Mary’s legs pedaled slower and slower as the freezing rain drenched her. She was shivering now, and she set her teeth hard to keep them from chattering. The rain sat frozen on her lashes, and her hands felt welded to the handlebars.
She couldn’t go on like this. It would take too long, and she’d freeze. What had she been thinking? The crackle of a branches shifting under the weight of the falling ice sliced through the air. She skidded and lost her balance. With a bruising plunge, she fell onto the slick asphalt. Her leg twisted under her and she cried out in pain. Tears mixed with the streaks of sleet on her cheeks as she wriggled to a sitting position. Ignoring the pain in her leg, she stood.
The bike had slid into a ditch. Tightening her lips, she reached after it, planting her feet hard into the ground, so she wouldn’t fall into the ditch herself. Stretching her arm, she caught the handle bar and yanked with all her might. The bike dislodged and flew toward her, knocking her to the road. The bike crashed on top of her stomach. She lay sprawled on her back with freezing rain pelting her face. She wanted to wail, but her voice stuck in her throat. She felt the wet soak through to her back, and the pure absurdity of it all jolted her. Instead of crying, she held her hands over her face to block the sleet and a strange chortle rose in her throat.
There she lay, the future goat girl, trying to save her cousin. There she lay, the maker of horrible pies, trying to prove something. There she lay, the girl who would always, always, always be in the shadow of her older sister. Her chortles grew heavy and warped and morphed into sobs.
Disgusted with herself, she shuddered and shoved the bike off of her stomach and struggled to an upright position. She debated what to do, and then, through the sound of the pelting rain, she heard the faint clip clop of hooves. A wobbly stream of light was coming her way. Relief swept through her.
She squinted through the rain and the dark, waiting for the horse. The cold jolted through her as the buggy closed in. She gave a violent shiver, and the crack of nearby tree branches made her jump.
The buggy pulled up beside her and the door opened. Josiah jumped down and rushed to her. “Mary! Are you all right? Where’s Jack?” he yelled through the rain.
He held up his gas lantern and the light flooded over her. His eyes went wide. “What happened to you? You’re covered in mud!”
He quickly gathered her against his side and nearly lifted her into the buggy. She fell onto the opposite closed door, her teeth rattling so intensely, she couldn’t speak. He took the bike and forced it into the backseat of the buggy. Then he climbed in.
“Where’s Jack?” he repeated, slamming his door.
She shook her head and wiped her face with the edge of her wet cape. “I don’t know. Help me find him.” Her words jerked out, and she grabbed his arm. “Please, help me find him.”
“I couldn’t believe it when Mercy told me you’d gone. I took my uncle’s buggy as fast as I could. What were you thinking?” His voice both scolded and admired her. “It’s wicked out here.”
Mary pointed ahead. “He went that way. I thought I’d catch him.” She couldn’t stop shaking.
Josiah peeled off her cape and threw it on top of the bike behind them. He pulled out a quilt from under the seat and wrapped it around her. “He can’t have gone far.”
Josiah squinted into the darkness ahead of them. “It’s worsening, Mary. We need to go back.”
“But what about Jack? Please, Josiah, a bit further. He could be hurt.”
Josiah slapped the reins on the Lambright’s horse. The rain pelted the buggy. “It’s dangerous. Surely, he found shelter.”
He slid the front window open and stuck his arm outside. “The sleet is getting thicker. We can’t keep the horse out in this forever.”
The wind caught his words and Mary leaned close. “Please! A little further!”
The horse balked and Josiah worked to keep her going. The Lambright’s old mare, Sprint, would have kept on. But she was dead now, and this new horse wasn’t as pliable. Josiah maneuvered the reins, giving the horse a bit more slack. “Come on, Belter!” he cried through the opening. “Let’s go!”
The sleet came faster, and Mary’s eyes widened with alarm. Josiah was right, they couldn’t keep this up.
A hulking shadow loomed ahead. “There! A barn!” she cried. “Over there!”
