The Hope

by Patricia Davids

  Abigail shook her head as Grace went down the stairs. “The poor child. Is there still no sign of her mother?”

  “Nothing as far as I know. We’re grateful for all the hours Thomas and the others have put in searching for her.”

  “They will continue to look until the last snowbank has melted. No one is holding out much hope of finding her alive, but I still pray for that.”

  “So do I.”

  Ruth answered dozens of questions about Grace. To her surprise, no one mentioned Owen. Once the food was readied, the children were called from the basement and the women filed out of the house to the barn. The men were already seated. The married women, including Ruth, took their places on the front benches while the unmarried girls and women took their places behind them. Grace, because she was considered too young to sit by herself, had a place beside Ruth.

  The song leader announced the first hymn and the rustle of pages filled the air as everyone picked up their songbooks, the Ausbund, and thumbed through them. One of the men started the song and everyone joined in. There was no music and no musical notation in the Ausbund. The hymns were sung from memory, having been passed down through generations of Amish worshippers. Ruth held the book so Grace could see the words. She was too young to read the German language, but not too young to begin learning the songs themselves.

  The bishop and his minister came in and began the service that would last approximately four hours. There were no notes. No typed-up sermon. The men had decided on the topic prior to entering and spoke from the heart as God moved them.

  Ruth knew Owen would be seated toward the back of the men. She was tempted to look back but knew it would only draw attention to her. She tried to keep her mind focused on the words of the sermon. Had anyone asked him about her?

  When the service was finally over, Ruth turned Grace over to the two young, unmarried girls who were in charge of the babies and toddlers after assuring her they were also safe people. She went in the house to begin serving the meal. The men stacked some of the benches into tables and the congregation began eating in shifts.

  When everyone was finished eating, the dishes were cleared, the benches loaded back into the bench wagon and people formed up in family groups or groups of friends to visit. The youngsters began a game of volleyball. Ruth was sitting beside Abigail and Laura Beth and a group of several other women when Granny Weaver approached her.

  “How is your knee?”

  “Much better.” She extended her foot and moved it up and down. “It aches at night some.”

  “I’m glad it wasn’t more serious. How is Owen Mast working out as your hired man?”

  At least Granny seemed to understand the situation. “Fine. He seems to know his way around sheep. Of course, everyone has been too busy with the search parties to get much work done.”

  Granny Weaver nodded slowly. “And the child? How is she? Have we learned who she is?”

  “Still nothing more than her first name and her age.”

  “Very strange business. I heard she is greatly attached to Owen. I can’t blame her. He is a nice-looking fellow with a sweet disposition, don’t you think?” Granny Weaver tipped her head slightly as she waited for Ruth to answer.

  Ruth could feel the heat of a blush rising up her neck. She wasn’t prepared for such a pointed question. “He’s well-enough-looking. As for his disposition, I don’t think my sheep really care.”

  Granny Weaver threw back her head and laughed. “Well said. I must come out and visit little Grace one of these days.”

  “You are always welcome in my home.”

  When Granny walked away, Abigail leaned closer. “I don’t think you convinced her.”

  “Convinced her of what?”

  “That you don’t like Owen.”

  “I never said I didn’t like him. I said my sheep don’t care about his disposition.”

  “Which means you do care,” Laura Beth said. “There’s nothing wrong with considering taking another husband. You’ve been a widow for four years. Many of us thought you would marry before now.”

  Ruth couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I’m only going to say this once. I am not looking for another husband. And if I was, I certainly wouldn’t consider Owen Mast a potential spouse. And I don’t want to hear anything like this again. Especially not from my friends.”

  She surged to her feet and spun around. Owen was standing a few yards away with Joshua and Thomas. The hurt in his eyes pierced her heart. She wanted to sink into the ground.

  He raised his hands and clapped softly. “Much more effective than a public argument.”

  He turned and walked away. Ruth reached out her hand but then let it fall to her side. She wouldn’t have to worry that their friendship was turning into something deeper. It was unlikely he would consider her his friend after this.

  * * *

  OWEN WALKED AWAY from the farmhouse with long strides. He didn’t care where he was going, he just wanted to get away. He heard what he had expected to hear. He just wasn’t expecting it to hurt so much. What a fool he was to cherish the secret hope that she could care for him. He might’ve been denying it to himself, but he faced the facts squarely now. He was already half in love with Ruth and he didn’t know how to undo those feelings. At least he hadn’t said anything to her. It was some consolation after hearing her insist that she would never consider him for a spouse. He couldn’t replace Nathan in her mind or in her heart.

  At the moment he could cheerfully buy a ticket on the first bus leaving town and not even ask where it was going.

  And that would leave Ruth in a bind and no one to take care of his uncle’s farm. He couldn’t run out on her. Not again.

  He was stuck in Cedar Grove for another month. How was he going to endure working with her every day knowing how she felt about him? He kicked a pebble with the toe of his boot.

  “Owen, I’m sorry you heard that.” She spoke from behind him.

  He didn’t turn around. “You should never be sorry for telling the truth.”

