A Simple Vow (16 page)

Help me through this, Mamm,
Edith prayed as she gazed out into the darkness.
This will all work out for those who love the Lord—and for these precious little twins.

Chapter Thirteen

As church let out over at the Wagler place, Luke watched out the window while kids rushed from the house with whoops and whistles to release their pent-up energy. He recalled those three-hour Old Order services that had seemed endless when he’d been young. He greatly preferred the more concise sermons and services at the Mennonite fellowship he and Nora now attended. He turned toward her, smiling at the way she sat in the recliner with her shoes kicked off, reading a craft magazine.

“Ready to head next door?” he asked. “I’m hoping Will Gingerich has arrived—and it’ll be interesting to see how Cornelius is reacting to Asa’s being here for the weekend. Never a dull moment in that family, it seems.”

Nora dropped her magazine to the floor. “And
I’m
looking forward to a lot of
gut
food I didn’t have to prepare myself—and to visiting with everybody. It was such a busy week, I’ve hardly seen my parents or the newlyweds.”

“We can guess where Ira and Millie have been hiding themselves,” Luke teased. “I’ll grab the lemon cake you made.”

“Hope it’s fit to eat. If it weren’t for box mixes, I wouldn’t bake.” Nora smoothed her apron over her colorful floral dress, chuckling. “The beauty of the common meal is that you don’t know who brought what unless they mention it. If folks make faces when they taste my cake, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

As they walked down the hill to the Wagler place, Luke reveled in the brisk April morning. The lush green grass, cream-colored dogwood blooms, and the deep pink redbud trees made spring his favorite season. In a few more weeks the mid-Missouri heat would set in, and they’d be praying for rain. When they stepped inside the crowded Wagler house, Nora joined the ladies in the kitchen while Luke headed into the main room, which had been greatly expanded for church by taking down most of the interior walls.

The men were rearranging the wooden pew benches and setting up tables for the meal. Luke spotted Asa and made his way through the crowd, greeting everyone along the way. He noticed a shorter, compactly built fellow with sandy hair and observed the ease with which he maneuvered a long wooden bench. Was this Will? Even camouflaged by his white shirt sleeves, the muscles bunching in his shoulders suggested that this young man was well acquainted with physical labor.

“Hey there, Asa!” Luke spoke above the other men’s conversations. “Quick now! What were the sermons about this morning?”

Asa straightened to his full height, chuckling. “Bishop Tom preached on the parable of the prodigal son—about how God welcomes us all home when we see the error of our ways and ask His forgiveness,” he replied. “Your brother spoke on the virtues of being a
gut
Samaritan, helping folks who’re down on their luck.

“And this, by the way, is Will Gingerich,” Asa added as he gestured toward the sandy-haired fellow. “Will, this is your new boss and landlord, Luke Hooley.”

Luke stuck out his hand, sensing that Will hadn’t smiled so brightly in quite a while. He was a nice-looking fellow with a sad reserve about him—and a handshake that left no doubt about his physical strength. “Glad you made it for church, Will,” he said. “This is a tight-knit district of
gut
-hearted souls. You know they’re tolerant and forgiving if they allow a fellow who signed on with the Mennonites to come eat with them after church.”

Will chuckled before his expression waxed more serious. “I appreciate your taking a chance on me, Luke,” he said earnestly. “Lately I’ve felt like that fellow in Ben’s sermon who got beaten and left for dead, so it means a lot that you’ve offered me a job and a place to stay just on Asa’s recommendation.”

Luke returned Will’s steady gaze. The words of warning he’d planned—the rules he expected his new, untested farmer to follow—went unsaid. “Let’s chalk it up to God’s providence that some cropland came up for sale, and that you’re available to work it,” he remarked. “Maybe later today we can walk the farm, and figure out what crop will grow best in each field. I’ll show you your apartment, too.”

“Looking forward to it.” Will’s lips twitched. “I think I’ll sleep better now, without all the ghosts that haunted my other place—and where I can keep an eye on the twins. They already look so much healthier and happier than when I brought them here.”

Luke nodded. “They have a lot of guardian angels in Willow Ridge. Hard for folks to resist those bright eyes and cute faces.”

“You’ve got that right.” Will brightened. “Will you eat with Asa and me? We could compare a lot of notes and be readier for me to start work tomorrow if we talk now,
jah?
”

“I like the way you think, Will.”

