by Amy Clipston
He’d bided his time until he thought his suit would be successful with Rebecca.
And waited some more.
He glanced at her again and caught her looking at him. She quickly glanced away, but not before he caught the expression on her face. Curiosity, he mused. Hmm. Well, if she didn’t yet look at him the way he wished, at least she was looking.
He’d take it.
Rebecca felt herself blush when she realized Ben had caught her staring at him.
She looked away quickly, but not quickly enough. He’d been looking at her so seriously. Did he feel more for her than friendship? No, it was just that she wanted it to be so. But time couldn’t be turned back, as much as she wished it possible.
Sometimes she felt he was about to say something, then he’d stop. She wished she had the courage to ask him about it.
Risking another glance, she saw that his attention was on the road now. She wondered why he hadn’t yet gotten engaged or married as many of their classmates had. Girls had always liked him. She’d stood with them at recess and listened to them talk about how sweet, how sensitive he was. He might not say much, the girls said, but they saw that as a good thing. He wasn’t trying to impress them or chase after them the way some boys did.
And then there was his appearance. He was tall, with impressive muscles from helping his father on the farm. He was square-jawed, his hair a dark russet, and his eyes were such a handsome brown color. According to the other girls.
“Like dark chocolate,” one girl said with a sigh.
“And he’s always making me laugh,” another reported.
He didn’t make Rebecca laugh. All he did was tease her and look at her with eyes that promised mischief. He didn’t do that with other girls who flirted with him at singings. Mary Anne even confided that he’d kissed her once. Yes, Ben Weaver could have had—still could have—his pick of young women in the community.
So why wasn’t he married?
“My mother didn’t tell you where I was, did she?”
He glanced at her. “No.”
“I wouldn’t want her to think—well, you know, to . . . ,” she trailed off, not knowing how to put it into words.
“To think that you were brooding by the pond?”
Rebecca frowned. “I wouldn’t call it brooding.”
“What would you call it, then?”
Her eyes flew to his, and in them she saw compassion. She looked away. “I can’t help but think of Lizzie when winter comes.”
“I know. Me too.”
“Really?”
“Life changed for both of us the day Lizzie died, Rebecca.”
The simple words struck at her heart. She nodded. “What made you look for me at the pond?”
He looked back at the road. “I’ve seen you there sometimes when I drive by.”
She thought about that. It was the one place she’d thought she had privacy. How many others had driven past and wondered if she was—what was the word he’d used? Brooding. She sighed. Oh well. There were, after all, no secrets here in Paradise.
With a jerk of the reins, Ben let Ike know that he wanted to turn down the drive to Rebecca’s house.
“Why did you say I was skating?” she asked suddenly.
He glanced at her. “You were moving and swaying, lifting your arms.”
She studied him, looking into his eyes to see if he was teasing. But his expression was serious, his eyes kind. “Ben Weaver, I think you need to have your eyes examined,” she said at last.
“I’m not crazy,” he told her. “Weren’t you wanting to be out on the ice, skating like you used to do?”
It felt like all the air in her left her body. “How can you ask me such a thing after what happened?” Her voice sounded strangled.
Ben stopped the buggy and reached out a hand to her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“How could I do it again?” she asked him, feeling tears rush into her eyes. “I got Lizzie to go with me that day. If I hadn’t, if I’d been watching better, she wouldn’t have died.”
Rebecca saw a look of pain cross Ben’s face. He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it so hard that it hurt.
“If you’re going to blame anyone, blame me.”
CHAPTER 2
The front door opened, and her mother appeared. “You found her!”
Rebecca pulled her hand from Ben’s, feeling faintly guilty. “Thank you,” she said, then quickly shoved aside the blanket that covered her legs and climbed out.
“I’m sorry I worried you,” she told her mother. “I just went for a walk. I’ll be down as soon as I change.”
Mamm nodded as Rebecca rushed through the kitchen and up the stairs. In her room, Rebecca shed her damp things and put on another frack. Then she searched in her drawer for a fresh kapp.
She stood before a small mirror and stared at her reflection. Her cheeks were pale. She brushed her hair until it crackled with static electricity, parted it in the center, rebound it at the back of her head, and donned the kapp.
Her gaze returned to her reflection for just a moment. She didn’t spend much time looking at herself in mirrors. Her looks were just average: hazel eyes, brown hair. Slender figure with barely any curves.
Her twin had gotten those.
And more. Mamm had always said the two were as different as night and day. From the time they were born, she always said that one chased after life and the other followed, worrying about the adventurer.
Everyone knew that while Rebecca was the oldest by six minutes, she was the follower, the worrier—never the dreamer or the adventurer.
She sighed. No, she’d never envied Lizzie. But sometimes she’d felt like she came in a pale second. Lizzie had been like a comet streaking across the sky. Rebecca was the homebody, lovingly taking care of the other kinner, helping her mamm with the house.
Except for when she was out on the ice, skating. There, everything was different. She felt like a bird—free, graceful, daring.
Sinking down on the bed, she thought about what Ben had said about her skating: that she was moving as she stood there in the snow, as if she were skating in her imagination. How ridiculous.
