by Jan Drexler
“Shouldn’t you be working?”
Mattie whirled around at the sound of Jacob’s voice. He stood at the edge of the garden, his clothes dusty from travel, but the smile on his face was as wide as hers.
“I am working, can’t you see?”
He took a step closer. “I saw you staring off into the distance. Were you dreaming again?”
“If I was dreaming, it was only about you.”
They met in the middle of the garden and Jacob gathered her in his arms. “I missed this.”
She wiggled closer and tucked her head under his chin. “I did too. When did you get home?”
“Just now. I put the sheep in their pen and came straight here.”
Mattie stepped back to look at his face. “Is everyone all right? Your mamm and daed? The children?”
“All of them.” He tweaked her nose. “Even the babies.”
A pinching worry eased. “What are their names?”
“The squirmy one with the red face is Rachael, and the one who cries all the time is Gideon.”
Mattie laughed at the face he made. “You won’t talk about your own children that way, will you?”
Jacob’s expression softened as he held her cheek in his palm. “Not with you as their mamm. They will be the prettiest babies who were ever born.”
“Or the handsomest.”
Jacob held her eyes with his own as the moments stretched out. Davey’s hacking at the underbrush was the only sound Mattie heard.
“When can we be married?” Jacob’s brow puckered. “The cabin is ready. Daed said he’ll give us half of the flock of sheep, so we’ll have mutton and wool. We’ll have to wait for a cow, since he promised the spring calf to Hannah and Josef.”
Mattie took his hand. “My daed said we can have our calf. And I’ve been working all summer to be ready. I finished my quilt, and Mamm has some coverlets for me. I’ve been spending my sewing time making sheets for our bed.” She felt her face redden at that. It was one thing to prepare the bedding, but another to think about actually using it.
“In a month? Can we be married the first of November? The farmwork will be done by then.”
Mattie thought of the little cabin Jacob had built on his farm, the springhouse, and the small clearing, nearly identical to Daed’s, where they had planted a garden. It was an island in trees so thick she risked losing her way if she wandered out of sight of the cabin, but she could always find her way to the knob rising from the forest and the prairie land. What had once appeared closed in and stifling was now cozy and homelike. With Jacob, she would be as snug and content as she could wish.
“The first of November will be fine. I’ll be ready to set up housekeeping by then.”
Jacob tucked her head under his chin again. “And I’ll make sure the farm is ready for winter.” He squeezed her tighter. “I’m ready to start on our great adventure together.”
Acknowledgments
A book is never written by only one person.
I’d like to thank my dear husband and my children. I’m sorry I seem to spend more time talking to my characters than I do to you.
And a big thank-you to my agent, Sarah Joy Freese of WordServe Literary Agency. Knowing that you are “in the loop” in marketing and publishing decisions keeps me from second-guessing myself too much.
Most of all, without the great editors and other staff at Revell, this book would never have become a reality. Thank you for all of your hard work!
Author’s Note
The research for this story took me from the mountains of Pennsylvania, to the rolling brown waters of the Ohio River, to the swampy marshland of the Ohio-Michigan-Indiana borders, and finally to the prairie lands of LaGrange County, Indiana.
In the midst of my research, my eighty-six-year-old father and I traveled along the backroads of Amish country, following my characters’ route from Somerset County, Pennsylvania, through rural Ohio. We finished the trip by traveling up the ancient route along the Indiana/Ohio border to Dad’s home in Goshen, Indiana.
Our first stop was in Pittsburgh to visit my aunt Ruth and my cousin and her husband, Carol and Grady. They live near the Allegheny River, close to the location where our fictional Amish travelers crossed that river.
We stayed with an Amish family in Holmes County, Ohio, sharing the joy of their children’s last day of school and learning how the modern Amish families cope in their changing world.
