Читать книгу An Unexpected Amish Romance - Patricia Davids - Страница 12

Chapter One

Mark Bowman lifted his straw hat off his face and sat up with a disgruntled sigh. Trying to sleep on a bus was hard enough, but the sound of muffled weeping coming from the seat behind him was making it impossible. He turned to look over his shoulder. The culprit was an Amish woman with her face buried in a large white handkerchief. She was alone. Should he say something or ignore her?

Normally he avoided meddling in the affairs of others, but he recalled his uncle’s advice to him before he’d left Bowmans Crossing four days ago. A business owner needed to be a good listener as well as a good salesman. Success wasn’t always about numbers, it was about making people feel you cared about them and their concerns. It was about building friendships. Isaac had asked Mark to make an effort to be more outgoing on this trip.

There was no one Mark respected more than his uncle. Isaac Bowman had achieved everything Mark was working toward. He had a successful furniture-making business and a large happy family. Isaac was well respected in his Amish church and in the community and with good reason. He was always willing to lend a helping hand.

Mark didn’t have to imagine what his uncle would do in this situation. He would ask if he could help. Taking a deep breath, Mark spoke softly to the woman. “Fräulein, are you all right?”

She glanced up and then turned her face to the window. “I’m fine.”

It was dark outside. There was nothing to see except the occasional lights from the farms they passed. She dabbed her eyes and sniffled. She was a lovely woman. Her pale blond hair was tucked neatly beneath a gauzy, heart-shaped white kapp. He didn’t recognize the style and wondered where she was from. “You don’t sound fine.”

“Maybe not yet, but I will be.”

The defiance in her tone took him by surprise and reminded him of his six-year-old sister when she didn’t get her way. Experience had taught him the best way to stop his sister’s tears was to distract her. “I don’t care much for bus rides. Makes me queasy in the stomach. How about you?”

“They don’t bother me.”

“Where are you headed?”

“To visit family.” The woman’s clipped reply said she wasn’t interested in talking about it. He should have let it go at that, but he didn’t.

“Then someone in your family must be ill. Or perhaps you are on your way to a funeral.”

She frowned at him. “Why do you say that?”

“It’s a reasonable assumption. You’d hardly be crying if you were on your way to a wedding.”

Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. With a strangled cry, she scrambled out of her seat and moved to one at the rear of the bus, effectively ending their conversation.

Confused, he stared at her. Somehow he’d made things worse, and he had no idea what he’d said that upset her so. He shook his head in bewilderment. Women could be so unpredictable. Fortunately, the woman he planned to marry was sensible and levelheaded. He couldn’t imagine Angela drawing attention to herself by weeping in public.

He noticed a few of the nearby passengers scowling at him. He shrugged and settled back to finish his nap. He should have gone with his first instinct to mind his own business. His brother Paul claimed most women were emotional creatures who enjoyed drama and making mountains out of molehills. Clearly she was one of those. He was fortunate she had moved to the back of the bus and wouldn’t trouble him again.

* * *

Helen Zook squeezed her eyes shut to stem the flow of fresh tears brought on by her nosy and insensitive fellow passenger. His beardless cheeks told her he was a single man. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, let alone a handsome dark-haired Amish fellow who was brash enough to strike up a conversation with a woman traveling alone. Perhaps he had meant to be kind, but his words stung. He was half right. She wasn’t going to a wedding. She was running away from one.

Today should have been her wedding day, but all her dreams of the happy life ahead of her had come crashing down when her fiancé announced three weeks ago that he had changed his mind. He wanted to marry her sister Olivia instead. Today had been their wedding day.

How could Joseph betray her like that? How could her own sister deceive her by seeing Joseph behind her back? They were questions without answers that tumbled around in her mind like leaves in a whirlwind. Helen refused to admit that some of the blame rested squarely on her shoulders. She was the victim.

The shock and the shame had been more than Helen could bear, although she tried to pretend it didn’t matter. She was so angry with them. That was wrong. She knew it, but she couldn’t change how she felt. The two people she trusted most in the world had betrayed her and made her a laughingstock in the community.

The morning of her sister’s wedding, Helen had realized she couldn’t remain at home and watch Olivia wed Joseph. Without a clear idea of what she was going to do, she’d taken her savings and purchased a one-way bus ticket out of Nappanee, Indiana, with the intention of staying with her aunt Charlotte. She hoped she could find a job and get a place of her own soon. She prayed her aunt would take her in. She hadn’t had time to write and explain that she was coming nor had she told anyone where she was going.