She missed skating so much, but she just couldn’t face doing it again.
When she went downstairs, she found Ben leaning against a kitchen counter, laughing and talking with her mamm.
“I talked Ben into staying to eat,” Mamm said. “After all, he went to find you for me.”
Ben sneaked a cookie from the jar on the counter. Rebecca waited for her mother to chide him since it was so close to suppertime. But Naomi merely smiled fondly at him.
Rebecca moved to the counter and began slicing the loaves of homemade bread that sat on a wooden board.
“It smells wonderful,” Ben said. “Nothing better than a good stew on a cold night.”
“There’s deep-dish apple pie too.”
“My favorite.”
Rebecca stopped slicing and looked over at him. “Everything’s your favorite.”
“Yes,” he agreed, grinning. “I love everything your mamm makes.”
“Everything’s ready. Call the kinner,” Mamm said.
Rebecca did as she was asked, hollering up the stairs. They came clattering down and seated themselves around the table. Rebecca frowned when she saw where Ben was sitting. Lizzie had always sat there . . .
He looked up at her, and she saw the light fade from his eyes. He started to move to a different chair.
“Sit, sit,” Rebecca’s father, Amos, said as he came into the room. “Glad you could join us, Ben.”
Glancing uneasily at Rebecca, Ben nodded. “Me too.”
Amos bent his head and the family followed, joining in prayer. Then noisy chatter filled the room as bowls and platters were passed and plates were filled.
Looking around the big carved wooden table that was the heart of a Plain kitchen, Rebecca felt a sense of quiet satisfaction. She was needed here. Her mamm often t
old her she didn’t know what she’d do without her help. When her mother’s last two pregnancies had been difficult, Rebecca had taken over running the house. She was good at it; she enjoyed cooking and baking and even cleaning, because that meant putting things back where they belonged, getting a sense of order.
And when she was going about taking care of their home, she didn’t hear that voice in her head urging her to do something, to stop being afraid.
She’d been like other girls her age, thinking about boys, about dating, about getting married, before the accident. Now the boy she’d been interested in sat next to her as a friend and not as a husband.
She’d thought she’d be married, have her own kinner by now. This wasn’t the life she’d imagined she’d lead by the age of twenty-two. But she could put aside her dreams, her desires, for the sake of her family . . .
Ben was saying something. Jerking to attention, Rebecca accepted the bowl of stew he passed her, then the basket of bread. Taking a slice, she passed the basket on and reached for the budderhaffe. Her hand collided with Ben’s, and she pulled it back.
“Ladies first,” he said, pushing the dish toward her.
With a slight smile, she nodded, scooped up some of the budder with her knife and spread it on the bread, then pushed the budderhaffe toward him.
“Rebecca, guess what I did at school today!”
Rebecca turned with a smile, but before she could respond to Esther, six-year-old Annie launched into a monologue about her day. Bright and eager to learn, she was thriving at her lessons, especially math.
Looking up, Rebecca caught Ben watching her, his expression thoughtful. What had he meant when he said if she was going to blame anyone, she should blame him? What did she have to blame him for? He’d been such a good friend, listening to her whenever she needed to talk about Lizzie. She didn’t know what she’d have done without him since Lizzie died.
She wondered again why he hadn’t yet married. He came from a large, happy family, just as she did. From what she’d observed, his parents had a happy marriage.
After leaving school he’d worked with her father, learning the carpentry trade, building and installing custom kitchen cabinets, built-ins, and bookcases in area homes, sometimes Amish, sometimes Englisch. He’d often been invited to stay for the evening meal at the Miller home—or charmingly found a way to invite himself, Rebecca noted—so he’d become a fixture in her home.
“So, Ben, I’m thinking that we’re going to finish the White kitchen on Wednesday,” Daed said, leaning back in his chair as he watched Naomi cut and serve slices of deep-dish apple pie.
“We can’t go to the Anthony house early,” Ben told him. “Remember, Mr. Anthony wants to take his wife off to a hotel while we work on the kitchen, get her away from all the noise and dust. They made arrangements to be out of their house for a week starting Friday, not Thursday.”
“Don’t you two spend enough time talking business during the day?” Naomi asked, but she smiled.
Amos nodded. “Ya. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
Mamm was passing slices of pie down the table and handed a plate to Marian. “This is for Rebecca.”
“No, thanks.”
“No dessert? You love apple pie.”
Rebecca shrugged. “I’ll have some later. I’m just not all that hungry right now.” A headache was forming behind her eyes, and the stew was lying like a lump in her stomach.
She got up and collected stew bowls and put them into the sink. It had been a long day. She was looking forward to bed already, even though it was early. Her father smiled at her as she refilled his coffee cup, then her mother’s.
“This is your piece, Ben,” said Marian, the second oldest. She handed him the plate with a smile. Their fingers brushed, and a faint blush crept up her cheeks.
Rebecca stopped beside Ben and stared. Her sister was flirting with Ben!
Ben realized that Rebecca was standing beside him, coffeepot in hand. Her expression was as cold as the ice cream topping the pie he’d just been handed. “More coffee?” she asked.
