by BJ Hoff
But Samuel was such a hard man, so strict and unbending. A good many of the Plain People were, if not exactly intimidated by him, at least guarded around him. There was also his persistence in pursuing Rachel. He should have remarried years ago for the sake of his sons, yet as far as she knew, he had never courted another woman since his wife’s passing. He wanted only Rachel.
But Rachel didn’t want him. And even though Susan would like nothing better than to see her daughter again content and settled in a good marriage with a good man, she had to admit she could almost understand why Rachel might resist Samuel’s attentions. In spite of the fact that she and Amos had considered him a friend, Susan had never been completely comfortable around the man.
As she was standing in the open doorway, David pulled up in his buggy, with Malachi Esch almost directly behind him in their farm wagon.
Susan hoped she could be forgiven for the wave of relief she felt that others besides Samuel Beiler had arrived to help.
A little after four o’clock in the morning, Gant and Asa sat drinking coffee in Gant’s kitchen. Gant had risen before dawn every morning for over a week, having received word that there would be runaways coming any day now. So far there had been no sign of anyone, and he was beginning to worry that something might have gone wrong.
Suddenly Mac growled and shot to his feet from his place by the cookstove as someone pounded on the back door. Asa was already out of his chair as Gant pulled himself up.
“Finally,” he said, limping to the door without his cane.
He opened the door only about halfway, quieting Mac with a short command at the sight of Gideon Kanagy.
“Sorry to wake you, Captain, but I needed to tell you—”
Gant threw the door the rest of the way open before the boy could finish. “I was up,” he said, motioning Gideon inside. “But what’s got you stirring about so early?”
He caught a glimpse of another boy—an Amish boy—waiting in a farm wagon at the edge of the road.
“Gideon? Don’t stand out there in the cold. Come on in.”
Even in the flickering glow from the kitchen lamp, he could see that the lad was in a lather about something or other.
“I’d best not take the time, thanks. Reuben’s waiting for me—Reuben Esch. He came to get me, but I thought I should stop here first. I’d told you I’d open the shop again in the morning, but I won’t be able to. Something’s happened at the farm, and I need to get out there right away. Mamm will need me.”
Gant’s mind fumbled to make sense of the boy’s words. “Slow down, son. What happened?”
“I’m not exactly sure. Reuben said the horses are gone, and the barn cats—they’re gone, too.”
Gant stared at him. “Gone?”
Gideon nodded. “Looks like someone stole the horses. The cats probably got scared and ran off.”
Mac had squeezed himself in between Gant and Gideon, and the boy leaned to stroke his head.
“Your mother and Fannie—are they all right?” Gant ordered Mac back inside.
Again the boy nodded. “Reuben says no one’s hurt, but they’re pretty upset.”
Gant drew a long breath. “Rachel?”
Gideon’s gaze remained steady. If he knew anything of the situation between his sister and his employer, he gave no indication. “She’d be there with Mamm by now. She’d have heard the bell.”
“The bell?”
“The dinner bell Dat put up. He meant it to be used in case of trouble too, so the neighbors would come if ever help was needed.”
Gideon glanced back at the boy waiting for him by the road. “I should go now,” he said.
Gant’s decision was already made. “Mind if Mac and I go with you?”
Gideon shot him a look of surprise but didn’t hesitate. “That’d be fine.”
“Will your mother mind?”
The boy’s reply was quick in coming. “You’re always welcome at Mamm’s house, Captain. She’d tell you so herself, were you to ask.”
Gant gave a nod. “Just let me get a coat, and I’ll be right there.”
He watched for only a moment as Gideon hurried off to the wagon, then turned to Asa. “I don’t like the sound of this. Can you take care of things here?”
“You’ve shown me what to do if anyone comes,” Asa said. “What about the shop later this morning?”
“Just put the Closed sign up on the door. I’ll get back as soon as I can. One of the people will bring me, but for now I need to see what’s going on out there.”
“Has there been trouble before?”
Gant looked at him, as he pulled his coat off the wall peg and shrugged into it. “As it happens, they’ve had more than their share. Some while you were gone. I’ll fill you in later.” He paused. “You’re sure you don’t mind taking care of things without me if need be?”
“I know what to do, Captain.”
Gant nodded slowly, watching him. “Yes. You always do.”
9
AMONG FRIENDS
This is the charge I keep as mine,
The goal of every hope and plan—
To cancel the dividing line
Between me and my fellow man.
And so for me all fear shall end
Save this—That I may fail to see
My neighbor as a needed friend
Or sense my neighbor’s need of me.
LESLIE PINCKNEY HILL
It never ceased to intrigue Gant how quickly and efficiently the Amish community gathered round one of their own in times of crisis or need.
Not that his people, the Irish, didn’t typically rally about each other when possible, but by the time he left Ireland to come to the States, the island was so impoverished, its people so weak and ill from starvation, it was all they could do to put one foot in front of the other. Charity and kindness could be offered only by the few who had not been struck down and were still strong enough to provide help to others.
That left few in a position to offer benevolence.