Helen had met her father’s youngest sister a few times over the years when they came to visit at Christmas and such, but she didn’t know her aunt well. Charlotte was something of an odd recluse and not overly fond of visitors, but Helen would make herself useful. She was fleeing to her aunt’s home because Charlotte lived the farthest away of any of the relatives. She had never married, choosing to stay at home and care for her aging parents until they were both gone. She had a small income from the rental of farmland her father had left her near Bowmans Crossing, Ohio. According to the letters she wrote to Helen’s parents, she lived happily with only her pets in a little house by the river.

It seemed like the perfect hideaway to Helen, but as the miles flew by she was learning distance alone didn’t diminish a heartache.

* * *

Mark roused as the bus slowed and jolted to a halt. “Berlin, Ohio,” the driver announced over the intercom. He opened the door with a loud whoosh.

Mark stretched and rose to his feet. After pulling his duffel bag from the overhead bin, he made his way down the aisle and got off the bus. It would be wonderful to sleep in his own bed after having stayed in motels for the past four days, but at least his trip had been a success. He looked forward to telling his uncle that they had two new stores in Columbus willing to sell the handmade furniture produced in his workshop.

Berlin didn’t have an actual bus station. They had stopped in a parking lot in front a local restaurant that was already closed for the evening. A single floodlight provided the only illumination, with moths and other insects fluttering around it.

Several other Amish passengers got off the bus including the weeping woman who seemed to have recovered her composure. She pointedly avoided looking at Mark and kept her eyes downcast. There were several buggies parked along the roadway. Various passengers gravitated to them. The woman spoke to the bus driver, who was unloading luggage. He pointed toward a white van at the edge of the parking lot. She nodded and crossed to the vehicle where she spoke to someone inside and then got in.

Not much more than a wide spot in the road, the village of Berlin was still fifteen miles from Mark’s destination of Bowmans Crossing. He looked around for his uncle or one of his cousins but didn’t see them. They knew he was coming in on this bus, so he expected they would be along soon.

The driver of the white van approached. Mark recognized Abner Stutzman. The wiry gray-haired man was one his uncle’s English neighbors who earned extra money by providing taxi service to the Amish folks in the community.

“Evening, Mark.”

“Guten nacht, Abner.”

“Your uncle arranged for me to pick you up and take you home tonight.”

Mark grinned. That meant he’d reach his bed all the sooner. “I’m grateful for Onkel Isaac’s thoughtfulness.”

“I hope you don’t mind me taking on another fare. There’s a young lady needing a ride, too. She’s going past Bowmans Crossing, so it won’t hold you up any.”

“That’s fine.” Mark hoped she wouldn’t start crying again when she saw he was sharing her ride.

Abner rubbed his hands together. “Okay, let’s get going. The missus came along to keep me company, but she doesn’t like to stay out late.”

Since Abner’s wife was seated up front, Mark had no choice but to get in the back. The woman from the bus was already seated in the second row. He had the option of sitting beside her or behind her in the third row of seats. Would she start crying again if he sat beside her? Riding in the back of Abner’s van might trigger Mark’s motion sickness. Which would be worse? He put his duffel bag on the rear seats and sat down beside her without a word. She kept her face averted.

“All set?” Abner asked, looking at them in the rearview mirror.

The woman nodded slightly. Mark said, “We’re ready.”

Abner pulled out of the parking lot and onto the narrow highway headed toward Bowmans Crossing. After a few long minutes of awkward silence, Mark decided perhaps he should apologize. He leaned toward her. “I’m sorry I upset you earlier.”

“It wasn’t you,” she murmured. He had to strain to hear her.

She kept her face turned toward the window. He wished he could see her better. “Goot. I’d hate to think I added to your troubles.”

“You didn’t.” Her clipped reply wasn’t encouraging.

“If no one is ill or has died, why were you crying?”

“My reasons are my own.”

He shifted uncomfortably on the seat, feeling out of his depth but sure that his uncle would want him to try and aid her. “Some people say it helps to talk about your problems.”

“Well, some people are wrong.”

He sighed inwardly with relief. She didn’t want to pour out her troubles any more than he wanted to hear them. “I find that’s true. I’m glad you don’t wish to discuss it with me.”

Her eyes widened. “Then why did you offer?”

“My onkel tells me I need to work on my communication skills. He says it’s important for a business owner. I’m supposed to practice showing interest in people and become a better listener.”

“So you chose me to practice on?”

He caught a hint of anger in her tone. “No need to ruffle your feathers.”

“My feathers are not ruffled,” she said through gritted teeth, her eyes snapping with irritation.

“I’d say they are getting more ruffled by the second.”

“You are a rude man. We’re done talking.” She folded her arms tightly across her chest and turned back to the window.

She had no idea how glad he was to hear her say that. Still, he couldn’t help wondering what had made her cry in the first place. She stirred his curiosity, and that was unusual.

Twenty-five silent minutes later, Abner pulled to a stop in front of Mark’s uncle’s home. Mark tipped his hat to the woman and got out. She didn’t even glance his way. To his mind, she was the one being rude.

