A Bee in Her Bonnet (20 page)

“Luke, why don't you help her? You'd do very well with your face in the toilet.”

“I'd enjoy that, but I have to go soon. I have a customer waiting for me at the shop.” He smiled, no doubt ecstatic to be leaving the toilets to Poppy. “Can I walk you back to the house?”
Oy
anyhow, he was pushy.

“I know the way.”

“Can I follow you?”

She didn't even answer, just tromped out of the orchard, not pausing to see if he would follow. She heard him fall into step behind her, with the cat meowing in step behind Luke. That cat was the only one who could tolerate Luke Bontrager.

Poppy turned on her heels and halted Luke in his tracks. She had to put a stop to this now, or she'd be on pins and needles forever trying to outguess exasperating Luke Bontrager. “It wonders me why you are here.”

He smiled uncertainly. “Dan said you needed help with the cherries.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That's your excuse for being here. Why are you really here? Do you want to gloat or get another chance to yell at me? Because I'll tell you right now that I won't let you hurt me anymore.”

She shouldn't have let her voice crack, and she shouldn't have said
anymore
. He didn't need to know that he had hurt her in the first place.

She squared her shoulders. He hadn't hurt her. Not really. Luke's yelling had been more of a nuisance than anything else.

He seemed immediately contrite. “I want us to be friends again.”

She closed her mouth and searched his face. Wasn't he going to argue? “Why do you want to be friends?”

“Because I like you.”

The Luke she knew would never admit that. “I don't believe you.”

He lowered his eyes. “I know. I want to change that.”

He seemed sincere, but she wouldn't trust his sudden humility. Luke had let her down before.

An idea lit up his face. “Race you to the house?”

She didn't even flinch. “We've already raced, and you lost.”

“I know,” he said. “You're fast.”

What happened to
You'll never be better than a boy at anything
?

He jogged a few steps ahead of her, all the way to the lane in front of their house. “I brought you a present,” he said. “I left it on the porch when I came out to the orchard.”

Poppy felt her face get warmer than a woodstove during a cold spell. “Why?” She'd asked that question too many times to count.

He bounded onto the porch, tossed the body of a dead mouse off the welcome mat, and picked a white grocery sack off the floor. She knew what it was without having to look. Her heart felt as heavy and dense as a lump of coal. Was he mocking her?

“I want you to have this,” he said. “I never should have kept it.”

She took a deep breath and wrapped her arms around her waist. “I don't need your permission to use a drill.”

His smile faltered. “I'm not saying you do. I thought it might come in handy.”

“I know you feel guilty, but you don't have to be nice to me simply to make yourself feel better. I know what you think of me. You don't have to pretend.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. “I'm not pretending, and you know it. Why won't you admit it?”

Poppy glared at him and dared him to contradict her. “Because I'm stubborn.”

He didn't even hesitate. “I love that about you.”

He loved that about her?

He held out the drill. She wouldn't touch it. “Please take it. I want you to have it.”

She lifted her chin a little higher. “You said a girl should have a drill to fix things around the house. I went and bought my own.”

His face fell so far, he had to scrape it off the ground. “
Ach.
I see. I suppose I deserve that.” The plastic grocery bag made a crinkly sound as he clutched it in his fingers and pulled it close to his chest. “I guess Walmart will take it back again. Can I come back tomorrow?”

“Why tomorrow?”

“I want to help with the cherries again. And maybe I can teach you how to use your new drill.”

Poppy didn't even blink. “I can read the instructions.”

He stepped off the porch and shuffled his feet across the flagstones. Turning back, he nodded, bowed his head, and walked away as if she'd killed all his dreams.

She was definitely imagining things.

Chapter Eighteen

Poppy blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and knelt on the floor. She found it impossible to lift a bag of wheat with one good arm. She'd have to get what she needed cupful by cupful. It took about eight cups of wheat for four loaves of bread. At least she could grind the wheat with one hand. Kneading might be a little trickier, but she was determined to pull her weight.

The wheat berries sounded like rain as she poured them into the bowl. It was too bad they had rain last night or they might have heard Queenie making a fuss in the barn or someone skulking around their farm. The troublemaker had sneaked into their barn last night and cut off Queenie's tail, right down to a nub. All of them, even Poppy, cried over the loss of that beautiful tail, and Poppy didn't usually cry over anything. But
Gotte
was
gute
. Whoever did it hadn't docked the tail, and Aunt B said it would grow back. Poppy was ready to sleep in the barn every night until she caught the mischief maker in the act of something. This vandalism had to stop.

The wonderful-
gute
news was that the cherries were done. Luke and Dan had helped her sisters and Aunt B finish the picking yesterday. They had even loaded them into Luke's wagon and taken them to market in Shawano. Poppy sighed. Now that the cherries were picked, he wouldn't come around anymore. That thought shouldn't have made her sad, but it did. Luke had behaved himself very well, picking cherries so fast no one could keep up with him, and letting Billy Idol climb onto his lap because it made Rose happy.

