"Okay, so why don't you like him?"
Anna poured them more cold tea. "It's not that I don't like him. It's just that he's moving so fast and . . ." she hesitated. "I don't know, he's moving so fast and coming on so strong."
Anna sighed. "Naomi really likes him. She's not the type to be flighty or make bad decisions . . ." she trailed off. "I guess we'll see."
"I'll go open up," Mary Katherine offered.
"Are you sure?"
She nodded. "You and Naomi gave me a break earlier."
"Great," said Anna, reaching for a book she kept on a nearby shelf.
Mary Katherine went out to the front door, turned the sign around, and unlocked the door. She remembered how Jacob had seemed to pursue her two months ago when Daniel returned to town. And then when she'd insisted that she wasn't interested in dating, he'd backed off abruptly.
But he was looking more and more attractive to her lately, she thought, biting into the cookie she'd brought from the kitchen. Oh, not just physically, either—Jacob seemed to understand her better than anyone she knew. She wasn't used to that.
Be careful what you ask for, she told herself. Well, she hadn't asked for it, for him. She'd actually been pretty vocal about not wanting a mann. She'd felt too restless, too undecided about getting baptized. It wasn't a good time to think about dating.
But there was Jacob, seeming to insidiously make himself a part of her world, subtly making her look at who she was and what she wanted.
And—that question he'd asked as he left before she had time to answer—about what might have happened to the two of them if her father hadn't made her feel so unloved.
What would have happened? she asked herself now.
Young women in her community talked a lot about God setting aside a man for them. She'd seen enough of them match up with one and marry. She'd been so caught up in her restlessness, her indecision about whether this was the place for her, that she'd never thought a complication like Jacob would appear.
Complication. She smiled and shook her head. Wonder what Jacob would think of being called a complication?
12
Apounding on her bedroom door woke her. "Mary Katherine!" her father bellowed.
She scrambled from her bed and opened the door. "What is it? Is it Mamm? Is she sick?"
"She's downstairs, fixing breakfast, while you laze in bed! If you're here to help, then help!" He turned and stomped downstairs.
Furious at the way he'd behaved—she'd been up late trying to finish a project that had been commissioned—Mary Katherine dressed and hurriedly bound her hair in place, donning her kapp as she raced downstairs.
"Guder mariye," her mother said with a smile as she turned from the stove, a spatula in her hand. "I was hoping you'd sleep in. I'm making French toast. Your favorite."
Mary Katherine blinked. Apparently, her mother hadn't heard how her father had awakened her.
"Sit down and let me finish that," she said, reaching for the spatula.
"No, I want to do it," her mother said, refusing to let go of the spatula. "I'm enjoying being back in my kich."
They had a brief, friendly struggle over the utensil, and then Mary Katherine released it.
"Where's Dat?"
"He went out to the barn for a minute. I told him to come right back, breakfast is nearly ready."
"I'll go get him." She was so revved up, she didn't even think to take her shawl. The weather was cool outside, but she didn't care.
She pushed open the barn door. It was dim inside, but she easily found her dat wiping the side door on the buggy.
He did nothing inside the house, but the buggy, like the inside of the barn, was spotless. Somehow, that just made her angrier. Her mother needed help, but he stuck to thinking he only needed to do the routine tasks that he'd always done. Not only did he barely acknowledge her presence, he'd never once said he appreciated anything . . . far from it, he'd even been abusive to her this morning.
"Breakfast ready?" he asked, as if nothing had happened.
"Not yet. I wanted to talk to you," she said, fuming when he returned his attention to the buggy.
"Dat!"
He turned and straightened. "Don't use that tone to me."
"Then don't be rude to me!"
"The Bible says to honor thy parents."
"And it also says, 'And ye fathers, provoke not your children to wrath, but bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord,' " she responded evenly.
His eyebrows went up. No doubt he was surprised. The women of the house had never spoken up to him. But the way that honoring your parents was so consistently stressed had bothered her so much that she'd looked it up in the Bible. Several times. Now she knew what she'd just recited by heart. She didn't think God would make the mistake of urging children to honor parents while not giving those parents instruction in behaving well toward their offspring.
"I have cooked and cleaned and—"
"Done as you should," he interrupted her.
"Let me finish!" she cried. "And I am glad to do all those things for my mother, for she's shown me love as a parent should. It's good that I did all those things without expecting any thanks, because I would never get them from you. I haven't said anything to you up until now so I wouldn't upset my mother. But the time to stay silent is gone. I will not be spoken to as you just did when you woke me up so rudely—"
"I'll speak to you as I wish in my own home."
She drew herself up. "No, you will not speak to me that way or you may not speak to me at all. It's no good for either of us if I let you treat me that way, walk all over me the way you have my mother."
"Your mother has not complained—"
"No, and she'll end up dropping dead if she continues like that," Mary Katherine said, spacing her words slowly and carefully. "She can't do and be what she used to be. So if you have any love for her in that selfish heart of yours, then you'll start lending a hand to this woman who's been at your side for so many years."
