Arms of Love (13 page)

“I do not understand.” Adam stepped out into the sunshine and offered a jug of water up to the other man.

Dale took a swig and wiped his hand over his mouth. “I will make my telling quick, so as not to meet some dire end. I won Tim here from some miscreant militia man who was too far into his cups early this morn . . . much too far to be betting what he did at cards. And since I as a prisoner can own no horse, I thought I’d return him. I’ve seen you about with him and figured that foul guard took advantage somehow.” Dale jumped down and moved to water his own mount at a nearby trough.

Adam smiled. “Perhaps, but let me give you coin for your trouble.

And I do mean trouble, if anyone finds out. This is no ladies’ picnic, after all, for the town fathers to turn a blind eye to. And where, might I ask, did your own fine horse come from?”

“The same unfortunate card game, I fear,” Dale muttered, shaking his head, then remounting in an expert manner. “I don’t know what I will do with this horse—dedicate it to the cause, I suppose. And, my fine Amish fellow, friends do not exchange coins over gifts. That is, if I have your friendship during my rather boring imprisonment?” The question hung between them while Dale’s eyes bored into Adam’s intently.

Adam hesitated for only a second before extending his hand and grasping the other man’s firmly. “I will call you a friend,” he said.

Dale let go of his hand and smiled. “Good. Then I will tell you why I am here in truth. There is a famed, or infamous, I should say, Tory hunter in Lancaster. A Major George, to be precise. He has the authority of the Pennsylvania State Court behind him. It was announced just this morn that there was to be a trial, such as it may be, and set for high noon. I made it my business to secure the list of those being tried.

Samuel Yoder is to stand. I thought you might want to be present.”

Adam swallowed hard and thought of the four Amish men said to be dragged in and tortured in a nearby town by the Patriots, their very countrymen, for being dissident peace-keepers. Who but
Derr Herr
could know what fate awaited Samuel Yoder? Adam knew he must tell Lena and must get himself there before the tribunal began. Even if they could do nothing, it would still be better to learn of the man’s fate firsthand rather than through a rider and late tidings.

He looked up into the keen blue eyes of the other man and realized all that he had risked in bringing the information. “Truly,”

Adam said, “you have my thanks and my loyalty . . . whatever you should need in time.”

Dale gave a faint smile. “You may live to regret that, my friend.” He turned his mount in a fine cloud of dust and rode off with a flourish, tipping his head to Joseph Wyse, who was just then walking toward the barn.

Adam knew instinctively that he could not explain Dale’s errand to his father. Joseph would try to persuade him against going into town. He braced himself for his father’s words.

“Who was that? And why is Tim back?”

“’Twas no one, sir. A friend returning a debt, you might say.”

His father frowned and stared hard at him. “
Ach
. . . well, I’ve no time to discuss things this morning, Adam. I have a buyer coming to look at that mare. I will need you to give her a good grooming.”

Adam swallowed. “I cannot, sir. I’ve business in town I must attend to at once.” He tried to keep his voice level; it was a rare occurrence for him to act in direct defiance of his father’s immediate wishes.

A muscle tensed in his parent’s chiseled cheek for just a moment before he swung on his boot heel and roared toward an adjacent barn.

“Isaac!”

Adam took the opportunity to slip away.

He passed the open door of the
kesselhous
, and the delicious smell of fresh baking bread wafted out. His
mamm
waved floury hands at him from the dim interior, and despite his hurry, he could not resist stopping for a moment to see her.

“Do you need something, Adam?” she asked, her smile bright as always.

He smiled back and shook his head, moving to give her a quick hug.

Then he snatched a pinch of dough from one of the pieces in the kneading tray and moved on.

Once inside the main house, he took the stairs two at a time and hurried down the narrow hall to his room. He caught up his widebrimmed straw hat and went to his plain-hewn dresser to open the top drawer. He had coin; his father had paid him a man’s wage since he’d turned eighteen and had continued to work on the farm. He had managed to save most of it, but he had no idea how coins of the realm would help or hinder the whims of this Major George. Then, as he grasped the drawer edge, the thought came to him, something cool and solid like resting a hand against limestone on a summer’s day: he needed to stop and pray.

The whirlwind of anxious hurry, fear, and a noticeable tightness in his throat began to subside as he leaned against the dresser top and let his mind drift to thoughts of
Derr Herr
. There were many times in his life when all he could seem to do was to think thoughts of praise when he was praying—to focus on the simple wonder of the created world.

To give thanks for the wind, the grass, the call of a morning bird. In truth, he often felt silently simple-minded when the family worshipped together because he could not seem to focus on higher inner words or petitions as he felt the others around him seemed to do. And when the time came for larger group worship, with Amish coming from far away to gather as they once had in the Old Country, he experienced even more discouragement and frustration with himself as a spiritual man.

