Finding Refuge

Shunned by the Amish community, shepherd Carl King has given up on his dream for a family. Yet when captivating Lizzie Barkman shows up at the sheep farm where he works, Carl sees the wife he once dreamed of. Lizzie is looking for a new start, for herself and her sisters, and discovers Carl to be a kind and gentle man who cares deeply about the Amish way of life. But he is under the bann. Is it possible that this forbidden man holds the key to her family’s safety—and the one to her heart?

Brides of Amish Country: Finding true love in the land of the Plain People

“Is it time for me to bring in more sheep?” Lizzie asked.

“It’s time for a rest and some lunch.”

She grimaced as she rubbed her hands together. “I had no idea their wool could be so greasy.”

“It’s lanolin. It gives you soft skin.” Carl held out his hand. She ran her fingers across his palm. He inhaled sharply as his heart beat faster.

She must’ve sensed something, because her gaze locked with his. He wanted more than the brief touch of her fingers. He wanted to hold her hand. To reach out and pull her close. He wanted to learn everything there was to know about this amazing woman.

She quickly turned away. “I’d better get something ready for lunch. I hope cold sandwiches will be okay.”

“That will be fine.”

“Goot.”

He watched her hurry away and wished he had a reason to call her back.

PATRICIA DAVIDS

After thirty-five years as a nurse, Pat has hung up her stethoscope to become a full-time writer. She enjoys spending her new free time visiting her grandchildren, doing some long-overdue yard work and traveling to research her story locations. She resides in Wichita, Kansas. Pat always enjoys hearing from her readers. You can visit her on the web at www.patriciadavids.com.

The Shepherd’s Bride

Patricia Davids

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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He shall feed his flock like a shepherd:

he shall gather the lambs with his arm,

and carry them in his bosom, and shall

gently lead those that are with young.

—Isaiah 40:11

This book is dedicated with endearing love

to my lambs, Kathy, Josh and Shantel.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Chapter One

“You can’t be serious.” Lizzie Barkman gaped at her older sister, Clara, in shock.

Seated on the edge of the bed in the room the four Barkman sisters shared, Clara kept her eyes downcast. “It’s not such a bad thing.”

Lizzie fell to her knees beside Clara and took hold of her icy hands. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s a horrible thing. You can’t marry Rufus Kuhns. He’s put two wives in the ground already. Besides, he’s thirty years older than you are.”

“Onkel wishes this.”

“Then our uncle is crazy!”

Clara glanced fearfully at the door. “Hush. Do not earn a beating for my sake, sister.”

Lizzie wasn’t eager to feel the sting of their uncle’s wooden rod across her back, but it was outrageous to imagine lovely, meek Clara paired with such an odious man. “Tell Onkel Morris you won’t do it.”

“He won’t go against Rufus’s wishes. He’s too scared of losing our jobs and this house.”

It was true. Their uncle wouldn’t oppose Rufus. He didn’t have the courage. Rufus Kuhns was a wealthy member of their small Plain community in northern Indiana. He owned the dairy farm where they all worked for the paltry wages he paid. He claimed that letting them live in the run-down house on his property more than made up for their low salaries. The house was little more than a hovel, although the girls tried their best to make it a home.

“Onkel says it is his duty to see us all wed. I’m twenty-five with no prospects. I’m afraid he is right about that.”

The single women in their isolated Amish community outnumbered the single men three to one. Lizzie was twenty-three with no prospects in sight, either. Who would her uncle decide she should marry?

“Being single isn’t such a bad thing, Clara. Look at my friend Mary Miller, the schoolteacher. She is happy enough.”

Clara managed a smile. “It’s all right, Lizzie. At least this way I have the hope of children of my own. If God wills it.”

It hurt to see Clara so ready to accept her fate. Lizzie wouldn’t give up so easily. “Rufus had no children with his previous wives. You don’t have to do this. We can move away and support ourselves by making cheese to sell to the tourists. We’ll grow old together and take care of each other.”

Clara cupped Lizzie’s cheek. “You are such a dreamer. What will happen to our little sisters if we do that?”

Greta and Betsy were outside finishing the evening milking. At seventeen, Betsy was the youngest. Greta was nearly twenty. They all worked hard on the dairy farm. With twenty-five cows to be milked by hand twice a day, there was more than enough work to go around. Without Clara and Lizzie to carry their share of the load, the burden on their sisters would double, for their uncle wouldn’t pick up the slack.

Morris Barkman hadn’t been blessed with children. He and his ailing wife took in his four nieces when their parents died in a buggy accident ten years before. He made no secret of the fact that his nieces were his burden to bear. He made sure everyone knew how generous he was and how difficult his life had been since his wife’s passing.

Lizzie couldn’t count the number of times she had been forced to hold her tongue when he shamed her in front of others for her laziness and ingratitude. Her uncle claimed to be a devout member of the Amish faith, but in her eyes, he was no better than the Pharisees in the Bible stories the bishop preached about during the church services.

She rose and paced the small room in frustration. There had to be a way out of this. “We can all move away and get a house together. Greta and Betsy, too.”

“If we left without our uncle’s permission, we would be shunned by everyone in our church. I could not bear that.” Clara’s voice fell to a whisper. “Besides, if I won’t wed Rufus...Betsy is his second choice.”

Lizzie gasped. “She’s barely seventeen.”

“You see now why I have to go through with it. Promise me you won’t tell her she’s the reason I’m doing this.”

“I promise.”

“I know you’ve been thinking about leaving us, Lizzie. I’m not as strong as you are. I can’t do it, but you should go. Go now while you have the chance. I can bear anything if I know you are safe.”

Lizzie didn’t deny it. She had been thinking about leaving for years. She had even squirreled away a small amount of money for the day. Only the thought of never seeing her sisters again kept her from taking such a drastic step. She loved them dearly.

The bedroom door opened and the two younger Barkman girls came in. Greta was limping. Clara immediately went to her. “What happened?”

“She got kicked by that bad-tempered cow we all hate,” Betsy said.

“She’s not bad-tempered. She doesn’t hear well. I startled her. It was my own fault. It’s going to leave a bruise, but nothing is broken.” Greta sat on the edge of the bed she shared with Betsy.

Clara insisted on inspecting her leg. It was already swollen and purple just above the knee. “Oh, that must hurt. I’ll get some witch hazel for it.”

As Clara left, Lizzie turned to her sisters. “Onkel is making Clara marry Rufus Kuhns.”

“Are you joking? He’s ancient.” Greta looked as shocked as Lizzie was.

“It’s better than being an old maedel,” Betsy said. “We’re never going to find husbands if we aren’t allowed to attend singings and barn parties in other Amish communities.”

Would she feel the same if she knew how easily she could trade places with Clara? Lizzie kept silent. She had given Clara her word. Betsy began to get ready for the night.

Greta did the same. “Rufus is a mean fellow.”

Lizzie turned her back to give her sisters some privacy. “He’s cruel to his horses and his cattle. I can’t bear to think of Clara living with him.”

“His last wife came to church with a bruised face more than once. She claimed she was accident-prone, but it makes a person wonder.” Greta pulled on her nightgown.

“Shame on you, Greta. It’s a sin to think evil thoughts about the man.” Betsy climbed into bed, took off her black kapp and started to unwind her long brown hair.

Greta and Lizzie shared a speaking glance but kept silent. Neither of them wanted their oldest sister to find out if their suspicions were true. They remembered only too well the bruises their mother bore in silence when their father’s temper flared.

Clara returned with a bottle of witch hazel and a cloth. “This will help with the pain.”

