The Hope

by Patricia Davids

  He rose to his feet. “Okay. Thanks for breakfast. Grace, do you want to help me in the barn or help Ruth here in the house?”

  “I want to go with you. Do I have to stay here tonight?”

  “Nee, you can come home with me. I thought you wanted to stay with Ruth.”

  “I got scared without you.”

  Ruth smiled at her. “You can stay with me anytime you like. I will finish my housework and then we can both help Owen with the sheep. How does that sound?”

  “Goot,” Grace replied with a grin.

  For the rest of the day Owen and Ruth worked to herd most of the sheep in from the large pasture to the smaller one. He knew they could collect any strays in a day or two. Together they worked to make the catch pen secure. Faron had been lax in his efforts to make it escape-proof. By the end of the day they were satisfied with their results. After a light supper Owen rose and said, “We should be getting home.”

  Ruth laid her dish by the sink. “I’ll walk with you part of the way. It’s a nice night out and I’m not feeling sleepy.”

  “Don’t expect me to object. I enjoy your company.” He had no objections, but he was surprised, to say the least. He thought he detected a blush in her cheeks, but he could have been mistaken. The lamplight’s soft glow was flattering to her complexion.

  He tore his gaze away. He needed to practice ignoring such thoughts because she had accepted him as a friend. Noticing the attractive curve of her cheeks, her slender neck and the fullness of her lips were not observations that a friend would make.

  “You’re staring at me. Do I have something on my face?” She brushed her mouth and chin.

  He tightened his lips. “You did, but you got it.” He turned away, hoping she didn’t ask for more of an explanation. “Grace, are you ready to go back to our place?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Let’s clear the table for Ruth so she doesn’t have to come back to a mess after our walk.” He carried his dish and tableware to the sink and began rinsing them.

  “Okay.” Grace got down and began carrying plates and glasses to the counter beside the sink.

  “Danki, both of you,” Ruth said. “I miss having my daughter help me with my chores. We were always laughing about something.”

  “I’ll make you laugh.” Grace stuck out her tongue and pulled her cheeks down away from her eyes, making an ugly face. Then she began to spin in a circle. She quickly made herself dizzy and staggered to the side. Both Owen and Ruth reached for her. It was Ruth who caught her before she fell.

  Owen made eye contact with Ruth and rolled his eyes. “Hilarious.”

  Ruth giggled. “It was pretty funny.”

  Grace grinned at her success. Owen took her hand and led her to the entryway, where he helped her put on her coat. He fastened it and then slipped on his own jacket. The worst of winter seemed to be over, but there was still a chill in the evenings.

  Ruth wrapped a dark maroon shawl over her shoulders. Owen held open the door and ushered his ladies outside.

  A three-quarter moon was just rising. It gave plenty of light to see by once Owen’s eyes adjusted. The white sheep stood out sharply against the grass that looked dark gray in the moonlight. There was only a slight breeze and it was warmer than he had expected. “Spring is definitely on its way,” he said as he buttoned his jacket.

  “But it’s not here yet. I’m waiting for the smell of it. Then it will be here.”

  He knew exactly what she meant. The loamy scent of warming earth mixed with the freshest new growing grass and early flowers was what he was looking for, too.

  They began walking down Ruth’s lane with Grace between them. They hadn’t gone far when she reached up and took each of their hands. “Swing me.”

  Owen groaned. “My bones are too old and too tired to swing a big girl like you.”

  “I’m not a big girl. Ruth is a big girl.”

  He chuckled. Ruth sent him a stern look. “If you make any remark, you will be doing your own cooking until Ernest returns.”

  “You wound me. I wasn’t going to say anything.”

  “Ha. Like I believe that.”

  “Owen, swing me, please?” Grace asked again.

  He looked at Ruth. “Ready?”

  She nodded. Together they lifted Grace off her feet and swung her between them. She squealed with delight. They ended up repeating the fun a dozen or so times until they reached the county road. They stopped and Grace skipped along the edge of the blacktop toward Ernest’s farm. Owen found himself at a loss for words as he stood in the moonlight with Ruth beside him. She crossed her arms but didn’t seem in a hurry to leave. He pushed his hands deep in his pockets. A strange connection seemed to stretch between them pulling him closer. He took a single step.

  She didn’t retreat but she hitched her shawl higher and stared at the ground. “The dishes won’t do themselves. I should go.”

  She really should or he was going to kiss her and that would be a bigger mistake than anything he had done so far. Jeopardizing their fragile friendship was the last thing he intended to do. “We will see you in the morning. Good night.”

  “Guten nacht, Owen.”

  Grace held up her arms. Ruth bent down. Grace kissed her cheek and patted Ruth’s face. “You have sweet dreams from the dreamland tree.”

  “Danki, and the same to you.”

  “And to Owen,” Grace said.

  Ruth straightened and glanced shyly at him. “And to Owen.”

  She turned and walked toward home. Owen stood watching her until her figure was lost in the darkness.

