A Plain and Simple Heart (The Amish of Apple Grove)

by Virginia Smith

  “Did you have supper on the train, child?”

  At the mention of supper, Rebecca’s stomach answered with an embarrassing rumble. Blushing hotly, she covered her waist with her hands. “Please pardon me.”

  Mrs. Evans laughed. “Don’t apologize for what you cannot help. Let’s put together a snack.”

  She led Rebecca back downstairs, where she saw that one corner of the workroom she’d passed through was in use as a kitchen. A stove stood near the front wall, where its heat could warm the entire building in winter. Mrs. Evans set a kettle on the surface and then took a platter from a corner cabinet and set it on a table. She removed an oiled cloth to reveal a wedge of yellow cheese.

  “Cut thick slices, dear, while I get the bread.”

  Rebecca’s knife slid through the soft cheese, her mouth watering at the pungent odor released by the blade.

  “Mrs. Evans, why did Mrs. Diggs say the saloon is illegal?”

  “Because it is. Quite illegal. The Kansas state constitution prohibits the sale of liquor.”

  The knife paused in the midst of her chore while she turned a surprised look on the elderly lady. “Then why is it open?”

  Wrinkled lips pursed as she took another platter from the cabinet. “Because to close it would take money from the pockets of too many influential men.”

  Rebecca returned to her task, though her knife moved slowly, her attention on her thoughts. “There are saloons in Hays City as well. I saw one this morning.”

  “Hmm. I expect it’s the same all over. That’s why the movement is doing such an important work.”

  “The movement?”

  “The Women’s Christian Temperance Movement.” She picked up another knife and held it poised over a loaf of bread. “Have you not heard of it?”

  Rebecca shook her head. Apple Grove was a small Plain community and isolated from the wider world by choice. No doubt there were many things of which she was ignorant.

  The teeth of Mrs. Evans’ bread knife made a pleasant sound as it sawed through the crusty loaf. “We stand for decency, Christian living, and social reform.” She lifted a glittering gaze that stirred up an answering excitement in Rebecca, though she had no idea what the lady meant by “social reform.”

  “One day, child, women will have the vote. You wait and see.”

  Rebecca’s excitement dimmed. She’d learned of the practice of voting during her school days, but because Amish communities held themselves separate from the world, it meant little to her.

  “And the movement would like to see the saloon close?” she asked.

  “We want to see the law enforced. Liquor has been the ruin of many a life.” Mrs. Evans bent close to Rebecca and lowered her voice, the twinkle back in her eye. “Though truth be told, my Lawrence was known to take a nip now and then when his rheumatism got the better of him. I don’t say that among the ladies.” She placed the bread on a smaller plate and whisked the loaf back into the cabinet. “But there were no laws in Missouri like there are in Kansas.”

  Rebecca arranged the cheese slices on the plate beside the bread and recovered the wedge. The image of Sheriff Maddox—Colin, she’d heard one of the men call him—rose in her mind’s eye. When she stood near him at the jailhouse, she’d been too anxious to do more than notice his looming height. Now she remembered his commanding presence, his muscular build, and the way his hair curled a little behind his ears. A handsome man, to be sure.

  A wave of guilt washed away the image. No man was as handsome as her Jesse.

  “Why doesn’t Sheriff Maddox close the establishments?”

  “The poor dear.” Mrs. Evans clucked and shook her head. “He does the best he can, though Annie doesn’t agree with me on that count. He’s in a bad way, what with the town council pulling him one way and the law pulling him the other.” Her lips pressed hard on each other again. “And having to deal with that poor excuse for a judge, letting off lawbreakers without proper consequences just so he can prosper from liquor sales. ‘The love of money is the root of all evil.’ That’s what the Good Book says.”

  The phrase sounded so much like something Maummi would say. For a moment Rebecca experienced a stab of homesickness. She blinked against a prickle at the back of her eyes as the kettle began to sing.

  Using a towel wrapped around the handle, Mrs. Evans poured steaming water into a teapot she had placed on a tray.

