Living in Harmony (11 page)

N
ora took one look at her hands and sighed. Every one of her nails had broken during the past few days of canning, while her skin had taken on a pinkish hue that would probably last for weeks. She had never seen so many tomatoes in her life.
Grossmammi
and
mamm
always put up many quarts of each variation, but Sally's harvest exceeded that. What would her small family do with so many jars of stewed tomatoes? At least with Amy, John, and herself living here, they might be able to reduce the inventory.

Two days of nonstop canning had forced her to rush through cutting out and stitching up her new Sunday black dress. But at least the garment was finished, giving her a much-needed Saturday afternoon of relaxation. Nora tucked her wide-brimmed bonnet into an apron pocket in case she decided to walk on the road and set off through the mowed portion of the backyard. A craggy
tree stood sentinel at the pasture gate, one that demanded a closer look. As she neared the droopy-leafed tree with cigar-shaped seed-pods, the sound of a squalling baby grabbed her attention. Nora ran in the direction of the cries and frantically searched the thick weeds and wild sumac. Had one of Sally's sons wandered off and become entangled in barbed wire? Sally might not be the world's best housekeeper or baker, but her children were never out of view or earshot. The woman fed, changed, bathed, and coddled the boys all day long.

Pushing back the brambles of overgrown wild roses, Nora found the source of distress—a baby goat caught in the fence. The kid's bawling sounded almost human. A nanny goat stood a few paces off, watching Nora suspiciously. “Easy there, Nelly. Let me see if I can help your little one.” But when she bent down to lift the animal free, the nanny charged with an evil glint in her eye.

For a moment Nora contemplated continuing on her stroll through Thomas's farm—the first leisure time since her arrival—and not get dirty, cut by barbed wire, or bit by a protective goat. But the kid's plaintive cries melted her heart. She reached between the barbs to pat the furry head and the nanny lunged again. “Stay right there,” she ordered, withdrawing her fingers just in time. “I'll come back with help.”

Seeing no one in the fields, she hurried to the barn. Inside the cavernous interior, which smelled of fresh-sawn wood, sweet timothy hay, and not-so-sweet horse droppings, Nora found only animal occupants. “John?” she called. She cocked her head to listen, yet heard nothing but the usual huffs and snorts of livestock confined to stalls. She hurried down the main aisle to the attached workshop, where Thomas built birdfeeders and carved wooden weather vanes during the winter months. “Thomas?” she called, despite a seemingly empty shop. Again she waited, listening. Through the doorway to the corral, Nora heard the distinctive whinny of a horse. With no other options, she entered the outdoor
paddock, calling the name of her future brother-in-law once more. “John, are you out here?”

Nora peered around. With a start she spotted someone bent over a black horse. The man appeared to be digging something out of the animal's hoof. She marched to the outdoor stall, careful as to where she was stepping. “Why didn't you answer me?” she demanded, making no effort to hide her annoyance.

“Because my name isn't John.” The man gazed up with mild interest, but he didn't release his grip on the horse's hoof. His eyes, dark and intense, seemed to bore holes through her as they traveled from her feet to her
kapp
.

“Who are you?” she asked, suddenly nervous and self-conscious.

“Elam Detweiler.” After digging another piece of gravel from beneath the horseshoe, he lowered the animal's hoof to the ground. “Your turn. Who are you?”

She wiped her palms down her skirt. “Nora.”

His expression didn't alter with the slightest sign of recognition. “Is that right.” His reply was a statement, not a question

Finally, her common sense returned. “I'm Nora King, sister of Amy King, who is engaged to be married to John Detweiler, who is your brother.”

His smile started out small but soon filled his face. “That last part I already knew, but at least now we're getting somewhere.” He walked around the horse and pulled up the other hind leg. It was actually more of a smirk than a smile.

“I'm pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise, I'm sure. They didn't get hitched yet?”

“No, not yet. Thomas wants them to get to know the district first, and for your bishop to know them.”

He grunted and rolled his eyes. “
Jah
, that's sounds like my brother.”

“Anyway, I'm sure you would have been invited to the wedding, had there already been one.”

Elam laughed as though he'd heard a good joke, but he didn't glance up from his hoof trimming. “I wouldn't be so sure of that, Nora King from Lancaster County, if I were you.”

Suddenly, she remembered the reason for her barn visit. “Could you stop for a minute? I need your help. A baby goat is tangled in a fence, and I couldn't free him by myself.”

“Thomas and his goats. If it's not one thing, it's another.” He sounded angry but backed away from the horse and tossed his tool into a bucket by the stall wall. “Show me the way, Nora King.” Elam dusted off his palms, grabbed a garden rake and a pair of snippers from the bucket, and followed her around the barn.

Nora walked as fast as her not-very-long legs would carry her. “They are over this way.” She pointed toward the fence.

“I'd venture a guess they are in the goat pasture, no?”

She bit down on her lip, deciding to wait until they had freed the poor creature to give the man a dressing-down. Surely houseguests warranted more gracious treatment.

His stride was so long she had to jog to keep up. If there were two things Nora didn't like, sweating and running topped the list. “Here, behind this bush,” she gasped breathlessly as they reached the barbed wire. Nora pulled back the branches to reveal the trapped kid. He peered up with moist black eyes and released a plaintive wail.

“Hold those branches away with your backside and be ready with this.” Elam handed her the rake.

