The Protector (3 page)

Pretended she didn’t mind that she no longer had long, pretty hair like Jenna did.

Pretended that it didn’t matter that no man in Jacob’s Crossing was eager to take her for a buggy ride or for a walk around an arts-and-crafts fair.

She supposed things would just stay the same. But obviously, like the appearance of cancer, one just never knew what the future had in store.

Chapter 4

“Y
ou’re an official landowner now, Loyal,” John Weaver, his uncle, teased from the other side of the counter of his donut-and-coffee restaurant, The Kaffi Haus. “How does it feel?”

As several of the men in the restaurant looked on with amused smiles, Loyal shrugged. “For the most part, it feels pretty good.”

“That’s it?” John asked, his expression filled with surprise. “You are the nephew who has something to say about everything.”

“Not really.”

“No, I’m afraid I have to tell you differently. Even when you were small you were never satisfied with a simple ‘pretty good’ with anything. Always, you had to expound upon things. Two words were never enough.”

His uncle’s words embarrassed him. Made him think that perhaps he’d said too much too often. Or, perhaps he’d always liked the sound of his own voice? “Maybe I’ve grown up.”

“Maybe.” Uncle John looked at him intently—in the way he had of making Loyal feel, with just one look, that he knew his deepest feelings. “Are the bills and the obligations already weighing ya down?”

“Never. I can handle all of that with no problem.”

“There’s the Loyal Weaver I remember,” Henry Miller said, making a small toast with his cup. “You always did have confidence to spare.”

“Only a bit.”

“It near drove your father to distraction when you were small,” Henry said as he eyed him with a smile. “But then, you were also a great source of pride, too. He’d be proud of you.”

“I hope so,” Loyal said, feeling his heart expand in his chest. Sitting among his father’s friends brought forth a fresh wave of nostalgia. Being the middle son had always made him feel like he was not quite old enough, that he would never measure up to either his father or Calvin.

But now, at this moment, it felt like he’d finally made a step forward into adulthood.

It felt momentous.

“Owning my own land feels like I expected,” he said after taking another sip of coffee. “Well, it feels like what I’d hoped,” he amended.

“You’re going to do just fine. You’ve always had a way about you.”

Actually, the whole situation felt far different than he’d anticipated. For most of his life, he’d yearned to step out of his father’s and Calvin’s shadows. He’d known the only way to do that was to go someplace where he could be in charge. For the last year, he’d been patiently waiting for some land to become available.

As soon as he’d learned Ella Hostetler was putting her land up for auction, he jumped at the chance. On paper, it had sounded like a wonderful-
gut
situation. The Hostetler’s land was close to his family’s acreage. He would be nearby but also living a more independent lifestyle. In short, it would give him everything he’d always wanted.

He’d been able to get the land for a good price, too. His mother was happy. And his brothers, while not necessarily understanding of his excitement, were sure to come around.

After a few more minutes of ribbing, John said, “I haven’t seen Ella lately, but I hope she is making her adjustment all right.”

“I hope so as well.”

Every time he thought about Ella, and the complete look of dismay he’d seen on her face during the auction, a shadow fell upon his mood. He’d convinced himself that he was giving her the opportunity to live a better life in Jacob’s Crossing. Living in the middle of town instead of the outskirts gave her an opportunity to be around more people, to have her dream job of working in the library. After all, everyone knew she’d basically been by herself for the last year, caring for her mother as she had.

But she’d looked so devastated at the auction, Loyal felt as if he’d just done something terrible. He really should have ignored Calvin’s advice and gone over to talk to her.

Mr. Schlabach looked him over. “What are you going to do first? Repair the barn or the house? I heard both need a lot of work.”

“I hope to work on both at the same time. Both are usable, just in need of some elbow grease.”

One eyebrow rose. “From several elbows.” Looking at the other men at the breakfast bar, John said, “I am thinking next Saturday would be a wonderful-
gut
time to lend you a hand. What say you?”

“I’d say I’d be grateful for your hands. And elbows!
Danke
.”

“We’re happy to help, aren’t we, men?”

That, of course, brought along another round of teasing. Then, one by one, they got up and said goodbye. “Good luck to you,” Henry said as he left the donut shop. “See you on Saturday.”

