by Jo Ann Brown
He brushed sweat away from his temple. “If it’s hot this early in the day...”
“It’s going to be another scorcher.” She smiled in his direction. “Of course, you must have a lot of days like this in southern Texas.”
“That doesn’t mean I like them.” He lifted off the black hat and ran his fingers along the inner band. “Today isn’t the day for a wool hat.”
“Do you wear straw ones to services in Texas?”
He shook his head. “No, but it would be a gut idea.”
“Maybe you should mention it to your bishop.”
“He dragged his feet for a long time when the Leit voted to use solar panels for their local businesses. He’s a fine man but doesn’t like change.” He looked away. “Not that I’ve gone to services much. Whose house are we going to?”
His question warned her he didn’t want to talk about why he hadn’t joined others on a church Sunday.
“The Bowmans,” she replied. “David is a widower with two school-age boys. Their grossmammi takes care of the boys and the house. Here we are.”
She pulled into the driveway leading to a well-cared-for white farmhouse. The barn behind it was smaller than on the other farms they’d passed, but it was sufficient for the ever-increasing flock of sheep David was raising. Wide grassy pastures led to foothills behind the house. Though the farm had the same number of acres as her family’s farm, it appeared much larger because the hills around her home were covered with trees.
“There are a bunch of different buggies here.” He pointed to where a half-dozen buggies were parked beneath a large maple.
“We’ve come to this new settlement from various districts and states. It was voted during the discussions on our new Ordnung that we’ll use gray buggies like the ones from Lancaster County in Pennsylvania.”
“But yours is black.”
“We’re from Indiana. The changeover won’t start until after the harvest is finished.”
“So every family can contribute something to pay for new buggies?”
She wasn’t surprised he understood. Helping one another in a community was common among the plain people. “Ja. These other buggies will be sold or remade into vehicles we can use. Some may become open buggies. The Troyers’ Delaware buggy will become our bench wagon to take supplies from house to house for church Sundays.”
“How far along are you on your Ordnung?”
“We’ve discussed most issues. Buggies and clothing were first and the simplest. Last week, when we met, the focus was on what equipment can be used on the farms. Having diesel engines to power milk tanks was approved at that meeting, but we need to have more discussion about skid steers to move bales of hay or other heavy items.”
He shifted his right leg with care. “I never thought about how many details there can be in an Ordnung.”
“I don’t think we realized how long it would take, but we’re making progress. We hope to have it in place before communion Sunday in October so we can ordain our first leaders.”
She didn’t add more because her neighbors waved and called greetings. She saw the interest in everyone’s eyes and knew they were eager to meet Toby. The Wagler twins stood to one side. Sarah realized Toby wouldn’t be the only one fielding plenty of questions.
* * *
Toby was welcomed by the district’s men as if he were a longtime member of the community. Nobody asked questions about where he lived or what he was doing in Harmony Creek Hollow. Instead, they were curious to learn how his ankle was healing and how the horses he’d brought with him were faring.
For a moment, he was leery. What had the Amish grapevine along Harmony Creek shared about him? That he was stubborn? That he was from Texas? That his daed’s assumption he knew more than anyone else had disrupted every district they’d lived in? Recalling how Sarah had said the people in the Harmony Creek settlement came from many districts, was it possible someone living here had once been in a community he and his family had joined temporarily?
He calmed himself. Nobody spoke of the past. The men were talking about the harvest. One mentioned the dearth of canning jars and how his wife had sent him to the next town to purchase some, which brought questions about where the jars had been found. Everyone who had a garden was now reaping the results of a summer taking care of the plants.
As the men gathered to go into the barn for the service to begin, Toby found himself in the middle. He worried about slowing others but managed to keep up with the elderly man in front of him.
The benches, set so the men would face the women during the service, were familiar and welcoming. He’d gotten out of the habit of attending services in Texas, and he’d forgotten the warmth of worshipping with others. In astonishment, he realized everyone in the barn, the men sitting on the backless benches and the women and kinder coming in to take their seats, were newcomers. Every other service he’d ever attended had been filled with people who’d been born, raised, and would die in that district.
No wonder nobody asked about his past. Everyone along Harmony Creek was interested in the present and the future they planned to build together.
Through the service, led by the bishop from a more established settlement thirty miles to the north, Toby had to struggle to keep his gaze from Sarah, who sat across from him. She was keeping a toddler entertained with a handkerchief that she’d tied to look like a bunny or a cat. The kind’s mamm sat beside her, holding what looked to be a new boppli.
Sarah drew his eyes again and again. She looked somber as she listened to the sermons, but an aura of joy surrounded her as she cradled the toddler, who’d fallen asleep, in her arms. Being with kinder made her as happy as he was when he spent time with horses. They were blessed to have found jobs that gave them satisfaction.
He couldn’t help noticing, though, how several other men glanced in her direction. He guessed, when she was ready to marry, she’d have her choice among her bachelor neighbors. Instead of a gut feeling of knowing someone who’d done so much for him would have a great future, his stomach knotted at the thought.
