“Ach, I’ve got other plans, that’s all.”
He was lying. Normally, he would have traded his eyeteeth to be with her. Tonight, it seemed he wanted to be anywhere else.
She cleared her throat to remove the lump that had settled there. “Ach, vell, then. Take your money. That way I won’t be worried that a bear is going to steal it from my tent.”
He finally looked at her. “The money is yours, not mine.”
“But didn’t you want Pammy to sell it in the Etsy shop?”
“The bench was meant for you. I hoped you’d make some money from it. And you did. I’m wonderful happy for you.” If this was Jethro’s happy, she didn’t want to see miserable.
“Oh. I just assumed.” That was . . . that was too nice. He’d done more work on that bench than she had, and it had been his to begin with. “Are you sure? I don’t wonder but you spent hours sanding it. And the chairs too.” She held it out to him. “Take it, and consider it payment for the two hundred dollars I still owe you.”
He made a valiant effort to smile, but there was so much unhappiness behind it she wanted to cry. “Nae, I want you to have it. For sure and certain the bench sold for so much because of your painting.”
She glanced at the bills in her hand. Two hundred and fifty dollars. Ach, three whole months’ worth of groceries, even if she bought sundried tomatoes and pine nuts. “That is very kind of you, Jethro.”
He nodded, as if he found it impossible to speak.
She stood there staring at him, trying to figure out what had made him so unhappy—hoping he’d say something to explain the disquiet that had suddenly taken him. He paused for half a minute, looking at her like he was memorizing her face.
He obviously wasn’t going to say anything else, and she couldn’t stand there forever. “Will we . . . we’ll see you for breakfast in the morning yet?”
He might have shaken his head, but it was so slight she couldn’t have been sure. Without another word, he tapped his hat onto his head, slid on his gloves, and jerked the ax from the stump. Another log went onto the chopping block. Another swing of the ax. More firewood for Mary Anne’s campfire.
He’d said all he was going to say.
With a heavy heart, Mary Anne walked away, her money balled tightly in her fist.
It wasn’t until she was tucked tightly into her sleeping bag that night that she realized what she had done.
Shame kept her awake the rest of the night.
Chapter Eighteen
Jethro smoothed his hand along the back of the last of the kitchen chairs. He’d sanded it down and painted it bright white, just like he had done with the other seven chairs. Mary Anne hadn’t even noticed they were the chairs from their own kitchen, just assuming Jethro had gotten them from the secondhand store in town. He had bought three or four chairs secondhand, just so she wouldn’t get suspicious, but most of what she’d painted and sold was from her own kitchen—the kitchen she would probably never set foot in again.
What did it matter if there was no place to sit?
Jethro took a deep breath, hoping to ease the weight on his chest that seemed to get heavier and heavier every day. He’d never felt so low, not even when he’d taken down Mary Anne’s tent and she had told him she wanted a divorce.
For weeks he’d held on to a shred of hope that maybe she still loved him, that maybe she would consider being his fraa again. She’d smiled at him. She’d invited him to dinner and made him kaffee—wunderbarr, wunderbarr kaffee.
And then, like a baseball bat right to the chest, she’d tried to pay him for that bench.
He’d sanded that bench for her, finished those chairs because all he wanted was to make her happy, and her first thought was that he wanted to make a profit. Her opinion of him hadn’t changed, despite all the changes he’d made, and it stung like a thousand wasps.
She didn’t love him. She didn’t want to love him. He’d truly lost her, and the only thing he could do now was help her get on with her life as soon as possible. The sooner she’d saved enough money, the happier she’d be, even if for Jethro it felt like he was planning his own funeral.
Eight chairs at fifty dollars apiece was four hundred dollars. With another quilt or two and a few more chairs, she’d have enough money to rent a small apartment in Shawano. It was a start. And the end.
He was devastated.