Maybe Jack was inside!
“I see it,” Josiah yelled. He hit the reins harder and Belter pushed ahead, off the road and toward the barn.
Four
Tears welled in Mary’s eyes, and she swiped them away. She prayed Jack was inside or maybe in an adjoining farm house, warm and cozy, waiting for her. Josiah pulled the horse to a stop right outside the barn. Mary forced the door open against the wind and the icy rain and leaned out, holding her hand above her eyes. She tried to locate the farm house since most barns didn’t sit alone in the middle of a field. Nothing came into view. Her mind raced. Where were they? Was this the old deserted King barn? If it was, there wasn’t a farm house for miles.
Then Jack had to be in the barn.
Josiah jumped out of the buggy and unhitched Belter. Mary slid down from her seat and nearly fell in the icy dirt. She shoved the door shut and ran ahead to the barn. Josiah joined her and fumbled with the latch with one hand, trying to keep Belter under control with the other.
Mary’s heart sank. If Jack was inside, the barn wouldn’t be latched from the outside. He wasn’t there. Dear Gott, where was he?
Belter stomped, and Mary grabbed the halter from Josiah and held on. “Okay! I’ve got her!” she yelled.
Josiah got the door opened, and they rushed inside. He grabbed Belter from her and led the horse further into the barn.
Mary forced the door shut and stood shaking in the dark.
“Mary, take her again, will you? I need the lamp.”
She stretched out her arms in front of her and blindly went toward his voice.
“Over here,” he guided her.
She bumped into Josiah and felt again for Belter’s harness.
“Be back in a minute.”
Mary held on tight as Belter pawed the ground. She stroked the horse’s nose and spoke close to her ear. “It’s all right, girl. Don’t worry. It’s all right. You’re safe. Don’t worry.”
A gush of wind roared through the barn as Josiah came back through the door. He lit the lamp and held it high as he made his way back to her. Belter whinnied and threw her head from side to side, nearly lifting Mary from the floor. Josiah quickly set the lamp down.
“I’ve got her,” he said, wrestling the horse from Mary.
Mary grabbed the lantern and stood shivering while Josiah secured Belter into a stall. He took off his wide-brimmed hat and shook off the sleet. Then he wiped his sleeve over his face and peered around in the shadows.
“Well, we’ve got a roof at least.” He looked at her. “You’re quivering something fierce.”
The cold wetness had sunk straight through her, and she couldn’t stop shaking.
“I’m okay,” she said, her teeth rattling.
He moved closer and she sucked in a quick breath. Even in the near dark, his strong features and chestnut eyes shot through her almost like pain. He leaned down to search her face and her chest tightened.
“I’m sorry about this, Mary. Real sorry.”
“It’s my fault,” she said. “The whole thing is my fault.”
“It’s not your fault Jack took off. ’Twas a fool thing to do.” He straightened to his full height and took his coat off.
“What are you doing? You’ll freeze! I have the quilt.”
He laid his coat around her shoulders, and the weight of the wool send a bit of warmth through her. The coat smelled like rain and fields and hard work and Josiah. Before she could stop herself, she closed her eyes and breathed it in.
“Better?” he asked.
She started to peel it off. “But I can’t take this. You need it.”
“Take it,” he said and
moved away, still surveying the barn. “We could build a fire if I could find something to put it in. We need a big metal tub.”
He took the lantern from her. “You okay in the dark for a minute, while I look?”
She nodded, hugging his coat closer.
She watched as he made the rounds of the barn, his silhouette glowing in the yellow light from the lamp. She saw the outline of his lean muscles through his cotton shirt. Even in crisis, he emanated strength and confidence. She chided herself for her admiration. She felt certain he only had eyes for her sister—futile as that was. A flash of jealousy grabbed her heart, and she chastised herself even more sternly.
None of it was important right then, anyway. Jack was gone. He was somewhere out there wandering through the ice. She squeezed her eyes closed and prayed.
“Praise Gott!” Josiah hollered. “I found something!”
