by Amy Lillard
She shrugged. “God. How did you know to come check on her?”
“Something told me to come out here.”
Katie Rose nodded. “God.”
“God.” He said the word with wonderment in his voice, as if it were the first time he’d ever heard it, ever said it.
“That little voice belongs to God, the voice that tells you to give someone a hug, or to go check on your neighbor.”
“And how do you know it’s God?”
“Faith.”
“I don’t—”
“Yes, you do, Zane Carson.”
Her words seemed to linger in the air. He frowned as if contemplating the idea of having faith.
One thing was certain, when he left Oklahoma, he would be different from when he had come. A changed man—changed for the better. That’s all she could ask for, because she knew he was going back. Just as she knew she had to stay.
One thing was for sure and for certain—he wasn’t the only one who’d walk away different from before.
It seemed like they had been in the barn for hours, but it couldn’t have been more than an hour. Tops.
He had stopped wearing his watch right after he’d arrived in Oklahoma. The Amish lived at a pace that wasn’t kept by a thousand-dollar timepiece.
The Tag Heuer had been a present from Monica, and he hadn’t wanted to damage it. So he’d placed it on the nightstand by his bed until the time came to return to Chicago. For now he was living on Amish time.
“The colt is coming.” Katie Rose’s voice held excitement, and the hushed tone of prayer.
“How do you know?”
She was crouched down beside the horse. “See how her belly keeps tightening?”
“Yeah.”
“That means her time is near. Come here and help.”
“I don’ know nothing about birthin’ no babies.”
She shot him a confused look.
“It’s from a movie.” He grinned nervously. “Sorry. I tend to do that when I—”
“Will you get down here?”
She used that “teacher voice,” and he immediately walked to the back end of the horse and dropped down in the hay beside her.
“This is a big baby,” Katie Rose said. “Just make sure the back feet are comin’ out first and that his head doesn’t drop too hard onto the ground. Are you ready?”
Zane swallowed hard. And to think that he’d been worried about delivering a human baby. At least then he would have been able to communicate with the mother, talk her through whatever. If only he had his phone. He could look up how to deliver a baby horse . . . pony . . . colt. That’s what a baby horse was called. A colt. Instead he had to rely on Katie Rose to tell him what to do. He snuck a look at her puckered forehead, her intense focus on the animal. “Have you ever done this before?”
She shook her head. “I’ve always helped, but this is my first birth to be in charge.”
He nodded, wondering how she could act so much in control when she had to be as nervous as he.
“It’s just that this colt means so much to Dat.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“He is planning to sell it to a man in Dallas. Someone Annie knows who trains horses to race.”
He paused. “Isn’t that against the Amish rules, betting on horses?”
“Bettin’ is, but there’s nothin’ that says we can’t breed horses for crazy Englischers to waste their money on.”
True enough, he supposed.
“And the money will go a long way into helpin’ with the doctor’s costs.”
It simply amazed Zane at the resources the Amish used to work together for the cause of one. Pickles, horses, covert jobs. He shook his head. The Amish were nothing if not capable.
“Here he comes.” She ran her hands down the horse’s belly and gently pushed.
All of a sudden, Zane could see feet. So far, so good.
The horse managed to get the colt out a little farther, until Zane could see knee joints. That’s when the labor stalled. He stared at the knobby little knees of the colt for too long, and that wild light returned to the mare’s eyes.
“What do we do now?” His earlier trepidation disappeared in the light of necessity.
“We help her.” Katie Rose straddled the horse. “I’ll push.” Her full skirt hid the horse from his view, and Zane figured that was a good thing. Not that he couldn’t see the horse, but that she couldn’t see him. Kinda like birth blinders. “You pull,” she said. “On my count, jah?”
He nodded.
“Eens . . . zwee . . . drei.”
Zane grasped the slippery legs of the colt, praying as he did, but it was like trying to pull rain through a straw. The mare fought them, as if tensing against the pain. How could he find fault with the new mother? Giving birth was a miracle, a gift from heaven. But it was also messy and painful and hard. It looked really, really hard.
“Again,” Katie Rose panted. “Eens . . . zwee . . . drei.”
Katie Rose counted down twice more before Zane felt the colt move.
“One more time,” he said, wiping his forehead on his sleeve to keep the sweat out of his eyes. He adjusted his hold on the colt’s legs as Katie Rose counted off.
“Eens . . . zwee . . .”
He started to pull early, then as pretty as you please, the colt slipped from its mother’s body onto the soft hay.
The mare jerked.
Katie Rose jumped to the side, getting out of the way as the mare bent her head down to bite at the birth sack. The colt was beautiful. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Well, next to the woman who’d helped him deliver it.
He looked up at her, tears formed in her eyes. “He’s beautiful.”
And he was. From what Zane could see, the colt was solid black with four white feet and a blaze of white down his muzzle.
“He’s so little,” she said in wonderment.
