The Heart's Frontier

SIX





Emma stood in the open doorway, a basket slung over her arm, while Rebecca followed Maummi around the small store. The shopkeeper sat on a stool behind a wide counter arranged with a variety of goods, puffing on a pipe. The tangy odor of vinegar from the pickle barrel mingled with the sweet-smelling smoke. Canned goods were stacked in crates along one side, and bins of beans and flour lined the rear wall. While Maummi inspected the store’s assortment of pans and roasting spits, Emma leaned out of the doorway and strained to catch the sound of male voices coming from the nearby blacksmith’s shop.

Luke had certainly surprised her with his news of their wagon, and especially with his generosity. She’d watched closely to see if he treated Papa with any hint of arrogance, and she could detect none. Perhaps she had judged him harshly yesterday.

The low drone of the men’s conversation drifted to her. She was able to identify Papa’s higher-pitched voice from Luke’s low drawl, but she couldn’t make out a single word.

Frustrated, she took a cautious step backward. Her grandmother was so engrossed in searching for bargains on the store’s shelves that maybe she wouldn’t notice if Emma edged away to see how the negotiation was progressing.

“Emma!”

She jerked upright. Though she hadn’t appeared to be watching, Maummi turned a stern glance on her. Disapproval darkened her scowl. “Lift that pan down for me. The one on the hook.” A gnarled finger pointed at a heavy iron skillet hanging perfectly within the old lady’s reach.

Flushing damply beneath her high collar, Emma crossed the floor to comply. The shopkeeper hurried out from behind his counter, his pipe clutched in one hand, and arrived at Maummi’s side a step ahead of her.

“Allow me, ma’am. This here’s a mite heavy for a little thing like you.” He lifted the pan off the hook, and placed it in Maummi’s hands. “A fine piece of cookware. Of course, it needs seasoning, but I expect an experienced cook like yourself knows that.”

“Hmm.” Maummi gave Emma a final warning look and then turned her attention to examining the cookware. She weighed it in her hands. “Not as heavy as mine.”

“Ah, but this one packs lighter for traveling. Besides, it’s the skill of the cook that matters the most, not the weight of the skillet.”

While the two discussed the various features of the frying pan, Rebecca sidestepped toward Emma and spoke in a whisper. “You think he’s handsome, don’t you? Mr. Carson, I mean.” She cast a look toward the door with a grin.

Emma drew herself up. “Of course not. He’s Englisch.”

“Englischers can be handsome too.” She hooked the basket handle over one arm and covered a giggle with her free hand. “That one who rode away with him yesterday was most delightful to look upon. I wonder if he’s married.”

“You shouldn’t say such things, Rebecca.” Emma pitched her voice low and adopted a stern tone. “You shouldn’t even think them. Only think such things about Amish boys.”

Maummi turned her head to spear them with a look and then resumed her conversation with the shopkeeper. Emma sauntered over to the crates stacked on the floor and picked up a tin of peaches. A dent creased one side.

Rebecca followed, her basket clutched in front of her apron. “I’ll bet neither of them are married. I’ve heard those cattle drives take the cowboys away from home for months and months. They would miss their families too much if they had them, so ’tis better not to marry until they are finished with life on the trail.”

Emma was impressed in spite of herself. “Where did you learn that?”

Rebecca shrugged. “I heard Jakob Miller talking to Aaron Zook after church one Sunday.”

Of course twelve-year-old boys would be full of thoughts of cowboys and cattle drives. And thirteen-year-old girls would be full of thoughts of marriage. Emma put the tin back in the crate and selected one without a dent. “I’m sure many cowboys are married.”

Her sister swung the basket from her arm. “I don’t think Mr. Carson is. Otherwise he wouldn’t look at you the way he does.”

Heat crept up Emma’s neck and into her face. Yes, she’d seen the way his gaze strayed toward her. Seen and enjoyed it too, even though enjoying the attentions of an Englischer felt slightly naughty. If Rebecca had noticed, then of course Maummi had. No wonder she hadn’t allowed them to go along with the men to the livery stable.

Emma replaced that can as well and moved toward a stack of tightly wrapped packages, with labels identifying them as dried apples. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Rebecca heaved a forlorn sigh. “Well, I wish his friend had noticed me like that.”

“Rebecca!” She regarded her sister with a shocked stare. Dreams of marriage were one thing, but to voice such a wish about an Englisch man? One of Maummi’s proverbs leaped to mind, and she delivered it in a stern tone. “‘Think only pure thoughts, and purity will guide your life.’”

Rebecca’s eyes rolled toward the ceiling, and she moved away from Emma’s side.

Only pure thoughts? Emma glanced through the doorway in the direction of the blacksmith shop, where Luke Carson and Papa stood bargaining.

If enjoying the attentions of a handsome Englisch man wasn’t pure thinking, perhaps she should heed her own advice.





“Nah, I don’t have any oxen for sale here.” The blacksmith, a huge man with thighs nearly as big around as Bo’s neck, tossed his hammer into the loose sawdust that covered the floor. “I have one mule, but he ain’t for sale.”

Luke tried to keep an I-told-you-so look off his face, but he wasn’t sure he succeeded. He felt bad when he watched Jonas’s confident expression fade to one of dismay. Kind of a shame to see a man disappointed in his beliefs like that.