As they devoured sliced ham, macaroni salad, and other cold dishes the women had set out, Luke enjoyed getting acquainted with Will. It amazed him that Gingerich and Asa seemed like close friends despite the accusation that had nearly brought them to blows last week. After they’d enjoyed some coconut cream pie and lemon cake, the three of them rose from the table. Luke wasn’t surprised that Asa made a beeline for Edith.

“Detweiler’s got it bad,” Luke remarked as he watched Asa pick up the twins’ baskets to follow Edith out the back way. Even as he joked about Asa’s devotion to his new girlfriend, Luke felt a twinge of envy because they already looked like a close family. Maybe someday he and Nora would make a baby. . . .

“You’re right.” Will’s response cut into his thoughts. “And Cornelius is taking
bad
to a whole new level.”

When Luke followed Will’s gesture, Deacon Riehl’s expression made his jaw drop. “
Jah
, Asa told me he’d stated his intentions after he brought Edith home from a date last night. He suspected she’d catch some flack after he left.”

“I think they’re both going to catch some now,” Will murmured, shaking his head. “It was the same for Loretta and me when Cornelius decided we shouldn’t be engaged anymore. I lost all claim to our farm when my brothers took it over, you see.”

Luke watched Cornelius follow Edith and Asa outside, wondering why the head of the Riehl family always seemed so unhappy. From outward appearances, he had a nice home, three caring daughters, and a clock business that was off to a prosperous start here in Willow Ridge— not to mention a steady income from the eggs they supplied to the mill store.

“Let’s head over to the farm,” Luke suggested as he stood up. “You’ll have time to get acquainted with folks after we finish our walk-around.”

Will smiled at the folks Luke introduced him to as they made their way between the tables. Once they were outside, they strolled quickly along the county blacktop. “I’m not much
gut
with names, but it seemed like most of the folks I just met are Hooleys,” he said lightly. “You and your brothers seem to be the pillars of Willow Ridge.”

Luke considered this as they passed the café. “We can’t forget about the women,” he said. “Without Miriam, my brother Ben wouldn’t have become nearly so successful—and I credit my Nora with the shaking up I needed to make the mill profitable. The gals here run their households, of course, but most of them are also engaged in some sort of business activity.”

“Really? That’s different,” Will murmured. “Most bishops wouldn’t allow that.”

“Bishop Tom finally convinced Miriam she should be staying home with their baby, Bethlehem, but before that she started baking around three every morning and didn’t go home from the café until about twelve hours later,” Luke explained. “Her sister, Leah Kanagy, takes a lot of homegrown produce to the farmers’ markets—and keeps bees. Seth Brenneman’s Mary makes Amish dolls for Nora’s shop.”

“And I suppose Loretta Riehl is still making rugs. And I bet Edith’s weaving her baskets when the twins aren’t keeping her busy,” Will said as he gazed wistfully toward the tall white house where they lived.

“
Jah,
and Nora’s selling those in her shop, as well. And meanwhile, here we are,” Luke said as he gestured toward his new farm. “I take possession of the place next week, but the previous owner’s fine with our getting into the fields while the weather’s right for planting. What do you think?”

Will stood at the roadside, taking a long look at the lay of the land . . . the stubble and dried stalks from last year’s crops. “Nice and flat,” he murmured. “Doesn’t look to have many low spots where water collects after a heavy rain, either. I hope it’s not a problem that I don’t have any draft horses or equipment. You probably wonder about the state of my affairs, considering how I packed all my earthly belongings into one buggy and wagon, which my two horses pulled.”

“Ira and I didn’t come to Missouri with much more than some bags of seeds and the clothes on our backs,” Luke said with a shrug. “Earlier this year we bought a team of mules from a fellow in Bloomingdale—east of Cedar Creek—and we latched onto some bigger planters at an auction, too. We finished planting our places east of town this week, so the mules and equipment are coming here next.”

“You’ve got some of Jerome Lambright’s mules? Hot dog!” Will said with a grin. “I watched his teams perform at a farm show last year. Fine-looking animals—and they have a lot of endurance bred into them.”

