Autumn Winds (7 page)

Read Autumn Winds Online

Authors: Charlotte Hubbard

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

BOOK: Autumn Winds
7.57Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
“
Gut
!” Rachel proclaimed. “After the way he’s been actin’, well—we don’t want him gettin’ ideas about hitchin’ up with ya, Mamma. He’d probably expect ya to make a coconut cake for your own wedding, too.”
Chapter 7
“Why, Ben Hooley! What’re
you
doin’ here?” Rhoda gaped at him until Ben wondered if she might drop her pitcher of lemonade. “We thought Mamma was alone with the bishop—”
“And we’re mighty glad she wasn’t, no matter how ya happened along,” Rachel joined in. “We whipped up an excuse—and this basket of food—as fast as we could, but even with the two of us showin’ ourselves, I’m not sure he would’ve let up. And it’s gettin’ outta hand, I can tell ya.”
“Obnoxious!” Rhoda agreed as her sister spread the quilt on the grass. “He might be the bishop, but it’s time somebody took him down a peg or two, after that stunt he pulled at the Zooks’.”
Ben heard his own distaste echoed in the sisters’ remarks. He was pleased they were watching out for their mother, but they were right: their presence might have delayed Hiram Knepp’s advances, yet the bishop impressed him as the type who never gave up until he got what he wanted. And wasn’t that a sorry thing to say about a leader in their faith?
“I left the common meal to think things through,” he explained as Miriam returned to them with the tall coconut cake. “I blew in with the wind yesterday, so I realize ya have no reason to believe—”
At the
clip-clop! clip-clop!
of approaching carriages, Miriam turned toward the road. “Let’s see who’s comin’ before ya go on with—”
“It’s Micah!” Rachel popped up from the quilt to wave her arms at him. Then she smiled at Ben. “Micah Brenneman’s my honey, and we’re gettin’ hitched on the twentieth,” she gushed like a girl in love. “He’s the one who fixed up the apartment above Dat’s smithy for Mamma and Rhoda. A wonderful-
gut
carpenter, he is!”
“Is everythin’ all right here?” Micah called out. He stopped the carriage and hopped out. “I wasn’t any too happy about that scene at the meal, Miriam. I was guessin’ the bishop might come over here to—”
“
Jah
, he did,” Miriam replied. “And
denki
for thinkin’ of us, Micah.”
The burly blond nodded, removing his felt hat to smooth his hair. He looked back toward the road. “Preacher Tom had the same idea, comin’ to see that you were all right—except the bishop stopped him, to talk. Hiram’s little trick’s got everybody stirred up, for sure and for certain.” As Tom’s buggy rattled down the driveway toward them, Micah parked his rig and put his horse in the pasture.
After they all settled onto the quilt, Ben accepted a glass of lemonade from Rhoda, noting again how her blue eyes widened as she looked at him . . . wondering just how many fires he’d started by coming to Willow Ridge. Clearly Miriam Lantz and her girls were being watched over by men who cared about their welfare, so maybe they didn’t need him here, shaking up their daily lives.
Don’t believe that! Ya feel things for Miriam and she sees somethin’ when she looks into your eyes, too. Let this play out. Don’t assume ya have nothin’ to gain by stayin’.
Ben took a long sip of sweet, cool lemonade as Preacher Tom stepped down from his buggy.
“Well now! Looks like I’m bargin’ in on a little picnic—”
“Got plenty for you, too, Tom. Glad to see ya.” Miriam scooted over to make room for him. “Seems we’ve got a lot to chew on—besides this cake Hiram left behind.”
“Oh, there’ll be some chewin’, all right. Before I left the Zooks’, Gabe Glick and Reuben told me we needed a meetin’ about this, and just now the bishop was sayin’ he wants to call a meetin’, too,” the preacher replied with a shake of his head. “But I can tell ya,
our
agenda’s a lot different from Hiram’s, if he thinks we’re gonna go along with the way he’s treatin’ you, Miriam.”
