bolt upright. “Nee, sie ist nicht meine frau. She’s not my wife.”
* * *
Lizzie watched a blush burn a fiery red path up Carl’s neck and engulf his face. It was amusing to see such a big man discomforted by a child’s innocent question, but she was more interested in his answer. He had denied that she was his wife in flawless Pennsylvania Dutch, the German dialect language spoken by the Amish.
Carl King might dress and act Englisch, but he had surely been raised Amish to speak the language so well.
He gathered the reins. “You should get back to your game, kids. I have to take this lady to the bus station.”
He set the pony moving again, and a frown replaced the smile he had given so easily to the little girl. Lizzie liked him better when he was smiling.
“Your Pennsylvania Dutch is very good.”
“I get by.”
“Were you raised Amish?”
A muscle twitched in his clenched jaw. “I was.”
“Several of the young men in our community have left before they were baptized, too.”
“I left afterward.”
Lizzie’s eyes widened with shock. That meant he was in the Bann. Why had her grandfather allowed her to travel with him? Her uncle wouldn’t even speak with an excommunicated person. A second later, she realized that she would very likely be placed in the Bann, too. Her uncle would not let her rebellious action go unpunished. She prayed her sisters were not suffering because of her.
She glanced at Carl and noted the tense set of his jaw. The rules of her faith were clear. She could not accept a ride from a shunned person. She was forbidden to do business with him, accept any favor from him or eat at the same table. Her grandfather had placed her in a very awkward situation. “Please stop the cart.”
Carl’s shoulders slumped. “As you wish.”
He pulled the pony to a halt. “It is a long walk. You will miss the bus.”
“Then I must drive. It is permitted for me to give you a lift, but I can’t accept one from you.”
“I know the rules.” He laid down the reins and stepped over the bench seat to sit on the floor of the cart behind her.
She took the reins and slapped them against the pony’s rump to get him moving. He broke into a brisk trot.
“How is it that you work for my grandfather? Has he left the church, too?”
“No.”
“Does he know your circumstance?”
“Of course.”
She grew more confused by the minute. “Surely the members of his congregation must object to his continued association with you.”
“He hasn’t mentioned it if they do.”
She glanced toward him over her shoulder. “But they know, don’t they?”
“You’d have to ask Joe about that.”
As she was on her way to the bus depot, that wasn’t likely to happen. “I would, but I doubt I’ll see him again.” She heard the bitterness in her voice and knew Carl heard it, too.
Her grandfather had made it crystal clear he wasn’t interested in getting to know his granddaughters. His rejection hurt deeply, but she shouldn’t have been surprised by it. To depend on any man’s kindness was asking for heartache.
As the pony trotted along, Lizzie struggled to find forgiveness in her heart. Her grandfather was a man who needed prayers, not her harsh thoughts. She prayed for Carl, too, that he would repent his sins, whatever they were, and find his way back to God. His life must be lonely indeed.
As lonely as Clara’s would be married to a man she didn’t love and without her sisters around her. Lizzie had failed her miserably.
After they had traveled nearly a mile, Lizzie decided she didn’t care to spend the rest of the trip in silence. It left her too much time to think about her failure. Conversation with a shunned person wasn’t strictly forbidden. “Is Joy a relative?”
“A neighbor.”
“She seems like a very sweet child.”
“Yes.”
“Who is Duncan?”
“My dog.”
His curt answers made her think he’d left his good humor back at the schoolyard. She gave up the idea of maintaining a conversation. She drew a deep breath and tried to come up with a new course of action that would save her sisters.
All she could think of was to find a job in town, but she didn’t have enough money to rent a room. She had enough to pay for her bus fare home and that was it. She didn’t even have enough left over to buy something to eat. Her stomach grumbled in protest. She hadn’t eaten in more than a day. Nothing since her last supper at her uncle’s house.
If she returned to his home, she would have to beg forgiveness and endure his chastisement in whatever form he chose. It would most likely be a whipping with his favorite willow cane, but he sometimes chose a leather strap. Stale bread and water for a week was another punishment he enjoyed handing out. She would be blessed if that were his choice. She shivered and pulled her coat tight across her chest.
“Are you cold?” Carl asked.
“A little.” More than a little, she realized. There was a bite to the wind now that they were heading into it. A stubborn March was holding spring at bay.
Carl slipped off his coat and laid it on the seat. “Put this on.”
She shook her head. “I can’t take your coat.”
“You are cold. I’m not.”
She glanced back at him sitting braced against the side of the cart. “Nee, it wouldn’t be right.”
He studied her for a few seconds, then looked away. A dull flush of red stained his cheeks. “It is permitted if you do not take it from my hand.”
“That’s not what I meant. I don’t wish to cause you discomfort.”
“Watching you shiver causes me discomfort.”
It was hard to argue with that logic. She picked up the thick coat and slipped it on. It retained his body heat and felt blissfully warm as she pulled it close. “Danki.”
“You’re welcome.”
They rode in silence for the rest of the way into town. As they drove past the local inn, she turned to him. “I wish to stop here for a few minutes. Since my grandfather won’t help us, I must try to find a job.”
“He told me to take you to the bus station.”
“I’ll only be a few minutes.”
He grudgingly nodded. “A few minutes and then we must go. I have work to do.”
“Danki.” She gave him a bright smile before she unwrapped herself from his coat and jumped down from the cart.
When she entered the inn, she found herself inside a lobby with ceilings that rose two stories above her. On one side of the room, glass shelves displayed an assortment of jams and jellies for sale. On the opposite wall, an impressive stone fireplace soared two stories high and was at least eight feet wide. Made in the old-world fashion using rounded river stones set in mortar, it boasted a massive timber for a mantel. A quilt hanger had been added near the top. A beautiful star quilt hung on display. Two more quilts folded over racks flanked the fireplace.
At the far end of the room was a waist-high counter. A matronly Amish woman stood behind it. Tall and big-boned with gray hair beneath her white kapp, she wore a soft blue dress that matched her eyes. “Good afternoon and willkommen