Wonderful Lonesome (46 page)

“Let’s play chess again.” Fin made a face at Abbie the next morning. “You don’t seem to be learning the rules very well.”

She forced a smile. How could she explain to a housebound eight-year-old that two sleepless nights and a missing fiancé meant she had no mental energy for absorbing the rules of chess?

“We should read today,” she said. “Your mother is particularly concerned that you not fall behind in school.” Fin’s reading had improved enough that he might not notice she was not listening carefully.

“I don’t want to do math,” he said.

“We won’t today.” The last thing Abbie’s brain wanted to do were the multiplication tables. “Your mother suggested that we read
Around the World in Eighty Days
. It might be an interesting way to learn some geography.”

Fin turned around in a dramatic fashion. “I know where the book is.”

They read for most of the morning in the library. When Abbie felt the boy’s efforts lagging, she took the book from him and tried to inject some enthusiasm into the task. She had never read the book before, either. It was far too fanciful for an Amish education.

It was almost lunchtime when Louise interrupted them. Abbie put a finger under the line she had been reading and looked up.

“We have a visitor,” Louise said. “He said he is here for you.”

Rudy!
Abbie snapped the book closed and stood up.

“I’ve put him in the sitting room so you can have some privacy.” Louise gestured and Abbie paced across the hall.

“Mr. Shelton,” she said when she saw the officer who had taken her report about Rudy’s disappearance.

He stood in a casual stance with his hat in one hand, resting on his leg. “We have some information.”

Abbie trembled. “Have you found Rudy? Is he all right?”

“As far as we know he is quite well.”

She exhaled relief.

“Apparently he decided to take a trip.”

“A trip?”

“It was quite a simple matter, actually,” Mr. Shelton said. “This is a railroad town, after all. People come and go all the time.”

“Rudy hasn’t left the area since he arrived four years ago. He hasn’t even been to Colorado Springs or Denver.”

“The railroads keep records, you know, and the ticket masters have developed excellent memories. Since there are so few Amish men around here, it wasn’t a difficult inquiry.”

“What are you saying, Mr. Shelton?” Abbie crossed and uncrossed her arms.

“We traced him to a Union Pacific passenger train that left on Tuesday morning. Apparently he had a voucher from some time ago and decided to cash it in for a ticket.”

“But his farm! He would never go off without making sure his animals were cared for.”

“Have they been cared for?”

“Well, yes. Mr. Peters and I have been looking after them.”

“Then it seems Mr. Stutzman knew what he was doing.” Mr. Shelton reached for a slip of paper. “And it seems he sold the horse he rode into town to a railroad employee, tying up loose ends.”

Abbie closed her eyes to calm her breath. “We are engaged to be married. Something must have precipitated his sudden departure.”

“I cannot speak to that, Miss Weaver. That is between the two of you. We consider this a closed matter because there seems to be no indication of foul play.”

“But where did he go? Can you at least tell me that?”

“It was an easterly train. His ticket would take him as far as western Missouri, but of course he could have gotten off anywhere.”

“Can’t you find out?”

“It’s not a police matter, Miss Weaver.”

The mare resisted Abbie’s urge for speed, but she pestered the animal until it responded to commands with sufficient conviction.

Gone.

Rudy was gone. Abbie had refused to believe the officer’s conclusion for two distracted hours until she could extricate herself from Fin’s attention and barrel toward Rudy’s farm. If he was really gone, he could have no objection to her looking through every stack of papers, every shabby drawer, every drooping shelf for the truth. She remembered now seeing the crimped corner of the voucher one day while she was cleaning. That was months ago, and in all this time Rudy had never again spoken of leaving. Now she was supposed to believe that he had after all.

Leaving the horse in the yard, Abbie stomped past the chickens and yanked open the door. With hands on her hips, she narrowed her eyes and looked around for the clue she had missed. Rudy had left the place tidy, but Abbie had been camped out there for two days and left evidence of her presence. She began by gathering the odds and ends of her belongings into a compact pile and stacking them on one chair next to the front door. A shawl, a soiled apron, the schedule she had scratched out for taking care of the farm chores. Then she moved the coffeepot from the table to the back of the stove and shifted the pots and dishes she had left drying beside the sink to the shelves above it. A tattered quilt went back to the foot of Rudy’s bed.

Now the cabin was as he had left it.

And Abbie realized what was wrong. The pile of papers Rudy always left on the table, on the end that doubled as his desk, was gone. The notes about milk production, the quantity of seed he hoped to plant in the spring, the record of how he had weaned the calf. Abbie had supposed Rudy cleaned up to please her. Now she realized he cleaned up to say good-bye.

She hunted for the stack. If he truly was abandoning the farm, he would have no reason to take it, but the papers might give some clue of his intent. Abbie stood and stared at the three narrow drawers that housed Rudy’s meager wardrobe. As soon as she tugged on the bottom drawer, she knew it gave easily because it was empty. The middle one was as well.

