First Light in Morning Star Page 3

  Had he sounded rude or abrupt? As he headed toward the other shops, he hoped the new teacher hadn’t picked up on his mixed feelings about her sympathies for Glenn. He spoke briefly with Martha Maude and Anne Hartzler in their quilting shop, accepted a fresh brownie from Jo in her bakery, and exchanged a few words with Martin in the Flaud Furniture shop.

  When he stepped outside again, Jude’s voice was still ringing above the crowd as he raised the bid on boxes of green cabbage that the women were probably buying to make kraut—although some of the folks in the crowd ran restaurants and cafés in nearby towns, as well. Jeremiah started toward the corral behind the rustic red stable, whistling for his dapple-gray Percheron gelding. He felt strangely restless and uninterested in the goings-on at The Marketplace, needing to retreat to the stillness of his porch and the pastures that surrounded his home.

  He swung himself up onto his horse’s broad bare back. As Jeremiah rode toward the county highway, he murmured, “Let’s go home, Mitch. Careful now—there are lots of cars out because it’s Saturday.”

  The Percheron’s spotted ears stood up as he listened. Mitch followed the white plank fence that surrounded The Marketplace’s grounds, remaining in the mowed grass beside it and as far from the traffic as he could walk. When the traffic lights at the intersection of Morning Star’s main street turned green, Jeremiah urged Mitch into a trot as they crossed in front of the stopped cars on the highway.

  From there, the street became a paved road that cut through the countryside, which was dotted with Amish farms. Jeremiah relaxed. The slower pace of life on this side of town soothed his soul, and the sight of green pastures dotted with trees, where Saul Hartzler’s registered Angus cattle stood in the shade, made his world feel right again. Perched upon the next hillside, his white farmhouse shimmered in the August heat and humidity, but rather than ride directly home, Jeremiah guided his horse to the packed dirt trail around the next bend.

  As he passed the rows of tall, green, field corn growing between his home and the road, he anticipated a bumper crop this fall. Although he still sold a lot of his corn to the grain elevator in Clearwater, he’d begun having most of it processed into ethanol when he’d taken on the additional duties of being Morning Star’s bishop, earning him more money for the same amount of labor. Jeremiah was also pleased as he rode past several acres of alfalfa hay that would soon be ready to cut. Most of this crop would be baled and sold to Plain families in the area to feed their livestock over the winter.

  Many of his neighbors could no longer support themselves by farming, but Jeremiah felt blessed. When Jude had married his first wife several years ago, he’d taken over the Shetler family acreage, so Jeremiah had purchased two large adjoining farms from families who were leaving the Morning Star district. Farming allowed him to keep a flexible schedule and tend his congregation’s spiritual needs. He’d hired Will Gingerich, the nephew of Bishop Vernon in Cedar Creek, to help with planting and harvesting, which gave Jeremiah more time for his church duties and provided extra income for Will.

  Farming also kept him humble and at the mercy of God’s weather conditions. It took enormous faith to plant crops in the spring and then deal with badly timed rain, hail, droughts, and sometimes even tornadoes, before harvesting whatever the Lord had provided by fall.

  Jeremiah knew exactly what it meant to be dependent upon God. Every farmer did.

  Mitch followed the trail toward the woods that grew along the banks of the Missouri River tributary and formed the boundary between Jeremiah’s two farms. On hot days, the canopy of trees gave welcome relief from the heat. Large outcroppings of rocks along the riverbank provided a place where Jeremiah loved to sit when he needed time alone. The rush of the water played a tune his soul never tired of hearing. When he felt perplexed or lonely for Priscilla—or needed to think about church matters—he lost himself in watching leaves and bubbles flowing along with the water’s current.

  Rather than dismounting to sit on his favorite rock, Jeremiah gazed at the river for a bit and then turned Mitch back toward the house. “Mamm says I’m due for a haircut before we have church tomorrow,” he remarked. “And you know I always do what my mother tells me!”

  The Percheron whickered, as though he were chuckling.

