The Shepherd's Bride

“Too late for that,” Carl muttered. She had already cost him half a day’s work.

“What am I supposed to do with you now?” Joe demanded.

“I can sleep in the barn if you don’t have room for me in the house.”

She actually looked demure with her hands clasped before her and her eyes downcast. Carl wasn’t fooled. She was tickled pink that she had missed the bus. He half wondered if she had insisted on making those job-hunting stops for just that reason. He had no proof of that, but he wasn’t sure he would put it past her.

Joe sighed heavily. “I guess you can stay in your mother’s old bedroom upstairs, but don’t expect there to be clean sheets on the bed."

Lizzie smiled sweetly. “Danki. I’m not afraid of a little dust. If you really want me to leave, you could hire a driver to take me home.”

Scowling, Joe snapped, “I’m not paying a hired driver to take you back. It would cost a fortune. You will leave on Tuesday. Since you’re here, you might as well cook supper. You can cook, can’t you?”

“Of course.”

He gestured toward the door. “Come on, Carl. Those shearing pens won’t set themselves up.”

She shot Carl a sharp look and then leaned toward Joe. “Daadi, may I speak to you in private?”

Here it comes. She’s going to pressure Joe to get rid of me.

Carl didn’t want to leave. He enjoyed working with the sheep and with Joe. In this place, he had found a small measure of peace that didn’t seem to exist anywhere else in the world. Would Lizzie make trouble for the old man if he allowed Carl to stay on?

Joe waved aside her request. “We’ll speak after supper. My work can’t wait any longer. Carl, did you pick up the mail, at least?”

He shook his head. “I forgot to mention it when we passed your mailbox.”

Joe glared at Lizzie. “That’s what comes of having a distraction around. I’ll go myself.”

“I’ll go get your mail.” Lizzie started to climb back onto the cart, but Joe stopped her.

“The pony has done enough work today. It won’t hurt you to walk to the end of the lane, will it?”

She flushed and stepped away from the cart. “Nee, of course not. Shall I unhitch him and put him away?”

“Put him in the corral to the right of the barn and make sure you rub him down good.”

“I will.”

As she led the pony away, sympathy for her stirred in Carl. Joe wasn’t usually so unkind. “I can take care of the horse, Joe.”

“If she’s going to stay, she’s going to earn her keep while she’s here. I don’t know why she had to come in the first place.” Joe stalked away with a deep frown on his face.

Carl followed him. The two men crossed to the largest shed and went inside. Numerous metal panels were stacked against the far wall. They were used to make pens of various sizes to hold the sheep both prior to shearing and afterward.

They had the first three pens assembled before Joe spoke again. “You think I’m being too hard on her, don’t you?”

“It’s your business and none of mine.”

“What did she have to say on your trip into town and back?”

“Not much. She’s concerned that her sister is being made to marry against her will by their uncle Morris. It’s not the way things are done around here.”

“Nee, but it doesn’t surprise me much. I never cared for Morris. I couldn’t believe it when my daughter wanted to marry into that family. I tried to talk her out of it. I’ve never met a more shiftless lot. The men never worked harder than they had to, but they made sure the women did. In my eyes, they didn’t treat their women with the respect they deserved.”

“What do you mean?”

“They spoke harshly to them. They kept them away from other women. I saw fear in the eyes of Morris’s wife more than once when he got upset with her.”

“Do you believe there was physical abuse?”

“I thought so, but none of them would admit it. Such things weren’t talked about back then. I went so far as to share my misgivings with the bishop. The family didn’t take kindly to my interference.”

“I imagine not.”

“My daughter assured me her husband was a kind man, but I saw the signs. I saw the changes in her over the years. My son-in-law and I had some heated words about it. Then one day, the whole family up and moved away. I never saw them again. My daughter never even wrote to let me know where they had gone. Years later, I got one letter. It was from Morris telling me my Abigail and her husband were dead. He said a truck struck their buggy. Her husband died instantly, but Abigail lingered for another day.”

Joe’s voice tapered off as he struggled with his emotions. Carl had never seen him so upset. After giving the old man a few minutes to compose himself, Carl said, “I’ve never heard of the Amish having arranged marriages.”