“I don’t think she shares your sentiment.” Zane laughed as he said the words, his joy quickly morphing with the emotions raging inside him. His own tears threatened to spill over the edges of his lashes. He sniffed them back and used his sleeve to erase the evidence.
She picked her way across the stall and came to stand beside him. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.
Her arms were hesitant, then strong as they slid around his waist. She laid her head on his shoulder. He buried his face in her neck, the fine tendrils of hair that escaped her bun brushing against his cheeks and getting trapped in his beard. Instinct told him to pull her closer, draw her to him, and never let her go. Kiss her, meld with her until they were one.
But those were English instincts, and they had no place in her world.
He breathed in deeply, memorizing the scent that was all Katie Rose, the lavender of her soap and the pure, sweet woman.
Reluctantly he put distance between them, unable to stop himself for wishing for another time and place.
Katie Rose seemed to sense the electricity between them. She straightened her dress, adjusted her apron and prayer kapp, her efforts to tidy herself marred by the fact that she was covered with blood from the birth.
He looked down at himself. He wasn’t in any better shape.
The two of them looked like they’d starred in a horror movie, but they hadn’t seen something die—they’d seen something live. And the miracle was amazing.
After they were both satisfied that the colt was strong, the mother capable, and their services no longer needed by the bonding pair, Zane led Katie Rose toward the house. Neither of them said a word about their heartfelt embrace. If she wasn’t going to mention it, then neither was he. It was only natural, after all, for them to turn to one another after the miracle they had witnessed.
Zane c
ould barely remember the rabbits he’d had at the cooperative. They’d had babies once, and he could remember the excitement when all of a sudden one rabbit became many. It was a fun time for him, but nothing compared to this—helping bring another life into the world. Maybe nothing needed to be said. They walked up the porch steps one after the other and stepped through the front door.
“I’ll just . . .” Katie Rose pulled at her ruined apron. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that her prayer kapp was also smeared with the birth blood from the colt. It seemed insensitive somehow.
“Yeah.” He nodded.
She turned and made her way down to the bathroom off the kitchen, while Zane climbed the stairs.
Annie was going to shoot him, Zane thought with a smile. He’d better get into town and get some kind of stain remover to get the blood out of his clothes. First thing tomorrow.
He stopped off in the bathroom first, washing the blood from his hands, still in awe over what he had just witnessed. The other miracle was that no one was home to see what transpired between them. As old-fashioned as the Amish were, he wouldn’t be surprised if Abram would insist that he marry his daughter . . . or else.
Except that by marrying Katie Rose he would be committed to living with the Amish for the rest of his life.
Zane stopped in the middle of drying his hands on the rough towel hanging by the sink. That wasn’t such a bad thought . . . living with God-loving, God-fearing people who believed in peace above all else, helping one another, and being faithful to their spouse. He could think of a lot worse things.
He made his way into the bedroom he shared with John Paul, shucking out of his soiled clothes and donning a clean pair of black pants and a blue shirt. He tucked in the shirt and pulled the suspenders up and over his shoulders.
Of course, their clothing left something to be desired, though he understood the need for conformity. Amish garb was a badge of honor, he supposed. Though he would miss blue jeans and music, what he would gain would be so much . . .
He pulled his thoughts to a screeching halt as he made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Why was he even thinking about that? It wasn’t like he could really stay here. He had a life to get back to, a fiancée. He had a job to do here and then he would move on to the next one.
He’d certainly never thought about staying in Pakistan or Afghanistan or any other of the war-torn countries he’d visited. Even though Oklahoma Amish territory was totally different from those violent, dusty places, he couldn’t stay. This was just a stepping-stone. It wouldn’t be long, and he’d be on his way to Juarez and to the drug-torn streets of the border town.
He shook his head at his own foolishness then went to the fridge and started pulling out ingredients. If he was going to pull this off, then he’d better get the peppers diced first in case anyone came home and caught him before his payback was complete. The longer the salsa sat, the more punch it would pack.
He dumped the two gigantic packages of ground beef into the biggest skillet he could find. It was huge, cast iron, and could double for a weapon if need be. He turned the stove to medium heat, added spices, then set to work on the payback salsa.
Donning the latex gloves to core and chop the habaneros, he tried to make himself feel guilty. But he couldn’t. What was a little burn compared to a morning of plowing with an antique? A little reverse hazing was definitely in order.
He sensed her before she appeared, knew that Katie Rose had finished changing and was ready to help. Funny how he seemed to know where she was even without looking up from dicing the fire peppers.
He turned to face her, unable to stop the smile that spread across his face at the sight of her. Katie Rose was wearing the same dress, but a different apron and cape thingie that he was sure belonged to her mother. She had pulled her hair back in place, but her prayer cap was the same one she’d been wearing before.
“What would you have me do?”
“Do you need to run home and change?”
“No, I—”
“Have blood on your, uh—” He waved a hand around toward her head.
Katie Rose lightly touched the stained white prayer cap. “Jah. Mamm doesn’t . . .”
