Read the book: «An Unlikely Amish Match»

Chapter One

Susannah Beiler was carrying a to-go bag holding half of a cinnamon roll in one hand and her coffee in the other when she stepped out of Cabin Coffee and started across the street. At that exact moment, a large Ford pickup truck careened to the curb. Her friend Deborah pulled her back with a laugh and a smile. “Wouldn’t do to have you flattened on the streets of Goshen on this beautiful spring day.”

After all she’d been through the last two years, it would be ironic. Susannah shook off that thought and would have walked across the street that was now clear, but Deborah stepped back under the canopy of the coffee shop and nodded toward the truck. “Do you ever wonder why people act like that?”

The music was blaring at such a high level that the vehicle was practically rocking. The truck sported a bright blue paint job with streaks of lightning painted down the side, a large chrome bumper and spinning tire rims.

“Why would you jack it up so high?” Susannah crossed her arms, tapping her right index finger against her left arm. Sometimes she felt like she didn’t understand other people at all.

“And who would want to purchase such big tires? They look as if they’d fit a tractor.”

“Ya, I’m not sure what the point is.”

They glanced at one another when a young man jumped out of the truck, empty fast-food bags and soda cans trailing after him. He noticed the girls, smiled in a cocky Englisch way and then realized they were staring at the litter that had escaped from the truck.

“Oops.” He snatched up the trash and tossed it into an adjacent trash can before once again flashing them both a smile.

He was a bit taller than Susannah, but then, most men were. He was also built like the mule her dat kept to watch over the goats—stocky and muscular. Blue jeans, a T-shirt that sported the logo of some rock and roll band, and sandy-colored hair flopping into his eyes and curling at his neck completed the picture.

Deborah laughed, but Susannah shook her head.

She couldn’t abide rude people, and this guy seemed oblivious that the truck was obnoxious and the music was too loud.

The driver of the truck had put the vehicle into Park and jumped out. He had bright red hair sticking out from his ball cap, but other than that he could have been a twin to the first guy. As Susannah and Deborah watched, he walked up to his buddy, and they performed some complicated handshake.

“Take care, man.”

“You know it.” The first guy reached into the truck and snatched out a ball cap and a faded backpack.

“Later.”

“Much.”

The driver hopped back into the truck and sped away. The sandy-haired guy winked at Susannah and Deborah, pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and proceeded to stare at it as he walked in the opposite direction.

“Clueless,” Susannah said, rubbing at the brow over her right eye. “He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t fall off the sidewalk the way he’s staring down at that phone.”

“Maybe.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“I’m only saying that just because he’s different doesn’t mean that he’s bad.”

“I didn’t say he was bad.”

“Uh-huh, but the look you gave the both of them would have frightened a small child.”

“Really?”

“Definitely. You’ve always been able to do that—stop someone in their tracks.” Deborah linked their arms together and turned them toward her buggy. “Are you sure you don’t want to be a teacher?”

“I’m not sure of much, but I am sure of that.”

“Which is just as well, because you’re a fabulous quilter.”

“Danki.”

“Off we go to the fabric store, then.”

Which cheered up Susannah immensely. Even if she didn’t purchase anything, being around bolts of fabric had a way of encouraging her on the darkest of days. During the worst of her chemotherapy treatments, she’d often stopped into the local fabric store simply to enjoy the smell and touch of new fabric. When she was too sick to piece or quilt, she’d sometimes sit with a basketful of different-colored cotton swatches, dreaming of what she would sew as soon as she was better.

There was something about brushing her fingertips over the cotton, envisioning the pattern she would use and the quilts she would make and picturing the smiles on tourists who purchased them. Quilting was her way of spreading joy, and wasn’t that what a person of faith was supposed to do?

Deborah was describing her dat having to battle his way through a thicket of thorny brush to free a goat that had managed to become ensnared. The goat had taken one look at Deborah’s dat and scampered off in the opposite direction, leaving him wondering why he’d thought he needed to save the animal in the first place. “‘Goats are resourceful animals, Deborah. Never forget it,’” Deborah finished with a spot-on imitation of her dat. She always could tell a good story, and they were both laughing by the time they reached the fabric store.

Susannah enjoyed the rest of the afternoon.

She forgot all about the Englischer.

And she arrived home humming a tune and feeling immeasurably better than she had when she had awakened that morning. Some days she still woke terrified that the cancer had returned, certain that she was about to be plunged back into the cycle of doctor’s visits and tests and treatments. Some days were still harder than others.

But her day had improved, and her mood had lightened with it.

“Mind fetching the mail for me?” Her mamm had been up since before sunrise—they both had. While Susannah did her best to help with household chores, her mamm often shooed her away, telling her to go rest or step outside for a while or spend an hour in her quilting room. At the moment, her mamm’s apron was a mess, her hair was escaping from her kapp and her hands were covered in bread dough. Two loaves were already baking in the oven and two she’d finished kneading sat on the counter.

Sometimes Susannah wondered why they still made the bread from scratch, since loaves were certainly cheaper to purchase at the grocery store. She did love the smell of fresh-baked bread, though.

“And please take your schweschdern. They’re full of energy today.”

Sharon and Shiloh dropped the dolls they were playing with and ran toward the front door.

“Sweaters first,” Susannah said. Though it was the last week of April, the afternoons cooled quickly. The twins reversed directions and ran for their cubbies. When the girls were born, her dat had placed cubbies in the mudroom with their names marked at a level they could now easily read.

“They sound more like puppies on the loose than children,” Susannah said.

She adored her little schweschdern. Her mamm had been twenty when Susannah was born and forty when the twins came along. They were the siblings she never thought she’d have, and she prayed every day that they hadn’t inherited the gene that had caused her ovarian cancer. She didn’t want anyone else to have to endure such a thing, especially not her schweschdern.

“Like I said—full of energy. I wouldn’t mind if you stayed out with them a half hour or so, give them time to run some of it off.”

Susannah thought her mother was one of the most hardworking women she knew, but twin five-year-olds could wear anyone down.

“Finish that bread and then sit down with a cup of tea. I have a feeling you’ve earned it today.”

The twins catapulted back into the kitchen.

“I’m ready.” Shiloh reached for her hand.

“Me, too. I wonder if we have a letter from Mammi.” Sharon dashed to the front door.

“Don’t run too far ahead,” Susannah called out.

The girls looked identical—white-blond hair, blue eyes and a thin build. The only physical difference that was easy to spot was that Sharon had freckles and Shiloh didn’t. Their personalities were quite opposite. Sharon was always running ahead—energetic, enthusiastic and fearless. Shiloh preferred to hang back and carefully watch. She also liked holding hands, while Sharon proclaimed that was for babies.

By the time Susannah and Shiloh descended the front porch steps, Sharon was already waiting at the lane—hands on her hips, a scowl on her face and a whine in her voice. “Why are you so slow? Come on already.”

The day was one of those glorious spring days that Susannah often daydreamed about in the winter. The leaves were a green so bright they caused you to blink, and the flowers planted earlier that month had burst into a rainbow of color. The sky was blue, the sun shone brightly and the weather was cool enough to require a sweater but without a cold north breeze.

Perfect.

They picked wildflowers as they rambled down the lane.

Both girls stooped to watch ants carrying tiny pieces of grass.

And they fed carrots to Percy, their buggy horse, who was grazing in the field that ran alongside the lane.

Susannah’s mind called up all the things she had to be thankful for—her family, her health, a community that had supported her through a difficult time and now a perfect spring afternoon.

Ten minutes later, they reached the mailbox. Susannah had her hand inside, trying to reach to the back, where it seemed at least one piece of mail always managed to land, when Shiloh stepped closer and Sharon began to bounce from foot to foot.

“Someone’s coming,” Sharon said.

Susannah shielded her eyes against the afternoon sun, at first curious and then disbelieving and finally completely confused. What was he doing here?

