Autumn Winds (14 page)

Read Autumn Winds Online

Authors: Charlotte Hubbard

Tags: #Fiction, #Religious, #Christian, #Romance, #Amish & Mennonite

BOOK: Autumn Winds
11.17Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
She stepped outside into the bright autumn light. At this time of the afternoon, the sun hit her right in the face, so she had to squint and shield her eyes with her hand.
Wouldn’t it be somethin’ if, while you’re bein’ blinded by this light, you really see Ben Hooley for the first time?
Ben smiled as she approached the back end of his red farrier wagon. “Must’ve been quite a conversation.
Gut
thing ya answered.”
“Polly Petersheim wants ya to call her,” Miriam murmured. “I left her number on the scratch pad in the shanty.”
Ben’s face was a kaleidoscope of emotions. His brow furrowed, and then his eyes widened, and then his jaw dropped, and he looked, well—completely
ferhoodled
. He was swallowing so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed above his shirt. “How on God’s
gut
Earth did Polly know I was here?” he rasped.
“Best I can tell from that flurry of chatter, Hiram called her bishop. His last name just happens to be Knepp, too.”
Ben speared his hand through his light brown hair. He replaced his hat and then stared at something taped on the inside of his wagon door. “Oh, this is gettin’ too . . . Bad enough Hiram was in here snoopin’ amongst my things, but he had to have read this piece from the paper and made some connections. Look, Miriam, what do ya think?”
Miriam approached, to see a yellowed clipping that had a photo of a wagon. It was a blue wagon, with
HOOLEY’S HORSESHOE SERVICE
on the side, and it was hitched to a different horse, but it was clearly Ben’s business at an earlier stage of his life.
Ben jabbed a paragraph of the article. “This was written up in the
Lancaster News
on account of how I was so unusual, travelin’ with my trade. Hiram must’ve read this part about the district I was from—”
His breath left him in a rush. “Polly’s
dat
was the bishop then. So if Hiram called out there askin’ for Bishop Levi Petersheim, he might’ve talked to Polly’s
mamm
—”
“And gave her my phone number.”
Ben’s mouth clapped shut. “Miriam,” he murmured, “I’m sorry this is gettin’ so twisted around, all because Hiram got so nosy and—” His arms dropped limply to his sides. His eyes filled with regret. “I was just a kid when I was engaged to Polly. It’s been a lot of years and miles—”
But Miriam had heard the hopeful tone in Polly’s voice. Maybe Ben was saying he’d left his old fiancée behind, but the widowed Polly had
not
forgotten about the fellow her
dat
wouldn’t let her marry.
“—and I was hopin’ if ya looked around in my wagon, you’d understand a little better about the life I live,” he went on in an earnest voice. “And I hope this fluke phone call won’t make ya doubt my intentions about buyin’ that land for my brothers—nor doubt my feelin’s for you, either, Miriam.”
Her heart wasn’t completely in it, but when Ben pulled down the little steps so she could climb up, Miram went inside the wagon. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she recognized safety masks, farrier aprons, tool carts, welders, and other equipment Jesse had used in his shop . . . everything in its place, and neatly arranged so Ben wouldn’t waste time finding what he needed. As she stepped farther back, she saw a few shirts hung on hangers . . . more pegs on the walls for hats and galluses, and an old washbasin and pitcher with a small mirror, on a shelf fitted into the wagon’s front corner. A hammock hung from hooks in the ceiling.
Ben stepped up behind her and slid a section of the ceiling aside to reveal a small window. “What do ya think? Not as homey as your place, but it’s everythin’ a fella needs to do his job, wherever he might be.”
Miriam was secretly fascinated—impressed—with Ben’s tidy little quarters, yet the questions remained. “So . . . if Polly’s
dat
made her marry that Hershberger fella because ya weren’t likely to settle into a home—”
“The bishop wanted all his girls livin’ close by. Some of the older Petersheim girls had had a chance to settle a new community with their husbands, but their
dat
forbade them to go,” Ben explained. “Levi suspected they were gonna start up a Beachy Amish town—freer, ya know—or even join up with the Mennonites thereabouts. Bishop Petersheim felt like his religion—his version of the
Ordnung
—was the only true faith.”
