An Amish Family Reunion Read online

Julia didn’t need a bit of help with the boys, now or for the rest of the afternoon. She relished spending time with Noah and Mary, Jamie and Sam, although from that day on she kept everyone away from the cow pasture. While the youngest three slept on quilts under a shady maple and Jamie played with his toy farm animals, she read her Bible in a lawn chair. She sent up a prayer of gratitude. All four offspring were home. From her vantage point, she could see Matthew and Henry working difficult rescue horses in the ring. Henry appreciated his big brother’s advice and assistance, while Matthew was only too happy to help. During supper last night, he’d monopolized the conversation with grand ideas to bolster Henry’s business. Simon had nodded with approval half a dozen times.

  Emma had come home for a one-month stay as promised. Tonight James would join his family for the weekend. She and Leah were making up for lost time with nonstop chatter. Because the two sisters belonged to different orders and lived miles apart, their visits were few and far between. Martha seemed content simply to be back in Ohio, even though she seldom got a word in edgewise with Leah and Emma around. Right after they finished cookout preparations, Martha crossed the street to spend the afternoon with her mother and sisters. Julia’s primary concern was Leah. She worried too much about her pie business, Joanna’s cheese production, and the future home of the Byler family.

  “You seem to be handling the wild pack.” Leah’s voice drifted over Julia’s shoulder as the subject of her musings strolled into view. “I was sent to check on and rescue you if necessary.”

  “Goodness, you girls treat me like an old woman. I’m fine. You shouldn’t hold one little mishap against me.”

  “I’ll never bring it up again.” Leah winked and lowered herself to the quilt, careful not to disturb the sleeping children. After a minute of silent contemplation, she asked, “Are you ready for one more kins kind?” She focused on the infant, pulling her bonnet forward to protect the delicate skin.

  “I’m so happy for you and Jonah. I’d suspected that might be the case with you.” Julia reached down to pat Leah’s head. “Have you told your sister and Martha yet?”

  “Just now. I’d been waiting until I was further along, praying it wasn’t another false alarm.”

  When mother and daughter locked gazes, Julia saw tears in Leah’s large brown eyes. “Wise choice. No sense setting yourself up for disappointment.”

  “I was starting to think it wasn’t meant to be. We’ve been married four years. I thought God had chosen not to grant my prayer.”

  “Sometimes He does tell us no, but often we simply must wait on His timing. We shouldn’t fret in the meantime—worrying only shows God we have no faith.”

  Leah gazed across the lawn where men were setting up long tables for the outdoor supper. “You’re referring to my anxiety about moving to Wisconsin, aren’t you?”

  “I am. Surrender your will and trust in Him. Once you send the problem up in prayer, let it go.”

  Leah nodded as though she agreed, but the set of her jaw and her clenched teeth indicated a different opinion altogether.

  So much easier said than done.

  Matthew Miller couldn’t remember seeing his wife this happy in a long time. She’d spent the afternoon at home, visiting with her sisters and parents. Tomorrow night they would have supper with the Hostetler clan, because Mary Hostetler couldn’t get enough of Noah and little Mary. The two grossmammis fussed over the bopplin enough to spoil them like English youngsters, but he didn’t mind. His wife had greeted him with a kiss when she returned in time for dinner. And if she was happy, Matthew was happy.

  Sitting at the outdoor table, he studied his extended family with pride. Uncle Seth, Aunt Hannah, and Ben had eaten with them often since his homecoming. His cousin Phoebe apparently had a beau. A blond with hair hanging in his eyes arrived just as they sat down to eat. The young man watched Phoebe’s every move from the opposite bench. She couldn’t sip lemonade without drawing his attention. But if this Eli stuck around, mamm might take a pair of shears to those bangs.

  James Davis, sitting across from Emma and his sister, Lily, made an effort to speak solely in Deutsch. Many of his pronunciations left much to be desired, but he’d improved since Julia had taken him to task. Leah and Jonah, reunited after a week’s separation, whispered across the table like a courting couple instead of two people married several years. And his father encouraged everyone to eat more hamburgers, corn on the cob, and potato salad as though the Millers teetered on the brink of starvation. Matthew loved being home. As much as he enjoyed his new position at Rolling Meadows, no place on earth offered as much joy and love as Winesburg.

