A Little Bit of Charm (10 page)

Donna drew in a deep breath. She'd been warned not to get involved in theological debates and to just state scientific facts and medical probabilities, but what if those weren't enough to convince people whose faith lay at the very center of their lives? “No, ma'am, certainly not. Perhaps you can read this brochure about the long-term effects and expense of the disease and talk the matter over with your husband.” She pulled a pamphlet from her briefcase—one that the woman made no attempt to accept. “I wrote my phone number on the back. Call me if you wish more information. I would be happy to return. There would be no cost to your family for the shots,” she added.

The mother lifted her chin. “Money isn't the issue here.” As though on cue, her baby began to cry. She rose, patting the child's back. “Thank you for stopping by, Mrs. Cline, and for your concern.” Without another word she walked into the house for a feeding or a diaper change—either way the meeting was over. The older boy, who had stood like a sentinel on the other side of the porch, strode inside after her. Donna left the brochure on the rail, to be blown away with the next gust of wind.

She had underestimated the farmer's wife and mother of six, eight, or who knew how many. She assumed she could appeal to a maternal instinct or take some authoritative position—a person
who knew what was best for the county residents. But she had been no match for a devout person's unflappable faith. She witnessed it personally when her mother had received a terminal cancer diagnosis. The oncologist insisted on a grueling regimen of chemo and radiation that might extend life by six months. Her mother refused, turning instead to intensive prayer. Without subjecting her body to chemical bombardment, she placed her future in God's hands. Mom had lived another three years—a gift of spontaneous remission—and those years had been relatively pain-free. Donna wouldn't have believed in the power of faith if she hadn't seen it with her own eyes.

But she was no preacher or faith healer. She was trained to share medical information and explain available services to area residents. Without stopping for lunch, she visited farm after farm on that road and then the next. Each response was different but the outcome remained the same.

“All my children feel fine. We have no need for your shots.”

“Our district doesn't follow English ways.”

“I heard those vaccines contain bits of the virus. I won't chance my children getting sick from the shots.”

“I shall pray on the matter. Why don't you come back next summer?”

In two cases the homeowner listened politely and said, “No, thank you.” Then the door was shut in Donna's face as if she were selling door-to-door candy. Hot and tired, she walked back to her car feeling as though she'd accomplished nothing. But as she drove back to Russell Springs she knew she couldn't give up. She would return to Casey County tomorrow and every day thereafter until she had knocked on every door. Too much was at stake—the healthy future of every Amish and Mennonite child in the area.

Jake watched the new tour guide lift her hand and wave at the departing bus. Seeing her smile allowed him to relax for the first time that day. He'd been waiting for Rachel to finish the tour with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.

“Hi, Rachel,” he called as the bus pulled from the parking lot with a blast of diesel exhaust.

She turned slowly and smiled upon recognition. “Hi, Jake. I did it! I gave my first tour and it went pretty well. That is, after a rocky start.” A blush darkened her cheeks.

When he reached her side they walked up the gravel path toward the stable office. “What kind of a rocky start? Did someone give you a hard time?”

“Oh, no. Everyone was very sweet, but when I got to the first stop, I drew a total blank. I completely forgot everything I learned from the manual.” Her blue eyes widened. “Please don't think I didn't study. I practically memorized the entire notebook.”

“I believe you.” He nodded agreement with more energy than necessary. “The first time I announced events at a horse show, I forgot half the stuff I was supposed to say. And I pronounced everyone's name wrong—even folks I'd known most of my life.”

“Thanks for telling me that.” Rachel's braid danced across her shoulders as she moved. “I was tempted to push the panic button.”

Jake scratched his jawline. “What panic button?”

“The red button on the walkie-talkie that sends messages.” She held her balled fist up to her lips. “Help, come get me! I'm surrounded by tourists and don't know what to say!”

Laughing louder than he should, Jake kicked a stone down the path. “One of us would have come running. We don't allow guests to maul employees on their first day at Twelve Elms.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

“What a great place to work!” She threw her arms out, palms skyward.

“I take it the information in the manual finally came back to you?”

“Nope. I had to beg people to ask questions to trigger my memory, but by the second stop I had caught my stride, and by the last I was able to relax and enjoy myself.” She kicked the same stone another dozen feet. “How has your day gone so far?”

He shrugged and sighed. “I've not been astride a horse all morning. I've been holed up in the office on the computer doing e-mails, posting to our blog, and updating our Facebook status, while the horses under my care grow fat and lazy.”

“I don't know what all that means, but I presume it's a waste of time compared to your equestrian work?”

She mispronounced the word “equestrian,” but he thought it sounded so charming he wouldn't correct her in a million years. “It's time-consuming but too soon to tell if it's a time waste. Businesses need a strong presence on the Internet if they want new customers to find them. We can't grow our business if we stay locked in the twentieth century.” Jake bit his tongue. Would his comments offend a woman who wore bonnets and drove a buggy?

“I get it. If they write to you electronically, you need to make time to write back. And writing letters whether on paper or a computer takes time.” Her braid swung so invitingly he yearned to catch it between his fingers. Unfortunately, they had reached the entrance to the stable office.

“I'm starved. Want to grab some lunch with me in the break room?” He flourished a hand toward the door as though beckoning her to a banquet.

