The Thorn (The Rose Trilogy)

by Beverly Lewis

  He seemed surprised. "You keep 'em in the barn?"

  "Always have." Rose waited on the back porch for him to return. When he did, she went inside to pull the trousers on under her dress in the small room where her mother napped during the day. Rose felt tired enough herself to simply lie down on the daybed and fall asleep. She assumed it was all the reading she'd done and hoped the night air might perk her up.

  Back outside, she let Nick help hoist her onto Pepper. Then he went around and slung his right leg forward over the horse, careful not to bump Rose. "Grab hold of me when we ride, all right?"

  Rose agreed, glad she'd worn the britches, even though now Nick knew where she hid them.

  "Are ya ready?" he asked.

  She held lightly onto Nick's shirt. "Go slow, all right?"

  "Nice 'n' easy," he said, directing the horse to move toward the grassy lane leading out to the bishop's field.

  "Aren't we go in' to the high meadow?"

  "We'll end up there."

  The night was still ... the sky clear and dark. She wanted to enjoy this ride through the night. But Rose thought of her book and wondered if quick-witted and spoiled Emma Woodhouse was destined always to be a matchmaker and never a bride. Few young women Rose knew would've taken the same stance on marriage as that character. And yet, as she contemplated it, Rose realized she, too, had once nearly given up on ever having a husband, though for wholly different reasons.

  Thankfully, Silas didn't forget about me, she thought as she watched the meadow rise to meet the sky over yonder.

  "Your leg's doin' all right?" Nick asked over his shoulder.

  "It's fine."

  "Ready to try for a slow trot?"

  "Thought ya said we were going to dawdle."

  "Well, must we go this slow?" Clearly, he was itching to increase Pepper's pace.

  "All right, but just a little."

  Nick clicked his tongue and the horse moved into a trot. Taken off guard by Pepper's quick movements, Rose lost her grip on Nick's shirt and began to slide. "Oh!" she cried out.

  Nick reached behind him and caught her left arm, then halted the horse. "I got ya ... you're all right."

  "You scared me half to death!" she said, catching her breath and getting situated again. Nervous now, she wondered if it wouldn't have been wiser to remain home, burrowed in with Miss Emma Woodhouse.

  "Now," said Nick, "try wrapping your arms around me instead."

  How unladylike!

  Nick didn't wait even a moment for her to dispute it before they were off again. She had to grab hold of something, since she was lurching out of control with each jog of the horse. So Rose did as Nick suggested, holding tightly around his middle as he trotted the horse ever closer to a gallop.

  All at once she began to feel much steadier - safer, too. She was keenly aware of Nick's strength. What freedom, riding this way! Never before had she felt so unfettered, yet also truly connected to someone. No, not just someone ... her best friend.

  Does Nick feel it, too?

  Rose had to suppress the wild and enlivening sensation that rolled through her as they rode through the darkness together. It was akin to the first time she'd leaped off the long tree branch and let herself fall helplessly into the swimming hole below ... disappearing into the muddy waters, over her head with happiness. Her whole body had seemed nearly weightless that day as she swam toward Nick - completely at one with the water, the hot sun, and her own body.

  Just as she felt now.

  But no. She couldn't let herself think this way. She was Silas's girl, not Nick's. In fact, she could never be anything more than Nick's friend.

  Rose tensed up just then, her arms turning stiff.

  Nick slowed the horse, quickly bringing Pepper to a halt. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothin'."

  "You don't fool me, Rosie." He got down and held out his arms to assist her. "You need to rest, maybe."

  She let him help her down, easing carefully onto her feet. Quickly, he removed his black work coat and insisted she sit on it. "I'm not an invalid," she said as she stood there looking down at it. "Besides, it's starting to get cold."

  "Just sit for a spell ... won't ya?"

  From his tone, she realized he had something on his mind. She knew him too well.

  But suddenly he was walking away from her, shoving his hands into his pockets. He stared at the sky, his hat and head a shadowy silhouette.

