A Simple Winter: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel

by Rosalind Lauer

  “Look. You need a safe place to stay. We have plenty of room. Let’s get you out of here.” He reached across her to remove the keys from the ignition, then remained close, his face inches from hers. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay. Let’s see how you are on your feet. Careful getting out. You might be in shock, and it’s really slippery out here.”

  Of course she knew about the ice, having skidded off the road, but he knew shock could do strange things to people.

  He stepped back from the door and extended a hand. She swung her feet around and accepted his help. A good thing, as she wobbled when she stood up.

  Relief washed over him as he held tight to her, steadying her. The car might be a wreck, but she had been spared. That was all that mattered.

  She stared at their hands, then looked up at him. “No gloves?”

  “I left in a hurry.”

  “Oh.” She turned to close the car door, but the force sent her legs skittering out from under her.

  In an instant he was behind her, catching her slender body, which seemed light as she collapsed in his arms.

  “I’m not doing too well.” She held on to his shoulder as if clinging to a cliff edge. “It’s not a seizure or anything, I just—”

  “You’re probably in shock. It happens in accidents like these.”

  “Yes.” Her face was inches from his, so close he saw a snowflake catch in one of her eyelashes.

  With Remy in his arms, safe and soft, he didn’t feel the cold, but suddenly he became acutely aware of the details of this moment, the thick white flakes falling in her hair, the silken sound of her breathing in the stillness, the glimmer of trust in her green eyes.

  “I would carry you to my horse, but I’m not sure how solid my footing would be on the road.”

  “Oh. Right. I think I can walk.” She slid from his arms, a soft, light, perfumed dream.

  After she retrieved her purse and locked the car, they slogged toward Thunder, who didn’t seem to mind the cold at all. Remy slipped again, reaching for him as she went down. He managed to catch her, and slid an arm around her waist for support.

  “Pretend you’re skating,” he said.

  Lips pursed in determination, she slid a foot forward, then clutched him again. “Skating was never my thing.” But she took another sliding step, and he loved her for trying.

  “That’s your horse?” she asked. When he nodded, she observed, “He doesn’t have a saddle.”

  “I told you, I tore out of there. Have you ever ridden?”

  “Here’s one area where I won’t give you trouble,” she said. “Lucky for you, Herb was a big believer in riding lessons. Horse camp, dressage, the whole deal. I’ve even ridden bareback.”

  “That will help.”

  He wove his fingers together to give her a boost, and was impressed at the way she mounted the horse with ease. He swung up behind her. But when he reached around her shoulders for the reins, the smell of her hair so near his face took him by surprise, traces of honeysuckle and mint in a winter storm. To be inhaling the scents of an Englisher woman, to have her delicate bones pressing against him, the heat of her body melding with his …

  This was unlike anything he’d experienced since his return home.

  Sweet torture.

  For a moment he considered going on foot. Feet pounding the frozen earth … that would calm his heightened senses, but it would slow them down. And he didn’t want to risk exposing Remy to the cold after the trauma of the car accident.

  He squeezed the horse’s sides with his calves, and Thunder moved forward. The motion sent Remy leaning back against him, awakening thoughts and sensations that had faded long ago. The touch of a woman, her smell and softness …

  Clenching his jaw, he urged his horse on through the snow and pushed toward home.

  THIRTY-ONE

  hrough the layers of shock and cold and rejection, Remy was struck by the irony of the situation. Sitting in front of Adam on the huge draft horse, she allowed herself to melt back into the warmth of the one man she would never be allowed to love. She knew that from their argument back at the house. From the way he’d hammered at the separate worlds thing, the message was hardly subtle.

  Nothing would ever transpire between them.

  She shifted her head, fitting into the cradle of his arms. Such a perfect fit, though it would never happen. That was sad. Tragic.

  And now she’d wrecked her car.

  Her eyes stung as they misted over. To add insult to injury, a fat snowflake flew at her face and caught in the lashes of her left eye. She gave it a rub, wincing at the picture of what her life had become.

