Taken for English (7 page)

“A town helps.” Zeke stood with shoulders back and chest high. “A new settlement needs something to attract settlers. If they know they can get on a train to visit their families in Pennsylvania or Ohio, that will make it easier to settle in Arkansas.”

Joseph turned his head both directions to survey the town. “I do not see a depot.”

“Must you always be so serious?” Zeke elbowed him. “We will investigate. It may even be fun.”

“The bishop gave us a serious mission.”

“He did not say we should never smile while we carry out his instructions.”

Joseph flashed Zeke a half smirk.

“Now that’s better,” Zeke said. “We at least need to see what this town has to offer in the way of supplies. And the horses could do with a day or two of rest.”

Joseph mightily resisted the urge to finger his hat. After journeying from central Tennessee to north central Arkansas, he could do with a day or two of rest himself.

“Can we afford to sleep in a real bed tonight?” Joseph asked.

Zeke grinned. “I told you to break in that saddle before taking it out on the trail.”

“Ridiculing me is not helpful.” Joseph reached up with both hands and straightened his hat.

“I will make inquiries about a hotel.” Zeke turned to face the store behind them and looked up at its sign. “Denton Emporium. Sounds like a place that should have everything we need. Why don’t you have a look around? But do not lose the horses.”

“Should we not stay together?” Joseph asked. But he was muttering at Zeke’s back.

Joseph sucked in his lips while he looked around to get his bearings. It did not take much to disorient him in new places—another reason the bishop should have sent someone else. The main street was only a few blocks long. Joseph allowed one finger to point from his hip at the businesses he saw as he murmured the words he read on the signs. He glanced at the sun to make sure he had his directions right. Churches, shops, and blacksmiths populated a simple grid of streets, interspersed with stretches of homes. It was not an Amish village, but as far as the
English
went, it did not look too complicated.

Joseph breathed relief.

Across the street a huddle broke up and a young woman emerged, straightened her shoulders, and kicked up road dust.

She was headed straight for Joseph. He turned his head in the direction Zeke had chosen, but his friend had disappeared from sight.

Her dark hair was efficiently bundled under a wide-brimmed purple hat above a lavender calico dress. Joseph could see her dark eyes, though, and whatever she wanted, she meant business. He ran a dry tongue over chapped lips.

“You, sir,” she said. “I haven’t seen you in town before.”

Joseph opened his mouth, but no sound resulted. He had learned his English from doing field work beside
English
men, but he was not accustomed to speaking to
English
women.

“I don’t mean to be rude.” Now that she had a closer view and could see more than his hat, Maura inspected the oddly dressed young man. “But I must ask you to identify yourself and your business in Gassville.”

“I am Joseph Beiler.” His violet-blue eyes clouded.

“Byler?” Maura’s forehead crinkled. “Are you a relative of the sheriff?”

“Sheriff?” The young man shook his head slowly.

“Yes.” Maura pursed her lips. Could this man not answer a simple question? “Have you come to see the sheriff?”

“No, miss. Our people are peaceable.”

Maura cocked her head. “If I might ask, what do you mean, ‘our people’?”

He gestured to the pocketless black wool coat he was wearing even on a warm day. “The Amish.”

“Amish? I thought you gave your name as Byler.”

“Yes, Joseph Beiler.” He spelled his surname.

“Just a coincidence of name, I suppose.” Maura shifted her bag from one hand to the other.

“Perhaps.”

“What is that accent I hear in your speech?” Maura asked. “Where are you from?”

“Tennessee.”

Maura grunted. “Before that.”

“Pennsylvania,” he said.

“Before that, then.”

“We have been in America since before your Revolutionary War.”

“Then you are American, and it was your war, too. And you may as well claim the War of 1812, that horrendous mess between the states, and the whole lot.”

“We have nothing to do with war. As I said, we are peaceable.”

“Ah yes. So you say. Why do you sound German?”

“Our language is German.”

“Mmm.” Maura glanced down the street. “What happened to your friend?”

Joseph took a step back. “We are just visiting.”

“Is he Amish, too?”

“Yes. Do you not know our people?”

Maura fidgeted with her handbag and extracted the white gloves, which she then clutched in one fist. “I cannot honestly say I have ever heard of the Amish.” Though he had found his tongue, this man clearly was nervous, and Maura did not abide nervous people. They always had something to hide.

“Though I find your inquiry of visitors curious even for the
English,”
he said, “I will answer your questions. You need only ask.”

“You find me impolite.” Maura waved her fist and the empty fingers of her gloves fluttered. “Your opinion does not deter me. And I am not English. My people came from Scotland.”

He shifted his weight. “I apologize. I used our word for all people who are not of our faith.”

Maura toggled her chin from side to side. “So you lump us all together, do you?”

He lifted his shoulders and blinked his eyes at the same time.

“Perhaps we deserve it,” she said. “I trust our humble businesses will be able to supply your needs.”

“I have no doubt we will be comfortable during our brief visit.”

Brief
. That was the word she wanted to hear.

“We sometimes get troublemakers.” Maura waved her gloves at Joseph again. “I just want you to know that I will not hesitate to fetch Sheriff Byler if I believe there to be trouble on the streets of Gassville.”

