Brush of Angel's Wings Page 11

  Jordan did as instructed. “Why the different hammers?”

  “This one is a straight hammer.” He pointed to a long-handled tool with a blunt, snub-nose end on one side and a wedge on the other. “I use it to shape the bar stock into a horseshoe.” He pointed to the next hammer. “The driving hammer is to set the nails in the hooves, and this one is a rounding hammer for refining.”

  Jordan mentally rehearsed the name and uses of each hammer. The driving one had a claw end similar to a carpenter hammer. He should be able to remember that one.

  “Okay, I’m ready for the horse,” Micah said.

  Jordan brought the horse into the shoeing area.

  Micah fastened a second lead on the halter and clipped each lead to an iron ring on opposite sides of the wall. “First we crosstie the horse—for the same reasons you did in your previous job.”

  Jordan watched intently.

  Micah’s hand traveled smoothly from the horse’s neck to the withers and down Pepper’s front leg. He picked up the hoof and rested it on his slightly bent leg, then after a careful inspection, Micah lowered the horse’s hoof to the ground.

  “If this was the heart of winter, I’d braze a few Borium rivets on the shoes to give him traction over the icy roads.” He smiled. “Kumm fall, you’ll be able to apply them with your eyes closed.”

  Jordan’s stomach knotted. Come fall, he planned to be gone. He wondered how long it would take to complete the course he needed to take to get his Class A Driver’s License.

  Micah gave explicit details of each step, but Jordan’s thoughts drifted from trying to remember what Micah said to being in a truck, driving from state to state. First, he reminded himself, he had to earn enough money to take the truck-driving course and pay for the special license. He’d better pay close attention. Even if he didn’t learn all the ins and outs of blacksmithing, farrier skills could be used anywhere.

  Jordan jammed his hands into his front pockets and marveled at Micah’s skill. He worked with confidence and a steady hand.

  “Now for the hind legs.” He slid his hand cautiously down the leg and asked for the horse to pick up its foot. “Sometimes the horses are touchy about having their back hooves handled.” He used a sharp metal hoof pick to clear the packed soil and trampled dung from the bottom of the hoof. “On a new horse I do them last and work fast.”

  Micah explained his process while he sized the shoe. “I leave expansion room. Their feet grow faster in the spring than the winter.”

  Sweat dripped down the back of Jordan’s neck and down his chest. Standing this close to the forge, he would have thought it was closer to August than the end of May.

  Pepper neighed and his ears flickered.

  Micah seemed to sense the horse growing impatient and worked quickly without taking additional time to explain his activity. When he finished, he studied the horse. “I like to let the horse stand on them a minute or two before walking.”

  The tools sizzled and steam rose when he dipped them into water.

  “Mei father made this hammer and passed it down to me.” He picked up the one used to drive the nails and turned it over in his hand. Instead of seeming nostalgic, he seemed sad. His eyes held a dull cast. “I taught mei sohn all I knew and planned to pass this down to him.” His voice quivered. “You won’t be an apprentice long. If you decide to become a blacksmith, you’ll need a gut set of tools.” Micah’s eyes glazed and he stroked his beard. After a moment of silence, he cleared his throat. “Will you walk the horse so I can monitor his stride?”

  “Sure.” Jordan unfastened the horse from his cross ties and led him in a large circle around the pump, then back to Micah.

  “Gut. Now at a trot, please.”

  Jordan trotted the horse in both directions in a circle before Micah gave his approval.

  “You can put him back in the stall while I redd-up the forge.”

  Jordan led Pepper toward the barn, figuring this was Micah’s way of asking for time alone. As Jordan latched the gate, Rachel appeared.

  She narrowed her eyes. “You’ve taken everything from me.”

  He cocked his head to get a look into her eyes. “What are you talking about?” He tried softening his tone, but nothing altered her hardened expression.

  She dragged her sleeve over her face. “Lunch will be ready shortly.”

  Jordan wasn’t sure who to look at during the meal, Micah’s long face or Rachel’s glaring eyes. Miriam must have sensed the coldness at the table because she stared at her plate and ate in silence too.