Taking a tasty bite of his chocolate donut, Loyal waved him and the others off and noticed Ella leaving her house and walking down the sidewalk.

Her gray dress seemed looser than usual, her pace slow. Actually, her whole body looked tired and depressed.

Instantly, the guilt came back. No matter how hard he tried to pretend otherwise, he knew he was the cause of her pain.

There was no way he could stay seated as she walked by. What he needed to do was finally gather his courage and go say something to her. Even if she was mighty angry at him, it was the right thing to do.

It was surely what his father would have expected of him.

After a quick wave goodbye to Uncle John, he darted out of the shop and ran across the street. “
Ella?
Ella, hello!”

She stopped for him, but even he couldn’t describe her expression as anything less than put-upon as he approached.

“
Gut mariye,
Loyal.”

“Good morning to you.” When she continued to look curiously at him through her glasses, the pretty little speech he’d planned to say went walking. “I was, uh, just having a donut. Want to join me?”

She froze, looking like he’d just sprouted feathers. “I already had breakfast today.”

“Oh, I have, too. I ate early. Lucy’s cooking for us now, and she makes a fine breakfast at five
A.M
.” He closed his eyes as he realized he was rambling. “I’m, uh, just having a little snack. Would you care for one?”

“A snack?”

“Yes.”

“Ah,
nee
. No, thank you.”

Loyal supposed he didn’t blame her. Never before had he gone out of his way to talk with her, not even when they were teenagers and both were at the same singings. Actually, he’d gone out of his way to ignore her.

Remembering how brash he’d been, he tried to connect with her again. “I didn’t know if you’d had breakfast yet. It was just an idea.” Still floundering—floundering terribly—he added, “I can’t seem to stay away from the donuts.”

Her gaze skimmed his face, then, to his surprise, a reluctant smile formed. “Obviously not.” Pointing to the corner of her lips, she said, “You’ve got a bit of chocolate there.”

“Do I?” Feeling like he’d lost all his manners, he wiped his face with the side of his hand. “I guess I should be more careful, hmm?”

“Perhaps.” After another, almost-amused look his way, she started walking again.

He fell into step beside her. “So, where are you going this morning?”

“Work.” Beneath the glasses, her brown eyes lit up. “Today is my first day of work at the library.”

“Are you looking forward to it?”

“Oh, yes.” Some of that light in her eyes seemed to travel to her cheeks, turning them rosy. The added color did wonderful things to her skin, making it seem almost translucent. All of a sudden,
Plain Ella
didn’t look plain at all.

No. All of a sudden, she looked pretty and fresh—and younger, too.

With another almost-hesitant smile his way, she continued: “I’ve always loved the library. I feel blessed to work there now.”

Something about the way she said it gave him pause. She really was looking forward to her job. “What will you do?”

“Oh, shelve books and check them out, I suppose.” Darting a sideways glance his way, she smiled. “And do whatever else Ms. Donovan asks of me.”

Her enthusiasm made him smile, both at her and at himself. Selfishly, he’d been only thinking about how different her life was. And that she would be sad because of his part in it.

Sometimes his ego seemed too big for his head!

“I hope you have a good day,” he finally murmured, though he ached to say so much more. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was that both her parents had gone to heaven.

And how bad he’d felt for her circumstances, having to work her land by herself for the last year. And that he was going to do his best by her property. How he would be a good protector of it.

But how could he put all that into words without seeming too full of himself?

“I hope you have a pleasant day as well.” She took two steps, then looked his way again. Probably because he was still walking with her!

“Loyal . . . ah, I hope you won’t take this the wrong way, but please don’t feel guilty about the auction. Or my move.”

Now he was completely embarrassed. He really should have said something earlier. “I don’t,” he fibbed. At her look of confusion, he amended his words. “Well, not too much.”

“You shouldn’t feel guilty at all. I’m the one who put it for sale. Not you.”

“But I was anxious to have the land,” he admitted, his cheeks heating.

To his amazement, she chuckled. “That’s the way of auctions, don’tcha think? Someone has to buy what’s offered.”

“I suppose . . .”

“I just want you to know that, since someone had to buy my farm, I’m glad it was you.”

“Really?” He couldn’t have been more surprised. Or humbled.

