by Adina Senft
It didn’t take long. Rapidly, they told the deputy what Jesse had said about the cow—about Pris’s mad ride across country to fetch Sarah—about their arrival and what they had found. The sheriff had a look around and, after he measured the skid marks and found the fence broken down at the bottom of the culvert, agreed that Jesse had swerved to avoid hitting a cow that had probably hightailed it back down into the culvert and gone with its companions to the barn.
“Hard to say what would have been the better move,” he said, writing in his notebook. “Swerve right, you go into the culvert. Swerve left, you run the risk of hitting someone coming in the other direction.” He closed his book and shoved it in a pocket. “Guess we’d better get that car out of there before it goes to join the cows.”
“I told Jesse I’d call a tow truck and have it taken to my place.”
The deputy nodded. “It’s not a crime scene. You’re welcome to it. Nice little car. Turns out there’s more damage than he thinks and the kid wants to sell it, he can call me.” And to Sarah’s astonishment, he pulled out a card and gave it to Henry. “It’s a ’sixty-five. Those things are in major demand.”
Shaking her head, Sarah watched the sheriff pull out, leaving only the two of them and the disabled car. While Henry called a tow truck, Sarah heaved a sigh that didn’t seem to loosen the tightness in her chest one bit. Maybe she should take a dropperful of her own tincture.
Amanda riding in a car with Jesse Riehl. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she would never have believed it. She’d seen them talking together after church, but it was a far cry from that to joyriding on a Sunday afternoon when everyone else was visiting friends and family. Were they dating? Did Jacob and Corinne know?
Well, if they didn’t, they certainly would soon.
Henry hung up. “They’ll be along in about an hour.”
Sarah shook her head. “We can’t wait. The sooner we get Jacob and Corinne to the hospital and they know Amanda is all right, the better. Joe, will you stay and make sure they take the car to Henry’s?”
Joe nodded. “Then I’ll find Pris. Atlas still needs to pull the buggy home.”
“Okay.” Henry took her arm and they crossed the road together. “We can probably be there and back before the tow truck gets here anyhow. Where do you suppose we should start looking?”
“If they left fifteen minutes ago, they should be just about to the intersection where Willow Creek Road crosses the highway.”
He got in, and she made good and sure her seat belt was fastened.
“That’s pretty specific,” he said as he swung onto the road. “Are you psychic?”
“Of course not.” As an attempt to lighten her spirits, it was pretty feeble, but she appreciated his trying. “I know how fast a buggy goes, and I know how long it takes to get there. We should arrive at the intersection just about when they do.”
And she was right. They passed through the intersection and hadn’t gone much more than a few hundred feet when Sarah saw Magic, her in-laws’ buggy horse, coming along at such a spanking clip that it took Jacob a few seconds to get him slowed down when they saw Henry waving out the driver’s window.
Once Jacob turned into the nearest driveway, Corinne leaped down onto the asphalt and Henry called, “It’s all right. She’s alert and banged up, but she’ll be okay. They just took her to the hospital to patch her up. If you folks come with me, Sarah can take your buggy home.”
Which was such a perfect solution that Sarah wondered why she hadn’t thought of it herself. She couldn’t help Amanda any further, and it was her mother and father’s place to be by her bedside.
“Thank you,” she said on a long breath of gratitude, and before she got out of his car, she threw her arms around Henry’s neck and hugged him. “You’ve been such a good friend to us.”
One arm came around her waist and he buried his face in her shoulder, breathing in as if he were inhaling her very scent.
Sarah blushed scarlet and pushed out of the embrace into which she’d so thoughtlessly thrown herself. “Denki, I must go,” she blurted. She snatched up her basket and practically fell out the door.
It was lucky that Corinne was looking up at her husband as they crossed the road together. With a brief, hard hug for her mother-in-law, Sarah said, “Go. Henry will get you there almost as soon as the ambulance.”
