by Amy Lillard
“Matthew?” she called, easing inside. She thought she had seen him, but she wasn’t positive. She might be searching in an empty barn. “Are you in here?”
The space seemed a little messy. Hay was strewn around in places that didn’t normally have hay. Maybe she was mistaken, and he wasn’t in there. If he had been, the barn would surely look better, neater, than it did. He would have swept any loose hay into one of the horse stalls, or over into the pigpen. Not left it on the floor.
“Matthew?” She rounded the corner on the side where the hayloft was located. Mess was not a strong enough word for what she encountered. It looked ransacked, as if vandals had broken in, busted hay bales, thrown the loose hay about, then run out the back.
But Matthew stood in the middle of the mess, sweat nearly turning his shirt a darker shade of blue. Only a few patches around his belly and next to his collar told its true color.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I decided to, uh, rearrange the hayloft.”
She looked up at the jumble of bales that made up the loft. “Uh-huh.” What else could she say? It was all a mess. Not at all like Matthew. She wasn’t sure what was going on, just that he wasn’t hurt. It seemed like he was trying to work through whatever was bothering him using the hay as a means to figure it out.
“Supper’s ready.”
“I’m not hungry.”
He had to be, with the amount of “work” he had done in the barn. It looked as if he had tossed all the stored hay onto the main floor of the barn, then had thrown it back into the loft from where he stood now. She wasn’t sure why he would perform such an act. But it certainly seemed that was what he had been doing.
“It’s fried chicken,” she said, using her most enticing tone. She sounded ridiculous and was not surprised when he shook his head.
“Save me a plate.” He turned back to whatever it was he was doing. Except he simply stood there until she agreed and left the barn.
Save him a plate, she fumed all the way back to the house. She would save him a plate, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to let the boys eat their fill of the chicken, not correct them when they left too much meat on the bone, and throw the rest of it out for Pepper.
But she wouldn’t. It might annoy her that he wasn’t accepting her offer. After all, how could she make amends when she couldn’t get him in the same room? That didn’t mean she was giving up though.
She went back into the house, sat down at the table, and smiled at the children. “Let’s pray.”
“Dat’s not eating?” Henry asked.
“He asked me to make him a plate.” She could tell the children were a little disappointed. After having their mother gone, and now their father gone, they craved the normalcy they had once before: two parents sitting with them around the table, eating in harmony.
She placed Baby’s hands together on her highchair tray and bowed her own head. She prayed as she always did that God would bless the food and nourish her body in his service. But she wanted to pray for guidance on how to make amends with Matthew and get their marriage back on its unique track. It might not be a normal marriage, but it was the one she had and she wanted to save it. But she was afraid that if she started praying about her and Matthew, they might all miss supper.
She released Baby’s hands and lifted her head, then shuffled in place enough to let the other children know that prayer time was over.
“Now,” she said, shifting a little more. Then she rose and started doling out food. She fixed Matthew something to eat in the tin pie plate she used when she knew he was going to be late, served the children, made her own plate, then lifted Baby from her highchair.
“You always feed her first,” Stephen said, his mouth full of bread and applesauce.
“Jah,” she agreed. “But don’t talk with your mouth full.”
He swallowed. “Sorry, Mamm.”
“Why?” Henry asked. His mouth was full too, and Gracie could only assume that he wanted the same attention his brother had received.
“I feed her first because I’m her mamm,” she said. It was the only reason she could come up with. “That’s just what mamms do. Like reminding their children not to talk when they have food in their mouths.”
As far as answers go it wasn’t very informative, but it was exactly right on. Mamms took care of their children. They made sure they weren’t hungry or cold. That they had a place to sleep and a roof over their heads. Why? Because that was just what mamms did.
Thoughts of Beth flooded in on her. Mamms took care of the children. That was their job. It was something she had known since she was a little girl, playing with dolls. Mamms never wanted to leave their children, would never do anything to hurt their children. But she knew that last statement to be naïve. She had heard enough on the news, even seen some in her own community. There were parents who were rough with their children. Too rough.
She remembered the doctor questioning them about Henry’s arm. How he broke it, what he was doing, who was around, and where his parents were at the time.
And if that statement wasn’t true—if not all mamms took care of their children—then how could she believe that the other ones were? That was more than naive; that was plain ol’ stupid.
“Gracie!” From the tone of his voice, she suspected that it wasn’t the first time Henry had called her name.
“Jah. Sorry.”
She popped the bottle from the baby’s mouth. While she had been daydreaming, Baby had fallen asleep and was using the nipple as a pacifier.
Gracie lifted her as gently as she could and propped her on her shoulder. Maybe a burp or two would sneak out without waking her. She should have been paying more attention instead of trying to figure out the mystery of Beth’s drowning.
There was no mystery, she reminded herself. Beth had fallen into the creek, possibly hit her head, and drowned, facedown in the water. And that’s all there was to it.
“Gracie,” Henry started again. “When’s Dat coming in?”
