Leah's Choice (16 page)
Authors: Marta Perry
Verena heaved what might have been a sigh of relief. “I’ll go and bring the rest of the crockery in from the table, then.”
The screen door banged behind her, and the farmhouse kitchen filled with quiet after the hustle and bustle of the afternoon. The day was winding down, though she could still hear the occasional shout of a child from the kickball game in the backyard.
She looked out the window over the sink. A fine new barn stood where there’d once been nothing but charred timbers. It was complete down to the coat of red paint that was probably still wet in places. Even as she watched, the oldest Stoltzfus boy led the cows in for the evening milking.
Many of the women had left, ready to get their children settled for the night. Some of the men lingered, though, a cluster of them standing looking at their handiwork, or maybe rehashing the building of it, others sitting on the grass, gossiping.
She concentrated on washing the large platter with its design of hearts and birds. By her count, five people had commented to her today on what a fine man Daniel Glick was. Three others, bolder, had come right out and said she’d be a gut mother to his kinder.
It had been a long afternoon.
The door swung open with a rattle of dishes on a tray. She glanced over, prepared to see Verena. She didn’t. It was Daniel.
He stopped, probably startled by the glare she sent his way, and then he crossed the room and set the tray carefully on the table.
“Verena sent me in for a basket of leftovers she’d fixed for the family.”
She felt sure that wasn’t Verena’s only reason. She nodded toward the basket, waiting on the dry sink. “It’s there.”
Daniel made no move to pick it up. Instead, he walked over to stand next to her. “Have I done something to offend you, Teacher Leah?”
It wasn’t fair to take her frustrations out on Daniel. “No. But I see that they’re still at it.”
His eyebrows lifted. “At what?”
“Matchmaking.” She snapped out the word. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
He braced his hands on the counter next to her, his expression more amused than offended. “No, I can’t say I have.”
“Didn’t you wonder why Verena sent you into the kitchen for the basket, instead of carrying it out to you, which would be much more natural?” She blew out an exasperated breath. “She wants to get us alone together, and she decided this would do it.”
There was definitely a twinkle in his blue eyes now. “So we are. It’s not such a bad thing, is it, to talk with me for a moment?”
She set the platter down carefully. “I seem to remember that our conversations often end up in disagreement.”
“That’s one way to get to know someone.”
He was close to her, so close that the sleeve of his blue work shirt brushed her arm. He smelled of soap and good, honest work, and his hands were strong where they pressed against the counter.
She drew her hands from the soapy water and dried them, using the movement to put a few more inches between them. “It’s gut to know our neighbors,” she said. “It’s the idea that other people are trying to push us together that bothers me.”
He turned so that he was facing her more fully, the deep blue of his gaze searching her face. “I can see that it does, but why? It amuses them, but it doesn’t affect us.”
“I don’t like folks talking about me, wondering if I’m thinking of . . .” She stopped, not liking where that sentence was going.
His brow furrowed a little. “Perhaps their thoughts are running that way because John Kile has come back to the valley, not because of me.”
She wanted to deny it, but that would be foolish when they both knew it to be true. “No one needs to worry about that. What was between John and me was over a long time ago. It’s just a memory.”
“Memories can be powerful things.” He said that as if he spoke from personal experience, and she wondered again about his wife.
“I am not affected by having John here.”
“Yet you’re volunteering at the clinic where he’s working.”
“I see him sometimes. But only in a working way, not even as friends.” She hesitated, wondering why she was saying this to Daniel, of all people, a virtual stranger.
Maybe that was why. He didn’t speak, and the moment stretched out.
Finally she let out her breath, trying to ease the tension that gripped her shoulders. “I don’t even know him any longer. I have no intention of marrying, and if I did, it wouldn’t be to him.”
Daniel’s gaze searched her face again, seeming to penetrate to her very soul, and she read nothing but kindness there. “This determination of yours not to wed—is it caused by John Kile’s leaving?”
“Not by his leaving. By what it told me about myself.”
She wanted the words back, but it was too late. They hung there in the air between them—the thing she hated to admit, even to herself.
