Grace helped her sister, followed her downstairs, and since Mamm was busy getting the baby chicks settled, gave Patience the laundry basket of folded clothes. “You can take care of the laundry.” She turned to Mamm. “I’ll be right back, Mamm. I have something I need to see.”
Well, maybe not need to so much as want to. But she didn’t want to be left out of the discovery in the pasture.
Without waiting for Mamm to reply, Grace dashed out the door and followed the men to the pasture. Daed had joined the other men, his attention trained on a trail of…
Grace stumbled to a stop. Had the contents of a woman’s top dresser drawer exploded in their pasture?
Daed stooped to pick up a red, lacy garment with a tag that said something “Secret” that was so sheer anything under it would be very visible—and not secret. It dangled from his hand like a limp flag.
It was first in a line of colorful unmentionables strewn across the pasture.
“Run get a bag, Gracie, and pick these up. They don’t need to be out here with all the men coming tomorrow.”
They didn’t need to be out there with the four men currently eyeing them.
Vernon’s face was a mottled red, and he held a collection of colorful unmentionables as if he’d been picking them up. Jon kicked at a leopard-print underwire bra. Zeke handed something in a hot-pink case to Daed.
Grace edged nearer.
It was a cell phone. The top of the zippered case was clear plastic. And visible from the screen inside the case were words that someone with the initial P had written: Tim, leave me alone or these go public.
Grace’s heart skipped a beat or two. Her stomach hurt.
When Daed scrolled down on the screen, photos of bruises in various shades of painful appeared.
Why would anyone take pictures of bruises? And who was P?
Daed’s expression turned dangerous. But all he said was, “Gracie. The bag. Now.”
Grace turned and ran. But since she’d told Daed about Timothy’s controlling nature, she felt much better.
Still, her thoughts whirled. Tim was a popular name among the Amish and Englisch. It couldn’t be her Timothy. Could it? And if so, who was P, and why did she have so many fancy undergarments?
* * *
The evidence was circumstantial at best, but assuming Zeke guessed the identity of the unknown Tim correctly, if he was alive, he’d soon be surrounded by Gracie’s twelve brothers and wish he were dead. And Zeke, Vernon, and Seth might be part of the crowd surrounding him too. Well, a whole bunch of upset, protective Amish men. Maybe even the pun-loving grossdaadi who’d assigned Zeke to this family earlier this morning.
Zeke really wanted to meet the grossdaadi. Officially. And spend time in conversation with him. Maybe he’d be at the barn raising tomorrow. Or would he have to keep managing volunteers until the Red Cross arrived?
“I also found cushioned church pews broken in pieces over yonder,” Vernon said, pointing.
“Hmm. An Englisch church’s pews?”
“There was an Englisch church dismantled on the way into Arthur. All that was left was the sign: ‘God can calm the storm.’ Actually, it said ‘He,’ but ‘God’ was implied.” Zeke glanced at Seth.
The older man was frowning again.
Did Seth somehow know that Zeke somewhat struggled with that? But then there were those unplanned words he’d said to Toby’s father. We can’t choose whether or not storms come. But we can choose where we stare during a storm. Or was that the bishop’s response? Zeke tried to smother a yawn. His memory of the day’s events and words was beginning to get very foggy. But other than the time he’d briefly passed out on Gracie’s bed, he hadn’t slept for almost forty-eight hours. It would be good to crawl into bed tonight.
Except, he wanted to talk to Gracie.
Maybe she’d understand if he postponed the conversation until tomorrow. Clarity of mind and sound judgment were essential for communication with her, and he was lacking in both at the moment.
Or maybe they were the same thing.
Okay, thinking was overrated. He’d confused himself. Talking definitely would be on hold until after he rested. If not, he’d find himself doing something incredibly stupid, like kissing Gracie.
And then those twelve brothers would be circling him.
Gracie ran back to the pasture with a plastic bag flapping beside her to collect some of the woman’s lingerie. The wind gusted, pressing the blue material of her dress against her legs. Emphasizing her curves.