  After Jeremiah fed and watered his gelding and the buggy mare in the stable, he headed for the house. As he entered the large kitchen, his mamm looked up from the half-gallon pitcher of fresh-brewed tea she’d made. With a quick twist of her wrists, she emptied a plastic tray of ice cubes into the pitcher.

  “Too hot in this kitchen to cook tonight, after I spent the day baking bread and frying chicken to take to the common meal tomorrow,” she announced. “I’ve got potato salad to go with a few pieces of that chicken I kept back for us—”

  “That’s fine,” Jeremiah said.

  “—unless maybe you have other plans, like treating a lady friend to supper.”

  His eyebrows shot up. Why had she said that?

  Mamm laughed. “Gut grief, son, do you figure to spend the rest of your life in this house with me for company? Surely you can find better entertainment on a Saturday night than snapping green beans on the porch.”

  He searched for a thread of conversation that would go in a different direction. “You said I needed a haircut—”

  “And I can have you clipped and ready for a date in two shakes of a lamb’s tail!” she shot back. To show him just how serious she was, she took her sharpest scissors from the kitchen drawer, grabbed a tea towel, and waved him toward the front porch. “Folks are starting to talk, Jeremiah, saying it’s time you found another wife. It’s been more than three years—”

  “I know exactly how long Priscilla’s been gone, Mamm.” Lydianne’s face flickered in the back of his mind, but he blinked the image away. To distract himself further, he poured two glasses of tea before he followed her out the door with them.

  “—and it’s time for you to move on with your life,” Mamm continued with a wag of her finger. She sighed, blotting the moisture from her forehead with the towel. “If it would make things easier for you, I could move back over to Jude’s place and help Leah with their new baby when it comes—”

  “Leah’s mamm already lives there with them,” he reminded her gently.

  “—so you and a new bride could start the family you weren’t able to have before,” she continued in a tight voice. She waited for Jeremiah to position himself in a chair before draping the towel over the front of his shirt. “It might be easier for a second wife if you didn’t have your buttinsky mother around all the time, so I’ll relocate. I’ll do anything if it means you’ll be happy again . . . and give me some more grandbabies.”

  Jeremiah’s throat got so tight he couldn’t talk. He focused on his flummoxed mother before grasping her hand. Ordinarily, Margaret Shetler was outspoken and totally in control of her emotions, yet she seemed upset as she met his gaze.

  “Mamm, what’s all this talk about privacy and marriage and babies?” he asked gently. “I appreciate your offer—but what’s got you so stirred up about my singular state today? And why would you think I want you to move out? This is your home. You’re living in the dawdi haus, so—come the day I might remarry—my wife and I would have the rest of this huge two-story house to ourselves.”

  With a sigh, his mother held out her hand. Jeremiah pulled the comb from his pants pocket, and she ran it through his hair before she replied. “I—I suppose it’s because Rose Wagler’s baby is almost due, and your brother and Leah are expecting their wee one in September, and—”

  Jeremiah’s heart shriveled at the wistful tone of his mamm’s voice. He’d tried not to think too much about those two bundles of joy, because other couples’ new babies were another reminder that he and Priscilla had been unable to conceive. In the back of his mind, he’d always wondered if he might be to blame—but he hadn’t dared consult a doctor to find out. He’d accepted their childless state as God’s will.

  “
—I don’t want you to miss out on the blessings of having a family, Jeremiah,” she continued in a hoarse whisper. She positioned her scissors about an inch beneath his ear and clipped in a line that ran around the back of his neck, finishing on the other side. As she fingered his beard where it joined his sideburn, she sucked in her breath. “You’re getting gray hair, son! Now you really need to get serious about finding a wife!”

  “Before I turn into an old goat?” he teased. He’d noticed those little silver streaks earlier, when he’d been shaving his cheeks, but it was one more thing he was trying not to think about.

  “While you can still—you know. Father children.”

  Jeremiah closed his eyes, wondering how to get his mother onto a more uplifting subject. “I’m only forty-one—and who would you have me court, Mamm?” he challenged. “Name me all the women you think would make me a gut wife. And I’m telling you right now, Naomi and Esther do not fall into that category.”

