“Jah. I’m ready.”
Oh, but that innocent response teased at him as they got into the car and started down the dark county highway. He regretted the silence that hovered like a cloud as black as Rhoda’s coat and bonnet . . . all because he hadn’t kept his mouth shut.
“Must’ve been hard on ya, seein’ those kids after that bus wreck,” Rhoda said quietly. She was gazing out into the night as they rolled past hillsides blanketed in ten inches of snow that glistened in the moonlight. “We Amish believe that everything happens for God’s own gut reasons, but I still hate it when folks get hurt real bad. Especially kids who couldn’t do anything to help themselves.”
It wasn’t the time to quiz Rhoda about her beliefs—partly because his own faith had gone by the wayside after Megan left him and their kids. But she had introduced a safe topic of conversation. It was slow going, even though the plows had been out, because the black ice was impossible to spot until the car was already fishtailing on it.
“It seemed as though they came in an endless river of crushed legs and broken arms and bloody faces,” Andy murmured, trying to maintain an emotional distance from the vivid images of those kids. “Made it worse that they were from northern Missouri, on their way home from a school event south of here, where the weather hadn’t been an issue. Think of all those parents, getting calls late in the night that their kids were injured.”
“Andy, I’m so sorry.” Rhoda’s whisper filled the car with her sorrow, not to mention her concern for him. “But think how much worse it would’ve been had ya not been there. Seems to me you’d be the calm in the storm, the voice of reason in that room full of pain. Those kids were terrified, but you were there to put them back together. And what a blessing for their parents, too.”
Andy forced himself to focus on the road. How had Rhoda formed such a noble picture of him, sketching him as he would like to be seen? Especially since she’d probably spent little time in a hospital or at the scene of a disaster. “Thank you,” he rasped, raw with the terror that had filled the emergency room.
Rhoda smiled. “We Amish have a real respect for doctors and nurses, on account of how our members don’t get enough schoolin’ to practice medicine. We have the occasional midwife among us, but she gets her trainin’ from other midwives.”
It was an intriguing idea. But not a topic to discuss while he was steering the car along an icy road at a snail’s pace. “It’s sweet of you to say that . . . to be concerned for the way I’m handling tonight’s crisis,” he said quietly. “Frankly, there were times I wanted to walk away from it. To ditch nursing and find an easier livelihood.”
“Ah, but when you’re a healer, there’s no turnin’ your back on the misery—or on your God-given skills, ain’t so?” Rhoda squeezed the hand he’d kept on the gearshift knob so he could downshift on the hills. “That would be like tellin’ God to go fly a kite. I can’t see ya doin’ that, Andy. There’s too much love in ya.”
Even through the gloves on her hand and his, he felt compassion pouring out like a balm to his battered soul. “Rhoda, if you knew much about love, you wouldn’t be saying that. You’re looking at a refugee from a failed marriage, whose family got split apart by—”
“How can ya think such a thing?” She sat taller in the passenger seat. “You’re actin’ as God’s healin’ hands on this earth. The Bible teaches that God is love, and that we’re all His children, which means we’re made of that same love. Can’t be any other way, as I see it.”
He had no choice but to ease the car to a stop on the edge of the road. They had just reached Willow Ridge, where the farmsteads and shops lay sleeping beneath their blankets of snow. The only light was a quarter of a mile away, at the river bridge . . . and at this hour no one else was out. Rhoda’s hand felt like a branding iron, searing him with her innocent passion. Her faith. Here she was talking about love again, but in a way no man could construe as making a pass or mistake for feminine wiles. Rhoda Lantz didn’t know about wiles . . . did she?
As the moonlight shone through the windshield, her face took on an ethereal glow. Her black bonnet accentuated the pale purity of her skin . . . her sweet, unassuming features.
Do Amish girls know about kissing?
As soon as the thought flitted through his mind, Andy dismissed it. Of course Amish girls didn’t go around kissing—
So explain the fact that their families average six to ten kids.
Andy closed his eyes and tried to think of anything but kissing Rhoda. Sure, she was in her twenties . . . had a boyfriend, for all he knew. But wasn’t this thundering in his soul about more than kissing her? From what he’d learned this past week, Rhoda Lantz was precisely the kind of woman he’d always wanted: a helpmate, a listener, a mother to his children. A kick in the pants when he needed it.
