Autumn Winds (19 page)

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Authors: Charlotte Hubbard

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

BOOK: Autumn Winds
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As Ted’s pickup rounded the curve on the county highway, Ben’s heart thrummed: the Sweet Seasons, the smithy, and the big white home back off the road were such a welcome sight! He leaned forward, gazing eagerly at a place he hadn’t realized he’d missed so much these past few days. Although a sign that said
CLOSED FOR RACHEL
&
MICAH’S WEDDING
was across the front door, folks bustled in the kitchen as they prepared the feast.
Their driver, too, was gawking. “Wow, judging from all the carriages and tipped-up buggies, there must be a hundred people here!”
“Closer to two hundred, if all of Miriam and Jesse Lantz’s kin made it.” Ben and his brothers stepped out of the truck, happy to be on solid ground . . . and in the place they’d soon be calling home. They smoothed the black trousers and vests they’d put on early this morning to be properly dressed for the day. “That’s the final hymn of the wedding comin’ from the house, but we’re in time to eat. You and Gregg are welcome to join us,” he offered. “There’ll be plenty of food, and it’ll be the best stuff ya ever put in your mouths.”
Gregg came over from his van, followed by Aunt Nazareth and Aunt Jerusalem. “That’s the last hymn they’re singin’,” Nazareth confirmed with a nod. “But we got here in time to help with the dinner, anyway.”
“It’ll be in that woodworkin’ shop over there,” Ben said, gesturing to the large metal building on the next spread. “That’s where Micah Brenneman’ll be workin’ on the mill for ya, and his family lives in that house up the way. His
mamm
, Naomi, cooks with Miriam in her café and she’s in charge of the food today,” he explained. “No doubt they’ve been hard at it since before the sun even thought of comin’ up, usin’ the café kitchen’s ovens and dishwasher and what-all.”
“How nice that the two families live so close.” Aunt Nazareth gazed around, taking in Miriam’s extensive plowed gardens, the orchard, and the distant trees growing along the river. “What a lovely place! As green as Pennsylvania, but a little more rugged.”
“Not every inch of it cultivated or given over to shops,” Aunt Jerusalem remarked with a decisive nod. “I can see why Bennie thinks it’s gonna be just the right place for a mill.”
“
Jah
, I’m likin’ the looks of it, too.” Luke stretched wearily, yet his smile was wide as he retucked his white shirt. “Ira, we just made it to the promised land, buddy! How about you settle up with Ted while I tether the horses? Best to get the livestock watered before folks come out from the service.”
Ben nodded, relieved that everyone felt the same immediate liking for this place that he had. As they’d crossed through central Missouri, his brothers had admired the gentle roll of the hills and the farmsteads sprinkled with cattle, silos, and modest homes. If they could look past the way a certain bishop might behave . . .
But Ben set aside his concerns about Hiram Knepp. If the bishop had nixed their plans while he was fetching his brothers, Derek Shotwell would still find a way to get the mill built. Ben turned to the two English drivers, who were discussing where Ted might stay the night before he started back to Lancaster. “I was serious, sayin’ you fellas can stay for dinner.”
Ted’s eyes widened. “But I don’t even know these people! I’d hate to intrude.”
“Miriam Lantz and Naomi Brenneman cook for hundreds of folks every day,” Gregg said with a laugh. “They’ll be so glad you helped these Hooley boys get here, feeding you will be their pleasure. I’ll be on my way, though. I live just down the road, and the wife’s been expecting me.”
Ben and his aunts thanked him, waving as Gregg pulled out of the lot. Ted had punched a few buttons on his phone to find a motel, so he drove off down the country blacktop a few minutes later.
With a tired but happy sigh, Ben strode to the back of the horse trailer to assist his aunts: as
maidels
well into their fifties, they didn’t wait around for a man to take care of things. “Keep those little critters corralled in the trailer while I set up the pen over here in the grass,” he said over the noise of their bleating.
Aunt Jerusalem and her sister stepped carefully inside the long metal trailer, holding their skirts out to their sides to form a barricade. “
Jah
, you little kids just stay put a few minutes more,” Aunt Nazareth baby-talked. “Bennie’s gonna set ya up with the best grass you’ve seen for days.”
