Autumn Winds

by Charlotte Hubbard

  “We’re askin’ Micah to build us some of those rollin’ walls, too!” Ira crowed. “Never seen anythin’ like that place. Havin’ beds that fold up into the wall, and slidin’ panels with bookshelves and dresser drawers built in, seem like fine ways to save some space. And we can see he’s a mighty fine carpenter, too, before we have him build our mill.”

  Miriam was nodding as she got a carton of eggs and a package of bulk sausage from the fridge. “Ya couldn’t ask for a better fella to do your construction work,” she agreed. She formed patties from the sausage and arranged them in her cast-iron skillet. “And if the bishop gets cantankerous about how you’re doin’ things, or the way you’ve come here from Pennsylvania to start up, I can assure ya firsthand that everybody else voted for the go-ahead. Lots of folks will benefit from a chance to grow grains for ya, or from havin’ more tourists visit their shops when they come to Willow Ridge to see the mill.”

  They chatted easily as Miriam made French toast from some of Deborah’s bread, left from the wedding. It was a fine thing, to have this time with Ben’s brothers . . . to smile at facial expressions and gestures she’d observed while getting to know Ben, and to hear their ideas for packaging and selling their grains. Considering it would be nearly a year before their first local crop was available, Miriam was pleased about their confidence—not to mention the financial stability they had established at a young age.

  As the four of them ate their breakfast in the dining room, Miriam listened more than she talked. She didn’t know of any other young men with such business sense, and the more Ira and Luke talked, the more impressed she became. Bishop Knepp would have to admit that the Hooleys would be an asset to Willow Ridge.

  Miriam got up from the table. “Let me fry up another couple pieces of French toast—”

  The jangling of the phone made her glance at the clock. Who would be calling at four thirty in the morning? “I’d better answer the phone first,” she called out to them as she passed through the kitchen. “At this hour, it might be an emergency.”

  Out the back door she hurried, to the little white phone shanty that sat behind the building. Just as it rang for the fourth time, she grabbed the receiver. “Hullo?” she said as she caught her breath. “This is Miriam Lantz at the Sweet Seasons—”

  “I need to talk to Ben. I know he’s there, so don’t try to tell me different.”

  Miriam’s eyebrows rose, and so did her temper. “Do ya realize it’s only four thirty in the—”

  “Well, if ya have to bang on his door to wake him up, that’s only fair, considerin’ how he left me in the lurch! I’ll wait.”

  Jah, and I might just hang up, too, Miriam thought. She didn’t even want to know what sort of lurch Ben had supposedly left Polly Petersheim in . . . but wasn’t it time to settle this matter with Ben’s old girlfriend, one way or the other? Miriam set the receiver on the tabletop and walked back into the kitchen, crossing her arms against the cold wind. From the doorway she gazed at Ben Hooley, the man she’d just this morning declared her love for. If she’d spoken too soon—if she’d fallen for a fellow who couldn’t commit to her and leave his past entanglements behind—well, it was better to find out now, wasn’t it?

  “Are ya all right, Miriam? Somebody sick?” Ben asked as he rose from his chair. He looked sincerely concerned.

  “Polly wants to talk to ya. Says it’s urgent.”

  Ben’s face clouded over like the impending storm outside. As he walked across to the pass-through window and into the kitchen, the measured tread of his boots on the plank floor announced his displeasure. “Miriam,” he murmured, “I want ya to come with me. I want ya to witness—”

  “Ben, this is none of my business.”

  “Ah, but it is. Polly’s tryin’ to lasso me from clear across the country, probably thinkin’ to make you mad enough to send me packin’,” he said in an angry voice. “And it’s time to put a stop to such nonsense.”

  It felt odd to join Ben in the tiny phone shack. When he closed the door, Miriam stood directly behind him as he sat on the old chair to take the call . . . so close she couldn’t help brushing against his back. Her heart pounded. Polly Petersheim had a lot more history with Ben than she did, and had apparently felt a spark for him rekindled. And because Polly had been widowed, well—Miriam knew exactly how helpless a woman could feel, and how desperate to see that the livestock and the farm got taken care of, as well.

