The Amish Blacksmith (7 page)

As I put on the blinker, I glanced at Amanda, who was clearly enjoying herself.

I decided I would enjoy myself as well. “Actually, I'll just send her over to fetch you. On a horse. Bareback. With her dress hiked up around her knees.”

Amanda tossed her head and laughed heartily. I pulled into the driveway of her home, glad to end our time together on that happy note.

My smile didn't fade until I was driving back toward the Kinsinger farm and began to go over in my mind everything I'd learned tonight about Priscilla and her parents and her past. Thanks to Amanda, at least now I had a clearer picture of the challenge ahead of us in terms of helping the poor girl get reacquainted with the community.

The problem was, that picture seemed more daunting than ever.

F
OUR

I
awoke the next morning, a Saturday, to the sound of a gentle summer rain. Dawn was just beginning to turn the eastern sky a milky gray, edged with a slim line of pink that promised the rain would not last. The current cloud cover and hushed sounds of raindrops would have a calming effect on Trudy's horse; at least, I hoped it would. I wanted to begin working with him as soon as my morning chores were done.

As the sole apprentice at the Kinsinger homestead, it was my job to take care of all the family horses. Ten-year-old Stephen Kinsinger, Mahlon and Beth's oldest child, helped me in the afternoons, but the mornings were mine alone. I didn't mind the solo duty at dawn. I liked the solitude of being the only one in the horse barns in the morning.

I lit the bedside lamp and then peered up at the ceiling, pretty sure no leaks were in sight. Good. I had recently patched a new hole in the cottage's roof, but this was the first rain we'd had since then to test it out.

When I began my apprenticeship a year ago, Amos had offered me the cottage to live in in exchange for fixing it up in my spare time. After having sat empty for almost six years, the building needed a lot of repairs, so I was a little concerned at first, but the arrangement had ended up working out great for both of us. I had my own place, the rent was free, and I found myself really enjoying the renovations.

My bedroom was one of two in the former guest cottage and the only room I had completely finished in terms of repairs. I had fixed the holes in the roof, replaced a section of drywall that had rotted, and refinished the wood plank floor. The window trims had been repainted, and I'd fixed the drawer slides on the dresser that stood in the back corner. There was still much to do here, but so far the work had gone very well.

I got up and headed for the lavatory, which I had recently replumbed. Fifteen minutes later I was showered, shaved, and dressed in broadfall pants, a white shirt, and suspenders. I made my way to the combined kitchen and living area, which still needed much attention but at least was functional—not that I used it all that often. On workdays I went up to the main house after chores to have breakfast with the Kinsingers and joined them again for lunch as well. Suppers were a little more haphazard, though I would always go wherever invited, which meant that sometimes I ate with Amos and Roseanna, sometimes with Owen and Treva, and sometimes all the way over at Tyler and Rachel's.

On the weekends I either headed home and enjoyed my mother's wonderful cooking or, if I had customers coming in or other things going on around here, I would feed myself from my own limited repertoire of cereal, sandwiches, and scrambled eggs. Beyond that, I was helpless in the kitchen.

This morning, I didn't feel like making eggs, and I was all out of cereal, so I downed a quick cup of coffee with a French press Tyler had bought for me in Philadelphia, ate a banana, and then headed out in the drizzle. The rain made for a dreary morning, but that was okay because I knew it would please the local farmers. Early June rain on spring-planted fields was almost always a good thing.

As I crossed the long expanse of lawn, I passed Owen and Treva's darkened house on my right. Turning toward the main Kinsinger homestead, I could see lights on in the kitchen, and also in Mahlon and Beth's home, which was connected to the main house via a breezeway. A rooster off in the distance announced my arrival onto the gravel driveway that led to the blacksmith shop, the welding shop, and the barns and buggy sheds. I caught a faint whiff of cinnamon and nutmeg, which meant that one of the Kinsinger women was baking something wonderful. I hoped whoever it was would take pity on the bachelor in the guest cottage and offer me some. I entered the large area where the family buggies were kept, and my hat was so wet from the rain that
I took it off and tossed it on a hook by the door. I looked around for Comet, Stephen's dog, who usually accompanied me in the barn whether Stephen was with us or not. But he was nowhere to be found, probably thanks to the weather. When it was
suddlich
like this, Comet mostly lurked on Mahlon and Beth's front porch, staring out at the lawn and waiting for the sun to come out.

My thoughts were still on the weather as I headed for the smaller barn on the right that I used for Willow and any horses that stayed overnight with me. I was also thinking of breakfast and the anticipation of working with Patch when I stepped inside, but then I came to an abrupt stop. Farther in stood a figure. Once my eyes adjusted to the semidarkness, I realized that figure was Priscilla. She didn't seem to notice me. The pattering of rain on the roof must have masked the sound of my footfalls.

She was standing at the rails of Patch's stall. Patch was in front of her, his chocolate-brown head bent toward hers. Her hands were on his muscled jaw line, her face very close to his. I heard no sound from either one of them. It was almost as if she were about to whisper a thrilling secret, and he was intent on catching every word. Patch didn't seem to be aware I had entered the stable, either. Neither ear pivoted in my direction. His tail hung loose, as though he were asleep on his feet. Willow, in the stall next to Patch, raised her head at my silent approach, regarded me for a moment, and then turned her gaze to the spectacle of horse and young woman that was taking place next to her.