  At least his mother had the grace to grimace at the idea of his marrying either maidel Slabaugh sister. She trimmed the hair that fell over his forehead as she considered her response. “We’ll have a lot of folks coming to town for the Shetler reunion, middle of next month—”

  “And they’re all cousins or shirttail relatives of some sort,” Jeremiah reminded her firmly. “It’s not a gut idea for me to swim in such a small gene pool. Try again.”

  She carefully trimmed a few stray hairs on his left eyebrow. “The Helfing girls are single, and there’s Jo—”

  “Jo’s accustomed to living with her mother—and can you imagine our life if Drusilla came here to live with us?” Jeremiah put in quickly. “Besides, those gals—and Lydianne—are all in their twenties or early thirties. Way too young for me, and maybe not suited to being a bishop’s wife, ain’t so?”

  Mamm trimmed his other eyebrow without answering him.

  “It’s not as though I’m a first-time husband,” he continued, “and my time’s not entirely my own. I have to give energy and attention to church members whenever they need it. New—younger—wives might not adjust so well to that. And they might not be ready to walk the higher path folks expect a bishop’s wife to follow.”

  Mamm took the towel from around his neck and shook it out. “You’re awfully quick to discount the eligible women in our district, son. Does this mean you need to scout around in other towns?”

  Jeremiah let out a short laugh. “Oh, believe me, Vernon in Cedar Creek and Tom in Willow Ridge—and every other bishop I know—have been dropping big hints about the unattached women in their districts,” he said with a shake of his head. “They’ve told me I’m too picky. But I refuse to settle for just anybody to get the matchmakers off my back. I’ll never love another woman the way I loved Priscilla—”

  “And that’s the problem,” Mamm interjected softly. “Priscilla’s gone, dear. You can’t seem to see anyone else in a positive light, because the shine of her halo blinds you to other possibilities.”

  Jeremiah gazed out toward the lawn. His mother was right—he’d loved his wife with all his heart, and he’d placed her memory on a rather saintly pedestal. In his dreams he still saw Priscilla’s flawless face, framed by her pale blond hair; he still heard her gentle voice in his ear, the way she’d sung as she’d worked in the kitchen. These memories were blessings, because they helped him forget the headache she’d complained of for a couple of days before it had suddenly become so unbearable that she’d passed out from extreme pain.

  By the time he’d gotten her to the emergency room, it had been too late. The doctor there had suggested that an MRI of Priscilla’s head might pinpoint the cause of her death, so Jeremiah had agreed to that procedure. The scan showed that an aneurysm had burst in her brain—but that knowledge hadn’t really eased the excruciating pain her passing had caused him. Jeremiah had indeed elevated his wife’s memory, enshrining her in his mind, because that was what had kept him sane while he grieved.

  As he faced the truth of his mother’s statement about the shine of Priscilla’s halo, Jeremiah kept looking out past the porch railing—but no matter how long he focused on the huge blue hydrangea in Mamm’s flower garden, it didn’t suggest a solution to his problem.

  “Other men seem to adjust their requirements and find new mates, Jeremiah—and that’s what God intends for you, too, dear,” his mother continued in a thin voice. “Maybe it’s my imagination, but I think Glenn’s already heading in that direction. He’s certainly had his eye on Lydianne of late.”

  Jeremiah sucked in his breath before he could catch himself. Why did Mamm have to start on that topic now?

  “Of course, Glenn needs a mamm for his little boys, so his situation is different from yours,” she continued matter-of-factly. “Even so, I’d hate to see him start courting her before you tried to win her. Of all the maidels in Morning Star, Lydianne impresses me as the most level-headed and open-minded. She’s cheerful and generous and intelligent—”

  “That’s why we hired her as our new schoolteacher,” Jeremiah interrupted. “It would be poor timing on my part to court her with intentions to marry her. We’d have to hire another teacher before the school year was out—”

  “There you go again, finding excuses not to even take anyone out on a date!” Mamm blurted in exasperation. “You find ways to meet everyone else’s needs, yet you’re not the least bit imaginative when it comes to pursuing your own happiness. Your brother hitched up with the least likely woman on the planet, but Leah’s proven herself to be every bit as wonderful as Jude believed she was. And now they have a nice, happy family.”

