Casting an eye at the skylights that provided most of the light for the shop, Ruth gauged she had about another hour before it would be too dark to work by natural light. A quick search revealed the oil lanterns were still stored where she used to keep them. She grabbed a couple, confirming the oil levels were enough for her to get through the work she needed to finish tonight.
Several hours later, Ruth rolled her shoulders and tipped back her stiff neck. Fueled by hurt and anger—and the internal debate that she shouldn’t be feeling those things as she was still Amish, for the next few days anyway—she’d made more progress than she’d hoped. The project would be finished before she left. After Christmas. Ruth mentally pushed out her departure a few more days. The man in Madison would surely understand.
Donning her cape, she stepped out the door and secured it. Ruth hurried toward the Dew Drop Inn, hoping she hadn’t left it too late to use their phone to call for a ride. Luckily an Englisch business kept later hours than an Amish-owned one. Her relief was as weighty as her tired shoulders when she saw the lights were still on. Even better, the Thompsons were just cashing out at the counter. They gladly agreed to give Ruth a ride.
A short time later, she waved them off from her front step. Ruth had never been so glad to be home. She opened the door to the familiar kitchen, and as she stepped in, she was reminded that she wouldn’t be returning to its welcoming walls for long. Her hip sagged against the counter. Yes, it had been lonely here lately, but not so much since...
Ruth dashed back out the door. Snow crunched under her feet as she raced as fast as she dared across the frozen farmyard to the chicken coop. In her frustration and irritation tonight, she’d forgotten all about Rascal. He was probably starving. It was long past his dinnertime.
Ruth slowed her charge when no black-and-white bundle met her at the gate. Quickly unlatching it, she rushed through to enter the coop, hoping to see the pup just waking from a nap. In her haste, she’d forgotten a lamp or a flashlight, but the silence in the dark coop told her it was empty. She called anyway, her pitch rising with each unanswered holler. Making her way to the door, she stumbled into the fenced pen, its emptiness obvious in the moonlit night.
Pressing her fist against her mouth, Ruth bit down on a frozen knuckle to keep from wailing in distress. She slumped against the fence that enclosed the small pen. The woven wire screeched in the cold night air as it gave slightly under her weight.
“Oh, Malachi. I need you. I might be able to take care of myself, but I don’t want to anymore.” She couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. Her finger rose to wipe under her runny nose. “I’m so tired of taking care of everything. And obviously I’m not doing a good job of it.” The tears didn’t do any good. Neither did her cry to Malachi. He wasn’t there. Even if she had a horse that wasn’t recovering from lameness, he was miles away. And might not be alone.
But then, neither was she. Numbly, Ruth looked up to see the endless stars that sprinkled the winter night sky. Blurry at first, they cleared as she blinked the tears away. She felt small. But not alone.
“Gott,” she whispered, absorbing the immenseness. “I’ve been acting for too long like I could manage by myself. And neglecting to ask Your will. Forgive my hochmut.” Ruth winced at the many times she’d pursued her will instead of asking for Gott’s. “I pray for the peace You promise. For I can’t do it alone. I know that now, what You’ve known all along.”
Her gaze dropped to the pen, taking in its emptiness. “And, Gott, if it is not too much trouble, please look to one little puppy tonight, as well.”
Ruth sagged further against the fence, her chin dropping against her chest. While her body felt drained of energy, her mind was curiously relieved. For a few moments, she just breathed. Took in the brisk, clean air, felt the cold at the end of her nose and against her cheeks where the tears had run. She didn’t hear anything on the crystal clearness of the night but the beat of her own heart. And Ruth knew it would be all right. Whatever happened. For Gott had finally shown her gelassenheit. Ruth almost wept anew at the calm spirit that filled her because she’d yielded to His will and not her own.
Opening her eyes, she gazed unseeingly at the yard of the coop. Unseeing, at first. There were puppy tracks throughout the yard where Rascal romped. Paths packed down due to frequent travel. Generally, he didn’t get close to the fence, except for the gate. Ruth’s gaze sharpened as she took in the ground beneath the end of her cape, where the fence leaned back under her weight. Around her feet, the border of fresh snow had been kicked back. A sprinkling of dirt dug up by paws with sharp little nails topped the dislodged snow. Ruth squatted and found a small hole burrowed under an area of the fence where the bottom wire curled up. Small, but big enough to accommodate an escaping puppy.
The cold metal of the fence squealed again as she pushed off it and whipped out the gate. Dashing into the house, Ruth grabbed a flashlight and a shawl to drape over her cape. Returning to the pen, she followed puppy-size tracks from the fence until they disappeared in the worn ruts in the snow that traced over the farmyard. Heart pounding, Ruth headed down the lane, afraid of what she might find in the ditch.
