Chapter 2
“Aren’t you a perfect specimen.” Perry Bontrager took a pair of small tweezers and a clean white handkerchief from his leather
apron and plucked the injured butterfly off the seat of his buggy. The Vanessa cardui , commonly known as the painted lady, was one of the most prevalent butterfly species in Ohio, and this one was an absolute
beauty—the vibrant-orange center of the wings with perfectly spaced rows of black dots at the base were outstanding. The rest
of the wings were black and white, with a striped top and a bottom fringed with white peaks against the dark background. He
looked at the red eyespots. Definitely female. He wasn’t sure why the creature was wounded, but he’d examine her more closely
when he got home.
He set the butterfly carefully in his handkerchief and placed it on the empty seat next to him. He was covered in dirt and
mud from spending the day shoeing horses for an English family three miles from his house. The horses were favorites among
his regular customers, both Amish and English. Calm, easy to deal with, and affectionate. It had been a long but productive
day. And finding a gorgeous butterfly in his buggy put the cherry on the sundae.
He slipped off his apron and set it next to the mini anvil, iron rods, and blacksmith tools already in the back of the buggy. Then he removed the back brace he’d started wearing four years ago while he’d apprenticed with Andrew Beiler in Birch Creek. “Better start protecting your back now,” the stocky man said, a few gray hairs in his long beard punctuating his wise words. “You’ll be in a world of hurt later if you don’t.”
Perry arched his back and heard the faint cracking noise the movement made. The work was physically demanding yet satisfying.
He couldn’t imagine working any other job.
Soon he was on his way home, glancing at the butterfly to make sure she was okay. If she decided to fly off, he’d be glad
for her. If not, then hopefully he could nurse her back to health and set her free.
As he drove, the clip-clop of his horse’s hooves faded in the background and he took in the gorgeous sunset in front of him. The fiery orange mimicked
the color of the butterfly’s wings, and he was filled with a sense of awe. He was always amazed at the endless beauty of nature,
and how God’s majesty and creativity were on display at all times, from a tiny insect on the ground to the vast sky above.
He made it a habit to practice not only noticing these things but prayerfully reflecting on them. There were times when he
was too busy, especially if he had a lot of work lined up, but he had a day off tomorrow, and he could relax during the drive.
His home came into view, and he was eager to put up his horse and inspect the butterfly. That plan changed when he saw Jesse’s
buggy parked near the house, his oldest three daughters playing in the front yard. Out of his eleven brothers, Jesse was the
only one who had all girls, and they kept him hopping. Every single one of them had her daddy wrapped around her finger.
As he pulled into the driveway and parked next to Jesse’s buggy, eight-year-old Cevilla, seven-year-old Shirley, and six-year-old Ranae hurried toward him. “ Onkel Perry!” Shirley said, her quick stride putting her a few feet ahead of her sisters. Jesse ambled behind them, looking a little
weary. Perry heard that Wagler’s Buggy Shop, where Jesse worked with the owner, Micah Wagler, had increased their business
this year to the point that it was almost nonstop, so he wasn’t surprised his brother looked so tired. Then again, his rambunctious
girls were probably partly to blame too.
He set the buggy brake, glanced at the butterfly again, and was getting out when Shirley started to climb inside. “Whoa!”
He scooped up the handkerchief before disaster struck. At Shirley’s surprised and slightly hurt expression, he took her hand
and hauled her inside for a big hug. Crisis averted. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, tucking the handkerchief behind
his seat so the butterfly wouldn’t get crushed. He thought for a second that his nieces would like to see the insect, but
he didn’t want to risk further injuring her.
All was quickly forgiven, and Shirley scooted over as Cevilla scrambled inside. “Can we geh for a ride, Onkel Perry?” Shirley asked. Her navy blue kerchief was slightly askew, and a few red corkscrew curls poked out from underneath
the hem, the combination of her mother’s red locks and her father’s unruly hair.