“Ah. Ruled with a heavy hand, did he?” Miriam asked with a rueful smile. “Guess we know another bishop who likes to have that sort of control, too.”
Ben stepped closer to her, beseeching her with his eyes. “That’s another reason I didn’t want to stay around home,” he admitted softly. “I’m as faithful to the Lord as the next fella, but I’m not much for bein’ told how to live every little detail of my life. And—like everybody knows—there was just no practical way to buy land when I was that age. So I took off down the road, and I only go back now and again to see my family.”
“And will that change this next time?” Miriam felt she might as well ask, since all these difficult questions were popping up now. “Polly’s husband passed last year. And if the bishop’s name is Knepp now, that means her
dat
has passed, too.”
Ben’s gaze didn’t waver. “Too much water under the bridge—and I’m not in the habit of lookin’ back,” he replied in a low voice. “I felt at home here the minute I walked into your bakery, Miriam . . . the minute ya helped me in out of the storm and got so worried about Pharaoh kickin’ some sense into me.”
“And did he? Kick some sense into ya?”
Ben chuckled and framed her face in his hands. “Miriam.”
She swallowed hard. In the light from his little ceiling window, Ben’s eyes took on a shine and his hair glowed. “
Jah?
”
“I believe Willow Ridge is where I’ve been drivin’ to all along, and I finally got here—to find you. And I believe we can make this work out for the both of us, even if our life looks unconventional to some folks, or downright un-Amish to others,” he added with a smile. “We’ve both done our best life’s work by followin’ what God put in our hearts instead of listenin’ to what other folks told us we should do. Ain’t so?”
“
Jah
.
Jah
, there’s that.”
“We don’t have to hurry this along, Miriam. If ya don’t want to sell that land—”
“No. I’m fine with that now. For sure and for certain I am.”
Ben’s smile widened. “Then let’s settle first things first. You can focus on gettin’ Rachel married, and I’ll get my brothers started in their business. Then we’ll decide what happens for you and me. Make sense?”
Miriam smiled in spite of the misgivings that had plagued her during Polly Petersheim’s call. Ben made a valid point: now that she’d lived without a husband and had supported herself and her girls, she wasn’t one to follow anyone else’s rules about how she should practice her faith or live her life. “It does make sense, Ben. Is this what came of Pharaoh kickin’ ya, then?”
He looked at her for a moment before opening his pale blue shirt between his galluses. “He left his mark,
jah
.”
“Oh, Ben—” Miriam couldn’t help touching the dark purple bruise, feeling an edge where he’d bled and a scab had formed. “Ya should’ve let me put on some—”
“Doctored it myself, with some peroxide and salve,” he insisted as he pressed her palm against the injury. “This happens every now and again, as ya know. Occupational hazard.”
“
Jah
, I’ll never forget how that spooked stallion trampled Jesse,” she whispered.
“But if ya look close, you’ll see why I think of it as a sign—on account of its shape and location.”
Ben lifted her hand. Miriam couldn’t help smiling even though the bruise was surely as painful as it was colorful; it was centered on his chest, in the shape of a heart. Ben placed her palm on the wound again, resting his forehead against hers. His pulse beat steadily . . . tamed her own rapid heartbeat into his more controlled rhythm as they stood together for several moments, silent.
Ben sighed and kissed her cheek. “Please be patient with me. No matter how the evidence might pile up while Hiram’s diggin’ his dirt, I . . . I love you, Miriam.”
Miriam closed her eyes. Her thoughts raced ahead in joy even as his words made her more nervous and scared than she’d been in years.
“Don’t say that back to me just yet,” he added. “I know you’re not ready. But I sure hope ya will be someday. Fair enough?”
Miriam blinked back sudden tears. “
Jah
, fair enough, Ben.”
They stood there in the silence for several moments, breathing together . . . just holding each other, with her hand over his heart. Finally she sighed; sooner or later someone was bound to peek inside the wagon.
“It’s probably a
gut
time to call Derek in his office, to set up the appraisal and the survey we’ll need,” she finally suggested. “Would ya like to call your brothers after that?”
“Sounds like a plan, perty girl. And we’ll make it work out, too.”
