A Family for Gracie

by Amy Lillard

  “That one.” Hannah laughed. “It doesn’t come out often.”

  “But when it does . . .” Leah shook her head as if that were explanation enough.

  Gracie sniffed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Probably not. But I saw it that time that Benuel King’s little brother chased you around the schoolyard during the annual picnic.”

  Gracie frowned. “I was ten. No, I was nine. Nine years old. How can you remember that?”

  “It’s not a look that’s easily forgotten,” Hannah interjected.

  “Not buying it.” She was a sweet and gentle person. She knew it to be true. Everyone said so.

  Leah shrugged. “Because we left not long after, I suppose. Last memories and all.”

  The memories stopped everyone, pulled them back to a different time and place, then Hannah laughed. “What about last year when David replaced your soap powder with salt and baking soda? You kept adding it because you didn’t think it was sudsing enough.”

  Gracie tilted her head to one side. “It actually got my clothes pretty clean.”

  “You never told David that,” Hannah said.

  “And I never will.”

  They fell quiet, lost in their own memories, each one still working at bottling the goat-milk lotions and soaps.

  “Seriously though,” Hannah started. “Is everything okay?”

  This would be the perfect time to unload, to ask all the questions chasing around her thoughts. How should she talk to her husband? How could she talk to him about things so intimate?

  But the words lodged in her throat.

  There was not a chance of asking him, if she couldn’t bring herself to discuss such matters with her two very best friends in the world. God certainly hadn’t given her any answers.

  Yet she didn’t want to worry her cousins. And they had only been in one marriage each themselves. How would they know what was normal and what not? Who was to say what was normal? Certainly not her.

  “Of course,” she said, with a small flick of one hand. Surely that was convincing.

  But Hannah and Leah shared another one of those twin looks, and she knew they didn’t believe her. That was fine. It didn’t matter, she told herself. As long as she kept telling herself this was exactly what she wanted, then perhaps one day it would turn into just that.

  * * *

  Just before three, Gracie gathered up the boys and the baby, along with a milk crate full of lotions and soaps all labeled for sale, and headed home.

  Despite her churning emotions and the work she had put into their cousins’ day, she felt rested. Sort of. That weight had settled nicely around her shoulders the minute she had taken Baby Grace from Mammi Glick, but this time it was more comfortable by far. She felt as if she could carry it for a long while. Who knew how she would feel tomorrow when Matthew left her alone to fend for herself and his children as he went out and planted. If that was really what he was doing.

  She hated the doubts that rose into her thoughts. But how long did it take to plant three fields? She had planted the entire vegetable patch before lunch. Gauging size from that, he should have been done yesterday. Yet today he got up and headed for the fields once again, without a by-your-leave or Thanks for the coffee, or I hope you have a good day. See you at supper.

  Still she was a little surprised when she saw him pacing back and forth on the porch as she drove down the lane toward the house.

  That was the thing about riding in a buggy, there was plenty of time for people to see you coming, and Matthew stood still as a statue from the moment he caught sight of her until she hopped down. She was halfway there when she got the first glimpse of his eyes. Blazing was the adjective she would have chosen if asked. His eyes looked like blue flames, burning hot and bright above the thick black bush of his beard.

  Once her feet were on the ground, he moved toward them. He didn’t say a word. It was almost as if he didn’t trust himself. He fairly hummed with suppressed energy. Or maybe that was simply anger. But why?

  She felt it best to wait until the older children were out of earshot before asking. She might be hesitant about asking other questions, but this wasn’t one of them. He was mad at her, and she wanted to know why.

  Matthew unhooked their horse as the boys hopped down. He handed the reins to Henry without a word. The boy knew what to do.

  As if they too knew that their dat was teetering, none of them said a word. Henry trudged toward the barn with the twins trailing behind.

  He waited until they had disappeared into the dim interior before turning toward her. On her.

  “Where have you been?”

  The words were electric, crackling and sparking, though he seemed to be in complete control of himself.

  “Eunice and Abner’s,” she answered casually. It should have been a casual question, but the intensity was all around.

  She turned from him as if everything were normal and pulled Baby Grace and her carrier seat out of the back of the buggy.

  He blew out a breath. Was he trying to keep a hold on his temper?

  “What were you doing over there all day?”

  How did he know she was there all day if he had been out in the fields? And the answer was maybe he hadn’t been out in the fields. Maybe he had been at home, wondering where she was.

  “It’s cousins’ day. I went over to make some products to sell in the shop.” As if sensing the tension around her, Baby Grace started to fuss, kicking her legs and waving her hands in the air around her face. From the explosive expression the munchkin wore, she was about to gear up for one of her famous tirades.

  “I thought I told you not to open the shop this year.”

  “No.” She shook her head slowly and used one foot to rock the carrier. Maybe that would hold off any fit that was brewing. “You told me I didn’t have to open the shop this year.”

  “Same thing.”

  “It’s completely different.”

  “You thought you could go over there all day without leaving a note or anything. Without telling me where you had taken my children. What about Stephen?”

  So many of his words struck her like arrows. He was mad because she hadn’t left a note and had taken his children. But she needed to get control of her own emotions before she said or did something she might regret.

