As the Hostettlers sat around the kitchen table with Aunt Rosemary, her son, and his wife, Ruth couldn’t help but notice how uncomfortable Sharon appeared to be. Was she shy, or did she feel out of place sharing a table with a group of people she didn’t know?
Everyone else seemed relaxed and happy, as Aunt Rosemary and Dad caught up on each other’s lives, and Ken alternated between talking to Martha about her dogs and to Cleon about his bees and honey. Grace juggled the baby on her lap while keeping Anna entertained, and Mom kept trying to engage Sharon in conversation. It felt good to have the whole family together—almost as if everything in their life was normal.
But it’s not normal, Ruth thought regretfully. My family is still under attack by someone who wrote a note reminding us that it’s not over yet. To make matters worse, I’m having doubts about whether I should marry Abe or not.
“If our Thanksgiving meal is anything like this meal, then I sure have something to look forward to,” Ken said as he took another helping of chicken potpie.
“We’ll be eating at Grace and Cleon’s place on Thanksgiving, and Grace is a fine cook,” Mom said. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy every bite.”
Grace smiled as her cheeks turned pink. “I won’t be the only one cooking that day, Mom. You’ll be furnishing the pies.”
Mom nodded. “Ruth’s planning to make a fruit salad, and Martha will bring some of those sweet potato biscuits Irene taught her to make.”
Ken patted his stomach. “Sounds good to me.” He looked over at Ruth and smiled. “I understand you’ll be getting married in January.”
“That’s right—the second Thursday,” Ruth replied.
“I’ll bet you’re getting excited already,” Sharon spoke up.
Ruth nodded and forced a smile.
Aunt Rosemary reached over and touched Ruth’s arm. “If you’re like most brides, you’re probably feeling a few prewedding jitters.”
“She’s got nothing to be nervous about,” Dad put in from his place at the head of the table. “Ruth’s marrying the finest man in these parts. I’m sure they’ll have a real good marriage.”
“Yes,” Aunt Rosemary said before Ruth could respond, “but that doesn’t mean she’s not feeling a bit nervous.” She leaned close to Ruth and whispered, “As soon as we’ve finished supper and the dishes are done, how about the two of us having a little heart-to-heart chat?”
Ruth nodded as a sense of relief flooded her soul. If anyone could help her deal with the unsettled feelings swirling around in her head, it was Aunt Rosemary.
As Rosemary stood at the kitchen sink, doing the dishes after supper, she thought about how quiet Sharon had been during the meal and wondered how she was getting along in the living room with Grace and Judith. The men and Martha had gone out to the barn, and at Ruth’s suggestion, she and Rosemary had become the designated dishwashers.
“Are you ready for that talk now?” Rosemary asked Ruth. “Or would you rather wait until we’re done with the dishes?”
Ruth reached for a clean plate to dry. “We can talk while we work, if you like.”
“I could tell by the way you responded when Sharon asked about your upcoming wedding that things aren’t quite as they should be.”
“No. No, they’re not.”
Rosemary sloshed the dishrag along the edge of the glass and waited to see if Ruth would continue. After a few minutes, Ruth spoke again.
“I love Abe, and I want to be his wife, but I’m not sure I’m ready to get married again.”
“Is it because you still love your first husband?”
Tears pooled in Ruth’s eyes. “There will always be a place in my heart for Martin, but there’s more to what I’m feeling than that.”
“Is there a problem with Abe’s children? They’ve all accepted you, right?”
“All but Gideon. He’s been so moody and unpredictable lately. I can’t be sure what he’s thinking.”
“He’s probably struggling with the idea of someone moving into their home and taking over the role of his mother.”
“But I’ve been working as Abe’s maad for some time.”
“Even so, a maid’s not the same as a new wife for Gideon’s father.”
“True.” Ruth’s gaze dropped to the floor.
“Is there something else troubling you?”
“Jah. I’m afraid for my family. We’re still being attacked, Aunt Rosemary. The last act of vandalism included a threatening note.” Ruth drew in a shuddering breath. “Abe thinks I’ll be safe living at his place, but even if I am, I’ll still be worried about my family. What if the attacks get worse? What if—”
Rosemary lifted her hand from the soapy water. “You mustn’t borrow trouble.”