He returned, the lantern in one hand and a big metal tub in the other. Mary and her sisters used to splash in just such a tub when they were little and the hot Indiana sun beat down.
He put the tub down on the plank floor. “I think I can bust up some of the wood from one of the stall gates. Don’t worry, Mary, I’ll get you warm.”
She nodded and couldn’t take her eyes off him. She watched him yank at the stall door next to where he’d put Belter, but it wouldn’t give. He stopped and walked to the far wall. He returned to the circle of light with a metal pipe, which he beat against the hinges until the door fell to the floor.
“Now we’re getting somewhere!” he said, and Mary heard the satisfaction in his voice. He jumped a few times on the wood until she heard a loud crack and rip.
He grinned widely as he toted broken pieces of stall door back to her. He placed them into the tub. Then he gathered some dried hay off the floor and laid it atop the wood.
He picked up the lantern. “Sorry, Mary, but I’m going to need more kindling. Hang tight.”
“I’m fine, Josiah.” Her insides hurt with the cold.
He returned with a handful of splintered wood. “Hopefully, this will do it.”
He leaned over the pile and pulled out the matches he’d used for the lamp. He struck one and held it next to the dry hay. The hay flared for a second and just as quickly went out. He tried again. And again. He rearranged the wood and tried another time. A small flame, then nothing.
Mary crouched down and grabbed up more hay from the floor and added it to the pile.
Josiah tried again, and this time the flame caught. “More hay! Hurry!”
She ran her hand over the dirty barn floor and snatched more. She huddled next to Josiah and laid it carefully next to the flame. On his knees, Josiah blew softly on the fire. Mary turned to grasp more hay. Josiah kept blowing and poking gently at the flame, feeding it more and more hay.
A corner of the wood caught fire. Josiah smiled. “It’s catching!” He prodded the wood, and the flame steadily grew.
Mary sat back on her haunches and watched Josiah’s contented expression. His gaze caught hers and a glorious smile covered his face.
“We did it,” he said.
“You did it.”
She sloughed out of the quilt and handed it to him. He spread it on the floor. “If we sit close, it will help.” He gazed at the ceiling. “We shouldn’t get smoked out too bad. The ceiling’s high, and it looks to me like there are some holes in it over yonder. Floor was wet where I found the tub.”
They settled on the quilt and Mary pulled her legs under her wet skirt, keeping his coat snugly pulled around her shoulders. They both stared into the cackling flames and listened to the growl of the wind outside. Mary felt every breath he took, and his nearness made her senses spin. The very air around him seemed electrified. For a rash moment, she wanted to lay her head on his shoulder and bury herself into him. She stiffened against the urge.
The flames snapped and spit and the acrid smell of old wood burning filled the barn.
Josiah shifted next to her. “I’m sure Jack found shelter,” he said quietly.
Tears welled in Mary’s eyes.
“Don’t worry. He’s smart.”
“But it’s my fault,” Mary said, guilt rising through her stomach. “I pushed him. I should’ve known better.”
“What do you mean you pushed him?”
“I need him to help me build the goat pen. I knew he didn’t want to, but I wouldn’t let it rest.” Mary shook her head. “I don’t even need it right now. I’m not getting my does until spring.”
Josiah was silent.
“It was completely selfish. I wasn’t thinking.” Mary stifled the sob that rushed up her throat. Josiah gazed at her, and she looked away, ashamed. What was he thinking, listening to her woes?
The fire cracked loudly and one of the pieces of wood fell further into the tub with a thump and a shower of sparks.
“We all do stupid things sometimes,” Josiah said, and his voice was kind.
“Some of us more than others,” she mumbled. At least he hadn’t dismissed her guilt with a phony platitude. That was something.
“Still going to raise goats, then?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Why?”
Her heart jolted with his question. Did he see inside her, then, and know there was more to her motivation than being productive? That there was more to her motivation than enjoying the curious, frisky animals? She shifted slightly, and her hand closed into a fist.
