Old Amarillo~Amish Journeys Read online

  Old Amarillo

  Amish Journeys #1

  By

  Sara Barnard

  This is a fictional work. The names, characters, incidents, places, and locations are solely the concepts and products of the author’s imagination or are used to create a fictitious story and should not be construed as real.

  5 PRINCE PUBLISHING AND BOOKS, LLC

  PO Box 16507

  Denver, CO 80216

  www.5PrinceBooks.com

  Digital ISBN 13:978-1-63112-126-5 ISBN: 10: 163112126X

  Old Amarillo

  Sara Barnard

  Copyright Sara Barnard 2015

  Published by 5 Prince Publishing Smashwords Edition

  Front Cover SelfPubBookCovers.com/RLSather

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations, reviews, and articles. For any other permission please contact 5 Prince Publishing and Books, LLC.

  First Edition/First Printing September 2015 Printed U.S.A.

  5 PRINCE PUBLISHING AND BOOKS, LLC.

  Acknowledgements:

  Thank you to my wonderful editor and fellow animal lover, Connie Kline, who took a chance on this fledgling writer way back in 2011 and has been an ever-present source of constructive criticism, encouragement, friendship, and hope. Thank you to Bernadette and all of the wonderful women that conspire to make 5 Prince such a wonderful place to publish. A giant thank you to my children, husband, and parents who never fail to offer encouragement when it’s needed the most. Thank you to my 6th grade class – every one of you little dudes and dudettes rock! Last but not least, thank you to my readers – for your enthusiasm and zest for my stories. You make it all worthwhile
  Dedication:

  To Bull Price, my pawpaw. You may have been “Just Bull” back in that Texas classroom so many years ago, but you’ll always be a hookin’ bull to me! This one’s for you
  OTHER BOOKS BY SARA BARNARD

  A HEART ON HOLD

  A HEART BROKEN

  A HEART AT HOME

  A HEART FOREVER WILD

  AN EVERLASTING HEART SERIES (BOX SET)

  REBEKAH’S QUILT

  CHUNKY SUGARS

  LITTLE SPOON

  Old Amarillo

  Chapter 1

  Gasthof Village, Indiana

  1890

  As the sun sank lower in the sky and the farther she got from the safety of Gasthof Village, each step on the rutty clods seemed to hurt more than the last. What were you thinking, Katie Knepp?

  The cool Indiana breeze that had been kissing her ankles and cheeks switched direction without warning, whipping her covering strings across her lips. Somewhere in the distance, her mother’s pitiful moans and hysterical shrieks were still audible.

  “I’m sorry Mama,” Katie whispered, batting the troublesome strings from in front of her face. She hadn’t known what to expect when she told her parents she was leaving their safe and secluded world, bound for the wilds of Texas, but she certainly hadn’t expected her mother’s reaction.

  “Don’t let my baby go Jeremiah!” she’d screamed as Katie descended, like a whipped pup, down the hand-laid wooden porch after delivering her news. In atypical Amish fashion, her mother had made a dive for her from the top step, only to be expertly intercepted by her father. “Don’t let her leave us! She’s likely to get killed Jeremiah, don’t let my baby go.”

  The stone-like expression of her father’s bearded face and empty, broken eyes haunted her mind, giving her a shiver down her backbone. Something told her she’d never see her beloved parents again. Still, she had to go.

  A sudden burst of wind sent the covering strings lashing across her face again. This time, they stung. “God, please comfort my mother and give her heart peace over my decision. Help her to understand that I consulted You in prayer before even considering this journey.”

  Katie looked around at the pristine beauty that surrounded her. The wind changed, wafting the lemony scent of a nearby tulip tree beneath her nose. She inhaled deeply and let her mind wander back to the prayer that led her to the trail.

