4

Birdy had no scientific proof that fresh air made any difference, but it did with birds and plants so, she reasoned, why not keep the children outside for as long as possible? Sooner or later, she was going to have to actually gather them into the schoolhouse and teach them something. She rang the bell and two dozen children dropped their games to pour into the schoolhouse and scramble to find a desk.

“Good morning, young scholars.”

Four dozen eyes peered back at their new teacher. She cleared her throat and fingered a piece of chalk. “First things first. I want to learn all of your names.” She whirled to the blackboard but forgot there was a step up and tripped, falling to her knees onto the raised platform. “Not to worry,” she said, recovering quickly, jumping to her feet. She made it to the blackboard in one large stride and started to write Teacher Birdy in her most excellent penmanship, but pressed so hard that the chalk snapped in two. Two boys in the back of the room guffawed and her confidence, never robust, started leaking away. “Well, then, never mind.” She turned back to the wide-eyed children. “So. I’m Teacher Birdy. If you will please stand one by one and tell me your name, then I’ll be sure to remember.” She glanced down at the first graders, little birds in a row. “Let’s start with this fine young man at the end of the front row.”

Shy with this unexpected honor, little Peter Keim barely managed to find the floor with his feet and blurt his name. Then the rest of the first graders, the largest group according to Birdy’s roster, wobbled up one after the other, five in all.

Birdy noticed a murmur from the back of the room grow bolder and bolder. She knew it belonged to Luke Schrock, adding his own commentary to each child. She knew Luke well. Everyone in Stoney Ridge did. If there was trouble to be had in the town, its source could be pinpointed to Jesse Stoltzfus or Luke Schrock. Often, both. You had to watch your step around those two.

“Tharah Thook,” said a second grader.

Birdy’s forefinger traced down the roster. “Tara, I’m sorry but I don’t seem to have you on the roll.”

“Tharah,” she said again.

“Hannah?” Birdy tried again.

A snort came from the back of the room. Birdy spied the source—Ethan Troyer. “Perhaps you can help me identify this child?”

Caught off-guard, Ethan gulped out, “Sarah. Sarah Zook.” Then he glanced nervously in Luke’s direction.

“Of course!” Birdy said to Sarah. “You’re Gideon and Sadie’s daughter.”

The next few grades proceeded without fanfare. Then Ethan Troyer stood up. “Teacher Birdy, my name is pronounced Eee-thon.”

“You want me to call you Eee-thon?”

In the back of the room, Luke yelled out, “Yup! That’s what we call him. Eee-thon.” All the boys in the back row nodded their heads enthusiastically.

“I’ll make a note. Next student, please.”

Molly Stoltzfus raised her hand as high as it would go, then sprang up and identified herself. “My name is Margaret Stoltzfus. You can call me Margaret but everyone calls me Molly.”

“Actually, everyone calls her the class hippo,” Luke piped up, a foxy grin spreading over his face.

Molly dropped her head, her cheeks flaming red, and slipped back into her desk.

In the hush, all the children turned to watch Birdy intently as she deliberated. These were the moments she had dreaded, the moments she knew she would need the wisdom of Solomon.

Suddenly, Luke yelped loud enough to raise the hair of the dead. “I’ve been shot!” He clutched his neck with both hands. The entire class swiveled in their seats to see the severity of Luke’s injury. Several sets of feet drummed on the floor excitedly. Heads turned back and forth between Luke and Birdy; everyone seemed interested in how the new teacher would fare with this crisis.

Breathing a little hard, Birdy walked to the back of the room and slid down onto one knee in front of Luke. She could see a red welt forming on his neck. “It does look like you’ve been stung by a bee. There’s a clean rag on my desk and a glass of water you can dip it into. That might help the swelling.” Quietly, she whispered, “And then sit up front on the bench next to my desk.”

