Willow Creek

Two

Rowan

I pushed the hat back and ran my fingers through my sweaty hair, staring at Scout’s forelock. There were gray hairs mixed in with the brown ones, and it struck me for the first time that the gelding was getting old. I frowned at the horse, trying my best not to look at my sister, who was sitting on the bale of straw in front of Scout’s stall. She cradled her head in her hands and occasionally she sniffed or mumbled something.

I closed my eyes, remembering happier times. When we were little kids, Rebecca would ride her pony beside me, her chin held high and her eyes laughing. Back then she was my shadow, following me around like an eager puppy. Sometime between then and the past few years, she’d changed. Her carefree spirit had darkened and her laughter had stopped. She never smiled anymore and most of the time she sulked about, quietly murmuring to herself. Occasionally Rebecca’s eyes cleared and a small light sparked in those pale depths. Those times were the worst. That was when she became jittery and defiant; that was when she’d fight with Father and Mother.

I dropped onto the straw beside her and thudded my head back against the wooden boards. “Why do you do this to yourself?” I asked, unable to keep the annoyance from my voice. I had worked all day with the building crew and now there were four horses waiting to be shod. The sun had dipped beyond the horizon and the air was still and hazy. It would be a miracle if I finished all the horses before darkness fell. And without lights in the barn, that meant an extra early morning the following day.

Rebecca sat up. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and then stared back at me with a furrowed brow. Her skin was drawn tightly over her face, and it suddenly occurred to me that she’d lost weight. Her eyes and cheeks were hollow and she was rail thin. In recent days her mood swings had become more severe, and I’d tried avoiding her. It was just too difficult to see my sister withering away and losing her mind at the same time.

The doe-eyed look she shot at me created a sinking feeling in my heart. I rubbed my hands together. “I’m not being mean. Mother and Father just want what’s best for you. You should listen to them and take their counsel,” I urged.

Rebecca’s eyes narrowed and she leaned in. “They’re wrong, Rowan. They think they know what’s best for me but they don’t. They’re selfish and want to make me like them. I’m not the same.” Her voice came out in a wet whistling sound.

I licked my lips. “Of course, you are. You and I are Amish, just like our parents and everyone else in the community. You’re going through a rough patch. It will pass in time, and you’ll see the light.”

Rebecca’s eyes widened to saucer size and the side of her mouth rose into a sharp smirk. “That’s what you all wish, but it’s not going to happen. I have a sinful heart, brother, and you know it. I can’t follow the rules anymore. I don’t even believe in the minister’s teachings. I can’t pretend any longer to be something I’m not.”

I swiveled my head, scanning the barn’s hallway warily. When I saw that the coast was clear, I lowered my voice to an urgent whisper. “Don’t say such crazy things. You don’t have anywhere to go. You’d never survive as an Englisher.”

“How do you know that? I couldn’t be much worse off than I am right now.” She adjusted her white cap, pressing a pin down sharply on her head. I winced; it looked painful. “Jessica said there’s medications available that would help me feel better and you know that’s not an option if I stay here.”

I shook my head. “Jessica is just a driver. What makes her an expert on such things?”

Rebecca let out a small grunt. “Her sister suffers from depression and some other things. She thinks I might have the same problems.”

“You shouldn’t listen to her. She’s just trying to corrupt you into running away.” I looked around again to make sure no one had snuck up on us. When I returned my attention to Rebecca, she was staring straight ahead with pursed lips. “Don’t you remember what happened to Lucinda when she went English?” Rebecca took a shallow breath but otherwise didn’t respond, so I plowed on. “She got mixed up with a man who did drugs and he got her hooked on them too. She was pregnant and homeless within a few months.”

“She killed herself. Tied a couple of sheets together and hanged herself off the back porch of the rundown rental she was living in.” Rebecca’s tone was lifeless, as if she was reading from a boring book. She continued to stare straight ahead.

