Free The Fiddler by Beverly Lewis Page B

profound effect all of it had on her. And to think she was experiencing this with an Amishman by her side!
    She looked again at Michael and he caught her smile. “It’s truly beautiful here.”
    “The garden spot of the world, ya know.” His face remained serious.
    “Should I even ask if you’re nervous about returning home?”
    “You mean, so soon after I left?” He was quiet for a moment. “Yes and no. I think I just needed a good kick in the pants is what.” He paused as though considering further. “I mean that . . . and I’m grateful to you.”
    She looked down at her boots and dress. “Maybe I should go barefoot while I’m here.”
    “Why not be comfortable? I’ll carry your boots for ya.”
    She surveyed the road ahead. “On second thought, I’d better keep them on.”
    “Afraid you’ll burn your feet?” He chuckled, surprising her. “When was the last time you walked on gravel without shoes?”
    Surely she didn’t have to tell him that she always wore shoes outdoors. “I’m a city girl, remember.”
    “Could’ve fooled me.” There was that same twinkle in his eye she’d seen at the cabin.
    It was interesting that Michael was so relaxed again when he was soon heading into the thick of the fray. Was she giving him the support he needed? Was that it?
    But his mood changed as he pointed out the one-room Amish schoolhouse. “Bishop John’s farmhouse is just beyond the playground and the boys’ outhouse. A long stone’s throw . . . and then you’ll see a sandstone house, built in the mid–eighteen hundreds. It’s a striking place—that’s our closest neighbor, Samuel Lapp. Believe me, there are oodles of Lapps round here, including Samuel and Rebecca’s sons, all married now.”
    He sounded wound up. “Are you all right?” she blurted without thinking.
    He gave her a sidewise look. “To be honest, it won’t be easy to say what I must to my father.”
    Now Amelia felt guilty for urging him to return.
    “But it’s not because I plan to talk to Daed. Not really,” he added quickly. “Don’t take this wrong, Amy. I’m just wonderin’ if I should’ve brought you here.”
    “I hope I won’t get you in hotter water.”
    He didn’t look at her. “It just might send the wrong message to my parents.”
    It would to mine! she thought. She felt like a tagalong. Maybe she really shouldn’t have come. “I’d hate to upset your parents or anyone who thinks we’re—”
    “A couple?”
    She blushed, shocked that he guessed what she was thinking. “Well, I’d hate to cause you further trouble.”
    He seemed to contemplate that as he moved across the road to the shaded side, and she followed.
    When they rounded the bend, the sandstone house came into view, and past that, she saw an equally stunning stone house. “Is that your house?” She pointed. “It’s gorgeous.”
    “Jah, it’s been in the family for five generations.”
    Five?
    “My married brothers’ children are the fifth.”
    “So your great-grandparents lived there?”
    “They did.”
    She wondered if he was supposed to have inherited the place, had he planned to stay Amish. She did not ask, aware that his hands had become clenched fists.
    “Just about to the Kurtz farm. Joanna will enjoy showin’ you round the place . . . while I go and talk to my father.”
    “Okay. Sounds good,” she said, looking forward to meeting the young woman he had spoken about last night.
    “Say a prayer for me, will ya, Amy?”
    “I can do that,” she agreed, sensing his distress—and wishing him well. But Michael had no idea how very few prayers she’d prayed lately. If so, he might not ask me to pray at all!
    They took their time getting to the treed area. Once there, she removed her boots and socks and savored the grassy coolness. It was then she noticed her boots were free of the caked-on mud. Michael must’ve cleaned them earlier this morning before she awakened. Marveling at this, she glanced up at him.