Hot kaffi and a warm breakfast, and she’d forget the scratch.
The scratch and her rumbling stomach.
Her dad must have been thinking the same thing.
“How ’bout we put that little guy back in his stall and head inside?”
“Do you think Pepper chased him out?”
“I doubt it.” They walked together to the back stall of the barn. When Miriam placed the kitten down beside the mother cat, she began licking him immediately. “I suspect the stall door didn’t latch tight when your bruder brought in that pan of milk.”
“Pan of milk?” Miriam peered over at the foil pan as Joshua nudged her out and toward the house. Pepper curled up in front of the stall door like some sort of sentry. “I’ve never known Simon to care whether a barn cat had milk or not.”
“Could be I sent him in with it,” her dad admitted.
“You?” she linked her arm through his.
“Ya, well. It being cold and all. Say, tell me about your week at school.”
“Now you’re changing the subject.”
When her father grunted, she let it slide.
“The children were good, except for the middle-grade boys who thought it would be fun to put snowballs in the girls’ mittens at the end of lunch. Within an hour the snow melted and water was everywhere.”
“Did you make them clean it up?”
“Yes, I did, and they had to write apology letters.”
“Gut girl.”
“The three days off will do everyone good.”
“Storm could be bad.” Joshua reached for the back door to the kitchen, pulled it open, and let her enter first.
“How bad?” Miriam stopped in the mudroom. Her stomach was telling her to move on, but suddenly her mind was filled with images of Gabe Miller and his dilapidated barn.
“Worst we’ve had in ten, maybe twelve years.”
Miriam slowly unwound the scarf around her neck and placed it on her hook under the window.
“Worried about someone in particular?”
“Gabe—I mean, Grace.”
“He knows how to contact us if he needs anything.” Joshua smiled at her, the expression wrinkling the skin around his eyes. “And if I’m not mistaken, that’s your mamm’s cinnamon rolls I smell. They weren’t ready when I went out an hour ago, but I’ll bet they’re toasty brown and piping hot now.”
“Do not put that in your mouth.”
Miriam heard the teacher’s tone in her voice, but she couldn’t have stopped herself if she wanted to.
At the moment she didn’t want to.
Fortunately, Simon heard the tone as well, and though it had been years since he’d been in a schoolroom, he stopped, the cinnamon roll inches from his mouth.
“Why?” His smile widened as he prepared to take a bite of the thick gooey roll.
“You know why. It’s the last center roll. I like the middle ones too.” Miriam fought to keep her voice low, but with little success.
“Now, Miriam, there are plenty of others. And oatmeal as well.” Her mamm set raisins and brown sugar on the table and then pushed an empty bowl toward her.
“Edge rolls.” Miriam picked up her kaffi cup instead. “Don’t you take a single bite until I get back.”
“But—”
“Not one!”
When Simon reluctantly set the roll back on the plate, she turned away from the table, walked over to the stove, and filled her cup.
“You’re being a bit hard on him,” her mother whispered.
The only answer Miriam gave was the look she had perfected.
“I’m just saying…” Abigail raised her hands in mock surrender. “I’ll let you two work this out. You are both adults.”
“Ya. Only kinner would fight over a sweet roll.” Her dat sprinkled a small teaspoonful of brown sugar on his oatmeal and reached for the smallest edge roll—one with hardly any frosting on it that Abigail had made especially for him
“How could he eat both middles and…” Miriam paused to count. “Two edge rolls? That’s what I don’t understand—”
“I was hungry,” Simon explained.
“And to be fair, I didn’t bake as much as I used to. I’m trying to help your dat watch his sugar intake.” Abigail moved the sugar bowl to the other end of the table, out of temptation’s reach.
Simon eyed the roll Miriam wanted, which now rested on the plate between them. His fingers drummed a beat on the table.
“We could split it,” he offered.
“Split it?” Miriam shook her head. “Terrible idea.”
“But I’m still hungry, and that one was mine. I had it nearly in my mouth when you walked in the door.”
Miriam could sense him caving. In truth, all of the sugar he’d already had was no doubt hitting his bloodstream about now, and the large amount of bread and yeast was settling in his stomach. He probably wasn’t even hungry anymore.
It was only a matter of saving his pride.
Then again, she’d watched him put away more than his fair share at Sunday gatherings.
She needed to play this just right, or she would be eating an edge roll. Since she was a child, she had always loved the middle of anything baked—soft and moist and sweet.
“I’ll make you a deal.” She turned her kaffi cup in her hands, staring down into the black liquid as if what she was about to offer were difficult for her. “I’ll brush your gelding this morning if you’ll give me that roll.”
Simon sat back in his chair and ran his hand up and down the length of his suspenders. “Why would you do that? It’ll take at least an hour to care for Rocky. All for one roll?”
Miriam shrugged. “I suppose I have a sweet tooth.”
“Done! But no changing your mind.” He slid the plate across the table and stood. “I guess being a teacher doesn’t make you the smartest one in the room after all. One roll for an hour’s work.” He rubbed his stomach as he walked out of the room. They could hear him in the mudroom, putting on his outside gear and whistling.
