Jo fanned the air with her hand. “Compared to how cold it is outside, it does feel toasty in here—even if it’s only fifty-eight,” she added with a nervous laugh.
Did she sound like a complete idiot? Michael remained quiet for a long time—or maybe time had stopped when he’d grasped her shoulders.
“Our special heaters burn the wood chips from a couple of nearby sawmills, where they convert all their scraps into fuel for us,” he murmured. “This might sound really odd, but sometimes I come into this greenhouse just to breathe . . . and pray. The air quality—and the roomful of beautiful crimson plants—makes me feel as though I’m standing on the shore of my own private Red Sea.”
Jo blinked. She’d always figured Michael for a man who was more sensitive to color and natural beauty than most, but she’d had no idea he could express himself so eloquently. Inspired by his thoughts, she inhaled deeply. When she focused solely on the brilliant red blooms, breathing in again, a sense of deep peace seeped into her soul.
“You’ve got it exactly right, Michael,” she whispered. “It’s so hushed and still here. The peacefulness settles right into your bones, if you let it.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, gently holding her against him. “This is my special place. It’s one of the reasons I look forward to the Christmas season every year,” he murmured. “I—I’m so glad you feel it, too, Jo.”
Jo closed her eyes to savor a moment she’d never believed she would experience. She tried not to read too much into it, however, for fear she’d jinx the miracle of Michael’s tender words.
After a few more moments, Michael eased away from her. “I should probably be a gut host and show you the house—carry your suitcase to your room and give you time to catch your breath after the drive.”
Jo chuckled. “Jah, your dat’s probably wondering what we’re up to,” she said before she thought about it. “I mean—that sounded so—it was rude of me to imply—”
Michael stilled her nervous outburst by gently placing a finger across her lips. “Dat knows exactly what’s going on with us, Jo. And he’s fine with it.”
Chapter 13
As Pete drove Mammi’s horse-drawn rig up the Helfings’ lane late Monday afternoon, a folded envelope burned a hole in his back pocket. All Sunday evening he’d sketched and rethought and sketched some more, devising ways to update the home that hadn’t changed since the twins’ parents had married years ago.
Because Detweiler had mentioned spending all afternoon in his workshop building chairs and toys to sell on Saturday, Pete figured it was a great time to visit Molly—and at the least suggestion, he’d show her his remodeling plans. He did his best thinking with a pencil in his hand, and while he’d drawn out a kitchen with an enlarged pantry, roll-out shelves, and a more efficient sink arrangement, he’d also convinced himself to state his case. Soon.
Pete wanted to court Molly in the worst way—but in the best way. She was one of the few people who really understood him, and she tolerated his missteps even when he said or did something totally inappropriate. Molly had joined the church years ago, so she deserved his most mature effort as a potential mate.
Beside him on the buggy seat, Riley wiggled in anticipation. Pete chuckled as he pulled up alongside the house, where—in his freewheeling, almost-English days—he’d parked his pickup.
But that foolishness was behind him now. At breakfast, he’d told Uncle Jeremiah he wanted to begin his church membership instruction—which had made his mammi cry, grateful to God that he’d finally seen the light. First thing after that, he’d put down a deposit on a courting buggy, which had widened Saul Hartzler’s eyes enough that the deacon and master carriage maker had placed Pete’s order ahead of everyone else’s.
So I’ve got to go through with this. No more horsing around, letting Detweiler turn her head.
With an impatient woof, Riley climbed over Pete’s lap, demanding to be let out. Pete had barely opened the buggy’s door before the golden pushed his way through the opening to land on the snow-covered ground. He announced their arrival with several boisterous barks, whirling in circles on his way toward the noodle factory and the dawdi hauses.
When the factory door popped open, Billy Jay dashed out into the snowy yard. “We’re workin’ in there!” When the golden retriever licked his face, his laughter rang through the crisp, wintry air. “Molly don’t let us sit around watchin’ her. Dawdi’s baggin’ dry noodles and I’m stickin’ on the labels!”
Pete smiled as he imagined the familiar scene. “And what’re Molly and Marietta doing? Sitting around watching you work?”
