Brush of Angel's Wings Page 4

  “I thought you might be thirsty.” She held out one of the glass jars to her father. “And I brought you kaffi for later.” She set the thermos on the ground next to other items they’d brought to the field with them.

  While he took long gulps of the water, she stole another glance at Jordan. “Daed,” she said, “why can’t you teach me about cloddy soil and groundwater runoff? And I can handle Clyde as gut as anyone.” She meant as good as Jordan. Better than Jordan. He didn’t know the temperamental horse like she did.

  Daed lowered the jar. “Take Jordan the water. He’s thirsty.”

  She sighed. Why did he continually push her away?

  Jordan lifted his head and pulled back on the reins as she approached, her dress flapping around her ankles in the breeze. She extended the jar toward him.

  He pushed his hat down on his head and wiped his grubby hands across his thighs. “Thank you,” he said, accepting the jar.

  Jordan gulped down the water in one continuous drink, released a satisfied sigh, and handed the empty container to her. “How’s the cream? Have you watched it separate yet?”

  She ignored his wiggling brows and spun in her father’s direction. Walking up to Daed, she said, “I’ll work with you tomorrow.”

  “Nay need.”

  “But I’ve worked in the field ever since—”

  “It’s already been decided.” The jagged lines around Daed’s eyes softened. “I’m doing this for you.”

  “Me?”

  “You won’t learn how to become a fraa by working in the field.”

  What was he talking about? She had no marriage pledge.

  He chuckled. “I saw those eggs you served Jordan.”

  A look of horror must have crossed her face because Daed laughed harder. Although it was wonderful to hear him laugh again—she hadn’t heard him laugh much since James died—why did it have to be linked to Jordan’s arrival?

  She waited until Jordan and Clyde were far enough away that he wouldn’t be within earshot. “Even if I could cook as gut as Mamm”—the ties of her head covering blew in her face, and she grabbed them and held them away—“it doesn’t mean I’ll find a husband.”

  Perhaps Daed sensed her embarrassment because he sobered. “In God’s timing, I pray you will.” He put his hands in his pockets and watched Jordan. With the reins draped over his shoulders, Jordan’s hands held steady on the plow as it cut through the dirt.

  “I might nett know much about cooking and sewing,” she said, “but I do know Jordan isn’t plowing a straight line.” She waited for him to agree. Any farmer knew to keep his sight fixed in the distance and not on the ground. Jordan would have the corn growing in circles if he didn’t guide Clyde properly.

  Daed scratched the back of his neck. “Jah, he’s got some learning to do, but it’ll be gut to have a set of strong hands on the farm.” He continued to keep his eyes on Jordan. “It’s too far to make that two-hour drive back and forth from his onkle’s haus every day, so he’s moving into the grossdaadi haus.”

  The grossdaadi haus? She tried to hide her disbelief. James had been given their grandparents’ house when Katie Bender and he made plans to marry. Rachel couldn’t bear the idea that Jordan was taking James’s place living in the grossdaadi haus, or more importantly, in her father’s heart.

  “Walk properly, child, not in strife, for that is not pleasing to God.” Nathaniel’s words penetrated her heart, but they would only be empowered by her willingness to obey this truth.

  Nathaniel smelled the stench surrounding Tangus before the fallen angel surfaced from a dense black fog. His scaly body flaked off shriveled layers of matter that once made up his radiance. His beauty, along with his towering size and strength, had shriveled when God cast him into darkness with the others. Guarding his several sets of eyes from Nathaniel’s light, Tangus stealthily approached the girl, whispering syrupy words of deceit into her thoughts and heart.

  “Your father lost the son he loved because of you. Your carelessness stole your father’s heart forever. You know you can never take your brother’s place. You are not as important to your father as your brother was. Turn around, Rachel. See how well your father and Jordan work together. Jordan will take the place in your father’s heart that rightfully belongs to your brother—and to you.”

  Rachel kicked a clod of dirt as she walked away from her father. “Ach, why did Jordan have to kumm here?”

