The Heart's Frontier (30 page)

“Emma!”

An outside voice ripped through the fragile connection between them. A guilty flush tinged her scraped cheeks as she turned toward her sister, who approached at a trot.

“Papa says to come and help with serving the cobbler.” Rebecca dimpled as she cast a sideways grin toward the occupant of the rocking chair. “
Maummi
heard peach was Jesse’s favorite and made it special for him.”

Luke raised his gaze and found Jonas staring at him from across the laughing, relaxed crowd of cowboys. A look of meaning passed between them, and Luke remembered his resolve. This little Amish girl was not for him. She had a place waiting for her back in Apple Grove, far from anyplace he’d ever thought of as home.

“Go help,” he told Emma, handing her his plate. He hadn’t touched his stew. “I need to check on my herd.”

Hurt darkened her eyes, but he tore himself away from the silent plea. Like a prisoner escaping a death sentence, he strode for his horse to escape to the wide Kansas plain and the twenty-five hundred cattle that were much easier to deal with than one sad-eyed Amish woman.

T
he herd arrived in Hays before sunset, when the sky was still a bright yellow-orange and the breeze that blew off the prairie was still hot from the long summer day. Emma could muster no enthusiasm for the town that loomed before her. How could she enjoy the end of the trail, when it also meant the end of her hopes for a life with Luke?

They approached from the west. As Luke and the lead cattle passed the first of the long rail-lined pens that made up the stockyard, the chuck wagon veered off toward the north and drew to a halt above the curve of the trail, where the cattle veered right toward town.
Maummi
led the oxen in behind, and a tight line of cattle filed past, following their leaders in a parade of high-priced beef. The buildings emptied their occupants in a trickle of spectators who lined up to watch the familiar process of funneling cattle into the stockyard stalls to await counting and weighing. Above the noise of bovine hooves shuffling in the dust and anxious cattle grumbling, saloon music carried down the street on the dry afternoon heat.

Emma had received instruction from Griff on this final stage of the journey, and she kept a firm hold on the reins as she urged the cattle ahead. On the other side of the narrow column of cattle, Morris and Rebecca forced their charges to merge with their herd mates, always advancing. Griff pressed close behind her, a comforting presence in this unfamiliar task of pushing steers toward small fenced-in pens. Up ahead, Luke had been joined by a half-dozen cowhands who shooed the cattle into the stocks with much shouting and waving of arms.

One by one, the keeps filled as an unending current of beef flowed like a river down narrow stockyard aisles and into pens that accommodated far more cattle than Emma would have dared press together. The townsfolk formed a line at the edge of the yard, calling out encouragement to the workers and congratulations to Luke, who sat tall in his saddle to oversee the operation. Emma found herself hard-pressed to focus on the task at hand, her gaze drawn to him like a honey bee to fragrant spring blossoms. Time had almost run out, and still she had not spoken her mind.

She would, though. Before this day was over, she would find a way to speak with him alone and lay out her request.

A voice rose above the buzz of the crowd, tinged with indignant shock that boosted its volume to drown out every other sound.

“It’s our Emma!”

Her gaze snapped to the edge of the crowd of onlookers, to a pair of black-clad men with unmistakable bushy beards and round straw hats. Her jaw slackened and her mouth hung open when she recognized them both. Amos Beiler and Bishop Miller.

The bishop drew himself upright, sparks from his disapproving eyes snapping at her all the way across the river of cattle. “Emma Switzer, down from that animal you will get and come with me now.”

Her heart sank into her shoes.

Emma stood beside their wagon, her head bowed and her hands folded quietly before her while Bishop Miller spoke in an even but stern tone to Papa. Beside her, Rebecca had adopted the same pose, though
Maummi
’s chin tilted defiantly upward and her lips were pursed. Cattle continued to file past them, though the end of the stream was now in sight. Slightly behind the bishop stood Amos, his face a mottled red and his gaze fixed on the hard-packed dirt in front of his feet. Emma shifted her weight. How embarrassing to have him witness the verbal discipline of her family.

“And what witness did you bear, Jonas?” The bishop’s voice, though disapproving, remained soft and controlled. “Representatives of Christ we are. Did Christ allow His women to ride about on horses with their…” He closed his mouth and drew a slow breath through his nose. “It is unseemly, and not worthy of our Lord or our Amish district.”

A protest rose in Emma’s mind, a reminder that the Lord’s mother rode a donkey. But she kept the thought to herself because there was certainly no evidence that Mary had herded cattle or dressed in men’s trousers on her way to give birth to her blessed Child.

“We owed a debt. I judged our assistance appropriate repayment.” How Papa managed to keep his tone mild and return the bishop’s stare without looking away, Emma couldn’t imagine. A spark of pride in her father flickered to life, but she squelched it immediately. Such feelings were surely sinful because they were clearly at odds with their church leader.

Bishop Miller’s eyebrows edged upward until they disappeared beneath his hat brim. Behind him, Amos shuffled his feet and inspected the wagon wheel carefully.

“I think it will be best to continue this conversation later in private,” said the bishop. “Amos and I have business here in the morning, and then we will return home. Jonas, I will pay a visit to your farm on Tuesday.”

