Twelve

The afternoon sun was melting snowdrifts around Rising Star Farm. Sylvie had taken Joey off on an errand, with Prince leading the buggy as if he were pulling royalty. Jimmy thought he’d use the time to search through the old barn and look for more salvageable, salable junk. And maybe find the missing will of Jake King. Surely, a man his age would’ve thought to create a will. After all, he’d inherited this property from his grandfather—he knew the importance of a will. Surely, he would’ve created one when he married Sylvie. Jimmy sighed. Probably not.

He’d been working from the center out, filling wheelbarrows full of anything he thought might sell. He opened the flaps of a large box to reveal a metal safety box. As he unlatched the metal box, a waft of cool, musty air met his nose. Inside were thick envelopes, filled with yellowed papers. He had found . . . something legal looking. He sat down and started going through the papers. These belonged to his great-grandfather, and unlike Jake, he seemed to have been extremely well organized.

“What are you hunting for?”

He dropped his find and whirled, feeling illogically guilty. Sylvie and Joey were only a few feet away from him. “You’re back.” He swallowed. “Back so early.”

“We saw a rainbow and Joey wanted to come back and show you.”

“But it’s gone now.” Joey started riffling through the wheelbarrow. “You missed it. It was a double.”

“We were worried about you when we couldn’t find you. Joey was the one who saw the open door to the old barn.” Sylvie looked around. “What are you doing in here?”

Jimmy lifted one corner of his mouth in a grin. “Worried I’d gotten myself worked into a corner?”

“Worried you’d gotten buried in an avalanche of junk.”

A swirl of guilt filled him. She trusted him completely.

Joey picked up an old gold miner’s pan. “Can I go pan for gold in the creek?”

“You go right ahead,” she said. “Let me know if you find any gold.”

Joey tore out of the barn, pan in his hand.

“Finding anything of worth?”

He looked at the box of papers as he considered, biting his lip. Then he turned to face her and said soberly, “Sylvie, can I ask you something?”

“Sounds serious.”

“I know this is none of my business, but I heard something about you and I wanted to get it straightened out.”

“Something about me,” she said in a flat tone.

“About you.” He cleared his throat. “About Joey.” He cleared his throat again. “Did you marry Jake to get this property for Joey?”

She kept her eyes lowered. “Why should it matter to you?”

“I guess . . . I just would rather know your story from you than from hearing it from others.”

She smoothed the corners of her cape a little nervously. “People will always tell tall tales, but you don’t have to listen.”

“Is it gossip if it’s true?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “All right then. Yes, I married Jake to protect Joey, to give him a home, a place to grow up, knowing God had a special purpose in mind for him.” She folded her arms against her chest, almost defiantly, though he noticed her cheeks were growing pink. “I didn’t dupe Jake, if that’s what you mean. I was a good wife to him. He knew all about Joey’s . . . start to life.”

“You being unmarried, you mean?”

“So”—one eyebrow lifted—“you are listening to wagging tongues.”

“Hold on. Joey’s the one who told me. He said your father called him illegitimate one too many times.”

“He said that?”

“He said your father called him Willie Jitmit one time too many. It wasn’t hard to figure out what that meant.”

“That’s true. He sure did.” She turned to the door. “This is a conversation that doesn’t belong in a stuffy, smelly old barn. I’m going to go check on Joey. If you’re still so determined to continue it, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

Jimmy was in this pretty deep and sure wasn’t about to quit now. He left the wheelbarrow to follow her out of the barn and up toward the house. Joey had abandoned panning for gold and was swinging on the tire swing, his favorite place, with the three-legged dog hopping in circles around the tree. Inside the house, Sylvie heated up the morning’s coffee. She poured one cup for Jimmy and another for herself, and they sat at the kitchen table, facing each other.

Sylvie held the coffee mug between her hands. “Joey isn’t mine. He’s my sister’s son. When she found out she was having a baby, she told me that she was going away, to take care of things. She kept saying she didn’t want this baby. That scared me. I couldn’t let her go alone, so I ran away with her. I had to make sure she was going to be all right, that she didn’t do anything she’d regret. I found us a room to rent in a lady’s house, and work in a little diner, as waitresses. Things were better for a while, and I felt hopeful. One step at a time, you know? But after my sister had the baby, she didn’t want anything to do with him. Didn’t want to feed him, or change him, or even hold him. There was a fellow at the diner who paid a lot of attention to her, a trucker who stopped in a lot. One morning, I woke up and she was gone. I found a little note that said she was sorry.”