“Danki,” he said and frowned as he watched her pour the hot liquid. Why did she look upset with him?
“Cream?” Marian asked. “I know you like it in your coffee.”
“Yes, thanks,” he told her, tearing his gaze from Rebecca, who seemed focused on her sister.
Confused, he glanced over at Marian as he accepted the pitcher of cream from her. She was looking at him from beneath her lashes, shy . . . flirty? No, it couldn’t be, he told himself. She was what—sixteen? He searched his memory. Seventeen? Whatever she was, she was too young for him. And besides, he wanted her older sister.
He looked at Naomi. She was also watching Marian. Then her gaze moved to him.
“Ben, how is your pie?” she asked.
He took a bite. “Wonderful,” he pronounced. He glanced at Rebecca, who had returned the coffeepot to the stove and sat back down. She was rubbing her forehead and looking down at her untouched cup of tea.
When Rebecca sneezed, her mother gazed at her daughter in concern. “Are you catching cold?”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Maybe it’s allergies,” Ben said slyly.
If looks could hurt, he’d have been bleeding. He glanced around, but no one else noticed.
“Yes, I think it is,” Rebecca responded, and she took a sip of her tea.
Ben sat back. He was pleasantly full from the meal and pleasantly tired from the day’s work. Just plain pleasant, sitting here in the warm kitchen at the big kitchen table next to Rebecca. He wouldn’t trade it for anything. Well, yes, he would. He’d trade it for a kitchen of their own, a family of their own. But he didn’t think she was ready for that conversation.
“What kind of kitchen cabinets did you build for the Delaney family?” Marian asked Ben.
There was nothing Ben loved to talk about more than working with wood. With farmland becoming more expensive in Lancaster County, more men were turning to trades like carpentry. He’d worked with Amos for several years learning the trade, and while he could build just about anything, he found the most satisfaction helping to create kitchens. Maybe that was because he’d always considered it the heart of the home, the place where a family gathered to share God’s abundance of food and talk about the events of the day.
He loved working with wood, all the varieties from maple to oak to birch—and, for some of the fancy Englisch kitchens, woods that came from faraway places like Brazil and Costa Rica.
But the more he talked, the more he realized that Rebecca was quiet. She looked even paler than before.
“Ben? Another slice of pie?” Naomi asked.
“No, thanks. I should be going. I’ll see you in the morning, Amos.”
Rebecca pulled out a handkerchief and wiped her nose. He started to say something, but she shook her head and glanced at her mother, who was supervising the clearing of the table. He got the message and nodded.
His going to find her this afternoon hadn’t kept her from catching a chill. And it had only complicated things for him. He was going to remember for a long time how it felt to hold her and have her face so close to his. And he already regretted blurting out what he’d said about blaming him. He knew she’d be asking him about it the next time they were alone.
He pulled on his coat and watched as Naomi walked over to Rebecca and put the back of her hand against her daughter’s forehead. Rebecca shook her head and said something too low for Ben to pick up, but Naomi put her hands on her hips and gave her the look, the one only mothers know how to give.
So, he thought, Rebecca hasn’t been able to hide her not feeling well from her mother. It didn’t surprise him. Parents could always sense such things. Especially mothers.
“Rebecca, you go on to bed. I think you’re coming down with a cold.”
She turned and shook her head. “I’m fine.” Taking several bowls from Annie, she put them into the hot soapy water in the sink.
&n
bsp; “Annie, why don’t you go ask Marian to read you a story before bed? I’ll help Rebecca with the dishes.”
Rebecca watched Annie, always a good helper, hesitate. Then she scampered off. Trying not to sigh, Rebecca turned back to the dishes. She sensed that her mamm wanted to talk, and she wasn’t in the mood for it. All she wanted was to finish the chores and go to bed.
Picking up a clean dishcloth, Naomi came to stand next to the sink. “Is everything okay?”
Rebecca nodded. She handed her mother a bowl to dry.
“You were gone a long time.”
“I just went for a walk.”
“It was awfully cold for a walk.”
Rebecca handed another bowl to her mother. “I know.”
“Are things okay with you and Ben?”
She nodded. “Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. You were frowning at him when he went to sit down.”
“He was going to sit in Lizzie’s seat.” She stared at the soapy water.
“It’s not Lizzie’s anymore,” her mamm said gently.
“I know that!”
Naomi blinked at the sharpness in Rebecca’s voice.
Rebecca bit her lip. “I’m sorry,” she said stiffly.
“Nee, it’s all right. You’re not feeling well.”
It wasn’t all right to talk to her mamm that way no matter how she felt. Rebecca was ashamed. She cast about in her mind for something to say. “I thought I’d ask Anita for a morning off later this week so I can help take Abram and Annie for their checkups.”
Naomi stopped drying a dish. “I’d rather you took some time for yourself, Rebecca. All you do is work here or at the shop.”
“You need the help.”
Setting down the dish, Naomi placed her hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “What I need more is to see you looking happier, Dochder.”
“A daughter should—”
“You are a most dutiful daughter, but we want you to have your own life too. You don’t go out enough with your friends, do the things a young woman does.”
“I was just out with Ben,” Rebecca told her with a slight smile.