by Marta Perry
She clutched the shawl tighter around her. “Is there something I can do for you, Gideon?”
“I am here to measure for the greenhouse.”
She could only stare at him, her mind fumbling to process his words. The greenhouse—the greenhouse Ezra had promised her as a birthday present. That had to be what Gideon meant.
“How do you know about the greenhouse?”
The words came out unexpectedly harsh. Ezra was gone, and plans for the greenhouse had slipped away, too, swamped in the struggle just to get through the days.
He blinked, apparently surprised. “You didn’t know? Ezra and I went together to buy the materials for your greenhouse. He asked me to build it for you. Now I’m here to start on the work.”
The revulsion that swept through her was so strong she could barely prevent it from showing on her face.
Perhaps he knew anyway. The fine lines around his eyes deepened. “Is there a problem with that?”
“No—I mean, I didn’t realize that he had asked you. Ezra never said so.”
“Perhaps he thought there was no need. I always helped him with carpentry projects.”
True enough. It wasn’t that Ezra couldn’t build things with his own hands, but he was far more interested in the crops and the animals. Since his childhood friend Gideon was a carpenter, specializing in building the windmills that had begun to dot the valley, Ezra had depended on him.
But that was before. Now—
Now the thought of having Gideon around for days while he built the greenhouse that was to have been a gift of love from her husband . . .
No, she couldn’t handle that. She couldn’t. It was, no doubt about it, a failure on her part, one that she should be taking to the Lord in prayer.
“Rachel?” She had been silent too long, and Gideon studied her face with concern. “Was ist letz? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Nothing at all. It’s just that I hadn’t thought about the greenhouse in months.” Her voice thickened—she couldn’t help that.
Gideon heard it, of course. A spasm of something that might have been pain crossed his face.
“It gave Ezra great pleasure to think about giving it to you.” His deep voice seemed choked.
She blinked, focusing her gaze on the barn beyond him, willing herself to be calm. Think. What could she say that would not hurt Gideon, but would get him to go away?
“I haven’t—I haven’t decided what to do about the greenhouse.” As she hadn’t decided so many things in the past few months, lost as she’d been in grief. “Will you give me a little time to think?”
“Of course.”
But his voice had cooled, as if he knew something of what she was feeling. His gaze was intent on her face, probing for the truth, and all she could think was that she wanted him to leave so that she didn’t have to talk about the bittersweet nature of Ezra’s last gift to her.
The creak of an approaching buggy broke the awkward silence between them. She glanced toward the lane.
“Here is Leah, back with the children.” She probably sounded too relieved as she turned back to him. “Perhaps we could talk about this some other day.”
His expression still grave, Gideon nodded. “Ja, another time, then.” He turned away, but then glanced back over his shoulder. “I promised Ezra, ain’t so? I have to keep that promise.”
He walked toward his waiting buggy, back stiff.