He shook his head and trained his eyes on a cracked shingle. She is not the woman for whom you should be looking.
“Jacob!” Jacob recognized Catrina’s voice. He raised his eyebrows. It is as if she read my mind.
“I am on the roof, making good use of those nails your grandfather gave me.”
“Do be careful!”
“Do not worry about me.”
“I won’t. I am much too busy worrying about this mud. My shoes are covered in it.” The tone of her voice sharpened. “However will I get it all off?”
“Mud comes with the territory. Best get used to it.” She did not answer so Jacob scooted to the edge of the roof and looked down. Catrina ignored him and scraped her shoes against the edge of the porch.
“You are putting mud on my porch, you know.”
“There was already mud on your porch. There is mud everywhere. This whole place is filled with mud. Mud, mud, mud.” She scraped her shoes harder. “And I HATE mud.”
Jacob shrugged. “You may as well relax and go with it.”
“We did not have this problem in Philadelphia.” Catrina pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed the sides of the leather shoes. “We had cobblestone streets.”
“You will not see that here anytime soon. If ever.”
Catrina pursed her lips and kept wiping her shoes. Jacob shook his head and turned his attention back to the roof. The sun felt warm on the back of his neck and he whistled a cheerful tune as he hammered a nail.
“Jacob, do come down.”
“I need to patch up the roof. Awful lot of water getting in.”
Catrina held up a basket. “Grandmother wants me to give you these eggs. We heard that the foxes took the hens we gave you.” She swatted at a bug and scowled.
Jacob nodded. “Ja. There is only one left.”
“What a dreadful place this is. Full of foxes and wolves and bears.” She swatted at the bug again. “I put a slice of pie in the basket too. Come down and share it with me.”
“I will be down as soon as I get this shingle in place.”
“No, come down now. I came all the way here in the mud.” Jacob glanced down at her and frowned. He did not like the demanding tone in her voice. She responded with her best grin. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” Her tone turned honey-smooth.
Jacob sighed. “All right, all right. I’m coming down.” He caught himself glancing over at Widow Yoder’s pastureland before he scrambled down the ladder. Put Greta out of your mind. There is someone here, right now, who is actually interested in you.
Catrina complimented his work as she pulled the cloth off the basket.
“So what kind of pie do you have in there?”
“Dried apple.”
“My favorite.”
“Good. Now, eat up. Grandmother is expecting me to return right away.” He had no trouble following her orders and the pie disappeared in minutes. Jacob licked the crumbly, greasy crust from his fingers and sighed. “That hit the spot.” He tipped his hat and hurried back up the ladder. “Be sure to thank your grandmother for the eggs.”
“Ja. I will put them in the springhouse for you and be on my way.”
“Danke, Catrina.”
Jacob noticed a lonely figure wander through the neighboring field as he picked up his hammer. Greta’s full skirts whipped in the wind and a stray curl fell from her prayer kappe. He paused and studied the peaceful, confident gait. Jacob knew that his eyes lingered too long. He cleared his throat, grabbed a nail, and forced his gaze back to the roof.
A rich, sweet melody carried on the breeze. The song tickled Jacob’s ears and tempted him to look back toward Greta. He recognized the tune and smiled; it was his favorite song from the Ausbund. His eyes followed the young woman as she picked her way across the muddy clearing.
Greta felt someone watching her. She glanced up, and scanned the tree line and the field before she noticed Jacob perched on his roof. Their eyes met. She stopped singing and looked away.
Jacob turned back to the broken shingles.
“Jacob!” Catrina’s shrill voice carried across the yard.
“Ja?”
“I am leaving the eggs beside the path.”
Jacob frowned and peered over the edge of the roof. Catrina stood with her hands on her hips as she studied the mud puddle that blocked her path to the springhouse. “If you leave the eggs there, the fox might run off with them. The springhouse is just a few feet farther down the path. Can’t you put them away?”
Catrina shook her head. “You will have to do it when you come down. I cannot possibly get through that puddle.” She set the basket down. “Do you not remember that I just cleaned my shoes?”
“Ja. I remember that you scraped the mud onto my front porch.”
“What was that, Jacob? I did not quite hear you.”
“Nothing, Catrina.”
“Indeed.” She raised her chin, smoothed her prayer kappe, and checked that each strand of hair remained in place. Catrina turned to leave, but a hen exploded from the brush beside the path. She gasped and jumped out of the way. A flash of orange shot out of the woods and lunged toward the panicked bird.
“Catrina! The fox! Stop him!” Jacob scrambled across the roof to save his last hen.
Catrina froze in place, pressed her hands against her cheeks, and watched the fox chase the terrified bird.
“Stop that fox!” Jacob shouted again.
“Oh! I could not possibly! It looks as if it might bite. And the mud, Jacob. THE MUD!”
Jacob felt a surge of frustration as he stumbled over the top of the ladder. He knew that he could not get there in time. And she is standing right there!
“I will save it!” Greta shouted from the edge of Widow Yoder’s field. “I can get there!”
