The Promised Amish Bride Read online

  The quick retort she’d been congratulating herself for keeping under control slipped loose. “That was not Ben’s decision. It was mine, and I’ll thank you to remember it.”

  She was sorry, of course, the instant the words were out, but then it was too late. She sent up a penitent prayer. Would she ever learn to control her unruly tongue?

  Elizabeth swung on her husband. “Tell her, Ben. Tell her that horse is too much for her.”

  Ben, after a cautious glance at his sister’s flushed face, shook his head. Then he sent Sally a pleading look that she could hardly refuse.

  She took a deep breath and fought for patience. “Don’t worry so much, Elizabeth. I won’t take any chances with Star.” She’d have to give more, if only to restore peace. “If he’s not learned to behave himself by the time Daad gets back, we’ll let him decide what to do.”

  Elizabeth still looked a bit miffed, but she nodded. “I only want you to be safe,” she said.

  To do her credit, that was probably true. Elizabeth had a kind heart to go with that tart tongue.

  “That’s settled, then.” Relief filled Ben’s voice. Poor Ben. He only wanted peace, something he couldn’t get with two strong women after him.

  But nothing was settled as far as Sally was concerned. She had no intention of giving up the liberty granted by having her own buggy horse. And she’d just had a thought that might well solve her problem.

  Aaron King. If anyone could do anything with Star, it would be Aaron. Now all she had to do was convince Aaron of that.

  * * *

  Those moments with Sally Stoltzfus had distracted Aaron from his apprehension, but it had flooded back the instant she turned away. If he’d thought the road filled with memories, it was nothing compared to the flood that threatened to overwhelm him as he walked down the lane to the farm. Every fence post, every tree, every blade of grass even, seemed to be shouting his name.

  Welcoming him home? Or reminding him that he no longer had a place here? He wasn’t sure. Just as he wasn’t sure he even wanted to be here. Or to belong again.

  He’d have to make up his mind soon. He could only hope no one would force an answer about his plans. Or be too curious about what had caused him to return now. His mind winced away from that thought.

  The field to the left of the lane was planted in corn now. Sere and yellow, it wouldn’t be long until they cut the stalks. Behind it, the pasture was filled with the dairy herd that supported the farm. The herd was larger than it had been when he’d left, it seemed to him. The barn and the milking shed looked in good shape, tidy and freshly painted. If the place had been neglected while Caleb recovered from the injury he’d suffered a year ago, it didn’t show.

  The carpentry shop his brother Daniel ran was a new addition. He only knew about it because Daniel, once he’d learned where Aaron was, had written to him faithfully, as had Onkel Zeb. His oldest brother, Caleb, was never much of a letter writer, but that wasn’t the reason for his silence. Caleb, with his high standards and even higher expectations of his younger brothers, would be the least accepting of his return, he expected.

  Still, Onkel Zeb had said that Caleb and his wife, Jessie, would like to see him, and Onkel Zeb wasn’t one to say things he didn’t mean.

  As if his thought had brought him, Zeb picked that moment to emerge from the back door of the house. He stared for a long moment, probably not sure who it was he saw walking down the lane. Then, with a loud shout, he ran toward Aaron, beard ruffling in the movement, arms spread wide in welcome.

  Once again Aaron dropped the backpack. In the grip of an emotion too fierce to resist, he raced toward his uncle. Zeb’s strong, wiry arms went around him, his beard, gray now, brushing Aaron’s cheek. The tears in his uncle’s eyes made him ashamed—ashamed not of leaving, but of failing to let them know where he was for such a long time. Onkel Zeb, at least, would have worried and wondered.

  “Ach, it’s sehr gut to see you.” Onkel Zeb took a step back, but still held him by the shoulders. “We’ve been hoping... Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? We’d have been ready to give you a fine wilkom.”

  “This is a fine enough wilkom for me.” Aaron blinked rapidly, forcing down emotion. He’d learned, out in the world, not to show his feelings too quickly. It gave the other person an edge, he’d learned. “How are you, Onkel Zeb?”

  “Fine, fine. Nothing keeps me down as long as there’s work to do. And there’s always work on a dairy farm.”

