3
It started out as just a ride home. Luke Schrock was passing by Ruthie Stoltzfus after she visited Moss Hill to meet her newborn nephew and offered her a ride in his buggy. He slowed down as they approached the turnoff to their homes. “How about if we drive up to Blue Lake Pond and talk?”
“Luke,” Ruthie said in her crisp don’t-pretend-we-are-still-dating voice.
“What? I just want to talk to you. We never get a chance to talk at the inn without Sammy or somebody buzzing around us.”
She sighed. That was the truth. Privacy was an oh-so-rare luxury. “Fine. But we can’t stay too long.”
He drove past the turnoff to their respective houses and out toward the lake, turning onto a dirt road that led up to a very, very private lookout spot, a place the two of them had discovered on a hike last summer. She wondered if Luke had brought other girls here since she had told him she wanted to take a break.
“I just now noticed you’re wearing my favorite-colored dress. That shade of blue always makes your eyes look like the color of a tropical sea. I don’t know how I missed seeing it when you got in the buggy. I must have been blinded by your dazzling smile.”
Thinking that she didn’t remember smiling at him, she watched him climb out of the buggy. Tall, tall, tall, a full five or six inches taller than her father or brother. Luke held himself with the squared shoulders of a prince. He had midnight black hair that curled at the edges under his straw hat, and laugh lines at the corners of his sapphire blue eyes. He was so strong, he picked her up out of the buggy and swung her around. And then they both laughed as Luke set her down.
“I’ve missed you!” he said.
Well, she’d been right here. He was the one who had disappeared for the last few days. “Where were you last night as I was coping with a bloody stranger at the inn?”
“I told you. Out with my friends.” He kept his hands on her hips and his eyes on her lips. “So . . . tell me again why we’re on a break?” In his eyes was a plea. She felt it more than she saw it. He just wanted it to be nice between them again.
The tops of Ruthie’s ears started to feel warm. That meant they were turning pink, the only outward sign that she felt affected by him. She would never, ever, ever tell him about that betrayal signal. As far as he was concerned, she was in complete control of her emotions.
The truth was that all kinds of emotions swirled around inside her. So many that she kept them tightly stuffed down. Sometimes she felt as if her feelings were like a bottle of shaken soda pop. If the cap came off, she might explode.
She felt as if she were skydiving and never entirely sure her chute would open in time—a ridiculous analogy because she had never been skydiving and probably never would, but she had read about it once and realized that’s exactly what it meant to be Luke Schrock’s girlfriend: complete uncertainty of what was coming next and very worried about the landing. She had become the kind of girl she didn’t even like: jealous and suspicious. It was one of the reasons she told him she wanted to take a break.
“I miss you so much, Ruthie,” Luke said. “I miss us. This break we’re taking—the one you said you wanted to take—I’ve used it to go out with a few other girls. They’re great girls, not a thing wrong with them, but I only went out with them a couple of times before I lost interest.”
Girls. How many had there been? Ruthie felt a miserable wave of jealousy. She was the one who wanted to break up; she knew it meant he would pursue other girls. They were both free to date others. The difference was that no one held her interest, not the way Luke could. She wiggled out of his grasp and took a step back. “And why,” she asked, “are you telling me this?”
“I want another chance,” Luke said. He swallowed, seeming to be overcome by genuine emotion, a rare thing. “I want you to be my one and only. Ruthie, you’re the best person I know. You’re the person who gets me like no one else gets me. You can’t deny that we get along so well.” He reached out and took her hands in his. “There’s no way you can tell me all your feelings for me have died.”
Oh Luke. There were things she missed about being his girl—his eyes shining with mischief, his irreverent sense of humor, his over-the-top romantic gestures. But there were things about him she didn’t miss—that never-being-sure gut feeling that he might be spending time with other girls if she didn’t go with him to parties. But the truth was that she hated the parties. Luke’s life was an endless party.
“Of course my feelings haven’t died for you, Luke.” He was one of those guys impossible to stay mad at, which in itself was maddening. “And I do understand you. But, Luke . . . I’m not sure you understand me.”
“Understand you? Of course I understand you. I’ve always understood you. You’re beautiful and smart and witty. You like bonfires and buggy races and . . .” He searched for other words. “Books.”
“Bonfires and buggy races?” She yanked her hands out of his. “Luke, that’s what you like to do.”
“But you do like books.”
“Yes. But so do you.” She looked him right in the eye. “I wanted a break because you were drinking too much. Have you stopped?”
He glanced down at the tops of his boots. “I’m not going to lie. I haven’t stopped. Not entirely. I’m getting there, though. I know you think I can’t change—”
“People don’t change,” Ruthie said. “They only get more so.”
“That’s not true. Have a little faith in me, Ruthie. For you, I’ll do anything. And you have to admit that you miss us being together too.” He leaned toward her and took her hand, cupping it with both of his and holding it close to his heart. “Just a little?”
