Autumn Winds Page 4

  “Better get movin’, runt,” Seth Brenneman threatened as he scooted his chair back. “You’ll get trampled on your way to the trough if ya stand here jawin’ about it.”

  The bell above the door jingled and Tom Hostetler, the local dairy farmer, came in with Reuben Reihl, his neighbor to the south. Both wore muddy trousers, from clearing away storm damage on their farms, no doubt.

  “Say, who belongs to that blacksmithin’ wagon out front?” Reuben asked as he looked around the crowd. “I’ve got some horses needin’ shoes and no time to take them clear to Morning Star, what with the harvest still goin’ on.”

  Ben turned to wave at him. “I’m the fellow you’re lookin’ for. Ben Hooley. I can head to your place as soon as I eat breakfast—or whenever ya want me to come.”

  “Appreciate it,” the bulky, redheaded farmer replied. “The name’s Reuben Reihl, and I’m on the gravel road just east of here, past the Brenneman boys’ carpentry shop.”

  “I’ve got some milkin’ machines that need repair, too,” Tom said as he stepped up to shake Ben’s hand. “Do ya do that kind of weldin’?”

  “For sure I do. I’ll load the smaller pieces into my trailer for later, and work on the bigger stuff in your barn while I’m there,” Ben replied. “We’ll do whatever it takes to keep ya up and runnin’. This afternoon be all right?”

  Tom chuckled. “Can’t ask for better service than that! I’m Tom Hostetler, just on the other side of Reuben’s place.”

  Again the bell jingled, and this time it was the bishop. Several English travelers had taken seats and were ordering their breakfast, but Hiram Knepp spotted Ben right off, as the only Plain fellow he didn’t know. “That farrier wagon’s an answered prayer,” he said as he approached Ben’s table. “Welcome to Willow Ridge. I’m Hiram Knepp, the district’s bishop—and I breed Belgians. I’ve got a whole stable of fine horses, some of them going to auction in a week or so. It’ll probably take you the better part of a day to shoe them all.”

  Ben rose to shake the older man’s hand. Was it Miriam’s imagination, or did Ben Hooley look Hiram over pretty close, as though considering whether he’d take the job he’d just been offered? She moved around the room then, filling coffee mugs and taking a few orders from the menu. Thank goodness Rhoda had been waiting on another table of two English couples, passing through on vacation by the looks of their big RV out front. The last thing they needed was any silliness from Rhoda while Hiram Knepp was here.

  “Need a couple cheese omelets with ham and hash browns,” Miriam called over to Naomi as she returned to the kitchen. “Everybody’s showin’ up at once this mornin’. They’ve probably done a day’s work already, lookin’ after their livestock and fences since the storm blew through.”

  “Looks like that Hooley fella’s linin’ up his work for a gut long while.” Her best friend’s brown eyes sparkled as she plopped butter into two omelet pans. “No question in my mind about the sort of man he is, either, if he fixed up the window without ya havin’ to ask him.”

  “Jah. And I have no idea how he got his horse back, or how he fetched his wagon or got that pane of glass here so quick, either,” Miriam said. “Closest place to get glass cut is over in New Haven, at the hardware store.” She took two more long metal pans out of the warming oven, knowing their breakfast casserole would be mostly gone by the time the Brenneman boys and her nephews ate their fill. “Some fellas just have a way of makin’ things work out right, and he impresses me as one of them.”

  “Right nice to look at, too. Not that ya would’ve noticed that, Miriam.”

  Miriam glanced up quickly to see how her partner had meant that—and then they giggled together like a couple of girls. “So ya picked up on that part, Naomi?”

  “I’ve got eyes, don’t I?”

  “Eyes like a potato and ears like corn. Ya don’t miss much.” Miriam glanced out into the dining room, where her twins were clearing away plates while Naomi’s boys went to the steam table for seconds. “So tell me straight-out honest,” she said in a lower voice. “Was I out of line, puttin’ Rhoda in her place awhile ago? It never dawned on me she’d be gettin’ her nose outta joint over—”

  “Ben’s gonna cause a stir amongst all the single women. That’s just the way of it in a little town like Willow Ridge.” Naomi tipped the skillets to allow her egg mixture to spread around the edges of the pan so the omelets would cook faster. “No doubt in my mind Rhoda’s set her cap for him, but Ben Hooley might be just the kind of sugar you’re wantin’ in your tea, Miriam. I don’t know one thing about him, but he’ll make ya happier in a heartbeat than Hiram Knepp could dream of doin’ in a lifetime.”