Chapter 15
The next afternoon, Miriam wiped down countertops and took time to redd up the fridge as she waited for Derek Shotwell from the bank in New Haven. Once again her pulse quickened as she considered what it meant to sell part of the Lantz land to the Hooley brothers. Jesse’s
dat
had farmed here, and Jesse had built his farrier shop before he’d even courted her. Miriam hoped her husband was pleased with the decisions she was making in his absence; it wasn’t as though they had sons to pass the land to, and Rachel and Micah would live in the house next door to the one the Brennemans had grown up in. So much history here . . .
“Miriam, good afternoon! It smells awesome in here!” a familiar voice called from the dining room.
She closed the fridge door and greeted Derek Shotwell. “Can I get ya somethin’ while we wait for Ben? A fruit muffin, maybe, or a slice of fudge ripple cake?”
The loan officer rubbed his stomach. “Thanks, but I need to weigh in at the doctor’s office tomorrow for my physical.”
Miriam smiled, glancing out the window to see if Ben’s wagon was in sight. “It’s
gut
you’re takin’ care of yourself regular-like. Can’t say that about most of the fellas I know.”
Derek tilted his head slightly, smiling. “So what’s going on with your land along the river, Miriam? No disrespect intended, but I hope it’s not Hiram Knepp’s idea that you’re selling this property.”
Miriam laughed. “No, not this time—but
denki
for askin’, Derek. I’m doin’ this of my own free will, and Hiram doesn’t know about it yet . . . but meanwhile, I’ve got a favor to ask.”
“And what would that be? This transaction could change things in Willow Ridge, if your buyer builds a gristmill—especially because land doesn’t come up for sale all that often among the Amish.”
“
Jah
, but this is a different sort of situation.” Miriam looked again to be sure Ben wasn’t coming. “I like the idea of bringin’ a new business to town, and I . . . I like the fella who asked me about that possibility. But he’s from out East, and all I know about him is what he’s told me. When ya do your credit checkin’ and all those other things that go into drawin’ up the papers, I hope you’ll let me know if somethin’ doesn’t seem right to ya. These fellas’ll be my close neighbors, after all.”
Derek nodded as he made a note on his legal pad. “I can call our bank’s affiliates in Pennsylvania. As part of the loan process we do thorough credit checks—although I must say that as a rule, Amish transactions are among the lowest risk we see. You folks don’t believe in defaulting on loans, and lots of times you pay them off early.”
“
Jah
, my Jesse was that way, and I am, too.” She glanced outside, gesturing toward Ben’s approaching wagon. “This fella who’s goin’ to the river with us . . . let’s just say he’s interested in more than settin’ up his brothers with a mill.”
“Are you, um,
interested
in the same things Ben is, Miriam?” Derek’s smile brightened his face. “Seems to me, any man would be very, very lucky to latch on to you or any of your girls. But if you’re asking me to give you my opinion of him—confidentially, of course—before the transaction takes place, I’d be happy to do that.”
She clasped her hands, grinning. “
Denki
, Derek! I can’t tell ya how glad I am that you and I usually think along the same lines.” Miriam went to the door to swing it open for Ben. “Come in and meet Derek Shotwell, Ben! He’s a
gut
friend and he watches out for me and my money.”
“
Gut
to meet you, Derek. Ben Hooley—and I appreciate your comin’ so soon to help us with our mill idea.” Ben and Derek shook hands and sized each other up quickly, and when they’d all stepped outside, Miriam locked the café’s door.
The stroll to the riverbank was a good opportunity for the two men to discuss particulars of the mill in a way Ben hadn’t shared with her—man-to-man but businessman-to-businessman, as well. Miriam listened closely, especially as the two of them spoke about the potential for the mill’s profitability and the opportunities for other Willow Ridge residents to benefit. She felt confident that Ben was presenting himself and his brothers honestly—a key point, once Hiram Knepp challenged the loan officer about this transaction. Because the bishop was still peeved that Derek had allowed an English fellow to buy her building, he
would
protest it.
It was also good that Ben and Derek talked about how Willow Ridge’s farmers depended upon water from this section of the Missouri River for their livestock. Anyone who used the river’s water to operate—as a mill would—affected water quality and availability for everyone downstream, after all.
