The Heart's Frontier (2 page)

El Paso, Texas

May 1881

H
ot diggety!” Shep Carson whipped off his hat and flung it in the air. “I knew I’d make a man outta you yet!”

Grinning, Luke watched his father make a fool of himself in front of the other wranglers. El Paso teemed with cattle this morning as the cowhands loaded the herd into pens. He’d expected as much, but watching Pa grinning like a possum eatin’ a yellow jacket wasn’t easy. “I don’t know why you find my decision surprising. Haven’t I spent the last few years riding herd over your drives?”

Pa’s gaze softened. “You have, and I’m not surprised but a little baffled. It took you long enough to make up your mind.”

The older man sat tall in the saddle. The years had been kind to the cowboy who had spent most of his life driving cattle to market. Until he was old enough to ride with him, Luke barely knew the man, but over the years he’d developed a deep bond with his father, and the proud look shining in his pa’s eyes made him feel good.

“So. Who signed you on?” Cattle jostled the men’s horses while they worked. Sharp whistles and wranglers’ shouts pierced the air as the milling beef bumped flesh.

Luke cut his chestnut to the left and called back, “Simon Hancock.”

“That a fact? What trail?”

“Chisholm.”

Pa’s grin lengthened. “Got yourself a fine trail and a decent boss. It says a whole lot that a man like Hancock would hire you on for your first drive.”

It was Luke’s first drive in the sense that he would be foreman. He had close to twenty drives under his belt but always as point rider. Every cowhand in Texas knew Hancock’s reputation—a quiet man who managed his herds from a nearby hotel—but most wranglers would give an arm and a leg to take Hancock’s beef to market. His stock was the finest around.

“You didn’t happen to have anything to do with his decision, did you?” Luke headed off another stray.

Pa was waiting for the steer. With one nudge to the horse, the bull slid through the shoot. “Not me. I haven’t worked Hancock’s herd in years. He made me mad as a peeled rattler once, and I refused to work for him again.”

The news didn’t surprise Luke. He’d ridden with Pa since he was fourteen, and he couldn’t recall seeing a Triple Bar brand in the herd, but he’d never thought to ask why. Didn’t matter. Luke was sure he could take whatever Hancock dished up. He must have gotten wind that Shep Carson’s boy was looking for his first foreman job and decided to contact him. Hancock and Pa might have crossed swords in the past, but the cattle baron gave Luke’s father the highest compliment. When the young man hired on with a handshake and a thanks, Hancock grunted and merely said, “I don’t have any concerns about Shep Carson’s boy.”

And he was right about that. Luke might have taken his time to decide what he wanted to do with his life—punch cattle or buy land and settle down—but when he obligated himself to a cause he stuck to it. Now that he was in charge of this ride, he’d see there wasn’t a single hitch. There wasn’t much he didn’t know about cattle. Over the years he’d eaten enough dust and survived enough dry drives to make him one of the best in the business, but until recently he’d been content to follow. Now he wanted to lead.

When the horses pulled up beside one another, Luke took off his hat and wiped his brow. He glanced up when he felt his father’s eyes on him. Eyes brimming with pride.

“What?”

“I’m proud of you, son. Your ma would have been proud.”

“No, she wouldn’t. She hated your job, Pa. And she hated even more that I rode with you. She wanted you home.”

Glancing away, Shep focused on the milling cattle. “Can’t deny your words. I wasn’t much of a husband or father.” His eyes roamed the herd. “The trail gets in your blood, and I had to put food on the table.”

Luke traced his gaze. He didn’t want to be like Pa, not in this way. He liked the work, but someday he knew as certain as he was sitting in the saddle that he’d leave the job. Maybe buy a Texas ranch and raise a family. But for now he knew cattle like the back of his hand, and the good Lord willing, he still had a lot of years ahead of him before he had to decide exactly what he wanted out of life. He’d yet to meet a woman he’d give up bachelorhood for, and with Ma dead and his two brothers scattered, he was free to wander for as long as he wanted.

“It’s a hard life.” Pa’s quiet words broke into his thoughts.

“Driving cattle? I can do it with my eyes closed. And I get along with others, but I can also be tough as nails if necessary.” He figured he’d make a fine trail boss, one any man could respect. Life was as simple as setting your mind to something and following through.

“No, I meant life can get confusing. A man might think he knows all he needs to know, but he’ll soon find out he’s about as dumb as a stump in some matters.”

Chuckling, Luke shook his head. “You’re gettin’ old, Pop. You need a hot bath and a T-bone steak. Life’s only as worrisome as a man makes it.”

The older man’s eyes fastened on him. “Think you got it all figured out, do you? Got your first big job. Feeling mighty good about yourself.”

“Am I certain I can drive cattle as well as my old man?” Luke flashed a grin. “Maybe not as well, but pretty durn close.”

“You think that’s all there is to life? Knowing when to push, when to water, and when to let up?”

“That about sums it up, doesn’t it?”

Shep shook his head. “Young’uns. All fire and stink water.” Reining his horse, he winked. “Have a fine drive, son. And once you get those cattle to Hays, your old pa will buy
you
that T-bone.” A chuckle rumbled deep in his throat. “Oh…and you can tell me how you’ve managed to hog-tie and lasso life into a tidy little bundle.”