Greta took the bottle from her. They had all used the remedy on bruises inflicted by their uncle over the years. He wouldn’t stand up to Rufus, but he didn’t have any qualms about taking his anger and frustration out on someone weaker. “You can’t do it, Clara. You should go away.”

“And never see you again? How could I do that? Besides, where would I go? We have no family besides each other.”

Lizzie met Greta’s eyes. Greta gave a slight nod. After all, they were desperate. Lizzie said, “We have a grandfather.”

“We do?” It was Betsy’s turn to look shocked as she sat up in bed.

Clara shook her head. “Nee. He is dead to us.”

“He is dead to Uncle Morris, not to me.” Lizzie’s mind began to whirl. Would their daadi help? They hadn’t heard from him in years. Not since the death of their parents.

Greta rubbed the witch hazel on her knee. “We were told never to mention him.”

“Mention who?” Betsy almost shouted.

They all hushed her. None of the sisters wished to stir their uncle’s wrath. “Our mother’s father lives in Hope Springs, Ohio.”

Clara began getting ready for bed, too. “You think he does. He could be dead for all we know.”

“We really have a grandfather? Why haven’t I met him?” Betsy looked as if she might burst into tears.

Lizzie removed the straight pins that held her faded green dress closed down the front. “We moved away from Hope Springs when you were just a baby.”

Clara slipped under the covers. “Papa and Grandfather Shetler had a terrible falling out when I was ten. Mama, Papa, Uncle Morris and his wife all moved away and eventually settled here.”

“Grandfather raised sheep.” Lizzie smiled at the memory of white lambs leaping for the sheer joy of it in green spring pastures. She hated it when her father made them move to this dreary place. She hung her dress beside her sisters’ on the pegs that lined the wall and slipped into her nightgown.

“Do we have a grandmother, too?” Betsy asked.

Lizzie shook her head. “She died when our mother was a baby. I’m ready to put out the lamp. You know how Onkel hates it when we waste kerosene.

“Grandfather had a big white dog named Joker,” Greta added wistfully. “I’m sure he’s gone by now. Dogs don’t live that long.”

“But men do. I will write to him first thing in the morning and beg him to take you in, Clara.” Lizzie sat down on her side of the bed and blew out the kerosene lamp, plunging the small bedroom into darkness.

Clara sighed. “This is crazy talk. Our uncle will forbid such a letter, Lizzie. You know that. Besides, I’m not going anywhere without my sisters.”

Lizzie waited until Clara was settled under the covers with her. Quietly, she said, “You will go to Rufus Kuhns’s home without us.”

“I...know. I miss Mama so much at times like this.”

Lizzie heard the painful catch in her sister’s voice. She reached across to pull Clara close. “I do, too. I refuse to believe she made your beautiful star quilt for this sham of a marriage. She made your quilt to be her gift to you on a happy wedding day.”

Their mother had lovingly stitched wedding quilts for each of her daughters. They lay packed away in the cedar chest in the corner. The quilts were different colors and personalized for each one of them. They were cherished by the girls as reminders of their mother’s love.

Lizzie hardened her resolve. “We’ll think of something. It’s only the middle of March. We have until the wedding time in autumn. You’ll see. We’ll think of something before then.”

“Nee. My wedding will take place the first week of May so I may help with spring planting.”

Greta slipped into bed behind Lizzie. “That’s not right. We can’t prepare for a wedding in such a short time.”

“Rufus doesn’t want a big wedding. It will be only the bishop, Uncle Morris, you girls and Rufus.”

Such a tiny, uncelebrated affair wasn’t the wedding dream of any young woman. Lizzie felt the bed sag again and knew Betsy had joined them on the other side of Clara.

“I don’t want you to leave us.” Betsy’s voice trembled as she spoke.

“I won’t be far away. Why, you’ll all be able to come for a visit whenever you want.”

A visit. That was it! A plan began to form in Lizzie’s mind. She was almost certain she had enough money saved to travel to Ohio on the bus. Their grandfather might ignore a letter, but if she went to see him in person, she could make him understand how dire the situation was.

It was an outrageous plan, but what choice did she have? None.

Clara couldn’t marry Rufus. He would crush her gentle spirit and leave her an empty shell. Or worse.

Lizzie bit her bottom lip. She couldn’t let that happen. Nor could she tell her sisters what she intended to do. She didn’t want them to lie or cover for her. As much as it hurt, she would have to let them think she had run away.

Her younger sisters soon returned to their own bed. Before long, their even breathing told Lizzie they were asleep. Clara turned over and went to sleep, too.

Lizzie lay wide-awake.

If she went through with her plan, the only person she dared tell was Mary Miller. There was no love lost between the schoolteacher and their uncle. Besides, it wasn’t as if Lizzie was leaving the Amish. She was simply traveling to another Amish community. If she wrote to her friend from Ohio, she was certain that Mary would relay messages to the girls. If their grandfather proved willing to take them in, Mary would help them leave.

Lizzie pressed her hand to her mouth. Would it work? Could she do it?

If she went, it would have to be tonight while the others were asleep. Before she lost her nerve. She closed her eyes and folded her hands.

Please, Lord, let this plan be Your will. Give me the strength to see it through.

She waited until it was well after midnight before she slipped from beneath the covers. The full moon outside cast a band of pale light across the floor. It gave her enough light to see by. She carefully withdrew an envelope with her money from beneath the mattress and pulled an old suitcase from under the bed. It took only five minutes to gather her few belongings. Then she moved to the cedar chest.

Kneeling in front of it, she lifted the lid. Clara’s rose-and-mauve star quilt lay on top. Lizzie set it aside and pulled out the quilt in shades of blue and green that was to be her wedding quilt. Should she take it with her?

If she did, it would convince everyone she wasn’t returning. If she left it, her sisters would know she was coming back.

Suddenly, Lizzie knew she couldn’t venture out into the unknown without something tangible of her family to bring her comfort. She replaced Clara’s quilt and softly closed the lid of the cedar chest.

Holding her shoes, her suitcase and her quilt, Lizzie tiptoed to the door of their room. She opened it with a trembling hand and glanced back at her sisters sleeping quietly in the darkness. Could she really go through with this?

* * *

Carl King scraped most of the mud off his boots and walked up to the front door of his boss’s home. Joe Shetler had gone to purchase straw from a neighbor, but he would be back soon. After an exhausting morning spent struggling to pen and doctor one ornery and stubborn ewe, Carl had rounded up half the remaining sheep and moved them closer to the barns with the help of his dog, Duncan.

Tired, with his tongue lolling, the black-and-white English shepherd walked beside Carl toward the house. Carl reached down to pat his head. “You did good work this morning, fella. We’ll start shearing them soon if the weather holds.”

The sheep needed to spend at least one night inside the barn to make sure their wool was dry before being sheared. Damp wool would rot. There wasn’t enough room in the barn for all two hundred head at once. The operation would take three to four days if all went well.

It was important to shear the ewes before they gave birth. If the weather turned bad during the lambing season, many of the shorn ewes would seek shelter in the sheds and barn rather than have their lambs out in the open where the wet and cold could kill the newborns. Having a good lamb crop was important, but Carl knew things rarely went off without a hitch.

Duncan ambled toward his water dish. At the moment, all Carl wanted was a hot cup of coffee. Joe always left a pot on the back of the stove so Carl could help himself.

He opened the front door and stopped dead in his tracks. An Amish woman stood at the kitchen sink. She had her back to him as she rummaged for something. She hadn’t heard him come in.

He resisted the intense impulse to rush back outside. He didn’t like being shut inside with anyone. He fought his growing discomfort. This was Joe’s home. This woman didn’t belong here.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. Joe didn’t like anyone besides Carl in his house.

