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  “That’s the trouble. They are too dead serious, deadly bore serious.”

  “Shad!” Judith said accusingly. “Tell her!”

  “I do try,” Shad replied with mock seriousness. “I’ve tried to teach my sister how to catch a husband. It doesn’t take. Now she’s twenty-eight years old and has run off three good men that I know of.”

  “Three.” Adah sighed regretfully. “And they were all so fond of you, Rebecca.”

  “Oh, they managed to get over me soon enough,” Becky said cheerfully. “All three of them married only a few months after I ran them off.”

  “For shame, Becky. Shad has a point and you know it,” Judith put in. “A good Amish girl marries early and has children.”

  Shad shrugged. “You all might as well face up to it. Becky isn’t your typical Amish woman.”

  Lois was still naive in many ways. “Becky, don’t you want to find a good man and get married?”

  Becky picked up the pillowcase and put in two stitches, apparently thinking over the question. “I haven’t so far. Perhaps God will send me a husband. He would have to, to make me want to get married.”

  “Becky, I just don’t understand you,” Judith exclaimed. “It seems like you want to be an old spinster!”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me. If all else fails I can always catch me an English.” English was what the Amish called someone outside of the Amish community. “If that’s what happens, just pray he is so weak I can persuade him to join our church.” She got up and tossed the pillowcase in the cedar trunk that constituted as her hope chest which, truth to tell, was pitifully empty. “I’m going out to see the new baby goat. If a suitable man comes by, be sure to tell him my demands for a husband. He’s got to be able to take orders from his wife; if he’s an English, he’s got to become Amish; and he’s got to be entertaining.” She winked at Shad and left the room.

  “She’ll never get a husband, Mother.” Shad sighed. “You and Father will have her on your hands for the rest of your life.”

  The next day Rebecca decided to take her dog, Hank, into the woods to look for herbs. In spite of the fact that she was not really the ideal Amish woman—she was an indifferent cook, disliked putting up canned goods and preserves, cared little for sewing, and often went barefoot when it was considered scandalous—she was a very good nurse and was good at herbalism.

  She had filled her basket and several sacks with black sage, which was good for tea to calm the nerves. She had also found a good bit of burdock that was good for purifying the blood. Some said it was also good for a rattlesnake bite, but Becky didn’t hold too much with that and hoped she never had to test it in that way.

  She sang softly as she made her way home. The Amish didn’t believe in using musical instruments. They thought they were frivolous. But they did sing, and Becky had a good voice. She sang a very old hymn from the traditional Amish hymnal, the Ausbund. It dated back to the 1700s, and all of the hymns were in German.

  Suddenly Hank ran off barking, which he rarely did, so she became curious. “What have you stirred up, Hank?” She followed him and came to a wide creek that was covered with a log jam—the beginnings of a beaver dam. Hank stood on the bank, barking monotonously, at the beavers, Becky presumed. Looking across the stream, she saw a large growth of redroot, which made an excellent tea that was good for relaxation, tending to sleep. She had discovered that it was also good for excessive menstruation, diarrhea, and dysentery, and the leaves and the tender stems could be eaten raw in salads.

  Carefully Becky started across the creek, stepping on one half-submerged log to another. She was a sure-footed woman, but one of the logs suddenly rolled over and threw her off balance and she fell into the creek. The log continued rolling until it came to rest across her thighs. It was heavy, and since the stream was shallow, it was only halfway in the water and there was no chance that it would float off. It seemed securely anchored right across her.

  Becky knew she wouldn’t drown, but it would be a long time before she was missed. Her family wouldn’t know where to look, for she had just told them she was going to look for herbs, not the direction she was going. In fact, she hadn’t planned that at all. She had merely wandered along and picked the herbs that she found.

  Even though it was August and the heat was oppressive, the stream was cold. She knew that even in the blistering heat of summer a person could get chilled and shocked if they were submerged too long in cold water. She struggled and struggled, but the log didn’t move at all.