To be honest with herself, there were things about Luke she would always be attracted to. In particular, his essential “I don’t care what anybody thinks-ness.” But was that enough?
“A little. But not everything. Especially not the drinking.” She reclaimed her hand. “It’s getting late. I need you to take me home.”
He nodded, then helped her into the buggy. She was startled and—what a surprise!—disappointed that he was giving up so easily.
Leroy Glick tapped Jesse on the shoulder, leaving a greasy handprint on his freshly washed and ironed blue shirt. Jesse was particular about his clothing. The two apprentices were always tapping him on the shoulder with their dirty hands, and it immensely annoyed him.
“If you want to ask me a question,” Jesse had said countless times, “you can always use my name. You don’t have to put your dirty hands on my clean clothes.”
Leroy would look at his hands, surprised to discover that they were filthy, apologize, but it never changed. Sometimes, most times, Jesse felt he was fighting a losing battle.
“There’s someone who wants to see you,” Leroy said, chewing a large wad of pink bubble gum—a disgusting habit. “He’s outside.”
Jesse put down his wrench and wiped his hands on a cloth. He had been involved in a particularly delicate operation—adjusting the taillights on a buggy with a switch panel on the dashboard. He didn’t like to be interrupted during delicate operations. They required his full attention.
“Jesse, he knew my name.”
“Who?”
Leroy pointed to the door. “That guy. He knew my name.”
Jesse pointed to Leroy’s coveralls. “Think that’s why?” After daily arguments between the apprentices about whose coverall was whose, Jesse had taped a piece of masking tape with their names written on each one.
Jesse went outside and blinked a few times while his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight. A young English fellow was walking around the old sisters’ buggy, peering inside. “Are you looking for me?”
“I am if you’re Jesse Stoltzfus, the highly regarded buggy repairman of Stoney Ridge.”
Jesse felt a little taken aback by this fellow’s forthrightness. Swooping in on top of that feeling came one of pleasure. He did not mind receiving a compliment or two. “I am. I’m Jesse.”
“I’m Patrick Kelly.”
“So what can I do for you?”
Patrick looked at the buggy. “I’d like you to teach me how to drive a buggy. For pay, of course.”
Jesse barely suppressed an eye roll. Another whacky tourist. “Two towns over, there’s a Mennonite who gives buggy rides for tourists.”
Patrick shook his head. “That’s not what I want.”
“Well, you don’t have to pay me. I’ll take you out on a ride. Or I can get my apprentices to take you.” Those two needed a great deal of practice to improve their social skills. They could be appallingly rude. The other day they told Edith Fisher Lapp that her buggy wouldn’t need new shock absorbers so often if she just lost some weight. Edith was outraged and complained mightily to Jesse.
“No, no,” the fellow said. “I’m not being clear. I want to learn how to drive a buggy myself. I need lessons. Regular lessons. That’s why I want to pay you. I realize you have an important job to do here. I want to make it worth your time.”
Jesse tilted his head. “Why in the world would you want to learn how to drive a buggy?” Why would anyone bother if they weren’t Amish?
“Because I’m planning to become a convert to the Amish church.”
Jesse swallowed a laugh. Later, he would have to tell his sister Ruthie about this guy. So many people thought they wanted to become Amish, until they actually came to an Amish community and saw what it really looked like, up close and personal. Within a few days, 100 percent of Amish wannabes left for home. One hundred percent. “You know, my dad’s the bishop.”
“Right. David Stoltzfus. He picked me up at the bus stop yesterday afternoon. I also need someone to tutor me in Penn Dutch.”
“You’re trying to learn the language?” This fellow was a funny duck.
“Yes. In thirty days. So I need someone who would be very determined, very hard on me. Someone who won’t cut me any slack. Any suggestions?” His gaze swept over Windmill Farm, ending at the sheep pasture. “I don’t have time to waste.”
“My sister Ruthie. She’s as tough as they come. By day two, you’ll be begging for mercy.”
“Excellent. Just the kind of tutor I need.”
Jesse rubbed his chin, deep in thought. “Have you told my dad about your plans to convert?”
“Yes, sure. Absolutely. He said we could talk more about it as I settled in. In fact, I’m staying in your room. While the Inn at Eagle Hill is . . .” He searched for the right words.
“Under police investigation.” Jesse scratched his head. “Well, I suppose I could teach you how to handle a horse and buggy in thirty days.” Who knows? Maybe this fellow would end up being the first Amish wannabe who actually converted.
That changed everything. Jesse smiled at Patrick Kelly. “Well, then. I definitely think we could make some kind of arrangement.”
Ruthie set the bucket underneath Moomoo, their sweet and docile Jersey cow, and sat on the milking stool. She wiped Moomoo’s teats with an iodine solution, dried them, and leaned her forehead against the side of the cow as she pulled to start the flow of milk. Morning and evening, this mindless routine in the barn gave her time alone to think.
