A Seat by the Hearth

by Amy Clipston

  Mark rubbed his chin as anxiety filtered through him. “Sure I am. How hard can it be?”

  Jamie’s laugh was loud, and it annoyed Mark. He shook off his older brother’s arm and stepped away from him.

  “Can you two quit hugging and get the door?” Roy called as he stood outside the screen door with another box.

  “Whoops! Sorry!” Mark rushed over and opened the door. “Danki.”

  “Where does this go?” Roy scooted past him.

  “The bedroom.” Mark skirted around him and opened the door to the larger bedroom with two dressers. A nightstand sat beside a queen-size bed. He had to ask Priscilla if she had sheets the right size since his sheets would only fit the bed in the other bedroom.

  He kneaded the back of his neck as he surveyed the boxes scattered on the floor.

  “Is there anything else in the trailer?” Jamie asked.

  “No, that’s about it.” Roy held out his arms. “Do you want us to help you unpack?”

  “Are you guys hungry?” Priscilla appeared in the bedroom doorway. She looked beautiful in her gray dress. She scanned the room. “You have a lot of stuff, Mark.”

  “See?” Jamie exclaimed.

  “Don’t encourage him,” Mark snapped, and they all laughed.

  “Come on.” She beckoned them. “I made BLTs.” Then she disappeared from the bedroom, and Mark heard the screen door close behind her.

  “Let’s unpack after we eat.” Roy rubbed his flat abdomen. “I’m hungry.” He headed out the door.

  “I am too.” Jamie followed him.

  Mark sat on the corner of the bed, and it creaked under his weight. Tonight he would spend his first night in this house, a house that would be considered his.

  His life was about to change. He shivered. Was he ready to be a husband and father? Did he have the strength and courage to care for a family?

  “Hey, Mark!” Roy bellowed from outside. “I’m going to eat your BLT!”

  “I’ll be right there,” Mark called.

  He glanced around the bedroom one last time before heading out to meet his younger brother.

  Priscilla bit into her BLT sandwich as she sat across from where Mark was sitting between his brothers.

  Everyone laughed as Jamie shared a story about a cow named Sassy that learned how to open the gate and trot down the street to visit the neighbor’s German shepherd.

  “I think she believes she’s a dog,” Roy chimed in.

  “Ya, I agree.” Jamie chuckled.

  Dat and Mamm laughed, and Priscilla smiled. It was good to see her father smile.

  Priscilla’s gaze locked with Mark ‘s, and when he smiled, heat crawled up her neck to her cheeks. She’d never felt that kind of intensity when she was with Trent. Did it mean her feelings for Mark were more genuine and deep? No, that wasn’t possible. She didn’t know Mark as well as she knew Trent. She was only imagining the depth of her feelings for him.

  “I have to meet this cow,” Priscilla told Mark. “Would you please take me over to your dat’s farm sometime?”

  “Sure.” Mark picked up his glass of water. “That would be fun. I think Ethan would enjoy meeting Sassy too.”

  “How’s the move going, Mark?” Mamm reached for another roll from a platter in the center of the long table.

  “He has a lot of stuff,” Roy quipped.

  Mark groaned. “I’m so tired of hearing that. As if you didn’t have a hundred boxes when you moved into mei dat‘s haus.”

  “That wasn’t just my stuff,” Roy retorted. “If you remember, mei mamm and schweschder moved in too.”

  “So Cindy and Sarah Jane will have their own rooms now, right?” Priscilla asked.

  Mark nodded. “Cindy is going to take my room. She’s moving in today. That’s why mei dat stayed home. He’s helping her.”

  “She must be excited to have her own room,” Mamm said.

  Mark’s expression darkened as he and Jamie shared a look.

  “Oh. Did I say something wrong?” Mamm said.

  “No.” Mark shook his head. “Cindy just has conflicting feelings. I think she misses Jamie and Laura, and now I’m leaving . . .”

  Priscilla’s eyes stung as she thought of Mark’s mom.

  “Oh, I understand.” Mamm’s expression was solemn. “I know you’ve all had a tough time since you lost your mamm. I’m sorry.”