She shrieked and jumped a foot as she whirled around to face him. She pressed a hand to her heaving chest, leaving a patch of white soapsuds on her faded green dress. “You scared the life out of me.”

He clenched his fists and stared at his feet. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Who are you? You’re not Joseph Shetler. I was told this was Joseph’s house.”

He glanced up and saw the defiant jut of her jaw. He folded his arms over his chest and pressed his lips into a tight line. He didn’t say a word as he glared at her.

She was a slender little thing. The top of her head wouldn’t reach his chin unless she stood on tiptoe. She was dressed Plain in a drab faded green calf-length dress with a matching cape and apron. She wore dark stockings and dark shoes. Her hair, on the other hand, was anything but drab. It was ginger-red and wisps of it curled near her temples and along her forehead. The rest was hidden beneath the black kapp she wore. Her eyes were an unusual hazel color with flecks of gold in their depths.

He didn’t recognize her, but she could be a local. He made a point of avoiding people, so it wasn’t surprising that he didn’t know her.

She quickly realized he wasn’t going to speak until she had answered his questions. She managed a nervous smile. “I’m sorry. My name is Elizabeth Barkman. People call me Lizzie. I’m Joe’s granddaughter from Indiana. I was just straightening up a little while I waited for him to get home.”

As far as Carl knew, Joe didn’t have any family. “Joe doesn’t have a granddaughter, and he doesn’t like people in his house.” He shoved his hands into his pockets as the need to escape the house left them shaking.

“Actually, he has four granddaughters. I can see why he doesn’t like to have people in. This place is a mess. He certainly could use a housekeeper. I know an excellent one who is looking for a position.”

Carl glanced around Joe’s kitchen. It was cluttered and dirty, unlike the clean and sparsely furnished shepherd’s hut out in the pasture where he lived, but if Joe wanted to live like this, that was his business and not the business of this nosy, pushy woman. “This is how Joe likes it. You should leave.”

“Where is my grandfather? Will he be back soon?” Her eyes darted around the room. He could see fear creeping in behind them. It had dawned on her that they were alone together on a remote farm.

Suddenly, he saw another room, dark and full of women huddled together. He could smell the fear in the air. They were all staring at him.

He blinked hard and the image vanished. His heart started pounding. The room began closing in on him. He needed air. He needed out. He’d seen enough fear in women’s eyes to haunt him for a lifetime. He didn’t need to add to that tally. He took a quick step back. “Joe will be along shortly.” Turning, he started to open the door.

She said, “I didn’t catch your name. Are you a friend of my grandfather’s?”

He paused and gripped the doorknob tightly so she wouldn’t see his hand shaking. “I’m Carl King. I work here.” He walked out before she could ask anything else.

Once he was outside under the open sky, his sense of panic receded. He drew a deep, cleansing breath. His tremors grew less with each gulp of air he took. His pounding heart rate slowed.

It had been weeks since one of his spells. He’d started to believe they were gone for good, that perhaps God had forgiven him, but Joe’s granddaughter had proved him wrong.

His dog trotted to his side and nosed his hand. He managed a little smile. “I’m okay, Duncan.”

The dog whined. He seemed to know when his master was troubled. Carl focused on the silky feel of the dog’s thick fur between his fingers. It helped ground him in the here and now and push back the shadows of the past.

That past lay like a beast inside him. The terror lurked, ready to spring out and drag him into the nightmares he suffered through nearly every night. He shouldn’t be alive. He should have accepted death with peace in his heart, secure in the knowledge of God’s love and eternal salvation. He hadn’t.

He had his life, for what it was worth, but no peace.

Joe came into sight driving his wagon and team of draft horses. The wagon bed held two dozen bales of straw. He pulled the big dappled gray horses to a stop beside Carl. “Did you get that ewe penned and doctored?”

“I did.”

“Goot. We’ll get this hay stored in the big shed so we can have it handy to spread in the lambing pens when we need it. We can unload it as soon as I’ve had a bite to eat and a cup of coffee. Did you leave me any?”

“I haven’t touched the pot. You have a visitor inside.”

A small elderly man with a long gray beard and a dour expression, Joe climbed down from the wagon slowly. To Carl’s eyes, he had grown frailer this past year. A frown creased his brow beneath the brim of the flat-topped straw hat he wore. He didn’t like visitors. “Who is it?”

“She claims she’s your granddaughter Lizzie Barkman.”

All the color drained from Joe’s face. He staggered backward until he bumped into the wheel of his wagon. “One of my daughter’s girls? What does she want?”

Carl took a quick step toward Joe and grasped his elbow to steady him. “She didn’t say. Are you okay?”

Joe shook off Carl’s hand. “I’m fine. Put the horses away.”

“Sure.” Carl was used to Joe’s brusque manners.

Joe nodded his thanks and began walking toward the house with unsteady steps. Carl waited until he had gone inside before leading the team toward the corral at the side of the barn. He’d worked with Joe for nearly four years. The old man had never mentioned he had a daughter and granddaughters.

Carl glanced back at the house. Joe wasn’t the only one who kept secrets. Carl had his own.

Chapter Two

Lizzie had rehearsed a dozen different things to say when she first saw her grandfather, but his hired man’s abrupt appearance had rattled her already frayed nerves. When her grandfather actually walked through the door, everything she had planned to say left her head. She stood silently as he looked her up and down.

He had changed a great deal from what she remembered. She used to think he was tall, but he was only average height and stooped with age. His beard was longer and streaked with gray now. It used to be black.

Nervously, she gestured toward the sink. “I hope you don’t mind that I washed a few dishes. You have hot water right from the faucet. It isn’t allowed in our home. Our landlord says it’s worldly, but it makes doing the dishes a pleasure.”

“You look just like your grandmother.” His voice was exactly as she remembered.

She smiled. “Do I?”

“It’s no good thing. She had red hair like yours. She was an unhappy, nagging woman. Why have you come? Have you brought sad news?”

“Nee,” Lizzie said quickly. “My sisters are all well. We live in Indiana. Onkel Morris and all of us work on a dairy farm there.”

Joe moved to the kitchen table and took a seat. “Did your uncle send you to me? He agreed to raise the lot of you. He can’t change his mind now.”

She sat across from him. “Nee, Onkel does not know I have come to see you.”

“How did you get here?”

“I took the bus. I asked about you at the bus station in Hope Springs. An Amish woman waiting to board the bus told me how to find your farm. I walked from town.”

He propped his elbows on the table and pressed his hands together. She noticed the dirt under his fingernails and the calluses on his rough hands. “How is it that you have come without your uncle’s knowledge? Do you still reside with him or have you married?”

“None of us are married. Onkel Morris would have forbidden this meeting had he known of my plan.”

“I see.” He closed his eyes and rested his chin on his knuckles.

She didn’t know if he was praying or simply waiting for more of an explanation. She rushed ahead, anxious that he hear exactly why she had made the trip. “I had to come. You are the only family we have. We desperately need your help. Onkel Morris is forcing Clara to marry a terrible man. I fear for her if she goes through with it. I’m hoping—praying really—that you can find it in your heart to take her in. She is a good cook and she will keep your house spotless. Your house could use a woman’s touch. Clara is an excellent housekeeper and as sweet-tempered as anyone. You must let her come. I’m begging you.”

He was silent for so long that she wondered if he had fallen asleep the way old people sometimes did. Finally, he spoke. “My daughter chose to ignore my wishes in order to marry your father. She made it clear that he was more important than my feelings. I can only honor what I believe to be her wishes. I will not aid you in your disobedience to the man who has taken your father’s place. You have come a long way for no reason. Carl will take you back to the bus station.”