As they came to the ridge where the rapids were first visible, Derek paused. He stood silently for a moment, taking in the adjoining hayfields and pasturelands that belonged to Tom Hostetler. As the river curved around the back side of her land, it marked the boundary for Leah and Daniel Kanagy’s farm, as well.
“What a beautiful place,” Derek said, a sense of awe evident in his voice. “Working in an office all day, I forget that some folks have this for scenery instead of a parking lot or the strip mall across the road.” He smiled at them both. “And where do you foresee this mill, Ben? Do you have any idea of dimensions, or building costs, or how much Ira and Luke will want to borrow—?”
“Oh, they’re puttin’ down cash,” Ben assured the banker. “They’ve been savin’ up for this opportunity, waitin’ for the right place to come along. I knew this would be a
gut
spot as soon as I saw it.”
Derek glanced at Miriam, and then back to Ben. “You realize if we’re talking about twenty-five acres of bottom land, along with the costs of the survey and the appraisal, that we’re tallying up to more than a hundred fifty thousand dollars before you even build the mill.”
“My word, that’s a chunk of money,” Miriam remarked.
“At six-thousand an acre, it’s a lot more than Jesse paid for it,” Derek agreed. “But the going rate in this area’s running between five and six thousand, so I figured you should ask on the high side, Miriam. That way Hiram Knepp can’t say you sold it for less than you should have.”
Ben nodded. “To a fella from Lancaster County, that sounds like a real bargain, Derek.”
The loan officer jotted a few more lines in his notebook. “So how did your brothers make their money? You said they were only around thirty.”
“They’re already growin’ the grains they want to mill here, and they’ve gotten into organic feeds the last couple of years, too,” Ben explained, “so they can bring along their own seed to start some farmers out with. They’ve marketed these grains to regional mills, but they’ve always wanted to mill it themselves.”
Ben extended his arms, gesturing at the farmland around them. “It could give the farmers in Willow Ridge a real
gut
advantage, bein’ among the first to grow these specialty crops in Missouri. And it’s a procedure to rotate away from the wheat and corn they’ve always planted, to replenish their soil.”
Derek was nodding, looking at Miriam as he replied. “Sounds to me like your brothers have the know-how to really make a go of it, Ben. I’ll call the surveyor and get the appraisal done, and meanwhile, if you and your brothers can present a blueprint of the mill design and a business proposal, we’ll be on our way to making this work.”
The banker smiled at her then. “Does that sound reasonable to you, Miriam? I know you want to do the right thing with your husband’s land, and the right thing for Willow Ridge.”
Miriam inhaled deeply. Derek Shotwell seemed genuinely impressed by what he’d heard, so she felt better already about making the gristmill a reality . . . and more confident about Ben, too. “This sounds like the most excitin’ thing since—well, since I opened my bakery!” she replied. “I want to ask the girls, though, and we can talk about it tonight when all three of them are together. Ben’s gonna join us. You can come, too, if you’d like, Derek.”
He extended his hand and she shook it. “My family’s expecting me home for soccer games and dinner on the run tonight,” he said apologetically. “I sometimes envy you Amish, because your kids aren’t involved in so many activities that keep us English parents running the roads.”
As they walked back toward Derek’s car, Miriam felt a real sense of satisfaction: not only was she moving forward, rethinking the use of Jesse’s land, but she had progressed beyond those overwhelming feelings of dismay she’d felt when she’d talked to Polly Hershberger. And after that, Ben had said he loved her. Recalling that moment in his wagon made her flush with a pleasure she hadn’t known since she was a girl Rachel’s age, preparing to marry Jesse Lantz.
Yet she still needed to be cautious. Things were happening much faster, on the business front as well as the personal side, than was common for Amish folk. Change happened slowly—sometimes not at all—when it came to some aspects of their Old Order life, and the sameness of their faith made a good measuring stick when fellows like Ben Hooley blew in from out of nowhere, claiming to be guided by God.
Such gratifying thoughts changed when they came in sight of the Sweet Seasons. A carriage was parked there, with a familiar figure standing beside it. “Well now, do ya suppose Hiram’s somehow gotten wind of this mill proposal?” she asked quietly. “We’ve not mentioned it to him yet, Derek, so be ready for a burst of bluster.”
