Autumn Winds Read online

  “I baked the bishop’s cake from my favorite coconut cake recipe, and there’s fudge ripple pound cakes and strawberry cream cakes, too—Rhoda and Rachel’s favorites, those are,” Miriam replied. “The chocolate and strawberry ones started from a box mix, but you’d never know it after I doctored them up.”

  She looked at Essie then, nodding in agreement. “It was Lydia’s idea to celebrate the bishop’s birthday because the service was here at her place, or I wouldn’t have made cake for more than a hundred people.”

  No sense in givin’ Hiram the idea I was seekin’ his approval and attention, she added silently. I’d make him birthday cakes until Kingdom Come if he’d leave me be.

  A few moments later, their hostess clanged a spoon against a glass water pitcher. Speaking above the crowd, she said, “While we’re all still at the table, I thought we’d share a little surprise—a way of showin’ our appreciation to Bishop Hiram for his gut work and guidance—and his fifty-fifth birthday today! We’ve got special birthday cake for dessert, and here comes Preacher Tom with the ice cream he’s made, too!”

  Faces all around them brightened. Josh and Joey Knepp, Hiram’s five-year-old twins, ran down the lane to pull Tom Hostetler’s cart so they could have their ice cream faster. Applause erupted when Lydia came out with a round triple-layer cake studded with candles, decorated in white cream-cheese frosting. By the time she took a match from the box, little Sara and Timmy Knepp had squirmed away from Annie Mae to race up front where their dat was now standing.

  “Don’t be lightin’ all of those candles or we’ll have to call the fire truck!” one of the fellows called out.

  Laughter erupted around them as Hiram smiled. The bishop was no doubt thinking up an appropriate response to this surprise; while the Ordnung said he wasn’t to encourage such celebrations, he seemed pleased that Lydia and Henry Zook had honored him. As Lydia was lighting the last candles, Sara Knepp chirped, “Don’t forget to make your wish, Dat!” Timmy, barely three, squawked and raised his arms to be picked up so he could see what was going on.

  Hiram glanced impatiently at his youngest children and then glared at his eldest daughter, Annie Mae. The slender girl slipped up to grab the children by the hands.

  “This is indeed a surprise,” the bishop said as he stood before his cake with its flaming candles. “It’s my privilege to serve as your bishop, and to do the work God has called me to, here in Willow Ridge. It’s also a fine time to express a wish before all of you, so you’ll know my intentions are sincere and . . . visible, rather than hidden.”

  When Hiram looked around the tables until he found her in the crowd, Miriam swallowed hard.

  “Miriam Lantz, I confess before God and the People that I love you—and that it’s my sincerest wish you’ll be my wife.”

  Gasps sounded around her, and Miriam’s face went hot. This was even worse than she’d feared! Hiram kept gazing at her, too, as though he expected her answer right then and there.

  “Mamma, ya don’t have to say a thing,” Rachel rasped.

  Across from her, Naomi leaned forward. “If that don’t beat all!” she muttered beneath the crowd’s chatter. “Tryin’ to embarrass ya into sayin’ yes, he is!”

  “Jah, he couldn’t buy our buildin’ so he’s trappin’ ya this way,” Rhoda blurted.

  Miriam clasped her hands in her lap, her head bowed to avoid Hiram’s gaze. Dear Lord, I’m askin’ for a graceful way out of this—or just grace to behave the way You’d want me to. This has to be the most humiliatin’ . . .

  “Well, we all know how it goes with birthday wishes,” a male voice spoke up. “If ya say them out loud, they don’t come true.”

  The place got so quiet that Lydia’s cake knife made a racket when she dropped it. As everyone looked to see who’d said that, Miriam’s heart pounded for an entirely different reason: Ben Hooley rose from his seat, his face tight with disapproval.

  “Where I come from, we keep our courtin’ private,” he stated tersely. “‘Husbands, love your wives,’ the Gut Book tells us, yet you’re makin’ a mockery of Miriam—and here in front of everybody, too!” With that, Ben edged between the crowded tables and walked quickly down the lane toward the road.