As Ben grabbed the wooden framework of the portable pen, he chuckled to himself. His brothers had protested, saying four little goats would be more bother than they were worth on the long trip, but Ben’s faith in his
dat
’s sisters had prevailed. Knowing Aunt Jerusalem and Aunt Nazareth, they had discussed their plan for these feisty Alpines, and within a few hours they would either win the day . . . or he’d be finding the little kids another home.
He arranged the hinged sections of the pen against the side of the smithy, where the grass was thickest, forming an enclosure by hooking the sections together. A few minutes later the four little goats were trotting around inside it, wagging their tails, as his aunts grinned at them from outside the pen.
“Be
gut
little goats, now,” Aunt Jerusalem instructed them.
“
Jah
, no jumpin’ the fence or buttin’ in on the dinner,” Aunt Nazareth added with a laugh.
A loud, ecstatic
whoopee!
made Ben look toward the house. Sure enough, the Knepp twins and Sara had burst out the door ahead of the rest of the wedding guests. “Well, there they are. That’s Joey, Josh, and Sara Knepp, the bishop’s kids.”
Aunt Jerusalem’s hands went to her hips in the gesture he’d known all his life. She assessed them, standing beside her sister. “Puh! After keepin’ you three wild colts coralled years ago, I don’t see much problem handlin’ these little whippersnappers.”
“
Jah
, bishops’ kids tend to be ornerier than most,” Aunt Nazareth added as she watched the twins box at each other. “But over our years of teachin’ at the schoolhouse, we haven’t met one yet who didn’t see the light.”
“And every one of them joined the church, too,” her sister added. “No slackers. No backslidin’ into heathen or English ways.”
Ben smiled. Well he recalled how these two aunts had corrected him, Ira, and Luke at school—and had then reported to their parents so the discipline would continue after they got home. His
dat
’s sisters had steered many a potentially wayward soul along a higher path, which was precisely why he’d encouraged Nazareth and Jerusalem Hooley to come along for a visit.
But all thoughts of the bishop’s rowdy children fled when a familiar figure stood silhouetted in the door of the Lantz home.
Miriam!
His heart sang.
And she’s lookin’ for me!
Even from this distance, when Miriam saw the trailer and the five of them between the back of the café and the smithy, her eyes found his. Although the wedding guests were streaming out of the house, visiting on their way to the Brennemans’ for the wedding feast, Miriam was striding toward him, her face alight. She hadn’t put on a shawl or bonnet, yet the October chill seemed the farthest thing from her mind; in a crisp new dress the color of canned beets, with her black apron fluttering around her legs, she looked like heaven itself.
Ben rushed up the driveway, his heart pounding. “Miriam! I’m sorry we missed the service—”
“Ben! You’re finally here!”
He closed the distance between them to grab her in a hug. Miriam’s arms went around his waist and he closed his eyes. What sensation was this, that made him forget his exhaustion and frustration . . . forget everything except the warmth of this woman, the strength of her? “And how was the wedding?”
“It went fine. But it’ll take me a while to call Rachel Mrs. Brenneman.”
And how long before I can call you Mrs. Hooley?
The question nearly popped out of his mouth, but Ben pulled himself into the present moment again. He wanted to stand here longer, seeing himself reflected in Miriam’s sparkling brown eyes, but four other Hooleys were watching them—not to mention all the folks coming out of the Lantz house. He released her and they headed toward his family, who stood observing them closely.
“Here’s Miriam!” His exuberance gave away his feelings for her, but his aunts and brothers would have to see this woman for who she was and love her, just as he did. “And these are my
dat
’s sisters, Jerusalem and Nazareth—”
“So
gut
to finally meet ya! Ben’s talked fondly of ya.”
“—and my younger brothers, Ira and Luke, of course.”
“Welcome to Willow Ridge!” Miriam said. “Every last family here is excited about ya comin’ to start up your mill, no matter what ya might’ve heard about our bishop.”
His brothers grinned wider than they had for days. “So it’s all set, then?”
