Treasuring Emma (19 page)

Near the bottom of the stairs, Mark stayed out of sight, but not out of hearing range. He grinned in the darkness and flexed his fingers. The plan was working perfectly, as he’d known it would. He had convinced Clara of everything—his interest in Emma, his support in seeing the shop become a reality. He rubbed his palm against the smooth wood of the stair railing. For someone who thought she was so clever, she was quite stupid.

Peter, on the other hand, wasn’t as dim as Mark had initially thought. Peter suspected too much. He’d have to be more careful. Offer to help Peter out with the chores again, or do something to show his cousin his appreciation as a houseguest. Clara underestimated her husband. She just didn’t know it.

The bedroom door shut. With quiet steps Mark went to the kitchen. He picked up the coffeepot from the stove and took it to the sink. As he rinsed it out, Clara entered the room.

“You don’t have to do that.” She joined him at the sink.

“I don’t mind. I’ll make the coffee while you start breakfast.”

Clara smiled. “All right.”

Mark filled the pot with water, then measured coffee into the percolator’s basket. He set it on the stove, making sure he bumped into Clara as she reached up into a nearby cabinet.

“Sorry.” He stepped away.

“It’s okay.” She looked at him, a little longer than she should have. He smiled in return.

“Are we still planning to see Emma today?” he asked.

Clara jerked her gaze away. She picked up an egg and cracked it into the bowl. “
Ya
. Julia will be here in a couple hours to watch the
kinner
.”

“Do you think Peter should come with us?”

She shook her head, cracked another egg. “
Nee
. He has business in town.”

Mark thought about the lousy job his cousin was applying for. Mark would never take on journeymen work. There were better, easier ways to make money. Much more money. And he wouldn’t have to break a sweat to do it.

Peter came into the kitchen, dressed and carrying Magdalena. She snuggled against her father’s shoulder. Her eyes were puffy. “She was crying upstairs.”

Clara glanced at him. “She’s up early.”

“You started breakfast late.”

Clara beat the whisk back and forth in the bowl of eggs with blazing speed, but said nothing. Peter put the child in her high chair. He went to the pantry, pulled out a box of cereal, and put a few pieces on her tray.

Mark didn’t move from his spot next to Clara. The percolator started to bubble. The sizzling sound of eggs hitting the iron skillet filled the room. Peter kissed the top of his daughter’s head. He looked at Mark. “Would you mind feeding the horse?”

He nodded. “Not at all.” He didn’t move.

“Now?” Peter asked.

“Oh. Sure.” Mark strode out of the kitchen. Behind him he could hear Clara and Peter start to argue again.

Marriage. He’d genuinely considered it once. His teeth ground together as he thought about that time, years ago. Now he was grateful for what he missed. An endless cycle of bickering. Messy, whiny children. Locked in bondage to one woman for the rest of his life.

He’d never live through that nightmare.

But somehow he had to convince Emma Shetler that was exactly what he wanted.

“Just have time for a piece of toast,
Mamm
,” Adam said as he hurried into the kitchen. “Still not used to waking up so early.”

“Living on Yankee time.” His father scooted back from the table, his breakfast finished. “Wasteful time.”

Adam glanced at his father. But he let the comment slide. He grabbed a piece of buttered toast from the dish in the center of the table and shoved it in his mouth. He turned to tell his mother good-bye, only to pause at the shock on her face. He pulled the toast from his mouth. “What?”

She stared at him. Shook her head. “I just can’t get over how different you look. Since you shaved.”

He grinned. “More Amish?”

She nodded.
“Ya.”

“It’s not what’s on the outside that makes a man Amish. Or faithful to his God.” The screen door slammed behind his father as he stalked out of the house.

“In a
gut
mood as usual, I see,” Adam said.

“Ya.”
She picked up her husband’s empty plate from the table and took it to the sink.

Adam was surprised she didn’t defend him. But he didn’t have time to contemplate that now. He wanted to get to Emma and Leona’s, just in case Mark decided to show up today. Plus, he saw a lot of things he could do to help out. Cleaning the barn was one of them. And since his father didn’t seem interested in Adam’s assistance, he might as well work for someone who needed him. Even if Emma wouldn’t admit it.

He paused at the back door. “I’ll be at the Shetlers’ if you need me.”

His mother turned. “I’m glad you’re here to help them.”

“Me too.” He looked at the straw hat hanging on the peg near the back door.
Might as well
. He grabbed it and put it on.

He breathed in the early morning air. Felt the warm sunshine on his back through the thin fabric of the shirt his mother had sewed for him when he was twenty. He thought about putting on a jacket, but he’d work up a sweat soon enough cleaning the barn. He had just crossed his front yard and entered Emma’s when he spied two figures walking down the road. A man and a woman. He squinted. The woman looked like Clara. But the man was shorter than Peter.

Mark.

Adam’s gut had been right. The man didn’t waste any time.

Well, neither would Adam. He hurried to the front porch. Knocked on it a couple of times and waited. The door soon opened. He smiled. “Hey, Emma.”

Her response was cooler, yet he saw a spark of surprise in her eyes. “Adam. What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d check on Dill—”

“She’s fine.”

“And then I would clean the barn.” Her curtness wouldn’t put him off. Not anymore.

She tilted her head. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want you to.”

Same song, second verse. They would be on this verbal merry-go-round for a while, he could tell. Undeterred, he pressed on. “I’ll be in the barn if you need me.”

