by Kelly Irvin
She made the first move. Between bites, Zechariah studied the board. He sniffed and pushed his glasses up his nose. He frowned.
“Anytime now. At this rate we’ll be here until spring.”
“Hmmm. Let me see. Let me see.”
The front door opened. Michael entered, followed by his brother Josiah. Zechariah’s grandsons carried stacks of empty cardboard boxes.
Zechariah’s time had run out.
TWENTY-THREE
IF THE LOOK ON LAURA’S FACE WAS ANY INDICATION, Zechariah had backup. He would need it. The stack of boxes told the story. Zechariah’s grandsons had come to move him to Michael’s house. First the bird count, now this. So much for waiting until after Christmas. If that had been Ben’s plan, Michael—or more likely Ivan—had others.
Laura stood. “How about some kaffi? We have hot gingerbread cookies fresh from the oven.”
Making nice with them or trying to distract them from their mission?
“The rain stopped so we thought this would be a gut time to get you moved.” Michael ignored Laura’s offer. His gaze danced from Zechariah to the hallway. “Cathy cleaned out Lazarus’s old room for you. Still smells like his feet, but we shoved a bookshelf in there that should hold all your birding books.”
Fat lot of good the books did him when he wasn’t allowed to bird. “Ben said I was staying here until after Christmas.”
Laura picked up her tray. “We need his help now, with Ben having so much on his shoulders.”
Good woman.
Pretty too.
That thought came to him every night when he lay down to sleep since her ministrations after the fire. That moment when their fingers and gazes entwined. It joined him at the table when she sat across from him, eating with such a healthy appetite he envied her.
Zechariah shook his head to dispel the fog. Laura looked nothing like Marian, who had eyes the color of caramel and even darker hair. Her skin had been fair. She was small but shapely. He could pick her up and carry her around with one arm.
Not that she let him. The woman had a mind of her own. In that, she and Laura were identical twins. Could it be that different traits appealed in different seasons of life? He was no longer a man who could pick up a woman and carry her about under one arm in jest. Nor could he love her the way he once had.
His skin went hot. The fire’s flames burned more fiercely. He breathed in and out.
“Are you all right?” Her forehead wrinkled, Laura frowned. “You look flushed.”
“I’m fine. But I have no plans to leave.”
Her frown deepened. She swiveled and faced Michael. “Where’s Ben? I thought he planned to talk to you about this.” Her tone was sharp enough to slice a whole watermelon in one swipe. “He also told me yesterday he was inclined to keep Zechariah here until after Christmas.”
“We wanted to do it while the weather cooperated.” Michael’s mulish tone said he didn’t like being questioned by a woman—especially one not a member of the family. “It’s almost sixty degrees out and the sun is shining. Perfect for making a change before the holiday. We want to get him settled before Christmas.”
Weather had nothing to do with it. Ivan liked to be in charge. Maybe he felt overshadowed by his son’s sudden vault into a place of authority. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”
“I talked to Ben just now out in the barn before we came up to the house.” Michael wiped his boots and strode toward the hallway. “He heard me out. He also told me about the fire. He doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, but neither does he want to take a chance with the kinner. He agreed six months with me and then we can see how it’s going. By then the twins will be bigger and, Gott willing, sleeping through the night. Rosalie will have recovered.”
He glanced at Laura. “By then you’ll be back at the dawdy haus.”
“I’ll go when Rosalie doesn’t need me anymore.”
“I’ll take a cookie.” Josiah, the spitting image of his older brother, offered the statement with a hopeful glance at Laura. “I didn’t eat enough breakfast.”
“How about some hot chocolate with that?” Laura’s tone was brisk. “There’s no hurry, is there?”
“Another thunderstorm may hit later this afternoon.” Michael sounded triumphant, as if he made the weather. “We best get moving.”
“What’s going on?” A twin—Mia from the looks of her forehead—in one arm, Rosalie trotted into the room. Mia squalled as if she hadn’t eaten in a week and wondered why no one changed her diaper. “What are all the boxes for?”
“I’m being evicted.”