Greta took off as fast as her feet could fly. She waved her hands and shouted as she sloshed though mud and jumped across narrow streams of rain runoff. She tumbled over the fence and kept hollering, “Get out of here! Go!” The fox ignored Greta’s shouts until she reached Jacob’s yard. Then the animal’s dark eyes cut to her. He took off like an arrow and disappeared into the brush.
Greta scooped up the hen and gave her a quick once-over. The bird’s beady eyes flashed with indignation. “A little worse for wear, but she will make it.” Greta let the hen go and it raced for the safety of the chicken coop.
Jacob reached the scene of the crime a few seconds later. “Thank you, Greta. You saved my breakfast.”
Greta shrugged and brushed a chicken feather from her apron. “It is nothing. It is what neighbors do.”
Jacob shook his head. “You were fantastic. You came out of nowhere and—”
“Jacob!” Catrina waved to Jacob from the dry ground above the springhouse. “Won’t you give me a hand?”
He turned around. “Ja. Give me a second.” Jacob turned back to Greta, but she was already headed away. He watched her trudge through the mud and noticed the dirty water that darkened her skirts all the way up to her knees. Yet she did not complain or ask for thanks.
“Jacob! Please come!”
Jacob sighed and returned his attention to Catrina. She waited on the high ground with her skirts hitched up above the mud.
“How can I help you, Catrina?”
“I need you to escort me to the main path.”
“You managed to make it down from the path. Can you not make it back?”
“That was before a wild animal attacked me.”
“That fox was not after you, Catrina. He just wanted a nice chicken dinner.”
“Well, between the wild beasts and the mud, I dare not move.” She extended a soft, pale arm. “Take my hand. I feel as if I might faint if you do not lead me out of here.”
Jacob stole a glance over his shoulder. Greta looked small in the distance as she strode through the wild grasses with her head held high. He thought he heard a faint song that carried on the breeze. The familiar tune stirred something deep within him.
/> “Jacob.” Catrina wiggled the fingers of her outstretched hand. “I am waiting.”
Jacob looked back to her. “Ja, ja. I am coming to rescue you from your horrific peril.”
Catrina poked out her bottom lip. “You must not make fun of me, Jacob.”
“No. I apologize.” He gave her a good-natured grin and took her arm. “All is well.”
“That fox terrified me. Who knows what might have happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
Catrina shrugged and lifted her chin. “Not this time, anyway.”
“Foxes do not hurt people.”
“Unless they are rabid.”
“And this one was not.”
Catrina smiled and reached for Jacob’s hand. “Why are we quarreling? Would you not rather pass the time in pleasant conversation?” She stared into his eyes and batted her thick black lashes.
Jacob sighed. “Let’s get you to dry ground.”
Catrina’s face lit up in a lovely grin. “You are a perfect gentleman, Jacob Miller.”
* * *
Greta did not see Jacob again for several days. She occupied herself with an endless list of chores to take advantage of a warm spell. Linens had to be aired, meat salted and sent to the smokehouse, muddied clothing boiled and scrubbed clean. The harder she worked the less time she had to think about Jacob Miller and the beautiful young woman who clung to his arm.
Greta did steal glances toward his farm whenever she cut across the field to fetch water. But she never caught a glimpse of his strong, silent silhouette. Where is he? He ought to be hunting or harvesting. She shrugged off his absence and reminded herself that he was of no concern to her. And, when she saw Catrina sashay across his front yard one afternoon with a basket in hand, Greta vowed to never look in the direction of his farm again.
When Greta returned to the cabin with two buckets of water, Abraham and Amos waited by the hearth.
“There is still a nip in the air,” Amos remarked as he held his palms toward the crackling fire.
“Ja.” Greta set the buckets down and stretched her back. I hope they have good news for me! She told herself to be patient as she pulled off her cloak and hung it on the peg.
“It is a pleasant surprise to see you this morning. Would you stay for breakfast?”
“No.” Mr. Riehl shook his head. “We just stopped by to let you know that the Fisher twins will come to live with you.”
Greta’s face brightened and she clasped her hands together. “Wunderbar!”
Ruth smiled as she stirred a bowl of corn cake batter.
“Ja.” Amos grinned. “We are sure that you will make a good foster mother.”
“When will they move in?” Greta’s thoughts flew in a thousand different directions as she thought of all the things that needed to be done.
The two elders looked at each other and shrugged. “This afternoon. If that suits you.”
“This afternoon!” Greta pressed her hands to her cheeks. “So much to do in so little time.”
“We can tell them to wait.”
“No! Tell them to come as soon as they can!”
Greta raced around the cabin in a panic. Ruth shook her head and smiled. “You are going to run yourself ragged.”
Greta frowned and finished scrubbing the hearth. Then she moved to the window and pulled out the tacks that held the oilcloth in place.
“Sit and have a glass of water.” Ruth ladled a drink from the water bucket. Greta shook her head. “The oilcloth needs to come down until the cold returns. It is warm enough to melt the grease in the cloth, and you know what a mess that can make.”
Ruth clucked her tongue and set the pewter cup back on the shelf. “The children will love you, Greta, regardless of the state of the cabin.”
Greta swallowed. “Do you really think so?”
“Ja. Of course. They already do.”
Greta pulled out another tack. “They will have to eat burnt bread.”
