But her hands, both of her hands, were clasped over her mouth, as if they could hold her mouth shut and keep any more screams from escaping. As if her hands could silence her voice.
Her eyes were wide with fright as she stared at Miriam’s father.
Gabe didn’t say a word. He merely went to her and placed both of his hands gently on her shoulders. He’d seen her this way before. Mostly after Hope had died, while they were still staying with Erma and Micah. Once or twice even after they had moved to Cashton, when she’d wakened from a nightmare.
But Grace didn’t seem to see him, or even Abigail, who was murmuring softly and trying to pry the blistered finger away. Grace’s eyes were focused on Joshua, and the fear—the terror on her face—tore at Gabe’s heart.
“Did you burn your finger, Gracie?” Joshua’s voice was soft, low, and kind.
Grace nodded slightly, still not daring to move her hands away from her mouth.
Joshua moved forward slowly until he stopped just in front of her, and then he bent down so they were eye to eye.
“I bet that hurt.”
Again the nod.
“I burned my finger last summer when I was clearing the fields by burning brush. It hurt so much I let out a holler that made birds take flight.”
Grace’s eyes widened even more in disbelief.
“I believe it helped some to holler that way. It let out some of the pain.” He held out his right index finger to her. “I still have a small scar, but mostly it’s healed.”
Grace lowered her hands to touch the scar on his finger, which was large, old, and calloused. When she began to speak, the words and the tears came tumbling out at once. “I dropped…dropped the spoon and tried to pick…pick it up. When…when I did the stove was hot, like Ab-Abi-Abigail warned me.”
She hiccuped as the tears tracked down her cheeks.
“Aloe vera is just the thing for that. Joshua, could you—”
“I know which plant it is. I’ll go and fetch a leaf for you.” He winked as he stood up and moved toward the windows on the kitchen’s south side. Gabe hadn’t noticed when he was there for Christmas, but the window ledges were filled with plants.
Before he could ask, Miriam said, “Mamm is something of an herbalist.”
“Common sense, is all. Grace, come sit at the table and I’ll show you how to do this, and then I’ll send a cutting from the plant home with you. It would be gut to start your own plant in case your dat is as clumsy as Joshua. You’ll need to learn how to care for him, and aloe vera has many uses.”
As she proceeded to slice the leaf from the plant open and apply the gel to Grace’s finger, Joshua and Gabe finished with the dinner preparations. Miriam tried to help, but they shooed her away.
“I’m practically well, you know.”
“Wunderbaar. We like the practically well people to wait in the other room until we call them.” Joshua handed Gabe the cornbread pan as he dished up the chicken and dumplings into bowls.
By the time they had placed everything on the table, Grace’s finger was bandaged, and she was completely distracted by Abigail’s knowledge of herbs.
Gabe was relieved the situation had calmed so quickly. He was relieved Grace’s burn was minor. And he was especially relieved to see that Miriam was indeed on the mend.
However, he knew he had some explaining to do, and he knew he wouldn’t leave the King house without doing it. Miriam sent him the occasional worried glance, punctuated by more than one long stare. Yes, he would be explaining to Grace’s teacher what had happened earlier. Correction—he would be explaining to his freind what happened. He owed her that much.
The question was when.
And the answer came when Joshua took Grace to the barn to feed scraps to Pepper. Abigail insisted on taking care of the dishes alone. Gabe and Miriam were in the sitting room, playing a game of checkers next to the iron stove.
Miriam had taken two of his pieces. What he had left was cornered on his end of the board.
“Give it up,” she said. “You can’t win.”
“What a terrible thing to tell your houseguest.”
“I’m being honest with you.”
“Ya, but I could—”
“No, that won’t work. You tried it the last game.”
“How about—”
“Uh-uh.”
“Oh. Ya, you’re right.” Gabe tapped the table, hoping another idea would come to him.
“Stop staring at the board and explain to me what happened with Grace earlier.”
He would rather endure losing another game of checkers again, but she wasn’t going to be satisfied letting him suffer silently in defeat—so he pushed back from the board, looked across the table, and tried to think of how to begin.
Chapter 37
Miriam wanted to shake him.
He’d already wasted twenty minutes playing checkers and making small talk.
He wasn’t good at either. Soon Grace would be back and they wouldn’t be able to speak openly.
“Gabe, she was terrified. Why?”
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he stared out at the inky night, as if he could find something there that would make the telling easier. Finally he turned and met her gaze.
“Her mamm died at her parents’ home, and we were there—Grace and I.” The memories came slowly, softly, but with a wealth of what he was feeling packed inside each word. “My fraa had been sick for many months. The night she passed, Grace woke from a dream, crying for her mamm. I had been by Hope’s bed for two days. I…”
He looked again into the darkness and then down at the checker board. “I didn’t want to be away at the end. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I should have spent more time with our dochder. She was such a little thing, and she didn’t understand…”
His words drifted off, but his eyes locked onto hers, sending a tremor through her heart.
“What happened, Gabe?”
“She came running into the room just after Hope passed. I…I didn’t see her come in or I might have stopped her. I might have at least tried to explain. She threw herself at the bed and tried to crawl up on it. She was crying and screaming, and then Hope’s father walked into the room. It was the dead of night.”