“They don’t, but if you dig deep enough in any barrel, you’ll find a few bad apples, even among the Amish. Morris was a bad apple. I don’t know why my girl couldn’t see that, but I was told she lived long enough after the accident to name Morris as guardian of her children. I’m not surprised he thinks he can pick their husbands.”

“So, you aren’t going to help Lizzie?”

Joe shook his head slowly. “I loved my daughter, Carl. I never got over her leaving the way she did, but she was a good mother. I have to ask myself what would she want me to do. Honestly, I think my daughter would want me to stay out of it. Life is not easy for any of us. I don’t want Lizzie to think she can come running to me whenever it seems too hard for her.”

“Do you really think that’s what she’s doing?” Carl asked gently.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

Carl didn’t agree, but then it wasn’t his place to agree or disagree with Joe. It was his place to take care of the sheep.

“What else did she say?” Joe asked. He tried to sound indifferent, but Carl wasn’t fooled.

“She wants to find a job around here.”

Joe nodded but didn’t comment. Carl drew a deep breath. “I had to tell her I’m in the Bann.”

“Ach, that’s none of her business.” Joe kicked a stubborn panel into place and secured it with a length of wire.

“She asked. I couldn’t lie.”

Joe shared a rare, stilted smile. “It would astonish me if you did.”

“Will she go to church services with you on Sunday?”

“Ja, I imagine so.”

“Will my being here cause trouble for you?” He didn’t want to leave, but he would. Joe had been good to him.

“Having her here is causing me trouble.”

“You know what I mean.” Joe could easily find himself shunned by his fellow church members for allowing Carl to work on his farm. The rules were clear about what was permitted and what wasn’t with a shunned person. Joe had been bending the rules for more than two years to give Carl a place to live. A few people in Joe’s church might suspect Carl was ex-Amish, but no one knew it for a fact. Only Lizzie. If she spread that information, it would change everything.

The old man sighed and laid a hand on Carl’s shoulder. “Sohn, I know I’m not a good example. I don’t like most people, but that’s my fault and not theirs. Folks around here are generous and accepting of others. I’ve known Bishop Zook since he was a toddler. He’s a kind and just man. I don’t know your story, Carl, but I’ve come to know you. You seek solitude out among the flocks and in your small hut, but it does not bring you peace. ’Tis plain you carry a heavy burden. If you repent, if you ask forgiveness, it will be granted.”

Carl looked away from the sympathy he didn’t deserve. “Sometimes, forgiveness must be earned.”

Joe’s grip on Carl’s shoulder tightened. “Our Lord Jesus earned it for us all by his death on the cross. However, it’s your life. Live as you must. I’ve never pried and I never will.”

“Thanks, but you didn’t answer my question. Will my staying here cause trouble for you?”

Joe dusted his hands together. “I can handle any trouble my granddaughter tries to make.”

Carl wasn’t as confident.

The evening shadows were growing long by the time they finished setting up the runways and pens. Both men were tired, hot and sweaty, in spite of the cold weather. Carl found he was eager to see how Lizzie was faring. Was she a good cook? Joe wasn’t. Carl managed, but he didn’t enjoy the task.

The two men entered the kitchen and stopped in their tracks. They both looked around in surprise. The clutter had been cleared from the table. The wild heaps of dishes and pans in the sink had been tamed, washed and put away. The blue-and-white-checkered plastic tablecloth was glistening wet, as if she had just finished wiping it down. Even the floor had been swept and mopped. The scuffed old black-and-white linoleum looked better than Carl had ever seen it. There was a lingering scent of pine cleaner in the air, but it was the smell of simmering stew that made his mouth water.

Lizzie stood at the stove with her back to them. “It’s almost done. There’s soap and a fresh towel at the sink for you.”

She turned toward them and used her forearm to sweep back a few locks of bright red hair that had escaped from beneath her black kapp. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the oven. Carl was struck once again by how pretty she was and how natural she looked in Joe’s kitchen.

