The Amish Blacksmith (17 page)

Priscilla sighed heavily but quietly, the way I'd seen Amos sigh when something he was attempting to weld just wouldn't stick.

“We'd really like you to come with us,” I added, meeting her gaze.

“I guess that would be all right.”

“Oh, I'm so glad. We're going to have the best time,” Amanda said.

The supper bell clanged then.

Amanda cocked her head toward the sound. “Oh, my. Here the meal is ready, and I didn't even offer to help get it on the table. How rude of me! I'd better get in there.” She turned toward the door and began to walk purposely toward it, not bothering to wait for me or Priscilla to follow.

Priscilla made no move to leave the barn. I turned to her. A bit of straw that had been in her hair was now dangling just above her ear. She was watching Amanda as she strode out the double doors. It was difficult to read the look on her face, but if I had to guess I'd say she was thinking she wasn't ready to face all her old schoolmates again. Not just yet.

“The volleyball games are a lot more loosely organized than the singings,” I told her gently, “but they really are fun.”

She turned to me, a pensive look on her face. “What?”

“I think you'll have a good time at the Chupps',” I said, but with less enthusiasm. Maybe the look on her face had nothing to do with volleyball.

She turned toward the door again. The piece of straw in her hair swung like a pendulum.

“You have a bit of… ” I reached for the straw and pulled it gently away. “There.”

Priscilla looked at the tiny stick in my hand and said nothing.

“Coming?” I gestured toward the door.

She sighed again. “In a minute.”

“Okay, then.” I turned to leave.

“Wait.”

I looked back.

“I need to ask you something. Can you please, um, can you please promise never to do that again?” Her voice was sincere, as if she hated to ask but simply had no choice.

I felt terrible.

“You mean put you on the spot like that? Yeah, sorry. I didn't realize Amanda was going to blurt it out that way. I should have told you sooner.”

I really did feel bad for Priscilla. It must be awful to be so shy, to not have a gregarious bone in her body—especially being Amish because so much of our lifestyle involved community.

“Not that.”

So what was it, then? I squinted, staring at her. Could she be this worked up over a bit of dried grass? “What, take straw out of your hair? We're going inside to eat. Most people—”

“I'm not talking about straw in my hair either, Jake. I'm talking about my horse. Please. Just don't get in between Voyager and me again unless I ask for your help, okay? I know it may sound dumb to you, but it's something I need you to do for me. I'd really appreciate it.”

I stood there for a second, my brow furrowed. “Well, no offense, but if I hadn't stepped in to help, you'd still be yanking on that lead and Voyager would still be outside his stall.” I felt a vague wave of irritation rise up inside of me and then fade back down again as she spoke.

“Ya
, perhaps. But that's between him and me. Not you. Okay?”

I blinked, confused. “You really want me to have nothing whatsoever to do with your horse?”

She nodded, looking up at me, and I tried to decipher what I was seeing in her eyes. There was a sadness there, but also a sort of stubborn defiance.

“I guess I understand,” I told her, my tone gentle. “Your horse is new. I can see that you need to establish that you're in charge. But—”

“In charge?” she interjected.

“Ya
. I get that Voyager needs to learn you're the one he's supposed to obey. But—”

“Obey?” she said, her voice taking on a stronger tone. She shook her head. “Voyager needs to know I'm the one he can
trust
, Jake. That's what he needs to know.”

Another wave of irritation rolled through me. The last thing I wanted was a lesson on equine behavior from her.

Then again, what did I care? I held up both hands, palms outward, as if in surrender.

“If you say so.” I turned and headed for the door.

She dashed to my side and put her hand on my arm. We both stopped. “I… I didn't mean for it to come out like that. I know you were trying to help. It's just that… ” Her voice died away.

I looked down at her hand, so petite for such a strong-willed young woman. I could feel the irritation draining out of me again. Priscilla was just a mixed-up soul trying to figure out why God sent her back here to Lancaster County when it was clear she hadn't wanted to come. What she needed here most was a friend.

“Don't worry about it.” I said.

When she didn't respond, I met her eyes and repeated my words. “Really. Don't worry about it.”

“I just need one thing here that is mine and only mine. That isn't… that someone else doesn't… ”

She looked up at me, and all I could do in response was gaze into her eyes, her beautiful stormy eyes that were so full of questions. She couldn't finish her thought, but I didn't mind. She'd spent a lifetime having to justify herself to others. It didn't seem right to make her have to do that with me too.

T
EN

I
t was just the five of us at dinner—Amos, Roseanna, Priscilla, Amanda, and I—and it went better than I thought it would, much to my relief. Things were uncomfortable at first, but Amanda was the perfect addition to the group. She was a natural conversationalist, talking and smiling and asking the right questions and making everyone feel more relaxed. By the time I was on my second helping of ham loaf, I realized I was actually enjoying myself.