  Desperation drove a lot of lonely women to make decisions—or phone calls—they would never have considered before they lost their man. Miriam closed her eyes as Ben raised the receiver to his ear. Please help us, Lord, to speak with compassion but to get this settled for sure and for certain, she prayed. If You’re tryin’ to show me that Ben Hooley’s not the man for me, I . . . I’ll try to understand.

  “Polly,” Ben said in a stern voice, “you’ve got no reason to call here, disruptin’ Miriam’s bakin’ time—”

  “Ya told me ya loved me, Ben! Ya said we’d be together forever!” Polly’s reply came over the phone. There was no mistaking what she had said, for her strident voice filled the little phone shanty.

  Miriam bit her lip. When Ben reached back to grab her hand, she felt him trembling with the effort to restrain his impatience. Or . . . was Polly telling the truth? Expecting Ben to keep his side of a bargain Miriam knew nothing about?

  “And we were what, nineteen then?” he reminded her. “We were makin’ our plans, like young people do, while your dat, the bishop, had other things in mind for ya. And they didn’t include a fella without a farm.” Ben sighed, gripping Miriam’s hand more tightly. “I’m sorry ya weren’t all that happy in your marriage, Polly, but like I told ya last week—I’ve got a new life here in Missouri. A woman I intend to marry, too.”

  “But, Ben!” Polly shot back, “the only thing that kept me sane while I was with Homer was thinkin’ you and I would meet up again someday—”

  “And meanwhile, my life has followed a different path.” Ben cleared his throat, shifting in the old wooden chair. “There’s no doubt in my mind that God has led me here, and that Miriam’s the woman He intended for me to make my life with . . . to have a family with. Ya have to accept that, Polly. I’m not comin’ back,” he said emphatically. “And when I saw ya for those few minutes last week, I never made ya any promises. I told ya how it was, straight-out.”

  Miriam felt sorry for Ben. How awkward he must feel, dealing with a woman who was weaving a fantasy like a spider spun her web, imagining Ben Hooley’s feelings for her hadn’t changed as he’d matured. It didn’t help that Polly had begun to weep, so now the sound of her anguish filled the space around them.

  “I could tell while we were talkin’ that ya might need to get some counselin’—some gut advice about settlin’ your husband’s affairs as well as some help for your loneliness and your . . . mental state,” Ben continued in a gentler voice. “But that’s not help I’m qualified to give, Polly. I’m sorry you’re not doin’ so well, but you’ve got a nice home and money enough to keep ya. For that ya should be grateful.”

  Ben paused to breathe deeply, awaiting what she might say next. When he turned and met Miriam’s gaze, she saw sadness and regret in his soulful eyes . . . and she realized that on yet another level, this man was far more understanding and compassionate than many Amish men she knew. She smiled at him, rubbing the tops of his shoulders.

  “I’m gonna hang up now, Polly,” he said as another of her wails came through the phone. “I wish ya all the best, but please don’t call me again. I’m not gonna change my mind. Do ya understand that?”

  A long pause followed. Miriam hoped Polly would follow Ben’s advice and get some help for her grief and her financial affairs.

  “Jah. I—I was just hopin’ . . . but I won’t bother ya again, Ben.” Polly sniffled loudly and then blew her nose next to the phone.

  “I’ll keep ya in my prayers, Polly. Good-bye.” Ben laid the receiver back in the cradle with a sad sigh
. “Wasn’t my intention to drag ya into somethin’ so heavy, Miriam,” he murmured, “but I wanted ya to see the truth of it, in case Polly keeps callin’ to tell ya things are different from what I’ve just said. I’m sorry about all this.”

  Miriam wrapped her arms around Ben’s broad shoulders and rested her head against his. “Ya handled her real nicely, Ben. I admire that about ya—the way ya don’t fly off the handle or expect other folks to see everythin’ your way.”

  He turned sideways in the chair so he could slip his arms around her waist and hold her closer. When he looked up at her, he smiled ruefully. “Will ya pray with me now? I’m thinkin’ Polly Petersheim needs all the help she can get—even from halfway across the country.”

  Nodding, Miriam bowed her head as she kept her arms around Ben’s shoulders. It felt odd to pray in this position, hanging on to a man, yet maybe the power of their prayers would intensify if they lifted up their hearts together. The preachers told young folks wishing to marry that praying together was the most important thing they could do to ensure a stable, happy union . . . so why wouldn’t that be true for her and Ben, as well?

