Autumn Winds

by Charlotte Hubbard

  But all thoughts of the bishop’s rowdy children fled when a familiar figure stood silhouetted in the door of the Lantz home. Miriam! His heart sang. And she’s lookin’ for me!

  Even from this distance, when Miriam saw the trailer and the five of them between the back of the café and the smithy, her eyes found his. Although the wedding guests were streaming out of the house, visiting on their way to the Brennemans’ for the wedding feast, Miriam was striding toward him, her face alight. She hadn’t put on a shawl or bonnet, yet the October chill seemed the farthest thing from her mind; in a crisp new dress the color of canned beets, with her black apron fluttering around her legs, she looked like heaven itself.

  Ben rushed up the driveway, his heart pounding. “Miriam! I’m sorry we missed the service—”

  “Ben! You’re finally here!”

  He closed the distance between them to grab her in a hug. Miriam’s arms went around his waist and he closed his eyes. What sensation was this, that made him forget his exhaustion and frustration . . . forget everything except the warmth of this woman, the strength of her? “And how was the wedding?”

  “It went fine. But it’ll take me a while to call Rachel Mrs. Brenneman.”

  And how long before I can call you Mrs. Hooley?

  The question nearly popped out of his mouth, but Ben pulled himself into the present moment again. He wanted to stand here longer, seeing himself reflected in Miriam’s sparkling brown eyes, but four other Hooleys were watching them—not to mention all the folks coming out of the Lantz house. He released her and they headed toward his family, who stood observing them closely.

  “Here’s Miriam!” His exuberance gave away his feelings for her, but his aunts and brothers would have to see this woman for who she was and love her, just as he did. “And these are my dat’s sisters, Jerusalem and Nazareth—”

  “So gut to finally meet ya! Ben’s talked fondly of ya.”

  “—and my younger brothers, Ira and Luke, of course.”

  “Welcome to Willow Ridge!” Miriam said. “Every last family here is excited about ya comin’ to start up your mill, no matter what ya might’ve heard about our bishop.”

  His brothers grinned wider than they had for days. “So it’s all set, then?”

  “Just need to sign the paperwork with Derek Shotwell from the bank.” Miriam sparkled like the October sunshine as she looked at each of them. “My Rebecca—raised English, but that’s a long story—has started up a website for ya and has all kinds of gut ideas about gettin’ folks at the colleges and towns hereabouts interested in your grains and flours.”

  Ben’s grin felt lopsided and love-struck, but he didn’t care. “Didn’t I tell ya she’d smooth out the path for ya? Willow Ridge is a wonderful-gut place to—”

  At the loud bleating from the side of the smithy, Miriam looked behind the Hooleys. Her eyes widened. “Are those your goats? I had no idea—”

  “The aunts thought it only proper to bring a gift,” Ben replied with a mischievous chuckle. “And here come Rhoda and Rebecca, the girls who’ve already been askin’ about ya, boys.”

  Ira and Luke shifted awkwardly, but once the two sisters were introduced around, Ben let the pleasant conversation take its course. He and Miriam led the others past the cleared garden and over the wide lot toward the Brenneman workshop, where the rest of the wedding guests mingled.

  Had there ever been a brighter fall day? Had he ever felt happier? Ben glanced at his aunts, who were asking Miriam what-all she’d raised in her garden and if she cooked her own vegetables in the café, while Miriam’s two girls chatted easily with his brothers. Up ahead, Preacher Tom Hostetler waved at him . . . he spotted the Zooks and Millie Glick and the Kanagy brothers trundling carts of stainless steel steam-table pans toward the shop, and felt as if he had truly come home after a long time away.

  “There’s the bride and her groom,” he said, guiding his aunts in the couple’s direction. “This house is where your rooms are, too, so you’ll be in gut company,” he remarked.

  “Jah, I can see why ya like it here, Bennie,” Aunt Nazareth remarked. “Just gut, everyday folks, looks like.”

  “And this is Rachel—now Mrs. Brenneman!” Ben said as he grinned at the girl in royal blue and white. “And congratulations to ya both. Micah, it’s gut to see ya again. This is Ira and Luke, of course. Mighty pleased to hear that everybody’s in favor of the mill you’re buildin’ for us.”