  Rachel’s accusations puzzled him. What had he taken? He merely wanted to work hard, earn some money, and move on.

  A boom of thunder broke the silence at the table. Rain pattered against the kitchen window.

  “The clothes.” Rachel bounced to her feet and ran to the door.

  Jordan lowered his fork. “I’ll help her,” he said, seeing Miriam start to stand.

  Miriam smiled. “Denki, that’s very kind.”

  He grabbed his hat from the hook and bolted outside.

  The bedding flapped in the stiff wind. He jogged to the line and unclipped the shirt in front of him. “I’m sorry, Rachel.”

  She stopped in front of him. “How long are you planning to stay?”

  Jordan unclipped a towel, unsure how to answer.

  She reached for the towel next to his. “Why won’t you talk about your mother? Or why you’re here? Do you have some big secret you don’t want anyone to know?”

  His jaw tensed.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?”

  He spun to face her. “It’s no secret. My mother is dead.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  Jordan continued going down the line, removing items and tossing them in the basket. She grasped his arm and stopped him. “Look, I’m sorry. I . . . I shouldn’t have said that. I’m angry. But it’s not your fault.”

  Rain streaked her face, which filled with a tenderness he hadn’t seen before. Perhaps she hadn’t been thinking before she verbally attacked him, but what did it matter? He was leaving the minute he earned enough money for driving school.

  He counted to three between a flash of lightning and the rumble of thunder that followed. She seemed more interested in standing there and probing him with questions than in taking down the clothes.

  “Jordan, I really didn’t know. I was forbidden to talk about—”

  “Her shunning?”

  He moved to the other end of the line. And then he saw his pants. He felt the air leave his lungs. He snatched them off the line and put his hand inside the pocket. Jordan closed his eyes, holding in emotions that were too big.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Before he said something he would regret, he marched off.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, chasing him.

  He ignored her, climbed the porch steps, pressed his shoulder against the door, and opened it.

  “Those were the pants with the coffee stain. I got the stain out of your shirt too. I thought you would be grateful.” The sincerity in her eyes didn’t alter how he felt.

  He pressed his lips together, keeping the churning words in check. Unable to speak, he motioned with a stiff nod at the door.

  She stepped closer. “Won’t you tell me why you’re upset?”

  “I need a few minutes alone.” He waited for her to move so he could close the door, but she stiffened like a cement pillar. Stubborn, curious woman.

  He placed his hand on her lower back and guided her to the door, then shut it hard to send an unspoken warning.

  Jordan took the wet, crimped photograph and attempted to smooth it. The ink was sticky and made a mess of his mother’s face. He leaned against the door and closed his eyes.

  Her sobbing on the other side of the door rattled his nerves. He jerked the door open. “Why are you still—” What was she doing sitting on the ground in the pouring rain? He flew off the porch and grabbed her arm. As he lifted her up, the bright blue eggs on t
he ground caught his eye.

  “The nest fell off the windowsill,” she said with hitched breath.

  “I’ll put them back.” Jordan squatted down beside the robin eggs. At least they appeared to have survived the fall. Not wanting to handle the eggs, he looked around the ground for a few sturdy sticks and leaves.

  “I wonder where the mama bird is,” she said softly.

  “I’m glad she isn’t here. She might abandon the nest if she thinks we’ve messed with her eggs.” He used the sticks to scoot the eggs onto the leaves and back into the nest, then balanced the nest between the two sticks and lifted it to the window ledge.

  “What was in your pocket?”

  Rachel stared at the rain draining off Jordan’s hat and falling on his broad shoulders.

  He turned without saying anything and went into the house.

  Rachel tilted her face upward, allowing the warm rain to dilute her tears. “He’s hurting. I see the pain in his eyes, God.”

  Nathaniel chanted prayers that only his Master understood. Transparent light radiated within him. In a chorus of echoes, he said, “His ears are open to your prayers, child.”

