The Letters (13 page)

He thought it might have ended abruptly at that awkward moment when Vera snapped at Rose and called her a future bishop. Vera Schrock was known to salt her speech rather freely with criticism. There was nothing hard about Rose—in fact, it was obvious to him that she was far too soft for what she had to cope with. She had tender expressions when she looked at her children, or at the stable of animals she kept. She could never quite get a lock of hair to stay fixed, and was always touching it nervously with one hand. “It won’t behave,” she would say, as if her hair were a child.

After dinner ended, Galen didn’t get to his feet right away. The sense that he needed to hurry, which had been with him most of his life, had disappeared for a space.

8

T
he next day, Monday, responsibility descended upon Jimmy Fisher with a weight far beyond anything he had ever felt. He wondered what had possessed him to agree to work for Galen King, of all people, though he knew the answer to that. The work ethic of the Plain people was legendary, but Galen took it to another level. He never stopped working. He was a single-track man, all business. Jimmy held to a more leisurely philosophy about work.

Most people in the church were intimidated by Galen, but not Jimmy. Galen was perceived as a little unusual. He didn’t say much, didn’t socialize much, had a skill for avoiding various single women who did their best to lay a trap for him. The funny thing about Galen King was how hard he was to keep in scale. He wasn’t a big man—in fact, was barely middle-sized—but when you walked up and looked him in the eye, it didn’t seem that way. Jimmy was a few inches taller, but there was no way you could have convinced him that Galen was the shorter man. Galen had that effect on everyone. Jimmy had seen men straighten up when Galen walked past. He’d seen women tuck their hair in their cap.
Even children quieted around him. Not that Galen had ever noticed he had such an effect on others. It would have meant losing five minutes off whatever job he had decided he wanted to get done that day.

By the time the sun was overhead, Jimmy had sweated through his shirt. The first breather of the day came when Naomi brought some gingered lemonade out to the barn. Early that morning, a new lot of horses had been delivered to Galen from Saturday’s auction in Leola. Galen wanted to start buggy training them straightaway. Jimmy thought Galen should let them settle into their new surroundings. These two- and three-year-old colts came right off the racetrack in Kentucky and were skittish as foals. He said as much to Galen, but his helpful suggestion was ignored. It didn’t bother Jimmy. He kept on making helpful suggestions and Galen kept on ignoring him. Jimmy would rattle off five or six different questions and opinions, running them all together.

After lunch, Galen led a chestnut mare, the one with white stockings and a blaze down her forehead, out of the stall and into the yard. Jimmy walked over to the fence to watch Galen work the mare. Galen considered her to be the prime of the lot he had just purchased.

Jimmy couldn’t see why. “She’s not the best-looking horse I’ve ever seen,” he said.

“I’m not interested in her looks,” Galen said.

She had her ears pinned and her eyes turned so she could watch him in case he got careless. “You ought to blindfold her.”

“I want her gentled, not broke.” Galen got her to accept the weight of the buggy shaft, but the minute the shafts touched the sides of her belly, the mare kicked as high as she could get. Jimmy got a big laugh out of that.

“There’s plenty of fine horses to buy in this world, Galen. Why would a man like you want to waste time with a filly that ought to be hobbled and blindfolded?”

Again, Galen ignored him. The mare tentatively lifted the near hind foot with the thought of kicking whatever might be in range. When she did, he caught the foot with the rope and hitched it around a post. It left the mare standing on three legs, so she could not kick again without throwing herself.

“Look at her watch us,” Galen said. The mare
was
watching them—even had her ears pointed at them. She was trembling with indignation.

“I wouldn’t take it as much of a compliment,” Jimmy said. “She’s not watching you because she loves you.” He didn’t know why anyone would bother with such an ill-tempered horse.

“Say what you will,” Galen said. “I’ve never seen a more intelligent filly.”

“Maybe a little too smart for her own good.”

“Like my apprentice.”

Ouch. That stung. Jimmy had a love for horses that went bone-deep. Most folks assumed he was nothing but a flirt—but he took horsemanship seriously. There was a time when he toyed with racing and that ended badly. He learned his lesson. But he had never stopped loving Thoroughbreds. That’s why he accepted Galen’s out-of-the-blue offer to work for him. No one in Stoney Ridge knew Thoroughbreds like Galen King. It was part of his blood, his heritage. His great-grandfather had raised Percherons. The Kings were known far and wide for their horse-savvy, and Jimmy wanted to soak up everything he could from Galen.

Late in the afternoon, Sammy Schrock slipped through
the privet to watch the horse training in action. Unlike Luke, Sammy was a silent, small boy. He stood apart shyly and stared at the mare. After a while he couldn’t stand it any longer and his words wrestled their way through his shyness. “If you’ll let me help, why, I’ll do anything. I’ll muck stalls, saddle soap harnesses, sweep the barn.” He sounded hopeful, a boy who loved to be useful.

As Galen hesitated, Jimmy could see the boy’s disappointment. “Give him a try, Galen. After all, the boy’s only chance for learning how to gentle a horse is by watching me work.”

Galen let that float off. “Sammy, you need to ask your mother if it’s all right.”

The boy ran home at once.

“Now, Galen, that was downright charitable of you. I wonder if you’re getting soft.”

Galen snorted. “His mother will say no so I won’t have to.”

