Patricia Davids - The Shepherd's Bride

He didn’t want to involve himself in her troubles. Whatever it was, it was none of his business. He glanced her way and saw a tear slip down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away. She looked forlorn huddled on the seat next to him, like a lost lamb that couldn’t find the flock.

He looked straight ahead. “I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way you wanted with your grandfather.”

“He’s a very uncaring man.”

“Joe is okay.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“He doesn’t cotton to most people.”

“I’m not most people. I’m his flesh and blood. He doesn’t care that his own granddaughter is being forced into marriage with a hateful man.”

Carl looked at her in surprise. “You’re being forced to marry someone not of your choosing?”

“Not me. My sister Clara. Our uncle, my mother’s brother, took us in after our parents died. Onkel Morris is making Clara marry a man more than twice her age.”

“Amish marriages are not arranged. Your sister cannot be compelled to marry against her will.”

“The man who wishes to marry Clara is our landlord and employer. He could turn us all out of his house to starve. My uncle is afraid of him.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“But you are not.” He glanced at her with respect. It had taken a lot of courage for her to travel so far.

“I’m afraid of him, too. Sometimes, I think he enjoys making life miserable for others.” Her voice faded away. She sniffled again.

The pony trotted quickly along the road as Carl pondered Lizzie’s story. He had no way to help her and no words of wisdom to offer. Sometimes, life wasn’t fair.

After a few minutes, she composed herself enough to ask, “Do you know of anyone who might want to hire a maid or a housekeeper?”

“No.” He didn’t go into town unless he had to. He didn’t mingle with people.

“I would take any kind of work.”

“There’s an inn in town. They might know of work for you.”

She managed a watery smile for him. “Danki. Something will turn up.”

She was pretty when she smiled. Although her eyes were red-rimmed now, they were a beautiful hazel color. They shimmered with unshed tears in the afternoon light. Her face, with its oval shape, pale skin and sculpted high cheekbones, gave her a classical beauty, but a spray of freckles across her nose gave her a fresh, wholesome look that appealed to him.

It felt strange to have a woman seated beside him. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed the companionship of anyone other than Joe. Did she know he had been shunned? Joe should have told her. Carl wasn’t sure how to bring up the subject.

He sat stiffly on the seat, making sure he didn’t touch her. If she were unaware of his shunning, he would see that she didn’t inadvertently break the tenets of her faith. The sharp, staccato clip-clop of the pony’s hooves on the blacktop, the creaking of the cart and Lizzie’s occasional sniffles were the only sounds in the awkward silence until he crested the hill. A one-room Amish schoolhouse sat back from the road, and the cheerful sounds of children playing during recess reached him. A game of softball was under way.

One little girl in a blue dress and white kapp waved to him from her place in the outfield. He waved back when he recognized her. Joy Mast immediately dropped her oversize ball glove and ran toward him. He pulled the pony to a stop. Two boys from the other team ran after her.

“Hi, Carl. How is Duncan? Is he with you today?” She reached the cart and hung on to the side to catch her breath.

He relaxed as he grinned at her. He could be himself around Amish children. They hadn’t been baptized and wouldn’t be required to shun him. Joy had Down syndrome. Her father, Caleb Mast, had recently returned to the area and rejoined his Amish family. “Hello, Joy. Duncan is fine, but he is working today moving Joe’s sheep, so he couldn’t come for a visit. Has your father found work?”

“Yes, I mean, ja, at the sawmill. Mrs. Weaver is glad, too, because that silly boy Faron Martin couldn’t keep his mind off his girlfriend long enough to do his work.”

Carl heard a smothered chuckle from Lizzie. He had to smile, too. “I’m not sure your grandmother and Mrs. Weaver want you repeating their conversations.”

“Why not?”

The two boys reached her before Carl could explain. The oldest boy, Jacob Imhoff, spoke first. “Joy, you aren’t supposed to run off without telling someone. You know that.”

She hung her head. “I forgot.”

Joy had a bad habit of wandering off and had frightened her family on several occasions by disappearing without letting anyone know where she was going.

The younger boy, her cousin David, took her hand. “That’s okay. We aren’t mad.”

She peeked at him. “You’re not?”

“Nee.”

She gave him a sheepish smile. “I only wanted to talk to Carl.”

A car buzzed past them on the highway. Jacob patted her shoulder. “We don’t want you to get hit by one of the Englisch cars driving by so fast.”

“This was my fault,” Carl said quickly. “I should have turned into the lane to speak to Joy and not stopped out here on the road.”

Joy stared at him solemnly. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

If only he could gain forgiveness so easily for his past sins. He quickly changed the subject. “How is your puppy, Joy?”

“Pickles is a butterball with legs and a tail. She chews up everything. Mammi is getting mighty tired of it.”

Joy could always make him smile. “Tell your grandmother to give your pup a soupbone to gnaw on. That will keep her sharp little teeth occupied for a few days.”

Joy looked past him at Lizzie. “Is this your wife? She’s pretty.”

He sat 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.”