A Little Bit of Charm (32 page)

“
Harrumph
. You owe them no explanations. If a person is sick, they're sick.” Sarah pulled the fabric close to her nose and squinted at a row of stitches.

Annoyed, Rachel chewed her lip. “
Jah
, but the Bradys are more than my employer. They're my friends.” She carried the bouquet—a gift from Jake—to the sink.

“I gathered that much by two dozen long-stemmed roses.” Sarah glared over her reading glasses. “You would think some famous
Englischer
had died with all those expensive flowers.”

Refusing to take the bait, Rachel clipped the stems shorter and hunted for the largest vase in the cupboard.

“I've worked in the English world, but nobody dropped by with roses when I caught the sniffles.” Sarah punctuated her statement with a cluck of her tongue.

Rachel glanced at Isaac, hoping for his usual intervention. Huddled over the catalogs, he was ignoring both of them. “Well, maybe
you
weren't employee-of-the-month.” She attempted a humorous tone but failed. She sounded snappish and mean spirited.

Sarah set down her needlework. “I went to work and did my job. That's really all anybody should expect.”

Dabbing at her nose with a sodden tissue, Rachel pivoted
on her heel. “That's all Twelve Elms does expect. I'm dating Jake because I like him, not because it's part of my job description.”

“You're
dating
him? I thought you were seeing both Amish and English men as
friends
?” Sarah pursed her lips in an unattractive thin line.

“Enough,
fraa
!” thundered Isaac. “Leave the girl alone.” He did not glance up from his catalogs, but his shoulders went uncommonly stiff.

“Sorry, cousin.” Sarah turned meek as a lamb.

“No, I'm the one who should be apologizing. I'm out of sorts from this head cold.”

Sarah sprang up and pressed her palm to Rachel's forehead. “You're running a fever. I'll finish arranging the flowers and then bring you a cup of tea. You jump into bed and cover up with an extra quilt.”

Rachel did as instructed without argument. Climbing the stairs on heavy legs, she entered her cool bedroom only half as distressed by their argument as usual. Despite her head and body aches, and even though her throat felt scratchy and her nose dripped like a faucet, Jake's visit had lifted her spirits better than any herbal tonic. He didn't seem to notice her bulbous nose, or how her eyes watered or that she was wrapped in the world's shabbiest shawl. Jake had smiled, told her that Twelve Elms wasn't the same without her, and then handed her the armful of flowers. Then he greeted sullen Sarah and stoic Isaac, wished her a speedy recovery, and headed for his truck.

No one had ever given her a florist shop bouquet before, not to mention two dozen long-stem roses.

And no one ever jumped in their car…or buggy…just to see if she was feeling better.

That night Rachel fell asleep thinking about a man who made her feel cherished. She knew the ache in her heart had nothing to do with a virus or the cool temperature in the bedroom. She was in
love. Tomorrow, or as soon as she was no longer sicker than a dog, she must talk to someone about what to do. Not Sarah or Isaac, not one of her sisters, and surely not her grandmother, despite how much those people loved her. Rachel needed an objective outsider.
Ah-choo
. With another shiver, she burrowed deep under the covers and fell asleep. But as fate would have it, cowboys riding sleek Thoroughbreds peppered her dreams all night, while black crows huddled along telephone lines, cackling and cawing with distress.

Rachel's virus lasted two more days with chills, body aches, sneezing, coughing, and sheer misery. Sarah behaved like a dutiful nursemaid, bathing her brow with damp cloths, feeding her bowls of chicken broth, and bringing her endless cups of tea with honey and lemon. Her own
mamm
couldn't have been more devoted. Even Isaac, twirling his hat between his fingers, stuck his head inside her door several times to ask if he should fetch the doctor.

But by the third day she was up and around, eager to leave her bedroom. The only part of her body still achy was her back from too much time in bed. Sarah refused to allow her to help with chores that day, but at least Rachel could walk the farm to stretch her legs and inhale fresh, clean air. She didn't ask if Jake had called or made a return visit. Best to let that sleeping dog lie until she was fully recovered. After all, she didn't know what to say to him anyway.

Saturday morning she left another message on the Twelve Elms answering machine that she wouldn't be at work again. She chose a time when no one would be in the office to take the call. Then she bundled up in her warmest cloak and heavy bonnet, hitched up Isaac's rig, and left the farm before Jake heard her message. She imagined him peeling up the Stoll driveway, bearing more flowers,
offering a ride to the hospital, or demanding an explanation. But no shiny pickup crossed her path on her way to the bishop's house. And for that she whispered a prayer of gratitude.

Rachel knocked once timidly on the side door. When she heard no stirring within, she rapped harder on the wood panel.

“Hold your horses,” called a female voice. “This is as fast as my legs will go.” When the door swung wide, Mrs. Mast stood scowling. Then her expression changed to one of confusion. “Rachel? Sarah's cousin from Lancaster?”

“Yes, ma'am,” she replied, adopting the polite, English term to address an older woman. The Amish seldom stood on such formality.

“You came by yourself?” She peered around to see if others might be hiding behind porch posts.

“
Jah
, I've come to talk to the bishop. If you don't mind,” she added.

Mrs. Mast blinked. “Of course I don't mind. That's James's job. You'll find him in the barn sharpening his cutting blades for next year. Talk all you want, but I would slip those muck boots over your shoes. It's been muddy around the barn from all the rain lately.” She pointed to a knee-high pair of boots, nodded, and then closed the door.