There had been so much emotion in his voice as he described that night—tenderness, agony, regret—but when he came to this part of the story, Gabe’s voice went flat, as if he were relating an event he’d read out of the Budget, as if he were telling something that had happened to someone else.
“I’ve replayed that moment in my mind many times. Though Micah was harsh, I believe he did only what was natural to him. He’s a hard man, and he’d just lost his dochder. No doubt he was hurting, but he was merely—merely keeping it inside.” The last four words were a whisper.
“He shouted at Grace to be silent. He told Erma to take her from the room. He said that he would not have such a display in his home.” Gabe shook himself free of the memory and smiled weakly. “He was like the wrath of Gotte come down on that room.”
Miriam pulled in a deep breath. “So that’s why Grace was afraid tonight?”
“I suppose.”
“She was afraid my dat would…shout at her for crying?”
“It was gut for her to see that not all grossdaddis respond so harshly to tears.”
Miriam swallowed past the lump in her throat as she saw Grace and her dat walking from the barn to the house, holding the lantern between them. She knew the answer to her next question, but she had to ask it nonetheless.
“Gabe, is that why Grace didn’t speak when she first came here?”
“Ya. Micah told her to be silent, so she was. She was silent for more than three years.”
They went home soon after that. They were there long enough to share dessert and for Grace to play one game of checkers with Joshua. Gabe and Miriam’s mamm talked about the meeting that was to take place after church on Sunday. There was to be discussion over whether to elect four from among them
to go and speak to the Englischers.
If a group was elected, they wouldn’t attempt to stop the building of Amish Abbey, but they would present their concerns about the project.
Gabe and the Kings were in agreement. All hoped the vote would be in favor of speaking with the Englisch, but Joshua wasn’t optimistic. Word was that Bishop Beiler and Clemens Schmucker were against it—two of the strongest voices among their group.
Gabe and Grace both asked about Miriam’s health again before they left, and she assured them she was fine. Actually, she had felt restless all day. She’d stayed home when Abigail had pointed out it would be difficult to teach with her frequent trips to the outhouse.
She didn’t remind her mother that the outhouse issue was due to the herbal remedies. They had helped with her congestion, but there were…side effects.
“Will you be back to school on Monday?” Gabe asked.
“Definitely. If I stay here, I’ll float away in mamm’s tea.” She said it after her mom had hurried back inside to fetch the leftovers she was sending home with Gabe.
“I’m glad you’re doing so much better. Grace was worried.” He reached out and touched her arm. “We both were.”
“Danki.” She felt warmth rise in her cheeks and knew it wasn’t from the fever. She was grateful they were standing in the darkness of the front porch.
As she said good night and watched Chance trot off down the lane, pulling the Miller buggy into the darkness, she tried to straighten out the feelings tumbling around inside.
She’d accepted in the last few days that she cared for Gabe and for Grace. His story tonight of what had happened with Hope’s dad had only strengthened those emotions.
Why did Gabe Miller confuse her so? She turned to head back into the house and nearly collided with her mother.
“Help me with the dishes?”
“Sure.” Miriam was a little surprised, because she’d heard nothing from her mother since coming home except “Rest,” “Stay in bed,” and “Don’t you have something to read?”
Standing at the sink and rinsing the dessert dishes, she was surprised to find that the warm water actually calmed the thoughts whirling around in her head.
“It was nice having Gabe and Grace over tonight.”
“Yes, it was.” Miriam’s instincts went on instant alert. Abigail wasn’t one for idle conversation.
“He’s such a nice young man.”
Uh-oh. They’d had this chat before, every time an unmarried man came within a field’s length of their home.
“He is a nice man, but we’re not going to have that conversation again, especially not this late in the evening. Are we?”
“What conversation do you mean, dear?”
“The one where you remind me I’ll soon have gray hairs peeking out from under my prayer kapp?” Miriam smiled as she accepted a kaffi mug from her and placed it in the rinse water.
“I thought it might help you to talk about Gabe. You seemed… worried after your time alone with him in the sitting room.”
Miriam wondered if what Gabe had told her was spoken in confidence but decided he wouldn’t mind her parents knowing. It would probably help if it were to happen again when Grace was over, and as they were the Millers’ closest neighbors, Grace would undoubtedly visit often. So she told the story of Hope’s death, Grace’s reaction, and how Micah had frightened the child into silence.
Abigail handed her the last dessert plate, released the plug on the water, dried her hands, and sat at the kitchen table, pulling her needlework toward her. “That certainly explains what happened tonight.”
“And why she didn’t speak when she came to school. Why she didn’t speak for three years. What a horrible thing for her own grossdaddi to do to her.”
Abigail didn’t answer. Instead, she peered at Miriam over her reading glasses and waited.
“The look? That’s it? You’re giving me the look?”
“Don’t be quick to judge, Miriam. You’re older and more mature than that.”
“Abigail, is there any pie left?” Joshua called from the sitting room.
