Ben wondered if she might drop her pitcher of lemonade. “We thought Mamma was alone with the bishop—”

  “And we’re mighty glad she wasn’t, no matter how ya happened along,” Rachel joined in. “We whipped up an excuse—and this basket of food—as fast as we could, but even with the two of us showin’ ourselves, I’m not sure he would’ve let up. And it’s gettin’ outta hand, I can tell ya.”

  “Obnoxious!” Rhoda agreed as her sister spread the quilt on the grass. “He might be the bishop, but it’s time somebody took him down a peg or two, after that stunt he pulled at the Zooks’.”

  Ben heard his own distaste echoed in the sisters’ remarks. He was pleased they were watching out for their mother, but they were right: their presence might have delayed Hiram Knepp’s advances, yet the bishop impressed him as the type who never gave up until he got what he wanted. And wasn’t that a sorry thing to say about a leader in their faith?

  “I left the common meal to think things through,” he explained as Miriam returned to them with the tall coconut cake. “I blew in with the wind yesterday, so I realize ya have no reason to believe—”

  At the clip-clop! clip-clop! of approaching carriages, Miriam turned toward the road. “Let’s see who’s comin’ before ya go on with—”

  “It’s Micah!” Rachel popped up from the quilt to wave her arms at him. Then she smiled at Ben. “Micah Brenneman’s my honey, and we’re gettin’ hitched on the twentieth,” she gushed like a girl in love. “He’s the one who fixed up the apartment above Dat’s smithy for Mamma and Rhoda. A wonderful-gut carpenter, he is!”

  “Is everythin’ all right here?” Micah called out. He stopped the carriage and hopped out. “I wasn’t any too happy about that scene at the meal, Miriam. I was guessin’ the bishop might come over here to—”

  “Jah, he did,” Miriam replied. “And denki for thinkin’ of us, Micah.”

  The burly blond nodded, removing his felt hat to smooth his hair. He looked back toward the road. “Preacher Tom had the same idea, comin’ to see that you were all right—except the bishop stopped him, to talk. Hiram’s little trick’s got everybody stirred up, for sure and for certain.” As Tom’s buggy rattled down the driveway toward them, Micah parked his rig and put his horse in the pasture.

  After they all settled onto the quilt, Ben accepted a glass of lemonade from Rhoda, noting again how her blue eyes widened as she looked at him . . . wondering just how many fires he’d started by coming to Willow Ridge. Clearly Miriam Lantz and her girls were being watched over by men who cared about their welfare, so maybe they didn’t need him here, shaking up their daily lives.

  Don’t believe that! Ya feel things for Miriam and she sees somethin’ when she looks into your eyes, too. Let this play out. Don’t assume ya have nothin’ to gain by stayin’. Ben took a long sip of sweet, cool lemonade as Preacher Tom stepped down from his buggy.

  “Well now! Looks like I’m bargin’ in on a little picnic—”

  “Got plenty for you, too, Tom. Glad to see ya.” Miriam scooted over to make room for him. “Seems we’ve got a lot to chew on—besides this cake Hiram left behind.”

  “Oh, there’ll be some chewin’, all right. Before I left the Zooks’, Gabe Glick and Reuben told me we needed a meetin’ about this, and just now the bishop was sayin’ he wants to call a meetin’, too,” the preacher replied with a shake of his head. “But I can tell ya, our agenda’s a lot different from Hiram’s, if he thinks we’re gonna go along with the way he’s treatin’ you, Miriam.”

  He looked over at Ben then, his lips twitching. “Why am I not surprised to see you here, Hooley?”

  Ben smiled. Preacher Tom Hostetler wasn’t a very fiery, fascinating speaker, but he was a genuinely nice fellow. If Old Order ways allowed it, the dairy farmer would probably be courting Miriam Lantz himself. He’d poured out his story in the milking barn, about how his wife, Lettie, had left in the night with an English fellow in a fancy car. Lettie had divorced him, but according to the Ordnung, he couldn’t remarry until she died.

