Chapter Five
That night, Jacob dreamed that a terrible storm caught him outdoors and he could not find his way home again. Water whirled and slashed through the air until it soaked his skin and he stood alone, shivering. He could feel his body shake from the cold damp. The soft ping, ping, ping of water hit his face in a steady beat until the sensation roused him from sleep.
Jacob’s eyes flew open and he realized that it had rained into the cabin during the night. The roof had sprung another leak. A water droplet eased through an invisible crack above his bed and plummeted directly onto his forehead. Jacob sighed and wiped his face. Time to repair the shingles again.
From his vantage point on the roof, he could see across his and the Yoder fields, all the way down to the creek. Jacob heard a song carry on the wind and looked up from his mallet to see Greta strolling toward the muddy bank. She moved with a carefree joy that he could feel come alive in the rhythm of the song.
“Greta!” He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted loudly enough for her to hear.
“Ja?”
“Do look out for flying squash on your way there. That seems to be a problem in these parts.”
Greta jumped and the song cut off in the middle of a word. She spun around. “Oh! I did not know you were there!” She took a moment to gather herself. “Flying squash . . . ?” Then a memory flickered across her face. She frowned and turned back toward the creek. Jacob chuckled.
Greta stopped short when she reached the edge of the water. Jacob watched as she struck her forehead with the palm of her hand. She just realized that she has forgotten the bucket. Jacob watched her double back and smiled. He shook his head and raised the mallet as he wondered how such an absent-minded girl would ever make it in the backcountry. She’s got spirit. But that does not mean that she is cut out for this life. Marta had spirit too. But I brought her here and—He cut off the thought. The backcountry is no place for a woman like Greta Scholtz. This land is a place for loss and longing. Do not ever forget that.
Jacob watched Greta disappear behind a stand of pines at the edge of the clearing. He looked down to hit a peg, then glanced back up and watched the young woman reappear at the edge of the creek. She tiptoed across the slick mud, to the edge of the cold, clear current. The sun sparkled off the rushing water and brightened her white apron.
Jacob paused, mesmerized by the way the light filtered through the trees to fall across her face. Dark, green pines loomed over her and swayed in the autumn breeze. Blue sky stretched above the scene, bright and crisp as the sea.
He frowned, picked up another peg, and forced himself to look away. He did not glance up again until he heard an angelic voice echo against the foothills. He recognized the old hymn that carried on the wind and felt something stir deep within his heart.
Greta’s eyes flicked up and she caught him watching her. She grinned. Jacob swallowed. Now she’ll think I’m interested. And I am definitely not interested. I cannot be interested! He felt a tickle of doubt in his gut. I was not staring because I am interested. I was staring simply because she is a making such a racket. You cannot help but notice her.
Greta continued to stare up at him and grin. He frowned at her. She ignored his reaction and marched forward with her head held high. Ja. She definitely thinks that I am interested now.
Greta’s attention stayed on Jacob instead of on the path. Her foot caught on a root and she tumbled forward, hit the ground, and sprawled across the grass like a slain goose. Jacob waited for Greta to pick herself up, brush off, and carry on. He sighed. Oh, Greta. Why did you ever come to the backcountry? Can you not see that you are woefully unprepared? His stomach tightened at the thought of Greta, alone against the wilderness. He shoved the thought from his mind. She cannot be my responsibility. I already failed a woman once. And I will not fail another.
Greta pushed herself out of the dirt. She wiped her mouth with her forearm and struggled into a kneeling position. Her body jerked and she collapsed to the ground again. One hand shot to her ankle.
Jacob threw down the mallet. I think she is hurt. He flew down the ladder and rushed to her crumpled body. She looked so small and fragile against the green weeds and overturned water bucket. Jacob wanted to smooth back a loose strand of her hair and whisper to her that everything would be all right. He stopped himself from dropping to the ground beside her and taking her in his arms. He shoved his feelings away.
“We really must stop meeting like this, Greta. I am beginning to think that you prefer wallowing in the mud to my company.”
“Perhaps I do, Jacob.” She turned her face upward and the paleness of her skin startled him. He noticed her clenched teeth and tight lips.
Jacob took off his beaver-felt hat, ran his fingers through his hair, and set the hat back on his head. “Are you hurt? Do you need my assistance?”
“No. I am fine. I do not need help.” She pressed her hands against the earth, struggled to rise, then gasped and collapsed back onto her knees. Jacob tried to take her hand.
“No, Jacob. I can manage on my own.” She waved him away and tried to push herself up again. Jacob lowered himself to the ground and put a hand on her shoulder. He pressed down gently but firmly.