If the aroma was anything to go by, this might be the best meal he’d had in months. His stomach growled in anticipation, but he didn’t move. The arrangement he and Joe shared might be different now that Lizzie was with them. He locked eyes with Joe and waited for a sign from him.

* * *

Lizzie wasn’t sure how to proceed. She’d never fixed a meal for a shunned person. If Carl sat at the table, she would have to eat standing at the counter or in the other room. Eating at the same table with someone in the Bann was forbidden. Had her grandfather been breaking the Ordnung by eating with Carl? If so, it was her solemn duty to inform his bishop of such an infraction. She quailed at the thought. Such a move on her part would ruin any chance of bringing her sisters to live with him.

She watched as her grandfather went to the sink beneath the window and washed the grime off his hands. He used the towel she’d placed there and left it lying on the counter so that Carl could use it, too.

Her daadi stepped to the table, moved aside one of the benches and flipped back the tablecloth. Puzzled, Lizzie wondered what he was doing. Then she saw it wasn’t one large kitchen table. It was two smaller ones that had been pushed together. He pulled the tables a few inches apart, smoothed the cloth back into place and returned the bench to its original place.

She relaxed with relief. Her grandfather hadn’t broken the Ordnung. It appeared that he and Carl maintained the separation dictated by the Amish faith even when no one was around.

She caught Carl’s quick glance before he looked away. He said, “Is this arrangement suitable, or should I eat outside?”

He was trying to look as if it didn’t matter, but she could tell that it did.

“If my grandfather feels this is acceptable, then it is.” It was his home, and he had to follow the rules of his congregation. It wouldn’t have been acceptable in her uncle’s home. Her uncle wouldn’t have allowed Carl inside the house. Her uncle expounded often about the dangers of associating with unclean people.

Joe took his place at the head of the table. Lizzie dished stew into a bowl and placed it in front of him. She dished up a second bowl and gave Carl a sympathetic look before she left it on the counter. She took a plate of golden-brown biscuits from the oven and set it on the table, too.

Carl washed up and carried his bowl to his table opposite her grandfather.

Lizzie got her own bowl and took a seat at her grandfather’s left-hand side. When she was settled, he bowed his head and silently gave thanks to God for the meal. From the corner of her eye, she saw Carl bow his head, too.

What had he done that made him an outsider among them, and why was her grandfather risking being shunned himself by having him around?

The meal progressed in silence. Lizzie didn’t mind; it was normal at her uncle’s home, too. She and her sisters saved their conversations until they were getting ready for bed at night.

The unexpected weight of loneliness forced her spirits lower. She missed her sisters more than she thought possible. Tonight, she would be alone for the first time in her life. She didn’t count her night on the bus, for she hadn’t been alone for a minute on that horrible ride. She thought she was hungry, but her appetite ebbed away. She picked at her food and pushed it around in her bowl. A quick glance at her grandfather and Carl showed neither of them noticed. They ate with gusto. Maybe good food would convince them they needed a woman around the house full-time.

A woman, yes, but four women?

There was more than enough work to keep four women busy for months. The place was a mess. All the rooms needed a thorough cleaning. There was years of accumulated dust and cobwebs in every corner of the four bedrooms upstairs, although only one room contained a bed. The others held an accumulation of odds and ends, broken furniture and several plastic tubs filled with baby bottles. She assumed they were for the lambs.

The downstairs wasn’t as bad, but it wasn’t tidy, either.

She was afraid to speculate on the amount of mending that was needed. There was a pile of clothes in a huge laundry hamper beside the wringer washer on a small back porch. The few bits of clothing she had examined were both dirty and in need of repair. It was too bad that one of her days here was a Sunday. She wouldn’t be able to engage in anything but the most necessary work on the Sabbath.

She’d simply have to rise early tomorrow and again on Monday and Tuesday mornings to get as much of the washing, mending and cleaning done as she could before her bus left. Her grandfather might not want her here, but she would do all that she could for him before she left, even if she disliked mending with a passion.

It was a shame that Clara hadn’t come with her. Clara loved needlework. Her tiny stitches were much neater than Lizzie could manage. Each of the girls had a special talent. Lizzie liked to cook. Betsy was good with animals. Clara, like their mother, enjoyed sewing, quilting and knitting. Greta avoided housework whenever she could. She enjoyed being outside tending the orchard and the gardens.