  Miriam blinked. It wasn’t Naomi’s way to say things she didn’t truly believe. “I hope ya don’t think I was crossin’ the line, actin’ interested in Ben so soon—”

  “You’ve got eyes, too. And a heart needin’ the love of a gut man, after two years without your Jesse.” With an expert flip of her wrist, Naomi slid one folded omelet onto a plate, and then the other. “A daughter Rhoda’s age won’t understand that, even if she knows, in her mind, that you’re awful young to be a widow for the rest of your life.”

  “It’s no secret, either, that Rhoda wonders what she’s gonna do with herself once Rachel and Micah get hitched,” Miriam said quietly. “She and I’ve got that little apartment above the smithy, but things’ll change fast for both girls when Rachel’s keepin’ a house and a husband, startin’ up a family.”

  “Jah, they’re close, even for twins. Does Rhoda have her eye on anybody that ya know of?”

  “Who can say? She talks a bit about Jonas Zook, but he’s not the type I see her settlin’ down with.”

  “I can’t see that match strikin’, either,” Naomi agreed. “The older boys have teased Aaron when he’s paired up with Rhoda after singin’s, but I think he mostly drives her home so he won’t be the only man without a date.”

  Naomi arranged thick slices of ham and helpings of hash browns alongside the omelets and then took them to the window. “Here ya go, Rachel,” she called above the chatter in the dining room. “How’s that buffet table holdin’ up?”

  “We’re gut for a few minutes yet.” The slender girl rolled her eyes and chuckled. “Or at least we’re gut until my sister trips over her own feet from gawkin’ at that Hooley fella.”

  “Jah, there’s that!” Naomi agreed with a laugh.

  “Rhoda’s already asked him over to shoe our four horses.”

  Miriam’s eyebrows rose. “That’s probably a gut idea,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “It’s been a while since their hooves were tended, and winter will slick up the roads before ya know it.”

  “The men seem to like him. Every fella in the room’s got him doin’ some work these next several days.” Rachel lifted the steaming plates of food and hurried back to the table of English travelers.

  “Ya can’t argue with that. Word’ll get around quick, about how he handles horses and whether he works for a fair price,” Naomi remarked.

  Miriam smiled. “Not that either of those things matters to Rhoda.”

  “So what’ll ya cook him for dinner that night after he shoes your horses, dearie?”

  Once again laughter bubbled up from deep inside Miriam and she slung her arm around her best friend’s shoulders. “What would I do without ya, Naomi? Always makin’ me laugh and see things from a different angle, even when life leaves me a little out of kilter.”

  The blond cook in the brown dress smiled as only a longtime friend could. “I can’t tell ya how I liked watchin’ the roses bloom in your cheeks when you were givin’ Rhoda what for about Ben Hooley. I’m happy for ya, Miriam. It’s gut to see ya grinnin’ again. Livin’ again.”

  While Miriam basked in her friend’s encouraging words, it seemed a little . . . early to be talking as though she and the handsome blacksmith would get together. She sighed and then looked toward the countertop, where the cornmeal rolls she’d shaped earl
ier had risen in their large metal pans. “I’d better tend to my bakin’ instead of moonin’ over Mr. Hooley. He’s got his work, and I’ve got mine. We’ll just see what happens next, ain’t so?”

  And meanwhile, Lord, I’m askin’ ya to guide my heart and my head—and my mouth—when it comes to Rhoda. Ya know how we love each other, so help us remember that part if things get prickly between us.

  As she took the towels off the pans of rounded, golden dinner rolls, something made her glance into the dining room. How was it that Ben Hooley stood up, right then? And lo and behold, he winked at her!

  Chapter 5

  Sunday morning, Miriam sat on the wooden pew between her sister Leah and Reuben’s wife, Esther. Was it her imagination, or did Preacher Tom seem windier than usual during the first sermon? Lord, Ya know why I’m so wiggly today and I hope You’ll forgive my foolish ways.