  The crowd buzzed like Leah’s bees, while Hiram stood as silent and still as a pillar of salt. Miriam felt like invisible walls were closing in on her—and she didn’t like it one little bit that two men were pressing her between them.

  “Dat, blow out the candles!” Hiram’s little Sara called out. “You’re gettin’ wax all over that perty cake!”

  The Knepp twins, Josh and Joey, returned with Tom’s clattering wagon, which was loaded with large tubs of ice cream. Katie Zook had fetched scoops and a tall stack of paper cake plates, so Hiram stopped staring after Ben. He leaned down, closed his eyes, and blew mightily across the candle flames. When every last one of them went out, several of the men roared their approval and clapped.

  Why is Hiram doin’ this to me, Lord? And doesn’t Ben realize he’s only makin’ it worse, fannin’ the flames?

  She hadn’t seen the end of this episode, for sure and for certain, so Miriam was glad her two girls and Leah stayed close around her while folks ate their cake and then got up to visit. Sunday afternoons were a time for staying in touch with neighbors they didn’t see during the week, and on such a warm October afternoon a lot of them would stay at the Zooks’ place well into the evening.

  “Let’s head on home, Mamma,” Rachel suggested quietly. “We can fetch your cake pans tomorrow. I’ve had enough of the bishop’s shenanigans for one day.”

  “Jah, me too.” Rhoda gazed toward the road out front, as though looking for a less obvious way to walk home. Or was she watching for a certain someone?

  Miriam sighed. Would that certain someone still want to see her later today?

  Chapter 6

  You’ve gone and done it now—caused even more problems for Miriam by standin’ up for her! Move on down the road before ya make things worse.

  Ben turned in front of Zook’s Market, where he’d parked his farrier wagon. Pharaoh was still tied to a shade tree where he could graze on grass growing along the roadside, but Ben gave his horse no sign they’d be going anywhere soon. He had a lot of praying to do—a lot of frustration to walk off, as well. He’d watched how Hiram behaved yesterday at breakfast, in Miriam’s café; and after the bishop’s disgusting display of power today, it burned him even more that Knepp thought his position should get him anything he wanted.

  But Ben was the outsider here. He’d bucked Amish tradition by spending his life mostly on the road . . . had told himself land was too expensive in Pennsylvania and Ohio. And the Indiana towns he’d worked his way through didn’t have the right feel to them—or a woman he could love. Yet now that he’d reached Missouri and Miriam Lantz, he had to face the truth: he was almost thirty-five, with not a lot to show for it. At his age, most men had a wife and a houseful of kids, not to mention a solid place in a community where folks counted on his good work.

  It felt like the right thing to do, Lord, Ben prayed. I thought I was followin’ where Ya led me, and yet . . . why would Miriam see my unsettled ways as anythin’ she should rely on? How can I prove I’ve been seekin’ out Your place for me rather than rollin’ along on a string of excuses?

  On he walked, his head lowered as he prayed. As Ben strode down a lane farther along, however, he focused on a well-tended apple orchard . . . white, stacked beehives in the background . . . rows of hoed garden where all that remained were pumpkins and some acorn and butternut squash.

  Ben blinked and looked around him. Without even noticing, he’d walked past the vacant smithy where he’d found the tarp for Miriam’s window . . . which meant his feet had taken him to her place—and a right pretty spread it was, too, where the trees gloried in their autumn finery and a white two-story house basked in the afternoon sunlight. The windows sparkled. The porch swing swayed in the breeze, inviting him to sit . . . with Miriam.


  She’ll have all sorts of questions now. Maybe she won’t trust ya, now that you’ve shot off your mouth to the bishop. A four-year-old would’ve known better!

  Ben strolled more slowly, interested in the Lantz place for many reasons. The well-equipped farrier shop tempted him even more now that he saw it in the daylight. And yes, this home with its sense of cleanliness and order called him to do more than sit for a spell on that sun-dappled front porch where the clematis and morning glory vines sported the season’s final blooms. He wanted to be a part of this family—this thriving little community—

  Way too soon to be thinkin’ that way! Cool your heels . . . clear your head before ya make any more stupid moves.

  Ben strolled across the driveway to sit against a sturdy old apple tree. As a kid, when he’d needed quiet time away from his brothers and sisters, the orchard behind the house had been his favorite place to let his mind wander . . .

