The Middlefield Family Collection

by Kathleen Fuller

  Emma shook her head. “I don’t think—”

  “—that’s a gut idea,” Clara finished. “I . . .” She paused. Looked at Mark. “Actually, we came to talk to you and Emma.”

  “Is that so?” Leona moved closer to Emma. “Then I don’t understand what the problem is.”

  “The problem is him.” Clara turned to Adam. “We want to have a private conversation. Just familye.”

  Emma frowned at Mark. Her expression indicated she had the same thought as Adam: if their talk was private, why invite Mark?

  Leona smiled. “Yes. Well, Emma, why don’t you go with Clara and Mark into the kitchen?”

  They both looked at Adam, Clara with her haughty eyes, Mark with his shifty ones. They stepped over the threshold and followed Emma, who cast her grandmother a confused glance over her shoulder.

  Adam let out a breath. At least he was in proximity to Mark. And whatever they had to talk about wasn’t his business. He wasn’t family. Clara was right about that. He replaced his hat. “Leona, I’ll be in the barn if you or Emma need anything.” He moved forward and bent down. “I mean anything, okay?”

  Leona straightened. She put her hand on his arm. He felt her tug him on, urging him to come inside. Once he was past the doorway, she spoke. “Do you take cream and sugar in your coffee?”

  CHAPTER 17

  Emma led Mark and Clara to the table. “Does anyone want coffee?” She tried to infuse some enthusiasm into her voice, but failed. She knew why they were there—Clara, at least. To talk about the fabric shop again. She didn’t want to deal with this. Not today. Not ever. But Clara would make sure she did.

  Clara sat down. Mark stood, looking at Emma. “That would be gut.” He grinned.

  Emma turned away. She pulled two coffee mugs from the cabinet next to the stove and, with a sudden flash of clarity, recalled the time after church Mark had put his hand over his heart. Even now she could see the interest in his eyes. Feel his gaze on her every move.

  She tugged the bottom of her sweater, trying to pull it down over her hips. She glanced at Mark. His smile widened. Emma felt herself flush with discomfort.

  Her gaze went to Clara. Her sister was watching Mark, frowning. Why would she be upset? Emma turned away and started to pour the coffee. Clara had been acting strange for the past few months, even before Mammi’s death. Some days Emma didn’t know who her sister was anymore.

  By the time she gave Clara and Mark their coffee, Grossmammi had returned to the kitchen. Emma looked up to see Adam standing behind her. He wouldn’t be there unless her grandmother had invited him.

  “What is he doing here?” Clara grimaced. “I said this was a private conversation.”

  “Anything you have to say to me or Emma, you can say in front of Adam. He has known our familye longer than this gentleman.” The old woman looked at Mark. “What’s your name again?”

  “Mark King.”

  “Right. Peter’s cousin.”

  She turned to Clara. Grossmammi’s tone wasn’t rude. Simply matter-of-fact. “I’d say Adam is more a part of our familye than someone you’ve only known a few days.”

  “Someone we happen to be related to.” Clara gripped her hands around the hot mug, only to snatch them away. She gave Adam a cool look. “You’re not going to be around much longer anyway.”

  Emma’s heart lurched at the reminder.

  Grossmammi shuffled to the head of the table. She sat down, lowering her frail frame into the chair more slowly than usual. She coughed into her handkerchief. Emma didn’t like the rough, raspy sound. “Would you like some tea, Grossmammi?”

  The old woman shook her head. “Nee, Emma. I had some a little while ago. I’ll be fine. Just a little tickle in my throat.” She turned to Adam. “Don’t just stand there, bu, sit down.” She patted the chair on her left.

  Adam removed his hat and hurried to sit.

  “Not at this table,” Clara said. “He’s shunned. He can’t sit with us.”

  “In this haus,” her grandmother said, “he can do whatever I invite him to do. And if you don’t want to sit with us, Clara, feel free to geh in the living room. Although it will be hard to have a conversation with you from that far away.”

  Clara frowned but stayed seated.