  “I saw the herd. Looks like Caleb has been doing well.” Aaron welcomed the return to a more casual topic. “Still dealing with the same dairy?”

  “Yah, that doesn’t change. Lots more rules and regulations and paperwork now, but we keep up. But komm, schnell. The others will want to see you.” He marched to the bell that hung where it always had next to the back door. Reaching up, he gave it a hearty yank, making it peal across the farm.

  They’d all come running when they heard the bell at such an odd time, Aaron knew. He retrieved his backpack, just as glad to hide his face for a moment from Onkel Zeb’s keen eyes. His uncle never missed anything, and he’d know the apprehension Aaron felt about coming back.

  Zeb had become more of a father than an uncle to the three of them after their mother left. Their own daad seemed to lose heart once Mamm went away, and it was Onkel Zeb who’d stepped in, Onkel Zeb who’d had the raising of them. When Daad passed away they’d grieved him, for sure, but not much had changed. Onkel Zeb was still there.

  Aaron straightened. It would have been Onkel Zeb to be hurt the most when he’d run off, he felt sure. Since his uncle seemed more than ready to forgive and move on, he could indulge in the hope that the others might feel the same.

  The house door opened almost immediately, and a woman emerged, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “What’s wrong? Onkel Zeb, are you—” She stopped abruptly at the sight of him. She stared for a moment, and suddenly her expression blossomed into a smile. “Ach, you must be Aaron. Wilkom home!”

  “Denke. And you must be Jessie, Caleb’s wife.”

  And Caleb’s wife was shortly to produce a new baby, it seemed. Obvious as it was to the most casual glance, no one would mention the expected newcomer in mixed company until the babe was safe in its cradle. Things were different in the outside world, but now that he was here, it behooved him to keep Amish customs, so he kept his gaze firmly on Jessie’s face.

  “Your brothers will be so happy to see you.” Seizing the bell, she gave it a few more loud clangs. “If only you’d told me, I’d have had something fancier planned than the chicken potpie we’re having.”

  He grinned at the predictable words. Every Amish woman, it seemed, was born wanting to feed people. “You couldn’t have anything I’d want more than genuine Amish potpie,” he said. “There’s nothing like it where I’ve been living.”

  The worry left Jessie’s face and she smiled, her hand moving probably unconsciously over her stomach. “That’s gut, then. We’ll have to feed you up now that we have a chance.”

  There was a thunder of small feet behind her, and a little boy bolted onto the porch, then stopped short at the sight of a stranger. He was followed a second later by a slightly bigger girl. The boy had to be Timothy, the nephew he hadn’t met—straight, silky blond hair, blue eyes that were wide with wondering who he was. The boy was five, from what Onkel Zeb said in his letters. And Becky, at seven looking enough like her brother to be his twin, would be one of Sally’s scholars, he guessed.

  “Hi, Timothy. Becky.” It sounded awkward, and that was how it felt. How did he talk to the niece and nephew he’d never met?

  “Mammi?” Timothy clutched Jessie’s skirt, and both kinder looked up at her.

  “It’s all right. This is your onkel Aaron, Daadi’s brother. You’ve heard us speak of him.”

  The boy nodded, looking at him with those big eyes. “Onkel
Aaron,” he repeated, but he didn’t let go of his mother’s skirt. The girl, a bit braver, actually came closer. “Wilkom, Onkel Aaron.”

  “Wilkom.” Another voice repeated the word with a slight edge.

  Aaron turned to face his oldest brother, Caleb. He was the one who’d spoken. Close behind Caleb was Daniel, beaming as if it were Christmas. It was Daniel who moved first, throwing an arm across Aaron’s shoulders.

  “Ach, about time you were getting here. They were all starting to think I’d imagined finding you.” He gave Aaron a quick shake. “It’s wonderful gut to have you home. Ain’t so, Caleb?”

  “Yah, for sure.” The tiniest of reservations colored Caleb’s voice. “Wilkom,” he said again. There was a small, awkward pause before he went on. “So, Aaron, tell us. Are you home to stay? Are you ready to be Amish again?”

