A Merry Heart Page 4

  Nick grimaced. Ouch. That last comment was obviously directed at me. He managed a smile. “We all have a job to do, and mine involves bringing people the news.”

  The man opened his mouth to say something, but an older Amish couple showed up, and he turned his attention to them. “It’s good to see you both. How are you two doin’?”

  “Real well,” the woman replied.

  The bearded Amish man who stood beside her nodded. “We were feeling kind of thirsty, so we decided to come on over and get some of your flavorsome, homemade root beer.”

  The little girl, who had returned to reading her book, looked up and grinned. “You think maybe Pappy and me might get another invite to your house for supper soon?”

  The Amish woman nodded and reached out to pat the child’s head, which was covered with a small, white cap. “We’d like that.” She smiled at the child’s father then. “What do you think, Amos? Would you be able to come over again soon?”

  He nodded with an eager expression and poured the man and woman each a glass of root beer. “If you think this is any good I’ll bring a jug whenever we do join you for supper.”

  The older man took a quick drink and licked his lips. “Umm. . .it’s wunderbaar.”

  “Wunderbaar. That means ‘wonderful,’ doesn’t it?” Nick asked, butting in.

  “That’s right,” the Amish man said. “Are you from a Deitsch background?”

  “No, but I took a few years of German in high school, so I’m able to pick up on some of your Pennsylvania Dutch lingo.”

  “The man’s a reporter for the Daily Express,” Amos said. “He wants to do a story about the farmers’ market and the Plain People who’ve come here today.”

  “We get too much of that already.” The older man grunted. “Curious tourists askin’ a bunch of questions is one thing, but I’ve got no time for nosy reporters.”

  “Okay, I know when to take a hint,” Nick said, slipping his notepad and pen into his pocket. “Guess I’d better find someone else to interview.”

  He had already started to walk away, when the little girl called out, “Aren’t ya gonna try some of Pappy’s root beer?”

  “Maybe some other time.”

  I

  After inspecting her knees, Miriam found that only the right one was bleeding, but the cut didn’t appear to be too serious. She wet a paper towel and blotted the knee to stop the bleeding; then she tried unsuccessfully to get the blood off her dress. She was afraid of scrubbing too hard for fear of tearing it more, so she decided to wait until she got home to tend to it properly.

  Miriam was about to leave the restroom, when the door flew open and a little girl burst into the room. It was Mary Ellen Hilty. “Teacher!” she cried excitedly. “I seen your folks a bit ago, but I didn’t know you was here today.”

  “Actually, I’ve only been here a short time,” Miriam responded. She was tempted to correct the child’s English but decided not to mention it since this wasn’t a school day and she wasn’t Mary Ellen’s mother.

  “Pappy will be glad to see you.” The child’s hazel-colored eyes shone like copper pennies, and her round cheeks took on a rosy glow. “He thinks you cook real good, Teacher. He said so after we had supper at your place last time.”

  Miriam tried to force a smile, but inwardly, she was seething. Of course he likes my cooking. He would like any woman’s cooking.

  “Your mamm said me and Pappy could come to supper at your place again soon.” Mary Ellen twisted her body from side to side like a wiggly worm.

  Oh, great. That’s just what I need. Miriam tried to force a smile. “Are you happy it’s almost time for school to be out for the summer?” she asked, hoping the change in subject might get Mary Ellen’s mind on something other than their next supper invitation.

  The child offered her a wide grin. “I’ll enjoy spending more time with Pappy when he lets me come in his shop, but I’ll miss school—and you, Teacher Mim. Is it all right if I call you that?”

  “Jah, sure,” Miriam mumbled.

  “Some of the kinner don’t like you so much, but I think you’re real smart—and pretty, too.”

  “Danki.” Miriam moved toward the door. “I must be going now, Mary Ellen. I need to find my folks.”

  “They’re still talkin’ to Pappy over by his root beer stand. Why don’t you go on over and try some? Pappy gave your folks a glass for free, and I’m sure he’d give you one, too.”