  “Yes! He has no right to interfere!” Tangus said, crawling closer. He pivoted, gloating over his certainty. “She will open her heart to the spirit of envy, you’ll see.”

  Rachel turned her face to the sky. “He has no right to interfere in our lives. He isn’t even Amish.”

  “Seek God, child,” Nathaniel urged.

  Tangus inched closer. “God doesn’t care about such silly things. Don’t trouble Him with this frivolity.”

  “Why doesn’t Daed see Jordan is worthless to him? He’s nett going to be any help.” She closed her hands into fists, frustration beginning to fill her. “He didn’t milk the cow fully and he can’t even plow a straight line.”

  “That’s right. Your work is far superior to Jordan’s.” Tangus smirked. “You heard her, Nathaniel. She’s listening nicely to me, don’t you think?”

  Nathaniel’s shudder kicked up wind, and he feathered the tip of his wings across Rachel’s cheek.

  The girl searched the sky, touched her face, and sighed.

  Chapter Four

  Jordan unfastened Clyde from the plow and led him off the field. As he rounded the corner of the barn, Rachel came into his peripheral vision—talking to a cow. He pulled back on Clyde’s halter to have him stop.

  He was far enough away that he couldn’t make out everything she was saying. Had she really asked the cow how she was feeling? She probably expected the cow to answer too. He cocked his head when she squatted down and spread her hand over the cow’s belly.

  The cow swished its tail and caused Rachel to lose her balance and stumble backward. When she regained her balance, she lifted her foot, and judging her grimaced expression, she’d probably stepped in a cow pie.

  Jordan subdued his mirth and coaxed Clyde forward. He didn’t need to waste time watching Rachel—especially since it was obvious she disliked him. He understood, but whether she liked him or not, the cows needed milking. He wanted to make a good impression by having the barn chores completed before Micah returned from his errands.

  He led Clyde into his stall, unhooked the water bucket, and headed outside to the pump. As he pumped the handle, Rachel shuffled toward him.

  “I’ll just be a minute.” He eyed her soiled shoe, then sniffed the air. “Do you smell something?”

  Her nose scrunched as she breathed in, then she exhaled while shaking her head. “Nothing unusual.”

  “Hmm. I was sure I smelled a dung pile.” He shrugged. “Must be the wind direction.”

  She leaned toward him with narrowed eyes. “You do know this is a farm.”

  Jordan grinned and made it obvious he was looking at her shoes. “Most farmers wear boots to do barn work.” He filled the bucket, moved it aside, then continued pumping the handle. “Go ahead. Take your shoes off and wash them.”

  “I’m a big girl. I know what to do with dirty shoes.” She put her hands on her hips. “And I can pump mei own water.”

  Jordan released the handle and stepped back, raising his hands in surrender. “I hope those aren’t your Sunday shoes.”

  Nathaniel followed Jordan into the barn. “Do not strive against one another or cause one to stumble into anger. Rather, love one another as Jesus commanded.”

  Nathaniel entered the stall at the same time as Jordan. The horse nickered at Nathaniel’s presence. “Be still,” he ordered the beast. The horse pawed the straw floor, stretched its neck, and snorted.

  “Easy, boy.” Jordan lowered the full water bucket and picked up another to get feed.

  Rachel entered and headed to Ginger’s stall. Grab
bing the feed bucket, she carried it to the grain bin.

  “Apologize. Don’t let the sun go down,” Nathaniel prodded Jordan’s conscience.

  Jordan took a step toward Rachel, intending to say something, but sneezed instead.

  “Bless you.”

  “Thank you.” He sneezed again.

  Jordan scanned the area for the fur-ball culprit. A litter of barn cats caused his last sneezing fit at the Troyers’. Earlier, when he helped with milking, he hadn’t had this problem.

  Rachel filled a tin can with grain. “You have a cold?”