“Don’t be that way, Groossdaadi.” Michael dodged Rosalie and kept moving. “We like your company. Come show us what you want to take.”
“What’s going on?” Tamara, twin number two screeching like she hadn’t been fed in a month clutched in her arms, followed Rosalie. “Why the long faces?”
A doll in each arm, Delia brought up the rear. “Michael, Josiah, do you want to play dolls with me? My dolls are hungry. You can feed them.”
Josiah, his face suddenly red, lingered near the door. “Maybe later. I have to carry boxes right now.”
Michael growled. It definitely sounded like a growl.
“Don’t growl at the girl. It’s not her fault you came trotting in here like you own the place and are the boss of me. Which you’re not, by the way.”
Michael’s long-suffering sigh said it all. He was the boss and he would have his way. “I’m packing. You can help or not help. I have work to do back at the farm.”
How much work could he have to do in the middle of winter? No fields to sow or reap. No hay to bale. No vegetables to pick. “Do what you have to do.”
“I will.”
Michael turned and clomped back down the hallway.
Josiah continued to linger.
“Josiah, get down here and help me.”
He shrugged and strode away.
“I think there’s still some of that vegetable soup I made yesterday in the refrigerator.” Laura brushed past his chair. Her hand squeezed his shoulder. A warm, reassuring touch so swift it might have been a product of his desire to be comforted. “Soup is gut for what ails a man with a cold.”
What was she suggesting? A slow smile spread across her face as she trotted to the window. “Seems they left their buggy hitched by the front door. Awfully convenient.”
He rose and went to her side. The beauty of her plan—the audacity of it—sent a rush of joy through Zechariah he hadn’t felt in years. “You’ll be called a bad influence, you know.”
“We old codgers have to stick together.”
“Hurry. Get the soup before they come out here to mess with my life some more.”
“I’m going to say this because I’m an old lady and I can’t help myself so please don’t be offended—”
Before he lost his courage, he leaned in and kissed her square on the lips. They were warm and soft.
She kissed him back. Her hands fluttered. He captured them in his. His heart thumped so hard he could hear it.
They parted and stared at each other. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes wide. “Zechariah Stutzman—”
“I’ll be careful.”
“You can’t just kiss a woman and walk off.”
“We’re kind of on a schedule, remember?”
“The soup. The soup!” She whirled and skedaddled.
No matter the bird count, no matter Michael’s attitude, no matter what, this was officially the best day in Zechariah’s life in a long, long time. He’d kissed Laura Kauffman. Not only that, she’d liked it.
He grabbed his coat from the hook and shrugged it on. Still wide-eyed and pink-cheeked, she returned lickety-split with a plastic container of soup gripped in two loop pot holders made by the children. Grinning like she’d just pulled off the best practical joke of the century, she handed it over. “Hurry, hurry. Bring back the pot holders or Rosalie will wonder what happened to them.” She made shooing mo
tions. “And don’t let Ben see you.”
“Isn’t he in the barn?”
She peeked out the window. “All clear, run like the wind.”
No sarcasm in those words, only the camaraderie of two people joined together to turn the world upside down for a change.
Lighter on his feet than he’d been in years, Zechariah whipped out the door and heard it click behind him in a definite you’re-really-doing-this pop.
A few minutes later he manhandled the buggy on the muddy road to Abel’s farm some five miles to the east. The heavy, wet air felt more like spring than December. He inhaled. It smelled good. The clouds parted and a thread of light glistened against the puddles of rain and melting snow.
So this was what it felt like to play hooky. Freedom.
Every man should play hooky now and then.
He would never tell his great-grands such a thing.
Every man needed a woman who understood such a thing.
He laughed aloud. The sound startled him. It had been such a long time since he laughed. The sound of a loon, surely.
In half an hour—a peaceful, independent, crisp half hour—he was at Abel’s.
Abel and Jessica didn’t seem surprised to see him. Nor did Abel look all that sick. Jessica took the soup and warmed it up while Zechariah warmed himself by the fire.
