by Jan Drexler
He passed the horses and wandered toward the road. Except for the croaking of frogs deep in the woods and an occasional fly, all was quiet in the early afternoon sun. Nothing moved on the road except a garter snake flicking its way through the dust in the wheel track. With trees rising on both sides of the road, shadows dappled its grassy edges, rippling in the slight breeze.
Jacob stared at a dimple in the grass at the edge of the dusty road, now in sunshine, now in shadow. Kneeling close, he traced the mark with his finger. A hoofprint. And another. What he had thought was grass beaten down by wind or rain was a trail of hoofprints in the grass, off the road where they wouldn’t be noticed by the normal traveler. Crouched close to the ground as he was, he could see the pattern leading to the west.
Glancing back toward the camp, he saw no one moving about yet, so he followed the trail along the road. There had been several horses, and one without a shoe. That horse must have been following the rest, since its prints overlaid the others. Every few yards, one of that horse’s other hooves came down heavy, leaving a divot. The horse was lame, then, and either the owner didn’t notice or didn’t care.
At a sudden thought, Jacob straightened. A horse thief wouldn’t care. He could almost see Bates riding one of the stolen horses, leading the others behind in a string with the lame one following at the end. He peered into the distance where the road disappeared into the trees. His throat constricted, as the sure thought came to him. Somewhere ahead was the horse thief, Cole Bates, waiting for them.
When Davey finally drifted off to sleep, Mattie spread a blanket in the shade of the wagon for Naomi to lay him on.
“It seems his fever has lessened some, don’t you think?” Naomi smoothed the fine light blond hair off the little boy’s brow.
“He feels cooler.” Mattie sat on the other side of Davey. She had retrieved the quilt block she was sewing when she got the blanket from the wagon and now she turned it over in her hands. Where had she left the needle? She found it in a seam and then fished in her bag for the spool of thread.
Naomi hadn’t moved, but still stroked Davey’s forehead. She had a look in her eyes that Mattie had seen before, when a stray cat with a broken tail had shown up at their farm back in Brothers Valley.
“You want to keep him, don’t you?”
“Well, don’t you?” Naomi bit her lip and looked down at the ground. Whenever Naomi was worried or upset about something, she had trouble making both of her eyes focus on the same thing.
“What is it?”
Naomi straightened the lock of white-blond hair one more time, then clasped her arms around her knees. “He needs us, Mattie. He needs me.”
“He isn’t Amish. He doesn’t even understand when we talk.”
“He can learn.”
“And he needs a mother. A family.”
Naomi met Mattie’s gaze with her right eye. “I can be his mother. We can be his family.”
“Think about what you’re saying. He isn’t a lost kitten or a bird with a broken wing. He’s a little boy.”
“I can’t explain how I feel, but I know it is right.”
Mattie sighed.
The corners of Naomi’s mouth quivered. “Why don’t you say what you’re thinking?”
“What is that?”
Naomi laid her hand on Davey’s chest, her fingers rising and falling with his soft breathing. “You’re thinking that no man will marry a girl who has a son, and an English son, at that.” Tears filled her eyes. “I wouldn’t want to marry a man who couldn’t understand why I’m doing this, so maybe you’re right. Maybe I won’t ever get married.” She straightened Davey’s curled legs and he sighed in his sleep. “But I think the exchange is worth it.”
“Have you talked with Mamm and Daed about this?”
“They think it will be good for Davey to have a family adopt him.”
“A family, Naomi, not a single woman.”
“We talked about that too. But they still gave me their blessing, and said they would help.” Naomi looked into Mattie’s eyes. “More than anything, Davey needs a mother.”
“What if . . .” Mattie stopped, not sure if she should mention her fears, but Naomi watched her face, waiting. “What if he doesn’t get better?”
Naomi sighed. “His burned hand is healing, but he still doesn’t take any interest in the other children. I think he will get better, but he needs to learn our language.”