“When he gets his work done.” It was a lame answer. So lame, if it had been a horse they would have had to shoot it. But it was all she could think of. She rubbed Baby’s back, still hoping to work a little gas out before she laid her down for the night.
With any luck Baby would sleep through the night, but Gracie wasn’t counting on it. She was going to sleep really early and would probably wake up hungry just after two.
“Do we have to wait dessert on him?” Stephen asked.
“I want to eat dessert now,” Benjamin said. “Please.” Sweet child.
“Finish your green beans.”
He made a face and she returned a stern mamm look. He grabbed the remaining green beans on his plate and shoved them all into his mouth at once.
“Benjamin,” she scolded. She had thought too soon. He was mostly a sweet child. But he had his times. “We don’t eat with our hands.”
“We eat bread with our hands,” Henry said.
“That’s different.”
“Why?” he asked, though they all seemed to be waiting for an answer.
And this was what Eunice would call a mamm conundrum. How to explain and still get her point across? “We do eat bread with our hands,” she patiently explained. “There are a great many foods we can eat with our hands. But the rest must be eaten with a fork or a spoon. You boys are old enough to know which is which and remember to do it. Green beans are one of those fork foods.”
“Is french fries a fork food?” Thomas asked.
“They can be. I know a lot of people who eat their french fries with a fork.”
“What about chicken nuggets?” Benjamin asked.
“I suppose they can be either.” And this was another conundrum.
“Mashed potatoes and chicken fried steak?” Henry doubled over in a fit of giggles.
“Silly boy.” She waggled one finger at him. “You know the answer to that already.”
He laughed harder.
; “Do we get to eat dessert now or not?” Stephen was serious about his sweets.
“Jah.” She stood, careful not to disturb Baby Grace and rubbed her back to soothe her. “Let me put Baby to bed.”
Surprisingly enough, no one grumbled over the delay.
“And while I’m gone, clean your plates so you’ll grow up big and strong.”
These words did prompt a few protests, but she didn’t acknowledge them. She had found that it was better not to engage.
And the exchange had given her an idea. She needed to find out Matthew’s favorite dessert. She would make him whatever it was as a peace offering. It wouldn’t be enough to undo whatever pain she had caused him, however unintentional, but it would be a step in the right direction and that was all she could hope for.
* * *
Matthew moved out of the hall and into the shadows as Gracie crossed to the staircase. He had heard the entire exchange between her and his children. She was strict on them but somehow managed to get everyone to like her, accept her. And for that he was grateful. She was good with them. She was a good mother. And he felt a stab of guilt that she wouldn’t have a baby of her own. But she didn’t understand what he was saving her from—pain, heartbreak, possibly death. She should be grateful, but she was spouting off about God’s will. And the whole thing had him tied up in knots.
She was incredible and yet so horribly wrong. And she didn’t believe him.
That in itself had him doubting everything he believed, then building the argument back up even stronger. He knew what he knew. Gracie hadn’t been there. She hadn’t seen. She had only seen the face Beth had shown everyone at church. Beth had done her best to hide her own pain and sadness, but he had seen it, simmering there just below the surface. And just as he allowed her, she pretended that everything was fine. Perhaps she even believed that if she continued to pretend it would somehow make it so. He should have seen. He should have done something. He had failed Beth. He wouldn’t fail Gracie, even if it meant breaking her heart in the process.
“Matthew?”
He whirled around, caught lurking in the shadows of his own house. “Jah,” he said stupidly.
“Come in.” Her tone was inviting even as she frowned at him. “Supper’s still on the table. We were just about to have dessert.”
“Jah,” he said again. How dumb could one man sound?
“Are you okay?” she asked softly.
He nodded to keep from sounding like a complete and utter idiot, then gestured toward his clothes. “I need to clean up.”
“Do you want me to bring you some water?”
Why was she being so nice to him when he was ruining all her dreams? “No, danki. I’ll get it. You go on back in there with the kids.”
She nodded, albeit a tad reluctantly. “Food’s waiting on you.”
“Okay.” He nodded, then turned away, unable to look into those caring blue eyes, knowing that he was going to break her heart every day for the rest of her life.
Chapter Nineteen
The politeness in the house was beginning to get on her nerves. It had been days since Matthew had confessed all to her. Days since they had worked hard to figure out where they stood with each other. And still not knowing, they had fallen into a pattern of polite remoteness.
They greeted each other in the morning, ate breakfast together, then began the day’s work. Most days Matthew came home to eat with the family at noon, then left again to see to the crops and other chores that had to be done. He was always home by suppertime, once again eating with them like they were the perfect little family. The children loved it. Once more their life was as it should be. They had a mother and a father who loved them, even if they didn’t love each other.
But one thing this whole ordeal had shown her was how much she truly cared for Matthew. She had thought she was falling for him before. Maybe she had been a little infatuated with him. He was her husband, after all. But now she truly loved him.
She hated it. Wished she could take it back. But she loved the way he was with his children, even Baby, who still cried, no matter what he did to soothe her. He took care of his farm, took care of her, even though she saw betrayal in his eyes every time he looked at her. What she wouldn’t give to make those feelings go away. But she knew he didn’t want to hear any more of what she had to say about God’s will and plan for their lives.