  A ruined car. A failure at work. An absent father.

  If she had died in that crash, who would have cared? A handful of people.

  And since Arlene had given her permission to take some time off to get her story, she might not have been missed for days or even weeks.

  And she had thought the fact that Adam King hated her was tragic? The real tragedy was her life … or the lack of one.

  Here lies Remy McCallister, a woman who really didn’t matter.

  That was the thought that had consumed her as the world went spinning beyond her car. I’m going to die, and I haven’t done anything with my life yet.

  And she’d asked God for help.

  And she had survived, intact. Was that God’s answer? Was this her second chance at life, to do it right this time?

  Were her thoughts scrambled?

  Probably.

  It was difficult to process the tangible information coming at her right now. The warmth of his body curling around her shoulders like a winter cloak. The gentle motion of the horse beneath them, rocking her to a daze, lulling her to a fantasy that the strong, warm man behind her actually cared for her.

  No, don’t go there.

  For now she had to hold on to the relief of being safe. A double bonus to have been saved by Adam, though she could never admit that to anyone because it was insane to fall in love with an Amish man when you were a millionaire’s daughter from the city.

  She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to inhale the scent of him, a way to memorize the moment. He smelled of wood smoke and soap.

  “Easy,” he called. “Almost there.”

  Was he talking to the horse, or to her?

  She didn’t want to return to the house. She didn’t want to go back to reality, back to her empty life.

  To stay on this magnificent creature, cocooned in the crook of Adam’s body with leaves of snow dancing around them—that was the picture of bliss.

  But maybe, just maybe, her life could begin again when her feet touched the ground. A do-over, like in schoolyard kickball. A second chance.

  Although Remy had thought she would never see the inside of the King home again, most of the family seemed to be waiting there to welcome her, relief warming their eyes.

  “You’re safe!” Sadie threw her arms around Remy as she stepped into the mudroom. “We were so worried.”

  Remy hugged her tight, touched to know they were concerned about her. “I smashed my car. It’s a mess.”

  “But you’re okay?” Sadie leaned back to look at her.

  “I’m fine.”

  “She needs to sit down,” Adam said from behind her. “She might be in shock, and she’s cold and wet.”

  “Soaked to the bone.” Sadie rubbed Remy’s shoulder. “I can feel it. Your jacket, is it ruined?”

  “I think it will dry.”

  “Get those wet things off, and we’ll warm you up.” Mary stood in the doorway, hands on her hips as she summoned her into the kitchen.

  With a mixture of relief and weariness, Remy turned to the outside door, but Adam was gone. “Where did he go?”

  “Thunder needs to be put away, but he’ll be back. Quick, now. Out of those wet things.”

  Remy shed her jacket and boots and stepped into the warm kitchen, where Leah and
Susie, Mary, Ruthie, and Simon waited anxiously.

  “There’s snow in your hair,” Ruthie observed, her eyes bright. “It’s been coming down like crazy.”

  Remy ran a hand through her hair and droplets fell. “Look at me, dripping on your clean floor.”

  “Don’t worry.” Leah handed her a clean towel, then leaned down to swipe at the floor with a rag.

  “Jonah said we might not make it to school tomorrow,” Susie reported. “That’s why Ruthie and Simon got to stay up extra late.”

  “And I wanted to see Remy,” Ruthie said.

  “Me too.” Simon seemed happy to include himself.

  “We’re all so very relieved, Remy. The children couldn’t sleep one wink until they knew you were safe,” Mary said. “Now that you’ve seen her, it’s time for bed.”

  “But if we don’t have school, why can’t we stay up longer?” Susie asked.

  Mary shooed them toward the stairs. “The cows still need milking before sunrise.”

  “The cows don’t get a snow day,” Simon said.

  That brought laughter from the girls.

  “That was funny, Simon,” Ruthie said, patting his back as they headed up the stairs.

  While Remy changed into a borrowed nightgown and toweled off her wet hair, Mary warmed milk on the stove.