Micah Fisher had taken his time finding his way out to the farm. He’d figured that as long as he was in town, he might as well check things out. Then he’d realized he was hungry again, so he’d stopped by the coffee shop where the two Amish ladies had been standing. He ate a leisurely lunch and used the time to charge his phone since he wouldn’t be able to do so at his grandparents’ farm.

The sun was low in the western sky by the time he hitched a ride to the edge of town. The driver let him out at a dirt road that led to several Amish farms. He’d never been to visit his grandparents before. They always came to Maine. But he had no trouble finding their place. His mamm’s instructions had been very clear.

As he drew close to the lane that led to the farmhouse, he noticed a young woman standing by the mailbox. A little girl was holding her hand and another was hopping from foot to foot. They were all three staring at him.

“Howdy,” he said.

The woman only nodded, but the two girls responded with “Hello”—one whispered and the other shouted.

“Can we help you?” the woman asked. “Are you...lost?”

“Nein. At least I don’t think I am.”

“You must be if you’re here. This is the end of the road.”

Micah pointed to the farm next door. “Abigail and John Fisher live there?”

“They do.”

“Then I’m not lost.” He snatched off his baseball cap, rubbed his hand over the top of his head and then yanked the cap back on and down to shield his eyes. “Say, don’t I know you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“But I’ve seen you before...in town, when I first arrived. You were standing outside the bakery with a plain-looking girl.”

“If you mean Amish, we all are.”

“No, I meant plain.” He smiled to suggest he was teasing, though honestly the other girl had been so pale as to be translucent and had worn the traditional white kapp and a gray dress. She could have been a cloud or a puff of fog or a figment of his imagination.

But the girl in front of him?

She wasn’t someone you’d quickly forget—daring brown eyes, a kapp pulled so tightly that not a hair escaped, which only served to accentuate the exquisite shape of her eyes, bright color in her cheeks and a sweet curve to her lips. Her dress was a pretty dark green with a matching apron.

And she was his neighbor?

Perhaps Gotte had provided him an ally through this trying time of his life.

Micah stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m Micah—Micah Fisher. Pleased to meet you.”

“You’re not Englisch?” Instead of shaking his hand, she reached for her other sister. They had to be siblings from the way they looked up at her and waited to see what she’d do next.

“Of course I’m not.”

“So you’re Amish?” She stared pointedly at his clothing—tennis shoes, blue jeans, T-shirt and ball cap. Pretty much what he wore every day.

“I’m as Plain and simple as they come.”

“I somehow doubt that.”

“Since we’re going to be neighbors, I suppose I should know your name.”

“Neighbors?”

“Ya. I’ve come to live with my daddi and mammi—at least for a few months. My parents think it will straighten me out.” He tugged his ball cap lower and peered down the lane. “I thought the bishop lived next door.”

“He does.”

“Oh. You’re the bishop’s dochder?”

“We all are,” the little girl with freckles cried. “I’m Sharon and that’s Shiloh and that is Susannah.”

“Nice to meet you, Sharon and Shiloh and Susannah.”

Sharon lost interest and squatted to pick up some of the rocks lining the caliche lane. Shiloh hid behind her schweschder’s skirt, and Susannah scowled at him.

So, not an ally.

“I knew the bishop lived next door, but no one told me he had such pretty doschdern.”

Susannah’s eyes widened even more, but it was Shiloh who peeked out from behind her skirt and said, “He just called you pretty.”

“Actually, I called you all pretty.”

Shiloh ducked back behind Susannah.

Susannah narrowed her eyes as if she was squinting into the sun, only she wasn’t. “Do you talk to every girl you meet that way?”

“Not all of them—no.”

“And do you always dress like that?”

“What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?”

“And why did you arrive in a pickup truck?”

“Because a friend offered to bring me.”

“An Englisch friend?”

“Say, what is this—the third degree? It feels like it, and as far as I know, I’ve done nothing to land me in trouble.”

“Yet.” Susannah snatched up Sharon’s hand and turned back toward the bishop’s house.

“It was gut to meet you,” he called out, knowing it would fluster her. Just his luck that the girl next door would be a killjoy. He’d met enough Amish girls like her to fill the back of a pickup truck twice over.

They were so disapproving.

It rankled him.

It also made him want to do something reckless, like throw a party or take off for points unknown or walk back to town and see a movie. But he didn’t do any of those things. He didn’t know anyone to invite to a party—yet. All of Goshen was unknown, and he wasn’t even sure they had a movie house. Plus, he had no money to pay for a movie.

He sighed heavily, considering what lay before him. He’d promised his parents that he would come to Goshen and stay for at least six months. He realized he might as well walk up to the farmhouse. There was no point in avoiding it, but first he pulled out his phone, tapped the Snapchat button and held the phone up in front of him.

“I’ve arrived at the far reaches of northern Indiana. Let’s hope I can survive life on the farm.” He made what he hoped was a hilarious face, added a filter and frame, and then clicked the post button. Sticking the phone into his back pocket, he trudged down the lane toward his grandparents’ house and what was probably going to be the longest six months of his life.

Susannah wasn’t going to bring up the subject of their new neighbor to her parents. She actually was trying to forget him. She liked her life exactly as it was. The last thing she needed was trouble living next door, and Micah Fisher definitely looked like trouble.

They’d paused to bless the food and had just begun passing around the dishes of ham casserole, fresh bread, carrots and salad when Sharon starting chatting away about their encounter with Micah.

“He’s tall and he talks funny.”

“He wears a crazy hat,” Shiloh added.

“And he wanted to shake Susannah’s hand, but she didn’t want to.”

“And he said we were pretty—he said we were all pretty.” Shiloh pulled in her bottom lip as she concentrated on cutting up her ham into small bites.

Her dat helped Sharon to scoop a spoonful of carrots onto her plate. “John mentioned to me that the boy was coming to stay with them for a while.”

“He hardly seems like a boy.” Susannah felt a slow blush creep up her neck when both her parents turned to stare at her. “What I mean is that he seemed to act like a youngie, though plainly he was older—I’d guess around twenty.”

She could tell that her explanation hadn’t cleared up anything, so she backed up and told them of seeing him in town, of the truck and the trash and the Englisch clothes. She didn’t bring up the cell phone. That felt like tattling. No doubt his grandparents, and her dat, would know about it soon enough.

“Not everyone is as settled as you are, dear. I believe Gotte used your illness to mature you.” Her mamm buttered a piece of bread—hot, fresh and savory. Perhaps homemade was better.

“And hopefully to make you even more compassionate toward others.” Her dat’s smile softened his words. “No doubt Micah is trying to find his way as many of our youth are—though, as you say, he’s hardly a youngie anymore. Just turned twenty-five, if I remember correctly from what John said.”

“The same as you.” Her mother looked pleased, as if sharing the same age would make them best pals.

Susannah didn’t think that was likely.

Her life had finally settled down. She had no desire to complicate it with the likes of Micah.

The rest of the meal passed in a flurry of conversation. Sharon chattered on about the kittens in the barn and how she was planning to name each one. Shiloh had read another of the picture books from the library, and she insisted on describing it in great detail. Her mamm reminded Susannah that church would be at the Kings’ on Sunday, and that they had agreed to go over and help Mose prepare on Saturday. And her dat described a young mare that had been brought in for shoeing. “Four white socks and a patch on her forehead—pretty thing.”

Susannah heard the conversations going on around her, but her mind kept volleying between the log-cabin quilt she’d started the day before and the new neighbor next door.

She didn’t want a new neighbor.

Why couldn’t things stay as they were?

She couldn’t have explained what made her think so, but somehow she was certain that the comfortable rhythm of their days was about to change.

And then, as if to confirm her thoughts, her dat said, “Oh, I forgot to mention that Micah is going to be working in my shop a couple hours each afternoon. Perhaps we can have him over for dinner sometime.”

The smile on her mamm’s face told Susannah there was no use arguing with that.

