Free Brush of Angel's Wings by Ruth Reid Page A

say grace.”
    Jordan walked behind them, his head bowed. He’d never been called son except by his mother. He’d quickly developed respect for Micah as he worked with him, but Micah referring to him as son left an unpleasant knot in Jordan’s stomach.

Chapter Seven

    A fter Micah and Jordan had taken care of the evening chores, they were leaving the barn when Micah’s forehead creased with concern. “She’s mei boppli . I trust you’ll bring her back early , jah ?”
    â€œAnd I’ll keep her safe.”
    â€œGut.” The tension lines on Micah’s forehead relaxed. A wide smile crossed his face. He clapped Jordan on the back and began to take long strides toward his porch.
    Jordan went the other way, to the small house, wondering what he had gotten himself into. He didn’t want anyone getting the wrong impression about his taking Rachel to the singing. He had done well to avoid joining the youthful buddy group thus far. They ran in packs, dated in packs, and joined the church in packs.
    His Sunday shirt and vest lay sprawled over the bed where he’d tossed them earlier. His pants hung draped over the back of a chair. It seemed pointless to spend so much time changing clothes. From barn clothes before church to his Sunday clothes, then back to barn clothes, and now, once again, he must change into the handed-down, too-small vest. For what? Couldn’t he dutifully monitor Rachel without having to wear church clothes?
    He heated water for washing up, missing the ability to just turn on the tap and have the hot water flow. He propped a small, chipped oval mirror against the shelf ledge. As he shaved the stubble off his face, he considered all he had left behind—friends, job, technology. Not that any of those were all that satisfying. He’d been ready to move on from the friends who were choosing lives he didn’t care for. His job was one he’d considered quitting anyway. And the technology? Well, taking a small break wouldn’t hurt, although he had to admit it was tough the first few weeks. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to rely on it.
    Before leaving the cabin, he added a few more logs to the fireplace, hoping that would make for a nice bed of hot embers waiting when he returned.
    He stepped outside, tugged the edges of his vest, and headed for the corral. Blaze trotted to the fence to greet him. “Hi, boy,” Jordan said as he gave the horse’s forehead a little rub. He took the halter and slipped it easily over Blaze’s nose and buckled it behind his ears. He talked to him under his breath as he harnessed him and tethered him to the hitching post. After another quick rub on Blaze’s forehead, he walked the short distance to the Hartzlers’ home and climbed the porch steps. After drawing a deep breath, he knocked.
    Miriam opened the door. A warm smile filled her face. “You don’t have to knock. You’re part of the family nau .”
    â€œThank you, Mrs. Hartzler. That’s very kind.” He wished his heart felt what his words said. But he didn’t, and he couldn’t, create them out of nothing. He just didn’t belong. Not here. Not anywhere. His feet dragged over the braided rug in the hall as he followed Miriam into the sitting room.
    â€œHave a seat. I’ll see if Rachel is ready.”
    Jordan eased onto the wooden rocker. The Bible on the stand next to the chair had a tattered leather binding that clearly indicated someone’s priority for reading it. His mother’s dogeared Bible pages had frayed over the years as a result of her own extended time in the Scriptures. The Bible she’d given him remained stiff and unused.
    He leaned back in the rocker and looked up at the ceiling. “What am I doing here?” he asked under his breath. “I’m not Amish.”
    â€œKnock, child, and the door will be opened. Seek and you will find.” Nathaniel drew