“She left her baby? Just like that?”

Sylvie nodded. “She wasn’t thinking straight, that’s what I finally decided.”

This was a story he’d never anticipated. Jimmy was on the edge of his seat, wanting to know more. Wanting to know everything.

“I stayed for a while, hoping she’d come to her senses and return for her baby. But I couldn’t afford day care or make rent. Within a few weeks, I knew my sister wasn’t coming back. I could just feel that, deep in my bones. I had no choice but to go home. I took the baby with me.” She rose from the table and went to look out the window at Joey. “It didn’t take me more than one full minute to realize I’d made a mistake. My father wouldn’t even look at him. He called him a child of the devil.” She frowned. “No child belongs to the devil.” She glanced at Jimmy. “And he called him plenty of other names too.”

“Do you know who Joey’s real father is?”

She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “All my sister would tell me was that he was married.” She looked back out the window to watch Joey in the tree swing. “Luke and I talked on the phone now and then. He’d invite me to come to Stoney Ridge, but I kept hoping things might change at home. But they didn’t. And one day Joey asked me why his Grossdaadi was so mean to him. That was when I accepted Luke’s invitation to come here.”

He watched her watching Joey. He admired her for her steadfastness. For her sense of responsibility for her son . . . no, not her son. Her nephew. Yet that selfless act had altered her life, shaped and defined it. He rose from the table and came up behind her. “Sylvie . . . why did you do it?”

A quiet moment passed. “It would have been impossible to forsake him.” Her voice wavered with emotion.

He could think of a lot of people who would never have dared to step up to a responsibility like that. Not even for their own sibling. “Is your sister involved with him at all?”

“No. Not a word in over four years. She’s the one who’s missing the blessing.”

“So then, I guess Jake did rescue you.”

She took a long time to answer, and he couldn’t quite discern what was running through her mind. “That sounds more like your mother than you.” She lifted her chin and looked at him with defiance. “And I suppose she thinks I’m looking to be rescued again.”

Now it was his turn to take time to respond. Yes, it was exactly what his mother had said. But he didn’t want to think about his mother right now. “It’s just that . . . you were years apart. It’s hard to believe that you were in love with Jake.” He wanted to know.

She stiffened. “Who made the rule that a marriage has to be between a man and a woman who are the same age?”

“Come on, Sylvie, you and Jake . . . we’re talking decades apart. I mean, it couldn’t have been easy.” What in the world would they have had to talk about?

She let out a weary sigh. “Is it so hard to believe that Jake was a good husband?”

“Jake never struck me as husband material.” He was known as the odd old bachelor! “Ever heard Fern’s theory? ‘A bachelor is a man who’s too fast to be caught or too slow to be worth catching.’”

“So Jake was too slow to be worth catching?”

“Well, yeah. I guess so.”

A slow grin spread across her face, all the way to her eyes. “So, then, you must lean toward the type that’s too fast to be caught.”

Me? Jimmy had never thought of himself in that saying. He’d never really thought of himself as a confirmed bachelor. Just a fellow who hadn’t quite made it to the altar yet.

They stood facing each other as if sizing the other up.

She put her hands on her hips. “What exactly is husband material?”

“I guess I don’t know.” Jimmy paused, then took off his hat and scratched his head. He started feeling his neck heat up. This conversation was getting a little too personal for him and needed redirecting. “Did you formally adopt Joey?”

“No. I never thought I needed to.”

“So, then, Jake didn’t either?”

“No. Why would it matter? Jake told me once that the farm would go to me, and that Joey could inherit it someday.”

Jimmy sighed. “Sylvie, this is like the bloodlines for Prince. There are some things you need to take care of legally. Words, intentions, they’re not enough. Can’t you see that?”

She turned his question around. “But why? Why is it so important?”

“Because . . . not everybody is as trusting and as good as you are.”

She blinked, confused. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

“Rising Star Farm is supposed to pass down to the youngest son. If Joey isn’t legally Jake’s son, that means the next in line has the first right to claim it.”

“Who’s that?”

He patted his chest, but not in a proud way. Defeated, almost. “Me.”

