I’ve arrived at the husband orchard.”
“The husband orchard. How cute. It should be the title of a book. I’d read it. Oh, that’s very clever.”
It hadn’t taken Helen long to realize her aunt was an avid reader. Her living room held stacks of dog-lover magazines and heaps of novels, from an extensive collection of the classics to some popular romance stories the bishop might raise an eyebrow at if he knew she had them.
Charlotte chuckled and looked at her dog. “Isn’t Helen a clever girl, Clyde?”
He took it as an invitation to climb into his mistress’s lap. Helen used the opportunity to grab her damp shoe.
“Not now, Clyde, I’m driving.” Charlotte pushed him aside. Helen quickly drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them to give the hound more room to spread out on the floorboards. He locked gazes with her but didn’t test her patience by trying to climb in her lap. Instead, he started barking at the roof. Scrabbling overhead accompanied by a chittering sound proved her aunt’s pet raccoon was still safely riding atop the buggy.
“Did we have to bring Juliet?”
“Her feelings would be hurt if I took Clyde along and didn’t take her.”
“We could have left them both at home.” The buggy rolled into the dark interior of the bridge. The horse’s hoofbeats echoed back from the rafters. Helen stared through the slatted sides at the Bowman house on the hillside across the river. She could see tables had been set up on the lawn, and groups of people were already gathered there.
“Honestly, Helen, I don’t think you like my little friends. Please remember they had made their home with me long before you arrived, and they’ll be with me long after you have gone back to Indiana.”
“I’m not going back to Indiana.” Helen had no idea where she was going, but she would make her own way in the world. As soon as she found the means to support herself.
Charlotte’s brow wrinkled with concern. “You are welcome to reside with me for the summer, but you never said anything about staying permanently.”
“Don’t worry. You won’t be burdened with me for long.”
“That’s the spirit. Things will work out for you and your sister. You’ll see. Oh, Clyde won’t be happy until he can look out the windshield. Helen, take the reins.”
Helen grabbed for the lines her aunt dropped as she scooted over to make room for her dog. The horse veered sharply to the right as they came out of the dark bridge into the bright sunlight. A man standing on the edge of the roadway was forced to jump backward to avoid being run down.
Helen managed to stop the horse. Clyde, now taking up more than his fair share of the front seat, started barking wildly. Helen leaned out the door to look back to see if the man was injured. He appeared unharmed as he got to his feet. “I’m sorry,” she called out.
Her breath caught in her throat. The man picking his hat up off the road was the fellow from the bus. She knew by the way his eyes widened that he recognized her, too. His brows snapped together in a fierce frown. “If you can’t drive any better than that, you should give the reins to the dog,” he shouted at her.
Of all the nerve. As much as Helen wanted to tell him exactly what she thought of his rudeness, she held her tongue for her aunt’s sake. It wouldn’t do to start her time in Bowmans Crossing by embarrassing Charlotte in front of her friends, for several women were walking along the roadway with hampers and baskets over their arms. The women all waved or called a greeting to Helen’s aunt. Charlotte waved Clyde’s front paw at them. Helen slapped the reins on the horse’s rump, and the mare trotted forward.
“Who was that rude man?” she asked, glancing in her rearview mirror.
Charlotte turned to look behind them. “The one standing by the bridge? That’s Mark Bowman. The nephew. He has a girl back home. I admit he’s a nice-looking young man with those striking green eyes, but handsome is as handsome is.”
“As handsome does,” Helen said, glancing back again. He wasn’t bad-looking, but she didn’t think he was particularly good-looking. Okay, maybe he was mildly attractive.
“As handsome does what, dear?”
Helen took note of her aunt’s faintly puzzled expression and sighed inwardly. She’d only been at her aunt’s home for two days, but it was already shaping up to be a trial. “Never mind.”
“You’d do better to try and attract the attention of the younger brother, Paul, although Anna tells me Mark is the more hardworking of the two.”
“I’m not here to attract a man.” She wouldn’t make that mistake again anytime soon. If ever. And certainly not with a rude, arrogant fellow like Mark Bowman or his brother.
* * *
Mark raked a hand through his hair as he stared after the buggy. That had been a close call. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with thoughts of Angela’s letter, he might have seen the horse veering his way sooner. It wasn’t like him to be distracted. He grew angry with himself for allowing it to happen.
“Are you all right?” His brother, Paul, came up the steep bank, his eyes full of concern. His cousin Noah rushed up behind Paul.
“I thought you were going to be wearing hoofprints up the front of your shirt. Who was that?” Paul demanded.
“Charlotte Zook,” Noah said. “I recognized the raccoon on her roof. The woman is a little ab en kopp.”
Mark shook his head. “Charlotte may be off in the head, but she wasn’t driving. I don’t know the woman’s name, but I saw her get off the bus when I did the other night.” He decided not to share the conversation they’d had.
“Another mystery woman.” Paul craned his neck to see down the road.
“What does that mean?” Mark asked.
Paul grinned. “Haven’t you heard? We’ve got nearly a dozen new single girls visiting folks in the area. They are all unknown to me and waiting to be discovered. Was the girl driving Charlotte’s buggy pretty?”
His brother was always on the lookout for an attractive girl. He was four years younger than Mark, and he hadn’t yet learned that looks didn’t matter. A man needed a steady, strong, levelheaded woman for a helpmate. He thought he had that with Angela, but he had been wrong. “I didn’t notice. I was trying not to get run down. Let’s get this frolic under way.”
The frolic, a word the Amish used for almost any kind of work party, had been called by Mark’s uncle Isaac Bowman to clear a logjam from beneath the covered bridge. The recent rains and flooding had wedged an unusual amount of debris there, which was acting like a dam. Although the county was responsible for maintaining the bridge, the public works department was swamped with other repairs and couldn’t bring in their heavy equipment for another two weeks. With the forecast calling for more rain, flooding could threaten farms and homes on both sides of the river.
Men with chainsaws and teams of horses had been arriving for the past half hour and were now gathering on the roadway. Isaac strode up to Mark and surveyed the men around him.
“I reckon we have all the help we need to get started. I sure appreciate you coming,” Isaac said, addressing the group. “Samuel and I will oversee the men pulling logs free and getting them up to the roadway. Noah, Paul and Mark will cut and stack the usable wood beside our barn to be divided among our families. The Lord has supplied us with free firewood for the taking. We shouldn’t let it go to waste. My sons Timothy and Luke will flag down vehicles heading for the bridge to warn them we are working here.” Both men he spoke of were wearing their volunteer firefighter jackets and pants with bright fluorescent yellow banding.
Isaac turned to Mark. “There is more rope in the barn loft. Bring it with you. We may need it.” He turned back to the men. “Are there any questions?”
Everyone