  Rachel splashed through the mud as she ran to the clothesline. She grabbed the basket, leaving the other items on the line, and ran into the house.

  Mamm entered the sitting room, looked at Rachel’s shoes, and wagged her head in disapproval.

  Before she opened her mouth with her well-meaning, future-fraa instructions, Rachel acknowledged her shortcoming. “Jah, I know.” She had tracked the muddy trail from the door to the sofa. “I’ll mop the floor.”

  Mamm bent down and lifted the dress from the top of the pile. “This isn’t too wet,” she said, feeling several areas of the garment before spreading it over a chair in front of the woodstove.

  “I think most of them were dry before it started to rain.” Rachel pulled Jordan’s shirt from the basket and studied it. She’d been so concerned about getting the coffee stain out, she hadn’t thought about checking his pockets.

  “Lord, show me how to make it up to Jordan,” Rachel mumbled.

  “Why? He’s the one who was irresponsible and left the stuff in his own pocket.” Tangus wedged himself between her and the woodstove. “You don’t even know what was in there. Probably nothing important—like Kayla’s cell phone or some other worldly treasure. What else would have any meaning to Jordan?” Tangus exhaled, and ash dust from the wood-stove blew out the cast iron door and fluttered to the floor.

  Mamm snapped a towel, then spread it over a stool. “I thought we could make potato soup tonight. You could make a rhubarb pie. Afterward I’ll read you Iva’s and Fanny’s letters. Have you written to them lately?”

  “Jah. I send a letter once every few days.”

  Rachel took some of the drier pieces from the basket to fold. “Did you know that Jordan’s mamm died?”

  Mamm straightened the towel over the stool. “Jah.”

  “Has he said anything to you about it?”

  “I didn’t want to pry.” She pulled the stool closer to the woodstove. “I’ve wanted him to feel at home here. He can speak or not as he pleases, so long as it isn’t dishonoring God.”

  Rachel’s throat dried. She swallowed hard. Since his arrival, she certainly hadn’t made him feel welcome. “I’ll bring some rhubarb in after I mop the floors.” This time she would add sugar. Perhaps he might view it as an apology.

  “Your heavenly Father is pleased.” Nathaniel’s brilliance magnified.

  Tangus contorted his body to avoid the light reflecting off Nathaniel’s bronze form. As the heavenly host sang praises, Tangus collapsed on the floor. Spread sheet-thin, Tangus disappeared under the door crack.

  Rachel hurried through the afternoon chores and took great care preparing the evening meal and the rhubarb pie. It wouldn’t be long before Jordan and Daed would have the milking finished.

  Mamm stood at the window. “It looks like the Davys are here to retrieve their horse.”

  Rachel stopped stirring the soup and stood on her toes next to her mother. She smiled. With the horse gone, Kayla would have no reason to pay Jordan any more visits.

  Pepper balked and backed away from the trailer. His head up high, eyes wide, he pawed the ground. She wondered why anyone would want such a green, high-strung horse for their daughter.

  The heavy scent of garlic drew her away from the window to check the progress of the biscuits. She jabbed a fork into the dough. A few more minutes and they’d be ready. Rachel filled the kettle with water to heat for coffee.

  “The horse is loaded.” Mamm pulled away from the window and went to the cabinet.

  “Finally,” Rachel said, setting out the plates and silverware.

  Mamm brought out four cups and set them on the counter. “Don’t forget to check your biscuits.”

  Rachel pulled the biscuits from the oven and slid them from the cookie sheet to a plate. Golden brown and still soft—just how she’d hoped. She breathed in the savory aroma.

  The outside door opened and closed, and a single set of footsteps entered the kitchen. Rachel glanced over her shoulder at her father.

  “Where’s Jordan?”

  Daed sat. “He’s gone to help unload the Davys’ horse.”

  Rachel’s smile faded. She brushed her hands on her apron. “We can keep a plate warm for him.”