More tears filled Ruth’s eyes. “But you know what happened to Martin and me. The attacker rammed us off the road, and—”
Rosemary shook her head. “You don’t know that the person who rammed your buggy is the same one responsible for the attacks against your family.”
“I—I don’t know it for a fact, but I feel it in my heart.”
“Worrying about your family won’t solve a thing.” Rosemary dried her hands on a clean towel and touched Ruth’s shoulder. “Your folks wouldn’t want you to set your happiness aside and continue living here just because you’re worried about their safety. If something’s going to happen, it will happen whether you’re living here or not.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Was the sheriff notified after the last attack?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Dad didn’t think it was necessary. He thinks if the sheriff really wanted to put a stop to the attacks, he would see that the area is patrolled more often.”
“After I get settled into my new home, I might pay a call on Sheriff Osborn. In the meantime, I want you to commit everything to God and start counting the days until your wedding.”
Ruth gave Rosemary a hug. “It’s real good to have you back, Aunt Rosemary.”
“Thanks. It’s good to be here.”
As Luke crawled out of bed on Thanksgiving morning, a wave of nausea hit him with the force of a speeding horse. He groaned and clutched his stomach. They were supposed to have dinner at his brother Henry’s home, but the thought of eating all that Thanksgiving food made him feel even worse.
Another wave of nausea came, and Luke dashed into the bathroom just in time to empty his stomach. When he stepped out several minutes later, his stomach lurched again at the smoky odor of bacon coming from the kitchen. He felt light-headed, and his legs trembled so badly he could barely stand. He inched his way down the hall to the kitchen. “Have you got a bucket I can use?” he asked his mother, who was at the stove.
“What do you need a bucket for?” she asked over her shoulder.
“I’m grank, and I don’t think my shaky legs will keep taking me to the bathroom.”
Mom whirled around. “Ach, Luke, you must be sick. Why, your face is paler than a bucket of goat’s milk!” She quickly pulled out a chair at the table. “You’d better sit down.”
He grasped the back of the chair and shook his head. “I—I just need a bucket so I can go back to my room.”
“I’ll get one right away.” Mom opened the door to the utility closet and handed Luke the bucket she used for mopping floors. “Do you think you’ve got the flu?”
Luke grimaced. “Sure looks like it. Either that or I’ve got a bad case of food poisoning. Even the thought of food makes my stomach churn.”
“I don’t think it could be food poisoning,” Mom said. “You ate the same thing your daed and I ate for supper last night, and neither of us feels sick.”
“John and I had lunch in town yesterday,” Luke said. “It could have been something I ate there.”
Mom slowly shook her head. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. Guess you won’t be up to going with us to Henry’s this afternoon.”
“No, I just want to go back to bed.”
Another wave of dizziness hit Luke, and he closed his eyes.
“Your daed’s out in the barn right now.” Mom slipped her arm around Luke’s waist. “I’d better help you back to your room.”
Luke didn’t argue. He felt too weak to resist. Clinging to the bucket with one hand and holding onto Mom’s arm with the other, he made his way upstairs. There would be no turkey and pumpkin pie for him today. All he wanted to do was crawl back in bed and sleep until he felt better.
“If everything looks as good as it smells, I think we’re in for a real treat,” Ken said as everyone gathered around Grace and Cleon’s table.
“I’m glad you and Sharon could join us,” Grace said with a smile. “It’s always nice when family can be together for a special holiday.” She glanced over at Cleon. “I wish your folks could have joined us today, too, but by the time I invited them, your mamm had already planned a big Thanksgiving dinner and invited your brothers and sisters to join them.”
Cleon nodded. “I think she would have liked it if we could have been there, too, but we’d already made plans to have your family here.”
Grace knew Cleon wasn’t trying to make her feel guilty. He was just stating facts. She looked down the long table to where Abe sat with his children and smiled. Having them here would make the day go easier for Ruth. Last Thanksgiving, Martin had still been alive. Despite the fact that Ruth would soon be marrying Abe, Grace figured her widowed sister was probably feeling some sorrow and regret today.
