The Patch of Heaven Collection

by Kelly Long

  Grace watched as a tense awareness entered Seth’s features. He dropped to his knees in front of the struggling child and began to speak in a soft voice that somehow soothed her as well.

  “Abel, listen to me. I will never hurt your mother, at least never on purpose. You can trust me. Have you ever seen me hurt the horses when I take you riding?”

  Abel had stopped his violent movements to slouch on the floor near the dog. “Nee. You think Mamm’s like a horse?”

  “Beautiful and free like a horse, jah. But she’s a bit prettier in the face.”

  Grace held her breath, waiting. Then Abel smiled, getting the joke.

  “You’re silly, Seth.”

  Seth nodded, then reached out to brush her son’s dark hair with a gentle finger. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  Seth listened to the even breathing of the child who lay between them. It was dark now, so he could let go of the tears he’d been holding back. They seeped down his cheeks and pooled at the back of his neck.

  It was his wedding night, and here he was crying like a babe, but he couldn’t help himself. He thought of what Abel had screamed—that Grace had been made to cry in the night. It tore at him, and he longed to reach through the ice of the past to strangle Silas Beiler.

  “Are you asleep?” It was Grace’s voice, disembodied, drifting to him in the darkness.

  “Nee,” he choked out, swiping hastily at his face in the dark.

  “Why are you crying?”

  He almost smiled. How perceptive she was. But perhaps that perception was born out of necessity, to keep herself guarded and safe. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  “For you,” he whispered.

  “Well, don’t.” He heard the crisp sheets rustle as if she’d swatted at them in disgust. “I tried to tell you that I’m not what I appear to be, will never fit your imaginings. Nor will I ever be able to fully keep the promise I made to you as part of our wedding.”

  He swallowed. The promise. Why couldn’t he remember?

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said.

  “Of course it matters. And it seems strange to me that you’re willing to settle for . . . damaged goods.”

  He forced himself to absorb the pain her words brought, and the anger. “We are what we are in this moment, Grace Wyse. The past is gone. Don’t think of yourself like that.”

  She laughed mirthlessly. “Do you really believe that? Of course, you probably do. You’ve lived such a charmed life that you can easily dismiss what’s past.”

  He heard her draw a deep breath as if she was surprised at what she’d said, then her voice came softer. “I—I’m so sorry. Sei so gut, forgive me. I—I’m not like this.”

  He heard her move and realized she’d laid a protective arm across Abel’s body. Seth turned on his side, facing them. He reached out a hand and touched her arm in the dark. Her skin was so soft, like the petals of a damp rose. He trailed his fingers down to the fine bones of her fingers and let his hand rest there. “I meant what I told Abel—I won’t hurt you or him—ever.”

  Her hand shook under his, and then she slid away. “Yes, you will,” she whispered so faintly that he thought perhaps he’d imagined it. “Yes, you will.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Grace was up as the first light of dawn came through the large window and fell across her husband’s face. Already a bit of reddish-blond shadow darkened the line of his jaw and the cleft in his chin. The sunlight played on his thick lashes, lying heavy against his cheekbones, and brought out the rich tones of his golden hair. He looked so beautiful and so very young. Grace felt old next to him, old and frightened of the emotions that churned within her.

  She played with the kapp strings that brushed her cheek, glad he hadn’t mentioned it when she’d worn it to bed out of habit.

  Her gaze trailed down the line of his neck to the breadth of his bare shoulders and chest, and then she realized that Abel was snuggled up next to him—Abel and his puppy. Boy and dog were pillowed on one muscular arm, forcing Seth into an awkward position with a tangle of sheets about his waist and long legs. She looked down at the strong hand that lay palm up on the bed so very near her. His fingers were relaxed, curled inward, and she saw that he had neat fingernails, marred only by some faint smudges of yellow and blue paint.

  She puzzled over the paint. What had he been doing with such colors around the farm?

  “I paint,” he said hoarsely.

  She flinched as if she’d been caught spying on him, then she met his eyes.