  When they convened on the daybed in the kitchen, near the warm glow of the potbellied stove, Remy’s body was weighed down by weariness. “I feel like someone put me through that wringer on your washing machine.”

  Sadie adjusted the quilt on Remy’s shoulders. “No wonder. You had a rough night.”

  “Drink some milk, and then it’s off to bed with you,” Mary said in a tone as warm as a mother’s embrace. Funny, Mary was younger than Remy, and yet she was so capable and caring.

  “I can’t believe I wrecked my car.”

  “What happened to it?” Sadie asked.

  “It went off the side of the road. It’s still there, stuck in a ditch, but I can’t drive it. The air bags popped out.” Remy sipped the warm milk, not wanting to recount that terrible moment when she lost control. The skidding tires. The impact. The crash of metal against earth.

  She shuddered. “I’m thankful to Adam for rescuing me. I … I don’t think I got a chance to thank him.”

  “You’ll have your chance in the morning.” Mary patted her knee. “Now, finish up your milk. You will stay with us as long as need be.”

  Remy swallowed, hugging the warm mug. “Adam is not going to like that.”

  “Don’t let my brother’s ways offend you.” Mary sat back, smoothing the apron pinned to her dress. “His role in this family is an important one. On most matters I wouldn’t dream of arguing with him, but sometimes he pushes us all down a difficult road.”

  Remy thought of the cold, detached way he’d asked her to leave … and then the exquisite gentleness he’d displayed when he’d helped her from the car. What had she called it? Killing her with kindness. “He’s a man of contradictions.”

  “That he is,” Mary said, “but his heart is in the right place.” She rose and tucked her chair under the table. “You get some rest. If you need anything, just ask Sadie.”

  “You’re in the girls’ room, just like last time,” Sadie said, taking the empty mug from Remy.

  Upstairs, Sadie led the way to the familiar room with its dusky rose walls and six beds, three of which were occupied by Ruthie and the twins, already fast asleep under their quilts. This was the room she had slept in more than two weeks ago, though it seemed to be an older, cherished memory, like the locket she’d had since childhood, the heart-shaped charm holding a tiny picture of her mother’s smiling face.

  Sitting on the edge of a bed, Remy yawned. If it weren’t for the overwhelming weariness, she would have stayed awake to savor the safe, peaceful feeling of being in a room full of sleeping girls, their hair splayed over pillows, their chests rising and falling in the rhythm of sleep.

  “This reminds me of summer camp.” Keeping her voice to a husky whisper, Remy turned down the quilt and slid into bed. “I always loved sleeping in the cabin with my friends.” The air in the room was cool, but it was cozy under the covers.

  “Sweet dreams,” Sadie said, shutting off the gas lamp.

  As the light faded and the room’s rosy hues gave way to velvet darkness, Remy found comfort in the deep quiet broken only by the stirring of breath. Real peace abided here. Secure in that comfort, she let go of her worries and found her way to a blessed sleep.

  THIRTY-TWO

  now.

  It covered everything as far as Remy could see. The barn and outbuildings, fence posts and fields, tree branches and troughs. Every hill and valley was made white, smooth, pristine. Dancing flurries filled the air, adding magic to the scene, as if someone had shaken a snow globe of a Tyrolean village in the Alps.

  The white covering brought its own illumination to the purple light of dawn, making it easier for Remy to watch from the bedroom window as Adam and Gabe, flashlights on their heads, guided the cows in for milking.

  Milking time. She had to get out and help.

  Turning back to the room, she was amazed at how quietly the other girls had slipped out without waking her. It was actually the moo of a cow that had pulled her from sleep. That and the fact that she had probably gotten to bed before nine P.M. and slept straight through.

  She crossed the room, taking a moment to bounce on her bed and take it all in. Amazing how your disposition improved with a good night’s sleep. She straightened the pillow and smoothed the quilt, then hurried downstairs.

  The kitchen was empty, though the coffeepot on the stove was still warm. A quick search revealed her clothes hanging on a chair by the potbellied stove. Still damp. Whatever.

