The Heart's Frontier

TWO





After three long days on the trail, the jostling wagon had jarred Emma’s body until every muscle ached. She couldn’t bear one more day sitting on the hard wooden bench and took to walking beside the wagon, as Papa did.

The July sun beat down mercilessly from a clear blue sky. A refreshing wind had swept across the prairie only the day before, but today the air gathered like a stagnant pool around her. Oh, how she wished she could shed the heavy black dress and apron the way Papa shed his coat. She glanced to where he walked up at the head of the oxen, at the line of his suspenders fastened to the back of his trousers and up over white-clad shoulders. His shirtsleeves had been rolled up to the elbows, exposing the tanned skin of strong arms. Even that relief from the sweltering heat inside her dress would be welcome, but the Ordnung forbade women to bare their arms in the open.

“I’m hot.” Rebecca’s whine came from the bench behind the oxen. “And the sun is coloring my face. By the time we get to Troyer I shall be beet red. Papa, can I wear one of your hats to shade my face?”

“Ach, what a question.” Maummi straightened in her rocking chair to scold her younger granddaughter. “We’re not three days from home, and already you’re throwing aside the Plain ways. Put on your bonnet, girl.”

“My head will bake inside that black cloth.” If Emma hadn’t been walking near the bench, she wouldn’t have heard the rest of Rebecca’s sullen answer. “When I have my rumspringa, I’ll wear hats if I choose.”

Emma was confident her sister would do that. She hoped Rebecca would find nothing more troublesome to do in Apple Grove than wearing hats during her rumspringa. No doubt that was why Papa insisted that Rebecca return with him while Emma and Maummi stayed in Troyer. The opportunities to get into trouble during her time of running around before she was baptized would be far fewer in Apple Grove than in a larger community.

Emma made a practical suggestion. “Cover your head with a light-colored cloth, like your apron.”

A playful dimple creased Rebecca’s cheek. “You mean like this?” She picked up the skirt of her apron and pulled it up over her face and head.

Emma laughed. “You look like you did when you were little and Maummi hung your favorite blanket out to dry. You’d pull a stool beneath the laundry line and sit with your face and head covered in wet blanket.”

A muffled chuckle came from beneath the white fabric. “A fine fool I’ll look riding into Troyer this way. But at least the sun can’t find me here.”

The sound of horse hooves reached Emma almost at the same moment she saw eight mounted men top a ridge to their left. Alarm zinged along her nerve endings. They looked road weary, and she didn’t spot a single smile among them. Papa saw them too, and he put a hand out to stop the oxen. The wagon rolled to a halt, and Emma stepped closer, her back against the wooden side rails. Maummi’s hand gripped her shoulder, while Rebecca uncovered her head and scrambled over the back of the bench to crouch in the space at Maummi’s feet.

The horses galloped toward them without hesitation. When they arrived, four of the men crossed to the other side of the wagon, and then they all spread out until they formed a menacing circle of horseflesh around them. The expressions of the men were not kindly as they inspected the women and the wagon. Fastened to the sides of their saddles were rifles, and Emma caught a glimpse of a pistol at the belt of the man closest to her. She shrank backward, and Rebecca let out a whimper.

The man in the lead halted his horse near Papa. “Where you headed, mister?”

“My family and I are going to Troyer.”

Admiration for Papa’s calm voice filled Emma. Wasn’t he afraid of these rough men? She couldn’t have forced a single word through her teeth, much less spoken in such an even tone.

The cowboy pushed his hat back off his forehead. “Folks there are some kind of religious sect or something, ain’t they?”

Papa’s straw hat moved up and down with his nod. “We are Plain people. Amish. Troyer is the home of our kin.”

“Is that why you dress in them weird clothes and shave your mustache while your beard grows wild?”

Papa merely nodded again.

The horse in front of Emma skittered sideways, the man on its back staring into the wagon behind her head. “What have you got under that cover?”

Maummi’s grip tightened on her shoulder. Emma raised a hand and covered her fingers.

Papa answered in the same even tone as before. “Household belongings.”

