Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

Daniel pulled the door to the woodshed closed and walked straight to the barn and started tossing bales of hay into a stack. “The hay was fine where it was, son.”

His father had an uncanny ability to show up when his children needed guidance, whether they wanted it or not. Daniel, craving physical activity, took all the bales of hay he’d stacked and returned them to where he’d found them moments before. It was not completion of the task but physical exhaustion he sought. It was the only way he knew of not to commit egregious sins with the redheaded hellion he’d left in the woodshed.

Solomon quietly observed while his eldest son moved the many bales of hay back and forth one more time before laying a hand on Daniel’s sweat-soaked shoulder. “Enough, son. Come, sit.” The father arranged two bales of hay on the barn floor opposite each other. Daniel sat across from his father, his fists clenched atop his thighs, unsure of what to say, unable to make sense of the emotions pulsing through his body.

“It’s a funny thing, isn’t it?” Solomon said and Daniel looked up quizzically before his father continued. “Just us men here for so many years and now suddenly a whole troop of young women arrive, and at a time when we wondered if the rest of the world had been destroyed.”

Daniel let out the breath he’d been holding. “Yes, and they aren’t like Amish girls, either.”

Solomon chuckled. “No, they most certainly are not. But something has led them to our home and it is our duty as Christians, and men, to welcome and shelter them.”

“Yes, Father,” Daniel said. He wanted to say more, but struggled to find the words.

“The redhead has stirred something in you, has she not?”

“How did you know?” Daniel stared at the floor and then up at his father. “It feels wrong and right at the same time.”

“Girls, particularly attractive ones, are bringers of confusion.”

Daniel sighed and looked at his father for a moment. “Father,” he said, “are you enjoying this?”

Solomon, who had been biting his lips, let loose a hearty laugh. “Forgive me, Daniel. It is simply that you have always been so sure of yourself in every situation, practically from the time you were born. I am enjoying watching you struggle with your attraction to this young lady. It is wrong of me to take pleasure in your predicament.”

For as long as Daniel could remember, Solomon had been steady and calm in all circumstances. He was not humorless, but he was more inclined to duty than mirth. Yet for some unknown reason, he took particular delight in Daniel’s discomfort.

“Father, I do not know what to do. I took the girl to the woodshed and I spanked her, but I-I wanted to do more.”

“Lust is a powerful force, my son.”

“Is that what this feeling is? It’s not just a desire to know her physically.” Daniel could barely believe he was having such a personal discussion with his father. “I-I want to know everything about her, to hold her and protect her.”

“Those are some strong feelings when you’ve only met the girl this morning.”

“Caleb found a girl in the barn and got engaged the same day.”

“True. But Caleb feels strongly that Lara is meant to be his wife. Do you believe that your feelings for the girl in the woodshed?—”

“Brittany. Her name is Brittany.”

“Fine, then. Do you believe that your feelings for um, Brittany are heartfelt… or something else?”

Daniel considered the blood rushing to his lower extremities, the pounding of his heart, and throbbing in his temples. “I do not know. I’m confused and unsure of myself.”

“Where is the girl now?”

“She’s still in the woodshed. I didn’t trust myself to be alone with her any longer.”

“While I am pleased to see a girl attract your interest—particularly after that unpleasant situation with Rebecca and the beekeeper—perhaps you ought to keep your distance from her for a few days. There has been much turmoil in all our lives recently. We ought not to act rashly.”

Much as Daniel disliked the idea of being away from Brittany, he realized the wisdom of his father’s words. This was not a time for foolishness. He needed to get himself together and stop acting like a lovesick puppy.

“Yes, Father.”

How dare he forget about her? Humiliated, Brittany pulled up her pants and left the woodshed. It was one thing to boss her around, spank her butt, and stand her in the corner, but to simply leave her there like she meant nothing, well, that was the last straw.

When she emerged from the woodshed she saw that all the other girls were freshly showered and wearing clean clothes—mostly an assortment of sturdy men’s shirts worn as dresses with Mrs. Potter and Grace also sporting work-worn jeans.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, people were smiling. Shawna and Kimber laughed while attempting to hang the girls’ wet garments on a clothesline. Katie carried a basket of eggs out of the hen house and incredible aromas wafted from the kitchen window.

Brittany took in the entire scene. Her compatriots had gone over to the enemy in record time. Weaklings. They’d sold their souls for a shower and a crust of bread. Well, she would not give in so easily, though it was hard to hear her own thinking over the rumbling of her stomach.

Mrs. Potter bustled over to her. “Brittany, I’m afraid we’ve used up all the hot water in the heater for the outdoor shower, but there’s a tub in the pantry and hot water on the stove.” She smiled and gestured toward the house, assuming Brittany’s compliance.

“That’s all very nice, Mrs. Potter, but I do not intend to become an Amish woman. The rest of you can milk the cows and wear bonnets. I’d rather be on my own.” She stomped past Mrs. Potter and held her breath to avoid inhaling the scent of what could only be bacon frying in the kitchen while she headed for the edge of the farmyard.

Katie called out to her. “Look, Brittany, fresh eggs!”

Brittany paused then moved to stand in front of Katie. Picking up an egg from the basket, she threw it to the ground. “When did you turn into a farm girl?”

Katie stared from the ruined egg to Brittany’s angry face, her jaw hanging open. “Brittany,” she said when she composed herself. “What are you doing? You’re wasting food!”

Mrs. Potter caught up to Brittany and took hold of her arm. “Brittany, haven’t you thrown enough tantrums today?” She lowered her voice and leaned in close. “These men are our only hope of safety and survival. I understand that we are all feeling significant stress, but you need to get your act together for the sake of all of us.”

She’d never seen Mrs. Potter so adamant about anything. Even during their time in the forest, the housemother had been calm and gentle. Her ferocity gave Brittany reason to pause. Seeing an opening, Mrs. Potter moved in. “A bath and a decent meal will make all the difference. I promise.” With the older woman’s arm firmly around her waist, Brittany found herself inside the old farmhouse and standing over a tub of hot water. All resistance left her at the thought of cleanliness.