Luke took his time about getting onto his feet and made a face at the whole process, dramatically unfolding himself from a desk that was too small for him. He waited for a moment, a sneer on his face with one hand on his injury, standing tall above Birdy, who was still kneeling.

She tried to appear unperturbed. Slowly, she rose to a standing position, towering over Luke, until he had to lift his chin to face her. By the time she reached her full height, he looked uneasy. And then his shoulders slumped and he trudged up to the front bench, glaring at each student as he went.

Catching a second wind, Birdy marched to the front of the class to resume roll call. She hoped that sitting on the front bench might cure Luke’s cheekiness for the rest of the day, though she did keep hearing snickers. The rest of the class reeled off names without further event until the last student of all. Nathan Kropf, a boy who was making another stab at eighth grade. He was a sweet boy, an earnest one, and his mind moved as slowly as his large body. “Teacher Birdy, I just thought you should know someone stuck a sign on your backside.”

Birdy gasped and reached behind her to feel a piece of paper. She grabbed it: “The Jolly Green Giant.” She looked down. Her dress. It was her favorite, a sea green that had a shimmer to it, a color she particularly loved because it always gave her a boost of confidence. No longer.

She could see she had her work cut out for her.

High, thin clouds kept the sun dim, and David hardly saw a shadow as he walked down the road. Tired from brooding—tired of brooding—David turned his thoughts to his blessings: his six children, each one so unique, so dear to him. The work God had given him as a minister, to look after the spiritual needs of those entrusted to his care.

And the store.

For David it was always the best moment of the day when he arrived at the Bent N’ Dent to start the morning. To his way of thinking, an Amish store was the heart of a community. Nearly every church member, old to young, flowed through that front door in the course of a week, giving him a chance to see how each one was faring. He thought back to two days ago, when the five elderly sisters from the Sisters’ House came in for their weekly groceries. They had lived together for so many years that they had grown to resemble each other, wizened and bent as apostrophes and nearly telegraphic in their talk. He had great affection for them and was saddened to see how rapidly Emma’s dementia was advancing. She could no longer recall her four sisters’ names, though last Sunday, he had noticed that she could remember the verses of every hymn sung at church.

Strange, how the mind held some information and dispensed with other.

David smiled to himself as he poured tablespoon after tablespoon of fresh coffee grounds into the coffeemaker. Yes, he loved being a storekeeper and all this store represented.

The door flung open. Freeman Glick filled the doorway, as commanding a figure as Moses, and bellowed, “David,” as if identifying David to himself. Freeman’s brother Levi peered over his shoulder as he pronounced, “I’m here on church business.”

“Strictly business,” Levi echoed.

Freeman Glick always looked freshly ironed, with a touch of starch. Not his clothing; Freeman himself. His shaggy brown eyebrows knitted, contemplating David in either bewilderment or extreme irritation, it was always hard to tell which. A hard look came into those dark eyes.

“Would you like some coffee, first?”

“I don’t drink coffee,” Freeman announced.

“He don’t,” Levi added.

Freeman stepped forward with a frown etching his forehead. “Two more boys dropped out of baptism class.”

“We’ve got a real crisis on our hands,” Levi said, nodding solemnly.

And it started with your sermon, was what they were thinking. David could practically hear them spit out the words.

“We’ve got to keep the young people here,” Freeman said. “They’re our future.”

“And how do you propose to do that? You can’t force someone into getting baptized.”

“We can make it more appealing.”

“More appealing?”

“It’s time to adjust baptism classes.”

“Adjust?”

“Shorten. Condense. It’s the only answer.”

With difficulty David held his tongue from asking, “To what question?”

“You’ve done it before. You did it last spring with Tobe Schrock.”

“I didn’t condense the 18 Articles of the Confessions of Dordrecht.” Normally, while everyone sang hymns, the ministers met with those who planned to be baptized and taught two Articles at a time. David had met with Tobe Schrock midweek to go through the Articles and help him catch up with the class. But he never abbreviated the lessons.