  * * *

  RUTH WASHED HER face the next morning, patted her skin dry and stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Grace’s wish for her had come true. She had dreamed of Owen, of walking hand in hand with him down a long and winding road. A sweet dream that had ended abruptly as he was about to kiss her. The ring of her battery-powered alarm clock had jolted her awake. It had taken a moment to realize it was only a dream. She’d sprung out of bed determined to forget the whole thing.

  She stared at the woman in the mirror. “You will not fall for Owen Mast. Not even in a silly dream. He’s leaving, and you are staying here, where you belong. Is that understood?”

  Her reflection nodded once, but her eyes held doubts. Ruth sighed. It wasn’t too late to take her own advice, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. There was so much depth to Owen, something she had never expected. Every time she discovered something new about him, it only made her want to know more.

  He had been a serious teen, older than his years back when they were going out. She had known that he suffered deeply from the loss of his family. Ruth realized she had been drawn to him because of it. She had wanted to ease his pain, but Owen had excelled at keeping people at arm’s length. Even the girl who thought she was in love with him never knew him well.

  “At least I’ll be too busy to give him a second thought for the next two weeks.”

  With that thought firmly in mind, she went down to prepare a breakfast of hot oatmeal sprinkled with cinnamon and loaded with raisins. She reached for the egg basket and then remembered Grace wanted to gather the eggs for her that morning. By the time she set the table and had the coffee brewing, the outside door opened and in walked Owen. She waited but Grace didn’t follow.

  “Did you leave her at home?” Ruth turned back to stir the oatmeal.

  “We may wish I had before the day is over. She has gone to gather the eggs for you. She insisted on bringing her own egg basket in case you didn’t have one. She also wants to fix lunch for us again and brought the marshmallow creme to make church spread.”

  “At least she likes to be prepared. Any word from the sheriff?”

  “Nothing. If he must declare her an abandoned child, the Englisch court system will decide her fate.”

&nb
sp; “Surely Bishop Weaver won’t allow that. The child is Amish. The bishop should be the one who decides what happens to her.”

  “The sheriff doesn’t want to open a custody can of worms. He is ready to say her mother left her. I’m not ready to agree with him.”

  “But there has been no sign of her or the car. Even the biggest snowdrifts are nearly melted except those in the heavy shade.”

  Grace came in the door carefully carrying a wicker basket filled above the brim with eggs. Ruth hurried to take them from her before they rolled out.

  Grace blew out a sigh of relief. “Whew, you have a lot of chickens.”

  Ruth caught Owen’s eye. He was trying not to laugh. She set the basket on the counter. “I do. Tomorrow you should use my basket. It’s bigger.”

  “Maybe we should have fried chicken for a few days,” Owen suggested. Both Grace and Ruth scowled at him. He held up both hands. “Just a suggestion.”

  Grace shook her head. “Not a very goot one.”

  Ruth scrambled the eggs, adding crumbled sausage, cheese and minced onions to the mixture. She dished everything up and took a seat at the table. Everyone bowed their heads to say a silent blessing. Grace peeked with one eye to see if Owen was finished. Ruth tried not to laugh. Owen remained still and quiet in silent prayer. When Grace peeked at him a second time, Ruth couldn’t hold back a giggle. She pressed a hand to her lips, hoping he hadn’t heard. Her hope was in vain.

  He raised his head and fixed his gaze on her. He arched one eyebrow in a silent question.

  Grace began loading her plate with eggs. “That was a really long prayer, Owen. You should learn a shorter one.”

  Ruth began laughing, and he quickly joined her. Their eyes met across the table. Her laughter died away as did his. The intensity of his gaze stirred the memory of her dream and brought to mind their kiss so many years ago. What would it be like if he kissed her now?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ON SUNDAY MORNING Ruth slowly sliced her fresh loaves of bread. She would pack them in her basket along with a jar of church spread, two pint jars of beets and a plate of brownies. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t looking forward to attending church services. She knew speculation about Grace would be the primary focus of the visiting after the service. She also knew her association with Owen was going to be scrutinized by the people of her church. The problem was she didn’t have a clear understanding in her own mind about her relationship with Owen.

  She had agreed to a friendship. That was all she wanted but it didn’t seem to be working out that way. There were times when he seemed lonely and in need of comfort and then there were times when he seemed like a jovial fellow who didn’t need anyone. Which man was he? Or was he both? Sometimes when she caught him looking at her, she thought she saw more than friendship in the depths of his eyes.

  Did it really matter when he was going to be leaving in a few weeks?

  In truth it didn’t, but she wasn’t sure how the church community was going to accept their situation. Owen wasn’t any relation to her. He was her deceased husband’s cousin. While Ernest had made it clear that Owen was looking after his farm, the majority of people knew Owen would be coming to her place every day, too. She was thankful for Grace’s presence, in that it would stem some of the gossip. Her reputation in the community would surely keep speculation about them to a minimum, but there were always a few people who liked to stir the pot and see what bubbled to the top.

  Was Owen prepared for some subtle interrogation about their relationship? How could she broach the subject with him without causing them both undue embarrassment? Was it best to say nothing and hope he took it in stride? Or should she warn him and offer suggestions?

