And when anxiety rolled over her like the tiredness in her body, she told herself to stop thinking about where she’d come from and instead forced herself to focus on where she was going.
* * *
Saul nodded at the driver, handing him his ticket before climbing onto the bus. He’d made the trip from Pennsylvania to Ohio and back many times and felt a little bored as he looked for a seat. Then he saw the attractive young Amish woman sitting with her eyes closed.
Indiana, he mused as he walked down the aisle. The man ahead of him stopped at the woman’s row and leaned down.
“Hey, pretty lady, dreaming of me?”
Startled, she woke and stared at him. “Excuse me?”
“How about I sit next to you?” he asked.
Saul could tell from the way she recoiled from the man it was the last thing she wanted.
On impulse, he stepped closer. “Gut, you saved me a seat,” he said loudly.
The man turned and gave him a once-over. “Oh, you two together?”
Saul looked at Elizabeth and lifted his brows.
“Yes,” she said, her voice soft at first and then she said it louder: “Yes.”
Shrugging, the man moved on and found a seat a few rows back.
“Did you decide I was the lesser of two evils?” he asked her as he sat down.
“Yes,” she said honestly, but the shy smile she gave him took away any sting he might have felt.
He knew from a glance at her clothing, she was from Indiana. It was easy to distinguish one Amish community from another by the style of the kapp and the dress the women wore. The Lancaster County women wore prayer head coverings made of a thin material with a heart shape to the back of them. This woman wore a starched white kapp with pleats and a kind of barrel shape. The stark look of it suited her high cheekbones and delicate features.
He studied her while she looked out the window. Her skin seemed almost alabaster. Her figure was small and slender in the modest dark blue cape dress she wore. She’d looked away before he saw the color of her eyes; he wondered if her eyes were blue—sometimes women wore dresses the color of their eyes.
A baby cried at the back of the bus. Its mother tried to shush it, but it kept crying, its voice rising.
The woman turned away from the window and frowned slightly as she glanced back toward the rear of the bus. Then, when she sensed him watching her, she looked at him and he saw her eyes were indeed blue—the blue of a lake in late summer.
“Poor mother,” she murmured. “The baby’s been crying for hours.”
“Poor us if it continues,” he said, frowning at the thought of listening to a baby cry for hours. Surely, the kid was tiring and would sleep soon? “So, you’re from Indiana?”
“What?”
“You’re from Indiana?”
She nodded.
“I’m from Pennsylvania. Paradise, Pennsylvania.”
She turned those big blue eyes on him and he saw interest in them. “Really? How long have you lived there?”
“My whole life. Is it where you’re going?”
Her eyes narrowed. “How did you know that?”
“The way you perked up when I said the name.” He moved in his seat so he could study her better and smiled at her. “There’s no need to be suspicious. My name’s Saul Miller.”
When she hesitated, he smiled. “Just tell me your first name.”
“Elizabeth.”
“Are you called Beth? Liz? Lizzie?”
“Elizabeth.”
“Ever been to Pennsylvania?”
“Once. For a cousin’s wedding.”
“Ah, I see. So, you were there in the fall.” When she just nodded, he tried not to smile. Getting her to talk was like pulling teeth.
“Well, can’t be the reason this time. Not the season for weddings.”
He watched her glance out the window at the passing scenery. There was a wistfulness in her expression.
“So are you going to Pennsylvania for vacation?”
“Vacation?”
“You know, the thing people do to relax.”
Her mouth quirked in a reluctant smile. She glanced around her, then whispered, “Now how many Amish do you know who go on vacation?”
He shrugged. “There are some I know who go South for the winter for a few weeks.”
“Daed would think you were crazy if you talked about a vacation,” she scoffed. “Why, when I—”
“When you what?” he prompted when she didn’t go on.
She frowned and shook her head. “Nothing.”
Saul fell silent for a few minutes, waiting to see if she’d say anything else. It felt a little strange to be doing it all—to be carrying the conversational ball. But he’d had no trouble attracting the opposite sex. Usually, women let him know they were attracted, and then went out of their way to engage him in conversation.
Elizabeth was being no more than polite.
“So, Elizabeth, if you’re not on vacation, are you on your rumschpringe?”
* * *
Elizabeth was beginning to think maybe it wasn’t so bad back home—even if she’d seldom gotten out. But since she had now, it seemed everyone wanted to talk, talk, talk.
Really, whether Amish or Englisch, people certainly were a nosy bunch. First, the Englisch woman had asked questions, then Saul had picked up where she left off.
She immediately chided herself for being judgmental. People who judged others often were guilty of the same thing as the person they judged. And goodness knew, Elizabeth possessed a deep curiosity about other people. Her leaving home hadn’t just been because she was tired of her confining, unsatisfying life. She’d wanted to know what was out there—trapped as she’d felt being stuck at home as a caretaker of her brothers and sisters, she’d loved her time working at the fabric shop where she could interact with others.
Personal decisions were just that . . . she didn’t want to discuss it with someone who was a stranger.
