Amish Days: The Runaway: An Amish Romance Story (Hollybrook Amish Romance) Read online

  Mary let out her breath. “That’s the usual plan.”

  “You don’t sound too pleased about it.”

  “It’s not that I’m not pleased, but I don’t see a line of guys hanging about wanting to marry me.”

  “What about that short dude I saw chatting you up after preaching service?”

  “Who? You mean Levi? Ach, I don’t think so. He’s nice enough, but I don’t like him that way.”

  Sally’s eyes narrowed. “And what about Josiah?”

  Mary’s back stiffened. “What about him?”

  “He’s pretty sweet. Wouldn’t mind him myself.” Sally gave a low whistle and laughed. “Course, then, I’d have to become Amish for sure.”

  “Since your mother was Amish, you’re half Amish already.”

  “The smaller half,” Sally said, and laughed again. Then her face grew solemn. “I might, you know.”

  “Might what?”

  “Become Amish. Join the church. You never know.”

  Mary’s brows rose. “Are you serious? You complain about everything all the time.”

  Sally walked back to her bed and flopped on the covers. She grabbed up her phone and resumed thumbing over the screen. “You never know,” she repeated. Her dark hair fell around her face, making the perfect barrier to hide behind.

  Mary tucked a loose blond curl under her kapp and straightened the bobby pin holding it in place. She stared at her cousin, now intent on her phone as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

  “I’m going to talk to Dat,” Mary said. She left the room praying that her dat would be in a generous mood.

  ****

  Benjamin Lehman was in the barn, working with Jack on the plow blades. He looked up when she entered.

  “Well, our Mary, how was supper at Hope’s? How is Abram getting along?”

  “They’re fine, Dat. It was nice.”

  She glanced at Jack. His dark gaze flicked up for a moment, and then he bent his head again to run a sharpener over the steel blade. His winter jacket hung open, revealing a loose-hanging T-shirt with the words Skate emblazoned in jagged black across the front. His hay-colored hair spiked around his head in total disarray. Every movement shouted Stay Away as his shoulders hunkered down. Jack reminded Mary of the snails who slithered over rocks during the summer, safely tucked inside their shells.

  She focused on her father. “I’m going to take over Hope’s pie-baking for a spell.”

  Dat abruptly straightened to his full posture. He put down a wrench and wiped greasy hands over the rag tucked beneath his suspender.

  “Do say? Hope not feeling well?”

  Mary’s mouth dropped open. Was Hope feeling well? In her frenzy to explain her goat plan, she’d completely forgotten to follow up on Abram’s innuendo. Was Hope in the family way? Was a little boppli in their future? How could it have slipped her mind so easily?

  Dat waited for her answer.

  “Hope’s fine. But I need the money for a project I’d like to begin.”

  “A project? What kind of project?”

  Jack’s hands went still, and he stared at Mary.

  Mary plunged on. “I think we should raise goats for milk and cheese.” At Dat’s stupefied look, she rushed ahead. “Don’t worry. I know how busy you are. I’d like to do it myself. I mean, well, what I meant to say is, I’d do all the work with the goats. I’d have to rely on your wisdom, of course, for the business part. But I think we could make a go of it.”

  She took a deep breath and watched her father’s face. His brows rumpled into a frown, and she recognized his look of concentration. He was weighing it, which meant he hadn’t dismissed it out of hand. She leaned forward, nearly on tiptoe.

  “We do well enough with the crops,” he finally said.

  Her breath came out in a gush. “Jah, I know, Dat. But I thought this might be something good. Something to help bring in money and also be a service to the community. As it stands, we have to ride quite a spell to get goat cheese and milk. And we could start small. Very small. I thought, if you agree, we could start with two does.”

  Dat took a step closer to his middle daughter. “You’ve thought this through, have you? We don’t know the first thing about goats.”

  “But I do. I’ve been studying up. Please, Dat, we’d start small. And not till after the holidays, closer to spring.”

  He narrowed his eyes and studied her.

  She rushed on. “I’d need a pen built, and a milking platform. But that’s not much, and there’s room inside the barn when the weather’s too cold for the goats. Of course, I wouldn’t have to worry about that till the following winter. I’ll earn money to build the pen. I will. What do you think?”

