Issuu

Dedication:

This book is dedicated to the teachers who believed in me enough to push me to excel: Kay Davis, Vivian Neuberg, Neil Zimmerman, Dru Evarts, Julia Lin.

Thank you all for instilling in me a belief that I was enough.

CHAPTER ONE

Remington Jirles, the proprietor of Visions of Willow Creek in Willow Creek, Ohio, stood back and crossed one arm over his narrow midsection and rested his elbow on it, fingertips tapping his lips as he surveyed the painting he’d just hung. After a few moments he gave a satisfied hum and shifted his warm gaze to the young woman standing by his side. “What do you think?”

Miriam Zook folded her hands in front of her and pursed her lips thoughtfully. She tilted her head, setting the strings of her crisp white prayer kapp swinging as she considered her newest painting. Like all her work, this was an idealized portrait of a scene from Amish life, done in acrylics. In this case, the scene depicted a typical wash day on an Amish farm. A long clothesline stretched between a big white farmhouse and an even bigger red barn. Clothes fluttered in a breeze one could almost feel, the impression fortified by the swaying of nearby trees and the colorful dresses blowing against the legs of two young Amish women who were busily hanging the final items on the line. Perhaps Miriam, age twenty-five and Amish herself, had taken a few liberties when it came to the laundry. She reflected that most households didn’t have so many colorful dresses and shirts hanging out at one time, and the addition of two beautiful quilts, while perfectly possible, was also idealized.

It could look like this, but there would be a lot more boring items such

Anne Blackburne as undergarments and socks hanging from a real clothesline.

She chuckled, and Mr. Jirles gave her a questioning look. “Something not right? I can switch it to another location.” He squinted at the painting and shook his head. “But I really think it’s perfect here. Look—the lighting catches the jewel tones of the things on the line, especially those gorgeous quilts—just right.”

“Oh! Nee, it’s fine. I was just thinking that nobody’s clothesline is that colorful. It’s more a combination of the best items from several clotheslines.” She gave him a conspiratorial smile, and he laughed.

“Well, that’s why we call it an idealized portrait, my dear. You paint scenes filled with life and color that compel the eye to wander from detail to detail, ever delighting the viewer with some new surprise. It’s a perfect scene from a perfect day. Yet entirely possible!”

“Ja, you’re exactly right.” She nodded and gave a pleased sigh. “And I confess it makes me happy to paint pleasant scenes. I think everyone has enough sadness in their lives. Who needs to look at it in a painting?”

“With how well your paintings sell, your instincts about what people like are obviously spot-on, young woman. In fact, I wanted to speak to you about amending our arrangement. Do you have a few minutes?”

Slightly alarmed, Miriam turned to look at Mr. Jirles. “Amending it? In what way? Do you want to carry fewer of my paintings?” She swallowed, disappointment filling her at the thought. While her art was carried in several other shops in Ohio’s Amish country, Mr. Jirles’ shop was the only actual art gallery that carried her work, and he commanded higher prices than the tourist shops in Sugarcreek, Berlin, and Millersburg that sold her smaller pieces for considerably less than the prices set at Visions of Willow Creek.

“Goodness, no! The opposite. I was in Sugarcreek last week and saw what your work is bringing there—and, my dear, they’re robbing you.” He held a hand up before she could speak. “You’re the artist. But when it comes to selling art, I’m the expert.”

“But how can they be robbing me?” Miriam scrunched up her

Miriam’s Little Gentleman

nose as she pondered this. “They’re paying me the percentage of each sale we negotiated.”

“Did you negotiate? Or did they tell you what they’d sell your work for, and how much you’d get? And am I wrong, or do they get the lion’s share of the sale?”

“Well, yes, but they provide the venue, and otherwise my art wouldn’t be seen.”

“That may have been fair a couple of years ago when you were an unknown, but your popularity has grown very quickly, Miriam. Are you aware that I have calls weekly from people in other states looking for your work?”

“You’ve mentioned that there was growing interest, but those stores are where most of the tourists shop. The buses stop there. My sales are gut, judging by the fact that they keep placing orders for more paintings.”