Well, she’d just have to endure Micah’s presence though she did not and would not approve of his Englisch ways.

Her dat had said he was staying awhile.

Micah had mentioned a few months.

Surely it couldn’t be for a terribly long time. He wasn’t moving in, and he hadn’t been carrying any luggage, just the denim backpack. With any luck, he’d be gone by the first day of summer.

As was his habit, her dat took the twins out with him to do a final check of the animals. Susannah and her mother were cleaning the dishes when the conversation returned to Micah.

“Do you think you might like him?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure we’re polar opposites.”

“Not always a bad thing.”

“It’s not going to happen, Mamm.” The words came out more harshly than she’d intended. “We’ve spoken of this. I don’t believe... That is, I’m sure what you’re thinking of isn’t Gotte’s plan for me.”

“You mean marrying.”

“Ya. I mean marrying.”

“Because of your cancer—which is gone.”

“Gone, yes, but it could come back, and more than that, the whole experience has left me changed.”

“In more ways than one.” Her mamm turned to study her though her hands remained in the sudsy water. “You’ve turned into a fine young woman, Susannah—a godly woman.”

“You’re changing the subject. Any man—any Amish man—would want a houseful of children.” Susannah refused to meet her mother’s gaze. Instead, she focused on the plate she was drying.

“Just because Samuel felt that way doesn’t mean every man feels the same.”

“We both know that Samuel and I were...mismatched. His breaking up with me, it was hard, but I felt immediately better once it was done.”

“But...”

“But I learned, Mamm. I learned that men have certain expectations from marriage.”

Why was it that speaking of this always brought tears to her eyes? She’d grown accustomed to the facts—to the limitations—of her life, but it seemed as if a certain part of her heart remained bruised. “How does the proverb go? ‘No woman can be happy with less than seven to cook for’? I suspect no Amish man can be happy with less than seven to provide for.”

“Children come to us in different ways.”

“You’re speaking of adoption—which is rare in an Amish community.”

“Rare but not unheard-of.” Her mamm wiped her hands on a dish towel, reached out and put a hand on each of Susannah’s shoulders, turning her toward her.

Susannah couldn’t resist the need to look up, to look into her mamm’s eyes and face her dreams and fears head-on.

“I’m only saying that you shouldn’t assume you know Gotte’s plan for your life. Our ways are not Gotte’s ways, and that’s something to be grateful for.”

Once Susannah nodded that she understood, her mamm picked up another dish and slipped it into the dishwater. Susannah swiped at the tears that had slipped down her cheeks, feeling foolish and wishing she could keep a better rein on her emotions.

Her melancholy wasn’t about Micah. It was about her parents’ expectations for her life. Micah, she felt nothing except pity for—and perhaps a tad of irritation.

“Just wait until you meet Micah, then you’ll understand.”

“Will I, now?”

“I’m more likely to marry Widower King.”

“Who is a fine man and a gut addition to our community.”

“And he’s thirty-five years old.”

“Is he, now?”

They shared a smile. Her mamm knew very well how old Mose King was and that Susannah didn’t have an ounce of romantic feelings for the man.

“You wouldn’t have to worry about not being able to have children,” her mamm joked.

“Indeed—six would be plenty, especially when those six are three pairs of twins.”

“And all boys.”

“All of them full of energy.” Susannah purposely used her mother’s words from earlier that afternoon.

They finished cleaning up the kitchen and walked onto the front porch to watch for her dat and the twins.

“I understand your not being interested in Micah, though you’d do well to remember that our first impression of someone isn’t always the best.”

“Fair enough.”

“There’s something else you should know, though.”

Susannah sank into the rocker beside her mamm. She thought that twilight might be her favorite time of day. Something in her soul felt soothed by watching the sun set across their fields and her dat walking hand in hand with the twins toward the house.

“Micah’s parents have been corresponding with Abigail and John. When it was decided he would move here, they shared the letter with both me and your dat. He’s had a bit of a hard time, which is why he’s here.”

“Okay.” She said the word slowly, tempted to add an I thought so.

“What I’m saying is that Micah will be here for at least six months—”

“Six months?” Susannah realized her mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut.

“And he’ll be here helping your dat every day, so it could be that Gotte has put him in our path for a special reason.”

Susannah stifled a groan.

“There’s a real possibility that what Micah needs most is not a girlfriend but simply a friend, and that’s something that we can each be.”

Chapter Two

Micah’s first night with his grandparents went fairly well. It was the next morning that things took an unpleasant turn, when they laid down the law, so to speak.

His dat’s parents were in their midsixties—not too old to farm, but old enough that they should be slowing down. That wasn’t happening. His daddi, John Fisher, was built like an ox. Micah’s mother had always said that Micah inherited his size from the man, but Micah didn’t see it. He was as muscular as the next guy, but his grandfather’s forearm look like corded rope. Forearm—singular. He’d lost his right arm in a harvesting accident when he was just twenty years old. It had made him tough and intolerant of weakness of any type.

He was also a very serious man. Micah couldn’t imagine that they’d come from the same gene pool.

Abigail Fisher was stern as well, but with a soft spot for her grandchildren. Growing up in Maine, Micah had seen his mammi’s letters arrive weekly. They always contained a paragraph addressed to each of the eight children. Her Christmas presents were always mailed well before Christmas Day—practical items, lovingly made. And his mammi and daddi visited occasionally, though certainly not every year.

In truth, Micah felt as if he hardly knew his grandparents, and though he loved them as he thought grandchildren should, he didn’t think they had much in common. In fact, from the expression on his daddi’s face he wasn’t sure the man really wanted him there. So why had he agreed to this ridiculous plan? How was Micah supposed to become a different person—a more mature person in the words of his dat—by living in a different state for six months?

Daddi didn’t look up until they’d finished eating. Then he cradled his coffee mug in his left hand and waited until he was sure he had Micah’s attention. “We expect you to work every day.”

“Okay. That’s fair.” Micah brushed his hair away from his eyes and sat up straighter. “I can start looking for something today.”

“No need to do that. I have it all arranged.”

“All arranged?”

“To begin with, you’ll be expected to carry your share of the work around here—the same as any grown man. I realize that will be different from what you’re used to back home. I’m aware that your parents have coddled you.”

Micah frowned at the last biscuit on his plate and focused on not saying the response that immediately came to mind. His thoughts scrambled in a dozen different directions, trying to think of a way to forgo the lecture that was surely headed his way.

“It’s true, Micah.” His mammi peered over her reading glasses at him. “There’s no need to look hurt when your daddi is only stating the obvious. I spoke to your dat and mamm about this on several occasions.”

“This?”

“She’s referring to the way your schweschdern spoiled you—all of them did, really. It’s not a surprise, you being the last child and only son.”

Micah had seven older schweschdern, and it was true that they doted on him. He’d never washed a dish or helped prepare a meal. If he suddenly had to cook for himself, he’d probably perish from starvation. When he was young, he’d thought that was the life of every Amish boy, but as he grew older he’d learned his situation was a bit unique. The entire family had treated him as if he was a special gift left on the doorstep on Christmas morning.

Spoiled? Ya. He had been, but who in their right mind would turn that down? What was he supposed to do? Ask his siblings to be mean to him?

“You’ll work with me in the fields every morning,” his daddi continued. “There will be no more sleeping in.”

Micah nearly choked on the sip of coffee he’d been in the process of swallowing. His mammi had called up the stairs at 5 a.m. sharp to wake him. That was sleeping in?

“After lunch you’ll go to the bishop’s and help in his farrier shop.”

“The Beilers are wunderbaar people.” His mammi might have winked at him, or she might have a twitch in her right eye. Micah couldn’t tell. “This way you’ll be learning two trades. Your daddi can teach you everything about farming—”

“Something your dat should have done already.”

“And the bishop can teach you about horses.”