  Miriam only nodded in reply, but when she left the restroom she turned in the opposite direction, away from the side of the market where the refreshments were sold. The last thing she needed was another meeting with Mary Ellen’s father.

  She didn’t have to go far before she saw a familiar face. Her sister-in-law Crystal was heading toward her, holding hands with her two-year-old twin boys, Jacob and John.

  “Aunt Mimmy, dummle—hurry,” Jacob squealed.

  “Aunt Mimmy, dummle,” John echoed.

  Miriam knelt next to her nephews to give them a hug, but the pain in her knee caused her to wince, so she carefully stood up again.

  “Miriam, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Crystal asked with a look of concern.

  “It’s not serious. I fell outside in the parking lot and cut my knee a little. I embarrassed myself some, too.” Miriam made no mention of the brazen young English man who had offered his assistance. Why bring more questions from Crystal?

  Crystal pointed to Miriam’s dress. “You’ve torn your skirt. Let’s go find your mamm. Maybe she has something we can mend it with. Your folks are here with you, aren’t they?”

  “Jah. I was told they’re over at Amos Hilty’s root beer stand.”

  “Let’s go find them,” Crystal suggested. “Maybe after Mom fixes your dress, she’ll watch the twins for me. Then we can go off by ourselves and do some shopping. It will be like old times for us.”

  The idea of some time alone with Crystal did sound kind of nice, but Miriam wasn’t eager to see Amos. She hesitated before answering. “Why don’t you go on? I’ll meet you over by the quilts. I’d like to look at some Karen Freisen has for sale.”

  “That’s fine, but what about your dress?”

  “It can wait until I go home.”

  “Come with us anyway, and I’ll treat you to a nice cold root beer,” Crystal prompted.

  John tugged on Miriam’s dress. “Dummle, Aunt Mimmy.”

  “Dummle, Aunt Mimmy,” echoed Jacob.

  Miriam shrugged. “Oh, all right. I can see that I’m outnumbered. Let’s get ourselves some root beer.”

  I

  Amos was busy pouring a glass of frothy root beer for a young English boy when Miriam showed up with Crystal and her twins. He handed the glass to the boy and offered Miriam what he hoped was a friendly smile. “It’s good to see you again. Your folks were here a few minutes ago. You just missed them.”

  “Oh, wouldn’t you know it? I wanted Anna to watch these two for me,” Crystal said, nodding at her boys.

  “Maybe we should try to find them,” Miriam suggested.

  Jacob pulled on his mother’s skirt, and John pointed toward a jug of root beer.

  “Jah, boys, we’ll have some root beer first,” promised their mother.

  Amos lifted the jug that was already open and poured some root beer into four paper cups. He handed the two larger ones to the women and gave the twins smaller servings.

  Frothy foam covered John’s and Jacob’s noses when they simultaneously took a drink. The grown-ups laughed—even Miriam. It was the first time Amos had seen her laugh in a good long while, and it sounded real nice to his ears.

  After the drinks were finished and they’d engaged in some polite conversation, Miriam said they should be on their way. Amos nodded, feeling a sense of regret, and said he hoped to see her again soon and was sorry she had missed Mary Ellen, who had gone to the restroom.

  “I saw her in there,” Miriam said. “I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

  Amos shrugged.
“If she doesn’t run into someone she knows and gets to gabbing.”

  “That’s the way I was when I was Mary Ellen’s age,” Crystal put in. “My daed said I was the most talkative child in our family.”

  Miriam glanced around with an anxious expression. “Well, as I said before, I really should be on my way.”

  “That’s right,” Crystal agreed. “We need to find your mamm so we can see if she’s willing to watch the twins while we do some shopping.”

  The women headed off, and Amos, determined to get Miriam off his mind, busied himself by setting several more jugs of root beer on the table.

  I

  “Amos is definitely interested in you,” Crystal whispered to Miriam as they walked away.

  “Well, I’m not interested in him,” Miriam replied with a firm nod. “Furthermore, it troubles me the way everyone keeps trying to match us up. Even his daughter is in on the plot.”

