“He’ll be home for Christmas, Matthew. Isn’t that wonderful gut news?”
“The best,” he said dully.
She glanced at him. He didn’t seem very happy about it, but then why should he be? He didn’t even know Jordan well.
“I’m so glad for him.” She grinned sheepishly. “And for me.”
Matthew kept his eyes on the road.
“The Englischers haven’t plowed yet,” she said, assuming his silence was because of worry about the road conditions. “We should have walked.”
Again, he didn’t respond.
“Matthew?”
“What?”
“You all right?”
“Of course, I’m all right,” he answered, sounding somewhat impatient. He glanced at her and then back at the road. “But you’re right. It ain’t plowed yet. I imagine they’ll be along shortly. No need to fret. Blackie is gut in the snow.”
“I’m not fretting,” she said, still hugging the letter to her.
He gazed at the letter in her hands again. “So, what else did he have to say?”
“Do you really want to know?” she asked. She reached over and grasped his arm. “You’ll welcome him back, won’t you? He’s worried that he won’t get a very gut reception.”
“I reckon he’s right at that.”
She winced. “But you’ll be all right, won’t you? Maybe we can lead the way, if you know what I mean. Then everyone else might be more forgiving.”
He pulled up on the reins, and Blackie slowed even further, for they hadn’t been going fast at all.
“Let me get this straight,” Matthew said, over enunciating each word. “You want to use my address so you can write to your beau in secret? Despite the fact that Verna would have my hide. And you want me to be right excited he’s coming home. And now you want me to set an example to the district by being super friendly and super happy Jordan Lehman is back from prison?” He took in a breath. “After he has smeared the Amish name through the mud with his crime.”
Doris gaped at him, her eyes unblinking. Matthew was downright angry. And his tone was thick with sarcasm and—and … what? Resentment? She didn’t think she was asking for too much. And what difference did it make to him whether he acted happy about Jordan’s return? It wouldn’t hurt Matthew to help in this way. After all, she would do the same for him. She would welcome his girlfriend back into the district if she’d made a mistake.
Matthew glared out the front window and snapped the reins. The buggy lurched into movement, speeding up as Blackie made his way more confidently through the falling snow.
Doris was still so stunned by Matthew’s reaction, she couldn’t think what to say. But anger was bubbling its way up her throat—that she knew. She pressed her lips together for as long as she could, but after a few minutes, she couldn’t hold back any longer.
“So you won’t help me then?” she snapped. “You won’t extend Christian charity to Jordan Lehman?”
“Nee, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to make this about my faith in Gott.”
“I can make it about whatever I want!” she cried, and before she could get in another word, Matthew again yanked back on the reins.
He turned to her, fury in his eyes. “That’s just it, ain’t so? You do whatever you want. You don’t think a bit about anybody else. You don’t consider other people’s feelings and concerns and worries. That means nothing to you! Gott help anyone who gets in your way!”
Doris narrowed her eyes, spitting mad. “I think plenty about other people!” she countered. “And right now, I’m thinking about Jordan. Just think how he must feel. Coming back to where everyone thinks poorly of him. Coming back to—”
“He should have thought about that before he stole a car!” Matthew interrupted. “He should have thought about you before he committed a crime.”
“He, he…” Doris’s voice faded. She had nothing to say. She couldn’t argue the point. Matthew was right.
He leaned close, his face inches from hers. “Did he give one thought to how this would affect you?” he asked, his voice low and intense, his eyes probing hers. “Did he for one second think about you during any of this?”
She backed away until she was pressed against the buggy door. “He, he did. Of course, he did!” she argued, knowing she was lying.
“How?” Matthew demanded. “How was he thinking about you at all? What kind of boyfriend does something so stupid?”
“You don’t know why he did it?” she cried. “You don’t know his reasons.”
Matthew’s jaw muscles visibly tensed. “Do you know?”
“I-I…” Tears flooded her eyes and frustration grabbed her throat. No. No, she didn’t know. She knew nothing. Nothing at all. But she wasn’t about to admit it. How could she? Matthew was right about it all.
Despite her best efforts, her tears began to fall. She swiped at them impatiently, wishing she were anywhere but there. She fumbled and grabbed the door handle. She opened it, and nearly fell out onto the snow. She only just managed to get her feet under her. She slammed the door shut and took off walking, surprised to find herself ankle deep in the snow. But she slogged on, furious.
She heard another buggy door slam shut.
“Doris!” Matthew hollered. “Come back. I’m sorry. I’ll shut up. I won’t say another word.”
She increased her speed, her tears mingling with the snowflakes on her cheeks. Goodness, but it was cold. A wind had come up, and she nearly slipped into the shallow ditch by the side of the road. Matthew caught up with her and grabbed her arm from behind, swirling her around.
“I’m sorry, Doris. I’ll be quiet. I’ll keep my thoughts to myself. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
She blinked and looked up at him through her tears. He truly did look sorry. His eyes had softened, and he gave her a penitent smile.
“It’s bitter cold out here, Doris. Let me take you home. Please.”
She raised her chin, not yet ready to be cooperative. She didn’t feel inclined to ride with someone who felt so strongly against Jordan.
