Читать книгу The Amish Bride - Emma Miller - Страница 11

Chapter Four

Ellen pushed her scooter into the yard and scanned the road below. Immediately, she caught sight of a horse and buggy coming from the direction of town. It was Micah. He reined in the gelding and waited. Suspecting that she’d been ambushed, Ellen smiled and walked down the hill toward him.

As she approached the buggy, she saw Micah grinning at her. She knew the expression. He hadn’t changed much since he was a mischievous boy. He knew that she hadn’t been expecting him to be here this morning, and he looked delighted to have surprised her. “You’re right on time today,” he called.

“Good morning, Micah.” She wasn’t sure if the tingling she felt in her chest was pleasure or aggravation. She felt as though everyone around her was trying to manage her, and she liked to make her own decisions. Was this how it was going to be—Micah popping up everywhere, grinning?

“Good morning.”

“Did you come to see my dat?” she asked, pretending innocence, but certain Micah had come to see her, probably to offer to drive her to the shop. “He’s in his workshop.” She stood there a few yards from the buggy. “We had the fish for breakfast this morning. Delicious. Thanks for letting me keep them.”

“Wish I’d been here to have some with you.” Blue eyes twinkling, Micah swung down lightly out of the buggy. He wasn’t a small man. He was muscular, with broad shoulders and long legs, but Ellen had always thought Micah moved easily, like a fine-blooded horse. Maybe it was because he liked playing ball. He’d always been more athletic than his brother, Neziah.

“Maybe not. I burned the last batch.”

“I doubt that,” he said laughing. “I’ve come to drive you into Honeysuckle.”

Unconsciously, she folded her arms, tightening her mouth into a thin line. If only he wasn’t so cute, she thought. It was so hard not to be flattered by Micah’s attention, but he got his way far too often because he was hard to resist. “No need to put yourself out. I’ve got my scooter.” She offered a half smile. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot of work to do today at the sawmill.”

He spread his hands in an endearing gesture. “No trouble at all. Dat needs turnip seeds. He’s a mind to put in a fall crop where we tore down the old shed. So I’ve got to drive right past your shop. It would be foolish for you to take the scooter when you could ride.”

She nodded. “I can see your point. But you can’t convince me that you’d drive all the way into town for turnip seeds so early on a workday.”

Micah chuckled and reached for her scooter. “I’ll put this in the back of the buggy so you’ll have a way home after work.”

She wasn’t letting Micah off so easily. “Tell the truth. This is all part of some scheme of yours, isn’t it?”

His smile broadened, showing even white teeth. One thing about the Shetler brothers, Ellen thought. They’d been fortunate enough to inherit their mother’s beautiful teeth. Neither Neziah nor Micah had ever had a cavity, while she had made regular trips to the dentist. If she did marry one of them, maybe their children would have good teeth. She almost laughed out loud at the thought. Was she really considering marriage prospects based on dentistry?

“Just giving a neighbor a lift into town.” Micah tucked her scooter under his arm. “But that brother of mine will be wishing he thought to come this morning. He can be slow at the start, but he likes a good competition as much as I do. He just doesn’t like to admit it.” Behind him, the black gelding shook his head and shifted impatiently. Like his owner, the spirited horse was happier when in motion.

“I’m not sure I like being part of a competition. And I haven’t said I’d ride in with you, have I?” she asked.

It was flattering to have Micah show up bright and early this morning, and she’d enjoyed herself on their fishing expedition the previous evening, but her quiet life was suddenly moving way too fast. Simeon had only mentioned this scheme to her the previous morning, and this would be the second time she and Micah had been alone together in less than twenty-four hours. And riding to town in his buggy would set tongues to wagging. This was a close community, and by nightfall people would be wondering if she and Micah were walking out together.

“Come on, won’t you ride into Honeysuckle with me?” Micah asked. “I’m already here. You might as well.” And for the first time this morning, behind the teasing, Ellen could see that it was important to him. He’d be hurt if she refused.

“I suppose you’re right,” she replied. “It’s going to be a warm day for September. Better I arrive looking fresh for my customers.”

“You look fine to me,” he said as he loaded the scooter into the back of the vehicle. “Is that a new dress you’re wearing? I like green on you. It makes your eyes green.”

“My eyes are just hazel,” she said as she climbed onto the front seat. “I wasn’t looking for you to give me compliments, but danki for saying so.”

“Didn’t suppose you were.” He slid onto the seat beside her and picked up the reins. “It’s one of the things I’ve always admired about you, Ellen. Your eyes aren’t always the same color. They change.”