The top drawer yielded the papers, with a letter tied closed in twine laid on top of them. Shaking, she pulled the twine away and unfolded the letter.

Dearest Abbie
,

First, I want you to know that my affection for you is more profound than I imagined possible. The greatest joy of my life is the moment you agreed to wed
.

Second, I want you to know the depth of my admiration for your commitment to the success of the Elbert County settlement. You could have taken the easy road and gone east with your family, but your determination is relentless
.

And now for two truths. I was utterly surprised when you accepted my proposal. For so long I thought it was the only thing that could tie me to this land. I have given my farm the best effort I could, and quite possibly, given time, I would have succeeded
.

But I am not your Willem. Success would not be enough. I need the church as much as you do, and I am afraid I don’t haveyour patience or optimism. So I have used my train ticket after all. I could not bear to ask you to come with me. I was too afraid you would say no and I would have to face the truth that your acceptance of my proposal was not based on mutual affection after all. I could not bear to know that for certain
.

I ask you not to look for me. I am not sure where I will go, but I know there will be a robust Amish congregation wherever I end up. On a separate page, I am leaving instructions about the animals
.

Fondly
,

Rudy Stutzman

The knock on the door startled her, and for a flash she wanted it to be Rudy.

But of course he would not knock on his own door.

Willem stepped into the cabin. “Mrs. Wood said you didn’t look well when you left today.”

Abbie handed him the papers and stumbled to a chair. Willem scanned the letter before sliding it under the document below.

“He’s left you the livestock,” Willem said.

Abbie exhaled and spoke hoarsely. “What do I want with dairy cows when I have been abandoned by two men?”

“I’m here,” he said quietly.

“I always thought you and Rudy were different as night and day.” She stared out the front window. “Now I see I was wrong. Neither one of you could choose the life that included me.”

Willem twisted the barbed wire in place and snipped the excess off one end. Johnny, the ranch hand Melton Wood had sent out to help him was a young man, probably not any older than Reuben Weaver. But if he had grown up nearby, he might know the answer to Willem’s question.

“If I wanted to sell a half-dozen milk cows around here, who do you suppose might be interested in them?”

Johnny straightened his thick gloves and prepared to handle the roll of wire. “Not too many folks. Milk cows are not the same as cattle raised for beef. The feed’s not the same.”

“Can you think of anyone?”

“Maxwells, maybe.”

“Maxwells?” Willem raised his eyebrows.

“Brothers. Jason and Raymond. They’ll buy most any kind of livestock and then try to turn a profit.”

“So they’ll take horses, too?”

“As long as they aren’t ready to be horse meat.”

Rudy’s horses were healthy, and one was still young as far as horses went. Most of the cows had ample calving years ahead of them.

“How do I find these Maxwell brothers?”

“On a ranch a few miles northeast of here. Other side of Limon.”

Northeast was the wrong direction for going home, but he would have to do it. Rudy’s intentions were clear, and Abbie needed prodding to take action. She would run herself ragged trying to take care of all those animals by herself, and for no purpose. Rudy was not coming back.

Willem braced to lift the roll of wire. “Come on. We need to finish our quota early today.”

The Maxwell ranch was farther out of Limon than what Willem would have called a few miles, but by the time he realized Johnny’s estimate had fallen short, Willem had invested too much time to turn back. His stomach grumbled for a late supper by the time he found the ranch and sorted out which building to approach.

“I hear you might be interested in some dairy cows,” he said to Jason Maxwell.

“Maybe. How many?”

“Eight. And a calf.”

“The only one of your people who has that many dairy cows is Rudy Stutzman, and you’re not him.”

Willem resisted the urge to point out that Jason Maxwell might not know as much about the Amish as he thought he did—except he was right on this point.

“Those are the cows I’m talking about. I am inquiring on behalf of Mr. Stutzman.”

“We don’t pay agent fees.”

“I’m not asking for anything. Mr. Stutzman is a friend.”

“We looked at his cows once.” Jason narrowed his gaze. “He turned us down.”

“Circumstances have changed.”

Jason’s eyes perked up. Willem held his tongue. He would say nothing that might compromise the value of Rudy’s livestock.

“I’ll tell you what,” Jason said. “We’ll come and have a look. Tomorrow before supper.”

Willem nodded. “We’ll be ready.”

“You’d better not be wasting our time.”

Abbie sighed and turned away when she saw Willem’s stallion through the open barn door on Rudy’s farm the next afternoon. She sat on a three-legged stool with her skirt arranged for clear access to the cow’s udder and leaned her head into the animal’s side. Only two minutes into the milking, and still not as fast as her brothers, she calculated she could keep her head down and her eyes averted for twenty minutes. If Willem had not left by then, she would move on to the next cow.