The Amish Blacksmith (32 page)

Closing my eyes, I asked myself the only question I could come up with in this moment. What had changed? Other than the fact that the storm was still moving farther and farther away, what else was different between the point when January was calm and now? Had my movements spooked her as I was cleaning? Did she have a fear of pitchforks like the one I was holding in my hand?

Finally, I opened my eyes, feeling like an idiot for not catching on before. The difference between when January was calm and now was Stephen.

The key here was Stephen.

My mind raced. Was it possible there was something about the boy that had a calming effect on the horse? If so, I couldn't imagine what, until I
remembered my earlier theory. Priscilla's insistence that January was sad had led me to question whether the horse was missing someone or something from her life with her previous owner. As a show horse, yes, she had probably been exposed to a never-ending series of trainers and riders and such, but who's to say there hadn't been a certain constant in this mare's life? The constant of a young boy. Perhaps the owner or the stable master had a son, one who spent enough time with the horses that he and January had managed to form a special bond.

That had to be it.

Pulse surging, I knew I had to test this theory—and right away, before she grew even more distressed. Leaving her alone in the stable, I grabbed my hat and ran out into the rain to Mahlon's house.

I got there just as the family was sitting down to supper, and though Beth invited me to stay, I said thanks but no thanks, that what I really needed was to borrow their son for just a few minutes. They didn't seem to mind. As Stephen and I dashed back through the rain together, I realized he thought he was in trouble, that perhaps he had done something wrong with one of his chores. I assured him that wasn't it at all, and then I explained the situation as simply as I could. When I was finished, I could tell he seemed pleased at the thought of a horse being calmed simply by his presence.

Once we were back to the stable, however, we could both see that my theory was wrong. Even when Stephen stood close to January's stall door and spoke to her in calming tones, she was still in an agitated state. We gave it a good five minutes, thinking maybe she just needed time to calm back down, but if anything she only seemed to grow worse. Finally, I thanked him for coming and told him we were done here.

My shoulders heavy, I put out the lights and Stephen and I headed back into what was now just a drizzle. We walked together part of the way, and then with a solemn good night the boy veered right to go to his house and I headed left toward my cottage. I had only gone a few steps, however, when I froze and turned around.

There on the porch, Stephen had paused to greet his excited dog before going back inside. Comet had been with us in the barn when the storm first started, and January had calmed down about the same time he showed up near her stall. Then, once he and Stephen left, January had grown agitated again. Just now when I came back to get Stephen, it had still been drizzling
and Comet had chosen not to come along. Wherever Stephen went, Comet always went too—except when it was raining.

“Hey, Stephen!” I called, just as he was about to head inside. “Mind if I borrow Comet?”

Understanding slowly dawned in the boy's eyes as I approached, and with a big grin he whistled for his dog and the three of us raced back to the barn. As we stepped inside, we could already hear January's agitated huffing and snorting, but the moment Stephen led the dog over near her stall, it was as if someone had flipped a switch.

Suddenly, the body of the anxious, twitching, pawing horse grew still. She gave us a look as if to say, “It's about time you figured it out,” and then she took a big bite of hay and stood there calmly chewing it, as if all was right with the world.

“Well, would you look at that,” Stephen said, turning to flash me a wide grin.

The horse had been missing a dog.

T
WENTY
-T
WO

W
hen I awoke the next morning, I wondered for a long moment if it had been a dream. Somewhere in the night, had my imagination conjured up a horse who was so desperate for some canine companion that she grew agitated and easily spooked in its absence? As I climbed from bed and slowly came more awake in the predawn darkness, that sense of unreality faded, and I knew it had actually happened. I had solved the mystery of January.

Of course, I couldn't wait to test it out again, just to make sure I'd been right, so over the next hour, not only would I confirm the theory, but I had managed to test January with the ball, the plastic bag, some clanging pots, and more. Each of those items caused her some level of distress when exposed to them alone, but as soon as I brought the dog into the mix, there was almost nothing I could do to disturb her. The horse I'd spent so much time with that first morning, desensitizing her to a rubber ball, was now allowing me to bounce the ball on the ground around her feet and even throw it into the air not far from her head—as long as Comet was in sight.

I'd never seen anything like it, but when I told Amos the story over breakfast, he didn't seem all that surprised. In fact, he said he'd known of similar pairings—not just horses with dogs but one with a rabbit and another with a turtle.

I couldn't wait to tell Natasha. My first client at the farrier shop was scheduled for seven, too early to squeeze in a call beforehand. But after that client left, another came, and then another, keeping me so busy that I never got a chance to take a break until lunch.

