Two hours later, Thomas came out of the stable with a wheelbarrow full of soiled hay. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he paused to pull out a handkerchief and wipe his face. The sun shone warm on his shoulders and he pushed his hat up on his forehead as he looked toward the house. It was a bit of a relief to have a young woman around for Rue’s sake, but also a little unnerving. They were used to their ways in this house—bachelor men living with one old woman whom they all secretly went out of their way to take care of.
If only this schoolteacher were a little less attractive. He wouldn’t be the only one to notice how beautiful she was. His older brother, Noah, certainly would, and Uncle Amos wasn’t exactly dead yet, either. Except Amos was legally married still, so his days of courting were past.
And yet, it was silly to be feeling competitive over a woman who was clearly uncomfortable with all the untraditional parts to Thomas’s heritage. Englisher convert parents, a mamm who didn’t stay, an Englisher daughter of his own... Thomas wasn’t going to have an easy time of finding a woman—some might see him as a threat to the very fiber of their community.
He dumped the load of soiled hay on the manure pile, and put the wheelbarrow back under the buggy cover where they kept it. The side door opened and Rue appeared on the porch. She stared at him somberly.
Amish kinner helped the adults and learned through chores. Work was how a family bonded, and while looking at her in those Englisher clothes was slightly jarring still, she could help with some little jobs.
“You’re awake now, are you?” Thomas called.
“Patience tricked me into sleeping,” Rue said, leaning against the rails.
“How did she do it?” he asked. Because he might need to use the same “trick” later.
“I don’t remember, but it was a trick,” Rue replied.
Thomas chuckled. “Well, if you’re up now, you could help me with the chickens.”
“I can help?” She perked up at that.
“Yah. Come on, then. We’ll get the eggs. Go ask Mammi for the bucket and bring it out.”
Rue disappeared back into the house and Thomas pulled off his work gloves, slapped them against his leg and tucked them into his back pocket. The screen door opened again, and Rue came out, dragging a blue plastic bucket half as big as she was. Patience held the door for her, letting her do the lugging on her own. He couldn’t help but let his gaze linger on Patience as she smiled down at his daughter.
“Carry it on down to your daet,” Patience said cheerily. “And when you’re done with the chickens, your dress will be finished.”
He dragged his gaze away from her—staring wasn’t appropriate behavior.
“Patience is making a dress, Daddy!” Rue hollered as she thumped the bucket down the stairs. “And it’s pink!”
By the time she got to him, she was breathing hard, and he bent down and picked up the bucket by the handle.
“Pink, you say...?” he said, and he started toward the chicken coop, Rue trotting along next to him.
“I don’t want it,” Rue said.
“I know,” he replied. “But it’s just an extra dress.”
“I don’t need more,” she countered.
The chicken coop was quite large, since Amos wanted his chickens to have space to move about. There was an outside space where they could run and scratch that was portioned off with chicken wire, and then the whitewashed coop where the nesting boxes were.
“Now, you’ve got to watch for the rooster,” Thomas said. “You just stick close to me, and I’ll deal with him.”
“Why?” Rue asked.
“He’s protecting his hens. So he tries to show you that he’s boss. You can’t let him be boss.”
Rue looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Is he naughty?”
“Yah,” he replied. “He’s very naughty.”
“Do you punish him?” Rue asked.
Thomas laughed. “You can’t punish a chicken, Rue. They aren’t very smart. One of these days, we’ll eat him, and then I’ll get a new rooster.”
“You can’t just eat someone for being naughty!” Rue retorted.
“He’s not a someone. He’s a chicken!” Thomas said, stopping short and looking down at her. “That’s where your chicken comes from on your plate, you know.”
“What’s his name?” Rue asked plaintively.
“He doesn’t have a name. He’s a chicken.” Thomas shook his head. Not only was she an Englisher child, but she was an Englisher child raised in the city. “Rue, don’t worry. I won’t let him peck you. He’ll be fine.”
Thomas started toward the coop again, Rue in tow.
“He won’t be fine if you eat him!” she said, tramping along behind him. “I’m going to name him Toby.”
“You can’t name him Toby,” Thomas said, opening the coop door.
“Why not?”
“It’s not an Amish name,” Thomas said. “Besides, we don’t name chickens. It’s very awkward to eat a chicken you named.”
“Daddy, you can’t eat Toby.”
She hadn’t even met the silly bird yet, and she’d grown attached. This was not an argument he’d win, he could tell. “Come on inside, Rue.”
The door shut behind them, and Rue wrinkled her nose at the smell.
“Yah, chickens smell, too,” Thomas said with a low laugh. “Now come on, we’re going to get the eggs and put them in the bucket—but very carefully. We don’t want to break them, okay?”
“Okay...”
For the next few minutes, Thomas took her around to the nests, pushing his hand under the ruffled hens to retrieve eggs. He handed an egg to Rue, and she cautiously put it in the bucket.
“The eggs are warm,” Rue said.
“Yah, they start out that way,” he agreed.
The rooster eyed them with beady, mistrusting eyes. But he knew Thomas well enough that if he came at him with his spurs and beak, he’d get a boot. Later this evening, Thomas would come back and clean out all the wood shavings and put in some fresh ones to make the