Alone in the kitchen, long after Jimmy had left for home and Joey had been tucked into bed, Sylvie sipped a cup of chamomile tea. She felt unsettled from the conversation with Jimmy Fisher earlier today.

She knew Edith Lapp had stirred the waters, put thoughts and doubts and words in her son’s head. Still, she felt startled by the accusation that Jake had rescued her through marriage.

It was true, though she didn’t like thinking of it that way. Those familiar pricks of guilt started again, making her squirm in her seat. Reminders, better ignored, that she had maneuvered and coaxed and wormed her way into Jake’s life until he lost his heart to her. She liked Jake, and over time, she grew fond of him, but she had never loved him.

Did she want to be rescued again? Did she need to be rescued? She had assumed Rising Star Farm would be her life, hers and Joey’s. Obviously, that was a naive dream. She was on the edge of the unknown again, her dream about to crack into pieces around her. The fragile life she’d constructed here felt as if it was about to shatter like spun sugar, all because of a missing piece of paper. Jake’s last will and testament.

The smell of fresh varnish smacked Jimmy in the face as he opened the door to Luke’s Fix-It Shop. “Holy smoke. You’re going to asphyxiate yourself if you don’t get some fresh air in here.”

Luke looked up. “Good point. I need all the brain cells I’ve got. Keep that door open, would you?”

Jimmy set a big rock against it to brace it open. He walked inside and saw the sign Luke was varnishing. “Oh wow. It’s turned out better than I thought.” It was a sign for Rising Star Farm. “That horse looks just like Prince.” It was a black silhouette of an Arabian horse in motion, curved nose, sweeping tail. The words Home of the Flying Horse were written on top. That was a touch he was proud of that he’d thought to add after Sylvie commissioned it from Izzy. It briefly dawned on him that he should have run the nickname by Sylvie first, but then he dismissed that thought.

Pleased, Luke smiled. “She spent an entire afternoon over at Sylvie’s, sketching the horse. Wanted to get his nose just right.” He glanced out the door to see Sylvie head down to the yarn shop with Izzy, Joey trailing behind, kicking at old snowdrifts. “What brings you to Windmill Farm?”

“Sylvie needed something from Izzy.” Jimmy leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms against his chest. “So, Luke . . . what exactly is husband material?”

“Huh?”

“What makes a good husband?”

“You’re asking me?”

“Yup. You’re married. You’re a father. So what’s made you good at it?”

“Who said I was any good at it?”

Jimmy grinned. “You’ve got a point there. Maybe I should ask Izzy.”

“Why are you asking?”

“The other day I asked Sylvie why she married Jake.” He pushed off from the doorframe. “I mean, why Jake, of all men.”

Luke stilled his paintbrush. “What did she say?”

“Come to think of it, she never really did answer. She sort of sidestepped it and shot a question back to me.” She did that a lot when she didn’t want to answer his questions. “So why do you think she married him? I mean, Jake must’ve been twenty or thirty years older than her.”

“Well, yeah. I don’t think that mattered to Sylvie. He treated her right.”

“Okay, then, that’s what I mean. How did he treat her that was so right?”

“I don’t know. Ask Sylvie.”

Well, Luke was no help. That advice only brought him full circle to where he started.

“Jimmy, why aren’t you married?”

Jimmy slapped his palm against his chest. “Me?” His voice rose an octave. “Married! Me?”

“Yes, you. You’re not as young as you think you are. Why didn’t you marry my sister Bethany when you had a chance? I never really understood it.”

Jimmy rubbed his forehead. Luke was younger than him by at least four or five years, and as a boy and teen, he was a pain in the backside. But now, he sure did spout off to offer his opinions. He sure did sound like a deacon. It was a little hard to take him seriously when Jimmy still thought of Luke as the neighborhood villain. “I just needed a little more time.”

“My sister got tired of that excuse.”

“Excuse? I wouldn’t call it an excuse.”

“Then why didn’t you marry her? You loved her, didn’t you?”

Jimmy nodded. “If she’d only been a little more patient . . .”

“Four years is pretty patient.”

Jimmy bit his lip. Well, sure, put that way.

“You already lost Bethany. Are you going to lose another girl?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Seems to me that you’re falling for Sylvie.”