  Clip-clop, clip-clop!

  Out on the road a carriage was turning in, and he saw three white kapps inside—which meant Miriam, too, had left the Zooks’ rather than linger where Hiram might press her for an answer to his proposal. While Ben wanted to talk things over with her—clear any suspicions she might have about him—he didn’t care to bare his soul in front of her girls. It was easy to see young Rhoda was smitten, and he didn’t want two Lantzes peeved at him!

  So he would wait for them to unhitch the horse and go inside . . . give them time to unpack the picnic hampers before he knocked on the door—

  Clip-clop, clip-clop!

  Ben swiveled his head as another carriage turned into the gravel driveway. That distinctive broad-brimmed hat and long beard belonged to the one man he didn’t want to see right now. Should he stand up and show himself?

  There might come a moment when Miriam’s glad you’re here. But the bishop doesn’t have to know just yet . . .

  “Most women would be pleased to live in my home, which I remodeled for my dear, departed Linda.” Hiram Knepp gazed at Miriam with those compelling dark eyes as he leaned closer. “I would update the place for you, too, to make it feel like your home. I would do anything you asked of me, Miriam, for I’ve chosen you to be the mother of my children.”

  Miriam closed her eyes, praying the bishop had just offered her a way out of this bramble bush of a dilemma. He’d followed her home from the Zooks’—had brought along that coconut cake rather than sharing it at the common meal, or even letting his own children devour it after he’d left them there with Annie Mae.

  But this was no time to think about cake.

  “Hiram, ya know full well I can’t give ya any more children,” she said earnestly. She’d convinced the bishop to walk with her outside so they’d have some privacy—but where she’d be in full view of the house. “It’s like I told ya this summer after my long-lost Rebecca returned to us. When she got washed downriver in the flood all those years ago, I lost the baby I was carryin’ then. Couldn’t conceive again,” she reminded him, although such personal details were none of Hiram’s business. “It was a sadness that came between Jesse and me and he took it to his grave.”

  “We’ll see the best specialists, Miriam. We’ll go to fertility clinics,” he insisted as they strolled between the driveway and the orchard. “I’ll do everything in my power—and God’s—to fulfill your purpose as—”

  “Beggin’ your pardon, Hiram,” Miriam interrupted. It was impolite—went against all the Old Ways—but then, this man wasn’t her husband and she never intended for him to be. “I’ve got my three grown girls and you have six kids of your own—”

  “God commands us to be fruitful and multiply.” Hiram stepped around to face her. He quickly set the cake on the ground and reached up, grasping tree branches to block her path. His beard was mostly silver, but his hair remained coal black. He worked with draft horses every day, so the bishop was fit and strong for his age. Miriam recognized the hunger in his probing eyes, and it had nothing to do with the cake he’d brought. “Miriam, my thoughts of you burn so intensely I must either marry you or risk committing sins no bishop wants to confess. You’re in your prime. Certainly not beyond having such . . . longings. Such needs.”

  Oh, but this man irritated her! Wrangling his own desires around to make her appear ungrateful for his attention! There was no other way to handle this but honestly.

  Miriam looked him straight in the eye. “I’m sayin’ no, Hiram.” She ducked from under his arms then and started for the house. “You’re not listenin’ to me. What you want and what I want are—”

  “Immaterial,” Hiram stated. “I’m following God’s will for my life. And yours.”

  “Jah? Then you’re hearin’ a different voice—marchin’ to a different drummer—than I am!” Miriam walked faster, angling into the orchard to pick a large Jonathan apple in case she had to throw it at him. “My Jesse would never have cornered me, nor called me out in front of the whole town like you did today! I won’t put up with that from you nor anyone else, Bishop Knepp.”

  Hiram grabbed her shoulders and turned her around to face him. His cheeks were flushed and he was breathing like an enraged stallion. “I thought we cleared away this obstinate streak—this willfulness—when we were selling your building,” he muttered tersely. “Have you been listening to Ben Hooley, Miriam?”