Billy Jay laughed again. It was wonderful to hear the kid sounding happy after all that had happened to him, even as Pete suspected the little boy was becoming very attached to Molly.
“Molly’s cuttin’ noodles. Marietta’s in the house cookin’,” he replied. He glanced back at the noodle factory and lowered his voice to a mysterious whisper. “She’s really bakin’ a cake for their birthday on Sunday, but that’s a big secret.”
“We won’t tell a soul,” Pete whispered back. “I’m going inside to say hi. When you come in from romping with Riley, don’t let him into the twins’ workroom with you. We’ll both be in big trouble.”
Stepping up to the factory entrance, Pete let himself in and quickly closed the door. The floury, vaguely sweet aroma of wet noodles wafted around him. The sight of Molly running her knife through a long section of rolled-out dough made him want to rush over and hug her. He missed being around her every day, more than he wanted to admit.
Reuben glanced up, smiling. “Look what the dog dragged in! Gut to see you, Pete,” he remarked as he shook the noodles he’d measured down into a clear sack.
Molly’s immediate grin made Pete’s heart race. “Glenn said he’d be working in his shop this afternoon. So you’ve taken some time off from building the house, too?”
He tried not to sigh because she’d mentioned Detweiler first. “Jah, we ran short on roofing nails, so we called it a day. Just as well, considering how cold it is—and the fact that all of us fellows have other business to tend to.”
He wanted to tell Molly exactly what he’d done this morning with his uncle and Saul Hartzler—but not with Reuben looking on.
“Awfully windy today, too,” Glenn’s dat put in. “I’d think your hands would get numb working outside on such a day—and denki from the bottom of my heart that you’re willing to rebuild our place right now, considering the weather and the remodeling project you already had going at your uncle’s place.”
Pete smiled patiently, aware that he wouldn’t be holding a meaningful—or private—conversation with Molly anytime soon. He heard the doorknob turn as Billy Jay came inside. “Happy to do it for you, Reuben. If my house had burned down, you and Glenn would be right there doing the same thing for me.”
Billy Jay, pink-cheeked from playing out in the snow without a coat, jumped feetfirst into the conversation. “But, Pete, you don’t have a house!”
Pete stifled a groan. Leave it to a little kid to point out the obvious—even though Molly was well aware that he lacked a home to offer her.
“Pete’s talking about the way neighbors help each other in a pinch,” Reuben pointed out with a purposeful gaze at his grandson. “And there’s nobody nicer or more helpful than Pete, ain’t so, Billy Jay?”
It was a valiant attempt to save the conversation, but Molly’s expression told Pete she was amused by the little boy’s remark. She turned back to her work, deftly pulling her sharp knife through the large rectangle of dough on her worktable.
“Pete is a gut and helpful friend,” she said, focusing on her cut. “And if he goes to the house to say hello to Marietta, I bet she’ll share some of what she’s been baking today.”
Just that fast, Molly had dismissed him.
Biting back a wounded retort—because they had an audience of Detweilers—Pete headed for the door. “Gut to see everyone. Stay warm,” he remarked. Th
e old Pete Shetler would’ve blown off the lot of them and raced down the lane in his pickup to go joyriding with Riley—
But that Pete’s not me. Not anymore.
When he stepped outside, he inhaled deeply to settle himself. The cold air filled his lungs, but it did nothing to ease the void in his heart. Once upon a time he’d been the one to fire off words that had probably wounded others—he’d teased the Helfing twins mercilessly while he’d lived here—and he’d been too clueless to think about the damage he might’ve done. Now that Molly was setting him aside, not taking him seriously, Pete felt like a seventh wheel: the two Helfings and the four Detweilers seemed to have quickly rolled into a family unit. He was on the outside looking in.
Even so, he decided to peek in on Marietta—mostly so Molly wouldn’t think he was slinking away with his tail between his legs.
“Hey there—what smells so wonderful-gut?” Pete called out as he entered the house through the mudroom. It had been his usual greeting as he’d joined them for meals when he’d lived here. He hoped he sounded as carefree as he had back in the days before Molly had wadded up his hopes like pieces of scrap paper and tossed them away.