“You care about the land.”

She swallowed, finally losing some of that careful reserve he’d spied under her frames.

“And, um, you’ve always been a nice person.”

He’d never imagined she’d thought about such things. Never imagined that she’d thought about him. Like that. Especially since he knew that he could’ve been a fair sight nicer.

“I will get used to living in town, and getting the chance to work at the library is nice. I couldn’t work here if I was still on the farm.”

“All right. But if there’s a reason for you to come show me something at the farm, would you?’

“What could you possibly need?”

He started walking with her toward the library. “Well, I thought I might paint the walls in the house and refurbish the floor. What do you think of that idea? Have you ever painted it a color? Or was it always white inside?”

“It has always been white, but I have thought a pale gray or blue would look nice in the bedrooms,” she said, surprising him. “The shade trees make things so cool in the afternoons, I thought a faint color would be pretty. You know, it might warm things up a bit.”

Eager to talk with her a little bit longer, Loyal said, “Do you have a trick for the front door lock? It sticks.”

“I don’t think I locked the door much,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “But there is a trick. You have to pull in the knob sharply before you turn the handle.”

“Pull in the knob, turn the handle. I’ll do that.”

Stopping in front of the library, she hugged her arms in front of her. “Well, I suppose I had best go in now. I don’t want to be late for my first day of work.”

“And I don’t want to make you late. Hey, um, Ella?”

“Yes?”

“I just wanted you to know . . . I’m mighty glad we walked together.”

She blinked behind her glasses, then smiled. The genuine expression lighting up her face and transforming her shy expression into something far different. She looked almost pretty. . . . No, she was pretty, he realized with a start.

“I am as well,” she said, then turned and walked away.

As she went, he wondered when he would find an excuse to stop by to see her again.

Chapter 5

L
ittle by little, John Weaver’s rush of early-morning customers filtered out, ready to begin their days. They left the coffee shop almost empty except for a few tables of regulars.

And that, John had to admit, was the way he liked things.

Just four months ago, he moved back to Jacob’s Crossing after spending twenty years in Indianapolis. In the city, he’d had a good job working for a tire distributor. He weighed and balanced tires, organized the warehouse, and eventually was in charge of inventory.

The men he worked with had been a good bunch. They’d joked and sweated and got dirty. Being covered in dust and grime was a given when a man lugged tires for hours each day. But during the last few years, John had known that he needed a break from this demanding, sometimes stressful job.

Then, in April, when his nephew Calvin had come for a visit with his little sister Katie in tow, John had taken their appearance as a sign from God. It was time to reacquaint himself with his roots. And his family.

In short, it was time to go home—even though this home had been no home to him in almost two decades.

However, that decision must have all been part of God’s plan—because, in no time, he’d hit it off with Amos House, the longtime owner of the Kaffi Haus. It just so happened that Amos liked making donuts, not waiting on customers—the complete opposite of John. Amos also had an empty apartment on the second floor of the building. Almost too easily, John was living above the donut shop and was waiting on customers, becoming acquainted with everyone in the community. Fitting in.

And then he’d met Jayne Donovan. The librarian. Against his will, John still felt himself blush whenever he thought of the lady. In short, she was everything he’d ever dreamed of when he’d been seventeen and contemplating jumping the fence. Jayne had short dark-brown hair, a striking figure, and almost violet eyes. She was perpetually grinning and had a teasing, flirty personality that never failed to draw him close.

She was kind, too. Underneath all that vivaciousness was a good heart.

In many ways, John thought she was perfect for him. That was a bit of a shock—since he hadn’t thought he’d ever longingly look at another woman after his wife, following just two years of marriage, divorced him.

John had been trying to remember how to ask Jayne, or any woman, out—it had been a long time since he’d dated—when still another woman came into his life.

Confusing him.

Mary Zehr was the exact opposite of Jayne. She was younger than Jayne’s thirty-four years. Younger by at least three or four years. She was quiet, too. And pretty, though not striking like Jayne. No, there was a serene, almost angelic beauty to her pale green eyes and brown hair. She was slim and gentle. She was also a widow—and was raising a twelve-year-old boy by herself.

John didn’t know much about children, perhaps suggesting that, as a single mom, he should have been scared off. But Mary was so loving with her son Abel that John couldn’t help but be drawn to her.