As if he didn’t know about horses. He was Amish, in spite of the way they were speaking to him. Micah felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, like a cat that had been brushed the wrong way. Why had he ever agreed to come to Indiana? What they were describing sounded worse than boot camp, which he only knew about from his friend Jackson, who had given him a ride from Maine.

Up before the birds.

Early-morning drills.

Work all day.

Collapse into bed at night.

Rinse and repeat.

His daddi gulped down the rest of his coffee, pushed his chair back and stood. The sleeve of his right arm had been sewn into a pocket, so that his stump rested inside it. He held his left hand in front of him—palm down—and made an invisible circle that included the three of them as well as the empty chairs, which he supposed his cousins had occupied before moving to Maine. In fact, it seemed the entire family was there, so what were his grandparents still doing in Goshen?

“We are your family—your mammi and me and all of your kinfolk here in Goshen. Your family in Maine loves you, as do we, but it’s time for you to grow up, Micah. It’s time to become a man.”

And with that pronouncement, he turned and strode from the room.

Micah pulled in a deep breath, pushed himself away from the table and started across the room after him, but Mammi called him back.

“Best go upstairs and change first. I put proper clothing in your dresser and on the hooks. Your daddi—well, he won’t abide the blue jeans and T-shirts.”

The day seemed intent on continuing its slide from bad to worse.

“Anything else I should know? Any other changes I need to make?” He tried to sound lighthearted, but the words came out sarcastic and gruff. Too late to bite them back, and his mammi didn’t seem to even notice.

“When you’re done with the day’s work, I’ll cut your hair.”

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

“And he knows about the phone. As long as it isn’t in the house—as long as he doesn’t see it—he’ll tolerate it. Just don’t push him.”

“I shouldn’t push him?”

“He’s old-fashioned, I know.”

“You think?”

“But he’s also a fair man.” She stood and walked over to where he waited. His mammi barely reached his shoulders, but she was a formidable woman, and for some reason he couldn’t identify, Micah wanted to make her proud. Reaching out, Mammi put a hand on his shoulder and waited until he met her gaze. “He’s a gut man, and he cares about you. I suspect the changes will be difficult at first, but in the end, you’ll thank him.”

Micah seriously doubted that.

A quick glance at the clock told him it wasn’t 6:30 a.m. yet.

The day was shaping up to be a long one.

He cheered himself with the thought that he only had 179 to go.

By the time they stopped for lunch, Micah was yawning and eyeing the hammock strung up in the backyard.

“Thomas expects you at one o’clock sharp, so you best hurry.” His daddi nodded toward the sandwich on Micah’s plate. “You can eat that on your walk over.”

Micah started to protest but then realized he’d probably prefer eating alone. At least he wouldn’t have to listen to his daddi’s plans for their work the next day. He was too tired to even consider more fieldwork, and the day wasn’t half-over.

Why had he never listened to the stories of how severe his daddi was?

If he had, he wouldn’t have agreed to this exile.

He tried to hold on to his bad mood, but the weather was fabulous, and he had over a dozen comments on his social media pages. He’d fetched the phone from the barn as soon as he’d left the kitchen. He paused at the fence line long enough to answer the comments and snap another picture to post.

It would probably be a bad idea to take the phone over to the bishop’s. Thomas Beiler was no doubt even more strict than Micah’s daddi.

He glanced around for a place to hide it, but all he could see was fence line and fields, so he shoved it into his back pocket. Fortunately, on his way to the bishop’s shop, he spied Susannah coming out of a small building set next to the house.

He called out to her and then jogged to where she was waiting.

“Do me a favor?”

“Like what?”

She was holding a basketful of fabric scraps. He pulled the phone from his pocket, picked up the stack of fabric and dropped the phone, then covered it back up. “Keep that for me until I’m done working.”

“Why would I do that?”

“So I won’t get in trouble on my first day in your dat’s shop.”

“If you knew you would get in trouble, why did you—”

“Thanks, Susannah. You’re a peach.”

Instead of smiling, she glared at him, which caused him to laugh.

“I don’t see what’s so funny.”

“You are. You just don’t know it.” He turned and walked backward so that he could point at her. “You’re going to be my new best friend.”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

“You’ll see.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Just don’t use up all my battery playing Candy Crush.”

“What is...”

But he never heard the rest because he realized it was five minutes past one and he was late. No doubt the bishop would relay that to his daddi and he’d be given extra chores, or perhaps they’d deliver yet another lecture. He absolutely hated lectures. It was difficult to sit there and act respectful and pretend to listen. He just did not understand old people. Best to avoid such a confrontation, so he broke into a run.

He was surprised when Thomas greeted him with a smile and no rebuke. “I was happy to hear you’d be here for a few months. I can use the help.”

“Don’t know as I’ll be that much help.”

“Does your mind work?”

“Excuse me?”

Thomas tapped the side of his head. He was tall for an Amish man, probably close to six feet. His beard was peppered with gray, and crow’s-feet stretched out from his eyes. He struck Micah as a man who smiled easily.

“Does your mind work? How did you do in school?”

“Oh, I did fine.”

“Then the work won’t be too hard for you to learn. It’s difficult physically... I’ll give you that. But anyone who is willing to learn the trade will always have a job.”

“Ya, always plenty of horses when Amish are around,” Micah joked.

“Exactly. Now, let’s get to work on Widower King’s buggy horse.”

Micah had never considered that he’d be straddling the leg of a thousand-pound beast. He’d lived around horses all of his life, but feeding a horse or harnessing it to a buggy was one thing. Getting that horse to raise its foot so you could trim away its hoof was another.

“A horse’s hooves are like our fingernails. They must be trimmed and exfoliated.” Thomas proceeded to show him how to cut off the excess growth, then clean and check the hoof for overall health. “It’s important that the horse trusts you. If you appear confident and act like you know what you’re doing, the horse will relax.”

“But I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You will. Soon enough you will. See this triangle-shaped thing at the bottom of the hoof?”

“Sure.”

“That’s the frog. It acts as a shock absorber of sorts. We need to clean it up. Don’t want any ragged ends.”

“Why?”

“Gut question. We clean it so the dirt and muck is able to get out of the foot easier. Next we trim the hoof wall. Hand me the curved blade there on the shelf.”

Micah quickly did as asked. When Thomas was finished, he used a hoof nipper to trim the outside of the hoof wall, and then a rasp to even out everything.

“I never realized there was so much detail to shoeing a horse.”

“Few people do—they count on their farrier. Think of it as job security.” Thomas looked up and smiled. “Now let’s see what sized shoes we need.”

Susannah was tempted to find an excuse to visit her dat’s shop. How was Micah doing? And did he know anything about trimming hooves or shoeing horses? She knew firsthand that what her dat did was hard work. She’d sat in his workshop often enough and even helped him occasionally. She loved being around the animals whether they were buggy horses or workhorses.

It took her an hour to separate her fabric scraps by size and color. It was amazing what could be salvaged from one project to use in another. The process soothed her until she picked up the last piece of fabric and spied Micah’s phone in the basket. Why did he have such a thing? How much did he pay for it? And who did he stay in touch with?

Other Amish rebels?

Someone in his family who had left the faith?

Or maybe an Englisch girlfriend?

She dropped the phone into her apron pocket. It didn’t matter to her what Micah did with his phone, and she would set him straight that it wasn’t her place to keep him out of trouble. She didn’t think he was going to fit into their community very well. She didn’t think he even wanted to.

There’s a real possibility that what Micah needs most is not a girlfriend but simply a friend...

Remembering her mamm’s words caused her to feel a twinge of guilt. Perhaps he had a good reason for having the phone, though she couldn’t imagine what that might be.

She didn’t have to wait long to find out.

She was pulling laundry off the line while Shiloh and Sharon played on the trampoline when Micah came walking around the corner of the house.

He headed straight to the water hose and preceded to roll up his sleeves and wash his hands and arms. He even swiped some of the water on his neck, wetting the hair that curled there, and then he doused his face.