  There it was, the last question he wanted to answer, and the first one anyone asked. Are you ready to be Amish again?

  He didn’t know. He just didn’t know.

  Chapter Two

  For an instant, Aaron felt like heading right back to the road. But before he could frame an answer, Onkel Zeb stepped in.

  “Komm, now.” He put a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “We asked Aaron to visit, ain’t so? If he should be thinking of making that kind of decision—ach, it’s not one to make lightly. We will enjoy visiting for now.”

  There was a hint of sternness in his words, and Caleb looked suitably abashed.

  “Onkel Zeb is right, as always.” His smile warmed his face. “Wilkom back, little bruder. We’re wonderful glad you’re here.”

  “Denke.”

  Returning the smile, Aaron suspected his brother still wanted to hear an answer to his question, but at least he wouldn’t press. Obviously Onkel Zeb still exerted his quiet influence over the family.

  Funny, now that he thought about it. Onkel Zeb never scolded or argued, not even when the three of them had been at their most obnoxious. He just had a way of looking at a person and then saying a quiet word. And somehow it always worked.

  “You must be hungry,” Jessie said quickly as if to do her part to change the subject. “Let me fix you a little something to last you until supper.”

  Aaron actually found himself relaxing enough to chuckle. “Not just yet, denke, Jessie. I stopped for lunch not long ago, so I’ll save myself for your chicken potpie. Maybe I can just have a look around.”

  “For sure.” Daniel grabbed his backpack and tossed it on the porch. “Let’s have a look at my workshop. That’s new since you’ve been here, ain’t so?”

  No one else jumped in with a different suggestion, so he figured he wouldn’t hurt anyone’s feelings by seeing the shop first. “Sure thing. Show me what kind of businessman you are.”

  It was Caleb’s turn to chuckle. “He’s a better carpenter than a businessman, ain’t so? He loves the building and hates sending the bills.”

  Daniel just grinned, his placid temperament not easily upset by teasing. “True. That’s why I’m marrying Rebecca. I figure the way she runs her quilt shop so well, she’ll turn me into a businessman pretty fast.”

  “You just want her to keep the books for you,” Caleb said. “Get on with you and show off your shop. Maybe Aaron can help with the milking later, if he hasn’t forgot how.”

  There might have been a question in the words. “That’s not something easy to forget,” Aaron said. “It’ll come back to me in a hurry.”

  Caleb seemed satisfied with that answer. Murmuring something about work to be done in the barn, he moved off and Jessie disappeared into the house, probably thinking about supper. That left Onkel Zeb and the kids to tag along as they headed for the shop.

  Before they’d gone a few steps, Aaron felt his hand grabbed by Timothy. He glanced down at the boy, a bit surprised that he’d decided to be friends so quickly. Timothy’s blue eyes were wary, but he obviously had something to say.

  “We’re going to have a new cousin,” he whispered.

  “You are?” The boy was soon going to have a little sister or brother, but what was this about a cousin?

  Becky took his other hand, not to be outdone by her little brother. “Yah. A boy cousin.” She looked as if she’d prefer a girl cousin. “Onkel Daniel and Rebecca are getting married, so her little boy, Lige, will be our cousin.”

  “That’s wonderful gut, ain’t so? You’ll get a cousin big enough to play with right away.”

  Becky mused, her small forehead wrinkled. “You mean he won’t be a baby, yah? But he’s littler than me. He’s in first grade now.”

  “That means you get to be the big cousin. You can help him with lots of things.” From what he remembered, little girls liked that.

  She nodded gravely. “I can help him with his spelling. Teacher Sally will like it if I do.”

  “I’m sure she will.” He tried to picture Sally as a teacher and failed completely. He couldn’t deny that she’d grown up, but it seemed to him she was much too pretty and lighthearted to be a teacher.

  “Teacher Sally is nice,” Timothy contributed. Then he glanced at his sister. “Race you to the shop.” He took off even before he finished, and she chased after him.

  Aaron glanced at Daniel. “Nope,” he said after a minute. “I don’t see you as a married man.”