“David, times are changing,” Freeman said. “Young people don’t have the attention span they used to. We can talk these boys into staying if we promise to make a few adjustments.”

“Like . . . shortcutting over the Articles.”

“Shortening,” Freeman said crisply. “Condensing.” He took a step closer to David with a look on his face like the business end of an ax. “Must you resist everything?” He was used to having his instructions obeyed.

“How are you going to encourage these boys to get baptized? Through pressuring their parents about finances?”

Freeman waved his hand as if brushing away a pesky fly.

“You never discussed meeting families to discuss finances with either Abraham or me.”

“There’s no need for four of us to meet with families. Besides, doing an annual financial review is something many church districts do.”

“Trustees are chosen by the church members. When the bishop and the minister self-appoint themselves as trustees and burst into people’s homes and ask them to take an inventory of everything they own—it becomes intimidation.”

Freeman and Levi exchanged a glance. “We do nothing of the sort. We want to make sure everyone is using their resources wisely and properly.” Freeman took a step closer to David, hands on his hips, long beard jutting. “And you might be surprised to learn that three families are in serious debt. Last year’s heavy autumn rains took a toll on the harvest and this year is looking just as bad. The price of feed is still rising. Meanwhile, milk prices are low and going lower. We’ll be lucky to break even. We need a good year just to keep our heads above water.” He crossed his arms over his large chest. “And then there’s the unexpected expenses. Ephraim Yoder, for example. His hospital bills are already sky-high and going higher.”

“Exorbitant,” Levi added. “Outrageous.”

“We’ll host a fundraiser,” David said, “like we always do, to help pay those bills. Ephraim and Sadie won’t be alone in this.”

A loud snort punctuated the air. This came from Levi. “A fundraiser? That’s like squeezing blood from a turnip.”

Freeman nodded in agreement. “I keep telling you that our church is facing some serious difficulties. Plenty of families are talking about cashing out and moving elsewhere. I don’t know that this church is going to be around much longer.”

“Freeman, I run a store,” David said slowly, not quite able to conceal his impatience with this subject. “I know how many people aren’t settling their accounts. I’m not blind to the kind of troubles that people are facing. Our church has problems, of course—what church doesn’t? But we have to keep in mind we are primarily ministers. We are not dealing with people as problems. We’re calling them to worship God. Our responsibility is not to fix people. It’s to lead people in the worship of God and to lead them in living a holy life.”

“Our responsibility is to make sure this church survives for our children and their children.”

No, David thought. That is not our responsibility. “The church does not belong to us. It belongs to God.”

Freeman narrowed his eyes. “I don’t need a reminder.”

“He’s the bishop,” Levi said.

David caught sight of someone walking toward the store. “Is there anything else? I need to get my workday started.” He couldn’t resist adding, “You know, to stay afloat.”

Freeman and Levi were not amused. “No one is forcing you to stay in Stoney Ridge, David.”

There. Freeman had landed his punch.

“In the meantime, you’re to condense the baptism classes. End of discussion.”

“It’s not right.”

“You heard me.”

“You heard him,” Levi said.

“I won’t do it.”

Freeman tipped his head toward his brother. “Well, then, Levi will take on your teaching responsibility.”

And that, he realized, was what he’d been after all along. David eyed him steadily and spoke two words. “I see.” And he did too. In that moment, he saw Freeman quite well.

A customer came in and Freeman and Levi left. David made small talk with the customer, an English tourist who wanted to stock up on spices while she was sightseeing. After she left, he refilled his coffee cup and held the warm mug between his hands, ruminating on the Glick brothers’ newest idea.

Condense the Articles? What kind of future did the church have when no one would even know what it meant to be a church member? Without any appreciation for what their ancestors had done to preserve the faith?

If Freeman and Levi were so quick to dispense with honoring tradition in obvious ways, what might they be dispensing with in less obvious ways?

The day passed slowly with bursts of customers, then long gaps of quiet. A typical day at a store.