“We have indoor bathrooms.”

“I like washing up with a water hose.”

Susannah handed him a clean hand towel.

“Danki.”

“Gem gschehne.”

He rubbed his face dry, then his arms, and finally remembered that water was dripping down his neck. When he was finished, he held up the towel and asked, “Where should I—”

“I’ll take it.”

“Do you need help with the laundry?”

She inclined her head toward the empty clothesline.

“I could help fold.”

“Do you know how to fold clothes?”

“How hard can it be?” He peeked into her basket. “Oh. Looks like you’ve already folded everything.”

“It’s easier to do while you pull the items off the line.”

“I knew that.”

“Sure you did.” She moved closer to the trampoline so she could keep an eye on the girls.

Micah followed and plopped down on the grass. For reasons she couldn’t quite fathom, she did the same. It wasn’t that she was interested in Micah, but she was curious as to what made him tick. How did he become so unorthodox? And why? What was the point of rebelling against their conventions?

“Actually, I know nothing about housework.” He picked up their conversation as if there hadn’t been a long, awkward silence. “I’m the baby of the family.”

“Is that so?”

“Seven older schweschdern.”

“What was that like?”

“I loved it, but apparently...according to my daddi, I was spoiled and it’s time for me to grow up and become a man.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. Hence my exile here in Goshen for six months.”

“When you say it that way, it sounds like a long time.”

“It is a long time—a lifetime practically.” Micah leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Not sure I’m going to make it if every day is like today.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s all so...grim.”

The sun was setting in a beautiful splash of color, the horses were pastured in the field, Sharon and Shiloh played happily a few feet from her, and dinner was nearly done. “I don’t understand.”

“What?”

“Grim. How can you call this...” She took an exaggerated gaze around them. “How can you call it grim?”

“The work is endless.”

“You didn’t enjoy helping Dat?”

“Actually, that part was rather interesting.”

“But...”

“But I’d already spent five hours in the field. I’ve done nothing but work all day. And tomorrow will be the same. It’s just so...boring.”

She fought the urge to defend their lifestyle, even their farm. So what if he didn’t like it? Why should she care what Micah Fisher did and didn’t like?

“If excitement is what you want, then ya, I agree that Goshen isn’t the place for you.”

“I knew you’d understand.”

“And the work is endless because it’s a farm. That’s pretty much the definition of farmwork.”

“I do not see the point.”

Susannah didn’t know what to say to that, so she asked, “How did it go working with the horses?”

“Better than I thought it would be. I only got kicked once.”

“Once usually does the trick.”

“You’ve helped your dat shoe horses?”

“Of course.”

“Not exactly girl’s work.”

“So now you’re a traditionalist?” She reached into her apron pocket, retrieved his phone and dropped it into his hand. “Except for that...”

“Have you ever owned a phone?”

“Nein.”

“Did you play around on mine?”

“Of course not.”

“It’s not going to burn your fingers, you know.”

“And yet it’s forbidden.”

“It’s discouraged. There’s a difference.” He winked at her.

She refused to let his charm muddle her thoughts. “Does that usually work?”

“What?”

“Winking at girls.”

“Not sure I wanted it to work. I was just being...friendly.”

“Ah.”

He stuffed the phone in his pocket and said, “Ah, what?”

“That’s what people who flirt say...that they were just being friendly.”

“So you think I was flirting with you?”

Susannah almost laughed, but she didn’t want to encourage his silliness. The twins continued to jump on the trampoline, giggling and calling out to one another.

“Watch me, Susannah. I can flip.” Sharon jumped and then fell onto her back. “Did I do it?”

“You didn’t do it,” Shiloh said.

“I did, too. Tell her, Susannah. Tell her I did.”

“Almost. Keep practicing.”

Micah flopped onto his back, staring up at the sky. “Your dat isn’t what I expected.”

“How so?”

“Well, he’s a bishop.”

“Ya.”

“I thought he’d be more conservative.”

“Don’t tell me he was watching TV again while shoeing the horses.”

Micah propped himself up on his elbows, then smiled at the twins, who were trying to get his attention. “I mean he seems rather open-minded. He asked all about our community in Maine, which many of the old folks don’t even want to know about. They think it’s much too progressive.”

“Is it?”

“I don’t think so. Plus, look at this place.” He waved at the backyard. “Trampoline for the kids.”

“They need somewhere to play.”

“A new little modular house.”

“That’s my sewing shop, where I quilt.”

“I wondered what all those pieces of material were for.”

“They’re scraps and they’re for sewing.”

“Do you have an electric sewing machine in there?”

“I do not.” Her cheeks warmed, not because he was teasing her but because of the way he was looking at her. She stood and picked up her laundry basket. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. I assume you’re staying.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

Sharon jumped closer to the edge of the trampoline and held onto the netting, which prevented her from falling out. “Come and jump with us, Susannah.”

“Yeah, come and jump.” Shiloh was actually sitting on the trampoline, not jumping. She was careful even there, as if the thing might throw her onto the ground.

“It’s time to help with dinner. Come on inside.”

“Just five more minutes...please.”

It always made her smile how their voices could become one when they wanted something. Usually Sharon and Shiloh seemed like complete opposites, but when they joined together, they reminded her of two halves of the same whole.

“I have to go in, and you know Mamm doesn’t like you out here alone.”

“I’ll stay with them,” Micah said. “Unless you need me to help cook.”

“Have you ever cooked before?”

“Nein.”

“Then no—we don’t need your help.”

“I’ll just stay here, then. I promise to keep an eye on them.”

Actually, he did better than that. By the time she’d climbed the porch steps and looked back, Micah had removed his shoes and was pulling himself up onto the trampoline.

Not that he could ingratiate himself to her by playing with the girls. His comments had bordered on rude—first calling them progressive and then boring. Or, had it been the other way around? Regardless, he obviously didn’t like it here and she didn’t think he’d last even a week.

Which was absolutely fine with her.

The longer he stayed, the higher the risk he would be a bad influence on someone in their community. The last thing her friends needed was an Amish bad boy complete with long hair, Englisch phone, ball cap and blue jeans. Though he had been wearing more traditional clothes today. Where had those come from? Were they stuffed in his backpack?

Not her business.

She guessed he’d probably grow up eventually, but she didn’t think it would be today or tomorrow or anytime in the near future.

That boy was trouble with a crooked smile.

The sooner Micah Fisher was out of their lives, the better. If he needed a friend, he could find one back home in Maine.

Chapter Three

By the time Sunday rolled around, Susannah’s feelings regarding Micah had grown even more complicated. He’d shown up the second day with a fresh haircut but the same born-to-be-wild attitude. Her dat was happy with his work, but Susannah was growing increasingly uneasy around him. Micah reminded her of a wild horse temporarily corralled. It was only a matter of time before he broke out and then his grandparents would be heartbroken and her dat would be in need of another helper.

She spent much of the service praying that God would forgive her uncharitable feelings and clear the confusion in her mind. Since her dat was the bishop, she was aware that she was scrutinized more closely than others.

So even as her mind wandered toward Micah, she kept her attention on the person preaching.

When it was time to pray, she closed her eyes and petitioned her heavenly Father for clarity.

When it was time to sing, she stood and raised her voice with the others around her.

And as soon as the service ended, she hurried toward the serving area, not pausing to give their new neighbor a second glance. She worked at filling cups with water and lemonade. When she saw Micah walking toward her, she quickly changed tables to help with salads. It wasn’t that she was avoiding him, but he would simply want to tell her more about Maine, a subject she’d heard quite enough about. When she finally had a few free moments, she snagged Deborah.

“Care to walk out into the pasture?”

“I can think of nothing I’d rather do.” Deborah jumped up from her seat and grabbed her sweater from the big bag she carried around. Deborah was the only Amish person Susannah knew who carried what amounted to a baby bag though she had no baby. It was sometimes quite amazing what Deborah could pull out of that bag.