  She had been washing her family’s laundry in the icy river behind their farm when she’d prayed it, heartbroken.“I don’t know what to do, God. Is there a decision I can make that won’t hurt my family? How do I live my life for You when I feel as though I’m living in the wrong place? Am I sinning by even wanting to seek out adventure and avoid the monotony of Old Order Amish life –”

  Katie had bit her tongue the moment she said it. To avoid the monotony. Of the life my parents and ancestors endured so much persecution to be able to have. To practice our faith, we fled kingdoms, braved oceans, forged across foreign countries...

  A memory from Rumspringa had pushed its way gently to the forefront of her mind, blocking out the sudden wave of guilt that threatened to consume her. The duster-clad man’s face was as clear in her mind now as it had been that day on Rumspringa. He had looked first at her covering and then her plain purple dress when she’d accidently run into him on the boardwalk in New York City.

  Excusing herself, the stranger had simply touched the tip of his tall hat and offered her a warm grin. His accent, strange and wonderful, boasted a bit of a drawl that pulled on his letters in a way she’d never before heard. “Why, hello there, little lady,” he said. “I wonder now, what’s a young girl such as yourself doing up in these here parts?”

  Not knowing how to respond and unable to wrap her mind completely around the accent that was so unbelievably out of place, Katie simply stared back at the larger-than-life stranger.

  With a short laugh, he continued, “I do declare. You could be Joseph Goetz’s daughter. He did some work on my barn for me last summer. Did a right fine job of it, too. I would hire any Mennonite feller over a tinker any day of the week.” His blue eyes sparkled with some seemingly untold secret. “Tell me darlin’, you don’t happen to be from that little bee-keepin’ settlement outside of Amarillo, do you?”

  “Um, Am... Amarillo?” Katie twisted her tongue around the foreign word that didn’t sound entirely English.

  “Well, us Texans call it Amarillo. It’s the Mexicans that named it though – Am-uh-ree-yo is how you say it proper. Means yellow.” He smiled again. “Either for those beautiful golden sunrises or all the blowing dirt, haven’t figured out which one yet.”

  Unable to help herself, Katie smiled back. “Amarillo. What a lovely sounding place. But I’m not from there. My family is from Gasthof Village, back in Indiana.”

  A blowing horn from a sea-faring vessel caught the man’s attention. He glanced over his shoulder before turning back to Katie. “Well, that’s my ride. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, little sister. I’m J.B. Smith, third generation Texan.”

  Katie accepted his proffered hand and tried to match his manly shakes. “Katie Knepp, first generation Indianian.”

  “That’d make you a Hoosier, then. You be safe getting back to Gasthof Village, Katie Knepp.” He tipped his hat again. “If you ever make it down Texas way, stop in on the Goetz’s. Tell ‘em Bull Smith sent you.”

  “Bull Smith? Who is he?” Katie glanced around, but the kindly Texan appeared to be traveling alone.

  “Why, that’s me.”

  Katie could feel the puzzlement overtake her face and her brows knit together, low above her eyes. “But didn’t you say your name was J.B.?”

  The tall Texan smiled again, ducking his head in an almost sheepish manner. “My mama and the doctor who brought me into the world named me Bull, on account of I weighed considerable more than a ten-pound sack of ‘taters. I really was more of a hookin’ bull than a baby. Fourteen pounds, my sister claimed.”

  Katie grinned. He certainly has a way of telling stories. She shifted her weight and prayed he continue.

  “But when I started at the one-room schoolhouse over in the neighbor town of Sundown, the teacher wouldn’t allow me a seat in her class until I told her my Christian name. Mama was a Choctaw Indian and Daddy was Scotch-Irish. Being the youngest of thirteen, I’d gone by Bull since I was born. Teacher didn’t take kindly to my name, said it sounded heathen. So I named myself J.B. on the spot, right there in front of God and all my classmates.”

  Katie stared at the quizzical Texan. “But why did you choose J.B.?”

  The Texan turned to go, still grinning at Katie. “J.B. Just Bull. Goodbye, Katie Knepp.”

  The warm memory of her exchange with the kindly Texan had wrapped itself like a cloak around Katie’s shoulders as she prayed by the rolling Indiana River. Suddenly, her eyes sprang open with newfound zeal.