“That will come with time.” Mattie threaded her needle and found the next patch to sew onto the block. “He’s been through quite an ordeal.” She looked at Naomi. Her sister hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours at a time since they had found Davey.
“Why don’t you lie down while he’s sleeping? I’ll be here to watch him.”
Naomi stifled a yawn. “I could take a nap until it’s time to start moving again.”
“Shh.” Mattie put a finger to her lips. “Get some sleep.”
While Davey and Naomi slept, Mattie pushed her needle in and out of the short seam. Naomi’s marriage quilt was taking shape, but would she ever get to use it?
She finished the seam and laid the quilt block in her lap. Davey was dreaming, his fingers twitching, and his knees jerking in his sleep. She reached to soothe him, but his face screwed up into a cry.
“Mama!”
Naomi sat up, turning to gather him in her arms. “It’s all right, little one. I’m here.”
“No, no.” Davey pushed at her, his eyes wide with fright. “You’re not my mama. Where is she? I want my mama.”
With those words, he broke into sobs, but he wouldn’t let Naomi comfort him. The more she tried to capture his flailing arms in hers, the harder he struck at her. She sat back, letting him cry.
Mattie reached out again to try to soothe him, but he struck at her too. By then Mamm had knelt on the blanket with them. Davey’s sobs had subsided into soft cries, but he still refused to let any of them touch him. He turned facedown on the blanket, burying his head in his arms.
“What do I do, Mamm?” Naomi asked. “How can I get him to stop?”
“You’ll just have to let him cry it out.”
“But what do I tell him when he stops? If he’s like this now, how will he react when he finds out what happened?”
Mamm gazed at the little boy, his hoarse sobs slowing into deep coughs. “Poor boy. I think he already knows, but it is becoming real for him and he doesn’t know how to face it.” She took Naomi’s hand in her own. “Now is the time when he needs you the most.”
Naomi shook her head. “Didn’t you hear him? Didn’t you see him?” Tears trickled down her cheeks. “He doesn’t want me. Maybe someone else would be better for him.”
Mattie’s own eyes itched as tears threatened. Naomi loved Davey with that same fierce protective love she had seen in other mothers, but if he rejected her, what could she do?
Mamm frowned. “Will you give up so easily? We don’t love our children only when they want us to. If you’re going to be his mother, you need to love him more at times like this.”
Davey still had his head buried in his arms, wet snuffles making his shoulders shake.
“You need to tell him the truth about his parents. And you need to assure him that he has a home here.” Mamm reached up to caress Naomi’s cheek. “You need to decide what is best for the two of you, if you’re going to take on this responsibility.”
Davey lifted his head, his face red and splotchy.
“Are you feeling better?” Naomi said to him in English, and then repeated the question in Deitsch.
He nodded and crawled into her lap. Naomi wrapped her arms around him, rocking him as she sat on the blanket. She laid her cheek on his head.
“I will tell you a story.”
Mamm stood and grasped Mattie’s hand, leading her away from the two of them.
“We need to let Naomi do this alone.”
“Will she be all right?” Mattie turned Mamm to look into her face. “I mean, you’re sure
she’ll be a good mother for Davey?”
Mamm smiled. “I think the Lord brought the two of them together. They need each other, don’t you think?”
“But shouldn’t he be in a family?”
“You’re right. When we adopt children, we would normally seek a family to take them in. But this little boy needs so much love and attention right now. If Isaac or Noah took him as part of their families, he wouldn’t get the same devotion that Naomi can give him.” She took Mattie’s hand and squeezed it. “Your daed and I believe this is what the Lord is telling us to do. Davey will have a home with Naomi as long as he needs it.”
“But”—Mattie looked back at Naomi, holding Davey close as she told him of his parents’ death—“what about Naomi’s future? What man will want to raise a son that isn’t his?”
“We leave that in the Lord’s hands. After all, he chose Joseph to raise Jesus, didn’t he?”