“Please?” Cevilla asked, looking up at him with round, blue eyes.
“Not today.” Jesse scooped up Ranae before she could join her sisters and set her down on the gravel driveway. “Your onkel and I have some business to discuss.”
That was news to him. Perry’s eyebrow lifted as Jesse motioned for his other two daughters to go play in the front yard with
Ranae. “What kind of business?” he asked, following his nieces out of the buggy.
Jesse pushed his straw hat back from his forehead. “I’ve been tasked with giving you a warning,” he said, his expression grave.
“About what?” Perry braced himself for terrible news.
“ Mamm is writing letters. Lots of them. About you.”
“Huh?”
“More accurately about your bachelor status.” Jesse gave him a sympathetic look.
Perry leaned against the buggy, struggling to hide his exasperation. “I better geh talk to her.” Again . He couldn’t get through to his mother that he was satisfied being single, and he had good reason to be. He wasn’t sure his
brothers understood it either. They’d all gotten married in their early twenties, and in Jesse’s case, he had been only twenty.
Ever since his youngest brother, Elam’s, wedding two years ago, his mother and sister had been single-minded in finding him
a spouse, with disastrous results. Phoebe had finally given up six months ago, and he thought Mamm had done the same.
“You can try, but it’s probably pointless.” Jesse grinned. “Guess you’d better get married so she’ll finally leave you alone.”
Perry tried to smile, but after so many years of being teased about still being a bachelor, and in his mother and sister’s
case, trying to manipulate him into finding a frau , he was tired of it. His brother was right about one thing—it was useless to try to convince his mother to stop. He knew
she was only concerned for his future, and she had admitted her real fear two years ago after a horrendous attempt at a date
with a young woman from Birch Creek, who not only had a fear of horses but also talked incessantly about absolutely nothing.
Totally unsuitable for him.
“I don’t want you to be alone,” Mamm had said, her voice breaking. “Or lonely.”
He’d tried to tell her he didn’t mind being alone. In fact, he enjoyed not being surrounded by people all the time. He loved his family, but at times they were too much for him. For years he hadn’t quite understood why he liked his solitude so much. All he knew was that he wasn’t lonely when he was alone. He had his job, his house, his garden, his—
“Charity wants you to come over for supper soon,” Jesse said.
“Sure,” Perry answered quickly, relieved to get off the topic of Mamm and her pleading letters. How embarrassing.
“She’s on a Greek food kick. Tonight she’s making moussaka.”
“Moo-what?”
“Eggplant, ground meat, bechamel, and a bunch of other stuff I don’t remember.”
“Sounds gut .” He liked dining with Jesse and his wife, not just because they were family, but because he always knew Charity would make
something interesting and delicious from one of the cookbooks she’d started collecting shortly after she and Jesse tied the
knot.
Perry watched his nieces as they ran around the large oak tree in the center of his yard. When Shirley slapped Ranae on the
back and told her she was “it,” the little girl tumbled to the ground.
“Be careful,” Jesse hollered.
But Ranae popped up from the ground and continued running. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” she said, then squealed with laughter as
she caught Cevilla and tagged her.
Jesse shook his head. “How did Mamm handle all twelve of us?”
“Only by the grace of God.” Perry grinned.
“There’s something I wanted to ask you.” Jesse turned to him. “Ferman needs a job.”
“I thought he was doing fine at the buggy shop.”
“He was, but we’re so busy and he’s so...” A flash of guilt crossed his face. “He’s seventy-five and has a bad hip, although
he tries to hide that it’s hurting him. But that’s not the main problem. Believe it or not, he’s too social.”
Actually, Perry did believe it. He’d seen the man make the rounds at church. He was a nonstop talker.
“He’s spending too much time jawing with the customers. That would be fine, except he’s not getting things done around the
shop in a timely manner.”
“Because he’s slow,” Perry said.
“ Ya . I know he’s grateful for the work, and both Micah and I don’t want to let him go without another job in the wings. I thought he might be able to help you.”
