Emma Miller - The Amish Bride

“Which I don’t. I’m not fickle. When I commit to something or someone, I stick with it.”

Ellen didn’t answer. She felt safer when the conversation was confined to the horse or to other ordinary subjects, but she felt that Micah was straying from the shore into deeper water. She slid over on the seat a little, widening the distance between them so that she could brace her hand on the buggy frame. “Thanks for thinking of driving me in this morning,” she said. “It was kind of you.”

He raised his shoulders and let them fall. “I’m giving my good neighbor a ride to town. It isn’t as if we’re crying the banns for our wedding.”

He was right, and she felt a little foolish for making so much of his showing up in her lane this morning. Slowly, she nodded. “It’s just that it takes some getting used to, thinking of you as a...”

“A suitor?” He smiled and clicked to the horse. Samson quickened his pace. “I thought we’d settled that last night.”

“Did we, Micah?”

“I thought so.”

She tightened her grip on the edge of the seat. “But it doesn’t bother you that this was all your father’s idea?”

“ Dat said that he thought that it came as an answer to his prayers. And maybe it did. We can’t say for sure how God tells us what He wants us to do, can we?”

She shook her head. “I guess not.”

“Maybe it was me who needed the nudge to see what was right in front of my eyes for years. I like you, Ellen. If it’s meant to be and we give it a chance, maybe...”

“Jah.” She sighed. “Maybe.” A bubble of happiness tickled her insides. Maybe Micah was right. Maybe he’d been right in front of her and she’d never really looked at him. The possibilities were intriguing.

“It is just a ride to town,” he reminded her. “No strings attached...unless you decide you want them.”

They exchanged a smile, and she closed her eyes and savored the sensation of the wind on her face. This was certainly cooler than she would have been pushing her scooter along the road. She found herself relaxing and enjoying the ride.

Micah, never at a loss for words, began to tell her about a pig that had escaped from Roland Yoder’s wagon. Roland, a butcher, was taking the animal to his brother’s place to be fattened for autumn, but as he was crossing the highway near Bird-In-Hand, a dog ran out at the buggy. The barking frightened the pig that then jumped over the rails and landed in the center of the road. Cars braked and horns honked. The pig ran back and forth causing a traffic jam.

Ellen smiled and waited for the punch line. Like his father, Simeon, Micah’s stories were usually funny, sometimes hilarious. But Micah abruptly broke off in midsentence and reined in the horse.

“Did you see that turtle?” he asked.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Turtle?”

“ Jah , a box turtle. Just a little one, smaller than your fist.” He guided Samson onto the shoulder of the road. “Sit tight,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” Micah handed her the reins, climbed down off the seat and hurried back along the road. About thirty feet behind them, Ellen saw him cross to the center of the blacktop and pick up a round object. “Got him!” he proclaimed, holding the creature up for her to see. He carried the turtle to the far side of the road and put him down safely at the edge of the woods.

“That was a small one,” she agreed as Micah got back into the buggy. “You don’t usually see them on the roads by the first of September.” This wasn’t the first time Micah had shown compassion for a small animal. She remembered him catching a six-inch black snake in the school cloakroom. Some of the other boys had wanted him to snap its neck against the shed wall, but he’d faced down two sixth graders and marched the snake to a hedgerow where he released it in the brush.

“I always liked box turtles,” Micah said. “When we were young, Neziah and I always wanted to keep them as pets and train them to do tricks, but Dat wouldn’t let us. He always made us put them back exactly where we found them. He said they have their own territory, and if you move them out of it, they won’t rest until they get back to where they belong. A lot of them are run over by cars on the roads. I feel sorry for them, so I always take them across when I see one.” He arched an eyebrow. “You probably think it’s dumb.”

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