Just thinking about them made a deep sadness settle in Lizzie’s soul. She had failed miserably to help them thus far, but the good Lord had given her more time. She wouldn’t waste it feeling sorry for herself.

She smiled at her grandfather. “I hope you like the stew. I do enjoy cooking. I couldn’t help noticing your garden hasn’t been prepared for spring planting yet. It’s nearly time to get peas and potatoes planted. My sister Greta would be itching to spade up the dirt. The Lord blessed her with a green thumb for sure.”

Her grandfather ran his last bite of biscuit around the rim of his bowl to sop up any traces of gravy. “The planting will get done after the lambing.”

“Of course. You probably know there’s barely any preserved food left in the cellar. I used the last of the canned beef and carrots for tonight’s meal. There will be only canned chicken for the next meals unless you can provide me with something fresh or allow me to go into town and purchase more food. What a shame it is to see an Amish cellar bare. At home, my sisters and I have hundreds of jars of meat, corn and vegetables. Do you like beets, Daadi?”

“Not particularly.”

“I like snap peas better myself.” She fell silent.

“There are plenty of eggs in the henhouse. We men know how to make do.”

There had to be a way to convince him of her usefulness. Perhaps after he saw the results of her hard work over the next several days he would agree to let her stay.

Joe pushed his empty bowl away and brushed biscuit crumbs from his beard and vest. “You’re a goot cook, I’ll give you that.”

“A mighty good cook. Thank you for the meal,” Carl added.

“You’re welcome.” She wasn’t used to being thanked for doing something that was her normal responsibility.

Her grandfather swallowed the last swig of his coffee and set the cup in his bowl. “I reckon it’s time to start moving the flocks closer to the barns.”

Carl nodded. “I can put the rams and the first of the ewes in the barn tomorrow in separate pens.”

“No point penning them inside just yet. Monday will be soon enough. Shearing can start on Tuesday.”

Lizzie brightened. Perhaps the sheep held the key to proving her usefulness. “Can I help with that? I’d love to learn more about sheep and about shearing them.”

Joe huffed in disgust. “If you don’t know sheep, you’ll be no use to me.”

She looked at Carl. He didn’t say anything. She was foolish to hope for help in that direction. Suddenly, she remembered the mail she had collected earlier. There had been a letter for him. She went into the living room and returned with her grandfather’s copy of the local newspaper and an envelope for Carl.

Her grandfather’s eyes brighten. “Ach, my newspaper. Danki. I like reading it after supper.”

She turned to Carl and held the letter toward him. “This came for you.”

When he didn’t take it, she laid it on the corner of the table and resumed her seat.

Rising to his feet, Carl picked up the letter, glanced at it and then carried his empty bowl to the sink. Turning to the stove, he lifted the lid on the firebox and dropped the letter in unopened. He left the house without another word.

After the screen door banged shut behind him, Lizzie gathered the rest of the dishes and carried them to the sink. She stared out the window at his retreating back as he walked toward the barn and the pasture gate beyond.

His dog came bounding across the yard and danced around him, seeking attention. He paused long enough to bend and pat the animal. Straightening, he glanced back once at the house before he walked on.

What had he done to cut himself off from his family, his friends and from his Amish faith? Why burn an unopened letter? Why live such a lonely life with only a dog and an old man for company? Carl King was an intriguing man. The longer she was around him, the more she wanted to uncover the answers about him.

“Out with your questions before you choke on them,” her grandfather said, still seated at the table.

“I don’t know what you mean.” She began filling the sink with water.

“Ja, you do. You want to know about Carl.”

She couldn’t very well deny it when she was bursting with curiosity about the man. She shut off the water and faced her grandfather. “I don’t understand how you can do business with him. It is forbidden.”

“I do no business with him.” He opened his paper and began to read.

She took a step toward him in disbelief and propped both hands on her hips. “How can you say that? He works for you. He’s your hired man.”

“I did not hire Carl. He works here because he wishes to do so. He lives in an empty hut on my property. He pays no rent, so I am neither landlord nor employer.”

