The Shepherd's Bride. Patricia Davids
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into her coat and glanced around the cluttered kitchen. If only he would realize how much better his life would be with Clara to care for him.
Was he right? Was her failure God’s will?
With a heavy heart, she carried her suitcase and the box with her quilt in it out to the front porch. Her grandfather was nowhere in sight, but his hired man was leading a small white pony hitched to a cart in her direction.
He was a big, burly man with wide shoulders and narrow hips. He wore a black cowboy hat, jeans and a flannel shirt under a stained and worn sheepskin jacket. His hair was light brown and long enough to touch his collar, but it was clean. His size and stealth had frightened the wits out of her in the house earlier. Out in the open, he didn’t appear as menacing, but he didn’t smile and didn’t meet her gaze.
He and her grandfather must get along famously with few words spoken and never a smile between them.
It was all well and good to imagine staying until her grandfather changed his mind, but the reality was much different. He had ordered her to go home. How could she make him understand if he wouldn’t hear what she had to say? He hadn’t even offered the simple hospitality of his home for the night. He wanted her gone as quickly as possible. She would have to go home in defeat unless she could find some way to support herself and bring her sisters to Hope Springs. She didn’t know where to start. All her hopes had been pinned on her grandfather’s compassion. Sadly, he didn’t have any.
Carl stopped in front of the house and waited for her. She bit her lower lip. Was she really giving up so easily? “Where is my grandfather?”
“He’s gone out to the pasture to move the rest of his sheep.”
“When will he be back?”
“Hard to say.”
“I’d like to speak to him again.”
“Joe told me to take you to the bus station. It’s plain to me that he was done talking.”
She stamped her foot in frustration. “You don’t understand. I can’t go home.”
He didn’t say anything. He simply waited beside the pony. A brick wall would have shown more compassion. Defeated by his stoic silence, she descended the steps. He took her bag from her hand and placed it behind the seat of the cart. He reached for the box that contained her quilt and she reluctantly handed it over.
He waited until she had climbed aboard, then he took his place beside her on the wooden seat. With a flip of the reins, he set the pony in motion. She looked back once. The house, which had looked like a sanctuary when she first saw it, looked like the run-down farmstead it truly was. Tears stung her eyes. She tried not to let them fall, but she couldn’t hold back a sniffle. She wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve.
* * *
Carl cringed at the sound of Lizzie’s muffled sniffling. He would have been okay if she hadn’t started crying.
He didn’t want to involve himself in her troubles. Whatever it was, it was none of his business. He glanced her way and saw a tear slip down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away. She looked forlorn huddled on the seat next to him, like a lost lamb that couldn’t find the flock.
He looked straight ahead. “I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way you wanted with your grandfather.”
“He’s a very uncaring man.”
“Joe is okay.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“He doesn’t cotton to most people.”
“I’m not most people. I’m his flesh and blood. He doesn’t care that his own granddaughter is being forced into marriage with a hateful man.”
Carl looked at her in surprise. “You’re being forced to marry someone not of your choosing?”
“Not me. My sister Clara. Our uncle, my mother’s brother, took us in after our parents died. Onkel Morris is making Clara marry a man more than twice her age.”
“Amish marriages are not arranged. Your sister cannot be compelled to marry against her will.”
“The man who wishes to marry Clara is our landlord and employer. He could turn us all out of his house to starve. My uncle is afraid of him.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“But you are not.” He glanced at her with respect. It had taken a lot of courage for her to travel so far.
“I’m afraid of him, too. Sometimes, I think he enjoys making life miserable for others.” Her voice faded away. She sniffled again.
The pony trotted quickly along the road as Carl pondered Lizzie’s story. He had no way to help her and no words of wisdom to offer. Sometimes, life wasn’t fair.
After a few minutes, she composed herself enough to ask, “Do you know of anyone who might want to hire a maid or a housekeeper?”
“No.” He didn’t go into town unless he had to. He didn’t mingle with people.
“I would take any kind of work.”
“There’s an inn in town. They might know of work for you.”
She managed a watery smile for him. “Danki. Something will turn up.”
She was pretty when she smiled. Although her eyes were red-rimmed now, they were a beautiful hazel color. They shimmered with unshed tears in the afternoon light. Her face, with its oval shape, pale skin and sculpted high cheekbones, gave her a classical beauty, but a spray of freckles across her nose gave her a fresh, wholesome look that appealed to him.
It felt strange to have a woman seated beside him. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed the companionship of anyone other than Joe. Did she know he had been shunned? Joe should have told her. Carl wasn’t sure how to bring up the subject.
He sat stiffly on the seat, making sure he didn’t touch her. If she were unaware of his shunning, he would see that she didn’t inadvertently break the tenets of her faith. The sharp, staccato clip-clop of the pony’s hooves on the blacktop, the creaking of the cart and Lizzie’s occasional sniffles were the only sounds in the awkward silence until he crested the hill. A one-room Amish schoolhouse sat back from the road, and the cheerful sounds of children playing during recess reached him. A game of softball was under way.
One little girl in a blue dress and white kapp waved to him from her place in the outfield. He waved back when he recognized her. Joy Mast immediately dropped her oversize ball glove and ran toward him. He pulled the pony to a stop. Two boys from the other team ran after her.
“Hi, Carl. How is Duncan? Is he with you today?” She reached the cart and hung on to the side to catch her breath.
He relaxed as he grinned at her. He could be himself around Amish children. They hadn’t been baptized and wouldn’t be required to shun him. Joy had Down syndrome. Her father, Caleb Mast, had recently returned to the area and rejoined his Amish family. “Hello, Joy. Duncan is fine, but he is working today moving Joe’s sheep, so he couldn’t come for a visit. Has your father found work?”
“Yes, I mean, ja, at the sawmill. Mrs. Weaver is glad, too, because that silly boy Faron Martin couldn’t keep his mind off his girlfriend long enough to do his work.”
Carl heard a smothered chuckle from Lizzie. He had to smile, too. “I’m not sure your grandmother and Mrs. Weaver want you repeating their conversations.”
“Why not?”
The two boys reached her before Carl could explain. The oldest boy, Jacob Imhoff, spoke first. “Joy, you aren’t supposed to run off without telling someone. You know that.”
She hung her head. “I forgot.”
Joy had a bad habit of wandering off and had frightened her family on several occasions by disappearing without letting anyone know where she was going.
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