  “Don’t look for him to kumm back. He asked to be released.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Rachel scooped a can full of oats from the grain barrel and poured them into the feed bucket. Her father hadn’t said anything since he started milking. His quietness, no doubt, had to do with Jordan leaving yesterday. Rachel wanted to apologize for the way she’d treated Jordan, but the more she dwelled on his leaving with Kayla, the more determined she became that they didn’t need him. She didn’t need him. And once she and Daed had the fields done, Daed would realize it too.

  She poured grain into Clyde’s feed bucket, adding extra to his portion because he would have a hard day pulling the stumps out of the field. She spoke to her father while she scratched Clyde on his withers. There was no way to know what was truly bothering her father unless she asked. “Something wrong, Daed?”

  He lifted his head from resting it against the cow’s side. “It’s nothing the Lord can’t handle.”

  “If you’re upset about Jordan leaving, I’ll do the fieldwork. We worked together before.”

  Daed pulled the bucket out from under the cow and stood. “Nay, Rachel.” He brushed his hand over her cheek. “I’m nett concerned about the fieldwork. I can hire other help. I’m concerned about Jordan. His heart is troubled, and I sense he’s running from God.”

  Rachel bowed her head, even more ashamed that she’d pushed Jordan to leave. She squeezed her eyes closed. Lord, forgive mei poor actions. Don’t let Jordan run far. He needs to know your peace and he won’t know that until he surrenders to you.

  Nathaniel hummed as she prayed. He delighted in hearing her petition for forgiveness. “Child, this peace you are asking for your friend can also be yours when you surrender the guilt you harbor around your brother’s death. It was not your hand that chose the hour of James’s death any more than you placed the stars in the sky.”

  Daed beckoned her. “Kumm. Let’s see what your mamm has cooked for us.”

  Rachel forced a smile and followed him out of the barn.

  When they entered the house, a mixed aroma of coffee and sausage drifted from the kitchen. Daed doffed his hat and placed it on the hook. Rachel slipped out of her barn boots.

  “Miriam, I hope that’s your biscuits and sausage gravy I smell.” Daed entered the kitchen patting his flat belly. He came up behind Mamm, placed one arm around her waist, and looked over her shoulder to peer into the pot. “Mei fraa.” He kissed her cheek. “You know how much I love biscuits and gravy.”

  “After twenty-eight years I should, ain’t so?”

  Rachel pretended not to notice their affection a
s she poured the coffee. Daed hadn’t always been so forward with his feelings.

  Rachel set the coffee cups on the table while Mamm piled the biscuits on a plate. Once seated, they prayed a silent grace.

  When Rachel opened her eyes, she noticed the empty chair that in a short time had become Jordan’s place. She missed his grin, his hearty appetite, and the different faces he made trying to disguise his reaction to her cooking.

  Mamm sprinkled her gravy with pepper, then passed the shaker to Rachel. “I plan to send a package of baked goods and some extra yardage of material to Fanny and Iva. Would you like to add a letter, Rachel?”

  “I have one started. Are you taking the package into town today?”

  “Tomorrow. Sadie’s bringing her letter and is planning to stay with us and sew clothes for the boppli today.”

  She’d forgotten about the planned sewing day. Rachel swallowed the biscuit. “Without Jordan here, Daed needs help in the field.” She faced her father, silently pleading for approval.

  “You can stay and sew today,” he said.

  “Nay. If we can get the dead stumps pulled out of the field, we can start planting.”

  Daed cleared his throat. “I told you. I will hire someone to help me.”

  “Until then, you need help, ain’t so?”

  After a long pause, Daed finally answered. “Jah, I suppose so.”

  Rachel hurried to finish eating. She wouldn’t risk loitering at the table with a second cup of coffee. The sooner she harnessed Clyde, the sooner she could prove to her father that they didn’t need to hire a field hand.

  Rachel took the dirty dishes to the sink and started the dishwater.

  “What’s the rush?” Daed sipped his coffee.

  Rachel glanced over her shoulder. “We need an early start, jah?”

  He waved his hand at her. “Jah, but we have enough time for a second cup of kaffi.” He turned to Mamm. “What do you think of that? She’s going to have me in the field all day.”