Free Miriam's Heart by Emma Miller Page B

boys were leaning against the wall of the poultry shed. Harvey laughed and gestured toward John Hartman, walking toward the Yoder stall carrying a cardboard tray of hot drinks.
    Charley pushed his straw hat back on his head with an index finger and glared at Harvey. “That’s enough,” he warned. He’d taken the morning off from working on Eli’s house, hoping to get a chance to talk to Miriam alone, and now, here came John again. It wasn’t fair, but no matter how out-of-sorts he was with Miriam, he wouldn’t stand by and let Harvey and his gang poke fun at him.
    “Just looking out for your interest,” Harvey said.
    “Mind your own business, or you’ll have me to deal with later,” Charley warned. He glanced back at Miriam. “So, I guess I’m the third wheel here, right?”
    Miriam shoved the quart basket of grapes across the table and hurriedly pushed another after it. She turned abruptly to face him. “What are you talking about?”
    “Him. People think you like John, maybe more than you should.”
    “That’s not fair.”
    “Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t.”
    “Don’t make a fuss, Charley. Everybody’s looking at us.”
    “I guess they are. Maybe with good reason.” He could feel her aunt Martha’s eyes boring into his back. He glanced over his shoulder and Dorcas waved.
    “Morning, Charley,” Dorcas called.
    “Morning,” he said, before turning back to Miriam. He raised his gaze to meet hers directly. She looked as if she were about to burst into tears. Suddenly, his anger drained away. The thought of making Miriam cry was worse than attempting to explain how confused he felt about her friendship with John. “I guess I’ll see you later.”
    She nodded.
    He turned, straightened his back and walked directly toward John.
    “Morning, Charley.” John grinned and held up the tray. “Coffee? I’ve got extra.”
    “Ne.”
    He wanted to have it out with John right here, to tell him to stay away from his girl, but it wasn’t the Amish way. The Bible taught that a man should be kind to his neighbors, that he shouldn’t harbor bad thoughts in his heart. That went for everyone, including Mennonites and Englishers. It was probably nothing but jealousy and John hadn’t done anything wrong. He had to keep reminding himself that Miriam was Amish. She’d never look at someone from another faith. Nothing John could do or say could steal her away from the Plain people.
    “Got to do something,” Charley muttered as he hurried past John. He couldn’t stand here and watch Miriam laughing and talking with him. He’d find her before she left the auction and they’d have that talk. He’d make her see how he felt.
     
    Charley’s abrupt behavior puzzled John. It was clear that something had upset him. He wondered if he and Miriam had argued. Did the Amish argue? He supposed they must, like anyone else, but he’d never seen anything but gentle speech between them. Oh, men could be rowdy, even tell off-color jokes, but as a rule they seemed to possess an inner calm. He wished he could say that about himself.
    “Good morning,” Anna called. “Is that coffee I smell?” She giggled. “I told Miriam you were bringing us hot coffee.”
    “Indeed, I am,” John said. “And some raisin buns.”
    Anna reached for one. “Sticky buns, yum. My favorite.”
    “Coffee, Miriam?” He held up a paper cup. “Milk and one sugar. Is that right?”
    “Ya.” She nodded. Her hand trembled as she took the coffee. “Thank you.”
    Anna giggled again. “Thank you, Dr. John. I missed my second cup at breakfast.”
    An egg customer approached and John stood aside as Miriam waited on her. “I’d like to buy some of your blueberry jam for Uncle Albert,” he said when the English woman had moved on to look at the next table. “He loves it.”
    “We’ve got plenty,” Anna said. “Eight dollars for a pint, five for the half-pint. And we’ve got strawberry, as well. Miriam made the strawberry.”
    He smiled