He gave an impatient huff and paced away across the floor, then back. “I feel that you’ve outgrown such venues, where your art is selling for not much more than the prints they also offer, which you can find in hundreds of stores. And they treat you like a print shop, ordering more paintings as if you can just spew them out willy-nilly on demand. You are an artist. Your beautiful work should be displayed in a gallery, such as mine, not alongside candles and knickknacks and faceless Amish dolls.”

Could he be right? Am I prideful that his words make me feel so gut?

“Outgrown those shops? But so many tourists see my work in them, Mr. Jirles.”

“Yes, and I have a suggestion there, but first I want to talk about what I think would be best for you as an artist. I think you’ve reached the point in your career where you should pull your paintings out of those shops and give Visions of Willow Creek exclusive rights to represent your work.”

She blinked at him. “Exclusive rights? Then I wouldn’t be selling my work in any other places?”

“Not your original art. We need to establish the idea that your art

Anne Blackburne is unique and not to be found just anywhere. You want the art world to take you seriously as an artist of important American folk art.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. And I recommend that we immediately raise the price on your paintings.” He looked at her intently through his thick, square-framed black glasses. “Well? What do you think?”

She blinked again, wondering if she should pinch herself, and glanced at the price tags discreetly displayed beside each of her paintings. The larger ones were already priced about as you’d pay for a gut queen-sized Amish quilt!

“You think people would pay more than this? But the prices are already so high!”

“Oh, yes, I’m quite sure they would. In fact, I suggest we experiment by pricing your new paintings fifty percent higher than your old ones. And if you agree to my terms, which I believe you’ll find to be quite reasonable, as I have no plans to raise the percentage rate of what you pay me from a sale, then I think you’ll start seeing even more interest in your work.”

“I’m not sure what to say. It sounds reasonable. But why do you want to be the only place selling my art?”

“Ah, that’s the trick to creating demand. Exclusivity! If they want an original Miriam Zook painting, they’ll have to come to Willow Creek to get it. Although, we could consider online sales as well. I’ve been toying with that idea for a while.”

“How will anyone know about me if they don’t see my work in the tourist shops?”

“Publicity, my dear. Social media. A story in the newspapers, beginning with our local paper. I believe Philomena Jones would be interested in doing a feature on you and your art in The Examiner.” Miriam absentmindedly tucked a strand of black hair back into her kapp. She knew the name, and knew that Ms. Jones, editor of the weekly Willow Creek Examiner, had recently helped her friends Lizzie Miller and Jane Bontrager solve a hundred-year-old murder mystery

Miriam’s Little Gentleman

involving Lizzie’s bakery, The Plain Beignet. She had never met the Englisch woman, but she’d read a few of her stories in the local paper.

The ideas of bringing in more money to help her family and of not having to travel to the more distant towns in the area to deliver paintings held their appeal. But was she being prideful, wanting her art to gain more recognition and earn more money?

“I like the idea, but I’ll need to talk it over with my parents and the bishop, just to be sure there’s nothing in the Ordnung against any of this.”

“That’s fine. I expected no less. Since you won’t use the services of an attorney, I encourage you to discuss this with your elders. Hold on a minute, I’ll be right back.”

He strode across the gallery space to his office, located just outside the main gallery in a hallway leading to other rooms where more art was on display. She heard him shuffling through papers on his desk and muttering to himself. A moment later he returned, a manilla envelope in his hand. “Here. It’s a new contract. Everything is spelled out. Have your parents go over it with you, and your bishop if he’s knowledgeable about business matters. And in a few days, come back and tell me what you want to do. If you decide to keep things as they are, that’s fine. I’ll try and change your mind, but I’ll accept your final decision—eventually.” He gave her a half smile. “Meanwhile, I’ll get the rest of these wonderful paintings hung up and priced. Do you agree to the higher price point?”

She nodded numbly, looking absently at the five paintings leaning against the wall waiting to be hung up. “I don’t see why not. Denki!”

