24

As Abigail hurried Thistle down the road, she passed Ora Nisley and waved out the buggy window. He waved back cheerfully and continued on toward Uncle David’s house.

How odd. Mammi was way too old to be thinking about romance. Ridiculous!

But . . . Abigail had other matters filling her mind.

She found Dane in the horse paddock, working with Bella, his new horse. He stopped to watch her hitch Thistle’s reins to the post, then he went back to working the horse.

Suddenly Abigail was visited by doubts. For a few moments, she was unsure what to say, and even considered running away, like a child who was caught doing something wrong. Better judgment prevailed and she took a deep breath. She bit back her misgivings and walked up to the paddock. “Christmas is coming.”

“Yes.”

“My sister Laura will be heading home for it.”

He flicked Bella’s lead to get her loping.

“I’d like to invite you to my uncle’s home for Christmas dinner.”

A short silence ensued before Dane spoke. “I thought you said you were leaving for Ohio.”

“Not me. Just Laura. She’s leaving tomorrow. She’s distressed about the sudden lack of interest from her boyfriend. I thought I’d be heading home by now, but I’ve changed my mind.”

He let Bella slow to a walk, then he unclipped the lead and ran a hand down her flank. He walked over to the fence where Abigail stood. He had all the time in the world, Dane did.

“I’m staying here in Stoney Ridge. I’ve been thinking it over. I thought that, well, maybe I could work for the sisters in the Sisters’ House. They said they needed someone to finish what Bethany Schrock had started. I think I could help them . . . get organized.”

“I’m sure you could.” He gave her a long look, curious and dubious.

He wasn’t going to help her out, that was apparent. She gathered every ounce of courage she had and wished she had changed into her blue dress. “So what do you say? About coming for Christmas dinner?”

Dane rubbed the top of the fence post, thinking it over. “Will your grandmother be there?”

“Yes, I think so.” When Laura had announced she was leaving, Abigail felt certain that Mammi would insist on returning with her. After all, the church crisis had passed, and her granddaughters were quite resistant to her matchmaking. The Thanksgiving Dinner Incident was the final straw. Andy Miller buckled under Mammi’s steady grilling and admitted he would marry Katrina in the blink of an eye. Mortified and embarrassed, Katrina told Mammi to stop meddling in people’s lives. Right in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner! Uncle David had gone off on some kind of an errand, and Abigail wondered if Katrina would be so bold had her father been seated at the table. Maybe so. Katrina had evolved into a woman who spoke her mind.

And Mammi was shocked by those spoken thoughts. You’d never seen a more surprised look on anyone’s face. “Me? Meddle? Why, I never.” Everyone burst out laughing and Mammi seemed thoroughly offended.

This morning, though, after seeing the way Mammi’s cheeks grew bright pink over Ora Nisley, Abigail felt fairly confident that her grandmother would be staying in Stoney Ridge for the time being. “Yes, I’m sure Mammi will be there.”

“Wouldn’t your grandmother object to sharing Christmas dinner with a Glick?”

“It doesn’t matter what she thinks.”

Dane stared at her for a long moment, ten, maybe twenty seconds. “What does matter to you, Abigail?”

She took a deep, deep breath. “You. You matter.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No. I never kid. I have no sense of humor.”

Slowly, a smile spread over Dane’s face. He chuckled and ran a hand down the back of his head. “Well, that sounds more like the Abigail I came to know in those letters.”

The last word stopped her cold. In those letters? Those letters? The ones she had written to him on her father’s behalf? Her mind raced as she took in the reality of what he had said.

It was several seconds before he spoke. “I’ve known it was you who wrote those letters for a long time.”

“But . . . how?” Abigail had been so careful. Extremely careful.

“You have distinctive penmanship. Slanted far to the left. The way a left-handed person writes.”

“But you’ve never seen me write anything.” She made certain of that.

“I didn’t have to. The Bent N’ Dent notepad that was stuffed into Freeman’s Bible. I saw the handwriting. I recognized it. Then I noticed after we met that you were left-handed. It all came together.”

“You never said anything. Why?”