My chest constricted painfully. Before I had a chance to chastise her callous words, she turned and sputtered, “It didn’t have to be that way for Lucinda. If her family had supported her, she might have gotten the aid she needed…” Rebecca trailed off and began quietly humming. She pushed the dirt around with her black tennis shoe as what she had said settled on the quiet, dusty air.

Did my younger sister think she would end up like poor Lucinda? Was she threatening to run away or maybe even kill herself? Was she crying out for help and no one was listening?

I swallowed down the uncomfortable knot growing in my throat. It wasn’t easy being Amish. Temptations from the outside world were always present. Things like driving cars, going to the movies, listening to music, and even wearing modern clothes, were off limits to us. It was worse when we were teenagers. When the English kids were learning to drive and hanging out unchaperoned, we were sneaking out behind the barn after our parents were in bed to play games and listen to music on our secretly purchased cellphones. The lack of freedom caused many of us to rebel against the elders in even more serious ways. Some kids fancied the English ways and fell in with the wrong kinds of people. They drank alcohol, did drugs, and other things that were strictly forbidden for our people. Sometimes they were discovered and punished severely or even shunned by the community for an extended period of time. Other times they escaped that reckless time without anyone being the wiser.

Our community was even tougher than some others when it came to the number of rules we had to abide by. Our teenagers didn’t get the opportunity to experience Rumspringa, either. The short period of relative freedom that some communities let their young people celebrate helped many decide which way they wanted to go ‒ Amish or English. The Willow Creek settlement had decided long ago that allowing their teenagers to run amuck was a recipe for disaster and a threat to growing the population of the community. Sure, back in those days even I resented the harsh rules we lived by, but over time my restless heart had steadied and I had realized there were good reasons for the authority. For me, it all became shockingly clear when one of my closest childhood friends, Abe Schrock, snuck out one night with an English girl he was sweet on. She picked him up in her dented little red car and they went somewhere to fool around and drink beer. The girl was drunk when she drove Abe back to his farm. It had been raining all day and she slid off a slick road into a telephone pole. The car had been traveling at a very high speed ‒ at least that’s what the police officer told the bishop the next morning. The officer also said that both teenagers had probably died instantly. It wasn’t long afterwards that word reached the community that Lucinda had committed suicide. Both incidents had dulled my desire to leave the Amish and most of the other kids my age felt the same way. The outside world was a dangerous place. I was content to farm the land, just like Da, and live a simpler life.

Rebecca was a few years younger than me. She hadn’t experienced the jolt of losing a friend to bad judgment. Lucinda’s death was only a hazy, dreamlike event to my little sister. Rebecca seemed more intent on idolizing the troubled young woman for having had the courage to leave, rather than actually pondering what had really happened to her out in the world.

Glancing down at Rebecca’s head, I forced myself to really look at her. She bobbed up and down nervously and her sniffs were the only sounds in the ever-darkening barn. Rebecca’s body was wasting away, and her soul was lost and lonely.

“Ma and Da are coming … and the bishop is with them!”

Our heads snapped up in the direction of the fearful voice. Nathaniel stood in the doorway. He was out of breath and his cheeks were red. Our little brother was only fourteen, but he was already tall for his age. People said he favored me with his dark hair and eyes, but he was a dreamy kid, like our sister. I was more likely to find him reading a book under the willow tree than doing his chores. He was trustworthy though, and the warning look on his face made me jump to my feet. Rebecca didn’t move; she simply clasped her arms around her frail body and rocked back and forth.

“Nathaniel, take the trash down to the road,” Father bellowed when he came around the corner. Nathaniel didn’t move quickly enough and Father swiped the air in between them for emphasis, getting my brother’s legs moving in a hurry.

I strode after Nathaniel but Father grasped my arm. “You can stay, Rowan. You’re a man now. This is community business and you need to learn the way things work.”

