A Little Bit of Charm (13 page)

Keeley ran out the door while Jessie threaded her ponytail through her ball cap. “Wow, there's a first time for everything. You're a good influence on that girl.”

Rachel wasn't sure if it was her influence or not, but Keeley fell in step with the instruction without the slightest complaint. The six riders paid attention during the lesson and enjoyed an absolutely perfect morning. Calamity Jane responded to Rachel's commands, allowing her to appear competent and prepared to take over in two weeks. None of their customers were beginners, but many were unfamiliar with Twelve Elms. Before heading to the hills, Jessie followed the same path taken by the farm wagon, explaining many of the facts Rachel had already memorized.

Jessie dropped back to where Rachel rode. “Because some of
our riders are new here, this will be a combination mounted tour and intermediate lesson. Saturday mornings we give customers what they want, whether it's some sort of lesson or farm tour or just a trail ride for relaxation.”

“I'm not sure I could teach anything yet.” Rachel said under her breath.

“Then we'll only schedule mounted tours for you and no lessons. Keeley said you're already great on the wagon. Before you know it you'll be ready to teach. But until you say the word, Jake can provide Saturday lessons while I'm at school.” With a light kick of her heels, Jessie galloped to the head of the line.

Jake. There was no way to avoid him even if she wanted to. And part of her didn't want to avoid him. She had few friends in the English world—few friends in Kentucky of any type. After watching Jake's enthusiasm and patience with the blind kids, Rachel knew he could teach her a lot.

Once their group reached the midway point, Jessie ordered everyone to dismount and tie their reins to small trees in the shady glen. Then she lifted saddlebags from her horse and headed up a narrow path. “This way, everyone.” The students quickly fell in step behind her.

“Where are we going?” asked Rachel of Keeley. They would follow the last paid guest in line.

“Wait till you see.” Keeley's young face glowed with joy. “It'll be a surprise.”

After an uphill hike of ten minutes, they reached a shimmering pool bathed in sunlight and surrounded by tall pines. At one end, the crystal clear water dropped over a ledge, cascading down rocks and outcroppings below. Everyone exclaimed over the beauty of this hidden retreat.

“We have this natural spring regularly tested,” announced Jessie. “The water is pure, so feel free to fill your bottles. Then please find a seat and I'll serve lunch.” Everyone plopped down in the
long grass to enjoy ham-and-cheese sandwiches and pretzels. Jessie passed around tiny packets that turned their water into lemonade.

Leaning back on her elbows, Rachel studied the patch of blue sky overhead while the sun warmed her face and a cool breeze refreshed her skin. Even Jessie's packed lunch tasted like gourmet fare. Throughout the break, Rachel couldn't stop silently thanking God for bringing her to Twelve Elms. Never before in her life had she felt this happy.

SIX

And grace my fears relieved

R
achel's near euphoria lasted all the way back to the Stoll farm.

Isaac offered to rub down the gelding, so she had nothing to do but stroll up the mum-lined path to the back door. When she entered the house, Sarah was folding laundry in the mudroom and humming a hymn.

“
Guder nachmittag
,” Rachel greeted in
Deutsch
.

“Good afternoon to you.” Sarah reached for another load of towels from the dryer. “There's a fresh pitcher of iced tea in the fridge if you're thirsty.”

“Thanks.” Rachel padded across the kitchen but halted halfway. Folded laundry sat in piles on the table, waiting either to be carried upstairs to drawers or to be ironed. She spotted her designated pile immediately. Two freshly washed T-shirts advertising Twelve Elms Stables—Finest Thoroughbreds in Casey County—sat atop the heap. A frisson of anxiety took hold and began to grow in her gut.

“Because my loads were light, I grabbed your clothes hamper from your closet.” Sarah set down the basket of towels to stir the soup. “If I'm running the machine, I might as well fill the tub.”

Rachel fingered the soft cotton of the top shirt. “You're probably wondering about these,” she said, feeling ten years old.

“I figured they are part of some uniform for your job. And if you wished to tell me about them, you would have by now.” Sarah didn't turn from her position at the stove.

“I'm sorry I was secretive, Sarah. I change into the shirt when I arrive at work. Otherwise, tourists would ask more questions about
me
than the horses.” Rachel poured a glass of tea and took a long swallow.

Her cousin turned, wiping her hands down her apron. “You wear that T-shirt over your dress?”

“
Nein
. I own a pair of pants I bought back in Lancaster.” She picked up the tote bag abandoned by the door. “Jessie Brady provided me with a pair of riding boots too. Today's tour was on horseback, which would have been difficult in a long dress and apron.”

Her cousin seemed to ponder all of that while she crossed her arms. “What kind of pants—baggy old trousers or those tight jeans I see on English teenagers?”

Rachel's response proved redundant when a red face revealed her shame. “That's the way blue jeans fit.”

“Uh-huh. Well, you might as well throw them into the washer. I would assume by now they could use laundering.” Sarah's tone was cool and crisp as she began peeling turnips.

Rachel pulled the jeans from her bag. “I'm sorry if I disappointed you, but girls back home sometimes wear English clothes during
rumschpringe
.” She slipped an arm around Sarah's waist at the sink.

“I'm not your
mamm
, Rachel. Goodness, I'm not old enough for that. But I think you should write to
grossmammi
and tell her
about your uniform.
She
might have something to say. If you would fix a salad and set the table, we'll be ready for supper soon. I'm starving, aren't you?”

“Famished.” Rachel dropped the jeans into the washer before scrubbing her hands and arms at the stationary tub.

“There's a social tonight for young people,” Sarah called from the kitchen. “A volleyball game just down the road, not too far. Everyone will be from our conservative Mennonite district—only horses and buggies, no cars. You should feel right at home.”

