The Protector
Authors: Shelley Shepard Gray
THE PROTECTOR
Families of Honor, Book Two
Shelley Shepard Gray
This book is dedicated with much appreciation to librarians. Thank you for what you do. For people like me, who love to read, a world without a library would be a very lonely place.
Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.
—Hebrews 11:1 (
NIV
)
Share your joys with others. It takes two to be glad.
—Amish Proverb
Contents
Nine years ago
“C
ome on, Ella,” Corrine said, grabbing her mitten-covered hand. “If you walk much slower, we’re going to be the last to arrive.”
“That wouldn’t be a bad thing,” Ella murmured, though she clasped Corinne’s hand and obediently followed her friend down the rocky incline toward Loyal Weaver’s house. “Maybe we don’t even need to go?”
Corrine looked at her like she’d just sprouted two heads. “Of course we do! Loyal invited everyone over for his birthday. It would be rude not to show up.”
Ella pushed the center of her glasses back up on the bridge of her nose and picked up her pace. “Do you really think he meant everyone?” she asked uncertainly. “Maybe he didn’t really mean that.”
After all, through all their years together in school, Loyal had never gone out of his way to be her friend.
“Of course he did.” Corrine squeezed her hand. “Come on, Ella, don’t be so worried. It will be fun. You need to relax and smile more.”
The Weavers’ house was now in view, its white two-story frame looking tall and majestic on the hill in front of them. Scattered across the snowy front lawn were dozens of kids. It looked like Corrine had been exactly right. No one from their school had decided to miss the party.
But that was how it was with Loyal Weaver, she mused. He was the most handsome boy in her grade—maybe even in their school. But what was even more special than his looks was his attitude. Loyal was perpetually happy and chatty. He befriended everyone. It was rare to see him ever standing by himself.
Unlike her.
That had to be what happened when you were an only child, Ella mused. Her parents were naturally reticent and quiet. She was, too. But added to that was the feeling that she was never going to completely fit in like everyone else did. She wasn’t super slim. She had glasses. And she had plain-old brown hair and brown eyes. In short, she was the complete opposite of smiling, golden-haired, blue-eyed Loyal Weaver.
Perhaps that was why she seemed to be the only person in their schoolhouse who didn’t jump at the opportunity to visit him. They had nothing to say to each other.
“Oh, there’s Paul! And Mattie! And Peter, too.” Dropping Ella’s hand, Corrine quickened her pace. “Do you think Peter will want to talk to me today?”
“I’m sure he will.” Corrine was pretty and sweet and had her own share of admirers. Ella smiled. “I bet he’ll walk up to you first thing.”
“Maybe.” Raising her voice, she called out, “Hi, everyone. Sorry we’re late. Have we missed much?”
Mattie ran up to meet them, followed by Peter and Loyal and four others.
“All you’ve missed is Mrs. Weaver passing out hot cider and cookies.”
“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” Corrine smiled at Loyal. “Your
mamm
is a wonderful-
gut
cook.”
“There’s plenty of treats inside, Corrine,” Loyal said. “Go on inside and help yourself.” He grinned. “But first, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to get by Peter. He’s been standing here like an oak, waiting for you to appear.”
The other kids laughed. Beside her Corrine blushed, then was wrapped up in the circle of the group, everyone walking in unison to the house.
Ella slowed. Not a person had acknowledged her. Or said hello. Or was even waiting on her. As usual, it was like she’d never even existed.
Suddenly, she knew she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t walk into the Weaver’s home and sip cider and pretend everyone there wasn’t ignoring her. She didn’t want to stand off to the side, smiling awkwardly, hoping no one would notice how she didn’t have her own group of friends.
But most of all, she didn’t want to look at Loyal Weaver and chance that he’d see her watching him. Thinking how cute he was, how lucky the girl he chose to court would be. Even after all this time, it didn’t even seem like he knew she existed.
She stopped, half waited for someone to call her name. Then, realized she was standing there by herself. Forgotten again.
There was only one thing to do. Ella Hostetler turned around and walked away.
N
o matter how hard she tried, Ella Hostetler found it almost impossible to look away from the white canvas tent that covered the majority of her front yard.
She swallowed. Oh, it wasn’t even
her
yard anymore. It, along with the house, barn, and most of the possessions inside, belonged to other people.
Now she had practically nothing.
“Ella, please don’t stand and stare any longer. Watching you makes my heart break,” Corrine said, her voice turning more troubled by the second. “
Ach
, but I knew I should have made you come over to my house today.”
Corrine was a good friend. Her best friend in the world, next to Dorothy. But even good friends couldn’t make difficult things go away. “I had to be here,” Ella said. “Someone had to stay in case anyone bidding had a question.” She tried to smile. “And it’s not like there was anyone else to take my place.”
