Crossing (6 page)

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.”

A
ugust 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.

They ate in companionable silence for a while. Yancy was very comfortable with his grandmother; he liked her a lot and was still forming a growing attachment to her. They had lived with her for about a year, but Yancy’s affections weren’t easily given. This was a part of his mother’s Cheyenne blood. The Cheyenne were extremely loyal to family but rarely formed affectionate attachments outside it. Zemira was his grandmother, but he was just now learning to love her.

She was watching him shrewdly as these thoughts flitted through his mind. Then she asked, “Yancy, are you very unhappy here?”

Carefully, slowly, he buttered a biscuit, his eyes downcast. He took a deliberate bite and chewed. Then he answered, “It’s hard for me, Grandmother. It’s so different, and a lot of times I just don’t understand what the People are doing. I mean, what’s the matter with buttons, for goodness’ sake? And what’s the matter with having a blue buggy, with blue cushions, instead of all black? And so what if my moccasins are beaded?”

“Yancy, I know you’ve been told that the Amish truly believe in simple living, plain dress, and keeping to the old ways,” Zemira answered. “Those things separate us from the world, from the evils of the world. It helps to keep us pure in the eyes of the Lord.”

“My mother made my moccasins,” he said stubbornly. “There was nothing wrong with my mother. She wasn’t evil. And neither am I.”

Zemira sighed. “I hate to tell you this, Yancy, but you must understand—we all have the seed of sin in us. All of us. And that’s why we need Jesus to save us from this evil that is born in us, that we have inherited from Adam and Eve, when sin first entered this world. And that is why we try to keep ourselves pure in these ways, to combat that evil that is in all of us.”

Yancy answered steadily, “I know, I know, I’ve heard all that in church, Grandmother. It’s just that I can’t see that for me to wear a shirt with buttons and moccasins with beads makes me evil.”

Zemira took a sip of coffee, eyeing him over the rim with her sharp blue eyes. “Is that why you’re unhappy here, Yancy? Because you know, we’ve been very lenient. We’ve let you wear the clothes you want, let you hunt with your gun, though it’s against our beliefs. We let you do whatever you want instead of doing chores, even let you skip the sing. I don’t understand that; most young people look forward to that time of being together.”

Yancy snorted. “Skip the sing? Singing in German, which I don’t speak, with no instruments? Sitting across the tables from the girls and taking turns singing—which, again, I can’t do—and then barely talking to a girl before her father and brothers swoop in like bobcats and hustle her off like I’m a criminal or something? Can’t imagine why I’d miss all that.”

“It is very different from the life you’ve known, Yancy, but it’s a good life. It’s a clean, orderly, rewarding life.”

He shook his head. “Good life for some, I guess, but I don’t think it’s for me.”

“Your father thought that, too, when he was your age, and was on
rumspringa
. He left because he thought this life wasn’t for him. But he came back to us.”