Brush of Angel's Wings (16 page)

Micah looked up from washing the cow's udder. “God forgave him because he repented of his sin. It is a lesson to us all. We all fall short.” Tossing the rag into the bucket, he stood and placed his hand on Jordan's shoulder. “Since you've arrived, I see your heart is heavy. Is there something you wish to talk about? I could drive you to the bishop's
haus
for a visit.”

Jordan shook his head slowly at first, then with firm refusal. Jordan didn't know where he'd find what he needed. But he knew the bishop couldn't offer him relief from his heavy heart. His mother had claimed he would find that relief as a gift of peace that could only come from God.

“I appreciate your kindness, but I'd rather not discuss it.”

Micah sat on the stool and positioned his hands. Milk sprayed against the metal bucket.

Jordan watched a few moments, his hand resting on Florri's flank. “I gave the cell phone back,” he blurted.

Micah looked over his shoulder. His forehead wrinkled.

“Kayla Davy's phone. I borrowed it.”

Micah's expression stiffened.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disrespect your ways.”

Micah stood. “A cell phone isn't sinful.”

Jordan blew out a breath.

“The reason we choose not to have phones is to maintain separation from the world. Some settlements allow them for business purposes, but
nett
us. We rely on God's provision.” Micah patted Jordan's shoulder. “Did the phone help with what you were looking for?”

Jordan cleared his throat. “I think so.”

Chapter Eleven

M
icah added coal to the forge. “Would you fill a bucket with water for cooling the tools?”

“Sure.” Jordan grabbed the bucket beside the anvil and headed to the pump. He looked forward to learning how to shoe the Davys' horse even though he wouldn't need the skill in his future plans. Not that his plans were firm yet. Truck driving beckoned to him. Not because it was the dream career he'd always wanted, but partly because of the freedom it offered. Like his father, he could find his purpose “out there” somewhere. And maybe it would help him understand why his father couldn't stay with his wife and son.

Black smoke curled from the pipe extended above the roof of the lean-to attached to the barn. When Jordan stepped back inside bearing a full water bucket, Micah was pumping the piston bellows to get the coal hot.

Jordan remembered a school field trip to the Pioneer Days exhibit. The man wore a bib-style, oil-tanned apron while hammering the molten metal. How different this was. Micah wasn't putting on a demonstration to show how blacksmiths once worked; he was a real tradesman.

Micah looked over his shoulder. “Once the tools are heated, I'll have you get the horse.” He swept his shirtsleeve over his brow before turning the tools over in the forge. “You can arrange the nippers and hammers according to size.”

Jordan did as instructed. “Why the different hammers?”

“This one is a straight hammer.” He pointed to a long-handled tool with a blunt, snub-nose end on one side and a wedge on the other. “I use it to shape the bar stock into a horseshoe.” He pointed to the next hammer. “The driving hammer is to set the nails in the hooves, and this one is a rounding hammer for refining.”

Jordan mentally rehearsed the name and uses of each hammer. The driving one had a claw end similar to a carpenter hammer. He should be able to remember that one.

“Okay, I'm ready for the horse,” Micah said.

Jordan brought the horse into the shoeing area.

Micah fastened a second lead on the halter and clipped each lead to an iron ring on opposite sides of the wall. “First we crosstie the horse—for the same reasons you did in your previous job.”

Jordan watched intently.

Micah's hand traveled smoothly from the horse's neck to the withers and down Pepper's front leg. He picked up the hoof and rested it on his slightly bent leg, then after a careful inspection, Micah lowered the horse's hoof to the ground.

“If this was the heart of winter, I'd braze a few Borium rivets on the shoes to give him traction over the icy roads.” He smiled. “
Kumm
fall, you'll be able to apply them with your eyes closed.”

Jordan's stomach knotted. Come fall, he planned to be gone. He wondered how long it would take to complete the course he needed to take to get his Class A Driver's License.

Micah gave explicit details of each step, but Jordan's thoughts drifted from trying to remember what Micah said to being in a truck, driving from state to state. First, he reminded himself, he had to earn enough money to take the truck-driving course and pay for the special license. He'd better pay close attention. Even if he didn't learn all the ins and outs of blacksmithing, farrier skills could be used anywhere.

Jordan jammed his hands into his front pockets and marveled at Micah's skill. He worked with confidence and a steady hand.

“Now for the hind legs.” He slid his hand cautiously down the leg and asked for the horse to pick up its foot. “Sometimes the horses are touchy about having their back hooves handled.” He used a sharp metal hoof pick to clear the packed soil and trampled dung from the bottom of the hoof. “On a new horse I do them last and work fast.”

Micah explained his process while he sized the shoe. “I leave expansion room. Their feet grow faster in the spring than the winter.”

Sweat dripped down the back of Jordan's neck and down his chest. Standing this close to the forge, he would have thought it was closer to August than the end of May.

Pepper neighed and his ears flickered.

