The Captive Heart (8 page)

Now here was Micah. The only suitable Amish boy in the entire country wanted to court her, and her dat was on his side. She trusted her dat, trusted his judgment. If he thought enough of Micah to push him on his daughter, then maybe she should give the boy a chance.

She nodded. “All right. You may call on me.”

Micah's face broke into a wide grin and he leaned forward impulsively as if he meant to kiss her, but she pulled back, glancing at her father sitting right there no more than forty feet away.

Micah settled his hat back on his head, following her glance to the three men by the fire, nodding slowly. She could not tell if he was staring at her father or Domingo.

“I will win you,” he said. “No matter what it takes, I will win you.” With a casual ease he hoisted the heavy food box onto the wagon for her before he strode back over to the campfire with a smile on his face and a new bounce in his step.

Chapter 10

A
few days later, Miriam and her sisters joined the older women for a quilting bee in the Benders' living room. Ira's and John's wives were there, along with Lovina Hershberger. Emma, Miriam's married sister, was getting very large, her time drawing near as the summer warmed. While Emma stitched, her baby Mose crawled around on the floor. As the light from the windows faded from blue to purple Emma got up to light the lanterns and asked, “Where are the boys?”

Mamm looked up. “Oh, Harvey's in the tack room yet, mending harness, and Aaron went down to Ezra's to visit with the twins.”

Miriam smiled. “One of them, anyway. Aaron can't make it through the day without seeing his nephew.”

“Does my heart good, the way he dotes on that child,” Mamm said. “I can't believe your dat let him give Little Amos a harmonica, though. His tiny hands couldn't even hold on to it.”

They all fell silent for a moment, remembering. Aaron's twin brother, Amos, had kept a harmonica for years, playing it in secret, or so he thought. Everyone knew, and cherished the memory.

Hunched over the edge of the quilt frame, Lovina said absently, “Dat got a letter today saying Freeman Coblentz's are coming down in the spring, and a lot more people next summer. Hannah Coblentz said there might even be a preacher in the summer crowd.”

Esther Shrock, Ira's wife, looked up from her stitching and her eyes widened. “Really? A minister? That's wonderful news!”

“Jah, now we can have baptisms,” Lovina's mother said.

Lovina cast a mischievous sideways glance at Rachel and added, “And weddings, too.”

“Shush,” Rachel said, blushing, pretending to concentrate on her work.

But it was too late. The older women peppered her with questions, and Lovina primed the pump at every turn. Rachel managed to dodge most of their questions—after all, a couple's talk of marriage was a very private matter—but her face turned as red as her hair, and Miriam knew she and Jake had been talking about it.

Then Lovina turned the same mischievous smile on Miriam. “And Rachel might not be the
only
one thinking about a wedding.”

All hands stopped, and all eyes turned to Miriam.

“Oh?” Mamm said, her needle pausing halfway through a square of fabric. “Miriam, is there something we don't know?”

Lovina mouthed the words silently,
Miriam and Micah
.

Miriam's eyes narrowed and she glared, but Lovina wouldn't let up.

“She rode with Micah when we went logging that day.”

“There was nowhere else to sit,” Miriam countered.

“The road was rough, too. I guess that's why you had to sit close and hold onto his arm, then. Oh, and she rode home from Saltillo with him in the back of Dat's wagon the other day, too.” Her eyes danced, watching Miriam squirm.

Miriam could have cheerfully strangled Lovina in that awkward moment, with Micah's mother sitting at the table.

“Is this true?” Esther Shrock asked. There was an unmistakable twinkle in her eye. “Are you and Micah courting, Miriam?”

She hesitated for a long awkward moment, thinking. Over the last few days, since she'd agreed to let Micah call on her, a host of conflicting emotions had assailed her. It wouldn't do for anyone to see the pictures flashing through her head, or hear the voices—Domingo and his talk of fences, the rage in Ira's face as he slapped his son and the pain in Micah's eyes. Miriam really didn't want to discuss any of these things in front of Esther Shrock. Privately she knew her infatuation with Domingo was not quite dead and buried, nor was she entirely sure how she felt about Micah, even now. It might have only been pity that made her decide to let him court her.

But everyone at the table was staring, waiting for an answer.

She looked up at Esther Shrock and heard herself saying, “Jah. Micah and I are courting.”

They meant well, she knew that. The way they carried on—Esther Shrock and Mamm beaming, exchanging knowing glances as if they could already see themselves as in-laws. It was a great compliment in its way. Miriam expected it, and yet they seemed a little
too
happy at the news of her courting. In the end their exuberance was very nearly insulting, as if they were saying, We thought you would
never
find a man.

Later, when the house was quiet and dark and everyone else had gone to sleep, Miriam rolled over in bed, leaned up on an elbow and whispered, “Rachel, are you awake?”

“No. I'm sound asleep.”

Miriam could hear the grin in her voice. Rachel was enjoying this, too.

“Did you see the way that little vixen put me on the spot?”

She felt the little quiver in the bed, Rachel giggling silently. After a moment the giggling stopped and Rachel said, “There's nothing to be ashamed about, Mir. I
like
Micah. He's a good man, and you saw how he faced down those bandits. He's very brave. He'll be good for you.”