The bus ate up the miles and she blessed the fact Saul had fallen silent and appeared to be watching the road. The woman across the aisle now sat, nodding, a magazine unread in her hands. Even the crying baby at the back of the bus fell silent.
The weariness of body and mind, which caused her to drift off earlier, returned. Her eyelids felt weighted; her body seemed to melt into the comfort of the padded seat.
“Give in,” Saul said softly. “You look exhausted.”
She frowned at him. “How can I when you keep talking to me?” she asked and heard the tartness in her tone. When he chuckled, she glared at him. “You know, you’re acting like I’m here to entertain you.”
“No,” he said, obviously trying not to smile. “I just find you refreshing.”
Refreshing? Her? “Are you mocking me?”
His smile faded. “No, Elizabeth, I wouldn’t do that. You’re just not like any of the women I know back home.”
“I’m different from the women of Paradise? How?”
“You’re not talking a lot. You’re not trying to impress me.”
“So you’re used to being . . . pursued?”
He had the grace to redden. “I wouldn’t say that.”
Now it was her turn to try to hide a smile. There was no question he was attractive with mahogany-colored hair, strong, masculine features. And those dark brown eyes looking at her so intensely. She’d seldom gotten much interest from the young men in her community. It felt exhilarating. It felt a little scary. This was a very different experience for her, this enclosed, enforced intimacy of riding in a bus, conversing with a stranger and feeling he was expressing interest in her.
Maybe she was dreaming. After all, she was so very tired. She’d been sleeping and then woken up to see him looking at her. It was entirely possible she was dreaming.
So, when Saul wasn’t looking, she pinched herself and found she wasn’t dreaming.
No, she wasn’t dreaming, but it was certain his interest was flattering. She drew hersel
f up. Being Amish didn’t mean you didn’t know what went on in the world, you were aware of bad people, and knew bad things could happen.
It was entirely possible this Saul wasn’t even Amish . . .
“What?”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Suddenly you’re looking at me like I’m the Big Bad Wolf.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But Elizabeth had never been able to hide what she was thinking.
“Schur,” he drawled.
She focused on the billboards on the side of the road. They were quite entertaining to someone who mostly traveled in a buggy on roads not big and crowded like this highway. Most of the signs advertised restaurants and shopping, but there were a few to raise her eyebrows. It took her a moment to understand what an adult store was, but once she did she averted her eyes quickly at the next one they passed.
Her stomach growled. She reached for the lunch tote she’d carried on board, pulled out a sandwich and unwrapped it. She’d packed several sandwiches with her mother’s grudging permission—her daed had been out—but she didn’t know how long they would last and she had to be careful with her money.
As she did, she felt rather than saw, Saul come to attention. She glanced at him, saw he was looking at her sandwich and not at her. Well, she thought, I found a way to make him stop asking questions.
She took a bite and chewed and tried not to notice his attention then shifted to her mouth.
Manners kicked in. “Would you like half?”
“I wouldn’t want to take your food.”
“I have more,” she said, handing him half the roast beef sandwich and a paper napkin.
She watched him take a bite and his eyes closed with pleasure as he chewed. “Terrific bread,” he said. “Nothing better than Amish bread.”
“It’s just bread,” she told him mildly. But she felt an unaccustomed bit of pride, since she’d made it.
“Almost don’t need the meat,” he said, his strong white teeth finishing the sandwich in several big bites.
Elizabeth ate a little faster when she noticed he was eyeing her sandwich. She popped the last bite into her mouth and wiped her fingers on her own napkin. Then she reached into the tote, pulled out a thermos and poured coffee into the plastic cap. She handed it to him, pulled a cup from her tote, and poured some coffee for herself.
When she’d tucked the cup into the tote earlier, it hadn’t been because she’d anticipated offering some of the coffee to a stranger. She’d simply brought it because the cap didn’t hold much coffee and could get hot.
“Coffee? You brought coffee?” He inhaled the steam rising from the cap and sighed. “Elizabeth, will you marry me?”
She laughed and sipped. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You’re right. It has to be good coffee to get a proposal.” He took a sip, closed his eyes as if in ecstasy, then opened them. “Well, let’s set a date.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together. “Are you always this way?”
“Romantic?”
“Ridiculous.”
“You have no idea how wonderful this coffee is, do you?”
“I do. But it’s not worth a marriage proposal.”
“Let me be the judge.”
She finished her coffee and before she tucked the thermos back into the tote, topped off Saul’s cup.
“I’m thinking this is a blessed day,” he told her.
Elizabeth thought the coffee would help her wake up, but a big yawn overcame her. She covered her mouth and felt color creep up into her cheeks.
“Sorry.”
He just chuckled.
“What’s so funny?”
“You,” he said.
“How am I funny?”
“You’re being so polite, but you’re going to drop off any minute.”
“I know. I was up late getting ready for the trip last night.”
“Be my guest,” he said. “Would you like a shoulder to rest your head on?” It was then, in that moment, he fully understood the saying, If looks could kill when she glared at him.
She turned farther away from him, placing her purse under her cheek for a pillow. It couldn’t have been very comfortable, but in a few minutes her breathing became slow and even and she slept.