  “Pie-baking makes more sense. You can earn money with that.”

  “But I’m only making pies till I earn enough money for the pen.” She didn’t want to add that she hated making pies—that her efforts always fell short of her expectations.

  Dat stroked his long graying beard giving Mary further hope. She knew he only stroked his beard when he was inclined to agree to something. After a long moment, he gave a gruff nod. “Might be workable. I suppose I could spare Jack for a while, and he could help build that pen.”

  Jack stood tall for his fourteen years, and he’d risen to his full height now. Anger hovered in his eyes, and his face darkened. His glower seemed to accuse Mary of something. He opened his mouth, and Mary cringed, expecting him to counter her dat’s request. But the rejection never came. Instead, he blinked twice, a muscle in his jaw twitched, and he bent back down to continue his steady scraping over the plow blade.

  “You’ll need to earn the money first,” Dat said.

  “I know. Thank you!” Mary gave her father a quick hug, surprising both of them, as no one in the family was much of a hugger but Ann. Mary ignored the flash of warning she saw in Jack’s scowl and dashed from the barn to find her mamm and Aunt Ruth. Her feet padded across the packed dirt and then over the stiff frozen grass. She offered up a prayer of thanks, forgetting about Jack entirely.

  ****

  Mary pounded the pie dough, rolled it out into large circles, and placed each circle in a waiting tin. She floured her fingers and crimped the edges. Then she stirred and baked the fillings. She didn’t have Hope’s skill, so it took her a considerable amount of time to make the daily portion of pastries.

  Mamm and Aunt Ruth were none too happy. More than once, Mamm gave a pointed sigh and helped Mary with her work. Mary was grateful and tried to be especially pleasant and agreeable with everything else—which didn’t always come easy. But as the weeks passed, Mary earned enough to buy fencing supplies. She asked Jack to go with her to pick them up, and he agreed with a reluctant scowl on his face.

  They hitched Chocolate to the wagon and bundled up for the cold ride. Jack brooded next to her on the creaking wooden seat, his cheeks red with the cold.

  “Thanks for helping me.” Mary said and slapped the reins lightly on Chocolate’s back.

  Jack looked at her. “Not much choice.”

  Mary drew in a deep breath, and the cold air bit its way into her lungs. “Well, thanks nevertheless.”

  He grunted in reply.

  “Why are you so mad anyway? In fact, why are you always so mad?”

  His eyes blazed with irritation. “Do I need a reason?” His voice was harsh, and Mary shrank back with surprise.

  “Ach, well, forgive me for being interested,” she countered, trying to gain back her equilibrium. She’d never heard him use such an acid tone. She eyed him and then regretted her churlish reaction.

  “I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean to be rude.” When he didn’t respond, she continued, “If you ever want to talk with someone, you know, besides your sister, you can talk to me.”

  Still nothing.

  She tried again. “I know you used to talk to Hope a bit.”

  “But you’re not Hope, are you?” His cold brown eyes glowered at her.

  “That I’m no
t,” she managed to reply through stiff lips. She put her attention on Chocolate, telling herself that Jack was hurting, and she just happened to be in the way.

  A frigid breeze blew against them from the west, and Mary hunkered further down into the quilt wrapped around her shoulders. She should have taken the time to heat up some bricks to put on the floorboard. At least then their feet would have been warm.

  Halfway to the lumber yard, Mary turned to Jack and with careful kindness said, “Maybe we can get started with the building on Monday morning. Mamm will probably let me out of laundry duty.”

  Jack didn’t move.

  “What do you say?” Mary urged, giving him a wide smile.

  He inhaled deeply. “Maybe. Have some more work to do in the barn.”

  “I know you’ve been busy. But I do need you. I’ll plan on it, okay?”

  His head moved, and Mary took it as agreement. Jack was notoriously quiet. Truth be told, he hadn’t spoken much to anyone since moving in—civil tone or not. Ann could get him to talk. And, of course, Hope could. But Mary was tired of counting on Hope for everything. She glanced at Jack again out of the corner of her eye. Perhaps she wasn’t trying hard enough.

