Free Going Home by Wanda E. Brunstetter Page A

these,” he added, motioning to the trees surrounding them.
    “You might not say that come fall when things get really busy.”
    “I made it through last year and lived to tell about it,” Noah said with a laugh. The month or so before Christmas was always hectic at the tree farm. In early November, trees were cut, netted, and bundled for pickup by various lots. Many people in the area came to the Osborns’ to choose and cut their own trees, as well. Some folks dropped by as early as the first of October to reserve their pine.
    Hank’s wife ran the gift shop, located in one section of thebarn. She took in a lot of items on consignment from the local people, including several who were Amish. Everything from homemade peanut brittle to pinecone-decorated wreaths was sold at the gift store, and Sandy always served her customers a treat before they left the rustic-looking building Hank had built for her a few years ago. Last year Noah had contributed some baked goods, and his desserts had been well received. He hoped things would work out for Sandy and Hank, because they were both nice people.
    “I appreciate you listening to my tale of woe, but now I guess I’d better move on to the next row and see how Fred and Bob are doing,” Hank said, breaking into Noah’s thoughts. “Want me to leave the radio with you?”
    Noah shook his head. “No, thanks. The melody the birds are making is all the music I need.”
    Hank thumped Noah lightly on the back. “All right, then. See you up at the barn at lunchtime.”
    “Sure thing.” Noah moved on down the row of pines to check several more seedlings. As a father would tend his child, he took special care with each struggling tree. He figured, like everything else the good Lord created, these future Christmas trees needed tender, loving care.
    As Noah thought about Hank’s comment concerning him making a good husband and father, an uninvited image of Faith Andrews popped into his mind. He could see her look of confusion when he’d given her the cake.
    “Now why am I thinking about her again?” he muttered. No question about it—Faith was a fine-looking woman. From whathe remembered of the way Faith used to be, she could be a lot of fun. But Noah was sure there was no hope of her ever being interested in someone like him.
    I’m shy; she’s outgoing. I’m plain; she’s beautiful. I’m twenty-four; she’s twenty-eight. I’m firmly committed to the Amish faith, and she’s—what exactly is Faith committed to? Noah determined to find that out as soon as he got to know her better.

Chapter 8
    N oah stood on the front porch of his folks’ rambling, two-story farmhouse, leaning against the railing and gazing into the yard. Pop had built this place shortly after he and Mom moved to Missouri from the state of Indiana. Twenty-three other families had joined them in establishing the first Amish community on the outskirts of the small town of Seymour. Now, nearly two hundred Plain families lived in the area. Some had moved here from other parts of the country, while others came about from marriages and children being born to those who had chosen to stay and make their home in the area.
    Noah and his brothers were some of those born and raised in Webster County, and Noah had never traveled any farther than the town of Springfield. He had no desire to see the world like some folks did. He loved it here and was content to stay near those he cared about so deeply.
    His brothers Chester, Jonas, and Harvey had moved to northern Missouri with their wives and children. Lloyd, Lyle, Rube, and Henry now lived in Illinois. Only William, Peter, and Noah had chosen to stay in the area. Each had his own farm, although some had opened businesses to supplement their income.
    Noah’s thoughts darted ahead to his plans for the next day. Church was held every other Sunday, and since tomorrow was a preaching Sunday, Noah planned to speak with Faith. He wanted to find out if she had enjoyed his