“What am I to do with a garden tool? Clean out last fall's dead leaves?” Nora positioned herself in between the bush and the fence, trying not to think about his embarrassing reference to her backside.

Elam snickered, revealing straight teeth and two dimples. “Use it to keep that nanny from biting or head-butting me while I free her baby.”

Nora had barely raised the rake in place when he reached into
the tangled wires, grabbed hold of the goat's face, and snipped the wires snared in his fur.
Snip, snip, snip
—three cuts and the kid was loose. Elam lifted up the little goat to inspect him for injury.

“Could you hurry?” Nora shook the rake menacingly as the fifty-pound mother advanced toward her offspring. “Shoo! Get back! Stop!” Her commands did little good as the nanny grabbed the rake handle with her teeth and pulled it from Nora's grasp.

“He looks fine to me. Just a few minor scratches,” announced Elam. When he set the kid down in the grass, he quickly scampered to rejoin his mother.

The nanny dropped the garden tool, nuzzled her young, and then the two headed up the slope without a backward glance at their rescuers.

“Stay back from the fence, you pair of dummies!” Elam hollered before bending to repair the cut fence as best as he could. “That should hold until I can restring this section.” He straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and gazed down his nose at Nora. “
Danki
. You were quite helpful until she took your rake away. How will you finish cleaning up the yard now?”

She tried unsuccessfully not to laugh. “A rake in a goat's hands can be dangerous. We're just lucky she dropped it.” Suddenly, Nora spotted blood running down his fingers and dripping into the grass. “You're bleeding. Let's go to the house.”

“No, I'll wash at the pump instead. It'll clot soon enough on its own.”

“Don't be a mule. I'll meet you at the pump with paper towels, antiseptic cream, and bandages.” She headed for the house without further argument.

Five minutes later, she found Elam with both hands under a stream of cold water. Blood dotted his pants and shirt and tinted the drain water. “Didn't clot as well as expected,” he mumbled as though angry about all the blood.

“I didn't think it would. But it was noble of you to sacrifice your
skin for Thomas's goats.” She dried his hands with a clean towel and applied some salve.

“Don't be impressed. It was a rare, weak moment. I'm usually callous and insensitive.” He focused only on his hand being bandaged.

“How come I haven't met you yet, Elam Detweiler of Harmony, Maine? Have you been hiding?”
Two could play his game
.

One dimple deepened. “I work on a logging crew, so I'm not home much. Thomas prefers it that way, if you catch my drift.”

As soon as she applied the last strip of bandage, he picked up his tools and headed toward the barn. He was already ten paces away when he called, “Thanks, Nora.” His words floated over his shoulder, appearing to be more of an afterthought than anything else.

Amy loved this time of day when she could sit and rock, sip tea, and think about her life—past, present, and future. The supper dishes had been washed and put away. Sally was tending her children, while Nora worked on her second dress of navy blue. John sat in the living room, hunched over the classified ads of the local paper, searching for farms or land for sale. The heat of the past several days had broken, leaving far more hospitable temperatures for sleeping in upstairs bedrooms.

“Mind if I join you for a spell?”

Amy jumped, spilling tea down her skirt. Dabbing at the stain with her handkerchief, she looked into the piercing blue eyes of not John Detweiler, but his older brother. “Of course,” she said, lifting her Bible off of the other rocker. It had been her mother's and she treasured it, despite its smoky odor. The Bible had been plucked from the debris and returned to her by the county fire chief.

“I wanted to talk to you about your Aunt Prudence.” Thomas lowered himself stiffly onto the chair. “I didn't tell you everything
the other day, and I'm not sure why, but I want you to know all that I know.” He paused, letting an uncomfortable silence grow between them.

Amy felt oddly frightened by his admission. She didn't know if she should prod him to continue or run upstairs to her room and hide.

“We welcomed Prudence into our district. She confessed her sins on her knees to God in front of the entire district. Our Lord forgives sins, and after that day no one ever brought the matter up again. But it wasn't long after that Prudence visited the bishop again.” Thomas rocked slowly in the chair, stroking his beard like an elderly sage sitting atop a mountain rather than a thirty-year-old farmer and preacher from rural Maine.

“What did she talk to him about?” Amy felt beads of sweat form on her brow, as though
she
were the one who had approached the preacher with some grave misdeed.

“Prudence had connected in a special way with someone new to our district, an Amish man from Michigan. He was a widower with grown children, and he knew about her divorce.” Thomas leaned his head back and closed his eyes, while Amy sat very still. “Prudence told the bishop they were
en lieb
and wished to marry. In love—as though that emotion changed something.” He stopped rocking and faced her. “It changed nothing, Amy. They could not marry. Prudence was still wed to Leon in the eyes of the Lord. The Good Book has no fine print that says if you're married to a mean-spirited drunk, biblical laws are suspended.”

Amy was shocked by both his sarcasm and her aunt's behavior.

“There are clear instructions in First Corinthians, chapter seven, verses ten and eleven.” He began to recite Scripture from memory. “ ‘For those who are married, I have a command that comes not from me, but from the Lord. A wife must not leave her husband. But if she does leave him, let her remain single or else be reconciled to him. And the husband must not leave his wife.' And in verse thirty-nine:
‘A wife is bound to her husband as long as he lives. If her husband dies, she is free to marry anyone she wishes, but only if he loves the Lord.' ” Thomas shook his head. “As long as the husband lives, a wife may not remarry. Our hands were tied. God's Word is law. Soon afterward, Prudence packed up and left…with him.”