  She put another smile on her face even though the cold air made her skin feel like it would crack. “Jack, tell me about the plow. Dat said you helped him sharpen it and get it ready for spring. What all did you do?”

  Jack’s brow drew together, and his frown deepened. He looked at her askance. “I sharpened it.”

  And that was it. Mary could see he wasn’t going to enlighten her further. They continued their journey to the lumber yard in complete silence.

  Three

  It was preaching Sunday and the Lambright’s turn to host the service. There was a happy flurry around the house as everyone got ready to go. The community’s church wagon was on its way to pick them up.

  “Ruth, grab the loaves of bread, will you?” Mamm asked as she fastened her heavy wool cape around her neck.

  “Already have them,” Ruth said, emerging from the kitchen carrying two large sacks laden with loaves.

  Ann was on her knees, her nose touching Apple’s. “Now, you be good while I’m gone,” she said. Apple licked her face, and Ann giggled. She turned to Mamm. “Can’t I sneak her under my cape?”

  Mamm pursed her lips and bustled to the door. “Ann Lehman, you know that wouldn’t suit. Now leave your dog be and get outside. I hear the wagon coming.”

  All of them trundled out the door, Dat carrying an armload of quilts. Sally was the first to jump into the open wagon, followed by Jack and Mary and Ann. Dat gave Mamm and Ruth a hand up and then hoisted himself up after them. Hope, Abram, and Josiah were already on board.

  Mary positioned herself in front of Josiah so she wouldn’t have to gaze at his handsome face. His fine cheekbones and strong jaw gave her desires she’d just as soon pretend didn’t exist—and looking at him didn’t help.

  Someone tapped her shoulder, and she tensed.

  “Morning, Mary. You going to the Sunday night singing?”

  Her heart lurched. Was Josiah going to ask if he could escort her home? If he did, that would mean he was interested in her. A happy glow flowed through her heart. And even in the cold, her cheeks grew warm as she twisted around to look into his captivating face.

  “Jah, I usually do.” She swallowed past a lump of excitement, and the fluttering in her stomach grew as she waited for him to speak.

  He broke into an open, friendly grin. “Me, too. Crowd might be smaller though because of the cold.”

  Her answering smile faded. He wasn’t going to ask her at all. “You’re probably right,” she said quickly and swirled back around. A hollow feeling moved through her belly, and she closed her eyes and forced herself to be calm.

  Ann nudged her. “Won’t be long till I can go to the singing,” she said. “I’m almost a teenager.” She poked Jack. “You’re going, aren’t you?”

  Sally was listening in, and she put her arm around her brother with a big squeeze. “Of course, he’s going. Aren’t you Jack?”

  Jack gave his sister a grudging nod and focused back on his hands.

  Mary made herself take slow, even breaths. Her imagination was totally out of control. Josiah would never ask to take her home, and the sooner she accepted that cruel fact, the better. She fixed her thoughts on her goat project—something she could control. Mr. Guterson had introduced her to Nubian goats, and their soft, floppy ears and liquid eyes had enchanted her. At first, when one of them came up and placed his forelegs on her shoulders, she wanted to run screaming. Instead, she froze in place, and the little grinning goat face made her burst into laughter. She knew right then that she had to raise them.

  And she had the money now. All she needed was the pen, the milking platform, and the does. She clasped her hands. She and Jack could get the pen ready the coming week. Then it’d just be a matter of time until she could buy the does.

  The wagon rocked to a stop in front of the Lambright’s house and everyone tumbled out. The Lambrights had a special meeting room inside their home, so they didn’t need to gather in the barn. Considering the cold, Mary was relieved.

  She was used to the long preaching service. The first sermon was always short, but the second could go on for hours. By the time it was over that morning, everyone was more than hungry. The men organized the tables and chairs, and the women set out the food. They were quite a large group and would have to eat the sandwiches, pickled beets, pretzels, cheese, and brownies in shifts.

  Mary spent most of her time with Mamm. She made herself useful, only taking a break to eat and chat a bit with her friend, Josie. She successfully avoided Josiah through the afternoon, which was a relief.

