A Marriage of the Heart (14 page)

Rose’s mouth went dry as she tried to shake off the spell of his words. Since when did he know how to speak so . . . like he was touching her, though he stood across the room? She cleared her throat and clutched the pair of shears in her hand closer to her chest.

He smiled. “Nervous, Rose?”

“
Nee
. . . I just . . . need to get this work done,” she whispered.

“Speaking of work—I took your advice and told my father the truth. I’ve got a new job.”

“What?”

“He’s going to hire someone else to do figures for him. I want to work the wood. My hands ache for it.”

She couldn’t help glancing down at his strong hands as he spoke and thought about the moment in the old shack when he’d wound her hair about his hand. “I’m so proud of you,” she said and meant it.

“Are you? That’s
gut
.” He swung himself around to her side of the table and placed a finger against her lips when she tried to protest. “Shhh. I’m not looking.”

She fell silent under his touch and barely noticed when he reached with unerring fingers to lift a spool of blue thread from the table. He balanced on his crutches and started to unravel the thread.

“Luke . . . what are you doing?”

She watched him trail the end of the thread across her bare wrist, which was still the lightest purple from her sugar beets encounter. Then he feathered the blue line up across her arm and shoulder and used it to tickle the tip of her nose. She felt curious, like she was watching herself outside of her own body and could only follow in sensory delight wherever he led the thread. When he traced her lips, she closed her eyes, and soon his mouth followed where the blue had been. She lost herself in the deep silence of the kiss.

When he broke away, his breathing was ragged. “Guess I’m helping you thread your wedding dress.”

She bit her lip as an impulse shook her and she picked up the piece of thread where it trailed against her shoulder. “Are you? Then maybe you should do a little more work.”

She twirled the thread between her thumb and forefinger, then let it drift up across the high bones of his cheeks. She smiled up at his surprised grin and ran the thread behind his ear. Stretching on tiptoe, she let her lips follow the blue tendril down his neck, and he made a rough sound in his throat.

“Any work you like,” he whispered.

But the moment was broken by a frantic knocking on the back kitchen door.

Rose dropped the shears and brushed past him, pulling off the thread. Who could it be at this time of night?

She opened the door to reveal a bedraggled and panicked Sylvia. The woman held Ally in her arms and Bobby was asleep in a backpack on her back. “Please,” she gasped. “I just took a chance that this might be Luke’s house. Please do something. Ally’s having a bad asthma attack. She can’t breathe!”

Chapter Twenty-Three

R
OSE TOOK THE LITTLE GIRL INTO HER ARMS, ALARMED AT
the bluish tinge and the rasping intake of the tiny lips.

“Dr. Knepp’s,” Luke ordered. “I’ve got the buggy outside.”

“
Nee
, it’s too far.” Something compelled Rose’s heart. “We’ll go to Bishop Ebersol’s. His wife is an excellent healer.”

“All right,” Luke agreed reluctantly.

“Please, hurry,” Sylvia urged.

Luke made short work of the drive despite his ankle, and Rose flew from the buggy with Ally in her arms. She climbed the familiar steps of the Ebersol farmhouse and kicked at the solid front door.

A lamp soon cast eerie shadows on the porch and the shimmering fall of the child’s hair as Mrs. Ebersol stared out at them.

“Please,” Rose gasped. “She can’t breathe.”

Mrs. Ebersol was nothing if not practical; she urged them all inside at once. “Is it asthma like our John? Or the bronchitis?”

“Asthma,” Sylvia half sobbed.

Luke had taken Bobby from her back and stood with his weight on his ankle holding the sleeping child.

“The child needs steam to breathe in and some menthol. Our John used to have bad attacks. Bring her in here to the kitchen . . . I’ll wake the bishop when we’re through, though he’s probably already up.”

“Right here.” Bishop Ebersol moved quickly, bringing more lamps.

Mrs. Ebersol flew about the kitchen bringing various salves and herbs to where Rose sat holding the child at the table.

“Teakettle’s always on the boil when you’re a bishop’s wife. Now let’s make a little tent with this cloth and get her face as near to the steam and herbs as possible. The menthol and peppermint oil act like bronchodilators. Fancy word for opening the airways. That’s it. Breathe it in, little one.”

The kitchen was quiet as the child’s breathing slowly eased. Within minutes, Ally opened eyes and then coughed heartily, trying to pull back from the steam.

“No,” Rose crooned, gently holding back the small hands. “Just be still, Ally. It will help you breathe.”

In another ten minutes the asthma attack was under control. Everyone sat drained and silent for a moment when Mrs. Ebersol eased the teakettle away.

“What you folks need is some hot chocolate,” the bishop’s wife announced, tightening the belt of her voluminous housecoat. She rose from Ally’s side and laid a reassuring hand on Sylvia’s shoulder. “It’s all right now.”

She and the bishop moved about the kitchen with the accord
of those long married, and soon steaming mugs of cocoa were placed on the table. Rose gave Ally back to Sylvia to hold when the child fussed for a drink.

“Let her have a sip,” Mrs. Ebersol suggested. “Is your car somewhere about? You’re welcome to stay here for the night. Perhaps Luke and the bishop might bring in your things.”

Sylvia raised a worried gaze to Luke and Rose. “I—I don’t have a car.”

Luke rose to his feet. “Bishop Ebersol,” he said clearly. “Might we talk for a few minutes in private?”

