A Cowboy at Heart (19 page)

“You want anything?” the boy asked, his expression intent.

Jesse shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

“If you need something, holler for me. I’ll listen for you.”

Jesse nodded, and Butch ran off toward the barn. A moment later he appeared with two buckets, crossed to the pump, and began filling them.

Jesse became aware that Jonas was studying him.

“A fine woman, our Katie.”

Because the statement didn’t require a response, Jesse kept his gaze fixed on the road down which she had traveled. How far was it from here to the Beachy place? He would have asked Jonas, but he didn’t want to say anything to cause that probing stare to turn to concern.

A moment later Jonas went inside the house. He returned with Jesse’s belt, the holster and six-shooter dangling a few feet above the porch. “I must move this to the barn.”

Jesse arched a brow. “Why?”

Jonas looked embarrassed and did not meet his gaze. “It is against our
Ordnung
to house weapons that may be used for violence.”

“You have guns. I’ve seen them.”

“Not pistols,” he returned quietly. “Rifles for hunting only, and not kept in the house.”

“A rifle can kill a man same as a pistol whether it’s stored in the barn or the bedroom.” Jesse shook his head. “It’s that bishop, isn’t it? He’s been on you because I’m staying here.”

Though his friend didn’t answer, Jesse saw from the misery in his kind eyes that it was so. Frustration gripped his stomach with a fist. Their ways were different, but disarming a man who was fighting a war could lead to real trouble.

Jonas spoke in a calm voice, his expression tranquil. “I submit to God’s authority.”

“You mean to Bishop Miller’s authority,” Jesse corrected.

“The one is the same as the other. He was chosen to lead Apple Grove, to ensure our adherence to the
Ordnung
.”

“I respect your belief, Jonas, but letting one man control your life…I’d have to question that practice.”

Though Jonas maintained his trademark placid mask, one hand rose to tug at his beard in an unconscious gesture of discomfort. “Since his Samuel’s death, the bishop grieves. And who would not, to lose his only son as a young man?”

Jesse tried to understand the point. Not having children he couldn’t put himself in the bishop’s boots directly, but he could imagine the grief of losing someone you love. Hadn’t he wanted to dig a hole and crawl in when his pa died, and then again a few years later when Ma followed? That’s when he’d had his first taste of whiskey, as a twelve-year-old boy who had just learned of his mother’s passing. But not everybody who lost a child turned into a sour-faced tyrant who took his grief out by bossing others
around. “Jonas, Katie was telling me that some Amish are allowed to wear blue shirts instead of white. Do some keep their rifles in the house as well?”

Jonas cocked his head sideways to consider. “
Ja
, I suppose this is so.”

“So what you’re saying is that the rules here are more demanding than they are other places.” When Jonas didn’t answer, Jesse continued. “Who sets these rules, anyway?”

“Many are dictated by the Confession, and
die Bibel
, of course.”

“And the others?” Jesse prompted.

The fingers tugged at the beard with renewed energy. “The others are defined by the
Ordnung
, the practices by which an Amish community lives.”

“And that
Ordnung
is written by the bishop?”

“The
Ordnung
is not written,” he said quickly. When Jesse continued to stare, waiting for an answer, he nodded. “It is given to shape the lives of the Amish, to build community and help prevent temptation so we can live like Christ.
Ja
, the bishop provides leadership by helping us apply the
Ordnung
to everyday situations.” He leaned forward, and Jesse sensed his desire to convey the depth of his belief in the words he spoke. “The bishop is appointed by God’s own hand. We who live by the
Ordnung
must follow his leadership. It is the only way to ensure a Plain life, a life of peace and simplicity.”

Jesse stared at the man, moved by the sincerity, the passion in the eyes fixed on him. Peace. He’d had enough violence, enough rowdy living, to fill five lifetimes, and he would like nothing more than peace.

If I were Amish, I might have a chance with Katie
. The thought
rose unbidden in his mind, bringing with it a longing that had nothing to do with passive living. He shoved it away, but it sprang back like a coil.

A chance with Katie? He frowned. The head wound must have addled his brain. What would that pure, wholesome girl want with a no-good like Jesse Montgomery?

“I don’t know, Jonas.” He spoke slowly, shaking his head. “I think if I were Amish, I’d start looking for a district where the rules made sense.”

Jonas started at the words, his fingers frozen in the act of tugging on his beard. After a long moment he turned and left the porch, mumbling something about getting to work on his field.

“That’s it, boy. Just one more round.” Jesse wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or Rex, but his grip on the saddle horn was tighter than a fat foot in new boots. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, followed by another. His teeth ground together in the effort of putting one foot in front of the other. Rex was more carrying him than supporting him, but he did his best not to let on to the boy walking beside him, watching him with an anxious expression.

The horse slowed his pace to that of a sheep grazing in a clover field, but he obediently continued his fifth circuit around the Switzer house. Good old Rex. Jesse would have given him an affectionate slap on the neck if he could have done it without falling.

“You sure you don’t want to set a spell?” Deep creases lined Butch’s youthful forehead. “You’re looking kinda greenish.”

That’s because I’m fighting not to heave my breakfast
.

But Jesse gave a curt nod and saved himself the effort of answering. A man couldn’t get well sitting around in a rocking chair all day. He had to keep blood pumping through his veins. Already he could tell a difference in his strength, and this was only the second day. His shoulder was healing. When he did sit, he’d taken to moving the joint around as much as he could tolerate. This morning he could lift it higher than yesterday. What would Katie say about his efforts?