He coughed, then sputtered. “Oh no. No way. I’m not in the market for marriage. No siree. Has Sylvie said something to you?” He felt his collar start tightening up, choking his windpipe. “Maybe I should quit working for her. I sure don’t want her getting the wrong idea.”

Luke dipped the brush in the varnish pot. “I thought you wanted to work with horses. I thought you were helping her.”

“I did. I mean, I do.”

“If you aren’t there to help Sylvie—”

“I am—”

“If you’re just looking after yourself, like you always do, then maybe you should go ahead and quit. Sylvie deserves better than that.”

“Well, I . . .” Jimmy scratched his head. This conversation had taken a turn he hadn’t expected. He was starting to feel woozy from the strong varnish odor, overheated and slightly nauseated. “Look, I took on a job, that’s all. Everybody takes jabs at me about getting married, but I’m not in the market.”

“Why not?”

“Because . . . I want to keep my options open.”

“That’s not it. You’re afraid of something.”

“Me? Afraid?” Lord-a-mercy, he wasn’t afraid of anything. Not after the last four years of breaking wild horses.

“Yeah . . . you. Every time you get close to something that’s real, you find a way to botch it up. And then you act like it just wasn’t meant to be. That’s what you did to my sister.”

“Maybe it wasn’t meant to be between me and Bethany.”

“Maybe it was. Maybe you’re just a coward when it comes to commitment.”

“That’s not it. I just . . . don’t want to make a mistake.”

Luke scoffed. “If every man worried that he was making a mistake, there’d never be another wedding.”

Luke Schrock sure had morphed into a typical Amish deacon, wagging his finger at errant church members. Jimmy rubbed his jaw. “Can’t I just have an honest conversation with you?”

“You want me to be honest?” Luke set the brush into the pot. “Okay, then. Jimmy, I see a lot of my old self in you. Selfish to the core. Always looking after your own best interests.”

Jimmy slapped a palm against his chest again. “Me?” Selfish?

“Maybe you should quit working for Sylvie. Let her find someone who’s worthy of her.” He picked up the brush and wiped the drips on the side of the varnish pot. Before he started painting again, he gave Jimmy a very direct appraisal, not a good look. “Besides, you’re not exactly Sylvie’s type.”

“Right.” Like Jake King was? And what did that mean, anyway? How am I not Sylvie’s type? What’s wrong with me? This entire conversation had gone south. He was starting to feel drips of sweat trickle down his spine, though a brisk wind was sailing through the open door.

“Look, Jimmy, I’m not trying to badger you into getting married. Maybe you’re right. You and Bethany just weren’t meant to be. She’s very happy with her life.”

Jimmy let out a puff of air. That was a relief to hear. He wished that piece of news had been conveyed at the beginning of this sticky conversation. “There. You see? It all worked out the way it was supposed to.” He smiled broadly, feeling a little better.

“I see. I see plenty. What I see is this—”

Jimmy braced himself. Another blast was headed his way.

“Your way of thinking is downright immature. Who’s been more faithful in her Christian walk than Sylvie? Watching after her sister, then taking care of her baby, even though it’s meant that tongues wag. Her own father treated her badly. Same with her boyfriend. The jerk broke things off with her, said he didn’t want to raise someone else’s child. That’s why she moved here, to have a fresh start.” He shook his head in disgust. “Fellows like you, they break girls’ hearts right and left, without a care.”

Without a care? Jimmy cared. That was why he’d come here in the first place today. He did care. Luke made him sound like he was soulless. He started feeling woozy from the varnish again and sat down on the closest stool to the door.

“Jimmy, here’s my final thought on the subject.”

Like Jimmy had asked. This man doled out as much unasked-for advice as his mother.

“I just wonder if you might be missing something. Someone pretty special.”

Oh. That advice—it wasn’t what Jimmy had expected.

Luke wasn’t finished. “You don’t get many second chances in life. Would be a shame if you missed this one.” He gave a sly wink before turning around to look for something on his workbench, missing the smile fade on Jimmy’s face.

So many winks lately, coming at him from all corners. They nettled Jimmy.

After finishing the last coat of varnish to the sign, Luke took it outside the Fix-It Shop to dry in the sun. He stood back to look at it, thinking it might be Izzy’s best sign yet. She was completely self-taught and had an artistic sense about her that was startling. They’d been married a few years now, yet she kept surprising him with hidden talents. Sometimes, he thought she seemed a little surprised too. Like watching a sunset—just when you thought the colors couldn’t get any brighter, the sky changed and the colors deepened.