Around noon, Bethany Schrock arrived for her shift, Katrina at her side with her arm around her as if she needed shoring and bolstering, and David quickly realized why. Bethany looked sad and sorrowful, her eyes red and swollen.

“Bethany, are you all right?” David asked. She looked awful, truly dreadful. Her hair hadn’t been combed, her prayer cap was slightly cockeyed, her dress was wrinkled. The sight alarmed him; Bethany was a young woman who took great care in her appearance.

She burst into tears and buried her head in her hands.

He’d seen her only yesterday. What in the world had happened? Flustered, David looked to Katrina for an explanation of what was distressing Bethany. She was a girl with a wide range of emotions, including an explosive temper, but he’d never seen her full of woe. Not like this. “Did someone die? Not her grandmother? Did Vera pass?” As long as David had known Vera Schrock, she constantly warned everyone of her imminent demise.

“Jimmy Fisher is leaving town,” Katrina said. “Peter talked him into joining him out in Colorado.”

“Peter? Our Peter?” David’s nephew?

“They think they’re cowboys out in the Wild West,” Bethany said, her voice full of tearful scorn. “After all we’ve been through, Jimmy just ups and leaves.”

Oh no. Jimmy Fisher had been attending baptism class, urged on by Bethany. Everyone thought he was finally growing up. Finally getting close to making commitments that lasted longer than the end of the week.

Another one, gone. David had to admit, his sermon was having a cascading effect. He cringed, thinking of the reproach he could expect from Freeman.

David’s stomach tightened. How did Jimmy Fisher get his mother’s blessing to leave? Edith Fisher had relied on his help with her chicken and egg business, especially after Tobe and Naomi Schrock moved to Kentucky to start their own chicken and egg business. He couldn’t imagine that Edith would let Jimmy leave without protest. She was a woman who didn’t like the wind to blow unless she told it which way to go.

Things started to piece together in David’s mind. Maybe those chickens were why he left. Jimmy hated chickens.

A fresh round of tears started up in Bethany and he quickly found a box of tissues to hand to her. “Maybe he’ll be back soon.” He hoped both boys would find what they were looking for—adventure, no doubt—get it out of their system, and come home to Stoney Ridge.

“And maybe he’ll love it there and never come back. Maybe he’ll meet someone else and marry her and raise a passel of Colorado children.” She grabbed a tissue, gasping between sobs.

Katrina nodded deeply, confirming that Bethany’s prediction was entirely justified. “Jimmy gave his horse to Galen King.”

“Lodestar? He gave Lodestar away?” David felt the vice around his stomach tighten another turn. Jimmy Fisher loved that horse of his. He had big plans to use him as a stud and start a horse-breeding business. Plans that never seemed to get off the ground.

“He’s never coming back!” Bethany wailed. “There’s no men left in Stoney Ridge! Only toothless old men and bald babies.”

David let that implied criticism pass. When Katrina said she had to get back to Thelma’s, he encouraged Bethany to go with her, but she insisted she wanted to stay and work, to keep busy. He went to his desk in the storeroom to finish up some orders. Out in the shop front, there alternated long jags of crying and long stretches of silence. Mixed in between were big, sad sighs.

This workday was a lost cause.

It took some doing, but David finally convinced Bethany to go home, that it was a slow day and there weren’t enough customers to keep the store open—which was partially true. A little before three o’clock, he couldn’t take it anymore. He closed the store, and walked to school to meet his daughters. He wanted to hear about the first day of school while it was fresh on their minds. Nearly halfway there, he regretted that he hadn’t driven the buggy today. The strong north wind that had come in to blow away lingering clouds from last night was now surrounding him at every turn, slamming against him. He barely snatched his hat before it went sailing, and he walked the rest of the way with one hand firmly on its brim.