  “Partly because Leah’s mamm does the cooking and a lot of the household chores so Leah can tend her livestock,” Jeremiah pointed out. He remembered quite well how many times he’d tried to dissuade Jude from marrying the woman who’d been more at home in a barn than in a kitchen—but his brother had proven all the naysayers wrong.

  And Jeremiah envied Jude and Leah their happiness every time he saw how good they were together.

  Mamm sighed. “I can see this conversation’s going nowhere. Just think about what I’ve said, all right? Your clock’s ticking, son. It’s later than you think.”

  After Mamm went into the house, Jeremiah remained morosely in the chair with the two untouched glasses of tea on the porch table beside him. Even though he was thirsty, he’d lost his taste for any sort of refreshment.

  I’d hate to see him start courting her before you tried to win her.

  Mamm’s words about Glenn and Lydianne replayed in his mind a couple of times, like a broken record, before he could stop them from repeating. Why had she zeroed in on the possibility of that relationship? And why did the thought of Detweiler and the new teacher together irritate him to the core?

  Of all the maidels in Morning Star, Lydianne impresses me as the most level-headed and open-minded. She’s cheerful and generous and intelligent . . .

  He sighed and stood up. His mother was probably as right about Lydianne as she was about the fact that he was starting to get some gray hair.

  And those two ideas don’t go very well together, do they? Miss Christner was indeed a nice young woman—a nice too-young woman. There was no denying that she was an attractive blue-eyed blonde, but wouldn’t he feel like an old wolf leading an innocent young lamb into his lair on their wedding night?

  Why are you even thinking about going to bed with Lydianne? You’re her bishop! Jeremiah chided himself.

  Disgusted and restless, he went into the mudroom and grabbed the big basket of green beans his mother had picked during the day. What else did he have to do but snap them into bite-sized pieces so they’d be ready when she wanted to can them?

  Sadly enough, Mamm had been right about that, too.

  Chapter Three

  At church the next morning, Lydianne fanned herself, but found no relief from the heat. The congregation was crammed into the Slabaugh sisters’ farmhouse basement—which was theoretically cooler on an August day
because it was downstairs—but as the service wore on, she and her maidel friends and all the folks around them became clammy with sweat. Esther and Naomi had graciously supplied old pasteboard fans mounted on wooden handles, which Griggs Mortuary, the local funeral home, had disposed of years ago. Even Jesus and the twelve disciples, pictured in the Upper Room, appeared listless and inattentive as Lydianne fanned herself. She didn’t think it was terribly uplifting to be reminded of her demise, either, as she read the mortuary’s faded ad for pre-planned burial arrangements.

  “We must never forget the folks Jesus referred to as ‘the least of these,’” Preacher Clarence Miller droned in his reedy monotone. “In this morning’s passage from Matthew’s twenty-fifth chapter, our Lord tells us that when we assist the widows and orphans amongst us—those who need our help with food and clothing and emotional support—we are ministering to Christ Himself.”

  Beside Lydianne, Regina Miller shifted restlessly on the pew bench. Lydianne gently patted her best friend’s arm, knowing Regina—as an orphan—always felt uncomfortable when her uncle preached on this passage. Not long ago, when Regina had been shunned for painting and selling her amazing wildlife watercolors at The Marketplace, Preacher Clarence had insisted that she had to sell her home and move into a tiny room in his house. Although it was the Amish way for a man to take in the unattached females of his family, Regina had felt more like a prisoner than a guest while she’d endured living in the windowless room tucked beneath the Millers’ staircase.

  Regina flashed Lydianne a smile. These days, her freckled face beamed with the anticipation of her marriage to Gabe Flaud. The Flaud family had surprised the couple by buying Regina’s quaint little bungalow, freshening its rooms with paint, and refinishing the hardwood floors. The bride-to-be had every reason to rejoice in the love that had redirected her maidel life.