her, a comforting presence in this unfamiliar task of pushing steers toward small fenced-in pens. Up ahead, Luke had been joined by a half-dozen cowhands who shooed the cattle into the stocks with much shouting and waving of arms.
One by one, the keeps filled as an unending current of beef flowed like a river down narrow stockyard aisles and into pens that accommodated far more cattle than Emma would have dared press together. The townsfolk formed a line at the edge of the yard, calling out encouragement to the workers and congratulations to Luke, who sat tall in his saddle to oversee the operation. Emma found herself hard-pressed to focus on the task at hand, her gaze drawn to him like a honey bee to fragrant spring blossoms. Time had almost run out, and still she had not spoken her mind.
She would, though. Before this day was over, she would find a way to speak with him alone and lay out her request.
A voice rose above the buzz of the crowd, tinged with indignant shock that boosted its volume to drown out every other sound.
“It’s our Emma!”
Her gaze snapped to the edge of the crowd of onlookers, to a pair of black-clad men with unmistakable bushy beards and round straw hats. Her jaw slackened and her mouth hung open when she recognized them both. Amos Beiler and Bishop Miller.
The bishop drew himself upright, sparks from his disapproving eyes snapping at her all the way across the river of cattle. “Emma Switzer, down from that animal you will get and come with me now.”
Her heart sank into her shoes.
Emma stood beside their wagon, her head bowed and her hands folded quietly before her while Bishop Miller spoke in an even but stern tone to Papa. Beside her, Rebecca had adopted the same pose, though Maummi’s chin tilted defiantly upward and her lips were pursed. Cattle continued to file past them, though the end of the stream was now in sight. Slightly behind the bishop stood Amos, his face a mottled red and his gaze fixed on the hard-packed dirt in front of his feet. Emma shifted her weight. How embarrassing to have him witness the verbal discipline of her family.
“And what witness did you bear, Jonas?” The bishop’s voice, though disapproving, remained soft and controlled. “Representatives of Christ we are. Did Christ allow His women to ride about on horses with their…” He closed his mouth and drew a slow breath through his nose. “It is unseemly, and not worthy of our Lord or our Amish district.”
A protest rose in Emma’s mind, a reminder that the Lord’s mother rode a donkey. But she kept the thought to herself because there was certainly no evidence that Mary had herded cattle or dressed in men’s trousers on her way to give birth to her blessed Child.
“We owed a debt. I judged our assistance appropriate repayment.” How Papa managed to keep his tone mild and return the bishop’s stare without looking away, Emma couldn’t imagine. A spark of pride in her father flickered to life, but she squelched it immediately. Such feelings were surely sinful because they were clearly at odds with their church leader.
Bishop Miller’s eyebrows edged upward until they disappeared beneath his hat brim. Behind him, Amos shuffled his feet and inspected the wagon wheel carefully.
“I think it will be best to continue this conversation later in private,” said the bishop. “Amos and I have business here in the morning, and then we will return home. Jonas, I will pay a visit to your farm on Tuesday.”
His eyes moved as his gaze swept the group. Though she kept her eyes downcast, Emma felt the weight of his stare when it rested on her. She did her best to remain stiffly erect and not flinch. With a final sad shake of his head, Bishop Miller headed in the direction of the town.
Before he followed, Amos sidled up to Emma. “I’m glad you’re coming home to Apple Grove.”
She couldn’t force herself to return his gaze but merely nodded mutely.
“We will talk later. Yes?”
She managed another nod, though as far as she was concerned there was nothing unsaid between them. Now that she’d seen him again, her resolve was stronger than ever. She would not become Mrs. Amos Beiler.
Left alone, no one spoke. The Switzers stood in silent commiseration, each one bearing the weight of disapproval. Emma knew the fault lay entirely with her. She had pushed Papa to help Luke, convinced him that their