“Tell me about Micah,” Deborah said as soon as they were out of earshot of the others.

“What’s to tell?”

“Does he seem to be behaving himself?”

“Dat hasn’t complained.”

“I’m not surprised. Your father is the bishop. Of course Micah would be on his best behavior around him.”

“Ya, I suppose.”

“Betty heard that Micah had an alcohol problem when he was living in Maine. That’s why his parents sent him here.”

“Alcohol?”

“Or maybe it was drugs... She wasn’t really sure.”

Susannah sighed and pressed her lips together.

“You might as well say it,” Deborah teased.

“Then I would be as bad as Betty.”

“Oh. So you don’t want to be a gossip, which you would be if you pointed out that Betty is a gossip.”

That was such a convoluted statement that it made Susannah laugh, which helped her relax a little. “I guess I was thinking that Betty has been somewhat bitter since Joshua left the faith.”

“And left her for an Englisch girl. I saw them in South Bend the other day.”

“At the college?”

“Ya. They looked...um...close. Arms wrapped around each other. Kissing in public.” Deborah made a wide-eyed, somewhat disgusted expression.

“Your dat is still consulting at the college?”

“He is. Their agriculture students want to know all about our Plain and simple ways.”

Which caused them both to laugh.

“Perhaps they should come help in the fields—then they’d really understand.”

“They’re actually going to do that sometime in the next few weeks.”

“Seriously?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re going to have Englischers traipsing around in your fields?”

“We are.”

“Maybe we should send Micah over. He seems to speak their language.”

They’d made it to the corner of the property where Mose King had made a bench out of a felled tree. After checking that there were no critters hiding beneath it, they both sat down and studied the scene in front of them.

Most of the women and a good number of the men were spread out in chairs under the trees.

Boys of all ages were playing baseball, with a few of the men standing on the edge of the ball field, providing sideline advice.

The younger children were in a play area that Mose had made for his own children. It looked like a school playground. There was a seesaw, a swing set and even a sandbox that he kept covered with a tarp when it wasn’t being used.

Susannah thought that playground was a sign of something—thoughtfulness, adoration, maybe devotion. “Mamm thinks Mose would make a gut husband.”

“I’m sure he would...for someone his own age.”

“Ya, my sentiments exactly.”

“That’s another thing I heard about Micah. He was apparently dating an older woman—who he dumped, and according to the grapevine, that wasn’t the first relationship that he broke off for no reason.”

“There’s always a reason.”

“I suppose.”

“It’s kind of sad that we’re so interested in everything he did wrong there.”

“Are you defending him?”

“Not at all. It’s only that... Well, Mamm reminded me that everyone deserves a fresh start. Don’t they?”

Deborah pulled her skirt up an inch or so and proceeded to pull stickers from her socks. “I guess. The only thing is that I’d rather these people who need a fresh start get it somewhere else.”

Which pretty accurately mirrored Susannah’s thoughts, though somehow, spoken out loud, they sounded rather judgmental and unfair.

“What do you mean?”

“I guess I was thinking that what Micah Fisher does in Maine is his own business, but what he does here... Well, here he stands to hurt other people with his actions.”

“Meaning what?”

Deborah shrugged and pretended to look for something in her purse. Susannah put her hand on top of the bag and left it there until her friend looked up.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Apparently Micah sneaked out of his house on Friday night and met up with Caroline Byers.”

“I have trouble believing that’s true. He’s been here less than a week. How could he—”

“I heard it from Caroline herself. She said it was harmless. Said they just happened to be downtown at the same time to hear a local band, but Betty heard them talk about meeting up again on Thursday.”

Susannah had at least a dozen questions, but none of them really mattered. Most of them were none of her business. She settled for asking, “Her parents let her do that?”

“Nein. She sneaked out. Are you even paying attention?”

“I am now.” Susannah jumped up, crossed her arms and paced back and forth in front of Deborah. “Caroline is young and impressionable. I can see how she’d fall for someone like Micah in a second, but I’m not sure that’s a gut idea.”

“Finally.”

“Finally what?”

“Finally you’re paying attention and concerned. I mean, the guy practically lives at your house. Maybe you could say something to him.”

“I’m not sure that I could, or even that I should.”

Deborah began to fiddle with her kapp strings, something she only did when she was holding back.

“What else?”

“Well...one of the boys claimed they saw him smoking.”

“He doesn’t smell like smoke, and I should know... He’s eaten with us three times now.”

“There was also talk of his carrying a flask in the back pocket of those blue jeans and...you know...taking a sip now and again.”

Susannah flopped back down beside Deborah. “I don’t know if I’m more aggravated about the gossip—”

“Unless it’s true.”

“—or Micah’s behavior.”

That sat between them a few minutes until Susannah realized they needed to start back to help put out a snack for the children. It was nearly three in the afternoon and some of them would be going down for a nap soon.

They were halfway toward the main group when Deborah asked, “Are you going to talk to your dat?”

“Nein. He wouldn’t want to hear about it unless it was something I saw myself. He has no patience for gossip.” She turned abruptly so that Deborah nearly bumped into her. “If anyone else talks to you about Micah, about his behavior, you tell them to come to my dat directly. Dat will speak to him, but only if the report is a firsthand account.”

“Okay. I should have done that to begin with. I guess I was a bit stunned by it all.”

“Understandable, but now that we know about his reputation we need to take steps to protect our freinden.”

“What kind of steps?”

“Well, I can keep a closer eye on him when he’s at our farm. I can certainly watch for the smoking and drinking.”

“I doubt that he’s likely to do either of those things around your dat.”

“But there would be signs, and I just don’t...” She looked toward the picnic tables, where she should be helping. Instead, she tugged on Deborah’s arm and pulled her in the opposite direction. “It’s just that I don’t want him to be unfairly judged. He seems like a gut guy, just a bit lost.”

“Reminds me of my bruder when he was on his rumspringa.”

“Exactly.”

“Only Elias was seventeen at the time.”

“And Micah is twenty-five.”

A shout rose up from the baseball field, where none other than Micah had apparently hit a home run and was jogging around the bases to the cheers of all watching.

Susannah pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut. After taking a deep breath and letting it slowly out, she tried to shake off the feeling of trepidation. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, and so far at least, Micah had done nothing against their Ordnung—at least nothing she’d witnessed.

“We’ll give him a fair chance but keep our eyes on him.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Deborah nodded so hard that her kapp strings bounced.

“And above all else, we’ll make sure that he doesn’t set his ball cap at any of the girls in our group.”

“Like Betty.”

“Or Caroline or any of the other girls we’ve grown up with. The ones who aren’t married... Well, some of them are too quick to fall in with a guy.”

“Their biological clocks are going ticktock.”

“Exactly.”

Deborah tucked her arm through Susannah’s. “The good part is that he’s not planning on staying, from what I’ve heard.”

“He said as much to me, as well. Hopefully he can serve his time at his daddi’s and then go home to break hearts.”

“Gut idea. We don’t need any of that sort of drama around here.”

Which echoed what Susannah had been thinking. Personally, she’d experienced enough tragedy in the last few years with her cancer diagnosis, treatment and the breakup with Samuel. She knew firsthand what it was like to have your dreams ripped away, to have your heart shredded to the point that it felt raw. If she had anything to do with it, that would not be happening to her friends. Even if it meant she had to take matters into her own hands.

The following Thursday, Micah had finished shoeing a dappled gray mare under the watchful gaze of Thomas. Then the bishop had been called off to visit with one of the old-timers who had taken a turn for the worse, and before Micah knew it, he was being babysat by Susannah.

“I can take the man’s money and put it in the box.”

“What man?”

“The man who owns the mare.”

“Yes, but you don’t even know the man’s name. Mr. Hochstettler has been bringing his horses here since I was a kind. Dat likes for our customers to have personal service.”

“They’re Amish. Where else are they going to go to have their horses cared for?”