  He used a coffee can to scoop oats from the barrel, filling it to the brim. “Allergies.” He inhaled slowly. His nasal passages weren’t completely clogged—yet. The fluid inside his sinus cavity pulsated with increasing pressure.

  “You look like you’ve been crying.”

  Jordan rubbed his eyes. “I’m like the TV commercial. Sneezing, itchy . . . watery . . . eyes.”

  Her nose scrunched.

  He sighed. “I guess you’ve never seen the commercial.”

  “Nay.”

  Of course she hadn’t. No electricity. No television or radio.

  She opened her big blue eyes wider. “You miss watching TV?”

  “Sometimes.” He missed a lot of things that were sold to pay his mother’s medical bills or repossessed for lack of payment. He took Clyde’s bucket and headed back to the stall, sneezing three times in quick succession.

  “Every Amish family has a barn,” she said, following him. “If you have hay allergies, why did you kumm to live with your onkel?”

  He stared at her for a moment, wondering how much to tell her. He began to pour the oats into Clyde’s feed bin, and the horse had his nose in the bin before the oats had emptied from the can. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of her bending down to pick up a gray, fluffy-haired cat. She stuck her nose in the cat’s fur and nuzzled it. He could hear her talking to it in soft, muffled words, cradling it in her arms.

  “I guess that’s your cat.”

  She looked at him as though he were stupid.

  “Does it have a name?”

  “His name is Smokey.” She craned her head toward the opened window. “Daed’s back. He’ll need mei help with the horse.” She lowered Smokey to the ground and headed for the door. She stopped, the sunlight streaming into the barn, putting her in a silhouette outlined with gold. “Does my daed know you’re allergic to the barn? Perhaps working here isn’t such a gut idea.”

  “Who says it’s the barn? Maybe I’m allergic to you.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Another gut reason you should leave.”

  She bolted out the door.

  “Jordan, I want to help you find your way, but how can I if you don’t listen?” Nathaniel peered upward. “Master, show me how to reach him.”

  Tangus hung out in a corner and chortled. “I think it’s nice he’s having fun.”

  Gravel crunched under the wheels of what sounded like a truck. Jordan peered out the window to see Micah waving his hands, giving directions for whoever was backing up the fancy horse trailer. Whoever owned this rig was serious about horses.

  “Rachel, geh ask Jordan to help me, please.”

  Jordan trotted for the door, nearly colliding with Rachel at the entrance. “Sorry,” he said, stepping around her.

  “Daed said he needs help unloading a horse.” She delivered her message as though it was painful for her to do so.

  “Sure.” He wiped his hands on the sides of his pants and followed her to the trailer.

  Micah hand-signaled the driver to stop. He spoke to Jordan while still focused on the trailer. “This boy might give us problems unloading.”

  “New horse?”

  “Nett mine. I only shoe, board, and train them.” Micah waved to the man who was getting out of the driver’s seat of the pickup truck, but Jordan locked eyes on the girl climbing out from the passenger side. She looked to be Rachel’s age and was very beautiful. Her chestnut-colored hair fell over the shoulders of her jean jacket and bounced as she strolled confidently over to Jordan.

  “Hi, I’m Kayla.” She stuck out her hand, which he clasped. Her grip was firm, her hand very soft.

  “Jordan,” he said.

  She dug her hands into the front pockets of her jeans and rocked back on the heels of her boots, considering him.

  He didn’t mind admiring her as well. A good Amish man would look away and not tempt himself. But he wasn’t Amish.

  Delight spread over her face and she couldn’t stand still. “I’m excited. This is my first horse.”

  “Is that so?” Why was it that girls squirmed when they were excited? It was like every muscle was bursting with energy.

  “I suppose since you’re Amish a new horse wouldn’t be a big deal to you.”

  He wasn’t sure how to answer, deciding it was less complicated to let her believe as she wished.

  The trailer ramp hitting the ground with a heavy thud riled the horse. “I need to help Micah,” he told her and stepped closer to the trailer.

