The Heart's Frontier (31 page)

“I would like to talk to you about something important.”

His glance swept the moving cattle before returning to her. “I’m a little busy right now. Can it wait an hour or so?”

An hour? Papa would return in a few minutes. She shook her head. “No. We must talk now.”

Reining up, he took off his hat and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “Emma, we’ve had several opportunities to talk but you were never in the mood. Yet you pick now? Your timing could be better.” He shoved the hat back on his head.

This was not going as she’d hoped. She turned to scan the town behind her, looking for Papa’s hat amid the people on the street. The muscles in her stomach tightened into knots. “I want to know—” Her throat closed on the embarrassing words. With a hard swallow, she tried again. “Luke, will you become Amish?”

His expression closed, and for a long moment he stared at her. A thousand thoughts darted through her mind, each one pressing against the other like the cows that surrounded them. Foremost among them was the realization that the idea of becoming Amish had never occurred to Luke. Which meant he had never considered a life with her.

Which meant she had badly misinterpreted his feelings.

A measure of composure returned, and he slowly shook his head. “Emma…I don’t…” Words appeared to fail him. “I’m not…”

Hurt and humiliation rose from a sick ball in the pit of her stomach. “You’re not what?” Her tone snapped, and she didn’t bother to filter the emotion.

His hand rose, and he rubbed it across his mouth. “I’m not an Amish man. I’m sorry. I have my own beliefs. You are good folk, but…”

He didn’t have to finish the thought. But she was not
Englisch
. Hot, angry tears sprang into her eyes. No, not angry. Embarrassed. She had offered herself to him, only to be rejected. What must he think of her? She lowered her head toward the ground. Her mind emptied of any response she might make, any words that would restore her dignity and allow her to escape with her pride intact. Instead, she turned blindly to make her exit.

“Emma! Don’t!”

She refused to stop, refused to prolong this humiliating discussion any further. Her head down, her vision blurry with unshed tears, she stretched her pace to almost a run.

In the next moment, she was surrounded by cattle. They pressed her on all sides, lifting her up and hurtling her sideways. Her feet left the ground but she remained upright, swept into the stocks in the midst of the herd. She struggled to move, to free herself, but the smelly hides that surrounded her covered hundreds of pounds of solid flesh. They pressed together, and her breath left her lungs. A searing pain stabbed her chest, and she couldn’t move enough to gasp in a breath. Somewhere in the distance she heard her name, but panic had a firm grip on her. How could she even think about answering when she couldn’t manage to breathe?

Then panic receded as fog settled over her oxygen-deprived brain.

I’m going to faint. And then I’m going to die. They’ll bury me on the farm beside Mama
.

Dimly, she was aware of shouts nearby. The wall of beef moved. Air entered her lungs in an agonizing rush. She sank toward the ground.

And then strong arms encircled her. The pain in her side sent white-hot stars dancing in her vision as a panic-stricken voice rumbled through a mouth pressed close to her ear. Luke’s voice.

“I’ve got you. Thank God, I’ve got you.”

T
he doctor’s house sat one street over from the center of town, close enough that the noise from the saloons and even the bawling of the cattle in the stockyard carried easily. Luke’s boots traced a worn path on the planks of the front porch, walking in the footsteps of many worried people awaiting news of a patient from inside the two-story structure. He stopped in front of the open door to peer inside. The entry hall bore evidence that the doctor was married. A lace cloth draped a small table placed against the left-hand wall, and a couple of fancy glass dishes were displayed on top of it. A wide set of stairs led to the second floor, where the doctor and his missus presumably lived. The only person in evidence was Jonas, who stood at the opposite end of a short hallway next to a closed door.

He did not look up at Luke. He hadn’t spoken to him or met his eye since he arrived.

Not that Luke blamed him. It was his fault Emma had been injured. He’d handled the conversation badly. No wonder she’d been offended and charged off blindly in the wrong direction. She’d surprised him by asking if he would become Amish, and his reaction had obviously hurt her feelings.

And what was behind her question, anyway? He could only think of one reason. If he became Amish, they could marry with the blessing of her family and her church.

Marry.

The word sent dual shivers down his spine, because the idea of him becoming Amish for any reason was so outrageous he couldn’t pretend to give it serious consideration. Him, be like Jonas? His faith was nothing like Jonas’s, his convictions shallow in comparison. He’d been raised to love the Lord and love the Bible, but the Plain life an Amish man had to embrace? Jonas was right. Luke couldn’t begin to understand.

The second shiver came with the realization that Emma would ever consider marrying him. She had put quite a bit of thought into it, in fact, to come up with her idea. That could only mean one thing. She loved him. Not merely that she shared the attraction he felt, but she felt that same invisible bond that had somehow snaked around them and drawn them together.

Emma loved him. And, he realized, he loved her.

The sight of her penned in the midst of those cattle had nearly scared the life out of him. He’d forced his horse into the herd, kicking cows with his boots and shouting to catch the attention of the nearest stockmen. When he finally reached her, after an eternity of frantic, whispered prayers while wading through a sea of beef, he threw himself from the saddle into the press. He still wasn’t exactly sure how he’d managed to force those two steers apart to release her. Maybe his panic gave him extra strength, or maybe it was the prayers. But he’d lifted her into his arms and carried her out.