  “Amarillo, Texas. There’s a Mennonite settlement near there, and they farm bees!” Katie’s heart quickened to a gallop and her backbone grew straighter. “They must dress like me otherwise Mr. Smith wouldn’t have thought I was Mennonite. If they dress like me –” Katie rose from the rock, an excited itch tickling her spirit. “They must be like me. Yet they have some contact with the English...it is possible, I can still be me, but well, be me!”

  She had jumped and clapped her hands as the realization of her prayerful memory rooted in her mind. “If the Mennonites can make it down Texas way,” she said in the best Texas drawl she could muster, “then by golly, Katie Knepp can, too.”

  The memories faded as, carefully, Katie tucked the taxing strings of her covering into the nape of her hand-hewn dress. I could just take my covering off
and stow it in my apron, she thought.

  Guilt at simply having the thought niggled in her stomach. Even though she was well away from the watchful eyes of her Amish village, it still didn’t feel right to take the white gauzy prayer covering off completely. She gave it a pat as another of what was most likely her mother’s shrieks met her ears. “God, please hear my prayer –.”

  As quickly as it gusted, the breeze died off, leaving Katie alone in a vast and eerie calm. The yip of a coyote replaced the melancholy laments of her mother, now lost without the breeze to carry them. Instantly, a choir of yips encircled her with their echoing sounds. Katie froze and scanned the world around her. Nothing was out of place and there wasn’t one tell-tale tail, or much less a hair, giving rise to any suspicion of her stumbling into the midst of a pack of coyotes.

  The sky to the west was a splash of pastel colors and a shudder raced down her spine as the incessant yipping continued in varying octaves. Glancing over her shoulder, Katie pointed her nose skyward into the falling darkness and let out a lingering howl. At once, the coyotes silenced before filling the skies with a chorus of haunting howls in answer.

  “What beautiful music they make,” Katie mused, continuing down the trail and pushing thoughts of her brokenhearted mother down deep in her soul. From seemingly nowhere, a gray pup scampered across the trail in front of her. Its fluffy body seemed too large for its tiny head as it paused and looked at her through wide, wild eyes. Then, stumbling over its too-large feet, the young coyote disappeared into the brush that lined the trail.

  Katie giggled. “Go on silly baby. Go find your family, they’re all around us.”

  She’d only continued a few more steps before the howls silenced and the feeling of being watched became almost too much to bear. As darkness deepened the sky’s hue, Katie remembered the supper in her bag just as the whuffing sound of curious coyotes met her ears.

  Icy fingers of fear clawed at her stomach as the feeling that came with the coyotes around her changed from strangely cheerful and probing to strangely hungry . . . and her feeling hunted. Maybe I should just start for home now and forget any thought of Texas. If I walk quickly, I could even run, and I’ll leave the food for these animals…

  Katie whirled on her heel, ignoring the yellow eyes that peered at her from the lengthening shadows. A low growl rolled out of the understory.

  In the distance, a flickering glow caught her attention. “A campfire!” she cried. Plunging her hand into her bag, Katie produced the venison steaks her twin sister Annie had packed for her as she’d broken the news of her travels to their parents.

  Heaving them behind her and not bothering with the biscuits or pie, she ignored the snarling and snapping that ensued almost immediately and took off at a dead run toward the flickering salvation on the horizon.

  “Welcome Miss, won’t you come and join us?” The English woman’s smiling voice was almost as warm as the fire when Katie burst into the camp unannounced. “Coyotes are awful bad tonight. Heard tale myself that they’re being driven north from the devastating drought down south. Hungry things, they are.” The kindly English woman held out a dented tin plate to Katie. “Have you eaten darlin’?”

  Katie shook her head and accepted the plate. A sudden, foreign popping sound from the suffocating darkness behind them made her jump.

  “I’m Michaela. Michaela Dawson. That’s my husband Jake and son Logan you heard there.”

  Confusion narrowed Katie’s eyes.

  Michaela grinned. “They’re keeping those pesky coyotes at bay.” Her blue eyes, wide with curiosity, sparkled in the firelight. “What may I ask are you doing out on the trail, all alone at night?”