  “Bring that plate along, and we’ll have a nice tea.”

  Rebecca picked up the bread and cheese and started after her toward the stairs. Pain sliced through her feet when she took the first step, and she couldn’t hold back a hiss.

  Mrs. Evans turned. “Is something wrong, child?”

  “I purchased new boots this morning.” She lifted a foot and thrust it forward so it protruded from the hem of her skirt. The fashionable attire with its shiny buckle didn’t look nearly as nice as she’d thought earlier. “The lady in the shop in Hays City said they would stretch, but I do not know if I can wear them long enough for that to happen.”

  “Stretch? Sit down and let me have a look.”

  Mrs. Evans set down her tray and turned a straight chair around from its place at the table. Rebecca dropped into the seat thankfully and allowed the woman to unlace the painful shoe. It took a mighty tug for Mrs. Evans to pull it from her foot, and when she did Rebecca couldn’t suppress a cry of relief when her cramped toes suddenly found freedom.

  Mrs. Evans inspected her foot and then held up the boot. “Child, I’m surprised you’re able to walk at all in these. These shoes are far too small for you.”

  Rebecca stared at the boot. An uncomfortable feeling gathered in her chest. That Englisch woman had charged her a high price for boots that didn’t fit, and like a simpleton, she’d blithely counted out her money.

  Rebecca did not enjoy feeling like a fool.

  Colin closed the jailhouse door and stood with his back to its wooden surface, his gaze skimming the street. A few horses were still hitched to the rail outside the Lucky Dollar, waiting for their owners to emerge and ride home. The general store was closed up tight for the night. An orange glow, visible through the open doorway of the smithy, told him Will was working late. In the opposite direction, light shone from most of the windows at the Eldridge Hotel. A trio of gentlemen stood beneath the awning out front. One of them raised a hand to his face, and the fiery tip of a cigar flared in the dark.

  Colin stepped off the jailhouse porch and started his nightly stroll down Massachusetts Street. In the two years he’d held this job, he’d discovered the best way to keep peace was to show his face regularly.

  Not that his presence had done much good earlier. Drat Annie Diggs and her crusading group of women anyway. It wouldn’t surprise him one bit to learn she’d arranged the whole incident to make him look bad one more time before he left town. No doubt the next issue of the Kansas Liberal would include a brilliantly worded article describing the confrontation and painting him as a villain for arresting a group of helpless women.

  Helpless? Those women were as helpless as a pack of coyotes stalking a chicken coop.

  But the new face—that little brunette with creamy smooth skin. He could easily have taken her for an innocent until he saw a glimpse of fire in her expressive eyes. That gal had spunk if he was any judge. Amish? A chuckle rumbled in his chest. A good tale, but not believable. No, she was one of those protesters, recruited by Annie Diggs to swell her numbers.

  His step faltered. But why would Annie bring only one lady to join her ranks? One additional female wouldn’t make much of a difference to any cause. If there were a bunch, an influx of protesters, they could…

  He came to a halt in the middle of the street, his thoughts whipping through his mind like winds across the prairie.

  What are those ladies planning?

  A light came on in an upstairs window. With a start he realized he’d stopped in front of Mrs. Evans’ shop, the place where that little gal was holed up for the night. He studi
ed the window. Lamplight glowed around the edges of lacy curtains. A homey sight, but what was going on in that room?

  He shook himself. Try though he might, he couldn’t picture sweet Mrs. Evans planning and plotting any devious act. Annie Diggs, certainly. Some of the other ladies, maybe. The new girl? Well, sweet smiles and pretty looks might hide a scheming mind.

  Whatever it was, he had a bad feeling whatever was brewing wasn’t going to hold off for two more weeks until the new sheriff arrived, no matter how much he wished trouble away.

  Settling his hat more firmly on his head, he spun on his heel and headed back toward the jailhouse and his bunk in the back room. Tomorrow morning he’d have a word with the judge before court.

  And he would keep a close eye on that pretty little newcomer.

