by Beth Wiseman
They rode silently for a while, just the clippety-clop of hooves against the asphalt. Snow banks several feet high lined both sides of the road like tiny replicas of the mountains that surrounded them, each small peak glistening from the sun’s bright rays. David was wishing he’d brought his sunglasses.
“So, which mountain are you going to climb?” he asked after the silence grew awkward. He looked her way, happy to see his question brought a smile to her face.
“I don’t know.” She frowned, folded her arms across her chest. “Levi said I can’t climb any of these mountains, but I reckon there has to be one suitable for climbing. In the spring I will find my mountain, and when I do, I’m going to climb it.” She nodded her head once, then turned toward him and smiled.
“You’re so pretty.” David silently blasted himself for voicing the thought, which just seemed to spill out, but it was so true.
She pulled her gaze from him, and it was cute the way she pinched her lips together as her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. She didn’t look at him when she finally spoke. “Danki.”
Then, as if programmed, she reached up and touched the scar above her brow, which again invoked anger that David tried to squelch. The scar did nothing to take away from Emily’s looks, but she was so self-conscious about it. David fought the urge to yell out, Who did that to you? He knew that would only upset her, so instead, he took a deep breath and reminded himself that it was not their way to harbor such anger. Instead, he should be trying to forgive whoever hurt Emily.
But as he looked at her again, he realized that he felt a strong desire to protect her, and forgiveness would not come easily.
EMILY HAD OFFERED to clean up Martha’s den and any other rooms in the spacious house, but Martha said everything was fine just the way it was. A quick glimpse into the formal dining room told another tale. Magazines, boxes, and other odds and ends were piled on top of a long table with eight high back chairs. In the dim light, Emily couldn’t see more than the clutter, but she figured it was probably dirty.
“I don’t use that room,” Martha said. “So it doesn’t need to be cleaned.”
“What about the other rooms down here or upstairs?”
Martha reached out the palm of her hand to Elvis and offered him some nuts. “Nope. Just supper. I already have the table set.”
“Do you need more firewood, or what chores would you like me to start on?” David removed his black felt hat and waited for instructions.
“Huh?” Martha looked up at him after the bird finished his snack. She brushed her hands together, and Emily cringed as tiny nut crumbs breezed to the floor. “Oh. Chores for you. Uh, yeah. The light bulb in my hall closet needs changing. That’s also where I keep the spare light bulbs.” She motioned down the hallway behind her.
David stood there, obviously waiting for something else to do besides change a light bulb.
“Then chop more wood, I guess.” Martha shrugged before turning to Emily. “Let’s go into the kitchen, Emily. I have something to ask you.” She headed to the kitchen and Emily followed, turning once to see David walking out the back door toward the wood pile.
Martha pointed to a book lying open on the kitchen table. “Can you make this for supper?”
Emily leaned down to look at the recipe Martha was pointing to. “Chicken lasagna?”
“Yes. We have everything for you to make it, and that’s what I’d like to have for supper.” She nodded her head firmly.
Emily untied her bonnet and pulled it off. She secured loose strands of hair into her kapp as she read the recipe. “This calls for a can of cream of mushroom soup, cream of chicken soup, mozzarella cheese, and things you don’t have. Maybe next time I shop for you—”
“No. I have all those things.” Martha walked to the pantry and pulled the door open. “See?”
Emily didn’t remember seeing any cans of soup the day before, but now there were at least six various soup cans. “I don’t remember seeing these before . . .”
Martha waved a hand in the air. “They were there, probably in the back somewhere. And we have mozzarella cheese too.” She closed the pantry and walked to the refrigerator, pulling out a package of white cheese. Emily didn’t remember seeing that the day before either.
“I guess we can make it then.” Emily walked to the refrigerator and pulled out the chicken breasts she had bought. “I need to get this chicken started to boil.”
“Good. I found that in an Amish recipe book that I bought in town a long time ago.” Martha frowned. “Although, I must say, Emily . . . I’m surprised your people cook with canned soups.”