Ruth shrugged. “So you cannot bake. You have more important talents.”
“Truly?”
“Truly. Just look at how much you love the children, and how well you have taught them. They are reading entire passages of the Bible now.” Ruth pointed a finger at Greta. “None of them could do that a few weeks ago.”
There was a knock at the door.
“They are here!” Greta smoothed her skirts and straightened her prayer kappe.
“Greta, there is no need to be so nervous. They have been coming here every day.”
“I know. I just want everything to be perfect for them. And I know that I will never live up to that standard.”
Ruth waved her hand. “Nobody’s perfect.”
Really? Catrina’s flawless skin and immaculate white apron came to mind. She pushed the image away and opened the door.
“Greta!” Eliza and Peter flew into her arms. “Are we really going to stay with you?”
“Ja. You really are.” As she held them close she realized that Ruth was right. They would not care if she burned the bread or overcooked the stew or wore a stained apron. All they wanted was to be loved. And she had plenty of that to give.
Chapter Twenty-One
The twins settled in right away. Within a few days it felt as if they had always been there—except that everything felt brighter, happier, and more exciting. For the first time in her life, Greta even looked forward to cooking because Peter and Eliza liked to help. Peter would watch her work with a serious expression on his small face, ready to hand her a pot or cooking utensil. Eliza would roll up her sleeves and kneel beside the fire. She would stir and taste, then give a solemn nod when Greta pulled the cauldron off the fire.
The first baking day the twins helped as always—and ended up covered with flour. Greta could only see their eyes as they stared up at her and blinked to keep out the white powder. She stared at the mayhem and almost scolded her messy charges, but could not help laughing instead.
“My goodness! How did this ever happen?!” Greta shooed them toward the door. “Outside, both of you. We will have to wash it off.” She started with Peter, but when she tried to rinse the flour off of him with a bucket of water, the powder transformed into a sticky paste. Greta put her hands to her cheeks and groaned. “I should have thought of that.” The harder she scrubbed the more the paste stuck to his skin.
“Yuck!” Peter ran away from the wash bucket. “Too gooey!”
“Peter, wait! Come back!” Greta took off after him with the wet washrag in hand. Eliza followed, a trail of flour billowing behind her. Peter dashed across the backyard and through the field. He laughed and shouted as he dodged mud puddles and chickens. Greta giggled as she leapt a ditch and raced after them. The wind whipped against her skirts and hair and made her feel alive.
Eliza whizzed past. “You can’t catch me either!”
Greta grinned and picked up speed. “I will get you both!” Eliza cut to the right and Greta turned her head to watch where the girl went, but kept running forward, toward Peter. Greta whipped her head back around just in time to see Jacob’s tall, muscular body blocking her path. She gasped and stumbled to a halt.
“Oh! Oh, my.”
Jacob smiled indulgently. “I am not sure I should ask. . . .” Peter zipped by and screamed. His body was still covered in a sticky coating of flour. Jacob raised an eyebrow.
“Oh!” Greta covered her face with her hands, humiliated. When she moved them away she noticed that her palms were covered in flour. “Oh, no!”
Jacob’s smile widened to a grin. “That’s right, Greta, you are covered in flour too.”
“I did not realize.” She bit her lip and brushed her blouse. I wish I could sink into the ground right now! Of all the people to see me like this! Peter raced past again, still screaming. Eliza followed close behind, shrieking and laughing. “We are not always this strange. Honestly.”
Jacob shrugged. “Looks like they are happy, anyway.”
Greta nodded. “Ja.”
Greta frowned. “That sounds bad. Are you all right?”
“I will be fine. Been a little under the weather is all.”
“I noticed that you have not been out for the hunt or the harvest.”
“You noticed that, huh?”
“Ja. I mean, no. I mean, not that I was watching your farm or anything. I just happened to see, or not see, when I got water . . .” Greta cleared her throat and adjusted her prayer kappe. She could feel her cheeks turning red. Jacob watched with an amused expression on his face.
“I have gotten some of it done. Not as much as I’d like, but there is still time yet.”
“I did not know that you were ill. I would have offered to help. Especially after all that you did for us when I sprained my ankle.”
“It was nothing.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “Anyway, Catrina came by with food.”
“Ja. I noticed that, too.” Greta gasped. “I mean, not that I was watching.” She shook her head. “Like I said. I just noticed that . . . Never mind.”
“Jacob!” Catrina’s shrill voice carried across Jacob’s backyard.
“Sounds like her grandmother has sent me another basket of food.” He turned around and gave the beautiful young woman a polite nod.
“Oh. Well. How nice of her.” Greta’s stomach sank. She remembered her unkempt appearance and tried to smooth out her skirts. The motion spread the flour onto more of the fabric.
“Don’t worry, Greta, a little flour never hurt anyone.”
Greta smiled. “No, I suppose not.”
Catrina waved dramatically and held up the basket. “Jacob, you should be resting. I have your supper.” She raised the hem of her skirts to avoid the mud and carefully picked her way toward them. “You must be feeling better, ja?” She glanced at Greta dismissively, then did a double take. “My goodness, whatever happened to you?”
Where the Heart Takes You Page 17