Miriam ate slowly, savoring every bite, aware that her parents were watching her.
“Worth it?” Abigail asked.
“Oh, yes.” She stood and carried her plate to the sink.
“Are you going to tell Simon I’d already asked you last night if you’d care for his horse today?” Joshua asked.
“Why would I tell him that? He’s happy. I’m full. Everyone got what they wanted.”
“Indeed,” Joshua said, following his son back out into the cold.
But as Miriam and Abigail began cleaning the kitchen and set to work preparing the stew they would have for dinner, she couldn’t help thinking again of Gabe and Grace and wondering if they were ready for the approaching storm.
Chapter 10
By the time daylight had completely pushed back the darkness Friday morning, Gabe had managed to move his horses, bull, and the few dairy cattle he owned to the side of the barn where the roof hadn’t caved in from the night’s snowfall.
Things were crowded, and his arms ached from the work. He was certain the coming day only promised more of the same.
If he could read a Wisconsin sky the same way he would have read one back in Indiana, more snow would begin to fall soon.
The question was, what time would Grace be up today? She usually slept at least an hour later on Saturdays. He studied the sky standing on the side of the barn he’d moved all the animals away from, gazing up through the gaping hole where the barn’s roof had been.
Why had he come here? Did he really think running away from prying eyes would make his life easier? Did he really think hard work would ease his pain?
He’d heard about the Cashton Amish district. Some people had warned him folks here clung to old ways, and many families chose to leave rather than abide by the rules. Others claimed he would like it, that fewer choices made life simpler. The folks in this group tended to reminisce about the era their parents had lived in, a time they thought was truer to
what the founders of their church had envisioned Amish life should be. They reminisced while using their gas stoves and gas refrigerators. Their opinion might change if they had to chop a block of ice out of the river.
All Gabe knew was that the distance from Indiana to Pebble Creek had seemed right and the price of the farm had been something he could afford. Staring at the structure that was literally collapsing around him, he now understood why the price had been so low.
Beyond that, though, past the roof that had fallen and the walls in need of repair, were fields more fertile than any he had worked in Indiana. He could tell this even in the midst of winter.
He’d pored over brochures before they had moved. He knew the Englischers called Cashton and most of southwestern Wisconsin the Driftless region. They claimed the terrain had been bypassed by the last continental glacier. Instead, the area contained the largest concentration of cold water streams in the world.
Gabe couldn’t testify to glaciers that might or might not have been. Perhaps he’d ask God about that when his day came to depart this world, or maybe they would be busy discussing other things. What he did know was that the rivers and streams—like Pebble Creek—meandered through a rich soil that could and would grow good crops.
If he could survive the winter. If he could protect his animals until spring. If he could be both father and mother to Grace and still tend to all that needed to be done.
The bull let out a long, low call as he knocked up against the pen Gabe had fastened together. It wouldn’t hold unless the beast settled down. Striding toward it, Gabe dumped more feed into the trough and then moved on to tend to the other animals. By the time he’d finished more than an hour had passed, and he glanced up to see Grace trudging through the snow, making her way outside to the outhouse.
Outhouse!
His grandparents had an old outhouse at their place, but both his parents’ home and the home he’d shared with Hope had indoor bathrooms. That his daughter had to go outside, in this weather, tore at his heart.
Had moving here been the right thing to do?
The bishop’s rules were harsh. Gabe didn’t understand why the buggies were open, why the bathrooms were outside, or why the ornament on the roof of his barn had to be changed within a year of his buying it. He liked the bishop well enough as a man, and he would follow the Ordnung. He understood this was more than the will of Jacob Beiler. The bishop seemed like a fair man, though stern and hard to read.
Fine with him. He wasn’t one for talk himself.
The Ordnung, and even the bishop himself, voiced the will of the church. Both represented the district, the community Gabe had chosen to live in and to raise Grace in until she was old enough to marry and choose her own path.
Grace began the walk back to the house, and as Gabe made his way toward his daughter to scoop her up and carry her high on his shoulder, he vowed to himself that he would find a way to make their new home work.
Everything appeared harder in the winter. He knew this from experience.
Hadn’t it been winter when illness had forced Hope to bed?
He pushed the memory away in the same way he locked the hurt out of his heart each night. As he walked through the mudroom, Grace scrambled out of his arms and knelt down beside the box she’d made for Stanley. He’d finally drawn the line on the rodent and told her firmly that he couldn’t sleep in her bedroom any longer. The mudroom had been a compromise.
“Breakfast in ten minutes,” he said as he pushed past her into the kitchen, trailing snow and some dirt and hay as well across the floor. With no woman around to fuss, he’d become lax about cleaning his boots before entering the house.
“One of the only advantages of living without a woman,” he muttered, as he picked up the kaffi pot and stared at yesterday’s sludge.
The fire he’d banked earlier was still warm, so he added wood to it and moved the pot to the back. Wouldn’t hurt to heat it up. It had tasted bad yesterday. It couldn’t taste much worse today.
But what to fix Grace? His oatmeal skills weren’t improving, and he needed to hurry back to the barn before the snow started falling again.