“Not the point, according to Dat. The point is that we treat every customer as if we value their business—which we do.”

“Fine. I didn’t remember the man’s name, but you could tell me that and leave.”

“Do you know the mare’s name?”

“Nein and what difference does that make? Are you going to tell me that the mare needs to feel valued, too?”

“Of course she needs to be valued. Have you ever owned a mare?”

“Never needed to. I had my parents’ buggy horses to use in Maine, and I have my grandparents’ here.”

“But one day you’ll be a man with your own family and your own horses.” Susannah had been grooming the mare, which definitely did not fall under the services of shoeing a horse in Micah’s opinion. She stopped what she was doing and pointed the brush at him. “When you have your own horses, you’ll understand why it’s important to appreciate them and treat them with respect.”

Micah rolled his eyes and then started laughing. He couldn’t help it.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Just say it.”

“You couldn’t even see over that horse if you weren’t standing on a crate, and yet you’re lecturing me.”

“What does being short have to do with anything?”

Micah raised his hands in surrender, but he continued to laugh. Most days Susannah aggravated him, especially when she reminded him of his nagging sisters. But then, other times, he caught a glint of mischievousness in her eyes, and he wondered what else was going on underneath her perfectly starched kapp.

“Say, I’m thinking about asking Caroline Byers to this weekend’s spring festival in town. What do you think?”

“Terrible idea.” Susannah resumed brushing the mare, but much more vigorously.

“Why’s it terrible?”

Now her lips were forming a tight, straight line, as if they’d been glued together. He knew that expression well enough.

“Just say it. What’s the problem?”

“She’s too young for you, that’s what!” Susannah brushed the mare so vigorously that it turned its large muzzle toward her. “Sorry, Smokey.”

“Smokey?”

“That’s her name. If you’d bothered to find out, you would know that.”

“You seem awfully cranky all of a sudden.”

“I’m not cranky!” She jumped off the crate, cleaned the horse brush with a metal tool and slammed it onto the tool shelf. Next she picked up the currying comb, which looked somewhat dangerous the way she was brandishing it in his direction. “Pick a girl your age, Micah.”

“Wow. Okay. Well, I hadn’t thought of it that way, but I guess I see your point. How about Betty Gleich?”

Susannah closed her eyes as if praying for patience and shook her head so hard he feared her kapp would pop off.

“What’s wrong with Betty? I know for a fact she’s over twenty-one.”

“She’s twenty-two, and she just went through a rather rough breakup.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Did you not say only twenty minutes ago that you only had—and I quote—one hundred and seventy days left in this awful place?”

“Sounds like something I might have said.”

“Obviously you hate it here.”

“You don’t understand. If you’d been to Maine, then you’d appreciate how much more beautiful it is than your much-loved Indiana. If you could experience the hunting, the fishing, the wildness of the place. It’s just—”

“You’d be in your precious Maine right this minute if you hadn’t been banished.”

“Ouch.”

“Again—your word, not mine.”

“Fine.” He named off four other perfectly eligible girls, all of whom Susannah disapproved of him dating for the most ridiculous reasons and sometimes for no reason she’d share at all.

His mounting frustration was threatening to get the better of him. He tried to mentally order himself to calm down, but the way Susannah was frowning at him was not helping matters. “What is your problem?”

“My problem?”

“You know, I don’t need your permission to date someone, but now I’m curious. What’s your beef?”

“Beef?”

“Apparently I’m not gut enough for any of the gals in your district.”

“It’s not a question of whether you’re gut enough for them.”

“Then what?”

“You’re leaving, that’s what. You’re leaving, and they’ll get attached to you, and then it will hurt them when you go.”

“I’m not proposing to them, Susannah. I’m asking them out on a buggy ride.”

“One thing leads to the other.”

Micah threw up his hands and walked out of the farrier shop. The sky was dark and brooding, a perfect reflection of his mood. Well, Susannah Beiler was not the boss of him. He could ask out whomever he liked.

He stomped back in to tell her that and caught her with her cheek pressed against the mare, a look of utter desolation in her eyes. Now he felt like a heel, and he didn’t even know what he’d done.

“Hey...it’s not that bad.”

She stood up straighter, gave the mare one last pat and returned the crate to its place along the wall.

“You can’t expect a guy to hang around for six months and not go on a single date. Surely you can see that.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because it’s not natural.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being alone, Micah.”

“Maybe not for you, but I haven’t decided I want to be single the rest of my life—apparently you have.”

“This discussion isn’t about me.”

Now her chin rose as if she needed to defend herself—oh, the many faces of Susannah Beiler. If she ever came down from her high horse, she might be an interesting person to get to know.

“Look, I’m sorry.” He yanked off his hat and stared at it—a straw Amish hat. Why couldn’t he wear his ball cap? Glancing up, he realized Susannah was waiting. He forced himself to refocus on the problem at hand. “I didn’t mean to offend you, but you’re so...”

“What?”

“Serious. You’re so serious, and life is just waiting for us to enjoy it.” In three long strides, he was at her side. Grasping her by the shoulders, he marched her toward the open barn door. “See that? The clouds and the rain and the turbulence?”

“I see it.”

“But behind all of that are more things that we can’t begin to imagine—sunshine and new experiences and memories waiting to be made. Life is out there, Susannah. We’re supposed to be living it.”

“And you can’t do that without dragging some poor girl along with you?”

“Why should I?”

Susannah rubbed at her forehead as if she’d quite suddenly been slapped with the worst headache imaginable. Finally, she pulled in a deep breath and turned to stare up into his face.

“Then take me.”

“Huh?”

“If you must take someone on these jaunts around our little town, take me.”

“But...you don’t even like me.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“No, I think that is the point.”

“You’re not looking for love, Micah. We both know that. You’re looking for a buddy to pal around with, and there are plenty of men your age in our district.”

“All paired up. I’ve already tried that route.”

“Then take me, like I said.”

“You’re going to pal around with me? Miss Susannah Beiler, who does everything by the book? That should be a load of fun.”

“I do not do everything by the book.”

“You cleaned the horse brush before putting it on the shelf. Who does that?”

“You’re changing the subject. Is it a deal or not?”

“A deal?”

“I go with you to enjoy life, and you leave the girls in my district alone.”

“Wow. There’s a proposal that is hard to turn down.”

“So it’s a deal.”

She held out her hand, which reminded him of meeting her out on the lane, offering his hand and her refusing it. He couldn’t help laughing as he clasped her small hand in his large one.

“Fine. It’s a deal, but you’re going to regret it.”

“I have no doubt that is true.” And then she turned and strode toward the house.

“I thought you needed to be here when Mr. Hochstettler came by,” he called out to her.

Rather than bothering to answer, she simply gave him a backward wave.

So, he was going to date the bishop’s daughter.

Or rather, not date her.

It would be like having a chaperone along every time he went to town. He kicked the door of the barn, startling the mare.

“Easy, Smokey. It’s just me, doing a stupid thing to top off another stupid thing.”

One hundred and seventy days.

Somehow, that seemed like an even longer stretch of time than it had an hour ago.

Chapter Four

Susannah went with Micah to hear a music duo on Friday. She had to resist the urge to remind him that they were Amish and their Ordnung strongly discouraged listening to worldly music. But she didn’t have to point that out. Micah taunted her with it as soon as they were in the buggy and driving away from her parents’ farm.

“Guess your mamm and dat didn’t want you to go tonight.”

“Why would you say that?”

“First of all, because it’s with me.”

“For reasons I can’t fathom, my parents have taken a real liking to you.”

“Huh.” He looked pleased for a brief moment, but then he slouched his shoulders and rammed his hat down on his head. “Wish I could say the same for my daddi.”

“I’m sure your daddi likes you.”

“Nein. He might love me. He’s supposed to love me, but like me? I’m pretty sure that isn’t the case.”

“Why would you say that?”

“A guy can tell.”

“Give me an example.”