  “What?”

  “I paint. Paintings.”

  “Why?” Her whisper was shocked, and the smile deepened in his sleepy, heated gaze.

  He eased his arm a bit from beneath Abel, and the child stirred but did not waken. Pretty regarded them with sober brown eyes, then stretched, sighed, and went back to sleep.

  “For fun. For release,” he whispered back. “Don’t you ever quilt for that reason?”

  “Nee. It’s vanity,” Grace said. A shock ran through her like ice water in her veins when she realized that she was parroting Silas. “I guess . . .,” she added lamely.

  “You guess?”

  “Does the bishop know?”

  He laughed softly, a flash of even white teeth. “Nee, you’ve got me there, but I’d like to invite you to visit my old bedroom sometime. It’s where I paint, though I guess the light would probably be better up in one of the attics.”

  “I—I’d like to visit.”

  “Gut,” he answered as Abel began to stir. “Really gut.”

  Grace felt as if she’d committed to an intimacy somehow. She cleared her throat. “Seth, I—well, there’s something I want to ask. It’s okay if you say no—”

  He laughed quietly. “Give me a chance, Grace. What do you need?”

  “That letter from Edith, at the post office. I told you it was from a friend?”

  He nodded, and she went on in a rush. “Well, it was from an Englisch woman named Alice Miller. She truly loved her husband, and he recently passed on. She wondered if she might come and visit for a while. To get away. Of course, there’s no way for her to know I’m married now . . .”

  After a long moment, he shrugged a bare shoulder. “All right. Ask her to come, but on one condition.”

  “What?” Grace asked, suddenly wary of the deepened tone of his voice.

  “I’ll agree to Alice Miller coming if you agree to try to relax and have some fun with me once in a while.” He gave her a steady look.

  She nodded her head in agreement, then watched as Abel awoke to smile and tickle Pretty.

  CHAPTER 16

  Alice Miller climbed gamely into the blue van driven by a local teenager. He was glad of the money and said he didn’t mind making the trip so long as he could listen to his music. Besides, he’d made the drive not long before and knew the way.

  Alice sighed at the confusion of loud drums and guitar strains coming from the radio. It was going to be a long trip, but one she needed to make. Since Bud had passed, she was terrified of staying alone in the small house. She knew her fears were irrational, and she’d even thought about taking the medication her doctor prescribed to help calm her down.

  But after much prayer, she had felt led to write to Grace and go and visit instead. Muttering a vain wish for ear plugs, she settled her Pink Lady sales cosmetic bag against the door speaker, trying to absorb the din. She glanced into the visor mirror once and saw a tired face, gray hair, and a ridiculously bright hair band she’d put on early that morning in an effort to be cheerful. Bud had loved color . . .

  “It looks dumb,” she muttered aloud.

  “What’s that, Miss Alice?” Tommy yelled.

  Alice shook her head and closed her eyes.

  Seth hadn’t slept well with Abel and the puppy piled on top of him, and he had the circles beneath his eyes to prove it. Jacob must have noticed because he caught Seth’s arm as they entered the barn.

  “What?” Seth asked, shaking him off.


  “Tougher night than you thought?”

  “Why?”

  “You’ve got bruises under your eyes for want of sleep.”

  “I’m newly married, remember? There are bound to be some changes.” Seth turned a shoulder on his brother and went to grab a bridle off the wall.

  “Do you really think you can hide anything from me, little bruder?”

  “There’s nothing to hide.”

  “So everything is perfect?”

  “Right as rain.” Seth moved toward a stall, but Jacob stepped in front of him, arms crossed.

  “Seth, come on.”

  “Move, Jacob, or I’ll knock you flat.”

  “Will you? Over genuine worry?”

  Seth sighed aloud, then let his shoulders drop. He was too tired to argue and, in truth, he longed to talk with his brother. “You were right, okay? Grace is deep water, and I find that I don’t swim so well against the current.”

  He set the bridle down and dropped onto a hay bale, leaning back against a beam. Jacob moved to sit opposite him. “You’ve had words with her already?”