Giving another chuckle, he rode back into the herd.

Apple Grove, Kansas

July 1881

N
early the entire Amish district of Apple Grove had turned out to help this morning, all twenty families. Or perhaps they were here merely to wish Emma Switzer well as she set off for her new home in Troyer, fifty miles away.

From her vantage point on the porch of the house, Emma’s grandmother kept watch over the loading of the gigantic buffet hutch onto the specially reinforced wagon. Her sharp voice sliced through the peaceful morning air.

“Forty years I’ve had that hutch from my dearly departed husband and not a scratch on it. Jonas, see that you use care!”

If
Maummi
’s expression weren’t so fierce, Emma would have laughed at the long-suffering look Papa turned toward his mother. But the force with which
Maummi
’s fingers dug into the flesh on Emma’s arm warned that a chuckle would be most ill-suited at the moment. Besides, the men straining to heft the heavy hutch from the front porch of their home into the wagon didn’t need further distractions. Their faces strained bright red above their beards, and more than one drop of sweat trickled from beneath the broad brims of their identical straw hats.

Emma glanced at the watchers lined up like sparrows on a fence post. She caught sight of her best friend, Katie Beachy, amid the sea of dark dresses and white
kapps
. Katie smiled and smoothed her skirt with a shy gesture. The black fabric looked a little darker and crisper than that of those standing around her, which meant she’d worn her new dress to bid Emma farewell, an honor usually reserved for singings or services or weddings. The garment looked well on her. Emma had helped sew the seams at their last frolic. Of course, Katie’s early morning appearance in a new dress probably had less to do with honoring Emma than with the presence of Samuel Miller, the handsome son of the district bishop. With a glance toward Samuel, whose arms bulged against the weight of holding up one end of the hutch, she returned Katie’s smile with a conspiratorial wink.

Emma’s gaze slid over other faces in the crowd and snagged on a pair of eyes fixed on her. Amos Beiler didn’t bother to turn away but kept his gaze boldly on her face. Nor did he bother to hide his expression, one of longing and lingering hurt. He held infant Joseph in his arms, and a young daughter clutched each of his trouser-clad legs. A wave of guilt washed through Emma, and she hastily turned back toward the wagon.

From his vantage point up in the wagon bed, Papa held one end of a thick rope looped around the top of the hutch, the other end held by John Yoder. The front edge of the heavy heirloom had been lifted into the wagon with much grunting and groaning, while the rear still rested on the smooth wooden planks of the porch. Two men steadied the oxen and the rest, like Samuel, had gathered around the back end of the hutch. A protective layer of thick quilts lined the wagon bed.

Papa gave the word. “Lift!”

The men moved in silent unity. Bending their knees, their hands grasped for purchase around the bottom edges. As one they drew in a breath, and at Papa’s nod raised in unison. Emma’s own breath caught in her chest, her muscles straining in silent sympathy with the men. The hutch rose until its rear end was level with its front, and the men stepped forward. The thick quilts dangling beneath scooted onto the wagon as planned, a protective barrier from damage caused by wood against wood.

The hutch suddenly dipped and slid swiftly to the front. Emma gasped. Apparently the speed caught Papa and John Yoder by surprise too, for the rope around the top went slack. Papa lunged to reach for the nearest corner, and his foot slipped. The wagon creaked and sank lower on its wheels as the hutch settled into place. At the same moment Papa went down on one knee with a loud, “Ummph.”

“Papa!”

“
Ach!
”
Maummi
pulled away from Emma and rushed forward. Her heart pounding against her rib cage, Emma followed. Men were already checking on Papa, but
Maummi
leaped into the wagon bed with a jump that belied her sixty years, the strings of her
kapp
flying behind her. She applied bony elbows to push her way around the hutch to her son’s side.

She came to a halt above him, hands on her hips, and looked down. “Are you hurt?”

Emma reached the side of the wagon in time to see Papa wince and shake his head. “No
. A bruise is all.”

“Good.” She left him lying there and turned worried eyes toward her beloved hutch. With a gentle touch, she ran loving fingers over the smooth surface and knelt to investigate the corners.

A mock-stern voice behind Emma held the hint of a chuckle. “Trappings only, Marta Switzer. Care you more for a scratch on wood than an injury to your son?”

Emma turned to see Bishop Miller approach. He spared a smile for her as he drew near enough to lean his arms across the wooden side of the wagon and watch the activity inside. Samuel helped Papa to his feet and handed him the broad-brimmed hat that had fallen off. Emma breathed a sigh of relief when he took a ginger step to try out his leg and smiled at the absence of pain.

“My son is fine.”
Maummi
waved a hand in his direction, as though in proof. “And so is my hutch. Though my heart may not say the same, such a fright I’ve had.” She placed the hand lightly on her chest, drew a shuddering breath, and wavered on her feet.

Concern for her grandmother propelled Emma toward the back of the wagon. As she climbed up, she called into the house, “Rebecca, bring a cool cloth for
Maummi
’s head.”