“Door-door?” Matthew said her old nickname softly and tilted his head teasingly to the side. “Come on. Let’s get back in the buggy.”
She faltered then, remembering how close the two of them usually were. Remembering how he was the only one who ever got away with calling her Door-door.
He loosened his grip on her arm and took her hand. “Come on.” He tugged ever so gently on her hand until she began following him back to the buggy. He led her around to her side and opened the door. He half-lifted her inside, which gave her a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach. He closed the door and ran around to his side, getting in quickly, as if afraid she would change her mind and flee again.
“You going to make your famous Christmas pumpkin pie?” he asked once they got underway again.
She gazed at him. “My what?”
“Your famous pie. You know, the one you make every Christmas.”
“I never knew you paid that much attention to my pie.”
He laughed, and a genuine sound of mirth filled the buggy. “Ach, Doris. Have I never told you how much I adore that pie of yours? I look forward to it every year.”
“Do you?”
“Of course, I do. Haven’t you noticed that I’m always the first one begging for a piece?”
Her mind wandered back through the years. Indeed, he was right. She’d simply never noticed it before, but he would practically camp out by the desert table, waiting to snatch the first piece.
“I guess you have,” she agreed.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“You going to make one this year?”
He looked so adorable then, so innocent and so much like the regular Matthew, that she couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll make an extra one just for you,” she said, slightly annoyed with how quickly he’d gotten on her good side again.
He pursed his lips and then grinned. “Sounds lik
e I’m gonna love this Christmas dinner.”
She swatted him playfully on the arm. “You always love any meal, Matthew Wanner.”
“That I do,” he said, chuckling. “That I do.”
Chapter Eleven
That night, Matthew couldn’t sleep. His mind went round and round, replaying his argument with Doris. What had he been thinking to blurt out his opinions so blatantly? Doris hadn’t asked for his thoughts, had she? But he’d sure given them.
He tossed back his heavy quilt and swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet hitting the cold floor. But she’d had a lot of nerve. Asking so much of him. He sure as life didn’t want to ease Jordan back into the district. He wasn’t about to make it easy for him. Jordan had hurt Doris, and for that, he should suffer.
Guilt prickled his conscience for such a hard stance, but he ignored it. He didn’t really care. Anyone who hurt Doris should have to pay for it.
He got up and started pacing his room. He tread as lightly as possible, not wanting to wake either Verna or Nathaniel. They had been such good parents to him, taking him in as they had. He didn’t want them to know just how disturbed he was.
Or how foolish.
He loved Doris. He didn’t want to, but he did. Ach, but he loved her.
Cousins. Cousins. Cousins, he reminded himself. He went to the window and yanked back the curtains, staring out into the dark world where he knew the snow was still softly falling.
“I’m not her cousin,” he whispered fiercely into the night. “I’m not.”
Jah, you are, came the echoing reply in his mind.
Annie Hershberger. Tomorrow, he would make plans to begin his suit. She was a nice girl. A kind girl. And she was pretty enough.
Yes, tomorrow was the day.
* * *
It was preaching Sunday, and Matthew was glad for it. He was going to make his move. Tonight was the youth singing and hopefully, Annie would need a ride home, and he would offer her one.
He took extra care combing his hair, noting that it was getting a bit long. He’d have to ask Verna to give him a trim, but not that day. She’d never do it on a Sunday. He brushed his teeth and then studied himself in the small mirror above the bathroom sink. He looked good enough, he thought. Some might even call him handsome. He sneered at such a thought and left the bathroom to go downstairs.
Verna was already bundled up and bustling around the kitchen, gathering up her contribution of three loaves of bread for the community meal they would enjoy after the service.
“You ready?” she asked him. She gave him a critical eye. “Your hair needs cut. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It ain’t that bad. You can cut it tomorrow evening.” He smiled, not surprised that she’d noticed not five minutes after he had. He put on his felt hat. “Nathaniel have the buggy hitched?”
“I should hope so. He went out a gut fifteen minutes ago.” She glanced out the window. “The snow is still falling. Looks like we’ll have a white Christmas this year.”
“Looks that way. But, it is Indiana, you know,” he said with a grin. “Could change completely in the next hour.”
Verna laughed and handed one of the loaves to him. “Let’s go on out.”
“Here. I can carry all the bread.”
“I ain’t a helpless old woman, yet,” she teased, pushing ahead of him toward the washroom. He followed her, grabbing his coat from its hook. He set down the bread for a moment and put his coat on. When he picked up the bread again, Verna was already out the door, making her way across the yard, leaving a trail of footprints in the fresh snow. Her prints mingled with the fading prints of Nathaniel. Already his were half covered with new snow.
Blackie snorted his greeting as everyone climbed into the buggy.
“Are the roads plowed?” Verna asked.
“I think they were plowed some time ago, so they’re likely covering up again. But Blackie will do fine,” Nathaniel said, taking up the reins.
“I hope everyone makes it all right,” Verna said, settling onto the bench. “Didn’t you turn the heater on?”
Nathaniel laughed. “It’s on, Verna. Give it a minute, and you’ll be toasty warm.”
She sniffed and balanced the bread on her lap.