A hard knock on his back door made Jethro jump like a grasshopper in a frying pan. Felty stood on the other side of the door, smiling that kindly smile that meant he knew all about you and loved you anyway. Felty and Anna had been living under the canopy for over a month, and they were quite comfortable. Felty had lost his limp, and he took a nap on his own bed every day. One of their chickens roosted under their bed, but the other sixteen had disappeared. Anna held out hope they were exploring in the woods and would return any day. Jethro had seen too many feather trails to think Anna would ever get her chickens back.
“Cum reu, Felty,” Jethro said. “But you didn’t have to knock. Cousins come in and out of here all the time to use the bathroom.”
Felty shuffled into the kitchen and eyed the table. “What happened to all your chairs? The last time I was here, you had a full set.”
Jethro wrapped his fingers around the back of the one chair he still had left. “I . . . only need one,” he said with a sheepish twist of his lips.
Felty narrowed his eyes as if he was trying to get a better look at Jethro. “Let’s go sit down. That is, if you have any chairs left in the living room.”
Jethro nodded. He had enough for Felty to sit on. Felty led the way, and Jethro brought the newly painted kitchen chair with him. The only thing left in the living room was Jethro’s easy chair. Felty could sit there, and Jethro would sit on the kitchen chair. Might as well sit on it one more time before he gave it to Mary Anne.
“Sit here,” Jethro said, motioning to his easy chair.
Felty paused and did a full turn as he gazed around the room. “I was certain you had a sofa in here.”
Another sheepish look from Jethro. “I sold it.”
Felty furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry to hear that. It was a wonderful lumpy sofa. Very soft.”
Jethro didn’t have anything to say to that. He’d sold it because he needed the money, but he didn’t have to burden Felty with his troubles.
“I’ll sit here,” Felty said, sinking into the easy chair, “but you’ll have to help me get out when it’s time to go.”
Jethro put the kitchen chair next to Felty and sat down. “Can I get you a drink of water or something?”
Felty waved away any suggestion of water. “Denki. I came to talk to you.”
“Okay,” Jethro said, drawing out the syllables. For sure and certain he had done everything wrong, but he didn’t think he could bear any kind of scolding from Felty. Then again, he didn’t know that anything could make him feel worse than he already did.
Felty pulled the lever on Jethro’s easy chair and pushed himself back a bit. “Aw, that’s better. Now, Jethro. I don’t want you to think I’m complaining. Annie-Banannie and I have a comfortable bed and a roof over our heads, and Anna seems perfectly content, but I have to confess I’m a little bit tired of camping. The food is wonderful gute, but I miss my bathroom. It gets a little hard to hike to the barn three times a night.” He held up his hand to stop Jethro from saying anything. “Now, I’m willing to stay as long as it takes, and I know these things take time. You can’t rush love, especially true love, but it seems to me that you’re not even trying anymore.”
What could Jethro say to that? He wasn’t trying anymore. Mary Anne had made it very clear she didn’t want him. “I just want Mary Anne to be happy.”
Felty gave Jethro’s arm a friendly pat. “I know you do, but what I really want to know is what happened on Monday.”
“Monday?”
“The day you stopped coming to dinner. And breakfast. We only see you when you come over to bring Mary Anne a chair or a can of p
aint. And that smile you paste on your face is so fake, it could be made out of plastic. So, what happened on Monday?”
Jethro shifted in his chair. Did he really want Felty to know how badly he’d failed where Mary Anne was concerned? “I realized she doesn’t love me, that she would be happier without me, and I truly do want her happiness more than anything. I’m trying to stay away so I don’t irritate her.” He stood up and paced around the empty room. “I’m sorry, Felty. I’m working as fast as I can. By the end of August, Mary Anne should have enough money to move into an apartment. Then you and Anna can move back home.”
“That’s not good, Jethro.”
“I’m sorry it can’t be sooner, but it’s the best I can do.”
Felty shook his head. “Ach, Jethro. You are a little thick sometimes. We want Mary Anne to move home. You can’t give up so easy.”
“Maybe I’m not giving up as much as I’m facing the truth about how she feels about me. She’d be happier without me, and I have to accept that and let her move on with her life.”