His eyes moved as his gaze swept the group. Though she kept her eyes downcast, Emma felt the weight of his stare when it rested on her. She did her best to remain stiffly erect and not flinch. With a final sad shake of his head, Bishop Miller headed in the direction of the town.

Before he followed, Amos sidled up to Emma. “I’m glad you’re coming home to Apple Grove.”

She couldn’t force herself to return his gaze but merely nodded mutely.

“We will talk later. Yes?”

She managed another nod, though as far as she was concerned there was nothing unsaid between them. Now that she’d seen him again, her resolve was stronger than ever. She would
not
become Mrs. Amos Beiler.

Left alone, no one spoke. The Switzers stood in silent commiseration, each one bearing the weight of disapproval. Emma knew the fault lay entirely with her. She had pushed Papa to help Luke, convinced him that their duty was to lend aid to the one who had aided them. Would they be disciplined, perhaps even rejected, by their Amish neighbors? She couldn’t bear being responsible for that.

Jesse’s voice interrupted the gloomy silence from the other side of the hutch. “Sounds like somebody slipped a burr under his saddle. Don’t any of you
Aim
-ish people have a sense of humor?”

His observation acted like a tonic. Papa’s stiff posture relaxed. Emma raised her head in time to see him spare a small smile toward the wagon.

“We opt, instead, to teach our children manners.”
Maummi
addressed her scold toward the wagon. “Respecting one’s privacy is the first lesson they learn.”

“Hard not to overhear with all that shouting going on a few feet away.”

Because it was impossible to imagine Bishop Miller shouting at anyone, Emma couldn’t help smiling.

“Can somebody give me a hand down from this wagon? I’d kind of like to head into town.”

“Not until we find the doctor.”
Maummi
’s tone brooked no argument as she marched toward the back of the wagon. “Jonas, will you see to it? Find one who has not spent the day in a saloon, if such a thing is possible in this rowdy
Englisch
town.”

“I will send the doctor to you and then find a place to spend the night,” Papa said. “Perhaps in the morning we will travel back to Apple Grove in the company of the bishop. We can pass the hours on the road in prayer and conversation.”

As she watched him head for the town center, Emma’s spirits plummeted even further. No doubt Papa would insist on riding in the bishop’s buggy so they could converse privately. The time would be spent in defending their actions and convincing Bishop Miller of the Switzer family’s devotion to their district and the
Ordnung
. She had no doubt that Papa would succeed in the end. But of course that meant the entire journey would be spent with Amos on the wagon bench beside her.

And Luke would stay behind in Hays.

A sudden fierce desire arose in her. When Papa returned, he would shepherd them into town and hover over them with the vigilance of a sheriff guarding a prisoner. He would linger near and purposefully thwart her attempt to speak privately with Luke. Her gaze sought him and found him easily, riding in the saddle above the moving mass of cattle. This might be her last opportunity.

Though Sugarfoot waited nearby, saddled and ready, she didn’t dare mount the horse. Forgiveness might be granted for her riding thus far, but if she expressly disobeyed the bishop mere minutes after his reprimand, she would be disciplined for sure. Her gaze scanned the stockyard. A wide aisle lay between each long row of pens. As the cattle streamed down the aisle to fill each row, Luke moved his sentinel position forward, a guiding figure that served as the end point for the cattle’s journey. If she skirted around the edge of the herd in Papa’s footsteps, she could cross the street and approach Luke from the already filled pens behind him.

When Papa’s hat disappeared in the crowd of townspeople, she started after him.

Rebecca’s voice stopped her. “Where are you going?”

With a quick glance toward the hutch, which blocked
Maummi
and Jesse from view, she placed a finger to her lips. “I’m going to speak with Luke. I’ll be back shortly.”

Her sister’s head turned toward the cowboy, and when she looked back at Emma, she wore a wide grin. “I wondered when you would finally get around to talking with him. Are you going to ask him to marry you?”

Shocked, Emma reared back. The idea! “Of course not!” She lowered her voice. “But if
he
happens to bring the subject up…” She returned the grin.

Rebecca giggled and threw her arms around Emma for a quick hug. “I’ll distract
Maummi
.”

Heartened by her sister’s enthusiasm, Emma followed in Papa’s footsteps.

The stocks were only a third full, and the end of the herd had nearly arrived. Cattle pressed close inside each pen, head-to-rump, their sides touching. Cows voiced their confusion, the combined sound so loud they nearly drowned out the shouts of the stockmen. Hugging close to the plank fence on one side, she approached Luke’s position. His attention was focused on his herd and on the cowhands directing cattle through the half-filled aisle in front of him. She came to a halt beside him, her back against the rails, and waited for him to notice her.

When he did, he started visibly. “Emma. What are you doing here? I thought you were with Jonas and your grandmother and… those other Amish men. I figured they must be friends.”

“From our district. The older one is the bishop.” She cut her gaze away for a second. No need to describe Amos.

“Ah. He didn’t look very happy to see you.”

An understatement, but that wasn’t what she wanted to talk about. She glanced around. The stockmen were halfway down the aisle, forcing the stream of cattle into an empty stall. Though she would prefer to sit with Luke face-to-face for this important conversation instead of craning her neck to see him up on his horse, time was short. Papa would return soon, and her chance to talk with Luke would be gone.