To Love and to Cherish (8 page)

E
mma hefted the cooler into the backseat of the buggy, then added the baskets. The men were having roast beef sandwiches for supper, along with fried potatoes, pickled cabbage, and thick oatmeal raisin cookies, her favorite. She and Leah had made enough to feed half the district since their uncles and cousins were helping bring in the wheat in hopes of beating the storm. A fat, wet drop of rain plopped on her face, telling her their efforts might be in vain. After Leah’s dire words at the dinner table, the thought made Emma’s heart beat faster. They needed this harvest.
Please, God, hold off the storm a little longer
.

She glanced up. A sky that had been partly cloudy only a few hours earlier when she hung sheets on the line had turned dark and threatening. The sheets made a
flap-flap
sound as a hot wind filled them like sails that billowed in white patches against a black horizon. She should’ve brought them in before she loaded the supper. Now they would have to wait. The men had been toiling in the field all afternoon. They needed to nourish their hungry, tired bodies.

She should let Leah or Catherine or Annie take the meal so she could finish the task she’d started. That would be the right thing to do. Still, she climbed into the buggy. Hanging clothes on the line only reminded her of her conversation with Carl. She didn’t want to
think about Carl and his wish to return to something long lost. Those thoughts only filled her with uncertainty.

Besides, Leah looked tired. And Annie was playing games with the twins and Leah’s boys, keeping them from being underfoot. Emma should deliver the food. Maybe she would see Thomas.
Stop being silly
. She hated that Annie had planted that seed. Thomas hadn’t spoken two consecutive words to her since the day Luke moved his family into the house. If Carl suffered from an endless medley of words, Thomas practiced frugality with his. Not that one had anything to do with the other.

The image of Thomas’s long, tanned fingers shoving his straw hat back to reveal a sunburned face in the kitchen earlier in the day popped into Emma’s head. Despite herself, she let the image linger. His big, callused hands were gentle every time he lifted his daughter into their buggy after prayer service. Emma had seen his hands at work hundreds of times. Why did the thought of those hands send a shiver through her now?

“Giddyup, come on, Carmel, let’s go.” Irritated with her own thoughts, Emma shook the reins. Silliness. Pure silliness. Thomas was still Thomas. Nine years older and a lifetime wiser. The horse snorted and took off at a brisk trot. Emma vowed to deliver the food and make a speedy exit. Plenty of work waited for her at the house. Plenty. “Good girl. You’ll get us there in no time.”

Thunder rolled in the distance, competing with her encouraging chatter. Lightning sizzled across the darkened expanse above her and the rain began to pelt her with increasing ferocity. She bit her lip and wiped at her face with her sleeve. Turn around or keep going? She didn’t mind getting wet, but the buggy wouldn’t do well if the wind strengthened.

As if he’d heard the argument inside her head, Thomas appeared in the distance, his horse moving at a gallop. He waved toward the house. “Go back!” he shouted. “We’re coming in!”

Behind him the clouds dipped and writhed as if they were about to give birth to an enormous storm. She tore her gaze from the sky. “What
about Luke and the boys?” she yelled over gusting wind that drove the rain like hard pellets against her cheeks.

“Josiah went into town for a replacement part.” Thomas clamped his free hand on his straw hat to keep the wind from capturing it. “Luke and your uncles are moving the equipment. He and Mark will be in soon.”

Emma tugged on the reins and turned the buggy. Carmel’s nicker sounded anxious. “It’s all right, girl.” She had to shout to make herself heard over the wind. “Let’s go home, let’s go.”

Thomas in the lead, they made their way back toward the barn. “Drive it inside. I’ll unhook the horse there.”

She followed his instructions, glad to get out of the wind.

Thomas moved quickly, efficiently, a man at home with horses. Intent on keeping her gaze from his hands, Emma studied his damp face. His eyes were dark, focused on the task. He looked so…strong, so sure. Yes, his skin was toughened by years in the sun, but the lines around his mouth came from years of smiles. His gaze lifted. He’d caught her staring. Emma’s cheeks burned. “I should get back to the house and make sure everyone’s all right. You’ll join us for supper?”

He nodded and smiled. It transformed his face. He looked younger and…very handsome. “I would like that. I’ll carry the cooler; you get the baskets.”