“Jerome trained this team especially for farming. Picked them for their temperaments when they were first foaled, and kept the six of them together while he worked with them.” Luke liked the way this conversation was going. It was a point in Gingerich’s favor that he didn’t insist on working with Belgians, as some farmers did. “We’ll get the oats in first. By the time they’re planted, the weather’ll be warm enough to plant the corn and popcorn.”

Will studied Luke for a moment and then gazed out over the fields again. “You and Ira must be doing really well, considering how you came here with practically nothing,” he murmured. “It’s my dream to own my own farm someday, but my wife’s doctor bills and my family situation have set me back.”

Touched by Will’s pensive admission, Luke quickly gripped his shoulder. “Ira and I’ve been blessed by a lot of favorable circumstances we didn’t foresee when we came here. Let’s start believing that the same blessings will come your way now that you’ve moved beyond your troubles.”

“
Denki
for that thought, Luke,” Will murmured. “I’ll do my best to believe it—and I’ll do my best work for you and Ira, too.”

As they walked across the front field to assess the land beyond the house and the outbuildings, Luke sensed that Will Gingerich would be yet another blessing—another asset to his and Ira’s expanding mill business.

But you’ll have to keep Cornelius Riehl’s nose out of your business—and Will’s,
he thought. If Riehl started in on Will about the circumstances of the twins’ birth—or what an inconvenience they were—Luke suspected his new farmer might lose his focus or want to leave town.

He kept this thought to himself as he and Will ambled back toward the Waglers’, where clusters of men sat in lawn chairs and kids played tag and hide-and-seek. When Will headed toward the girls who were playing volleyball—which included Loretta and Rosalyn Riehl, Savilla Witmer, Hannah Brenneman, Katie Zook, and Nellie Knepp—Luke had to smile at his instincts. All of those girls were single and would probably welcome Will’s attention, or his help on their side of the net.

Luke waved at Nora, who was helping Miriam and Lydia carry the leftover desserts to a table beneath the trees. He continued toward the back pasture to see how the Waglers’ alfalfa was looking, as he’d put in an order for several bales of it to feed his horses and mules. When he passed the stable, he heard familiar voices—but he sensed his brother Ben and Bishop Tom were discussing church business, so he left them to it. Luke paused at the wire fence, immersed in the sight of the rich green alfalfa crop. The river formed a natural boundary to the north, widening as it approached his mill.

“. . . went to the Riehls’ yesterday to pick up a clock he’d cleaned for me,” Ben was saying. “Cornelius was out on a call, so Rosalyn took me downstairs to the shop. Did you realize that his workbench blocks the vault door?”

Luke stood absolutely still. Why would Ben care about where the clockmaker’s workbench was?

“Now why would he do that?” Bishop Tom asked in a concerned tone. “Come time that somebody needs a cash advance from our Aid fund . . .”

“I didn’t quiz Rosalyn about it, of course,” Ben continued. “I don’t think Cornelius would be careless enough to tell the girls the district’s vault is behind that wooden door—or how much money we’ve accumulated in it.”

Luke swallowed hard. It wasn’t any of his business, what the bishop and a preacher were saying about their district’s “bank,” because only the leaders of the church knew where it was kept. Every Amish community stashed an aid fund in a secret place, adding to it when members contributed their offerings twice a year—and dipping into it to cover disasters, such as when the Sweet Seasons Bakery Café and the Shrocks’ quilt shop had burned down last Christmas. Because he was now a Mennonite, he
really
shouldn’t be privy to such information—but Luke couldn’t help overhearing the two intense voices that carried over to him on the breeze.

“Maybe it’s just his way of makin’ sure the girls don’t discover the money when they’re cleanin’,” Tom said. “He was the deacon in his Roseville district, too, so he knows the location of the fund shouldn’t get out to anybody else.”

“I just thought it was odd,” Ben replied. “The door’s padlocked, remember—”

“
Jah,
you’re right. So the girls wouldn’t stumble onto that money anyway.”

“—and only the three of us have keys. But now
two
of us can’t get into the vault if Cornelius isn’t home,” Ben continued urgently. “It’s not like you or I are going to clear off the clocks he might be working on, and maybe drop the cogs and pieces lying loose on his workbench.”

“It’s a puzzlement. I’ll have to think of a way to ask him about this without seemin’ suspicious,” Tom said. “It was just so convenient that he was already a deacon when he traded houses with Reuben. . . .”