The anger drained out of her, leaving her feeling exhausted and empty.
"She doesn't need me anymore but she needs you. She needs you to show her that she's your fraa—your partner and not your slave. I'm going back to Grossmudder's to live."
She turned and stalked out of the barn and didn't stop at the house. Instead, she turned down the drive and kept walking and walking, and when she reached the end of the drive, she stepped onto the side of the road toward town.
A rumble overhead drew her attention to the sky. A cloud as dark and stormy as her mood hovered overhead.
She sighed and shook her head. Wasn't that always the way when you let yourself build up a bad mood? But surprisingly, she felt lighter now that she'd said what she'd wanted to her father. It wasn't right to leave without saying something to her mother, but she'd had to do it. She'd stop by after work and apologize—but just to her mother, not her father!
A car and a truck passed, but no one stopped. Rain began falling, large, cold drops that plopped on her head and ran down her face and her shoulders. Then a deluge poured down from the heavens.
Drawing her sodden shawl closer, she wondered if she'd ever felt more miserable. She shivered. Great. Was pneumonia next?
She heard the clip-clop of horse's hooves behind her. Edging closer to the right side of the road, she glanced behind her and squinted, trying to see through the curtain of rain.
A man stuck his head out the window of the buggy. "Mary Katherine! Get in!"
"Jacob?" Water squished in her shoes as she walked back to the buggy he'd pulled off the road and stood staring at him inside.
"Get in! You're soaked!"
"I'll get everything wet and muddy."
"I don't care! Get in!"
She did as he said and watched the water run down her skirt onto the floor of the buggy.
"What are you doing out in this?"
"It wasn't raining when I started." Well, she hadn't exactly looked up at the sky, but . . .
<
br /> "Where were you going?"
Anywhere away from my father, she wanted to say. "To work."
He gaped at her. "You can't have been thinking to walk that far and with no jacket."
She shrugged.
Jacob reached into the back seat for a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. "You're shivering."
"I know," she said, her teeth chattering.
"I was driving past your house—your parents' house—" he corrected, glancing back at the road before pulling onto it again. "Your mother was trying to hitch up their buggy."
She closed her eyes and leaned against the seat. "Oh, no!"
"She was arguing with your father when she was doing it. She looked so upset. I stopped to see if I could help, and she asked me to look for you."
"That's nice of you. I'm sure you had a lot more important things to do than go looking for me."
"I can't imagine what they might be."
Mary Katherine sighed. "What a day Dat's having."
"What do you mean?"
She pulled the blanket closer and wondered when she'd feel warm. "We had a little argument. From what you said, my mamm had some things to say to him as well." She glared out the window. "It was a mistake to go there."
"Do you really believe that?" he asked quietly. "Your mother needed you."
Leaning back, she closed her eyes. "I know." She sighed. "You're right. I'm not sorry."
She opened her eyes and looked at him. "I wish I knew why things happened sometimes."
"Maybe you're supposed to forgive him." He held up his hands when she opened her mouth. "Whoa, wait a minute before you yell."
The rain was coming down harder. He pulled into a parking lot and turned to her. "I'm sorry he wasn't the kind of father I had, that many of us had. He's a hard man who only knows his way."
He was silent for a long moment. "If you don't feel sorry for him now, maybe you will one day."
"Sorry for him!" She stared at him in disbelief. "Why would I ever feel sorry for him?"
"Look at what he lost."
"What has he lost?"
He turned and looked at her, then away. "You," he said.
The rain drummed down on the top of the buggy, and the windows fogged up, enclosing them in their own world.
He knew they shouldn't be alone together, but visibility was near zero and people didn't watch out for Amish buggies in the best of driving conditions.
Her shivering had stopped. "Are you getting any warmer?"
She nodded. "Can we go now?"
He shook his head and gestured at the windshield. "Not a good idea. We need to wait out the rain. You can't have been in a hurry to be somewhere if you were walking."
She gave a half-laugh. "I was too angry at my father to think about how far it was to town. I just started walking." Her eyes narrowed. "What's so funny?"
Apparently, he hadn't been able to hide his smile. "I was just thinking I hope I never get you that mad at me."
She couldn't help it—she laughed. "No, even your brother didn't get me that mad with his pranks when we were scholars."
Looking down, she grimaced. "I look a sight."
Mary Katherine wasn't like other girls. She didn't have a trace of artifice, didn't know how to fish for a compliment. In fact, she'd never looked lovelier to him. She had beautiful skin, and now, damp from the rain, it seemed to glow. Her hair, drawn back and tucked into a bun under her kapp, was escaping in long tendrils around her face. It made him remember how she looked with her hair hanging loose around her face, all glorious and touchable—he hadn't been able to look away that night he'd seen it down.
What would she have thought if he'd touched it that night?
What would she think if he touched it now?
They sat so close in the small buggy. So close. He could smell the rain on her, the faint scent of something flowery she'd washed her hair with. Her slender hands clutched the blanket over her wet clothes. He'd just caught a glimpse of how they'd clung to her slender figure before she'd climbed into the buggy.
