A Little Bit of Charm (6 page)

Unfortunately, his nightly prayers for divine intervention only numbered one before his father called a meeting for the next day. When he arrived at breakfast, he found his parents and Virgil waiting at the kitchen table. “Got the day off, Ma?” Jake asked, pouring coffee.

“I traded with someone to work on Saturday.” Taylor Brady smiled over her bowl of Special K with sliced strawberries. The constant bombardment of medical and dietary information in her life usually made her meal choices healthy.

Jake heated some pastry strudel in the toaster. His metabolism and long hours of physical labor would prevent weight problems for years to come.

“Because your mom is home,” said Ken, “we'll hold our family meeting as soon as your sisters come downstairs.” He poured a bowl of cereal to pacify his wife.

“Today?” squawked Jake.

“Is something wrong with today?” Ken leveled a cool blue gaze on him. “I thought you wanted to put this matter to rest.”

“I do.” What could he say?
I wanted time for God to take my side? Me, Jake Brady, a man who's used every excuse in the book to avoid going to church on Sundays?
By the time he finished a second
raspberry pastry, Jessie and Keeley sauntered into the kitchen, sleepy eyed.

“Hi, Mom. Will you be home all day?” Jessie pulled a carton of orange juice from the refrigerator.

“All day and night. Catch me while you can.” Taylor Brady opened her arms to her youngest child as Keeley ran toward her at full speed.

Once both girls sat down with bowls of cornflakes and berries, Ken called the monthly meeting of Twelve Elms Stables to order. He explained the recent cancellations of two of their boarding clients, stated Jake's proposal to hire a professional trainer for Eager to Please, and reminded everyone that Jessie would leave for college over the weekend.

His mother, who usually kept a low profile during stable business, murmured four deadly words regarding her husband's sole possible solution to their financial situation: “Good grief, another mortgage?”

Jake stated his argument succinctly. After all, he was a former member of the Charm high school debate team. While he made his case, his mother nibbled her cereal and his dad stoically remained quiet. Afterward, Virgil and Keeley shrugged their shoulders in typical teen fashion. They seldom formed opinions except for which video games to purchase or what movies to watch on family movie night. Jake waited, barely able to draw breath.

Finally, Jessie set down the spoon and cleared her throat. “Well, since we paid all that money to sire the colt, we might as well go the distance. It's too bad Jake feels unable to train the horse by himself.”

He might have hoped for a bit more confidence in his plan and diplomacy from his sister, but at least she had voiced her support. “Thanks, Jess.”

“I'll come home weekends to keep giving tours. That will bring in some income until winter.” She shot a smile in his direction.

Virgil poured more cornflakes into his bowl. “I don't know what I can do other than my chores.”

Keeley propped her head on her hand, fighting off sleep. “You can have my babysitting money to help pay this guy.”

Taylor looked at her husband, meeting his gaze without speaking.

Ken opened his palms. “Just to make sure everyone understands the consequences involved, to pay this second mortgage we'll have to cut our budget down to basics. It could work to our advantage in the end, but there are no guarantees a pro can take the colt all the way to the winner's circle. If Eager to Please fails to measure up, we might lose the farm to the bank and have to rent a house somewhere.”

“That would be the worst-case scenario,” said Jake, grinding down on his back teeth.

No one spoke. No one moved except for Virgil and Keeley, who continued to eat as though it were any other weekday breakfast. “If there is no more discussion,” said Ken, “may I see the hands of those who wish this family to go deeper into debt to improve Eager to Please's chances as a three-year-old?”

Jake's hand shot up first, followed by Jessie's, and, after a moment, Virgil's. Keeley peered from one of her siblings to the next, a little surprised. But because she seldom disagreed with her brothers and sister, she lifted her arm.

“Those opposed?” asked Ken. Taylor joined her husband in opposition. “As your parents, we could override this vote because we bear the financial responsibility for the family, but we won't.” He met Jake's eye. “There comes a time when a man needs to follow his gut instinct and his dreams. You have your chance, son. Use it wisely. Start checking the availability of good trainers who are willing to move to Charm.”

“Thanks, Mom and Dad,” he croaked, oddly choked up.

There was no need for more speeches. A much paler Ken Brady
reached for his Cincinnati Reds ball cap and strode out the back door. His mother scraped the rest of her breakfast into the garbage disposal and left for her morning run. Taking a few deep breaths, Jake headed to the computer in their office on legs wobbly with excitement.

THREE

I once was lost, but now am found

P
eople didn't get any nicer than Sarah and Isaac Stoll. Especially Sarah. Rachel had been a guest at their farm for two days, and she had yet to do farm chores around the place. Now she was on her way to take the tour of Twelve Elms Stables in Sarah's buggy, but at least she'd washed the dishes and swept the kitchen before leaving.

“You won't know if Twelve Elms would be a good place to work unless you see it for yourself,” declared Sarah that morning.

Rachel hugged Sarah so hard she yelped like a dog. “Goodness, you Lancaster folk are a hugging sort,
jah
?” Sarah squirmed to escape.

“It's me, not the whole county. I like to show my gratitude.”

“A simple
danki
will suffice. I pity the poor man or woman who offers you a job if that's how you react to the loan of a horse and buggy.” She laughed good-naturedly.

“I try to control myself with strangers,” Rachel said, smoothing her palms down her skirt.

“See that you do. If you like the looks of this stable, why not ask if they're hiring? Here are two bottles of water and a ham sandwich for your lunch. Be on your way before you miss the tour.” Sarah practically pushed her out the door.

In case I like the place?
What was not to like? A beautiful split rail fence enclosed rolling pastures for half a mile before Rachel reached the entrance of Twelve Elms. The driveway was wide enough for two cars to pass side by side or, in her case, one tour bus and one horse-drawn buggy.