  “It wasn’t actually the truth.” She took a step closer.

  He stared off into the distance. Did he dare believe her? “Which part wasn’t true? That you’re not looking for a husband or that you’d never consider me in that role?”

  “It was an awful thing to say and I’m sorry. I wasn’t ready to talk about something so personal.”

  He turned to look at her. “You could’ve told them that we’re just friends.”

  “I wish I had said that. I don’t know why I blew up at everyone.”

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I like you, Ruth. I’ve always liked you.”

  “I’ve always liked you, too, although sometimes it is hard to remember that.”

  That made him smile. “It seems we have spent a lot of time hurting each other to disguise that fact.”

  “I’m willing to put it all behind me if you can.”

  “Where would that leave us?” he asked.

  “Maybe we could work on becoming the friends that Nathan wanted us to be. I know you’re not going to be around for long, but I want you to feel free to come back as often as you’d like.”

  “You just don’t want to lose a free sheep shearer.”

  Her lips lifted in a half grin. “There is that.”

  He gestured toward the house with his chin. “What are we going to tell people?”

  She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “We will leave them guessing.”

  “All right. We, you and I, are two people who will try to be friends.” He started walking back toward the house and she fell into step beside him. He glanced at her pensive face, but he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. How much of her apology was because it was expected of her and how much of it did she really mean?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  AFTER CHURCH OWEN
and Grace spent a quiet day at his uncle’s farm. They read a couple of stories he had borrowed from Ruth and he helped Grace learn to read some new words. She was an attentive and eager learner and Owen found the teaching to be a pleasant distraction. He wasn’t up to facing Ruth and chose to have warmed up chicken casserole for supper instead of going to her home to eat. He forgave her, but he didn’t know if their friendship could recover. He thought she had been making progress in trusting him, but he wasn’t sure of her real feelings.

  He spent most of the night wrestling with his own emotions. He cared deeply for Ruth, but his feelings weren’t returned and never would be. She had apologized for the things she’d said and the way she’d said them, but he knew underneath her apology that she had spoken the truth. She wasn’t looking to marry again, and he wasn’t someone she would consider, but at least she still wanted to be friends.

  Friendship was the only solution open to him. Maybe becoming Ruth’s friend was God’s plan for him all along.

  He could be a good friend. Someone who could put his own feelings aside and do what needed to be done for her until his uncle and her son returned. Then he would go back to Shipshewana with a clear conscience, knowing he had proved she could depend on him. After that he would focus on helping Rebecca, get to know his sister, and maybe he could finally find the sense of peace and belonging that had eluded him for years.

  On Monday morning he tried to race through his chores at Ernest’s place while Grace was still asleep, but he discovered some of the cattle had gotten out of the corral. It took him a good half hour to find them, round them up and repair the fence they had pushed down. After that he started the tractor and let it warm up before getting Grace dressed for the day.

  On the way to Ruth’s home he wondered how he should act. Would things be stilted and uncomfortable between them? Or could they truly put the past behind them and work on becoming friends?

  Once he reached her house and went inside with Grace leading the way, he immediately sensed the tension in the air. Ruth’s smile appeared forced and she had trouble meeting his eyes. “Good morning, I hope you are ready for breakfast.”

  “Yep, I’m hungry.” Grace climbed onto a chair at the table.

  “Just coffee for me,” he said, moving to get it himself.

  After a silent prayer Grace dug into her oatmeal. Ruth pushed her eggs around on her plate but didn’t eat much. He sipped his coffee, trying not to stare at her. It was going to be a long month if this was how it was going to play out.

  “Grace, are you ready to help shear the sheep today?” he asked.

  She nodded vigorously. “Yep. What does that mean?”

  Ruth smiled at the child. “It means we take off their heavy winter coats.”

  Grace tipped her head to the side. “Where are the buttons?”

  Ruth chuckled. “They don’t have buttons. We have to cut their fleece off with clippers, collect the wool. And then I sell it.”

  “Buttons would be easier,” Owen said, fighting back a smile.

  “Zippers would be easier yet.” Ruth grinned at him and his heavy heart grew lighter.

  “No zippers,” Grace said seriously. “Not for Amish sheep.”

  She looked bemused as both Ruth and Owen laughed. He thanked God for the child who could smooth rough waters without even trying.

  Ruth folded her arms across her chest. “I hope you have forgiven me for my unkind words yesterday.”

  He looked at her from the corner of his eye. “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On when I get another apple pie.”

  She chuckled. “If we get through shearing and lambing without tearing each other’s hair out, I will make you a dozen apple pies.”

  “Then you are forgiven, and we can be friends.”

  He grinned but he already knew he would have trouble living up to his end of the bargain. The longer he stayed, the harder it was going to be to keep his true feelings for her hidden.

  * * *

  RUTH WAS ABLE to relax and finish her breakfast. Owen disrupted her peace of mind, but once Ernest and Faron returned, Owen would leave and her life would get back to normal. Until then she would make an effort to foster the friendship between them for Grace’s sake. Upsetting the child was the last thing either of them wanted.