We also traveled through the flatlands of northern Ohio, once the home of the Great Black Swamp. For a fan of Gene Stratton Porter’s books like me, learning about the history of this fertile farmland was fascinating. Miles of impenetrable forest and swamp once stood where barns and fields of corn now hold sway.
Another spot where we stopped was Greenville, Ohio, to visit my very special “aunt” Wavelene—my mother’s dearest friend since their college days. This was the site of the signing of the famous Treaty of Greenville in 1814. It was called “a treaty of peace and friendship” between the United States and the Native tribes in central Ohio and Indiana.
Each stop along the way brought the settings of Mattie’s and Jacob’s story to life in my mind, and I hope I was able to translate what I learned into a satisfying reading experience for you. Words are often inadequate.
But the problem—or I should say, the blessing—of my research trip is that for every question I answered, three more took its place. Each of the three states we visited has its own fascinating history. Many more stories will grow out of the details I learned on that trip! I hope you’ll be along for the journey.
I would love to hear from you! Visit my website, www.JanDrexler.com, or my Facebook page, www.facebook.com/JanDrexlerAuthor.
1
EDEN TOWNSHIP
LAGRANGE COUNTY, INDIANA
APRIL 1846
“Davey!”
Only the echoing chop of a felling ax answered Naomi Schrock’s call. It must be the new neighbor to their north. Daed had said someone had bought the last quarter-section still remaining between their land at the edge of the Hawpatch and the marshes that surrounded the Little Elkhart River.
Naomi shaded her eyes against the setting sun. The late afternoon light was bright, a last burning gasp before night fell. Where was that boy?
“Davey!”
He must be out of hearing distance again, but which direction had he gone this time? The regular chop-chop of the ax drew her attention again . . . just as it would have drawn Davey’s curious mind. With a sigh, Naomi gathered her skirts in her hands and plunged into the forest at the north edge of the clearing. The path was easy enough to follow. Davey liked to stick to the narrow deer trails through the underbrush.
In the three years since her family had arrived in the Haw Patch in northern Indiana, Daed had made some progress in clearing the trees. The log home he had built that first summer was comfortable, although Mamm still missed the white frame house in Somerset County, Pennsylvania, that they had left behind when they made this move.
But Daed’s dream of being part of a new Amish settlement had been realized. More than thirty families had bought land in the northern Indiana forests, and additional settlers still appeared each spring and summer.
Like this unknown owner of the felling ax. The faint trail Naomi followed was leading directly toward the sound. She could only hope that Davey wasn’t making a pest of himself with their new neighbor.
Naomi emerged from the forest into a small clearing. Twenty feet away, on the opposite side, was the wood chopper. His back was toward her, his legs braced for the shock of each blow of his ax as it took decisive chunks out of the trunk of a tall maple tree. Standing on a stump, off to the side, was seven-year-old Davey, his hands covering his ears. The edges of his blond hair swung below the brim of his hat as he flinched with each ringing chop of the ax.
A wagon to Naomi’s right was the man’s home. A cooking fire ringed with stones was nearby, and a dozen tree stumps filled the clearing floor, with the felled
trees stacked in the center, stripped of their branches. A pile of brush rose in the center of the space, and a stack of firewood lined the edge of the woods near the wagon, testifying to the new neighbor’s industry with a saw as well as the felling ax. There was no sign of a family, though, just as Daed had said. He must have come ahead to build a cabin before bringing the rest of the family along.
Just then a loud crack boomed through the afternoon air and the tree swayed, twisted, and tilted—right in the direction of the stump where Davey was standing. Naomi’s feet started moving toward her son without any thought beyond snatching him out of the path of the tree that rushed downward with increasing speed. But the stranger was faster than her, and grabbed the boy off the stump as he leaped out of the path of disaster.
Man and boy rolled to a halt at Naomi’s feet, Davey’s gleeful laugh showing that he had never realized the danger he had been in. The panic drained from her body, leaving her sore and irritated.