The sight was transfixing. I felt like an intruder in my own barn. Even Willow seemed to be saying to me, “You should probably go.”

But I stood there, glued to the spot.

And then I heard Priscilla speak in the lowest of tones. I could not make out the words, but I could detect the lullaby timbre of her voice. Patch chuffed and nodded his head as if to say, “Yes, yes.” She stroked his head, leaned even closer to him, and laid her cheek against his. Patch closed his eyes.

I had never seen anything like it.

Part of me wanted to ask her what in the world she was doing with my charge, and part of me wanted to stand there and be a silent witness to it. Instead of doing either, I forced myself to turn and leave as quietly as I had come. Something about the scene felt private and uninterruptable.

I turned soundlessly to enter the connecting buggy shed that was situated between the small barn and the larger one where the Kinsinger horses were stabled, careful to quietly close the wooden door behind me. In my effort to
be silent, I almost ran right into Amos. He was bent over the back wheel of a buggy, tightening a nut.

“
Guder Mariye
, Jake,” he said, crooking an eyebrow in surprise at my sudden appearance.

“Good morning, Amos.”

He continued to look at me, and I suppose he thought I'd come to ask him a question, which he was politely waiting to hear.

“Um… ” I began and paused. I pointed to the barn next door. “So… ”

But I didn't need to find the words to tell him what I had just witnessed.

“
Ya
. I saw her in there. She was up before any of us. I think she came straight out to the barn. She's probably missing her horse from Indiana. Or maybe even her
daed
's horse from when she lived here before. ”

“Oh.”

Amos stood and set his wrench down on the workbench next to him. “I sold Shiloh a few months after she moved away, once I realized she wouldn't be coming back any time soon. He'd been my brother's horse, but with him and Sharon both gone and then Priscilla off in Indiana for who knew how long, there was no reason to keep him around. We didn't need him anymore. At the time, Roseanna wanted me to keep him for Priscilla, but after a while we just couldn't justify the cost.”

It struck me that Amos felt bad about that, almost guilty that he'd had to let the horse go. I tried to think of something to say that might make him feel better.

“Of course not, and Shiloh wouldn't have been very happy if you
had
kept him around,” I said. “Nothing is sadder than horses with no job to do. They need to feel useful.”

“True enough.” Amos studied the wheel he had been working on as though it might speak advice to him. Then he turned to me. “Now that Priscilla is back, though, I'd like to get her a horse of her own. Lorraine and Otto had one she was very fond of, which she had to leave behind in Indiana. I think it would help her to feel more at home here if she had her own horse. She's always been so taken with them.”

“Makes sense. But, uh, you heard what she said at dinner last night. Her stay here is only temporary.”

Amos nodded, stroking his beard. “
Ya
, well, sometimes the right animal can help make a temporary situation permanent.”

I smiled. “You're pretty sneaky for an old guy.”

Amos flashed me a wink. “I think we can find her something quickly at auction. An easygoing Standardbred. Maybe a Dutch Harness. Young but well behaved.”

“
Ya
. I'm sure you can,” I answered. Every week, several popular auctions for buying and selling horses were held in Lancaster County.

“You don't have any customers this morning, right?”

For a second Amos had lost me. “Uh, no. No, I don't,” I said, realizing too late that he was asking because he wanted to go to the auction today and wanted me to go with him. As different auctions were held on different days and this was a Saturday, that meant he had in mind the Stone Road Auction Ring in Ephrata, one of the largest in the region.

“You know more than I do about finding a healthy horse. I don't want to bring home an animal that has bad knees or rotting hooves or a sour disposition. I'd feel better about what I buy if you were there, Jake.”

I really didn't have a good excuse for not going. Working with Patch that morning was the only thing on my agenda, and that could wait until the afternoon if need be.

“Okay,” I said.

“Good, good. I'll go tell Priscilla.” Then Amos lowered his voice and asked if I'd spoken to Amanda about the two of us showing his niece around and helping her get reacquainted with everyone. I assured him that I had and we were happy to do it. Not exactly a lie. I was happy enough to lend a hand. And it didn't seem to be a lie as far as Amanda was concerned. As long as she could play matchmaker, she was eager to help Priscilla get reacquainted with her old district.

“Very good. Why don't you start this morning's chores with my horses? I'll go talk to Priscilla now, and by the time you get to your animals, she'll be out of there and you can take care of Willow and the Fisher horse. Then come to the main house for breakfast. We'll leave for the auction as soon as the rain lets up. Or by eight at the latest, rain or not.”

He left and I saw to the five Kinsinger horses. After sweeping the stalls, forking in clean straw, and filling troughs, I headed over to my stable to do the same for Patch and Willow, fully expecting to find only horses when I stepped inside.

It was after six thirty by then, but Priscilla was still there, this time standing right in front of the horses' stalls. Both animals were at the rails, leaning close to her, as though she were giving them instructions for the day and they
were attentively making mental notes. Except that she wasn't talking, she was just standing, her arms crossed gently in front of her chest. I stepped further in and she turned. That's when I saw that she'd already done what I had come to do. The stalls were swept clean of manure, new straw had been laid, and the troughs were full. When Priscilla turned from them, they both bent their heads toward their troughs and began to munch on breakfast.

“Good… good morning,” I muttered, stumbling over words everyone said every day of their life.