Did she wear something like the garments on the ground under her plain dress?
His face heated, and he forced his attention away from her. He needed busywork. Something he could do without thought or conversation. And not mess up.
Seth clamped his hand on Zeke’s shoulder. “I’d engage you in a battle of wits, but I can see you’re unarmed.”
Zeke blinked. Opened his mouth…and shut it. The man was right.
“Daed, that’s unkind. He was up all night with a laboring horse before coming here.” Gracie came to his defense.
Seth frowned, his gaze sober. “Then I suggest as soon as you eat, go straight to bed. No sneaking out later with my daughter.”
Oh, the man knew him so well. Zeke swallowed. Nodded. “Actually, I need rest more than I need food. If I may be excused?”
“See you bright and early in the morning.” Seth walked farther into the field.
“I’ll send Patience in to wake him with a kiss, and then we could sneak out later,” Gracie quipped loud enough for her daed to overhear. And Jon. And Vernon. But maybe she was just being…impertinent. No, that wasn’t the right word. Um…he shook his head. The word wasn’t coming. Time to make himself scarce.
Zeke turned and headed toward the haus, leaving Seth to deal with his daughter if he so chose.
Because that idea held merit.
Especially because Zeke liked it way too much.
Except for the part where Patience would wake him with a kiss. It’d be ever so much better if it were Gracie.
* * *
The rest of the evening dragged by. It was amazing how much of a difference Zeke had made in such a short time. She missed him being around. His quiet listening. The wise comments. Their conversations. The glances and touches.
Grace finished her chores and headed up to bed. The morning would come early as the people in the community would arrive to start work on the barn. It would be finished before nightfall. Probably before the evening meal.
She crawled under the covers, which were still wrinkled from Zeke’s brief nap, and bounced out of bed the next morning, excited about spending the day with him.
Funny how on the night of her wedding she’d gone to bed filled with dread, and the very next night was filled with joyful anticipation that fueled her dreams. The way she always assumed the night before her wedding would be.
Joyful anticipation.
Not dread.
Not relief to wake up and discover the wedding was…postponed.
What did that tell her about her planned wedding? Future husband? Both?
“It’s just cold feet. All brides have them.” She whispered the words she’d been told too many times to count in just the last month alone. Words spoken yesterday by Mamm. Plus pressure from Elsie…And Daed’s silence during their talk hadn’t exactly said this, but it hadn’t refuted it, either.
She shuddered. But even that didn’t dim the anticipation of seeing Zeke.
She put on a clean dress, maroon this time, and pinned it shut, then fixed her hair, securing the kapp over it.
Even though it was not yet dawn, men’s conversations already rose outside. She peered through the window. Maybe ten men had arrived so far, and they unloaded their big, heavy toolboxes from their buggies or wagons. An older woman, Erma, carried a large tray into the haus. Cinnamon rolls. Oh, Erma. Her cinnamon rolls were the best. Sticky, gooey, melt-in-your-mouth goodness. Grace had to have one before they were all gone. And they’d g
o quick. Erma only made twenty-four when she brought them to events. Always. And the men she heard talking through the window would be lining up, more would be arriving…Oh, she must hurry.
With a smile on her face, Patience mumbled something in her sleep. Probably about cinnamon rolls.
Grace hurried out of the room and ran right into a solid, bare chest, still warm and damp from the shower. Sparks shot through her. She stumbled back, blinking. The man was little more than a blur in the dim early morning light, but from her physical reaction, it wasn’t Jon. Or Vernon.
It was Zeke. The man who filled her dreams and every waking thought.
Her heart thudded. Her stomach tumbled. Her mouth went dry. She swayed.
“Easy there, Gracie.” Zeke’s voice was husky from sleep. His hands gently closed around her upper arms, steadying her.
She wanted to lean into him, step into his embrace, and…
No. No. No.
She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
Her breath lodged, seized, and then came back in an embarrassing gasp.