“Davey Schrock.” Naomi balled her fists on her hips for emphasis. “Didn’t you hear me calling? You know you’re not to wander off in the woods without telling someone.”
Her voice startled both of them, and two pairs of eyes looked at her. Davey’s blue gaze met hers briefly, then lowered as he blushed, embarrassed that he had been caught misbehaving again. But the man’s brown eyes changed from a startled flash to a crinkling smile. He rose from the ground, setting Davey on his feet. He retrieved his hat from where it had rolled and brushed it off with a practiced sweep of his hand.
“You must be Davey’s mamm.” As he settled his hat on his head, he shifted his gaze from her cast eye to her good one, and she felt her cheeks heat. “I’m Manny Gerber, just arrived from Holmes County.”
Naomi grasped Davey’s hand and pulled him close. “Ja. I’m Naomi. I’m thankful you snatched my boy from the path of the falling tree.”
She glanced at the man again. He was still looking at her, standing a good six inches taller than her. His beard touched his chest, indicating his married status.
“I met your husband yesterday. He came by to welcome me, since we’re close neighbors.”
Naomi’s face heated again. “You met my father, Eli Schrock. He told us about you at supper last night.”
“Then I look forward to meeting more of your family tomorrow. Your daed told me where the Sabbath meeting is to be held.” He reached out to brush some leaves and twigs from the back of Davey’s shirt. “You have a fine son here.”
“Will we meet your family soon?”
Manny took a step back, his face as closed as if he had slammed a shutter tight. “My family is . . . is lost.”
Naomi was suddenly aware of the shadowed twilight under the surrounding trees. She hugged her elbows as the cooling air reminded her it was still early spring. “Davey and I must be getting home. No one knows where we are.”
“Ja, for sure.” He took another step back, half turning from her.
Davey pulled his hand out of Naomi’s grasp and tugged at Manny’s sleeve. “Will we see you at meeting?”
He squatted on the ground, his face level with the boy’s. “I’ll be there.”
Davey grinned and threw his arms around the man, giving him one of his impetuous hugs. Before Manny could respond, Davey was off, running toward the deer trail and home.
The man hadn’t moved, even when Naomi looked back as she followed Davey into the woods. He still knelt on the ground, his head bowed.
The damp seeped through the knees of Manny’s trousers, bringing him back to the present. The clearing full of stumps. His wagon home. His new life . . . without reminders of Martha at every turn.
He retrieved the felling ax from where he had dropped it when he had heard that sickening, twisting crack of the maple tree and realized Davey was in its path. His knees still trembled at the thought of how close disaster lurked on every side of this life in the wilderness.
Manny found a rag in his toolbox and wiped the head of the ax until it was clean and dry. Winding his way between the stumps, he spanned the short distance across the clearing to his wagon, stowed the toolbox on the shelf in front of the rear wheels, and hung the ax from its hooks inside the wagon bed.
Silence rose all around him as he brought the coals of his fire back to life and rummaged through his food box for something to eat for supper. Some smoked beef and schnitz, the sack of dried apple slices his sister had sent with him, were all that he had left of his supplies. Come Monday, he would have to take some precious time to go fishing or hunting, unless he chose to starve to death here in the forest.
He set a pot near the fire with some water and the schnitz in it, wishing he had some ham. The smoked beef was food, but after almost three weeks of nothing else, he was getting hungry for something different. But he wasn’t one to complain. He was thankful for what he had. Sticking a bit of the beef in his mouth, he savored the smoky, salty flavor as he waited for the water to boil.
That Davey. A grin spread over his face in spite of himself. The boy was bright and lively, a curious lad. When he had emerged from the woods during Manny’s noon meal, he had changed everything. Not only did he keep the conversation going with his persistent questions, he was never still. Manny had finally told him he had to stay on the stump, out of the way, while he worked to fell the maple tree.
And those questions! Davey never stopped with his why-this and why-that until Manny was out of answers.
