The boy had upended one of the pails she used to carry horse feed. Apparently he was using it as a table. Her stomach tumbling, Emma walked back into the stall, sat down on the pail, and looked around in disbelief.
“What are you going to do?”
“Do? I suppose I’ll call Bishop Simon, and he’ll decide whether to call the police.”
Danny leaned against the stall wall, crossed his arms, and rubbed at his clean-shaven jaw with his right hand. “Or . . .”
“Or? We have an or here?”
“Just saying.” He spread his hands out in front of him. Big hands.
Danny brushed at straw that clung to his dark pants. Suspenders draped over his pale-green shirt. He pushed back the straw hat covering his mahogany brown hair sprinkled with gray. When he did so, Emma noticed his bangs flopped close to his chocolate-colored eyes. The gesture made Emma think of the boy he had been. Perhaps that was the problem. She suffered from memory misplacement.
He was a big guy—over six feet and trim. It was one of the reasons folks were surprised when he decided to be a writer. Danny would have made a great farmer, or a farrier, or even a cabinetmaker. All of those occupations would have made sense. But a writer? An Amish writer?
She sighed and returned her attention to the horse stall. “You haven’t said anything.”
“I wouldn’t want to put my opinion where it has no place.”
“Out with it.” The words escaped as a growl. She sounded moody, even to her own ears. It occurred to her that she never used to snarl at folks, unless they were tracking mud through the kitchen.
“What if you left him some food instead?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because he’s obviously living here, and he must be hungry.”
“But I don’t want him to live here. I want him to leave. My barn is for my horses.”
“You’re right.”
“People don’t live in barns.”
“Most don’t.”
“And he must have a home. His parents are probably worried sick.”
“Maybe.”
Emma closed her eyes and pulled in a deep breath. When she’d spoken to her daughter Edna about her moodiness, Edna had smiled and reminded her of the change. She had thought she was through with that. Maybe not.
“I don’t want him to stay. I want him out of my barn and off my property.”
Danny pulled down on his hat. He looked Amish, but there were times Emma wondered. All that traveling must have affected his way of thinking.
She stood and swiped some hay off the back of her dress.
“Seems as if he was careful with the cookstove,” she admitted. The boy had placed it inside one of the midsized tin troughs.
“Indeed.”
“Don’t know what he could have been cooking.”
“He probably caught a rabbit.”
She brushed past him into the main portion of the barn. A young boy, a boy her own grandkinner’s age, eating rabbit he’d caught from the field? And nothing else?
“I’ll bring him some leftover ham and bread from last night’s dinner, leave it in his stall, but only this once.”
“It would be a kind thing to do.”
“And he can reciprocate by moving on.”
“Maybe he’ll see the food and trust you, tell you what’s happening and why he’s here.”
She humphed as they stepped out into the late-afternoon sunlight. Old people made that sound, and she was not that old.
Danny touched a hand to her shoulder, and Emma froze. Her feet became like cattails in an iced-over pond. Her heart thudded in her chest. She refused to look at him as he leaned close and whispered, “Perhaps Gotte has sent him to you, Emma. Perhaps Gotte has sent this child to us.”
Against her better judgment, she turned and looked up into Danny’s eyes. His expression was a curious mixture of intensity, hope, and amusement.
What was she to say to that?
How was she supposed to respond?
Emma had no idea, so she turned and trudged off toward the garden.
Later that evening she told Mary Ann about their guest in the barn.
“I think Danny was right.” Mamm squinted her eyes as she glanced across the room and out the window. “We should try to help this one who is lost.”
“We don’t know that he’s lost. Maybe he’s lazy.”
“Few children are actually lazy, though they are often confused. Sometimes one looks like the other.”
Emma stood to gather their dinner dishes. With only the two of them, cleaning up had become much easier. She checked the large kitchen table to be sure she had all the dishes, and the memories almost overwhelmed her. She could see their brood of five, plus Ben’s parents, crowding around the table. The children often jostled one another as they made room on the long bench or in the chairs. As if they were still there, she could see—actually see—them settle for prayer. The boys bareheaded, the girls with their kapp strings pushed back and stray locks peeking out. The deep baritone of her husband’s voice when he’d ask who was hungry.
Mary Ann reached out and covered Emma’s hand with her own.
It startled her from the past.
“It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling, dochder.”
About the past?
About the vagrant in her barn?
About Danny?
“I don’t know what you mean, Mamm. Unless you’re referring to my feeling tired. I’m not as young as—”
“Gotte isn’t done with you yet.”
“I suppose not, since I’m still here.”
“He has plans, Emma.”
“Ya? Has He let you in on any of them?” She couldn’t help smiling as she added dish soap to the warm water and plunged the first plate into the suds.
“You’re laughing, but He has. I believe He has.” Mary Ann stood and carried her glass to the sink. At a time in life when most folks slowed down, she was still quite spry. Too thin. Emma remarked occasionally that she’d like to give some of her extra girth to Mary Ann, if that were possible. It seemed no matter how she changed their meals, Mary Ann became a little smaller each year, and she became a pound or two heavier.
“Share with me, then. I’m interested to know what my future holds.”
“No one knows that, dear.” Mamm picked up a dishcloth and began to dry.
There was something about her tone that caught Emma’s attention. All this talk of the future and God’s plans. It was different from their normal evening banter.
“Danny says perhaps Gotte brought this boy to us. That maybe that’s why he’s here or why we found him.”
“The boy could have gone anywhere,” Mary Ann said.
“There’s no telling how long he’s been hiding in there. I don’t look in that back stall often.”
“But today you saw him.”
“I did, which is strange, Mamm. If he were hiding, it seems he would have been more careful.”
“Maybe he wanted you to see him.”
“That doesn’t make sense. He ran the moment our eyes met.” Emma let her hands soak in the warm water. All that was left to wash was the pan she had used to stew the chicken and potatoes. She wanted to enjoy the dishwater before it grew cold and soiled.
How long had it been since the boy had enjoyed a warm bath?
She closed her eyes against the question. It wasn’t her responsibility to worry about the welfare of a stranger.
And yet the Scriptures spoke often about strangers. Didn’t they? Something about the welfare of strangers and angels unaware?
Mary Ann hung up her dish towel, then stretched to kiss Emma on the cheek. She’d always been affectionate, but in the last few years, she’d become more so. Maybe she realized the importance of expressing her feelings while there was still time.
“Pray on it, my dear.”
With those words of wisdom, Mary Ann turned and left the room.