“
Ya
, certainly. Come this way.”

The bishop lifted a lamp, and Rose met Luke’s shuttered gaze as she began to pray for him and the words he might feel convicted to say.

Chapter Twenty-Four

T
HE NEXT DAY WAS CHURCH SERVICE, AND BEYOND DRIVING
her home and telling her that he would speak at the end of the service, Luke didn’t go into what he and the bishop had discussed. Rose felt it within her spirit that it was not a time to question, so she went quietly to bed.

“What was all the ruckus last night?” her
mamm
asked when Rose entered the kitchen the next morning. “I thought you and Luke might have been having an argument.”

Rose sighed. She’d decided last night that the next time she was asked a direct question about what had been going on lately that she would give a direct answer. She found herself telling her
mamm
, and the rest of the family as they entered for breakfast, about Sylvia and the children.

Her father pointed with his forked bacon. “You mean to say that Luke has been the Rob in the . . . the thief hereabouts?”

Rose shrugged. “For a cause.”

Her
daed
considered. “Well, Bishop Ebersol’s a wise man;
he’ll handle it all right. But you, young lady, had no business out in those woods alone.”

Rose was struck by a sudden inspiration. “I did say that your thief might be female,
Daed
. Perhaps I just had to prove my point.”

Her
daed
stared at her, then laughed aloud as she’d hoped he would. Her brothers joined in reluctantly. Even her
mamm
and
Aenti
Tabby smiled.

So they went in good spirits to the buggies and on to church, which was being held at the Lamberts’ that morning. Joseph Lambert greeted them with a warm smile at the door.

Rose hoped that her marriage might go as well as that of Joseph and Abby. Abby Lambert certainly looked happy as she sat in the married women’s section, her stomach rounded with obvious pregnancy. Rose pushed aside the thought of carrying Luke’s child and made her way to sit down next to Priscilla. Rose squeezed her friend’s hand and decided that Priscilla was looking better, though still too pale, as the wedding loomed.

Then the service began, and Rose was lost in the ancient soothing rhythm of the hymns and the message of Scripture. Then, at last, when she thought Luke must have been mistaken about speaking, the bishop rose to address the community.

“Before we would dismiss, there’s a matter of confession that’s come to my attention. Young Luke Lantz would ask your patience while he speaks.” The bishop sat down, and the crowd rustled with curiosity as Luke made his way forward to the head of the benches.

Rose’s heart ached at his pallor, but she knew his eyes were steady and clear. Priscilla now clasped her hand, and Rose was grateful for the support.

Luke began to speak in a strong voice, and the general
rustlings of the crowd ceased as his words burned into Rose’s heart.

“I have betrayed you all,” he began. “All of you, but especially those I love. It’s easier to tell what you may think is the heavier offense—that I’ve been the one who stole from you these past months.”

Rose couldn’t ignore the faint gasps of surprise, and swallowed hard.

“Why I took from you doesn’t matter. I did it. It was wrong. I confess this wrong and beg your forgiveness. But . . . there’s more . . .”

Rose felt his gaze rivet to hers across the space of crowded benches.

“I’ve betrayed you by expecting little from you as a community, as a people. The truth is . . . the truth is that I’ve been angry at
Derr Herr
since my mother died. And I’ve been angry at all of you. I started to believe that if you didn’t have the power to save my mother, then you had no power together at all. And that is so wrong. Someone very wise told me that I had judged you, and it’s true. I might have asked for your help for a woman and family in need, but I didn’t. I believed I could do it alone . . .”

His voice broke a bit, and silent tears slipped down Rose’s cheeks. Priscilla squeezed her hand harder.

“Alone is not what our people are about. Our strength lies in our community. I have wronged the community. I confess this before you all and ask for your forgiveness.” He dropped to his knees and bent his dark head.

The bishop rose and placed a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Is it the will of the community, then, to grant Luke Lantz the forgiveness he begs for?”

There was a general assent of
ya
’s, and Rose breathed a sigh of relief.

“Then,” the bishop continued, “please come forward following our dismissal to greet Luke Lantz with renewed goodwill and acceptance.”

Rose received Priscilla’s hug, then wended her way forward to stand next to Luke. He caught her hand in a fierce grasp, which she returned as people began to come forward.

“Stole my best linens, young man?” Esther Mast inquired with a glint in her faded blue eyes.

“Yes. I’m very sorry,” Luke said steadily.

The old woman sniffed. “Well, keep ’em. Probably for a
gut
cause. Would have given ’em to you had you asked.”

“I know that now.”

“Hmmm,” Mrs. Mast mused, ignoring the press of the crowd around her with the distinct dignity of the aged. “Seems like I’ve got some more linens in a trunk upstairs. They’ll make a fine wedding gift to go with what you already got.” She gave Rose’s hand a squeeze with her bony fingers.

“Danki,”
Rose whispered.

Joseph Lambert was next. “Hey, anytime you want to talk, friend, I’m here.
Ach
, and keep that old goat of ours too. Kicked me once too often.” He shook Luke’s hand and winked at Rose.

They came, one after the other, to forgive and to give, telling Luke to keep all that he had taken and offering more should he need it.

Rose thrilled in heart and praised the Lord when Luke turned to her and whispered, “You were right, Rose.”

Chapter Twenty-Five