Rachel’s face heated. Daed’s prodding was awkward.

  Timothy looked at Rachel and smiled. “Actually, I’ve kumm to talk to Rachel.”

  Rachel froze. She never expected a bitter taste to rise from her stomach.

  “Can we take a walk?” he asked quietly.

  She nodded and stood. With her head bowed to avoid eye contact, she walked to the door.

  Timothy followed. Once they were outside, he reached for her elbow, but he held his words until they were on the path leading to the river.

  “Rachel, you’ve been so gut caring for Ella. These last few days without you have been hard.” He cleared his throat. “Having to muddle through with my clumsiness, I can assure you, Ella missed you.”

  “I’ve missed her too.”

  He reached for her hands and squeezed them gently. “You’ve put purpose back in mei life. Denki.”

  His voice sounded nervous but cheery. He squeezed her hands, then released them. “I realized I can care for Ella. I’m nett saying it won’t be hard.” He shrugged. “But I think we’ve grown accustomed to each other.”

  Rachel smiled. “I’m happy for you, Timothy.”

  “And I’m happy for you,” he said. “I hope you will still watch Ella while I’m working. I can bring her here in the morning.”

  “I don’t understand.” Rachel eyed him closely, but he continued to smile.

  “I will never love you the way Jordan loves you.”

  Rachel’s eyes watered. “How—”

  “He woke Bishop Lapp early, then he stopped by mei haus after.”

  “He did?” She blotted her eyes with her sleeve.

  “Jah,” Jordan said, walking up the trail. “I wasn’t letting you go unless I knew Timothy loved you—like I love you.”

  “Is this really all right with you, Timothy?”

  “I know what my Sadie would say . . . and she was a very wise woman.” Timothy touched the brim of his hat. “I’ll see you both later.” He gave Jordan a nod, then split off to return to the house.

  Jordan came up beside her and brought her into his arms. “I love you,” he said and kissed her forehead.

  “I love you too.”

  He pulled back, his eyes searching hers. “Will you be my date at the next singing?”

  She laughed. “Are you going to sing?”

  “Jah, I promise.” He gave her a quick kiss. “I figure we have eighteen weeks to date while I take the baptism classes.”

  “And after your baptism?”

  “Will you be mei fraa, Rachel Hartzler?”

  Everything inside her melted and came together all at once. But she didn’t want to give her answer just yet. “Well, I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” He looked baffled.

  “There is the question of Smokey. You know I love that cat and you’re allergic to him.”

  He laughed. “Jah, I am. But I will sneeze the rest of my life if it means I can be married to you.”

  “Well then! Jah, absolutely. I will marry you, Jordan Engles.” She clasped her hands behind her back and swayed. “And Smokey can go live with Onkel Isaac.”

  He picked her up and whirled her around. When he put her down, he kept his arms around her waist and his face grew serious. “Did I tell you I’m nett a gut farmer? You might have to deliver every one of the calves.” She laughed. “Did I tell you I can’t cook? You might have to make chicken and eggplant parmesan every night.” He kissed her cheek. “Then we’re perfect for each other.”

  Nathaniel unfurled his wings, hovered a short time over his charges, then returned to his station in the ethereal realm where he would wait for God’s call to intervene again.

  An Angel

  by Her Side

  An Angel by Her Side is dedicated to those teachers who identify and work with students with dyslexia. I especially applaud the Centennial Elementary and Centennial Middle School teachers in Dade City, Florida, who have influenced the growth and educational development of my son, Danny. Through your skillful training, he has reached milestones despite his struggle with dyslexia. Thank you!

  Through the LORD’s mercies we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.

