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 outside, where she backed the mare in between the shafts of the buggy parked in a lean-to at the side of the building.
“May I?” he asked, pointing to the buggy. She nodded. He finished securing the traces on one side while she did the other. He buckled the crupper, the loop that went around the mare’s tail to keep the harness from sliding forward on the animal, as Bethany finished her side and came to check his work.
“Danki.”
She thanked him like it was a chore. Bethany Martin was clearly used to doing things by herself.
Michael realized that he hadn’t looked over his shoulder once since hearing Bethany’s voice. That had to be some kind of record. He glanced around out of habit but there was nothing sinister in the farmstead and empty snow-covered fields that backed up to wooded hills on either side of the wide valley. All throughout his trip to New Covenant he’d been on edge, expecting danger from every stranger that came close to him. He’d spent most of the bus ride from Philadelphia with sweating palms and tense muscles, expecting another attack or a flashback to overtake him at any second. They never came when he was expecting them.
He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. For the first time in weeks the knots in his neck and shoulders were missing. Maybe he was getting better. Maybe this move was the right thing, after all. He prayed it was. Nothing here reminded him of the Philadelphia street or the shop where his life had changed so drastically.
Here the air was fresh and clean. The next house was several hundred yards up the road. Nothing crowded him. He could start over here. No one would look at him with pity or worse. He had a job waiting for him in New Covenant and a place to live all thanks to the generosity of a man he’d never met. He needed to get going, but he was reluctant to leave Bethany’s company for some reason. Her no-nonsense attitude was comforting. He pushed the thought aside. “I should be on my way. Can you give me directions to Elijah Troyer’s farm?”
She shot him a startled look and then glanced away. “This was his farm,” she said softly with a quiver in her voice.
“Was? He sold it?” Michael waited impatiently for her to speak.
She kept her gaze averted. “I’m sorry but Elijah Troyer passed away three weeks ago.”
Michael drew back with a sharp intake of breath. “He’s dead? That can’t be.”
He fought against the onrush of panic. What about the job? What about the place to live? Were his hopes for a new life dead, too?