He shrugged. “I guess I figured that if I had, I would’ve scared you off. There’s something about you that seems as skittish as a colt on thin ice. It’s the same way with horses—better to let them learn to trust me than to come on too strong and frighten them away. Sheep too. Trust and love just comes slowly for certain types.”

Love? Did he just say love? “Dane,” she whispered, “why are you so sure about me?”

He slipped in between the fence’s railing, until he was just a foot or so away from her. “Because I believe God brought you here. For me. I prayed for a wife, I prayed for a friend, and he brought me both. In you. Two for one.”

A wife. He had prayed for a wife, and for a friend. And God answered his prayer with her. Her! Brimming with feelings she couldn’t express, she felt the bridge of her nose start to tickle and her eyes start to water. The pressure built and built, until she squeezed her eyes and covered her nose, sure she was about to explode in sneezes. But just when it reached its peak, the pressure stopped. Slowly, cautiously, she opened one eye, then the other.

Dane was smiling at her with that big, ear-to-ear grin he had, the one that always made Abigail smile in return. He reached out for her, and she fell into his arms, fitting into his embrace like a glove, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Things were looking much more positive.

As Jesse loped up the long driveway to Windmill Farm, he caught sight of a bonneted figure standing outside his buggy shop. His footsteps faltered when he saw the woman raise a hand and wave. He heard his own heart drumming in his ears. Mim Schrock was waiting for him. Waiting for him, Jesse Stoltzfus. Even from a distance, he noted two spots of color in her cheeks. She used to always blush around him, but she hadn’t blushed in months. A burst of elation rippled through his body as he smiled and stretched his stride.

As he approached her, she kept her eyes downcast. “I came to thank you,” she said.

He felt his Adam’s apple bob up and down, and his voice came out an octave higher than he had expected it to. “For what?”

She took a step closer, but still she wouldn’t look at him. “For not telling anyone about the awful, horrible things my brother has done. To you, in particular.”

Jesse was charmed. “How did you find out?”

“Sammy broke down under my interrogation and confessed everything. He could never keep a secret.” She held out a pie tin, covered in foil. “Chocolate chip walnut cookies. For you.”

His favorite! She hadn’t forgotten. That was a stellar indicator of her affections for him, despite her best efforts to deny them. He took the tin from her and lifted a corner of foil. The cookie was soft, still warm, the greatest gift he’d ever received. His eyes closed as he chewed his first bite. “Delicious.”

“Why didn’t you blow the whistle on Luke? You had every right to. You could’ve told your dad and let him deal with Luke.”

Jesse lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “I guess because I’ve done one or two awful things in my day.” Plenty of awful with a side helping of stupid. It seemed to be part of a boy’s bumpy passage to manhood.

“Jesse, I was hoping . . .” Those two spots on her cheeks turned suspiciously brighter.

Hoping? She was hoping? Jesse felt a stirring within him. He had hopes too. Hoping that she and Danny Riehl would go their separate ways. Hoping that she and Jesse could have a second chance.

A quick exchanged glance, two nervous smiles, then silence again. “I was hoping . . . you might be willing to take Luke on as an apprentice. After school.”

Jesse practically choked on the bite of cookie. “What?” It came out in a squeak.

“You’d be a wonderful influence on him. He’ll be done with school in May and . . . what then? He doesn’t like farming or horses or inn keeping. It’s a topic of endless discussion over at Eagle Hill. My mother and grandmother are beside themselves with worry. Think of it. My brother Luke, with too much time on his hands.” She shuddered, then took a step closer. “There’s some talk of . . . sending him away.”

More talk that Jesse had missed out on? How could that be? A buggy man should know everything. It was part of the job. “Where to?” Juvenile Hall, perhaps?

“To my brother and his wife, Tobe and Naomi. They live in Kentucky.”

“Maybe that’s not such a bad idea. You know, a fresh start for Luke.” Another town to vandalize and scandalize.

Mim let out a sad sigh. “Tobe doesn’t want him.”

Ah.

“The thing is, Jesse, Luke does like to try and fix things. To tinker around. That’s why I thought of you, and how good you are at this buggy repair work. Everyone says so.”

“Everyone?” He watched her as she spoke, watched her eyes remain downcast nearly the whole time.

Her eyes flickered up. “Nearly.”