  Slowly, she lowered herself down onto his coat, her legs stretched out in front of her on the cold ground. Cushioned only by the coat and its flimsy lining, Rose felt sure he was going to tell her something dreadful. "I'm here, Nick ... listening," she said.

  He turned, pausing before coming back to meet her. Then, sitting on the bare ground next to her, he said, "I've been makin' trips into town."

  "Quarryville?"

  "Farther." He leaned back on one hand. "To the edge."

  The edge?

  "Never heard of that. Where is it?"

  "I hoped you'd ask," he said quietly, his face alight. "Just this side of the city of Lancaster. It's what I call the line between the Amish and the English worlds - like the modern life I came from."

  She took that in, feeling befuddled. "Sounds like something you could fall from, like a precipice." Just saying the word reminded her of the dreaded ravine with its jagged outcroppings.

  "It's only imaginary." He sighed, removed his hat, and placed it on his leg. "Have you ever been as far north as the bypass around Lancaster, Route 30?"

  "No ... too fast for a horse and buggy."

  "Sure, it's fast - and dangerous." His robust chuckle lifted to the sky. "I want you to see it sometime."

  "Why, Nick? This is our world ... all the tranquil miles of farming land are what I love." She sighed. "I can't picture anything else."

  "That's exactly it," he continued. "If you don't ever go beyond what ya know, how can you choose?"

  "I don't have to. I joined church years ago."

  Abruptly, he stopped talking.

  "I'm Amish, Nick. And so are you ... it just hasn't dawned on ya yet."

  They sat there in the darkness without speaking for a moment. Then, when she was certain he was put out with her, he said, "I'm looking into borrowing a car."

  "Oh, Nick," she groaned.

  "Please listen." His voice was softer, almost tender. "You're my only friend...."

  She looked at him, wishing for some light to see his face better.

  "I'll take you through the whole city. You can see how the fancy folk live - the way I used to ... before the bishop plucked me away."

  "You already know how to drive a car ... is that what you're sayin'?"

  He admitted he could.

  Rose shivered at the thought. "Why don't ya tell me about the city instead ... spare me going and lookin' clear over on the worldly side of things?"

  He studied her. "Before I came here, I lived with my mother on the third floor of a brick row house for ten years."

  "A row house?"

  "It's connected to two other houses exactly like it - the whole block's a string of houses. Sometimes there are alleyways running between them, every two houses. But there's no place on the street to park a car."

  "Must be awful crowded." And horrible, she thought. "I'd never be able to breathe."

  "Well, the city's more than just that. Think of the most exciting place you've ever been and multiply it by one hundred. Movie theaters, restaurants, and bowling alleys, too. Lots of fun things to do." His eyes found hers. "You can see them for yourself if you go with me."

  "But I'm happy here - Dat's farm's the most exciting place I know." She was shocked at his fascination with all of this, because he'd always seemed so at home in the country. In the wild.

  "Aw, Rosie." He leaned his head close to her shoulder. "Promise me you will ... sometime."

  She was astonished and so cold she was shivering. "I won't promise anything of the kind!"

  The ride back was not nearly as
exhilarating as before, even though Rose clung to Nick and pressed her left cheek against the middle of his back. She felt like a sinner being so close to someone who craved the outside world, yet she wanted to be near him while she still could.

  Soon they came to a stop near her father's woodshop. Rose didn't bother to thank Nick for suggesting the ride or for helping her down, neither one. Rather, she reminded him about scraping and painting Gilbert Browning's porch. "Tomorrow morning, remember?"

  "I won't forget," he muttered.

  Wanting to cry, she shuffled across the yard toward the house.

  Then he was behind her, running after her. "Ach, Rosie ... don't be mad." He turned her around and she lost her balance, falling right into his arms. "I wouldn't have told ya if I thought you'd be so upset."

  She pushed away, yet he still held her hands. "How could I not be, Nick? How?"

  He touched her face with the back of his hand. "I've always told ya things. You know that."

  She nodded. "We've shared too much all these years, maybe," Rose whispered, a tear escaping.

  "How can that be? That's what friends do, ain't?"