By the time the men arrived at the Kanagy farm, neighbors and friends were milling about the yard and on the porch. As he and Gideon made their way among them, Gant was pleased and somewhat relieved to be greeted by many with respect, even, in some cases, with overt friendliness.
With time the People seemed to have come to trust him. According to Doc Sebastian, this was no small accomplishment, so he was grateful for the acceptance they offered him. The thing was, he genuinely liked the Riverhaven Amish.
Even though he hadn’t been able to convince the bishop when Gant first talked with him, he was coming to realize that he’d spoken the truth when he insisted that his desire to marry Rachel wasn’t the only reason he sought permission to convert. And as the weeks wore on, the bishop’s refusal to allow his conversion seemed to cut even more deeply. Only after the enormity of what he had been refused finally began to sink in, did he recognize that he had been wounded almost as much by the reality that he would forever remain an “outsider” to the People as the grim awareness that he and Rachel would never be allowed to marry.
He saw her then, as she moved among some of the latecomers in the yard, explaining to those who hadn’t heard what had happened this night. She was fully dressed, her glossy hair neatly parted and covered with the little cap she always wore, its strings dangling and stirring slightly in the night wind.
Her eyes met Gant’s as he began to make his way toward her. She looked away once but only for a moment. When she turned back to him, he saw the weariness that lined her face, the pale tautness of her features, and knew that for whatever reason, tonight wasn’t the only night she hadn’t slept well.
It shouldn’t have pleased her so much, his coming all the way from town in the dark hours of morning. She shouldn’t feel this rush of pleasure at the sight of him after all this time—his gaze, as warm as a caress, his tentative smile, his curly dark hair falling over one eye, the strength of him. But, oh, it was good to see him!
He
was coming directly toward her, his eyes on her face as if he saw no one else except her. And in that instant, despite her apprehension and distress about everything that had happened in the hours before, Rachel knew nothing, saw no one but him.
Jeremiah. The man she was forbidden to love yet loved all the same.
“Rachel,” he said in that quiet way he had of making her name the most important sound she had ever heard. “I’m sorry for your trouble.”
She managed to nod and tried to unlock her gaze from his but couldn’t.
“Where’s your mother?”
“She’s—” Finally she was able to look away from him. She glanced around, saw her mother talking with Gideon and Doc Sebastian. “There,” she said pointing. “On the porch.” She paused, then added, “She’ll be pleased that you’ve come.”
“And you?” he said watching her closely.
She caught a breath. “What? I—yes, of course,” she said, trying to keep her tone light.
“What can I do to help?” His expression changed now, becoming less intimate and more practical.
“Oh…I don’t suppose there’s anything. Not really. Some of the men are forming groups to go search for the horses, in case they’re still close by somewhere.”
“What time did this happen? Or do you know?”
Rachel tried to think. “Mamma said she heard noises about one thirty or thereabouts. That’s what woke her.”
“I don’t suppose you have any idea who might be responsible.”
“There’s no telling. Maybe some fellows just wanting to play tricks on us. If so, we’ll find the horses unharmed. If not—”
“Captain Gant!”
Fannie came running up and caught hold of Jeremiah’s coat sleeve. “I’m mighty glad you’re here! Why have you stayed away so long? Did you come to help find our animals?”
Rachel didn’t miss the genuine affection in her little sister’s face as she beamed up at Jeremiah—nor the warmth in his expression as he smiled down at Fannie.
“Ah, my favorite little miss,” he said, running a hand lightly over the top of Fannie’s kapp. “’Tis happy I am to see you too.”
Fannie giggled. “You sound funny when you talk Irish.”
“Fannie—”
But when Rachel would have reproached her sister, Jeremiah merely laughed.
“Well now, Miss Fannie, I’ll do my best to not let my Irish get in the way of your Amish. How will that be?” he teased.
Again Fannie gave another delighted giggle, though after a moment her sunny expression faded. “My barn kitties are gone too.”
“Gideon told me,” said Jeremiah, his tone gentle. “We’ll do our best to find them for you, lass. For now though, Mac’s over by the wagon, if you’d like to say hello. I’m sure he’d like to see you.”
For a few seconds more, Fannie continued to stare up at him with her young girl’s heart shining in her eyes. Then she turned and ran off to find Gant’s dog.
As Rachel watched her, she could only hope that her own heart wasn’t nearly so obvious.
Later Gant stood talking with Doc on the porch, though his gaze continued to follow Rachel’s every move.
“Do you think this might be the work of the same bunch who accosted Fannie last year?” he said.
Doc shrugged. “Hard to say. There’s no lack of troublemakers who fancy making sport of the Amish.”
“Why is that, do you think?”
Again Doc gave a shrug, his expression cynical. “I don’t have to tell you there will always be some who can’t tolerate the differences in others. The Irish could write a book of their own on persecution.”
“True. To some we’re mostly a gaggle of dirty and ignorant Papists. A bunch of sub-humans, as it were. But what accounts for the bullying of the Amish? They’re honest, hard-working, family folks who mind their own business and just want to be left alone in turn to live their faith as best as they can.”