The man jerked a glare back at him. “Any weapons?”

“None. We are a peaceful people.”

“Hey, I’ve heard of the likes of them,” one of the men behind the wagon shouted. “They don’t believe in fighting, even if someone steals from them.”

The leader stared at Papa for a long moment. Then he pulled a revolver from the holster at his side. Emma’s breath caught in her chest and blood pounded in her ears. Please protect Papa, Lord!

The man’s voice held an insult. “Do you mean if I point this here gun at you and tell you I’m meaning to take your wagon, you wouldn’t try to stop me?”

For a moment Papa didn’t answer. Would he defy them? Though part of Emma, an unrighteous part hidden way down inside, wished he would do that, she knew he would not. The Plain people were peaceful. If struck, Papa would turn the other cheek, as was right.

After a long moment during which the cowboy’s eyes narrowed, Papa held himself a little straighter. “We believe and confess that the Lord Jesus has forbidden His disciples and followers all revenge and resistance, and has thereby commanded them not to return evil for evil, nor railing for railing.”

The words came straight from the Amish Confession of Faith. A proud smile curved Emma’s lips.

Papa’s voice then took on a less formal tone. “I will not raise a hand against you, but I will ask, from one man to another, for mercy. My mother is elderly, and my daughters are young. If left to wander the prairies on our own, I fear for their safety.”

The man cocked his head sideways, his lips pursed as he considered. Then he nodded. “No reason to be uncivilized if we don’t have to be, I figure.” He returned his pistol to its holster. When the weapon disappeared, Emma slumped with relief. The man intended to let them go.

He spoke to his men. “Earl, take charge of those oxen. Lester, you and Porter give them your canteens.”

Lester wasn’t happy with his boss’s order. He spat at the ground by Emma’s feet. “What fer?”

“Because I’m being merciful, like the man asked. Now get them women out of our wagon and give them your canteens. And mind your manners, you hear? These ain’t no saloon girls.”

Our wagon. Emma’s heart fell. He was planning to steal their wagon and leave them on the trail with nothing but a couple of canteens. A strange brand of mercy these Englischers practiced.

Lester grumbled as he and another man dismounted and approached the wagon. Emma turned to give her sister a warning glance. Don’t make trouble. Do as they say. Her message reached its mark and Rebecca nodded, and then she allowed herself to be lifted down to the ground by the man’s rough, dirt-encrusted hands.

For a moment Emma feared Maummi wouldn’t be as pliable. The spirited woman’s jaw jutted forward, and her lips gathered into a furious pucker. When Lester held his hands toward her to lift her down, she clasped the arms of her rocking chair with a white-knuckled grip and glared.

“Young man, with his own hands my dearly beloved made this hutch forty years ago. You’ve never see a finer piece of furniture in all your born days.”

A smirk twisted Lester’s lips, revealing a set of crooked, blackened teeth. “I’ll keep that in mind. Ought to bring a good price when I sell it. Or, when the weather turns cold, it’ll make me a good fire to keep my backside warm while I sleep.” His laugh rolled over the plains around them.

A purple-red flush suffused Maummi’s face, and Emma feared for her heart. But after a moment the old woman set her jaw and rose from her chair with the air of one who deigns not to answer a taunt. She allowed herself to be lifted down from the wagon, and when Lester had set her on her feet, she straightened a wrinkle from her apron.

When she accepted the canteen from Lester’s hand, she looked up into his eyes. “I’ll keep you in my prayers, young man.”

Even though their situation was dire, Emma bit back a smile. No doubt the Almighty would get an earful about Lester and the others tonight, and she doubted if Maummi would be praying for their souls.

Emma stood beside Rebecca, Maummi, and Papa off the side of the trail and watched the thieves turn their oxen around to head in the direction they had come. No doubt they were heading for Hays, where they would sell all their possessions. She reviewed the contents of her trunk. Her clothes wouldn’t fetch much of a price, but Maummi’s hutch certainly would. The only other thing she possessed worth anything was—

Tears stung her eyes. Mama’s quilt.

No!

