The Amish Suitor. Jo Ann Brown

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      What once would have been a snap now was torture. Since the retaining wall had fallen on him and his brother and sister-in-law, he’d asked God at least once a day why Kyle’s parents had been killed and he hadn’t. He’d survived, but most of his hearing had been lost, leaving him encased in silence.

      Not just his hearing had changed that day. His whole life had. If the wall hadn’t capsized, he’d be married to Betty Ann Miller. He hadn’t been sure if her averted glances had been pity or if she was ashamed because she found herself walking out with a damaged man. Either way, he never walked out with her again, and she’d married someone else.

      He avoided talking to people. Most when they saw his hearing aids raised their voices and spoke slowly as if that would have helped more. Before he’d brought Kyle north from their home district in Delaware, he’d known when to dodge chatty neighbors. The storekeepers near Dover had learned it was easier to let him point to what he needed and not engage him in conversation.

      Ach, how he missed the simple pleasure of a chat. Now he mostly spoke to Kyle, who helped him with even the simplest interactions.

      “Are you okay?” he asked his nephew.

      The little boy, who looked like Eli’s late brother with his bright red hair and freckles, nodded.

      “What happened?”

      Kyle shrugged and held up a box of brown sugar before going to stand by where the sugar was on a shelf. It was at least three feet from the endcap, farther than the little boy could reach. The motions were Kyle’s way of telling him that he hadn’t touched the bottles.

      His mud-brown eyes widened, and he pointed past Eli.

      Expecting to see an angry store manager, Eli squared his shoulders and prepared to strain what little hearing he had left to pick up the manager’s words. He turned.

      And stared.

      On the other side of the broken bottles and splattered sauce stood two women and two half-filled shopping carts. An elderly Englisch woman cowered behind her cart and peered like a cartoon owl through glasses with bright green frames. The other woman stood in front of her.

      Eli’s breath caught as he looked at the pretty Amish woman. He hadn’t attended a church service in Harmony Creek Hollow yet, because he and Kyle had just moved into the new settlement earlier in the week. But he guessed she was the sister of the settlement’s founder, Caleb Hartz, because beneath her heart-shaped kapp, she had similar pale blond hair and intense jade green eyes. As well, she had her brother’s impressive height.

      Her apron and the hem of her dark purple dress, as well as her black sneakers, had been showered with spaghetti sauce. A dab highlighted her left cheekbone. Pink was returning to her cheeks, replacing the gray of shock.

      Kyle grasped his hand tightly. They stood side by side when a harried Englischer wearing a bright red bib apron as the cashiers did rushed to him. The man, whom Eli surmised was the store manager because he wore a white shirt and tie, pushed past the crowd of shoppers toward the elderly Englisch woman.

      “Okay...boy?” he asked, stopping to look at Eli.

      Before Eli could answer, the elderly woman waved her hands, gesturing toward him and Kyle. He struggled to follow the conversation as Kyle’s grip grew more constricting.

      Guessing the old woman was accusing Kyle of causing the sauce bottles to fall, Eli said, “See here—”

      The tall Amish woman—Eli thought Caleb had said his sister’s name was Miriam—turned to help the older woman stand straighter. The Englisch woman was getting more upset, and Miriam bent to speak with her.

      He opened his mouth, but Kyle tugged on his sleeve. When he looked at the little boy, his nephew shook his head. Did Kyle want him to say nothing?

      Straining his ears, he tried to hear what was going on and why Miriam Hartz was getting involved.

      * * *

      “The boy didn’t do anything.” Miriam saw the shock on the faces of the three friends she’d come with to the Salem Market, but she wasn’t going to watch in silence while a kind was falsely accused.

      She guessed the little boy was Kyle Troyer, because she’d met the other kinder who lived along Harmony Creek. After the little boy and his onkel had arrived from Delaware, Caleb had gone to their house at the far end of the hollow, but she hadn’t joined him. She’d sent a chicken-and-noodles casserole as well as vegetable soup and a few jars of the grape jelly she’d brought from Lancaster County. Caleb had said Eli wasn’t talkative, but seemed determined to make a home for himself and his nephew.

      She realized her brother had left out a few details. Details like how tall Eli was. She wasn’t accustomed to looking up to meet anyone’s eyes other than Caleb’s, but when the newcomer’s gaze caught hers, the startlingly blue eyes beneath his dark brown hair that was in need of a trim were a half foot above hers. Next to his left eye, a small crescent scar matched another on his chin. Neither detracted from his gut looks.

      “You’re wrong!” The angry woman’s piercing voice broke Miriam’s mesmerism with the stranger. She pointed a gnarled finger toward the scared little boy. “He’s the one who did it!”

      “Are you certain, Mrs. Hayes?” asked the dark-haired man who stood beside the woman. A name tag pinned on the red apron’s bib showed he was the manager and his name was Russ. “You may not have seen clearly. You’re wearing your reading glasses.”

      “I know what I saw!” Mrs. Hayes ripped off her glasses and let them drop on a chain hanging around her neck and set another, more sedate, pair on her nose.

      The manager hesitated, and Miriam thought he was going to listen to the old woman.

      Every instinct told her to remain silent, but she couldn’t. She wondered why Eli Troyer wasn’t defending his nephew. The kind reminded her of Ralph Fisher, the little boy whom she’d thought would become her son. The two boys were close in age. Seeing the kind sent a wave of regret through her. She’d lost everything the day Ralph almost drowned. His daed, Yost, had put an end to their marriage plans, telling her the near tragedy was her fault.

      She hadn’t thought so because the little boy hadn’t been in her care when he got into trouble. True, he’d been on his way to her house where she was going to watch him that afternoon, but she hadn’t expected him to arrive until much later. Shouts for help from his friends had reached her, and she’d pulled the little boy from the pond and got him breathing by the time the ambulance arrived. The little boy had survived and was fine, though he’d had a lesson about showing off she hoped he wouldn’t forget.

      She hadn’t expected praise for doing what anyone would have done. Nor had she expected Yost’s anger and the repercussions and recriminations that followed. However, as time went on and others seemed to believe her ex-fiancé, she’d started doubting herself. No one else could blame her more than she did herself. She’d been a teacher for more than eight years and knew what trouble a six-year-old boy could find. Though she’d glanced out the window to watch for Ralph, she hadn’t gone to meet him. Her prayers that God would show her if the mistake was really hers hadn’t been answered, so she’d stayed away from kinder. In case Yost was right.

      Her arms ached to hold the frightened СКАЧАТЬ