  Lamentations 3:22–23

  Pennsylvania Dutch Glossary

  ach: oh

  aemen: amen

  aenti: aunt

  alend: trouble

  Ausbund: Amish hymnal

  bloh: blue

  boppli: baby

  bruder: brother

  bu: boy

  daed: dad

  denki: thank you

  dokta: doctor

  Englisch or Englisher: a non-Amish person

  fraa: wife

  geduld: patience

  geh: go

  grossdaadi haus: a small house on the same property where the grandparents live

  guder mariye: good morning

  guder nacht: good night

  gut: good

  haus: house

  hungahrich: hungry

  jah: yes

  kaffi: coffee

  kalt: cold

  kapp: a prayer covering

  kumm: come, came

  leddich: unmarried

  Loblied: an Amish praise song

  mamm: mom

  maydel: girl

  mei: my

  meiya: tomorrow

  nacht: night

  nau: now

  nay: no

  nett: not

  onkel: uncle

  outhaus: outhouse

  Pennsylvania Deitsch: the language most commonly used by the Amish

  redd-up: clean up

  rumschpringe: running-around period that begins when the person turns seventeen years old and ends when the young person is baptized into the Amish faith

  schee: pretty

  schul, schulhaus, schulwork: school, schoolhouse, schoolwork

  sohn: son

  teetshah: teacher

  wedder: weather

  wilkom: welcome

  wundebaar: wonderful

  yummasetti: a sweetened meat and noodle dish

  Chapter One

  Agust of wind swept through the open windows of the one-room schoolhouse and sent the children’s papers skittering across their desks.

  “Keep working on your math problems, children,” Katie Bender said without looking up from her desk. Another burst of air lifted the paper she was trying to grade. Katie tossed her pen on her desk and stood. The initial breeze was welcoming, especially after the past week of unseasonably sultry weather, but she couldn’t have the classroom disrupted by children chasing their papers across the room.

  Katie crossed the room to the window. She pushed down on the window casement, but the wood was still swollen from the prolonged rain last month, and the casement wouldn’t budge.

  In the distance, dark clouds rolled rapidly over the Masts’ nearby field of winter wheat. The little town of Hope Falls didn’t need more rain, not after the ten straight days of it in late April nearly ruined Katie’s garden. Amos Mast’s winter wheat field looked as though it still needed drying out yet too.

  The shifting direction of the wind pushed another fitful gust through the window. Katie shivered from the noticeable temperature drop. Her prayer kapp ties flapped over her shoulder as she worked to jiggle the casing loose. She pressed harder, and finally, after using all the brute force she could muster, she freed the jammed window. It slammed closed, vibrating the plate glass.

  Katie brushed the peeled-paint chips from her hands and moved to the next window. She was all for recycling, but installing old, refurbished windows hadn’t made sense five years ago when the schoolhouse was built, and it certainly produced frustration when the casings swelled on humid days like today.

  The sunlight disappeared behind the clouds, and the room darkened.

  “The sky is green,” one child said.

  Several other children murmured while they shifted in their seats to look out the windows.

  “Children, please continue your studies.”

  She scooted in front of the next window. It slid down with ease and she paused to inspect the sky. The children were right. The sky had turned an eerie pea-soup shade. A shudder crawled down her spine. In her five years of teaching, it had never been so dark at noon that she had to light the oil lamps.

  She craned her head toward the pasture. During one storm last growing season, her frightened mare snapped her harness and trampled the Masts’ wheat field. Amos Mast voiced his complaint to the bishop, which prompted the men to fence an area for Peaches to graze while school was in session. Her buggy mare wasn’t grazing now. The pending storm had the horse on edge. With her ears perked and nostrils flared, Peaches paced the barbed wire fence.

  Katie squared her shoulders, not wanting the children to notice the razor of panic cutting through her, and returned to her desk. Raindrops pinged against the tin roof. She disregarded the noisy distraction and continued correcting the stack of papers before her, until the thrumming annoyance changed into a heavy barrage of what sounded like mothballs beating down on the roof. That wasn’t easily ignored. She clenched her pen.

  Noah Zook, seated in the back of the room, raised his hand. “Teetshah?”

  “Jah, Noah.” She cleared her throat to settle the quiver and hoped his question wouldn’t require a lengthy reply.

  He pointed to the window. “That’s hail kumming down.”