Jesse’s shoulders straightened. “I . . . suppose I could try it.”

Her appreciative eyes sought Jesse’s and he felt his heart warm. “Oh, Jesse, thank you!” She covered her mouth with her mittened hands and blinked hard. “Thank you.”

As Jesse watched her walk back down the hill, he felt two distinct emotions battle inside him. One, he was positive, absolutely convinced, that Mim Schrock still cared for him. She had said he would be a wonderful influence on Luke, did she not? Clearly, she held him in high regard. Quite possibly, she loved him as he loved her, though that might be stretching things a bit. Still, that awareness filled him with optimism.

The second emotion, dread, filled him with utter pessimism. It had just become his task to reform Luke Schrock, the town’s ruffian.

And then a third emotion emerged. Alarm. He smacked his forehead, remembering Yardstick Yoder. He had already agreed, albeit under duress, to apprentice Yardstick in his buggy repair shop. Luke and Yardstick were archenemies. Both sweet on his sister Ruthie, though he had no idea why. Both too clever for their own good.

What had he just gotten himself into?

He walked into the quiet, peaceful buggy shop, his special place, a corner of the earth that had been all his, at least for the last month. The door closed behind him, and what a final sound that thump was.

The sun was barely skimming the ridge when David woke to sweet smells wafting up from the kitchen. His mother and Molly were baking pies to sell in the store—a “line extension” suggested by Jesse and Hank. The kitchen was brimming with scents of cinnamon, vanilla, ginger, and molasses. David helped himself to a cup of coffee and stood by the door for a moment, watching the two of them work together. His mother sifted the flour and stirred in salt, then cut Crisco into it. She worked the mixture into a ball of dough so Molly could roll out the piecrust.

His mother was particular about all things in the kitchen, but rolling out a proper piecrust topped her list. David cringed as Molly did nothing to his mother’s satisfaction. She didn’t flour the rolling pin, which caused the piecrust to stick to it. His mother continually reminded Molly to roll the dough from the center out, and not side to side. She whipped out a ruler and scolded Molly in a voice of forced patience as she measured the dough. “No, no! Not a half-inch thick. Not a quarter-inch thick. It must be exactly an eighth of an inch thick.” Or she insisted that Molly start over.

This might be a terrible idea. His mother was no teacher. Memories of a similar scenario came to the forefront: a winter when his mother tried to teach his sister Ruth how to cook. His mother’s perfectionist streak wore Ruth to a frazzle, until she gave up trying to please and did all she could to frazzle his mother right back. It wasn’t long before Ruth was banished from the kitchen. That was probably Ruth’s plan all along, but he knew it wasn’t Molly’s. She desperately wanted to please, and to learn from his mother.

He saw Molly lift her head to look at her grandmother, and David was just about to step in, to tell his mother that she was being too hard on his daughter, expecting too much. But he noticed something in Molly’s eyes that made him stop himself, just in time. Molly looked to her grandmother without an ounce of self-pity in her eyes. “Again?” she asked.

“Again,” his mother answered. “Still thinner.”

So Molly folded the piecrust up and rolled it out again. Two more times after that, until his mother was finally satisfied. David watched the entire process, mesmerized. Molly took every single suggestion his mother made and tried again. She never wavered from the goal, never took his mother’s criticism personally, never objected to the nitpicking and faultfinding.

What an example his Molly was to him. She failed. She tried again. She failed. And she tried again.

David smiled to himself. Wouldn’t Anna be proud of their Molly? The daughter he worried most about, the one who was most like him in all the wrong ways—his meekness, for one. His lack of confidence, for another. Even with those weaknesses, he felt a deep-down assurance that Molly was going to be fine, just fine.

An hour later, he left the house to head to the store a little earlier than usual. He wanted to stop by Moss Hill and see the work progress with the pumps. The wind kept turning on him, a true winter wind. He climbed Moss Hill on the road created by the work trucks, listening to the creaking sounds of the pumps, groaning thuds, metal moaning against itself.

Andy spotted him and walked halfway down the hill to meet him, a big smile on his face. “Work is going quicker than anticipated,” he said. “There’s fluid at the top of the pipes, and they’re only at 3,500 feet.”

“Fluid? As in, oil?”