  “I was mighty upset when I up and left the Zooks’. Sounds odd, maybe, but I was walkin’ off my temper,” Ben explained. “Got so caught up in my thoughts I didn’t realize my feet had brought me to this orchard. Just as well, too,” he added with an emphatic nod. “Nothin’ goes right in the heat of risin’ voices and pointin’ fingers.”

  Ben smiled at Miriam. She was cutting that fancy coconut cake while her girls went after more glasses and plates. It was just as well they were headed for the house, considering what he wanted to say. “Maybe I’m out of line, but I can’t see where Hiram’s servin’ the higher gut by tellin’ Miriam it’s God’s will that she marry him.”

  “That’s horse hockey,” Tom agreed. “It’s been a case of sour grapes with Hiram ever since the banker let an English fella buy Miriam’s bakery buildin’ instead of goin’ along with the bishop’s plans to own it.”

  “It’s all about ownership,” Ben agreed, “and nothin’ about love. That I could see.”

  He paused, wondering if his next thought might backfire. “I’ve got no business tanglin’ with your bishop, but I suspect that’ll keep happenin’ as long as I’m in Willow Ridge. Am I wrong to stay here?” he asked quietly. “Should I forgive and forget, and move on?”

  The way Miriam’s face fell—the way her wounded eyes sought his—was all the answer Ben needed. He held her gaze for as long as he dared, here in front of Micah and the preacher. He sensed these men wanted him here, no matter how Hiram Knepp felt about it.

  “Could be ya found your way here to Willow Ridge for this very reason, Ben.” Tom smiled at Miriam as she handed him his cake. “Sometimes we’re left to struggle with things, bein’ led all kinds of places and not knowin’ for sure where to go—or why. But we’re not fightin’ the gut fight alone,” he added confidently. “If it weren’t for my faith—and friends like the Lantzes and the Brennemans here—I’d have reached the end of my rope long ago and hung myself with it.”

  Ben smiled, enjoying the way Miriam’s face softened as she sliced off a large wedge of cake and handed it to him. “A little somethin’ to sweeten up your day,” she murmured. “I spent too much time on this coconut cake not to share it with my family and friends. Especially if Hiram’s gonna leave it beside the driveway!”

  “Jah, I’ll have a big piece of that cake, Mamma!” Rhoda called out as she returned. She handed her mother more plates and then squeezed between Ben and Miriam to tighten their little circle on the quilt. “So what’re we gonna do about this bishop situation?”

  “Folks all over Willow Ridge are already talkin’,” Rachel remarked
as she took her place beside Micah. Then she smiled at Ben. “Ya maybe didn’t know what ya were gettin’ into when ya fixed Mamma’s shop window. You’re kind of settin’ this little town on its ear, ain’t so?”

  Ben couldn’t help chuckling as both twins forked up huge bites of cake and stuffed their mouths at the same time. Amazing how they finished each other’s sentences and behaved so much alike, yet their distinct personalities came shining through their sparkling blue eyes as they looked him over . . . assessing him more closely, now that he’d taken a stand on behalf of their mother.

  “Like I was tellin’ your mamm after I blew into her bakery with that storm,” Ben began, “I’ve been lookin’ for better-priced land than can be found farther east. Wantin’ a place of my own for my farrier business and maybe to set up a mill on the rapids for my brothers, alongside the river near here.” He paused to cut a forkful of the moist white cake. “With all the corn and wheat I’m seein’, a mill could be a gut outlet for local farmers—and a way to branch into some of those specialty flours and whole-grain cereals that’re sellin’ so well these days.”

  “Jah, that organic stuff’s all the rage now,” Tom agreed. “If I switched over to feedin’ certified organic grains, so my Holsteins could give organic milk, it’d sell for a pertier penny at that new whole foods place over past Morning Star.”