“Now that everyone’s seated, let us bow for silent prayer,” Dad said.
All heads bowed, and Grace offered her private prayer. Heavenly Father, bless our family this day, bless the food we’re about to eat, and help us to remember to trust You as we face each new day. Amen.
Dear Lord, Martha silently prayed, bless this food, bless my family, and help me find out who’s responsible for the attacks that have been made against my family.
When she ended her prayer and looked at the faces around the table, a lump formed in her throat. If only things could be as peaceful and joyous every day as they are today. If only we no longer had to worry about being under attack.
“Martha, would you please get the potatoes going?” Mom asked when everyone had opened their eyes.
“Jah, sure.” Martha reached for the bowl of mashed potatoes and passed it to Sharon, who sat to her right.
“Danki.”
Martha’s mouth dropped open. “I’m impressed. You’ve only been here a couple of days, and already you know how we say thank you.”
“Rosemary taught us a few simple words on the drive here from Idaho,” Sharon explained.
“I’m surprised she remembered any German-Dutch,” Dad spoke up from his seat at the head of the table. “It’s been so long since she spoke our language.”
Aunt Rosemary’s cheeks turned pink. “I may not be able to speak it as fluently as I did when I was a girl, but the language of my youth has never left me.”
Martha shifted uneasily in her chair. Was Dad trying to embarrass Aunt Rosemary? If so, it made no sense; the two of them had made their peace several months ago.
As if sensing her discomfort, Dad leaned closer to Rosemary and said, “I wasn’t trying to embarrass you, sister. I was just surprised, that’s all.”
She smiled and patted his arm. “Pleasantly, I hope.”
He nodded. “You never cease to surprise me.”
Martha breathed a sigh of relief. She was glad things were still okay between Dad and Aunt Rosemary.
“Gemaeschde grummbiere.” Ruth said when Sharon handed the bowl of potatoes to her.
Sharon tipped her head. “What was that?”
Ruth pointed to the potatoes. “Gemaeschde grummbiere—mashed potatoes.”
Abe’s youngest daughter, Molly, who sat beside Ruth in a high chair, bobbed her head up and down. “Es bescht.”
Ruth nodded. “Jah, mashed potatoes are the best.”
Abe, sitting on the other side of Molly, spoke up. “If there’s one thing my little girl likes, it’s potatoes.”
“I like ’em, too, Papa,” nine-year-old Esta said. “So does Owen and Josh.” She looked over at her older brother, Gideon, and frowned. “I ain’t so sure ’bout him, though. Gideon don’t like much of anything these days.”
“It’s ‘I’m not’ not ‘I ain’t,’ Esta,” Abe said. “And let’s not get anything started between you and your bruder right now.”
“Argumentative kids—that’s one of the reasons my wife and I have decided not to have any children,” Ken said with a shake of his head. “I don’t think either of us has the patience for it.”
“Raising children isn’t just about dealing with arguments,” Mom said. “It’s a joy to watch your children grow up.” She patted Martha’s hand. “I wouldn’t trade being a mother for anything.”
A lump formed in Ruth’s throat. She had wanted to be a mother for such a long time, but the tragic accident that had claimed Martin’s life and left her unable to have any children of her own had ended those hopes. She glanced at Abe out of the corner of her eye and realized he was smiling at her. Thank You, Lord, for bringing this kind man into my life. Thank You for giving me the chance to be a mudder to Abe’s special kinner.
As the family continued to eat their Thanksgiving meal, they talked about the beautiful fall weather they’d been having, Martha’s dog venture, Cleon’s bee business, Dad’s woodworking shop, and Ruth’s upcoming wedding.
Finally, pushing his empty plate away from him, Dad announced, “Now that we’ve eaten such a good meal, I think we should take turns saying what we’re thankful for. I’ll get things started by going first.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’m thankful we’re all in good health and able to be together today. God has walked by our side this past year, and I think our faith has been strengthened, despite the attacks against us.” He nodded at Mom. “Judith, why don’t you go next?”