  “Feel free to speak to the bishop when we’re done,” Grossmammi said. “I would welcome a visit from him.”

  “You know I’m not going to do that.”

  “Ya. I know.” Her grandmother smiled. “But if it would keep you in clear conscience, I wouldn’t blame you.”

  “My conscience is clear.”

  But Emma didn’t miss the note of doubt in her sister’s voice. She tried to focus on getting another mug down from the cabinet, in case Adam wanted a cup of coffee. He’d shaved off his beard and mustache. Wore Amish clothes, even down to the hat. Something familiar tugged at her heart. He looked so much like the Adam she had grown up with. The man she’d fallen in love with.

  “Adam said he takes sugar in his coffee,” Grossmammi said.

  “I know how he likes his coffee.” Emma reached for the pot.

  “You don’t have to geh to any trouble, Emma.”

  The soft, husky tone of his voice flowed over her. She started to tremble and steadied the mug with her other hand. Hot liquid splashed over the sides of the mug. She set down the pot on the stove with a bang.

  She heard the scrape of chair legs against the floor, felt Adam suddenly behind her. His hand covered hers as he took the mug from her. “Danki, Emma.”

  She didn’t dare turn. Or meet his eyes. His presence alone affected her.

  “We’re wasting time.” Clara put her hands on the table, ignoring her coffee. “Adam, since you’re so determined to be here—”

  “I invited him,” Grossmammi reminded her.

  Clara paused. “Then sit down so we can get started.”

  Adam returned to his seat. He picked up his hat from the floor and set it in his lap. There was only one other place to sit at the table—the empty seat next to Adam. Emma sat down, making sure she didn’t look at him.

  “All right, Clara.” Grossmammi tapped her cane against the wood floor. “You have our attention.”

  “Finally.” She took in a deep breath and squared her thin shoulders. “We need to talk about the fabric store.”

  Emma moaned. “Right now?”

  “Ya. Right now. All this time we’re wasting not getting the business started is money we’re losing.” She looked at her grandmother. “I don’t know if Emma told you, but we’d like to convert Grossvadder’s old workshop into—”

  “A fabric shop. I know.” Her grandmother cleared her throat.

  “Then you also know how resistant Emma is to the idea.” Clara directed her gaze at her sister, then back at her grandmother. “I haven’t had a chance to discuss the plan with you completely.”

  Emma turned away as Clara gave their grandmother a brief outline of how they would convert the workshop. How it could easily become profitable. Emma knew her sister’s idea made sense. It made her dislike the idea even more.

  “So what do you think?” Clara looked at her grandmother.

  “It sounds to me like you’ve put a lot of thought into this.” Grossmammi placed one gnarled hand on the table. “My question is, what’s the hurry?”

  “The hurry?” Clara’s brow lifted. “The hurry is that you and Emma don’t have a source of income. The haus is in desperate need of repair.”

  “I wouldn’t say desperate.” The old woman leaned forward. “And Emma and I could continue selling the jams and jellies, the way we did before your mammi took ill.”

  Clara let out an exasperated sigh. “You can’t survive on that. I know the money Grossvadder and Daed had saved before they died has run out. I’m sure there are other bills that need to be taken care of.”

  “They will be,” Emma said.

  “Not if you don’t have any money!” Clara brought her fingertips to her brow. “Why is this so difficult
for the two of you to understand?”

  “I think they’re understanding things just fine.”

  Emma looked at Adam. His gaze was on Clara, his eyes tinted with challenge.

  “I didn’t ask your opinion,” Clara said.

  “But I’d like to hear it.” Grossmammi angled her body toward Adam. “Tell us what’s on your mind, sohn.”

  Adam nodded. “I don’t think anyone disagrees with the idea of having a business, Clara. Emma, Leona, and Mary had their small jam business. It’s the timing they’re concerned about. Your mammi just died. That’s enough of a change to live through right now.”

  Emma entwined her fingers together on her lap. Adam had expressed her feelings perfectly. But from the explosive look on Clara’s face, her sister wasn’t going to accept the explanation from him any more than she’d accepted it from Emma.

