“Shh.” Ruthanna glanced toward the bedroom.
“Is Eber sleeping?” Abbie’s brow furrowed.
“Just resting. I don’t want him to know.”
“Is it wise to keep secrets from your husband?”
“When it is for his own good. Do you realize what he would do if he knew about it?” Ruthanna fiddled with her empty coffee cup. “It was bad enough that he insisted on going to that meeting with the other men.”
“Willem set traps. Some of them are on your land. You know others will look out for you if you are in danger.”
Ruthanna turned her head to look out the small window in the side of the cabin. “Eber prefers to take care of us himself.”
“We take care of each other. He knows that is our way.”
That would involve trusting someone, and Eber had made his feelings clear on that matter. Ruthanna got up and carried her cup to the sink.
“Ruthanna, is everything all right?” Abbie scraped her chair back.
Ruthanna turned and put a hand on her back. “Of course. I’m tired, that’s all. Nothing unusual for a woman in my condition.”
“You still have two months.” Abbie stood up and took her own cup to the sink. “You need to save your strength. I’m going to come more often to help with washing and cleaning.”
“Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”
“But I want to.”
The bedroom door opened, and Eber stepped into the main room of the cabin.
“Eber,” Abbie said, “are you unwell again?”
Ruthanna’s heart sank. She had hoped it was not so obvious that her husband’s health was once again declining.
Abbie tugged her thread through the seam in Rudy’s shirt one last time before tying off the knot. This was the fourth time she had repaired the same garment. Rudy needed at least two new shirts. At home in Ohio a man without a wife to sew for him could go to an Amish tailor when he needed new clothes. Abbie supposed Rudy had not had a single new item since he arrived in Colorado. She folded the shirt and set it on the shelf beside his bed, then gave the top quilt one last swipe to free it of wrinkles before calling her work inside complete.
She collected her cleaning rags and last week’s empty bread bag and took them outside, putting them in the buggy before looking for Rudy. He was in the barn with the new calf. Abbie stood in the open barn door and marveled at his gentleness with an animal that had hesitated to cooperate with life on this side of the womb only two months ago. Well fed and lively, the calf now nudged Rudy’s fingers to see what treat it might find there. Rudy spoke soothingly, more sounds than words.
Abbie stepped into the barn. “How are my favorite mother and daughter doing today?”
Rudy glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “They are very well, I am happy to say. This little one never wants to stop eating.”
“Good.” Abbie paced over to the stall. “Then her mother will be a wonderful milk cow once she’s weaned.”
“A dairy needs good milk cows.”
Abbie relished hearing Rudy talk about the future—acquiring more animals, expanding his milk and butter sales.
“You’ll have a fine dairy one day.” Abbie sat on a milking stool. “I’m so glad you didn’t use that train ticket I caught you buying back in May.”
Rudy scratched under the calf’s neck. “I still have that ticket voucher.”
“I would have thought you would have returned it for the cash long ago. You have wonderful land, and your animals are having young. Your milk business is growing even if your crops are not.”
“You make a good argument for staying.”
“I certainly hope so.”
He looked at her now. “Twice you have persuaded me to stay, Abbie. I know how much it means to you, especially considering that the Chupps decided to leave the settlement.”
The Chupps. Abbie tried not to think of them. They probably attended a Baptist church somewhere in Nebraska by now.
“I have to be honest with you,” Rudy said. “I am still here because of you. I stay because I have a glimmer of hope that someday you might see something in me that would make you want me for more than the survival of the settlement.”
“Rudy, I—”
He held up a hand. “Don’t say anything. I only wanted to speak my mind. I know you don’t feel that way right now. But things change.”
He gave the calf a final pat and strode out of the barn.
Grateful that everyone else was out of the house for the afternoon, Abbie sat at the table with a blank sheet of paper in front of her and a black fountain pen in her hand. She wanted to write a report to the Sugarcreek Budget, the same Amish newspaper in which her family had first read about the wide open prospects of Colorado.
“Here we are located in the rain belt of Colorado,” the glowing report had said. What it failed to note was that the yearly rainfall was half of what Amish farmers were used to in Midwestern states. Fifteen inches a year included snow in the winter. Moisture melting into the soil in the middle of January was helpful, but it did not make up for the lack of rain in the dry summer months when the settlers planted wheat and barley and rye. At least potatoes seemed to do well even with less water than the farmers wished for.
Abbie knew she could not write any of these thoughts. She wanted to say something enticing, something that would encourage other families to consider transplanting themselves to the Colorado plain. But Abbie wanted to be honest.
The majesty of Pikes Peak was always in view. She could say that honestly. And the winters were not as harsh as one might think, nothing like Ohio or Pennsylvania. Snowstorms were spaced widely apart, and in between, temperate days outnumbered cold days. All the farms were within a few miles of the ravine where coal was near the surface.
All these things were true. Somehow, though, they did not add up to the rosy account Abbie wished she could offer. What could she say that would interest someone in coming to a community that had not even had a church service in more than fourteen months, with none on the horizon?