Corinne was blind to anything but getting to Whinburg General as fast as possible. By the time Sarah seated herself in their buggy and took up Magic’s reins, they had already disappeared over the hill.
Magic looked around several minutes later to see why no one was asking him to walk on. But Sarah couldn’t drive. For she had just realized something. From the moment the sheriff had left, she and Henry had been speaking exclusively in Deitsch. The language of the family. The language a couple spoke to each other. And when she had lost control and compounded her error by hugging him, he had responded…he had…
The tears flooded her eyes, blinding her—their salt and heat stinging as her own body rebuked her for looking where she should not.
For reaching out to hold a man who belonged to another woman.
Chapter 17
Corinne Yoder wouldn’t hear of Henry’s going home to his solitary kitchen that evening, after he’d brought her and Jacob and Amanda back to the farm. “With all you’ve done for us today, Henry Byler, you must let us give you dinner. It is the least we can do to thank you for your kindness.”
“My kindness, as you call it, was the least I could do for my neighbors.” He hustled to hold the kitchen door open as Jacob hovered next to Amanda, his strong, sinewy hands ready in case she should lose her balance. She navigated the steps and her new crutches with much more skill than Henry would have anticipated.
“Does it hurt, Dochder?” Corinne asked anxiously. “Do you need one of the pills the doctor gave you?”
“Neh, Mamm. It only hurts when I put weight on it. The real question is, how are you going to manage to keep house for six weeks without me?”
“We’ll think about that later. For now, let’s get you into your bed and I’ll bring you some supper on a tray.”
A few minutes later, with Amanda apparently comfortably settled, Corinne hurried back in and pulled a bib apron from the back of the kitchen door. “Has anyone found Jesse Riehl’s parents?” she asked. “He looked so alone in the emergency room—not that he was in any shape to appreciate company after the drugs took hold. But someone ought to let his family know. Amanda says he is staying with a Mennonite aunt and uncle.”
“The sheriff would have called, I think,” Henry said. “If he’s living at their address, then the license plate would have been registered there and it would have been straightforward to get a phone number.”
Jacob shook his head. “Imagine an Amish boy driving a car.”
“Imagine an Amish girl riding in it,” his wife said tartly. “But that’s a conversation for another time. All I can say is I’m glad you were there to help, Henry. They would have been lying on the side of the road yet if it hadn’t been for you.” She put a pot of coffee on and laid out bread, jam, honey, and sliced cheese, in case anyone was hungry before dinner.
“Sarah sent Priscilla to get me. You should have seen that girl, astride a buggy horse and riding like the wind. It was straight out of Paul Revere.” Suddenly he found himself starving, and helped himself to bread and jam. Raspberry. Heaven.
“Priscilla is a good girl,” Corinne said. “And Joe Byler is a fine young man. They are young yet, but I hope something comes of it someday.” She got a parcel wrapped in white butcher’s paper from the refrigerator. “I wonder where Sarah is. I thought she would be here waiting for us.” She began to cut up onions and mushrooms. “And what of you and Ginny Hochstetler? How are your plans coming along?”
Henry felt the stiffness in his spine begin to relax as he watched the comfortable movements of a woman at home in her own kitchen. “Ginny’s in Philadelphia as we speak, searchi
ng for a wedding dress with her mother and sister. She’ll be back on Tuesday.”
“Caleb has told us you’re undecided about whether to sell the old place,” Jacob said. “It seems it will take a little figuring out.”
Henry nodded. “It’s the studio that’s the problem. I need the barn, but I can’t sell to an Amish family without it. And since the house isn’t wired for electricity, an English family wouldn’t buy it without a lot of renovation first—and that would affect the asking price. Not that I could get a lot for it anyway…it needs a lot of work.”
“You could move away altogether,” Corinne suggested. “Sell both places and find one that has what you need.” She moved the sautéed vegetables to a bowl and began to fry pork chops.
“We talked about that, but neither of us wants to leave here. Willow Creek has been Ginny’s home for going on fifteen years, and the Inn has built a nice reputation even as far as New York. It would be a shame to give that up and start over fresh where we didn’t have friends and family.”