Yes, he was drawn to Mary in an almost visceral way. His heart beat a little faster whenever she came to the store; he watched himself around her, wanted to be gentle with her. Wanted to earn her friendship.

So much so, that he kept forgetting she was Amish and he was not.

He’d made such a big decision to leave the order, how could he ever even think about a woman who wasn’t English?

What was going on with him? He wished he understood the reason he’d not looked at women for almost two decades, and now found himself thinking about the pair of them all the time.

Had God made his return to Jacob’s Crossing so easy because he had another, far harder decision in store for him?

He was scrubbing a nonexistent spot on his counter, contemplating God and His will, when one of the old-timers called out as he was leaving. “See you, John. Have a good day.”

“You, too, Jack,” he replied. “Come back soon.”

He would have said more, but the next words stuck in his throat. Because with Jack’s exit, Mary and Abel entered.

He made an effort to greet them casually. “Hi, Mary . . . Abel. What can I get you?”

Abel trotted up to the case. “Hi, Mr. Weaver. I’m starving.” Glancing back over his shoulder, he looked to his mom, who was his height. “Mamm, how many donuts can I have?”

Grinning, John leaned back against the wall behind the counter and crossed his arms over his chest.

Mary shook her head in wonder before she met John’s gaze with a look of resigned amusement. “My son seems to have a bottomless pit for a stomach. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

With a wink in Abel’s direction, John nodded. “I was a boy once, Mary. My
mamm
often said the same thing about my brother Jacob and me.”

“Oh! I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“Mamm, how many?” Abel interrupted.

“Oh,
boo
. I don’t know. Three, perhaps?” Mary said and looked at John as if she was afraid he knew something about donut consumption that she didn’t.

“Abel, there’s a special going on today for twelve-year-olds. Four donuts for the price of three. Pick out four.”

The boy grinned and started pointing.

Mary nibbled her bottom lip and watched, obviously worried that she was taking advantage of John.

She needn’t have worried. He’d give the growing boy all the treats he wanted—if it meant they’d come in more often.

When Abel had chosen all four, John put them in a white paper sack and passed it right on to the boy. After a word of thanks, Abel took his sack and sat down near a pair of Amish men that he obviously knew.

Since they were almost alone, John let himself look at Mary more carefully. Today her dress was a dark teal. The color made her pretty skin look rosy and the brown of her hair look even richer. “Now, what can I get you, Mary?”

She looked at the case. Nibbled her lip some more. Then finally lifted her pale green–colored eyes to him. “A cinnamon roll?”

“You got it.” He set it on a plate for her, then poured her a cup of coffee, leaving room for cream. Just the way she liked it.

When she handed him her money, he finally answered her question about his brother. “My brother was Jacob Weaver. He passed onto heaven almost three years ago. Do you remember him?”

“Oh. Oh, yes.” Her expression turned sympathetic. “I’m sorry. I sometimes forget that you grew up Amish. I don’t know why.”

“It’s fine.” Actually, he kind of liked sharing bits about himself, little by little—instead of her already knowing about his family. It made him think they were on more even ground, since he knew next to nothing about her. “So, why isn’t Abel in school today?”

“The teacher is taking the day off. Her child has the chicken pox.”

“So you’ve had to rearrange your plans for the day?”

She smiled. “I don’t mind. Abel is so busy—what with his school and his job, he hardly wants to spend time with me. This unexpected day off made me happy.”

There was something so wistful about her expression, John couldn’t help but feel for her. “Mary, may I have a cup of coffee with you?” he asked formally.

Just like he was at a tea party or something.
Sheesh!
The guys back at his old job would be having a field day with him.

Mary looked in Abel’s direction. He was looking at a car magazine with the men. “That would be nice. I, um, will just sit here at the counter, if that’s all right.”

“It’s perfect.”

John poured himself a cup of coffee and then walked around the counter, taking a stool right next to her. They were close enough that her teal skirt brushed against his jeans.

Close enough to notice that she smelled fresh and clean, and faintly like lavender.

After she’d taken two bites of the treat, he said, “Mary, do you have a lot of help at home? It’s just you and Abel, right?”