  She pulled her leather jacket on over the nightgown, stepped into a pair of muck boots on the porch, and headed out to the cowshed, the section of the barn with stalls for milking. Although she hadn’t had success with milking last time, she’d learned that there were plenty of things she could do, from cleaning the cows’ teats to toting pails of milk to the larger vats.

  The large barn door was still slightly open, and Remy slipped into the welcome warmth as well as the earthy smells of hay and animal. Cows were tied to the posts, and Remy could make out the forms of people seated beside each creature, milking by hand.

  “Good morning!” Ruthie called as she lugged a silver vat down the aisle. She wore a bright blue bonnet that covered her ears and tied like a gift package under her chin. “Come for another milking lesson?”

  “I think I’ll stick to the manual labor,” Remy said. “How about that snow? Isn’t it gorgeous?”

  “No school today!” one of the girls chimed in from behind a cow. “Adam said we’ll turn into Popsicles if we try to walk in this weather.”

  “No school!” Ruthie clasped her hands under her chin. “That makes it a very special day!”

  “I have half a mind to hitch Jigsaw up to the old sleigh.” Jonah was milking the cow to Remy’s right. “Do you think it would work, Adam?”

  “Depends on how well packed the snow is.” Adam’s voice came from up the aisle. “If this keeps up, we can give it a try. It’s really coming down and from the way the air feels, the look of that sky, I don’t see it letting up anytime soon. You’re probably stuck here for the day, Remy.”

  “Oh.” Just like that, he was giving up on getting her out of here? Not that she minded so much. It was nice to be welcome, and today he didn’t seem at all upset about the prospect of her staying on.

  Still, if Adam couldn’t help her find a way out by noon, she would find a towing service to retrieve her and her car. “That’s okay. But it might stop, right?”

  Jonah turned to her, his eyes dark with the serenity of a person who accepted things as they were. “That’s not likely.”

  Adam’s head poked out from under one of the cows. “Remy?” He stood up for a better look. “That’s some getup you’re wearing ther
e.”

  “Do ya think?” Remy swirled the skirt of the nightgown around her knees. “My clothes are still drying.”

  Sadie peeked out from under a cow and gave a little laugh. “You may be on to something. I want to do the morning milking in my nightgown.”

  “You didn’t have to come out here.” Adam’s voice sounded kind today, without a trace of the disapproval she’d faced the night before. “Especially after the accident. You should probably take it easy.”

  “But I want to help,” Remy insisted as Ruthie handed her a pair of work gloves. More than that, she wanted to be a part of the easy banter that passed as they kept to their tasks.

  “Don’t let Mary see,” Gabe said. “She gets upset when I get mud on my trousers. But a nightgown?”

  “There’s no mud.” Jonah stood and moved out of the stall, three-legged stool in one arm, bucket in the other. “Everything is frozen solid.” He handed Remy the pail of milk. “If you’ll take this, I’ll move on to milk Elma.”

  “Got it.” Remy took the bucket, though it weighed down her left arm considerably.

  “I’ll show you where to pour that.” Ruthie picked up a bucket from Sadie’s stall and led the way down the aisle toward the back of the cowshed.

  As they worked, Ruthie explained how the big vat was hooked up to a refrigeration unit that kept the milk cool until the driver, a Mennonite man who had worked for their family for years, came and carted it off in a big truck.

  “Most of it goes to our uncle Nate’s farm, where it gets turned into cheese,” Ruthie explained.

  Remy glanced back down the aisle, where Gabe was moving some of the cows out the wide barn door. “And you have to milk them twice a day, every day?”

  “Every day.” Ruthie rolled her eyes. “Even on Sundays.”

  “And snow days.”

  “But Adam says it’s going to get easier. We’re getting milking machines, like the ones at Uncle Nate’s farm. You just hook up the hoses and it does all the work, easy as pie.”

  “Really? With a machine like that, maybe even I could milk one of your cows.” As Remy poured milk from a bucket into the larger vat, some of the liquid splattered onto the hem of her nightgown.