Perry paused. He’d never had an assistant before. “Does he know anything about farrier work?”
Jesse shrugged. “Not sure.”
Perry’s horse whinnied behind him. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m doing fine on my own.”
“He’s gut company, even though he can get a little cranky when his hip is bothering him. He seems to be able to set that aside when
customers show up. But I understand if you don’t want to hire him. This is more for his benefit than yours.”
“I’m not completely against it,” Perry said. Especially now that he knew he’d be helping Ferman out. He liked the man even
though he didn’t know him all that well, the age gap between them being the main reason. Perry’s reluctance to stay for the
customary after-service meal was another. He liked to spend Sunday afternoons at home. “I’ll consider it and let you know.”
“ Danki . Micah will be relieved. I think Ferman will too.” Jesse put two fingers at the corners of his mouth and whistled, getting
the girls’ attention. “Time to geh home, maed .”
They immediately ran toward their father and uncle, but with less energy than before. “Looks like they tuckered themselves
out,” Perry commented.
“I wish.” Jesse lifted Ranae and balanced her on his slim hip and kissed her small, rosy cheek. “They usually get their second wind after supper. Tell Onkel Perry bye.”
All three girls waved, and they got into Jesse’s buggy. Perry climbed into his vehicle and waved back as they passed by. When
they were behind him, he reached for the handkerchief and opened it. The butterfly was still there. He touched the tip of
her left wing and it fluttered slightly. Quickly, he parked his buggy inside his barn, left his tools in the back, unhitched
his horse, and put him up in his stall with plenty of feed and water. Then he went to the front porch to go inside.
He’d barely turned the knob when the door opened on its own. The lock had been broken for a week, but he hadn’t worried about
it since he and his neighbors, Howard and Rosella and their daughter, Grace, were the only ones who lived on their street
for at least half a mile. The seclusion was part of the reason why he’d bought the place, and he never worried about anyone
breaking in.
But it was one thing to have a broken lock, another for the doorknob to barely work. He’d work on fixing it tomorrow.
He entered the kitchen, got an empty glass jar from the cabinet and a paper towel. He set the handkerchief on the counter,
leaving it open so the butterfly could be free. But she lay there, her wings still. He frowned, took the lid off the jar,
and tore the paper towel in half, then in fourths, then folded one of the quarter pieces twice and set it inside the lid.
Even though the lid had several small holes in it, they wouldn’t interfere with his purpose. He grabbed a small amber bottle
with a dropper in it from near the sink and put several drops of flower nectar on the paper towel. Carefully he lifted the
butterfly and put her feet on the paper towel to taste the nectar.
Perry crouched down until he was eye level with the counter and watched to see if she would eat. After a few minutes, she finally lifted her proboscis and started to consume the nectar. What a relief. It was possible she was only hungry, and once she regained her strength, she would leave to find her normal source of food.
He stood and headed for the shower. The butterfly wasn’t the only one hungry, but he had to clean up first before he made
his supper. As was his habit, he stripped off his dirty clothes in the mudroom off the kitchen and deposited them in a basket
next to the wringer washer. Three steps down the hall and he was in the bathroom. Living in such a small house on a basically
deserted road gave him privacy he could only dream of when he was in Birch Creek, and he took advantage of it.
After showering and changing into pants and a long-sleeved collarless shirt, he slicked back his wet hair and returned to
the kitchen, expecting the butterfly to be long gone.
Instead, she was sitting next to the paper towel. He smiled and went to her, giving her another once-over. Her wings seemed
fine, her body didn’t show signs of injury, and despite being calmer than any butterfly he’d ever encountered, she appeared
normal. He let her stay on the counter as he heated up some potato soup on the stove, buttered a slice of bread, and filled
a glass with water. Once he prayed over his supper, he ate, keeping his eye on his new little friend. If she didn’t leave
by bedtime, he’d put her in the jar with more nectar and let her go in the morning.