He shoved open the barn door and waited for her to slip by. Together they tugged the cooler through and he managed to close the door, straining against the wind. They started across the yard. There didn’t seem much point in hurrying now—they were already soaked. Except now that they walked side by side it seemed she should say something. For the life of her, she couldn’t think of a thing. She shifted the basket handles to one arm and studied her straw and mud caked shoes. Why was it suddenly so awkward to talk to a man who’d been a family friend for as long as she could remember? His silence didn’t help. He could at least try to make conversation.

She quickened her pace. Something about the dank air felt oppressive. She shivered and grasped for some elusive memory. She’d
felt this before. As a child, rustled from her bed by Mudder. Big storms left murky memories of nights spent huddled half-asleep in the root cellar listening to the wind ravage their house. It had been a long time since the last trip to the cellar.

The wind howled and whistled through the porch eaves and then died, leaving a sudden, eerie silence. The rain stopped. The air quivered around them. A yellowish green haze of clouds heaved across the flat Kansas plains. A dark massive swirl descended from the heavens in a twisting, dancing rope, like a lasso in the hands of a cowboy. Her heart thumping painfully in her chest, Emma pointed with her free hand. “Thomas.”

His gaze followed her finger.

He dropped the cooler and grabbed her hand in a painful grip. “Run!”

“We have to get the others!”

“I’ll get them.” He let go and gave her shoulder a sharp nudge. “You go to the cellar.”

“No, we go together.”

They sprinted to the house. With his long legs, he quickly outpaced her. The wind tore at her kapp. Emma struggled to keep up, but her wet dress tangled around her legs. She lifted the skirt. Her foot caught on the hem and she stumbled. She fell flat and smacked her chin and nose on the ground. She tasted dirt and blood.

Thomas jerked her upright. “Hurry!”

The front door flew open just as they hit the porch steps. Her hands around her belly in a protective gesture, Leah leaned out. “What is it? Where’s Luke?”

“Gather the children! Tell Annie and Catherine.” Emma gasped for breath. “We need to go to the cellar. A tornado is coming.”

Leah didn’t move. “Where’s Luke?”

“He’s fine; he’s with the other men.” Thomas took her arm and gently moved her aside. “We must go quickly!”

Leah’s face changed. She charged ahead, leading the way as they scattered through the house, gathering startled children. It gave new
meaning to the word
herding
. The errant thought whirled in Emma’s head. Time seemed to stand still and then rush ahead of its own accord.

Outside the wind took her breath away and forced her to double over at the waist in an effort to make any forward progress. Thomas, a twin hoisted under each arm, reached the cellar door first.

Lowering the girls to the ground, he tugged open the heavy wooden door. “Go! Go!” The children scrambled in, then the women. Thomas followed and fought the wind until the door slammed behind them. The screaming of the wind became a duller, muffled sound, but screaming nonetheless.

With a muddy, shaking hand, Emma felt along the ledge until she found the matches. She lit the kerosene lamp that hung from a wooden dowel above her head.

Thomas took the lantern and dangled it close to Emma’s face. His free hand came up. For a second she thought he might touch her. She swallowed hard, caught between the sudden hope that he would and the certainty that he shouldn’t. Their gazes met. He looked away first and his hand dropped. “Your lip is bleeding.”

Her face as hot as if she’d been standing in the blazing afternoon sun, she touched her mouth. Her fingers came away bloody. “I bit it when I fell.”

Thomas produced a white handkerchief. “It’s clean.”

“Danki.”

Their gazes held for a long second. He smiled. “Keep it.”

Emma felt as if she still stood in the buffeting wind, breathless. “Danki,” she said again, even though he’d already turned away.

Then he clomped through the cellar, his muddy boots leaving tracks on the cement floor. The dancing flames reflected on row upon row of mason jars filled with tomatoes, pickles, chowchow, beets, jams, jellies, and other bounty stored away for use during the winter months. He glanced back. “Amazing how quickly the weather changes. It was an unremarkable rain a few minutes ago.”

Emma drew a trembling breath, thankful for Thomas’s effort to focus on the weather. How could she be thinking about him at a time
like this? She couldn’t help it. His presence gave her comfort and an off-kilter sensation that she might lose her balance at the same time. But what about Luke and Mark and the uncles and cousins? What about Josiah? What about Carl? Was he in a safe place? She didn’t ask those questions aloud. Another thought pierced her heart. “What about your children? Where are Rebecca and Eli?”