Pure dismay entered Corrine’s eyes. “Oh, but you’ve had such a time of it. First your father passed away, then you had to nurse your mother before she passed on, too—all while taking care of the house. All by yourself.”
“I
am
an only child, Corrine.”
“I know. But sometimes, I just feel so bad for you, having to sell everything.”
Privately, Ella felt bad for herself, too. But hearing the doom and gloom in her girlfriend’s voice pushed her to try to sound positive. “It will be a relief to not have so much to take care of,” Ella said, almost believing it to be true. “And the money earned today will guarantee my future.”
“Oh, Ella. You sound like you will never marry. You will.”
“Maybe. Or maybe not. Perhaps I’ll just be like Dorothy. She seems to be doing fine on her own.”
Something flickered in her best friend’s eyes. Was it distaste? Or distrust? “You are not like Dorothy. I’ve never met a crustier woman.”
“She’s not so bad.”
“She’s difficult and bitter. I wish you could have found a different person to move next to.”
“The other half of her duplex was empty. Plus, she’s excited for me to live there. We’re going to work together at the library, you know.”
“I know.” Corrine pursed her lips. “I just can’t help but feel that you’re about to lock yourself away from everyone all over again, Ella. You should be making plans to see more people. To laugh a little. Not work and live next to Dorothy Zook.”
A burst of the auctioneer’s gavel sang through the air, preventing Ella from responding.
Casting another worried look her way, Corrine looped her arm through Ella’s and pulled. “Come on. Let’s go sit down.”
Though Ella let herself be led away from the crowd, she couldn’t help but look over her shoulder. She could feel the knot in her throat expanding, making it almost too hard to continue talking. “I . . . had no idea I had so many things.”
“We all have more than we need,
jah
?”
Ella flinched. Corrine’s words were true . . . to a point. She’d known auctioning off her family’s farm would be difficult. But this was so much more than that.
First her land and the buildings on it had been bought. And now so many others were picking and choosing through what remained of her parents’ lives . . . putting a value on items that to her mother had been priceless.
Her feet slowed as she again couldn’t resist looking over her shoulder. Against her will, tears sprang to her eyes as she watched the auctioneer point to her mother’s pie safe.
Corrine paused, too. Bit her lip as he called out a price. “Ella, what is important are the memories. That is what everyone says.”
“I know,” she murmured, turning away. This was their way, to auction off things of the dead; she did understand the meaning behind it. And the far more practical reasoning: she was not going to need most of these items when she lived in town.
But if only memories were what counted, why was everyone else so eager to snatch up
her
things,
her
memories? And why did it hurt so much to watch them do it?
Corrine interrupted her thoughts. “Like I said, it has to be almost over. After all, Loyal Weaver bought most everything when he bought the land.”
“Yes, he did.” Nearly everything that had been her parents’ was his now. To her dismay, he’d even bought a lot of the furniture. And her horse and buggy.
One day she would surely be thankful for the money in her bank account instead of her mare’s sweet disposition. One day.
Picking up the pace, they moved farther from the tent—and away from the line of horses and buggies and
Englischers
’ cars and trucks.
Away from the life Ella had always known.
They stopped in front of a finely carved bench. Made of weathered oak, the grain had long since been worn to a buttery smooth surface. There was a slight indention near the back, and a nick on the seat where Ella’s father had once foolishly decided to test out his new whittling knife.
“Is right here okay?” Corrine asked.
“It is fine.” Yes, it was almost far enough away. As she scanned the crowd through her glasses, most everyone became a blur. And then she saw Loyal Weaver. The man she’d always been aware of, but who had never noticed her. The man who with one purchase had changed her life.
Though it wasn’t entirely fair, Ella focused all her pain on him. He was the one who’d been the first to arrive. Who had bid on her things with a gleam in his eye. Who had so much money that he’d paid cash for the land.
Just as if he bought other people’s lives all the time.
“I’ve always liked this bench, Ella,” Corrine murmured, claiming her attention again. “Remember how our legs used to swing when we sat here?”
“I remember.” The worn bench had many special memories. It had been her grandmother’s favorite place to sit on spring mornings; and her mother liked to sit and watch the geese fly south for the winter every October.
Ella herself had perched impatiently on it when she’d been looking for the English school bus to stop and pick her up.
And now it was Loyal Weaver’s. And he most likely didn’t even appreciate a bit of what he had.
W
hen the auction was over and the majority of the crowd dispersed, Loyal bit his lip as he watched his older brother Calvin walk through the ancient barn. He touched the walls and the wooden stalls with his fingertips, but seemed to catch hold of every flaw in the structure, every crack in the wood with his eyes. The longer Calvin walked, the deeper his scowl.