Anger flared within me. “I thought it was a family matter.” I glanced at Ma but saw no support in her pinched face.

Bishop Elijah Graber stepped forward. He glanced between me and my sister. He was shorter than me and thickly built. His beard was as rough-looking as his hair. Elijah’s round face was always ruddy and his eyes were unfailingly alert. As a child, he had reminded me of a plump fox, and now that I was an adult, I still found it to be a good comparison. The bishop wasn’t an imposing man, but somehow he managed to intimidate people with his quick and cunning mind. The fact that he was taking an interest in my sister’s problems was a real concern ‒ and I had no doubt it was Rebecca he had come to see.

Bishop Graber smoothed his black beard down. It was largely peppered with gray hairs, matching his bushy eyebrows. “When our young people rebel, it becomes community business,” he said softly and very matter-of-factly.

I saw emotion flare in Rebecca’s face and then settle as her features slowly became expressionless. Anger bubbled to the surface as I turned back to the bishop. “My sister’s issues are not rebellion.” I glanced at Ma. “Please explain her situation to Elijah,” I begged.

Ma’s face twitched in disapproval. “Your father and I asked Elijah to come. As our bishop and an elder in our church, Rebecca needs his guidance.”

I rolled my eyes and looked away when I caught the bishop’s gaze narrow at me. I didn’t want his attention.

“What do you want of me?” Rebecca’s quiet question turned all our heads.

The bishop took the few steps needed to face Rebecca. He tilted his head as Rebecca looked up. “You’ll meet with me and the other ministers on Wednesday afternoons. We’ll read the Bible together and discuss how you can fit into the community better by making friends and becoming more involved in the women’s activities.”

Rebecca nodded passively. She stood and forced a smile, saying, “Thank you for thinking of me. I look forward to our meetings.” She searched our parents’ faces as they stood stoically, side by side. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go close up the chicken coop.”

Father raised his gaze to the bishop and received a curt nod in return. “You may go.”

Rebecca scurried out of the barn, shooting me a quick look as she passed by. The sour expression on her pale face caused a lump to form again in my throat.

When Rebecca was gone, Ma turned back to the bishop. “Thank you for doing this, Elijah. I only hope your guidance will put that girl on the right path.”

The bishop tipped his hat at me and then strode for the doorway. “Only time will tell. Some young’uns need a little coaxing, while others are impossible to reform. I’d hate for you to lose your daughter if it turns out she’s the latter.”

Mother and Father hurried after the bishop into the darkness without giving me another glance. A bird made a shrill call as it settled down for the night in a nearby tree and a cow bellowed in the lower field. I removed my hat, wiping the sweat from my brow. Cool wind brushed my face when I leaned against the doorframe, watching the bishop untie his horse and climb into his buggy. The sound of my parents’ goodbyes were muffled, and I ignored their voices and the clip clops of the hooves on the driveway. The memory of Rebecca’s bewildered face hammered a place in my head. A sort of foreboding chill raced up my spine and I grunted.

My parents were trying to do what they thought was best for Rebecca, but they were mistaken to think Bible classes with the ministers and lecturing from the bishop would make any difference whatsoever. Rebecca couldn’t be fixed in the way they wished. As much as I hated to admit it, even to myself, she had serious problems that required a professional’s help ‒ and she would never get that kind of aid if she stayed with the Amish.

Somehow, I had to get her out. But how? It would require a decent amount of money to spirit her away to one of our distant English relatives in Pennsylvania. I had some savings, but I gave much of my earnings back to Father to help pay for the farm expenses. Father had promised to deed me the bottom land acres along the river if I contributed my income for another year, but that left me short on money most days. Now I was twenty-two, Mother was pushing me to begin seriously courting, and she even had a girl or two in mind. I could hardly argue with her on that matter. I felt the itch to settle down on my own land and start a family with a good woman. Unfortunately, up until now, none of the girls had struck my fancy ‒ at least no one in the community. There had only been one girl who had quickened my heart, but she was English, and that was a very long time ago.