Lizzie couldn’t believe her concerns were being dismissed out of hand. “Daadi, I beg you to reconsider. I did not come here lightly. I truly believe Clara is being sentenced to a life of misery, or worse.”

Joe rose to his feet. “Do not let your girlish emotions blind you to the wisdom of your elders. It is vain and prideful to question your uncle’s choice for your sister.”

“It is our uncle who is blind if he thinks Clara will be happy with his choice. She won’t be. He is a cruel man.”

“If your uncle believes the match is a good thing, you must trust his judgment. There will be a bus going that way this afternoon. If you hurry, you can get a seat. Go home and beg his forgiveness for your foolishness. All will be well in the end, for it is as Gott wills.”

“Please, Daadi, you have to help Clara.”

He turned away and walked out the door, leaving Lizzie speechless as she stared after him.

Dejected, she slipped into her coat and glanced around the cluttered kitchen. If only he would realize how much better his life would be with Clara to care for him.

Was he right? Was her failure God’s will?

With a heavy heart, she carried her suitcase and the box with her quilt in it out to the front porch. Her grandfather was nowhere in sight, but his hired man was leading a small white pony hitched to a cart in her direction.

He was a big, burly man with wide shoulders and narrow hips. He wore a black cowboy hat, jeans and a flannel shirt under a stained and worn sheepskin jacket. His hair was light brown and long enough to touch his collar, but it was clean. His size and stealth had frightened the wits out of her in the house earlier. Out in the open, he didn’t appear as menacing, but he didn’t smile and didn’t meet her gaze.

He and her grandfather must get along famously with few words spoken and never a smile between them.

It was all well and good to imagine staying until her grandfather changed his mind, but the reality was much different. He had ordered her to go home. How could she make him understand if he wouldn’t hear what she had to say? He hadn’t even offered the simple hospitality of his home for the night. He wanted her gone as quickly as possible. She would have to go home in defeat unless she could find some way to support herself and bring her sisters to Hope Springs. She didn’t know where to start. All her hopes had been pinned on her grandfather’s compassion. Sadly, he didn’t have any.

Carl stopped in front of the house and waited for her. She bit her lower lip. Was she really giving up so easily? “Where is my grandfather?”

“He’s gone out to the pasture to move the rest of his sheep.”

“When will he be back?”

“Hard to say.”

“I’d like to speak to him again.”

“Joe told me to take you to the bus station. It’s plain to me that he was done talking.”

She stamped her foot in frustration. “You don’t understand. I can’t go home.”

He didn’t say anything. He simply waited beside the pony. A brick wall would have shown more compassion. Defeated by his stoic silence, she descended the steps. He took her bag from her hand and placed it behind the seat of the cart. He reached for the box that contained her quilt and she reluctantly handed it over.

He waited until she had climbed aboard, then he took his place beside her on the wooden seat. With a flip of the reins, he set the pony in motion. She looked back once. The house, which had looked like a sanctuary when she first saw it, looked like the run-down farmstead it truly was. Tears stung her eyes. She tried not to let them fall, but she couldn’t hold back a sniffle. She wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve.

* * *

Carl cringed at the sound of Lizzie’s muffled sniffling. He would have been okay if she hadn’t started crying.

He didn’t want to involve himself in her troubles. Whatever it was, it was none of his business. He glanced her way and saw a tear slip down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away. She looked forlorn huddled on the seat next to him, like a lost lamb that couldn’t find the flock.

He looked straight ahead. “I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way you wanted with your grandfather.”

“He’s a very uncaring man.”

“Joe is okay.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“He doesn’t cotton to most people.”

“I’m not most people. I’m his flesh and blood. He doesn’t care that his own granddaughter is being forced into marriage with a hateful man.”

Carl looked at her in surprise. “You’re being forced to marry someone not of your choosing?”

“Not me. My sister Clara. Our uncle, my mother’s brother, took us in after our parents died. Onkel Morris is making Clara marry a man more than twice her age.”

“Amish marriages are not arranged. Your sister cannot be compelled to marry against her will.”

“The man who wishes to marry Clara is our landlord and employer. He could turn us all out of his house to starve. My uncle is afraid of him.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“But you are not.” He glanced at her with respect. It had taken a lot of courage for her to travel so far.

“I’m afraid of him, too. Sometimes, I think he enjoys making life miserable for others.” Her voice faded away. She sniffled again.

The pony trotted quickly along the road as Carl pondered Lizzie’s story. He had no way to help her and no words of wisdom to offer. Sometimes, life wasn’t fair.

After a few minutes, she composed herself enough to ask, “Do you know of anyone who might want to hire a maid or a housekeeper?”

“No.” He didn’t go into town unless he had to. He didn’t mingle with people.

“I would take any kind of work.”

“There’s an inn in town. They might know of work for you.”

She managed a watery smile for him. “Danki. Something will turn up.”

She was pretty when she smiled. Although her eyes were red-rimmed now, they were a beautiful hazel color. They shimmered with unshed tears in the afternoon light. Her face, with its oval shape, pale skin and sculpted high cheekbones, gave her a classical beauty, but a spray of freckles across her nose gave her a fresh, wholesome look that appealed to him.

It felt strange to have a woman seated beside him. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed the companionship of anyone other than Joe. Did she know he had been shunned? Joe should have told her. Carl wasn’t sure how to bring up the subject.

He sat stiffly on the seat, making sure he didn’t touch her. If she were unaware of his shunning, he would see that she didn’t inadvertently break the tenets of her faith. The sharp, staccato clip-clop of the pony’s hooves on the blacktop, the creaking of the cart and Lizzie’s occasional sniffles were the only sounds in the awkward silence until he crested the hill. A one-room Amish schoolhouse sat back from the road, and the cheerful sounds of children playing during recess reached him. A game of softball was under way.

One little girl in a blue dress and white kapp waved to him from her place in the outfield. He waved back when he recognized her. Joy Mast immediately dropped her oversize ball glove and ran toward him. He pulled the pony to a stop. Two boys from the other team ran after her.

“Hi, Carl. How is Duncan? Is he with you today?” She reached the cart and hung on to the side to catch her breath.

He relaxed as he grinned at her. He could be himself around Amish children. They hadn’t been baptized and wouldn’t be required to shun him. Joy had Down syndrome. Her father, Caleb Mast, had recently returned to the area and rejoined his Amish family. “Hello, Joy. Duncan is fine, but he is working today moving Joe’s sheep, so he couldn’t come for a visit. Has your father found work?”

“Yes, I mean, ja, at the sawmill. Mrs. Weaver is glad, too, because that silly boy Faron Martin couldn’t keep his mind off his girlfriend long enough to do his work.”

Carl heard a smothered chuckle from Lizzie. He had to smile, too. “I’m not sure your grandmother and Mrs. Weaver want you repeating their conversations.”

“Why not?”

The two boys reached her before Carl could explain. The oldest boy, Jacob Imhoff, spoke first. “Joy, you aren’t supposed to run off without telling someone. You know that.”

She hung her head. “I forgot.”

Joy had a bad habit of wandering off and had frightened her family on several occasions by disappearing without letting anyone know where she was going.

The younger boy, her cousin David, took her hand. “That’s okay. We aren’t mad.”

She peeked at him. “You’re not?”

“Nee.”

She gave him a sheepish smile. “I only wanted to talk to Carl.”

A car buzzed past them on the highway. Jacob patted her shoulder. “We don’t want you to get hit by one of the Englisch cars driving by so fast.”

“This was my fault,” Carl said quickly. “I should have turned into the lane to speak to Joy and not stopped out here on the road.”