Better yet, I was starting to glimpse a side of Priscilla I hadn't seen before. It started when Amanda said something about their school days together and how Priscilla had always been so quiet.

“You were smart, I remember that,” Amanda told her. “But you should have talked more.”

“Yeah,” Priscilla replied. “You should have too.”

We all fell silent for a moment, but when I looked over at Priscilla, who was contentedly buttering a role, I detected the slight, sly smile on her lips. She was teasing.

The moment Amanda caught on, she burst into a huge laugh. “Good one! You got me!” she exclaimed, and we all shared in the humor. Amanda Shetler was many things, but quiet had never been one of them.

As the meal continued on after that, it struck me that if anyone was going to be able to bring Priscilla out of her shell and get her to connect with others, it might be Amanda. She was definitely well suited to the task.

If only her plan didn't include matchmaking.

The next day was a nonchurch Sunday, which meant I'd be going over to my parents' house for a nice visit and an early lunch. I wasn't sure who else would be there, though I could probably count on seeing Tyler and Rachel. My older brothers and their families would sometimes come as well, as would my sister Sarah and her husband if they weren't busy with their own children and grandchildren. Everyone would bring something for the table, and we'd spend the morning or the afternoon enjoying each other's company, singing hymns together, sharing the news of the week with one another, playing board games—that kind of thing.

My parents lived eight miles southwest of the Kinsingers, on a hilly homestead near Strasburg that housed the family buggy shop. I set out early, Willow and I both enjoying the cool of the morning air before it evaporated into the heat of the day.

As it turned out, the only ones who were there for dinner were Tyler and Rachel, my parents, and me. Though I always enjoyed seeing everyone else, there was something nice and calm about so few of us being there.

We ate at eleven, a delicious spread of roast chicken, potato salad, and green bean casserole my mother had prepared the night before. Conversation around the table was light and easy, and I found myself telling them about Natasha and January and seeing Eric. I didn't bring up anything from my phone conversation with him later. I just said he and I ran into each other at the auction and he was the one who had made the connection. Thanks to him, I now had a little side job of horse-gentling for Natasha Fremont, which should be fun and rewarding.

Tyler was acting a little odd throughout the meal, stroking his less-than-substantial beard—the telltale mark of a married Amish man—as though he was contemplating a dozen perplexing thoughts. I was about to ask him if something was wrong when I figured out what it was that had him so distracted.

Rachel had made a big pan of monkey bread, but when she went to take
it out of the oven, he suddenly jumped up and did it for her. She started to object, but he stopped her with a cluck of his tongue, as if to say she knew better. He set the pan on the stove, and then, as he handed her back the oven mitts, their eyes met and a look passed between them so sweet and joyful and intimate that it hit me like a bolt of lightning. Rachel was expecting. Tyler was going to be a father.

That wasn't something people talked about, but I found myself wondering if
Mamm
had figured it out yet. If not, she was going to be thrilled, as would
Daed
. We all knew the long road Tyler had been down in his life, and that if anyone deserved this kind of happiness, it was he.

Tyler's mother was my oldest sister, Sadie, the one sibling I'd never had the chance to meet. She left home when she was just eighteen, before I was even born. After breaking away from the Amish life and going to live in Philadelphia, she met a military man and married him not long after. By all accounts, their life together was a happy one, especially once Tyler was born. But then came the day, when Tyler was just six years old, that Sadie died unexpectedly of a brain aneurism. That left just Tyler and his dad, a reluctant single father who was about to ship off overseas at the time. That's why, after Sadie's funeral, he asked my parents—the Amish grandparents Tyler had never even met before—to take in their grandson temporarily, just until he completed his tour of duty.

That temporary arrangement ended up lasting for many years, and though it had taken Tyler a long time to decide which of the two worlds God wanted him to live in as an adult—this Plain one right here or the fancy one out there—he had chosen the Amish way in the end.

Now he was married to a sweet and lovely woman who adored him and who was having his baby. A part of me was so happy for them, but I had to admit that another part of me was a tad envious. By all rights, as Tyler's uncle and the older of us by several months, I should have been the first to marry and have a child. Instead, Tyler had outpaced me with both the wedding and fatherhood, moving along at full speed through the kind of life I wanted for myself but had yet to even begin.

That thought led me to think of Priscilla and the man out in Indiana who was hoping to marry her. Did he love her? For some reason, I doubted it. More than anything, he probably just needed her to be a mother to his children, to cook his meals and clean his house and do all the things a good Amish wife would do. But I had to wonder, if they did end up together, was
he the kind of guy who would understand her need for peace and quiet sometimes, for being alone, for connecting with animals? Would he appreciate the violet of her eyes, the petiteness of her hands? The serene way she communicated with God's creatures?