Love’s Journey Home (24 page)

“Right there, right there in the last stall, playing with the new kittens.”

Anger burned through him, a hot, writhing curtain of fire that took his breath away.
“You best get back there and make sure they’re all right. Now.” He let his gaze bore
into Edmond. “I don’t want to see you anywhere near my daughter.”

“Daed, we were just talking…”

“Hush. Get the girls.”

Her face flushed, she gave him an imploring look but brushed past Edmond without another
word.

Edmond stared at the ground, his neck and face a mottled red. “I didn’t mean any disrespect.”

“Stay away from Abigail.”

“But I…”

“I won’t have her passing time with a boy who drinks and goes to jail.”

“I’ve been forgiven.”

“Not by me, you haven’t.”

“Who does that make worse?” A high, tight, angry voice made him turn around. Helen
Crouch stood behind him, her face as red as her son’s. “Edmond, go hitch the horse
to the buggy. It’s time to go.”

“Mudder…”

“Go.”

His expression mutinous, Edmond stomped past Gabriel, squeezed around his mother,
and left the barn. Gabriel stared at Helen, waiting to see what she would do next.
Would she contradict his words? Dare she?

“Begging your pardon for my son. I reckon he knows better than to pass the time alone—well,
almost alone—with a young girl in the barn.” Her chin lifted. “The others things…well,
I hope you’ll find it in your heart to forgive him for them as well.”

Nonplussed by her soft tone and conciliatory words, Gabriel’s anger fizzled. “It’s
hard to find a happy medium, isn’t it? Abigail is in her rumspringa as well, but she’s
been so busy helping with the little ones, she hasn’t had time to do the things a
girl her age…wants to be doing.”

“A happy medium would be good.” Helen’s gaze dropped and her hand came up to her throat.
Her cheeks were pink. “If you ever need help with the little girls, I’d be happy to
watch them. They’re so sweet at that age and mine are quite a bit older now.”

“It’s kind of you to offer, but there’s no need.” His words sounded stiff in his own
ears. Her hand fluttered and her gaze hardened. Gabriel hastened to clarify. “Between
Abigail and Mary Elizabeth, they’re fine.”

“I heard Mary Elizabeth is working at the bakery.”

“That’s true. Still, we’re fine.”

“You don’t want them influenced by the loose morals of the Crouch family.” Helen offered
the words as a whispered statement, not a question. “You’re letting first impressions…”

“We don’t need the help.”

“You don’t need
my
help.” She whirled around to leave. Her skirt caught on a nail head sticking out
along the edge of the barn door. Material ripped. “
Ach
, no!”

She grabbed the skirt tight and rushed away, still murmuring to herself.

Gabriel could only watch as she went. Why did he insist on ruffling her feathers?
Why couldn’t he accept that her son’s drunken buggy ride had been a simple mistake
that wouldn’t be repeated?

Because his children’s lives and their futures in this district were in his hands
and he couldn’t afford to take any chances. He didn’t want to have to move them again.
Edmond couldn’t be allowed to spend time with Abigail, and Gabriel couldn’t afford
to soften his heart toward Helen. It simply couldn’t be done.

Annie stretched her aching shoulders and back, then eased into the lawn chair. Noah
had finally succumbed to a much-needed nap. It wouldn’t last more than an hour at
the most, but she intended to enjoy every minute of it. At fourteen months he was
toddling about now, getting into anything and everything. His last exploration had
involved dumping a sack of flour on the floor and then rolling around in it. She craned
her neck side to side. He was getting heavy too. Especially when he threw himself
backward in her arms, bawling and trying his mightiest to escape being taken to his
crib.

She reached for the glass of tea she’d deposited on the ground next to her chair.
At least she could watch a little of the volleyball game before it was time to return
to her motherly duties. The dishes were washed and the leftovers packed up to be shared
among the guests when they were ready to leave. The Gless boys had the upper hand
in the game. At least she thought they did. No one kept score, which made it difficult
to tell. But the chortles and high-pitched whoops told her where the game stood. She
closed her eyes for a second, enjoying a slight breeze that picked up the leaves on
the boughs overhead and dropped them back into place.

“Whoa, whoops!”

Something—or someone—kicked Annie in the leg. She opened her eyes in time to see Isaac
do a wild two-step trying to avoid her chair. His arms flailed. He managed to deflect
to one side, but his hip crashed into her, knocking her sideways. She dropped the
glass and tried to catch herself, but over she went. She landed in the grass with
an ungraceful plop. The ball bounced next to her head and rolled away.

Isaac zigzagged and managed not to sprawl on top of her. Annie covered her face with
both hands for a second. Her skin felt hot to the touch. Embarrassment raced through
her like a raging flame feeding on a stack of old
Budget
newspapers.

“Sorry! I’m sorry!” Isaac popped back to his feet. Panting, he leaned over her, his
tall frame blocking the sun. “Are you all right?”

“Annie, are you okay?” Miriam knelt, squeezing between her and Isaac. She glanced
up at the man “I’ll take care of her.”

“It’s okay. I’m fine.” Annie sat up, ignoring the hand Miriam held out. She tried
to stifle the urge to giggle, but it burbled out anyway. Miriam started to grin, then
she giggled. In a second they were both laughing. Miriam laughed so hard she snorted,
a sound that made them both laugh more.

Isaac stood there, a look of confusion mixed with concern on his handsome face.

“Nice play!” Annie smiled up at him. She sucked in air, trying to catch a breath,
winded more from laughing than from the unexpected fall. Isaac’s face turned an even
darker shade of red, if that were possible. “I thought you were playing volleyball,
not football. And I wasn’t even playing. I’m just a poor bystander.”