Mamm went to help Miriam with her little ones as the camp started to prepare for the afternoon’s travel, and Mattie watched as Davey flung his arms around Naomi’s neck, hugging her with all his might.
Naomi knew what God was calling her to do with her life. Mattie looked up at the overhanging treetops. Would he ever speak to her in the same way?
23
Cole woke to late afternoon sunlight piercing the canopy above him. He grabbed at the deerfly circling his nose, but missed. The pesky things would eat a man alive.
Scratching at the welts on his neck, Cole pushed away from the tree root he had used as a pillow. Living in the open wasn’t his idea of luxury, but it would be temporary. He let his eyes rest on the four draft horses picketed next to the stream, cropping at the sparse grass. A good catch, these were. Nearly as good as those Conestoga horses the Amish movers had. They’d bring a good price in Independence.
He went to the stream and cupped the cold water in his hand, drinking before splashing the back of his neck and his face. He bent to submerge his hair in the stream and came up shaking like a dog, causing the horses to startle.
“Whoa, horses. Whoa.” His voice calmed them.
He walked to the closest one and patted its shoulder. The matched team of Clydesdales all stood between seventeen and eighteen hands at the withers, towering over him as he walked between them. But they were well trained and gentle. They had followed him willingly since he had taken them from the freighters last night, even while he made the large circle around the town of Angola, following deer trails through the thick woods in the moonlight.
Pulling their picket pins, he moved each horse to a different grazing area. He needed to be sure they could reach both the grass and the stream before he left them. Cole patted the final horse.
“You’re a beauty.” He stroked the powerful neck, then ran his hand over the chest and down the front leg.
The best team he had seen in a long time, and worth the time and trouble to keep them in good shape.
Standing to the side with its head down was the bay gelding. It balanced on three legs, holding the left front one up with the hoof just touching the ground. It had finally gone lame during their escape from the freighters, holding them back all night long. Cole had fumed at the drag on the end of the line of horses, but he couldn’t leave it behind on the road as a beacon to any lawmen who might be following.
He hated to give the horse up, but it was no use to him like this. He cursed his bad luck. With rest the beast would recover, but he didn’t have time to rest. The Amish were coming along behind him, and he needed to choose his ground, be in control. Take them off guard and claim his prize.
The gelding shied as he approached it, but then stood quietly as he removed the halter and picket rope. The bay might follow the other horses for a mile or so when they headed south to Missouri, but eventually it would lag behind. Someone would run across it and think themselves lucky to find such a fine animal.
Leaving the horses in camp, he threaded his way through the underbrush toward the road a quarter mile north. When he heard the sound of teams and wagons on the highway, he halted in the shadows well away from the road. A string of freight wagons passed by, each of the five wagons with a four-horse team. The teams glistened with sweat, white foam marking the line of the harnesses. The afternoon was warm, but not that hot. The freighters were pushing their teams hard. He eyed the men on the wagon seat next to each of the drivers. They were armed and watchful. Whatever they were hauling in those wagons, it was valuable.
Cole licked his lips and tasted salt from his own sweat beaded on his skin. He itched to follow those freighters and capture the booty, but Pa had been adamant in his instructions. They were to take only the horses, not the wagons. Wagons couldn’t travel as fast as a man on horseback, and they were too easy to track. A man could disappear with horses, especially if he had gotten them from greenhorns.
The men guarding those wagons were no greenhorns. Cole slid behind a tree as one of them peered into the underbrush, nearly meeting his eyes. When this bunch stopped for the night, they’d post a watchman. Probably hobble the horses too. No, this job was too risky. Pa wouldn’t even try it. Cole could hear his voice in his head: “The wily fox takes the easy pickin’s.”
These weren’t easy pickings.
The wagons passed on down the road and out of sight. Cole made his way to the edge of the gravel and dirt expanse, listening and watching. Other than the receding jingle of harnesses from the freighters’ wagons, he didn’t hear anyone on the road.