Someone knocked on the door, and Poppy's heart raced at the thought that it might be Luke. Luke or the mischief maker, come to attack Poppy while she was all alone in the house.

Please,
Gotte
, let it be Luke.

Had one of her prayers ever been answered so fast? Luke stood in her doorway smiling that devil-may-care smile that left her feverish and aggravated at the same time. If he was as handsome on the inside as he was on the outside, Poppy would have fallen for him years ago. A ribbon of electricity threaded up her spine. She didn't think he'd come back. How nice to be wrong.

Billy Idol sat at his feet on the porch, and Luke held a dead mouse by the tail, swinging it back and forth like a clock pendulum between two of his fingers. “I think Billy Idol has been playing a trick on all of us,” he said, nudging the mouse closer to her so she could get a better look.

“I'd rather not,” she said.

His eyes sparkled. “This mouse has a spot on its back exactly the same as the mouse I threw off the porch yesterday.”

Poppy frowned. “What does that mean?”

He chuckled and looked down at Billy Idol, who scowled and hissed as if he was getting ready for a catfight. “It means that every time I throw this mouse off the porch, Billy Idol goes and brings it back. He's been deceiving all of you.”

Poppy smirked and squatted to be closer to Billy Idol's scarred face. “You naughty cat. How many times have I thrown dead mice off the porch?”

“Don't be too mad at him,” Luke said. “He wants to be accepted into the family. You might not appreciate his gifts, but he's trying real hard yet.”

Poppy stood up and came face-to-face with Luke and his dark, brooding gaze. Wasn't he standing a little too close? She cleared her throat. “Do you want to come in?”

“Nothing I'd like better.”

She stepped way back so he would have room to enter without getting uncomfortably near. He held a strange handful of—was that hair?—in his other hand.

“What is that?” she said, putting her hand to the hair at the nape of her neck. After having done the dishes and dusting the furniture, she must have looked a sight.

He didn't seem to mind her stray hairs or the dust that smudged her apron. In fact, his gaze didn't leave her face. “Dan told me your horse's tail got cut last night.”

“
Jah
. But it wasn't docked, so it will grow back.”

“It makes me mad what people will do to animals.”

“Me too,” Poppy said. “It's one thing to take your anger out on three grown-up girls, but quite another to hurt the animals. They can't defend themselves.”

A deep furrow appeared between his eyes. “I don't like the thought of them doing anything to harm you or your sisters either.”

“Aunt B called the sheriff again, just so he knows, but he said he couldn't do much about it.”

He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his dark, thick hair. Poppy held her breath. Why was she thinking about hair at a time like this? “What can I do to help you, Poppy? I wish I didn't feel so helpless.”

“You're the least helpless boy I know,” Poppy said.

His face spread into a grin. “I am?”

“You paint barns, you build furniture and chicken coops, you pick cherries as if you were born in a tree.”

He pretended to be disappointed. “You found out my secret.”

Poppy smiled. “I'm making honey custard with cherries if you want to stay for dinner,” she heard herself say. Why had she invited him to eat? She wanted to get rid of him, didn't she?

The grin couldn't have gotten any wider. “You would let me stay for dinner?”

“If you're nice.”

He nodded earnestly. “I promise to be nice.”

“You still haven't told me what that is you're holding in your hand. Have you been collecting hair at the barbershop?”

He pulled his gaze away from her and set the thing on the table. “Dan told me Queenie's tail got cut, which I think is especially cruel to a horse in the summertime. She can't swish the flies off, and flies can be torture to a horse.” He smoothed the hair with his hand. “This is a temporary tail made of horse hair. People buy them when they're going to show their horses at auction. We attach it onto Queenie's stubby tail, and she can swish the flies away. By next summer, her tail should be back.”

Poppy fingered the ends of the hair. “I didn't even think about the flies.”

“Only someone really spiteful would cut off a horse's tail.”

Poppy lowered her eyes. She still had the nagging feeling that someone was out to spite her specifically. “Someone who hates me very much.”

He frowned. “It's not your fault.”

“You don't know that for sure.”

He seemed to get closer though he stood perfectly still. “I'm not going to lie, Poppy. I'm worried about you.”

The air around her felt soft and snuggly, like a warm blanket on a chilly afternoon. For probably the first time in her life, Poppy didn't take Luke's concern as an insult. It was kind of sweet, as if he really cared about her, as if Dinah Eicher weren't on his mind day and night. “If you can't help yourself, worry about Rose. Some nights, she's too frightened to go to sleep.”

“She takes it hard like I do, but maybe for different reasons.”

Poppy nudged his elbow and gave him a reassuring smile. “It would have been much worse if you and Dan and Josiah hadn't painted that barn door.”

His lips twitched in embarrassment. “Bright orange.”

“Your chicken coop made her very happy, and she feels better when you or Dan are here.”

He curled one side of his mouth and looked at her sideways. “What about you? Do you feel better when I'm here?”

“You did pick all those cherries. I suppose I don't mind that Dan drags you along.”

She meant it as a tease, but he acted as if she'd just handed him a whole plate of Rose's meat loaf with special sauce. “You don't mind? I think I'm going to cry.”