Had he lost his mind? He wasn’t going to bind his life to someone who could tear him away from what he wanted to do and where he wanted to be. Maybe Sarah would settle in Harmony Creek Hollow for the rest of her life, but maybe not. She and her brothers had moved from Indiana. That was the way it had started with his parents. They’d lived their whole youths in one district, but then once they’d moved a single time, it seemed they had never hesitated to do so again. Would Sarah be the same?
He tried to focus on the sermon, because the bishop was an inspired speaker, but his thoughts kept creeping toward Sarah. When the service was finished, he watched when she went to speak with three other young women on their way to the house to bring food for the shared meal.
Again, Toby was made to feel welcome by the men, who were interested in the techniques he used to train horses. Nobody pressured him about his past or his future, and the subject again turned to the harvest and the volunteer work many of the younger men did with the local first responders. He found it fascinating, but his eyes cut too often to Sarah. If the others took note, they said nothing.
As soon as the women and kinder had eaten and the dishes were cleared away, she walked toward him. He thought she was ready to leave, until he realized she wasn’t alone. The woman walking beside Sarah had midnight-black hair and dark brown eyes.
Sarah introduced him to Mercy Bamberger, who wore an identical kapp to hers, before adding, “Mercy is attending the class for this fall’s baptism.”
“Ja.” She spoke as if trying out each word. “I grew up a Mennonite, and I’m learning what I need to in order to join this community.”
“We can speak in Englisch,” he said.
“No, no,” she urged, continuing haltingly in Deitsch. “I need practice. My kids speak it better than I do, and they laugh at my mist
akes. Nothing like kinder to keep you from suffering from hochmut.”
Sarah laughed. “That’s a lesson I learn anew every day when I’m with the Summerhays kinder. Just when I think I’ve convinced them to do something the right way, they show me that they can figure out more ways to not do it.”
“I’d like to pick your brain, Sarah, for ideas to keep kinder entertained,” Mercy replied, “once my summer camp is running.”
“A summer camp?” he asked.
“We plan to open next summer. It’s for city kids to have a week or two in the country.”
“I’ve heard of such programs, but I didn’t think the Amish would run one.”
“With the bishop’s permission, we’re opening it on a trial basis next summer.” She glanced at Sarah before adding, “That’s why I wanted to talk to you, Toby. We’re going to need gentle horses willing to be ridden by inexperienced riders.”
He nodded. “Your riders will be nervous, so your horses must remain calm.”
“Would you be willing to look at a few horses I may buy for the camp?” She glanced at his crutches. “If it’s too much, feel free to say so. Jeremiah is so busy with getting in the harvest I hesitate to ask him. However, I want to get the horses moved soon so they’re accustomed to us before the first kind arrives.”
“Where are the horses?”
“At a farm in West Hebron. It’s on the other side of Salem. About ten miles from here.” She turned to Sarah. “What is the name of the van driver you use?”
“Did you sell your car?” she asked.
Mercy nodded. “A couple of days ago.” She smiled in Toby’s direction. “I don’t miss not having electricity, but I miss having a car and jumping into it whenever I need to go somewhere.”
“Jeremiah says you’re getting much better driving a horse.” Sarah gave her a warm smile.
“At least I’m driving the horse instead of the other way around.”
“There’s a phone in the barn. I can call Hank and see if he’s available to drive us to West Hebron tomorrow.”
When Sarah excused herself, Toby continued talking with Mercy about the camp. Each word she spoke amazed him more, because he couldn’t imagine his bishop in Texas allowing anyone in his districts to open a camp for Englisch kinder who lived in big cities.
Sarah returned before he could ask more. “Tomorrow won’t work. Hank has appointments all day.”
Mercy’s smile wobbled. “I’ll just wait until after school starts. Danki, Toby, for being willing to join us.”
“Let me ask Mr. Summerhays if we can use his truck,” Sarah said. “It’s got plenty of room.” She faltered. “It’ll depend on having someone able to drive us.”
“I can drive,” he said.
Sarah frowned. “You sprained your right ankle. Don’t you need your right foot to drive?”
“If it’s an automatic—”
“It is.”
“Then I can use my left foot.” He grinned. “I’ve had to do that sometimes when working in the fields.”
Mercy looked from Sarah to him. “Aren’t you Amish, Toby?”
“I was raised that way, but I haven’t made decisions about the future yet.” He clamped his lips closed. He’d said too much.
Far too much, he realized, when he watched Sarah’s eyes widen.
* * *
Sarah silenced the questions she wanted to ask. Why was Toby sitting on the fence as she was, trying to decide which side to jump to? He could continue to do the work he loved with training horses if he was baptized, though he’d be proscribed from driving. That alone wouldn’t cause him to hesitate, would it? There must be another reason.
Toby kept so much to himself. He talked about horses, but his past was lost in a haze that was impossible to penetrate. Several times, she’d noticed him halt himself from speaking. He was a private man, and she respected that.
Somehow, she kept her curiosity to herself while they made arrangements to go to West Hebron the next day. When she got in the big red truck with Mercy and Toby the next day, she let the other two talk about the horses Mercy was interested in buying. If she opened her mouth, her questions might tumble out.