“Who is it, Emma?” Leona’s reedy voice called from behind Emma’s shoulder.

Emma started to shut the door, but Adam put his hand against it. She wasn’t shutting him out this time.

“It’s me, Leona.” He removed his hat and grinned. “
Gut
morning.”

“Oh, Adam.” Leona’s smile, unsteady and aged, still lit up her face. “Glad to see you. Why don’t you come in for a cup of coffee?”

“I don’t think he has time for that,” Emma said. Her gaze pierced Adam’s. Then she looked past his shoulder. Her frown deepened. “Clara’s here.”

Adam turned around. At least she didn’t mention Mark. Maybe she wasn’t interested in him after all. The thought boosted his spirits a bit.

Clara came up the porch steps, Mark directly behind her. “
Gude mariye,”
she said to Emma. “Hello,
Grossmammi
.” She glanced at Adam and said nothing.

Leona leaned against her cane and wiped her nose with a threadbare handkerchief. “Goodness. It’s been awhile since we’ve had this much company at one time. Come in, come in. We have plenty of coffee. Emma baked banana muffins last night.” Leona’s eyes lit up. “They’re wonderful, if I do say so myself.”

Emma shook her head. “I don’t think—”

“—that’s a
gut
idea,” Clara finished. “I . . .” She paused. Looked at Mark. “Actually, we came to talk to you and Emma.”

“Is that so?” Leona moved closer to Emma. “Then I don’t understand what the problem is.”

“The problem is him.” Clara turned to Adam. “We want to have a private conversation. Just
familye
.”

Emma frowned at Mark. Her expression indicated she had the same thought as Adam: if their talk was private, why invite Mark?

Leona smiled. “Yes. Well, Emma, why don’t you go with Clara and Mark into the kitchen?”

They both looked at Adam, Clara with her haughty eyes, Mark with his shifty ones. They stepped over the threshold and followed Emma, who cast her grandmother a confused glance over her shoulder.

Adam let out a breath. At least he was in proximity to Mark. And whatever they had to talk about wasn’t his business. He wasn’t family. Clara was right about that. He replaced his hat. “Leona, I’ll be in the barn if you or Emma need anything.” He moved forward and bent down. “I mean
anything
, okay?”

Leona straightened. She put her hand on his arm. He felt her tug him on, urging him to come inside. Once he was past the doorway, she spoke. “Do you take cream and sugar in your coffee?”

C
HAPTER
17

Emma led Mark and Clara to the table. “Does anyone want coffee?” She tried to infuse some enthusiasm into her voice, but failed. She knew why they were there—Clara, at least. To talk about the fabric shop again. She didn’t want to deal with this. Not today. Not ever. But Clara would make sure she did.

Clara sat down. Mark stood, looking at Emma. “That would be
gut
.” He grinned.

Emma turned away. She pulled two coffee mugs from the cabinet next to the stove and, with a sudden flash of clarity, recalled the time after church Mark had put his hand over his heart. Even now she could see the interest in his eyes. Feel his gaze on her every move.

She tugged the bottom of her sweater, trying to pull it down over her hips. She glanced at Mark. His smile widened. Emma felt herself flush with discomfort.

Her gaze went to Clara. Her sister was watching Mark, frowning. Why would she be upset? Emma turned away and started to pour the coffee. Clara had been acting strange for the past few months, even before
Mammi’s
death. Some days Emma didn’t know who her sister was anymore.

By the time she gave Clara and Mark their coffee,
Grossmammi
had returned to the kitchen. Emma looked up to see Adam standing behind her. He wouldn’t be there unless her grandmother had invited him.

“What is he doing here?” Clara grimaced. “I said this was a private conversation.”

“Anything you have to say to me or Emma, you can say in front of Adam. He has known our
familye
longer than this gentleman.” The old woman looked at Mark. “What’s your name again?”

“Mark King.”

“Right. Peter’s cousin.”

She turned to Clara.
Grossmammi’s
tone wasn’t rude. Simply matter-of-fact. “I’d say Adam is more a part of our
familye
than someone you’ve only known a few days.”

“Someone we happen to be related to.” Clara gripped her hands around the hot mug, only to snatch them away. She gave Adam a cool look. “You’re not going to be around much longer anyway.”

Emma’s heart lurched at the reminder.

Grossmammi
shuffled to the head of the table. She sat down, lowering her frail frame into the chair more slowly than usual. She coughed into her handkerchief. Emma didn’t like the rough, raspy sound. “Would you like some tea,
Grossmammi
?”

The old woman shook her head. “
Nee
, Emma. I had some a little while ago. I’ll be fine. Just a little tickle in my throat.” She turned to Adam. “Don’t just stand there,
bu
, sit down.” She patted the chair on her left.

Adam removed his hat and hurried to sit.

“Not at this table,” Clara said. “He’s shunned. He can’t sit with us.”

“In this
haus
,” her grandmother said, “he can do whatever I invite him to do. And if you don’t want to sit with us, Clara, feel free to
geh
in the living room. Although it will be hard to have a conversation with you from that far away.”

Clara frowned but stayed seated.

“Feel free to speak to the bishop when we’re done,”
Grossmammi
said. “I would welcome a visit from him.”

“You know I’m not going to do that.”

“
Ya
. I know.” Her grandmother smiled. “But if it would keep you in clear conscience, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“My conscience is clear.”