Joy stared at him solemnly. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

If only he could gain forgiveness so easily for his past sins. He quickly changed the subject. “How is your puppy, Joy?”

“Pickles is a butterball with legs and a tail. She chews up everything. Mammi is getting mighty tired of it.”

Joy could always make him smile. “Tell your grandmother to give your pup a soupbone to gnaw on. That will keep her sharp little teeth occupied for a few days.”

Joy looked past him at Lizzie. “Is this your wife? She’s pretty.”

He sat bolt upright. “Nee, sie ist nicht meine frau. She’s not my wife.”

* * *

Lizzie watched a blush burn a fiery red path up Carl’s neck and engulf his face. It was amusing to see such a big man discomforted by a child’s innocent question, but she was more interested in his answer. He had denied that she was his wife in flawless Pennsylvania Dutch, the German dialect language spoken by the Amish.

Carl King might dress and act Englisch, but he had surely been raised Amish to speak the language so well.

He gathered the reins. “You should get back to your game, kids. I have to take this lady to the bus station.”

He set the pony moving again, and a frown replaced the smile he had given so easily to the little girl. Lizzie liked him better when he was smiling.

“Your Pennsylvania Dutch is very good.”

“I get by.”

“Were you raised Amish?”

A muscle twitched in his clenched jaw. “I was.”

“Several of the young men in our community have left before they were baptized, too.”

“I left afterward.”

Lizzie’s eyes widened with shock. That meant he was in the Bann. Why had her grandfather allowed her to travel with him? Her uncle wouldn’t even speak with an excommunicated person. A second later, she realized that she would very likely be placed in the Bann, too. Her uncle would not let her rebellious action go unpunished. She prayed her sisters were not suffering because of her.

She glanced at Carl and noted the tense set of his jaw. The rules of her faith were clear. She could not accept a ride from a shunned person. She was forbidden to do business with him, accept any favor from him or eat at the same table. Her grandfather had placed her in a very awkward situation. “Please stop the cart.”

Carl’s shoulders slumped. “As you wish.”

He pulled the pony to a halt. “It is a long walk. You will miss the bus.”

“Then I must drive. It is permitted for me to give you a lift, but I can’t accept one from you.”

“I know the rules.” He laid down the reins and stepped over the bench seat to sit on the floor of the cart behind her.

She took the reins and slapped them against the pony’s rump to get him moving. He broke into a brisk trot.

“How is it that you work for my grandfather? Has he left the church, too?”

“No.”

“Does he know your circumstance?”

“Of course.”

She grew more confused by the minute. “Surely the members of his congregation must object to his continued association with you.”

“He hasn’t mentioned it if they do.”

She glanced toward him over her shoulder. “But they know, don’t they?”

“You’d have to ask Joe about that.”

As she was on her way to the bus depot, that wasn’t likely to happen. “I would, but I doubt I’ll see him again.” She heard the bitterness in her voice and knew Carl heard it, too.

Her grandfather had made it crystal clear he wasn’t interested in getting to know his granddaughters. His rejection hurt deeply, but she shouldn’t have been surprised by it. To depend on any man’s kindness was asking for heartache.

As the pony trotted along, Lizzie struggled to find forgiveness in her heart. Her grandfather was a man who needed prayers, not her harsh thoughts. She prayed for Carl, too, that he would repent his sins, whatever they were, and find his way back to God. His life must be lonely indeed.

As lonely as Clara’s would be married to a man she didn’t love and without her sisters around her. Lizzie had failed her miserably.

After they had traveled nearly a mile, Lizzie decided she didn’t care to spend the rest of the trip in silence. It left her too much time to think about her failure. Conversation with a shunned person wasn’t strictly forbidden. “Is Joy a relative?”

“A neighbor.”

“She seems like a very sweet child.”

“Yes.”

“Who is Duncan?”

“My dog.”

His curt answers made her think he’d left his good humor back at the schoolyard. She gave up the idea of maintaining a conversation. She drew a deep breath and tried to come up with a new course of action that would save her sisters.

All she could think of was to find a job in town, but she didn’t have enough money to rent a room. She had enough to pay for her bus fare home and that was it. She didn’t even have enough left over to buy something to eat. Her stomach grumbled in protest. She hadn’t eaten in more than a day. Nothing since her last supper at her uncle’s house.

If she returned to his home, she would have to beg forgiveness and endure his chastisement in whatever form he chose. It would most likely be a whipping with his favorite willow cane, but he sometimes chose a leather strap. Stale bread and water for a week was another punishment he enjoyed handing out. She would be blessed if that were his choice. She shivered and pulled her coat tight across her chest.

“Are you cold?” Carl asked.

“A little.” More than a little, she realized. There was a bite to the wind now that they were heading into it. A stubborn March was holding spring at bay.

Carl slipped off his coat and laid it on the seat. “Put this on.”

She shook her head. “I can’t take your coat.”

“You are cold. I’m not.”

She glanced back at him sitting braced against the side of the cart. “Nee, it wouldn’t be right.”

He studied her for a few seconds, then looked away. A dull flush of red stained his cheeks. “It is permitted if you do not take it from my hand.”

“That’s not what I meant. I don’t wish to cause you discomfort.”

“Watching you shiver causes me discomfort.”

It was hard to argue with that logic. She picked up the thick coat and slipped it on. It retained his body heat and felt blissfully warm as she pulled it close. “Danki.”

“You’re welcome.”

They rode in silence for the rest of the way into town. As they drove past the local inn, she turned to him. “I wish to stop here for a few minutes. Since my grandfather won’t help us, I must try to find a job.”

“He told me to take you to the bus station.”

“I’ll only be a few minutes.”

He grudgingly nodded. “A few minutes and then we must go. I have work to do.”

“Danki.” She gave him a bright smile before she unwrapped herself from his coat and jumped down from the cart.

When she entered the inn, she found herself inside a lobby with ceilings that rose two stories above her. On one side of the room, glass shelves displayed an assortment of jams and jellies for sale. On the opposite wall, an impressive stone fireplace soared two stories high and was at least eight feet wide. Made in the old-world fashion using rounded river stones set in mortar, it boasted a massive timber for a mantel. A quilt hanger had been added near the top. A beautiful star quilt hung on display. Two more quilts folded over racks flanked the fireplace.

At the far end of the room was a waist-high counter. A matronly Amish woman stood behind it. Tall and big-boned with gray hair beneath her white kapp, she wore a soft blue dress that matched her eyes. “Good afternoon and willkommen to the Wadler Inn. I’m Naomi Wadler. How may I help you?”

Her friendly smile immediately put Lizzie at ease. “I’m looking for work. Anything will do. I’m not picky.”

“I’m sorry. We don’t have any openings right now. Are you new to the area? You look familiar. Have we met?”

Lizzie tried to hide her disappointment at not finding employment. “I don’t think so. Might you know of someone looking for a chore girl or household helper?”

“I don’t, dear. If I hear of anything, I’ll be glad to let you know. Where are you staying?”

Lizzie glanced out the window. Carl was scowling in her direction. He motioned for her to come on. She turned back to Naomi. “That’s okay. I thank you for your time. The quilts around the fireplace are lovely. Are they your work?”

“Nee, I display them for some of our local quilters. Many Englisch guests come to this area looking to buy quilts. These were done by a local woman named Rebecca Troyer. I’m always looking for quilts to buy if you have some to sell.”

All she had was her mother’s quilt, and it was too precious to part with. “My sister has a good hand with a needle. I’m afraid I don’t, but I can cook, clean, tend a garden, milk cows. I can even help with little children.”