  “Easy nau,” Micah said calmly to the horse. “Jordan, if you could stand on the other side of the trailer . . .” He took in the area around him, mentally measuring what he needed to do for safety. “Rachel, go in the haus and help your mamm with supper.”

  She gave Kayla a long look but did as her father instructed.

  Nathaniel shadowed Rachel across the gravel drive. He wanted to assure her of God’s love and steer her away from jealousy. But hearing Tangus provoke the horse, Nathaniel turned back to protect his other charge.

  Micah opened the access window to the trailer and attached the lead to the horse’s halter. The horse snorted and moved about, causing the trailer to rock. “Easy, boy,” Micah said, calming him a bit. He stepped inside the trailer and unlatched the barrier that had supported him during the ride. He took hold of the lead and began to back the horse out, speaking in soft tones.

  The moment the appaloosa cleared the trailer, he reared, pawing his front hooves in the air above Micah.

  Tangus pounced on the animal’s back and clung like a bur at his withers.

  Micah pulled the rope taut, seemingly unruffled at the horse’s dangerous behavior. “He’s got some vinegar in him.” The horse tossed his head, his eyes wide, his feet in constant motion.

  Nathaniel drew his sword. “Leave the animal alone!”

  Tangus slithered off the horse. “You’re no fun.”

  Once Tangus was gone, Nathaniel lowered his sword and tethered it to his armor. Then, gently touching the horse’s neck, he spoke soothingly. “Peace, be still.”

  The horse stopped his fight, and Micah looped a rope around his neck and passed it to Jordan.

  The horse snorted and sidestepped in Jordan’s direction.

  “Easy, boy.” Jordan gripped the rope with both hands as Micah eased closer. The horse, although somewhat calmer, still kept his ears back against his head while nervously raising his head high, breathing heavily and pawing at the ground.

  Micah spoke to the Englischer. “George, will you open the barn door the rest of the way? Gently, so the noise doesn’t spook him.”

  Once the door was open, Jordan and Micah guided the horse into an empty stall.

  “I’ll get some feed. Maybe that will calm him.” Jordan headed to the grain barrel. The girl followed.

  “What do you think of him?” Excitement bubbled out of her.

  He paused from filling the can. “Not that my opinion matters . . . but he seems too high-strung for a beginner to handle.”

  Obviously deflated and defensive, she said, “He comes from good stock.”

  Jordan finished scooping the oats. “For what?”

  “Barrel racing.”

  “I drive horses and ride but not around barrels.” He left her standing by the feed and sneezed on his way back to the stall.

  “God bless you,” Micah said. He gestured to the other man.

  “This is George
Davy, and George, this is Jordan Engles. He’s helping me on the farm.”

  The men shook hands, exchanging words of greeting.

  “Well, I guess I’d better get going. There’s always something to do on a farm, isn’t there?” George stepped toward the door. “Are you ready to go, Kayla?”

  “I want to say good-bye to Pepper.” She climbed the first rung of the stall gate and leaned to stroke the horse’s neck. “I’ll be back to visit soon.”

  Jordan tossed a flake of hay into the stall, then grabbed the empty water bucket. The horse’s name seemed reasonable. Not only did he have black spots, but he had fire running through him.

  He took the bucket outside to the well, and as he pumped the handle, the Davys climbed into their truck. He returned Kayla’s wave, then picked up the full bucket.

  Jordan sneezed as he was returning to the stall with the water. He tipped his head back to search the rafters but didn’t see the cat.

  Micah walked up to Jordan. “Barn dust?”

  Feeling his eyes beginning to water, Jordan wiped his shirtsleeve across his face. Rachel’s words returned to him, asking if her father knew of his allergy. “I’ll be fine.” Even as he spoke the words, another sneeze triggered. Perhaps he was allergic to barn dust as well as cats.

  “April is early for pollen.”

  “I still want the work.” His words were rushed.

  Micah cocked his head. “Gut. Have you ever shoed a horse?”