He looked over at Ben then, his lips twitching. “Why am I not surprised to see
you
here, Hooley?”
Ben smiled. Preacher Tom Hostetler wasn’t a very fiery, fascinating speaker, but he was a genuinely nice fellow. If Old Order ways allowed it, the dairy farmer would probably be courting Miriam Lantz himself. He’d poured out his story in the milking barn, about how his wife, Lettie, had left in the night with an English fellow in a fancy car. Lettie had divorced him, but according to the
Ordnung
, he couldn’t remarry until she died.
“I was mighty upset when I up and left the Zooks’. Sounds odd, maybe, but I was walkin’ off my temper,” Ben explained. “Got so caught up in my thoughts I didn’t realize my feet had brought me to this orchard. Just as well, too,” he added with an emphatic nod. “Nothin’ goes right in the heat of risin’ voices and pointin’ fingers.”
Ben smiled at Miriam. She was cutting that fancy coconut cake while her girls went after more glasses and plates. It was just as well they were headed for the house, considering what he wanted to say. “Maybe I’m out of line, but I can’t see where Hiram’s servin’ the higher
gut
by tellin’ Miriam it’s God’s will that she marry him.”
“That’s horse hockey,” Tom agreed. “It’s been a case of sour grapes with Hiram ever since the banker let an English fella buy Miriam’s bakery buildin’ instead of goin’ along with the bishop’s plans to own it.”
“It’s all about ownership,” Ben agreed, “and nothin’ about love. That I could see.”
He paused, wondering if his next thought might backfire. “I’ve got no business tanglin’ with your bishop, but I suspect that’ll keep happenin’ as long as I’m in Willow Ridge. Am I wrong to stay here?” he asked quietly. “Should I forgive and forget, and move on?”
The way Miriam’s face fell—the way her wounded eyes sought his—was all the answer Ben needed. He held her gaze for as long as he dared, here in front of Micah and the preacher. He sensed these men wanted him here, no matter how Hiram Knepp felt about it.
“Could be ya found your way here to Willow Ridge for this very reason, Ben.” Tom smiled at Miriam as she handed him his cake. “Sometimes we’re left to struggle with things, bein’ led all kinds of places and not knowin’ for sure where to go—or why. But we’re not fightin’ the
gut
fight alone,” he added confidently. “If it weren’t for my faith—and friends like the Lantzes and the Brennemans here—I’d have reached the end of my rope long ago and hung myself with it.”
Ben smiled, enjoying the way Miriam’s face softened as she sliced off a large wedge of cake and handed it to him. “A little somethin’ to sweeten up your day,” she murmured. “I spent too much time on this coconut cake not to share it with my family and friends. Especially if Hiram’s gonna leave it beside the driveway!”
“
Jah
, I’ll have a big piece of that cake, Mamma!” Rhoda called out as she returned. She handed her mother more plates and then squeezed between Ben and Miriam to tighten their little circle on the quilt. “So what’re we gonna do about this bishop situation?”
“Folks all over Willow Ridge are already talkin’,” Rachel remarked as she took her place beside Micah. Then she smiled at Ben. “Ya maybe didn’t know what ya were gettin’ into when ya fixed Mamma’s shop window. You’re kind of settin’ this little town on its ear, ain’t so?”
Ben couldn’t help chuckling as both twins forked up huge bites of cake and stuffed their mouths at the same time. Amazing how they finished each other’s sentences and behaved so much alike, yet their distinct personalities came shining through their sparkling blue eyes as they looked him over . . . assessing him more closely, now that he’d taken a stand on behalf of their mother.
“Like I was tellin’ your
mamm
after I blew into her bakery with that storm,” Ben began, “I’ve been lookin’ for better-priced land than can be found farther east. Wantin’ a place of my own for my farrier business and maybe to set up a mill on the rapids for my brothers, alongside the river near here.” He paused to cut a forkful of the moist white cake. “With all the corn and wheat I’m seein’, a mill could be a
gut
outlet for local farmers—and a way to branch into some of those specialty flours and whole-grain cereals that’re sellin’ so well these days.”
