Arms of Love (18 page)

She recognized the tall, handsome Amish man who had first brought her to the farm. He gave a brief salute, then clambered back onto the seat of the wagon as it ambled off down the roadway.

Little John dashed past her into the house, but Lena approached more slowly, clinging to an older man. This must be Samuel Yoder. The father did not look as forbearing as his daughter, and Ruth reflected with a surge of regret that she would now likely be asked to move on. She took Faith from Abigail and walked down the porch steps to meet the party, carrying the blanketed infant in her arms. Her own babe still slept.

Lena released her father to grasp Ruth’s arm with a gratifying squeeze.

“Fater, this is Ruth Stone. Truly, sent to us by the Lord—she and her baby, Mary. Ruth has been helping to feed Faith and to do all the chores that—well, to help us all.”

Ruth felt herself studied by a pair of searching blue eyes. She realized, upon closer inspection, that beneath the rags and grime Samuel Yoder was not as old as she had first thought. More likely nearer to herself in age. She kept a steady look on her face and extended her arms so that he might see the babe’s face.

“Your wee daughter, sir.”

She was surprised when the man lifted well-shaped hands to take the infant from her with a gentle sigh. He cradled the babe against his dirty chest and tears filled his eyes. Ruth felt it too private of a moment and made to turn away when the man spoke.

“Wait . . . Do not go, Ruth Stone. Do not go anywhere, I beg of you.

If Lena says that the Lord sent you and your babe, then surely it is so. I would say
danki
for the care you have given this child.” He held the tiny form back out to her, and she accepted the bundle with confident hands.

“I would thank you as well, sir. For a roof, a place to sleep . . .”

He waved away her words with a lift of his hand. “Please, call me Samuel. Now, Lena . . . show me where you have laid your
mamm
.”

Ruth stepped back to allow them to pass and hugged the baby close, breathing in the sweet smells of innocence and rosebuds that seemed to cling to the thatch of blond hair. She felt the urge to nurse and made her way with a grateful heart back into the house.

Lena felt like she was trespassing on an intimacy between her parents when her fater dropped to his knees at the simple stone that marked her
mamm’s
grave. Some wilting wildflowers lay against the rock, evidence of her brief visit the day before, and she had to blink back tears as her father’s hands tenderly brushed through the leaves to touch the stone.

He drew a deep, sobbing breath, and she wondered if she should leave him alone with his grief.

“It seems we are pressed to move on quickly in these days, when someone dies,” he said.

“
Ach
, I know,
Fater
—so much to do, but I cannot and do not want to forget her. Though I must confess that some days her dear face appears blurry in my mind, and I cannot recall what she looked like. I do not understand this.”

Her father smiled a bit and leaned back on his knees to look up at her.

“Do not think those thoughts are disloyal, Lena. In truth, when my own
fater
died I lost sight of his face for a while in my mind as well.

I believe it’s a blessing somehow, a way
Gott
has of taking some of that sting from death as His Word promises. But I grew to remember my fater again, and you will grow to know your
mamm
again as well—a transformed beauty in the mind, a deeper knowledge of her than you ever had while she was here.”

“
Ach, Fater, danki
. I do hope so.” Lena stretched out her hand to him, and he caught it in a firm grasp.

“Ya, my child, you will see. The
gut
Lord can deliver grief into grace and bring great blessing from loss. Of this we must be sure, else how can we go on? Now help me up. I would go and see Faith once more.”

Lena aided him to his feet, then walked with him hand in hand back to the house, his words of deep comfort resonating in her soul. Yet she wondered what he would say when he heard the truth about Adam.

Lucas Stolzfus was more successful at growing and selling potatoes than any other Amish man of the countryside, but he was an odd old fellow, known as “Nutter” to some behind his back. Adam could not help but think of the nickname now as he jostled along on the seat beside the older man, listening to his rapid-fire talk and suppressing a smile.

“Got fresh seed potatoes in from down Philadelphia parts, stole ’em out from under the Brits’ noses. Expect they’ll have turnips in their stews come winter. Sure is a pretty girl, that Lena Yoder. Used to think on pretty girls myself once, before the potatoes. Heard you want to enlist. Well, why not get it
gut
and over with then, instead of all this waiting around? When it’s time to pick a crop, it’s time to pick—don’t ya think it so?”