“They’re with my mother. She’ll have the whole family in the cellar.” Thomas held the lantern up so it shone in the dark corners. They were clean and dry, as always. “They know what to do. And the Lord will protect them.”

He stood, a calm, sturdy island in the midst of swirling turmoil, so sure of his faith. Emma wanted that assurance. She missed it.

“Joseph, be still, son. Stop wiggling.” Leah’s voice teetered on the brink of anger. Her youngest son didn’t like storms, and he especially didn’t like the cellar. “Sit still and be quiet.”

Tearing her thoughts away from Thomas, Emma walked over to her sister-in-law. “May I help?”

Leah’s gaze met hers. “Pray.”

Emma nodded and bowed her head. She didn’t want to pray. Praying had become increasingly difficult with the rancor in her heart over Mudder and Daed’s deaths. She found their absence impossible to forgive. Now this.
We need Luke. We need Josiah. Please protect the house and the barn, the horses and the other livestock. They are our livelihood, Lord. Please
.

No doubt the storm would take what was left of the wheat. But her brothers? A sob burbled in her throat. Thomas shook his head. She followed his nod toward the girls huddled on a blanket on the floor. Lillie snuggled against Annie, and Catherine held Mary. The twins took turns sniffling. “I want Mudder.” Mary burrowed against Catherine, her voice a tiny whisper. “I want Daed.”

“Me, too.” Lillie’s lower lip curled under. “I miss them.”

Poor things. Poor little things. They never complained. They coped. Better than Emma did. Of course, they were children who could laugh and play one minute, cry the next. “We all miss them, but they’re with
God, and they would want us to be brave.” She cleared her throat and forced a smile. “Let’s play a game while we wait.”

Her tears forgotten, Lillie grinned. “Oh, a game, a game!”

Mary didn’t look as enthralled at the idea. A massive crack of thunder made her clutch her sister’s arm. The four girls squeezed closer together. “Like what?”

Emma wracked her brain. Blank. She had a blank brain in her head. She glanced around the cellar. No paper, no crayons. No building blocks. Mudder used to stock the cellar for occasions just such as this one. Emma would have to learn to step into that role now. “Let me see…”

Thomas saved her. “How about I start a story and then the next person has to pick up where I left off?” He plopped down on a stool near the bottom of the steps. “And we keep going until everyone has told part of it.”

“What kind of story?” Mary asked, her sweet face puzzled.

“Well, that remains to be seen, doesn’t it?” Thomas smoothed his beard with callused fingers. “Let’s see. Once there was a little boy—”

“I want it to be a little girl.” Lillie frowned. “Two little girls, twins.”

Thomas chuckled. “Ah, but this is my story. When you have your turn, you may add little girls, if you like.”

Emma eased on to a box in the corner and leaned against the wall, watching as Thomas spun the simple story of a little boy walking in the woods who came upon a wounded bear. Even William, trying so hard to be all grown-up at six, crept closer to hear Thomas’s rhapsodic spinning of a simple tale.

As a schoolteacher who spent all day eight months a year with children, Emma should’ve been able to come up with a simple game. She sneaked a covert peek at Thomas. He used both hands as he talked, waving them about, measuring how high the bear stood and how short the boy was. So quiet and reserved in adult company, he had an easy way with children, as if more comfortable with them. A quality that made for a good father. Of course, Thomas had proven that already with Rebecca and Eli. It was something else that drew Emma to him.
He didn’t have to show off or spout words. He simply stood firm in his own quiet assurance. He didn’t need to seek adventures in faraway places; he found contentment in simply being who he was.

“And the boy—take it away, Emma!”

Grinning, Thomas leaned back on the stool and folded his arms.

Emma opened her mouth and closed it. She’d been so busy studying Thomas, she hadn’t given any thought to participating in his little story. “I…I…”

“Come on, teacher. Surely you should be the best storyteller of all.”

Thomas grinned at her, his eyes alight with good humor. She couldn’t help but smile back. He looked like a mischievous boy.

The twins clapped their hands and giggled. “Emma can’t do it. Let me go next, Thomas, me!” Lillie crowed.