A metaphor, he realized, for this was how he felt as a minister in Stoney Ridge—pushing against a strong but invisible force. Maybe he should consider returning to Ohio. Certainly, he wasn’t doing much good here. Maybe his children had enough time away to heal by now. Maybe the fact that Katrina’s ex-boyfriend was getting married was a sign—it was time to go home.

As he turned onto the road that led to the schoolhouse, he saw that the playground had already emptied out. Only Birdy was left, standing on the porch in nearly the same spot she had been this morning, her eyes fixed on the sky.

“Isn’t it amazing?” she said, pointing to a hawk riding the wind. “That majestic creature is playing. The wind is his friend.”

David laughed. “After trying to walk straight into the wind to get here, it’s no friend of mine.” He looked to the hawk flying low on the horizon. The hawk aimed his head toward the sun and thrust his body upward. When he reached an invisible peak, he adjusted his angle, succumbed to the force of the wind, and gently glided left, then right, down, and up again.

“It’s such a vivid picture of the Christian life.”

“The same thought had just occurred to me,” David said, more to himself than to Birdy. “The wind is constantly pushing us backwards, making life more difficult.”

Eyes on the bird, Birdy shook her head slowly. “I meant, the hawk. About not fighting the wind, but embracing it. Recognizing it as God’s presence, engulfing us.”

David turned toward her, surprised at the parallel she had drawn. Surprised by the depth of her thoughts. When she realized he was staring at her, she became awkward and ill at ease, backing up toward the schoolhouse door until she bumped into it. “I have a few things to finish up before I go home.”

“Birdy, hold on.”

She spun around and looked at him. She had brown eyes. Warm like coffee. Funny, he’d never really noticed those eyes before. They were the same dark color as Freeman’s, David realized, having just seen him earlier today, yet Birdy’s eyes were soft and sweet. Frankly, despite her substantial height, everything about her was soft and sweet. It was hard to believe she was related to Freeman and Levi. “How did the day go?”

Birdy thought for a moment, then grinned. “Let’s just say there’s room for improvement.”

On the way back to the store, David realized how tense he had felt as he’d walked to the schoolhouse, how tightly he had been clenching his muscles. Fighting the wind. He deliberately tried to loosen his body by moving his neck and arms about.

Instead of perceiving the force of the rushing wind as an enemy, he began to imagine it as the presence of the Holy Spirit enveloping him. And if that were true, then it was a reminder that God was with him, in this and around this. He had been fighting so hard, ready to give up, exhausted by the fight, because he assumed he was alone. He wasn’t. And he wouldn’t give up on this little church. Not now. Not yet.

Something incredible happened. He suddenly became relaxed. His soul settled, as if it had found its still point. He found peace.

A great spiritual lesson about submission, he realized, had been given to him today, through two unlikely sources: Birdy Glick and a bird.

For the third day in a row, Jesse had missed breakfast. The household was well into its day as he opened cupboard doors, trying to remember which one held cereal boxes. His father came down the stairs two at a time and went straight toward the door. Catching sight of him, his father backtracked and stuck his head in the kitchen. “Morning, son,” he said pleasantly, “what’s left of it.”

Jesse lifted the cereal box. “Care to join me?”

“No, I need to get to the store. A delivery is due in by ten. And you don’t have time for a leisurely breakfast, either. Hank Lapp is expecting you.”

What? So his father had been serious about this buggy repairman notion?

His father studied him in a way he knew all too well. “It’s time to put that head and body of yours to work.”

“I see.” He wished he did. “Dad, I’ve been thinking it over. I don’t think I’m really suited for buggy work.”

“Son, you seem to think you’re not suited for most employment.”

That was a fair statement, one that Jesse agreed with. The problem was that boredom set in so quickly in a routine job, and his mind left for greener pastures. “It doesn’t seem fair to Hank Lapp to have an apprentice who doesn’t want to learn how to repair buggies.”

His father waved away that concern as he opened the door. “Just remember . . . inspiration follows perspiration.” He stuck his head back around the kitchen doorframe. “Hank was expecting you at Windmill Farm two hours ago.”