  Mark looked down at his plate, and an awkward silence filled the kitchen. Priscilla longed to push back her chair, hurry around the table, and hug Mark to take away his pain.

  Where had that come from?

  “So,” Jamie suddenly said, “are we going to help you unpack your boxes and organize your clothes too?”

  Mark lifted an eyebrow. “You really want to organize my sock drawer?”

  “Well, it’s better than mucking stalls,” Roy responded.

  Everyone laughed, and the tension in the air dissolved.

  When the bacon, lettuce, and tomato platters were empty, Priscilla and Mamm hopped up from the table and began clearing it.

  “I made a chocolate kuche too,” Priscilla announced as she filled one side of the sink with soapy water.

  “You did?” Mark’s face lit up. “For me?”

  “Well, it’s for everyone, Mark.” She gave him a feigned pointed look. “You have to share.”

  He stuck out his lower lip. “Next time, just make one for me.”

  “If you eat the whole cake by yourself, you’ll get fat,” Roy said, and everyone laughed again.

  “Let me help you.” Mark stood. “I’ll put on the kaffi.”

  “No, sit.” Priscilla waved him off.

  “I’m capable of putting on kaffi.” He came up behind and reached over her head for the percolator.

  “I can do it.” She turned and bumped into his chest. She breathed in his familiar scent—earth and soap mixed with sandalwood—and his nearness sent a shivery wave over her skin.

  Behind him, her father and Jamie became engrossed in a conversation. Trying to concentrate on anything but Mark, she caught something about training horses and how perhaps the techniques could help with the unruly cow.

  Mark leaned down to her. “You need to realize I’m not going to sit on my rear end and let you wait on me.” His voice was close to her ear, and heat flooded her senses. “Got it?”

  Unable to speak, she nodded.

  “Gut.” His lips twitched. “So show me where the kaffi is.”

  “Okay.” She pointed to the cabinet, and he withdrew the can before setting up the percolator.

  As she turned toward the counter to get the cake saver, she looked at her mother, who gave her a knowing smile. Priscilla felt her brow furrow. What was Mamm’s expression supposed to mean?

  “So about that kuche.” Mark rubbed his hands together. “Let’s see if it’s as gut as Laura’s.”

  “What?” Priscilla snapped, and he laughed.

  “If it’s not, then you’ll have to make me another one.” Mark took the cake saver and set it on the table.

  “We’ll see about that.” She smiled as she gathered plates, utensils, and a knife to cut the cake.

  As she set everything on the table, her thoughts moved to Trent once again. She couldn’t recall a time when she’d felt so comfortable joking around with him the way she and Mark teased each other. Perhaps this marriage would be easier than she’d imagined.

  Still, doubt made her ask a question she couldn’t let go. How would they adjust to living together if they weren’t in love?

  Priscilla balanced a plate of chocolate chip cookies as she descended the porch steps and walked toward the daadihaus later that evening. Above her the sunset painted the sky in canary yellow and tangerine.

  Ethan’s laugh filled the air as she started up the path. Priscilla turned and spotted Mark and Ethan playing catch with a softball.

  “That’s right.” Mark pointed. “Just toss it a little higher.”

  Ethan stuck out his tongue as if in deep concentratio
n before tossing it to Mark, who caught it with ease.

  “Perfect!” Mark smiled, and it lit up his handsome face. “Gut job. Try it again.” He tossed it back, and Ethan caught it. “Great! You’re getting the hang of this.”

  Priscilla’s heart felt like it tripped over itself. She couldn’t recall a time when Trent had showed Ethan how to play any sport, aside from sitting in front of a video game console.

  “Cookies!” Ethan announced when he spotted Priscilla. “Are those the oatmeal raisin ones you made earlier?”

  “Oh no.” Mark shook his head as he held up the ball. “She made those for me.” He pointed to himself.

  “No.” Ethan laughed. “She made them for me.”

  “Actually,” Priscilla chimed in, “I made them for everyone, but you have to wash your hands before you can have any.” She waved toward the daadihaus. “Go on. Wash your hands.”

  Ethan jogged through the grass and into the house as Mark sidled up to her.