“Yes, it’s just me and him. And I do have help. One of my neighbors helps with the yard once a month. And I support myself by sewing suits for the men in the community.”

He knew how much effort went into a well-made suit. “That’s hard work, Mary.”

“It is,” she agreed, flexing her fingers a bit as though they cramped up often. “But I only sew suits to help my funds—for extras. My William left me money.”

The way she spoke of her husband gave him pause.

Made him wonder if she still grieved for him.

Since she’d brought it up, John gave in to his curiosity. “He passed away years ago, didn’t he?”

“Eight years. Abel was only three. And I was only twenty-one.”

John did a little mental math. Realized she was likely thirty, about eight years younger. “How did he die?”

“He had a brain aneurysm. It was a sudden thing.” A shadow passed over her features, letting him know that the memory was still painful.

John felt his insides clench. He felt for her. “That had to be very hard.”

“Oh, it was.” She shook her head after a pause. “But until then, we had a
gut
marriage. My William was a good man. Kind and hardworking. We were lucky,” she said softly.

“Yes, you were.” She looked like she had been well loved and had a successful marriage. A little part of him was envious about that. At least she had good memories to keep.

All of his memories with Angela were tainted by his inability to be a good enough husband to her—and his inability to prove to her that he was ever going to shed all of his antiquated Amish ideals.

Struggling to not betray his emotions, John attempted to keep the conversation on things less personal. “You are lucky he had money in the bank,” he said.

Of course, as soon as he uttered the words, he berated himself. Way to go, John. Nothing like focusing on money to make a woman feel like she was worthwhile.

But instead of looking offended, Mary nodded. “I’ve thought that a time or two. Actually, I’m grateful William was such a careful man with our finances. He was like that—careful about most everything.”

“That is fortunate.” He shifted uncomfortably. Why was he suddenly jealous of a dead man?

Mary continued, a sweet, faraway expression in her eyes. “See, William had a cousin who’d died suddenly, and had left his wife and family with little. She and her
kinner
have really struggled.” After taking a fortifying sip of her coffee, she added, “I think William was always afraid of something happening to him. Of leaving me without funds.”

“But it’s hard, still, isn’t it? Being on your own, I mean.”

“Yes. Abel needs a father, or at least an influence that’s not so motherly.” She frowned slightly as she glanced over at Abel’s way. The boy seemed to be studiously ignoring her—obviously anxious to stay in the company of the men.

“Don’t you have family nearby?”

“
Nee
. My parents moved to warmer climates when I married. I was the youngest by far. William was happy here, and I was happy with him. Then, when he passed, I didn’t want to take Abel away from his home and everything that was familiar . . .” Her hand clenched. “He was already hurting so much.”

John looked at her hand, saw how the knuckles were turning white, the stress of holding it all together taking its toll. He itched to grasp her hand. To gently unfold her fingers and smooth their tension.

But of course that would be exactly the wrong thing to do.

She blinked. “John, you seem like you know what it’s like, to be married and then not. Did you suffer a loss, too? Are you a widower?”

Though telling her the truth made him uncomfortable, John didn’t dare hide his past. “I was married, and I have known loss—but not from her death.” Feeling like his tongue had become thick, he stumbled over the words. “Angela, my wife, left me.”

Her eyes widened.

“I’m divorced.”

“Oh.”

Yeah.
Oh
. Though he still remembered the pain of receiving the divorce papers, of staring at the documents and realizing that all of his promises and vows could be broken with just a few pages of legal jargon, he now knew it had been for the best.

And all of it had happened long enough ago for him to smile about it. “I know. It’s a bit of a shock to hear. Especially for you.”

“Why especially for me?” Her voice had a slight edge to it.

“Because divorce doesn’t happen when you’re Plain.” Belatedly, he realized he’d sounded a bit condescending—like, of course, Mary would have no understanding of his pain, or of what it had been like to tell people that his wife left him.

Because he wasn’t good enough.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I sometimes fool myself into thinking that I wasn’t devastated when Angela left me. I guess I’m still harboring some pain. And maybe some bitterness, too.”

She sipped her coffee again. But when she spoke, her voice was noticeably cooler. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.” She blinked. “Sometimes, we talk so well together, I almost forget that we’re so different.”