Staring into the flames, Manny chewed the beef, softening the tough fibers. He knew why he had enjoyed Davey’s visit so much. The boy was the same age as his son would be. The son he had never known.
He put another stick on the fire, turning his thoughts in another direction, and Davey’s mother came to mind. Naomi. She looked too young to be the mother of a seven-year-old, but some women looked young for their age. She hadn’t mentioned a husband, beyond correcting his assumption that Eli was Davey’s father, and Davey hadn’t mentioned a father in his nonstop talking. Could it be that she was also widowed?
He might find out tomorrow, if he could follow the directions Eli gave him. The meeting was at one of the Yoder farms, two miles south and a half mile east. He was looking forward to meeting more of his new neighbors, here in the northern Indiana settlement. After enduring his sister Ruth’s nagging for years, a new beginning in a settlement where no one knew his past was a welcome idea. Perhaps he could hope that no one would be trying to set him up with one of their daughters or offering farmland in exchange for marrying their sisters. He’d had enough of that back in Ohio.
He didn’t intend to marry again just because he was lonely, or because he settled for some likely girl he could never love. When Martha had made him promise to marry again, on that horrible day when her life was draining from her, he had intended to keep that promise. But as the years passed, he hadn’t met anyone who appealed to him. Now, nearly seven years after Martha’s death, the sting of losing her had faded, but not the memory of the joy of being her husband. He didn’t intend to settle for anything less if he married again.
Sunday morning dawned with the promise of rain. The sky above Manny’s clearing was overcast with a cover of light gray clouds, a chill breeze blowing in from the northwest. Even the birds were subdued, their usual morning cacophony reduced to a few chirps from the surrounding trees. To the west, where the forest sloped toward the marshy ground along the Little Elkhart River, wisps of morning mist floated between the tree trunks. Not quite fog, but not rain either.
After grabbing a handful of the dried apples to eat as he walked, he started for the trail that ran north and south along the edge of his property line. The rain held off until he reached the crossroads where Eli had said to turn east, and he hurried to reach the meeting before the drizzle turned into the heavy rain he knew would follow it.
Once he turned east, the road was crowded with families heading to the Sabbath meeting. He caught up to a young couple and exchanged nods with the husband as they reached the yard of a two-sto
ry house. The board siding was new, covering the bare logs of the original cabin. Manny took his place in the line of men and followed them into the house for worship. He found a seat on a bench near the back of the rows.
The room filled quickly with families, young couples, and single men. Just like at home in Ohio, the young people filled the front benches, directly behind the ministers. Manny glanced at the benches on the other side of the room where the women and children sat, and sure enough, there was Davey sitting with Naomi and an older woman. Davey stood next to his mother, craning his neck to search through the rows of men until he spotted Manny and waved. Naomi shushed the boy, sitting him on the bench beside her, but not before she glanced his way and he saw a telltale blush creep into her cheeks.
As the crowded room grew quiet, Manny waited. He slid his glance to the face of the man beside him, an older man with a graying beard halfway down his chest. Bushy eyebrows knitted in concentration as the man studied his clasped hands. A stray fly circling and then landing on the man’s thumb didn’t distract him from his meditation. Finally, one of the ministers started the first hymn. The long, low note gained strength and volume as other members of the congregation joined in. Copies of the Ausbund were scattered among the congregation so that everyone was able to follow the words.
The familiar sense of unease tugged at Manny. He knew the hymn they were singing, understood the words of praise to the Lord, and he knew what to expect next as another one of the ministers called them to prayer. A kneeling prayer, long enough to make his knees ache in agony, followed by more singing, and then sermons until noon. A simple meal, fellowship with the community, and the long walk home to his empty clearing.
He let his gaze wander around the crowded room, finally stopping when he saw Naomi’s face. Davey’s mother held a copy of the Ausbund, sharing it with the women sitting near her. Her face was peaceful as she sang, as if she really was singing to a God who was with them in this room.