She solved the problem by appearing at his side with milk and cheese from the icebox.
“If you’re thinking grilled cheese for breakfast, we don’t have any bread.”
Shrugging, she walked to the bread basket and uncovered two of the biscuits left over from Miriam’s dinner. Then she pulled open a drawer and found a knife and cutting board.
“I get the idea. Run and get dressed while I warm the biscuits.”
She started out of the room but then came back to hug his legs. Her arms around him sent a surge of warmth straight to his heart, as they always did.
Kissing the top of her head, he muttered, “I suppose that means you want a sliver of cheese for Stanley.”
Instead of answering, she skipped out of the room and down the hall.
Of course she didn’t answer. He’d stopped expecting her to.
Had he been wrong about that? He had never questioned himself until the scene in the barn with her teacher.
As he heated up a little bacon grease and split the biscuits, he ran a hand over his jaw. Perhaps Miriam was right. Certainly, she dealt with more children than he did. Unfortunately, his daughter hadn’t come with an operating manual like the gasoline engine on the windmill pump. It was one of the few modern conveniences the bishop allowed them.
As Grace settled back at the table, Gabe realized he’d given up long ago trying to figure out what was wrong with her speech. He’d learned to accept her as she was.
Wasn’t that what God wanted him to do?
And why couldn’t the teacher do the same?
His temper threatened to spark like the grease in the pan heating the biscuits. Getting angry wouldn’t do a bit of good, though, so he pushed his anger down and ignored it the way he ignored so many of his feelings. Hope had always laughed at him in the evenings as she ran her hands through his beard and coaxed him into talking. She said feelings were like rocks in the field—if you didn’t clear them out, they would break something.
He smiled at the memory as he slipped the hot biscuits onto a plate and topped them with cheese.
Grace looked up at him in surprise.
“What? Can’t I give you a breakfast that isn’t burnt without earning a surprised look?”
She shook her head, kapp strings flying, and bit into the biscuit. She didn’t say danki, but the contented look on her face was all the thanks he needed.
He checked the stove, made sure everything was away from the fire, and then wrapped his own biscuits in a cloth napkin and took a gulp of the kaffi he’d poured. Grimacing, he realized he should have taken the time to make some new—it actually did grow worse each day. Interesting.
Glancing outside, he saw that his fears were confirmed. Snow was falling once again, already covering their tracks.
“Grace, I have to go back to the barn and try to settle the animals. If you have to use the outhouse, you hold on to the rope to get there. Understand?”
She nodded but remained focused on her drawing. That was another habit he needed to break—drawing while she was eating. One thing at a time, though, and today the animals needed to come first.
“I’ll be back by lunch. You’ll be okay?”
She still didn’t look up, so he squatted beside her chair, placed his hand under her chin, and forced her to look at him. When she did he was reminded once more of his wife, but this time he realized—maybe for the first time—that Grace was no longer the baby he had held in his arms. She was growing up with a look and a personality uniquely her own.
Now she cocked her head and waited patiently.
“The storm is quite bad,” he explained. “The fire will keep this room warm, and I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Grace reached up, patted his cheek, and smiled. Then she turned back to her cheese biscuit and her paper.
That was what he’d reme
mber later—the feel of her hand on his cheek and the smile in her beautiful brown eyes.
Chapter 11
Grace had every intention of minding her dad.
She did well for the first hour or so, but there was only so much drawing even she could do.
The snow continued to pile up outside until she had trouble even seeing the broken fence that bordered the pasture where the grumpy old bull was supposed to stay.
In some ways she understood how he must feel. She could sympathize, another new word they had learned in school. He was so big and had so much energy. It must be hard to be told to stay in one place. She wasn’t big, but her feet were restless. They tapped a rhythm on the wooden floor as she drew the final details onto her drawing of the picture outside the window.
Turning the page, she considered starting another picture, but her hand was a bit sore from clutching the pencil. She thought she should take a break. Looking around the kitchen, she wondered what she would do if her mom were here. Probably they would be baking cookies or making bread. She needed to learn to do such things, but her dad was too busy to teach her. And besides, his cooking experiments didn’t turn out so well.
She walked over to the stove and picked up the pan he’d set on the back corner of the stove, away from the warmth of the fire. The grease had chilled and hardened.
It looked icky.
She stuck a finger in it and stirred. It didn’t look like something you would want to eat. She knew when you put it into some foods it added flavor. Grace had watched her mammi Sarah do that when she cooked back at their old house.
But she didn’t know if she could figure out how to do such things. She had helped to separate beans before, looking for the occasional bad one and scooping the rest into the pan. The kitchen had been full of people and the oven full of good things to eat. Mammi Sarah had set her in front of the beans and shown her what to do. When she’d finished, the beans had gone on the back of the stove in a pot filled with water.
Grace didn’t know how to soak beans. How long did you keep them in the water? Did you put some of the grease in while they were soaking? Did you add salt or pepper to the water before they started to cook? Maybe she could ask Miriam for a book that would explain such things. Her reading was much better now than when she’d left Indiana.
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