  The minutes passed slowly, and after almost an hour of trying desperately to free herself, her legs ached with the weight of the log, and she knew that she couldn’t fight anymore. She was exhausted.

  Becky began to pray with all the faith she had.

  As the sun fell down into the deep woods to the west, Becky began to shiver, and at the same time she was growing drowsy. She knew this wasn’t good, that it was a sign that she was slowly going into shock. She heard Hank, now somewhere in the distance, baying. He had a distinctive call, starting deep in his chest and ending up with a high howl. He bayed on and on, for a long time it seemed to Becky, and then suddenly he stopped.

  Wonder what old Hank’s doing…. He’s too lazy to tree a raccoon. Barking at squirrels or something? she thought sleepily.

  Then he bounded up, long ears flapping, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. He splashed right into the water and started licking Becky’s face.

  She scratched his head, murmuring, “Dumb ol’ dog.”

  “Not so dumb,” a deep voice said somewhere behind her. “Came and got me. You’ve got yourself in a right predicament, haven’t you, ma’am?” A man wearing buckskins and riding a bay mare came into her sight at the stream’s edge. He dismounted, and she saw he was tall, with a sun-bronzed face and chiseled features.

  “Hello,” she said lamely. “And yes, I have gotten myself into a predicament. I was going to get”—she motioned weakly toward the other side of the stream—“that redroot. Can you get me out of this?”

  He waded out into the stream. “I can. When I lift the log, pull your legs out.” He reached around the log that pinned her legs, grunted, and lifted one end.

  Becky waited until the pressure eased, then she leaned back and pushed with her hands until her legs came free. When she was clear of the log, he dropped it heavily. Becky sat up and then tried to stand but found that her legs were numb; she could barely move them. So she just sat. “Just give me a minute,” she said then shivered.

  “Ma’am, you’re already freezing. You don’t need to sit in this cold water anymore. If you’ll allow me …?” He reached out both arms and she nodded with relief, reaching up to him.

  He picked her up easily and then carried her to sit her sidesaddle on his horse. “It’s so warm today that I didn’t carry a coat with me. We need to get you home, ma’am. May I ask your name?” He led the horse through the woods toward the clearing.

  “I’m Rebecca Braun,” she answered weakly, clutching herself and rubbing her arms, trying to warm up. “H–hello, Mr. Tremayne.”

  “You know me?” he asked with surprise.

  “I remember you. It’s been a long time. Let’s see … I was, I think, eleven years old when you left.”

  He looked her up and down. Then a light of recognition came into his eyes. “Oh, yes. Becky Braun. Black hair, skinny little girl.”

  “That was me. Still have the black hair, not so skinny.”

  “Still pretty hair,” Daniel commented.

  They came into the sunshine. Immediately Becky felt the welcome warmth of the afternoon August sun. Her cap had disappeared—into the stream, she guessed. Woefully she tried to wring out her long, dripping hair. “Thank you, but I must look like a drowned cat,” she muttered.

  He looked up at her and grinned crookedly. In the strong light she could clearly see the scar beside the right side of his mouth and the other on his neck. He looked well-worn and tough. “Mmm, you are kinda soggy, ma’
am. You getting warmer?”

  “Yes, the sun feels so good,” she answered, but helplessly she shivered again.

  Suddenly he gave a leap and got on the horse behind her. He reached around her and grabbed the reins, and she was very aware of the pressure of his body against hers as he embraced her to try to warm her.

  She stiffened and started to protest, but then she reflected that he was the type of man that if he wanted to give her a bear hug, he would just do it. She stayed quiet and relaxed. “Why did you stay away so long, Mr. Tremayne?” she asked curiously.

  “Nothing but foolishness.”

  “I see. My father says you’re not a steady man.”

  “He’s right. Or he was right. I’ve decided to become a solid, responsible man.”

  “Have you?” She turned to face him, and he met her with a steady gaze. “I heard that you have a son. Is your wife with you?”

  He answered quietly, “I was married to a woman named Winona. She was half Cheyenne. She died two years ago.”

  “I’m sorry; that must be very difficult,” she said softly. “What’s your son’s name?”