  She felt his fervor in his grip and realized that now he was the one holding on to her for dear life. She'd been a part of nearly every boyish thing he'd ever wanted to do over the years - including riding double on Pepper. And she'd shared with him almost all of her thoughts, too.

  He asks so little of me....

  "Just think about it, won't ya?"

  "I s'pose thinkin' might not hurt anything," she said softly.

  Slowly, he released her. "There's something more...." He paused and looked up, staring at the sky. "I'd like to see my mother's grave.

  Rose knew he hadn't received word of his mother's death in time to travel to Philadelphia for the funeral.

  "And I want you to go with me."

  Past the edge, she thought.

  "Why didn't you say so?" Rose was the one reaching for him now, her hand on his arm. "Is this what you meant, then, earlier? Instead of all that talk 'bout the modern city life?"

  He shrugged.

  "Well, when?" she asked, her heart in her throat.

  "Honest, you'd really go?"

  "Just there and back," she said. Only for you .. .

  And with that, Rose headed into the house. By now, it was too late to continue reading Emma. She would simply go to bed and pick up the book another time ... and try to put the emotions of this strange night behind her. Oh, if that is even possible.

  The damp, windy weather wasn't exactly the best for fixing Gilbert Browning's front porch, but Nick would still make quick work of the scraping. Rose guessed he would need to match the paint in Quarryville and come back to do the priming and painting another day.

  She'd looked for Nick from the kitchen window earlier that Thursday morning and saw him out near the barn, talking with Dat and Christian. It was strange to think now of being held in his strong arms last night - out there in the backyard, of all places! What was he thinking? And, worse, why had she been so taken by his sudden affection?

  No, it wasn't like that, Rose assured herself. Although, now that she considered it, she had no idea just what she'd felt at all.

  Around eight o'clock, she noticed Nick with his tools slung in a bag on his shoulder, riding out toward the road on Pepper. Our horse, she thought, surprising herself with the thought.

  She wondered why he hadn't bothered to hitch up to a carriage. Nick was taking this sort of shortcut a lot lately. Surely the bishop frowns on that.

  Seeing him fly down the road reminded Rose again of Nick's odd behavior last night. For the life of her, she could not understand his keen interest in going to a big city. And if it was truly a visit to his mother's grave in Philadelphia that drew him, why had he waited so long to say so? Or is he using it as an excuse?

  She also wondered if his interest in his modern beginnings was the reason he'd never joined the church. This made her tremble - not for her sake, or for the possible loss of their friendship - but for Nick's very soul.

  It was all coming back to Hen - making meals from scratch and cooking on a woodstove, relying on gas lamps and lanterns at night while lingering at the table after supper with her family ... and reading the Bible afterward. Even bowing her head with the family for silent prayer.

  Living in one accord, she thought as she opened the door to Rachel's Fabrics. She could hear Rachel and several ladies already at work in the smaller back room, chattering softly in Pennsylvania Dutch while working on a quilt. For a moment it made her feel homesick to hear them, and then she remembered she was right back where she'd longed to be. While half of her felt so alone without Brandon, her heart was at home.

  She had been grateful for her sister-in-law Kate's eagerness to look after Mattie Sue once more this morning. Mattie's little face had brightened like a Christmas bulb when Hen brushed her hair back into a bun and told her she would be spending the day with her Amish cousins.

  Mattie had asked if she was going to work again, and Hen assured her it was not going to be more than twice a week. It pleased her to see how rapidly her daughter was taking to this way of life, soaking it up like a thirsty sponge.

  Hopefully she's beginning to appreciate people more than things.

  In fact, when Hen had arrived with Mattie at josh and Kate's farmhouse, Mattie ran straight into the kitchen and hugged Linda and Katie, then leaned into the playpen and kissed Annie Mae right on the lips.

  She's finally getting the chance to know my side of the family. Hen looked up from the cash register, apprehensive about calling Brandon this evening. How would he receive her? She felt terribly cut off from him without a phone. Aside from the letter, she hadn't contacted him since arriving Monday morning, three days ago.

