“I reckon we have all the help we need to get started. I sure appreciate you coming,” Isaac said, addressing the group. “Samuel and I will oversee the men pulling logs free and getting them up to the roadway. Noah, Paul and Mark will cut and stack the usable wood beside our barn to be divided among our families. The Lord has supplied us with free firewood for the taking. We shouldn’t let it go to waste. My sons Timothy and Luke will flag down vehicles heading for the bridge to warn them we are working here.” Both men he spoke of were wearing their volunteer firefighter jackets and pants with bright fluorescent yellow banding.
Isaac turned to Mark. “There is more rope in the barn loft. Bring it with you. We may need it.” He turned back to the men. “Are there any questions?”
Everyone knew what was expected of them. The group split up, and Mark headed with his brother and his cousin toward his uncle’s barn, where the family’s draft horses were hitched to two large hay wagons. Noah looked over at Mark. “Aren’t you going to miss us?”
Mark knew what he was referring to. “Sure, I’ll miss all of you when I leave. Your whole family has been good to me.”
“But you won’t miss us enough to stay.”
“Staying here isn’t part of my plan.” Mark had learned the business of woodworking and furniture making from the ground up working alongside his uncle and his five cousins, but it was almost time to return home and put his knowledge to use and open his own business. He realized he was more upset about the uncertainty facing him now than he was about Angela’s decision not to marry him.
“Plans change,” Noah said with a wry smile. Mark knew Noah’s desire to play professional baseball had been changed by the neighbor girl across the road. Fannie and Noah had wed last fall.
Paul laid a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “My brother’s plans don’t change. He’s been talking about starting his own furniture-making business since he could talk.”
“I’m guessing it’s the girl back home that has Mark pining to leave us. Fair Angela. Paul, is she fair or is she dark-haired? Mark never talks about her.”
“I like to keep my personal life private,” Mark said before Paul could comment.
“I can respect that.” Noah nodded solemnly but couldn’t keep a straight face.
Paul chuckled. “Don’t let my brother fool you, Noah. He doesn’t have a personal life. With him, it’s all work, work, work.”
“Hard work and strong faith will supply a man with the best rewards in this life and in the next.” They were words Mark believed in.
“But will it put a pretty woman in your arms?” Paul asked, wagging his eyebrows.
Noah chuckled. “Are you ever serious?”
“Not if I can help it. Mark and Angela are the serious ones. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen them laugh.”
Mark scowled at his brother. “Not everyone is a jokester like you.”
“Fannie makes me laugh all the time. I love that about her.” Noah’s gaze shifted toward the house where the women were working. A gentle smile curved his lips. It was easy to see the newlyweds were still madly in love.
Love was okay for some men, but it took more than that frail emotion to build a future. Mark wanted the security of a home and a business where he could support a family. He never wanted his children shuttled from one temporary home to another the way he had been passed from relative to relative when his father was out of work. God willing, Mark’s younger sisters and his children would never know the kind of fear he had known wondering if his father would come back for him each time he left.
Mark glanced back toward the bridge. The first logs were already on the roadway. “We should get moving. They have started without us. Where is the extra rope?”
He wouldn’t tell his brother and his cousins about Angela today. He’d wait until he knew exactly where he stood with her father.
* * *
A quarter mile past the bridge, Helen and her aunt reached the stop sign on the main road between Berlin and Winesburg. An enormous oak tree stood near the intersection. Dozens of gaily painted gourds hung from its branches. Helen stared at them in amazement. “Look at all the birdhouses. How lovely.”
Smiling, Charlotte murmured her agreement. “Very pretty. I believe Luke Bowman makes them. Turn here, dear. The Bowman lane is up ahead.”
A sign proclaiming Amish-made gifts and crafts fronted the highway in front of a low blue building. There were several cars and buggies in the parking lot dotted with mud puddles left over from the recent rain. Helen glanced at her aunt. “Do the Bowmans run a gift shop?”
“Anna does. Isaac runs the woodworking business in that building up ahead. He employs almost two dozen young men along with his sons. He ships his furniture to Englisch businesses across several states. I understand his work is much in demand. The community is grateful for his efforts to keep our young men employed, since not all of them can farm these days.”
It was a common problem in many Amish communities. Cottage industries were needed where farmland was too expensive, or urban encroachment had gobbled up land that once supported small farms. “Does Isaac hire women in his factory?”
Helen needed a way to support herself. She’d been serious when she said she wasn’t going home.
“I believe he has hired one or two for office work.”
“Full-time jobs?” Helen didn’t know anything about woodworking, but she was willing to learn.
Charlotte shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
Helen eyed the gift shop. Maybe she could find employment there. She had worked in a fabric store for a while back home. She had retail experience.
“Park by the barn, Helen, and try to stay out of the mud. Clyde loves it. I’m delighted you will have a chance to meet so many people at this frolic. I do enjoy them, but sometimes I feel guilty visiting with my friends while we watch the men work.”
The grounds were dotted with puddles, but Helen saw a dry place to let her aunt get out. She drew the horse to stop. “Aenti, you and I have been up baking since before dawn. We have already done our work. I hope the men know it.”
“How could they? I wouldn’t want a bunch of men watching me at work in my kitchen. It’s much too small. I guess they could stand outside and look in the window.”
Helen sent up a quick prayer for a job and a place of her own as soon as possible.
Her aunt took Clyde’s face between her hands. “I’m sorry, dear friend, but you are going to have to stay on your leash until you calm down and mind your manners. I can’t have you jumping on everyone you see. Helen is going to look after you. I’ll take the hamper to the house.”
Helen got out, keeping a tight hold on the dog’s leash after noting his interest in the puddles. She glanced at the buggy top. “What about Juliet?”
Charlotte put the hamper down and stepped back to survey the top of the buggy. “Come here, dear one. She doesn’t jump on people, so she has no need for a leash.”
The plump raccoon scrambled down. A bright pink collar marked her as a pet. Charlotte picked her up and settled her in the crook of her arm, where she began purring loudly. After a moment, she climbed to the top to Charlotte’s shoulder and began patting her face and kapp.
A trio of women walked past, carrying baskets and boxes. Clyde nearly jerked Helen’s arm out of the socket as he tried to leap at them, woofing in his deep tone. Charlotte greeted the woman and walked off with them.
Helen bent to pick up