A lump swelled in her throat. A stranger’s hands would finger those beloved stitches and rub across the beautiful squares, the quilt made especially for her, meant to adorn her wedding bed.

It’s wrong to become attached to a possession. The loss of a quilt doesn’t mean a thing. Mama’s love in making it is what matters.

She swallowed back a sob and blinked to clear her eyes in time to see the wagon disappear behind a ridge where the trail curved behind them.

“This is the way of the Englisch.” Papa put a hand across her shoulders in a rare display of affection. “Come, daughter.”

He turned them around with their backs toward their wagon, and they began their march.





Dinnertime had come and gone when Emma spied a settlement up ahead. Rebecca saw it too.

“Look!” She pointed toward the small cluster of buildings nestled in the center of a swell in the surrounding prairie. “It’s a town.”

“Where?” Maummi shielded her eyes with a wrinkled hand. “My eyes are failing me after all the harsh sun. Is it a big town?”

Emma glanced down at her. Maummi’s eyes had started to fail her long before today, but she stubbornly refused spectacles. Not for reason of vanity, Emma was sure. At least, not vanity of looks.

She slipped a supportive arm around her grandmother’s waist. “Not too big, I think.”

“Big enough.” Papa gave a decisive nod. “The Lord has brought us here, and He will provide.”

Papa increased his stride, his eyes scanning the buildings in front of him as he walked ahead. They hurried to keep up with him.

A carefully lettered sign at the edge of the settlement announced that they had arrived in Gorham. Emma had never heard of such a place. The town consisted of one wide path carved through the center of a dozen or so buildings. A cluster of saddled horses were tied to posts in front of a building halfway down the dusty street. Beyond that, at the far end of the settlement, a wagon had been pulled up long-ways near a wide covered porch in front of a general store. A man appeared carrying a crate. He loaded it onto the wagon and then disappeared back inside.

“We will ask for help,” Papa said.

They started in the direction of the store, dust swirling around their feet with every step. Emma inspected her apron. The white cloth was covered with dirt from the trail. Rebecca’s skin had, indeed, turned a rosy red from the sun, and a smear of mud covered one cheek. Emma knew her face appeared no better, as trail dust had mixed with perspiration for the past several hours. A tendril of hair waved free at her temple, and she smoothed it back into place beneath her prayer kapp.

Music drew her attention to the building where the horses stood clustered. A pair of half-length wooden doors swung in a wide doorway. She’d heard a piano once, long ago when she was a child and had traveled to Hays with Mama and Papa. She’d hovered outside a window and peered inside, watching a man bang on a black-and-white keyboard while the air was filled with a magical sound. Like now.

The roar of men’s voices drifted to her from inside. A woman’s laughter tinkled above them. Rebecca drew to a halt, her wide eyes fixed on the doorway.

“It’s a saloon.” An alarming note of awe deepened her whisper.

Maummi stopped to spear her with an outraged look. “Ach! Where did you hear the name of such a place?”

She lifted a hand and pointed at Emma. Maummi rounded on her, hands planted on her hips. Emma nearly took a step backward, but she managed to hold her ground.

“Hearing is not the same as visiting.” A lame defense, to be sure. She couldn’t help adding one mischievous observation. “The music is pretty, don’t you think?”

Maummi placed a hand over her heart and staggered where she stood. “Jonas, this is not a good place for us. My heart hurts. We must leave immediately, lest the evil ways of the Englisch lure our Emma and Rebecca away.”

Above his beard, Papa’s lips twitched as he suppressed a grin. Then, with an effort, he sobered. “The Lord has led us to this place for a purpose. He will send us help—”

The saloon doors swung outward and a body sailed through. Emma jumped back, a hand over her own heart. A man landed at their feet with a gigantic poof of dirt.

When the dust cleared, she stood gaping down into the face of a cowboy, his wet hair plastered to his head.

A grin broke across Papa’s face. “See? The Lord has sent us help.”

Emma searched the dazed face at her feet. Disappointment stole any consolation Papa’s words might have offered.

The Lord might at least have cleaned him up first.