Avoiding the main parking lot for obvious reasons, Rachel tied her horse to a tree in a grassy area, hung a feed bag around his neck, and gave him a bucket of water—all supplied by Isaac Stoll. She hurried to join a group of people with name tags clustered in the shade. “Are you folks waiting for the tour?” she asked.

“We are,” answered a gray-haired woman who stared at her attire. “Are you Amish?”

“I am. Is this where we buy the tickets?”

“It is,” said the woman. “Are you interested in horses?”

“I am.” Rachel blushed to her earlobes, embarrassed by her string of two-word answers, but she couldn't think of anything else to say. Fortunately, a pretty woman and a young girl walked down the steps of a building marked “Office.” They approached the group with very white smiles.

“Good afternoon,” greeted the older of the two. “I'm Jessie Brady. Welcome to Twelve Elms. If you're here for the tour, please pay my assistant—also known as my sister, Keeley—six dollars and then climb aboard the red wagon.” She pointed at a conveyance that contained at least twenty benches. With open sides and twin Belgians harnessed to the slats, the wagon had a charming Conestoga cover to keep the hot sun off passengers' heads.

After paying the little girl her money, Rachel climbed up with forty other eager tourists. While they rode up and down lanes separating fenced pastures from fields of oats, barley, hay, and alfalfa, the guide relayed plenty of information. According to Jessie, Twelve Elms had a deep artesian well, two springs, two creeks, and a grist mill from a bygone era. When they arrived at a historic waterwheel, Jessie stopped the wagon. Just about everyone other than Rachel pulled out cameras to take photos.

Jessie turned to the group and explained each crop they had passed, including how each type of grain was planted, harvested, and stored until needed. “Everything fed to our livestock or animals boarded here has been grown on this farm. We use a minimum of pesticides and fertilize only with composted horse manure. It's a natural form of recycling. Are there any questions so far?” She scanned the benches where people were listening politely. The mostly senior citizen crowd smiled but no one raised a hand.

Rachel bravely raised hers for the third time during Jessie's narration. “How do you determine which grain mixture to use for a particular breed of horse?”

“That is a good question.” Jessie set the brake just as they stopped in front of the office. “We use a manual that's published by the U of K Department of Equine Sciences. Basically, the formula takes into account the age of the animal, their level of physical activity, the breed, and several other factors. Let's disembark our luxury train and head inside the indoor arena. If anyone would like to feed Buster or Bess here a treat, a basket of apples is under that tree.” She tied the horses' reins to a fence post.

“Goodness,” muttered a woman. “I'm not putting my hands close to that horse's mouth. Did you see the size of those big yellow teeth?” Her companions chuckled as they filed toward the barn.

Only Rachel chose to reward the hardworking Belgians for their efforts. “Your teeth aren't yellow,” she murmured close to
one ear. “They are the color they're supposed to be.” She held out a red apple in her palm. The mare named Bess sucked it up with her tongue.

“I'm not surprised you're unafraid of draft horses,” Jessie said behind her.

Rachel startled, but she kept her hand steady while offering Buster a treat. “What's to be afraid of?” She selected two more apples from the bucket.

“But I
am
surprised you know so much about Thoroughbreds. They are too high-strung to be used for buggy horses. They would bolt the first time a car blew its horn. And they surely wouldn't pull a plow if their lives depended on it.”

Rachel stepped back before she turned to face the tour guide. The young woman seemed in no hurry to rejoin her group. “I love horses and read everything I can get my hands on about Thoroughbreds. I hope I didn't annoy you with my questions.” She absently fiddled with her
kapp
ribbon.

“Are you joking?” Jessie tipped up her cap to wipe her forehead. “It's wonderful to talk equine with someone instead of fielding the usual questions from a group. ‘Do you offer pony rides for children's birthday parties?' or ‘Where are the restrooms?'” Her dimples deepened with a smile.

“Although Bess is a beauty, I would love to see your Thoroughbreds up close. High-strung or not, there are no prettier horses in the world.”

“You are singing my song.” The young woman tugged off her gloves. “Jessie Brady. I'm pleased to meet you,” she said, reintroducing herself.

Rachel hesitated, thrown off by her expression for a moment. “Rachel King. And the pleasure is mine.”

“Let's join the others in the arena, where my younger brother and sister are putting on a demonstration. Then when the group
heads to our ice cream and gift shop, I'll take you into the barn to show off my favorites. We don't allow large groups near the stalls. It's too crowded, plus some ladies prefer horses at a distance or on postcards.” She pinched her nostrils to illustrate her point.

Feeling like a trained pony herself, Rachel smiled and nodded her head for the hundredth time that afternoon. “I would appreciate that.”

When the performance ended, Keeley led the group out of the arena, and Jessie took Rachel into a huge gambrel-roofed barn, the size of which she had never seen before. With wide aisles and oak plank floors, the stable contained stalls made of polished wood with porcelain water troughs that were large enough for six horses. Everything was clean, orderly, and well ventilated. “Wow,” she murmured, letting her gaze travel skyward. Without an overhead hayloft, no barn swallows nested in the eaves as in Amish barns. No cats prowled the hay bales, searching out mice for lunch.

“Yeah, our
guests
definitely have nice accommodations. Look around all you like.” Jessie leaned against a post.

Rachel peered into one stall after another at mares, stallions, geldings, and foals—each more magnificent than the next. “Does your family own all of these?”

“Goodness, no. Most are boarded here in between horse shows or for some type of training or because we're keeping a close eye on a pregnancy. Another one of our barns has horses for trail rides, barrel racing, and that sort of thing.” She straightened and looked at her watch. “We'd better get back to the group. I need to pass out brochures about our services before folks start to leave.”