Perry took a bite of bread and chewed, his mother’s quest back on his mind again. It wasn’t only that he liked being alone
and wasn’t lonely that kept him from wanting to find a spouse. He was different, and the more years he spent on earth, the
more he realized that.
Because, while he enjoyed his job as a farrier, his true passion was drawing, studying, and nurturing butterflies. Not exactly the most common of pastimes among Amish men. Not even in the top thirty. Or on the list at all. His family didn’t even know about it.
For that reason and a few others, he knew he would never find a woman who truly understood him, never mind his unusual leisure
activity. At one time he thought he had, but that ended up being a mistake. There were single Amish people and single English
ones. Not everyone was meant to marry. He happened to be one of those people... and that was perfectly fine with him.
***
“We’re here, young lady.”
Daisy felt a sharp tap on her shoulder. Her eyes opened as the bus brakes squealed to a stop. At first she didn’t know where
she was or who was nudging her. But when she turned to her seatmate, an elderly English woman named Peg who had spent the
trip from Dover knitting socks for her husband, she realized her location—Mount Eaton, Ohio.
Peg stuffed a half-knitted sock into her large pink tote bag that said “Knitting Keeps Me from Unraveling.” “Is someone here
to pick you up?” she asked, taking off a pair of bright red reading glasses and adding them to the bag.
“There’s supposed to be a taxi waiting for me.” She was in an aisle seat and couldn’t get a good look out the window. “Dad
said the driver will be in a silver sedan.”
Peg clucked her tongue. “Lots of silver sedans in the world. Anything else to identify it?”
“Dad didn’t say.”
Daisy grabbed her small suitcase from underneath the seat in front of her and stood.
Despite her parents’ insistence that Grace wanted her to remain in Marigold for a month, she planned to stay no longer than two weeks—plenty of time to help plan her cousin’s wedding. The sooner she returned to Dover, the sooner she and Maynard would be a couple.
She stepped off the bus and searched the parking lot. Not a single silver sedan in sight.
“There’s my George.” Peg appeared next to her and waved to a short, balding man with a huge smile coming toward them. “It’s
good to be home.” She turned to Daisy. “Is your ride here?”
“Not yet.”
“Will you be okay? We can wait with you.”
Daisy smiled. What a kind gesture, but she didn’t want to inconvenience Peg. “I’m sure the taxi will be here soon.”
Peg waved goodbye to Daisy as George met her on the curb. He kissed her cheek, then picked up her suitcase and the pink knitting
bag and they headed to their car.
During the trip, Peg mentioned she’d been married almost fifty years, was in Dover to visit her younger sister, and that she
not only knitted but crocheted, tatted, weaved, and quilted. Daisy wasn’t quite as eager to share details about her life,
other than that she was in Marigold to help Grace and her mother. She definitely didn’t want to talk about Maynard. She was
already missing him.
Would she and Maynard have love in their eyes fifty years from now if God willed for them to have that much time on earth
together? Of course they would, even if she couldn’t imagine them as an old couple right now. If she loved him now, she would
love him forever.
Almost twenty minutes passed before a silver sedan finally pulled into the parking lot and stopped in front of her. The passenger
side window rolled down. “I sure hope you’re Daisy Hershberger.”
She nodded.
The man heaved a sigh of relief and put his car in Park. He scrambled out of it and jogged to the other side. “I’m sorry I’m late. There was some confusion about what time I was supposed to pick you up.” He held out his hand. “I’m Jackson Talbot. I run a taxi service in Birch Creek and Marigold.”
Daisy shook his hand, and he took her suitcase and put it in the trunk. He opened the back passenger side door, and she got
in.
Jackson hopped into the driver’s seat and soon they were off. “We should be in Marigold in forty-five minutes or so. I apologize
if I’m making you late.”
“That’s okay.” Mamm and Daed didn’t say anything about Grace or her parents needing her to be in Marigold at a specific time.