Indeed, as the three of them came down the lane toward the café, Hiram was watching them with a scowl. “I came by for my pie, Miriam, but the door was locked,” he said in a testy voice.
Miriam reminded herself that women were to be respectful and submissive. “We close at two, ya know,” she replied sweetly. “And you’re always tellin’ me I stay too long after hours, ain’t so?”
“Good afternoon, Hiram. Good to see you again,” Derek said as he offered his hand. “Ready to take your horses to that big sale?”
Ignoring the loan officer’s etiquette, the bishop looked from Ben to Derek to Miriam as though he suspected them of conspiring against him. “I load them up tomorrow. My webmaster has passed along several inquiries from prospective buyers, so I’m expecting top dollar for the yearlings and the mares I’m selling. And what might you be discussing with Miriam and our guest, Mr. Hooley?”
Ben took the bait rather than let the banker get caught in the crossfire between him and the bishop. “I’ve got brothers wantin’ to build a mill. We’re buyin’ a parcel of Lantz land along the river for it, as soon as we get the plans drawn up.”
The bishop scowled, gripping his suspenders. “If you think I’ll grant you permission to electrify this business—”
“We’re usin’ water power. Or, if the river runs low, we’ll hitch horses to the machinery—as the Amish and other civilizations have done for centuries.” Ben reached for his wallet then, turning to Derek. “And here’s money for that survey and appraisal you’re arrangin’. Will this cover it?”
Miriam’s eyes widened. She didn’t get a close count, but as Derek spread the bills between his fingers, she was pretty sure that more than fifteen hundred dollars had just changed hands.
“This is more than enough, Ben—”
“And as I told ya, my brothers’ll be payin’ cash for the land. The Brenneman brothers’ll be paid as they buy the lumber and supplies, so the mill will be paid in full by the time they finish.”
The color rose in Hiram’s face. “You both know better than to transact such business behind my back,” he said in a tight voice. “Miriam, you’re making a big mistake, allowing men you’ve never even met to start up a business on land that’s been in your husband’s family for generations! What are you thinking?”
Miriam assumed the most polite tone she could, considering the sins the bishop had recently committed on the sly. “This is better use of that rocky, thin soil than Jesse ever made of it,” she replied quietly. “And if ya believe for one minute that havin’ Ben’s old girlfriend call me is gonna scare me away from Ben or this sale,” she added pointedly, “ya haven’t paid much attention to the way my faith—and my God—guide me when I make decisions. Seems we’ll have a lot of business to discuss at the members’ meetin’ when ya come forward to confess, like Tom and Gabe have requested.”
Hiram’s nostrils flared, but when Derek Shotwell’s face registered his concern at this information, the bishop didn’t respond to it. His gaze remained on Miriam, as though he were seeking out the next soft spot beneath her spiritual and emotional armor.
“We’ll be discussing your lack of respect, as well, Miriam. Some matters are not meant to be discussed before people who don’t follow our faith.” Hiram cleared his throat stiffly. “Now, if I can have that pie, I’ll be going—to discuss this mill proposition with the preachers. Without their consent, you’ve done a lot of business that will need to be undone—as you’re surely aware.”
Miriam quickly fetched the boxed pie from her countertop. The talk among the men outside sounded anything but cordial, but it was better than having the bishop follow her in here to impress his dissatisfaction on her personally . . . physically. And at least the subject of the mill had been brought to his attention now, in the presence of the banker who handled Hiram’s Belgian business.
As she handed the bishop his box, he nodded curtly. “Hooley, I’ve advised you to move on after you’ve completed your farrier work this week,” he remarked. “I suspect you’re constantly on the road, because every bishop along your path has seen you for the undesirable influence you are—especially among Plain women—and has sent you on your way.”

Other books

Relato Soñado by Arthur Schnitzler
Out Bad by Janice M. Whiteaker
November 9: A Novel by Colleen Hoover
Blood Red Road by Moira Young
.45-Caliber Deathtrap by Peter Brandvold
The Proposal by Mary Balogh
Blood and Stone by Chris Collett
Her Sheriff Bodyguard by Lynna Banning