After they’d made their way past the stalls and into a pair of rundown, musty tack rooms, Calvin stopped.
“Well?” Loyal asked. There was no sense in beating around the bush. His oldest brother was nothing if not honest. “What do you think?”
“I think it’s terrible.”
“Really?” He’d expected some criticism but not this blunt statement.
“Loyal, it boggles my mind why you bought this place. I don’t want to offend, but, really, there’s no other way to say it. This place is fallin’ apart. Whatever the termites haven’t gotten, a good, strong wind will surely blow over.”
So much for Calvin not wanting to offend! “This barn ain’t so bad.”
“It’s not so good.” After looking around again, Calvin strode out of the tack room. “It’s so dark and cramped in there. Why, I doubt it’s been cleaned out good in ten years.” He shuddered. “Being in there makes me think of rats.”
“I didn’t see more than two,” Loyal said dryly.
“I’m not laughing,
bruder
.” Crossing the dusty, bug-infested ground, Calvin knocked on the wood of one of the stalls. “My word. This here wood sounds completely rotten.”
That would be because it most likely was. “It only needs a little bit of work.”
“For every day, the rest of your life.” His brother pursed his lips, then finally sighed. “I just don’t understand why you chose
this
place, and why now. I know you’ve been wanting to have a place of your own, but I think you were too hasty. Everything here—the barn, the house, even the land—has been neglected for far too long.”
“It has promise.” Irritation coursed through him as he crossed the expanse to where his brother stood tapping the toe of his boot like he had somewhere else he’d rather be. “I’m not afraid of hard work, you know.” When Calvin’s eyes flashed, Loyal braced himself for the next barrage of criticism that was sure to come. “What has you so upset? Are you upset about the money I spent? We agreed it was mine to use how I chose.”
“Of course it was your money. And it’s not that.”
“Then what?” Loyal eyed Calvin, wondering what was going through his brain. Now that he was happily married, had he become complacent? Had he forgotten what it was like to want something of your very own to treasure? To make a mark on?
His brother didn’t disappoint. “I know you’re not afraid of hard work. And I understand your need to carve out a place all your own. But this place is no good. The barn is in disrepair, the fields are poorly maintained, and that house . . .” He shook his head. “That house is almost worthless. There’s nothing of value there.”
Loyal thought differently. The Hostetlers’ land was on fertile soil and had the makings of a mighty nice farm, indeed. All it had lacked were funds and muscle to make repairs and improvements. He had plenty of both.
The former owners had had neither.
For months, rumors had been circulating that Ella would sell the place as soon as her mother went to heaven. Three months ago, she passed on. Ella had kept her promise, and today an auction was held for what remained.
Now he was finally able to step out of his older brother’s shadow.
Almost against his will, Loyal looked across the yard to a lone bench on the driveway. There sat Ella Hostetler.
Plain
Ella
, they’d all called her when they were children.
Ella turned her head as if she’d felt his gaze, or heard his thoughts. She peered right back at him.
Loyal felt his cheeks flush. “I think I should go speak to Ella.”
Calvin grabbed his arm. “Don’t.”
“I have to, Calvin. She’s hurting.”
“Of course she is. She just sold off everything she could.”
Guilt washed over him. “To me.”
“And others.” Lowering his voice, Calvin said earnestly, “Ella’s disappointment is not your fault. If you didn’t spend your hard-earned money on this . . .” He looked around distastefully. “This
place
, someone else would have.”
Loyal jerked his arm away. Why did his older brother never cease to be the voice of authority on every single subject? “You’re making perfect sense, but I have to try to make things better between Ella and me.”
“There is nothing you could say to make things right. At least not today.”
“All I’m going to do is tell her I understand—”
“You understand what? That you’ve now given her the money she needed to move on with her life?” Calvin lowered her voice. “Loyal, I do understand your motives, and I even understand Ella’s pain. But it’s not like she’s been a friend of ours. In school, she never played with the rest of us; she always had her head in a book. And since then, she’s kept to herself.”
Loyal had the sinking suspicion that she would have put a book away if kids had ever invited her to play. Unbidden, a memory rushed forward, of her showing up at his house for his birthday. He’d been so surprised to see her, he hadn’t thought to greet her properly.
Later, he found out that she’d left, not even going inside, because he’d ignored her.
And that had shamed him.
“Let her be,” Calvin whispered again. “If anything, your presence will embarrass her. The folks who haven’t left yet will watch. And then they’ll talk. It’s better just to keep your distance.”
What his brother said made sense. He turned away and went back to inspecting the stalls.
But every so often, Loyal still felt Ella’s gaze on him.
And still felt her pain.