“You mean he works for nothing?”

Folding his paper in exasperation, he said, “Each year, when the lambs are sold, I leave one third of my profits here on the kitchen table, and I go to bed. In the morning, the money is always gone.”

“So you do pay him?”

“I have never asked if he’s the one who takes the money.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Don’t you think that is splitting hairs?”

“No doubt some people will say it is.”

“Aren’t you worried that you may be shunned for his continued presence here?”

He leaned back in his chair. “What would you have me do?”

“You must tell him that unless he repents, he must leave. What has he done to make all your church avoid him?”

“I have no idea.”

“But all members of the church must agree to the shunning. How can you not know the reason? It is not a thing that is done lightly or in secret.”

“In all my years, I have seen it done only a handful of times. It was very sad and distressful for those involved. Carl is not from around here. He has not been shunned by my congregation. I would not have known he was anything but an Englisch fellow in need of a meal and a bed if he hadn’t told me. It seems to me that he holds our beliefs in high regard.”

“Then for him to remain separated from the church is doubly wrong, and all the more reason to send him away.”

Her grandfather let his chair down and leaned forward with his hands clasped on the table. “Child, why do we shun someone?”

“Because they have broken their vows to God and to the church by refusing to follow the Ordnung.”

“You have missed the meaning of my question. What is the purpose of shunning an individual?”

“To make them see the error of their ways.”

“That is true, but you have not mentioned the most important part. It is not to punish them. Shunning is done out of love for that person so that they may see what it is to be cut off from God and God’s family by their sin. It is a difficult thing to do, to care for someone and yet turn away from them.”

“But if they don’t repent, we must turn away so that we do not share in that sin.”

“If I give aid to a sinner, does that make me one?”

“Of course not. We are commanded to care for those in need, be they family or stranger.”

“As the Good Samaritan did in the parable told by our Lord.”

She could see where his questions were leading. “Ja, if you have given aid to Carl, that is as it should be.”

A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “I’m glad you approve. The first time I met Carl, I discovered him sleeping in my barn. It had rained like mad in the night. His clothes were ragged and damp. They hung on his thin frame like a scarecrow’s outfit. Everything he owned in the world he was wearing or had rolled up in a pack he was using as a pillow, except for a skinny puppy that lay beside him.

“Carl immediately got up, apologized for trespassing and said he was leaving. I offered him a meal. He declined, but said he would be grateful if I could spare something for the dog.”

Lizzie’s heart twisted with pity for Carl. To be homeless and alone was no easy thing. “I assume you fed the dog?”

“I told Carl I had a little bacon I could fry up for the pup. I coaxed them both into the house and fried enough for all of us. I put a plate on the floor and that little Duncan gobbled it up before I got my hand out of the way. Bacon is still his favorite food. When I put two plates on the table was when Carl told me he could not eat with me.”

“At least he was honest about it.”

“If you had seen the look in that young man’s eyes, you would know, as I do, that he cares deeply about our faith. He was starving, but he was willing to forgo food in order to keep me from unknowingly breaking the laws of our church.”

“Yet, he never told you why he had been placed in the Bann?”

“Nee, he has not, and I do not ask. I told him I had an empty hut he could use for as long as he wanted. His dog took naturally to working the sheep and so did Carl. He has a tender heart for animals.”

“What you did was a great kindness, Daadi, but Carl no longer requires physical aid.”

“True. The man is neither hungry nor homeless, but his great wound is not yet healed. That’s why I have not turned him away.”

She scowled. “I saw no evidence of an injury.”

Her grandfather shook his head sadly. “Then you have not looked into his eyes as I have done. Carl has a grave wound inside. Something in his past lies heavy on his mind and on his heart. My instincts tell me he will find his way back to God and to our faith when he has had time to heal. Then there will be great rejoicing in heaven and on earth.”

Maybe she came by her daydreaming naturally, after all. “If it happens.”

Her grandfather sighed, rose from his chair and headed toward his bedroom. Before he closed the door, he turned back to her. “It will happen. It’s a shame you won’t be here to see it when it does.”