A Promise for Miriam (44 page)

According to the couple’s brochure, Wildcat Mountain to the east of Cashton was teaming with wildlife and good hiking. Any other time he might be interested in that piece of information, but he wasn’t staying so it didn’t matter much to him.

He also learned small towns in the Driftless Area were at risk of major flooding every fifty to one hundred years.

Staring down at his damp pants, he wondered how much rain they’d had. How much rain were they expecting? He hoped he wouldn’t be around long enough to find out.

Aaron glanced up and down the street. He saw a town hall, a tavern, a café, a general store, and a feed store. A larger building, probably three stories high, rose in the distance, but he had no desire to walk that far because it could be in the wrong direction. Already the sun was heading west, and he wanted to be at the cabins before dark.

There were several streets branching off the main one, but they didn’t look any more promising. Pushing his hat down more firmly on his head, he cinched up the duffel bag and walked resolutely toward the feed store.

Instead of heading toward the front door, he moved down the side of the building to the loading docks, where two pickup trucks and a buggy were parked.

Fortunately, it wasn’t the buggy that had sprayed him with rainwater and mud. He would rather not ask information of that person, though in all likelihood the driver had no idea what he’d done. Folks seldom slowed down enough to look outside their own buggy window—even Amish folk. It appeared some things were the same whether you were in Wisconsin or Indiana.

He approached the loading docks, intending to find the owner of the parked buggy.

“That duffel looks heavy…and wet.”

Turning in surprise, he saw an Amish man leaning against the driver’s side of the buggy. Somber brown eyes studied Aaron, and a full dark beard indicated the man was married. Which was no surprise, because a basket with a baby sat on the buggy’s floor. The baby couldn’t have been more than a few months old, based on the size of the basket. He couldn’t see much except for a blanket and two small fists waving in the air.

“The duffel wouldn’t be wet if someone hadn’t been determined to break the speed limit with a sorrel mare.”

The man smiled, reached down, and slipped a pacifier into the baby’s mouth.

“That would probably have been one of the Bontreger boys. I’m sure he meant no harm, but both of them tend to drive on the far side of fast.”

He placed the walnut bowl he’d been sanding with a piece of fine wool on the seat, dusted his hands on his trousers, and then stepped forward.

“Name’s Gabe Miller.”

“Aaron Troyer.”

“Guess you’re new in town.”

“
Ya
. Just off the bus.”

“Explains the duffel.”

Aaron glanced again at the sun, still slipping west. Why did it seem to speed up once it was setting?

“I was looking for the Plain Cabins on Pebble Creek. Have you heard of them?”

“If you’re needing a room for the night, we can either find you a place or take you to our bishop. No need for you to rent a cabin.”

Easing the duffel off his shoulder and on to the ground, Aaron rested his hands on top of it. “Actually, I need to go to the cabins for personal reasons. Could you tell me where they are?”

“
Ya
. I’d be happy to give you directions, but it’s a fair piece from here if you’re planning on walking.”

Aaron pulled off his hat and ran his hand over his hair. He replaced it slowly as he considered his options. He’d boarded the bus ten hours earlier. He was used to long days and hard work. Though he was only twenty-three, he’d been working in the fields for nine years—ever since he’d left the schoolhouse after eighth grade. It was work he enjoyed. What he didn’t like was ten hours on a bus, moving farther away from his home, on a trip that seemed to him like a fool’s mission.

“Sooner I start, sooner I’ll arrive.”

“The Plain Cabins are on what we call the west side of Pebble Creek.”

“You mean the west side of Cashton?”

“Well, Cashton is the name of the town, but Plain folks mostly refer to the area as Pebble Creek, after the river.”

“The same river going through town?”

“Yes. There are two Plain communities here—one where the river runs to the east side of town, and one where the river runs to the west. I live on the east side. The cabins you’re looking for are on the west. The town is sort of in the middle. You can walk to them from here, but as I said, it’s a good ways. Maybe five miles, and there are quite a few hills in between, not to mention that bag you’re carrying…”

Instead of answering, Aaron hoisted the duffel to his shoulder.

Throughout their entire conversation, Gabe’s expression had been pleasant but serious. At the sound of voices, he glanced up and across the street, toward the general store. When he did, Aaron noticed a subtle change in the man, like light shifting across a room. Some of the seriousness left his eyes and contentment spread across his face.

Following his gaze, Aaron saw the reason why—a beautiful woman. She had the darkest hair he’d ever seen on an Amish person. A small amount peeked out from the edges of her prayer
kapp.
She was holding the hand of a young girl, who was the spitting image of the man before him. Both the woman and the child were carrying shopping bags.

“I was waiting on my family. Looks like they’re done. We’d be happy to take you by the cabins.”

“I don’t want to be a bother.”

Gabe smiled, and now the seriousness was completely gone, as if having his family draw close had vanquished it. As if having his family in sight had eased all of the places in his heart.

Aaron wondered what that felt like. He wanted to be back with his own parents and brothers and sisters in Indiana, but even there he felt an itching, a restlessness no amount of work could satisfy.

From what he’d seen of Wisconsin so far, he could tell he wasn’t going to be any happier here. He’d arrived less than thirty minutes ago, and he couldn’t wait to get back home.

Gabe was already moving toward his wife, waving away his protest.

“If it were a bother, I wouldn’t have offered.”

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