  “Just admit it.” He swiped a cookie from the plate. “You made them for me.”

  “You need to wash your hands.” She swatted his arm, and he laughed before taking a bite.

  “Oh, Priscilla.” He groaned. “These are fantastic. You can make them for me every day for the next twenty years.”

  “Remember what Roy said.” She wagged a finger at him. “You’ll get fat.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll be fat and froh.” He took another bite.

  She couldn’t stop her laugh. “That’s nice of you to teach Ethan how to play catch.”

  “He said he likes school, but he’s a little intimidated with how much softball they play. You remember how much softball we played in school.” He slowed when they reached the porch steps. “I thought I’d give him a few pointers on throwing and catching. We’ll work on hitting the ball later. I don’t want him to feel embarrassed.”

  She smiled as Mark went inside, and appreciation filled her. Mark truly cared about her son.

  “I want a cookie!” Ethan charged out of the house and grabbed one from the plate.

  “Slow down.” Priscilla said, warning him. “You’ll get a stomachache.”

  Ethan took a bite and then pointed toward the field behind her parents’ house. “Daadi said that’s where he’s going to build our haus.”

  Priscilla nodded and turned to Mark when he came back and took another cookie from the platter. She tried to imagine a two-story brick house standing behind her parents’ house. It seemed like a foreign concept. When she left, she never imagined coming home and living on her parents’ farm.

  “Do you want to see my room?” Ethan grabbed her arm.

  “What?” Priscilla asked.

  “We talked about living in the daadihaus earlier,” Mark explained. “He helped me finish unpacking.”

  “Oh,” she said before Ethan yanked her toward the porch steps, causing her to teeter.

  “Don’t knock your mamm over,” Mark said with a smile. “I don’t want her to drop mei kichlin.”

  “They’re not all yours,” Ethan said, and Mark laughed.

  Priscilla followed Ethan into the house, and she spotted a mountain of empty boxes sitting by the hearth.

  “I’m going to take all those out tomorrow,” Mark said, appearing behind her. “I was just storing them there overnight.”

  Ethan pulled her into the spare bedroom, which included a double bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. “This is going to be my room.”

  “Wow.” She forced a smile while wondering how to tell him he wasn’t going to sleep alone here. “It’s very nice.”

  “When can I move in?” The smile on his face was as wide as she’d ever seen there.

  “Not until after the wedding.”

  “Oh.” His smile faded.

  “It’s only a couple of weeks away, though.” Priscilla held out the plate of cookies. “Why don’t you take another one?”

  “Okay.” Ethan swiped a cookie from the plate and then headed back outside.

  “If you’d like to see more of the other bedroom, too, go ahead,” Mark told her.

  Priscilla put the tray of cookies on the kitchen counter and then stepped into Mark’s room. The bed was made with the blue sheets she’d given him, along with a gray, white, and blue lone star quilt. She ran her fingers over the quilt, silently marveling at the beauty and skill sewn into it. Who had made this for him—perhaps his mother or grandmother?

  “Cindy gave it to me last Christmas.”

  She gasped and turned toward the doorway.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you.” Mark stepped into the room.

  “It’s so schee.” She touched the quilt again. “She’s talented.”

  “She is.”

  Priscilla’s gaze moved to the corner of the room, where she spotted a box with pieces of wood sticking out of it. She stepped over and picked up a flat piece of wood with a carving of a tree on it. She ran her fingers over the tree and silently marveled at the detail. The tree had leaves and a complete root system under the trunk. It was beautiful.

  “I meant to leave that box in mei dat‘s attic,” Mark said. “I’m going to take it over there when I go back.”

  She looked up at Mark. “Did you make this?”

  He shrugged. “Ya. It’s not very gut.”

  “It is very gut.” She took in his sheepish expression. “When did you start carving wood?”

  “I’ve always done it as sort of a hobby. Mei daadi showed me how when I was little. He gave me a set of tools before he passed away, but I’ve lost a few of the chisels. One of these days I might buy another set, but I really don’t have time to carve anymore.”