Abbie lodged the tip of the pen in the corner of her mouth. Perhaps it would be more productive to write to a bishop, or two or three. She might be overstepping her role as a woman, but if a bishop visited, it would not matter who had invited him. A report from a bishop might encourage new settlers, or at least keep the existing settlers from giving up on their investments of money and spirit.
Abbie blew out her breath and put the pen down. No, she would not write to a bishop. Gottes wille. In God’s time He would send a minister. It was better to pray fervently for this than to take matters into her own hands.
And writing to the Budget would have to wait until she had a clearer mind. Rudy’s words were unexpected. She had only meant to befriend and encourage him, just as she sought to encourage all the settlers when she had opportunity or they had need. Rudy had been right about Willem’s dalliance with the Mennonites. He had been right that if Willem had to choose, he would choose another church over Abbie’s devotion to the Amish settlement. Willem wanted a thriving farm more than anything else.
But Abbie loved Willem Peters, something she could not honestly say about Rudy Stutzman.
“Are you sure you feel up to walking down the street?”
Ruthanna leaned on Abbie as she got out of the buggy. “I feel better if I move around. Eber will hardly let me leave the house for fear that something will happen while he is not with me, but he knows I am safe with you.”
Abbie waited a moment for Ruthanna to get her feet solidly beneath her. “Ruthanna, is Eber working too much?”
Abbie lifted the basket of eggs from the buggy and they started down the street toward the Limon mercantile.
“He did not look well last week,” Abbie said.
“He is tired. He festers over everything around the farm, even though we have no crop to speak of. Fences, mucking more than necessary, whatever comes into his mind.”
“Eber should let someone help him.”
<
br /> “He won’t.”
“What about coal?”
“He will dig soon. Willem tells him that the English are all digging now. Sometimes there are thirty teams in the ravine. Eber prefers to avoid them.”
“Does he let Willem help him?”
Ruthanna shook her head. “Willem tries, but Eber sends him away.”
“But is he truly able to keep up?”
Ruthanna had said too much already. “Abbie, Eber would be troubled to think that you are worrying over him.”
To Ruthanna’s relief, Abbie let the subject go. Ruthanna looked down the street and brightened. “Look, there’s Jake. Let’s say hello.”
“But Ruthanna—”
“He was so kind to us. I will never forget it.” Ruthanna waddled forward before Abbie could pull her back.
Jake caught her eye and changed his trajectory to intersect with Ruthanna’s path.
“Mrs. Gingerich, how good to see you.” Jake offered a handshake, and Ruthanna accepted.
“Are you living in town now?” Ruthanna asked.
Jake nodded. “I was at the hotel for a few days, but I found furnished rooms for rent and picked up the key this morning.”
“I hope you will enjoy your new home.”
“There is some work to be done before I can call it a home, but I will have some help in accomplishing the tasks.”
“I am glad to hear that.” She wished Eber were in a position to repay Jake’s kindness, but even if he were well in body Ruthanna knew that her husband’s mind-set of distrust would not permit him to associate with the Mennonite minister’s efforts to start a church that might tempt Amish households.
“Here comes my helper now.” Jake gestured across the street.
Willem paced toward them.
Abbie gripped the egg basket with both hands. Willem had said nothing to her about helping Jake move in. But she could hardly blame him. He would have known it would upset her.
“Hello, Willem,” she said. It was not like him to come into Limon without stopping by to see if the Weavers needed anything. He used to predict with impressive accuracy which days she would want to bring eggs to town to sell while they were fresh and found reasons of his own to offer to take her.
“Hello, Abbie, Ruthanna.” Willem looked from the women to the minister. “I suppose Jake has told you the good news.”
“Yes, he has.”
Ruthanna was overeager, Abbie thought. How was it good news that Willem was helping a Mennonite minister move into town? Until a few weeks ago Jake’s decision would not have mattered to Abbie one way or another. Now it threatened everything.
“Ruthanna,” Abbie said, taking her friend’s elbow, “we shouldn’t dally. I don’t want you to get too tired.”
Ruthanna laughed. “I am always tired at this point.”
“Still, we don’t want to stand out in the hot sun for too long.” Abbie nodded at Willem and then Jake. “I wish you success in your endeavors today.”
Two black hats dipped in tandem at the women.
An hour later, with their eggs traded and a few staples in the back of the buggy, Abbie helped Ruthanna back up to the bench.
“I was glad to hear the mercantile is going to carry fruit from the Ordway Amish.” Ruthanna settled herself as gracefully as she could. “God has blessed them with an irrigation system that can benefit us all.”
Abbie unhitched the horse and picked up the reins. Sour jealousy brooded in her spirit. The Ordway Amish, only sixty miles away, had flourishing orchards and sugar beet fields—and two ministers and a bishop. Not only did the Limon Amish struggle to grow vegetables for their families, much less cash crops, and all without a minister, but now the Mennonites were flaunting their plans in the streets of town.
Willem was serious about the Mennonites. Of all the threats that picked at Abbie’s longings, this was the most persistently painful.
If she were to marry Rudy Stutzman, a bishop would have to come. He would see how desperately the families needed their church. He would do something.
Abbie blew out her breath, chastising herself for even thinking of using Rudy that way.
