Isaiah smelled of earth and sweat; a working man. He came from his farm in Redder to Templeton and the inn by bicycle, pedaling the ten miles. Sometimes a stranger in a truck brought him to the inn; helpful neighbors of his farm. Isaiah stood like a wall at six-five and gained firm muscles from his hard way of life. Shimmering blue eyes as bright as topaz jewels decorated his dirty and handsome face. Blond curls reached out from under his cream-colored straw Quaker hat and a strap of matching beard enhanced his strong cheekbones and chin. Black pants and a matching shirt covered his tall and wide frame. Honestly, he looked Amish in every way, but some of the Mennonites in the surrounding communities were like that. Harmless, of course. Docile peoples. I posed no judgment on either group an
