It’s strange, the things Englischers will indulge in, he thought. And even stranger what they won’t. He could understand why too many sweets could be bad for a person—it didn’t take a medical degree to realize how important a healthy diet was—but he took Rachel’s ex-boyfriend’s opinion about sticky buns as a criticism of the Amish lifestyle. It’s probable some of us eat more sweets than Englischers, but our desserts aren’t loaded with preservatives. Not to mention, we get a lot more exercise than the average Englischer, and we’ve been eating farm-to-table food since long before they came up with the term.
Arden hopped down from the ladder and glanced across the room at Rachel, who was holding a paper in one hand and running her finger down another paper that lay flat on the desk. She appeared to be cross-referencing documents. Arden hoped she could figure out her brother’s abbreviations, notes and figures, because Arden sure wouldn’t be able to offer any input—a fact he didn’t want her to discover. Someone who dates a doctor would find it hard to fathom how a grown man can’t comprehend simple record-keeping.
Rachel happened to look up and caught him watching her. Giving a little smile, she asked, “Is there something you need from me?”
“I—I wanted to be sure the pickup is scheduled for this shed for tomorrow.”
She set down the paper she was holding and opened the planner; like Ivan, she was very organized and had already decluttered the desk. After surveying it, she rose and brought the planner to him. Pointing at a line halfway down the page, she said, “I think this PU means pickup, right? But what’s RCWS? The customer’s initials?”
Arden chewed the inside of his cheek. He would have been hard-pressed to answer even if Rachel hadn’t been standing so close to him, but he was especially distracted by the little scar above her right cheekbone. It reminded him of a tiny chip in a delicate teacup. “I, uh, I think the cu-customer’s last name is Johnston. There should be a customer folder in the filing cabinet.”
“I’ll check on the name and address, but that still won’t tell me if the pickup has been scheduled. To be safe, I’d better call the trucking company,” she decided. Motioning to the shed, she remarked, “It’s beautiful. I love the look of natural wood. What do you call wood like that?”
“The wood is cedar, but the way it is sawn is called rough cut. I like rough-cut sheds best myself, too.”
“That’s it!” Rachel grabbed his forearm. “RCWS means rough-cut wood shed.”
It was either her hand on his arm or sheer embarrassment about his ignorance that was making Arden feel overly warm. He pulled away and reached to retract the ladder so she couldn’t see his face. “Jah, that makes sense. Sorry, I must have forgotten.”
“Don’t apologize—it’s a crazy recording system. I’m just hallich we cracked the code.”
Relieved Rachel didn’t think he was a dolt for not knowing the acronym, Arden confessed, “To be honest, Ivan takes care of most of the paperwork around here, so your guess is as gut as mine when it comes to figuring it out—actually, your guess is better than mine.”
“If that’s true, it’s because I’m related to him. Our minds must be wired the same way.” Rachel’s eyes twinkled with more green than brown today. “Which probably explains why we were so close as kinner.”
“Seems like you’re still pretty close, otherwise he wouldn’t have asked for your help,” Arden acknowledged, which seemed to brighten Rachel’s expression even more.
“Do you have other brieder or schweschdere?”
“Neh, just Grace,” he answered. “She lives with me, along with my mamm. I moved here from Indiana when I heard about the opportunity to work with Ivan. Then I brought my mamm and Grace out after my daed died a few years ago.”
“Do you miss your community in Indiana?”
“Jah, but this is my community now. It’s where my familye and my kurrich familye live, so it’s home to me.”
A shadow crossed Rachel’s face, and Arden realized he might have sounded as if he were judging her for leaving the Amish, which he wasn’t. That’s what happened when he volunteered too much information—he said the wrong things even if he managed to use the right words.
“That reminds me, I’m going to visit Hadassah during my lunch break today,” Rachel said. “I’ll take the business phone with me, in case a customer calls.”
