I hurried to get dressed, shrugged on a black sweater, and trotted across the road. A flatbed truck carrying newly milled timber rolled into the Schmuckers’ driveway and parked near two others. The lumber’s fragrance replaced the smoky stench like a promise of rebirth. A new start.
I shivered in the chilly morning air, even with my sweater and the sunshine. I should have worn a coat, but there was no time to get one now, not when I needed to hustle to the café soon. I had a job to do too.
Hannah came bustling over to tell me that, after much consulting and planning last night, several older men with experience in barn raisings had ordered the wood. They’d prayed, conferred, and chosen the team captains.
By the house, the tables were still set up. A woman I’d met yesterday scrubbed the vinyl tablecloths as several others set out cups, paper plates, and napkins. Both Amish and Englisch women appeared with boxes of donuts and muffins.
A steady stream of buggies, cars, and vans arrived like a river of plenty. Amish men, including Dat and my brother, Reuben, and boys wearing straw hats; Englisch men dressed in T-shirts and sporting baseball caps; men of every size and shape. Most wore tool belts, ready for the task and grinning with expectation. They swarmed to unload the oak timbers and sheets of metal from the flatbed trucks.
The air was soon buzzing as saws cut into the sturdiest logs to be used for beams.
Men heaved the six-by-six beams and posts into place. The first wall was assembled on the ground. With heavy ropes fastened to either side, men surged together, pulled it up, and attached it to the foundation, securing the first wall with massive bolts and nails, hammers banging.
Other walls were soon constructed and put in place. More women arrived with food for the forenoon break at nine.
I spotted Jake, wearing a black T-shirt, jeans, and a baseball cap. The world came to a halt. All noises melded together, and the backs of my knees grew weak. I stood gawking like a pitiful teenager, admiring his agility as he climbed the tallest ladder and then pounded nails with sculpted biceps.
“Evie?” Stephen stood at my side. He wore denim overalls, a plaid shirt, and a tool belt. “You coming to work today at the café?” he asked, and chuckled.
“Oh, dear. What time is it?”
He glanced at his watch. “Only seven. Still early enough to start the soup. Most customers will come over here to watch the barn raising. But they may want coffee and a snack or lunch after a bit.”
“I’m so sorry.” Like a moth to a flame, my gaze returned to Jake. Below him I recognized Bishop Harvey, working alongside a man half his age whose wife might be among the women and praying for his safety.
I watched Jake move with ease and wondered if he adored danger and the thrill of uncertainty. Would he always be drawn to the perilous? And dream of escape? No wonder Harvey wanted us to wait.
And yet here stood Stephen, a stable man of integrity who had already faced his demons. He was humble and put others’ needs before himself. I peered at his ruggedly handsome face. My, he was tall and his shoulders wide. In the morning sunlight, I noticed flecks of bronze in his hazel-brown eyes. And this man had professed he loved me.
What was I doing musing over two men at once? Ach, Stephen was a Mennonite. An Englischer. Suddenly, I hated the word.
I imagined a tranquil life with Stephen. Living with all the modern conveniences I’d been taught were wrong because they dispersed the Amish community. Leaving the Ordnung behind and following only the teachings of the Bible. I wondered what attending Stephen’s church would be like and if I should visit it some Sunday.
When he noticed I was gazing up at him, the corners of his mouth lifted. He shot me an intense look. “Evie, I apologize if I came on too strong, but everything I told you is true. I’d like to pursue a relationship with you. A permanent relationship. Will you give it some thought?”
“Yah.” How could I not? Had he just proposed marriage, or had I misinterpreted his words?
Two Englisch men dressed for a day of labor strode past us.
“I’d better get to work.” Stephen’s glance followed them. “See you later.”
“Okay.” I stared at his departing form as he joined the builders. Much as I wanted to continue watching the barn raising, I forced myself to stride to the café and unlock the front door.
As I entered the café, last night’s living nightmare came to mind. The officer said Ralph would spend the night in jail. Did I want to press charges and bear witness against him in court? No. It was not the Amish way. Yet did I want to follow those stringent rules anymore?
On the kitchen counter sat a large can of cannellini beans—I’d never heard of them before—serving as a paperweight for a recipe for Tuscan vegetable soup written in Beatrice’s bold hand. The chicken broth is in the refrigerator, she’d scrawled at the bottom. It’s facile. Which I hoped meant “easy.”
She came in an hour later and helped prepare for opening. “I needed to walk the dogs.” She winked. “And watch the spectacle across the street.” She made coffee as Sadie and Annie filled the food cases.
A few hours later, the café swelled with hungry customers, all talking about the skilled and brave men constructing the new barn. I figured the workers were resting and enjoying their noontime meal. Mark stopped by and reported the project was going well.
“Any injuries?” I couldn’t help asking.
“Only one young fellow missed the nail and smacked his thumb.” Mark’s voice was upbeat