“
Jah
, that organic stuff’s all the rage now,” Tom agreed. “If I switched over to feedin’ certified organic grains, so my Holsteins could give organic milk, it’d sell for a pertier penny at that new whole foods place over past Morning Star.”
“
Gut
as your homemade ice cream is, ya ought to be sellin’ that, Tom!” Rhoda said with a grin. “I was real sorry we left the Zooks’ so early. I was lookin’ forward to some of that ice cream with a piece of strawberry cream cake.”
Micah moved the tines of his fork over his plate to catch the last moist crumbs. He was a big, brawny young fellow but gave a lot of thought to things before he said them. “Ben, it seems to me a farrier like yourself would have full-time work here in Willow Ridge without the mill. I saw that right off over breakfast yesterday, the way fellas were linin’ up to have ya come to their places.”
“There’s that,” Ben agreed. “I never run out of horses to shoe in Plain settlements, no matter where I go. My wagon might not look like much, but I’ve made myself a right nice livin’ over the years.” He paused then, to close his eyes over a mouthful of the most luscious dessert he’d ever tasted. “Miriam Lantz, I don’t know what kind of wand ya waved over this cake, but it’s nothin’ short of magic.”
When Miriam leaned forward to smile at him from the other side of Rhoda, her face glowed like a pink rose. “The secret is usin’ the best brand of coconut and a lot of oil and eggs—not that you’ll be tryin’ out the recipe anytime soon, ain’t so?”
Ben laughed. It was a sudden outburst, totally unexpected, and when everyone else joined in, he felt indescribably wonderful . . . like he
belonged
here. All the controversy and conflict with Hiram Knepp lifted, like an autumn fog that dissipated from above a river when the sunshine struck it. How long since he’d sat among friends, on a blanket beneath a tree? How long since he’d talked about his dream of a mill . . . branching into a new and different enterprise?
Sunshine . . . that’s what Miriam Lantz reminded him of. Never mind all this business with the bishop; the woman who looked at him with those wide, doe-like eyes and smiled from deep in her heart was taking his breath away, right here in front of all these other folks. There was nothing secretive about her. No petty games or pity parties or playing up to win his attention.
How long before ya ask Miriam to meet ya out here alone, in the moonlight, when there’s nobody else around and no tree limbs to pull out of windows? Just you and her, cozy and close . . .
“If ya want a place to work on some of that equipment, Ben, you’re welcome to set up in Jesse’s shop.” Miriam’s voice sounded clear and confident. No wavering over the fact that her late husband had built that business, and no asking her girls what they might think of the idea, either.
Ben’s eyes widened. Tom, Micah, the twins, and Miriam were all waiting for his answer. Their faces differed in age and complexion, but their expectant expressions and suspended cake forks told him his reply
mattered
to them.
“That’s quite an honor,” he murmured, returning Miriam’s gaze as though no one else were there. “And I’ll take ya up on it, too.”
Chapter 8
“And where will ya be sleepin’, Ben?” Rhoda asked later that evening when they’d come in to sit on the porch. She realized then how odd that sounded, for her to be asking such a question of a man, so she added, “I mean, if you’re usin’ the forge and Dat’s equipment, it seems only sensible that ya sleep upstairs in the new apartment.”
Ben Hooley’s eyes widened. He looked over at Rachel and Mamma, who sat in the porch swing. “I don’t want to take somebody else’s bed, but—”
“Rhoda and I’ll be stayin’ here in this house until Rachel and Micah get hitched,” Miriam clarified. “And if you’ve been sleepin’ in your wagon all this time, a real bed—and a bathroom—might be to your likin’. That was a
gut
idea, Rhoda!”