  “How dare you even bring up mei mudder? You have no right to talk about her, or anything else that concerns our familye.”

  “But I grew up here. I know how much this place means to Emma, especially the wood shop. I have gut memories of your grossvadder too. He’s the one who taught me how to sand wood until it was as smooth as glass. So I can see why Emma doesn’t want to let geh of the place just yet. And what about you, Clara? What does this place mean to you?”

  Clara stared at him for a moment. “You made your choice, Adam. Go back to the Yankee world. That’s where you’ve always wanted to be. That’s where you belong.”

  Adam didn’t flinch. “I loved your mammi. All of your familye. Almost as much as my own.”

  Emma’s throat caught. He had never admitted this to her.

  Clara leaned back in the chair, crossed her arms over her thin chest. “You don’t love anyone but yourself, Adam.”

  “Mark?” Grossmammi’s voice broke the silence. “We haven’t heard from you yet. I’m assuming you have something to say, since you came with Clara to speak to us.”

  Mark sat back in his chair, slouching a little. He rubbed his chin and looked at Emma. His lips lifted into a smile, then he looked back at the older woman. “I think sometimes it’s better just to sit back and listen.”

  “I wish Adam would heed that advice,” Clara said.

  “I see.” Her grandmother stared at Mark for a long time. Long enough that the smirking grin vanished from his face. He sat up straighter. His eyes hardened. Finally, he turned his head away.

  “This is ridiculous!” Clara bolted from her chair. “I have just as much right to this haus as Emma does. But because she refuses to grow up and see reason, we all have to cater to her wishes.”

  “Nee.” Emma raised her voice. “That’s not fair, Clara. Where were you when Mammi was sick? When the barn needed cleaning? When jam and jelly needed to be made? The lawn mowed? The laundry done?”

  “I think we all know how much you do around here, Emma.” Clara’s voice held a tinge of contempt. “Especially since you remind us about it all the time.”

  “Now wait a minute.” Adam moved to stand, but Grossmammi put her hand on his arm. He stayed put.

  Tears welled up in Emma’s eyes. Was that how everyone saw her? A martyr? A complainer? A boppli?

  She lifted her hands in the air. “Fine. Do what you want. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  Emma pushed away from the table and ran out of the house. She intended to go to the woodshop, to look at it one more time before her sister destroyed it. Instead she ran to the barn. Dill greeted her with a nicker, and Tommy rubbed his face against her shin. But even her animals didn’t comfort her. She sat on a bale of hay, put her hands over her face, and let the tears come.

  Mark watched Adam pop up from his chair. “I’ll geh check on her.”

  Of course he would. Mark hid a scowl. Adam Otto couldn’t lie to someone to save his own skin, at least not convincingly. But the man was a master at lying to himself. For whatever reason, he cared for Emma, far beyond friendship. Yet that wasn’t what irritated Mark the most. It was clear that Emma cared for Adam too.

  No, not just cared for him. Loved him. That gave him two problems to deal with.

  “Nee,” Leona said. “Stay here, Adam. She needs a few moments alone.”

  Make that three problems. Mark looked at the withered old crone, making sure not to meet her eyes. He didn’t like old people in general. They were as irritating and at times as disgusting as children. But this woman was different. It wasn’t her age he resented. It was her spirit.

  A serenity emanated from her. Even as her granddaughters fought around her, she remained at peace, observing everyone without saying anything. And when she turned those eyes on him, she looked right through him, right down to his soul, assuming he had one.

  He shuddered. The sooner he got away from her, the better.

  “How about if I see after Emma?” He looked at Clara, lifting one brow, reminding her of his supposed interest in her sister.

  Clara nodded. “That’s a gut idea.” She turned to Adam. “You’ll only cause her more pain.”

  Adam sucked in a breath but didn’t say anything. He couldn’t, Mark thought. It was plain as the sun that Adam believed Clara’s words to be true.

  “I think the last thing Adam wants is for Emma to be in pain.” The old woman coughed into her handkerchief again. She sounded sickly. So much the better. Maybe she would die soon and get out of his way.

