Crossing by Gilbert Morris Page B

wore it longer than the Amish, with the back brushing his collar and a lock that fell over his forehead. Sometimes Daniel thought that the only thing Yancy had inherited from him was the cleft in his chin. “You’re so much like your mother …” he murmured absently. Then he roused and said, “Rumspringa, yes. But it’s not just me and your grandmother, Yancy. It’s the bishop, the deacon, the secretary, and the preachers. They all watch out for the young people in the community.”
    A redtail hawk suddenly crossed the road in front of them. Yancy watched it longingly until it disappeared. “Sometimes I wish I was a hawk. They don’t have bishops watching them and don’t have to go to sings and wear hard shoes that hurt their feet.”
    Daniel grinned and slapped Yancy on the shoulder. “Even hawks have their hard times, too.”
    “Guess so. Good hunters though.”
    “Yes, they are, but living by hunting is hard, Yancy. You and I both know that.”
    Yancy was silent.
    Daniel hesitated then said in a light tone, trying not to sound dictatorial, “I know it’s hard, Yancy, but I’d like for you to try to be more friendly. There are some good young people here.”
    Yancy protested, “But all the girls think about is courting and getting ready to marry. Who wants to think about getting married when they’re thirteen?”
    “Girls do,” Daniel said drily. “But you don’t have to think about that right now. And the other young men are interested in the same things you are—fishing, riding, even racing.”
    “But no gambling,” he said disdainfully. “I know the other fellows like to fish, and they’re interested in horses. It’s just that I’m used to doing all those things alone.” It was the Cheyenne way.
    Daniel decided to say no more. Actually, he was proud of the way that Yancy had surrendered such a free life for one of close confinement. Yancy hadn’t complained much. In fact, he said very little at all about their circumstances. He kept to himself. Danieldidn’t realize that that was something else Yancy had inherited from him.
    So it was something of a surprise when Yancy asked carelessly, “So, Father, are you going to marry that lady?”
    Daniel replied steadily, “You know her name. It’s Becky, and yes, I am.”
    “You’ve been sitting on the Brauns’ porch for a year now, sipping lemonade and all of them watching you like that redtail hawk we just saw looking for a mouse. When are you going to ask her?”
    “I had to take the time, son, to make the Brauns see that I’m a dependable man now, that I’ve settled down, and that I’ll be a good husband,” Daniel explained patiently. “When I feel the time is right, I’ll ask her. So how do you feel about it?”
    Yancy shrugged. “Okay, I guess. She’s pretty nice. But she’s not my mother.”
    “No, she’s not,” Daniel said quietly. “But she would be a good mother. I know she would.”

    Yancy drew the mare to a halt by the corral.
    The lot before the barn was already crowded with buggies, and two men were working, unhitching the horses and turning them into the corral. Sunday services and dinner was an all-day thing.
    Yancy helped his grandmother down and she immediately went to a group of women who were standing by the house, in the shade of great oak trees. Daniel and Yancy started unhitching Fancy from the buggy, who pranced and snorted as if to say,
I could go another twenty miles if I had to
! Yancy loved her, for she was also a good saddle horse.
    A young boy Yancy knew came running up. “Hey, Yancy! Why weren’t you at the sing last Sunday? So when are we going fishing? You promised to take me.” The boy was Seth Glick, and he was twelve years old.
    Seth had met Yancy at the Amish school, which was a one-room schoolhouse with children from six years old to fourteen, the age limit of Amish education. Seth tagged along after Yancy every chance he got.
    Yancy shrugged. “Hi, Seth. Whenever we can get together.