She glanced at Jackson as he maneuvered the car out of the lot. He looked to be in his late thirties, possibly early forties.
She really couldn’t tell age when it came to English men. He had short hair with graying sideburns and a mustache and beard
with threads of silver through them. She also noticed he was wearing a thick, black wedding ring.
“My wife, Megan, is training our oldest daughter to take appointments,” he said. “She’s fifteen and every bit the distracted
teenager. She wrote down that you were coming this evening. Fortunately, Megan noticed and texted me.”
Daisy tried to pay attention to what he was saying, but she couldn’t stop looking out the window. What she saw filled her
with awe. Dover was flat, and while Pickering Beach was less than half an hour from her house and a great place to spend time
relaxing, the beach didn’t compare to what she was seeing now. Lush rolling hills covered with green grass, tall budding trees,
and as they traveled farther from Mount Eaton, white Amish houses, black buggies, and pastureland. So much pastureland. Lots
of woods too.
“It’s so pretty here,” she said.
“You should see it when everything is in full bloom.” Jackson flipped on his turn signal. “Fall is gorgeous too. Even winter is nice, if you like lots of snow.”
“I don’t know if I do or not. We don’t get much in Dover.” She leaned closer to the window, as if it would bring her nearer
to the beautiful landscape. No wonder Grace and her family liked living here.
“Have you always lived in Delaware?” Jackson took a left turn down an asphalt road where the Amish houses were spread out.
“Yes. This is the first time I’ve been out of the state.”
He turned into a gravel driveway and pulled up to a modest Amish house with a wraparound front porch.
“Thank you.” Daisy opened her purse and started to pull out her wallet.
Jackson shook his head. “Your father took care of it.” He grinned and got out to retrieve her suitcase from the trunk.
Daisy slipped her wallet back into her purse and exited the car. Immediately she was hit with a fresh breeze, along with a
whiff of livestock. While she and her parents had a horse and buggy, they only raised a few chickens in their small backyard
that wasn’t big enough to sustain any other livestock. They purchased their meat and vegetables from an Amish family who had
a large farm, and they also visited Spence’s Bazaar and Amish Market a few times a year. But the air here was very different.
She took another big breath. Wonderful.
It was only after Jackson handed her suitcase to her that she noticed there wasn’t a buggy parked in the driveway or near
the barn. She assumed her onkel Howard was at work, but he rode in a van with a group of other Amish men to work their roofing jobs on construction sites,
according to what Grace had told her. Maybe Aenti Rosella was out visiting friends or running errands. That was okay. It would give Daisy and Grace time to catch up alone.
“Enjoy your visit.” Jackson smiled again and got into his car.
As he drove away, she walked to the front porch, glancing at the small house next door. It wasn’t just small, it was tiny, and so was the barn next to it. She’d never seen such a diminutive residence. The gray-roofed, white-painted home was only a few yards from her aunt and uncle’s property. She didn’t see a buggy there either.
She reached her aunt and uncle’s front door and knocked. Waited. When no one answered, she knocked again. A cow lowed in the
distance, followed by a rooster crowing. After knocking a third time, she tried turning the doorknob. Locked. She sighed,
left her suitcase and purse on the porch, and walked to the backyard. Maybe someone was out here and hadn’t heard her arrive.
Other than their similar houses, her cousin’s place was different than her home in Dover. There were the copious woods on
the back of the property, for starters. Then there was the silence. While there were plenty of sounds around her—the cows,
the rooster and hens in a coop by the back of the barn, the buzzing of a few errant flies—it was still much quieter here than
in her busy neighborhood just outside the Delaware capital city limits.
To her left was a large pasture, and several silky brown cows stood by the fence, staring at her with large eyes as if they
knew she didn’t belong there. She’d make sure to get acquainted with them later. She went to the back door and rapped on the
framed screen. Still no answer. Strange.