She giggled. “I've never seen you cry.”

He grunted and gave her a quick nod. “And you never will.”

Billy Idol darted into the house before she shut the door. “Please don't worry. The troublemaker hasn't tried to hurt us.”

“Yet.”

“Don't say that. You're going to scare me.”

He smiled. “I've never seen you scared.”

“And you never will.”

He clapped his hands together. “Enough spooky talk. What can I do to help?”

“Nothing. I need to make bread.”

Luke's eyes lit up, and he spread his arms in front of him. “I've got two hands. I can help.”

“It's women's work,” she warned. That would keep him out of the kitchen. Picking cherries was one thing, but making bread? Dinah Eicher would never ask him to make bread.

“I want to learn,” he said. “Are you afraid I'll be better than you at loafing?”

“You're not better than me at anything. And what, for goodness sake, is loafing?”

He chuckled. “You'll never know unless you let me help. But I warn you. I've got muscles of steel.”

She wouldn't give him encouragement by smiling. “More like a head full of dough.”

“All the better to make bread.”

Poppy gave in and let Luke grind the wheat. She could have done it herself, even with only one hand, but she didn't want to waste all those muscles standing right there in her kitchen. Luke ground the wheat, measured the flour, soaked the yeast, and made himself extremely useful.

Once they mixed the dough, Poppy floured the counter and directed Luke to scrape the dough out of the bowl to be kneaded. She glanced at him. “I think I can do this with one hand if you've got somewhere better to be.”

He acted as if she'd just insulted him. “Somewhere better to be? There's nowhere I'd rather be.”

Why did he sound so sincere? It was just bread, and she wasn't Dinah Eicher.

She pressed the heel of her hand into the dough and showed him how to press and roll. “Since this is just women's work, I'm sure you already know how to do it.”

He winced and shook his head. “I am going to be eating a lot of my words.” He dusted his hands with flour and pressed them into the dough. “You do this every week?”

She nodded.

“You probably could beat me in an arm-wrestling contest. This is really
gute
for my muscles. See?”

He flexed his arms as he pressed and rolled the dough, and Poppy had to look away to keep from grinning. Luke Bontrager was a peacock, pure and simple.

The sweat beaded on his forehead. “You should let me knead the bread every week. I feel my arms getting stronger.”

Once the dough was to Poppy's liking, Luke rolled it into a ball and put it in a bowl. Poppy covered the bowl with a dishcloth and left it on the counter to rise.

They shared the sink to wash their hands, and Luke gave her first use of the towel. “I wish it was done already. Poppy Christner's bread is famous.”

She shook her head. “This is Luke Bontrager bread. I'll only take credit if it tastes good.”

“How long did you say it needs to rise?”

“About forty minutes in the bowl, then another forty in the pans.”

“Have you got a Bible?” he said.

She pressed her lips to one side of her face. “You want to do some reading?”

“I want to show you something.”

Poppy pointed to the table next to the sofa. Luke retrieved the Bible, laid it on the butcher-block island, and leaned his elbows against the counter. Poppy stood on the opposite side of the island wondering just what he wanted to show her.

He opened the book, raised an eyebrow, and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill from between Genesis and Exodus.

Poppy blushed. “Aunt B keeps her money in the books.”

“All her money?”

“She doesn't trust banks.”

Luke nodded. “My
dawdi
kept his money in a jar that he buried in the backyard. Once, he forgot where he'd buried it and spent two years digging up the yard looking for it. When he found the money, Mammi planted a daffodil bulb in every one of those holes. Their backyard bloomed bright yellow every summer.”

“I suppose some good came out of it.”

“After that, he kept his money in Mammi's cookie jar. She never made cookies again. It was a sad day for the grandchildren. Now you know why I like your cookies so much. I cried myself to sleep every night after Mammi stopped making cookies.”

Poppy grinned. “We find money every time we open a book.”

“My
dat
should do that. I'd read a lot more.” He leafed through the pages, finding three hundred more dollars before landing in Matthew and turning his eyes to her. “I don't like admitting when I'm wrong.”

“That's quite a surprise,” Poppy said drily.

“I'm sure it is.” He leaned his elbows on the island and gazed at Poppy as if she were the sun, the moon, and the stars. “I want you to know, Poppy, that I don't think I'm better or more important than you. I never did. The way I've acted and the things I said made you believe that. I don't think women's work should be done just by women or that men are more valuable.”

She only had to look into those eyes to tell he believed it. Had he changed his mind, or had he always thought that way? She thought her heart might swell out of her chest. “Are you throwing out your entire personality then?”

He groaned. “Very funny. I have been stubborn and arrogant, haven't I?”

“I happen to think that stubbornness is a very
gute
quality, as long as you're humble about it.”

“I agree,” Luke said. “I'm still working on the humility.”

Poppy placed her hand on the open page. “When you pick cherries and knead bread as well as you do, it's hard. I won't get my hopes up.”

He stared at her until she felt a little awkward, as if he might go on staring until dinnertime.