Brush of Angel's Wings (4 page)

“God cares a great deal about you. That's why He sent me to protect you,” Nathaniel whispered.

Jordan fed the leather harness strap through the buckle. He'd stayed at the Hartzlers' longer than he wanted, but at least he got out of accompanying Rachel to the singing.

“What happened?” Timothy ambled toward Jordan's buggy. “I thought you said you would stay for the singing.”

“Rachel refused.” Jordan shrugged. “She might still be upset about the buggy accident.”

Timothy rocked back on his heels. “Probably racing again.”

Jordan laughed. “She won.”

“You take losing better than most.” Timothy wagged his head. “Micah should've never given her that horse.”

Although Jordan agreed, he held his comment. The girl had been reckless. During the time he spent working with harness racehorses, he witnessed plenty of accidents. Today's incident should've shaken her to the core. He wasn't so sure it had. She certainly defended her driving and denied the hazardous road conditions. Rachel's only concern was that her father would find out, not that she gambled losing her life.

“Gambling will destroy everything you love,”
his mother had said over and over until he grew sick of hearing it. Now he wished he could say it as a warning to this girl. But he hadn't earned the right. What worried him was that with the competitive streak he saw in her, he knew she would race again.

“Here comes Micah,” Jordan said in a low voice. “Don't say anything about Rachel racing.”

Timothy chuckled. “Getting beaten by a girl is bothering you
nau
, ain't so?”

“Something like that.” Jordan unhitched Blaze from the post and swung himself onto the buggy seat.

“I should find my
fraa
and head home,” Timothy said.

Micah waved to Timothy but stopped at Jordan's buggy. “
Denki
for helping me with
mei
daughter's buggy.”

“Glad to help.” Jordan gathered the reins, eager to get going.

“I'm planning to clear an additional field for planting. Your
onkel
Isaac mentioned you're looking for work.”

“I will be.” His uncle lived on the opposite side of the district, a two-hour drive by buggy, but Jordan needed the work. “I'll be done with my current job in a couple days. After that I would like to come.”

Chapter Three

R
achel overslept. She crawled out of bed and slipped into a dress, her eyes still closed. Her internal clock never failed to wake her before the rooster's alarm, but this morning the rooster was crowing again as she fastened the straight pins on her dress. Yawning, she adjusted her prayer
kapp
, shoved her stocking feet into a pair of stiff work shoes, and then took her wool cape off its hook on the way out the door.

A horse, not of her father's stock, whinnied near the barn. Although it wasn't uncommon to find a new horse in the corral, this particular sorrel didn't pace the fence as did most young colts in need of training. He looked a bit familiar, but she couldn't place him.

She loved horses, and if it hadn't already been so late, she would have spent a few minutes checking out the new gelding. She glanced at the pink horizon and stepped up her pace. By now she and
Daed
should have the chores nearly finished. Once inside the barn she followed the dim lamplight to the milking area.

Daed
looked up from milking the cow.
“Gut mariye.”

Rachel yawned. “
Mariye
,” she replied, picking up the feed bucket. Usually once she stepped out of bed she was wide awake, but not today. Today she couldn't keep her eyes open. Since Iva married and they no longer shared a bedroom, she'd spent restless nights listening to the wind brush the tree branches against the window.

Her shoulders slumped against the support beam and she yawned as she filled the bucket with grain. The wooden door leading to the pasture slid open, and Jordan Engles entered with a cow on a lead. His unexpected appearance stole her words away.

At least now she knew who owned the gelding in the corral and why the horse looked familiar.

“Good morning,” he said as he tethered the cow to a post. He then reached to take the bucket from her hand. “No need. I fed the horses already.”

Rachel grasped the handle tighter. “Then I'll feed the calves.”

“Did that too.” Jordan cleared his throat. “Besides, that isn't what calves eat.”

Rachel glanced into the bucket.
“Jah.”
She instinctively bit her bottom lip as pride roared within her. She was tired. Certainly she knew the difference between what horses and calves ate. Jordan had merely distracted her a moment.

Daed
stood from the milking stool and reached under the cow for the bucket. “Help your
mamm
get breakfast started.” He glanced at Jordan. “Hungry?”

“Oh yes, sir.”

Her father patted him on the back as though entertained by the appetite of the younger man.
“Gut.”
He turned to her. “Remind your
mamm
to set an extra plate.”

“But . . .” A lump the size of her fist lodged in her throat. She swallowed. “I always help you in the barn.” Ever since James died, she had tended the animals every morning with her father. They'd managed fine without hiring help before, so they certainly didn't need Jordan—half
Englisch
, half Amish—attempting to replace her brother. And wouldn't his presence just make that pain even stronger, a reminder every day that her brother was gone forever?
Daed
still wore a cloak of sadness even though he pretended to accept the Lord's will.

And pretended not to blame her for her brother's death.

Jordan reached for the feed bucket in her hand; this time he was successful. “The barn's damp. You should go inside so you don't catch a cold.”

