He always tried to be present when the fellowship meal broke up. Most locals were good about keeping watch for the slow buggies and Amish on foot, but despite all warnings tourists still drove too fast. They didn’t understand how quickly a car could close in on a buggy pulled by a trotting horse. Car-and-buggy accidents were too often tragic. He and his deputies dreaded being called to the site of one.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t be everywhere. Three separate church districts fell completely within this county, which meant services being held at three separate homes on any given Sunday. He had assigned two deputies to patrol today while he did the same, the best he could manage given limited resources. With fewer than ten thousand people in the county, Daniel’s entire department consisted of himself, a sergeant and five deputies, as well as two administrative assistants who were also dispatchers.
The two largest cities in Henness County, including Byrum, the county seat, had their own police departments.
Amish businesses might be in town, but the people rarely lived within city limits, so they were, with few exceptions, in his care. A wry smile accompanied the thought. They believed they were in God’s care, not his. He was careful not to mention his alternate opinion on the matter in the hearing of anyone Amish.
The cars he saw as he patrolled were likely driven by tourists. Amish businesses and roadside stands were closed on Sundays, but the idea was incomprehensible to the typical American who came to sightsee.
Daniel found himself thinking about the Grabers’ guests, as he had more often than he should in the three days since their arrival. They would have been in the barn, the boy still young enough to sit beside his mother on a bench on the women’s side. He wondered if Rebecca had been able to surrender herself wholeheartedly to God today, or whether she held some anger or fear in reserve. However good their intentions, Amish struggled with negative emotions like everyone else. Nonetheless, her feelings toward whoever had hurt her would be far more charitable than his, he could pretty well guarantee.
Tomorrow, he decided, wasn’t too soon to stop by the Graber farm and ask after their visiting family.
He refused to question why he was so eager to do so.
“THEY’RE AWFULLY BIG,” Matthew said, standing behind the board fence and well back from the row of Percheron horses.
Rebecca stroked the cheek of the nearest gelding, which whuffled a response that startled a giggle out of her, one that made her wince as her swollen cheek protested. “They’re friendly,” she said. “From birth, Onkel Samuel and cousin Mose groom them and feed them and pick up their feet, so they like being around people. Didn’t you see these four pulling a plow yesterday? That was part of their training, to work as a team. I think they will be ready for a new home soon.” The horse she was petting nudged her for more attention, and she added, “They can smell better than we can, so they know we have carrots.”
“They really like carrots?” her son said dubiously. He didn’t mind carrot sticks, but detested cooked carrots. His pickiness where food was concerned had already brought surprise from her family here, where children weren’t indulged in the same way they were in the outside world.
“A carrot is like a cookie to a horse,” Rebecca said firmly. “Watch.”
She broke off a chunk and held it on the palm of her hand. The horse she’d been petting promptly lipped it up and crunched with such enthusiasm that saliva and flecks of carrot flew.
Matthew laughed.
She had just persuaded him to feed a piece of carrot to another of the horses when she heard a car engine followed by the sound of tires crunching on gravel. There were innocent reasons for a car to be driving down this quiet road, even if the homes on it were all Amish owned, but she couldn’t control her spike of anxiety. She turned and saw the green-and-white SUV with a rack of lights on the roof slow and turn into the lane leading to her aunt and uncle’s home. It would pass right by her and Matthew. Rebecca had no doubt who the driver was.
Turning her back on the police car, she cupped Matthew’s hand and helped him hold it out. He squeaked in alarm when lips brushed his palm, then laughed in delight when the carrot vanished.
“It tickled!”
The police vehicle rolled to a stop right behind them. A door slammed, and she and Matthew both turned to face Daniel Byler, who strolled around the front bumper and joined them.
“These are beauties,” he said in a voice that was just a little gravelly. “Your uncle raises the handsomest draft horses I’ve ever seen.”
She smiled despite her tension. “Say that to him, and he would then tell you about three other Amish men he knows who raise horses just as fine. And he would also admonish you for admiring them for their looks, when it is strength and willingness and heart that truly matter.”
His chuckle was a little rough, too. “You’re right, he would. Although I have no doubt he is willing to discuss desirable conformation with buyers.”
“An entirely different thing from calling them beautiful,” she said, trying to repress another smile.
“Why shouldn’t they be beautiful?” Matt burst out. “Aren’t horses s’posed to be—”
“Sheriff Byler is teasing,” she said hastily, seeing his raised eyebrow. “And you know Onkel Samuel is right. These will be working horses. A horse pulling a plow could be mud brown and have a bump in the middle of his forehead and mismatched eyes, one blue and one brown—”
“Like that dog we saw!” he said excitedly.
“Yep.” Uh-oh. “Ja,” she said hastily. “Remember how funny-looking he was? But if the horse was strong and did the job, no one would mind how he looks.”
“Oh.” Matthew frowned, then nodded. “Can I have another carrot?”
The sheriff stayed at their side as they proffered, piece by piece, all the carrots they’d brought. Rebecca was very careful to guide their minimal conversation so that Matthew wouldn’t have a chance to say anything else so un-Amish.
Sheriff Byler offered them a ride up to the house, which she would have refused except for Matthew’s excitement. She held him on her lap in the front seat. The sheriff showed him how to turn on the siren and flashing lights.
Matthew reached out. “Can we...?”
“No,” she said quickly. “Think how it would frighten the horses.”
“Oh.” He subsided. “I guess it would.”
He was happy when a voice came over the radio. A deputy reported, using code that the sheriff translated, that he’d pulled over a motorist for speeding.
Byler’s mouth was tight, and she knew why. Speeding was always dangerous, and particularly on narrow country roads shared by horse-and-buggy travelers.
At the house, she opened the door and let Matthew out first. Already used to the dogs, he giggled to find them waiting. “Go tell Aenti Emma or Grossmammi that Sheriff Byler is here. I’m sure he would like coffee or one of those sticky buns I saw going in the oven.”
Accompanied by Onkel Samuel’s