  “Yancy. He’s twelve now. So you’re married, I suppose?”

  Facing away from him, a small smile played on her lips. “Why do you suppose that?”

  “It’s been a long time, but if I remember right, most Amish girls get married young. Sometimes around fifteen, sixteen.”

  “And I’m older than that?”

  “I think so.”

  “You think right,” she said lightly. “It seems that I have never been able to find the right man for me.”

  The horse stumbled slightly and his grip tightened around her waist. Becky found herself enjoying it.

  “No? Why not?”

  “For two very good reasons, Mr. Tremayne. The first is that all of them seemed to be very boring.”

  Daniel found this amusing, and she felt him laugh slightly. “What’s the other reason?” he asked.

  “I haven’t found a man I would like to share a bed with for the next fifty years.”

  Daniel did laugh aloud then. “Well, that’s speaking right out! I like a woman that says what she means. What would you say if I asked to call on you?”

  Becky twisted around to face him again to see if he was still laughing, but now he was serious. “I don’t know. I don’t know you well enough.”

  “Thought that was the point,” Daniel said lightly. “How are you going to get to know how wonderful I am if you don’t let me call on you?”

  “I’ll say one thing … you aren’t boring, Mr. Tremayne,” Becky said. “All right. You can come sit on the porch, and my whole family will sit with us, and they will watch every move you make and listen to every word you say. I’m sure you remember how the courting goes around here.”

  “I do, I’m sorry to say. But what about the other thing—the bed thing?”

  She answered primly, “We’ll have to see about that.”

  “Yes, ma’am, we sure will,” he agreed heartily.

  Rebecca couldn’t remember being more fascinated with a man like she was with Daniel Tremayne. There was a rough handsomeness about him and a strength that she recognized instantly. She also liked him for his plain speaking.

  Finally they came up to her house. Daniel dismounted and then helped Becky down.

  Simon Braun came out and exclaimed, “What in the world happened, daughter?”

  “I fell in the creek, Father, and got trapped under a log. Mr. Tremayne heard Hank barking and came and got me out.”

  Simon stared at Daniel then said, “It’s been a long time, Daniel. I remember you when you were just a boy.”

  “Yes, sir, I remember you and Mrs. Braun, too. She always had sugar cookies for us when we came to visit with Shadrach. And speaking of him—hello, Shad.” The rest of the family had come outside. Daniel shook hands with Shadrach.

  He said, “It’s been a while, Daniel. We were glad to hear that you’re back. And what’s this? You had to rescue my sister from some scrape she’d gotten herself into?” He rolled his eyes at the sight of Becky.

  Rebecca was in no hurry to go inside. She stood there, dripping and bedraggled, listening with interest to the men’s conversation. Her mother had hurried back in to fetch her a towel, and slowly Rebecca folded her long hair into it and dabbed it.

  “I’m real glad to be back, too,” Daniel answered. “Especially just in time to rescue Miss Braun.” He spoke to the entire family. “I want you all to know that I’m so grateful to you for helping my mother with the farm after my father died. Thank you, all of you. And I want you to know that I’m going to stay, and I’m going to take care of her and the farm now. I’m trying very hard to become a good, steady man.”

  “I told Mr. Tremayne that you wanted to find a steady man for me as a husband, Father, and he’s assured me that he is now,” Becky said lightly. “So I invited him to come sit on the porch and court me.” She enjoyed the look of shock that came across her parents’ and her sisters’ faces. She saw that Shad was amused.

  “So she has,” Daniel agreed with equanimity. “But I know it’ll take time for me to prove myself, both to you and to Miss Tremayne. I understand she has some high standards where a husband is concerned.”

  For a moment Rebecca was afraid he would mention her comment about sharing a bed with a man for fifty years. She was vastly relieved when he gave her a surreptitious wink and said no more about it.

  Simon looked bemused. “Well—I suppose—if Becky wants to see you, then you’re welcome, Daniel.”