“For what? Your work brings in more buyers than any other artists here. I should be thanking you. Now, this one, I want for my personal collection.” He picked up a work depicting a group of elderly Amish men sitting around a table where two of the men were engaged in a lively game of checkers. “It speaks to me. I want to hang it at home.” Then he named a price that had Miriam’s head spinning. True, the painting was one of her larger ones, and it was beautifully framed in recovered barn wood by her cousin, who did all her framework, but the

Anne Blackburne

price was more than twice what she’d thought it might bring.

“Are. . .are you certain? That seems high.”

Mr. Jirles gave her a stern look. “You need to be more confident, Miriam. I should offer you even more. And in a year, even I won’t be able to purchase your work for this little. But if you find it fair, I’ll write you a check now.”

Numbly she nodded, and he took the painting to his office and returned with a check, which he handed to her. “Thank you. I’m honored to have such a glorious piece to add to my personal collection.”

She smiled disbelievingly and shook her head. “If you say so.”

“And I do.”

“Well, then, I’ll be off. Oh! I almost forgot. I want to remove Evening Quiet from the display. I have decided to give it to my friends for their wedding. Is that oll recht?”

“Of course! These paintings are yours until you sell them. You can change your mind and remove one from the sales display whenever you like. And you’ve more than replaced it by bringing me six new paintings.” He carefully lifted the requested painting, which depicted a soothing scene of an Amish woman, chores obviously finished for the day, relaxing with her cat, a cup of coffee, and a plate of cookies in front of a fire in the evening, down from the wall. “Would you like me to wrap it up and load it in your buggy?”

Miriam glanced out the front window and caught sight of her friends Jane and Lizzie walking down the sidewalk toward the gallery. “Actually, nee. . . Jane and Lizzie are walking here from the bakery, and we’re going to dinner at Rebekkah’s Country Kitchen. In fact, I see them now, and the painting is a surprise for Jane. Do you mind holding it for me in the back so they don’t see it?”

He glanced out the window and nodded. “Of course.” He whisked the painting away to the back of the gallery, and just in time as the bell over the door jingled merrily as Lizzie and Jane pushed inside.

“Miriam! There you are! I can’t wait to see your new work!” Jane Bontrager hurried over and gave her friend a hug, followed by Lizzie

Miriam’s Little Gentleman

Bontrager, formerly Lizzie Miller, who had recently returned from her wedding trip out west with her brand-new husband, John, who was Jane’s brother.

Jane gave a loud exclamation over the paintings she’d brought in that day.

“Oh! Miriam, they’re all beautiful!” Jane clasped her hands to her chest, her eyes luminous as she took in the lovely paintings. “But where’s Evening Quiet?”

“Oh, I’m afraid Mr. Jirles took it down today. It’s going to a new home soon.”

Jane’s expressive face fell for a moment, but then she regained her composure and grinned at her friend. “That’s wonderful gut!

Congratulations on your sale!”

Miriam’s pleasure at her friend’s love of that painting overrode her slight guilt at misleading Jane about what had happened to it.

After all, it won’t be long before she learns the truth!

“These are all really good,” Lizzie said from halfway down the wall where she was currently peering closely at a painting of an elderly Amish man driving a team pulling a large wagon loaded down with pumpkins. It was a smaller piece, and Miriam recalled that she hadn’t given Lizzie a wedding gift yet. Perhaps this was something she and John would enjoy.

“Do you like that one better than all the others? It’s not as big as some.” Miriam waited as her friend looked at the other paintings and then nodded. “Ja, I think it’s because the old man looks so content, and I like his fat horses. Plus, orange is my favorite color, and you’ve got a lot of it in there between the pumpkins and the fall colors in the leaves on the trees and in the flower beds along the road.”

“Well then, unless you see one you like better, it’s yours. Mr. Jirles? Would you please come help me take down a painting?”

Lizzie gasped and spun to look at Miriam. “What? Nee! You can’t give me a painting! It’s too valuable!”

“Well, I’m giving it to you, unless you want a different one instead?”

Anne Blackburne

Lizzie shook her head, a stunned look on her face. “Nee, that’s my favorite. But Miriam, are you sure?”