“Are you okay?”
Worse, he’d noticed.
He stepped nearer, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly. “Gracie?”
She jerked away and ran, losing her balance on the first step of the stairs and nearly falling.
“Easy there.” His hands reached down and closed around her waist, fingers splayed, and hauled her back against his firm, and still very bare, chest. Except, he lost his balance and sat down hard on a step, and she landed—still in his arms—on the step below.
Oh, her heart. It tried to pound its way out of her chest. Her bottom stung along with her pride.
And her brain ceased functioning, because she sat there, in his arms, letting the unfamiliar feelings wash over her like a tidal wave.
He sighed, maybe with relief that he’d caught her before she fell, or it might have been dismay at their tangled legs and inappropriate appearance to anyone who wandered by. Not that anyone would. They’d be lining up for those scrumptious cinnamon rolls.
She was in no hurry to move. This—not cinnamon rolls, but this—would fuel her dreams for the next week.
“Gracie?” This time, concern filled Zeke’s voice. His hands moved. Adjusted themselves so they weren’t so accidentally close to anywhere they weren’t supposed to be. Sweet of him to be looking out for her, respecting her, that way.
Her whole body warmed. Tingled.
“I must be dreaming,” she whispered. In real life, stuff like this didn’t happen. Her dreams were fueled by her active imagination, and…
He chuckled. “A nightmare, I’m sure. I didn’t mean to run into you or knock you down the stairs.”
Except, she ran into him, and she almost fell down the stairs in an attempt to do the right thing.
And well, she wanted to kiss him. A peck. On the cheek.
Or maybe she might accidentally on purpose miss his cheek.
She shouldn’t.
But…oh, she would. This might be the only chance she got.
And since she most certainly was dreaming this…
She twisted in his arms and kneeled on the step.
His eyes widened. “Gracie,” he whispered.
She leaned in…
A blur, and Patience appeared behind Zeke. She was still in her white nightgown, her hair in disarray. A flashlight spotlighted the floor in front of her. “Gracie? Why you in Zeke’s lap? Where Zeke’s shirt?”
Except, her sister had never appeared in her dreams before…which meant this wasn’t a dream and she was really about to…oh my goodness…
With a gasp, Grace planted her hands against his bare chest and shoved away. She lost her balance and this time tumbled the rest of the way down the stairs, backward, on her rump.
Oh, the shame. The cinnamon roll line had just observed her entrance, Patience would tattle, and Zeke couldn’t come down to check on her without the entire community seeing him shirtless and destroying his reputation…
And hers.
Chapter 14
Zeke’s breath caught. Had Gracie intended to kiss him? Intended, because with what could only be bad timing, Patience had interrupted.
Longing had flashed across her face, followed by horror, and then embarrassment. With a gasp, Gracie had planted her cold hands against his bare chest, still warm from his shower—his heart had pounded—and shoved away. Before he could react, she’d lost her balance and tumbled the rest of the way down the stairs.
Zeke was pretty sure he was still sleeping, and what might have been a very pleasant dream had just turned into a nightmare with every thump, thump, thump as she fell down the stairs.
Backward.
On her rump. Mostly.
She made a quiet “eek” sound, but Patience made up for it in volume by screaming and bursting into tears. Make those ear-piercing wails.
Okay, this was real life. There was no way he’d imagine that noise.
He caught his breath, lurched to his feet, and started down the stairs, when a whole crowd—well, a small gathering—of Amish women all rushed to Gracie’s side where she was sprawled at the bottom of the stairs.
He turned tail and attempted to run for his room before the women saw him shirtless, in his pajama pants. But then his bedroom door opened, and Vernon stumbled out, in much the same condition.
“What happened?” Vernon blinked owlishly.
“Gracie fell down the stairs,” Zeke said simply. No need for embellishment.
“Gracie was in Zeke’s lap,” Patience declared loudly enough for the women gathered below to hear. “And he shirtless.” She held up her flashlight, shining it full on Zeke’s face and blinding him.