Mom smiled and had just opened her mouth to speak, when—ka-boom!—an earth-shattering noise from outside rattled the windows.
Everyone jumped up and rushed out the door.
As they started down the driveway, Ruth saw smoke and flames shooting into the air.
“It’s my shop!” Dad hollered. “It’s been blown to bits!”
Martha ran down the driveway after the men. Her heart leaped into her throat when she saw what was left of Dad’s shop. Pieces of wood and burning debris lay everywhere.
“Someone, run to the phone shed and call 911!” Dad shouted as he, Cleon, Abe, and Ken raced for the two hoses connected to the water faucet near his shop.
“I’ll call on my cell phone,” Ken hollered.
Martha glanced around the yard, hoping to spot the person who had done this horrible deed. Except for her family and their Thanksgiving guests, who were now all gathered on Mom and Dad’s front porch wearing stunned expressions, she saw no one in sight. Whoever had blown up Dad’s shop had taken a chance doing it in broad daylight.
Martha’s heart nearly stopped beating. No. The person responsible for this attack must have known they were having their meal at Cleon and Grace’s place.
“Oh, dear Lord,” Martha said, “how can this be happening to us?”
Grace and Ruth joined her on the lawn, but Mom remained on the porch with Sharon and the children.
“I. . .I can’t believe this.” Ruth’s voice quavered, and her eyes widened with obvious fear. “Must we let these attacks keep going on until someone else is hurt?”
Martha put her arm around Ruth’s waist. “Ken’s called 911. I’m sure the sheriff will be here soon. Once he finds out what’s happened, he’ll hopefully try to find out who’s responsible for blowing up Dad’s shop.”
Ray and Donna Larson dashed into the yard just then. “We heard an explosion and saw smoke and flames coming from your place!” Ray shouted. “I phoned the fire department right away!”
“My cousin phoned them, too, for all the good it will do,” Martha said with
a shake of her head. “Dad’s shop is gone.”
Ray turned to Donna. “You stay here with the women. I’d better go see if I can lend Roman a hand.”
“I don’t know what Dad’s going to do without his shop,” Ruth said to no one in particular. “How’s he going to earn a living with no place to do his woodworking?”
“Maybe he’ll decide to move,” Donna spoke up. “I’d certainly encourage Ray to move if something like this happened to us.”
“Dad will never move,” Grace was quick to say.
Martha couldn’t stand there and listen to the women’s conversation any longer. She needed to see how things were going with the men. With a quick, “I’ll be back,” she sprinted down the driveway. Halfway to the shop, she heard sirens blaring in the distance. A few minutes later, two fire trucks pulled in, with Sheriff Osborn’s car and John Peterson’s rig right behind them.
The next few days went by in a blur. As upset as Roman was over losing his shop, he took comfort in knowing no one had been hurt. He’d been overwhelmed when his friends and family had rallied around, offering supplies and money so he could start up his business again. With winter around the corner, he’d decided to temporarily use one section of the barn as his shop and to rebuild in the spring. The sheriff had promised to do a thorough investigation and said he would keep a closer watch on the Hostettlers’ place.
“I hope he means it this time,” Roman mumbled as he headed for the barn on Saturday morning. The sheriff had made that promise before, but had he? No! He’d used the excuse that he was either too busy or couldn’t spare the men to patrol the area regularly. Roman had begun to think the sheriff didn’t care. But when he’d shown up on Thanksgiving Day, he’d acted genuinely concerned—even said he was thankful no one had gotten hurt.
When the attacks had first begun, Roman hadn’t wanted to involve the sheriff. He’d figured they’d been random acts by rowdy kids looking for a good time. But as the attacks continued, he’d become more concerned. Of course he hadn’t told Judith or his daughters the way he really felt. He was trying to set an example—show them how strong his faith was and that he was trusting God to protect them. Despite Roman’s resolve to remain strong, his nerves were beginning to wear, and Judith’s were, as well. Since Thanksgiving, she’d had trouble sleeping. She’d also been acting jittery as a June bug. He wondered how much more she could take.
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