Rachel pulled on boots that would have fit Paul Bunyan, had he been seeking spiritual advice, and then she trudged to the barn.

Bishop Mast's face revealed surprise to see her in his workshop. “What can I do for you, Rachel?” he asked, setting down his files. “I didn't see you at preaching this past Sunday. Was there something in my sermon you didn't understand the week before last?”

“
Nein
. I have more general questions than that.” She yanked off her scratchy outer bonnet, leaving her
kapp
in place. “About the Amish faith and the Mennonites and the Baptists.”

He narrowed his gaze. “I'm only qualified to explain one of those—the middle one.” A ghost of a smile tugged at his mouth.

“I had better explain before I ask my questions.” She glanced around the neat but dusty shop, tired from the drive over.

“Sit there.” The bishop pointed at the sole stool at his workbench before lowering himself on an upturned feed bucket.

Rachel settled herself comfortably, smoothed her skirt, and then blurted out, “I went to an English church last Sunday—the Baptist one in the center of Charm. I liked their service. No offense,” she added, blushing.

“None taken.” Bishop Mast splayed his hands on his knees.

“I was invited by the family I work with, by the young man in particular. Jake Brady. He's my boss, but it wasn't part of my job.”

“I wouldn't think it would be. Sarah told me you give farm tours.” James stroked his pure white beard, which reached to his belly.

“I'm also helping to exercise horses until the number of tours picks up.” Rachel studied the sawdust and filings on the floor.

“Although lots of things were different in the service, lots of things were the same.” She forced herself to look at him.

“I guess you should ask your questions, young lady.”

Rachel nodded. “Is Baptist a different religion than Amish or Mennonite?”

He thought for a moment. “Technically, no. All three are sects of Christianity. We worship the same God and His Son, Jesus. The fundamentals are the same.”

“Then why are folks shunned who leave the Amish church back home?”

“There is more to being Amish or Mennonite than simply worshipping the Lord in a church, no matter which denomination. It is a lifestyle committed to old ways, committed to the path of salvation. This life on earth will determine whether or not we one day take our place in Paradise, as promised in Scripture. Although the life you lived in Lancaster County looks more difficult than the English lifestyle to the unknowledgeable, it is easier to stay on a
righteous path. The Plain sects remove themselves from the world to eliminate many temptations and the constant bombardment of sinful influences.”

Rachel shrugged her shoulders. “You're saying it's
easier
to be Amish than to be English?”

“It's not easy for any Christian to find salvation, but yes, I feel it's harder for those in the modern world to stay focused on God and Scripture.”

She thought about that, trying to absorb what she heard. “A Christian's heart should belong to God no matter where they worship.”

“That is true, but there's more going on in
your
heart than a theoretical discussion of sects. You need to talk to your family and friends, and then spend time in prayer. You seek an answer from me I can't give. Decide who you are, Rachel King, and the correct path will be revealed to you.” His aged, weathered face softened with the kindness of her
grossdawdi
.

“
Danki
, Bishop Mast. I will do what you say.”

“And I shall lift you up in prayer many times over the next few days.”

“You had better make that
weeks
, Bishop. I've never been quick with anything.”

FIFTEEN

When we've been there ten thousand years

R
achel drove back from Bishop Mast's not in the best of spirits. Her head ached, but it had nothing to do with lingering symptoms from her cold. What had she been thinking? That she could fall in love with Jake, switch over to his Baptist church, and yet everything else would remain the same? She was one foolish woman. Blessedly, Isaac met the buggy when she pulled up to the barn.

“Let me unhitch and tend to the horse. Go inside and warm up by the fire.” He grabbed the bridle so the gelding didn't drag the buggy straight to his barn stall, where a full bucket of oats waited. “What errand was so all-fired important that you had to leave so soon after being ill? You were practically on your deathbed two days ago. You're still pale as a ghost.” The man stared at her, not joking in the least.

Steadying herself with one hand, Rachel gingerly climbed down. “Have you ever seen a ghost, Isaac Stoll?” She smiled up into his weather-lined face.

“
Jah
. A couple of months ago I saw a white plastic one hanging from the ceiling at Kmart. Looked just like you.” He returned the grin.

“
Danki
for taking care of the horse. I would like to warm up. It was a long drive back from Bishop Mast's house.”

Isaac's eyes rounded. “You drove all the way to the bishop's? Why didn't you take Sarah with you? She could have driven the buggy.”

Rachel thought about her reply. “Because I had a personal matter to discuss with him.” She picked up her purse from the seat.

“And you didn't want your cousin interrupting every other sentence?” He smirked rather than smiled. “I guess you Lancaster gals are no dummies.” Isaac chuckled all the way to the barn.

She opened the kitchen door to a blast of warm air and the sweet scent of cinnamon. The room was empty, but three apple pies, fresh from the oven, lined the counter. After hanging up her cloak and bonnet, Rachel went to the sink to wash, letting the hot water cascade over her hands longer than necessary.

“There you are.” Sarah bustled into the kitchen. “Isaac just about swatted my backside for letting you leave on such a cold day like this. I told my
ehemann
that imprisoning women was frowned on in the state of Kentucky.” Sarah filled the kettle at the sink and set it on a burner to heat. Then she noticed Rachel's blanched face. “What's wrong? Are you feeling poorly again?” She pressed her fingers to her cousin's brow.