“That is enough, Greta. You have proven your point. But I cannot let you walk on your own.”
“I said I am fine.” Tears formed at the corner of her eyes. She swallowed hard and forced them back.
“Greta, I insist.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “Very well, then. Only because you insist.”
Jacob leaned closer. “What hurts?”
“My right ankle.”
He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “I will need to assess the injury.”
“That would be most improper.”
“We are on our own, Greta. There is not a doctor for hundreds of miles. Someone has to make sure that it is not broken.”
Greta grimaced and shook her head. “Isn’t there someone else?”
Jacob swept his hand to the left and right. “Do you see anyone else? We are surrounded by wilderness.”
Greta looked up and saw only the soaring forest and endless sky.
“But . . .”
Jacob shrugged. “I could leave you here in the mud and walk for help. My horse went lame this week, so I cannot ride. It would take a long time. I would rather set the bone now, before the swelling makes it too difficult.”
“Set it? You would set my bones, here in the middle of a field?”
Jacob shrugged. “Ja.”
Greta looked unconvinced.
“The truth is, I am the closest thing there is to a doctor around here. I am the only person I know of who has set broken bones before.”
“You?”
“Yes, me.”
“Whose bones?”
“Well, I had an old hunting dog. Best dog you ever saw. She got caught in—”
Greta put up her hand. “Jacob. Are you telling me that your experience comes from setting the broken leg of a dog?”
“Ja.”
Greta exhaled. She shook her head. She exhaled again.
“Very well, Jacob, proceed.”
Jacob cleared his throat. “You’ll need to remove your hose.”
“Remove my hose!”
Jacob shuffled his feet and looked away. “I can hardly check the injury when it is covered by a thick layer of cloth.”
“But . . .”
Jacob shrugged his shoulders. “It is up to you, Greta. We can leave it as it is, but that is a risk. If you walk on a broken bone . . .” He sighed. “You could end up with a permanent limp.”
Greta pursed her lips and raised her chin. “Very well. Turn your back.”
“Ja.”
Jacob turned around and kept his eyes on the ridgeline beyond the clearing. Greta pushed aside her pleated overskirt and petticoat and untied the ribbon that held the woolen hose above her right knee. She rolled the black fabric down her calf and exposed her ankle, then readjusted her skirts so that only a tiny sliver of skin showed between her shoe and the hem of her dress.
“All right. You may turn around now.”
Jacob kneeled beside her foot and studied the bruised, puffy flesh. He let out a low whistle. “This is much worse than I thought. The swelling . . .” He cut his eyes to her face, then back down to her wounded ankle. She is a lot tougher than I thought. Most men would be bawling like babies right now. And to think, she tried to get up on her own, without my help.
“I apologize, Greta, but I must feel the bone.”
Greta nodded her permission and clenched her jaws against the pain.
Jacob laid his fingers against her ankle and blushed at the impropriety of the situation. Greta flinched, but his large, rough hands felt surprisingly comforting.
“Try and move it for me.”
Greta grimaced and moved the foot up and down.
“Good. Now left and right.”
She tightened her lips and moved the foot from side to side. His warm, reassuring hand stayed on the bruised flesh. He nodded. “It is not broken.”
Greta managed a quick smile of relief. “You are sure?”
“Ja. Pretty sure.” He set her foot down, returned her smile, then stood up and turned his back. Greta pulled her hose above her knee again and tied it in place. She took a moment to rearrange her skirts and straighten her prayer kappe.
“Okay.”
Jacob turned back around and crouched beside her. “We’ve got to get you home.”
Greta shook her head. “I cannot walk.”
“No. A sprain can hurt worse than a break. You are in for a difficult few days.”
Greta sighed. “Then how will I get home? You said that your horse went lame.”
Jacob did not answer. Instead he slid his arms around her waist and lifted her into the air. She gasped.
“I didn’t expect . . . you . . .”
“Shhh. It is fine.” He pressed her against his chest and held her as easily as a child. “You weigh less than a feather.” Something felt so right about drawing her close, warm and safe in his arms. He looked down at her wide green eyes.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No.” Her voice came out in a whisper. “Not at all.”
* * *
Greta laid her cheek against his shoulder and breathed in the scent of pine and earth. She could feel his muscles flex beneath the homespun shirt. The warmth of his flesh burned against her face and arms through the linsey-woolsey cloth. His heart beat against her ribs. She closed her eyes and relished the feeling of safety that flowed over her.