  EIGHT

  The courtroom buzzed with women’s voices. Rebecca sat next to Mrs. Evans and tried to look inconspicuous, however unlikely that might be dressed in a prayer kapp and plain black Amish clothing amid a sea of brightly colored skirts and fluffy white lace. Perhaps she should have worn her new dress again this morning. She’d considered the idea, but now was glad she’d decided on her customary clothing. The black dress might not be as stylish as those of the other ladies in court this morning, but at least it was familiar. She fingered the seam of her apron. Somehow the feel of Maummi’s stitches brought her grandmother closer and gave her courage she didn’t possess on her own.

  And the relief of well-fitting shoes had done wonders for her mood.

  Mrs. Evans had arched an eyebrow when she emerged from the dressing room this morning. “I must say, I thought you might be pulling the sheriff’s leg,” she’d remarked.

  With heat in her face, Rebecca had assured her hostess that she had not touched the sheriff’s leg or any other part of him. That had resulted in peals of laughter and an explanation of the strange idiom. Rebecca nodded as though she understood, but she couldn’t imagine how such a saying had come about. The ways of the Englisch were as mysterious to her as always.

  Ladies’ voices buzzed around her, discussing the exciting events of the evening past. Yet another mystery, because Rebecca certainly hadn’t found the experience of jail exciting.

  To her left, on the other side of Mrs. Evans, Annie Diggs sat straight and silent in her chair, her bearing regal and her expression serene. One row behind, Pearl described the conversation she’d had with her husband the night before.

  “Then he told me I’d best keep out of trouble and stay home the next time, and I told him I’d go to jail as many times as it takes to—”

  The story stopped midsentence when a heavy wooden door to one side of the courtroom opened and three men filed into the room. The first two were strangers. The one in the lead, a gentleman of approximately Papa’s age, had a clean-shaven face and neatly oiled graying hair. He went without hesitation to sit behind a desk at the front of the room. The judge, no doubt. The second man was of similar age, though short and stocky enough to be called squat. With a quick step, he crossed to the back of the courtroom, where he settled into a chair in the corner.

  Mrs. Evans leaned sideways and whispered in her ear. “That’s J.D. Bowerstock, the mayor of Lawrence.”

  Rebecca nodded absently, her gaze fixed on the third person to pass through the doorway. Colin Maddox. This morning he’d donned a white shirt with a starched collar and string tie beneath his leather vest. She couldn’t help notice that his hair had a freshly washed sheen, and she experienced the oddest desire to feel its silky texture. The badge of his office shone on his broad chest. He scanned the gathered crowd of people, and when his gaze fell on Rebecca, his eyes narrowed. With three long-legged strides he crossed the room to stand in front of her.

  His whisper rasped through tightened lips. “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think? Not to mention disrespectful.”

  Rebecca gazed at him. “What is extreme?”

  His eyes shifted to fix on her kapp, and his lips twisted into a disapproving line. “Dressing like an Amish person. I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but it won’t work.”

  Rebecca was stunned. He didn’t believe her. And not only that, but he was openly accusing her of dishonesty. She stiffened her spine and drew breath to deliver a heated reply, but at that moment the rap-rap-rap of the judge’s gavel rang out in the room, and she snapped her jaw shut.

  With a final disapproving look, Colin selected one of the chairs inside the polished wood railing that separated the onlookers from the judge’s desk. Hands clasped in her lap, Rebecca lowered her eyes and tried to project a peaceful countenance, as Maummi had taught her, while inside she seethed.

  “This court will come to order.” Judge Tankersley’s stern voice echoed in the courtroom, while his glare circled the inhabitants from beneath bushy eyebrows. His gaze came to rest on Colin. “We will hear the accusations against the defendants.”

  The sheriff rose and held his hat before him. “The official charge is disturbing the peace, your honor. These ladies undertook to divert business from a local establishment at approximately six o’clock last evening, and they refused to disperse when ordered to do so. I had no choice but to arrest them in order to restore peace to the community.”

