“Pick Any Wife For Free” The Judge Laughed – “I’ll Take The Obese Amish Girl”

Chapter 4

Dawn crept through the kitchen window, painting golden squares on the worn floorboards. Abby had risen before sunrise, her body trained by years of Amish discipline to welcome each new day early. She stood at the sink, her hands already busy with morning tasks, assessing the kitchen with a practical eye.

The room showed signs of a man’s neglect — grease-spotted walls, dusty window sills, cupboards in disarray. She found coffee beans in a tin and ground them carefully, the familiar motion bringing comfort. The wood stove responded well to her touch, and soon the kitchen filled with the rich aroma of brewing coffee.

As she worked, she hummed an old hymn under her breath, taking stock of what needed attention first. The pantry was nearly bare — just flour, salt, some dried beans, and a small bag of coffee. She would need to prioritize supplies. A garden, if the season wasn’t too far gone. And preserving. Lots of preserving, if they were to make it through the winter.

Luis’s bootsteps on the porch made her pause. He entered and stopped short at the sight of her already at work. His expression shifted from surprise to something less readable.

“Good morning,” Abby said quietly, gesturing to the coffee pot. “I hope you don’t mind that I started breakfast.”

“Mind?” Luis shook his head, removing his hat. “No, ma’am, I don’t mind at all.” He accepted the cup she offered, inhaling deeply. “Been a while since this kitchen saw such care.”

They shared a simple breakfast of cornmeal mush, which Abby had found in the pantry. When they finished, Luis cleared his throat.

“Thought you might want to see the ranch, if you’re feeling up to it. Best to know what you’re getting into.”

Abby nodded, grateful for his directness. She tied on her bonnet, and they stepped out into the morning light. The air was crisp with early summer, carrying the scent of sage and pine from the surrounding hills.

Luis led her first to the barn. Its weathered boards were solid despite the peeling paint, and the interior was tidy despite its emptiness. The morning sun filtered through gaps in the roof, illuminating dust motes in golden shafts of light.

“Used to keep more horses,” he explained, his voice carrying the weight of memory. “Before Sarah passed. Had to sell some when things got tight.”

They moved on to the corrals where a few ranch horses dozed in the morning sun. Luis pointed out the different pastures, explaining the rotation of cattle through the seasons. But his voice grew concerned when they reached the creek that wound through the property.

“Creek’s been running lower each year,” he said, crouching to touch the water with calloused fingers. “Last winter was hard on the cattle. Not enough hay stored, and the grass came late this spring. They’re thinner than they should be.”

Abby studied the shallow water thoughtfully. “In Pennsylvania, we preserved everything we could. Maybe we could plant a kitchen garden, store more for winter.”

Luis straightened, considering her words. “Sarah used to keep a garden,” he said softly. “Haven’t had the heart to tend it since.”

“I understand,” Abby said gently. “But perhaps it’s time to try again.”

They walked the rest of the property, Luis pointing out boundaries and explaining the work that needed doing. Abby listened carefully, her practical mind already planning improvements. The ranch was worn, but not broken. Like its owner, it just needed care and attention to thrive again.

Back in the kitchen, Abby rolled up her sleeves and began cleaning in earnest. She found supplies in a back closet — soap, rags, and an old broom. The work was familiar and satisfying. She swept years of dust from corners, scrubbed countertops, and organized cupboards. By midday, the kitchen already felt different — lighter, somehow more welcoming.

She found flour and yeast in the pantry and set about making bread. The rhythm of kneading was as natural as breathing, her hands working the dough with practiced precision. The dough rose in the warm kitchen while she continued cleaning, filling the house with the promise of fresh-baked sustenance.

Luis came in from his work several times throughout the day, each time pausing at the transformation taking place. He said little, but Abby noticed his eyes taking in the changes — the gleaming window panes, the organized shelves, the bread cooling on the rack.

As evening approached, Abby set out a simple supper of beans, fresh bread, and coffee. Luis washed up at the pump outside, then took his place at the table. He waited while she said her prayer, then broke the bread with careful hands.

“Much obliged,” he said after a few bites, his voice gruff with emotion. “Been a while since I sat down to fresh bread.”

“It’s no trouble,” Abby replied softly, pleased by his appreciation. “A house needs bread like a garden needs rain.”

They ate in comfortable silence, the kitchen warm with lamplight and the lingering scent of baking. Abby felt a small spark of belonging take root in her heart. This place, for all its wear and loneliness, could become home.

After the dishes were done and the kitchen set in order for morning, Abby heard the sound of hoofbeats in the yard. Through the window, she saw a rider dismounting — another rancher, by his dress, though older than Luis.

She was about to retire to her room when she heard their voices drift through the open window. The visitor’s tone was urgent, concerned.

“Railroad’s filing claims all up and down the valley, Luis. Water rights. Grazing rights. They’re taking everything they can get their hands on.”

Luis’s response was low, tight with tension. “They can’t just take what’s not theirs.”

“They’ve got lawyers, Luis. Papers and deeds we never knew existed. Thompson’s place is already dry — they diverted his creek for the steam engines. Others will follow.”

Abby’s heart tightened in her chest. She pressed a hand against the rough wall, steadying herself. The visitor’s words painted a grim picture. Without water, the ranch would wither. The cattle would suffer. The garden she planned would never grow. And this fragile new beginning would crumble like dry earth.

Through the window, she saw Luis’s shoulders stiffen. “We’ll fight them,” he said firmly. “This land’s been in my family three generations. I won’t let them take it.”

“Just wanted to warn you,” the neighbor replied, mounting his horse. “Meeting at Thompson’s place tomorrow night. Reckon we all need to stand together on this.”

After the rider departed, Luis remained in the yard for a long while, staring at the darkening mountains. Abby watched him from the shadow of the kitchen, her prayer beads moving silently through her fingers.

In just one day, this place had begun to feel like sanctuary. The thought of losing it to the railroad’s greed made her chest ache.

Finally, Luis turned and came inside. He paused in the kitchen doorway, taking in the gleaming surfaces and ordered space. For a moment, his expression softened, revealing a glimpse of the hope they both felt for this place.

“Good night, Miss Yodar,” he said quietly. “Thank you for your work today.”

Abby nodded, understanding that his thanks encompassed more than just the cleaning and cooking. “Good night, Mr. Boon. I’ll be praying for the ranch.”

He touched his hat brim and withdrew, his bootsteps heavy on the stairs. Abby finished her evening tasks, then retired to her room.

As she knelt for her prayers, she added a special petition — for water to keep flowing, for strength to face whatever battles lay ahead, and for this fragile new home to somehow survive.