“Ja, I sure am!” Miriam pointed out the painting to the gallery owner when he strolled into the room, a small smile playing around his mouth. “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation, and you’ve got very good taste, young woman. This is one of my favorites as well!” He lifted the small painting down and turned toward the back of the gallery. “I’ll just wrap it up nice and safe for your trip home.”

Jane had come to stand beside Lizzie and was smiling at Miriam even as Lizzie sputtered her denials at her friend’s insistence. “It’s too much!”

“Nonsense. I’ve been waiting for the right time to ask you what painting you’d like for your wedding present. If you think John will also like it, take it! It’ll make me very happy to know something I did is giving pleasure to my friends.”

Lizzie looked at Jane, who nodded at her. “Take the gift and say thank you, Lizzie. Didn’t your maem teach you good manners?”

Lizzie looked at Miriam and her eyes filled with tears. She grabbed her friend in a huge hug. “Denki! Denki! Oh, Miriam, I’ve loved that one since you hung it up. Wait until I show John! But where should I hang it? Up in our private apartment or in the bakery?”

Miriam grinned at her friend, happy she’d accepted the gift. “These are questions, but I’m really hungry. Are you girls ready for dinner?”

“I sure am!” Jane said. Miriam saw her cast one more sad look at the wall where Evening Quiet used to hang, and felt that she too would be happy with her gift.

Mr. Jirles returned with the painting, wrapped and tucked into a cardboard package that would protect it until Lizzie could get it home. He turned and gave Miriam a keen look. “Don’t forget the papers. I’ll hope to hear from you very soon with a positive response to my suggestions! Now, go eat. You’ve all gotten me thinking about dinner, and my stomach is rumbling most inelegantly!”

He ushered them out the door, and Miriam heard the lock snick behind them.

Miriam’s Little Gentleman

“Maybe I should run this home first?” Lizzie clutched the painting to her chest. “I don’t want anything to happen to it while we’re at dinner!”

“Sure, we can stop there on our way. Hop in.”

Lizzie was about to climb up into the buggy when a deep voice called out, “Hello, Cousin Lizzie.”

The three women turned to look at a handsome, young, beardless Amish man who was standing a few feet away, his hands tucked awkwardly in the pockets of his black barn coat. For a moment, nobody said anything, and then Lizzie, with a quick squeeze of Miriam’s arm, cried out happily, “David! There you are. What have you been doing with yourself? You’ve been home for weeks, but I haven’t seen you since the night you stopped by the bakery when John and I returned from our wedding trip!” Handing the painting to Jane, who stood quietly beside Miriam, Lizzie hurried over and gave the man a big hug before standing back and linking her arm through his and turning to look at her friends. The man looked at them too, his eyes cautious as they met Miriam’s.

Miriam did her best to look cool and unconcerned at running into her old crush. But inside, she was anything but.

Oh, sis yuscht! Why did he have to choose today to come see Lizzie? Now I have to try and pretend I don’t care that he broke my heart six years ago when he left the morning after I confessed my feelings to him—and then stomped on it again a few weeks ago when he made it very clear he wasn’t home for me.

Jane murmured quietly enough that only Miriam could hear, “Miriam, are you oll recht?”

Miriam didn’t answer her friend. She could only stare at the auburn-haired, blue-eyed man looking back at her, an unreadable expression on his face. They’d spoken briefly when they’d run into each other a few weeks earlier at the bakery, but when he’d told her he hadn’t come home for her, she’d beelined it out of there as fast as she could get away. Other than that, she hadn’t seen or heard from him in six long years—not since the night she’d offered him her heart, and

Anne Blackburne

he’d broken it into a million pieces when he told her he had nothing to offer her before turning and walking away. The next morning, he’d left for Indiana on a Greyhound bus and hadn’t been back since.

David searched Miriam’s face for a clue to what she was feeling. It was a face he’d held in his mind’s eye for years now, regretting that he couldn’t have a do-over on that last evening in town.