  “Nee, of course not. That’s the funny thing, though. She’ll spark up at me for something or another, and then she’ll back off or wait, as if—well, as if I’m going to do something to her.”

  “Do something to her?”

  Seth dropped his head and covered his face with his hands. “Her first husband—she hasn’t come right out and said this, but I think he hurt her. Physically, I mean.”

  “What?”

  Seth swiped at his eyes and looked at his brother. “I want to kill him. I know it’s stupid—the man’s dead, but he’s still there somehow, between us. She won’t let me come close and I can’t fault her. I mean, who would ever trust another man after—well, after that?”

  “She knows you’re a different man.”

  “Does she? How? Abel’s eight, so she must have been married for at least close to nine years. How long was it before this Silas Beiler started to do whatever he did? Maybe he seemed okay at first.”

  Jacob shook his head. “Why don’t you come right out and ask her? It might bring you closer.”

  “Or drive us further apart.”

  “Have you prayed about it?”

  “Jah. A little.” Seth squeezed his eyes shut tight for a moment. “I could pray more.”

  “I’ll pray for you,” Jacob promised.

  “Danki, big bruder.”

  “Why don’t you take a walk before work today? Kiss your wife gut morning?”

  “I wish.”

  “You have to start somewhere.”

  Seth laughed. “I’ll take the walk.”

  Tobias Beiler couldn’t believe his good fortune. The Zook farm lay close to the Wyse property, so he could keep a close eye on Grace’s movements without being seen. But first he had to get hired.

  Deacon Zook was a small, rotund man with a no-nonsense look in his eye.

  “Don’t mean to be unfair, friend, but you look a mite old to take on as a hired man.”

  A flash of anger flared up in Tobias, but he reined it in and nodded. “Been wandering for a while, taking work where I can. No family, no children. My wife died, see, and, well, I just couldn’t stand to stay on with memories of her around every corner . . .”

  Tobias waited. Amish hospitality stretched further than initial impressions, and the sad story he’d fabricated was bound to touch the other man’s heart. The deacon finally nodded and extended his hand. Tobias shook it heartily.

  “We’ll give it a whirl. I got one of the sheds fixed up as a bunkhouse, so you can stay there, take meals with the family.” He named a more than fair sum for the wage and Tobias nodded.

  “What do we call you? I’ll introduce you to my wife and family.”

  Tobias paused for only a moment. “Abraham. Abraham Yoder.”

  Deacon Zook nodded. “Well, welcome then, Abraham. Please come inside.”

  Tobias nodded deferentially and entered the expansive kitchen with a faint smile.

  CHAPTER 17

  Violet set her chin as she stared at her sister. “I’m not up to anything.”

  “So you want to take a quilt square over to the Kings’ for what reason?” Grace asked.

  “I’m sure they could use it somehow. I heard at the wedding that they own one of the largest quilting frames around, and I am—”

  “Not interested in quilting,” Grace finished dryly. “But go anyway.”

  Violet beamed. “Great . . . Danki.”

  Grace arched an eyebrow. “And say hello to Luke King for me. He cut quite a fine figure at the wedding.”

  Grace balanced on her cast and washed up the morning dishes. Seth was courteous and took his dishes to the sink for her; Abel did the same. And Violet barely ate, so anxious she was to get to the Kings’. She said a brief prayer that her sister might find a love worth keeping and one that would give her both kinner and a home richly full.

  There was little for her to do in the big house except maintain its cleaning. Mary Wyse came over from the daudi haus to visit and wish Grace well, but Grace still could feel no true connection with her kind mother-in-law. She wondered if she would ever be able to trust completely, to accept the bishop’s charge, to keep the pledge she’d made at her wedding.

  She hobbled into the living room where Seth had set up her quilt frame when he hauled it over from her small house. Maybe she’d start a new pattern, give herself something to do. She never began a quilt without prayer—prayer to keep her from the sin of vanity, prayer to give her stamina to finish when her neck and arms begged for release, prayer for the one who would use the quilt.