Before Andy’s hand found Rhoda’s face, she was leaning toward him. There was no explaining it or preventing it: despite his better judgment he was kissing Rhoda Lantz, in the middle of the road in the middle of the night.
And yes, Amish girls knew about kissing.
Again and then again he tasted her sweet, eager lips. As he eased away from her, fighting to regain his sense of reason, Rhoda’s sigh filled the car with the same yearning he’d known on a daily basis of late . . . the wishes he wanted to come true. The happily-ever-afters she dared to believe in. “Rhoda, I—”
“Jah, not the smartest thing,” she rasped, “but I can’t un-kiss ya now, ain’t so? And why would I want to? Those were the nicest kisses ever, Andy.”
He exhaled, focusing his frantic thoughts. He would drop her off at her house now. He’d call her tomorrow, and she would understand why it was best that she not work for him anymore. Never mind that the kids and his mother would be heartbroken—
It’s you that would feel shattered, man.
Andy eased his foot onto the accelerator again. “It was wonderful, kissing you,” he agreed tiredly. “But we just caused a whole set of new problems, didn’t we?”
A grin twitched on Rhoda’s lips as they turned off the highway beside the Sweet Seasons Bakery Café. “Kissin’s been causin’ problems since Adam and Eve. But if everything happens as a part of God’s will, then that shines a whole new light on us, ain’t so?”
Andy shook his head, knowing when he’d been outclassed in the reason and religion departments. “Good night, Rhoda,” he said firmly. “And thank you for . . . everything.”
As she clambered out of the car and then leaned down to beam at him, Andy knew that for better or for worse, he would forever remember the expression on Rhoda’s beautiful face.
Chapter Eleven
“Well, Brother, you’ll never guess who I saw in the wee hours this mornin’, kissin’ an Englishman in his car, no less!”
Ben stopped cracking eggs for their breakfast so he could listen to his twenty-eight-year-old brother Ira, speaking from the bedroom he shared with Luke. In the apartment they’d just completed above their new gristmill, the walls still echoed with the emptiness of the rooms and the lack of furniture and rugs. Maybe Ira’s swaggering tone meant he was stretching the truth a bit, coaxing Luke to take his bait. Still, Ben’s heart clenched.
“And what were ya doin’ that ya witnessed such a thing?” Luke shot back. “And how do ya know who it was? Were ya on the hood of that car holdin’ a lantern?”
“Puh! It was Rhoda Lantz, because she got out at the Sweet Seasons and hurried into the smithy!” Ira replied. “Millie and I both said her name at the same time. Saw it all from the sleigh we were ridin’ across Preacher Gabe’s pasture, right near the road where the car had stopped.”
Ben was already striding down the short hallway, quickly considering his words. He stopped in the doorway of his brothers’ bedroom. “That’s not something to spread around,” he said sternly. “It was late and dark last night, so ya might be mistaken.”
Ira and Luke turned toward him, their eyebrows riding high. They were putting on their heavy flannel shir
ts, preparing for another day of plowing the snow-covered lanes around Willow Ridge.
“There was a full moon,” Ira replied pointedly, “and with it glowin’ on the white snow, it was almost as light as day. Perfect night for a sleigh ride, too. When we saw a car stopped on the road, I headed the horse in that direction, thinkin’ they might be havin’ trouble.”
It was a plausible enough explanation, but it still didn’t set right. Surely Rhoda wouldn’t have put herself in such a compromising position. She’d only worked for that Leitner fellow about a week.
“And jah, you’re gonna ride my rear again about bein’ irresponsible, not yet joinin’ the church,” Ira challenged. “But Rhoda is a member. And she knows better than to be ridin’ in a car with that English fella she’s workin’ for, let alone kissin’ him.”
“Might’ve been her. Might not’ve been him,” Ben insisted, yet he sensed he was clutching at straws. “Could be she called a different driver, rather than askin’ Sheila Dougherty to fetch her at such a late hour—”
“And she was kissin’ him?” Ira retorted. “I don’t think so, Bennie.”