Her cool manner toward him should have served to dampen his enthusiasm for getting to know her but perversely, he found himself wanting to know her better. He knew a few people in Goshen. Pulling out his cell phone, he texted a friend of his and asked if he knew an Elizabeth.
Lamar responded he knew only one Elizabeth. “Is it Elizabeth Bontrager?” he texted. “Mary and Jacob Bontrager’s oldest kind?”
“Don’t know,” he texted back. He thought about snapping a photo but told himself it was a bigger invasion of privacy than watching her sleep. Besides, she was turned too much away from him . . .
“Odd you should ask,” Lamar texted. “Heard Elizabeth left town today. Where are you?”
“Headed home.”
“How’s Lavina?”
“Fine. Why?”
“Wondered if it was over since you’re asking about another woman.”
“Curiosity,” Saul texted. “And confidential.”
“Got it,” Lamar wrote back.
“Talk to you soon.” He put his phone back in his jacket.
Elizabeth stirred in her sleep and turned toward him. He studied her while she slept and chided himself for the invasion of privacy. But he was a man, after all, and she was an attractive woman.
She moved closer, murmuring something unintelligible, then she sighed and put her cheek on his shoulder. Saul bit back a smile and tried not to move and wake her.
But the baby cried again and she whispered, “Give him to me” and her eyes opened. Struggling to focus, she stared at Saul, then she pulled back and sat up. “What did you do? I didn’t put my head on your shoulder!”
2
Elizabeth had never felt so mortified.
She reached for her kapp, straightening it, and drew back into her own seat until she was shoved into the metal of the interior bus wall.
“I didn’t touch you,” Saul was saying. “You just turned and put your cheek on my shoulder while you slept.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“I don’t know what you’re so upset about,” he said. “It was no problem.”
“No problem,” she muttered. He’d probably enjoyed having a strange woman putting her head on his shoulder. A good-looking man like him probably had women finding a way to get close to him all the time.
She glanced around furtively, but none of the bus passengers was watching them. They were too busy napping, reading, or staring out their window. Elizabeth sent up silent thanks the nosy woman from earlier in the trip had gotten off the bus. She wouldn’t have wanted to deal with comments from her about Saul . . .
“Honestly, no harm done,” he said, spreading his hands.
She glanced out the window, but it was dark and she couldn’t see anything. “How long did I sleep?”
“Only about an hour.”
Gathering her sweater closer, she tried to relax.
“Cold?”
“I’m fine. It won’t be much longer.”
“Someone meeting you?”
She nodded. “My new roommate.”
“So you’re going to stay for a while?”
“Yes,” she said reluctantly. “What do you do?” she asked politely, more to deflect him from asking about her.
“You mean besides ride buses and get women to rest their heads on my shoulder?” he asked, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
She frowned at him. “Yes.”
“I work in a store. We sell Amish crafts.”
It was so tempting to ask him about a job at the store where he worked. After all, she needed one and it wasn’t such a stretch in imagination to go from selling fabric to selling things like crafts. Yes, it was so, so tempting. But how would it be to wo
rk in a place with someone who acted attracted to her?
Attracted. It was a stretch. He’d just been friendly to her, saving her from the man she didn’t want sitting beside her. Maybe Saul had flirted a little. Guys did it. He might not even realize how he came off. And she was pathetic, so lonely for contact with someone her own age, because she never got out but for work.
But still, she felt some attraction and wondered if he did, too.
Well, didn’t matter. They’d be in Paradise very soon. They would probably never see each other again. And maybe it was best. She needed to settle into her new home, find a job, and learn to take care of herself—when all she’d ever done was take care of others.
A list. She needed to make a list of everything she had to do. She’d been in such a rush to leave she hadn’t done much planning. And if she was honest with herself, she knew it was also because she was scared—scared of finding there was so much to do to have a break, she’d frighten herself into staying. She pulled a pad of paper and a pencil from her purse.
“Folks, we’ll be making an unscheduled stop for a few minutes,” the bus driver came on the intercom to say. “You can get off and stretch your legs, get some coffee if you like.”
He pulled into the parking lot of a fast-food restaurant.
“You’re not getting off?” Saul asked her.
She shook her head.
“Want anything?”
“I’m fine.”
She watched him disembark and thought about eating the last sandwich she’d packed but decided to save it since she wasn’t real hungry yet. She wasn’t sure of exactly when they’d arrive in Paradise and she might need to stretch her food. Then she happened to glance out the window and found herself watching several birds pecking at some crumbs from the restaurant.
His eye is on the sparrow.
She blinked. Where had the thought come from? They weren’t even sparrows.
But it was an intriguing thought. She wasn’t sure where it had come from—she hadn’t been consciously thinking about it.
Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?
The book of Matthew. She’d always found comfort in it. Sparrows didn’t worry about their next meal. God provided for them. Why wouldn’t He provide for her? It didn’t mean she could just lie around and not work, but she didn’t intend to do that. God would help His child to find a job to feed herself, wouldn’t He? Everything she’d had growing up hadn’t really come from her parents, but from her heavenly Father.
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