  She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. “I’m home before Stephen. That was the plan all along.”

  He snorted, and her control slipped. As if backing her up, Baby Grace let out her first new wail as Gracie descended on Matthew.

  “I didn’t leave a note because you haven’t been home before dark since the day we got married. And speaking of which, that makes them my children as well. Not to mention the fact that I care for them while you’re out doing whatever it is you do until dark.” She didn’t add that she didn’t believe it had anything to do with field work. She didn’t have to.

  To her surprise he took two steps back as she charged toward him. Now he held his ground. “Someone has to support this family.”

  “And someone has to take care of the children. I’ve got an idea,” she said, her gaze never wavering from his. “I don’t tell you how to do your job, and you don’t tell me how to do mine.”

  He stood there staring at her, and she stared back, breaths heaving in and out of her chest as if each one took more effort than the last. It was as if her temper, normally calm and hard to rise, was making it difficult to breathe. But she wasn’t backing down. He was wrong. The Bible might tell wives to submit to their husbands, but wrong was wrong, no matter how you sliced it. And Matthew Byler was wrong.

  But it was a standoff, neither one wavering, neither one daring to blink.

  Behind her in the carrier Baby Grace sobbed. Neither one moved for what seemed like forever but couldn’t have been more than a handful of seconds, then Henry came out of the barn, twins trailing behind him.

  He looked from them to his sister. “Baby’s crying,” he sai
d before heading into the house.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Can I talk to you for a second?”

  Gracie stopped washing dishes but didn’t turn to face him. Matthew wondered if perhaps he didn’t deserve her full attention. He had acted shamefully this afternoon, but worry would do that to a man.

  And he had been worried, worried sick, his mamm would say. The Bible said a person wasn’t supposed to worry, but that’s all his life had been for so long . . .

  Once Gracie moved in and took over the household duties and taking care of the children, that worry slipped away. Now all he had to concern himself with was whether the blade on his plow was sharp enough to cut the dry Mississippi ground and if he had enough seeds to produce the size crop he wanted this year. He had two more mouths to feed. And baby formula was expensive.

  “I just want to apologize for this afternoon. I didn’t mean to . . . fuss.” It was the best word he could find. It was better by far than scream at you like a mad man. But he was shocked when he came home for the noon meal and she wasn’t there. The children were gone, the dog was gone, and his mind shut down. All he could imagine was them hurt or dying somewhere. His life flashed before his eyes. He spent nearly an hour praying for them to come back, praying that they were all right, praying to God to take the terrible images from his mind. He came home, and it was like losing Beth all over again.

  Only this time he had lost the sweetest person he had ever met.

  But how could he say those words without exposing his heart, his secrets? Secrets that he vowed to carry with him to the grave. He owed Beth that much.

  Gracie turned around slowly, so slowly that it was a little frightening. The sweetest person was gone and in her place was someone who was bright, angry, and wary. “Fuss?” she asked. “That’s what you’re calling it?”

  Best not to answer that. Not that he had a response he thought would satisfy her. “I was really worried when I came home in the middle of the day and neither you nor the kids were here. I was afraid something had happened to you.”

  He saw a flicker of the old Gracie in her expression, then she hardened it once more. But he inwardly smiled. He had gotten to her.

  “Even the dog was gone.” He had all but checked to see if her suitcases were missing as well. That maybe she had left him, and everything they had started, behind. And taken his children and his dog with her. How could he tell her that was his biggest fear without laying himself open for her criticism and censure?

  There wasn’t a way.

  She squeezed out her dishrag and laid it over the bar to dry, then picked up the pan of dishwater and headed for the back door.

  It looked heavy and he wanted to take it from her, but he had a feeling that offering would only bring more trouble. So he watched as she tossed it out the door, shook out the plastic tub, then brought it back into the kitchen.

  She plopped it into its place on the wash table, then looked at him, grudgingly. “I didn’t mean to worry you. Honestly . . .” She shook her head and bit off her words.

  “Honestly what?” he asked.

  But she shook her head and wouldn’t continue. Aside from grabbing her by the arms and shaking her like a rag doll, he saw no way of making her speak. And truthfully, he didn’t think laying hands on her would help his case at all.

  He had a case with her? When had that changed? He wasn’t sure. He had been avoiding her this first week, pretending he had more work to do than he really had, doing his best to stay out until she was busy with the kids. Coming in when he thought she had already gone to bed. Anything to keep away from her. It was the only way he could keep both his sanity and his promises to himself.

  There was something about Gracie Glick. Gracie Byler, he corrected himself. She turned away and started to wipe down the counters, the table, and the stove where she had cooked. He studied her, hoping that she didn’t notice, but he drank in the sight of her. Pale blond hair, those big blue eyes that seemed enormous in her heart-shaped face. He wasn’t sure how some man hadn’t seen it in her before. She was the marrying kind. And not just because she was Amish and raised that way; she was born to be a wife and a mother. She soaked it all in like a thirsty sponge. It suited her, made her glow with a sense of purpose and made him realize just how blind the other men of Pontotoc were. How could no one else have seen this before now?

  Or perhaps God had been saving her for him.