He’d thought Jimmy Fisher had followed him out, but he seemed glued to the stool. Luke might’ve been a little hard on him, but fellows like Jimmy needed the two-by-four approach. He recognized male obtuseness because he suffered from it himself.

Luke had more important things on his mind than Jimmy’s immaturity. He still had no guidance from God on how to get the word out that the church of Stoney Ridge would welcome babies whose mothers couldn’t care for them. It still seemed preposterous, overwhelming, and even a little frightening, yet the more he thought about it, the more convicted he felt. Nearly as convicted as Izzy, and she was gung ho. The conundrum lay in figuring out how to go about it. That’s what stopped him from moving forward.

A car turned onto Windmill Farm’s driveway and he shielded his eyes from the sun to see a flash of red. A fire chief’s car. He waited until the car came to a stop and walked to meet it. A man opened the car door and lifted a hand in a wave to Luke. He was a tall, well-built man, fiftyish, with thick dark hair, just starting to show a few streaks of gray.

“Can I help you? Any problem?”

“No. Not at all.” He reached a hand out to shake Luke’s. “I’m the new fire chief at the Stoney Ridge Fire Station. Transferred over from Lancaster. Name’s Juan Miranda. Just wanted to meet the neighbors and let them know we’re here to help. I’m always looking for ways to build a better, stronger community. Plus I wanted to extend thanks to the men in your church who are volunteer firefighters.”

“Luke Schrock. I’m the deacon for our church. Yes, I’m a volunteer.” He noticed Jimmy had finally come outside. “This is Jimmy Fisher. He’s a volunteer firefighter too.”

“I am?” Jimmy cleared his throat. “I guess I am.” He shook the fire chief’s hand.

“There’s another reason I came by,” the chief said. “I found some damage to the roof at the station. A couple of leaks. I’ve got the repair money approved, I just can’t find any contractors. I called around but they’re all booked up. I wondered if any of your men might have some experience fixing roofs. I can get the materials if you can bring the manpower.”

“Count on Jimmy and me,” Luke said, ignoring the shocked look on Jimmy’s face. “We’ll be there tomorrow, bright and early.” He tried not to grin at the way Jimmy’s eyebrows shot up to the top of his forehead. He was guessing that Jimmy had no experience with roofing. But Luke had done a little roofing in his day for English homes, and he could teach him what he needed to know. It wasn’t hard work, and the extra cash would come in handy.

Juan Miranda pointed to the sign Luke had just finished varnishing. “Home of The Flying Horse?” He squinted to peer at the painted horse. “Is that an Arabian?”

“Why, yes it is,” Jimmy said, pride deepening his voice. “Rising Star Farm boasts the most remarkable Arabian stud in the area.”

Luke gave him a sideways glance. Did he really just say “boast”?

“How so?” Juan said. “What makes your Arabian different from any other?”

“Excellent question,” Jimmy said. “Conformation, athletic ability, endurance, strength, sheer beauty.”

“Speed?”

Jimmy paused, cast a sideways glance in Luke’s direction. “You mean, how fast can he go?”

“That’s right.”

Ever the salesman, Jimmy gave him a huge smile. “You’ll have to come see him for yourself.” He stuck out his thumb. “Not far. Just down the road. In fact, I can take you there now.”

Juan Miranda hesitated, but he did look interested. “Ah, I’d like nothing better . . . but it’ll have to wait for another day. I have to get back to the fire station. See you both tomorrow.”

After the fire chief left, Jimmy’s smile slipped off his face and he gave Luke a look like he’d lost his mind. “You took on the fire station job without even taking a look at the roof?”

Luke shrugged. “A few leaks here and there. Easy.”

“Maybe for you, but I’ve never worked on a roof before. Even at a barn raising. Heights aren’t my thing . . .” He shuddered.

The door to the yarn shop opened and out came Sylvie, heading to the house. Jimmy watched her a second or two longer than he should have.

Luke was studying him, understanding. He put a hand on his shoulder. “Jimmy, my friend. It’s time you faced your fears.” He gave him a sly wink. “All of them.”