“Danki.”
She thanked him like it was a chore. Bethany Martin was clearly used to doing things by herself.
Michael realized that he hadn’t looked over his shoulder once since hearing Bethany’s voice. That had to be some kind of record. He glanced around out of habit but there was nothing sinister in the farmstead and empty snow-covered fields that backed up to wooded hills on either side of the wide valley. All throughout his trip to New Covenant he’d been on edge, expecting danger from every stranger that came close to him. He’d spent most of the bus ride from Philadelphia with sweating palms and tense muscles, expecting another attack or a flashback to overtake him at any second. They never came when he was expecting them.
He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. For the first time in weeks the knots in his neck and shoulders were missing. Maybe he was getting better. Maybe this move was the right thing, after all. He prayed it was. Nothing here reminded him of the Philadelphia street or the shop where his life had changed so drastically.
Here the air was fresh and clean. The next house was several hundred yards up the road. Nothing crowded him. He could start over here. No one would look at him with pity or worse. He had a job waiting for him in New Covenant and a place to live all thanks to the generosity of a man he’d never met. He needed to get going, but he was reluctant to leave Bethany’s company for some reason. Her no-nonsense attitude was comforting. He pushed the thought aside. “I should be on my way. Can you give me directions to Elijah Troyer’s farm?”
She shot him a startled look and then glanced away. “This was his farm,” she said softly with a quiver in her voice.
“Was? He sold it?” Michael waited impatiently for her to speak.
She kept her gaze averted. “I’m sorry but Elijah Troyer passed away three weeks ago.”
Michael drew back with a sharp intake of breath. “He’s dead? That can’t be.”
He fought against the onrush of panic. What about the job? What about the place to live? Were his hopes for a new life dead, too?
Bethany watched as Michael limped away and sat down on the hay bale inside the barn door. He rubbed his face with both hands. She could see he was deeply affected by the news of her grandfather’s death. Sympathy made her soften her tone. “I’m sorry to give you the sad news. Did you know my grandfather well?”
Michael shook his head. “I never met him.”
If he didn’t know her grandfather, why was he so shaken by his passing? As much as she wanted to stay and find out Michael’s connection to Elijah, she had to speak to Ivan as soon as possible. If he had stolen the potatoes and beans as Jedidiah claimed, the items would have to be returned at once, but there had to be some mistake. Her brother wasn’t a thief.
Please let it be a mistake, Lord.
The bishop would never reconsider sending Ivan to live with Onkel Harvey if Jedidiah’s claim was true.
She slipped the reins through the slot under the winter windshield of the buggy. “I’m sorry you didn’t have a chance to meet my grandfather. He was a wonderful man.”
“He offered me a job working for him. Is that job still available?”
“I know nothing about such an offer. Are you sure it was my grandfather who promised you work?”
“Elijah Troyer, in New Covenant, Maine. That’s what the letter said. Is there another Elijah Troyer in the community?”
“There is not. I don’t know what my grandfather had in mind, but I can’t afford to hire someone right now.”
“I was also told I would have a place to stay. I reckon if there’s no job there’s no lodging, either?”
Was he talking about the small cabin that sat at the back of her property? Her grandfather had mentioned readying it for a tenant before he became ill, but she didn’t know if he had finished the repairs. Besides, she wasn’t ready to host a lodger. Nor did she want to leave Michael Shetler like this. He appeared dazed and lost. Her heart went out to him.
“You should speak to our bishop, Elmer Schultz. I’m sure he can help. He won’t be at home this time of day, but I can give you a ride to his place of business.”
“It seems I don’t have much choice. Danki.”
Michael slowly climbed into the passenger seat. Bethany walked around the back and got in on the driver’s side. She picked up the reins. “The school is about three miles from here.”
“I thought we were going to the bishop’s place of business.”
“We are but I must stop at the school first. I hope you don’t mind.”
“As long as I don’t have to walk three miles I don’t mind.”
From the corner of her eye Bethany noticed him rubbing his leg frequently. It must pain him a great deal. This close to him she noticed the dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept well. He was pale, too. She sat silent for the first half mile of their trip but her curiosity about Michael got the better of her. “Where are you from?”
“My family lives in Holmes County, Ohio. My father and brother have a construction business in Sugarcreek.”
“Did you work in construction with them?”
“Nee.” He didn’t elaborate.
“I’ve heard that’s a large Amish community. Do you have a lot of tourists who visit there?”
“We do.”
“Like where I am from. Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania. My grandfather wanted to start a community that wasn’t dependent on tourism. Don’t get me wrong, he knew how important the industry is to many Amish who can’t make a living farming, but it wasn’t the lifestyle he wanted to live.”
Michael pulled his coat tighter. “There had to be warmer places to settle.”
She chuckled as she looked out over the snow-covered fields that flanked the road. “The coldest part of the winter has yet to come.”
“So why here?”
“The price of land and the ability to purchase farms large enough to support big families were more of a consideration than the weather. Plus, we were warmly welcomed by the people here. Many local families have been here for generations. They like the idea that we want to be here and farm for generations, too. A lot of the elders in the community remember farming with horses when they were children. Folks are very independent minded in Maine. They know what hard work is. When someone has to sell farmland they would rather sell it to the Amish because we will live on it and farm it as their grandparents did. They consider it preferable to selling to a large farming corporation intent on grabbing up as much land as possible.”
“What do you grow here besides snowdrifts?”
She smiled. “Potatoes. Maine is the third-largest producer of potatoes in the United States. Broccoli grows well in the cool climate as do many other vegetables.”
“As long as you don’t get an early freeze.”
“That’s true of farming in Ohio or almost anywhere.”
“I guess you’re right about that.”
The main highway followed the curve of the river and after another mile Fort Craig came into view. Bethany turned off the highway into a residential area at the outskirts of town. The elementary