“Or bysitter, as the case may be,” Miriam chimed in. They both began laughing all
over again. “I think that’s what they call out-of-bounds.”

Isaac opened his mouth, then closed it.

“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” Miriam asked. She picked up the ball and
tossed it back on the field where Mark chortled and grabbed it. Miriam glanced at
Annie, then back at Isaac. Her grin grew. “Isaac? Isaac, can you hear me?”

“Jah, jah, I hear you.” He still didn’t take his gaze from Annie.

Feeling too exposed, Annie decided the teasing had gone far enough. She was a grown
woman, after all. A woman with a child. Luke and Leah wouldn’t be happy if they noticed
her sprawled on the ground in front of Isaac Gless.

She sat up and dusted her hands off, then smoothed her skirt around her ankles. She
tried to look as if she were settling in, there on the ground, as if she was perfectly
accustomed to people nearly running her over. “You missed.” She spoke evenly, without
all the unnecessary mirth. “Our team wins.”

“Your team? And who’s keeping score?” He picked up his hat from the ground and settled
it on his head. His hand shook. Why was it shaking? From fear he’d hurt her? Surely
not. His smile had returned, but something about it seemed more tentative. “We didn’t
lose. Nobody loses in these games.”

“Unless you’re the team with fewer points. The game’s over.”

She pointed toward the field. The clapping had stopped. The other folks had viewed
Isaac’s sprint to the sidelines, saw that he missed, and gone back to their visiting.
His brothers and sisters were already angling to start a new game.

“Annie’s right. You lose,” Miriam added. “Are you a sore loser?”

“Forget it. They can win if it makes you happy.” He held out a hand to Annie. She
looked up at him, all the frivolity gone. The question he’d asked her the day of Lilah’s
birth floated to the surface, as it had done every hour since despite her best efforts
to quash it. The question she’d failed to answer. So far he hadn’t shone that flashlight
in her window. Maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe her failure to answer his question
had served as all the answer he needed. He offered her a hand up, nothing more. She
took it. His big hand swallowed hers. It felt callused, like the hand of a man who
worked hard. Those calluses told her so much about him. He would be a good provider.
A good husband and father.

“I’m sorry I knocked you over.” He sounded breathless even though he’d been standing
there long enough for his breathing to return to normal after his mad dash. “I got
carried away with the game. I like to play hard, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I noticed. You play hard like you work hard. No harm done.”

She allowed him to pull her to her feet. He lifted her up as if she were light as
a feather. True, she’d lost some weight in the last year. Her dresses hung on her,
but she lacked the incentive to take in the seams. Did Isaac like the way her dresses
looked on her thin body? Probably not. The thought made her cheeks burn. She shouldn’t
be thinking of these things. Better she wear a flour sack. She tugged her hand from
his and tried to steady her breath. One would think she had been playing volleyball
and running about like a wild man.

“At least let me get you a fresh glass of tea.” He seemed to be studying her face.
For some reason, he grinned. He had a sweet smile, white, even teeth, full lips. “You’ve
spilled yours.”

“You mean you’ve spilled it.” Glad to think about something so simple as spilled tea,
Annie shook her finger at him. “All your fault. Your team lost, you knocked me over,
and you spilled the tea. You’re a regular bull in the kitchen.”

“I’ll refill the tea.” With an expression that could only be described as pleased,
Miriam looked from Annie to Isaac. She took the glasses from Isaac’s hands. “For both
of you.”

Isaac waited until she walked away, then he turned back to Annie.

“You have dirt on your dress. I guess I made more laundry for you too.” He picked
up her chair and sat it upright. “Do you want to try to clean up?”

“Danki.” Grateful to get off legs that were shaking for no apparent reason, she sank
into the chair. Another simple topic she could handle—laundry. “Nee. No point. Grass
stains don’t come out. I can try to bleach the tea stains, but they probably won’t
come out either.”

He squatted on his heels next to her. “So I owe you a new dress.”

“Nee.” She ran her finger over the wet, brown spots. “The apron will cover it. They’re
good for that.”

“I thought they were for the little kinner to wipe their noses on.”

“Isaac!”

He could make her laugh. David had not been one for silliness or games. Maybe it was
the Hodgkins. She tried to remember if he had told jokes before he got sick. Sadness
curled its tendrils around her heart. She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t remember
what his laugh sounded like. Did that mean his memories would one day stop intruding
in moments such as this when she tried to move forward with life? Or when life attempted
to pull her kicking and screaming into her new future? Did she have to forget him
in order to go on with her life? She didn’t want to do that. She couldn’t do that.
For Noah’s sake, she had to remember.

Isaac let one knee come forward and kneeled so close to her chair, she could smell
his woodsy, salty scent and see the droplets of perspiration on the back of his neck.
“You never answered my question.” He leaned toward her, his expression holding a tenderness
that surprised her. She’d forgotten what that looked like too. A man’s tenderness
directed at her. He had a longing there that she recognized. The longing she felt
to be close to someone, to be special to someone.

She tried to breathe through the pain the thought brought her. “I don’t…”

“Here’s the tea.” Miriam rushed at them, a glass in each hand. “How about cookies.
Anyone want cookies?”

She glanced from Isaac to Annie and back again, her expression almost gleeful. Annie
shook her head. If a conversation were to be had, it had to be between Isaac and her
only. Miriam backed away. “Then I’ll just get some for me. I think I saw brownies.
I love brownies.”