Sarai’s friend Verna had been left on the tree, as they put it. Their community called unmarried women good apples—those too high in the branches to easily reach, so they got left there. Sarai didn’t like the term: it was an attempt to soften something that couldn’t be softened, and she didn’t want to end up single and alone like Verna had. It wasn’t fair, and Sarai knew how deeply Verna longed for her own family to love. But longing for something and having it materialize were two different things, weren’t they?
Sometimes a woman had to take matters into her own hands. Verna had. She was now teaching a knitting class for at-risk Englisher youth. It might not give her many marriage opportunities, but it had opened up her life. Maybe Sarai needed to take a step of her own.
Is this a time when I’m supposed to be still and know that You are Gott, Sarai silently prayed, or should I be dipping my foot into the Jordan and stepping forward in faith?
Because if Sarai were honest, she wanted marching orders from Above! She wanted to do something, to make something happen for herself. Sitting around and waiting was too hard.
And yet, somehow, in the middle of her mental image of what her future could be like if she just went to Shipshewana, she found herself thinking about Arden Stoltzfus.
She irritably pulled down a carton and started to fill it. Six copper eggs, two pink and four green. Outside, the hens started to cluck and squawk, and Sarai leaned closer to the window again to look. The kerfuffle subsided, and she grabbed another cardboard carton.
Arden was proving to be hard for her to brush off. She knew the kind of man he used to be, but now that he was back, she had to admit he was different. He was more mature, for one. And he hadn’t flirted with any girls yet—not that she’d seen, at least.
Three pink eggs, three blue and six green. The arrangement was pretty, and she closed the carton and stacked it, her hands doing the work without much thought.
Arden might be charming and handsome and very close by, but she had to keep her mind firm. He was also Arden Stoltzfus, the man who’d charmed his way into every heart that would let him. And Sarai was not a woman to be part of a flock. When she gave her heart, it would be to a man who saw her and only her. He didn’t have to be stunningly handsome or rich or silver-tongued. What she wanted was rock-solid character and undivided loyalty. She’d be happy for the rest of her life with just that.
The hens started to squawk again, and when Sarai pushed the window open on its hinges, she heard flapping, too. This was no longer just the birds settling to sleep. Something was upsetting the hens...and she had a suspicion what it was.
She hurried over to the cupboard, stepped on a stool and grabbed the pellet air rifle from the top shelf along with an already loaded ten-shot cartridge. This wasn’t the first time some animal had come prowling after her hens, and it wouldn’t be the last. She loaded the cartridge and slipped the second filled cartridge into the bib of her apron.
The problem with coyotes was that a loud noise might scare them off, but they’d come back. What sent them into the trees for good was a pellet to the hindquarters. That kind of a sting would teach them a lesson and make them a little less willing to come snooping after the hens.
She slipped out the side door and raised the rifle to her shoulder. Her feet were bare, and the grass was cool against the bottoms of her feet as she crept forward. She saw movement by the coop—a tail disappearing around the side of the building, and the hens went up into a flap again.
If the windstorm hadn’t made them stop laying but some coyotes did, Sarai was going to be really annoyed.
Another coyote could be seen by the fence, eyes glowing green in the light from the kitchen window. Sarai looked down the barrel and squeezed the trigger. There was the soft pop of air as the pellet left the gun, and then a yip from the coyote as it turned tail and ran.
“One,” she whispered.
Another coyote came running across the yard—dangerously close—and she followed it with the rifle, then pulled the trigger. Pop. It didn’t hit. Pop. That one did, and the coyote jumped and took off.
“Two.”
The coyote that had circled the coop came out the other side, and she aimed once more, and it was then she heard the snap of a twig behind her. The coyote froze, and so did Sarai. She squeezed the trigger, and before she even saw if she shot true or not, she whipped around.
Standing there, his eyes as wide as the coyote’s, was Arden. He wore his straw hat a little crooked on his head, and he slowly raised his hands.
“It’s me,” he said. “Don’t shoot.”
“Oh...” She lowered the rifle and laughed uncomfortably. “Did I get him?”
She turned around, and the coyote was gone.
“Yah, you got him. He jumped and took off,” Arden said.
Sarai’s heartbeat was slowing back down again. “I thought I had another coyote sneaking up on me. They work in packs, you know.”
She turned again and scanned the property. She could see one coyote disappearing into the darkness, and she headed around the coop. There were scratch marks on the ground by the fence, but it looked like the predators were gone.
“I heard the chickens squawking, and I came to see if you needed help,” he said, his gaze dropping to the air rifle in her hands. “But I can see you’ve got it under control.”
Sarai chuckled. “I’m nothing if not prepared. This happens pretty often. The coyotes are plentiful out here, and I don’t intend to let them get my chickens.”
Arden looked around the coop, then out into the night. He turned around, seemingly satisfied.
“Danke for not shooting me,” he said.
She laughed. “You’re very welcome.”
“You’re a good shot.” One side of his lips turned up. “I’m impressed.”
“I’ve had lots of practice.” But his compliment warmed her. “Do you want a glass of lemonade or something?”
Arden looked down at her, and suddenly she was aware just how alone they were out here in the square of light cast from the kitchen window. Arden’s expression had softened, and she felt her stomach tumble in response. She didn’t want to feel this way—not about Arden. He was too much of a risk for Sarai. She had plans!
“My dawdie is already in bed for the night,” Arden said. “I wouldn’t turn down something cold to drink.”
“Then come on in, and I’ll mix something up,” she said. “I feel like I owe you something decent after that corn bread tonight.”
Arden’s smile broke into soft laughter, and she didn’t wait to see what he’d say. Leaning the air rifle over her shoulder, Sarai turned and led the way up the steps and into the house.
Shipshewana should be her focus, but in the soft night air, Shipshewana felt very far away. And Arden Stoltzfus felt very close.
Sarai Peachy was downright impressive. At least that was all Arden could think as he followed her into the house.
She paused in the mudroom, reloaded the pellet gun and then headed into the kitchen and laid it across the counter. Eggs waited in mesh baskets on the counter, and there was a small stack of cartons to one side.