Still, he did care for her.
Ruthanna turned a palm up. “I feel rain.”
Abbie raised her face and scanned the sky. Clouds dense with moisture moved across the sky.
“Rain, Abbie!” Ruthanna said.
Abbie moistened her lips. She ought to feel grateful. But the rain was too late. It would not save the crop. It would not save Willem.
A week later Ruthanna went outside to check on the laundry she left on the line an hour earlier. In the midday sun she had no doubt it would be dry already, and if she left it much longer dust would whip on the wind against it and settle into the cotton weave of sheets and shirts. Eber seemed to perspire faster than Ruthanna could launder. Bending over to transfer items from the line to the basket was a task more complex by the day.
She hummed, her way of prayer, to quell her spirit restless with impatience to hold the babe in her arms and with worry that Eber would not return to himself. With a tune stuck in her head, Ruthanna almost did not hear the approaching horseman.
“Mr. Heatwole!” Ruthanna glanced toward the barn, the last place she had seen Eber.
Jake dropped his feet to the ground. “It was delightful to see you in Limon the other day.”
“Yes, a pleasant surprise.” Ruthanna dropped a shirt into the basket and turned to face Jake. “I will always be grateful for what you did for Eber and me.”
“I would do it again if the need arises.”
“Thank you.” Ruthanna watched for movement from the barn, wondering if Eber could hear the voices from his workshop.
“Now, Mrs. Gingerich, I want to choose my words carefully so as not to presume or offend, but I want to make sure you understand that you would be welcome at my new church on any Sunday you choose to attend.”
“Oh. Thank you—and I wish you well—but Eber and I are quite content with our Amish beliefs.”
“Of course you are. I would never try to persuade you otherwise. I only mean to make sure you know you are welcome, and I would be happy to minister to you in any way that you need.”
“Thank you.” Ruthanna raised one hand to point casually. “Here’s my husband now.”
Eber came and stood close beside her. She felt the heat rise from his skin and could hardly keep from laying a hand on his forehead.
“Isn’t it nice of Jake to come by?” Ruthanna said.
Jake dipped his head in greeting. “If I can ever do anything for you, please let me know.”
“You have been generous enough,” Eber said. “Thanks to you, we are getting along well.”
“My offer stands, should you ever need something.” Jake slung himself back on his horse and waved as he left.
“What did you say to him?” Eber asked.
“Nothing.” Ruthanna reached for another shirt on the line. “He’s getting ready to start his church.”
“He seems a sincere man, and I’m grateful for what he did for me,” Eber said, “but we will not be joining the Mennonites.”
“I did not suppose we would.”
Abbie threw down the damp rag, hardly able to believe her eyes. What was Jake Heatwole doing in Widower Samuels’s barnyard? Mr. Samuels was away for the entire day. Abbie would not have Jake poking around looking for him. She strode across the small house and out the front door before Jake could even get off his horse.
“Why, Abbie, I did not expect to see you here.”
“Mr. Samuels is not home.”
“I see. Then perhaps I will come again another day.” He started to turn his horse.
“I cannot imagine what business you have with Mr. Samuels.”
Jake tipped his head up and looked at the sky for a moment. “No, I don’t suppose you could.”
“If you are making the rounds trying to convert our people, I would appreciate it if you would stop.”
“I
t seems that you are imagining after all.”
“Isn’t it enough that you have Willem?”
“I don’t ‘have’ Willem, Abbie. He is a good friend, and we find we have a great deal in common in the things of the Lord.”
Abbie wiped her damp hands on her apron. “I am sorry if I sound rude, but surely you can see my point. We have no minister, and you are trying to start a new congregation.”
“I do not see quite the conflict that you do,” Jake said. “I only seek to offer ministry to a flock without a shepherd. I am not competing for anyone’s soul.”
Abbie crossed her arms across her chest.
“Willem cares for you very deeply.” Jake stacked his hands on the saddle horn.
She said nothing. What would it matter how deeply he cared for her if Willem joined Jake Heatwole’s new congregation?
For a split second, when Rudy heard the knock on the barn’s doorframe, he let himself believe it would be Abbie. She had cleaned his house the week before, but bread day had come around again. If he had not frightened her off with his doubts and declarations of the previous week, more than likely she would come to visit the animals in the barn under the guise of telling him that she had left bread on the table.
But it was not Abbie.
“Hello, Jake.” Rudy would have offered a handshake if his hands had not been mired in muck at the moment.
The bundle of black and white that followed Rudy around scampered to sniff Jake’s hand.
“What can I do for you?” Rudy asked.
“It is I who would like to ask that question. Can I be of any help?”
Rudy surveyed the black suit Jake wore, made of a simple cut but still more fitted than an Amish suit would be. “Thank you, but I wouldn’t want to ask you to soil your clothes.”
Jake laughed. “Perhaps I am overdressed for the sort of calls I am making today.”
“And what sort is that?”
“We don’t know each other very well,” Jake said. “I just stopped by to let you know that if I can help you with any spiritual concerns, I hope you will feel free to ask me. And for the record, I am always willing to take off my jacket and do whatever needs doing.”
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