Sarah was grateful when they reached the farm nestled between two hills covered with pine trees. Unlike the ones Benjamin had begun trimming in preparation for customers in a few months, these trees were tall and unsuitable for what Englischers sought for holiday decorating. The red outbuildings and the bright blue house were as tidy as an Amish farm. Clothing hung from the line, dancing in the light breeze, but unlike plain laundry, the clothes were decorated with a variety of patterns, buttons and zippers.
Toby stopped the truck and released the breath he’d been holding for the past five minutes while he’d driven the big truck along a twisting dirt road that seemed to be built of rocks and potholes. She didn’t blame him. They’d been bounced about, and she guessed he hadn’t been sure if, sitting at an odd angle to let himself drive with his left foot, he’d be able to control the big vehicle if it were tossed too far to one side or the other.
“Now I know what cream feels like in an ice-cream maker.” Sarah settled her kapp in place as they got out of the truck.
“Spun about.” Mercy smiled. “I’m glad you were driving, Toby, and not me. Thank the gut Lord, Mr. Fleetwood has offered to deliver the horses if I decide to buy.”
A trio of small white dogs rushed toward them, barking an enthusiastic welcome. They halted and regarded Toby. A low growl came from one.
“They’re leery of your crutches,” said a man stepping out into the sunlight. He slapped a dark blue baseball cap on his bald head. “Frank Fleetwood. You are?” He offered his hand, his white mustache tilting with his smile.
Toby shook it as Mercy introduced him and Sarah to Mr. Fleetwood. The man’s hands were ingrained with black.
As if they’d asked, the old man said, “I had a blacksmith shop for forty years, but I retired earlier this year. Still getting the last of the soot out of my skin. I heard you Amish folks have a new smith coming to join you.”
Sarah exchanged a glance with Mercy before saying, “I hadn’t heard that, but I hope you’re right. It can take several days for us to track down a farrier and get him out to replace a shoe.”
“Hearing you say that makes me want to heat my old forge again, but the wife wouldn’t appreciate that. She wants to travel more to see the grandkids in Georgia and Missouri, so I’ve hung up my tools.” He shot Toby a wink. “If the rumors are true, let your new smith know I’m looking to sell my tools, so he’s welcome to come and check them out.”
“You should mention that to Jeremiah, Mercy,” Toby said as they walked toward the pasture where a half-dozen horses grazed.
Sarah understood what he wasn’t saying. He didn’t want to be obliged to pass along the information...in case J.J. arrived sooner than planned.
When they reached the gate, Toby motioned for Sarah to come inside with him. “Help me here?”
“How?” she asked while Mr. Fleetwood went to lead the first horse, a dark brown gelding, toward them.
“Let me use you as a crutch for a moment.”
She looked puzzled but nodded.
Leaving his crutches to lean against the rail, he put his hand on her shoulder. He hopped on his left foot and, with her to steady him, maneuvered himself so he was facing the horse, which the older man brought to stand near them.
She nodded again when Toby told her to copy his motions. She squatted when he did, each breath she took flavored with the mixed scents of horse and man, an aroma that would always remind her of this handsome man.
He slanted toward the horse, talking to it, and each motion brushed his muscular arm or leg against her. Focusing on what he was doing would have helped, but she couldn’t stop from thinking about his inadvertent touch. He seemed oblivious, concentrating
on his task. Why couldn’t she be more like that?
Toby ran his hands along the horse’s leg and frowned. “You need to have a vet look at this leg. It’s swollen.”
“Is that a problem?” asked Mercy.
He glanced at her. “It can be, or it can be something minor. It’s important to make sure. I don’t want you to get a horse you can’t depend on.” He patted the gelding and stood with Sarah’s help. “I don’t know, though, the last time I’ve seen a calmer horse. He should be gut with your city kids who aren’t used to being around live animals. If he let me check his tender leg when he doesn’t know me, he’s not going to be bothered by someone who doesn’t know how to sit in a saddle.”
“He’ll be good,” Frank added, “if you want to do trail rides. He doesn’t mind work, but he doesn’t have much initiative. So don’t make him the lead horse, and he’ll do great.” He grinned as he scratched the horse’s nose. “Isn’t that so, Cocoa?”
The horse bobbed its head as if it understood what the old man was saying.
Toby examined three more horses. One, though not young, shied away from his touch. That wouldn’t do for a horse ridden by different kinder each week.
Mercy and Mr. Fleetwood agreed she’d buy Cocoa, after the vet checked him, and two other horses. While they discussed when the horses would be delivered to Mercy’s farm, Sarah handed Toby his other crutch.
“Danki for helping Mercy get the best possible horses for her camp,” she said when they went to the truck to wait for Mercy.
“I like to help.” He smiled at her, sending a trill of joyful music through her. “As you do.”
Mercy interjected as she joined them, “You’re two of a kind. I’m glad you were willing to give me your opinion today.”
Toby smiled, but it wasn’t a steady smile. Sarah understood, because Mercy’s words pleased and disconcerted her. How alike were she and Toby? Really?