  She looked down at the box and flipped through more of his creations, finding a carved picture of a barn and one of a bird. Each one was so detailed, they were lifelike.

  “These are incredible. You’re so talented.” She ran her fingers over the image, as admiration for him rolled through her. “You need to make time to keep doing this. Don’t take the box to your dat’s.”

  “Why?”

  “These are great. You should keep them, and maybe someday you can teach Ethan how to carve. I think he’d like that.”

  “Okay.”

  She set the carvings back into the box and then turned toward him.

  He sank onto the corner of the bed and ran his hand over the quilt. “Danki for the sheets.”

  “It’s no big deal. I’m glad I found a set that fit this bed.” She glanced around the room and suddenly wondered where she would keep her clothes. Would she change in Ethan’s room or in here? No, in the bathroom. She trembled at the thought of their wedding night. She’d already told him she would sleep in Ethan’s room, but would he insist otherwise?

  “What’s on your mind?” he asked.

  She hoped her expression wouldn’t betray her private thoughts as she met his curious eyes.

  “You can have this room,” he said. “The sofa isn’t all that uncomfortable.”

  “I don’t expect you to sleep on the sofa after working hard on the farm all day.” She shook her head. “I just have to figure out how to tell Ethan that I’m staying with him.” And then pray he doesn’t tell everyone I’m not sleeping with his stepfather.

  “That’s why it would be easier if I slept on the sofa and then got up before he did.”

  She shook her head. “You deserve the bed in here. I’ll make do until our new haus is built.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “Have you always been this stubborn?”

  “You know the answer to that.” She looked out the window to avoid getting lost in the depths of his gorgeous blue eyes. “I’ll just have a talk with Ethan the night before the wedding and explain to him that sometimes freinden get married and have separate bedrooms.” She hoped Ethan wouldn’t ask why she didn’t have a separate bedroom when they lived with Trent.

  “If that’s what you want.” Mark sounded resigned.

  No, it wasn’t what she wanted in a marriage, but it would
have to work. Doubt threatened to drown her.

  “Mark,” she began as she turned to him. “Are you sure—?”

  “Really, Priscilla?” He stood. “Do you know how furious mei bruders will be if I have to ask them to move all this back to mei dat’s haus? You heard how much they complained about all my stuff.”

  She laughed.

  His expression became tender. “You have a great smile. I wish I could make you smile more.”

  She gaped as he turned and left the bedroom.

  TWENTY-THREE

  THE NEXT DAY MARK HEARD THE PHONE RINGING in Yonnie’s office as he stepped into the barn. He hurried in and picked up the receiver.

  “Allgyer’s Belgian and Dutch Harness Horses,” he began. “This is Mark. How may I help you?”

  “I’m trying to reach Priscilla Allgyer,” a woman’s voice said. “Do I have the right number?”

  “Ya, you do. May I ask who’s calling?”

  “My name is Tammy Larson, and I’m a social worker at Lancaster General Hospital.” The woman hesitated, and dread pooled in the pit of Mark’s gut. “I have her son, Ethan, here.”

  “What?” Mark gripped the receiver with such force that he thought it might break in his hand. “Why is Ethan there?”

  “May I ask your relationship to the child?”

  “I’m going to be his stepfather,” Mark explained. “I’m engaged to his mother. My name is Mark Riehl.”

  “You’re Mark,” she said, recognition sounding in her voice. “Ethan mentioned you. Ethan has been in an accident, but he’s going to be okay.”

  “I don’t understand.” Mark heard his voice echo around the room as it raised a notch. “How was he in an accident?”

  “Ethan was walking home from school, and a Mr. Parker, who says he’s Ethan’s father, convinced him to get into his truck with him.”

  “Trent.” Mark spat out the name as fury burned through his veins.

  “Mr. Parker has admitted he’d been drinking. He hit a parked car. Someone called an ambulance, and it brought them both here.”

  “How is Ethan?” Mark asked, his anger mixing with worry for the boy.

  “He’s sore.” She hesitated. “He seems to have hurt his arm, and I think he’s going to need some stitches. Also, I think he’ll be bruised from the seat belt. Is his mother home?”