“Your friends would be sad to see you go.” Jacob agreed, pouring them both a second cup of coffee. “It’s gut that Caleb has his job with Jon Hostetler now, but we are grateful for the work you gave him when you first came.”
Henry smiled. “I do miss him popping in and out, but I’m glad he has more steady work. I’m sure Sarah appreciates the help with expenses.”
As though her name had conjured her up, there was a commotion on the porch outside, and Sarah, Caleb, and Simon all poured in, panting as though they’d run across lots.
“Ah, gut, I’m so glad you’re back,” Sarah said. “I went home to leave a note for the boys that I was here when they got back from the singing—but it turned out they hadn’t gone.”
“Word spread pretty fast from Hostetlers’ place after you called,” Jacob agreed. “Did you boys come home with Paul and Barbara?”
“Ja, and weren’t they upset that Joe and Pris were in the car before the accident,” Caleb said, sitting down opposite Henry and smearing a piece of bread with jam and peanut butter. “I think Priscilla will be grounded again. For a girl who doesn’t do hardly anything, she sure gets grounded a lot.”
“I think Amanda would disagree that she doesn’t do anything,” Sarah said, brushing his hair out of his eyes with a tenderness that made Henry focus on his coffee cup. She hadn’t looked in his direction once since she’d come in.
Was this how it was going to be? Him doing stupid things like overresponding to a simple hug of thanks, and both of them ignoring it because an apology would be too awkward? And what was wrong with him that he kept on doing that? Couldn’t he see that she was a warmhearted woman, and a hug meant nothing more than—than a pat on the back?
Well, if she could treat it like nothing, then so could he. And the truth was that Ginny deserved better than to have him get all flustered and awkward over a simple gesture of friendship. And besides, after they were married, he couldn’t imagine he’d be seeing much of the Yoders anyway. With the money from D.W. Frith, he and Ginny might do a little traveling during the off season, even if it was only to the states bordering Pennsylvania.
Sarah made the gravy and roasted potatoes, and when the meal was served, Henry bowed his head for the silent grace. And for the first time in many years, he prayed—not the Lord’s Prayer, which he might have said years ago, but one born more of feeling than words.
Lord, you probably don’t recognize me, it’s been so long, but I need some help. I don’t know what it is about this woman, but one of us is in the wrong place and it’s definitely the wrong time. Maybe You’ve sent her to test me, or sent me to test her, I don’t know—but please give me the strength to put her out of my life. To feel nothing, and treat her with nothing but the friendship she feels for me. This is kind of a selfish prayer, Lord, and I don’t have anything to offer in return. But it is a needy one. Help me, in Jesus’ name.
As prayers went, it wasn’t much, but he felt a little better as he raised his head.
At which point he realized that the entire family had been sitting silently, waiting for him to do so.
Chagrined, he felt sweat break out on his forehead. Would someone say something? Make a comment? Then, belatedly, he realized that no one in an Amish family would dream of commenting on the length of another’s prayer—even when that other was Englisch.
Instead, Jacob merely smiled and picked up his knife and fork, which was the signal for everyone else to reach for bowls of vegetables and pickles, and for the pork chops in rich gravy to be handed around. Sarah made up a plate for Amanda and took it up, but came back down the stairs almost immediately.
“She’s asleep,” she said, covering the plate with foil and slipping it into the still-warm oven. “Rest is the best thing for her now—probably better even than food.”
With everyone else there, it was surprisingly easy to avoid talking with Sarah. He traded news with Caleb. He discussed the weather and how it might affect the last of the apple harvest with Jacob. He even chatted about Colorado with Simon. He’d been through the area where the ranch apparently was, so they traded notes and impressions for a big chunk of the dinner hour—almost until dessert, in fact.