She didn’t dare look into his eyes, for even in the shadows he might see all the unrest broiling inside her.
They continued to sit, huddled before the fire, not speaking. Mary’s thoughts flew back to Jack, and she kept up a steady stream of prayers for his safety. A few times, Josiah got up and broke up more wood to feed the fire. Sparks flicked and rose from the fire, dying as they fell to the ground. The logs shifted and settled, creating a steady low flame, and as Josiah predicted, the smoke wasn’t bad. It simply rose to the top of the barn, hovering there in the dark. The pinging rain against the roof softened and made a gentle hushing sound, almost like a lullaby.
It must have been past midnight when Josiah started to chuckle. Mary’s drooping eyelids widened, and she looked at him with surprise. “What could possibly be funny?”
“Nothing,” he answered, but his chuckles increased. “Nothing funny at all.”
She nudged him. “What? I could use a laugh.”
“Imagine what our folks must be thinking. Us out in the icy night together?”
Mary stiffened. Her parents would be frantic with worry. Dat would be beside himself, and Mamm would have her hands full trying to keep him from running out into the storm himself.
“Ach, it can’t be good,” she said.
“Nee, it can’t be good,” Josiah agreed. He pressed his lips together, but she could still see the mirth on his face.
And then the stress of the whole day welled up within her until she was snickering, too. “It’s not funny! Us out here in the middle of nowhere, burning stall doors to keep warm!” The merriment rolled out of her.
“Sitting on a quilt having a regular picnic!” Josiah’s laughter rang through the barn.
“An ice picnic!” Mary said, unable to stop the giggles now. She laughed until her eyes filled with tears.
“Jah, it’s so funny, you’re crying!” Josiah teased her.
Their laughter slowed, and they both grew quiet. Josiah picked up the pole and poked at the glimmering coals. “Everything’s going to be all right, Mary. Truly, it is.”
“You don’t know that.”
He sighed. “No, I don’t.”
“What if Jack is…” She couldn’t continue.
Josiah dropped the pole and took her by the shoulders. “Ach, don’t even think such a thing. Jack is fine. He found shelter somewhere, just as we did. He’s fine.”
“I want to believe you,” Mary whispered.
“Then believe me.”
Mary raised her head. “Listen.”
“
What?”
“Shhh. Listen.”
They didn’t move. A hollow silence filled the barn. “It’s stopped. The sleet has stopped.”
They looked at each other in wonder. As if synchronized, they rose and went to the barn door. Josiah pushed it open and held the lantern high over his head peering outside.
Everything before them was covered with shiny inches of ice. The frigid air bit at Mary’s lungs as she surveyed the gleaming crystal world.
“Whoa,” Josiah said. “Belter will never be able to navigate this ice.”
He pulled Mary back into the barn and shut the door. “Come on back to the fire. Should be light in a few hours. We’ll figure out what to do then.”
An unexpected intimacy hung in the air as they settled again in front of the glowing tub. Mary felt like she’d known Josiah for years instead of mere months. Before she could stop herself, she quietly asked him, “You ever feel like you want more?”
His gaze was intent on hers. “More what?”
“More everything.”
He considered her for a long moment before answering. “Jah.”
She smiled at him. “Me, too.”
“Sometimes, I want to travel.”
“My sister went to Ohio,” she said.
“No, I mean really travel. To another country.”
She regarded him with curiosity. “Really? Another country? Why?”
“To see what it’s like. I want to see how other people live. What they eat. How they dress. And maybe help somehow. I know farming. Maybe I could help people with farming.”
She touched her fingers to her mouth. “I never thought about that. You know, helping people in another country.” Her eyes narrowed as she imagined living in a completely different place. Far away where no one knew her. “I like the idea.”
He clutched her forearm, and his eyes glowed with an inner light. “Did you know that my community is considering sending someone overseas?”
Amish Days: The Runaway: An Amish Romance Story (Hollybrook Amish Romance) Page 3