Katie.

Only two days had passed since she left, but it felt like weeks. Amazing how the absence of her quiet, serene presence and her sweet smile affected everyone. Life went on around the farm as usual. Jonas was plowing a new field, so he’d turned over the responsibility of feeding and watering the animals to Butch.
Maummi
Switzer performed her chores in the house and kitchen with the same quiet efficiency he’d always known her to have. Jesse pitched in wherever he could, when he wasn’t napping, and he had even taken a chair and Jonas’s hunting rifle out to the garden yesterday afternoon to stand guard against a pack of jackrabbits that had shown too keen an interest in the tender plants. He hadn’t managed to hit anything left handed yet, but at least the noise kept them on the run. But without Katie, everything seemed…quieter. More solemn.

“Look there, sir.” Butch’s quiet voice interrupted his thoughts.

Jesse followed the boy’s gaze across the wheatfield, where a pair of horses trotted along the fence line. Their riders’ heads were turned toward them, though at this distance Jesse couldn’t identify either one. Could it be Woodard and Sawyer? His anger flared
and he paused. Rex came to a halt. Let them see that he wasn’t afraid of any cowardly scum who would shoot a man in the back and leave him for dead. And let them report back to their boss that Jesse Montgomery was upright and not afraid to stand his ground.

After a moment, they turned and headed away, across the creek, in the direction of Littlefield’s homestead.

Jesse leaned heavily against Rex’s side. Butch stepped closer, concern etched on his young face, but Jesse waved him off. “I’m all right. I think I’ll head back to the porch to rest a minute, though.”

Instead of continuing on their circuit of the house, the two turned and retraced their steps.

“Mr. Switzer is a nice man.” Butch turned troubled eyes on Jesse as they walked. “And Miz Switzer wouldn’t hurt a living soul. How come these men are pestering them?”

“Because some men would rather take what they want instead of working for it. They’ll look for someone they can tyrannize, who won’t put up a fuss. That’s the worst kind of yellow streak there is, son.” Jesse pressed his lips together. He could list a few choice descriptions of people like Littlefield, but they wouldn’t be proper for young ears.

“They didn’t teer…teeruh…They didn’t bully you.”

“They tried.” His expression turned grim. “Right before they shot me.” Ordinarily he’d never turn his back on a man. Why had he dropped his guard that day?

They continued on a few steps.

“They ought not be allowed to get away with it.” Righteous indignation sounded in Butch’s tone. “We ought to do something.”

Jesse turned to look at him. Out of the mouth of babes…“We’ll let the sheriff sort this out. It’s both cowardly and against the law
to shoot a man in the back. My first instinct is to shoot back, but that isn’t the way to live. One shooting leads to another and then another.”

He glanced toward the house. Jonas and his family had the right idea, though he didn’t think he could ever follow their paths. Be nice if he could. Be real nice to settle back and let God handle the big stuff.

“We’ll let the sheriff sort this out,” he told the boy. “It’s just been a few days since Luke rode over to Hays City and told him about the shooting. I expect we’ll hear something any day now.”

They arrived at the porch. Rex paused alongside the steps, and Jesse was grateful. It was all he could do to climb them, pulling his weight along the railing. He collapsed into the rocking chair.

Good job, Montgomery. You’re only
years
away from full recovery
.

After dinner,
Maummi
Switzer told Butch to put a chair beside the hand pump, and then she assigned Jesse the task of washing up the dishes. Though he made a point of grumbling about being given women’s work, he’d done cleanup duty on cattle drives more often than he could count and privately appreciated the chore. When he first came to stay with the Switzers, he’d intended to work alongside Jonas to earn his keep. He couldn’t yet handle a plow, but he could certainly manage a few dishes.

When an unknown horse hugging close to the fence topped the northeastern ridge at a canter, Jesse sat upright in the chair, his senses on full alert. He automatically felt for his holster and found it missing. He should have demanded that Jonas let him keep
his pistol nearby. The man in the saddle caught sight of Jonas, who walked slowly behind a plow pulled by Big Ed, leaving even rows of freshly turned soil behind him. Jonas paused, exchanged a word with the stranger, and then waved in the direction of the house. When he returned to his work, the horse headed his way and Jesse relaxed. Jonas wouldn’t react so calmly to one of Littlefield’s men.

Jesse watched as the animal drew close enough to see a tin star pinned to the rider’s vest. The sheriff. And he was coming from the direction of Littlefield’s place.

“Sheriff,” he acknowledged as soon as the horse drew near enough for speech. “Wondered when we’d be seeing you.”

“I got out here as soon as I could.” He swung his leg over his horse’s back and stepped to the ground, and then he came toward Jesse with an outstretched hand. “You’d be Jesse Montgomery?”

“That would be me.” Jesse got to his feet and, with a grimace, gingerly extended his right hand.

Instead of shaking it, the sheriff waved the gesture off. “Heard you’re recovering from a gunshot. Sit down, son, before you fall down. I’m Ben Wiley, the sheriff over to Hays City.”

Jesse didn’t know whether to be relieved or embarrassed at the invitation to sit, but he gratefully obeyed. “Ripped up my shoulder pretty good,” he said. “They got me in the back.”