Jimmy thought about that for a while, not at all sure Galen had called that right. Rose Stoltz didn’t strike him as a smother-mother type. He watched her the other night and she almost seemed too good-natured to be true. It was clear she was older—she had fine wrinkles around her mouth—but her skin was still soft and her face, as she bustled around feeding people, was quite lovely.

If he were only a decade or so older, Jimmy thought, grinning, then shook that thought off. Besides, Jimmy was finding himself besotted—yes, besotted—with Rose’s stepdaughter, Bethany. As usual, love fell out of a clear blue sky—as fine a day as one could want, with the creek sparkling and sun shining and hints of spring in the air.

But even Jimmy had to admit to himself that he found himself besotted with girls on a regular basis. He reminded
himself that he was turning over a new leaf and becoming a horse trainer. Getting besotted with ladies on a regular basis would have to be reckoned with. It was time to get serious about life.

No sooner had Jimmy taken one team in and brought another team of horses out to the yard, and Sammy was back, puffed up and proud. “She said yes! She said Luke could come too, if it’s all right with you. Not today, though. He’s in trouble and can’t leave the house.”

Galen was shaking his head, but he didn’t look nearly as upset as Jimmy might have thought. “What’s Luke got himself in trouble for?”

“Teacher M.K. told everyone it was ‘No Complaining Day’ and Luke complained about it.”

Jimmy laughed, then he noticed that Sammy was bareheaded. Jimmy had brought his old black felt hat with him and put it in the barn. It was hanging on a peg, and he went back in and got it for the boy.

“Here, you take this,” Jimmy said, surprised at his own generosity.

When Sammy put it on, his head disappeared nearly down to his mouth, which was grinning.

It was almost time to make supper and Rose was already a day behind in her tasks. She had linens to change in the guest flat, two pies to bake, and a pile of clothing to iron for Sunday church. Seated by the kitchen window, Vera watched Bethany walk back slowly from the mailbox, absorbed in a letter she was reading. “Bethany is spending too much time mooning over that boy.”

The iron hissed as it slid over a dampened prayer cap that Rose was ironing, leaving behind a knife-sharp pleat and the smell of hot starch. “Jake Hertzler?”

“Yes. She fancies him far too much. He’s Car Amish,” Vera said, as if that explained everything. “What if she falls in love with him?”

Vera didn’t seem to realize that Bethany already thought she was in love with him. At least, as in love as an impulsive, shortsighted nineteen-year-old girl could be. Rose set the iron upright on the ironing board to give herself time to think. She could only imagine what Vera would have to say if she heard that Jake Hertzler had pinned blame for Schrock Investments’ downfall on Tobe, her precious grandson. Fur would fly! She still couldn’t believe it herself. She didn’t want to believe it—she preferred to think that Allen Turner’s job was to be suspicious about everybody.

Vera coughed and Rose’s thoughts returned to her ironing. She carefully lifted the freshly pressed cap off the ironing board and set it on the counter, then plucked a white shirt of Sammy’s out of the laundry basket. “I don’t deny that it’s troubled me how devoted Bethany has been to Jake. Far more devoted to him than he is to her. I worry she’ll end up with a broken heart.”

“Then you should do something about this,” Vera said. “Soon. Before that boy realizes what he might be missing and comes calling. Dean would have nipped this. Nipped it in the bud. You don’t want grandchildren who aren’t truly Amish.”

Grandchildren who would never know Dean. That familiar sadness about Dean swept over Rose. It surprised her to realize that the sadness was only a visitor now. Not a permanent guest.

“A fish and a bird can’t fall in love.”

Rose sighed. It always, always circled back to this. Vera blamed Rose for the path Dean chose: leaving the Old Order Amish church to marry Rose, raising the children with the use of electricity and cars, pursuing higher education and getting his broker’s license.

What Vera refused to believe was that Dean had quietly passed his GED and was taking accounting classes at the junior college—that was where Rose met him. At heart, he was not a farmer nor a craftsman. He was a man who liked to use his mind, not his hands. It was just a matter of time, he had told Rose, before he planned to leave the Old Order Amish church, especially after his first wife had abandoned the family. He couldn’t remarry if he stayed in the Old Order Amish church, even though he hadn’t initiated or wanted the divorce.

To be fair to Vera, Rose acknowledged that Dean let his mother believe what she wanted to believe. It didn’t bother him that Vera blamed Rose for everything. Or his first wife for everything else. One thing she had quickly learned about Dean—he wanted everyone to think well of him, especially his mother.

As she picked up the iron and started on Sammy’s white shirt, she remembered a time, soon after they had bought their first home and didn’t have much money to spare, when Dean volunteered to pay for a new roof for the church they had just started to attend.

Rose had been raised in an Old Order Amish home but had left, disillusioned, after an acrimonious split occurred in her church. Soon after—maybe too soon, she later wondered—she met Dean, was dazzled by him—he
was
dazzling!—and
married him. As she navigated her new role of stepmothering, she knew it was time to return to church. Since Dean had been divorced and remarried, they couldn’t return to the Old Order Amish church. They found a Mennonite church that welcomed them in.

One Sunday morning, Dean had stood up in church and said he would take care of the entire amount of the roof.

“Why did you do that?” she had asked him on the way home from church. “They were asking everyone to make donations. They never expected one person to pay for it all.”

He shrugged. “I wanted to.”

“But we don’t have the money to make the next mortgage payment. We don’t have enough to buy food for the week!”

He gave her a hangdog expression. “I know.”