make foolish mistakes because they aren’t as smart as they think they are.”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
“I am. My own.”
“How many forged notes did you send to your teacher?”
A wry grin curved his lips. “My teacher happened to be my mother’s youngest sister, so none.”
“I’m afraid of what the bishop will say when Jedidiah tells his side of the story.”
“If the bishop is a reasonable man he’ll listen to your side of the story, as well.”
She was grateful for his reassurance, but he didn’t know how serious the situation was becoming. She held on to the hope that her uncle could be persuaded to let Ivan remain with her. “I will take you to see the bishop now.”
“I appreciate that.” He moved to open the buggy door for her and took her hand to help her in.
His grip was firm but his hand was soft. His skin lacked the calloused roughness of a man who made his living farming the land or woodworking. It wasn’t the hand of a laborer, yet she found his gentle strength oddly comforting.
Perhaps he was a shopkeeper. Her grandfather had had plans to open a small grocery in New Covenant. Maybe that was the job he had promised Michael. It didn’t matter. Her grandfather was gone, and she wasn’t in a position to continue his work. At least not yet.
She looked up and met Michael’s gaze as he continued to hold her hand longer than necessary. There was a profound sadness in the depth of his eyes that she didn’t understand. What troubled him? What was he thinking?
* * *
Michael stared into Bethany’s light blue eyes as the warmth of her touch went all the way to the center of his chest and warmed a place that had been cold for a long time. He studied her face, trying to find out why she triggered such a strong reaction in him.
Her pale blond hair was parted in the middle and worn under a white prayer covering. Her skin was fair with a scattering of freckles across her dainty nose. She was an attractive woman, too attractive for his peace of mind.
He let go of her hand, stepped away and limped around the back of the buggy, letting the pain in his leg remind him of why he had no business thinking about how perfectly her small hand had nestled in his. If things had been different, if he wasn’t so damaged he would have enjoyed getting to know her better, but things weren’t different. He had to accept that.
He also had more serious things to think about. He needed a job and he needed somewhere to live. Preferably a good distance away from other people in this remote community. His neighbors wouldn’t appreciate being awakened in the middle of the night by the screams that sometimes accompanied his nightmares.
Thoughts of his dreams filled him with apprehension as his pulse shot up. He quickly scanned his surroundings. A car drove past the school, the tires crunching on the snow. Children were playing on the playground. He could hear their laughter and shouting. Someone stood at the corner of the school building. He thought it was a woman but he couldn’t be sure. The person was bundled in a parka with the hood up. Perhaps a teacher watching the children. He struggled to convince himself that there was nothing sinister here but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad would happen at any second. His heart began to pound as tightness gripped his chest.
The dog ventured out and came to stand in front of him. He focused on her unusual golden eyes. She looked to be part yellow Labrador retriever and part pointer. Her white-tipped tail wagged slowly. He held out his hand and she sniffed it. It was a shame he didn’t have more to feed her. She retreated again and he got in Bethany’s buggy.
Inside the small space he started to relax. No one could get behind him now. He glanced at Bethany. She was watching him intently. Could she see how anxious he was? He needed to divert her attention. “Are you waiting for something?”
“Nee.” She turned the horse and headed back up the street. The clip-clop of the mare’s hooves was muffled by the snow that covered the road. It was the only sound other than the creaking of the buggy. He discovered he would rather hear Bethany’s voice.
“What kind of business does the bishop own?”
“Our bishop builds and sells storage sheds as well as farming, but he’s thinking of branching out into tiny homes.”
“Then he is a progressive fellow?”
“In his business, but our church is a conservative one.”
“I noticed a propane tank at your home.”
“Our Ordnung allows us to use propane to power business machinery, our refrigerators, washing machines and hot water heaters. We also have running water and indoor bathrooms. We aren’t that conservative but our cookstoves and furnaces must use wood or coal.”
He glanced out over the dense tree-covered hillsides and the snowcapped mountains in the distance. “It doesn’t look like you’ll run out of fuel anytime soon as long as you have a strong fellow to chop and haul it.”
“My brother does that for me.” Her voice was strained. Worry marked her brow with frown lines.
“How old is he?”
“Almost fourteen. Our mother died when Jenny was born. Our father was gone soon afterward.” The undertone of bitterness in her voice surprised him.
“So you were raised by your grandparents.”
“My grandfather took us in. He was a widower.”
“It must’ve been hard to be both mother and sister to your younger siblings.” He found it easier to talk to Bethany than anyone he’d spoken to since the attack. Maybe it was because she talked to cows. He smiled at the memory.
“I never saw caring for my siblings as a burden.” She turned the horse off the street into the parking lot surrounded by various sizes of storage sheds.
A tall, muscular Amish fellow stepped away from a half-finished shed and slipped his hammer into a tool belt that hung on his hips. He didn’t sport a beard, so Michael knew he wasn’t married. His clothes were tattered and sweat-stained, but his smile was friendly as he greeted them. “Guder mariye, Bethany. Need a new shed, do you?”
Bethany opened her door but didn’t step out. “Good morning, Jesse. Is Bishop Schultz about?”
“Nee, he isn’t. He’s gone to Unity. Their bishop is laid up with pneumonia, and Elmer has gone to do the preaching for their service this Sunday and perform a wedding on Tuesday. He won’t be back until Wednesday night.”
“Have you seen Ivan today?”
“Nee, I’ve not. Who is that with you?”
“Jesse, this is Michael Shetler. He is a newcomer. He came expecting to work for my grandfather. He hadn’t heard about Elijah’s passing. I thought perhaps the bishop would know of some work and could find a place for him to stay.”
Jesse hooked his thumbs under his suspenders. “There is work aplenty here. You’re welcome to bunk on