  After a moment, Ben stirred. When Miriam opened her eyes, he was gazing up at her with so much love on his handsome face she couldn’t speak. She could only hold him close, blinking back tears.

  “I love ya, Miriam,” he whispered. “I hope ya can still believe that.”

  “More than ever, I do,” she replied. “And I love ya right back, Ben.”

  His sigh joined hers, and then he smiled. “Well, then—better be gettin’ ourselves inside or my brothers’ll wonder what we’re up to. Not that I share every little thing with them, ya know.”

  Miriam swiped at her tears, chuckling. “Are ya callin’ this a little thing we share between us, Ben?” she teased.

  His laughter filled the phone shanty as he stood up. He kissed her soundly before grabbing the doorknob. “How is it ya always see right through to the point, and then don’t let me miss it, Miriam?”

  She shrugged happily. Now that this situation with Polly was settled, she felt ever so certain that Ben Hooley was the man she’d hoped he would be. No more wondering about his past. No more letting Hiram twist things around, making her doubt what Ben had told her.

  “Will ya marry me, perty girl?”

  There it was, the moment every girl dreamed of—the words she’d longed to hear from the man she loved—and the thrill felt no different at forty than it had at eighteen, when Jesse had proposed to her. Indeed, this moment felt even sweeter because she was fully aware of what marriage entailed. The long-haul reality was a different thing altogether from what a young bride envisioned when she said I do.

  Miriam hugged him hard. “Jah, Ben, I’ll be proud to be your wife,” she replied joyfully. “And I’ll never let ya live it down that ya popped the question in the phone shanty, either!”

  He laughed, his body rocking with hers. “Didn’t I tell ya the where and the when were a secret? Goes to show ya that I’m not so gut at keepin’ things to myself, ain’t so?”

  Miriam smiled up at him, loving the way his face shone with the same commitment she felt in her heart. “Can we take our time at this now? I can tell ya from experience that courtin’s more fun than takin’ on the responsibilities of marriage,” she remarked wistfully. “Kids Rachel and Micah’s age don’t appreciate that. So let’s enjoy gettin’ to know each other better while ya help your brothers get established.”

  “And while ya adjust to Rachel bein’ married, too,” Ben agreed. “Somethin’ tells me she and her man’ll be startin’ a family soon. Ya might need to find other help for the café.”

  “Matter of fact, Naomi and I already have somebody in mind.”

  “Des gut. Because as much as I love the work ya do here,” he murmured as he hugged her again, “there’ll come a time when I want ya all to myself for a while.”

  Miriam grinned, feeling as tingly as a newlywed. Was it her imagination, or had the wind died down? Even though the clock might say it was too early for the sunrise, she sensed a glow in the sky . . . a new shine in her life. “Des gut,” she echoed, “because I want that, too.”

  Chapter 21

  By midmorning, when he and his brothers were returning to Willow Ridge from the bank, Ben couldn’t suppress a continuous grin. The meeting with Derek Shotwell had gone so smoothly it was almost too good to be true—which was frosting on the cake, considering how Miriam had agreed to become his wife this morning. As Pharaoh trotted along the county highway ahead of their wagon, the clip-clop! clip-clop! of his huge hooves defined the happy rhythm Ben’s entire adult life on the road had followed—and now that same cadence made music his heart could dance to.

  As they crossed the old one-lane river bridge, Ben tugged on the traces to halt his horse. He and his brothers gazed at the rapids, upstream a short distance. “Well, can ya picture yourselves there on the bend?” he asked them. “It’s gut that folks’ll be able to see the big mill wheel turnin’ from the road.”

  “Real perty spot for it, too,” Luke remarked. “The trees hereabouts have some nice color to them in the fall.”

  “Couldn’t have asked for a nicer fella to be doin’ business with at the bank, either,” Ira chimed in from his seat in the wagon behind them. “He said some mighty fine things about Miriam and the way she runs her bakery business—and the way she got the ball rollin’ so we could get on with our buildin’ before winter sets in.”