“Just need to sign the paperwork with Derek Shotwell from the bank.” Miriam sparkled like the October sunshine as she looked at each of them. “My Rebecca—raised English, but that’s a long story—has started up a website for ya and has all kinds of
gut
ideas about gettin’ folks at the colleges and towns hereabouts interested in your grains and flours.”
Ben’s grin felt lopsided and love-struck, but he didn’t care. “Didn’t I tell ya she’d smooth out the path for ya? Willow Ridge is a wonderful-
gut
place to—”
At the loud bleating from the side of the smithy, Miriam looked behind the Hooleys. Her eyes widened. “Are those your goats? I had no idea—”
“The aunts thought it only proper to bring a gift,” Ben replied with a mischievous chuckle. “And here come Rhoda and Rebecca, the girls who’ve already been askin’ about ya, boys.”
Ira and Luke shifted awkwardly, but once the two sisters were introduced around, Ben let the pleasant conversation take its course. He and Miriam led the others past the cleared garden and over the wide lot toward the Brenneman workshop, where the rest of the wedding guests mingled.
Had there ever been a brighter fall day? Had he ever felt happier? Ben glanced at his aunts, who were asking Miriam what-all she’d raised in her garden and if she cooked her own vegetables in the café, while Miriam’s two girls chatted easily with his brothers. Up ahead, Preacher Tom Hostetler waved at him . . . he spotted the Zooks and Millie Glick and the Kanagy brothers trundling carts of stainless steel steam-table pans toward the shop, and felt as if he had truly come home after a long time away.
“There’s the bride and her groom,” he said, guiding his aunts in the couple’s direction. “This house is where your rooms are, too, so you’ll be in
gut
company,” he remarked.
“
Jah
, I can see why ya like it here, Bennie,” Aunt Nazareth remarked. “Just
gut
, everyday folks, looks like.”
“And this is Rachel—now Mrs. Brenneman!” Ben said as he grinned at the girl in royal blue and white. “And congratulations to ya both. Micah, it’s
gut
to see ya again. This is Ira and Luke, of course. Mighty pleased to hear that everybody’s in favor of the mill you’re buildin’ for us.”
Micah grinned broadly. His blond hair shone like clean straw beneath the brim of his black hat, and his radiant white shirt was set off by a black bow tie that looked a little snug. “Took some talkin’ around Hiram, but ya know what they say,” the carpenter replied jauntily. “Ya can’t keep a
gut
man down. Or three of them, in the case of you Hooleys.”
Another flurry of conversation enveloped them as the young men shook hands and everyone congratulated Micah and his wife. So sweet and fresh Rachel looked . . . Ben could imagine her mother at that age, when she was Jesse Lantz’s bride coming from Jamesport to live in this place. And, indeed, as Miriam gazed at Rachel, and then at him, she looked radiant . . . flushed with joy.
Behind her, Ben noted a familiar figure approaching. He stood taller and readied himself.
Lord, I’d appreciate
gut
words and the best intentions
, he prayed quickly.
We came here to improve our lives and this town, not to divide it.
“And here’s our bishop, Hiram Knepp,” Ben announced. He extended his hand, gripping firmly as the bishop scrutinized them all. “My brothers, Ira and Luke—”
“Welcome to Willow Ridge,” Hiram said in a formal voice.
“—and these are my aunts, Nazareth and Jerusalem Hooley, come to help us along for a while.”
As the two women stepped toward him, Bishop Knepp’s lips twitched. “Jerusalem? Now that’s the oddest name I ever heard for an Amish woman.”
“Only because you’ve not met the rest of our family.” Aunt Jerusalem planted her feet firmly and looked up at the bishop, unflinching. “My twin brother’s Jericho, ya see. And then we had Zion—he was these boys’
dat
—and Goshen, Israel, the twins, Judea and Jordan, and another set of twins, Calvary and Canaan.”
Nazareth smiled sweetly. “Our younger sisters are Bethlehem, Corinth, and Eden,” she continued without missing a beat.
“Our parents thought such biblical places made for names just as proper as the ones so many Plain folks have,” Jerusalem asserted. “And we weren’t in much of a position to argue with that, were we?”

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