Free Arms of Love by Kelly Long Page A

meant it last night. It felt like her arm had been cut off abruptly, leaving a jagged and painful injury that would require long recovery.
    Yet even now a moment of concern wrung her heart when she thought of his sometimes-odd behavior, and she slowly unclasped her hand and smoothed the mattress cover.
    She wondered if moments like last night, when Adam did not seem to be fully in control of himself, had frightened him in regard to her, made him worry that he might hurt her in some way without thinking. But no. Surely it was his interest in the war, something she had not sensed in great depth about him before, that stood between them.
    She bowed her head to begin her morning prayers with Adam on her heart when her thoughts were interrupted by John slipping into the room without knocking. He was fully dressed for the day, but his hair, brushing his shoulders as the Amish men’s did, was slightly askew.
    “I cannot abide her,” he announced, and Lena felt Abigail stir against the pillow.
    “Shhh,” Lena said, then went on in a whisper. “What is the difficulty?”
    “That woman, Ruth Stone,” John hissed back fiercely, his hands pressed against the wood of the oaken door. “She orders me about as if, well, as if she were Mamm . And she ain’t.”
    “Is not,” Lena corrected absently. She slipped from the bed and went to her brother, laying a firm hand on his shoulder. It amazed her that he was so tall for ten years; he barely had to lift his head to meet her gaze. “John, you are the man of this house while Fater is gone. There is no one who doubts that. But Derr Herr has sent Ruth to us to feed baby Faith and help us out. And I need the help. I do not know how Mamm did it all, to tell the truth.”
    “She has already had me to the smokehouse, out for firewood and water, and now she wants me to milk the single miserable goat that the scum who took Fater left behind.”
    Lena’s eyes widened in shock at the boy’s language. It was one thing to disagree with the taking up of arms, but quite another to describe human lives, created by the hand of Gott , as “scum.”
    “John, where have you learned such words? And why would you choose to use them?” She had never known her bruder to be anything but reticent. Had their mother’s death unleashed some hidden anger in the boy?
    He shook off her hand. “ ’Tis true, Lena. They are scum, and you know it.” He blew out a breath of disgust. “Tories, Brits, and now a Continental army formed from a miserable local militia. Have you seen their flag? A piked soldier holding back a lion.” He snorted. “Better that they chose a half-loaded musket and a stolen cow!”
    “Why are you shouting, John?” Abigail asked sleepily from the bed.
    Lena rolled her eyes, then glared at her brother. “See, you’ve woken Abby. And I would like to remind you that there have been any number of Amish boys who’ve left home and our way of life to join that army and fight for free— Well, to fight.”
    John met her eyes. “Too bad you have not always been so understanding when it comes to the war . . . and to Adam.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “You heard me,” he said. “I was outside last night when Adam came over. I heard what was said.”
    Lena felt her eyes sting with furious tears. “You are old enough to know that it is wrong, John Yoder, to listen to others’ conversation. Besides, I thought you came in here to complain of Ruth Stone.”
    “I’m sorry, Lena. Forgive me. I shouldn’t have said all that.” John was back to his normal self, but his angry, adultlike comments had made Lena uneasy as well as hurt.
    He put his hand on the door latch. “I’ll go milk the goat and try to praise Gott for Ruth Stone.” He was gone before Lena could speak, closing the door behind him.
    Lena just stood, staring at the closed door, unsure of what had occurred except that her normally placid brother, the one she had considered a child still, was having some very