Emily pulled a pot from the cabinet, then placed it on top of the stove. “It’s not our first choice, but sometimes we do.” She turned to face Martha. “Why did you buy a cookbook if you don’t cook?”
“I thought I might try to cook someday.” Martha opened the refrigerator and reached for a soda, but she didn’t pop the tab when Emily scowled. “I’m not drinking milk for pleasure, and I’m thirsty.”
“I’m not going to tell you what to drink in your own tric burner. “But water is haus, Martha.” She put the chicken in water, then turned on the elecgut for you.”
“Fine, Emily.” She put the soda back in the refrigerator, then turned on the tap and filled a glass with water.
“Do you want to learn how to cook?” Emily wondered how someone her age didn’t cook.
“Why?”
Emily folded her arms across her chest. “Well, because. That’s what women do. We cook. And we all need to eat.”
Martha grinned as she eased into a kitchen chair. “That’s why I have you now.”
“But I won’t be able to come here forever. I reckon it would be gut for you to learn.” She started gathering up all the items to make the chicken lasagna. “How do you not know how to cook, someone your . . .”
“My age?” Martha cackled. “I don’t know, Emily. I certainly like food, though.”
Martha was about Emily’s height, but her midsection was considerably larger than Emily’s. She definitely likes food, Emily thought and smiled. Maybe a little too much.
Footsteps drew their attention to the den, then David walked in, his teeth chattering. “The light bulb is changed, and, Martha, you have enough wood chopped for at least a couple of weeks. What else?”
“This boy needs something hot to drink, Emily.” Martha pulled out the chair next to her. “Sit down, and Emily will make you some cocoa.” She paused. “And yes, Emily, I have packages of cocoa in the pantry.”
Emily smiled to herself. The cocoa wasn’t there two days ago.
David didn’t sit down but pushed his coat back and looped gloved thumbs beneath his suspenders. “I reckon I don’t feel right about sitting down on the job. You’re paying me to work, Martha.”
Martha raised one brow until it arched way up on her forehead. Emily had never seen anyone do that. “I’m paying you to do what I tell you.” Martha pulled the chair out farther. “Now, have some cocoa.”
David finally did as he was told, and Emily began heating some water on the stove for his cocoa. Once it was done, David sipped it, but he was restless, and Emily knew he felt uncomfortable. “You can chop up an onion if you want,” she said as she found a knife in one of the drawers.
“Sure. Okay.” He stood up and walked toward her. Emily put the onion on a plate nearby. “I couldn’t find a cutting board.” She handed him the knife.
“I’m going to freshen up before dinner.” Martha stood from the table. “I won’t be long.”
Emily started mixing the soups and other ingredients in a large bowl.
“This ain’t right.” David sliced into the onion. “This is women’s work, and I should be earning my fifty dollars.”
“Maybe she’ll have more for you to do next time.” Emily watched David butchering the onion. “What are you doing?”
“Chopping the onion.”
“Give me that.” She eased the knife from his hand. “L
ike this.”
David’s hand brushed across hers as he took the knife back, and it caused her heart to flutter a bit. And he was standing much too close to her. She went to the refrigerator and found the sour cream, another item that had mysteriously showed up. “I don’t remember a lot of this stuff being here when we were here,” she whispered. “I’m sure some of it wasn’t here.”
“Maybe we’re her Tuesday and Thursday shoppers and she has someone else the rest of the time.” David chuckled, but then sniffled.
“I doubt that.” Emily picked up her bowl and moved farther down the counter so she wasn’t so close to him. But she heard him sniffle again. “Are you crying?”
David wouldn’t look up, but he swiped at his eye with one hand. “No.”
“Rubbing your eyes with the hand you’re holding the onion with will only make it worse.” Emily bit her bottom lip as a smile threatened to form. David was rubbing one eye hard now, and Emily saw a tear roll down his cheek.
“Can’t you give me some other job? I reckon I ain’t too good at this one.” He looked up at her, eyes filled with tears. She laughed. “Is this funny?”