Adam shrugged. “Maybe the crop’s not ready yet.”

“Well, now, bein’ young makes you think young, so you don’t know which end of your head is up. Neck-less, I like to say. Can’t decide when a body’s comin’ or goin’. Me, now I’d join right off, but I’m too old.

Though I don’t like the thought of bein’ an outcast either. Shunned, ya know. ’Course, you yourself ain’t quite shunned . . . only a bit, mind ya.

And yer
fater’s
got a tight rein on you two boys. That
bruder
of yours, though. He thinks too much; head’s going to explode like a tomato one day. Like to see that.”

“Why would you fight?”

“Huh?”

“The war. You said you would fight . . . Why?”

Nutter scratched his cheek, then spit alongside the wagon wheel.

“Got to know whot a body believes in. Got to know when to put the dog out at night, don’t ya? Can’t just go rambling along without any sense of why it is you got the privilege to ramble. If ya don’t know why you can walk and talk and breathe free, well, then, you don’t know much.”

“I wish it were that easy.”

“ ’Tis easy. Easier than settin’ a spud to water and getting roots. You thinkers make it all about what it ain’t. Whot’s the Bible say? A time for war ’n’ a time for peace. Well, explain that one . . . and King David, always a-goin’ off to do battle ’cept that one time with Bathsheba . . .

Don’t hold much with bathing myself; makes a body ill, I think.”

“You do not sound very Amish, Lucas.”

“Ha! What’s Amish? I know whot I am. Amish be part of it, yea.

I knowed all about them martyrs in the mirror. Supposed to be for us to study on, look at. Would I want to be one, though? You bet not.

Wouldn’t make a
gut
martyr. Too ornery, too set in my ways. But I guess if Gott a-calls me to it, then I’d go. So you wait on His callin’, jes’ like my
mamm
used to call us young’uns in fer supper. WHOOP!

WHOOP! WHOOPEE NOW! And we all come a-runnin’. Never missed a meal. Don’t miss the meal, Adam Wyse.”

The wagon slowed and Adam slid down, about to fish in his pocketbook for a coin.

“
Nee, nee
, now. You jest abide by my sayin’s, and that’s enough fer old Lucas, all right? Get along now . . .”

Adam watched the wagon drift slowly out of sight and turned to go into his home, the old man’s strange words ringing in his ears.

Chapter 15

I
t had been nearly a week since her father had come home, a week in which Lena had quietly explained, as best she could, that things were over between herself and Adam. Saturday dawned fair and clear. The day before the family’s worship always meant much to do in preparation.

Lena paused in the washing of a sheet against the heavy wooden slatted board as John skimmed down the steps and made to pass her where she knelt.

“John?”

He slowed with visible reluctance. “
Ya
, what?”

She did not like his tone or the sour expression he wore, but she kept her patience. She knew that
Fater
had talked for many long hours with John. Her
bruder
was struggling with his feelings about the other colonists and their persecution of the Amish. It was hardly persecution when compared to the times not so long ago in Europe, yet the boy wrestled with his feelings. Lena wanted to be mindful of this as she spoke in quiet return.

“John, you know that it will be a long time until we gather together with other Amish families for a day of communion. Yet, since we have
Fater’s
safe return, I thought that we might do
fees wesha
.”

“
Ach
, Lena. I don’t want to. It stinks.”

Lena struggled not to smile. There was an odor at times when everyone removed their shoes and stockings, but that was not the point of the service. She wouldn’t lecture the boy. “I know. But would you fetch the buckets from the shed, please? Make sure there’s one for Ruth as well.”

“Ruth? She will participate?” He looked even more disgusted.

“Yes.” Lena spoke firmly. “She will be invited. You do not show
gut
spirit toward the woman whose cooking you eat and whose laundry you wear.”

John turned away and headed for the shed, calling over his shoulder, “I told you before; she is not my
mamm
.”

Lena sighed at the boy’s resistance and returned to her scrubbing.

A few minutes later, the sound of a dog barking announced someone’s arrival. Lena sighed at the unexpected and unwelcome appearance of Isaac, then rose from her washing and struggled to roll her sleeves back down.

Isaac seemed to sense nothing of her feelings, though, as he approached her with a wide smile and a fair-sized package wrapped in brown paper in his arms.