He knew the hymns, of course, sung without instruments, in the deep monotones that both soothed and reminded him that he came from a heritage of martyrs’ lamentations mingled with hard-won strains of praise. But then, this thought of the past only led him to the present to reflect more upon the war for freedom and on the reason his people had come to Penn’s Woods, to find freedom in the face of religious extermination . . . And then his mind would be off at full gallop until he could discipline himself back to the moment at hand, to the simplest of prayers. He drew a deep breath.

“Dear
Gott
in heaven, my
Fater
. . . my true
Fater
. . .” The thought was upon him before he could extinguish it, and he bowed his head lower. “
Danki
for this day, for my family, for Lena. I pray for her
fater
, for the words that come from his lips if he is accused, and for anything that I might do to help but not hinder. I lift up to You this Major George, this earthly judge, that You would guide his thoughts and actions. Let all be done according to Your will, O Lord . . . and please, please ease the burden of this promise I have made. Bless Lena,
Gott
.

Keep her safe and please teach me to allow You to battle and give me the desire to follow the ways of my people. Amen.”

He slid the drawer closed, feeling more centered, then took a step deeper into the room. His hand hovered for a moment over his long rifle, mounted neatly on the white wall. The gun was not something he’d normally carry, except to hunt, because of the length of the barrel. But something made him take it all the same. He grabbed up the needed ammunition in a pouch and headed out.

He avoided his mother’s eyes when he approached, knowing she would look askance at the rifle. Then he paused and hurried to brush her cheek with his lips. “Do not fret,” he said, then turned from the heat of the oven house to step back out into the milder warmth of the spring sunshine.

His father was engaged with a rather pompous, ruddy-looking buyer in full
Englisch
dress, including a piled white wig, and a coach and four waiting nearby with embossed doors and befeathered horses, the animals dancing with impatience.

Adam felt his father’s eyes take in the gun as he passed and mounted Tim with the ease of long practice. Joseph’s gaze was heavy upon him, but he knew that the prospect of a sale during the time of war would be more than a competing distraction from his doings, and he breathed another prayer of praise that took in the bewigged buyer. He nodded to Isaac, who returned a sour glance as he looked up from currying the mare.

Adam almost had to suppress a smile; it was rare that his
bruder
had to take over his work, and the small taste of freedom set the pace for the ride to Lena Yoder’s. If he felt any remorse in not telling his would-be interested and chaste brother what he was about, it didn’t show as he let Tim have his head. Isaac would probably suggest a sermon anyway, in hopes of avoiding any action that would lead to accountability. Adam ducked beneath a low-hanging limb and began to whistle as both tense excitement and a certain peace of mind filled him with a warmth equal to that of the spring sun.

Chapter 10

L
ena straightened her back and rubbed at the faint ache that was a result of working in the kitchen
gorda
. The weather had warmed slightly, allowing her some early planting, and she had just cleared the leek bed, planning to have leek soup for dinner. The winter-sown broad beans were growing well, but there had been enough space to sow some early peas among them. However many peas were grown, though, there were never enough. It was her
fater’s
favorite vegetable. She would not allow her thoughts to linger on him, though, and she turned to pace off a space where she might sow the early
reebs
, Hamburg parsley, and kohlrabi. The row where the spring
kraut
would go could do just as well now for a bit of fresh greens, and she could get the lima beans in as soon as she knew that the last frost had passed.

Three geese ambled over her footsteps in the dirt, all that was left of the flock after the soldiers had taken more than a fair share. She thought it a shame that the birds would probably be used for food and not for their abundant feathers, which graced the pillows of every Amish bed she had ever seen.

Ruth was in the house with the
kinner
—at least with Abigail and Faith and Baby Mary. John had run off somewhere as soon as the minimum of his chores was complete. Lena told herself that she could not concentrate on her work and worry about the boy at the same time, and she deliberately put him from her mind with a quick prayer.

She climbed the steps and dropped into a bent willow rocking chair, reaching to pick up a flat brim-shaped circle and to draw another length of straw from the oiled water where it soaked in a tall tin beside her. She needed to finish braiding the summer’s new hats as quickly as possible in preparation for the season, and her nimble fingers flew at the task as she tried to thrust aside thoughts of Adam.

She looked up when she heard hoofbeats and almost sighed instead of feeling the normal clutch of fear that the sound of an approaching horseman tended to bring. In truth, she was weary and felt anyone might take whatever they wanted so long as they left the little family in peace. But when she recognized Tim and then Adam, her fingers froze in midtwist, and the straw slipped loosely from her hand. Perhaps he had changed his mind about their relationship.

He drew rein directly at the bottom of the stairs and she stared at him, almost level with his flashing eyes because of the height of the porch.

“Lena, there’s no time to explain. I’ve had word that your
fater
is to face trial this noontime. I intend to go, and I wanted to offer you a chance to do the same.”

The hat form fell from her lap as she rose to come forward to search his face. She saw the seriousness there and spun on her heavysoled heel without a word.

She stalked into the house, not caring that she closed the door on Adam for the moment. He knew her well enough and could tell, she was sure, by hearing, that she had every intention of going with him. “Ruth?” she called.

“What is it?” the older woman asked, burping Faith with ease while Mary slept in the cradle.