  Ben’s heart hammered. He wanted to shout out about Miriam accepting his proposal earlier today, yet he also wanted to let this news simmer . . . wanted to enjoy their little secret for a while before they turned it loose. “You’ll find no better friend here than Miriam Lantz,” he agreed. “It’s just her way to help folks—”

  “I’m thinkin’ you and Miriam are more than friends, Bennie-boy! Ya had her smilin’ a mile wide this mornin’,” Ira shot back. “C’mon now—tell us what-all ya said to Polly when she called so bloomin’ early.”

  “Jah, I knew as soon as Polly pulled up into the lane back home that she’d be festerin’ like a splinter ya can’t pull out of your finger.” Luke, who sat on the seat beside him, looked at Ben as though he had all day to wait for a full response.

  Ben clapped the reins on Pharaoh’s broad black back and they rolled on across the bridge. The wind had picked up, so the horse moved faster. “I told Polly the way it was—that I wasn’t comin’ back for her, no matter how bad she wanted that. I—I told her to get some help for her grievin’, and for settlin’ her husband’s affairs, too.”

  “And?” Ira asked pointedly. “Ya can’t tell me that’s all that got discussed in that phone shanty, as long as you two were gone.”

  Ben chuckled but kept a straight face. He couldn’t keep his proposal to himself forever, because everyone in Willow Ridge knew how the two of them had hit it off from the start. “Miriam and I prayed for Polly.”

  “Oh, go on with ya!”

  “For sure and for certain we did,” Ben insisted. He nodded toward the Sweet Seasons, about a quarter mile up ahead of them. “But Polly’s situation is between her and God now, and I’m lettin’ Him handle it. By the looks of the buggies at the café, folks are showin’ up for lunch. It’ll be a gut time to get better acquainted with fellas who might want to raise some grains for ya.” Ben glanced up at the gathering clouds. “Lots of men without women to cook for them will be there—or single fellas like the Brenneman brothers, who eat there because their mamm cooks with Miriam.”

  Luke turned to raise an eyebrow at their youngest brother. “Did ya hear how Bennie just switched right off the subject of Miriam and the phone shanty?”

  “Jah, sure did. Are we surprised?”

  “Nope. He hasn’t changed much, even though he’s moved to Missouri.”

  Ira chortled. “Jah, Missouri—the Show-Me State. And I’m ready for somebody to show me some gut eats for dinner. That French toast and sausage left me long ago.”

  B
en pulled off the road and on down the lane toward the Lantzs’ barn. “By the looks of those dark clouds rollin’ toward us, it’s gut we got back. Let’s pull Miriam’s wagon inside and let Pharaoh into the corral.”

  Between the three of them, it only took a few minutes to park and tend Ben’s horse. As they sauntered down the driveway, Ben noted whose horses and buggies were in the gravel lot behind Miriam’s café. “Looks like Hiram decided to get his dinner here, too, instead of havin’ the aunts cook for him,” he remarked.

  “Now there’s another story!” Luke said with a laugh. “And ya can’t tell me it’s those little goats the bishop was interested in.”

  “No doubt he’s already learned to stay out of the aunts’ way when they’re cleanin’. No man’s safe once Jerusalem and Nazareth get on a mission.” Ira sprinted ahead, opening the front door and gesturing for his brothers to precede him inside.

  A lot of the usual crowd was there. Ben nodded and waved to several of them: Tom Hostetler, Gabe Glick, and Hiram had a corner table as though they were holding a preachers’ meeting. Rhoda grinned at him as she filled water glasses for Nate and Bram Kanagy, while beside that table the three Brenneman brothers were rising to head for seconds at the steam table. Some English tourists filled a long table near the cash register, where Rachel was ringing up Matthias Wagler’s bill.

  Ben felt deeply, satisfyingly happy. It felt good in ways he’d never anticipated, to walk into this place and feel he was among friends, after knowing them for only a few weeks. Nothing sounded homier than the chatter of folks over a meal. Nothing smelled better than home-cooked food, either, and as Ben hung up his hat he glanced at the whiteboard on the wall. The soup he saw cooling in Micah’s bowl tempted him with its chunks of hamburger, potatoes, and carrots, but he was hungry for something more filling. Something new and different, to celebrate a morning like he’d never known.

  “So tell me about those stuffed shells on the menu,” he said as Rhoda came to the table his brothers had chosen. “Don’t know what they are, but I bet they’re gut.”