6. The Accident #2
She didn’t know what she meant by that. Didn’t let herself think too closely about what “settling” might look like. Or what might need to change for her to feel at peace.
The sound of hoofbeats pulled her from her thoughts. A buggy appeared on the road, lanterns already lit against the gathering dusk.
Brian pulled the horse to a stop and smiled down at her. “Sorry I’m a few minutes late. This one was being stubborn about the harness.”
“It’s no trouble.” Elizabeth climbed up, settling onto the bench beside him. “Thank you for coming to fetch me.”
“Happy to.” Brian clicked his tongue and the horse started forward. “Gave me something to do besides wear a hole in the Dawdy Haus floor.”
Elizabeth smiled despite her restlessness. “Nervous?”
“Terrified.” But he was grinning. “Is it strange that I’m more nervous now than I was when I got baptized?”
“That’s completely normal,” Elizabeth assured him. “You’re about to promise your whole life to someone.”
“Best decision I ever made, though. Coming here. Choosing this life. Choosing Hannah.” He glanced at her. “How’s Naomi? Did Sadie have any trouble?”
“She was fussing when Sadie took her, but I’m sure she’s fine. Sadie raised two boys—she knows what she’s doing.” Elizabeth tried to sound confident, but her voice wavered slightly. “I’ve never been away from her this long.”
“You’ll be home soon,” Brian said gently. “And she’ll be so happy to see her mamm.”
They rode in comfortable silence for a while, the buggy rocking gently, the horse’s hooves rhythmic on the packed earth. The last light faded from the sky, and darkness settled over the countryside like a quilt. The buggy lanterns cast small pools of light that swayed with their movement.
Elizabeth was distracted, her mind turning over the day—Hannah’s joy, the wedding preparations, the empty feeling of her arms without Naomi. The physical discomfort of breasts too full, the urgency to get home and nurse her daughter.
“Can I tell you something?” Brian’s voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. “Since you understand what it’s like to... not quite fit the way everyone expects?”
Elizabeth looked at him, surprised. “Not fit?”
Brian was quiet for a moment, his hands steady on the reins. “My parents died when I was seven. Car accident on the highway.”
“I’m so sorry,” Elizabeth said softly.
“After that, it was foster homes. Five different families before I aged out at eighteen.” His voice carried old pain, carefully packed away but still present.
“I was always the outsider. Always the one who didn’t quite belong.
Everything was temporary—the families, the houses, the schools. Nothing was ever... mine.”
Elizabeth’s chest tightened with sympathy. She understood that feeling more than he might know—the sense of not quite belonging, of being dependent on others’ charity, of never being sure of your place.
“But here?” Brian’s voice changed, warmed. “I’m not walking away from much. I never had a family, never had roots. I’m walking toward something real. Toward belonging—even if it’s different than I imagined.”
“Different how?”
“I know the community will probably always see me as ’the convert’ or ’the English boy.
’” He said it matter-of-factly, without bitterness.
“I’ll likely never be asked to serve in leadership.
There’ll always be a subtle distance, people speaking a little slower to me, explaining things they wouldn’t explain to someone born here. ”
“Does that bother you?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But tomorrow I marry the woman I love. I’ll have a family. A home. A place.” He looked at her, his face earnest in the lamplight. “Nothing else matters, Elizabeth. I’d rather have imperfect belonging with Hannah than perfect acceptance anywhere else.”
The words settled over Elizabeth like a benediction. She thought about her own situation—widow with a baby, living in her dead husband’s family home, never quite sure if she was guest or member. Always grateful, always careful, always aware of the charity extended to her.
Always aware of John.
The thought came unbidden, and she pushed it away quickly.
“You’re braver than you know,” she said quietly. “And Hannah is blessed to have you.”
“I’m the blessed one,” Brian said simply.
The buggy slowed as they approached an intersection where a less-traveled side road crossed the main route. Brian was careful here, checking both directions. It was fully dark now, and the only light came from their dim lanterns.
Elizabeth was thinking about Naomi again. About getting home. About the relief of holding her daughter, of nursing her, of everything returning to normal.
“All clear,” Brian murmured, and urged the horse forward.
They were halfway across when Elizabeth saw the headlights.
Bright. Fast. Coming from the side.
“Brian—”
The word barely left her mouth before the world exploded.
The car struck the back right corner of the buggy with a sound like the earth splitting open—wood splintering, metal screaming, glass shattering. The impact threw Elizabeth hard against the side of the buggy. Her shoulder hit wood with brutal force, pain exploding through her arm and chest.