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Arden asked. He meant was she sure she wanted to take the business phone, but she must have thought he was asking if she was sure she wanted to visit Hadassah.
“Jah. I’m going to offer her and Colin a ride to the hospital whenever they want to visit Ivan,” she answered. “And that offer is open to anyone in the community, including you.”
Given how quickly rumors spread in Serenity Ridge, Arden couldn’t imagine traveling alone with any woman, much less with a woman who’d “gone Englisch.” Still, he thanked her for her thoughtful offer, and they resumed working until their one o’clock lunch break.
“I left your sugar fix wrapped up in the bottom drawer,” Rachel said with a sassy grin before she exited the workshop.
“My sugar fix?”
“Jah, the sticky buns, remember? I’m not going to eat any more of those since I have plenty at the haus, so help yourself. There’s four left.”
“Only four?” he joked back. “The Amish require six servings of fresh goodies a day.”
“Ach, I forgot,” she said, pretending to smack her forehead. “I’ll bring more tomorrow.”
It made Arden inexplicably happy that he could still hear her laughing even after she’d closed the door behind her.
* * *
Rachel hesitated in the driveway, wondering whether she should drive or take the buggy. She didn’t want to offend Hadassah by showing up in a car, but she didn’t have a lot of time to spare, so she went inside to fetch her keys. Passing a mirror, she realized she should do something to her hair, which hung loosely about her face and shoulders. It would have been hypocritical to pull it back in a bun the way the Amish women did, but out of respect to her sister-in-law, she brushed it into a ponytail. She was already wearing a long navy blue skirt, and while her cotton top was short-sleeved—most Amish women in Serenity Ridge wore sleeves that covered their elbows—it was plain white and had a modest neckline.
Although she’d felt encouraged her attempt to break the ice with Arden had been so successful, when Rachel pulled into the driveway leading to Colin and Hadassah’s home, she lost her confidence. She didn’t expect to be welcomed, but what if her sister-in-law wouldn’t even acknowledge her? There was only one way to find out. As she followed the path to the house, Rachel carefully avoided the puddles leftover from yesterday’s rain. Muddy shoes would give Hadassah an extra reason not to invite her in, and Rachel really wanted to meet her nieces and nephews who hadn’t yet been born by the time she left.
Colin and Hadassah had gotten married when Rachel was fifteen, and by the time she left home, they had one daughter, with a baby boy on the way. Two years later, Ivan wrote that Rachel’s sister-in-law had had another girl, and three years after that, another boy. Sadly, she’d lost a baby, too—Rachel had sent a letter of condolence, which, like the other letters, went unanswered. Although it would be considered too bold to inquire, she hoped Hadassah’s current pregnancy was progressing smoothly and the unborn twins were healthy.
Rachel’s legs felt weak as she reached the front porch, where a boy about five years old was sitting on the steps. “Hello,” she greeted him. “I’m your ant. You must be Thomas.”
The boy furrowed his brows. “My ant went to Canada with Onkel Albert.”
“Jah, that’s your ant Joyce. I’m your ant Rachel.”
“I don’t have an ant Rachel,” the boy contradicted. He wasn’t being rude—Rachel doubted Colin or Hadassah had told him about her. It stung, but she couldn’t blame his parents. They would have f
eared they’d negatively influence their children by merely presenting the possibility someone could leave the Amish.
“Would you please tell your mamm that Rachel is here to see her?”
Hadassah appeared at the screen door. “Thomas, your lunch is on the table. Take your boots off by the entrance and go join your bruder and schweschdere.” She held open the door and turned to the side so he could pass.
Squinting up at her from the bottom step, Rachel noticed Hadassah’s belly was so large she appeared to be nearing the end of her pregnancy, although with twins, it was sometimes difficult to tell. “Hello, Hadassah.” Her voice quavered as she fought to control her emotions. Her sister-in-law had always had a way of making Rachel feel she was intruding, even when Hadassah came to live in Rachel’s house.