  Crystal touched Miriam’s arm. “Mary Ellen’s a sweet child. I’m sure no such ideas have entered her mind.”

  “Maybe not, but some adults, whom I won’t bother to mention, are in on the scheme to marry me off to Amos.” Miriam wrinkled her nose. “I’m afraid some of them might be using that poor child as an instrument of their devious ways.”

  Crystal laughed. “How you do exaggerate. No one’s being devious or plotting against you. We just want your happiness; surely you can see that.”

  Miriam just kept on walking.

  “Ever since we were little girls, all we talked about was how we would marry someday and have a family. We both knew how happy we’d be if God gave us good husbands and a bunch of fine kinner to raise.”

  “That’s easy enough for you to say, because you’re happily married to my brother Jonas. And you have these lieblich boys to fill your life,” Miriam added, pointing to her adorable nephews. She touched her chest. “I, on the other hand, am an old-maid schoolteacher, and I’ll always be one.”

  That was a great story you did on the farmers’ market,” Pete said when Nick entered his office the next weekend.

  Nick pulled out a chair and took a seat in front of his boss’s desk. “Thanks. Glad you liked it.”

  “You must have some kind of a connection with the Amish, because the quotes you got were awesome, not to mention the pictures you included.”

  Nick nodded. “I took a few years of German, so I understand some of what they say when they speak Pennsylvania Dutch to each other, which is how I got some of the information included in my article.”

  “And the pictures? Did they willingly pose for those?”

  “Only a few of the Amish kids did. The older ones don’t like to have their pictures taken, so I had to get those on the sly.”

  Pete nodded, and a slow smile spread across his face. “You’re not only good with words and pictures, but you’re crafty, as well. I like that in my reporters. That’s how great stories are born, you know.”

  Nick lifted his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. “I do my best.”

  Pete’s balding head bobbed up and down. “And I’m sure you’ll do your best on the next piece I give you.”

  “What might that be?” Nick asked with interest.

  “Covered bridges.”

  “Covered bridges?”

  “Yep. There are a lot of them in the area, and some of the older ones are in the process of being restored. I think it would be good to do an article about the bridges so our readers will know where they are and how to find them.”

  “Do you know where they all are, Pete?”

  “Nope, but that’s your job to find out.”

  Nick felt a trickle of sweat roll down his forehead. Driving all over the countryside searching for covered bridges did not sound like an interesting assignment, and he told his boss so.

  “You don’t have to drive around aimlessly. I’m sure the Amish in the area know where the bridges are, so I would suggest that you stop by some of their farms and ask for directions.” With that, Pete stood and motioned to the door. “Your assignment begins right now, Nick.”

  I

  The morning sun beating against the windows had already warmed the kitchen when Miriam came downstairs. She squinted against the harsh light and turned away from the window. Her head felt fuzzy; another pounding migraine had sent her to bed early the night before, and the unpleasant remnants of it still remained. What she really needed was something to clear her head of the dusty cobwebs lingering from her disturbed sleep. Since today was Saturday and there was no school to teach, perhaps she would have a cup of herbal tea, wash her hair, and then go sit by the stream to dry it. Some time alone might do her some good. Papa and Lewis were already out in the fields, and Mom had gone over to her eldest son, Andrew’s, place to help his wife, Sarah, with some baking, so no one would need Miriam for anything.

  While she waited for the water in the kettle to heat, she cut herself a wedge of shoofly pie and took a seat at the table. She liked solitude, and the quietness of the house seemed to soothe her aching head a bit. By the time she had finished eating, the water was hot, so she poured some into a cup and added a peppermint tea bag. After drinking the tea, she went to the sink to wash her hair, using a bar of Mom’s homemade lilac soap. A hint of the perfumed flower tickled Miriam’s nose, and she sniffed appreciatively. She rinsed with warm water, reached for the towel she had placed on the counter, and blotted her hair, being careful not to rub too aggressively, which she knew would only aggravate her headache.