“David Stoltzfus, have you never cut an onion before? You’re supposed to breathe through your mouth and not wipe your eyes like that.” She laughed again, and although he couldn’t seem to control his tears, he laughed too.
“What is it with you two?” Martha walked back into the room. “Second time I’ve heard ya both laughing like this. What’s so funny?”
Emily laughed harder, and it felt good to be a part of this moment. “Look at him.” She pointed to David.
“Good grief. I’ve never seen a grown man spill that many tears.” Martha walked to the refrigerator and pulled out the jar of rhubarb jam, then put it on the table.
David walked away from the half-cut onion, but he couldn’t seem to get a grip on the tears. “I’m not cutting any more onions. This is real embarrassing.” He pinched his eyes closed, and Emily laughed again.
“Go run water over your eyes and flush out the onion oils.” Emily pointed to the sink, and David took her advice.
Emily finished preparing the lasagna and put it in the oven. While it cooked, they all sat around the kitchen table, and David told joke after joke until both Martha and Emily were the ones crying from laughing so hard.
“Here’s one more. It’s just short and sweet.” David leaned forward. “The bishop asked a group of kinner—” He glanced at Martha. “I mean kids—why is it important to be quiet during worship service?” He paused and grinned. “Little Betsy answered, ‘Because people are sleeping.’”
“That sounds exactly like something Betsy would say!” Emily laughed as she pictured her sister making a comment like that. “Back home there was a woman named Naomi, and she always fell asleep during worship service.”
She couldn’t remember having this much fun, at least not in a long time, and she couldn’t take her eyes from David. Charming. Handsome. A hard worker. And now she could add funny to the list.
He was everything she’d ever wanted in a husband.
And she couldn’t have him.
When the timer on the oven dinged, Emily excused herself and pulled out the lasagna. She put the lasagna, a salad, and some garlic bread that had mysteriously showed up on the table. Emily once again offered a prayer aloud, and Martha let out a boisterous “Amen.”
“This is really gut, Emily,” David said after he swallowed his first bite.
“Yeah. It is.” Martha sat up taller. “I told you she’d make a fine wife, David.”
Emily avoided David’s eyes as she felt her cheeks warm.
“Ya. She will make a fine wife.” David smiled. As he spoke, Emily’s eyes took on a life of their own and melded with his.
Maybe it was the sweet tone of his voice or his gentle smile, but Emily had never felt more regret than she did at this moment. I wouldn’t be good for you. She pulled her eyes away and took her first bite of the lasagna, surprised at how good it actually was. She’d never used processed foods like cream of chicken or cream of mushroom soup, even though she knew some Amish women who did. Her mother didn’t, but maybe Mamm would warm up to the idea since the recipe did come from an Amish cookbook.
“I can’t wait to see what Emily comes up with tomorrow.” Martha shook her head. “Gonna be tough to top this.”
“Uh, Martha. We won’t be back until day after tomorrow.” Emily brushed a hair away from her face as she spoke.
Martha swallowed, then let out a heavy sigh. “Oh. That’s right.”
David shifted his weight in the chair and put his fork down. “Martha, I reckon it ain’t right to take money from you if you don’t have enough work for me to do. Like tonight, all I did was change a light bulb and chop a little wood.”
“Those jokes you told were worth a million.” Martha slapped her hand on the table, but David was shaking his head.
“No. I can’t take any money for tonight.”
Martha narrowed her brows at him. “Stop that talk. Of course you’ll take the money.” She paused, lifted her chin. “Now let’s enjoy our family time.”
And now Emily knew what this was all about.
Martha wanted a family.
KATIE ANN WAITED for Ivan to finish bathing and come out of the bathroom. Dressed in her white nightgown, she sat on the edge of their bed, the cell phone lying in her lap. Why does Ivan have a cell phone? She flipped the phone open, realized she had no idea how to use it, then quickly closed it when she heard the bathroom door open.
Ivan walked into their bedroom with a towel draped around his waist, his dark hair still damp. He stopped in the middle of the room when he saw the phone in Katie Ann’s lap. She put the phone in the palm of her hand and lifted it up. “Why do you have this?”