“You plan to tell me what happened?” Abel poked the fire. The wood sizzled and sparks flew. “Ben told me you had been kind of poorly. He said you didn’t have the energy for the bird count.”
“That’s how he sized up the situation, I reckon.” Pleased with the spring in his step, Zechariah pulled a rocking chair closer to the fire. His muscles could match a young man’s today. So could his bones. Freedom did that to a man. Like a draught of cold, fresh milk. “I’m fine. I’m a grown-up man. If I feel like visiting a friend, I reckon I will.”
“Makes sense to me.” Abel shrugged and plopped down in the other chair. “As long as I get soup and half-decent company out of it, I’m happy.”
The soup took the edge off the chill. Zechariah slurped another spoonful of the savory broth, dropped the spoon in his bowl, and belched. Abel grinned and stuck another big bite of potato, green bean, and corn in his mouth.
Chewing, Zechariah leaned back and hummed. He always hummed when he ate. If he liked the food. Laura made a good vegetable-beef stew. It tasted especially good in light of how and why it arrived at Abel’s table in his tiny, sparsely furnished dawdy haus. Even Jessica had giggled behind her fingers at Zechariah’s story.
He left out the part about the kiss. His secret. His and Laura’s. Having a secret made him feel twenty years younger—fifty years younger.
“You don’t look like you have a cold.” Zechariah picked up a thick slice of hot bread slathered with butter. Jessica was a passable cook too. “You look like a lazy old man who doesn’t give a hoot about the bird count.”
“Not my call. I sneezed once and Jessica decided I had pneumonia.”
“Not true. Lying is a sin, you yellow-belly sapsucker.” Jessica, who hollered from the kitchen sink where she washed dishes, had a quaint way of talking. It made her a perfect fit for a man like Abel, who never knew when to shut up. “You woke me up coughing twice during the night and you snored like a band saw. Plus you told me yourself you’ve had a headache since yesterday.”
“Sinus pressure ain’t ever killed a man yet. You could’ve moved to the other bedroom if I was such a pain,” Abel yelled back, but he grinned and stirred his soup. “Or kick me out of bed, if it suits.”
“Then who would keep my feet warm?”
Abel’s face turned red and he ducked his head. Seeing a seventyyear-old blush was a beautiful sight. Stifling a chuckle, Zechariah brushed crumbs from his beard. “You’re a blessed man. I hope you know that.”
“I may be old, but I’m not an idiot.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Danki for bringing the soup.”
“When Michael comes tearing through that front door accusing me of stealing his horse and buggy, you won’t be so pleased.”
“As long as I get to keep the soup, I’m—”
“We have company.” A towel in hands wrinkled from age and dishwater, Jessica stood in the doorway. With her still sandy-blonde hair, clear blue eyes that needed no glasses, and ramrod posture, she didn’t look a day over fifty. She was so alive. Maybe they kept each other young. “I just saw them pull up. Michael looks madder than a turkey headed for the Thanksgiving table.”
The pounding on the door rattled the windows.
“It’s open.” Abel settled his bowl on the table and dropped his napkin next to it. “No need to break it down.”
The door flew open. His face ruddy from the cold air and his lips turned down in a peevish frown, Michael stomped into the room. Ben, looking slightly less irritated, followed. The two men wiped their boots on the welcome mat. Neither spoke for a full minute.
Zechariah didn’t bother to fill the silence. Let them speak their piece. Then he would do the same.
Ignoring Abel and Jessica, Michael folded his arms and stood, legs spread, and drilled Zechariah with a fiery gaze. “You stole my horse and buggy.”
“Borrowed—”
“You left without telling anyone—”
“Not true. I told Laura.”
“She’s as bad as you are, apparently.” Michael shook his head. “Ben says he told you no more driving buggies. Yet you took off on wet, muddy roads, on your own, alone.”
“I’m not a kind.” The bellow surprised even Zechariah. He jerked to his feet. “Now, if you want some of this soup I brought to my sick friend, I reckon he won’t mind sharing. Jessica might even be convinced to serve you some kaffi. Otherwise, hush up.”
“Hush up,” Michael stuttered. “Hush up?”