  She glanced covertly at him as he teased Grace about getting more oatmeal on her napkin than in her mouth. His obvious affection for Grace cast him in a different light than she was used to seeing. His eyes twinkled with humor. His smile deepened the creases in his lean cheeks. He had a habit of brushing his hair off his forehead by smoothing it back with one hand, but the stubborn curls would quickly drop into place again. He needed a haircut, but she didn’t offer. She liked the way his curls softened his otherwise-solid features. When he caught her staring, his smile widened, and she smiled back.

  After breakfast they went out to the barn. Ruth had penned up the sheep the night before being careful to keep the Icelandic sheep together to be shorn last. They were still in the open pen. They would spend tomorrow night in the barn.

  Two hours later she and Owen had portable fence sections in place to form an alleyway and the catch pen. Ruth moved the first twenty animals out of the barn and into the pen. Owen looked at Grace. “Your job today is to keep the floor clean around where I’m working. Brush away any straw or dirt so it doesn’t get into the wool.” He handed her a broom. She began to sweep the wooden floor.

  When she was finished, she looked up at him. “Is that good enough?”

  He nodded. “Pretty much perfect. Ruth, are you ready?”

  “I am.”

  “Bring in the first one.”

  Ruth separated one sheep from the bunch. Placing her hand under the jaw and around the nose, she lifted the ewe’s head and placed her other hand on the animal’s hindquarters. Pushing against the sheep with her thigh, she backed the animal to the shearing platform. Owen grabbed the animal, lifted it and laid it down on its side, gripping its neck with his knees. While he was cutting the fleece off, Ruth made a note of the animal’s ear tag number in her logbook along with notations about the animal’s overall health. She would enter the number of lambs the females delivered in the spring and eventually sell animals that had poor wool quality or were getting old.

  Owen’s first attempt at shearing resulted in the fleece coming off in several sections instead of one neat piece. “You have done this before, right?” Ruth asked, making sure he noticed the twinkle in her eye.

  He did, and he grinned in return. “I need a little practice, that’s all.”

  “A little practice. Does that mean you want a smaller sheep next time?”

  “Are you forgetting something? Aren’t you in charge of deworming?”

  “Oh, I am.” She jumped toward the medications lined up on the counter and drew up the correct amount in a syringe and squirted it into the animal’s mouth.

  Owen released the naked-looking ewe, and she galloped toward the outer door. He rolled up the fleece and tossed it into a bin, then stood up straight. “One down, seventy-nine to go. Grace, sweep the floor for me.”

  She hopped up to do her job. Ruth smiled at her eagerness. She was determined to be as much help as she could. Grace patted the pile of fleece. “Why are we taking their coats off?”

  Ruth stepped back into the catch pen. “It is important to shear the ewes before their babies are born. If the weather turns cold or rainy during the lambing season, most of the ewes will seek shelter in the barn rather than have their lambs out in the open, where the wet and cold could kill the newborns.”

  “Having healthy lambs is important to Ruth. She will earn money when she sells them, so we want all of them to survive,” Owen said, adjusting the shears on his hand. “Let me have the next one.”

  Ruth noticed the vigor in the way Grace tackled her job. Sh
e was going to wear herself out if she kept trying so hard. “Pace yourself, Grace. We have a lot more to do.”

  When Grace had the floors cleared, Owen gestured to Ruth. “Bring me another one.”

  “As soon as I finish this note.” She flipped through the pages of her record book and quickly made a comment.

  “Never mind. I’ll get one.” By the time she finished writing, he had the fleece off and allowed the ewe to regain her feet. He was getting faster. Bleating loudly, the ewe scampered down the runway and out into the corral beyond.

  “I’m ready. Bring me the next one.”

  “Aren’t you going to roll up the fleece?” Ruth asked.

  “I’ll wait till we have a few piled up. Then we will clean and bag them.”

  “Grace can clean them.”

  “Yeah, I want to help,” Grace replied, nearly bouncing in her eagerness.

  “Come here and I’ll show you what to do.” Ruth couldn’t help smiling at the child’s enthusiasm. Ruth knelt by the shorn fleece and began removing twigs, straw and any mud balls from the wool.

  Grace nodded and began work on the fleece while Ruth grabbed the next one and moved it within Owen’s reach. He pulled it from the pen and proceeded to shear it. They went through the morning without difficulty. Sometimes, Ruth managed to have one ready for him, sometimes he had to step in and help her.

  At noon, Ruth wiped the sweat from her brow. She was breathing hard but pleased with their accomplishments so far. “That was the last one in this first bunch. Are you ready for a break?”

  He laid the shears on a nearby table. “My stomach is complaining that I skipped breakfast.”

  “You should have said something. We could have stopped earlier.”

  “I wanted to get the first bunch done. You two go on up to the house. I’ll sharpen my shears, sweep off the platform and we’ll be ready to start again when we come back.”

  Grace grimaced as she rubbed her hands together. “My fingers feel icky.”