Rhoda grinned. High time she got recognized for something, on account of how crossways she’d felt ever since Mamma had spent all that time alone with this handsome fellow when the storm blew him in. Was it wrong to want to prove to Ben Hooley that
she
was the woman he’d be happier with? While it was the man’s place to do the courting, surely it was the woman’s place to put good ideas in his head about where and when . . . and how that might come about.
“I surely do appreciate your kindness,” their guest replied. In the light from the lanterns, his face took on the soft shadows of the autumn night as he smiled at them. “With the cooler weather—and considerin’ how I’m to be at Hiram’s place first thing tomorrow—a
gut
night’s rest will be to my advantage.”
“And ya won’t have far to go for your breakfast, either!” Rachel smiled. “That’s one more thing the bishop won’t like so much, but then, we’re offerin’ hospitality like Jesus said we’re to do, ain’t so?”
“Hiram aside,” Mamma remarked—as though
aside
was exactly where she wanted to put him—“we’re happy to let ya stay there, after the way ya repaired the café’s window. I’m still goin’ to pay ya for that—”
“And I’m still refusin’ your money, Miriam. You’re feedin’ me all this
gut
food and now puttin’ me up for the night,” Ben pointed out. “A man can’t ask for better than that.”
Rhoda gazed into the evening, smiling. She imagined escorting this fellow to the little nest above the smithy . . . being the one to make sure he was up and around in time for breakfast . . . cooking his favorite foods and pouring his coffee in the morning. Tomorrow might be a fine day to wear the new burgundy dress she’d made last week.
“We end our days with a Bible passage, Ben,” Mamma said, interrupting Rhoda’s thoughts. “Would ya be so kind as to read for us tonight? Always
gut
to hear the Lord’s word in a man’s voice, considerin’ it’s just us girls here now.”
Rhoda stopped short of rolling her eyes. Why was Mamma seeing herself as a girl, when she was forty? “I’ll fetch the Bible,” she said, rising from the chair beside Ben’s. “Anybody want more of that cake, or maybe a cup of tea?”
Mamma and Rachel shook their heads, but when Ben held her gaze with a mischievous grin, Rhoda laughed. “Catchin’ up on all the bedtimes when ya didn’t have a little somethin’ sweet?”
He chuckled and looked away. “You could say that,
jah
. I’ll be pleased to read from the Lord’s word tonight,” he added. “Are ya followin’ a certain book? Wantin’ to hear anythin’ in particular?”
“You pick!” Rachel said. “We do like Dat did, lettin’ the
Gut
Book fall open and puttin’ our finger down with our eyes shut. Seems our Bible’s so cracked and creased, we do a lot of repeatin’, though.”
As she caught the screen door against her backside, Rhoda’s mind raced. Now that Micah and Tom—and the bishop—were gone, it felt so nice and cozy to be on the porch with Ben. Soon the chill of the October nights would drive them inside again for their evening devotionals . . . and by then, who knew what might become of Ben Hooley? Would he finish his jobs and drive on down the road?
She intended to see that he did
not
leave them. Why couldn’t she be the one who gave this fellow the best reason of all to stay?
Rhoda put a thick slab of the coconut cake on a plate, with a fork. She ran her finger quickly through the gooey part that stuck to the cake platter, closing her eyes over the sweetness of sugar, butter, and coconut—cake as only Mamma could make it, and far better than the bishop deserved for his birthday. More like the wedding cakes they’d been baking for a lot of brides around the district, and soon for Rachel and Micah . . .
And why not for me? I got baptized years ago. Have traveled these back roads in many a rig after singin’s, and still haven’t found a fella I want to live with . . .
She picked up the big Bible from the table in the front room and returned to the porch. “It’s up to you what ya do first, Ben—Scripture or cake,” she teased.
“And all these eyes are followin’ my every move, watchin’ for things like that, too, aren’t they?” Ben countered with a laugh.