  “Clara, why don’t you geh into Ephraim’s workshop? You can start cleaning in there. Sorting out the tools for sale.”

  Clara’s eyes widened. “So you’re supporting mei idea?”

  Leona nodded.

  “Danki, danki.” She circled the table and kissed the old woman’s withered cheek. “At least someone’s being reasonable around here.”

  Leona looked up at Clara. “Geh on now. Before I change mei mind.”

  “All right. Mark, let’s get started.”

  Leona shook her head. She turned to Mark, and her eyes narrowed. “I think you should geh see Emma.”

  Maybe he’d misread the old woman. It didn’t matter. He’d have time alone with Emma. Time to convince her that Adam would betray her again. To show her that she could only trust one person—him.

  Clara turned abruptly to her grandmother. “Are you sure?”

  The words shocked him. He’d expected Adam to object, but the coward hadn’t said a word. Just sat in his seat with a petulant glare on his face, like a chastised little boy. But for Clara to question Leona’s suggestion . . .

  He clenched the back of the chair. She was the one person he hadn’t worried about. Now he’d have to keep his guard up around all of them.

  The old crone pointed an arthritic finger at them. “Mark, check on Emma. Clara, you geh to the workshop.”

  “And me?” Adam asked.

  Mark saw the abiding respect Adam had for Leona. It made him sick.

  “Stay here.”

  Mark followed Clara outside and put his hand on her shoulder. “What was that all about in there?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your grossmudder practically gave me permission to see Emma. Why did you question her?”

  Clara looked away for a moment. She licked her lips. “I just thought . . . I need some help in the workshop.”

  “Peter can help you with that. And I’ll do what I can. But I’ve been given a chance with Emma.” He fought to keep his cool. He smiled. “I’ll talk to your schwester for a little while, then I’ll come help you.”

  She looked up at him, her cheeks pink from the cool autumn wind. “Spend as much time with Emma as you want.” She turned and headed for the workshop.

  Mark nodded. Everything was back on track. For a minute he hadn’t been so sure.

  “I don’t trust him.” Adam jumped up from his chair, ready to break out of his skin.

  “I don’t either.” Leona remained seated, as calm as ever. Until she coughed again.

  Adam went to the cabinet and pulled out a glass. He filled it with tap water and b
rought it to her. “Here.”

  She nodded and took a drink. Set the glass on the table and wiped her mouth with her damp handkerchief.

  “Are you all right?” Adam sat down next to her. “I don’t like the sound of that cough.”

  “It’s just a fall cold.” She smiled. “Both you and Emma. So worried about me. I’m fine.”

  As his concern for Leona subsided, Adam felt anger rise within him again. “If you don’t trust Mark, how could you let that snake be alone with Emma?”

  “An interesting description,” Leona whispered.

  “What?”

  “Nix. Adam, I don’t trust Mark. I can’t put my finger on it. But I do trust Emma. She can hold her own with him.”

  Adam stood. “I think he wants to court her.”

  “I know.”

  He turned from Leona, his stomach churning. “We can’t let that happen.”

  “We?”

  He spun and faced her. “Ya. You, Clara, Peter—”

  “And you?”

  Adam let out a long breath. “I don’t have much sway with Emma anymore.”

  “But you did at one time.” Leona patted the seat next to her. “Sit. Please. It strains my neck to look up at you.”

  He complied. To his surprise she took his hand. “Adam, I think Mark is a troubled soul.”

  “I agree.”

  “But he isn’t the only one.” Her soft, fragile skin felt cool against his palm. “You are troubled as well, and not only over Emma. Or what is happening to our familye. Not even what’s happening with yours.”

  He withdrew his hand and leaned his elbows against the table. His fingers entwined in his hair. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Leona. I’ve never been so confused in my life.”

  “About what?”

  “Everything.” He looked at her. “When I left here, I was so sure it was the right thing to do. There was a whole world available to me that I’d never experienced. I wouldn’t have to think about all the rules. I could worship God in my own way, not the way my daed said I had to.”