  Too long to be silent.

  Looking out the shop window, Hen spotted a bank of dark thunderheads rising in the north. Lavina Zook, one of the regular customers, was getting ready to leave. "Thanks for coming in today," Hen said. The middle-aged Amishwoman was trying to push her wallet down into her overflowing pocketbook.

  "It'll be makin' down real soon," Lavina said, frowning with a glance out the window. "I best be getting home."

  "There was a stiff, cold breeze earlier. You take care now."

  "Oh, I'll be just fine. Will prob'ly be back next week for who knows what."

  "And we'll be here to help," Hen said casually, but her mind was still on her husband. How would she feel if he turned down her invitation? She had tried not to expect anything remarkable to come of her letter so that she wouldn't be hurt if he either snubbed or totally rejected it. Was he even missing her?

  Lord, will you work in Brandon's heart? she thought, then assisted a pair of customers with color choices for their quilt patterns.

  Later, Hen was straightening up the counter where fabric samples and thread were strewn about when she looked up to see her old friend Arie Zook coming through the door with her baby. "Arie, hi!" she said, holding herself back from rushing over to hug her.

  Arie's freckled cheeks flushed red beneath her black outer bonnet, but she looked right at Hen. "I got your letter."

  "Did you?" Hen felt nearly embarrassed now - such unpleasant awkwardness between former bosom buddies. The gulf between the counter and the few yards to the door seemed unsurpassable for a moment.

  "Denki for writing to me."

  "I've wanted to for the longest time," Hen replied.

  "You're lookin' nice and Plain," Arie observed. "How do ya like workin' here?"

  "Rachel's really wonderful." She glanced toward the quilting room. "I'm enjoying it."

  "That's gut."

  "I haven't decided on a pattern yet," Hen forged ahead, "but I'm determined to make a quilt for Mattie Sue sometime this winter." She glanced about, glad no one was shopping on this side of the store. Oh, all the months and years she'd missed Arie!

  "Such an ambitious project for one person."

  "I'm hoping my grandmother will
help, and maybe Mom, too." She said she was presently living back at her parents' home.

  Arie's face fell. "Oh, so very sorry."

  "My little girl and I are staying in the small Dawdi Haus. Lord willing, it will only be for a short time," Hen added.

  "I hope things work out for ya," Arie said, eyes solemn.

  Hen moved out from behind the counter and went to her. "I'm glad you came by."

  Arie offered her a small smile. "I want to apologize for how I behaved that Sunday at your parents'." She sighed and set the baby carrier on the floor. "I haven't been able to stop thinkin' how it must've hurt you."

  "But I hurt you years ago. . . ." Hen couldn't finish and was comforted by Arie's tender embrace.

  "I don't know how things are going to be for Mattie Sue and me," she said softly when they'd walked over to the corner, out of earshot. "I'm going to need your prayers, I know that."

  Arie nodded her head. "I'd be happy to help out with your daughter, too, if you ever need it. All right?"

  Hen blinked back her tears. This longed-for reunion with Arie was as sweet as it was timely. She truly needed an understanding friend.

  When Arie was finished shopping for a mere handful of sewing notions, she paid cash for the items and turned to leave. "I'll look for ya on Sunday at Preaching, Hen."

  "Denki. I'll be there." It was in that moment, Hen realized with a smile, that Arie had come to Rachel's Fabrics primarily to see her.

  While Mamm sat in her wheelchair and did her needlepoint, Rose read aloud from Emma to fill up the silence. She fell easily into the appealing setting, which struck her as a very romantic time. Mamm stopped her occasionally to comment on all the many social events and gatherings - or the women's frivolous preparations for them. Such occasions seemed to occupy all of their waking hours, and at one point, Mamm mused that the young women were "downright obsessed" with wondering who would be their dance partner.

  The rumble of thunder caused Rose to look up from the book, and her eyes met Mamm's. "Read from the Scriptures awhile, Rosie."

  She went to retrieve the old family Bible. "Would ya like to hear a psalm?"