Rachel skipped up the steps. “Sure, as long as you help me eat what I brought. My cousin packed enough food for a small village. I'll wash up, get my lunch bag, and meet you at the table.” She disappeared into the ladies' room.

Jake bolted into the lounge to make sure no one had left half-eaten donuts or dirty coffee cups lying about. He spritzed the table
by the window with spray cleaner and wiped it until the surface gleamed. When she returned, he was leaning back in his chair, relaxed and at ease. At least, that's how he hoped he appeared.

She opened her insulated lunch bag. “I like having a locker here—a place to stick my stuff.” While talking, she pulled out two sandwiches and two apples and placed half in front of him.

Jake unwrapped the waxed paper and bit into the thick ham and cheese. Before he could swallow, Rachel bowed her head in silent prayer. He felt like a heel. Sometimes his family remembered to say grace, but often his younger sister started expounding on some schoolyard drama first. “Sorry,” he whispered when she lifted her head. “My manners are a little rusty.”

“It's all right.” Rachel took small, dainty bites of her sandwich.

He slowed his pace so he wouldn't resemble a ravenous stray dog. “What does your schedule look like for the afternoon?”

“One more tour, but it's not until two thirty. Then I'll be finished for the day. Your sister explained that bookings are lighter in the fall than during the summer.” She sipped from her water bottle.

“Would you like to see the old maple sugar shack? My granddaddy used to boil down sap from our trees and make the best pancake syrup around.”

“I would if I can get back before my bus group arrives.”

“No problem. It's not far.”

He cleaned up their trash while Rachel stowed her bag. Jake noticed every head in the room turn when she walked by. He wasn't the only male to notice how pretty she was.

On the way to the sugaring cabin in the bright afternoon sunshine, Rachel didn't seem to mind their temporary lull in conversation, but the silence was killing him. How could he appear witty, charming, and intelligent if he couldn't think of a single thing to say? What should he talk about with an Amish woman? She probably didn't follow sports or popular music or go to movies on
weekends. Fortunately, Skinny Joe sauntered out of the tall weeds at that moment.

“Goodness, a one-eyed cat.” Rachel bent down to scoop the orange kitty into her arms. “You are beautiful despite your disability.” She held the cat nose-to-nose before settling him in the crook of her arm. “I suspect there's a story here.”

“His name is Skinny Joe. I found him hiding in the bushes by our mailbox. He'd been thrown out of a car and was in pretty bad shape. I rushed him to the vet for treatment, but his eye couldn't be saved.” He scratched Joe behind the ear. “Our vet is an animal lover, same as me, so she made me a deal. She spays or neuters any feral cats I bring in and provides shots for twenty-five dollars. Afterward, she notches an ear so the animal warden knows to leave these cats alone. As long as strays are healthy and don't add to the cat overpopulation problem, they can run wild and keep down the number of mice and other rodents.”

“How many have you taken to her so far?” Rachel stroked his fur continually while Joe purred as loud as a lawnmower.

“Twenty-eight and counting. Everybody thinks the countryside is a great place to dump pets.” He shook his head. “Jessie already has two house cats, and my dad doesn't want too many around the horse barns. I've found homes for most of them, but nobody fell in love with Skinny Joe.”

Rachel clucked her tongue. “Nobody until now. I would take him home in a heartbeat if I wasn't a guest at my cousin's. People must be blind to his inner beauty.” She bent down and kissed Joe's fuzzy head.

“I'd bet he feels the same about you.” They had reached the cabin, and a moment later Jake swept open the door to a bygone era.

Setting the animal down, Rachel stepped inside. Joe scampered up the narrow steps to the loft in search of tasty critters. “I love this place.” She ran her hand along the rim of a huge evaporation
kettle. “I can still smell the scent of maple sugar. Doesn't anybody tap your trees anymore?”

“No. Dad and Mom are too busy. My mother is a pharmacist, and Dad has the stable to run. Every year we talk about tapping trees in January, but there's always so much to do. Maybe we will someday once my little brother gets old enough to be serious help around the place. I would love to bottle a batch labeled ‘Grandpa Jeremiah's Secret Recipe.' The tour groups would snap it up in the gift shop. Profits would soar.”

“You can count on me for your first sale. I drown my pancakes in syrup.” Rachel smiled at him almost as warmly as she had at Skinny Joe.

Suddenly the shack felt uncomfortably warm and airless. Jake loosened his collar and crossed his arms. Beads of sweat began forming across his forehead. Like Rachel at her first tour stop, he couldn't think of a single thing to say—not about maple sugar or one-eyed cats or anything else. He was alone with the prettiest girl in Kentucky in his favorite spot on the farm, and he could barely breathe.

As though she sensed his discomfort, Rachel walked around the cabin conducting an inspection. “I would say all this place needs is a good cleaning, and then it will be ready to fire up the woodstove next January. But now I must go back to the office and prepare for my next group. I want to review the manual to make sure I don't panic this afternoon.” She took a step toward the door. “Thanks, Jake, for the tour of the sugar cabin and helping me eat lunch. I'll see you later.” Without waiting for his response, she bolted out the door and down the path without a backward glance.

And that was a good thing. Because Jake stood in the center of the room with his mouth agape and his mind spinning in ten different directions at once.