She trailed off, but he knew what she was going to say. That her mother wasn’t wearing the traditional head coverings right now. Instead Ruth had taken to using full-fledged bonnets that covered her entire head.
“Why don’t you just take it off?”
“Oh, nay. I could never do that. At least not before bed.”
“Why not?”
“Because. Now what shall I help you with, Zane Carson?” She started breaking up the ground beef in the big iron skillet, turning it so all sides would brown. She seemed to concentrate a little too much on the task, making Zane wonder if she were uncomfortable with the conversation—or with him.
“You can start by washing the lettuce, and because why?”
She moved around him and pulled a colander from underneath one of the cabinets. “To wear our heads uncovered goes against the—”
“Ordnung?”
“And the Bible, jah.”
He watched as she cut the end off the head of Romaine and plopped it into the colander. “How so?”
“We—”
“Meaning the women, right?”
“Jah, the women. We wear our hair long. A woman’s hair is her glory, and all the glory belongs to God.”
“Okay.” He could understand that.
“The Ordnung tells us that we should cover our heads when we pray. This we do out of respect for God.”
“But you wear it all the time.” Zane plopped the sauce pan onto the stove and reached for one of the cans of refried beans he’d picked up at the grocery store.
She smiled at him a sweet, knowing smile that would put Mona Lisa to shame with its enigmatic mysteries. “But, Zane Carson, we never know when we might be moved to pray.”
Zane contemplated this as he scraped the peppers into the ceramic bowl.
She pointed her knife at the start of what was to be really hot, hot sauce. “What’s that?”
He couldn’t stop his sheepish grin. “Um . . . salsa.” It was the truth, just a watered-down version of it.
“Oh, I can’t wait to try it.”
“Not this, no.” He pulled the gloves from his hands and tossed them into the trash.
“And why not, Zane Carson?”
When she said his name like that he felt he should stand and recite the multiplication tables. “Okay, here’s the truth. Your brothers played a little joke on me right after I got here.”
“Not the plow.” She laughed.
“They’ve done that before?”
“Jah.”
“Then they definitely deserve this.”
“What might that be?”
“Salsa—really, really hot salsa.”
Katie Rose laughed once more, and Zane knew he could get used to the sound. “I hope you will also make some mild for those of us who didn’t trick you into usin’ my grossdaadi’s plow.”
He smiled in return, then gave her a little wink. “I’ll make a special batch.”
Their camaraderie continued as Katie Rose showed him how to use the hand chopper instead of an electric food processor to chop the canned tomatoes into the base for salsa. As Katie Rose worked on chopping ingredients for the mild, he continued to work on the payback salsa.
He was adding the last of the garlic and oil into both of them when everyone started to arrive.
John Paul was the first in the house. Ever starving, his nose led him straight into the kitchen. “Smells good in here.”
“Danki,” Katie Rose and Zane said at the same time.
“What’s that?” John Paul pointed to the bowls of salsa just waiting for chips
and willing victims.
Katie Rose slapped his hand away even as her eyes twinkled. “It’s Zane’s famous salsa. But you have to wait until supper’s ready. Now, shoo.”
He looked a bit forlorn, then backed away. “I’ll just go wash up. How much longer?”
“About fifteen minutes.” Zane slid the tray of taco shells into the oven.
“And don’t forget to fetch Noni,” Katie Rose added.
“Have I ever forgotten before, sister?”
“Nay,” she smiled, and Zane had the feeling she was just trying to make sure John Paul stayed out of the kitchen. Or maybe she just liked bossing her baby brother. “Don’t let this be the first time.”
John Paul gave a curious glance from one to the other, then shook his head. “Jah, then.” He turned on his heel and disappeared up the stairs.
John Paul had no more gotten out of sight when Abram and Ruth walked into the house. They were together, but not, a distance between them, a mental chasm, something emotional. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good. Abram kept looking at his wife, the pain in his eyes clear for everyone to see. Except for Ruth, because she looked at everything but her husband. She was hurting, Zane knew, but he had no idea how to help her. It meant a lot to him to help. They had taken him in, shown him another way of life, a special existence that one couldn’t find elsewhere, no matter where they searched on the globe.
Abram went back to wash his hands and “redd up” for supper while Ruth sank into one of the dining chairs, her body seeming to wilt under its own weight.
Concern flashed across Katie Rose’s face, then just as quickly, it disappeared. She took a deep breath, dried her hands on a towel, and knelt in front of her mother and began to pray.
Zane looked back to his cheese, concentrating a little too seriously on grating. He needed to get dinner ready as much as they needed some privacy.
“Aemen.” Katie Rose lifted her head and smiled at her mother.
“Katie Rose,” Ruth started. “Whatever has happened to your kapp?”
“Oh, Mamm! The colt was born. Zane Carson and I helped.”
So he was back to Zane Carson now, was he? He loved the intimate sound of his name on her lips, but it was for the best.