Still, more often than I liked, a certain face came to mind. I shut my eyes and let the memory flood in.

It was an overcast, rainy day, and the girl’s blue eyes shone brightly from her round, fresh face. Wisps of red hair escaped her ponytail and she kept pushing her hair back behind her ears in annoyed movements. A light smattering of freckles splashed her straight nose and over her pink cheeks. She walked with confident, ground-covering strides that reminded me of a prancing filly on a springtime pasture. This special girl liked to talk about horses and the books she was reading, and often there was a thoughtful, far-off look on her face.

I opened my eyes, shaking the memory away. That was six years ago, and the girl was a grown woman now. I had only caught glimpses of her here and there in all these years, but still, she was never far from my mind. I resented the strange, invisible hold she had on me. We’d kissed a couple times in the span of a few minutes, and that was all. It was the most exciting thing that ever happened to me, but if I was going to be a good husband, I had to let go of the dreams I had for a woman I could never have.

The simple truth was, thoughts about the English girl made me happy. How I had wanted that girl ‒ and I still did.

For now, my main concern was figuring out a way to raise some extra money to save my sister. I scratched my chin, staring up at the stars that began appearing in the dark sky.

“Please, Lord, provide me with the means to take Rebecca to the English world, if it be your will,” I whispered.

The telephone rang and the loud bell made me jump. I ran across the barnyard to the shed where the phone was kept, searching down the lane to see if anyone else was coming. I was alone when I threw open the door and grabbed the receiver off the hook.

“Hello,” I said into the phone.

There was a long pause, and I repeated myself.

“Is this Rowan Coblentz?” a female asked.

I held my breath. Something about the pensive voice made my heart pound.

“Yes, yes, it is. May I ask who’s calling?”

There were a few more seconds of silence. Just when I was about to speak, she finally answered.

“It’s Katie Porter. You probably don’t remember me. I live up here at Diamond E. You worked at the ranch some years ago. Would you be interested in breaking a string of colts for us?”

Her words were rushed and anxious but they were music to my ears. I couldn’t keep the grin from my face when I glanced up at the stars and mouthed a thank you to the Lord for answering my prayer so quickly ‒ and in more ways than one.

I cleared my throat and worked hard to keep the excitement from my voice. I hesitated, gripping the receiver tightly. “What about your father? Is he all right with me lending a hand? The last time I spoke with him, he made it quite clear he didn’t want me around anymore.”

I couldn’t stop myself from heating uncomfortably. Thoughts that I’d tried to keep bottled up, and which had kept me up many nights, came flooding back in. I remembered Katie’s plump lips moving against mine, and the warm, vanilla scent of her skin.

“Daddy’s dead. Momma and I are running things now,” Katie said bluntly.

I stood up straighter and my mind cleared as if it had been slapped. “I hadn’t heard. I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be,” she snapped. “Can you break the colts or not?”

Her tone was unmistakably hostile, and as the shock settled in the pit of my stomach, I quickly responded, “Of course. I can be there tomorrow evening if that works for you.”

“It does. Meet me in the training barn at seven o’clock,” she instructed and then she was gone.

We hadn’t even discussed payment, but I didn’t care. I hung up the telephone and replaced my hat.

Any extra money at all would help Rebecca and I’d finally get to talk to Katie Porter again. Maybe she was nothing like I remembered and had grown into a nasty shrew but I doubted it. I guessed she’d blossomed from a pretty teenager into a beautiful young woman.

The girl who’d been nothing but a fantasy in my mind for so long was about to become reality. That realization both terrified and excited me in ways I should have been ashamed of.

As I walked toward the house, I whistled an unnamed tune, thinking, God has one hell of a sense of humor.