Hank Lapp. Jesse wasn’t quite sure about that wild-eyed fellow, who always seemed slightly off-kilter.

For now, another bowl of cereal would definitely lift his spirits and mask the fact that he had a very real problem to face. Employment.

Jesse peered into the open door of the buggy shop, though there was no sign of life. It was a glut and bedlam of a place, utter chaos. Tools lay scattered on every horizontal surface, crinkled brown bags filled with tacks and grommets and nails lined the floor, spare buggy parts sat heaped in piles, fishing rods angled against a wall. Spectacles lay atop a worn ledger—had Hank Lapp forgotten them? Jesse poked around in the dimly lit room, wondering how anyone could ever find a tool in this mess. His heart sank. This apprenticeship was a terrible idea. Then a sliver of hope grew in his heart. If Hank Lapp were nowhere to be found, it seemed entirely reasonable for Jesse to return home. What good was an apprentice without a tutor?

Jesse was of medium height—still growing, he fervently hoped—but when he turned around, he was staring straight into a shock of wild white hair. Hank Lapp stood before him, wearing work coveralls that showed no evidence of work. One eye peered right at Jesse, the other eye wandered to the open door.

“Why, Jesse Stoltzfus,” Hank said, his voice as gravelly as a gizzard. “You’ve gone and gotten tall!”

Jesse swept his hat off his head and bent over at the waist in an exaggerated bow. “Your humble apprentice is at your service, O wise one.”

Hank held out a knobby hand for a shake and grinned at Jesse like an elf. Although he was only somewhere in his late sixties, he did not look strong: he was a slight man, with a willowy look, as if the powerful gusts of wind that swept through Stoney Ridge yesterday could’ve easily lifted him up and carried him off. In his mind’s eye, Jesse saw Hank in his overalls and shirt, arms flailing, being picked up by the wind and cartwheeled through the sky, off toward Philadelphia somewhere, and dropped down suddenly on the ground, confused, in a bustling city.

“What’s so funny?” Hank asked, frowning.

Jesse corrected himself quickly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was thinking of something else. Funny things come to mind.”

“Well, don’t keep them to yourself. This world is in serious shortage of laughing matters.”

“Hardly.” A tall, thin, stern-faced woman stood at the open door, fixing a look on Jesse as if she had shrewdly caught him at something.

“FERN! Here’s my new apprentice, Jesse. He’s going to take over the buggy shop when I retire.”

A small smirk lifted Fern’s stern countenance. “I thought you’d already retired.”

“Nope! Just the tired part.” Amused at his own joke, Hank slapped his knee in delight. “Jesse, best part of the job is taking the noon meal in Fern’s kitchen.”

Jesse had hoped the wages might be the best part of the job.

Fern looked Jesse up and down. “I can tell from here, your belly button is hitting your backbone. Wash up, the pair of you, and come on up to the house.”

The table was laid for three when Jesse followed Hank up to the house. Fern popped out of the kitchen with a pan of hot-from-the-oven cornbread and nodded to where he was to sit, saying, “Amos won’t be joining us.”

Tucking in his napkin, Hank dropped his head to signal a silent prayer. Then Fern speared a broccoli crown and passed the dish to Jesse. “You must have hit Hank when he was hard up for help.”

“I was as taken by surprise as you appear to be,” Jesse said honestly.

“Do you have experience with buggy repairs?”

“Not really.”

“He doesn’t hire just anybody.”

Hire! There was a word that appealed to Jesse’s sensibilities. He felt a glimmer of hope rise within. “We hadn’t quite finished that conversation when you called us in.” He looked expectantly down the length of the table at Hank.

Sadly, the hint fell flat on Hank’s ears. He was preoccupied with buttering his cornbread, lavishly and thoroughly. “Where’s Amos?” He lifted his empty coffee cup.

Fern poured coffee into Hank’s cup, then filled her own.