How dare he treat her like a small child or an imbecile. “I'm quite familiar with how drafty this old barn is. After all, I've spent plenty of hours working out here, ain't so?” She would have shown him her calloused hands to prove her labor had
Daed
not stepped forward.

Her father held the milk bucket out to her. “Rachel, take this one to the
haus
. We'll bring the other one when we
kumm
.”

She glanced at Jordan but couldn't find it in her heart to return his smile. The longer she stared, the wider his smile grew.

Daed
offered her no support. He shooed her toward the door. “We won't be long.”

“Jah
,” she muttered.

Her brother's death was hard on her father in so many ways. Immediately after James was buried and the other farmers had to return to their work, she stepped in to help, enjoying working with her father, learning, becoming strong. She loved the livestock, the planting, the harvesting. It didn't matter that they rarely spoke of anything except the work at hand. It had been
gut
. Hadn't it? She had even felt lately that their strained relationship was on the mend. But now—how could he dismiss her so easily?

Rachel slipped through the kitchen door, keeping the screen door from slamming behind her. She swung the milk bucket up and placed it on the counter with ease—something she could not have done two years ago.

Mamm
glanced over her shoulder from the stove.
“Gut mariye.”

“Vass iss gut?”

Mamm
moved away from frying the peeled potatoes. A deep frown settled over her face as she swept Rachel's stray hair away from her eyes. “What are you upset about?”

“Why is Jordan Engles here?” The words escaped her mouth sounding harsher than she had intended.

Mamm's
typical smile was slow and steady in coming. “Jordan is helping your
daed
ready the fields for planting.”

Her father had talked of wanting to clear more acreage to farm, but she assumed the two of them would prepare the land.

“
Daed
needed help and asked Jordan. Since he's new to the community, he has more availability than the other young men.”

Rachel hated the truth in
Mamm's
statement. She took a ladle along with some tall glasses and poured fresh milk into each one. No matter how careful she was, she could never seem to do it without slopping it down the sides and making puddles on the counter.

Her mother scraped the potatoes off the bottom of the cast iron skillet and flipped the raw side into the grease.

“
Daed
knows I wanted to work with him.” She took a cloth and swiped at the spilled milk.

Mamm
added a heaping spoonful of lard to a second cast iron fry pan. “You're twenty and
nett
a child.”

“Jah.”
And this year she was stronger. She could control the plow easier and not tire in the heat as quickly. If anyone was going to replace James, it should be her, not an outsider. Sure, Jordan might know a few
Deitsch
words from his mother, and he dressed like one of them, but he remained detached from the community.

“You need to spend less time in the barn,”
Mamm
said stiffly, cutting off any further discussion. “It's time you put into practice your cooking and sewing skills.” She handed her the basket of eggs from the counter. “When you finish with the milk, you can fry these eggs for your
daed
and Jordan.”

Rachel groaned under her breath. Didn't she know enough about cooking? If the kitchen wasn't so stuffy and confining, maybe she'd like to cook. And maybe she didn't have the culinary skills to please the palate, but at least she could cook well enough to stay alive. She'd spent a good deal of every summer canning vegetables from the garden. And sewing too. What more did a girl need to know other than how to darn socks and patch pants? True, her stitches were not evenly spaced, but they served their purpose. Why did it matter when the boots covered one's socks and hid stitching imperfections?
Daed
hadn't once complained.

Mamm
poured vinegar into a bowl. “
Kumm
, the eggs must be washed.”

Rachel washed the eggs, then carried them to the stove. The first egg she cracked too hard and the runny yolk broke and splattered into the grease. The next one slipped into the pan with its yolk intact. It didn't break until she attempted to flip it. She left them for a moment to put the glasses of milk on the table. By the time she'd returned, the eggs had a small layer of burned crust on one side. But they were still edible,
jah
? She set those aside for Jordan. With the next two she took extra care as she cracked their shells and when she flipped them over. She peered at them while they sizzled in the pan. The yolks were probably cooked a little too long, but she supposed they would be runny enough. Those she reserved for her father.

“Here they
kumm
.”
Mamm
stepped away from the kitchen window and wiped her hands against her apron, then eyed Rachel. “Straighten your apron.”
Mamm
moved over to the stove and picked up the kettle. “I'll pour the
kaffi
. You can set the utensils in their places.”

Rachel prepared the table as instructed. She placed the plateful of hot biscuits and the butter dish in the center of the table as the men entered the kitchen.

Jordan handed her a milk bucket. She took it too roughly and the milk splashed against the side and over the brim, spilling down her dress front.
“Ach.”

“Careful.” Jordan grinned.

She looked inside the bucket. “This was all you could get?”

“Well, you spilled some,” he said under his breath.

She placed the bucket on the counter next to the other, annoyed at herself, her
daed
, and especially at Jordan.

“You'll want to keep the cream separated,” he told her, as if she didn't know.

Apparently he didn't know cream sometimes took twelve hours before it fully separated. Even she knew the method for gravitational extraction. “Most dairy farmers know it takes several hours to produce heavy cream.”