If I’d explained myself better, maybe I wouldn’t have hurt her so badly. But she took me by surprise. I never had any idea she had feelings for me until she blurted them out the night before I was set to leave the community. It was too late for me to change my mind, and really, I couldn’t have based such a decision on a relationship that might never have amounted to anything. Even if I’d secretly been nursing feelings for her for years. If only she’d spoken up sooner!

But David knew that Amish women generally didn’t go around professing their feelings for men who hadn’t given any indication they might be returned. Lizzie had told him, in some disgust, he recalled, that it was only the fact that she’d realized it was her last chance to say anything before he left that had given her courage to do so that evening. And he’d gracelessly muffed any chance he might have had with her by curtly responding that he didn’t have anything to offer and running away.

Oh, ja, you ran away, David, like a coward. You don’t deserve a second chance with this woman.

Yet a second chance was exactly what he craved. It was why he was back in Willow Creek after living as a Mennonite in a small town outside of Indianapolis where he’d continued his early training as a carpenter. Since he’d never been baptized, he’d maintained contact with his family, mostly with his sister Fannie and his cousin Lizzie. He’d eagerly awaited each letter, anxiously reading them for news of his family and friends, and praying each time one arrived that it wouldn’t contain the news that Miriam Zook had found a husband.

Miriam’s Little Gentleman

And miraculously—for him, anyway—she hadn’t yet. So despite his shoddy treatment of her his last night in town, and the fact that he’d never attempted to mend fences with her by sending her letters or visiting, he’d returned with an ember of hope burning in his heart that he might still stand a chance with her.

And if that’s what you want, you’d better get started mending those fences, boy. From the look in her eyes, it’s not going to be easy. He closed his eyes a moment, recalling that he’d compounded the problem the night several weeks ago, shortly after returning to Ohio, when he’d unexpectedly run into Miriam at his cousin Lizzie’s bakery, and basically lied to her when he told her he was back for his parents—what a laugh! He hadn’t spoken to them in six years either! And he hadn’t seen them since his return home, despite having told Miriam, Lizzie, and Jane that evening that he was going to be staying with them to help out while his mother recovered from an illness. A glance at Lizzie let him know that she was probably very aware of his lies, yet she didn’t seem to have exposed him for a fraud to her good friend. Yet.

Why, why, why did I do that? And then I finished off any chance I might have had by telling her that was the only reason I’d come home. I’ve been a fool. I should have gone to see her as soon as I returned, and been completely honest—but even my own extended family, including Lizzie, doesn’t know what really happened all those years ago.

But recalling the misery he’d seen that evening in Miriam’s eyes, he wondered whether she still held feelings for him.

Well, if you’ve got a single hope, you’d better talk to the woman, David. David took a cautious step closer to Jane and Miriam, offering a hand first to Jane, who shook it while throwing a questioning look at Lizzie, and then to Miriam, whose good manners wouldn’t allow her to simply ignore him.

He’d been counting on that.

“Evening, Jane, Miriam. Wie ghets?”

“We’re doing okay, David. How’s your maem? Are you still staying with your folks?” Jane was making small talk to give Miriam time

Anne Blackburne

to recover from the shock of seeing him again, he supposed. He was happy to play along.

“Maem is doing well, denki. And actually, I bought a little place on the edge of town where I can keep a horse and maybe a cow or two. Possibly some chickens.” He glanced at Miriam, who was staring at the sidewalk rather than meeting his eyes. But she hadn’t turned and fled, so he went on. “It’s got an old house on it, with three stories. Good bones. It needs work, but that’s something I know how to do, thanks to my training as a carpenter.”

“Oh, are you a carpenter? We can always use another gut carpenter in the area,” Jane gushed. “Is that what you did in Indiana?” David saw her grimace at her mention of Indiana, but it wasn’t as if not mentioning his time away would get back those years. And they hadn’t exactly gone to waste.

“Ja, I had experience from working with my uncles as a boy. I knew I liked the work, so I did an apprenticeship there under a master carpenter. I made journeyman a couple years ago. And recently I realized that I’d learned all I could there, and home was calling to my heart.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you decided to come back! I know Aenti Marie is so happy to have her son back where he belongs,” Lizzie said, grinning at her cousin.