  When the women stacked dishes to be carried inside, Phoebe and her mysterious Eli wandered toward the pond, deep in conversation. Seth and Ben headed home for evening chores, but they would return later for pie and coffee. Henry and Dad went to milk cows and then feed and water livestock. And Matthew was left to his thoughts and reminiscences of what might have been. After refilling his coffee mug, he strolled inside the horse barn. Overhead, barn swallows were settling down for the night in rafter nests, while swifts continued to dart through the open loft window, gobbling up bugs for supper. Matthew watched their frenetic activity with fascination. How he longed for his own barn instead of a converted garage barely large enough for one buggy horse.

  “Bird-watching in barns these days, Matty?” James Davis approached with a smile and hearty handshake.

  “Birds roosting in the rafters are one of my fondest memories. But these are probably the grandchildren of birds I remember from childhood. The owners of the stable where I work would faint if they saw this.” He pointed at the rafter nests. “They put mesh over every possible entry point in barns for expensive horses.” He settled on a hay bale with a contented sigh.

  “I need to pick your brain for a while.” James settled on the bale to Matthew’s right. “My brother picked up a horse at auction with both great bloodlines and markings. He could be a show horse if someone had the time and patience. He’s a solid-looking gelding about two years old, showing no visible signs of abuse or neglect from previous owners, but the horse won’t let Kevin get anywhere near his mouth. He still balks and tries to bite him even after several weeks of gentle treatment. He’ll let Kevin throw a rope around his neck and ride him bareback around the paddock, but he won’t let anyone come close with a bit and bridle.” James pulled up a blade of hay to chew.

  Matthew needed no long period of consideration. “Even though he looks healthy, he was probably lip-twitched by a former owner. It’s a lip chain people once used to break horses—very old-fashioned and banned by all breeder and trainer associations. Thank goodness, you almost never see those nasty things anymore. Ignorant owners thought you had to break a horse’s spirit to train them. That sort of thinking did more harm than good. Luckily, few people still maintain that viewpoint.” He shook off the depressing mental images. “Kevin’s horse most likely had a painful infected lip at some point. Even though it might be healed, it’s no surprise the horse won’t let anyone near his mouth.” Matthew shuddered while his back stiffened with anger.

  “What do you think Kevin can do?” James’ expression also revealed his opinion of the cruel people in the world.

  “He’ll have to find a whole lot of patience…and pray. It might take a long time before the horse stops fearing the bit. That’s probably why the owner unloaded him at auction, despite impressive bloodlines.”

  James stoked his beard sagely. His was a better-trimmed version of an Old Order beard. “I’ll recommend both to Kevin.”

  “I have a question for you, James. Do you board and train saddlebreds at your place in Charm?”

  “We have bred and sold some in the past, but we don’t have any now. Buyers around here are looking for Morgans, Haflingers, Standardbreds, and, of course, draft horses. We get an occasional call for Tennessee Walkers or Thoroughbreds, but saddlebreds are pretty much out of the Holmes County’s price range.”

  Ma
tthew puckered his lips in thought. “I remember a few English folks with deep pockets. If they were to suddenly take interest in the saddlebred show circuit, you could add a breeding program easy enough. You have the right facilities with heated barns, indoor arenas, and an outdoor show ring. You can’t believe how much money could be made tapping these rich folks. They spend tens of thousands of dollars to buy their daughters a hobby. And then thousands more each month for boarding, training, and outfits for those girls to wear in shows.” Matthew struggled not to sound reproachful.

  James’ blue eyes squinted as slanted rays through the loft window illuminated his face. “I’ll pass this along to my father. He might ask our equine manager to check into potential demand in the area. But I can tell you that my New Order bishop sure wouldn’t like me involved in such a vocation. He only likes horses that pull buggies.”

  They laughed like longtime friends. “It’s just a suggestion. The saddlebred people pay plenty of money to board their horses at certain stables, as though whoever shovels out the wood shavings makes a difference in their point standings. And the tips for trainers and grooms…I know trainers who receive five-thousand-dollar Christmas bonuses and grooms who get twenty-dollar tips just for tacking a horse fifteen minutes.”