“Do Amish folks ever attend your get-togethers?” Rachel dried her hands on a checkered towel.

“Sometimes. It depends on how far they feel like driving their rigs.” Sarah studied her curiously. “You're twenty, right? Were you courting someone back in Pennsylvania?”

“Yes, I'm twenty. But no, I hadn't starting riding home from socials with anyone.”

“But you had gone to socials, right?” Sarah's left brow arched.

“Of course. I went to singings and volleyball parties and cookouts. I had been waiting for my older sisters to marry first.” Rachel carried in a basket of lettuce and tomatoes from the porch to wash and slice.

“Good to hear you're not planning to jump the fence.” Sarah stirred the chopped turnips into her soup. “And now both Amy and Nora have married.” She shot Rachel a grin before heading out the door to hang the last load of sheets on the line. Although Sarah owned an electric dryer, she preferred the scent of sunshine in her bed linens.

Rachel focused on making the salad. “Looks like I'm going to a social whether I want to or not,” she muttered. Truth was she had been ready to start courting, but her parents' deaths had put a damper on everything. How could she smile and make polite conversation while torn up by grief? But now that two years had
passed, she was as ready as she ever would be. She'd planned to fall in love someday, get married, and have a houseful of children. But that
someday
had always been far in the distant future. If Sarah had her way, she would be returned to
grossmammi
with a brand-new
ehemann
in tow. “He just better be a horse lover,” she said to the tomatoes.

During supper Rachel ate a bowl of soup and another of salad, and then she walked the two miles to the volleyball party. Surprisingly, Isaac said he needed the rig tonight, even though he usually went to bed at eight thirty. Sarah insisted that Rachel take a pan of fresh-baked walnut brownies. Amish or Mennonite, Plain folk loved their desserts. As she walked up the driveway, she struggled to recall the names of people she'd already met at church. Fortunately, one of her few acquaintances spotted her the moment she arrived.

“Rachel,” called Bonnie. “Come join us.” She patted the long grass beside her.

“I'm glad you remembered me.” Rachel handed her dessert to the hostess and strolled toward the volleyball game. As often happened when games continued for a while, the teams ended up all male while the girls found comfortable spots on the lawn to watch. Most women disdained sweating far more than men.

“Let me introduce you,” said Bonnie. “This is Ruby, Rosanna, Abby, Joanna, and Mary.” She aimed an index finger at one blue or green dress after another. “Everybody, this is Rachel King from Lancaster County. She's staying a spell with her cousins, the Stolls, on 738.”

For the next forty minutes, Rachel found herself an object of curiosity. Once Lancaster County was mentioned, the questions began to fly. Everyone knew people who still lived there and was eager for news. Unfortunately, she didn't know many of their inquiries, and of the few she did, she possessed no current information. But the girls were so friendly that Rachel tried her best to be a good sport. Not until the volleyball landed squarely in the center
of their circle did their barrage of questions pause. Unaccustomed to being the center of attention, she welcomed the interruption.

“Are you going to let the new girl come up for air?” A sandy-haired young man approached from the volleyball game. “Or will you scare her off, never to be seen again?” His lips drew up into a smile.

Five women giggled while Bonnie rolled her eyes. “We let her breathe five minutes ago, Reuben Mullet. I think you're just angling for an introduction.” Bonnie tossed him the ball with more force than necessary.

“Guilty,” he stated without hesitation. “I haven't seen a
friendly
face in this crowd in a very long time.”

While the girls made a variety of dismissive noises, Reuben reached a hand down to Rachel. “Reuben Mullet, at your disposal.”

Rachel shyly clasped his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “
Danki
. I'm Rachel King.”

“The only thing that should be disposed of is you, Reuben,” Bonnie teased without a hint of malice of her voice. Everyone laughed, including him. Bonnie scrambled up, dragging another girl with her. “Don't worry, Rachel. He won't bite, and if he does, he's had all his shots.”

Reuben tossed the ball back toward the game. “It's true. I have a piece of paper in my wallet in case you need to see it.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“That won't be necessary.” To Rachel's horror, the other girls wandered off, leaving her alone with him. It was as though they followed some unwritten code that allowed males equal time to make first impressions. She felt lost without a road map.

“I saw you at church services last week,” he said. “I tried everything to get your attention from across the room except stand on my head.”

“Back in Pennsylvania, standing on heads during a sermon would be frowned on by the bishop.”

“It is here too.” Reuben pushed his hat to the back of his head. “That's why I decided against it. Plus my
daed
kept clearing his throat and jabbing me in the ribs each time I looked at you.”

“I'm sorry I made your thoughts stray during church.” Rachel walked in the direction the women had headed.

“Are you going to the barn for a snack? I would love to try something you brought.”

She laughed, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “Subtlety is not your strong suit, is it?”

“I believe patience and subtlety are highly overrated.” His blue eyes twinkled with amusement.

“Goodness, I feel right at home.” They had walked into a cavernous barn, where plates of cake, pie, and cookies covered the surface of several long tables. “Old Order Mennonites must be as fond of sweets as the Amish.” They joined the line at the end.

“I'd heard that an Amish gal had infiltrated our ranks.” He scratched his clean-shaven jaw. “Have you come to steal our soybean secrets?”

“Nope. I'm here to work with Thoroughbred horses.”

Reuben's forehead furrowed with creases. “A woman who loves the noblest of beasts? Be still my heart. Tell me which one of these delicacies you brought.” He flourished a hand over the buffet.

When Rachel pointed at the pan of walnut brownies dusted with sugar, Reuben loaded his plate with five of them, ignoring all of the other desserts. Rachel took two peanut butter cookies and a glass of lemonade before sitting down to eat.