  She pushed off her chair just as a cast-iron bell clanged in the distance. The faint sound didn’t register until she reached the window and looked outside. Hailstones littered the lawn.

  Katie whirled around to face the children. “Everyone”—she took a calming breath before continuing—“please hold hands and form a line at the door.” She motioned to two of the oldest boys, Noah and Eli. They hurried to her, and she pulled them aside. “Once we’re outside, I’ll need your help to open the cellar doors.”

  The boys nodded as the two youngest students sidled up to Katie.

  “I’m scared.” Ella Sue’s lips trembled.

  Mary Lapp whimpered, “Me too,” and clutched Katie’s dress.

  When a low rumble of thunder vibrated the glass in the windows, even some of the older students echoed their fear.

  Katie squatted to the five-year-olds’ level and put her arms around them. “God is watching over us. Do you know that?” When they nodded solemnly, she stood to address the others. “Everyone hold hands.” She made a quick scan of the group, then headed for the door. “We’re going straight to the cellar. Do not let go of each other.” She touched Eli’s shoulder, and he and Noah opened the schoolhouse door.

  Short bursts of whirling wind kicked up gravel from the driveway and pushed them a few steps backward. She wasn’t sure which stung worse, being pelted by gravel or hailstones. Katie tucked her chin against her chest and pressed forward, leading the way. The boys lost their straw hats in the wind as they ran ahead to the side of the building.

  Noah and Eli worked in unison, yanking on the cellar’s wooden door. Once it flapped open on its hinges, the children filed into the underground storage area. Katie entered last and tugged on the door.

  “It’s stuck,” she yelled over the boisterous wind. “Give me a hand, boys.”

  Her muscles quivered, fighting against the wind’s forceful pull. Finally, with the boys’ help, she managed to get the door closed. The storage area went black except for a few pinholes of light surrounding the door frame. They were safe for the moment, but with only a flimsy inside latch, she wasn’t sure how long the hinges would hold under the wind’s force.

  Katie hunched over to avoid hitting her head on a beam and inched away from the door. “Is everyone sitting?” Her voice cracked, and she silently chided herself to control it. For the sake of the children she must remain strong.

  “Jah,” they replied in unison.

  “I’m kalt,” said one girl.

  “We all are, Sarah,” one of the boys replied sharply.

  “This isn’t the time to get lippy nau.” Katie blindly followed the foundation’s stone wall and, finding an empty space, lowered herself to the cold, dirt floor. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself, but instead gagged on the musty odor.

  The cramped space wasn’t meant to house a classroom of children. Rather, the old dug-out root cellar offered a dry storage area for the wood under the school. At least the diminished winter’s supply meant more space. A blessing for sure.

  “As I say your name, I want you to answer.” Katie called out the first names that came to mind, pausing between each one to listen for their reply. “Rebecca Fischer? Sarah Plank? Emily Trombly? Peter Wyse? Esther Miller? James Yoder?” She stopped. “James?”

  “He stayed home sick today, remember?”

  “Jah, denki, Eli, for reminding me.” Between the thrashing wind and whimpering youngsters, her concentration waffled. “Sarah Plank?”

  “Jah, but you already called me,” Sarah replied.

  “Sorry.” She needed to calm herself before everyone panicked. Think. Who hadn’t been called? “Have I called Daniel Hershberger?”

  “I’m here,” he said.

  Inside the classroom, she knew immediately who was absent by what desk was unoccupied. Now in the dark and under stress, she didn’t want to rely on her memory. She rattled off several more names. “Did I miss anyone?”

  “You didn’t call me, Mary Lapp.”

  Katie squeezed the child’s hand. “That’s because I’m sitting next to you.”

  Five-year-old Ella Sue squirmed on her other side. Katie tapped the girl’s knobby knee. “And I know this is Ella Sue King on mei right, ain’t so?”

  “Jah,” she said faintly, then poked Katie’s rib and whispered, “I have to use the outhaus.”

