A Man For Honor. Emma Miller

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СКАЧАТЬ match for you.”

      He grimaced. “There is something I haven’t said.”

      “And that is?”

      “There’s a particular someone I’ve set my mind on, someone special I used to know.” He stopped and started again. “Someone I haven’t been able to forget.”

      Sara reined the mule off the street and into a parking place in a car dealership lot. She looped the leathers over a hook on the dash, folded her arms and turned to face him. “I take it that this someone is of legal age, Amish and free to marry?”

      “She is.”

      “But you didn’t think that I should have that information before you arrived?”

      He tugged on the sagging brim of his hat. It was a shame it was ruined because he’d bought it new before he left Kansas. “I thought it would be easier if I could explain in person.” He looked away and then back at the matchmaker. “Her name is Honor. Honor King.”

      Sara didn’t hide her surprise. “I know Honor. A widow. She doesn’t belong to our church community, but I have introduced her to several prospects. Honor’s husband passed a year and a half ago.”

      “Nineteen months.”

      Sara frowned. “And you know that Honor has children. Four of them.”

      “Ya, I do. That doesn’t matter to me.”

      “Well, it should,” she harrumphed. “It takes a special kind of a man to be a father to another man’s children. Especially as they get up in age.”

      He felt himself flush. “I know that. What I said about the children, that didn’t come out right. Her children are part of her. I want to be a good father to them. And a good husband to her.”

      Sara raised a dark eyebrow. “You’re familiar with Honor’s children? You’ve met them?”

      There was something in her tone that made him hesitate. “Ne...but I hope to have many children.”

      She sniffed. “Easily said by a man who has none. As the preachers tell us, children are blessings from God. That said, they can be a handful. Some more than others.” She pursed her lips. “Any other revelations you’d like to share with me?”

      He hesitated. “Well...”

      “Like this, perhaps?” She reached under the seat and came up with a copy of the Delaware State News. The photo snapped by one of the bus passengers stared back at him. It was clearly his face, with a fire truck and a Pennsylvania State Police car in the background. In his arms was a screaming child. Under the photo, a bold headline proclaimed Mystery Cowboy Rides to the Rescue!

      “You saw it,” he said.

      “Ya, saw it and read it. What I didn’t know was that I would be welcoming the mystery cowboy into my home. You know our community takes a dim view of photographs. They are forbidden.”

      “In my church, as well,” he agreed. “But I didn’t give anyone permission to take a picture. And I didn’t ask for people to talk about what happened. There was an accident. I did what seemed right.”

      “But it will make talk.” She allowed herself the hint of a smile. “A lot of talk.”

      “I was afraid of that.”

      “That the hat you were wearing?” She frowned, looking up at him. “Doesn’t look much like a gunslinger’s hat. Or a rodeo rider’s.”

      “Ne.”

      She had a sense of humor, this perky little matchmaker. He liked her. Better yet, he had the strongest feeling that he could trust her in what might be the biggest step of his life.

      Sara chuckled. “Englishers. Mistook your church hat for a cowboy hat, I suppose, and thought you were a cowboy.”

      “Ya. Someone who isn’t familiar with our people.”

      She nodded. “I can see that. Better for you that it doesn’t say Amish. Better for us.”

      “Maybe so,” he said.

      “I know so.” Her eyes lit with mischief. “But good of you to save the Englishers from the accident. They are God’s children, too.”

      “I didn’t want the fuss. Anybody would have done what I did.”

      “But according to the newspaper, you’re the one who took charge. Who kept his head, did what needed to be done and kept the unconscious bus driver from drowning. Not everyone would have the courage to do that.” She paused and then went on. “There’ll be questions we’ll have to answer from our neighbors, but if you don’t wear snakeskin boots, rope cows or sign autographs, the talk will pass and people will find something else to gossip about.”

      “I hope so.”

      She reached over and patted his arm reassuringly. “If you didn’t want your photograph taken, there’s no reason to feel guilty about it. Any of our people with sense will come to realize it.” She gathered the reins again and clicked to the mule. And as they pulled out onto the street again, she said, “One question for you. The widow, Honor King, will she look favorably on your suit?”

      “I doubt it,” he admitted, gazing out at the road ahead. “She returns my letters unopened.”

      * * *

      Two days later, Luke and Sara drove west from her house in Seven Poplars. Eventually, they passed a millpond and mill, and then went another two miles down a winding country road to a farm that sat far back off the blacktop.

      “I don’t know what her husband, Silas, was thinking to buy so far from other Amish families,” Sara mused. “I haven’t been here to Honor’s home, because she lives out of our church district, but Freeman and Katie at the mill are her nearest Amish neighbors. It must be difficult for Honor since her husband passed away, being so isolated.” She turned her mule into the driveway. “Atch,” she muttered. “Look at this mud. I hope we don’t get stuck in the ruts.” The lane, lined on either side by sagging fence rails and overgrown barbed wire, was filled with puddles.

      “If we do, I’ll dig us out,” Luke promised, adjusting the shrunken hat that barely fitted on his head anymore. Now that they were almost to Honor’s home, he was nervous. What if she refused to let him walk through her doorway? What if he’d sold everything he owned, turned his life upside down and moved to Delaware just to find that she’d have nothing to do with him?

      Honor’s farmhouse was a rambling, two-story frame structure with tall brick chimneys at either end. Behind and to the sides, loomed several barns, sheds and outbuildings. A derelict windmill, missing more than half its blades, leaned precariously over the narrow entrance to the farmyard.

      “I’d have to agree with what you told me yesterday, Sara. She needs a handyman,” Luke said, sliding his door open so he could get a better look. He’d heard that Honor’s husband had purchased a big farm in western Kent County, near the Maryland state line. But no one had told him that the property was in such bad shape.

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