The horse screamed—a sound of pure, primal terror—and reared up, eyes rolling white in the sudden glare of headlights.
“Whoa! WHOA!” Brian was shouting, fighting the reins as the terrified animal tried to bolt.
The buggy lurched violently sideways. For one horrible moment, Elizabeth thought they would tip completely. She grabbed for anything to hold onto, her heart hammering against her ribs, her shoulder screaming with pain.
Behind them, brakes squealed—too late, far too late.
The horse was backing up now, still screaming, pulling against the ruined buggy with wild, panicked strength. Brian’s knuckles were white on the reins, his voice urgent but steady, speaking Pennsylvania Dutch: “Ruhich, ruhich, gut bu, ruhich—” Easy, easy, good boy, easy?—
A car door slammed. Footsteps running on pavement.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry—I didn’t see you—are you hurt? Should I call 911?”
A young man—maybe twenty-five, English, his face pale with shock in the headlights’ glare.
“Are you hurt?” Brian called back to Elizabeth, still focused on the horse, never letting go of the reins even as the animal danced and pulled.
Elizabeth’s hands were shaking. Her shoulder throbbed where she’d hit the buggy wall, pain radiating down her arm. But she moved carefully—arms, legs, turned her head. Everything worked. Nothing broken.
“Nee,” she managed, her voice coming out thin and shaky. “I’m—I’m not hurt.”
“Thank God,” the driver said, pulling out his phone. “I’m calling for help?—”
“Nee,” Brian said firmly, though not unkindly. He’d finally gotten the horse to stop trying to bolt, though the animal was still dancing nervously, ears flat against his head. “We’re not far from home. We can manage.”
Brian climbed down carefully, never letting go of the reins, speaking in soft Pennsylvania Dutch to the terrified horse. “Alles is gut, alles is gut...” Everything’s fine, everything’s fine...
Elizabeth climbed down on shaking legs, her shoulder protesting every movement. Her first coherent thought, cutting through the shock and pain:
Naomi. I need to get to Naomi.
The driver kept apologizing, offering his phone, offering to drive them somewhere, his voice high with panic. Brian declined politely each time, his focus entirely on calming the horse.
“Let me at least give you my information,” the driver said. “For insurance.”
While Brian exchanged information with the man, Elizabeth moved to look at the buggy by the light of the car’s headlights.
The rear right wheel was completely destroyed. Spokes shattered like kindling, the rim bent and twisted into an unusable shape. Part of the frame had splintered, sharp edges of wood jutting out at wrong angles, splinters scattered across the road.
The buggy wasn’t going anywhere.
“We’ll have to leave it,” Brian said, joining her. “Come back tomorrow with a wagon to collect it.”
He began unhitching the horse, his movements careful and methodical despite the adrenaline that must still be coursing through him. As he worked, he paused, his hand running down the animal’s right front leg.
The horse flinched.
“He’s lame,” Brian said quietly. “Not badly, but we’ll need to take it slow.”
Elizabeth’s heart sank. The Miller farm was still half a mile away. Maybe more.
The English driver apologized one more time, his voice shaking, and finally drove off slowly, his taillights disappearing into the darkness.
Brian and Elizabeth stood in the sudden quiet, the damaged buggy behind them, the injured horse between them.
“We could have been killed,” Elizabeth whispered.
Brian looked at her, his face serious in the dim lantern light. “But we weren’t. Gott was watching over us.”
He adjusted his grip on the reins. The horse was calmer now but still nervous, pulling back occasionally when shadows moved or the wind rustled the leaves.
“Come on,” Brian said gently. “Let’s get you home.”
They began walking, Brian leading the limping horse carefully. Elizabeth stayed close beside them. The thought of walking ahead by herself—alone in the dark, still shaking from the accident, her shoulder throbbing—felt impossible.
And Brian needed help. The horse was unpredictable, could spook again at any moment.
“You don’t have to walk with me,” Brian said, glancing at her. “You should get home to Naomi.”
“I’m not leaving you alone with an injured horse in the dark,” Elizabeth said firmly, though her voice still shook.
Brian smiled slightly. “Stubborn. Hannah said you were.”
They walked slowly, Brian talking constantly to the horse in soothing Pennsylvania Dutch.
The animal was calmer now but still nervous—ears swiveling at every sound, pulling back when a branch creaked or leaves rustled across the road.
Brian was patient, never rushing, letting the horse set the pace.