“Change how?” She averted her gaze and brushed at the wrinkles in her apron. Was this what it would be like to court Micah, all compliments and blushing? Was this what she wanted, a woman of her age?

“Just, whatever color dress you wear, your eyes look different. It’s one of the things I remember about you from school. Thanks to your eyes, I ate Henry Chupp’s whoopie pies four days in a row.”

Puzzled, she stared at him. “How and why did you eat Henry’s dessert?”

“I bet him that he couldn’t guess the color of your eyes each day before you arrived and I could.” He grinned at her. “Your eyes were always the color of your dress, and you always wore the same color dress on the same day—green on Monday, blue on Tuesday, then the green again and then the blue. On Friday it was supposed to be a lavender dress, but that week you wore brown instead and ruined the whole thing.” He shrugged. “I told Henry your eyes were going to turn purple and I lost.”

Her eyes widened. Gambling was forbidden by the Ordnung, the rules most Amish communities lived by. “That was very wrong of you. We don’t bet on things, not horse races or what color a girl’s eyes will be.”

Micah grimaced. “I know. Neziah found out and threatened to tell Dat if I didn’t make it up to Henry. I had to give him my Little Debbie cakes for a whole week. My favorites. The ones with the sticky cream inside.”

“Served you right.”

“I guess. Neziah was tough. I didn’t think he would tell Vadder because Neziah wasn’t a tattletale, but he had ways of making me toe the line. It was enough to make me give up gambling for life.” He sighed dramatically. “My mother didn’t buy us store cakes often. Usually we had the ones she made. Those Little Debbie cakes were a big deal.”

“I suppose children do make mistakes. How old were you?”

“Let me see. Neziah was out of school and working in the sawmill. I must have been eleven. Teacher used to have you give us spelling tests, and you always gave us more than one chance to spell the word correctly.”

“You didn’t need an extra chance. You were the best speller in your grade.” It was strange to think that the rosy-cheeked boy in suspenders and bare feet she’d once known might now become her beau. Micah had always been a handful, never a bad kid, but always full of mischief. She’d always suspected that Micah had been the one who’d put a frog in her lunchbox when she was in the eighth grade.

“But I always liked you, Ellen. Even though the teacher called on you to be her helper, you never took advantage of it. You weren’t silly like most of the other girls. You don’t play games with people.”

She chuckled. “Don’t I? And who used to strike you out when we played softball at school?”

“Not those kinds of games,” he said as he maneuvered the horse to turn the buggy around. “You know what I mean. You always went out of your way to include the shy girls in your group. You were popular with the teacher and the other kids, but it didn’t make you stuck up.”

“I hope not.”

“Nay, you weren’t. If you had been, I’d have noticed.” He glanced at her. “You didn’t have any brothers or sisters. That’s unusual. A lot of people expected you to be spoiled, but you weren’t. It was something my vadder used to talk about, how much he admired your parents for being sensible raising you.”

“I was blessed with good parents,” she said softly. “And I think you were, too.”

“Jah, but I wish...” He trailed off and Ellen suspected that he was thinking of his mother, who’d died so tragically in that van accident, the same accident that had claimed the life of Neziah’s wife, Betty.

“That you hadn’t lost your mother.”

“True enough,” he said. “Dat never says much, but I know he still grieves for her.”

“We have to believe that she’s safe in the Lord’s hands.”

“We do,” Micah agreed. “I pity those who have no faith to hold them up in hard times. It must be bitter...not to know that.” His brow furrowed. “Easier by far for me, a man grown, to lose a mother than Neziah’s two boys. They need a mother’s hand, and if you pick one of us, I hope you’ll give them what they’re lacking.”

“I’d do my best,” she promised.

“And that’s all anyone can do, I suppose. Do your best.” He eased his horse to a halt at the end of the driveway. A car approached, and Micah held the lines firmly. “Easy. Good boy.” When the car passed, he said, “Walk on.” He flicked the leathers over the gelding’s back, and the horse started forward, first at a walk and then at a pace.

“You’ve done well with him,” she said as the buggy rolled swiftly along the blacktop. She had to admit to herself that she liked fast horses almost as much as Micah did. And it was plain to her that he’d taken a roughly broken saddle horse and worked with him until the animal showed amazing promise as a driving horse. When Micah had come home from the auction with the three-year-old last fall, his father and her own had expressed doubt that the gelding would ever make a reliable driver.