It was a strange thing about being a teenager. You were supposed to be figuring out your life, but you had no idea what that could mean. Or how a decision you made today could affect your life in ten years, or twenty, or fifty. Or what to do when you had an inkling that something was wrong.
Like . . . why did she think Luke was hiding something about where he was the other night, when the stranger died at the inn? It wasn’t anything he said, it was the way he averted his eyes when she asked him where he’d been. Those blue eyes of his always seemed to swim with a secret.
Was Luke with another girl? Probably. But that couldn’t really be considered cheating after she told him she was no longer his girlfriend. She had no claim on Luke and made sure he knew that.
She heard someone call her name and lifted her head above the cow’s back. It was the inn’s displaced guest, Patrick Kelly. He stood in the open barn door with the afternoon sun streaming down behind him, making his appearance almost . . . angelic. She smiled at such an odd impression. She wasn’t sure what an angel would look like, but she had assumed he would be dramatic looking. And that definitely did not fit Patrick’s description. The very opposite!
His was a finely chiseled face: high sculptured cheekbones, a long narrow nose, wide-spaced brown eyes with thick, long lashes, rimmed by dark brows that matched his short brown hair. He had a lean, lanky build—so unlike the stocky, muscled German men in her church. His skin was milk pale, so different from the perpetual suntanned look of an Amish farmer.
Even his hands were unusual. Most Amish, man or woman, girl or boy, had thick fingers, shaped and honed by hard work. Patrick had long, tapered fingers, and his palms were without calluses. She had noticed how soft and smooth they were when she shook hands with him last evening. Those soft hands, they struck her as an odd thing for a man.
Plus, he must be crazy. Why would anyone—anyone!—convert to Amish when they weren’t born Amish? It was crazy. She had almost laughed out loud when she heard him tell the family what his plans were last night, but fortunately, she caught herself just in time.
She felt a little guilty about wanting to laugh, as if she was trying not to laugh at a funeral. He seemed so earnest, but what a ridiculous notion! If her brother Jesse were at last night’s supper, they would have made a bet to see how long it would take, or what trigger, before Patrick packed his bags to head home. One hot day spent harvesting field corn? Two? Or maybe the first Sunday morning three-hour church service on a backless bench. He’d be on the next bus to Canada. Gone!
Ruthie made herself think the comment and not say it. That would be her new rule, going forward, starting right at that moment. She was going to try to keep her critical opinions to herself. As her dad often reminded her, Mer kann denke was mer will, awwer mer daerf net zu laut denke. Think what you please but not too loud.
Patrick Kelly walked around to where Ruthie sat by the cow. “I was wondering if you might be willing to give me lessons in Penn Dutch.”
Ruthie had to look over her shoulder to see him. “And a hello to you too.”
He smiled. “My apologies. I can be a little task oriented. I’m eager to get started. There’s no time to waste.”
“Why me?”
Gliding the flat of his hand along Moomoo’s bony spine, he walked to the front of the cow so she didn’t have to keep craning her neck to see him. “Your brother Jesse recommended you.”
“You’ve already met Jesse?”
“Yes. He was top on my list of people to meet in person. He’s going to teach me how to drive a buggy.”
She had to swallow a smile. “You have a list of people to meet?”
“Yes. Does that seem odd?”
“No, not at all.” Yes. This guy was weird.
Weird, but in sort of a charming way.
But then again, there was that bird.
Nyna the Mynah. After dinner last night, he coaxed the bird to talk and it spewed out short Bible verses. Birdy, Lydie, Emily, and Molly were over the moon about it. Ruthie thought it curious—in her orbit of friends, she couldn’t think of any guy who would have the patience to teach a bird to mimic words. Yes, Patrick Kelly was . . . weird.
She took her time answering as she finished milking, focusing her attention on the cow. “That brings up another point. If you do convert to the Amish, what are you going to do for a living? Everyone works hard, you know.” She pulled the pail from beneath the cow. Steamy wisps from the hot milk, fragrant and fresh smelling, floated between them.
“I’m not at all concerned about that.” He stared at her, saying nothing, and she waited for a feeling of awkwardness to set in at the lengthening silence. But it didn’t. The oddest sense of ease flowed between them, and something told her such a situation wasn’t an unusual occurrence for him—this tendency not to fill every moment with words. “For now, I’ve saved up enough money to last for the duration.”
What did that mean? The duration. She was just about to ask when he added, “I’ll pay for the lessons. I don’t expect you to give up your valuable time without compensation.”
Why not? Right now, it felt good. Or not good, exactly, but unusual and interesting, which might be the most she could hope for this summer . . . other than the distressing homicide at the Inn at Eagle Hill. But there didn’t seem to be anything more she could do about that particular situation. She poured the milk into a large stainless steel container. “I guess so.”
“Oh boy.” Patrick grinned. “That’s great. Just great! There’s no time like the present. Let’s start today.”