  The apple dropped from her hand. Fear shot through her, along with that urge to fight or flee, neither of which would solve her problem. This whole conversation became thornier when Hiram brought up the man everyone was speculating about, because all of Willow Ridge now knew how Ben had repaired her window after she’d taken him in during the storm.

  Were Rachel and Rhoda watching from the house? Would they come outside if they saw she was losing ground to Hiram Knepp?

  The bishop took advantage of her hesitation to drive his point home. He leaned down, so close she could see her reflection in his large, black pupils. “Are you falling for an unbaptized man who makes himself out to be one of us, Miriam?” he demanded in a coiled voice. “The way I hear it, things between you and Hooley flared like wildfire—while you were alone in that bakery at an ungodly hour.”

  Miriam almost retorted that since God created all the hours of the day and night, surely none could be ungodly. But she remained silent. He was digging a conversational pit so she’d slip into it, because if Ben Hooley hadn’t been baptized into the faith, she had compromised her own status in the church.

  “Do you really think he can make you happy, Miriam?” Hiram continued with a sneer. “Would you throw away your salvation—be shunned by your family and friends—for a faithless man destined for hell? Jesus tells us to let the dead bury their dead, and that ‘no man, having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the Kingdom of God.’”

  Hiram reached for her shoulders again but stopped short of touching her. “You’ve set your sights forward, Miriam,” he whispered. “You’ve buried your dead and you’re moving toward the Kingdom. Don’t let a total stranger get you off course.”

  She swallowed hard, wishing a good biblical reply would fly off her tongue.

  “And it’s just a few verses earlier in the book of Luke where Jesus says ‘foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of man has no place to lay his head.’”

  Miriam jumped at the sound of another voice, yet the sight of Ben Hooley standing beside an apple tree in the next row sent a surge of relief through her. She didn’t even care how he’d gotten there, or what he’d heard. Hiram stepped aside and his focus shifted away from her—and away from a conversation that could have no good ending.

  “Don’t you dare compare yourself to the Son of man, Hooley!” the bishop snapped. “Adding sacrilege to the wrongs you’ve already done—”

  “I would never pretend to be at Jesus’s level, Hiram. But my passage lends itself to this situation every bit as much as yours does.” Ben’s voice remained low, but his face was tight with anger. “Some fellas have no place to
call home because they’re out seekin’ what God’s been tellin’ them to find.”

  “Well, you won’t be finding it here in Willow Ridge!” Hiram blurted. He drew in a deep breath, trying to regain control of himself—and their conversation. “I strongly suggest that you complete the farrier work you’ve promised, and then move on.”

  Ben shrugged. “If you’d rather I didn’t shoe your Belgians tomorrow—”

  “This is ridiculous!” Miriam looked from one man to the other, peeved by this flare-up of temper. “‘Wherever two or more are gathered in Christ’s name, there He’ll be also,’ ain’t so? Yet I think the gut Lord’s none too happy with the way you’re actin’ like boys pickin’ a fight in the schoolyard. Or two dogs scrappin’ over the same bone.”

  Hiram raised one imperious eyebrow. “I believe you and I were having a serious conversation when this man, who was obviously hiding—eavesdropping on us—had the audacity to—”

  “No, Hiram, I told you this conversation is over. And my answer is no.” Miriam’s heart pounded. Ben’s presence had given her the confidence to speak up, but nobody talked back to the bishop without apologizing or asking his forgiveness. She had nothing more to say to him, however.

  After a tense silence, Hiram looked pointedly at Ben Hooley, gesturing toward his carriage. “All right, I’ll go. But you’re leaving, too, Hooley. I can’t in good conscience let Miriam be alone with you while—”

  Desperate for a solution to this situation, Miriam turned toward the house—and then grinned. Rhoda and Rachel were coming down the steps. One of them carried a pitcher of lemonade and an old quilt while the other gripped a picnic basket. As they smiled and waved, Miriam thought they’d never looked more like angels.

  “The girls are home with me, Bishop. At twenty-one, they’re watchin’ after their mamm’s welfare, keepin’ an eye on Mr. Hooley—and on you, as a matter of fact,” Miriam added pointedly. “Go and do what ya need to do, Hiram. I see no point in you and Mr. Hooley discussin’ your differences in front of my daughters.”