Naomi gave her a sympathetic smile. “You should check over at the newspaper office, Miller Press. It’s a few blocks from here. They may know of someone looking for work.”

Lizzie started for the door. As she reached it, the woman called out, “I didn’t get your name, child.”

“I’m Lizzie Barkman. I have to go. Thank you again for your time.” She left the inn and climbed into the cart again. “They don’t have anything. I wish to stop at the newspaper office. There might be something in the help-wanted section of the paper.”

“Joe can’t move all the sheep without help. I should be there.”

“It will only take a minute or two to read the want ads. I’ll hurry, I promise. Which way is it?”

He gave her directions and she found the Miller Press office without difficulty. Inside, she quickly read through the ads, but didn’t find anything she thought she could do. Most of them were requests for skilled labor. It looked as if going home was to be her fate, after all.

With lagging steps, she returned to the cart. She followed Carl’s succinct directions to the center of town. When the bus station came into view, she felt the sting of tears again. She’d arrived that morning, tired but full of hope, certain that she could save her sister.

It had been a foolhardy plan at best. She stared at the building. “My sister was right. I’m nothing but a dreamer.”

A short, bald man came out the door and locked it behind him. Carl took Lizzie’s suitcase from the back of the cart and approached him. “This lady needs a ticket.”

“Sorry, we’re closed.” The man didn’t even look up. He started to walk off, but Carl blocked his way.

“She needs a ticket to Indiana.”

The stationmaster took a step back. “You’re too late. The westbound bus left five minutes ago. The next one is on Tuesday.”

“Four days? How can that be?”

The little man raised his hands. “Look around. We’re not exactly a transportation hub. Hope Springs is just down the road from Next-to-Nowhere. The bus going west departs at 3:00 p.m. on Tuesdays and Fridays.” He stepped around Carl and walked away.

She wasn’t going back today. She still had a chance to find a job. Lizzie looked skyward and breathed a quick prayer. “Danki, my Lord.”

She wanted to shout for joy, but the grim look on Carl’s face kept her silent. He scowled at her. “Joe isn’t going to like this.”

Chapter Three

“What is she doing back here? I told you to make sure she got on the bus!” Joe looked ready to spit nails.

Carl jumped down from the back of the cart and took Lizzie’s suitcase and her box from behind the seat. He knew Joe would be upset. He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation.

“She missed the bus. The next one going her way is on Tuesday. I couldn’t very well leave her standing on the street corner, could I?”

“I don’t see why not,” Joe grumbled.

Lizzie got down for the cart and came up the steps to stand by her grandfather on the porch. “I’m sorry to inconvenience you, Daadi, but I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t have enough money to pay for a room at the inn until Tuesday and get a ticket home. I won’t be any trouble.”

“Too late for that,” Carl muttered. She had already cost him half a day’s work.

“What am I supposed to do with you now?” Joe demanded.

“I can sleep in the barn if you don’t have room for me in the house.”

She actually looked demure with her hands clasped before her and her eyes downcast. Carl wasn’t fooled. She was tickled pink that she had missed the bus. He half wondered if she had insisted on making those job-hunting stops for just that reason. He had no proof of that, but he wasn’t sure he would put it past her.

Joe sighed heavily. “I guess you can stay in your mother’s old bedroom upstairs, but don’t expect there to be clean sheets on the bed."

Lizzie smiled sweetly. “Danki. I’m not afraid of a little dust. If you really want me to leave, you could hire a driver to take me home.”

Scowling, Joe snapped, “I’m not paying a hired driver to take you back. It would cost a fortune. You will leave on Tuesday. Since you’re here, you might as well cook supper. You can cook, can’t you?”

“Of course.”

He gestured toward the door. “Come on, Carl. Those shearing pens won’t set themselves up.”

She shot Carl a sharp look and then leaned toward Joe. “Daadi, may I speak to you in private?”

Here it comes. She’s going to pressure Joe to get rid of me.

Carl didn’t want to leave. He enjoyed working with the sheep and with Joe. In this place, he had found a small measure of peace that didn’t seem to exist anywhere else in the world. Would Lizzie make trouble for the old man if he allowed Carl to stay on?

Joe waved aside her request. “We’ll speak after supper. My work can’t wait any longer. Carl, did you pick up the mail, at least?”

He shook his head. “I forgot to mention it when we passed your mailbox.”

Joe glared at Lizzie. “That’s what comes of having a distraction around. I’ll go myself.”

“I’ll go get your mail.” Lizzie started to climb back onto the cart, but Joe stopped her.

“The pony has done enough work today. It won’t hurt you to walk to the end of the lane, will it?”

She flushed and stepped away from the cart. “Nee, of course not. Shall I unhitch him and put him away?”

“Put him in the corral to the right of the barn and make sure you rub him down good.”

“I will.”

As she led the pony away, sympathy for her stirred in Carl. Joe wasn’t usually so unkind. “I can take care of the horse, Joe.”

“If she’s going to stay, she’s going to earn her keep while she’s here. I don’t know why she had to come in the first place.” Joe stalked away with a deep frown on his face.

Carl followed him. The two men crossed to the largest shed and went inside. Numerous metal panels were stacked against the far wall. They were used to make pens of various sizes to hold the sheep both prior to shearing and afterward.

They had the first three pens assembled before Joe spoke again. “You think I’m being too hard on her, don’t you?”

“It’s your business and none of mine.”

“What did she have to say on your trip into town and back?”

“Not much. She’s concerned that her sister is being made to marry against her will by their uncle Morris. It’s not the way things are done around here.”

“Nee, but it doesn’t surprise me much. I never cared for Morris. I couldn’t believe it when my daughter wanted to marry into that family. I tried to talk her out of it. I’ve never met a more shiftless lot. The men never worked harder than they had to, but they made sure the women did. In my eyes, they didn’t treat their women with the respect they deserved.”

“What do you mean?”

“They spoke harshly to them. They kept them away from other women. I saw fear in the eyes of Morris’s wife more than once when he got upset with her.”

“Do you believe there was physical abuse?”

“I thought so, but none of them would admit it. Such things weren’t talked about back then. I went so far as to share my misgivings with the bishop. The family didn’t take kindly to my interference.”

“I imagine not.”

“My daughter assured me her husband was a kind man, but I saw the signs. I saw the changes in her over the years. My son-in-law and I had some heated words about it. Then one day, the whole family up and moved away. I never saw them again. My daughter never even wrote to let me know where they had gone. Years later, I got one letter. It was from Morris telling me my Abigail and her husband were dead. He said a truck struck their buggy. Her husband died instantly, but Abigail lingered for another day.”

Joe’s voice tapered off as he struggled with his emotions. Carl had never seen him so upset. After giving the old man a few minutes to compose himself, Carl said, “I’ve never heard of the Amish having arranged marriages.”

“They don’t, but if you dig deep enough in any barrel, you’ll find a few bad apples, even among the Amish. Morris was a bad apple. I don’t know why my girl couldn’t see that, but I was told she lived long enough after the accident to name Morris as guardian of her children. I’m not surprised he thinks he can pick their husbands.”

“So, you aren’t going to help Lizzie?”

Joe shook his head slowly. “I loved my daughter, Carl. I never got over her leaving the way she did, but she was a good mother. I have to ask myself what would she want me to do. Honestly, I think my daughter would want me to stay out of it. Life is not easy for any of us. I don’t want Lizzie to think she can come running to me whenever it seems too hard for her.”

“Do you really think that’s what she’s doing?” Carl asked gently.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Carl didn’t agree, but then it wasn’t his place to agree or disagree with Joe. It was his place to take care of the sheep.

“What else did she say?” Joe asked. He tried to sound indifferent, but Carl wasn’t fooled.