  Micah grinned broadly. His blond hair shone like clean straw beneath the brim of his black hat, and his radiant white shirt was set off by a black bow tie that looked a little snug. “Took some talkin’ around Hiram, but ya know what they say,” the carpenter replied jauntily. “Ya can’t keep a gut man down. Or three of them, in the case of you Hooleys.”

  Another flurry of conversation enveloped them as the young men shook hands and everyone congratulated Micah and his wife. So sweet and fresh Rachel looked . . . Ben could imagine her mother at that age, when she was Jesse Lantz’s bride coming from Jamesport to live in this place. And, indeed, as Miriam gazed at Rachel, and then at him, she looked radiant . . . flushed with joy.

  Behind her, Ben noted a familiar figure approaching. He stood taller and readied himself. Lord, I’d appreciate gut words and the best intentions, he prayed quickly. We came here to improve our lives and this town, not to divide it.

  “And here’s our bishop, Hiram Knepp,” Ben announced. He extended his hand, gripping firmly as the bishop scrutinized them all. “My brothers, Ira and Luke—”

  “Welcome to Willow Ridge,” Hiram said in a formal voice.

  “—and these are my aunts, Nazareth and Jerusalem Hooley, come to help us along for a while.”

  As the two women stepped toward him, Bishop Knepp’s lips twitched. “Jerusalem? Now that’s the oddest name I ever heard for an Amish woman.”

  “Only because you’ve not met the rest of our family.” Aunt Jerusalem planted her feet firmly and looked up at the bishop, unflinching. “My twin brother’s Jericho, ya see. And then we had Zion—he was these boys’ dat—and Goshen, Israel, the twins, Judea and Jordan, and another set of twins, Calvary and Canaan.”

  Nazareth smiled sweetly. “Our younger sisters are Bethlehem, Corinth, and Eden,” she continued without missing a beat.

  “Our parents thought such biblical places made for names just as proper as the ones so many Plain folks have,” Jerusalem asserted. “And we weren’t in much of a position to argue with that, were we?”

  Hiram set his lips in a straight line, as though not to be drawn into this woman’s straightforward banter. No doubt he already sensed she was as confident and self-sufficient as Miriam Lantz . . . another one who needed watching. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I need to greet more of Miriam’s kin—”

  “We brought a gift for ya, Bishop Knepp,” Aunt Nazareth said. Her voice and demeanor were generally less direct than her sister’s, and she smiled up at Hiram with an almost girlish glow. “But it’ll keep until you’ve got a minute.”

  “A gift for me?” His eyes widened. “But it was Rachel and Micah who were married.”

  “We believe in showin’ our appreciation up front—payin’ our way forward. We want to be gut guests while our Bennie and his brothers build that mill for ya.” Jerusalem pointed down the driveway, toward the portable pen. “So we brought ya the four best Alpine kids from our goat herd back home. Three does and a buck.”

  Hiram’s jaw dropped. “I breed award-winning Belgians, Miss Hooley. What on God’s Earth do I want with goats? ”

  Nazareth blinked, then gazed up toward the sky as though beseeching heavenly guidance. Jerusalem’s bosom rose and fell with the deep breath she took. “Beggin’ your pardon, Bishop,” she said in a teacherly voice, “but maybe ya need a little brushin’ up on how to graciously accept a gift. Surely ya don’t respond so blunt-like when one of your own flock blesses ya with the fruits of their labor.”

  For the first time ever, Ben saw Hiram Knepp rendere
d speechless. He bit back a grin, anticipating his aunt’s next volley of staunch Amish education as Josh and Joey raced around a cluster of wedding guests with little Sara toddling after them.

  “Dat! Dat! We gotta get on over to the dinner—” one of the boys cried.

  “—’cause there’s gonna be Preacher Tom’s ice cream with the cake!” his twin finished. “And we don’t want ya walkin’ out before we get some, like ya did at your birthday party!”

  Aunt Nazareth calmly reached down to clasp each boy by a shoulder. “And who might you fine fellas be?” she asked in a low voice. “I’m Ben Hooley’s Aunt Nazareth, and if you’ll tell me your names, why—we might have a surprise for ya. All the way from Lancaster County.”

  The five-year-old boys came to immediate attention—either out of curiosity or because Aunt Nazareth had them in a firmer grip than their dat might imagine.

  “I’m Joey, and I’m five!”

  “I’m Josh, and I’m the gut twin!”