  The thought was staggering, and he nearly fell backward as it occurred to him. That couldn’t be. God wasn’t giving him a second chance. He wasn’t worthy of one.

  She turned to him, cocked her head to one side and looked toward heaven. “I’m going to bed,” she stated. Then she brushed past him and down the hall, leaving him standing there like a speechless, lovesick schoolboy.

  He wasn’t worthy of second chances. God hadn’t given him one in Gracie. She was there because she wanted a family; he was there because he needed help with his family. And that was all there was to it. There wasn’t some divine plan at work. No angel to save him. No course to forgiveness.

  And the sooner he accepted that, the easier it would be on them all.

  * * *

  “Okay, Henry, you take that board outside and stack it with the others, then we’ll start putting everything on the shelves.”

  “Jah, Gracie.”

  He did as she asked, and she dusted her hands against her apron and surveyed the little shop. It was almost ready. Everything was clean, the vegetable bins scrubbed out and the walls sprayed down. They were nothing more than treated lumber, so they had tossed water on them to clear out any spiders or other creepy crawlers, then allowed them to dry. Shelves were slid into place and signs for the vegetables that said coming soon were put up. Now all they had to do was stock the shelves with the products they did have and check the cellar for any products that might be left in the pantry. Tomorrow was Sunday, but they would be open Monday for sure, and in a month or so they might even have some fresh produce for sale. It was a shame they had gotten such a late start, but that was just the way it was. And if they had any luck at all on their side, they could have a few pints of strawberries by the end of the week. Barring the birds didn’t get to them first.

  Gracie peeked out the window toward the large tree just to the west of the shop. It was perfect for blocking the afternoon sun and provided cool shade for Baby Grace’s afternoon nap.

  In the last four days since her ill-fated cousins’ day, Gracie had managed to get the baby on some type of routine. Maybe because once she called Matthew out on his absentee behavior, he started staying closer to the house. He came in for the noon meal, was washing up for supper before she even called him in, and otherwise became the dat she thought he had always been.

  The boys loved it, beaming up at him from their places at the table even as they ate. The whole atmosphere had changed in their home. That’s what it had become: a home. At least more like a home than it had been before.

  They were thriving, Baby Grace was settling in to the new norm, but it scared Gracie. This was what she had imagined when she had said she wanted a family: togetherness, working side by side, a mother and a father and children all in harmony with each other and God. Aside from the fact that she and Matthew still had separate rooms, everything was perfect. Too perfect, and she couldn’t help but believe that in itself made it a lie.

  “And these are made with goat milk?” Henry asked, eyeing one of the bottles of lotion with skepticism.

  She turned away from checking on the sleeping baby and back to Henry. “Absolutely.” The twins had taken to napping on a blanket nearby, and for that Gracie was grateful. They needed the rest and Henry needed the time to have her all to himself. Pepper snoozed between them as if it was the best place on earth to be.

  “Goat milk,” Henry muttered, then shook his head as if to say What will they come up with next? Then he picked up a bottle of shampoo. “What’s a phosphate?” he asked, sounding out the last word a little slower than
the others.

  “I’m not sure,” Gracie said. “But Leah and Hannah assured me that they are bad, and we shouldn’t have any in our hair products.”

  “Jah, it says the same thing on the conditioner too.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She stopped tacking up the price signs she had made to the edges of the shelf and turned back to face Henry. “Did you read that bottle?”

  He looked at her and frowned. “I guess. Why?”

  She looked around the room for something else for him to read. If indeed that was what he was doing. There was nothing around but lotion bottles and the bags of beads and buttons she had found under one of the lower shelves. She supposed that Beth had been planning on making them into jewelry and keychains to sell to the Englischers. She figured now that was a good family project for her and the twins.

  “Here,” she said, grabbing a bag of beads. “Can you read this?”

  He looked from her to the bag, a small frown on his brow. The twist of his mouth said he thought she had lost her mind, but Gracie didn’t care. Could he read? How amazing!

  “Beads assorted colors, four mm, nine-ninety-nine.” He looked back to her. “What’s four mm?”

  “The size,” she explained with a laugh. She pulled up another bag just to be safe. But he read every word. What was Matthew going to say when she told him Henry could read?

  * * *

  By the time supper rolled around, Gracie was so excited she could barely contain it. She pulled the chicken she had fried earlier out of the icebox along with the bowl of pasta salad and set them on the table. It was starting to get too hot to eat warm meals, and by the time canning season got into full swing, thick ham sandwiches and potato salad, or grilled meats and big salads filled with fresh vegetables from the garden would become the best meals to eat to keep the house from getting so hot. Especially since Matthew’s house wasn’t set up with a cook house. Some of the Amish homes in the area had a special building separate from the back of the house where they could cook and keep the heat out of the main living space. It was handy in the summertime, but also allowed the family to bend the rules of the Ordnung a bit by having running water to the cook house. Since it wasn’t attached to the main house, it got around the rule prohibiting running water in the houses, but anyone who had this setup was careful not to flaunt it too much in front of the bishop lest he rewrite that part to include all outbuildings as well. No one wanted to be the person who ruined it for everyone.