Andy nodded. “That’s a really good sign.”

“They’ll still go down to 4,000 feet?”

“Yes—but it looks like it’s a shallow well.” Andy was beaming. “David, this could be a significant oil trap. It’s amazing it hasn’t been discovered before now. Pennsylvania is all about oil. The very first oil well was dug in northwestern Pennsylvania.”

“Why do you think it hadn’t been discovered?”

Andy shrugged. “For some reason, this rocky hillside was passed over in the 1950s. That’s when the oil companies were sending out scouts to find oil in this area.”

A worry nettled David. If these wells were a significant oil trap, would that bring other scouts to the area? If other oil traps were discovered, what might that mean for the little church of Stoney Ridge? Prosperity, he believed, could be every bit as dangerous as hardship.

He turned to ask Andy when he thought construction for the wells would wrap up, but Andy was looking beyond him. His face had grown soft and a crooked smile had begun. He looked to see what had distracted Andy. Ah! Not a what but a who. Katrina was walking up the hill to join them. It cheered David’s heart to see the look on Andy’s face, the look of a man in love. He hoped Katrina felt the same way. He couldn’t read his daughter; she kept herself carefully guarded.

“Hi, Dad,” she said as she reached them. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the store by now?”

“I should be. Hard to pull myself away. It’s fascinating to watch.” But she was right; he should get to the store. He said his goodbyes and started down the hill.

David looked up and his steps faltered. There, waiting on the road, was a horse and buggy, and halfway up the hill was Freeman Glick, watching the oil pumps with his son Leroy, the one who teased his Molly.

David would have liked to talk to Freeman privately, but not with his son present. “You’re welcome to go see the work up close.”

“This is close enough,” Freeman said. His son’s face fell with disappointment.

“If Leroy stays by Andy, it would be safe for him to go up and see the work.”

His son looked up at him, silently pleading. Freeman gave a quick nod and the boy bolted up the hill.

“So, how does it feel to be bishop?”

“Daunting. Overwhelming. Humbling.” The church had a members’ meeting last Sunday. David had drawn the lot for bishop, other choices had been made for ministers and deacon. A fresh team of leadership. A fresh start.

They stood there, caught in an awkward silence, unsure of what to say next, both momentarily yanked out of their accustomed roles.

“Isaac Bender sent me to a counselor,” Freeman said, his voice low and surprisingly soft. “I’ve gone twice now. It’s not quite as awful as I thought it would be. I feel . . . as if I can breathe again. My life isn’t over. I failed as bishop.” His gaze shifted to the hill, to Leroy running to the top. “I don’t want to be a failure with my family, as well.”

“I’m glad for you, Freeman.” He was glad, truly glad, and he even empathized with him. Failure was something he was very well acquainted with. Lately, though, it had occurred to him that the Lord God might love his children most when they fail and try again. When their hearts were softened by failure and its resulting humility.

“Have they found oil?”

“Looks promising, Andy said.”

“What then?”

“Then? I guess the pumpjacks will pump oil.”

“They could bring in a fortune.”

“If that is true, I feel confident that Thelma and Katrina will make wise decisions.”

For a moment, the spark of the old Freeman showed up, first in his eyes, then in his need to have the last word with David. “Anyone can carry an empty cup. It’s the cup that’s full that is hard to carry.” He whistled to his son, waited for him to run back down the hill, then the two headed down the road. It was the first time David had ever found himself sharing an opinion with Freeman Glick.

Then Freeman did an about-face and walked back to David, extending his hand for a one-pump handshake. He turned and walked down the road.

David watched Freeman as he strolled away. Was he more than this man was now? More reliable? More conscientious? As aware and careful about his own limitations? He wanted to think so—and perhaps he had to think so to do what he did day to day. But he could not know so. And neither could anyone else.

“David!” Andy shouted down the hill to him, waving frantically. “David! Oil! We’ve hit oil! Come see!”

David lifted his hands to God, asking for wisdom and discernment to lead the little church. Then he strode up the hill to see the mystery of the earth unfold. “Anyone can carry an empty cup. It’s the cup that’s full that is hard to carry.”

Lord, he prayed from the depth of his heart, help us carry this full cup.