Rhoda laughed with him and resumed her seat. She placed the Bible on the little table between her chair and Ben’s, watching his face in the flickering light of the lantern. Without his hat, his light brown hair fell around his temples and then flared back slightly over his ears, like soft, glossy bird’s wings . . . such a nice contrast to the way most of the men in Willow Ridge combed their hair down and got it chopped straight across their foreheads and along their shirt collars.
“My
dat
used to say that life was short, so ya should eat dessert first,” Ben replied. “But I feel bad bein’ the only one to give in to this temptation.”
Ya think Mamma’s cake is a temptation? Just you wait, Ben Hooley!
Rhoda smiled to herself and glanced at her mother. She wasn’t surprised that Mamma was watching the way their guest’s fine mouth closed over his forkful of cake. “We don’t decide on our breakfast menu most mornin’s until we get to the Sweet Seasons,” Rhoda remarked as Ben’s eyes closed over his first bite of dessert. “Sometimes—for special occasions—we take requests. And your goin’ to Hiram’s tomorrow seems like a
gut
time to fortify ya with all the stuff ya love best. What would you like?”
Ben swallowed, thinking about it as he savored another bite of cake. “I don’t think a fella ever gets enough
gut
bacon and sausage,” he said in a dreamlike voice. “Especially if it’s butchered local.”
“Our meats come from Zook’s Market, and Henry himself does the butcherin’,” Rhoda assured him. “He makes the best—”
“Apple sausages!” Mamma joined in gleefully. “This time of year, he can’t keep his sausage links with little chunks of ground apple in stock, but his boy, Jonah, delivered us a case yesterday. We’ll cook some up tomorrow!”
“Makes the whole café smell wonderful
-gut
,” Rachel agreed.
“And I make mighty fine French toast, too, topped off with fried apples, all sweet and spicy with cinnamon!” Rhoda leaned on the arm of her chair closest to Ben, determined not to let her sister and her mother steal her thunder. “Or those fried apples are tasty with oatmeal pancakes—”
“Or how about that apple walnut coffee cake ya made a couple weeks ago?” Rachel suggested. “Once Micah and the Kanagy boys got into that, it was gone before any other customers got a chance at it.”
Ben laughed as he took the final bite of his cake. “I can’t possibly eat all that! But I’ll do my best to devour whatever you’re cookin’, because for sure and for certain it’s better than what I’d grab at a convenience store like I usually do when I’m on the road.”
When he handed her his empty plate, Rhoda saw how lean and strong his hands were, with occasional scars, like Dat had gotten over the years, when sparks had jumped from the forge. To keep from staring at his long, slender fingers, she patted the Bible. “Pick us out somethin’, Ben. I’ll be right back.”
As she entered the dim kitchen, Rhoda’s thoughts spun like tops. Oh, but she’d wanted to keep Mamma out of their menu planning! Wanted to ask Rachel whose side she was on, too, giving Ben ideas about what their mother baked best! It wasn’t like she herself fell short on the cooking end of things!
Don’t be a little kitty cat, mewin’ for attention! You’ll hear no end of it!
Rhoda took in a deep breath. Reminded herself that Ben Hooley would be in Willow Ridge—in the little apartment above the smithy—for at least a couple of weeks yet. Plenty of time for him to see how he’d be better off marrying a younger girl like herself, who wasn’t already used to running her home a certain way, and wasn’t tied down to keeping a café open, either. Mamma had always made it clear that her daughters had their own lives to live when they got hitched, and that Naomi’s girl, Hannah, would most likely be working in the café when she turned sixteen in November.
Jah, Ben, it’s gonna be you and me . . . God brought ya to my doorstep for a
gut
reason, and together we’ll explore why your comin’ here is the best thing that ever happened to both of us.