  “Gut as your homemade ice cream is, ya ought to be sellin’ that, Tom!” Rhoda said with a grin. “I was real sorry we left the Zooks’ so early. I was lookin’ forward to some of that ice cream with a piece of strawberry cream cake.”

  Micah moved the tines of his fork over his plate to catch the last moist crumbs. He was a big, brawny young fellow but gave a lot of thought to things before he said them. “Ben, it seems to me a farrier like yourself would have full-time work here in Willow Ridge without the mill. I saw that right off over breakfast yesterday, the way fellas were linin’ up to have ya come to their places.”

  “There’s that,” Ben agreed. “I never run out of horses to shoe in Plain settlements, no matter where I go. My wagon might not look like much, but I’ve made myself a right nice livin’ over the years.” He paused then, to close his eyes over a mouthful of the most luscious dessert he’d ever tasted. “Miriam Lantz, I don’t know what kind of wand ya waved over this cake, but it’s nothin’ short of magic.”

  When Miriam leaned forward to smile at him from the other side of Rhoda, her face glowed like a pink rose. “The secret is usin’ the best brand of coconut and a lot of oil and eggs—not that you’ll be tryin’ out the recipe anytime soon, ain’t so?”

  Ben laughed. It was a sudden outburst, totally unexpected, and when everyone else joined in, he felt indescribably wonderful . . . like he belonged here. All the controversy and conflict with Hiram Knepp lifted, like an autumn fog that dissipated from above a river when the sunshine struck it. How long since he’d sat among friends, on a blanket beneath a tree? How long since he’d talked about his dream of a mill . . . branching into a new and different enterprise?

  Sunshine . . . that’s what Miriam Lantz reminded him of. Never mind all this business with the bishop; the woman who looked at him with those wide, doe-like eyes and smiled from deep in her heart was taking his breath away, right here in front of all these other folks. There was nothing secretive about her. No petty games or pity parties or playing up to win his attention.

  How long before ya ask Miriam to meet ya out here alone, in the moonlight, when there’s nobody else around and no tree limbs to pull out of windows? Just you and her, cozy and close . . .

  “If ya want a place to work on some of that equipment, Ben, you’re welcome to set up in Jesse’s shop.” Miriam’s voice sounded clear and confident. No wavering over the fact that her late husband had built that business, and no asking her girls what they might think of the idea, either.

  Ben’s eyes widened. Tom, Micah, the twins, and Miriam were all waiting for his answer. Their faces differed in age and complexion, but their expectant expressions and suspended cake forks told him his reply mattered to them.

  “That’s quite an honor,” he murmured, returning Miriam’s gaze as though no one else were there. “And I’ll take ya up on it, too.”

  Chapter 8

  “And where will ya be sleepin’, Ben?” Rhoda asked later that evening when they’d come in to sit on the porch. She realized then how odd that sounded, for her to be asking such a question of a man, so she added, “I mean, if you’re usin’ the forge and Dat’s equipment, it seems only sensible that ya sleep upstairs in the new apartment.”

  Ben Hooley’s eyes widened. He looked over at Rachel and Mamma, who sat in the porch swing. “I don’t want to take somebody else’s bed, but—”

  “Rhoda and I’ll be stayin’ here in this house until Rachel and Micah get hitched,” Miriam clarified. “And if you’ve been sleepin’ in your wagon all this time, a real bed—and a bathroom—might be to your likin’. That was a gut idea, Rhoda!”

  Rhoda grinned. High time she got recognized for something, on account of how crossways she’d felt ever since Mamma had spent all that time alone with this handsome fellow when the storm blew him in. Was it wrong to want to prove to Ben Hooley that she was the woman he’d be happier with? While it was the man’s place to do the courting, surely it was the woman’s place to put good ideas in his head about where and when . . . and how that might come about.

  “I surely do appreciate your kindness,” their guest replied. In the light from the lanterns, his face took on the soft shadows of the autumn night as he smiled at them. “With the cooler weather—and considerin’ how I’m to be at Hiram’s place first thing tomorrow—a gut night’s rest will be to my advantage.”