Her husband raked a hand through his wet hair, then sighed. “So we can call our family back home.”
Katie Ann bit her bottom lip and eyed him for a moment. “You know phones aren’t allowed, especially ones you carry in your pocket.”
Ivan dropped his towel and slipped into his night clothes, keeping his back to her. “Some bishops allow cell phones.”
“For business. Besides, why do you need a cell phone when there is a phone in the barn?”
Ivan turned to face her. “Katie Ann . . .” He let out another sigh. “I’ll get rid of the phone if it will make you happy.”
She stood up, walked toward him, and handed him the phone. “Ya. I would like for you to get rid of it. We don’t need a phone inside our home. It’s intrusive and not necessary.”
Ivan snatched the phone from her, then laid it down roughly on the nightstand. He crawled into bed and stayed far on his side as he pulled the covers to his neck.
“Does this make you angry, giving up the phone?” Katie Ann sat down on the edge of the bed, pulled a brush from her nightstand, and in the dim light of the lantern, ran the brush the length of her long hair and waited for Ivan to answer. When he didn’t, she turned around to face him. His back was to her. “Ivan?”
“Ya?”
“I just don’t see why we need a cell phone.” She crawled into bed as he rolled over to face her.
“I will get rid of the phone tomorrow.”
Katie Ann rolled the knob on the lantern until it extinguished. Tiny rays of moonlight shone through the window, and she turned on her side toward Ivan. His eyes were closed, and she stared at him for a few moments. “Danki. ”
She kept her eyes on Ivan, and twice he opened his eyes. The second time he said, “Why are you staring at me like that?”
Katie Ann reached over and touched his arm. She felt him twitch. Did he flinch? She eased her hand away. “I was just watching you fall asleep.”
“You should sleep too.” Ivan closed his eyes again, then rolled over to face the window.
Katie Ann tucked her hands between her face and the pillow. Sleep seemed far away, and she wondered how long Ivan had been toting a cell phone around. Where was he k
eeping it? This evening it had fallen from his pants pocket, but she’d picked up Ivan’s clothes plenty of times before and had never found a phone.
Ivan was snoring when the question popped into her mind.
Is Ivan using the phone to call Lucy Turner?
Ten
THE LAST FEW TIMES THEY’D BEEN TO MARTHA’S, SHE’D found things for David to do, but not much. He felt guilty for not doing more, but every time he pushed Martha for more chores, it seemed a bother to her. She’d mumble as she walked around the house until she found enough odd jobs to keep him busy for about an hour, then she’d insist they spend the rest of the night eating, listening to his jokes, telling stories, then going to the den to play a game.
Little by little, Emily had convinced Martha to let her clean the house—the den anyway—and David always made a gut fire in the fireplace. The whole thing was odd but strangely pleasant. The best part—his time with Emily. He was experiencing a dream he couldn’t have. Maybe that should have made him sad, but instead, he allowed himself to live in the moment each night, pretending that he could take care of Emily for the rest of her life, laugh with her, grow old with her.
As Martha cackled about winning a card game for the fourth straight time, Emily walked into the den carrying pieces of shoofly pie she’d made at home the night before. She would make an excellent wife. He knew he wasn’t the right man for her, but watching her, being around her, and getting to know her were the highlights of his week. He’d even helped in the kitchen, something unheard of in most Amish households, and he’d learned to chop an onion without crying like a baby.
“Here you go.” Emily smiled as she handed him a piece of pie. “I see Martha won again after I folded my hand.”
“Ya.” David wanted to spend some time alone with Emily, but Martha was always right in the middle of everything. He laughed to himself. Of course she’s in the middle of everything; we’re all at her house. They were all together because of her, and he had to admit, she was a funny woman. Set in her ways, but David knew she had a good heart. There had to be more that he could do to earn the money she was giving them. “Martha, I noticed that your living room needs painting. Why don’t you let me paint it for you?”