  But first, she needed inspiration.

  She made her way out to the kitchen garden where zucchini and yellow squash rambled across the path. Rich red tomatoes, ripe for picking, drooped along the wire fence. Runner beans sprouted up higher than her head, and deep purple eggplants shone in the morning sun.

  On the far edge of the garden, she rubbed a hand over the roughness of an oak tree’s bark and thought about a quilt with dark browns in it; a quilt of strength, perhaps one for a man.

  She bent to bury her nose in a pink hydrangea and saw the quilt softened by touches of mauve. She would start to piece it out tonight—the colors of the garden, the woods, the flowers.

  Then she heard a strange zinging sound, and something heavy fell behind her on the garden path. She turned in time to see a large beehive, its angry occupants buzzing about in an awful horde.

  And then she felt the first sting.

  CHAPTER 18

  Seth heard the shrieks as he crossed from the barn to the house. He followed the sound until he saw Grace among the flowers down by the gardens, her crutches flung aside, her arms flailing about her head. Then he realized what was happening and began to run.

  He yanked his suspenders down and slid off his shirt as he moved through the garden. He reached her and flung the shirt over her head, lifting her off the ground as he ran the short distance to the house. Angry buzzing echoed in the quiet of the kitchen, and he swatted down the remaining bees that escaped from his shirt as he pulled it off Grace’s head. He listened carefully, brushing down her clothes, until the silence was broken only by her choked sobs.

  “The cast,” she choked out. “I—I couldn’t run.”

  He pulled three or four stingers out of the back of her neck, then dragged her closer to the light of a window. A particularly nasty sting was too deep for his fingers, and he automatically put his mouth over the area and began to suck to remove the stinger. He felt her grow still as he caught the stinger on his tongue, and then he realized what he was doing.

  She half turned, staring up at him with wide lavender eyes, and he froze. He pulled the stinger from his mouth and rubbed at a stray curl of black hair that brushed her cheek.

  “Grace? I’m sorry—some of the stingers are deep. It’s best to get them out so the poison doesn’t spread.”

  “I know.”

&nbs
p; He pulled her close and she gave in for a moment, infinitesimally relaxing against him. His heart hit his rib cage so hard that he couldn’t breathe, and he eased his lips down toward her ear, murmuring in soothing tones.

  Then he saw another red swelling beneath the edge of her kapp and reached for the stinger.

  Suddenly she turned wild beneath his hands, twisting and turning away from him and catching at the sides of her prayer kapp.

  “Grace, don’t be stubborn. You’ve a stinger under your kapp.”

  “Seth, stop!”

  “Grace, let me help you.” He pulled once and the kapp fell into his hands. He caught his breath at what he saw. In that instant he realized that in the days since they’d been married, he’d never seen her without her kapp.

  “I told you.” She pushed past him and hurried as fast as she could out of the kitchen. He listened to the clatter of her footsteps up the stairs. He stared down at the prayer kapp in his fingers, then slowly sank to his knees on the floor.

  “Ach, Gott,” he breathed.

  Her hair—the lustrous black that peeped from the front of her prayer covering and matched the raven’s wing of her brows—was shorn close to her head. Amish women normally grew their hair to heavy falls, a reminder that the Bible called a woman’s hair her crowning glory. But Grace’s hair had been mutilated and was now growing in tiny ringlets, like a boy’s. He couldn’t fathom why she would cut it—

  And then it hit him with brutal force. Maybe she hadn’t cut it at all.

  Maybe Silas Beiler had.

  Hobbling up the stairs on the stub of her cast, Grace staggered blindly into the first room she came to. The cool interior and the mixed smells of paint and linseed oil filled her senses like a balm of something distant and foreign. She needed treatment for the stings, but something about this room tantalized her with a sense of intimacy, an almost sacred pull.

  She let her fingers trail over a still-damp palette of colors and moved to lift the edge of cloth covering a canvas.

  CHAPTER 19