Ben stepped into the untidy bedroom, wishing he didn’t have to mention this to Miriam first thing this morning. But Millie Glick was a close friend of the bishop’s daughter, Annie Mae, and Hiram would be calling on the Lantz women as soon as he got a whiff of this. “My point is, little brother, that shootin’ off your mouth can only bring trouble to a family who’s been awfully gut to ya. Ya wouldn’t have your mill if it weren’t for Miriam settin’ up the transaction with the bank, and standin’ up to Hiram when he was none too happy about this land changin’ hands,” he said, crossing his arms. “And Rhoda’s sister is gettin’ your website up and runnin’—without you even havin’ to ask her. Or pay her.”
“Are ya sayin’ I’m supposed to lie?” Ira asked in a tight voice.
“No harm in keepin’ what ya know to yourself. It’ll be you in the hot seat one of these days, Ira,” Ben pointed out. “And if ya upset the applecart with Miriam and her girls about this incident, they might not be so happy to help ya out anymore. Just sayin’.”
Ira dropped his suspenders over his shoulders to hook up his pants, apparently done discussing this subject. Luke had finished dressing, so he followed Ben back to the kitchen, where a thin trail of smoke was rising from the bread toasting in the oven. While Ben rescued the bread, swishing the air with a towel, Luke reached for three of the plates on the new shelf.
“What do you make of Ira’s story?” he asked quietly. “If Millie talks to Annie Mae, there’s no tellin’ how much further it’ll spread, no matter how Ira and I insist the girls keep this under their kapps.”
“Jah, there’s that,” Ben agreed. “And if Rhoda was caught in the act, there’s no changin’ what she did, either. I just hate for Miriam to catch any more heat from Hiram. Things’ve been perty quiet with him under the ban, but he’ll see it as his duty to keep Rhoda from strayin’ off the path. And rightly so.”
When Ira joined them at the small kitchen table, the three of them ate buttered bread and the eggs Ben had scrambled. They shared little table talk except to agree that breakfast at the Sweet Seasons seemed the better way to start their mornings, even if it meant a hike over there before returning to the mill. No dishes to wash that way, and no burnt smell lingering in the apartment.
But tossing the three pieces of black toast to the birds was the least of Ben’s concerns. He hitched Pharaoh to the Lantz’s plow blade, waving as his brothers headed to the eastern end of town to help clear the unpaved roads Willow Ridge kids walked to reach the schoolhouse. As Ben re-plowed the shoulder of the county blacktop so Plain folks had more room to drive their buggies, he thought about how to mention last night’s incident to Miriam . . . especially because Preacher Tom’s rig was parked at the café, along with several others, even though it wasn’t yet fully light.
Ben pulled up in front of the smithy, which was directly behind Miriam’s bakery. Through the back door he went into the kitchen, figuring his fiancée would be pulling something fabulous from her ovens or helping Naomi refill the steam table with fresh muffins or biscuits. As he stomped the snow from his boots, Miriam’s eyes lit up—and oh, how those eyes warmed him like hot cocoa as she came over for a quick kiss.
“Mornin’ to ya, Ben,” she murmured. “You’ve got a way of showin’ up just in time to sample things. I took chocolate date bread outta the oven a while ago, and I recommend a little cream cheese or honey butter on it.”
Naomi wiggled her fingers at him from the stove, where she stirred a pot of fragrant chili they’d be serving for lunch. Hannah was out front waiting tables. “Rhoda not feelin’ up to snuff this morning?” he asked as he joined Miriam by the back counter, where she’d been slicing loaves of dark, sweet-smelling bread. The swish-swish of the dishwasher would mask their talk.
Miriam handed him a honey-buttered slice of the chocolate bread, her expression tight. “Rhoda stayed late at the Leitners’ last night, while Andy patched up a bunch of kids after their bus got hit by an eighteen-wheeler,” she murmured. “All well and gut, that part. But when I quizzed her about why his car had stopped in the road . . . well, her moony-eyed smile told the tale. I’m not one bit happy about it, either.”
Ben let out the breath he’d been holding. “Jah, well, I’m afraid ya weren’t the only one who figured out what she and her driver were up to,” he replied beneath the noise of the dishwasher. “Ira and Millie Glick were out sleigh ridin’. Thought the folks in the stopped car might be havin’ trouble—and then saw what they were doin’ in there. Knew it was Rhoda gettin’ out, too.”