“Sugar there behind you,” Hank grunted. Jesse reached over to the counter and handed him a sugar bowl. Hank stirred in the sugar, added cream, took a sip, added more sugar, took another sip, let out a loud “Ahhhhh,” apparently satisfied.

“Freeman Glick is making his rounds to assess everyone’s finances, and Amos had to go down to the bank to get a copy of the most recent statement.”

Hank looked like he had bit down on a sour pickle. “Freeman’s poking his nose into everybody’s business.”

Between bites, Jesse asked, “He’s the minister, isn’t he?”

“Bishop,” Fern said. “Elmo Beiler passed on a month or so ago and Freeman Glick drew the lot.”

Hank lifted a fork in her direction. “I blame myself. I shouldn’t have slept in that morning. Mighta changed everything.” He shook his head. “Freeman Glick is the type who takes pleasure in kicking puppies.” He glared at Jesse with his one good eye. “If you find yourself around him, you better watch your sweet—”

“Hank! Don’t blaspheme.”

“—step, is all I was gonna say, Fern.”

“He’s our bishop,” Fern said, in a tone to put an end to Hank’s tirade.

“That man is tougher than—” sawing strenuously at the piece of pork chop on his plate, Hank glanced in Fern’s direction and hedged off—“leather.”

“Hank, rules,” Fern said. “Use a knife, not a fork.”

“So Hank, I hoped you could enlighten me about the parameters of this gainful opportunity.”

“Righto,” Hank confirmed, spooning more sugar into his coffee.

“The kinds of hours you keep, for example. And then there’s sala—”

“NOW YOU’RE TALKING!” Hank slapped the table resoundingly. “Come early, stay late!” A rooster belted out a loud crow, and Hank paled, then “Chickens!” came from his lips in a hoarse whisper. He thumped his chair down on all four legs and bolted to his feet. “Blast it all! I forgot to feed Edith’s chickens. She’ll skin me alive.” And suddenly he bolted for the door.

Jesse popped the last crumb of cornbread into his mouth. “Edith?”

“Edith Fisher. Jimmy’s leaving left her in a pinch with all those chickens to feed and clean up after. Hank’s trying to help her out.”

Fern Lapp and Jesse considered each other. An awkward silence filled the room—awkward, at least, for Jesse.

He finished swallowing his last bite of pork chop and bowed his head, then quietly rose to his feet. “I thank you, Fern Lapp, for the splendiferous and robust meal.”

“Save your charm for the girls,” she said. “You don’t need all that embroidery with me.”

Jesse blinked innocently back. “Why, I meant it!”

She nodded. “I’m sure you always do.”

“I’ll be off, then.”

“Just where do you think you’re going? You’re on the clock.” Her arched eyebrows expressed all that was needed.

Jesse wondered if it would make a difference if he pointed out that there really was no clock because there really was no work to do because there was no boss. Upon deeper consideration, he chose not to debate that point. Fern Lapp did not seem to be a woman who invited questions. “Regrettably, I am not seer enough to know what Hank’s intentions are.” He smiled, then swallowed it when she frowned at him. He tried again. “Unfortunately, in his haste to depart, Hank failed to give me instructions about what to do in his absence so that I could be of better assistance. Therefore I will wait until—”

Fern leaned over the table. “Boy, you have a brain. Make yourself useful.” Her eyes swept downward toward the buggy shop. She swept a few dishes off the table and whisked them to the sink. “Freeman wants an inventory of everything on this farm. Every cow, every sheep, every tool. He said he wants it down to the number of nails in a brown paper bag. You get started on the buggy shop. And while you’re making the inventory, do a little cleaning. We’re hosting church in a week’s time. Everything in that shop needs to be spick-and-span. I’ll be down within the hour to check on your progress.”

And that was definitely that.

Caught by surprise, Jesse had an odd feeling that the supervision of his apprenticeship had just changed hands and he was now reporting to Fern Lapp.