She couldn’t look at his face, so she focused on his hands instead, tightening on the edge of the counter. It was a long moment until he spoke.
“Leah.” He touched her hand, a featherlight touch that was gone in an instant but that brought her startled gaze to his face. “I haven’t known you for very long. But I can’t imagine that whatever happened between you could possibly cause anyone to think ill of you. Or would cause you to think ill of yourself.”
Her throat tightened at his perception, and it was a moment before she could speak. Maybe that was just as well. It was past time to get the conversation off her personal business.
“You are very kind, Daniel. Denke.” She cleared her throat, trying to get control of her voice, which had gone suddenly soft. “Enough about my maidal state. You and your children are at least half the reason for this spate of matchmaking, you know.”
He nodded, as if recognizing the barrier she’d chosen to put up. “True enough. A widower with young children is assumed to be in need of a wife.”
There was something behind the light words, but she wasn’t sure what it was. “You don’t feel that way?”
He didn’t move, and at first she thought he would ignore the question. But then he spoke.
“For a long time, I thought that I wouldn’t marry again. Now—well, maybe the brethren are right that my children need a mother.”
He frowned, and shutters seemed to close over the blue eyes that had been so warm and caring a moment ago.
“But if I wed again, there’s one thing I’m sure of. The marriage will be based on common sense and shared needs. Not on love.”
Daniel
leaned against the smooth warmth of the cow’s side, hands moving automatically in the milking rhythm. He’d been doing this since he was younger than Matthew, and sometimes he thought he could do it in his sleep. But he always found it comforting.
leaned against the smooth warmth of the cow’s side, hands moving automatically in the milking rhythm. He’d been doing this since he was younger than Matthew, and sometimes he thought he could do it in his sleep. But he always found it comforting.
He glanced over toward his son, milking at the next stanchion. He couldn’t see the boy’s face—only his legs, spread out on the milking stool, and the movement of his hands.
“Gut job,” he said. He glanced at the barn cats, lined up at each animal in anticipation. He aimed a squirt at the nearest cat, and she caught it deftly. “Give the cats a drink now already.”
“I always miss,” Matthew said, but then he aimed and squirted. The cat, surprised, took some of the milk on its face, but it quickly cleaned it off with a long pink tongue.
“Your aim is getting better.” Daniel glanced down at the milk foaming into the bucket. “Next year we can add to our herd. Elizabeth will be big enough to help then.”
“We’ll need a bigger tank, ja,” Matthew said.
It was satisfying, talking about the future of the farm with his son. It was something he’d once thought was robbed of him forever.
“We’ve been working on our program for the end-of-school picnic. Will you be there, Daadi?”
His heart seemed to clench that his boy had to even ask the question. “Certain sure,” he said quickly. “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
That was one of the remnants of their time apart—that hesitation Matthew had to take it for granted that his father would be there. Daniel couldn’t wonder at that, though every day he prayed it would soon be a thing of the past.
A year ago, he hadn’t known what his children had done at the end of the school year. He hadn’t known where they were or what they were feeling. Were they well? Did they cry for him? Had they forgotten him? The questions had haunted him for so long. But no more.
“What are you doing for the program?”
Matthew, his bucket full, carried it carefully to the cooler. “It’s a surprise.” He grinned as he passed, the expression so like the boy he’d been before Ruth took them away that it nearly brought tears to Daniel’s eyes. “It’s going to be outside, so folks can sit at the picnic tables, and Teacher Leah’s brother came today to help.”
“Ja? Levi came?” This natural conversation was so much better than the long weeks when every word from Matthew was strained and stilted.
“Joseph. The one that has the farm machine shop.” His bucket empty, he came back. He paused, his eyes lighting up. “He helped us make a platform, and we used pulleys to put up real curtains that pull apart. He let me help with that, too, and showed me how the pulleys work.”
Daniel swallowed his concerns about Matthew’s fascination with all things mechanical. Nothing wrong with that, but he feared that interest would lead him past the things that were approved for Amish life and further, into things of the outside world.