  “That’s what we all said until Rebecca came home next door and started her quilt shop. She hired a carpenter and ended up with a future husband.” Onkel Zeb chuckled. “Though there were days I thought he’d never make up his mind as ask her.”

  “I was waiting until the time was right.” Daniel pretended to be offended, but it was clear that he was pleased with himself. “You couldn’t expect me to ask her until she was settled here at home again.”

  “I didn’t realize Rebecca had been married. Was it someone local?” The man had obviously died. There wasn’t another option in the Amish community.

  “No. She met him when she went out to Ohio on a visit.” Daniel’s eyes clouded, as if there were things he didn’t want to say. Maybe he regretted not having courted Rebecca before she went away.

  But Daniel had been just as cautious when it came to marriage as his brothers had been. They’d lived through the trauma caused by a broken marriage when their mother left. That had been reason enough to take it slowly.

  But now that he’d made the decision, Daniel seemed happy. Contented—that was it. He acted like a person who’d found what he wanted.

  “So now you’re going to be an instant daadi to her little boy. Are you sure you’re ready for that?” He said it teasingly, trusting that Daniel still knew him well enough to tell when he was serious or joking.

  “Ach, he’s already gone a long way in that direction,” Onkel Zeb said. “Little Lige was hanging on him in chust a day or two. I’m thinking Lige had a place in his heart that needed filling, and Daniel fit just right.”

  “I guess it was meant to be, then.”

  Apparently that was the right thing to say, because Daniel’s face lit up. “That’s it, for sure. When it’s the real thing, you know it’s meant to be. I’m thankful to the gut Lord to have a woman like Rebecca and a son like Lige.”

  Aaron couldn’t help but be impressed. It seemed his brother had done a lot of growing up while he was away. “I wish you happiness, all three of you. Now you can use all the things you learned about raising kinder when you practiced on me.”

  He meant it as a joke, but Daniel gave him a serious look in return. “Seems to me I didn’t do that gut a job with you. If I had, you wouldn’t have run off without a word to me about it. I’ve carried the guilt of that ever since.”

  For a moment he could only stare at his brother. “That’s foolishness,” he said, wanting to be rid of the uneasy feeling the words gave him. “You couldn’t have known. Anyway, when a boy’s thinking of jumping the fence, he’s not likely to talk
to anyone about it. And it wasn’t your responsibility.”

  He half expected Onkel Zeb to say something—to agree with him, at least, that it hadn’t been Daniel’s fault that he’d run off. Instead they both just looked at him.

  “It was my doing,” he said, his voice sharper than he meant it to be. “No one else was responsible.”

  Daniel shook his head. “It was different for Caleb. He had the farm to run. I was the one who was closer to you in age. I should have known. I should have helped you.”

  Aaron didn’t want this conversation—didn’t want to know any of it. But he didn’t have a choice. When he’d left, he’d told himself it was his decision. Nothing to do with anyone else. But he’d been wrong. He’d hurt people, and he didn’t see that there was anything he could do to make it right.

  * * *

  Sally settled into the privacy of her bedroom with Aaron King still on her mind. She glanced around, thinking as she always did how fortunate she was in so many ways.

  When she’d expressed her desire to become a teacher, Daadi had insisted on setting up her bedroom accordingly. She had a desk in front of the window with a comfortable chair and a long bookcase that still wasn’t quite big enough for all of her books. The file boxes she used for teaching materials were stacked next to the desk.

  Each time she walked into the room, she felt a wave of gratitude toward her father. He hadn’t waited until she’d obtained the job as a teacher. He’d shown the family’s confidence in her even before that happened. Somehow knowing other people believed she could do it had made her believe it, too.

  She settled at her desk, trying to focus on her lesson plans for the coming week, but her thoughts kept straying. The arithmetic lesson for her second graders slipped away as she stared out the window and across the road to the King farm. Aaron would be past the initial reactions to his homecoming by now, and she could only pray they’d been everything they should be.

  And maybe she ought also to pray about how he’d respond to them. Aaron had always been hard to predict, like a minnow in the creek slipping this way and that, always out of her grasp. Sally smiled at herself, thinking of Aaron’s probable response to being compared to a minnow.