  “Good. Thank you, sir. I’ll be back. Probably before you really want me to.” He mounted, nodded to the ladies, slapped his hat securely back on his head, then turned and dashed off.

  “Well, I do declare,” Adah breathed. “He’s a man that knows what he wants, isn’t he? Rebecca, have you been very forward?”

  “No, ma’am,” Becky replied, her eyes dancing. “He’s the one who’s forward.”

  “Better get used to his ways, Mother,” Shad said, grinning. “Looks to me like he’s hoping to be your son-in-law.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  August in the valley was hot, but it was nothing like the Oklahoma plains, Yancy reflected. Even though they had lived by a lake, surrounded by thick woods and rich grasses and herbs, it had still been scorching, dusty, and bone-dry from April to September. Yancy liked the Shenandoah Valley. Even on the hottest days it was cool in the deep shades of the woods and on the large veranda of the farmhouse, where he sat now, yawning in the first gentle light of dawn.

  Zemira was cooking breakfast, but the kitchen and dining room did get steamy in the summertime, so Yancy’s grandfather had built an oak table and chairs so they could have meals outside in the fresh breezes.

  Although Yancy did like the valley, there wasn’t much more about living here that he cared for. In the year since he and Daniel had returned, he had adjusted to farm life. He didn’t mind the hard work, for he wasn’t lazy; and in some ways he had come to appreciate the verdant fields, the rich harvests, the satisfaction of making something out of one’s own land. But the Amish were very strict in all things, and sometimes he felt as if he were suffocating.

  He was thirteen years old—he had longings and desires for things he could barely name, and not all of them had to do with his newfound appreciation for girls. Sometimes he wished he could just be free again, not under scrutiny by an entire community, not have to go to Amish school, able to do what he wanted when he wanted … much like when they had lived with the Cheyenne.

  Zemira came out onto the porch carrying a tray. It had a tin coffeepot, steaming, and cups and saucers and sugar and fresh cream on it. There was a basket, too, covered with a linen cloth. She set it on the table by Yancy and then put her hands on her hips. “Don’t eat it all.”

  Yancy sniffed then grinned. “Friendship Bread.” He lifted one corner of the cloth on the basket.

  She slapped his hand lightly and then put her hands back
on her hips. “Don’t eat it all,” she repeated sternly. “You’ll ruin your breakfast that’s good for you. It’ll be ready in a minute or two, and when I come back with it, there had better be plenty of that bread left for me and your father.”

  Amish Friendship Bread was a rich bread that required a complicated starter, and then took ten days to make. It had milk, flour, sugar, heavy double cream, vanilla, cinammon, and nuts. The reason it was called Friendship Bread was because it was traditional, when one presented it as a gift to good friends, to include the starter along with a loaf of the bread.

  She bustled back into the house. Yancy fixed himself a cup of coffee, very sweet with lots of cream, and ate two generous pieces of the mouthwatering bread. He sipped his coffee; then, with a guilty look around, he crammed another piece into his mouth, chewing quickly. Then he tried to rearrange the bread so it looked like it was piled up higher than after his raid. He was, after all, only thirteen.

  Zemira returned with a very large tray that held plates, silverware, napkins, and four covered bowls with scrambled eggs, bacon, grits, and biscuits. She set three places then sat down with Yancy. “We’ll go ahead and bless,” she said. “Your father’s milking, and I’m not sure when he’ll be here.” They both bowed their heads in silence. The Amish did not believe in praying aloud; they thought that it could induce pride.

  Yancy watched her out of the corner of his eye until she raised her head. The first thing she did was look at the Friendship Bread.

  “You ate three pieces,” she said accusingly. “The biggest ones.”

  “I can’t help it, Grandmother. I love it more than anything,” he said lightly, helping himself to large portions of all the breakfast dishes.

  “Humph. Only Friendship Bread you’ve ever had, I guess.”

  “Still the best.”

  She shrugged a little. “I can see it hasn’t ruined your appetite,” she said begrudgingly. Although she grumbled at Yancy, she kept a batch of Friendship Bread, in different stages, going all the time now, so he wouldn’t run out.