Directed by shouting townspeople, Luke had run—literally—toward the doctor’s house while Emma’s soft sobs filled his ears. He’d met the rotund little man in the street on his way to examine Jesse, and he immediately turned around so that Luke could follow him back home.

After carrying Emma down a short hallway and gently laying her down on a narrow bed in what was apparently an examining room, Luke was shooed out of the room. The doctor wouldn’t even let Jonas in when he arrived, only Mrs. Switzer and Rebecca, who were with Emma now.

What was taking so long? He strode across the planks to peer inside again. No change, except that now Jonas stood with his head thrown back, his face pointed toward the ceiling with his eyes closed. Praying, probably. Which suddenly sounded like a very good idea.

No prayers came to mind, only a frantic request.
Lord, don’t let her die. Please
.

Noise from inside the house sent him scurrying back to the doorway. The doctor emerged from the examining room, followed by Mrs. Switzer and Rebecca. He spoke to Jonas, his voice loud enough to carry down the short hallway to Luke.

“A couple of her ribs are broken. As far as I can tell that’s all, though she’ll need to stay here for a day or two so I can keep a watch on her. I’ve wrapped them, and also given her a salve for those scrapes on her face, which will help them to heal without scarring. It’s going to hurt to breathe for a few weeks, but I think she’ll be fine.”

Air left Luke’s lungs. He sagged against the doorjamb. She was going to be fine. She wasn’t going to die.
Thank You, Lord
.

“You can go on in and see her. I’m going to have my missus fix her up a broth that will help strengthen her bones.” He smiled at Rebecca. “Why don’t you come upstairs with me and bring it down to her when it’s ready?”

When the two of them had climbed the stairs, Jonas disappeared into the room. Luke stared for a long moment after the door closed behind him. He had no place here. He wasn’t family, he wasn’t Amish, and it was his fault she was hurt. Jonas wouldn’t let him near her, and rightly so.

It was enough to know she would recover.

The blazing fire in Emma’s side was somewhat quenched by the tight binding the doctor had applied. She couldn’t draw a deep breath without excruciating pain, but at least the bandages allowed her to take shallow breaths without too much discomfort.

A shame her feelings weren’t allowed the same comfort and support. The conversation with Luke pierced like an arrow through her heart. He would not become Amish, which meant he didn’t truly love her. Though her ribs hurt with every breath, it was the pain in her heart that hurt the most. From that she might never recover.

The door opened and Papa came into the room. The sight of him sent a rush of guilty tears into her eyes. She had shamed him again in front of Bishop Miller, who undoubtedly had received a report of her unseemly behavior in seeking Luke out and getting trampled on by cows in the process.

“Oh, Papa, I’m so sorry,” she said, sobbing.

Once the tears started, she could not stop them. They weren’t merely tears of guilt. They were tears that came directly from an injured heart.

Papa sat in a chair beside her bed, sought her hand to hold, and waited until the tears slowed.

“For what do you apologize?” His soft words and tender tone made it hard to talk without giving in to painful sobs again.

“I’ve made a fool of myself and of you.” She picked up the corner of the stiff linen sheet that covered her and blotted at her eyes. “I’ve fallen in love with…” More tears interrupted her words. “With a…” Another sob, and she buried her face in the sheet. “With an
Englishcher
.”

Again, Papa waited silently for her tears to run their course. He even produced a handkerchief and handed it to her.

“And does he return your love, this
Englisch
cowboy?”

“He doesn’t. I asked him…I asked if he would become Amish, and he said…” Pain pierced her side when she gulped inconsolable draughts of air. “He said no.”

Silence met her confession. Her quiet cries sounded in the room until finally they stilled. Only then did Papa speak.

“Luke Carson is a good man.”

Emma tried to swallow back her tears. Of course he was. If he were a scoundrel, she would never have fallen in love with him.

“But he is a wild stallion,” Papa continued. “The Amish life is a pond, small and contained, with rounded edges. What happens if you put a stallion in a pond, my Emma?”

The truth of his words penetrated, and her tears returned. “He drowns,” she answered.

Papa nodded. “He does indeed. A stallion must run in the open air, where a fish cannot live.” His voice became softer, and he leaned across the edge of the bed toward her. “And you know what happens to a fish when you take it from the pond and force it to live in the open air.”

She nodded. “It dies.”

“Yes, she does. What did our Lord say?
Ein Dieb kommt nur, dafs er stehle, würge und umbringe
.”

I came that they may have life, and have it more abundantly
.

The words only made Emma’s tears flow harder. The truth in them carved into her soul like a sharp blade. In the past few days she’d lived life on the open plain, enough to know that she would never be satisfied there. She preferred the boundaries and cool waters of the pond.

“He is waiting outside, your
Englisch
cowboy. Will you speak with him?”

His words sent a flood of panic through her. What would she say to Luke? How would she apologize for trying to drown him in a pond full of Plain water?

She had to try, though. There had to be an end. Otherwise, she would forever drive herself insane trying to imagine his parting words to her, and hers to him. Swallowing back yet another wave of weeping, she nodded.

Papa nodded and patted her hand. “Choose wisely, my little guppy.”

With that he left the room.