David suppressed a grimace at the mention of his mother. The truth was, their relationship was strained, though not as strained as his relationship with his father. Part of his reason for returning home was to see if it was too late to mend those fences as well.

“I’m glad too. I had to come back here, to everything I missed.” He paused, and Miriam raised her eyes to his, and he dared to go on. “To everyone I missed.”

Miriam blinked and gave a wobbly smile. “Well, good for you and your family, David. Like Jane said, there’s always a need for gut carpenters.” She turned and looked at Lizzie and Jane. “If we’re going to get any dinner before Rebekkah’s closes, we’d best get moving, ja?”

Lizzie gave David a hug and then took the painting back from Jane.

Miriam’s Little Gentleman

“It’s so gut to see you! It’s been way too long.” A strange look flashed across her face, and she turned and looked at him again, wiggling her eyebrows in a way that he realized the other women wouldn’t have seen, given where they were standing. “You know, we’re about to go eat. Why don’t you join us?”

A gasp from Miriam had him looking her way, and the distress in her eyes prompted him to regretfully shake his head, even though all he wanted to do was shout, “Yes!”

“Sorry, cousin, but I promised Maem and Dat I’d come by for dinner at their place tonight.” He looked back at Miriam, who looked relieved enough to have him feeling a little pinch around his heart. Well, what did he expect?

“Another time, though, okay?”

Lizzie shrugged good-naturedly and placed the painting into the boot of the buggy. “Sure, David. Another time. We’ll see you at services Sunday?”

His heart lifted at that. He’d forgotten that this was a service Sunday. He nodded. “Ja, I’ll be there, for sure and certain.” With that, he touched the brim of his black wool hat to Jane and Miriam, who nodded back.

“Nice to see you, David,” Jane said. She and Lizzie climbed up into the rig, leaving him standing on the sidewalk with Miriam, who gave him an indecipherable look before nodding curtly and hurrying around to climb into the driver’s seat of the buggy.

With a wave, he watched them drive down the street and disappear around the corner. Then he heaved a sigh and turned to walk back to where he’d left his own buggy near Lizzie’s bakery. He’d gone there looking for his cousin and found it closed for the evening, but he’d heard voices and seen the women emerge from a shop not far down the street. Recognizing not only Lizzie but also Miriam, he’d felt his heart rate soar—and he was torn between hope that she would welcome him back to town and dread that she would refuse to have anything to do with him, especially after what he’d said to her that night at the

Anne Blackburne

bakery. He’d said a quick prayer for courage and walked toward the women, hoping for the best.

And now you’ve seen her, and she didn’t seem impressed. What are you going to do next?

“I’m going to get to work building a business, renovating my house, and making a life for myself here in Willow Creek, that’s what,” he said as he untied his horse from the hitching post in front of the empty bakery building.

“I have to have something to offer Miriam before I can hope she’ll have me as her husband.”

As he drove toward his parents’ home outside of town, it occurred to him that believing he didn’t have anything to offer the woman he’d dreamed of making a life with years ago was what led to all the lonely years he might have spent building a life with her in the first place. Maybe he should have trusted her when she offered him her heart and said that was all she needed from him in return.

With another sigh, he shook his head. “Too risky. A woman needs to feel secure. I’m not ready yet, and for sure and for certain I wasn’t ready back then. But that doesn’t mean I can’t court her while I’m getting ready. Assuming I can get her to talk to me at all after my most recent bungle.”

Feeling a bit more optimistic about his path with Miriam, he looked at the well-tended fields and buildings of the farm where he’d grown up as he turned into the drive. Before he could move forward with his life, he had to try and make things right with his parents—the parents who had let him down so very badly six years before.

CHAPTER TWO

Miriam didn’t say anything as she guided her gray mare, Cloud, the short distance to The Plain Beignet, Lizzie’s New Orleans–style French bakery, located just down the street from Visions of Willow Creek. Lizzie and her new husband, John Bontrager, lived there on the second floor with their cat Little Mouse, while the third floor was currently occupied by Jane and her cat, Secret. When she married Samuel Mast, she and Secret would be moving to his nearby farm.