“He was bred to be a racehorse,” Ellen’s father had explained more than once. “Lots of standardbreds turn out to make good driving horses, but that animal was left a stallion too long. I wouldn’t trust him.”

As usual, her mother had echoed her father’s warning, but Ellen had kept her opinion to herself. Micah was known for having patience and a soft hand with horses. She’d secretly hoped that the dire predictions would turn out to be groundless. Flashy the black might be, but the horse Micah called Samson had intelligent eyes, and she’d seen no evidence of meanness around other animals. This was the first time she’d ridden in a buggy behind Samson, and it was too soon to pass judgment, but she thought the gelding seemed well suited to his owner.

“He has a sweet mouth,” Micah said. “Still a little nervous around motorcycles, but he’s young yet. I think he’ll be fine.”

“Worth a lot more than you paid for him,” she agreed. “If you wanted to sell him.”

“Which I don’t. I’m not fickle. When I commit to something or someone, I stick with it.”

Ellen didn’t answer. She felt safer when the conversation was confined to the horse or to other ordinary subjects, but she felt that Micah was straying from the shore into deeper water. She slid over on the seat a little, widening the distance between them so that she could brace her hand on the buggy frame. “Thanks for thinking of driving me in this morning,” she said. “It was kind of you.”

He raised his shoulders and let them fall. “I’m giving my good neighbor a ride to town. It isn’t as if we’re crying the banns for our wedding.”

He was right, and she felt a little foolish for making so much of his showing up in her lane this morning. Slowly, she nodded. “It’s just that it takes some getting used to, thinking of you as a...”

“A suitor?” He smiled and clicked to the horse. Samson quickened his pace. “I thought we’d settled that last night.”

“Did we, Micah?”

“I thought so.”

She tightened her grip on the edge of the seat. “But it doesn’t bother you that this was all your father’s idea?”

“Dat said that he thought that it came as an answer to his prayers. And maybe it did. We can’t say for sure how God tells us what He wants us to do, can we?”

She shook her head. “I guess not.”

“Maybe it was me who needed the nudge to see what was right in front of my eyes for years. I like you, Ellen. If it’s meant to be and we give it a chance, maybe...”

“Jah.” She sighed. “Maybe.” A bubble of happiness tickled her insides. Maybe Micah was right. Maybe he’d been right in front of her and she’d never really looked at him. The possibilities were intriguing.

“It is just a ride to town,” he reminded her. “No strings attached...unless you decide you want them.”

They exchanged a smile, and she closed her eyes and savored the sensation of the wind on her face. This was certainly cooler than she would have been pushing her scooter along the road. She found herself relaxing and enjoying the ride.

Micah, never at a loss for words, began to tell her about a pig that had escaped from Roland Yoder’s wagon. Roland, a butcher, was taking the animal to his brother’s place to be fattened for autumn, but as he was crossing the highway near Bird-In-Hand, a dog ran out at the buggy. The barking frightened the pig that then jumped over the rails and landed in the center of the road. Cars braked and horns honked. The pig ran back and forth causing a traffic jam.

Ellen smiled and waited for the punch line. Like his father, Simeon, Micah’s stories were usually funny, sometimes hilarious. But Micah abruptly broke off in midsentence and reined in the horse.

“Did you see that turtle?” he asked.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Turtle?”

“Jah, a box turtle. Just a little one, smaller than your fist.” He guided Samson onto the shoulder of the road. “Sit tight,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” Micah handed her the reins, climbed down off the seat and hurried back along the road. About thirty feet behind them, Ellen saw him cross to the center of the blacktop and pick up a round object. “Got him!” he proclaimed, holding the creature up for her to see. He carried the turtle to the far side of the road and put him down safely at the edge of the woods.

“That was a small one,” she agreed as Micah got back into the buggy. “You don’t usually see them on the roads by the first of September.” This wasn’t the first time Micah had shown compassion for a small animal. She remembered him catching a six-inch black snake in the school cloakroom. Some of the other boys had wanted him to snap its neck against the shed wall, but he’d faced down two sixth graders and marched the snake to a hedgerow where he released it in the brush.

“I always liked box turtles,” Micah said. “When we were young, Neziah and I always wanted to keep them as pets and train them to do tricks, but Dat wouldn’t let us. He always made us put them back exactly where we found them. He said they have their own territory, and if you move them out of it, they won’t rest until they get back to where they belong. A lot of them are run over by cars on the roads. I feel sorry for them, so I always take them across when I see one.” He arched an eyebrow. “You probably think it’s dumb.”