  “Money! Is that all you can talk about, Matthew Miller, even back home?”

  Both men’s heads snapped toward the soft-spoken but petulant voice of Martha Miller. “No, fraa. If you’d arrived sooner, you would have heard our lively discussion on injured horse lips.” Matthew kept his tone equally controlled.

  James slid effortlessly off the hay. “I’m going to look for my Emma. I need to spend time with her, while you two could use some time alone. Thanks for your advice, Matty. I’ll see ya tomorrow. Good night, Martha.” He tipped his battered hat brim and strode out the door.

  Matthew turned his full attention on his wife. “You shouldn’t speak to me like that in front of James. Save what you have to say until we’re alone.” He clamped down on his back teeth, trying not to frown.

  Martha shifted her weight between hips, blushing to a bright shade of peach. Her freckles blended into obscurity. “Jah, that’s how I was raised. Not to air your troubles like laundry on a Monday wash line. But I was peeved to hear you going on and on about the almighty dollar—to James Davis, no less. His family doesn’t need advice on how to get rich.”

  A silence fell between them as he silently counted to ten. He’d only reached five before he spoke. “I wasn’t doling out financial advice, Martha. We were talking about horses, so I brought up the topic of saddlebreds. Would you prefer I not talk about my job or the place where I work?” He crossed his arms too, a matching stance of defiance and annoyance. “Perhaps you could supply me with a list of approved conversation topics.”

  Her flush deepened to plum. “Talk about what you will, Matthew, but it’s a sin to dwell so much on money.”

  He held her gaze for a long moment. “I thought you wanted us to buy a farm and move from that rental house. People who give no thought to finances don’t buy their own property. They blow around from place to place like dead leaves in the fall. Is that what you want for our family?”

  She lowered her chin to glare at the straw-strewn floor. “No, but some days I don’t know what I want. I only walked out here to say the pies had been sliced, in case you wanted your first choice. Coffee’s still hot too. Would you like to come up to the house?” She glanced up tentatively.

  He leaned back on his elbows, exhaling his breath. “I’ll be up by and by. You go in now. I want a tad more peace and quiet.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but then she shut it just as quickly. Nodding her head, Martha disappeared into the growing gloom as silently as she’d arrived. And Matthew was left with a sour taste in his mouth, despite consuming an exceptionally delicious supper.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Phoebe had been so shocked by the appearance of Eli Riehl in her uncle’s driveway that she nearly choked on her corn on the cob. A kernel slipped down to lodge in her windpipe that would have led to her demise had cousin Emma not whacked her hard on the back. The corn kernel flew out and hit poor Henry’s shirt. That alone could have led to death-by-embarrassment if Eli had witnessed the scene. “Excuse me a minute,” she said, rising to her feet. “Mir leid, Henry.” Phoebe hurried to greet the newcomer as he tied up his horse under a shady elm.

  “Good evening, Miss Miller. Any food left for a weary traveler from the western fringe of Winesburg?” Eli flashed a grin that nearly caused her knees to buckle.

  “I believe we could scrape a few pots to fix another plate.” She stood stock-still with her perspiring hands clasped behind her back. She longed to throw her arms around him and give him a hug, considering the ordeal he’d gone through. Eli had saved his father’s life, according to reports from her uncle. He’d also taken over full duties on the farm and sent his sisters’ beaus home. He must be worried and exhausted yet incredibly relieved. However, Phoebe kept her arms behind her. The Amish seldom embraced, not even close loved ones. Such a display between friends and business partners would be beyond inappropriate. “Welcome, Eli. I’m glad you came…and I’m happy to see you.”

  “Your cousin Leah extended an invitation to me through Rose. A rather roundabout way to hear about a cookout, but I’d take any opportunity to see you.”

  Mortification crept up her neck like heat rash. “I didn’t think you’d be able to leave your family or I would have invited you myself. How is your father? Has his condition improved?”

  Eli pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his silky blond hair. “I didn’t think I’d be able to leave until the last minute. My dad came home from the hospital yesterday in a hired van. He’s quite a bit stronger, with a full arsenal of medications lined up on his dresser, but he still must take it easy. At least he’s home in his own bed with his wife fussing over him.” Eli clutched his hat to his chest like a shield of armor. “My mamm got several pages of dietary dos and don’ts along with his discharge papers. It took her an hour to read the new rules.”

  Phoebe relaxed with Eli’s cheery mood. “What did she say about that?”

  “Let’s see.” He thought for a moment before ticking off on his fingers. “‘This isn’t enough food to keep a bird alive.’ ‘If he can’t have butter, margarine, honey, jam, or peanut butter, what can a man spread on his toast?’ And, ‘A palm-sized serving of baked chicken or fish is what we call an appetizer.’”

  She laughed as the last of her uneasiness drained away. “It’s a good thing he didn’t come with you. We have fried chicken, buttered corn, bacon potato salad, and chocolate cream pie for dessert.”

  His face brightened. “Then why are we standing around here talking? I’m so hungry the old nag pulling my buggy started to look tasty.”

  Phoebe punched his arm as they walked toward the table. “I know you love that horse and wouldn’t eat her if you were dying of starvation.”

  “I do like old Bess, but she isn’t the one I love.” He acted as though he would punch her arm too, but then he pulled back at the last moment.

  After that comment, the entire county tilted to the left under her feet. Why did he say such things? Amish men never spoke the flowery, romantic words on English greeting cards. They seldom said “I love you” to their wives, even if they felt that way down to their toes.

  As they reached the table, every pair of eyes turned in their direction. Phoebe cleared her throat. “Some of you already know my friend from preaching services, but for those who don’t, this is Eli Riehl.”

  Heads bobbed in Eli’s direction while a few called out welcomes. Then everyone resumed where they’d left off in their own conversations. Eli slipped onto the bench between Matthew and Uncle Simon. While Phoebe fixed him a heaping plate, Eli joined into the men’s discussions without an ounce of shyness. She set the mound of food in front of him and sat down clumsily.

  “Goodness, Phoebe. Did you give me everything that was l
eftover?” he asked. Nevertheless, he picked up his fork and began to eat ravenously.

  “You said you were hungry…” she explained, but the other conversations drowned out her reply. Phoebe took dainty bites of her dinner, more for something to do than because she was still hungry. Eli’s surprise visit had given her a strange case of nerves—an ailment that seemed to hit women more often than men.

  Uncle Simon waited until his newest guest had finished supper before he rose to his feet. The party soon broke up, with everyone hurrying off in different directions. Dad and Ben took the back path home to chores. Uncle Simon headed toward the cow barn to join Henry for evening milking. Jonah and James continued their discussion of the sweet corn harvest near the tire swing, while the women stacked and carried dishes to the house. Phoebe felt torn between helping them and entertaining her guest. Eli’s hypnotic dark eyes locked on hers like sticky tape, making the choice rather easy.

  “Would you like to walk to the pond?” she asked. “At this time of day, fish jump up to catch bugs hovering above the surface.”

  “I can’t think of a more appealing after-dinner sight.” His grin mocked and flirted simultaneously. Eli offered his elbow once beyond eyeshot, which Phoebe promptly declined.

  “I can walk without tripping, but thanks for your concern. Now that your belly is full, you can finish giving me a Riehl family update. How are you coping with your father’s business?”

  “Dad reminds me each morning what to do when I sit with him. I eat breakfast with him in his room. Work is pretty much caught up, thanks to my sisters’ suitors. They managed the farm while I stayed at the hospital. Nearby district members cut, raked, and baled our last crop of hay. Rose is good with numbers, so she is helping mamm keep the books and records. But now that dad is home, I’ve taken over all his chores.”

  They reached the bench near the rickety fishing dock. Phoebe sat, smoothed her skirt, and peered up, feeling uneasy. Although this had to be the most peaceful spot on Uncle Simon’s farm, the air seemed to be filled with the scent of impending doom. Like an animal that could sense a coming storm, she gripped the seat to brace herself. “I hope we’ll soon hear good news from the publisher. That should lift your spirits and give you something to look forward to.”