Miriam caught her two friends exchanging a worried look but ignored them as she pulled her buggy up in front of the bakery.

I just don’t feel like going out and being around people. I want to go home and paint.

In a wooden voice, and without meeting her friends’ eyes, she said, “I know I said I’d go to dinner, but I’ve got a headache, and I think I’ll just head on home if it’s all the same to you girls.”

She waited for them to open their doors and climb down from her buggy so she could go home and nurse her wounds in the only way she knew would work—by losing herself in her art.

“Ach, Miriam! We’re sorry!” Jane cried, reaching out and grasping Miriam’s arm. “We didn’t know he’d show up here tonight!”

“It’s not like I can expect to avoid him forever,” Miriam muttered, hunching into herself and wishing her friends, as much as she loved them, would just take the hint and make themselves scarce.

Anne Blackburne

Lizzie leaned forward from the back seat so that she could see Miriam’s face. “Probably not.”

“Right!” Jane chimed in, an insulted look on her face, as if David Miller had gone beyond the pale by daring to walk down the streets of Willow Creek, not caring that he might meet up with unsuspecting young maedels any old time. “I mean, who would think he’d just show up like that?”

“Not me!” Lizzie said. “Though I think your reaction to seeing him like that, without time to prepare emotionally, is very telling.”

“What do you mean?” Miriam hated to think she was too transparent, even to her best friends.

“You obviously still have feelings for him,” Jane said.

Lizzie nodded emphatically. “Quite obviously.”

Miriam was appalled. “I hope my feelings one way or another weren’t obvious to him!”

Lizzie studied her friend with a frown on her pretty face. “Really? Why not?” At Miriam’s hesitation, Lizzie let out a breath. “Look, I know what he said at the bakery, but I think he was as caught by surprise at unexpectedly seeing you as you were. And something tells me he wasn’t completely up front with you. With any of us.”

“Why do you think that?” Jane wondered.

Lizzie gave them a keen look. “Just something my maem said. I think he came back to make things right with his family, ja. But I don’t think that’s the only reason. Don’t you want him to know you still like him?”

Miriam frowned. “I’m. . .not sure. Now that I’ve seen him again, I’m not sure what I want!” She threw her hands over her face. “Oh, sis yuscht! I’m not a fickle ninny! But he hurt me before. . . I’m not sure I can open my heart that way again! What if he just stomps on it again?” She shook her head. “I need to think about this. Seriously think about it.”

Lizzie and Jane exchanged alarmed looks. “Don’t toss him back without giving him a chance, Miriam,” Lizzie counseled. “I understand

Miriam’s Little Gentleman

where you’re coming from, but it’s been a long time. You’re both different people now, but you’re also the same people, if you know what I mean?”

Miriam puzzled it out, then nodded. “Ja, I guess so. But. . .I’m afraid. And even though this is what I’ve prayed for these last six years, I’m not sure it’s best for me.” She looked pleadingly at her friends, who exchanged looks again and then moved in together to hug her tight.

“It’ll be okay, Miriam,” Jane whispered. “Give it time.”

“Ja, time is what you need. It’s not like there’s any hurry after all these years anyway!” Lizzie laughed.

You’d think six years without a single letter, phone call, or visit would cure me of my crush on the dratted man! Not to mention him telling me that he only came home to help his family. But nee—seeing him just now brought back all the old feelings I had for him as a youngie. Ach. I’m a nincompoop.

“Why did you say that David came home to make things right with his family?” Miriam asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Because,” Lizzie said, looking from one friend to the other, a sadness overtaking her features. “There’s something very wrong between my cousin and his parents. And in all these years, I haven’t been able to find out what caused it. But whatever it was, it’s the reason he left in the first place.”

Jane and Miriam stared at Lizzie, who nodded at them, her face serious. “Even my cousins wouldn’t speak of it.”

“Well, that must have been very frustrating for you,” Miriam snarked.

“Aw, Miriam, don’t be like that,” Lizzie chided. “You’re too sweet to be mean.”

Miriam huffed out a breath but said no more.