Even Ben’s mouth twitched as if he attempted to hide a smile. He slapped his hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “I could use a cup of kaffi myself. Let’s sit down and talk this out.”
“You’re the bishop. You’re going to let him break the rules you set?”
“He’s our groossdaadi. Have some respect.” Ben nodded toward an open chair. “Mind if we sit, Abel?”
“Not at all.” Abel grinned. “I reckon this will be gut.”
Ben sat. Michael remained standing, his expression as stiff as his back. Ben rubbed his eyes. “I know this is hard for you, Groossdaadi. We don’t mean any disrespect. We only want what is best for every one.”
“I can help you out.”
“You can’t. Your hands tremble. Your arms jerk. Your feet stumble.” His voice held apology for the brutal honesty. “I have no desire to embarrass or shame you. I will miss you. So will the kinner. Your presence in the kinner’s lives is important and gut for them. Give me six months. Spend time with the rest of your family. I promise you’ll stay with us again.”
Like promising a child his birthday would come again next year. Zechariah had been wrong to come here. To make them come after him. To make it harder for Ben. It was foolish. He stood. “Fine.” He nodded at Abel. “Danki for the hospitality.”
He turned to Ben. “Give me a ride to your house? I have some packing to do.”
TWENTY-FOUR
THE BASKET, ONCE HEAVY WITH DOZENS OF POPCORN balls in caramel, chocolate, strawberry, and butterscotch flavors, swung nearly empty on Laura’s arm. The gingerbread men were all gone too. That basket sat on the table next to a Christmas Eve smorgasbord of candy cane cookies, brownies, toffee bars, peanut butter squares, pretzel cookies, thumbprint cookies, spumoni cookies, nut roll-ups, spritz cookies, fudge, peanut brittle, and divinity. Laura had nibbled at more than her share, unable to pick among her favorites. Her stomach rebelled against the thought of one more bite, yet she eyed the divinity with the longing of a six-year-old who didn’t know when she’d had enough. The spicy aroma of mulled apple cider mingled with the scent of hot chocolate and coffee.
Every child who participated in the C
hristmas program had received a sweet from Laura, whether they were grandchildren or not. The sweets, wrapped in plastic wrap and tied with red and white ribbons, came with a kiss on the cheek whether they liked it or not. The boys mostly ducked their heads and attempted escape, but not without their popcorn balls.
Laura sank onto a bench and rested her aching knees and ankles. Her cheeks ached from smiling. A good ache. Her youngest great-grandchild, Bartholomew, had participated in his first program without even knowing it. Starring as the baby Jesus. Chubby cheeked and pink, he slumbered through most of the evening, awaking with a bewildered squawk during the final song.
Memories enveloped her, even as she tried to fend them off. Eli grinning from ear to ear, clapping after Aaron’s and Ruby’s turn as Mary and Joseph. The way he piled his plate high with cookies and candies, then insisted it was all her idea. He loved Christmas and she loved him for it. Every year his memory receded further into the past. His laugh, the feel of his whiskers against her cheek, his smell. She could barely recall the color of his balmy blue eyes.
“Did you fall asleep?”
She started at the sound of Zechariah’s voice. He stooped, moved the basket to one side, and sat next to her. His eyes were a warm maple-syrup brown and very much alive. She missed his presence in Ben’s home. He’d kissed her and then they’d taken him away from her. He’d kissed her and they’d never talked about it. She had told no one. Neither had he, she had no doubt. One kiss did not courting make, but at their age, it was a humongous step forward.
At least she thought it was. She hadn’t courted in almost sixty years. Nervous as a blushing bride, she tucked the basket into her lap and wrapped her arms around it. His absence from Ben’s house had left a void that couldn’t be filled. She admitted that only to herself. No one grunting and growling at her. No one frowning over his morning cup of coffee. No one to beat at checkers. No one to kiss her so unexpectedly she’d barely had time to respond fully. Did he think she wasn’t that interested? Did she still know how to kiss?
Soft lips. Slightly parted. Warm breath on her cheek. The scent of peppermint.