He had taken too long to respond, and Matthew would be thinking that he disapproved. “It’s gut of him to show you that. Useful, it will be, when we start bringing the hay in.” He nodded toward the large pulleys, high above them, that would help with that work.
“Ja.” Matthew studied them. “Maybe—”
But the door slid open then, and Jonah ran in, distracting Matthew from whatever idea he had.
“I finished my chores, Daadi. Can I help with the milking? I’m big enough.”
Matthew suppressed a laugh.
“Well, let’s see.” Daniel took Jonah’s small hands in his. “Maybe these hands are big enough to get some milk out. What do you think, Matthew?”
“Enough for the cat, maybe,” Matthew said, beginning to clean up.
“I can fill a bucket,” Jonah declared. “I can.”
“Ah, but Daisy doesn’t have a bucket left in her, I’m afraid. Here, you can help me get the last bit.”
Guiding the boy’s hands as they finished, he felt a sense of satisfaction move through him again. This was what he’d been missing. What the children had missed, too. Now that they were together again, everything would be well.
The contentment stayed with him as they started back toward the house. Sunlight slanted across the fields, and the boys romped ahead, playing tag. It had been right, moving to the valley. The children were happier. He had a gut farm. Next year they’d add to their dairy herd, and they’d make a fine living here.
But for now, he’d do well to think about what he was going to fix for supper. He’d never been much of a cook, but a man without a wife had to learn.
That reminded him of the conversation with Leah on Saturday at the barn raising. Strange, that they’d been so open with each other, but maybe it was good, too. They’d be easier with each other now.
“Daadi, Teacher Leah is coming!” Jonah cried, and set off at a run.
He looked toward the Beiler farm, shielding his eyes against the setting sun with his hand. Sure enough, Leah Beiler came toward them across the field, a basket on her arm.
He went quickly to the outside pump, folding back his sleeves. By the time she drew near, he’d done a quick washup.
“Teacher Leah. This is a nice surprise.”
“It’s even nicer than you know,” she said, smiling. She lifted the towel that covered the basket’s contents. “Mamm was making chicken potpie today for the family, and she made extra for you.”
“It smells wonderful gut,” he said, speaking no more than the truth. “It’s kind of her to think of us.” He lifted an eyebrow and said softly, “Matchmaking?”
“Probably.” Leah’s smile lit her eyes. “I’ve decided to ignore it.”
“That’s gut.” It was better between them, now that they had this matchmaking business out in the open already. “I—”
A crash and a cry from the house cut off his words.
“Elizabeth!” He spun and ran toward the kitchen, vaguely aware of Leah following him, of the quick murmur of prayer from her. Elizabeth—
His heart twisted, and he bolted through the mudroom and into the kitchen.
“Was ist letz? What happened?”
Elizabeth had stumbled back against the table, her face white. She held her right hand outstretched, gripping the wrist with her left hand. Then he saw the skillet, tipped from the stove, sausage spilling onto the floor.
“She’s burned.” He lifted her in his arms, his mind racing. “The doctor—”
“Here.” Leah brushed past him, shoving the basket onto the countertop and turning on the water full force in the sink. She grabbed a bowl and shoved it under the spigot. “Bring her here. We want to get the hand cooled off as quick as we can.”
Leah had such an air of calm command that it didn’t occur to him to argue. He carried his sobbing child to the sink, and Leah grasped the reddened hand and thrust it into the water.
“There, now, there.” She held it firmly, in spite of Elizabeth’s instinctive withdrawal. “Just leave it there, Elizabeth. The water will make it feel better. I promise it will.”
“Maybe some butter,” he said, with distant memories of his mother’s remedies.
“That just seals in the heat. We need to get the heat out, and then it will stop hurting so.”
Sure enough, Elizabeth’s sobs lessened, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. The two boys pressed close, their eyes round, and Jonah’s lower lip trembled.
Leah glanced at them. “Elizabeth is going to be fine,” she said, still in that calm manner that he realized was her teacher attitude. “Matthew, do you think you can bring me some ice from the refrigerator?”
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