  “Nett nau, we must stay—” Katie’s breath caught. “Samuel Fischer, are you in here?”

  Silence.

  “Samuel?” But even as she repeated his name, she remembered giving him permission to use the outhouse. He hadn’t returned to the classroom. Her stomach knotted.

  “He’s nett answering, teetshah,” Ella Sue cried.

  Ach, nay. Bile burned the back of Katie’s throat. “Everyone stay put,” she said, pushing off the floor. Then, tangled in a web of sticky threads, she flailed her arms, batting the spider’s clinging web away from her face, and stifled a scream. Don’t panic. But she was panicking and she’d run into plenty of spiderwebs in the barn before.

  “Don’t leave us.” Mary pulled Katie’s dress hem.

  “I have to find Samuel. I’ll be back.” Katie eased her way to the entrance and nudged the door with her shoulder. At the same time, the wind caught the door and slammed it against the building, jetting her outside. The boys scrambled to pull it closed while Katie leaned into the wind and tromped toward the school. A nearby tree cracked under the wind’s force, then shed one of its limbs. It hit the ground with a thud.

  “Samuel?” She swiftly panned the area and stopped on the overturned outhouse.

  Oh, Lord, please don’t let him be harmed.

  Pressing forward, she ran to the site. As she searched the area, the flailing branches of a weeping willow whipped against her, stinging her face and entangling her with their ever-bending rod-like shoots.

  “Samuel!”

  No answer. No sign of him at all. She broke loose from the willow and ran toward the schoolhouse. She barged inside the abandoned building. The windowpanes rattled against their casings as though someone were knocking.

  “Samuel!” She rushed toward the front of the room and called again.

  A movement under a desk caught her eye. Crouched beneath the wooden desk with his arms hugging his chest and his head buried between his knees, the eighth grader rocked on his haunches. Samuel lifted his head, his reddened eyes vacant and wide.

  “Kumm on, we have to get to safety.”

  The pale-faced boy continued to stare at nothing in particular.

  “Samuel,” she said strongly, “we must hurry. Nau, you kumm out from under that desk.” When her words didn’t seem to register, she grasped his hand firmly. “You must listen to me, Samuel,” she said, tugging his arm.

  Samuel stood. He looked about the room, still dazed. “Where did he go?”

  “Who are you talking about? All of the students are waiting in the cellar.”

  “The man with white hair.” Again, Samuel canvassed the classroom with his eyes. “He led me in here and said I’d be safe until you came for me.”

  The building groaned, and Katie steered Samuel toward the door. “We have to get out of here nau.” She looked over her shoulder but didn’t see anyone else in the room.

  They sprang outside into an eerie calm. Although the wind had died down and the hail had stopped, in the distance, a dense wall of ash gray with a low-hanging funnel cloud moved toward them. Thankfully, she needed only to point at the approaching tornado for Samuel to regain his senses. Even with his childhood limp from falling off a barn roof, he kept stride with her as they raced for cover.

  She gripped the cellar’s handle and, with a jolt of adrenaline that burned her veins, yanked the door open. The two of them tumbled into the makeshift shelter, wrestled the door closed, and collapsed against the wall, unable to catch their breath.

  The floor joist above them vibrated and dirt sifted through the cracks. “Everyone, crouch down and cover your head.” Katie braced for impact.

  The door burst open again, flooding the area with light. Katie lifted her head as a man entered, then pulled the door closed behind him. The cellar darkened once more.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I seek shelter with you. I saw you and the boy take cover in here,” the man said.

  A rumbling noise similar to the sound of a train filled her ears and the ground rippled with tremors. Katie’s eyes burned with tears. “God have mercy on us all.”

  Chapter Two

  Seth’s eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness when something outside thumped against the cellar door. He’d made it to shelter just in time. As the whirling cry of the wind careened closer, he heard a tinny wail, a metallic scream that was quickly swallowed by the din of the storm. The woman next to him shrieked, jolting upright and knocking heads with him.