Three

Katie

The bay horse tied to the hitching rail swung his head my way and nickered. I instantly recognized the white star in the center of his forehead and the bushy black mane and tail. It was Scout ‒ the same gelding that had carried me back to the barn that stormy day six years ago. I reached out and touched the gelding’s velvety nose and murmured, “Hello, handsome.” I didn’t linger at the rail. My heart jumped and my legs felt weak. I tightened my ponytail with a tug and let out a breath as I stepped into the dim interior of the training barn. My eyes adjusted and I quickly found who I was looking for.

Rowan Coblentz stood a few stalls down the hallway, petting Remington, a two-year-old palomino stud colt. I wasn’t surprised that Rowan had honed in on that particular horse. The tall, golden-colored colt was stunning with heavy muscling in just the right places, a refined head, and intelligent eyes. Remington was also pawing at the ground and flipping his pretty head from side to side. With his good looks and breeding, he’d do well in the sale ring, but the horse had a mean streak that made him impossible to work with safely.

“He’s Daredevil’s colt out of Dixie Belle,” I said when I stepped up behind Rowan.

He didn’t even startle, which disappointed me a little. When he turned around, I struggled to keep my expression neutral, but it was difficult. Rowan had grown several inches taller since I’d last seen him, and now he towered over my five foot five inches. Still lean but with broad shoulders, his arms now bulged with muscles. The boyish fullness of his sixteen-year-old face had been replaced with sharp, strong lines. His dark brown hair was as thick and messy as it used to be and his eyes still held that wolfish intensity that I remembered so well. My first glimpse of Rowan confirmed one thing: The attraction I used to feel for the Amish horseman hadn’t diminished one bit in the years we’d spent apart.

Rowan tilted his head and leaned against the stall door in a very relaxed way. Remington’s ears went back and I thought the colt was going to strike at Rowan with his teeth, but he ended up only shaking his head, dropping it out the stall door opening beside the man’s shoulder. Rowan ignored the ornery horse completely. His gaze locked on me, causing me to fold my arms over my chest and stare back.

Unhurried, Rowan’s eyes lowered to my boots and then back up to my face again just as slowly. The leisurely appraisal made my belly tighten into a fiery ball that flushed my face. Irritation filled my insides, and I was just about to tell him how rude I thought he was when he decided to talk.

“It’s good to see you, Katie,” he drawled.

I opened my mouth and then closed it. Rowan’s voice was husky and smooth at the same time, and the way he said my name sent a sprinkle of tingles over my skin.

When we were teens, I had been bothered by Rowan’s inattention. He’d all but ignored me when I worked here and when I’d found out it was all because Dad had ordered him to stay away from me, his unfriendliness had at last made sense. Now, with his hot gaze drilling into me and making my stomach do flip-flops, I almost longed for the days when he wouldn’t even look at me.

I was determined to not to offend the only man I knew who could train the colts, including the fiery-tempered Remington, in such a short time period. Momma and I needed to sell them for enough profit to pay the bills and save the ranch from foreclosure. I’d given myself quite the pep talk the night before as I’d lain awake in bed, imagining this encounter, and I wasn’t about to let Rowan rattle me.

“Nice to see you, too.” I gestured to Remington. “Do you think you can get him working well under saddle in six weeks for the McGovern horse sale?”

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. He dropped his eyes and when he raised his head again, the wispy look of amusement had vanished. He was a patient man; that was one of the reasons the horses liked him. He thought about things before he said them and rarely did anything impulsively. I was the complete opposite, and his overly laidback demeanor was beginning to fray my last nerve.

“What happened to your arm?” he asked pleasantly.

My brows shot up and the all-night pep talk went straight out the window. I was exhausted and stressed about everything from the farm bills to my mom’s health. I’d lost my dad on the same day I’d discovered he was a cheating piece of crap. Yeah, I was done with niceties.

“Why don’t you just answer my question? This isn’t a game. Momma and I are going to lose the ranch if I can’t get these horses ready for the sale,” I spat.