  She tried to focus on Tom Hostetler’s message about steadfast love for God and family, because she truly admired him for taking on such a topic. His wife, Lettie, had left him for a fancy man last spring. He’d been a dear friend since before her Jesse had passed. But truth be told, the dairy farmer wandered along his sermon’s paths like a cow that had strayed through a hole in the fence: still eating grass, as was its intention, but not too clear about where it was going or where it wanted to end up.

  So she gazed at the back of Lydia Zook’s black fer-gut dress . . . and maybe, Lord, You’ll help me find a way to suggest—nicely—that she should be cuttin’ her seams about an inch wider on each side.

  And wasn’t that a judgmental thought? It wasn’t as though she was getting any thinner as the years passed, either. Sighing, Miriam straightened her spine, willing her stomach not to rumble . . .

  Ben Hooley sat directly across from her on the men’s side. And he was looking between Matthias Wagler’s dark brown mane and Seth Brenneman’s haystack of blond hair, right at her!

  Miriam sucked in her breath, and then met her sister’s glance straight-on to keep Leah from asking too many questions about her lack of attention to the service. She let her gaze wander back . . . and yes, the handsome Ben Hooley was still focused on her as though he’d chosen that exact spot on that very bench so he’d have a way to study her without anyone being the wiser. His light brown hair looked clean and shiny, combed slightly back over his ears instead of looking like he’d used a mixing bowl and dull scissors to trim it, like some of their men.

  And who cuts his hair for him? Where did he stay last night? How did the rest of his day go after he left the café yesterday?

  She’d last seen him midmorning yesterday, rolling onto the county road, Pharaoh hauling his big red farrier wagon—with at least two weeks’ worth of blacksmithing to do in Willow Ridge. It was a testament to Ben’s easygoing smile and willingness to accommodate the local men’s schedules that he’d found such easy favor with them . . .

  Or had he lined up all that work so he could stick around town for a while, maybe to call on her?

  Miriam shifted on the bench, daring to meet Ben’s gaze again, for a little longer this time, knowing full well such distracting games had no place in a preaching service.

  She thought back to yesterday’s storm and the way this man had appeared out of nowhere . . . hadn’t said much about who he was or where he was from, much less about why he’d never settled into a Plain community with his own shop. Or a wife.

  And does he have a bruise the shape of a huge horseshoe on his chest? Did he get hurt worse than he was lettin’ on? The thought of peeling back his clean white shirt to check for blood blisters or places where the skin had broken made Miriam squirm before she could catch herself. Too long she’d gone without a man’s presence, a man’s company—

  And those are the last thoughts ya should be thinkin’ right now!

  Everyone shifted into place, kneeling on the floor for prayer. Miriam swore she felt Ben peering at her over the other bowed heads. Did she dare peek over at the men’s side?

  Leah elbowed her. Miriam tried with all her might to focus on more godly thoughts. And as though Bishop Knepp knew her weakness today, his sermon lit into a forceful interpretation of the twenty-sixth verse in Matthew 16, about what a man profited if he gained the whole world but lost his soul. Hiram’s sermon left no room for doubt: those who walked the wayward path of worldly pleasure and success lost all chance at salvation.

  Has Ben been baptized into the faith? Or is he just driftin’ from town to town with work that will always be in demand?

  Again Miriam let her gaze wander . . . Ben had his head bowed as though he might be praying for serious help. His face was tight. And why would that be? Why did Ben Hooley seem so friendly with all the fellows at breakfast, yet study Hiram Knepp as though . . . as though he didn’t trust him?

  But that was a silly idea, wasn’t it? Bishops were chosen by lot because God had already decided who should be a community’s leader in the faith. Even Plain folks from other settlements would understand that and show Hiram the respect they felt for their own districts’ bishops. Maybe she was reading her own history with Hiram into the look she saw on this new fellow’s face.

  Lord, if I can ease Ben’s doubts—set aside my own judgment—lead me along the way You’d have me go. It’s for sure and for certain Rhoda and Hiram and maybe other folks won’t see any gut comin’ of my acceptin’ Ben’s attentions.

  At last the service came to an end, and a welcome thing it was that no one had any confessing to do or any business to bring before the district in a members’ meeting. Lydia Zook, their hostess for the day, popped up from her place before anyone left the basement.