“You will have no cause on our account,” he said. “Byler is an Amish name. Perhaps your sheriff and I have something in common.”

Maura laughed. “I’m not sure what your people believe, but I assure you Abraham Byler is a good Christian man. His people came from Tennessee and Mississippi, and he is in church every Sunday. The children in his Sunday school class adore him.”

“I only meant to comment on the name,” Joseph said. He jutted his chin down the street. “Here comes Zeke.”

Joseph hoped this woman had no idea how fast his heart was beating. He had never done more than sell his mother’s eggs to an
English
woman who thought keeping layers was too much bother.

“Have you made a friend already?” Zeke asked.

Only Joseph heard the jest in Zeke’s tone.

“This is my traveling companion, Ezekiel Berkey,” Joseph said. “I am afraid I do not yet know the name of this vigilant resident of Gassville.”

She arched her back slightly.

“Perhaps vigilant is too strong,” Joseph offered.

Without looking at Joseph, the woman offered a bare hand for Zeke to shake. “I am Maura Woodley. I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Berkey. Welcome to Gassville.”

“And I you.” Zeke shook her hand, but his eyes moved to Joseph.

“I will not detain you further.” Maura stuffed her gloves back in her bag. “The hotel is not hard to find if you choose to stay. It’s just down the street. I’d better get back to my horse and cart.”

They watched her leave, the two of them still and somber. She crossed the street and marched down the walkway toward a young mare that matched her hair in color and a cart Joseph had an impulse to repair.

“Vigilant?” Zeke said finally. “Is that not a harsh way to describe someone you just met?”

“It is accurate.”

“Did you even go into the emporium?” Zeke asked. “Or did you spend all your time flirting with an
English?”

Joseph scowled. “I am not flirting with anyone.”

“Good. Because Hannah is waiting for you. You know that.” Joseph leaned his head to one side. “Hannah.”
Maura
.

“Yes, Hannah. She is
en lieb
. What she sees in you, I will never know, but she is my sister and she wants to marry you.”

Joseph knew Hannah believed this to be true. He had not known that she had spoken of it to anyone. When this journey was over, the harvest would come and then the marrying season.

Hannah was sure.

Joseph was not. But he would not tell Zeke.

“I went into a store at the other end of town.” Zeke brushed his palms together three times. “It was a dusty place. A man named Twigg runs it.”

“What kinds of goods does he carry?”

“I did not stay around long enough to find out. He sounded angry. He was going on about the Denton brothers who run this emporium.”

Joseph fingered the brim of his hat. He had not even tried to stop. “Miss Woodley is vigilant because she is fearful of trouble. Perhaps you have uncovered the source of her fear.”

“From what I gather, the Dentons and the Twiggs both have cattle spreads along with their stores.” Zeke scratched his clean-shaven chin. “If God has already blessed them so abundantly, what can they have to argue about?”

“Mountain Home is only a few miles,” Joseph pointed out. “We could ride there easily.”

Zeke looked around. “We are in no hurry. Let’s take a room at the hotel here.”

A
nnie pedaled harder. The five miles between her house in town and the Beiler farm inclined at a deceitfully gradual pace but inclined nevertheless. The mid-September sun was bright but not hot, for which Annie was grateful at the moment.

She was looking for Leah Deitwaller. Three days had passed since Annie encountered Leah’s parents. Two days had passed since she and Rufus nearly ran Leah over. And still Leah had not returned home. Annie had heard the news not two hours ago from Beth Stutzman, who was passing on information she had heard from her mother, Edna, who had taken a basket of jams out to the new family earlier in the day. Annie recognized the process of transmission as bordering on gossip, but she had reason to believe the information was accurate. How the Deitwallers could be so unconcerned about their daughter befuddled Annie. Even if Leah were a few months older than she was and technically no longer underage, why would they not be concerned for her safety?

Annie opened her mouth wide and drew in crisp, fall mountain air and then leaned forward to put her weight on one pedal and then the other. She had made this ride enough times in the last year—except during the wintry weather—to know just how much farther her endurance had to carry her before the highway would level out. She breathed in and out, in and out, her athlete’s instinct being sure her muscles received sufficient oxygen to perform.

At the edge of the Beiler land, Annie could at last cease pedaling and coast a few yards at a time. If she had to, she would pedal all the way out to the Deitwaller farm, but her intuition told her it would be a waste of time to go that far. Leah was making a point. Not a good point, not a wise point, but a statement to her parents nevertheless. She would not lurk in their backyard.

Obviously Leah had ventured into town, a good ten miles from her parents’ home. But Annie doubted she was seeking shelter in town. There simply were not enough empty structures, except new construction. Annie shook off the memory of Rufus’s question about Leah’s whereabouts on Sunday morning.

Annie slowed alongside a fence and waved at Joel Beiler astride his horse, Brownie, in the middle of his alfalfa field. Joel took the horse to the fence. He pulled a shirtsleeve under the brim of his hat and across his forehead, sopping up perspiration.

“It’s a fine day to be outside,” Annie said.

Joel nodded. “Outside is where the work is. What brings you out here?”

“I’m looking for someone. Leah Deitwaller.”

Joel pointed. “Five miles that way.”

“Yes, I know that’s where their farm is. I don’t think that’s where Leah is, though.”

Joel gave nothing away in his expression.