could do with a bit of whatever made his brother-in-law so happy.
“Giddap there, Pete. Come on, Sam.”
“You say this auction is big?”
“Ja, for sure it is. Every week, too. It’s one of the biggest in the state, and people come from all over.”
Bram shot a glance at Matthew.
“From all over? Englischers, too?”
“Ja, some Englischers, especially these last few years with the hard times. But mostly Plain folk—Amish, Mennonite, Brethren.”
Bram shifted his shoulders. His new Plain clothes felt comfortable, something that surprised him. He rubbed at the right side of his trousers, where he had inserted a pocket holster under the seam last night after Matthew and Annie had gone to bed. His pistol rested there, out of sight but not out of reach. Who knew who could be hiding in a crowd?
As they drew closer to Shipshewana, the traffic got heavier, and by the time they turned onto Van Buren Street, they were part of a line of wagons, buggies and cars headed for the field behind the sale barn. Matthew pulled the horses up at a shady hitching rail at the edge of the field. Auctioneers’ voices drifted out of the barn, quickening Bram’s heartbeat with their cadence.
“It sounds like things have started already.”
“Ja, the livestock auction started at six o’clock. The equipment sale starts at nine, so we’re in plenty of time.”
“Good. I’d like to look things over before the sale starts.”
Matthew led the way to a line of plows, cultivators and other farm equipment outside the sale barn. The first thing he needed to do was to plow his fields, then plant. Matthew said he’d loan Bram his team, but time was pressing. This work should have been done a month ago.
“Here’s a good-looking plow.”
Bram ran his hand over the seat of the sulky plow. The paint wasn’t even chipped. The blades had a few scrapes, but the whole thing looked new.
“This one hasn’t seen much use, has it?” Matthew walked around to look at the other side. “It’ll go for a pretty penny.”
That didn’t bother Bram. He had enough money for anything up for sale here.
“Good morning, Bram. Matthew.”
Bram turned to see John Stoltzfus heading their way. John’s familiar face sent a pleasant nudge to Bram’s senses, and he smiled. He couldn’t remember the last time being recognized didn’t send him reaching for his gun.
“Are you looking for a plow, Bram?”
Even though John’s voice was friendly, his question merely curious, Bram’s nerves arose. He did a quick check of the crowd around them. Everyone seemed to be focused on the auction and farm equipment. He turned his attention to John.
“Ja. I’m getting a late start on the farm, and I need everything.”
“You’re planning on buying all the equipment you need?”
“Well, I need a plow first. I’ll start with that.”
“It looks like you might have found one,” John said, taking a look at the sulky plow. “But don’t buy everything at once. You have neighbors, you know. I have a harrow you can use.”
“And you can use our planter,” Matthew said.
John turned to Bram. “All you need to do is let the church know, and we’ll have your whole farm plowed, planted, cultivated and harvested before the day is over.”
Matthew and John both laughed at this. Bram wanted to join in, but caution nagged at him.
“Why would you do that? Why would you loan me your equipment?”
“You’re one of us, son.” John’s words came with a puzzled frown. “Have you been gone so long that you’ve forgotten our way? How we work together?”
Forgotten? This wasn’t part of his memory of growing up here.
“No one ever helped my Dat, and I don’t remember him ever...” His words stopped as he saw the looks on the other men’s faces. John and Matthew exchanged glances. Had he said something wrong? Bram gave a scan to the milling farmers around them again.
“Bram, I’m sorry.” John glanced at him, then back at Matthew. “I forgot about your father...” He cleared his throat. “You can count on us to give you a hand anytime. Anything you need.”
Dat had never had the easy camaraderie with the men in their community that John and Matthew shared, but as a child Bram never knew why. Now he was beginning to figure it out. He swallowed hard as the memories came rushing out of the place where he had shoved them. Dat’s stash of moonshine in the barn, the weeks of missed church, the halfhearted repentance that was just enough to keep the ministers from putting Dat under the bann...
And most of all, Dat’s way of always finding something else to do whenever the men gathered together for a work frolic. The Lapps were never part of the community unless it worked into Dat’s plans.
He had shoved those memories away and locked the door as he stood on the roadside with his thumb out, heading west. Oh, yes, he remembered the stares, the whispers. This was one of the reasons he’d left.
Matthew put his hand on Bram’s arm, and he almost shrugged it off. He wanted to be angry, to shut out their pity, but he stopped himself. That was what Dat would have done.
“Let us give you a hand, Bram.”
Matthew’s face was grim, but there was no pity there, only the determined offer of an alliance.
Bram nodded, trying on the friendship offered. It felt good.
“Ja, I’d welcome the help.”
* * *
“How many quarts of rhubarb juice do you think we’ll end up with?” Lovina dumped another pile of cut rhubarb into the bowl.
“Whatever we end up with, you know it won’t be enough. Dat drinks a cup every day.” Ellie eyed the bowl. A few more inches, and it would be full enough to start the first batch of juice. She was glad that even though Lovina lived several miles away she was still willing to help with this chore every year. The two sisters had made the family supply of rhubarb juice for as long as she could remember—ever since they were the same ages as Mandy and Rebecca, for sure.
“The plants at our place aren’t growing as well this year. Noah says it’s a sign we’re in for another bad year.”
“And Noah is always right, of course.” Ellie looked sideways at Lovina. Even after four years of marriage, that telltale blush crept up her neck at the mention of Noah’s name. Lovina still thought her husband was the next thing to perfect.
“Ja, of course.” Lovina grinned at her, then went back to her cutting. “I do hope he’s wrong this time, though. Another year with no rain will be hard.”