  “Let me be the first to wish ya a happy birthday, Bishop!” she sang out. “We’ve been plannin’ a little somethin’ special for the common meal today, on account of how we appreciate your leadin’ us along the upward way. So if you men’ll scoot along outside, we’ll be settin’ out the plates and the food.”

  Miriam chuckled and placed her hand on Lydia’s shoulder. “Gut for you, herdin’ the fellas out so’s we can get things goin’. I saw baskets of fine fare in your kitchen, so it’s gonna be a tasty afternoon!”

  “And the perfect day for eatin’ outdoors and visitin’ afterwards, too. We’re not likely to have many more Sundays like this before winter kicks in,” she replied. Then, as the other women filed out of the benches around them, Lydia leaned toward her. “And what’s this I hear about that Hooley fella gettin’ kicked by his horse, yet still fixin’ your café window? He stopped by the market yesterday afternoon for some cold cuts and bread,” she confided in a low voice. “Said he’d been to Reuben Reihl’s, and then out to Preacher Tom’s repairin’ machinery, and that he was on his way to the bishop’s tomorrow—buyin’ food as though those two men without women weren’t gonna provide him any meals.”

  “He ate a couple of heaped-up plates at the café yesterday mornin’ and we were pleased to feed him, too,” Miriam confirmed. “There wasn’t any way the girls and I could’ve moved that big limb, never mind fixin’ the window.”

  Miriam bustled upstairs to Lydia’s kitchen with the other women and began cutting her pumpkin pies as well as apple, cherry, and rhubarb pies other women had brought. Tom Hostetler stuck his head into the kitchen with a grin. “I stashed a nice supply of homemade ice cream in your deep freeze at the store, Lydia. Come time folks’re ready for dessert, I’ll fetch it for ya.”

  “Denki, Tom!”

  “Jah, your cows’ milk makes the best ice cream, Preacher!”

  The outdoor common meal began with a silent prayer. Because Amish women weren’t to cook or work on the Lord’s day, the congregation usually ate sandwiches, pies, and foods that were prepared the day before. Miriam smiled when her Rachel set out platters of sliced meat loaf she’d made herself, along with cheese and fresh oatmeal bread, sliced thick. Her sweetheart, Micah, was no fool; he claimed a seat within reach of that platter of meat loaf—and then looked through the crowd that milled around among th
e trees.

  “Ben, you’ve gotta sit with us!” he said, waving the farrier over from the cluster of older fellows he’d been visiting with. “I want to talk to ya about some ornamental metal work at a historical place we’re rehabbin’. How are ya with garden gates and wrought iron balconies?”

  “Jah, I do that.”

  Ben headed for the seat Micah had saved for him, yet he looked—until he found Miriam. He grinned apologetically at her, as though he was sorry so many fellows had already crowded around to sit at his table. See ya later? he mouthed, his eyes wide in a question.

  Miriam’s heart skipped in double time. She nodded happily and then turned toward a table where Leah and her mother-in-law, Essie Kanagy, sat alongside Naomi and her daughter, Hannah, with Rachel and Rhoda. Was it silly to feel lighthearted because Ben had asked to see her later? As Miriam took a seat among the women and girls who’d gotten her through a couple of tough years as a widow, she felt their curiosity . . . their speculative thoughts . . . not to mention some resentment on Rhoda’s part. No doubt her daughter had seen the way the handsome stranger had gawked at her during church.

  And the best way to handle everybody’s assumptions is to hold your head up and be who ya are. It’s not like you’ve done one thing wrong. And it’s not like you’ve got to explain anythin’ to anybody.

  Miriam smiled sweetly as she reached for the platter of sandwiches in front of her. “Do ya think the bishop had any notion of his birthday surprise before Lydia announced it? He didn’t give any hint of it during the service.”

  Essie Kanagy, well into her eighties, stabbed a slice of cold country ham. “It’s not our way to go celebratin’ such things, if ya ask me. Not just because it’s callin’ attention to one person above the rest, but because Bishop Knepp does a perty fine job of doin’ that for hisself.”

  Rachel and Hannah snickered, while the older women around them bit back grins. “It’s a gut excuse to eat some of Miriam’s fancy bakery cake, though,” Leah remarked. She often tried to steer her mother-in-law’s crabby remarks toward something happier. “What flavors did ya make, Sister?”