His uncle’s advice was harder to put into practice than he expected it to be.

* * *

The following day, Mark stayed busy in his uncle’s workshop until early evening. Although he had been put in charge by his uncle and oversaw the day-to-day operations of the business, it was carving that Mark enjoyed the most. He was putting the finishing touches on a mantelpiece depicting foxes at play in the woods when his uncle stopped beside him.

As Mark had hoped, his uncle had been pleased with the success of his trip. He had omitted telling him about the woman on the bus, although he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been successful in that endeavor. He kept going over their conversations trying to pinpoint what he’d done wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Time to close up shop, Mark. Ah, I see you’re almost done with the mantel. This is goot work. If you decide not to open your own business, I’d be happy to keep you on here. You have a rare God-given talent.”

“Danki, but I will stick to my plan.”

“I felt sure you would say that. Don’t let your supper get cold.”

“I’ll be along in a few minutes.” Mark ran his hand along the surface of his project, satisfied with the way it had turned out. All that was left was to stain the oak wood the color the customer wanted. It was one of his better pieces, although he was a long way from being a master carver the way his cousin Samuel and coworker Adam Knepp were.

A short time later, he entered the front door of his uncle’s home and saw his brother, Paul, waiting with a big grin on his face.

“Your fair Angela has written you another love letter, bruder. Will you read it aloud to us tonight?”

Mark ignored his brother and picked up the letter addressed to him from the top of the mail piled on the end of the kitchen counter. Despite his foolish younger brother’s suggestion, Mark knew it wasn’t a love letter. Angela was too practical for such nonsense. Their relationship was based on respect and the knowledge that their marriage would be mutually beneficial to both their families.

He slipped the letter into his pocket to read later and hung his straw hat on one of the pegs by the kitchen door. Seven identical Amish hats were already lined up. His uncle, his five cousins and his brother had come in earlier. Mark had lingered behind making sure the lights were off in the workshop, checking on the orders for the next workday and making certain the generator had enough fuel to start up again when they needed it. His uncle had placed Mark in charge of the business for the last three months of his apprenticeship. He was determined to show his uncle his faith wasn’t misplaced.

“Leave off teasing Mark and sit down for supper,” Anna Bowman said, carrying a steaming pot of roast beef and vegetables to the kitchen table using her folded black apron as a hot pad for her hands.

“I can’t leave off teasing him, Aenti Anna. It’s Gott’s will that I annoy my big brother since Mark annoys the rest of us. He has become a tyrant.”

“I never ask anyone to do more than I can do myself.” Mark pulled out a chair and took his place at the long table. His uncle Isaac sat at the head of the table with his oldest son, Samuel, at his right hand. The rest of Isaac’s sons were arranged according to age down the length of the table with Mark and Paul taking up the last two chairs. The wives and daughters of Mark’s cousins were seated on the opposite side, all in plain Amish dresses with their black work aprons and white prayer kapps. It made a big family gathering when everyone was home. The room was filled with chatter and the clinking of dishes along with the pleasant aromas of the stew, cornbread muffins and hot coffee.

Anna surveyed the table and then took her place at the foot. The noise died away. Isaac bowed his head, and everyone did the same, reciting the blessing in silence. When Isaac raised his head, signaling the prayer was finished, the business turned to eating. The talk was minimal until the meal was over.

After finishing his peach cobbler, Isaac leaned back in his chair and patted his stomach. “It was a goot meal.”

“Danki, husband. What time do you expect to start the frolic in the morning?”

“I imagine most workers will be here by eight o’clock as long as the rain holds off.”

All the members of the Bowman family had arrived to help with the work party set for the following day. The women had spent the day cooking and cleaning since Isaac and Anna were hosting the party. Most of their Amish community would come to help clear the logjam beneath the only bridge into and out of the valley on the far side of the river. While the men worked, the women would usually visit then serve coffee and a hearty lunch, but tomorrow there was to be a quilting party for the women, too. As the rest of the men went into the living room, leaving the women to clean up, Mark went upstairs to his room at the back of the house.

His window was open, and the evening breeze fluttered the simple white curtains his aunt had in all the upstairs bedrooms. Outside, the spreading branches of a huge ancient silver maple tree kept the room cool, but it obstructed the view of the river from this room. Mark didn’t mind. It was more practical to have a cool place to sleep in the summer than a view.

His uncle had been talking about cutting the tree down. The old thing was past its prime, having as many dead limbs as live ones branching off its enormous trunk. Silver maples were notorious for breaking in wind storms. Two large limbs had come down in the last storm, fortunately on the side away from the house, but it was only a matter of time before one fell on the roof. Mark’s aunt was the reason the tree hadn’t been taken down already. She had an irrational, sentimental attachment to it because Isaac’s parents had planted it the year Isaac was born.