If Sarah noticed that he spoke to everyone at the table but her, she gave no sign of it. In fact, she seemed quite happy to let others do the talking and do none herself. Maybe she was still recovering from the shock of seeing Amanda hurt. He knew they were close, and he could imagine that she probably wanted to hover over Amanda’s bedside, just to make sure that she kept on breathing.
Or maybe she was just doing as he was doing, and keeping her distance. Reducing the possibility that this strange connection might accidentally re-form between them again.
By eight o’clock, when he saw that Jacob and Corinne were ready for bed, it being Monday the next day and an early start, he wasted no time in thanking them and taking his leave. He barely had time to get out to the car, congratulating himself on managing his escape pretty well, when he heard the rapid sound of footsteps on the stairs.
“Henry?”
He opened the door and the interior light came on. “Right here, Sarah. Can I give you and the boys a lift?”
“Neh—I mean, no. Thank you.” The combined lights from the yard pole and the inside of the car made her Kapp seem as though it were made of moonlight. “I wanted to check your hands. How do they feel?”
“They’re fine.” He had to get out of here, away from that concerned gaze.
“That’s a man’s standard answer when he doesn’t want the woman to trouble herself about him.” Her tone held a smile. “What he doesn’t realize is that if he doesn’t let her help, the trouble might wind up being worse than when he started. Come over to the house and let me look.”
“I’m not going to your house, Sarah.” The words were out before he thought about how they would sound. “I mean—”
“If you’re worried about what happened in the car, then I am sorry. I was forward. I should not have allowed my emotions to carry me away.”
“Nothing happened.” Liar. You fell into that hug as if you’d been waiting for it for a year.
“Well, then, you won’t mind coming home so I can look at your hands and bandage them up again.”
He did mind. Ginny would mind even more. But the boys were trooping out the back door and Caleb had caught sight of them now. “Is Henry giving us a ride home?” the boy asked, loping over.
Maybe that would be the best thing. The more the merrier. Get it over with in the boys’ company, and then leave. “I’ve offered, but your mother says no.”
“Come on, Mamm,” Caleb begged. “It’s pitch dark and cold.”
“All right, then, if Henry doesn’t mind. Let me get my basket from the kitchen.”
The drive was short and noisy, and when Sarah led him into her dispensary and fired up the pole lamp, there was no question that the door to the room would be left open. Oh, Henry knew the rules as well as anyone—they’d jus
t never mattered as much as they did right now.
“Wash your hands well with soap,” she said, “and I’ll take the bandage strips off.”
He took a kerosene lantern into the bathroom and scrubbed. When he sat down at her little white wooden table, he spread his hands, palms up, and waited. Her own were gentle and efficient, her fingers smooth and warm, as she removed the Band-Aid strips and bent to look.
“Improving,” she said. “The redness is gone, and look, this shallow one is beginning to close up. Do they still tingle?”
“They must not. I haven’t thought about it all day.”
“Then maybe it was just the salve doing its good work. Now that the skin has become used to it, it has stopped arguing.”
He smiled. “I don’t think an MD would phrase it quite that way.”
“He might if he had boys.”
“Your boys never argued with you.”
She smiled, clearly thinking of the boys as they had been ten years ago or more. “Not after the first few tries anyway. Arguing is a form of disobedience, and a mother wants to train that out of her children early.”
“I remember,” he said ruefully. Her gentle touch was making goose bumps rise on his arms, running all the way up and ending between his shoulder blades. It was a good thing that he wore not only a long-sleeved flannel shirt, but a jacket as well. “I’m not sure my mother ever succeeded. Or if she did, it cropped back up when I was nineteen, and by then it was too late to change.”
“Is that when you left home?”
“Yes. She never stopped trying, though, even after I’d moved to Denver. A letter came every week, faithful as the sunrise.”
“We mothers don’t stop loving our sons just because they’re disobedient.” She got up and found the jar of salve in the cabinet. “Neither does God,” she said to the cabinet door as she closed it.
“Sarah…” he warned.
“I’m not saying anything more than the truth.”
“Your truth.”