  She was sure that she could count on Bishop Weaver’s support. He knew all there was to know about Grace and her situation. She hoped he would call on her if others found the situation objectionable. It wasn’t like Owen was living in her house now that her children were gone.

  Finishing one loaf, she slipped it into a plastic bag and closed it tightly. She tipped another loaf from the pan but stood contemplating her dilemma instead of slicing the bread.

  “You’re deep in thought.”

  Startled, Ruth spun around. The knife slipped from her hand and stuck in the floor a few inches from his left foot. He tipped his head slightly as he stared at the utensil. “What is it with you gals and knives? I’m glad I have on a good pair of boots. That might have cost me a toe.”

  She reached down and retrieved her knife. “You scared me.”

  “I’ll try not to do that again. At least not when you’re armed.”

  “Did you want something?”

  “I was wondering if I could drive you to church this morning? Grace is outside in Ernest’s buggy. We’ll wait if you aren’t quite ready.”

  “Don’t you think that would lead to speculation about us?”

  He frowned. “Speculation? I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “I mean, don’t you think driving me to church will give people the wrong idea about us?”

  “Maybe. What would be the right idea about us?”

  “That we’re not in a romantic relationship.”

  “Oh. And driving you to church will cause people to think we are involved with each other beyond the farmwork? It seems to me that driving you to church is a kindness that my uncle often extended to you and I’m here taking his place.”

  “I understand. I’m just saying not everyone will.”

  “So just to be clear, you don’t want me to take you to church?”

  She turned around and began slicing her bread again. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You do want me to take you?”

  “It would be very kind of you. I suppose we can ignore any gossip that your kindness stirs up.”

  “What if I promise to start a public argument with you? Do you think that would do the trick?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “That would be deceitful.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not sure about that.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you are a woman who likes to argue over the silliest things. And gossip that hasn’t happened yet certainly qualifies. Grace and I are on our way to church. If you don’t come with us, what will the gossips say about that since you obviously seem to know what other people are thinking?”

  “They may think we don’t get along.”

  “Or they might think badly of me for not offering to take you since I had to come right by your farm.”

  “This is ridiculous.”

  “My point exactly. Grace and I will be waiting outside.”

  Ruth fumed as he walked out the door, but she quickly reminded herself that wasn’t the frame of mind she should be in while attending the prayer service. She drew a deep breath and finished packing her basket. She brushed the crumbs off her Sunday dress and apron, straightened her freshly washed and ironed kapp, donned her maroon cloak and best black bonnet and carried her basket out the door. No matter what anyone said, she would present a calm and unruffled front.

  Owen was staring straight ahead over the horse’s back. Grace smiled and waved. “We’re going to church. I’m going to meet lots of other children, and I might even get to hold Caleb again. Come sit beside me.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at the giddy child. It was amazing how quickly Grace had come out of her shell. “I’m delighted that you stopped to offer me a ride. I would’ve been late by the time I hitched up Licorice.”

  She hoped that Owen accepted her offhand apology and realized that she was grateful.

  He glanced her way. “Happy to be of service.”

  They weren’t late, but they were some of the last to arrive at the home of Thomas and Abigail Troyer. The couple’s short lane was already lined with the black buggies
of the people who had reached the farm ahead of them. There wasn’t a single tractor in sight. Transportation to church could only be on foot or by buggy. Although they farmed with modern equipment, the “wheeled Amish,” as they were often called, had to attend services as their parents and grandparents had done.

  Thomas farmed and ran an engine repair business on the side. The services were to be held in the hayloft of his spacious new barn. An earthen ramp led to the loft at the rear of the barn so no one had to climb a ladder. The gray boxlike bench wagon sat at the top of the ramp, where men were unloading it and setting the seats in rows with an aisle between them. When they finished, Thomas’s son Peter turned the horses around and drove them down the ramp and parked beside the house.

  Owen stopped at the buggy behind it. Ruth got out with Grace. Owen handed her a smaller basket. “What’s this?” she asked.

  “My contribution to the lunch after the service. It’s one of the casseroles the ladies made for Ernest and me. I didn’t want to come empty-handed.” He slapped the reins on the horse’s back and drove to the end of the buggy line. Thomas’s second son, Andy, helped him unhitch the animal and lead it to the corral, where a long row of horses still wearing their harnesses were munching hay.

  Ruth went in the house and into the kitchen, where Abigail Troyer was directing other women setting out the dishes they had brought. Abigail hurried over to Ruth. She smiled at Grace. “You must be the little girl we’ve heard so much about. Welcome. Glad you could join us today. If you would like to go down to the basement, where the other children are playing, I can show you the way. My son Melvin is down there.”

  Grace wore a worried frown as she looked up at Ruth. “Is it safe?”

  Ruth nodded. “It’s very safe, and I see Laura Beth is here so that must mean Caleb is downstairs, too.”

  That convinced Grace. She followed Abigail to the basement steps and went down to join the other noisy preschoolers being watched over by two of the young women from the district.