  Tears burned the back of Katie’s throat. “I’m Katie Knepp. My family lives back up the road a bit in Gasthof Village.”

  Michaela nodded, filling her plate with a ladle of beans. “Ah yes, the Amish settlement.” Plucking up a fork, she sat down on a long log and motioned for Katie to join her. “Do you need a ride home, Katie Knepp?”

  Taking the proffered seat, Katie shoveled in a forkful of beans, suddenly feeling the effects of her trip in her growling stomach. The beans were gritty, as though they’d been cooked beneath the Dawson family’s covered wagon as they traveled throughout the day. Forcing the bite past the lump in her throat, Katie struggled to remember her manners. “No ma’am, but thank you. I’m headed south.” Her voice cracked a bit. “To Texas.”

  Michaela’s eyebrows arched skyward. “Is that so? Well, best of luck to you. Mess of problems down south. If the bank robbers don’t get you, the grippe will.” She chugged a drink from a silver cup. “We’re headed even farther north, to Montana, ourselves. Inherited a cattle ranch.” She drained her drink and let the cup dangle between her knees. “We have until the end of the month to claim it, otherwise it goes to the next of kin. That rich old goat wouldn’t know what to do with a cow other than fart around and get himself stepped on.” Shaking her head, Michaela continued. “He’d wind up getting mad at his own incompetence and selling off the whole ranch before he even realized what he had.” She smiled, breaking her tanned face into a freckled mess of weathered wrinkles.

  Michaela couldn’t have been much older than her own mother and she had an inviting air about her. With her long almond colored hair tied back in plaits beneath a straw hat and a denim skirt that reached her ankles, Michaela looked the part of an English cattlewoman.

  Another popping shot, closer this time, sent Katie’s plate of gritty beans into the dirt at her feet. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she stammered, scrambling to pick up what she could salvage, her heart pounding in her ears. “I would offer to share my dinner with you to make up for my dropping yours, but I haven’t any left that aren’t crumbs.”

  “It’s alright Katie, I’ll get you more,” Michaela said, ladling another helping of beans onto a clean plate. “You seemed mighty hungry. Did you drop your dinner on the trail?”

  Katie dug into the heap of gritty beans. “No ma’am,” she managed through the mouthful of beans. Finally, she swallowed. “I threw it.”

  Michaela cocked her head, sending the shadows from the firelight bouncing across her angled features. “Really?”

  Katie helped herself to another heaping bite. “When those coyotes surrounded me, right before I saw your camp, I figured they smelled the venison my sister packed for my dinner. So I gave the steaks a fling into the brush. And ran.”

  Slapping her leg, Michaela let loose with a whoop. “You fed the coyotes? My dear girl, you’re lucky they didn’t eat you alive!”

  Katie pondered this and cleaned her plate of the gritty beans. “But they’d already had my steaks, what would they want with me?”

  Michaela sobered. “Katie, you feed them and they associate you with food. How long do you think it’ll take a starvin’ coyote to figure out a human and the food from a human are the same thing?”

  Katie shrugged, feeling supremely ignorant.

  Gently, Michaela continued. “In its mind, wouldn’t take much to make the human the food, way I figure it.”

  Michaela’s logic sank like a stone in Katie’s gut. She began to shake.

  With a reassuring pat, Michaela began again, not giving her time to respond. “Don’t worry darlin’. You’ll ride with us into Elizabethtown. And I’ll give you a new bag, one that doesn’t smell like a coyote’s dinner. Once we arrive, if you are still of a mind to get to Texas, I’ll buy you a ticket on a railroad and lend you our scout, Johnny Tyler. He’s due to meet us in Elizabethtown tomorrow. That way, I’ll rest easy knowing you made it to your destination safely.”

  Katie mumbled an ever-polite thank you as she struggled to keep her eyes open. Michaela led her to a bedroll beside the fire and began to sing. A strange song, Katie thought, as she drifted off to sleep. Something about a colored rose in San Antone.