Danki, Patience. Zeke shut his eyes and sighed. Seth would be sure to send him away now. Maybe even all the way back to Indiana. And wouldn’t Daed love that? Zeke hadn’t even lasted twenty-four hours. He imagined his father berating him.
You’re reckless and have a complete disregard for the rules. And worse, you’re a goof-off. You’ll always be a goof-off.
He turned back toward the stairs to rebut the situation somehow. He tried to think what to say that wouldn’t get Gracie into trouble. Or him.
The women gathered below gasped, staring up at him. And Vernon. And Patience. All still in their nightclothes. And they gasped again.
Vernon had enough common sense to back away. Quietly. But at least he wasn’t spotlighted. A door shut.
“Patience, go get dressed.” Jon was still upstairs and now standing somewhere behind Zeke.
The flashlight slid away from Zeke.
With Daed’s harsh words still ringing in his ears, Zeke turned to face brother number twelve. Jon was at least partially dressed.
“It’s my fault. I tripped and started to fall down the stairs, and he caught me,” Gracie said, her voice strained.
Truth, but not the whole truth.
“Looks to me like he missed,” an unknown woman replied, and the whole group twittered.
And with that the tension was over.
Jon grinned and clapped his hand on Zeke’s bare shoulder. “Danki for trying.”
Zeke didn’t want them to believe a lie, but if he told the whole truth, it’d get ugly fast. And did everyone really need to know that Gracie apparently had intended to kiss him and Patience had not so conveniently interrupted?
He didn’t think so.
“Good thing he missed. Timothy wouldn’t have liked another man’s hands on his bride,” another woman said from the foot of the stairs.
Jah, danki for the reminder. Zeke’s heart folded in on itself.
It might’ve been his imagination, but it seemed a heaviness descended upon the household—a thick, dark silence. But before Zeke could figure out why that might be, someone giggled nervously.
And with that, the women’s conversation shifted to talk of Gracie—“Are you hurt, dearie?”—to the mystery of Timothy’s disappearance and when the wedding might be rescheduled when
he was found.
Zeke aimed a probably sick-looking smile at Jon and headed back to his bedroom to get dressed. And take on the day.
After a good night’s sleep, at least he could assist with a barn raising with his wits in place, so long as he stayed far from Gracie.
And so long as Jon or Seth didn’t single him out to get his story of what exactly happened between him and Gracie. Because if asked, he would tell the truth and not lie, even though they might never believe his side of the story. What Amish girl would be bold enough to attempt to kiss a near stranger on the stairs in a haus full of Amish there for a barn raising?
The answer hit him with enough force to knock the air from his lungs.
A woman desperate for escape. Was she so desperate to not marry Timothy that anyone would do? Even a stranger from Indiana?
Oh, that hurt.
Gracie wasn’t really attracted to him. Any single, unattached male would do. He really was the loser Daed called him for falling for it.
Because it meant he was nothing more than a means to an end.
He’d still be her friend, but he’d guard his heart.
He didn’t want it trampled.
* * *
Grace’s body ached from head to toe, but since she could move, albeit slowly and painfully, she figured nothing was broken. Just bruised.
Kind of like her emotions.
She slowly got to her feet, every muscle and joint in her body protesting at the movement. Her cheeks burned, but not as hot as the shame filling her to overflowing, spilling out from her pores. She’d meant to apologize to Zeke for her behavior, and instead she’d made it ten times worse. A hundred times worse. Maybe even a thousand times worse.
Zeke would be ever so glad to return to Indiana and get away from the too-forward Illinois hussy.
But oh, why couldn’t a man like him have noticed her first? Asked her if she wanted to go on a buggy ride? Treated her like she mattered? And instead she got Timothy.
At least Mamm was happy. His parents were happy.
It was just that she suffered from…She sighed heavily. Cold feet.
Icy, cold feet.
Make that frozen feet.
The Amish Wedding Promise Page 13