  “Jah, I can see that right off,” Aunt Jerusalem replied as she looked them over. “And I bet your dat was just like the both of ya as a youngster, sayin’ things were gonna be his way. Apples don’t fall far from the tree, ain’t so?” Without seeming to look at the girl toddling up to them, Aunt Jerusalem scooped Sara onto one hip. “And you’re the little sister, are ya?”

  Sara nodded, wide-eyed, sticking her fingers in her mouth.

  “That’s a perty little pinafore, probably special for today’s wedding,” Aunt Nazareth added, smiling at the shy girl. “We were gonna show the boys a surprise, but you come along, too. Our goats get on especially well with little girls.”

  “Goats?” one of the twins murmured, wide-eyed.

  “Ya brung us real, live goats?” his brother breathed as he gazed toward the pen. “Nobody hereabouts has billy goats—”

  “We brought ya some of the cutest little creatures ya ever did see,” Aunt Nazareth confirmed as they started down the driveway. “But ya know, they need a keeper. Somebody who’ll feed them every day and keep them milked—”

  “Me! I wanna do that!”

  “No, me! I’m the best one at muckin’ out stalls!”

  “It may well take both of you boys to care for them the way they’re supposed to be,” Aunt Jerusalem remarked in a firm voice. “But if I catch ya slackin’ or not puttin’ out fresh water—or treatin’ them mean—it’s back to Lancaster they go. All of God’s creatures need to be cared for every single day . . .”

  “We—we’ll need to see you at the dinner soon,” Hiram called after them. The bishop was watching the little band of Hooleys and Knepps as though he didn’t know what had hit him. And when Annie Mae rushed up with Timmy on her hip, as though she’d been searching for her ornery little brothers, Hiram’s expression showed nothing short of amazement.

  “Who’s that with the little ones?” the lanky young woman asked him.

  Ben grinned, sensing this was just the beginning of a scheme only Jerusalem Hooley could cook up. “Those are my aunts, come along with us from Lancaster,” he replied proudly. “They’ve been schoolteachers over the years, fillin’ in when the younger girls got married. They were tickled to hear ya had siblin’s not yet in school—and they’ll be pleased to meet you and Nellie, too.”

  For the first time ever, he saw Annie Mae Knepp smile. And right pretty she was, too. “I’ll go along with them, then,” she said, “to be sure Josh and Joey don’t act up.”

  “If they do,” Ira put in with a grin, “it’s for sure and for certain those aunts’ll set them straight in a hurry.”

  “And if ya wouldn’t mind sittin’ with us at tonight’s supper,” Luke joined in, “we’d like to meet your friends and the other single folks around here.”

  At that suggestion, Hiram snapped out of his trance, but he remained calm. “Well, I do need to speak to a few other folks, and most especially to thank your brother-in-law, Moses Miller, for delivering the first sermon for us. Fine speaker. Excellent message.”

  Miriam nodded. “Jah, he and Lovinia are right there in front of the Brennemans’ house,” she replied, pointing toward them. “He was wantin’ to visit with you, too, Bishop.”

  As Hiram strode away, Ben felt a flutter in his stomach that had nothing to do with the aroma of baked chicken and stuffing that wafted across the yard. Miriam’s eyes were all a-sparkle as she grinned at him. “You’re a sly one, Ben Hooley, turnin’ your aunts loose on unsuspectin’ little boys—and their dat.”

  The three Hooley brothers laughed. They all started toward the cabinetry shop, with the wedding party walking on ahead. “Oh, it’s none of my doin’, really,” Ben replied with a shrug. He glanced back toward the portable pen, where four children were gathered around getting their first lesson from his aunts. “You can take the teachers out of the schoolroom,” he quipped, “but you’ll never take the school out of those two old teachers.”

  Chapter 19

  So Luke Hooley’s already pairin’ up with Annie Mae, is he? Rhoda pressed her lips together as she looked around the huge room during the noon feast. From her vantage point at the eck, the corner table where the wedding party sat, she picked out Ben’s brothers as they ate. Ira, the younger one, had darker hair, distinctive eyebrows, and a daredevil grin, while Luke, with his sandy hair and slender face, resembled Ben.