“She wants to find a job around here.”

Joe nodded but didn’t comment. Carl drew a deep breath. “I had to tell her I’m in the Bann.”

“Ach, that’s none of her business.” Joe kicked a stubborn panel into place and secured it with a length of wire.

“She asked. I couldn’t lie.”

Joe shared a rare, stilted smile. “It would astonish me if you did.”

“Will she go to church services with you on Sunday?”

“Ja, I imagine so.”

“Will my being here cause trouble for you?” He didn’t want to leave, but he would. Joe had been good to him.

“Having her here is causing me trouble.”

“You know what I mean.” Joe could easily find himself shunned by his fellow church members for allowing Carl to work on his farm. The rules were clear about what was permitted and what wasn’t with a shunned person. Joe had been bending the rules for more than two years to give Carl a place to live. A few people in Joe’s church might suspect Carl was ex-Amish, but no one knew it for a fact. Only Lizzie. If she spread that information, it would change everything.

The old man sighed and laid a hand on Carl’s shoulder. “Sohn, I know I’m not a good example. I don’t like most people, but that’s my fault and not theirs. Folks around here are generous and accepting of others. I’ve known Bishop Zook since he was a toddler. He’s a kind and just man. I don’t know your story, Carl, but I’ve come to know you. You seek solitude out among the flocks and in your small hut, but it does not bring you peace. ’Tis plain you carry a heavy burden. If you repent, if you ask forgiveness, it will be granted.”

Carl looked away from the sympathy he didn’t deserve. “Sometimes, forgiveness must be earned.”

Joe’s grip on Carl’s shoulder tightened. “Our Lord Jesus earned it for us all by his death on the cross. However, it’s your life. Live as you must. I’ve never pried and I never will.”

“Thanks, but you didn’t answer my question. Will my staying here cause trouble for you?”

Joe dusted his hands together. “I can handle any trouble my granddaughter tries to make.”

Carl wasn’t as confident.

The evening shadows were growing long by the time they finished setting up the runways and pens. Both men were tired, hot and sweaty, in spite of the cold weather. Carl found he was eager to see how Lizzie was faring. Was she a good cook? Joe wasn’t. Carl managed, but he didn’t enjoy the task.

The two men entered the kitchen and stopped in their tracks. They both looked around in surprise. The clutter had been cleared from the table. The wild heaps of dishes and pans in the sink had been tamed, washed and put away. The blue-and-white-checkered plastic tablecloth was glistening wet, as if she had just finished wiping it down. Even the floor had been swept and mopped. The scuffed old black-and-white linoleum looked better than Carl had ever seen it. There was a lingering scent of pine cleaner in the air, but it was the smell of simmering stew that made his mouth water.

Lizzie stood at the stove with her back to them. “It’s almost done. There’s soap and a fresh towel at the sink for you.”

She turned toward them and used her forearm to sweep back a few locks of bright red hair that had escaped from beneath her black kapp. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the oven. Carl was struck once again by how pretty she was and how natural she looked in Joe’s kitchen.

If the aroma was anything to go by, this might be the best meal he’d had in months. His stomach growled in anticipation, but he didn’t move. The arrangement he and Joe shared might be different now that Lizzie was with them. He locked eyes with Joe and waited for a sign from him.

* * *

Lizzie wasn’t sure how to proceed. She’d never fixed a meal for a shunned person. If Carl sat at the table, she would have to eat standing at the counter or in the other room. Eating at the same table with someone in the Bann was forbidden. Had her grandfather been breaking the Ordnung by eating with Carl? If so, it was her solemn duty to inform his bishop of such an infraction. She quailed at the thought. Such a move on her part would ruin any chance of bringing her sisters to live with him.

She watched as her grandfather went to the sink beneath the window and washed the grime off his hands. He used the towel she’d placed there and left it lying on the counter so that Carl could use it, too.

Her daadi stepped to the table, moved aside one of the benches and flipped back the tablecloth. Puzzled, Lizzie wondered what he was doing. Then she saw it wasn’t one large kitchen table. It was two smaller ones that had been pushed together. He pulled the tables a few inches apart, smoothed the cloth back into place and returned the bench to its original place.

She relaxed with relief. Her grandfather hadn’t broken the Ordnung. It appeared that he and Carl maintained the separation dictated by the Amish faith even when no one was around.

She caught Carl’s quick glance before he looked away. He said, “Is this arrangement suitable, or should I eat outside?”

He was trying to look as if it didn’t matter, but she could tell that it did.

“If my grandfather feels this is acceptable, then it is.” It was his home, and he had to follow the rules of his congregation. It wouldn’t have been acceptable in her uncle’s home. Her uncle wouldn’t have allowed Carl inside the house. Her uncle expounded often about the dangers of associating with unclean people.

Joe took his place at the head of the table. Lizzie dished stew into a bowl and placed it in front of him. She dished up a second bowl and gave Carl a sympathetic look before she left it on the counter. She took a plate of golden-brown biscuits from the oven and set it on the table, too.

Carl washed up and carried his bowl to his table opposite her grandfather.

Lizzie got her own bowl and took a seat at her grandfather’s left-hand side. When she was settled, he bowed his head and silently gave thanks to God for the meal. From the corner of her eye, she saw Carl bow his head, too.

What had he done that made him an outsider among them, and why was her grandfather risking being shunned himself by having him around?

The meal progressed in silence. Lizzie didn’t mind; it was normal at her uncle’s home, too. She and her sisters saved their conversations until they were getting ready for bed at night.

The unexpected weight of loneliness forced her spirits lower. She missed her sisters more than she thought possible. Tonight, she would be alone for the first time in her life. She didn’t count her night on the bus, for she hadn’t been alone for a minute on that horrible ride. She thought she was hungry, but her appetite ebbed away. She picked at her food and pushed it around in her bowl. A quick glance at her grandfather and Carl showed neither of them noticed. They ate with gusto. Maybe good food would convince them they needed a woman around the house full-time.

A woman, yes, but four women?

There was more than enough work to keep four women busy for months. The place was a mess. All the rooms needed a thorough cleaning. There was years of accumulated dust and cobwebs in every corner of the four bedrooms upstairs, although only one room contained a bed. The others held an accumulation of odds and ends, broken furniture and several plastic tubs filled with baby bottles. She assumed they were for the lambs.

The downstairs wasn’t as bad, but it wasn’t tidy, either.

She was afraid to speculate on the amount of mending that was needed. There was a pile of clothes in a huge laundry hamper beside the wringer washer on a small back porch. The few bits of clothing she had examined were both dirty and in need of repair. It was too bad that one of her days here was a Sunday. She wouldn’t be able to engage in anything but the most necessary work on the Sabbath.

She’d simply have to rise early tomorrow and again on Monday and Tuesday mornings to get as much of the washing, mending and cleaning done as she could before her bus left. Her grandfather might not want her here, but she would do all that she could for him before she left, even if she disliked mending with a passion.

It was a shame that Clara hadn’t come with her. Clara loved needlework. Her tiny stitches were much neater than Lizzie could manage. Each of the girls had a special talent. Lizzie liked to cook. Betsy was good with animals. Clara, like their mother, enjoyed sewing, quilting and knitting. Greta avoided housework whenever she could. She enjoyed being outside tending the orchard and the gardens.

Just thinking about them made a deep sadness settle in Lizzie’s soul. She had failed miserably to help them thus far, but the good Lord had given her more time. She wouldn’t waste it feeling sorry for herself.