“The bad penny’s returned!” Marietta teased from the kitchen. “Pete! Come in and take a load off.”
It was the most exuberant invitation he’d received all day. As Billy Jay had said, Marietta was making a birthday cake, and she kept on frosting it, as though she intended to whisk it out of sight in a few minutes.
“Aha! A little bird told me you were surprising your sister with a cake,” he said lightly.
“A little Jay-bird,” Marietta said fondly. “You can’t keep anything secret from that little guy, so it’s best to let him in on the surprise from the start. I’m stashing this in the deep freeze to take to the common meal after church on Sunday.”
With a flourish of her slender metal spatula, she smoothed the top of the chocolate frosting and then tossed the utensil in the sink. “You’ll no doubt see another birthday cake there, too, because Molly always finds a way to make one for me,” Marietta remarked as she placed her surprise inside a cake keeper. “It’s one of our sister traditions, now that Mamm’s not around to bake us a birthday cake.”
Pete blinked. As the too-slender woman placed her creation in the deep freeze and concealed it beneath several packages of meat from the butcher shop, he envied the twins’ close-knit relationship. His dat had died years ago, from an infection stemming from Lyme disease, and when his mamm had remarried, Pete had disliked her new husband so much that he’d refused to go to Indiana to live with them. Uncle Jeremiah and Aunt Priscilla had given him a loving home, but he had no siblings . . . no one with whom to share traditions and rituals that Molly and Marietta took for granted.
He suddenly had an even more compelling reason to want Molly for his wife. Living in the Helfings’ dawdi haus had given him a taste of how it would feel to be included in their family—and he yearned for the ordinary, everyday happiness they’d shared with him for those wonderful weeks.
But Molly obviously didn’t care enough about him these days to even talk to him. She was too wrapped up in her noodle making, and the Detweiler clan had already fit themselves into her routine—and into the space he’d once occupied in her life.
“Hey there! Why such a glum expression? Where’s that grin that makes your butt-ugly face worth looking at?”
Marietta’s lighthearted joke caught Pete off guard. He was fumbling for a smart-aleck response when she beat him to the punch.
“You know, if you hitched up with my sister, you could live here again, Pete,” she said, cocking an eyebrow at him. “It would serve you both right, goofy as you are.”
Pete’s mouth fell open. Had Marietta read his mind? Or was she making fun of him, knowing that Molly preferred Glenn’s company these days? She’d taken him totally by surprise—made him feel so vulnerable, so overwhelmed by his inability to win Molly’s affection, that he turned and hurried out the door.
“Riley!” he hollered hoarsely. “Let’s go!”
The dog bounded toward him. Luckily, no one was outside to quiz him about why he was in such a hurry to leave. Even so, after Pete had quickly untied the horse and urged the retriever into the rig before him, Riley gazed at him with a quizzical expression.
“Don’t ask!” Pete muttered.
All he could think about as he drove down the lane was how badly he wanted to race out onto the road in his pickup and floor the gas pedal—and how many hours he’d lavished on sketches that would transform the Helfings’ house into an even cozier home . . . a home he would never share with Molly. Bitterness and self-pity welled up inside him, to the point that when Riley placed a sympathetic paw on his arm, Pete hastily brushed it off.
You know, if you hitched up with my sister, you could live here again, Pete.
The horse clip-clopped past several snow-covered farms before his vision cleared. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d wanted to cry, and the inclination upset him even more than Molly had. He’d poured way too much hope and earnest effort into winning her, and now it seemed he’d wasted his time—
It would serve you both right, goofy as you are.
Pete stared at the horse’s muscular haunches as they rolled a little farther down the road. With a sigh, he slung his arm around his dog. “We are goofy together,” he murmured.
Riley licked his face and settled against him, happy to be his confidant again.
“Do you suppose I took Marietta all wrong?” he wondered aloud. “What if she was giving me a big hint and I missed it?”
Encouragement rumbled in Riley’s throat.