  When she was satisfied that the majority of water had been absorbed from her hair into the towel, she wrapped another towel loosely around her head, picked up her hairbrush from the wall shelf nearby, and went out the back door.

  Miriam found the stream behind their house to be clear and blue, so inviting. She sank to the ground, slipped off her shoes, and wiggled her toes in the sun-drenched grass. At moments like this, she wished she were still a child. Life seemed easier back then, and it wasn’t nearly so painful.

  She reached up and pulled the towel from her head, causing her damp hair to fall loosely about her shoulders. She shook her head several times, letting the sun warm her tresses as she closed her eyes and lifted her face toward the sky.

  Oh Lord, she prayed, why must my heart continue to hurt so? I want to be pleasing in Your sight, yet I know that most of the time I fall terribly short. How can I have a merry heart, as Mom says I should, when I’m so full of pain and regrets? Tears squeezed from her closed eyelids, and Miriam reached up to wipe them away.

  The crackling of a twig startled her, and when she turned, she spotted the lens of a camera peeking through the branches of a willow tree. When she realized it was pointed at her, she gasped and jumped to her feet.

  Nick McCormick stepped out from behind the tree and smiled. “Sorry if I surprised you.”

  “I—I never expected to see you again.”

  He smiled sheepishly. “I can’t believe my luck—it’s the liberated Amish woman I had the privilege of helping to her feet last Saturday. And what beautiful feet they are,” he said, pointing to Miriam’s bare feet. “I had no idea I’d be seeing you again today, either. Especially not like this.”

  Miriam pulled the hairbrush from her apron pocket and began brushing her tangled hair, knowing she must look a sight. “I don’t appreciate you sneaking up on me. And I don’t like the fact that you were taking my picture. I told you last week—”

  “Yes, yes, I already know. The Amish don’t like to be photographed.” His smile widened, and he moved closer to her.

  Miriam’s teeth snapped together with an audible click, and she twisted the handle of the hairbrush in her hands. Why did she feel so nervous in this man’s company? “The Bible tells us in Exodus 20, verse 4, ‘Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image,’ ” she explained. “We believe that includes posing for photographs or displaying them for impractical reasons. We also don’t want to appear prideful.”

  “I can see that you’re well versed in the scri
ptures,” Nick said as he took a seat on the grass. Before she could comment, he quickly added, “And for your information, I photographed several Amish children at the farmers’ market the other day, and none of them put up such a fuss. Is their religion any different than yours?”

  Miriam lowered herself to the grass again, making sure she was a comfortable distance from the insolent intruder. “Children haven’t joined the church yet, and they don’t know any better. Besides, some English folks bribe them with money or candy. They’re not strong enough to say no.”

  Nick laughed, causing the skin around his blue eyes to crinkle. “How about you, Miss Stoltzfus? Would you allow me to photograph you for a piece of candy?”

  “I wouldn’t pose for a picture at any price.” Miriam looked the man squarely in the eyes. “Anyway, you’ve already taken my picture without my knowledge or my consent. I’m sure you probably have some prize-winning shots of the silly Amish woman sitting by the stream without her head-covering in place.”

  Nick’s face sobered. “I’ve offended you again, haven’t I?”

  “To be perfectly honest, you have.”

  Nick held his camera in front of her face, and as he pulled each of the pictures he’d taken of her onto the screen, he hit the DELETE button. “There. Is that better?”

  Before she could open her mouth to reply, he added, “Please accept my heartfelt apology for intruding on your privacy.”

  Miriam’s defenses dropped just a little. “Thank you, Mr. McCormick.”

  “Nick. Please, call me Nick.” He grinned at her in a most disconcerting way. “You know what, Miriam?”

  “What?”

  “You’re beautiful when you smile.”

  Miriam felt the heat of a blush stain her cheeks. She hadn’t even realized that she’d given him a smile. She looked down at her hands, clasped tightly around her hairbrush, and noticed that she was trembling. “I—I don’t know what to say.” Her voice was strained as his gaze probed hers. How could this man’s presence affect her so, and why?