Chapter One

      “You miserable alt gayse. Oh, no, you don’t. Not again!” Anne Stoltzfus shot to her feet when she spotted the intruder working his way under the fence beyond her red barn. She stepped closer to the kitchen window. He was almost through.

      “What’s wrong?” Roxann Shield remained seated at Anne’s kitchen table, her eyes wide with concern.

      “It’s Joseph Lapp’s old goat. He’s getting into my garden. I’m not going to lose the last of my precious tomatoes or another prized pumpkin to that thief.”

      Anne dashed out into the cool morning. Flying down the steps, she raced toward the rickety fence separating her garden plots from her cantankerous neighbor’s farm, yelling as she ran. “Out! Get out of there!”

      Her nemesis was halfway under the fence when she reached him. Armed with only a kitchen towel, she flew into battle, flapping her weapon in the black-and-brown billy goat’s face. The culprit tried to retreat, but his curved horns snagged in the sagging wire. The more he struggled to escape her attack, the more tangled he became. He bleated his misery as loud as he could.

      Anne stopped flapping when she recognized his dilemma. He couldn’t go forward and he couldn’t go back. She rested her hands on her hips as she scowled at him. She heard laughter behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Roxann doubled over with mirth on her front steps.

      Anne turned her attention back to the goat. “I should leave you here. It would serve you right to spend the night with your head stuck in the fence.”

      Feeling sorry for the goat was the last thing she wanted to do, but he did appear miserable sprawled on his belly with his head cocked at an awkward angle. His eyes were wide with fear and his mouth hung open. She looked about for his owner, but Joseph Lapp was nowhere to be seen. Of course he wasn’t. Trust her neighbor to be absent when his animal was misbehaving. That was usually the case.

      How many times had his goats managed to get in her garden and eat her crops? More than she cared to count. More than she could afford to lose. Each time she drove them out, she bit her tongue to keep from telling Joseph Lapp exactly what she thought of his smelly horde. Her Amish faith required that she forgive grievances, but enough was enough. If the man didn’t repair his fences soon, she was going to have a word with Bishop Andy about Joseph’s poor stewardship. She didn’t want to cause trouble, but she was tired of being on the losing end of the situation.

      However satisfying a conversation with the bishop might be, it didn’t solve her current problem. The goat continued bleating pitifully. A number of other goats looked over their pens to see what was going on. Anne waited for Joseph to appear, but he didn’t. She studied the billy goat for a long moment.

      “If you are to be free, I reckon I’ll have to do it. Remember this kindness and stay out of my garden.”

      “Be careful,” Roxann called out.

      Crouching in front of the goat, Anne put her hand on his head and pushed down so she could untangle his horns. She wrinkled her nose at his stench. Why did he smell so bad? If she had a garden hose handy, she would bathe him before she let him up. Maybe that would deter him from visiting next time. He struggled harder but she was only able to unhook one horn. “Hold still, you wicked animal.”

      Suddenly, the goat surged forward. His second horn popped free and he made a break for it, barreling into Anne. The impact toppled her backward into her precious tomato plants. Although it was mid-October, the vines still bore huge red fruit, the very last of the summer’s bounty and a sure cash crop at her produce stand. She sat in openmouthed shock as the feeling of squished tomatoes beneath her soaked through her dress. So much for a goat’s gratitude.

      She shook her fist at him. “You miserable, ungrateful beast!”

      “Do you need a hand?”

      The mildly amused voice came from the far side of the fence. Joseph Lapp stood with his arms crossed on his chest and one hand cupped over his mouth.

      He was a tall, brawny man with wide shoulders and muscular arms. A straw hat pulled low on his brow covered his light blond hair. The wide brim cast a shadow across his gray eyes, but she knew he was laughing at her. Again. They rarely shared a conversation, but he was always finding some amusement at her expense. Did he enjoy seeing her suffer?

      She scrambled to her feet. “I don’t need a hand. I need you to keep your goats out of my garden. Unless you keep them in, I’m going to complain to the bishop.”

      Joseph walked to the gate between their properties a few yards away and opened it. “Do what you must. Chester, koom.”

      The billy goat snatched a mouthful of pumpkin leaves and trotted toward the gate. He walked placidly through the opening, but Anne saw the gleam in his beady black eyes when he looked over his shoulder at her. He would be back. Well, she wouldn’t be so kind to him next time. It wouldn’t be a kitchen towel. She’d find a stout stick.

      Joseph closed and latched the gate. “I will pay for the tomatoes. Just throw the ruined ones over the fence.”

      She brushed off her stained maroon dress and glared at him. “I’m not going to reward that mangy animal with my fresh tomatoes, even if they are ruined. He’ll only come back wanting more.”

      “Suit yourself. If I can’t have them, I won’t pay for them.”

      “Are you serious?” Her mouth dropped open in shock. She took a step toward him and planted her bare foot in another tomato. The pulp oozed between her toes.

      “You sat on them. Chester didn’t.” Joseph turned to walk away.

      Furious, Anne plucked the closest whole tomato and threw it with all her might. It hit Joseph squarely between the shoulder blades, splattering in a bright red blob where his suspenders crossed his white shirt.

      Horrified, she pressed her hands to her mouth. She had actually hit the man.

      Joseph flexed his shoulders. Bits of broken tomato dropped to the ground. Chester jumped on the treats and gobbled them up. Joseph turned to glare at Anne.

      She didn’t wait to hear what he had to say. She fled to the house as fast as her shaky legs could carry her. She dashed past Roxann and stopped in the center of her kitchen with her hands pressed to her cheeks.

      “What a great throw.” Roxann came in, still chuckling. “Did you see the look on his face?”

      “In all the years I played baseball as a kinner, no one wanted me on their team. I couldn’t hit the broad side of the barn when I threw a ball. But today I struck my neighbor.”

      “You didn’t hurt him with a tomato.”

      “You don’t understand.” How could she? Roxann was Englisch. She didn’t have to live by the strict rules of Anne’s Amish faith.

      Roxann stopped giggling. “Will you get into trouble for it? I know the Amish practice nonviolence, but you weren’t trying to hurt him.”

      “I struck him in anger. That is not permitted. Ever. If Joseph goes to the bishop or to the church elders, it will be cause for a scandal. I’m so ashamed.”

      Roxann slipped her arm over Anne’s shoulder. “I’m sure Mr. Lapp will