Mark pulled out his letter and sat on the edge of his bed. Angela’s letters came like clockwork every Tuesday, and today was no exception. She normally wrote about the weather and the people back home, about her father’s lumber milling business and about what changes she hoped to make to the farm when she and Mark were married. Unlike with the overly emotional woman on the bus, he knew exactly what to expect from Angela.

His letters to her were about his work and the ways he saw he could incorporate his uncle’s teachings into the business he would own one day. The day was fast approaching when he could put his plan into effect.

It had been her father’s business and the location of their farm that first gave Mark the idea to build his future workshop there. Otis Yoder’s small farm had poor, rocky soil, but it fronted a busy road in an area where tourists flocked to gawk at Amish folks and buy Amish-made goods. The fact that Otis could supply almost all the raw lumber Mark would need cinched the plan in his mind.

When Mark had approached Otis about buying some of his land, Otis wasn’t interested. He saw value in Mark’s idea but wanted his farm and business to go to Angela, his only child. Mark persisted, and eventually Otis made a surprising counteroffer. If Mark would marry Angela, then Otis would enter a partnership with him. Angela was a widow a few years older than Mark. She was quiet, hardworking and practical. To his amazement, she agreed with her father’s proposal.

Getting a wife along with the land was a bonus in Mark’s eyes. He’d never had the time or the inclination to date women, but he did want a family one day. He wanted sons to carry on the business he would build. The idea of romance and falling in love to achieve that didn’t make sense. Why base one of the most important decisions a man could make on something as flimsy as a feeling? In his mind, it was much better to base it on mutual respect and shared goals than love.

He and Angela had settled on a long-distance courtship while Mark apprenticed with his uncle. Mark sent her a portion of his paychecks each month as a down payment on the land.

Little by little he had been accumulating the machinery and tools he would need and had them stored in his father’s barn not far from the Yoder farm. Isaac had put him in contact with people who were interested in purchasing Pennsylvania Amish–made furniture. Things were almost ready for him to open his business.

He slipped his finger under the envelope flap and tore it open. He quickly skimmed through her short letter. It didn’t contain any of the usual news. Mark couldn’t believe his eyes. He read the note again. Angela wanted to end their engagement.

For almost two years he had been working toward a goal that would provide them with a lifetime of security and now, two months before he was due to return home, she was tired of waiting for him?

They had talked about this before he left, and she had assured him that two years would pass before they knew it. Angela agreed they had to stick to a plan if they were going to succeed. He read her words again. She was sorry, but she no longer wished to marry him.

What was the plan now? What about the land? What about his partnership with her father? What about the money he’d sent? He had no idea where all of that stood. He crumpled the note into a ball and threw it toward the wastebasket in the corner. It bounced off the rim.

The door opened, and Paul stuck his head in. “What did the fair Angela have to say? Did she send you a hug and kiss with an x and o ?”

“My business is my own, Paul,” Mark snapped. He wasn’t ready to share this news, certainly not with Paul.

“Hey, you look a little funny. Is something wrong?” Paul took a step into the room.

“Your harassment is what’s wrong. I’m tired of your jabs.”

Paul held up both hands. “Bruder, I never mean you harm. I hope you know that. Forgive me if I have offended you.”

Mark rose from the bed. “Please forgive me also. I’m tired tonight, that’s all.”

He took Paul by the shoulders and turned him to the door. “I need my sleep and so do you. We’ll have a hard day tomorrow.”

“You might. I intend to have fun.”

“When do you have anything else?” Mark gave him a friendly shove out into the hall and closed the door behind him. He bent to pick up the crumpled letter. Instead of throwing it into the trash, he smoothed it out. He had planned a future with her for so long that he wasn’t sure how to plan one without her.

If she didn’t want to marry him, that was fine, but what about the land? All she said was that her feelings toward him had changed. How was that possible if they hadn’t seen each other? Although their intentions hadn’t been made public, he saw her request as a breach of contract. With a few strokes of her pen she upset his carefully thought-out plan and left him twirling in the wind like a new-fallen leaf.

He needed to consider all the ramifications of what this meant. He didn’t have enough information. He sat down to write and ask for more details. Even if Angela’s father still intended to sell Mark the land, he now faced the distasteful task of finding another woman to marry. In his opinion, courting was a waste of a man’s time.

Unbidden, the memory of the woman from the bus slipped into his mind. She was the perfect example of why he dreaded looking for a mate. All he had done was try to help. In the first instance, his words had sent her fleeing in tears. In the second, they had made her spitting mad, and he still had no idea why.

Who was she? Why had she been crying? Abner had said she was going beyond Bowmans Crossing. The chances of seeing her again were slim.

So why couldn’t he get her tear-stained face out of his head?