“Jordan Lehman will be coming home soon,” Matthew said and then wondered what was wrong with him. Did he really want to discuss Jordan Lehman?
“Is he now?” asked Nathaniel, guiding Blackie out onto the main road.
“I wish that boy would go elsewhere,” Verna said, her lips tightening into a straight line.
Nathaniel raised his brow. “That ain’t very charitable.”
“Maybe not, but it’s the way I feel.”
Me, too, Matthew silently agreed.
“I’m sure the bishop will have something to say about that,” Nathaniel commented. “And we’ll follow his dictates, Verna. I imagine he’ll have the Lehman boy ask forgiveness.”
“I s’pose,” Verna said, her lips still set.
Nathaniel glanced back at Matthew. “You know him well, son?”
“Not really.”
“Well, Doris does, and that’s the problem,” Verna said, growing animated. “Her mother is none too pleased as you well know, Nathaniel. And neither am I. Poor Eliza did her best to distract the girl, but it didn’t work.” She turned in her seat to face Matthew. “Can’t you do something about it, Matthew? You two have always been close. Can’t you talk to her?”
“I have talked to her,” Matthew said. “Like Eliza, it didn’t do any gut.”
Verna turned back around with a huff. “I certainly hope the girl isn’t entertaining any thoughts of a future with that young man. She could do so much better.”
Nathaniel shook his head. “That ain’t very charitable,” he said again.
“I don’t rightly care if I’m being charitable or not,” she steamed. “I don’t want my niece’s heart broke.”
There was a moment of silence before she went on, contrite now. “You’re right, Nathaniel. I ain’t being charitable, and here it is the Lord’s day.”
Nathaniel reached over and patted her leg. “I’m sure the Lord Gott understands. But let’s be a bit kinder.”
“I will,” Verna said, but Matthew noticed how her lips pursed, and he was certain she was still vexed.
They were some of the first to arrive at the Millers’ place, but Matthew was glad to note that the Hershbergers were already there. He saw Annie’s father unhitching his horse. He glanced around, looking for Annie, but with the weather as it was, no one was standing around outside.
He offered to unhitch Blackie, and Nathaniel agreed. He made quick work of it and walked into the barn some minutes later. Sure enough, Annie was there, chatting with a group of women. He paused, watching her. She had a nice smile, and her expression was soft and gentle. Her younger sister was leaning against her, and Annie’s arm was loosely about the little girl’s shoulders. Someone said something funny, and Annie laughed, covering her mouth with her hand.
Yes. She was a nice girl, was Annie Hershberger. A real nice girl. She’d make a good wife; of that he was certain.
He stood a moment longer, noting her blond hair tucked so neatly beneath her kapp. Her blue eyes still shone with whatever funny story had been shared. She stood fairly tall and thin, her shoulders pronounced beneath her shawl. She lacked the fiery energy he always saw in Doris, but she was appealing.
He balked. He didn’t need to compare her with Doris. Why should he? One girl had nothing to do with the other. His scrutiny must have been felt, for Annie suddenly turned her head and met his eyes. Their gazes locked for a moment, before she turned away. He saw a gentle flush cover her cheeks.
Ach. She’d caught him staring. He started to feel embarrassed, but then he realized that maybe it was a good thing. This way, maybe his offer to take her home that evening wouldn’t come as a total surprise.
He smiled then, satisfied, and turned away to join Nathaniel. At just that
moment, Doris’s family walked into the barn. She looked at him, and he looked at her. He wasn’t sure what he expected—a scowl, a frown…? But Doris smiled at him. Granted it was a tight smile, looking somewhat forced, but he smiled back. He saw the tension around her eyes loosen, and her smile turned more genuine.
His chest constricted, and he blew out his breath. This was no good. He couldn’t be looking at Doris. He glanced away and found Nathaniel. He walked directly to him, joining him on the bench with the other men who were already there. Once he sat down, he deliberately kept his eyes forward, only looking briefly at Nathaniel when he spoke to him.
* * *
After the three-hour preaching service, during which there had been no mention of Jordan Lehman, Matthew was glad to be up and helping the men set up the long tables for the community meal. The women had disappeared into the farmhouse to gather the food together to bring out. The barn door was left partially open and the cold blast from outside made him glad he’d kept his coat on.
He was amongst the first serving, since there wasn’t enough table room to seat everyone at once. Trying not to be obvious, he kept alert for Annie. She came into the barn twice, once carrying trays of cold cuts and the other time, carrying trays of cut up apples and sliced oranges. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold and even her nose was pink. She looked happy and content to be serving. He had the feeling she was aware of him watching her, but she kept her eyes carefully averted, which suited him fine. He wanted the freedom to watch her without the fear of meeting her eyes.
By all indications, he had chosen well. Annie was a fine woman. He cringed a bit at his assessment, realizing how calculating he sounded. Where was the affection? The fun? The desire? He grimaced. It would come. Relationships had to start somewhere, didn’t they? And relationships didn’t need to be built on yearning and passion. They could just as easily be built on mutual respect and careful decision. He knew of other marriages that had started out that way. Love was something that a person could grow into—he was sure of it.
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