An Amish Wife For Christmas. Patricia Davids
my little brother away. It will break his heart and Jenny’s, to say nothing of mine. We belong together.”
Clarabelle munched a mouthful of hay as she regarded Bethany with soulful deep brown eyes. The bell around her neck clanked softly as she tilted her head to allow Bethany to scratch behind her left ear. Bethany complied. As a confidant, Clarabelle was unassuming and easy to talk to, but she was short on advice.
“Advice is what I need, Clarabelle. The bishop said Ivan could stay if I had a husband. Someone to discipline and guide the boy. I don’t believe for a minute that is the solution but I’m getting desperate. Any idea where I can get a husband before Christmas? And please don’t suggest Jesse Crump. Jedidiah Zook might be a possibility if he smiled more. Maybe he just needs a wife to make him happier. What do you think?”
“I doubt your cow has the answers you seek but if she does I have a few questions for her about my own problems,” a man said in an amused drawl.
Bethany spun around. A stranger stood in the open barn door. He wore a black Amish hat pulled low on his forehead and a dark blue woolen coat with the collar turned up against the cold. He carried a duffel bag over one shoulder and he leaned on a black cane.
The mirth sparkling in his eyes sent a flush of heat to her cheeks. How humiliating. To be caught talking to a cow about matrimonial prospects made her look ridiculous.
She struggled to hide her embarrassment. After looking the man up and down, she stabbed the pitchfork into the hay again and dumped it into Clarabelle’s stall. “It’s rude to eavesdrop on a private conversation.”
“I’m not sure talking to a cow qualifies as a private conversation but I am sorry to intrude.” The man put down his duffel bag.
He didn’t look sorry. He looked like he was struggling not to laugh at her. At least he was a stranger. Maybe this mortifying episode wouldn’t become known in the community. She cringed at the thought of Jedidiah Zook hearing the story. “How can I help you?”
“Mind if I sit here for a minute?” He pointed to a stack of straw bales beside the barn door.
She wanted him to go away but her Amish upbringing prevented her from suggesting it. Any stranger in need deserved her help.
He didn’t wait for her reply but limped to the closest bale and sat down with a weary sigh. “The bus driver who dropped me off said New Covenant was a little way along on this road. His idea of a little way does not match mine.”
“It’s less than half a mile to the highway from my lane.”
He rubbed his leg. “That’s the farthest I’ve walked in six months. How much farther do I have to go?”
“You have arrived at the south end of our community.”
He tipped his head slightly. “I thought New Covenant was a town.”
“It’s more a collection of houses strung out on either side of the road right now, but it will be a thriving village one day.” She prayed she spoke the truth.
“Glad to hear it. I’m Michael Shetler, by the way.” He took off his hat and raked his fingers through his thick dark brown hair.
She considered not giving him her name. The less he knew to repeat the better.
He noticed her hesitation and cleared his throat. “It’s rude not to introduce yourself in return.”
She arched one eyebrow. “I’m being rude? That’s the pot calling the kettle black. I am Bethany Martin,” she admitted, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake.
“Nice to meet you, Bethany. Once I’ve had a rest I’ll step outside if you want to finish your private conversation.” He winked. One corner of his mouth twitched, revealing a dimple in his cheek.
Something about the sparkle in his blue eyes invited her to smile back at him but she firmly resisted the urge. She stabbed the pitchfork into the remaining hay and left it standing upright. “I’m glad I could supply you with some amusement today.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had something to smile about.”
The clatter of hooves outside caught her attention as a horse and wagon pulled up beside the barn and stopped. She caught a glimpse of the driver through the open door. He stood and faced the barn. “Ivan Martin, are you in there? It’s Jedidiah Zook. I want to speak to you!”
Her gaze shot to Michael. His grin widened. Her heart sank as he chuckled. “I may not have given Clarabelle enough credit. It seems your preferred beau has arrived. It was Jedidiah Zook you hoped would come courting, right?”
She glared and shook a finger at him. “Don’t you dare repeat one word of what you heard in here.”
* * *
Michael couldn’t help teasing her. The high color in her cheeks and the fire in her eyes told him she was no meek Amish maid. He wagged his eyebrows. “Do you need a go-between? Shall I speak on your behalf? I’ll be happy to help any way I can.”
“If you say anything, I’ll...I’ll...” She clamped her lips closed. The sheen of unshed tears gathered in her eyes, but she quickly blinked them back and raised her chin.
Teasing was one thing. Upsetting her was another. He held up one hand. “Relax. Your secret is safe with me. If the cow spills the beans, that is not my fault.”
“Stay here.” Bethany rushed past him out the wide double doors. “Guder mariye, Jedidiah. Ivan isn’t in here. He’s at school. Can I be of any help?”
“Your brother has gone too far this time.”
The man’s angry voice brought Michael closer to the open door to watch. Bethany faced Jedidiah defiantly with her head up and her hands on her hips. “What has he done?”
“Two thirty-pound bags of potatoes and a ten-pound bag of dried beans are missing from my cellar.”
“What makes you think Ivan took them?”
“Because he sold a bag of potatoes to the general store owner just this morning.”
She folded her arms in front of her. “That’s not proof he took them. Maybe it was one of our sacks that he sold.”
“Was it?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You tell him I came by and that I’m on my way to report this theft to the bishop. This has gone beyond what can be ignored. It must stop. If you can’t control the boy someone else will have to.” He lifted the reins, turned the wagon around and headed down the lane.
Michael limped out to stand beside her. “Not a very jolly fellow. Are you sure he’s the one?”
She shot him a sour look. “In spite of what you think you heard earlier, I am not in the market for a husband.”
Why wasn’t she married already? She was certainly attractive enough. Not that he was in the market for a relationship. He wasn’t. He might never be. He sobered at the thought. The men who shot him and robbed the store he had worked may have robbed him of a family, too. He had no idea if his PTSD would get better living in the isolation of northern Maine, but it was his last option.
Bethany brushed past him into the barn, a fierce scowl marring her pretty features. “I need to speak to my brother and get to the bottom of this. You are welcome to rest here.”
He was glad he wasn’t the brother in question. She went down the aisle and opened the stall door of a black mare with a white blaze. She led the mare out, tied the horse to a hitching post and began to harness her.
“Let me do that for you.” He took a step closer.
“I can manage,” she snapped.
He took a step back and held one hand up. She didn’t need or want his help. In short order she had the harness on and then led the animal