“Lizzie!” Jane prodded. “What could have happened? It’s rare that anything interesting happens without becoming a major topic of conversation in this gossipy community, and you know it.”

Lizzie played with a kapp string and frowned. “Ja, that’s true. But I’ve never been able to find out what happened there, and neither has my maem.”

“Ach, that’s crazy,” Jane whispered. “What could it be?”

Anne Blackburne

Lizzie shrugged. “Who knows? Not me. But I will tell you this—it’s driven a sad wedge between our families.”

Miriam frowned and tucked a stubborn strand of hair back where it belonged. “But he just said he was going to his folks’ for dinner. So things must be okay between them, ja?”

“Nee, I would have heard if they’d mended those particular fences. My maem has been praying about it for years, since David’s maem, Marie, is her sister and she hates to see her little sister unhappy about anything. This odd estrangement from her son has made her very unhappy, and that has rippled through the entire family, as you can imagine.”

“I’ll bet,” Jane said. “So what do you think he’s doing tonight, if things still aren’t right between them?”

“I think it’s likely he’s going over there to confront them about the past, whatever happened back then, to see if there’s a chance of straightening it out,” Lizzie said. “And I pray that he succeeds, or our family may splinter apart into the various groups that support this one or that one, and never be whole again! Or worse yet, he may leave again and this time for good.”

The very thought had Miriam’s stomach plunging toward her feet. How unfair it would be for him to leave just when he’d returned, before they could even talk about what had happened. I have to know why he said he had nothing to offer me back then! He didn’t say he had no feelings for me. That I could have accepted. He really left me in limbo with that ambiguous statement.

“Ach, Lizzie, we had no idea,” Jane said, reaching over and patting Lizzie’s hand where it still rested on Miriam’s shoulder. “What a burden for your family. I’m surprised Bishop Troyer didn’t insist on getting this all straightened out years ago!”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Lizzie said. “But according to my parents, David’s dat, my uncle Alex, refused to back down about whatever it was David did—or didn’t do. The bishop must have decided to let things play out on their own.”

Miriam’s Little Gentleman

“And you have no idea what happened?” Miriam couldn’t imagine such a rift in her own, very close, family. But she knew such things were not uncommon, sadly.

“Nope, no idea,” Lizzie confirmed. “Uncle Alex and Aenti Marie were so close lipped about it that even Maem still doesn’t know.”

“Maybe you can find out,” Jane suggested. “I imagine whatever happens tonight might make a difference in the family, ain’t so?”

Lizzie nodded slowly. “Ja, I can ask my maem and see what her sister tells her when they go to the Amish market in Berlin tomorrow.”

Miriam grimaced. “I’m not sure. It feels kind of wrong to pry into his family business, don’t you think?”

“His family business is my family business,” Lizzie pointed out reasonably. “And trust me, if they don’t want us to know, they won’t say anything. They’ve proven to be quite good at that over the last six years.”

“Well, here’s hoping for the best,” Jane said. “Now, Miriam, you have to eat, and your parents think you’re eating with us—so they won’t have kept you a plate warm. Come on, eat with us. It’ll be fun.”

“Ja, please do, Miriam,” Lizzie cajoled.

Miriam heaved a sigh, then relented. “Fine, I’ll go to dinner. I’m honestly starved.” Jane and Lizzie grinned and waited while Lizzie ran the painting inside before hurrying out and climbing back into the buggy.

Twitching the reins to let Cloud know it was time to move out, Miriam said, “Well, let’s eat. I hope there’s still some baked steak!”

“From your lips to Gott’s ears!” Jane said, and grinning, the three friends headed to Rebekkah’s to find out.

As David secured his rented gelding, Axel, to the hitching post at his family farm, he reflected that he must have tied and untied horses from this same wooden bar hundreds of times over the years.

But as tonight was the first time he’d been home since getting back to town—call him a coward, but it had taken him several weeks to feel ready to face his parents—he hadn’t set foot on this land that

Miriam's Little Gentleman by Anne Blackburne

Miriam’s Little Gentleman

Miriam’s Little Gentleman

ANNE BLACKBURNE

Dedication:

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO