A Marriage for Meghan Read online

  Perhaps it was due to the wind whistling through the trees or maybe her vocal capacity matched her diminutive size, but not a single head turned in her direction. She glanced back and spotted the cluster of girls, waiting where she’d left them. A column of smoke curled from the schoolhouse chimney toward the low clouds, but no face appeared in the window to offer assistance.

  I am an adult woman, and I will be minded by my students if I am to have any future in teaching, she thought. Because they were supposed to stay in shoveled areas, she hadn’t slipped on her own cumbersome outer boots. Glancing down regretfully at her new leather boots, she marched through the six-inch snow to reach the field.

  “You boys need to immediately get back to where you’re supposed to be!” she said as forcefully as possible when she reached them.

  Several seventh graders instantly left their positions in the outfield, but the eighth graders stayed where they were. “Owen Shockley, you come here right now. I wish to speak to you.” But instead of heeding her, Owen pitched the ball to the next player. The boy kicked the ball high to left field and sprinted to second base, an orange feedbag filled with straw to stand out against the white snow.

  Without warning, a large hulking figure materialized from the stand of pines. He strode toward the kickball players with singular purpose. Meghan recognized the tall, powerfully built man as Jacob Schultz, who could easily heft a two-hundred-pound calf from the mud. Jacob reached Owen before she could even think what to do and grabbed the boy. His fingers spanned Owen’s upper arm, even with a heavy winter coat on. He said something in Owen’s ear, waited a moment, gave the boy a shake, and then the two marched toward her. Owen was looking quite docile under Jacob’s control.

  As Meghan’s shock over the intrusion abated, anger rushed into its place. She breathed in and out noisily until they reached where she stood.

  Jacob said, “Meghan, Owen here has something to say to you.”

  Owen stared at the ground, not looking at her. “I’m sorry, Meghan, that I didn’t mind you and Catherine.” His voice was soft but angry.

  “Miss Meghan,” thundered Jacob.

  “Miss Meghan,” mumbled Owen.

  She exhaled her held breath. “All right. I want you and the other eighth grade boys to go inside and put your heads down on your desks. Your recess is over.” She tried to sound as stern as possible, and then she waited for the boys to disappear from sight. Unfortunately, her little group of young female followers had crept closer during the discipline of the troublemakers.

  Meghan turned to Jacob, who looked rather pleased with himself. “I’ll walk you back to your buggy.” She couldn’t speak to him with so many little ears nearby.

  Along the way he took hold of her elbow. “I don’t mind sticking around. I thought I could split that load of firewood somebody dropped off. I can stack it near the back door before I drive you home tonight.”

  She thought steam might burst from her ears by the time they reached his buggy. She pulled her arm free from his touch. “This ground isn’t icy. I can walk just fine. And John promised to stop by and split the load sometime next week before we run out.”

  “I don’t mind, Meg. There’s not much for a farmer to do this time of year. And I’m all caught up sharpening cutting implements for folks.”

  She glanced around to be certain they were alone. “What exactly did you say to Owen Shockley?”

  He blinked in the bright sunshine. “Only that if he wished his arm to remain fit for spring baseball season, he had better mind you.” He smiled with satisfaction.

  “You threatened my student? I must be the one to demand respect. And there’s no need for him to call me ‘Miss’ Meghan. The bishop wishes no big separation between those who instruct and those who learn.”

  He scratched a stubbly chin. “Seeing that you’re barely a hundred pounds, I thought adding the ‘Miss’ might give you a little extra oomph.”

  “Danki for the concern, Jacob, but I prefer you not interfere.” She shifted her weight to the other hip and crossed her arms.

  He looked taken aback. “I’m sorry, Meg, but I can’t stomach those rascals disrespecting the gal I intend to marry.” His face turned bright pink as he grasped his suspenders.

  Her eyes grew round as an owl’s. “We are not betrothed, Jacob! You had better get that idea out of your head right now!” The tension from the confrontation welled up and spilled over. She stamped her wet boot, causing his horse to prance.

  His coloring deepened to a shade of plum. “I thought you really liked me. You always gave me that impression.”

  “I do like you. But you’re my friend, nothing more.”

  “You sure could have told me that a little sooner, Meghan Yost! Before I stupidly fell in love with you,” he sputtered. He pulled the reins loose, climbed into the buggy, and released the brake. “You would think a friend might have done me the service.”

  It was a good thing she jumped back because he slapped the reins down so hard the buggy lurched forward like at the start of a race.

  Meghan slowly returned to the classroom for the longest afternoon of her life too.

  Gideon didn’t sleep well that night. He’d tossed and turned, waking fitfully more times than he could count. Finally, with dawn beginning to brighten the eastern sky, he swung his legs out of bed. Reaching for his robe, he tried not to wake his wife.

  “Hmm,” said Ruth, turning toward him. “It’s too early and too cold to get up. Get back under the covers where it’s warm until spring arrives. We have two strong sons to milk cows and feed livestock, plus two fine daughters to gather eggs for breakfast and start a pot of coffee.” She tugged the quilt over her head.

  He smiled and patted her well-rounded hip. “I can’t sleep anyway. Might as well stoke the stove so it’ll be toasty warm when my bride gets up.”

  “Once I smell bacon frying and know for sure coffee is ready, I’ll think about getting up.” The heavy quilt muffled Ruth’s words.

  “Good idea.” He stood stiffly and walked to the window that overlooked the neighbor’s fallow field across the road. Peering down on a wintry tableau, he thought he saw something odd. Gideon rubbed a dry patch in the condensation and stared at three large animals standing in the street. “What on earth?” he muttered. As he peered into the near darkness another beast ambled up, swinging her head from side to side as cattle love to do. “Are our cows in the middle of the road?”

  “What’s wrong, ehemann?” Ruth sat up in bed.

  “Nothing to worry about. Lie back and wait for the scent of bacon. I’m probably seeing things, but I’ll go check.” Gideon quickly pulled on trousers under his nightshirt and hurried downstairs. He donned his coat, hat, and boots faster than his arthritis usually allowed him to move. If his livestock were in the middle of the road, they might get hit by a car. A fast driver wouldn’t see them in time to stop, endangering both man and beast alike.

  He strode through the frigid air to the barn, where yellow light glowed in the window. Inside he spotted one of his sons carrying a feed sack toward the horse stalls. “James,” he called. “The cows—where are they?”

  Without breaking stride, James swung the hundred-pound bag from his shoulder, tipping it to fill the stanchion. Not a single kernel hit the floor as he expertly cut off the stream when the corn reached the top. “They’re still in the field, daed. I haven’t brought them in to milk yet. Every water trough had to be freed of ice and refilled, plus I want to get the horses fed. They’re probably banging their heads against—”

  Gideon didn’t let him to finish. “Come outside, son. A fence might be down. I spotted some of our—”

  James didn’t wait for his father to finish. He dropped the sack and sprinted out the door as only the young and nimble can. “John!” he hollered. “Get down here. We need you.”

  His brother’s head appeared in the loft where he’d been repositioning hay bales closer to the edge.

  “Livestock might be loose,” called Gid
eon. John wasted no time getting down the ladder and out of the barn with his father close behind. James had already vanished into the thin light of dawn.

  In the five minutes it took Gideon to find his sons, the sky had lightened enough to see cattle milling in and across the road. John and James flew into action, shouting and waving their hats to direct them back onto Yost land. Gideon stood in the road, waving his lantern back and forth to warn any approaching traffic. Fortunately, no cars appeared by the time the boys finished their roundup. The Yosts only owned twenty head for the family’s milk, cheese, and butter needs.

  Once they had herded the cows into the barn, the horses were easier to locate. James approached his barrel racing Morgan in the hay field and easily slipped a bridle on him. Then he mounted and chased down the horse Meghan once had ridden, along with the standardbreds used with the buggies. Hunger finally convinced their Percherons it was time to come home. Under a cover of snow, they found no grass to graze, so the bucket of oats in their barn stall became an enticing incentive.

  With their livestock safe, Gideon and his sons looked for the cause of the near disaster. In full daylight the answer was evident. All the pasture fences along the township road for the length of their property had been pulled down—in both directions. For a moment, the three men stood scratching their heads until they realized they had been vandalized.

  The bishop watched James grow angry, so he quickly calmed him down. “Easy, son. No real harm done—no accidents and no lost livestock.”

  “It’ll take days to put up fencing in this weather. Many of the rails will have to be replaced.” James slapped his hat against his thigh.

  “Then we’ll have something to keep us busy. Idle hands make things easier for the devil.”

  “I don’t recall being idle before this,” James muttered, but one corner of his mouth curved into a grin.

  “Let’s eat breakfast. You can ride to gather some friends to help a little easier with a full belly. John and I will milk cows today.”

  “You’re going to milk cows, daed?” John asked, laughing.

  “I still remember how, young man. If you examine a heifer’s underbelly, it’s fairly self-explanatory.” They walked back to the house wearing smiles, but Gideon’s soul remained troubled. First the mailboxes, now this? What is going on in our district?

  Inside, Ruth and his daughters stood anxiously waiting for the news. Over breakfast he explained the few details they knew.

  “Someone pulled down all the fences along the road?” asked Meghan.

  “No, just ours. The neighbors’ fences on both sides are still standing,” John said while grabbing four strips of bacon.

  “Maybe something spooked the cows and they broke out on their own.”

  James stared at her over his coffee cup. “No, little goose. All the rails are down in every section. Our cows wouldn’t organize such an efficient work party.”

  Meghan frowned, pushing away her plate of eggs. “Are you saying someone chose to pick on our farm and no one else’s?” The color drained from her cheeks.

  “That’s the conclusion I would draw.” James took another helping of fried potatoes.

  Gideon patted her hand. “Eat, daughter. The cows are fine. You’ll need your strength to help handle that classroom.” His girls seldom took much interest in livestock.

  “I’m full,” murmured Meghan. “Danki, mamm. I’d better finish getting ready for work.”

  “Meghan!” scolded Catherine. “It’s a long time until lunch. You’ve eaten almost nothing.” She scraped the rest of the eggs onto a slice of toast to make a sandwich for her.

  But Meghan had already fled the kitchen like a scared rabbit.

  Four

  Gideon ate a heartier breakfast than his usual toast, oatmeal, and coffee. Because he’d worked up an appetite from the morning excitement, he would chance a bout of heartburn from fried potatoes and bacon. Besides, he loved his fraa’s cooking, especially her scrambled eggs with chopped sweet red peppers. Filling a travel mug with the last of the second pot of coffee, he headed outdoors. His sons had wolfed down their meal and already left. James had ridden off to gather helpers while John readied the heifers for milking.

  Breathing in the crisp air, the bishop thought about his daughter’s question. Did someone pull down their fences and no one else’s? That was how it appeared to him. But trying to figure this out wouldn’t get their chores done, and with James gone he needed to lend a hand. It had been a while since he’d milked a cow, but like riding a bicycle, one never lost the ability.

  The low winter sun had reached its zenith by the time they finished milking and filling feed troughs. They turned the horses into the small paddock by the barn before checking on the repair progress. Two enclosed buggies and an open wagon sat by the side of the driveway. A couple of dozen split rails stuck out of the wagon’s back end while a posthole digger, a snow shovel, and a bag of cement leaned against one wheel. James had returned with four strong pairs of hands.

  With the milking done, John ran for his own tool belt to join the others. A shy boy, he loved the camaraderie of work teams even though he seldom spoke. The men had already put half the rails back in place, and they replaced the broken section with new rails donated by one of the neighbors.

  Gideon opened the kitchen door to the smell of fresh-baked bread. Ruth pulled another two loaves from the oven to set on the cooling rack. She straightened up.

  “How goes it? Was anyone able to come to help? How many sandwiches should I fix?” Her brown eyes sparkled. John certainly didn’t get his quietness from his mamm.

  “It goes well. Only two posts needed to be replaced. And the Yoders had rails already split and sanded, ready to use. I will replace what we use next time I’m at the lumberyard.”

  Ruth took lunchmeat and sliced cheese from the refrigerator, and then she sliced the first loaf of bread she had baked. “How will you replace uprights in January? A man can’t dig fresh holes in frozen ground.” She lined up twelve slices of bread on waxed paper to build sandwiches in a production line.

  “Ach, James can pull out the broken wood and use the same holes as before. They were only set in dirt. Then they’ll put dry cement into the hole around the new post so it will harden strong by spring.”

  Ruth slapped slices of bologna across the ham and cheese. “Aren’t you glad I gave you two clever sons as well as three smart daughters?”

  “I count my blessings every day.” Gideon poured two glasses of milk while she filled a thermos with fresh coffee and packed the sandwiches into a hamper. After he had delivered lunch to the men, he returned to the kitchen for his own meal. Just as he took his first bite of ham and cheese, he heard the crunch of buggy wheels. “Sounds as though James will have more than enough help with the fencing.”

  Ruth pulled back the curtain to peer out. “Two buggies. And these aren’t fence-fixers this time.” She dropped the curtain back into place. “Your two ministers and deacon have come.”

  Gideon had barely taken a second bite when he heard boots stamping off snow on the porch. Ruth swept open the door. “Guder nachmittag. How about some lunch?”

  “Good afternoon, Ruth. We’ve already eaten, but danki just the same. We’d like a word with the bishop,” Stephen said as the three men hung their hats on pegs by the door.

  “Come in,” greeted Gideon. “At least have some coffee.” He pushed aside his plate and took three mugs from the cupboard. Once they were seated at the battered oak table, Ruth left the kitchen to sew in the front room.

  “I take it you’ve heard about my predawn stampede. Word travels fast, even in the dead of winter.”

  “Jah, James came for Paul Jr. this morning.” The older of his two ministers, Paul Sr., sipped his mug of coffee. “He said only your fences had been destroyed.”

  “True, not like that incident of mailboxes a couple roads over.”

  “Do you suppose it was the same culprits?” asked Stephen.

  Gideon leane
d his head back. “Could be. I figure we have some youths on rumschpringe with too much time on their hands until spring planting.”

  “That was a lot of damage to do from a buggy,” said Paul.

  “I’ve seen some open buggies fly down this road as though their standardbreds never left the racetrack.”

  The other elders nodded sagely. “Any idea who did this?” asked David, the younger minister.

  “My three boys were home in bed,” said Paul unnecessarily.

  The bishop laughed. “Your boys would never do such mischief, especially because they knew they would be asked to help with the repair in the frigid cold.”

  Stephen smiled. “I have five daughters, and none of them has ever held a baseball bat in her life.”

  David and Gideon chuckled, but Paul scowled. “I hope we’re not taking this matter lightly,” he said. “And I wouldn’t describe this as mischief. We’re talking about every mailbox on two county roads, Amish and English alike. Now this today. Your livestock could have caused a serious accident.”

  The bishop sobered. “True enough. If we can find those responsible, I will speak to their parents. The boys will replace those mailboxes, paying out of their own pockets. And if they’re the same vandals who pulled down my fences, they’ll be splitting logs, debarking, and shaving off ends to replace every rail we used today.”

  Two gray-haired heads nodded, but Paul’s scowl only deepened. “That’s it? That will be their sole punishment?”

  Gideon walked to the stove for the coffeepot. Paul, a dozen years his senior, usually took the hardest line in disciplinary matters. “What would you have me do?” Gideon asked.

  “Everything you said, jah, but if these are boys from our district, I say we march them before the congregation for a thorough dressing-down. Rumschpringe or not, this kind of property destruction shouldn’t be tolerated.” Paul’s tone sharpened and his eyes turned dark and angry, while his face flushed to an unhealthy hue.

  The bishop topped off their cups. “I don’t mean we should tolerate these pranks. But getting ourselves worked up will do no good. We don’t even know if they’re from our district.” He settled himself into the chair, eyeing his forgotten sandwich on the counter as his stomach growled.