Doc’s steady scrutiny was a bit discomfiting. “You’re not that naive, Gant. I know you better.”
“What?”
“It’s the differences, man, don’t you see? The Amish don’t fit in any more than the Irish do. They may be good, honest people and work hard and live a quiet life, but they’re different. Not to mention the fact that they won’t fight back when they’re wronged, they won’t go to war, and they won’t compromise their faith. Not for anything. And to a certain kind of person, that makes them suspect and open targets for harassment and even violence. There are far too many people in this world who have no tolerance whatsoever for those who aren’t like themselves.”
Gant knew he was right, knew also that there were other reasons for the intolerance toward the Amish that Doc hadn’t mentioned. He’d long observed that there was something in a certain kind of man that couldn’t bear any sort of disagreement with what he valued. If he needed a thing or valued it, then surely others should need it and value it also. If they didn’t—well then, for some might that be cause for resentment and even vengeance.
To one who prized the things of the world, the Amish avoidance of those things, indeed the very simplicity of the way they chose to live, just might engender hostility and, ultimately, aggression. From what Doc had told him and the little he’d already known about the Plain People, it seemed that everywhere they settled, they eventually encountered antagonism that all too often took the form of mistreatment or worse.
His gaze traveled back to Rachel, now standing with her arm around her mother’s shoulders. The thought of anyone daring to hurt either of them made the blood roar in his veins.
So perhaps the bishop had been right in telling him he was not yet “ready” to live the Amish way, perhaps never would be. For one thing was certain: He found it difficult, if not impossible, to imagine standing by and not retaliating in the case of violence or harm wreaked upon someone he loved—or for that matter, on any one of these good people he had come to care about.
As he stood watching, Samuel Beiler walked up to Rachel and her mother and began talking with them. Gant’s insides clenched. He did his best to conceal the jealousy that squeezed his chest like a vise.
Not only did he dislike the deacon for the proprietary way he routinely treated Rachel, but he resented the fact that Beiler had the right to spend time with her if she chose to allow it. This, while his own attentions, other than as a strictly platonic friend, were forbidden. The people might treat him with kindness and even respect, but just let him go against the bishop’s admonition to avoid any hint of a romantic relationship with Rachel, and he would no longer be welcome among them.
He couldn’t help but watch her reaction to the man and was relieved to see that same careful, somewhat distant response in her that he’d observed other times. So the deacon hadn’t won her over in Gant’s absence.
At least not yet.
“Giving Sam Beiler the evil eye is a wasted effort, I should think.”
Doc’s dry words snapped Gant back to his surroundings. “That obvious, eh?”
“Beiler isn’t easily put off, but Rachel has a strong will of her own.
I don’t think you need to worry about the deacon. He’s no farther along with her than he’s ever been, and I don’t see that changing.”
An uncharacteristically sour look crossed Doc’s features. “I expect I should count it as good luck for me that he didn’t decide to court Susan. He’s a lot closer to her age than to Rachel’s, after all.”
“Somehow I don’t think he’d pose a problem for you,” Gant told him. “Your bride-to-be seems unaware entirely of any other man on the premises so long as you’re around.”
Doc’s smile was nothing short of boyish. “I need to get going. Why don’t you go along with our group to search for the horses? It’s just Gideon, Reuben, Malachi, and myself. We’re taking Malachi’s wagon. If that big Percheron of Susan’s happens to be hurt, it could take more than one or two men to bring him in.”
Gant nodded, casting one more look in R
achel’s direction and drawing a satisfied breath when he saw Beiler walk away from her. He hesitated only another instant before following Doc across the yard to where Malachi Esch and the others were climbing onto the wagon.
10
DARK MEMORIES
The heart that has truly loved never forgets.
THOMAS MOORE
They found the horses a few hours later in an abandoned barn about three miles from the Kanagy farm. The animals were anxious and unsettled but seemingly unharmed.
Before leaving Susan’s place, Gant had given his dog, Mac, a chance to sniff around the stalls and the paddock. It was Mac who alerted them to the dilapidated barn where they found the horses.
They had no trouble taking the animals home. Gideon and Reuben Esch each rode one of the buggy horses bareback, leading the big Percheron along with them, while Mac trotted in front of them, as if to make certain they reached their destination.
In the wagon Doc turned to Gant and said, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking, given that no harm was done to those horses?”
Gant nodded. “It was nothing more than harassment. They had no intention of hurting those animals to begin with.”
“That’s how I see it,” Doc agreed. “This was just another way to trouble some of the Amish.”
Gant thought about that. “You don’t believe they singled Susan out for any particular reason other than the fact that she’s Amish?”
Doc rubbed his chin. “I don’t, no. But then I don’t want to think that way. What they did was cruel but not quite so threatening as if it were personal.”
Again Gant gave a nod, but another thought distracted him. “You keep saying ‘they.’ So you’re thinking there was more than one person involved?”
“Don’t you? Running off three horses—especially given Cecil’s size—seems like the work of more than one fellow.”