He set up a broken branch, making it look as if it had fallen to this spot, leaning against an old log covered in shelf fungus. It had to look natural, and he needed to be able to spot it when he came back this way. Otherwise he’d never find those horses hidden by the stream again. He stepped back. Yeah, he’d be able to spot it.
Sure of his bearings, Cole headed east. He had to locate those Amish movers before he could work out a plan to get the horses and that girl.
“By tomorrow night, we’ll reach LaGrange,” Yost Bontrager announced as they set up camp that evening. “We’ll head west from there toward the area where last year’s settlers purchased land. We’ve almost reached our destination.”
Mattie had expected to feel some relief when the news came, or elation like the rest of the group, but she turned away from Naomi and Mamm and hid herself behind the wagon. In two days, three at the most, they would be finished traveling. Nearly a month on the road, and nothing had changed. Still hemmed in by trees all around, trapped by the narrow road. Indiana was no different than Brothers Valley, except the rolling hills weren’t as steep. Her eyes burned. When Daed had said they were moving west, she had expected . . . what? She took a few more steps away from the others. Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t this smothering forest.
She fumbled for the water bucket hanging on the side of the wagon.
“I’m going to find some water,” she called out, not caring if anyone heard or not.
The woods reached out to her with eager fingers, pulling her in. She followed a slope downhill, hopefully toward a stream. The beeches and maples gave way to a stand of white pine trees. Their soft needles brushed her arms as she passed through, her footsteps soundless on the carpet of pine needles. Slowing her steps, she held her hand open to the long pine needles that swept over her palm with graceful strokes. Looming above the seedlings and young trees were straight, bare trunks with crowns far above that sheltered their pine tree children below, dancing in the light breeze. As she entered the stand of mature trees, the seedlings disappeared. Brown pine needles carpeted the ground between the trunks, dampening any noise from the outside world.
The slope grew steeper and Mattie let it lead her to the bottom of a dell. The small depression was dry. Mattie shifted the bucket to her other hand and turned in a circle to get her bearings. Pines surrounded her, marching up the shallow slopes. Heading back the way she had come wouldn’t help her find water, so she went in a different direction. There must be a stream or spring nearby.
&n
bsp; When she reached the top of this slope, she was still surrounded by the soft pine trees. Checking the direction of the sun so she wouldn’t get lost, she started down the far side of the slope. Partway down, the pines ended in an open meadow with willows here and there. On the far side, beyond a band of reeds and other shore plants, water shone in the sunlight. A lake. It was too far from the camp for carrying water, but perhaps they could catch some fresh fish for supper.
She started across the meadow. Halfway across her foot suddenly sank into a muddy hole up to her ankle. Mattie pulled it out, then stepped back into another soggy spot covered with grass. Between here and the lake, fifty yards away, the ground grew wetter. Standing pools of water glistened in the late afternoon sun, narrow mounds of weeds and grass twisting between them. Cattails grew everywhere, their grasslike leaves still short and barely showing among the other plants. Here in the open the sun shone hot. Deerflies circled her head in their whining hunt for bare skin, and delicate damselflies lowered their needlelike bodies toward the surface of the oily, rank water.
There was nothing else to do but to go back. She turned around and retraced her steps, but somehow, when she reached the trees she was in a stand of cottonwoods, not the tall pines.
She fingered the pail’s handle and looked around. The lake was still there, across the marshy meadow, and the slope still rose above her. She should go back to the camp, then she could tell the others about the lake. When Henry came back with her, they could get some water and maybe even catch a few fish. All she needed to do was go to her left to the pine trees, and then she’d be on her way back to camp.
Once in the pines, she walked up the slope, away from the lake. At the top of the rise, she checked the sun. It was behind her . . . but it should be on her left. Her stomach sank with a twisting wrench. She couldn’t be lost. She turned toward the north, keeping the sun firmly on her left, and started down the slope. She came to a stand of black raspberries and stopped. The canes were thick to her right, following a clearing down the slope and toward the east. She turned left to go around the prickly plants, back up another slope.