  The tables were arranged in a large U-shape along the length of the Brennemans’ shop, and with the young men facing the young women, it was easy to observe who was eyeing whom. Her gaze lingered on Ben’s brothers, mostly because they were the only fellows she didn’t really know in this large gathering. The older folks had eaten in the first shift and then the tables had been reset, so now the couple’s younger married friends and the single ones filled the seats. The chatter was loud and happy, filling the high-ceilinged room.

  Every last one of the girls gawked at Ira and Luke as they ate their stuffed chicken, mashed potatoes, creamed celery, applesauce, and pie—though Rhoda hadn’t tasted much of the special meal. During what should have been a joyous morning, she had felt . . . left out, even though she’d been at Rachel’s side the whole time. Through the long preaching service—including Uncle Mose’s endless first sermon on the duties of husbands and wives—she could feel a separating, like the seam of a well-worn, favorite dress giving way after many years of constant wear. Even now, Rachel faced away from Rhoda, visiting with Micah, Katie Zook, and their cousin Bram Kanagy—the side-sitters to Micah’s right; while at Rhoda’s left, Micah’s brother Aaron was chatting with her sister Rebecca, who had volunteered to refill water glasses and platters during the meal. There was absolutely nothing wrong with this scene, except for the way she felt about it.

  Rhoda sensed life was passing her by.

  Never mind what Ben Hooley had told her about the right fellow coming along someday. If everyone else—including her mother—had found the person who made them indescribably happy, why hadn’t she? And if Luke Hooley had so quickly overlooked her in favor of flirting with Annie Mae Knepp, didn’t that confirm her own misgivings?

  Annie Mae attracted boys even though her father was the authoritarian bishop of Willow Ridge . . . even though she was tall and skinny and she squinted a lot because she needed glasses. Rumor had it that Annie Mae was making the most of her rumspringa, too, running around with Mennonite Yonnie Stoltzfuz and English boys, after her younger siblings were in bed—making a reputation for herself that most mamms warned their daughters against.

  Even Rebecca, who would never join the Old Amish Church, had local fellows smiling at her as she chatted with kin who hadn’t seen her since before she got carried away in the flood. Rebecca was a good talker, confident and educated yet respectful of their faith. In her way, she was as much a queen for this day as Rachel, since so many in Mamma and Dat’s families wanted to hear about her return to Willow Ridge after being presumed dead and raised English.

  Sighing, Rhoda excused herself. Better to pretend she was going to the bathroom t
han sit at the wedding party’s table with such a pouty frown on her face.

  Once outside, Rhoda watched the beehive of activity that involved most of the adults, who were making the wedding a seamless and carefree day for Rachel, Micah, and their friends. Henry Zook, normally behind the butchering counter in the market, and Uncle Daniel, usually minding his sheep or farming, wheeled cartloads of dirty dishes toward the back door of the Sweet Seasons to be washed. Other men stood about talking, enjoying what would be one of the last fine days of fall, while Ben Hooley and Reuben Reihl carried the two aunts’ suitcases into the house.

  Out of habit, Rhoda wandered to the café and stepped inside. The kitchen was steamy from running the dishwasher. The three Schrocks, Naomi, Lydia Zook, and Aunt Leah were stacking plates and silverware for the supper they would serve later: a lighter meal, yet nearly a hundred family members and young people would remain for the entire day’s festivities. Micah’s dat sat in his wheelchair drying a batch of silverware fresh from the dishwasher, tossing the hot pieces from his towel into the proper bins. Weddings were the only occasions when Amish men helped in the kitchen, doing the heavier work for the women who cooked and cleaned up.

  “Rhoda, dearie, how are ya? Everythin’ goin’ all right at the party?” Naomi wiped her brow, smiling even though she’d been here since four this morning.

  “Jah, jah,” Rhoda hastened to assure her. “Just walkin’ around after that feast ya fixed us. The chicken was extraspecial gut.”

  “Ah. Makin’ room for cake later. And ice cream! Tom must’ve drained his cows dry and cranked his arm off, judgin’ from all the tubs he’s put in the freezer.” Naomi snatched the towel Rhoda had picked up, laughing. “This isn’t your job today, missy! And how’s the bride doin’? And my Micah?”

  “They’re havin’ a fine time. With all of us talkin’, ya can hardly hear yourself think—but the shop was a fine place for havin’ the dinner,” she replied. “Awful nice of ya, managin’ all the details so Mamma can visit with her family.”