More settled, Rhoda returned to her chair and saw that Ben had picked a passage and raised the wick of the lamp so he could read the dark, crowded columns on the pages of the old Bible. Mamma and Rachel had stopped swinging and sat with their hands folded on their laps, ready to hear the Word, so she sat the same way. Ben needed to see that while she might be younger than he was by a few years, she’d been raised in the faith to show proper respect and attention when God spoke to them through these evening readings.
“This was one of my
dat
’s favorite passages,” Ben began. His expression turned wistful in the flickering lamplight. “He was a smart fella who understood all the difficult language in our King James version—would’ve made a
gut
preacher—and he put the Scriptures into words we kids could follow, so we’d know more about what was goin’ on when we heard the verses in church.”
“He must’ve been a mighty
gut dat
,” Mamma remarked with a nod.
“
Jah
, and I miss him somethin’ fierce sometimes—but don’t get me yackin’ about that,” he added with a chuckle. “It’s late and we’ve all had a . . . day that needs finishin’ out on the right note.”
Ben drew a breath and found his place with his finger. “I’m readin’ from the Proverbs, in chapter thirty-one,” he said in a low voice. “Sayin’ the verses like I recall hearin’ them at home, when my family gathered around just like this to listen.”
Rhoda closed her eyes to better focus on Ben’s mellow voice . . . even though she wasn’t paying as much attention as she should to the message itself.
“Who can find a virtuous woman—a truly
gut
wife? She’s worth more than precious jewels. Her husband trusts her with all his heart and he’ll never lack for anythin’ while he’s with her.”
Rhoda’s heart thumped faster. Ben had not only chosen a passage about a good wife, but he sounded as if he was saying the words directly to her! She leaned back in her chair, allowing his low voice to ease all the worries of this day . . . all the doubts in her own mind about finding the right man.
“. . . She does
gut
things for him all her life long,” Ben went on in that dreamlike rhythm. “She spins wool and flax and works with willin’ hands . . . she’s up before dawn providin’ food for her family and settin’ up everybody’s chores for the day. She knows good land when she sees it and she plants vineyards and gardens with her own hands . . .”
Rhoda peeked between her slitted eyelids. Mamma and Rachel, too, sat in the shadows with awed looks on their faces, as though Ben Hooley wove some sort of magical spell around them.
“. . . opens her hands to the poor, and she helps folks who need it.”
This was a world apart from how Bishop Knepp and the preachers read the Bible: the Old Ways dictated that members not stray from the exact wording and never hazard a guess at interpreting the verses for themselves. Rhoda sighed, drifting along on the pleasant rhythm of Ben Hooley’s voice.
“. . . pays attention to what goes on with her family and the household, and she’s not idle or wastin’ her time,” he went on earnestly. “Her children grow up and say she’s blessed—and a blessin’ to them—and her husband does, too. And he praises her for all the things she does to make his life so fine.”
Ben paused then, sighing with satisfaction as though he’d reached the happy ending of a story. “Many women have done well and lived excellent lives, but
you
surpass them all. Charm is deceitful and beauty makes ya prideful and vain, but a woman who loves the Lord is to be praised.”
After a moment of absolute silence, when the world around them seemed to hold its breath in wonder, Rhoda sighed. So did Mamma and Rachel.
“Well, now,” Rachel said in a low voice. “It’s for sure and for certain we’ll never hear the preachers readin’ it that way—”
“And while Hiram’s preached on this passage a time or two, mostly tellin’ us women how hard we’re to be workin’ to make life
gut
and prosperous for our men,” Mamma added, “it does my weary soul a real favor to hear this passage in our own everyday words. Especially after the way Hiram spelled out his expectations for a wife today.
Denki
, Ben.”

Other books

Maggie's Breakfast by Gabriel Walsh
Motor City Burning by Bill Morris
Never Trust a Troll! by Kate McMullan
Black Friday by Alex Kava
The Milestone Tapes by Mackler-Paternostro, Ashley
The King's Grey Mare by Rosemary Hawley Jarman
A Perfect Spy by John le Carre
Prince of the Blood by Raymond Feist