Felty stroked his beard. “You’re even thicker than I thought if you can’t see how much she loves you.”
Jethro couldn’t let himself believe that for one minute. “Nae. I don’t think she does.”
“She lights up like a candle every time you come within spitting distance, and she makes a special pot of kaffee just for you every morning. I’ve never seen anybody take so much care with a cup of kaffee. It’s like she’s making it special for the king of Florida every morning.”
Jethro scrubbed his hand down the side of his face. “She knows how much I love kaffee. She’s thoughtful like that. It’s not because she feels anything for me, except maybe pity.”
Felty reached down and pulled the handle of the easy chair so he was sitting up straight. “Don’t talk yourself out of it, Jethro. She had to dig her heels in wonderful hard because she didn’t want anybody to move her. You’ve got to help her see she doesn’t have to be so strong anymore.”
“I’ve tried, Felty, but I’m not what she needs or wants. She wants freedom and happiness. She wants me to leave her alone.”
“And so you’re giving her all your kitchen chairs,” Felty said.
“I want her to earn enough money so she can do whatever she wants.”
Felty raised his eyebrows. “She’s not so sure what she wants anymore.”
“She’s sure. And I’m going to help her.”
Felty shook his head as if in surrender. “Anna will never forgive you, you know.”
“I’ll never forgive myself.”
* * *
Mary Anne lay on top of her sleeping bag, listening to the noise of her own breathing. She’d already given up trying to sleep. When she’d first moved out to the woods, she had feared she’d freeze to death every night or at least come down with a severe case of frostbite. Now she was so hot she could barely breathe. The air was so moist she could have wrung it out into a cup. She sat up and punched her pillow a few times to fluff it up. It was probably cooler in her tent than it would be inside the house, and she’d slept fine on hotter nights than this.
The weather wasn’t the problem, and she knew it perfectly well.
She hadn’t slept well in weeks, and tonight her thoughts felt like heavy stones on her chest. She should have been wildly happy. Wildly, wildly happy. She’d finished the butterfly quilt, it had been sent to the person who ordered it, and Pammy had paid Mary Anne this morning.
The quilt was probably the most beautiful thing Mary Anne had ever made. Butterflies of all colors flew up from flowers at the bottom of the quilt into a white background that Mammi and Lois and her cousins had quilted with spirals and curlicues. It was so wunderbarr, Mary Anne hadn’t wanted to part with it.
But the buyer had paid nine hundred dollars! More than enough to rent a small apartment in Shawano. More than three months’ rent if she decided to rent the room in Charlene’s basement. Charlene had offered it to her weeks ago when she found out Mary Anne was living in the woods. In some ways, it was a very attractive offer. The rent was cheap, and Charlene wouldn’t have to drive to Bonduel to pick Mary Anne up for work three days a week. But Mary Anne still dreamed of having a place to call her own with no one to answer to but herself. Mostly.
Mostly that was what she wanted.
But not really.
Jethro had all but ignored her for three weeks, talking to her only when he brought another chair for her to paint or when he wanted to see if she needed the buggy hitched. She’d made a lot of money from those chairs Jethro so thoughtfully found for her.
Everything in their lives had been about the money for so long, she had just assumed Jethro had wanted to make some money on Etsy too. He had done something amazingly unselfish for her, and she had immediately jumped to the conclusion that he wanted to be compensated. She was thoroughly ashamed. Jethro had been nothing but kind, and she had repaid him by assuming the worst. No wonder he’d reacted as if she’d turned out the sun on his life.
She had tried to apologize about the bench, but every time she mentioned it, he would get that strange, resigned smile on his face and tell her that he only wanted her to be happy—as if that made up for how badly she had treated him. He certainly wasn’t mad at her or giving her the cold shoulder. Jethro wasn’t like that. She had wounded him, and the hurt had gone straight to his heart.
Mammi had dropped little hints about Jethro every day since. “Isn’t Jethro coming to dinner, dear? I know he loves my Indonesian beef stew.” “Why don’t you go over to Jethro’s side and give him a cup of kaffee? He loves your kaffee.” Or things Mary Anne didn’t really understand like, “That boy is thicker than a piece of rhubarb pie. You’re going to have to go the rest of the way, Mary Anne.”