“I’ve already put it all up for the night.” She wagged her sewing needle at Miriam. “Your dat doesn’t need that pie. Have you noticed he’s beginning to gain weight?”
“I heard that!”
“Hears well, but still—I believe he is gaining weight. I meant to have Doc Hanson check that.”
“Or we could weigh me on the scale I keep in the barn.”
“Back to Gabe and Grace,” Miriam said, ignoring her father. “Surely you agree it was a terrible thing for her grossdaddi to do.”
Abigail selected a different color thread and took her time fitting it through her needle. “We weren’t there when it happened.”
“But—”
“And we can’t really know what occurred or how it occurred. Gabe was deep in his grief, no doubt.”
“Still—”
“How many times have you corrected a child in the schoolroom, only to be told later that you hollered at them?”
“I hardly think this is the same thing.”
Abigail stitched a row on the baby quilt she was piecing together—Miriam could see now that’s what it was. Small ducks and rabbits took turns peeking out of the squares. She suddenly wished she had something for her hands to do, something rather than pick at loose threads on her sweater.
“You’re probably right,” Abigail admitted. “This is not the same. We don’t know this man, Micah, so we shouldn’t be judging him. That’s my point.”
After sewing for another moment, Abigail lowered her voice and continued. “Many Amish men suffer from depression. This is something we don’t speak of, Miriam. Our life is hard, and we won’t be complaining about that, but this Micah…what do we know of his life? What has he been through? After much suffering, perhaps, in the middle of the night his dochder dies and his grossdochder is screaming and he breaks. He snaps. He yells for her to stop. In his grief, he made a mistake—perhaps. It is not for us to judge.”
Miriam nodded, slowly, as she continued to pull on the thread she’d succeeded in unraveling from her sweater. “Gabe said something similar. He said maybe Micah was hurting, but keeping it inside.”
“Gabe seems mature.”
Miriam stared down at her hands. “I thought that was what you wanted to talk to me about—Gabe.”
“Is there anything to discuss?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not.” Miriam stood and began moving things about the already clean kitchen.
“Maybe you want there to be?”
“It seems one moment we are growing closer and the next…” She picked up a dish towel and wiped off the clean counter.
“Yes?”
“The next moment he’s talking about Aden Schmucker. Why?” She smacked the counter with the towel. “Can you tell me why he’s so intent on pointing out what a respectable, successful person Aden is?”
Abigail smiled as she clipped her thread. “I might have noticed that he mentioned Aden a time or two.”
“‘Aden has a gut job in a buggy shop.’”
Abigail nodded.
“‘Aden has purchased a nice small farm.’”
Abigail’s eyebrows went up when Miriam dropped into the chair across from her.
“‘Aden comes home to Cashton at least once a month to check on his parents—what a respectful thing to do.’”
Abigail actually laughed. It might have only been a chuckle, but it counted.
“Why? Can you explain Gabe Miller to me?”
“I can’t. No more than I can explain your dat.”
“I heard that too, and I’d still like another piece of pie.”
Miriam put her head in her arms and began to consider sleeping there at the table. She heard Abigail stand, put up her sewing, and turn out the light.
When she felt her mother’s hands on her shoulders, kneading her sore muscles, Miriam almost groaned with relief.
“P
erhaps Gabe merely wants what is best for you.”
“And that is Aden?” Miriam looked up at her mamm, feeling suddenly small and unsure of herself.
“I don’t know.” Abigail patted her arms as she smiled. “But it does sound as if he’s trying to convince himself that Aden might be best.”
Miriam kissed her hand.
“I like Gabe—a lot.”
“I know you do.”
“What if he’s best?”
“Then we’ll have to pray he figures that out.” As she was leaving the kitchen, she added, “Be sure and mend that sweater where you dug a hole in it.”
Chapter 38
New Year’s Day. Grace had been on such an emotional seesaw that she’d forgotten all about New Year’s Day! First there’d been the sheer joy of receiving her kitten, Stormy, on Christmas morning. After that she’d plunged into despair worrying over Miriam, worrying she might stay sick or even grow worse. When they’d had dinner on Friday evening, Grace had been happier than she’d been in ages—happier even than when her dat had handed her Stormy with the ribbon around his neck. Up and down her emotions had gone over the last week, exactly like the seesaw behind the schoolhouse.
All of which explained why she’d forgotten about the letter. Or maybe she’d just pushed it to the back of her mind, the way she sometimes pushed thoughts of her grossdaddi Micah. She remembered him in her prayers at night, and she wasn’t mad at him. Her father had explained to her that her mother’s father loved them all in his own way, but her memories of the man were bad, and she didn’t want them in her mind.
The letter was a good thing, but it made her heart hurt a little, so maybe she had forgotten about it on purpose.
When she came to breakfast with her Sunday clothes on and her Bible in her hand, her dat was already sitting at the table.
“New month, Gracie. Time to turn the calendar page.”
She’d skipped across the kitchen. She loved turning the calendar page. To her way of thinking, it was like opening up her sketchbook to a clean white piece of paper. A new month was filled with new days to spend with Sadie, new weekends at home with Stormy, and there was no telling what new things might happen around their farm, which seemed to be adding new members each week.
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