She remained on the other side of the door. “What can I do for you, Rachel?”
Her manner told Rachel what she’d already suspected; she was going to be treated like an outsider, or at best, like a customer. You could invite me in and introduce me to my nieces and nephews. “I wanted to say hello and ask if you need a ride to the hospital. I’m hallich to—”
“Neh, we don’t want to ride in an automobile. We’ll get there on our own.”
“But it’s too far away to take the horse,” Rachel began to say. Then she realized it wasn’t that Hadassah didn’t want to ride in a car—it was that she didn’t want to ride in Rachel’s car. She swallowed, trying not to feel slighted. “Okay, well, if you change your mind, let me know. And once Ivan is discharged, please feel free to stop by the house any time.”
“Denki—I mean thank you,” Hadassah said as if Rachel no longer understood Deitsch. “It’s good to know you’re allowing Ivan’s relatives to visit him. His brothers will be so pleased.”
There, that did it; Rachel’s eyes welled with tears. “I didn’t mean I was allowing you. I meant I’d wilkom your company.” Even though you’re being terrible to me.
The silence that followed was punctuated by birdsong and the muffled conversation of the children inside. If Rachel heard correctly, her name was mentioned. She waited another moment before saying, “I’d better get back now. I’ve been helping Arden with the bookkeeping, and I’m having a hard time making heads or tails of Ivan’s notes,” she nervously admitted.
“Colin could take over if you’re struggling,” Hadassah suggested.
Rachel’s cheeks burned. Hadassah was just looking for a reason to get rid of her. “Denki, but I’ll figure it out. Besides, it keeps me busy until Ivan is discharged.”
“If you’re bored, you should consider returning to your job in the city. Joyce will be back from Ontario soon. Between the two of us and the deacon’s wife, Jaala, we can care for Ivan. We might not have nursing degrees, but we’ll see to it he recovers.”
Rachel refused to respond in kind to Hadassah’s barbed insinuations. As genuinely as she could, she replied, “Denki, but I’d rather stay here until Ivan is better. I’d wilkom your help caring for him, though. And if you change your mind about a ride, let me know...”
Rachel forgot she’d been standing on the first stair and she stumbled as she backed away, narrowly missing a puddle, but she didn’t stop moving until she reached the end of the road, where she pulled over and put the car in Park. Resting her head upon her arms on the steering wheel, she tried to gather her swirling thoughts. Why does Hadassah tear me down like that? I’m not the one who acts as if I’m better than she is—she’s got so much hochmut she’d rather pay exorbitant cab fare than accept a ride from me! And I never implied she couldn’t effectively help Ivan recover—even if I do know more about health care than she does.
The abrupt honking of a loud horn caused Rachel to lift her head and peek in the rearview mirror. She rolled down her window and motioned for the driver to go around her; there was plenty of room. You might as well pass me, she thought belligerently, because I’m not leaving until I’m good and ready to leave. And that warning went double for her sister-in-law.
* * *
Arden sighed as he put away his insulated lunch bag. Having completed the shed for pickup, he could move on to the next one. He also had a doghouse to build. Arden and Ivan frequently joked the business should be named Blank’s Little Buildings instead of Blank’s Sheds, because they accepted orders for everything from sheds to ice shanties to doghouses. They’d even built an outhouse once. As long as a building’s dimensions fell within the state’s regulations for transportation, they could make it, but Arden was looking forward to the day when they could focus solely on sheds, because they could be more efficient that way. But until their business grew, they couldn’t turn away any projects, including playhouses. Which meant this afternoon Arden had to tackle the task he least enjoyed: painting.
He’d just finished rolling paint over the first wall when someone entered the workshop. Unable to tell whether it was Rachel or a customer, he squeezed through the playhouse door. It was Rachel. Her face was blotchy and her eyes pink-rimmed, like on the day he met her. Uh-oh. Her visit with her sister-in-law must not have gone well.