If he thought about how desirable she'd looked then, he'd need to stand in the cold rain.
Deliberately he forced his attention away. He swiped at the moisture on the inside of the windshield. The rain was clearing.
Just in time. He didn't think he could be trusted not to cross the line from friend to someone who wanted more from her.
"It's letting up," he said. "Where shall I drop you?"
"I can't go into work like this," she said. "If you could take me home, I'll change and call a driver."
"I'll wait for you and give you a lift into town. I'm picking up some supplies for planting."
"Spring planting's coming soon, hmm?"
He nodded. "I can't wait."
A short time later, they pulled up in front of her grandmother's house. Raindrops clung to the grass that was coming to life after the winter. The air was swept clean.
Jacob was glad that the faint scent of flowers from Mary Katherine's shampoo left the buggy with Mary Katherine.
She was back quicker than he expected, having changed into a dress the color of morning glories, her hair still a bit damp but parted and neatly done under a fresh organdy kapp tucked under her black bonnet.
Another buggy rolled past, and a man leaned forward to look into theirs.
Mary Katherine made a face as she climbed inside. "Ugh. Did you see who that was?"
"No, who?"
"The bishop."
Jacob shrugged. "Well, he didn't see anything to be concerned about. I waited in the buggy for you. We didn't go inside."
So why did he feel the tips of his ears burn? No matter what he thought, he hadn't acted on it. That was what was important. Right?
Pulling his hat lower on his head, he checked the road and got the buggy rolling along toward town.
Mary Katherine thought about the bishop frowning at them as he passed.
Nothing had happened, just like Jacob had said. He hadn't gone into the house. Hadn't done anything inappropriate in the buggy.
But he kept giving her sideways looks . . . looks that she'd have to be really unobservant to miss.
She had to admit that she looked at him sometimes. She might have said she wanted to be only friends with him because she felt so restless, so conflicted.
But Jacob was a handsome man, one whom she'd watched grow from a cute boy that other girls had flirted with in schul and at singings, to the man who'd expressed interest in her not that long ago.
And he was the man who had—despite what she'd said— agreed to be her friend, and she was beginning to realize she felt closer to him than anyone else.
He glanced over at her now, and she saw the warmth in his eyes. No, it was more than the warmth of friendship. She'd never seen desire in a man's eyes, but she recognized it now.
The buggy suddenly seemed to be smaller, warmer . . . more intimate.
Her emotions were on a roller coaster. She'd gone from being rudely awakened to shouting at her father to being rescued from a thunderstorm by Jacob. And he was giving her looks that were those of a man who wanted something from her that was deeper, more—so much more—than friendship.
She shouldn't be surprised. He'd been honest with her in the beginning about wanting more but had accepted her saying she wanted only friendship. Maybe, though, he hadn't been honest with himself.
He glanced to the left when a car passed them, then he focused on the road ahead. She studied his profile, and her gaze settled on his mouth. Had he ever kissed a girl? she wondered.
Stop that! she told herself sternly. You're not supposed to be thinking about things like that.
But has he?
She'd never kissed a boy, of course. And it wasn't just because she hadn't found any of the boys to her liking.
Who wanted to take the chance of falling in love with someone and marrying and then finding that he'd turn into a tyrant like her father was? Because she was sure that he— her father—hadn't
started out that way. She didn't think her mother would have married him if he'd been that way as a young man.
What had her parents been like as young people—the age she was right now, the age that Jacob was?
This is what made things so hard for her . . . you had to be so sure of things, and that's the last thing she was. You had to be sure you wanted to join the church because if you changed your mind afterward, you were shunned in this community. If you married in the Amish church, it was forever. Forget divorce. It just wasn't done.
How could you be sure of anything when decisions were so big and the consequences huge?
She jumped when Jacob touched her hand. He reddened and pulled it back.
"Don't let what happened upset you."
She realized that he meant the argument with her father.
"I'm not."
"Schur you are. I know you."
He said it so confidently. It must be nice to be that way, she thought. The only time she really felt that she knew what she was doing, knew who and what she was, was when she sat in front of her loom.
She couldn't wait to get back to it. She did her best thinking when she worked on it, and it wasn't just thinking about the pattern. Jacob had told her once that walking the rows in his fields made him feel connected to the people in his past and to the God in his present. When she ran her hands over the fibers, she felt closer to the person she'd become this year since she broke free of her life at her parents' house.
Maybe this time as she sat before her loom she'd see if she could talk to God.
And maybe He'd listen to her.
The "Closed" sign was still on the door when Mary Katherine got to the shop.
Funny, it felt like so many hours had passed since she'd argued with her father.
She unlocked the door, and as she walked inside, her grandmother came from the back room.
"Why, Mary Katherine, I didn't expect to see you today." Leah welcomed her with a hug.
"I didn't expect to come in today." She stepped back. "Grossmudder, I can't go back to my parents' house. I can't!"
Her Restless Heart Page 16