Jacob cut the distance quickly and when she opened her eyes again they were already at the cabin. Ruth Yoder stared in surprise as they strode through the door. Jacob brushed past her and headed for the nearest bench. He set Greta down, then slid a second bench toward her.
“Here. Keep it elevated.” He helped her lift her foot onto the seat while Ruth hovered beside them. “What happened?”
“I fell.” Greta shrugged. “Clumsy as always.”
“It is not broken.”
“That is a relief.” Ruth pressed a hand to her heart. “A broken bone out here in the backcountry . . .” She shook her head and did not finish the sentence.
“Give her a few days. She will recover on her own.”
Ruth nodded and hurried to the corner of the cabin where she stored herbs and foodstuffs. “I have vinegar to bring down the swelling.”
Jacob nodded, his expression hard and unreadable.
“And I will brew her some tea.” Ruth smiled. “It is not real tea, of course, only redroot.”
“A cup of redroot will do her good, I am sure.”
“Ja. I have grown fond of it.” Ruth laughed. “Of course I have almost forgotten the taste of real tea.”
“As have I. But redroot will serve her better. It can bring down swelling, I have heard.”
“I have heard that as well. There is a wealth of medicines hidden in these woods, if you know where to look.”
Jacob gazed down at Greta, as if he would say something, then nodded and turned away, a serious expression on his tanned face. He strode out the door and pulled it shut behind him. Greta stared at the closed door. She could still feel the gentle strength of his embrace, the warmth of his chest through his homespun shirt as he carried her home. She could still feel the comfort of his low, soothing voice.
Ruth studied her with a raised eyebrow. “Well, Greta, what do you think of Jacob Miller now?”
“Oh, I . . . I don’t . . .” She bit her lip and shook her head.
“You don’t what, Greta?”
Greta broke into a grin. “I don’t know what to think.”
“Oh, I think you do.”
Greta blushed and looked down, but her heart was still smiling.
* * *
They heard a knock at the door a few minutes later. Ruth opened it to find Jacob’s large frame blocking the doorway. He wore a wooden shoulder yoke with two buckets of water suspended from it. “This should last until tomorrow.” Jacob crossed the small cabin and set the buckets down beside the fireplace, careful not to let the liquid slosh over the sides. “And the cow is in the barn, safe and sound for the night.”
“Thank you, Jacob, for taking care of everything.”
“Ja. We are Amish. What else would I do?”
“Ja. Amish. Of course.” Greta looked at her lap, flustered. He seemed so attentive, so caring. I thought maybe . . . She pushed the thought from her mind, embarrassed. No, you are being presumptuous. He is just doing his duty. Why else would he attend to a girl who seems so outrageously incompetent?
When Greta looked up again, Jacob was already gone.
* * *
Jacob could not stop glancing back at the cabin. The settlers used oilcloth instead of glass, so he could only make out a haze of light and shadow where Greta sat. A soft voice drifted through the oilcloth and he imagined the laughing eyes and lively spirit that went with it. He frowned and forced himself to look away.
That night, as he stoked the fire and gazed into the glowing coals, Jacob wondered why Greta had stumbled into his path. He shook his head and pushed away the obvious answer. No. Absolutely not. Oh ja, she can be captivating—but that is completely irrelevant.
Jacob sighed, unfastened his leather shoes, and pulled off his woolen hosen. Walking through muddy fields kept his feet and calves uncomfortably damp, so he laid the woolen hosen across the hearth to dry.
Jacob sighed again and picked up his Bible. He flipped through the worn pages as he searched for confirmation about his attitude toward Greta. I know what happens when you fall for a sweet young woman and dare to dream of a happy future. He turned to the list of births, marriages, and deaths recorded on the first page of the book. His finger ran over the handwritten words as he whispered the name of his wife and son. Jacob Jr. had lived just a few hours after Marta’s death. There would have been a midwife to call if we had still been in Germany. They might have lived. But instead we were here, alone in a strange, hostile land.
He closed his eyes and tried to push away the surge of guilt that threatened to overcome him. I chose to bring my family here. I chose to expose them to the perils of the backcountry. He swallowed hard. I chose to come here for a higher purpose. How could it have ended like this?
Jacob remembered the bold excitement he had felt to be one of the first Amish families to set down roots in the New World. He and Marta journeyed from Germany’s Rhine Valley a year before the Charming Nancy set sail. He thought that his family would pave the way. Instead . . .
Jacob closed the Bible and stared into the dying fire. The flickering light danced against the cabin’s rough log walls and cast moving shadows across his face. He felt alone in the wilderness, even though his neighbors’ cabins peppered the forest with warm, inviting hearths and familiar faces.