She smiled at her grandfather. “I hope you like the stew. I do enjoy cooking. I couldn’t help noticing your garden hasn’t been prepared for spring planting yet. It’s nearly time to get peas and potatoes planted. My sister Greta would be itching to spade up the dirt. The Lord blessed her with a green thumb for sure.”

Her grandfather ran his last bite of biscuit around the rim of his bowl to sop up any traces of gravy. “The planting will get done after the lambing.”

“Of course. You probably know there’s barely any preserved food left in the cellar. I used the last of the canned beef and carrots for tonight’s meal. There will be only canned chicken for the next meals unless you can provide me with something fresh or allow me to go into town and purchase more food. What a shame it is to see an Amish cellar bare. At home, my sisters and I have hundreds of jars of meat, corn and vegetables. Do you like beets, Daadi?”

“Not particularly.”

“I like snap peas better myself.” She fell silent.

“There are plenty of eggs in the henhouse. We men know how to make do.”

There had to be a way to convince him of her usefulness. Perhaps after he saw the results of her hard work over the next several days he would agree to let her stay.

Joe pushed his empty bowl away and brushed biscuit crumbs from his beard and vest. “You’re a goot cook, I’ll give you that.”

“A mighty good cook. Thank you for the meal,” Carl added.

“You’re welcome.” She wasn’t used to being thanked for doing something that was her normal responsibility.

Her grandfather swallowed the last swig of his coffee and set the cup in his bowl. “I reckon it’s time to start moving the flocks closer to the barns.”

Carl nodded. “I can put the rams and the first of the ewes in the barn tomorrow in separate pens.”

“No point penning them inside just yet. Monday will be soon enough. Shearing can start on Tuesday.”

Lizzie brightened. Perhaps the sheep held the key to proving her usefulness. “Can I help with that? I’d love to learn more about sheep and about shearing them.”

Joe huffed in disgust. “If you don’t know sheep, you’ll be no use to me.”

She looked at Carl. He didn’t say anything. She was foolish to hope for help in that direction. Suddenly, she remembered the mail she had collected earlier. There had been a letter for him. She went into the living room and returned with her grandfather’s copy of the local newspaper and an envelope for Carl.

Her grandfather’s eyes brighten. “Ach, my newspaper. Danki. I like reading it after supper.”

She turned to Carl and held the letter toward him. “This came for you.”

When he didn’t take it, she laid it on the corner of the table and resumed her seat.

Rising to his feet, Carl picked up the letter, glanced at it and then carried his empty bowl to the sink. Turning to the stove, he lifted the lid on the firebox and dropped the letter in unopened. He left the house without another word.

After the screen door banged shut behind him, Lizzie gathered the rest of the dishes and carried them to the sink. She stared out the window at his retreating back as he walked toward the barn and the pasture gate beyond.

His dog came bounding across the yard and danced around him, seeking attention. He paused long enough to bend and pat the animal. Straightening, he glanced back once at the house before he walked on.

What had he done to cut himself off from his family, his friends and from his Amish faith? Why burn an unopened letter? Why live such a lonely life with only a dog and an old man for company? Carl King was an intriguing man. The longer she was around him, the more she wanted to uncover the answers about him.

“Out with your questions before you choke on them,” her grandfather said, still seated at the table.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She began filling the sink with water.

“Ja, you do. You want to know about Carl.”

She couldn’t very well deny it when she was bursting with curiosity about the man. She shut off the water and faced her grandfather. “I don’t understand how you can do business with him. It is forbidden.”

“I do no business with him.” He opened his paper and began to read.

She took a step toward him in disbelief and propped both hands on her hips. “How can you say that? He works for you. He’s your hired man.”

“I did not hire Carl. He works here because he wishes to do so. He lives in an empty hut on my property. He pays no rent, so I am neither landlord nor employer.”

“You mean he works for nothing?”

Folding his paper in exasperation, he said, “Each year, when the lambs are sold, I leave one third of my profits here on the kitchen table, and I go to bed. In the morning, the money is always gone.”

“So you do pay him?”

“I have never asked if he’s the one who takes the money.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t you think that is splitting hairs?”

“No doubt some people will say it is.”

“Aren’t you worried that you may be shunned for his continued presence here?”

He leaned back in his chair. “What would you have me do?”

“You must tell him that unless he repents, he must leave. What has he done to make all your church avoid him?”

“I have no idea.”

“But all members of the church must agree to the shunning. How can you not know the reason? It is not a thing that is done lightly or in secret.”

“In all my years, I have seen it done only a handful of times. It was very sad and distressful for those involved. Carl is not from around here. He has not been shunned by my congregation. I would not have known he was anything but an Englisch fellow in need of a meal and a bed if he hadn’t told me. It seems to me that he holds our beliefs in high regard.”

“Then for him to remain separated from the church is doubly wrong, and all the more reason to send him away.”

Her grandfather let his chair down and leaned forward with his hands clasped on the table. “Child, why do we shun someone?”

“Because they have broken their vows to God and to the church by refusing to follow the Ordnung.”

“You have missed the meaning of my question. What is the purpose of shunning an individual?”

“To make them see the error of their ways.”

“That is true, but you have not mentioned the most important part. It is not to punish them. Shunning is done out of love for that person so that they may see what it is to be cut off from God and God’s family by their sin. It is a difficult thing to do, to care for someone and yet turn away from them.”

“But if they don’t repent, we must turn away so that we do not share in that sin.”

“If I give aid to a sinner, does that make me one?”

“Of course not. We are commanded to care for those in need, be they family or stranger.”

“As the Good Samaritan did in the parable told by our Lord.”

She could see where his questions were leading. “Ja, if you have given aid to Carl, that is as it should be.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad you approve. The first time I met Carl, I discovered him sleeping in my barn. It had rained like mad in the night. His clothes were ragged and damp. They hung on his thin frame like a scarecrow’s outfit. Everything he owned in the world he was wearing or had rolled up in a pack he was using as a pillow, except for a skinny puppy that lay beside him.

“Carl immediately got up, apologized for trespassing and said he was leaving. I offered him a meal. He declined, but said he would be grateful if I could spare something for the dog.”

Lizzie’s heart twisted with pity for Carl. To be homeless and alone was no easy thing. “I assume you fed the dog?”

“I told Carl I had a little bacon I could fry up for the pup. I coaxed them both into the house and fried enough for all of us. I put a plate on the floor and that little Duncan gobbled it up before I got my hand out of the way. Bacon is still his favorite food. When I put two plates on the table was when Carl told me he could not eat with me.”

“At least he was honest about it.”

“If you had seen the look in that young man’s eyes, you would know, as I do, that he cares deeply about our faith. He was starving, but he was willing to forgo food in order to keep me from unknowingly breaking the laws of our church.”

“Yet, he never told you why he had been placed in the Bann?”

“Nee, he has not, and I do not ask. I told him I had an empty hut he could use for as long as he wanted. His dog took naturally to working the sheep and so did Carl. He has a tender heart for animals.”

“What you did was a great kindness, Daadi, but Carl no longer requires physical aid.”

“True. The man is neither hungry nor homeless, but his great wound is not yet healed. That’s why I have not turned him away.”

She scowled. “I saw no evidence of an injury.”

Her grandfather shook his head sadly. “Then you have not looked into his eyes as I have done. Carl has a grave wound inside. Something in his past lies heavy on his mind and on his heart. My instincts tell me he will find his way back to God and to our faith when he has had time to heal. Then there will be great rejoicing in heaven and on earth.”

Maybe she came by her daydreaming naturally, after all. “If it happens.”

Her grandfather sighed, rose from his chair and headed toward his bedroom. Before he closed the door, he turned back to her. “It will happen. It’s a shame you won’t be here to see it when it does.”

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