Mary Anne had made Jethro a special pot of kaffee every morning for a week until she realized he wasn’t planning to share breakfast with her and the cousins ever again. She’d stopped cooking altogether, and Mammi and the cousins had taken over. What was the fun of it if Jethro wasn’t there to tell her he loved it or to smile and ask for seconds or thirds?
Mammi and Lois had finally gotten fed up with Jethro not showing up for meals and had marched over there this afternoon and practically ordered Jethro to a special party in celebration of Mary Anne’s finishing her nine-hundred-dollar butterfly quilt. Mary Anne had heard the whole side of Mammi and Lois’s conversation from her tent because neither Mammi nor Lois talked very softly when they had their minds set on something. Jethro, on the other hand, must have whispered the entire conversation. She hadn’t heard a word he’d said to Lois and Mammi, but he had shown up for the party.
That was something.
But not enough.
Dawdi had built an extra big fire, and they’d roasted marshmallows and made banana boats. Jethro hadn’t said a word to Mary Anne during dinner and barely spoke to anyone else either. He was plain miserable, and it was all her doing. If he was anywhere near as miserable as she was, there would never be happiness in the world again.
It didn’t matter how many times she punched her pillow, Mary Anne could not get comfortable. She rolled onto her side and decided to add up in her head how much she’d earned from the quilts and furniture. Surely it was as gute as counting sheep. The problem was that every chair she counted had Jethro’s touch upon it, and every quilt came with the thought that he had given her the quilting frames in the first place.
She punched her pillow again and rolled over to her other side. Who counted money to help them sleep anyway? Maybe she could count the things she liked about Jethro. Maybe she should come up with ideas for convincing him to come around and share a cup of kaffee with her again. She would love that more than he could ever know.
“Mary Anne! Mary Anne!”
Had she finally fallen asleep? Was she dreaming? One problem with camping was that she was never sure if she was awake or if those noises she heard were just sharing her dreams—except her throat was burning and the smell of smoke
had to be real. She couldn’t imagine anything like that in her dreams.
She opened her eyes, sat up, and gasped for air. There was a gaping hole in one side of her tent, and the bookshelf was on fire—horrifying, scorching fire. The hole in the tent grew as if the edges were melting like frost on a windowpane. The bookshelf was fully aflame, and the heat felt so intense, it scorched her bare skin.
A cough tore up her throat like a piece of broken glass, and thick black smoke hung in the air like a curtain. She had to get out, but her eyes burned, and she couldn’t open them wide enough to see her way to the door.
First a shadow, and then something solid clamped violently and painfully around her wrist. She instinctively tried to pull away until she realized that someone wanted to help her. But did he have to be so rough about it? He pulled so forcefully that he wrenched her shoulder dragging her off the cot and across the tent. She gasped in pain, but the sound was swallowed up in the chaos of flames and smoke and sharp smells. They were both coughing as he dragged her out the tent door. He released her wrist and lifted her into his arms without even so much as asking permission. Ach, vell, he didn’t really need it. Right now, she wanted the safety of his embrace more than anything in the world.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face into his shoulder as he carried her twenty feet from the fire. “Talk to me, heartzly. Are you okay?”
She lifted her head and coughed into his neck. “I’m going to have a very big bruise on my wrist.”
She was kind of hoping he’d laugh, but it was too much to ask at the moment. “Ach, heartzly, you shaved twenty years off my life.”
“Is she okay, Jethro?”
Mary Anne looked around her. Moses and Lia each had a fire extinguisher pointed at Mary Anne’s tent. Foam dripped from what was left of Mary Anne’s butterfly painting on the side of the tent, and the bookshelf wasn’t burning anymore, but it was mostly a pile of rubble. Aden Jr. and Crist sat on the ground with their backs against the barn and stared at her tent as if they were two Englisch children watching TV in their pajamas.
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