Miriam closed her eyes in distress only a mother would know. “Oh, but I hate to hear that. Millie can’t keep her mouth shut to save her soul—but then, it’s Rhoda’s soul we need to be concerned about, ain’t so? Much as I respect Andy Leitner for becomin’ a nurse, nothin’ gut can come of this. And Rhoda talks on and on about his kids and his mamm.” She blinked rapidly, determined not to cry. “Hearts are gonna get broken, but there’s no way around it. She can’t keep workin’ for him. And she’d best go straight to Preacher Tom and confess before he—or Hiram—hears about it second hand.”
Rhoda opened her eyes and gawked at the clock on the yellow kitchen wall: 7:30!
Mamma had told her to get her rest after such a long day—no sense in dropping dishes or burning herself on the stove from being exhausted—but she couldn’t recall the last time she’d been in bed this late. She washed up at the bathroom sink, scrambled into clean clothes, and wound her hair into a fresh bun.
But when Andy’s face flashed in her mind, she came to a complete standstill, suspended in her memories . . . recalling the way he had reached for her at the moment she had leaned toward him in the darkness. Their souls had connected in some inexplicable way until sheer joy had shimmered between them.
Then Rhoda hung her head. How could kisses that had felt so right, so beautiful, be so very wrong?
Andy said it wasn’t his intent to get me into trouble, Lord, and I knew better than to kiss him, too, and yet . . . it happened. Even if Mamma figured out what we were doin’, I can’t feel sorry about that kiss. I just can’t!
Much as she didn’t want to enter the Sweet Seasons and deal with the disapproval in her mother’s eyes, there was nothing to do but show up for work. By the looks of the buggies in the lot, several folks were eating breakfast this morning.
Has Mamma told Naomi? Has she said anything to Rachel?
It would be just as difficult to face her twin sister as it was to handle Mamma’s disappointment. Rachel had been properly courted by an Amish boy, both of them already members of the church. True enough, their sister Rebecca’s dramatic return had made some waves in their relationship last summer, but Rachel had never doubted that Micah Brenneman was the right man for her. They’d grown up next door to each other and had been sweethearts for most of their lives.
I wish it were simpler to f
ind the right man, the right path, Lord.
Rhoda wrapped her shawl around her shoulders for the dash between the smithy and the back door of the café. Was it wrong to express such wishes to God? Did He get tired of her whining? It had been easy enough to assure Andy last night that God was love, and that all people were His children, made of that same love . . . but it was another thing altogether to justify their behavior with that statement today. No matter how she felt about those kisses, or about Andy Leitner, she knew better than to cross the line between Amish and English.
Rhoda stepped inside the kitchen and stomped the snow from her high-topped shoes. The warmth from the ovens wrapped around her as the fragrances of bacon and cinnamon filled her soul with their sweet richness.
“Mornin’ to ya!” Naomi called over from the fridge. She was taking out several pounds of ground meat, which would go into the soup for today’s lunch, so Rhoda grabbed the fridge door and steadied the heavy pan as Naomi lowered it. “Sounds like ya had a mighty long day yesterday, Rhoda, but it’s gut ya were there with Mr. Leitner’s kids when he had to stay so late at the hospital.”
How much did Naomi know? Even though her tone and smile were as warm as ever, Rhoda again realized the weight of last night’s behavior . . . how it would affect every little conversation until her sin was out in the open. The only cure was to confess. Because Bishop Knepp was under the ban, he wouldn’t be the man she’d go to, but it wasn’t any easier having to tell Preacher Tom what she’d gotten herself entangled in. Even though Tom Hostetler was a good friend, he might require her to kneel in confession in front of the whole church.
I can’t deal with that this morning. Not until I’ve sorted out my feelings . . . and maybe enjoyed the fact that Andy thought I was worth kissin’, for just a little longer. Is it a sin to feel gut, to feel perty, after the way so many local fellas have passed me by?
Rhoda blinked away her musings. “Jah, I think Andy’s mamm was glad to have me there, too,” she remarked as she hung up her shawl. “I was real surprised she wanted me to sew a couple of dresses—Plain, like we wear—so’s it’ll be easier for her to dress herself without any buttons. And she wanted aprons, too!”
Winter of Wishes Page 10