Natasha sounded skeptical over the phone, but I assured her I knew what I was talking about. We set it up for her to come with the horse trailer on Saturday, and though she still seemed hesitant, she said she would be “googling” this in the meantime.

When I hung up the shop phone, I realized there was someone else I needed to share the news with. And apologize to.

I found Priscilla on the side of the big house, bringing in the family laundry.

“Hey.”

Even though I lived on the premises, I had not talked to her since our argument in the paddock the day before and had barely seen her on the property. When she turned to face me, I wondered if she was still mad at me.

But I saw no traces of lingering indignation, just a quiet melancholy.

“What is it, Jake?” she said, glancing at me once as she turned the crank on the pulley.

“I owe you an apology.”

She paused for a second, midcrank, but then she was back at her task. “An apology? For laughing at me?” She turned the wheel and the next set of work shirts floated her way.

“Yes.”

Priscilla swung around, the laundry line temporarily forgotten.

“You were right about January,” I blurted. “She is sad. She's missing a dog back at her old place.”

“A dog? How did you figure that out?”

I told Priscilla what had happened in the barn during the previous night's storm. She listened with growing interest, her blue mood slowly being replaced with delight.

“That's… that's great, Jake. I'm really happy for you. And for January.”

She was about to turn back to the laundry line when I took a step closer. “Priscilla, I'm really sorry about what I said at the paddock yesterday. Forgive me?”

She looked down at the clean clothes in the basket at her feet. “I'm the one who should be apologizing. As you have already seen, I say too much when I get mad. And in the wrong way.”

“But you were correct about January.”

“That didn't give me any right to talk to you that way. I'm sorry too.” She looked up at me, and I could see that her joy at my figuring out January's dilemma was only matched by her disappointment in herself.

“How about we put the whole thing behind us?” I offered, anxious to get back to the normal routine.

She smiled, and though it wasn't a wide and easy grin, I could see she agreed.

“Okay, then,” I said as I turned to go.

“See you around?”

“Sure, Jake.”

It was a relief to have that whole business taken care of. I looked back once as I made my way to the cottage. She was again at the laundry line, pulling off clothes and folding them into the basket, a clear sign that all was well between us. And a good thing too. The following evening would be the party, and I knew Amanda expected Priscilla to be in an amiable mood by the time I got her there.

On Friday night at twenty minutes to seven, I left my cottage, freshly showered after working with horses all day long, and headed for the buggy barn. I couldn't say I was especially looking forward to the party itself, although I was a bit curious to see what chemistry there might be between Priscilla and Matthew. I hadn't even spoken to Amanda for a few days because she was busy with preparations for the event, and I'd had a full week myself, but I was pretty sure she was still singing Matthew's praises as the perfect man for Priscilla. I wondered as I hitched Willow to my buggy how hard it was going to be for Matthew to work up the courage to ask Priscilla if he could court her. Just picturing it made me laugh and then frown.

No self-respecting guy—especially someone as shy as Matthew—would ever ask such a risky question in a house full of people. The party was just a means to an end. I was already eager for this event to be history so that Amanda could let the courtship take its course, so that she could focus her attention back on me, and so that Amos would be satisfied that Priscilla had been successfully reintegrated back into the community.

Because Mahlon and Beth already had plans for the evening with her family, they wouldn't be making it to the party, but Beth sent along her artichoke dip, as well as a box of wheat crackers and instructions on heating the dip once we got there.

That left Amos, Roseanna, Priscilla, Owen, Treva, baby Josef, and me. There was no reason to take three buggies, so we decided that Priscilla could ride with me in my two-seater and Amos would bring everyone else in the family wagon.

Because Amanda wanted Priscilla to be the last to arrive, the others set off to the Zooks' house around six thirty, bringing all of the food with them.

I had told Priscilla we'd leave at a quarter to seven. I was glad that at exactly six forty-three she appeared on the porch and then walked to the gravel where the buggy waited.

“Are you sure you're ready for this?” I said lightly, wanting her know I was aware this was not how she would have liked to spend her Friday night.

She shrugged, politely declined my offer to help her step up into the buggy, and climbed in.

“Looks like it's going to be a quiet ride,” I murmured to Willow as I strode to the driver's side and climbed in myself.

We started out on the macadam. Because I was certain Priscilla was no longer mad at me about our argument at the paddock, I decided that maybe she just needed some quiet to prepare herself for an evening of noise and frivolity. I sat back and had just decided I liked the peaceful ride myself when she spoke.

“I've been wanting to ask you something.”

“Oh?” I replied, thinking she wanted to know more about the revelation regarding January.

“What did Amanda mean the other night when she said you and she were doing just what Amos asked you to?”