  Before the Sunday evening singing began, basically everyone but the young people had returned to their homes. Mary went in search of Jack, wanting to confirm her plan to get the pen started the following morning. Peering through the Lambright’s living room window, she saw Jack leaning against a post on the front porch. She fetched her cape and joined him outside. The air was crisp and there was a heaviness to the atmosphere that hinted at snow. Mary gazed at the sky. A blurry sliver of moon peeked through the clouds, but no stars were visible.

  “Jack, it’s freezing out here. Don’t you want to come inside?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I’m good.”

  She stood next to him, hugging her cape closer. “I was thinking about the pen. Can we start it tomorrow, do you think?”

  He turned to her and in the soft light from the window, his eyes took on the look of an injured animal. Mary sucked in her breath and touched his arm. “Are you all right?”

  He shook off her arm. “Of course, I’m all right. I told you I’m busy in the barn.”

  Mary blinked at his harsh tone but forged ahead. “I know. But after the noon meal then?”

  “Will you lay off?” he asked, his voice low and tense.

  “Well, I just thought … well, it needs to be done.”

  “Why did you rope me into your stupid plans anyway?” He stepped down the stairs and looked up at her. “I’m not interested.”

  She rushed down the steps to join him and grabbed his arm. “But Dat told you to. You must help me! Please, Jack.”

  Once again, he shook off her grasp. “He’s not my dad. He’s not in charge of me.” He strode off toward the road.

  She hurried after him. “Jack! Where are you going?”

  “None of your business!” he cried, and his voice cut through her. He started running then, gaining speed down the dark road.

  “Jack!” she cried, following him. “Jack!”

  But he was too fast. She continued for a few more yards and then stopped. Shocked, she stood as if transfixed, trying to make out his receding form in the darkness. She thought she saw him turn the opposite way from their farm. Where could he be going? And what was he thinking running off in the dark?

  Was this her fault? Had she pushed him
too hard? She knew he’d been particularly withdrawn for weeks, but she never dreamed he’d do something stupid.

  A smattering of rain landed on her face. It pinged, stinging her, and she realized it was more sleet than rain. She ran a few more paces down the road and tried to spot Jack, but he was gone into the night. She braced herself against a dull ache of foreboding.

  She had to get him and bring him back. It was too cold—way too cold to be out. She rushed back to the house and smacked into Abram’s younger sister, Mercy.

  “Mary!” Mercy cried, her eyes searching. “What are you doing out here? And where’s Jack? I saw him on the porch earlier. I was going to talk to him.”

  “Mercy, can I borrow your bike?”

  “What? In the dark?”

  “Please, Mercy. It will only take a minute. I’ll be back before you know it.” Mary wiped the wet sleet off her cheeks.

  Mercy’s face wrinkled, as if debating whether to agree or not.

  “I can get my dat to help,” Mercy offered. “Are you going after Jack? Where did he take off to?”

  “No need for your dat. Please, Mercy. It will only take a minute.”

  “But it’s getting slippery.”

  “It’s not too bad yet. Please. I could have been back by now! Can I borrow it or not?” Mary’s voice rose.

  “All right.” Mercy ran off to the shed behind the barn. Mary followed, worry mounting in her throat.

  Mercy pulled out her bike. “It’s got a battery light. Don’t know if it works.” She fiddled with the switch and a weak stream of light fell on the patch of gravel outside the shed.

  Mary jumped on the bike. “Thank you, Mercy!” she cried, already pedaling down the drive. She wobbled slightly and worked to keep her speed in check. The ground had turned slippery. But she knew the road well, and how far could Jack have gotten anyway?

  She needed to get him back before anyone else noticed he was gone. She bent her head against the icy rain and scolded herself once again for her sharp tongue. Why had she nagged Jack so? When would she learn to control her mouth?

  With every turn of the bicycle wheel, her dress became heavier. The soggy fabric wound around her legs, making it hard to pedal. The going was slow and the weak light barely lit a few feet in front of her. Strands of icy hair pulled free from her kapp and dripped down her face, making it nearly impossible to see. She should have caught up with Jack by now. Surely, he wasn’t still running at top speed in this storm.