The smith dusted calloused hands on the thick apron tied around his middle. “But old Weaver has a team of oxen he’s been talking about selling.”

Luke felt his jaw go slack.

An oversized grin spread across Jonas’s face. “The Lord provides for all our needs.”

Had he just been fed a dish of roasted crow by an Amish man? Or did defeat come from a higher source? With a suspicious upward glance, Luke asked the smith, “Where can we find Weaver?”

“His place isn’t far. About two miles south of here.”

From the look on Jonas’s face, Luke knew his next request without being asked. Would he go with Jonas to Weaver’s place? The words were on his tongue to say sorry, but no. He couldn’t keep the herd waiting any longer. Besides, Jesse would rib him for days.

But Jonas’s faith was a lot stronger than his. What if the Lord did want him to help the Switzers, as they said? Who was he to turn away from that? Besides, he’d given his word to help with the bargaining for a pair of oxen if they could be found. A man who went back on his word wasn’t worth steer’s spit.

Resigned, he gestured toward the back of the shop, where he’d glimpsed the livery stable through the open door. “You got a horse we can hire for my friend? We shouldn’t need it for more than a couple of hours.”

“Sure do.” The man untied his apron and hung it on a hook.

When the smith headed for the stable, Jonas placed a hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

“Happy to do it.”

As he spoke the words, Luke realized they weren’t entirely untrue. These folks had a way about them, something appealing in their openness that made him want to help. Well, all except that old woman, but he had the idea she might be sour by nature and not only with him. Of course, being on the receiving end of Emma’s grateful smile was something of a reward in itself.

That thought brought him around to the details of getting the Switzers and, perhaps, their new oxen, out to their wagon. They would need to hire a cart or something to carry the women. A driver would be necessary in order to return the cart and horse to Gorham. All this wouldn’t be cheap. And then there were the provisions.

He hoped Jonas was true to his word about paying him back.

“Why don’t you go on and see about that horse. I’ll go check on how your ma’s coming and let them know our plans.”

The round-brimmed straw hat bobbed up and down as he nodded, and then Jonas followed the blacksmith out the back door in the direction of the stable.

When Luke entered the general store, he found Mrs. Switzer standing before a counter full of cans and packages, chatting with the storekeeper as though they were neighbors. Her pleasant expression took him by surprise. So, maybe it was him she didn’t like.

Emma and Rebecca stood at the far wall, fingering a bolt of fabric. From a side view, he saw that those black dresses weren’t really as shapeless as he’d first thought. True, the white apron added a layer of bulk, but at this angle he had a fine view of Emma’s trim waist, and nothing could hide her soft, womanly curves. When she looked up and caught sight of him, a pretty blush rose on her high cheeks, and she quickly lowered her eyes.

The old woman, on the other hand, didn’t bother to hide a scowl.

“I have good news,” he announced. “The blacksmith told us of some oxen for sale not far from here. Jonas and I are heading over there to see them. We’ll be back as soon as we can, and you should be on your way by early afternoon.”

He sincerely hoped they would all be on their way by then.

“Papa was right!” Rebecca clapped her hands, her eyes dancing. Then she sobered. “I’m sorry, Mr. Carson. I didn’t mean to point out your wrongfulness.”

Emma gasped.

He grinned. “I know enough to admit defeat when I see it, little lady, and I won’t doubt the Lord’s provisions again, especially when claimed by a godly man. But please call me Luke.” His gaze slid to Emma’s. “All of you.”

She turned her back on him to focus on the bolt of fabric again, but not before he caught a smile and the deepening of her blush.

Mrs. Switzer drew in a breath that seemed to inflate her body to double its height. She glanced toward Emma and then speared him with a sharp gaze. “Danki for your help. We’re in your debt, Mr. Carson.”

Her meaning was unmistakable. No familiarities would be welcome from this old woman. And she wouldn’t tolerate any with her granddaughter either.

The shopkeeper, a jovial man with a girth almost as wide as the blacksmith’s, though without the benefit of muscle, gestured toward the goods piled on the counter. “These ladies have made good use of the time and my inventory. Though this one drives a hard bargain, I can tell you that. She’ll rob me of a profit today.” His grin belied his words.

Though he’d like nothing better than to stay and try to tempt another smile from Emma, Luke felt a tug of impatience to get this goodwill task accomplished and get back to his herd. “Keep a careful record, if you will. I’ll settle up when we return. And I’d appreciate it if you can have the goods packed and ready to load so we can be on our way quickly.” Moved by a spontaneous thought, he strode forward and extracted three sticks of candy from a jar on the shelf. “Add these to the total.”

When he handed Rebecca hers, she giggled and dipped in a quick curtsey. “Danki.”

He ducked his head to catch Emma’s eye and held out the treat. She kept her head bowed and partially turned away, but she gave him a brief glimpse of those lovely blue eyes. Her fingers brushed his as she took his offering. Was the contact an accident or on purpose? He decided to believe the latter when she replied with a quiet, “Danki, Luke.”

Rebecca giggled again, and Mrs. Switzer’s scowl gained new depths. When Luke offered her the third stick of candy, her lips pressed together and her nose wrinkled as though it smelled like stinky cheese gone bad.

With a shrug, he stuck the stick candy into his mouth, tipped his hat in her direction, and exited the store.