Arden could sympathize; Colin’s behavior toward her the other day had been downright spiteful. You’d think under the circumstances, he’d extend Rachel a little grace. After all, Ivan had been gravely ill and Rachel was volunteering in the shop. Arden supposed it was none of his business how the Blanks interacted, but it wouldn’t hurt if he showed a little more appreciation of Rachel himself.
“Hi,” he said casually, strolling in her direction to grab a rag from the bin.
“Hi.” She barely glanced up from the planner she had already opened in front of her. “If I’m reading this right, it looks like there’s another shed that’s due on Monday.”
“Jah. I’ll get right on that as soon as I finish painting the inside of the playhouse.”
This time she paused to look up. One side of her mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Lavender?”
“How did you know?”
Rachel pointed to her own hair, which he noticed she’d pulled into a ponytail, to indicate he had something on his head. “The flecks gave you away.”
Arden scowled, pulling a curl straight and checking his fingers for paint. “It’s lecherich, the things the Englisch want.”
Now Rachel scowled, too. “Jah, we’re a lecherich group, aren’t we?”
“Neh, I wasn’t referring to you.”
“I’m Englisch now.”
Arden was trying to cheer her up, not offend her. He would have been better off if he’d remained inside the purple playhouse. “Jah, but—but—”
She waved her hand. “It’s okay, I agree. Some Englischers buy their kinner too much stuff they don’t need. I mean, considering the homelessness problem in our country, it seems extravagant for someone to buy a kind a playhouse she’ll outgrow in a year or two. But at least if they’re going to buy something like that, it’s schmaert they’re investing in a playhouse as nice as the one you made.”
“Denki,” Arden said as warmth traveled from his ears all the way down his spine. “I hope the customer still thinks it’s nice when it’s delivered on Friday and she sees my paint job. I’m not the best painter, and it’s close quarters in there.”
Rachel snapped her fingers. “Oh no, I forgot to reschedule the pickup for that. Listen, how about if I make the call and then I’ll do the painting so you can start on the next shed?”
Arden was taken aback. “That’s very kind, but you don’t have to do that. It’s enough that you’re managing the paperwork—”
“Really,” she insisted, looking directly at him. Maybe it was because her hair was drawn up or because she’d been crying, but she appeared pallid, almost gaunt. “There’s not enough paperwork for me to do while I’m waiting for a customer to call. Besides, I find the monotony of painting soothing. Especially when I’m using a soft color, like lavender.”
“Lavender paint has the opposite effect on me,” Arden said with a laugh. “But even with its windows open, the playhouse doesn’t have a lot of ventilation. I don’t want you to get dizzy.”
“I carry surgical masks wherever I go. I’ll grab one from my car.”
So, while Arden went to work on the next shed, Rachel painted the playhouse interior. Every once in a while he’d call out, asking how she was doing in there, and she’d indicate in a muffled voice she was fine.
Toward the end of the afternoon, she stuck her head out and pulled off the mask. “Kumme take a look. Tell me if you see any spots I’ve missed.”
Arden gingerly ducked into the playhouse—Mrs. McGregor had insisted he shouldn’t add an adult-size door to the back of the structure because she wanted the house to be “child-centric”—and straightened his posture to three-quarters of his height. Rachel was as meticulous with her painting as Ivan was about his work. “I hate to admit it, but it looks really gut.”
“Hate to admit it? Why? Because Englischers can’t paint as well as the Amish?”
“Neh, because it’s purple.”
Rachel blushed. “Sorry, I guess I’m a little defensive.”
“A little?”
She chuckled. “I think it could use another coat, don’t you?”
“It’s hard to say until this coat dries.”
“Jah, you’re right. So what color do they want the trim painted?”
“I think she called it cloud white or cotton white—it was something fluffy.” Arden instantly wished he hadn’t admitted that was how he remembered the name of the paint—he sounded so juvenile.
The Amish Nurse's Suitor (Amish 0f Serenity Ridge Book 2) Page 5