“Okay.” He pulled the buggy out onto the main road, then glanced at her and smiled, as if he was sure he could prove his point—even though his point was that his own daddi didn’t like him. “I asked him to go fishing, and he said no.”

“Maybe he was tired.”

“I asked him to play checkers, and he said no.”

“Maybe he’s not good at checkers and hates losing.”

“I even asked him if he’d like to walk outside with me and see an owl’s nest that I found.”

“Maybe he doesn’t like owls.”

Micah laughed, stretched like a cat and looked immensely proud of himself. “Enough about my problems, but admit that your parents did not like the idea of your going to an Englisch concert.”

Susannah shrugged and refused to make eye contact.

“Oh, my gosh. You never had a rumspringa!”

She shook her head and closed her eyes. He really was incorrigible. She wasn’t about to explain that she’d been going through her cancer diagnosis and treatment when her friends were enjoying their running-around time.

“I hit the nail on the head. I knew they didn’t approve of your going to hear Jason Wright and the Red River Posse band.”

“What does that even mean? Red River Posse?”

“Well, a posse is a group of individuals who are sort of deputized. You know, they help out the sheriff.”

“And Red River?”

“In Texas.”

“And Jason Wright?”

“I think it’s a play on the word right, like being right, not wrong.”

“Ridiculous.”

“Uh-huh.” Now he did looked pleased. “Just as I thought. You’re going to hate it.”

“I might not hate it. I happen to like music.”

“You do?”

“Sure. I’ve been known to hum a melody as I sew.”

“What kind of melody?”

“Uh...the only kind I know. Songs from church.” She rushed on when he gave her an I-told-you-so look. “That’s not the point. Did you specifically pick this to do tonight because you thought I’d hate it? Are you trying to—” she waved a hand at the passing roadside “—ditch me?”

“Oh, no. You’re not getting out of this that easily by saying that I’m trying to ditch you. Uh-uh. I’m not ditching anyone. I’m glad that the bishop’s daughter is having a night out on the town. Besides, you’re my only option if I’m not allowed to date anyone else.”

“I’m not the boss of you, Micah.”

“Exactly. But you know how to put the pressure on, just like a woman.”

“Oh, good grief.”

“So if I’m being pressured not to date other girls in your community, then you have to stick to our deal.”

“Fine by me.”

They rode in silence for a minute, but then Micah returned to his original question. “So, were your parents upset...about where we were going?”

“Nein. I’m a grown woman. I can go wherever I want.”

“But you’ve already joined the church.”

“Which doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy an evening in the park.”

“Uh-huh.”

“If a band happens to be playing, there’s no rule that says I have to cover my ears.”

“I see.”

“It’s not like I have a radio hidden away in my sewing room.”

“Already I’m corrupting you.”

She slapped his arm, but in truth it was a relief to get away from the farm for an evening. It had been a long time since she’d done something that didn’t involve her family or her girlfriends or her sewing. She loved all those things, but it felt good to do something different. Maybe Micah was a bad influence or maybe he could be for some people, but she would be more careful than that. She had decided not to worry about anything this evening.

She actually had fun at the park. There were booths set up where people were selling homemade items like jewelry and T-shirts and even ball caps. Micah put one over her kapp that was pink and had the word Princess spelled out in glitter. Susannah told the woman it was beautiful and carefully placed it back on the table.

The local pizzeria had a booth where they were selling giant slices, but Micah insisted on buying a large pizza. Susannah couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten two slices of pizza, but when Micah dared her to eat another piece she actually found she was still hungry. Maybe it was from all the walking around they’d done.

And the music wasn’t so bad. They saw a few other Amish families enjoying the fine May evening, though none were actually sitting up front listening to the band like they were. She waved each time she saw someone from their district.

“What’s wrong?” Micah nudged his shoulder against hers. “I rather liked that song. It was all about bull riding, which I saw once in Maine. Maybe you’d prefer love songs.”

“Oh, it’s not that. I waved at the Kings.”

“Mose King? Isn’t he the one you told me was a widower? The guy your mamm wants you to marry? Point him out to me. I want to see if he has hair sprouting out of his ears and uses a cane.”

She slapped his arm. “Not Mose, his brother and sister-in-law—Frank and Ida. I waved when they looked toward us, but they turned away as if they didn’t see me.”

“They probably didn’t see you.” Micah nodded his head to the left and right. “Lots of people here.”

“I guess you’re right.”

He pulled back and widened his eyes in mock surprise. “Excuse me? Could you say that again?”

Which made her laugh, and then she stopped worrying about the Kings.

Susannah helped her mother clean their house the next day. Since it wasn’t a church weekend, they were having dinner for their closest neighbors—which would include Micah and his grandparents.

“I’m interested to see how they react around him,” she confessed to her mother as she dumped the pail of dirty water on the flower beds.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, according to Micah, his mammi is strict but kind.”

“Abigail is a gut woman.”

“But his daddi is beyond strict. Micah says he doesn’t think his daddi cares for him very much.”

“Why would he say such a thing?”

Susannah shrugged, then plopped down beside her mother in the porch swing. The twins were playing with a set of jacks on the far side of the porch. The sight of their heads nearly touching as they leaned over the jacks and ball made Susannah extremely happy. Was it just two years ago that she was worried she wouldn’t see them grow up to be young girls? Yet, here they were. She was thankful for that, for every day she had with her family.

“Where’d you go?” her mamm asked softly.

“Just thinking about how grateful I am to still be alive.”

“I thank the Lord for that very thing every day when I rise and every evening when I go to sleep. It’s a frightening experience to almost lose a child.”

Susannah cornered herself in the swing so she could study her mother. “I guess it’s easy for me to forget how hard that time was on you.”

“That’s the thing... When tragedy is in our past we do forget about it, but it changes us, Susannah. Just like you are a more serious young woman—a more grateful and mature one—because of your illness. I’m changed, too, as is your dat. We realize more than we ever did before how precious each day is.”

They pushed the swing for a while as the girls’ laughter spilled toward them. Susannah’s mind drifted back toward Micah and his grandfather. As if sensing the turn in her thoughts, her mamm stood up and brushed dirt off her apron. “John Fisher loves Micah. I have no doubt about that. I didn’t know him before the accident...”

“The one where he lost his arm?”

“Ya. I didn’t know him then, but I imagine it changed him just as your experience with cancer changed you. We can never know how a person’s path through this life twists and turns. We only know where they are right now. But John? Well, it’s been hard for him.”

“Because of his disability.”

“That and probably how strangers look at him—no one wants to be pitied.”

“I hated when people looked at me that way—when I was going through the worst of the chemo.”

“John has endured those looks all of his life. People mean well, but sometimes they allow your disability to define you, and none of us want that.” She reached for Susannah’s hand and pulled her off the swing. As they walked inside to prepare lunch, she added a final comment on the subject. “John does love Micah. Abigail has shared with me that they are both worried about the boy, and John intends to do his best by him. Sometimes that’s not an easy thing.”

That evening Micah took her moonlight fishing. As they walked across the back fields to the pond, Susannah felt as light as one of the swallows darting through the last of the sunset. She realized in that moment that she felt happy, really happy for the first time in a long time. Glancing at Micah, she wondered if that had anything to do with him.

But that thought was ridiculous.

It wasn’t Micah that was changing the way she looked at things.

But it could be that doing things she wasn’t used to—going to the park and listening to bands and fishing in the moonlight—was pulling her out of a lingering depression that had started when she’d first been diagnosed.

“Tell me you’re not thinking of changing your mind.” Micah shifted the backpack across his shoulders. “I even brought Mammi’s cookies and coffee.”

“I’m not going to change my mind, but I don’t believe we’ll catch anything. You can’t fish by moonlight.”

“Can, too.”

“How do you know if you’ve caught anything?”

Micah reached into his pocket and pulled something out. As he shook his closed fist, she heard a jingle sound.