“Maybe,” Miriam conceded, but a question nagged her as she laid her head back down on her pillow.
He might be good for me, but will he be good
to
me?
She felt as if part of him was kept hidden, and most of the time he seemed almost haughty. The things he was proudest of—his brute strength and fierce competitiveness—worried her. Too often a boy ended up being just like his father, and after what she'd seen at the logging camp that was a troubling thought.

In the middle of the night the dream came to her again. Once again she awoke in a sweat, Domingo's face filling her mind.

“This is unfair,” she whispered through her hands, sitting up in bed. “But it will pass. Surely it will pass.”

On a Saturday afternoon at the very end of July Emma went to water the trees she had planted. As the sun sank in the west and a golden light slanted across ripening fields she put a barrel in the back of the hack, pumped it full from the well and made her weekly rounds.

Half finished with the trees along her father's long driveway, she straightened up, a bucket in one hand and the other pressed against the small of her back, straining against the counterweight of her swollen belly.
Soon now
, she thought,
Levi's second child will come into the world.

She handed the empty bucket up to Ada, who dipped it into the barrel and handed it back. Emma smiled at her sister, but Ada only rolled her bottom lip into her mouth and chewed on it. At twenty-eight she was the oldest of Caleb's daughters, but she had the mind of a child. In need of continuity and familiarity, Ada mourned the loss of her Ohio home more deeply than the others, but she'd been doing better lately, visited less frequently by frightful bouts of depression and hysteria. It helped to keep her busy, and Ada was always glad to do her part when she could, which meant whenever the task was simple enough for a child. Emma sometimes wondered what demons swooped like dusky bats through her older sister's mind in the dark hours, but Ada seldom spoke, and when she did it was usually only mimicry of something she'd heard Mamm say.

Emma had bent over to pour water on a little poplar sprig when she heard hoofbeats—Domingo, heading home for the day. He slowed and stopped, hopped down and tied the horse to the back of the hack.

She admired his horse. “Star is looking like her old self these days. You've been kind to her.”

“I would be a fool not to. She is a fine animal,” Domingo said, stroking his horse's face. “A great gift.”

His head tilted and an eyebrow went up as he appraised Emma's ballooning waistline. “Emma, you should not be doing such work. That baby is coming any time now.”

He reached out, beckoning with his fingers, and she handed over the bucket. The first time he bent down to pour from it his hat fell off. He picked up the flat-brimmed hat and sailed it up to Ada, who fumbled it against her chest, dropped it into the water barrel, then fished it out half full and jammed it on her own head, dousing her white kapp and clapping her hands with childlike glee as water ran down her face.

Emma walked beside Domingo as he hauled water and Ada filled the bucket, his hat cocked absurdly on her head.

“These trees will change the face of Paradise Valley,” Emma said wistfully. “Someday this will be a beautiful shady lane. I can just see it.”

Domingo smiled, carrying water, saying nothing until Micah's courting buggy passed by them, trotting briskly along.

Micah waved as he passed, Miriam sitting primly beside him with her hands folded in her lap. She barely acknowledged Emma and Domingo before her eyes went back to the front, expressionless.

Emma glanced from Miriam to Domingo and knew instantly that something had happened between them, though she couldn't begin to guess what it was. It could be that Miriam was only behaving this way because of Micah, who was known to be a little jealous. Emma made a mental note to ask Miriam later.

But then Domingo said the strangest thing.

“I don't understand your God.”

Emma blinked. Her head tilted. “What brought that up?”

“Micah.” Domingo stopped and faced her, bucket dangling. “Earlier this summer, when Micah pulled the shotgun on those bandits at the logging camp, he saved my life and his father beat him for it. Ira's God was angry with Micah for doing something that saved us all.”

Emma's eyes wandered, slightly embarrassed. “Jah, I heard about that. Ira can be hard sometimes, but he is still Micah's father.”

Bending down, pouring water gently so as not to wash out the roots, Domingo said, “The Amish God is a mystery to me.”

Emma shrugged. “Sometimes He is a mystery to me too, but Gott is Gott.”

Domingo shook his head. “At least the Spaniards' God is useful to them. He keeps the peons calm. But I don't understand the Amish God at all. The Amish don't conquer anybody, and their God tells them not to fight back when they are attacked. What kind of God is that?”

Emma thought for a moment before she answered. “Gott does not serve us; we serve Him. We are His children.”

Domingo's eyes held suspicion. “If you are His children, why does He let bad men attack you? Why can't you fight back?”

“Because it is a sin to kill. It is in the nature of men to fight, to steal, even to kill, but with Gott's help we may overcome our nature. The fight is not out there, Domingo, it is in here.” She tapped her chest. “We work to conquer
ourselves
.”

He handed the bucket up to Ada. “But this makes no sense. Isn't your God the same as the Spaniards' God? The men who ruled our country for so long came with a sword in one hand and a cross in the other. The Spanish God has no quarrel with killing.”

“That is not Gott you are seeing, Domingo, it is men. There have always been men who used religion for their own ends, to wield power over other people for selfish reasons. Maybe such men only
pretend
to know Gott.”

Domingo laughed, a brief sardonic chuckle. “Where is the man who does
not
pretend?”