Micah seemed to sense the horse growing impatient and worked quickly without taking additional time to explain his activity. When he finished, he studied the horse. “I like to let the horse stand on them a minute or two before walking.”

The tools sizzled and steam rose when he dipped them into water.

“
Mei
father made this hammer and passed it down to me.” He picked up the one used to drive the nails and turned it over in his hand. Instead of seeming nostalgic, he seemed sad. His eyes held a dull cast. “I taught
mei sohn
all I knew and planned to pass this down to him.” His voice quivered. “You won't be an apprentice long. If you decide to become a blacksmith, you'll need a
gut
set of tools.” Micah's eyes glazed and he stroked his beard. After a moment of silence, he cleared his throat. “Will you walk the horse so I can monitor his stride?”

“Sure.” Jordan unfastened the horse from his cross ties and led him in a large circle around the pump, then back to Micah.

“
Gut
. Now at a trot, please.”

Jordan trotted the horse in both directions in a circle before Micah gave his approval.

“You can put him back in the stall while I
redd-up
the forge.”

Jordan led Pepper toward the barn, figuring this was Micah's way of asking for time alone. As Jordan latched the gate, Rachel appeared.

She narrowed her eyes. “You've taken everything from me.”

He cocked his head to get a look into her eyes. “What are you talking about?” He tried softening his tone, but nothing altered her hardened expression.

She dragged her sleeve over her face. “Lunch will be ready shortly.”

Jordan wasn't sure who to look at during the meal, Micah's long face or Rachel's glaring eyes. Miriam must have sensed the coldness at the table because she stared at her plate and ate in silence too.

Rachel's accusations puzzled him. What had he taken? He merely wanted to work hard, earn some money, and move on.

A boom of thunder broke the silence at the table. Rain pattered against the kitchen window.

“The clothes.” Rachel bounced to her feet and ran to the door.

Jordan lowered his fork. “I'll help her,” he said, seeing Miriam start to stand.

Miriam smiled. “
Denki
, that's very kind.”

He grabbed his hat from the hook and bolted outside.

The bedding flapped in the stiff wind. He jogged to the line and unclipped the shirt in front of him. “I'm sorry, Rachel.”

She stopped in front of him. “How long are you planning to stay?”

Jordan unclipped a towel, unsure how to answer.

She reached for the towel next to his. “Why won't you talk about your mother? Or why you're here? Do you have some big secret you don't want anyone to know?”

His jaw tensed.

“That's it, isn't it?”

He spun to face her. “It's no secret. My mother is dead.”

“I didn't mean—”

Jordan continued going down the line, removing items and tossing them in the basket. She grasped his arm and stopped him. “Look, I'm sorry. I . . . I shouldn't have said that. I'm angry. But it's not your fault.”

Rain streaked her face, which filled with a tenderness he hadn't seen before. Perhaps she hadn't been thinking before she verbally attacked him, but what did it matter? He was leaving the minute he earned enough money for driving school.

He counted to three between a flash of lightning and the rumble of thunder that followed. She seemed more interested in standing there and probing him with questions than in taking down the clothes.

“Jordan, I really didn't know. I was forbidden to talk about—”

“Her shunning?”

He moved to the other end of the line. And then he saw his pants. He felt the air leave his lungs. He snatched them off the line and put his hand inside the pocket. Jordan closed his eyes, holding in emotions that were too big.

“What's wrong?”

Before he said something he would regret, he marched off.

“I don't understand,” she said, chasing him.

He ignored her, climbed the porch steps, pressed his shoulder against the door, and opened it.

“Those were the pants with the coffee stain. I got the stain out of your shirt too. I thought you would be grateful.” The sincerity in her eyes didn't alter how he felt.

He pressed his lips together, keeping the churning words in check. Unable to speak, he motioned with a stiff nod at the door.

She stepped closer. “Won't you tell me why you're upset?”

“I need a few minutes alone.” He waited for her to move so he could close the door, but she stiffened like a cement pillar. Stubborn, curious woman.

He placed his hand on her lower back and guided her to the door, then shut it hard to send an unspoken warning.

Jordan took the wet, crimped photograph and attempted to smooth it. The ink was sticky and made a mess of his mother's face. He leaned against the door and closed his eyes.

Her sobbing on the other side of the door rattled his nerves. He jerked the door open. “Why are you still—” What was she doing sitting on the ground in the pouring rain? He flew off the porch and grabbed her arm. As he lifted her up, the bright blue eggs on the ground caught his eye.

“The nest fell off the windowsill,” she said with hitched breath.

“I'll put them back.” Jordan squatted down beside the robin eggs. At least they appeared to have survived the fall. Not wanting to handle the eggs, he looked around the ground for a few sturdy sticks and leaves.

“I wonder where the mama bird is,” she said softly.

“I'm glad she isn't here. She might abandon the nest if she thinks we've messed with her eggs.” He used the sticks to scoot the eggs onto the leaves and back into the nest, then balanced the nest between the two sticks and lifted it to the window ledge.

“What was in your pocket?”