  A familiar bald man with muscled arms pushed through the swinging gate in the rail to stand beside the sheriff. “That’s right, Tank. They darn near lost me a heap of business, and ended up costing the saloon a round on the house to keep the customers from leaving.”

  The judge’s glower deepened. “How much do you figure that came to, Ed?”

  “About six dollars, give or take a shot.”

  A buzz went up from the ladies around Rebecca. The amount seemed exorbitant, but she knew nothing about the price of “shots.”

  Colin continued. “Your honor, most of these fine ladies are upstanding residents of Lawrence, and I feel certain this incident is merely a misunderstanding. Perhaps you could see your way clear to dismiss the charges. Again.”

  “The Dollar ain’t going to cover the cost,” Ed said. “Make ’em pay up!”

  Mrs. Diggs shot out of her chair. “Never!”

  The crowd rose hurriedly to stand with her. Rebecca stood shoulder to shoulder with Mrs. Evans on one side and another woman on the other. When everyone else echoed Mrs. Diggs’ refusal with utterings of “Ridiculous” and “Us pay for liquor? Impossible!” and “We won’t do it,” her emotions roiled, swept on the tide of their outrage.

  “Outrageous!” she shouted. “We won’t do it.”

  Her voice rang out in the courtroom an instant after everyone else had fallen silent. Mrs. Evans placed a gloved hand on her sleeve, while Mrs. Diggs leaned slightly forward to award her with an approving nod. Colin half turned, one eyebrow cocked, and a flush warmed her face.

  “Quiet in the court.” The judge’s gavel cracked. “Young lady, state your name!”

  With something akin to horror, Rebecca realized the judge’s question was directed at her. Rational thought evaporated from her mind. “R-R-Rebecca Switzer.”

  “And just what is your role in this”—his gavel waved in the air in the general direction of the ladies—“demonstration?”

  “My role?” Rebecca cast a panicked glance sideways toward Mrs. Evans. “Nothing. I came in on the train only yesterday.”

  “Her role is the same as the rest of us.” Mrs. Diggs’ commanding voice filled the courtroom. “We stand on the side of the law and of morality. We stand against evil influences that would destroy men’s souls.”

  “I know what you stand for.” The judge’s gavel pointed at Rebecca. “I want to hear from her. Approach the bench, Miss Switzer.”

  Panic snatched the breath from her lungs. For a moment she was so frightened she couldn’t move.

  Mrs. Evans’ fingers tightened on her arm, and she leaned sideways to whisper, “Just tell the truth, child.”

  One of Maummi’s proverbs echoed in her head. “Truthful lips stand firm, but deceitful words tumbl
e like a dead tree in a storm.”

  Aware that every eye in the room was fixed on her, Rebecca stepped out of the row of ladies. From the corner of her eye she saw Colin watching her closely as she passed through the gate in the railing, but she did not look his way. Instead, she approached the judge’s desk, her eyes fixed on the floor as was proper for a young lady.

  Thank goodness several yards of thick black fabric hid her trembling knees from view.

  Colin’s fingers gripped the brim of his hat. She might look like a sweet young girl, but pretending a religious conviction you didn’t adhere to was downright disrespectful to his way of thinking. He’d known a few Amish men in his time, and he had always been impressed with their firm convictions and tranquility. Her standing there dressed in black with that white kapp and laces rubbed him like a burr in his boot.

  Unless…

  Where had she scrounged up a getup like that so quick? Could her claim be true?

  Nah. She probably had the clothes with her when she came into town. It was all part of her plan, her act.

  Except she didn’t look as though she were acting. Would someone who had staged a protest tremble like a kitten in a snowstorm? The hands she clasped in front of her shook visibly, and she gripped them together until her knuckles turned white.

  The judge fixed her with a stern look. “Now, young lady, tell me what business you have in Lawrence.”

  “I…” She paused and cleared her throat. “I came to find a man who was reported to live here, though I have since discovered that he does not.”

  Tank’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want with this man?”