Gabriel's Bride (6 page)

Matthew poked his head in the kitchen.
“Dat?”
He was hesitant and cautious, though Gabriel couldn’t blame him. What Amish child could overcome the sounds of their father trying to bake and failing miserably?

“Jah?”
He glanced up from the mound of dough that he’d thought would eventually turn into biscuits. So far that miracle hadn’t happened.

It had been three days since his trip into town, and he hadn’t had one inquiry concerning a housekeeper. He’d hoped to go and check on his flyers, but being both the man and the woman of the farm since Mary Elizabeth had left was proving more work than he could have ever imagined. He hadn’t realized just how much he depended on the youngster until she was gone.

He spent the mornings plowing and overseeing the children’s chores. Then he got them to school and spent the remainder of the day cleaning and cooking. Well, attempting to cook. If it hadn’t been for the efforts of the women in his life, his family would have starved. Yet he couldn’t put the burden of his family on them any longer. His mother had just gotten her strength back after her cancer treatments. There simply wasn’t enough time in her days, what with Katie Rose planning her wedding and Gideon’s Annie preparing for her first child. After losing his first wife and child to a tragic accident, Gideon was overprotective and worried constantly about his beloved wife.

Gabriel couldn’t blame him. His own Rebecca had died in childbirth just after Samuel was born. She hadn’t even held the child in her arms. He couldn’t imagine how he would feel if he had a pregnant wife.

“I found this in the buggy. Do you want me to run it over to her?” Matthew held out an envelope. It had been ripped open though the address was Rachel Yoder’s.

“You did not read it,
jah
?”

“
Nay
, but I’ll take it to her, if you’d like.” Matthew’s green eyes were lit with eagerness. He loved to drive the buggy every opportunity he could find.

“Not now,
sohn
. Soon the other
kinder
will be home from school. I’ll need you here to help oversee their chores.”

Matthew looked ready to protest, perhaps even tell him that he could go to Rachel Yoder’s and back before school let out. But it seemed he thought better of it and gave a jerky nod of his head.
“Jah, Dat.”

“Set it down on the sideboard. We’ll find a time to get it over to her.” When they weren’t so busy. When he didn’t have to go check on the flyers at the general store. Perhaps another day, after he learned to make biscuits.

He gazed hopelessly at the flour-strewn kitchen and the mound of lumpy dough that seemed beyond inedible. On second thought, he’d send Matthew over to Rachel Yoder’s first thing after the morning chores, after the other children headed off for school. It might be a long time before he cracked this biscuit-making secret.

With a shake of his head, he pushed at his rolled-up sleeves and went back to work on the rubbery dough.

The letter stayed on the sideboard all through the day. Every now and again Gabriel caught sight of it and thought of Rachel Yoder.

She was a small thing. Why, she didn’t even reach his shoulder. If he had to guess, he’d say Matthew was taller than she by a good few inches. But there was a look in her eyes that said she had survived more than most. A wise light that showed her a fighter with a strong spirit.

He shook the thought away. All this cooking and women’s work must have made him a bit soft.

“Gut nacht.”
He gave Samuel a tiny kiss on his forehead and outened the light. Then he eased the door closed behind him and started down the stairs.

He enjoyed reading the Bible after the
kinder
were all in bed. A few minutes to himself, just he and God. He slipped on his reading glasses and found his place in the soft-bound book: Acts, chapter 3.

Now Peter and John were going up together to the temple complex at the hour of prayer at three in the afternoon.

And a man who was lame from birth was carried there and placed every day at the temple gate called Beautiful, so he could beg from those entering the temple complex.

When he saw Peter and John about to enter the temple complex, he asked for help.

Peter, along with John, looked at him intently and said, “Look at us.”

So he turned to them, expecting to get something from them.

But Peter said, “I don’t have silver or gold, but what I have, I give to you: In the name of Jesus Christ the Nazarene, get up and walk!”

Gabriel’s gaze flickered toward the sideboard and the white envelope lying there. He couldn’t help but notice that it had an Ohio return of address.

He turned his eyes back to his reading.

Then, taking him by the right hand he raised him up, and at once his feet and ankles became strong.

So he jumped up and stood, and started to walk, and he entered the temple complex with them—walking, leaping, and praising God.

Ohio. His gaze once again flickered to the letter. Wasn’t that where Old Zeke had said Rachel was moving?

What concern of yours is it?

He shook his head at his own wandering thoughts, and centered his attention once again on the words of his Lord.

All the people saw him walking and praising God, and they recognized that he was the one who used to sit and beg at the Beautiful Gate of the temple complex. So they were filled with awe and astonishment at what happened to him.