A light, visible in the darkness that cloaked the rural landscape, was bobbing along the road toward her. It turned into the lane when Ruth was halfway down. In the moonlight reflected on the snow, she could see a black-and-white bundle leap from a black-cloaked figure and race the short distance toward her. Excited yips accompanied each stride.
Hurrying forward to sweep Rascal up into her arms, Ruth laughed as he licked the traces of tears from her face. “Yes! I’m very glad to see you, as well. Although you gave me quite a fright.”
“Ach, we’ll apologize for that.” Ruth identified the black-cloaked forms as the neighbor girls. “He showed up at our place late this afternoon. We didn’t know how he got out. We figured he’d find the same way again if we left him, so we waited until you got home to bring him over,” Mary, the older of the two sisters, explained. “We thought we’d see a buggy come up the lane, but it wasn’t until the car lights flashed as they turned that we knew you’d come home that way.” Emma, the younger sister, nodded as she reached out to give the pup’s back a long stroke.
Ruth rested her cheek against Rascal’s warm head. “It’s fine. I’m just glad he’s safe. And you are right. He dug a hole under the fence and escaped.” She waved the girls farewell and watched as they made their way back down the lane and road to their nearby farmstead.
Much as she wanted to continue hugging him to her, Ruth set the puppy, who was now squirming, down. She turned to head up the lane. “Oh, Rascal. I was so afraid. But you also helped me realize something. Something I needed to determine a long time ago. I knew it, but I didn’t live it. You and me, we may think we’re independent, maybe even alone, but we’re not. Gott has always been with us. Even though I might attempt to grab the reins from Him occasionally, I’m going to try to let Him drive.”
Ruth inhaled a deep breath of the crisp night air. “Especially over the roads we’ll travel for the next while. In the meantime—” Ruth opened the door to the kitchen and the puppy bounded through “—we’ll take care of Bess, and after that we have a lot of cookies to make before tomorrow.”
Ruth waved Hannah off as her friend drove the pony cart back down the lane. Over Ruth’s objections, Hannah had insisted on giving her a ride home after the cookie exchange. Although she attended church every other Sunday, Ruth forgot how wonderful it was to fellowship with her neighbors in the Amish community. Or maybe it was just her new outlook that made her so joyful. Perhaps the fact that her time with them was short had made the outing so precious. Whatever it was, she’d lingered and visited until Hannah proclaimed it was too late for Ruth to walk back and requested that her brother prepare the pony and cart.
A basket of cookies weighed heavy on her arm as she turned away from the lane. The smile that curved her lips faltered as she realized no miniature barking had greeted neither her nor the unfamiliar cart. A rapid glance revealed an empty chicken run. The basket almost dropped to the snow when she saw that the gate was open. Ruth’s heart began to pound. Had Rascal gotten loose again? Or had Mary and Emma come and gotten the puppy? She didn’t mind the girls playing with the pup, but she wished they’d mentioned it when they left the exchange earlier this afternoon. Ruth’s eyes flew to the road in the gathering darkness to see if a light was bobbing its way in her direction.
Frantically, she rushed to the house to get the flashlight and begin a search, only slowing when she saw a glow from the kitchen window. She, like other Amish folks, never locked their homes. It could be anyone in the house. Ruth’s heart rate accelerated further. No one but Hannah, who’d just left, had visited her lately. The doorknob in the chilly Wisconsin twilight was frigid in Ruth’s sweaty hand. Before she pushed open the kitchen door, she looked back over her shoulder to confirm there wasn’t a rig in the shadowed farmyard. There’d been little fresh snow since Bess went lame, so the tracks that crisscrossed the ground leading to the barn could be hers, or someone who’d brought her home. Whoever was in the house could have put their horse and buggy in the barn. But why? Brows furrowed, Ruth hesitantly opened the door.
The glow from the fireplace and an oil lamp on the counter outlined a figure sitting in a chair. Only a quick grab saved the basket from sliding down Ruth’s arm and onto the floor. Dazedly, she set it on the counter with a soft thud. Rascal, seated on the lap in the chair, launched himself off and scurried to greet her.
Ruth crouched to the puppy that danced about her feet, gathered him in her arms and rose before meeting a gaze that regarded her warily.
“I am so glad to see you,” she murmured to Rascal as she rubbed his ears. “I was so afraid when I thought you might be gone again.” The room was quiet after her whisper, the only sounds the occasional pop in the cheerily burning fireplace.
“I was feeling the same way.” Malachi’s low baritone finally broke the silence. “I didn’t know if you’d gone to Madison after all.”