And she really didn’t want to hear again all his theories about Beth’s drowning. She couldn’t comprehend the actions he was describing, and she had begun to believe that the stories he was telling her were simply interpretations on how a man looked at things.
She might not be worldly like Leah and Hannah, but she knew a couple of things, and one of those was that men and women were different in more ways than just physical. When she was on her mission trip she had a tent mate who was reading a book called something like Men Are from Mars. Gracie had thought the title was interesting, like some kind of science fiction story, but when she asked, the girl had laughed and told her it was about the different ways men and women respond to their world. And how men and women will react differently just because they are men and women.
The concept was intriguing to Gracie and she had spent the remainder of the trip covertly studying different people around her to see if those gender theories were correct. And for all her observations, they were. And that would completely explain why Matthew was seeing something that wasn’t there. That he believed that Beth had done the unthinkable.
Another thing she had learned was that the old adage was true: The way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Or in this case the way to peace in her house. And not a pretend peace, but an honest-to-goodness harmony that she had been working toward from the start. That was going to start with a homemade chess pie. She had found out from Eunice that Matthew’s favorite pie was an old-time Southern favorite, rich, yummy chess pie. Remarkably enough, Eunice seemed to be the pie directory of their district. Somehow she knew everyone’s favorite pie and could recall it at a moment’s notice. So tonight when Gracie got home, she was going to make him a chess pie and see if she could bring back the harmony that had been missing before the children realized that it was gone.
But for now, it was cousins’ day. And she had lotions and soaps to make. Once the boys were settled inside with Eunice and a slice of pie each and Baby was in with Mammi Glick, Gracie joined Hannah and Leah in front of the house where they usually worked. It was almost too much to work indoors with all the scented oils and such that they used. The smell could get overwhelming real quick. So unless it was raining, they were out front every Tuesday, mixing and talking.
“Okay,” Leah said, pulling a pencil from behind one ear to underline something on the list she held. “We have thirty-five special orders. No wait, thirty-six.”
“Wow!” Hannah looked over at Gracie with a happy nod.
“That’s amazing,” Gracie agreed. “Why so many?” They had never had this many before.
“Graduation,” Hannah guessed.
“And Father’s Day,” Leah added.
“Father’s Day?” Gracie was surprised. She didn’t know any man who wanted to smell like vanilla and orange blossoms.
“I put a sign up about more manly scents coming soon, and the women seemed to love it.”
Gracie peeked over one of Leah’s shoulders. “That’s great, but how are we going to make cedar eucalyptus?”
“With cedar and eucalyptus oils, of course.” She held up a set of bottles of essential oils that Gracie had never seen before. “Voilà,” she said with a great flourish. “Let me introduce you to the men’s line of goat-milk skin care.”
Hannah and Leah were so excited that Gracie felt the need to pretend to be, as well. But she didn’t understand this men’s line that Leah had dreamt up. It made no sense to her at all. Men didn’t use lotions and milky soaps meant to moisturize the skin instead of scrubbing the dirt out from under their fingernails. But her cousins seemed to think it wa
s a sure bet. She supposed with thirty-six orders that they could possibly be right. And perhaps the right lotion after shaving would be a welcome item for men who shaved every day. And not just their upper lips.
Then she tried to imagine Matthew using any of the products they were about to make. The image wouldn’t come. She tried the same for Jamie, Leah’s husband, and Aaron, Hannah’s soon-to-be. Aaron was the only one she could imagine possibly using the lotion, but even that was a stretch.
But she was going to trust her cousins to know more about this sort of thing than she did. And maybe she would take a little sample home to Matthew. He might laugh her out of the house. Then again, he might actually like it.
They made their regular items first, then started experimenting with the men’s scents. After a couple of missteps, Hannah finally got down the first formula and from there they were off. And they were still there an hour later when Jamie, Leah’s husband, came walking down the lane, their son Peter at his side.
“Hi!” Leah waved when they got close enough to hear. Peter started to run ahead, but since he had injured one of his legs in the fire that had killed his family the year before, he wasn’t too far ahead of Jamie as he walked toward them.
A round of greetings went up, but the cheery atmosphere didn’t last long.
“What’s wrong?” Leah asked.
“Peter, go on in the house. We’ll be in there in a minute. Go ahead and tell Mammi, okay?”
“Jah, Dat,” Peter said, and hopped up the steps and into the house.
“Spill it,” Leah demanded. But instead of speaking, Jamie handed her an envelope. “Oh my,” she breathed, and turned it so Gracie and Hannah could see.
Gracie would have known that handwriting anywhere. “Tillie?”
Leah nodded but continued to stare at the envelope.
From what Gracie could see, there was a return address, but it was from somewhere in Tennessee. The letter was postmarked in Memphis so Tillie couldn’t have gone too far. The thought that she was out there and close comforted Gracie on some level. It made her feel like Tillie was safe somehow and maybe even happy. But that could all be wishful thinking on her part.