  “And ya won’t have far to go for your breakfast, either!” Rachel smiled. “That’s one more thing the bishop won’t like so much, but then, we’re offerin’ hospitality like Jesus said we’re to do, ain’t so?”

  “Hiram aside,” Mamma remarked—as though aside was exactly where she wanted to put him—“we’re happy to let ya stay there, after the way ya repaired the café’s window. I’m still goin’ to pay ya for that—”

  “And I’m still refusin’ your money, Miriam. You’re feedin’ me all this gut food and now puttin’ me up for the night,” Ben pointed out. “A man can’t ask for better than that.”

  Rhoda gazed into the evening, smiling. She imagined escorting this fellow to the little nest above the smithy . . . being the one to make sure he was up and around in time for breakfast . . . cooking his favorite foods and pouring his coffee in the morning. Tomorrow might be a fine day to wear the new burgundy dress she’d made last week.

  “We end our days with a Bible passage, Ben,” Mamma said, interrupting Rhoda’s thoughts. “Would ya be so kind as to read for us tonight? Always gut to hear the Lord’s word in a man’s voice, considerin’ it’s just us girls here now.”

  Rhoda stopped short of rolling her eyes. Why was Mamma seeing herself as a girl, when she was forty? “I’ll fetch the Bible,” she said, rising from the chair beside Ben’s. “Anybody want more of that cake, or maybe a cup of tea?”

  Mamma and Rachel shook their heads, but when Ben held her gaze with a mischievous grin, Rhoda laughed. “Catchin’ up on all the bedtimes when ya didn’t have a little somethin’ sweet?”

  He chuckled and looked away. “You could say that, jah. I’ll be pleased to read from the Lord’s word tonight,” he added. “Are ya followin’ a certain book? Wantin’ to hear anythin’ in particular?”

  “You pick!” Rachel said. “We do like Dat did, lettin’ the Gut Book fall open and puttin’ our finger down with our eyes shut. Seems our Bible’s so cracked and creased, we do a lot of repeatin’, though.”

  As she caught the screen door against her backside, Rhoda’s mind raced. Now that Micah and Tom—and the bishop—were gone, it felt so nice and cozy to be on the porch with Ben. Soon the chill of the October nights would drive them inside again for their evening devotionals . .
. and by then, who knew what might become of Ben Hooley? Would he finish his jobs and drive on down the road?

  She intended to see that he did not leave them. Why couldn’t she be the one who gave this fellow the best reason of all to stay?

  Rhoda put a thick slab of the coconut cake on a plate, with a fork. She ran her finger quickly through the gooey part that stuck to the cake platter, closing her eyes over the sweetness of sugar, butter, and coconut—cake as only Mamma could make it, and far better than the bishop deserved for his birthday. More like the wedding cakes they’d been baking for a lot of brides around the district, and soon for Rachel and Micah . . .

  And why not for me? I got baptized years ago. Have traveled these back roads in many a rig after singin’s, and still haven’t found a fella I want to live with . . .

  She picked up the big Bible from the table in the front room and returned to the porch. “It’s up to you what ya do first, Ben—Scripture or cake,” she teased.

  “And all these eyes are followin’ my every move, watchin’ for things like that, too, aren’t they?” Ben countered with a laugh.

  Rhoda laughed with him and resumed her seat. She placed the Bible on the little table between her chair and Ben’s, watching his face in the flickering light of the lantern. Without his hat, his light brown hair fell around his temples and then flared back slightly over his ears, like soft, glossy bird’s wings . . . such a nice contrast to the way most of the men in Willow Ridge combed their hair down and got it chopped straight across their foreheads and along their shirt collars.

  “My dat used to say that life was short, so ya should eat dessert first,” Ben replied. “But I feel bad bein’ the only one to give in to this temptation.”

  Ya think Mamma’s cake is a temptation? Just you wait, Ben Hooley!