The men backed away while Katie and several other women converged on the wagon to help Emma lift
Maummi
down and over to the rocking chair that rested in the shade of the porch, ready to be loaded when the time came.
Maummi
allowed herself to be lowered onto the chair, and then she wilted against the back, her head lolling sideways and arms dangling. A disapproving buzz rumbled among the watching women, but Emma ignored them. Though she knew full well that most of the weakness was feigned for the sake of the bishop and other onlookers, she also knew
Maummi
’s heart tended to beat unevenly in her chest whenever she exerted herself. It was yet another reason why she ought to stay behind in Apple Grove, but
Maummi
insisted her place was with Emma, her oldest granddaughter. What she really meant was that she intended to inspect every eligible young Amish man in Troyer and handpick her future grandson-in-law.

Aunt Gerda had written to say she anticipated that her only daughter would marry soon, and she would appreciate having Emma come to help her around the house. She’d also mentioned the abundance of marriageable young men in Troyer, with a suggestion that twenty-year-old Emma was of an age that the news might be welcome. Rebecca had immediately volunteered to go in Emma’s place. Though Papa appeared to consider the idea, he decided to send Emma because she was the oldest and therefore would be in need of a husband soonest.
Maummi
insisted on going along in order to
“Keep an eye on this horde of men Gerda will parade before our Emma.”

As far as Emma was concerned, they should just send
Maummi
on alone and leave her in Apple Grove to wait for her future husband to be delivered to her doorstep.

Rebecca appeared from inside the house with a dripping cloth in hand. A strand of wavy dark hair had escaped its pins and fluttered freely beside the strings of her
kapp
. At barely thirteen, her rosy cheeks and smooth, high forehead reminded Emma so sharply of their mother that at times her heart ached.

Rebecca looked at
Maummi
’s dramatic posture and rolled her eyes. She had little patience with
Maummi
’s feigned heart episodes, and she was young enough that she had yet to learn proper restraint in concealing her emotions. Emma awarded her sister with a stern look and held out a hand for the cloth.

With a contrite bob of her head, Rebecca handed it over and dropped to her knees beside the rocking chair. “Are you all right,
Maummi
?”

“
Ach
, I’m fine. I don’t think it’s my time. Yet.”

Emma wrung the excess water from the cloth before draping it across the back of
Maummi
’s neck.

“
Danki
.” The elderly woman realized that the men had stopped working in order to watch her, and she waved her hand in a shooing motion. “Place those quilts over my hutch before you load anything else! Mind, Jonas, no scratches.”

Papa shook his head, though a smile tugged at his lips. “
Ja
, I remember.”

The gray head turned toward Emma. “Granddaughter, see they take proper care.”

“I will,
Maummi
.”

Katie joined Emma to oversee the wrapping of the hutch. When Samuel Miller offered a strong arm to help Katie up into the wagon, Emma hid a smile. No doubt she would receive a letter at her new home soon, informing her that a wedding date had been published. Because Samuel was the bishop’s son, there was no fear he would not receive the
Zeugnis
, the letter of good standing. Rebecca would be thrilled at the news of a proper wedding in tiny Apple Grove.

But Emma would be far away in Troyer, and she would miss her friend’s big day.

Why must I live there when everything I love is here?

She draped a thick quilt over her end of the hutch and sidled away while Papa secured a rope around it. The faces of her friends and family looked on. They filled the area between the house and the barn. She loved every one in her own way. Yes, even Amos Beiler. She sought him out among the crowd and smiled at the two little girls who hovered near his side. Poor, lonely Amos. He was a good father to his motherless family. No doubt he’d make a fine husband, and if she married him she wouldn’t have to move to Troyer. The thought tempted her once again, as it often had over the past several weeks since Papa announced his decision that she would live with Aunt Gerda for a while.

But she knew that if she agreed to become Amos’s wife she would be settling. True, she would gain a prosperous farm and a nice house and a trio of well-behaved children, with the promise of more to come. But the fact remained that though there was much to respect about Amos, she didn’t love him. The thought of seeing that moon-shaped face and slightly cross-eyed stare over the table for breakfast, dinner, and supper sent a shiver rippling across her shoulders. Not to mention sharing a marriage bed with him. It was enough to make her throw her apron over her face and run screaming across Papa’s cornfield.

He deserves a wife who loves him
, she told herself for the hundredth time. Her conscience thus soothed, Emma turned away from his mournful stare.

“That trunk goes in the front,”
Maummi
shouted from her chair on the porch. “Emma, show them where.”

Emma shrank against the gigantic hutch to give the men room to settle the trunk containing all of her belongings. An oiled canvas tarp had been secured over the top to repel any rain they might meet over the next week. Inside, resting on her dresses, aprons, bonnets, and
kapps
, was a bundle more precious to her than anything else in the wagon: a quilt, expertly and lovingly stitched, nestled within a heavy canvas pouch. Mama had made it with her own hands for Emma’s hope chest. The last stitch was bitten off just hours before she closed her eyes and stepped into the arms of her Lord.

Oh, Mama, if you were here you could convince Papa to let me stay home. I know you could. And now, without you, what will happen to me?