A butterfly landed on the back of her hand, and she smiled. She loved butterflies. They were such beautiful creatures, but
they were also so skittish she could only view them from a distance. She stilled, expecting it to fly off. When it didn’t,
she took the rare opportunity to examine it. It’s bright orange wings flapped slowly, and they were rimmed with black and
white. She turned her hand so she could look at it from the side. “Lovely,” she murmured.
As soon as she spoke, the butterfly took off.
Good thing, because she had to figure out how to get inside the house. When she tried opening the back door, she found it latched shut. Clearly no one was home. She put her hands on her hips and looked around. Now what was she supposed to do?
Daisy glanced at the neighbor’s house again. A cool breeze kicked up, and she tugged her blue sweater around her. The temperature
was about the same here as it was in Dover when she left early this morning, but the wind was chilly, and she’d put her coat
in her suitcase, not wanting to have to deal with it on the bus ride.
Maybe someone was home next door even though the buggy was gone. In all the letters she’d received from Grace, her cousin
hadn’t mentioned her neighbors. Most of her news was about Kyle, and there were a few times when she felt a pang of envy when
she read about all the different places Grace and Kyle went on their dates and the things they did. Nothing too personal or
romantic, but Daisy had gotten the impression that Kyle was much more hands-on with Grace than Maynard was. Literally.
That was going to change when she went back home.
She headed to the neighbor’s and scurried up the front porch. Just as she was about to knock on the door, it opened on its
own. Another breeze cut through her, and the door swung open all the way. Daisy stuck her head partway inside. “Hello?”
When no one answered, she deduced no one was home here either. She stepped inside and reached for the doorknob, intending
to close the door. When she tugged, the knob fell into her hand.
Oh no! Quickly she tried to put the knob back in place, but it fell out again. On the third attempt, it finally stayed. Carefully,
she held the left side of the door and pulled it closer to her. When she heard it latch, she breathed out a sigh of relief,
only to gasp when the knob fell out again, landed on her toe, and rolled off the front porch.
That’ll leave a bruise. Daisy wiggled her big toe inside her black tennis shoes, then tromped to the end of the bottom porch step and snatched up
the knob. Thank goodness no one was around to see her break the neighbor’s door handle.
She went inside the house, intent on putting the knob somewhere easily seen. The living, dining, and kitchen areas took up
one big room. She’d seen this type of layout before in one of her English friend’s homes. An open floor plan, she thought
it was called. The kitchen window was opened halfway, and plain white curtains billowed in the breezy air coming into the
house.
She glanced around. The furnishings were sparse—one recliner chair and an end table with a gas lamp on top were to the right
of the room near a wood fireplace. A small table with four chairs was farther inside, with one chair pulled away from the
table. The kitchen counters were under the window along with the sink, and white cabinets were on either side of the curtains.
There was no coffee table or couch, no rug on the floor, and nothing on the walls. It was the most un-homey home she’d ever
been in.
Daisy blinked. She wasn’t here to judge someone else’s living accommodations. She walked toward the kitchen, searching for
something she could use to leave a note. There was a full roll of paper towels by the sink, and a stub of a pencil by the
stove. That would work.
She picked up the pencil, tore a paper towel off the roll, and started writing.
Dear Neighbor,
I’m sorry I broke your doorknob. I tried to fix it, but it wouldn’t stay in place. See, I’m visiting from Dover because my cousin Grace—your neighbor—needs help planning her wedding. It’s not until November, but for some reason she wants to do it early. I didn’t really want to leave. I need to have “the talk” with Maynard. We have to make plans for our future...
Her palm pressed against her forehead. Whoever lived here didn’t need all those details, especially the one about Maynard.
And she’d already torn a little hole in her makeshift paper. Writing on a paper towel wasn’t exactly easy, especially when
it was quilted for fast absorbency. She tore off another towel, and with the stubby pencil poised above her writing surface,
she—
A heavy thud sounded behind her. She whirled around to see an Amish man behind her.
“Hey!” he shouted. “What do you think you’re doing?”