With a sigh, Gabriel stuck his finger between the pages and stood. He took a hesitant step toward the sideboard wondering why he even cared. What business of his was it if Rachel moved away to Ohio? Why did he care that she had a letter and that somehow he had ended up with the opened missive?

He set the Bible down, forgetting to mark its place with the scrap of fabric he’s used since he and Rebecca had said their vows. With unsure fingers, he traced the jagged edges where the letter had been opened. Was she wondering where it had gotten off to? Was she looking for it that very minute hoping to recover whatever was contained on the pages?

As if watching from far away, he picked up the envelope and slid the folded pages out. Perhaps he should check and make sure that the letter was safe . . . and not so important that he needed to take it to her first thing on the morrow.

He gave a jerk to his head, one that slightly resembled a nod, and opened the pages.

4

R
achel sat in the yard under the same oak tree and stared back at the house. This had long been her favorite place to sit and think. Perhaps if her aunt hadn’t been so ill in those last few months, her favorite place would have been further from the house. Maybe down by the cool creek that ran at the very edge of the property, between her house and the bishop’s.

Not that it mattered anymore. Soon she would be in Ohio. The thought sent dread filtering through her very veins.

She took a deep breath and tried to turn her thoughts to the positive. But she couldn’t find any. Instead she lowered her head to pray.

Dear Lord, help me see the benefit of what’s to come. I know You have a plan for me. Let me be open to Your wishes and all that You have in store for my life. Aemen.

She opened her eyes, her gaze focused on the dark green dress she wore with its pristine white apron. Come wash day she’d put this dress with the others in her box to go to the bishop. She wouldn’t be needing a green
frack
in Ohio. According to her cousin, their bishop considered green to be God’s color since He bathed the earth in its richness. Who was man to compete with that?

Rachel sighed. She had prayed to be positive, yet her first thoughts were a challenge. The entire move was to be a challenge. No bicycles or untied prayer caps—who tied their prayer
kapps
these days?

Or perhaps the challenge would be in having to change again. It had been so hard on her to come here from Florida. The Amish of Pinecraft were much more liberal, Beachy Amish. She had adjusted then, she told herself. But she had been younger and grieving. And like now, she’d had nowhere to go.

She plucked a blade of grass, twirling it between her fingers before tossing it away and picking another. More time in prayer. That’s what her
aenti
would have said she needed.

But it was more than that. When her goats were gone, so was any chance she had of being independent again. Ohio wasn’t the place for a woman to support herself. She was well past the marrying age, and most everyone in Clover Ridge thought she was strange. Not that anyone would say anything to her face. Amish were too polite to do that, but that didn’t mean they didn’t talk about her when her back was turned. Not that she could blame them.

When she had arrived in Oklahoma, she’d had a tough time adjusting to the more conservative ways. So she’d kept to herself, preferring to be alone rather than stand out as different. At first it had been for protection, and after a while, it became simply habit.

Then before she knew it, it was too late to entice a good young man to marry her and raise some babies. In truth that was all she’d ever wanted. At twenty-six, her time for that had long since passed. Even if they didn’t think her odd as she tended her goats for milk and cheese, most men her age were already married.

The creak of a buggy sounded from the road. Rachel didn’t look up. Someone on their way to town or heading to the bishop’s. She plucked another blade of grass, mentally going over the list in her head. She should be inside gathering the items to take to the bishop’s and the supplies to take to Ohio. But she couldn’t just yet. Maybe she should leave it all and let the bank man sort through it.

She made a face, then turned toward the road as the sound of horses drew nearer. She didn’t recognize the buggy as it pulled to a stop in front of the house. But she knew the man who slid open the door and stepped out.

The frowning Gabriel Fisher.

Rachel stood and brushed the blades of grass from her skirt. What could he want?

She pushed the uncharitable thought away. The stress of the move, her aunt’s death, and all of the life changes she faced were taking their toll on her. She sent a small prayer for patience and goodwill heavenward and started toward the big man.

“Guder mariye.”
She nodded toward him, deeply instilled manners keeping her from blurting out all the questions forming in her mind.

He nodded his head in return, the brim on his black hat hiding his eyes from her scrutiny.

It had been four days since she had seen him last. He looked the same. Mostly. But when she thought about him and his son at her aunt’s funeral, he seemed changed indeed. The lines around his hard mouth had deepened, seemed more pronounced. The lips themselves pressed into a firm line. Unlike some of the Amish men in the district, he trimmed his beard. The lines were neat and even, and she decided that she liked the look.

See, her prayers were working already.

Rachel stopped a good ten feet from him. It was better that way. The farther she was from him the easier it was to look him in the eye. Any closer and she’d have to crane her neck back to meet his hard green gaze.