Ruth’s heart beat faster than the little one whose rapid patter she could feel clutched against her chest. She tucked the comforting silky head under her chin and met Malachi’s gaze. The pup squirmed when trapped between the deep breath she inhaled and her tight grip. “It was a gut day today. I didn’t want to leave.”
“Then why are you?” His voice was equally quiet.
Needing a moment, she placed Rascal on the floor. He shook himself before trotting over to lie down in front of the fireplace. Ruth wished she could shake things off so easily. She lifted her eyes again to his steady blue gaze. “I can’t stay in Miller’s Creek if you’re not free.” She forced a swallow. “Are you?”
Malachi didn’t answer for a few endless heartbeats. “No, I’m not,” he finally responded without breaking eye contact.
It was what she feared and expected. She propped an elbow on the counter to keep from sagging against it. When she thought she could speak, Ruth murmured, “Then what are you doing here?”
“I came to offer you something.” In an easy movement, he rose from the chair he was in. Her eyes only for him, Ruth hadn’t noticed it. Still gliding smoothly after his abrupt departure was the red oak rocking chair started by her father, a man she’d loved dearly. And now it sat where she envisioned it by the fire, finished by the man she loved more than she could’ve imagined.
“Oh, Malachi,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.” On trembling legs, Ruth moved to the chair and ran her fingers across the satiny back. Her eyes drifted shut, imagining for a moment the smooth surface she was stroking was his cheek. She would treasure the piece as she did the ones her daed had made. More so, as it had been made by both men.
She opened her eyes when he spoke. “That’s gut to hear, but that’s not all I’m offering.” Malachi faced her, the chair between them. A faint smile touched his lips, but his eyes were still apprehensive.
“What I’m offering is my heart, Ruth. It goes with the chair.” He smiled, creating a dimple in his lean cheek. “It went before the chair actually. It went when a stubborn woman came along with the furniture business I acquired.” He sucked in a breath and blew it out slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. “So you see, I am not free. I belong to you.”
Ruth’s grip left the back of the chair. She found herself clasping his strong, calloused, wonderful hands. “But what about Leah? She’s perfect.”
Malachi snorted softly. “Leah helped me learn a lot about what I wanted in a woman. And what I didn’t. I didn’t want perfect.”
Ruth grinned. “You realize what that says about me.”
Malachi smiled and squeezed her fingers gently, not letting her go. “I wanted perfect for me. A woman with a talent for managing and for working with wood. And for making me happier than I’d ever imagined I’d be. I know you’re who Gott has chosen for me. He brought me here to Wisconsin in order to find you.” The smile faded a bit when he added, “I’m only hoping that I’m enough for you.”
He searched her eyes. When she didn’t speak, he continued, “I know you have other options. I know you’re capable of succeeding in them. I know that staying in the Plain life would limit what you want for yourself. But I allowed myself to hope.”
His lips curved slightly. “When wanting to grow a crop worth harvesting or a furniture piece worth making, some preparations have to be made. The groundwork needs to be laid. I figured this was similar. I contacted the bishop regarding permission to set up one of the outbuildings with woodworking equipment, in case someone would consider marrying me. I’d set it up, so when kinder arrive, they’d have a safe place to play as well, while their mamm makes furniture, if she’d want to.”
Ruth stared at him in surprise.
“And I’ve found I need to learn more about the business part of ownership. I was never much of a reader.” He wrinkled his nose. “Even before I left school, my mind was already on physical work. I learn better by hearing and doing. So if I had a wife who wanted to study and learn—” he flicked his eyes toward paperwork still stacked on the kitchen table “—then maybe teach me, interspersed with a few sweet words, it might be a good thing.”
Ruth skirted the rocker so nothing was between them. “I could do that. Most of it anyway.” Her lips quirked. “Who’s going to say the sweet words?”
“How about if I start out with this? Will you marry me, Ruth?” When she drew back and her eyes grew wide, Malachi continued, “I know you can take care of yourself. But for the few occasions that you might want to lean on someone, I want it to be me.”
He let go of one of her hands long enough to dab at a tear that leaked from her eye. “It devastates me when you cry,” he murmured.
Ruth sniffed. “Oh, Malachi! The first day you walked into the shop, I reminded myself that Gott had a plan for me. Foolish me, I tried to make His path fit mine, thinking I knew what I needed to be happy. But He knew me and, of course, knew better. His plan is so much more than I could’ve ever imagined. Nothing I could ever find in wood or on paper would bring me the joy of being in your arms.”
A smile spread across Malachi’s face. He pulled her into his warm embrace. “Well, then. Come here.”
Resting her head on his strong shoulder, Ruth whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, “There’s an Amish proverb that says to choose your love and love your choice.” She nestled deeper into his arms. It felt like home. It felt like everything she’d ever wanted. “I choose you, Malachi.”