“What if Molly’s only pretending to be sweet on Glenn—maybe to wake me up?” Pete continued hopefully. “And what if I’ve been totally clueless about it? Marietta’s not the type to make jokes about me marrying her sister, because then they’d have to be separated—unless I came to live at their house! That’s it, Riley! That’s what she was telling me!”
The dog let out a bark that turned into an excited howl. As he kept vocalizing in that doggy way he had, his warm breath fogged the rig’s windshield, but Pete didn’t care.
“We’re on the right track!” he crowed. “I’ve got the house plans ready—now I just have to find a way to state my case to Molly. Even though girls always seem to know how you feel about them, they make you say it to their face, a million different ways, before they act like they believe you.”
“Woof!”
“You’re absolutely right, Riley—as always,” Pete added with a laugh. “We’ve got this. You and me, boy—and Molly. We’ll make it happen!”
Chapter 14
Come Tuesday morning, Jo was floating around the Wengerds’ kitchen on a cloud of euphoria. What a wonderful time she’d had during her visit! It had been sheer joy to spend the hours with Michael as he’d shown her around the nursery and explained the various aspects of their burgeoning business. Both he and his dat had spoken to her about such matters as though she was an equal, discussing everything from supply and demand to bookkeeping and expanding their inventory.
“Denki for making us such a tasty breakfast, Jo,” Nelson said as he drained his coffee cup. “We’re not used to having somebody cook for us—”
“But we could adjust!” Michael put in quickly.
His gentle smile made Jo feel as warm and bubbly as the butter she’d fried their eggs in. Still unaccustomed to so much praise, Jo quickly gathered up their plates. “Won’t take but a minute to wash these dishes, and then I’ll be ready to go. I’m all packed and—well, I can’t thank you enough for showing me such a fine time these past couple of days.”
“We’re glad you decided to come, dear.” Nelson smiled at her, too, although his happiness didn’t run as deep as his son’s. “Hopefully we can convince your mamm to join you next time.”
The mention of her mother was a sudden reminder that she was going home . . . that she would have to face whatever mood Mamm was in w
hen she arrived. She feared it wouldn’t be pleasant.
For the rest of the morning, however, Jo was determined to enjoy the Wengerds’ calm, comforting company. She was glad Nelson was returning to Morning Star with them. As much as she’d come to crave being with Michael—as much as she would’ve loved to sit near him in the rig, just the two of them—his dat had made a gut point the previous evening: it was best for her mother to see that Nelson’s presence had kept everything proper.
Jo also suspected that Michael’s dat was hoping for some time with her mother after they made the three-hour drive. She’d assured Nelson that he and his son would be welcome to stay for a bite of lunch before they hit the road again.
As they rolled along the road in the early light of dawn, Jo was delighted that Michael was grasping her hand. Jo was again seated against the side of the buggy, and when she gazed at Michael’s slender, handsome face, she lost track of everything else. They gently jostled each other as the rig rocked from side to side with the rhythm of the horse’s hooves.
Jo felt warm and alive, happier than she had been in years. She and Michael had talked late into the evenings, so whenever the buggy conversation ebbed into a comfortable lull, she almost dozed. About halfway to Morning Star, however, Michael’s whispered words startled her wide awake.
“Jo, I—I’m hoping it’ll be okay to take you out now—to court you. You want that, too, jah?”
She sucked in her breath. She must’ve heard him wrong, yet she didn’t dare ask Michael to repeat what he’d said. It was true that they’d discovered many things they had in common during her visit, but he surely didn’t want to take this to the next level.
“Oh, Michael! I—jah, I’d love that!” Jo blurted. “But you can’t be serious! We’re gut friends, but—well a fine-looking fellow like you could court any pretty girl he wanted, so—”
“So I’m asking you, Jo.”
She couldn’t believe what she’d heard. Slender, eloquent Michael Wengerd had just said he wanted to enter into a serious relationship with Joseph Fussner’s big, bulky daughter. Jo sensed no teasing behind his words; she saw no quirk of a smile to indicate that he was leading her down this path as a colossal joke. Michael just kept looking at her, patiently waiting for her to grasp what he’d said.
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