by Ruth Reid
“Sadie?”
Her sister puffed a few quick breaths through pursed lips.
“I’m going to help get you into bed so you can rest.” Rachel weaved her arm around her sister and supported her as she stood.
“Denki,” Sadie said once they were in the bedroom.
Rachel turned down the quilt and helped ease Sadie onto the mattress. In the few steps it took to reach the bedroom, beads of sweat had laced Sadie’s forehead.
“I’ll bring you more water.” Rachel rushed back to the kitchen. She wished her mother were home—Mamm would know what to do.
Naomi slipped into the kitchen. “What’s wrong with Sadie?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just discomfort,” Rachel said, filling a glass with tap water. “It must be very difficult and exhausting to be so much bigger than normal.”
Naomi nudged her. “That might be us one day.”
“You, you mean. Just you.” Rachel nudged her back. “I’m going to be the teacher, remember?”
Naomi snorted. “Nay. You’re going to be married too, Rachel. I know you will.”
“I’m glad someone has hope, because I sure don’t.”
Naomi put her arm around Rachel’s waist. “I do have hope. Besides, I will need your help when I am carrying my boppli. And I will help you with yours.”
Rachel said nothing, her mind in turmoil; thoughts of wanting so much to be married being squashed by reality. It was not good for hope to be for naught. “Hope deferred makes the heart sick,” Proverbs said. If she did not hope in such things as were unattainable, then she would not have her heart sick, ain’t so? No matter how often she spoke to God about his will, he seemed silent. Maybe he was disappointed with her as well.
Her friend dropped her arm to look out the window. “Here they kumm.” Naomi touched her prayer kapp and flitted across the room like a hummingbird drawn to nectar.
Rachel surveyed the containers of food. Everything looked in order. “I’ll run this water to Sadie and be right back.”
On her way out, Katie was on her way in. “Is there anything that I can help do?”
“You can set out the silverware, please,” Rachel said.
“Is this your apple pie, Katie?” Naomi peeled the tinfoil off a pie pan.
“Jah, it was James’s favorite.”
Rachel froze. She knew her bruder loved apple pie, but she hadn’t thought about it being the reason Katie always brought it to the get-togethers.
Silverware clanged as Katie unloaded the drawer. The back door opened and Jordan and Timothy entered.
“Hey, where are you going?” Jordan asked Rachel as he dusted his hands against his pants legs.
Rachel held up the glass of water. “I’ll be back in a minute. I’m taking this to Sadie.”
“Is something wrong?” Timothy asked.
“She’s nett feeling well. I convinced her to rest.”
“I’ll take that to her.” Timothy took the glass of water and moved past her in the hall.
Moments later several other men spilled inside, entering through the front and back doors. Rachel smoothed her dress with the palms of her hands and took a deep breath. She reassured herself that there would be plenty of room for all. Jordan had placed extra chairs in the sitting room, and some of the younger people would take their plates out to the porch. After all, she reminded herself, this group was nowhere near the size of the church gatherings they’d held.
She clasped her hands together as she thought about what she needed to do next. She wished Mamm were here. She’d hoped Sadie would help. She’d never hosted a gathering of any kind and wasn’t sure what to do.
Jordan came close behind her. “What did you make?”
She gasped. She’d forgotten her dish in the oven. “Ach nay!” She ran to the far end of the kitchen, grabbed two pot holders from the drawer, then opened the oven door. The heat blasting her face wasn’t nearly as shocking as the stench of burnt cheesy noodles.
She pulled the dish from the oven and set it on a cooling rack. Her loud gasp and cry brought the one person to the kitchen she did not want to be there. Aenti Leah’s frowning face halted her from checking Jordan’s reaction, as she feared they mirrored one another.
Jordan took a plate and moved to the stove. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be first in line. Just to get the others moving, you know.” He winked.
“Jordan, there is other stuff to eat,” she whispered.
“This is what I want.” He scooped a large portion of the yummasetti onto his plate. “There isn’t anything wrong with this food.” He took his plate to the table laden with food to add a pickle, two slices of bread, and a spoonful of coleslaw before exiting through the outside door. He stopped at the edge of the porch and leaned against the railing before taking a bite of the yummasetti. Rachel tried to pretend she was tidying up around the sink with a washrag, when really, she was watching him as he tasted her noodles. He didn’t grimace. He didn’t spit it out into the bushes. Instead, he reloaded his fork without hesitation.
Perhaps it wasn’t so awful after all.
She took a dish and spooned a small sample onto her plate. When she tasted it, she did not want to reload her fork. She did grimace and she did want to spit it out. It tasted burnt. Nasty.
She looked out the window again at Jordan who was eating everything on his plate.
Either he had no sense of taste or . . . or what? Was he just being kind? Or was he trying to prove something? But what would he want to prove?
The other men, jovial and chatting about the work they’d done, passed through the line. Rachel stood in front of the yummasetti, blocking it from anyone who might mistakenly think it was an edible dish.
Naomi came up, holding her clean, empty plate. “How did yours turn out?”
“It burned. Don’t bother.”
“Well, someone took a big chunk out of it.”
Rachel cast a glance at the kitchen window. Jordan was plainly visible, taking bites from his pickle, laughing as he spoke with his onkel Isaac.
Naomi patted Rachel’s arm. “Maybe he won’t find out it’s yours.”
“He knows it’s mine and I told him nett to eat it.”
“I’d say he likes you,” she whispered. Naomi tapped her plate. “The men have all gone through the line; let’s make our plates and go out to the porch.”
Rachel agreed, but she refused to eat more yummasetti. Instead, she chose half of a peanut butter sandwich and a spoonful of potato salad.
As they stepped outside, Jordan tipped his empty plate in Rachel’s direction while Onkel Isaac explained an idea he had for better irrigation.
Rachel followed Naomi to the far side of the porch. Katie stood on the other side, alone, starring at the grossdaadi haus.
Naomi pointed at Katie with her fork. “Don’t you find it strange what Katie said about bringing James’s favorite dish?”
Rachel thought about it. Was it strange? “They were engaged.”
“But James has been gone—I’m sorry.”
Two years.
Until today, Rachel hadn’t given much thought to Katie’s loss. Rachel lost her bruder, but Katie lost the love of her life.
And in some ways, her future.
The screen door opened and Jordan carried another heaping plate of food—the yummasetti. His onkel had stepped away to talk to the other men, so he strolled over to her side of the porch. He pretended he didn’t see her and directed his attention to William and Peter. “You should have eaten some of this. This is the best dish by far.”
Peter looked at Jordan’s plate. “I didn’t see that.”
“Me either,” William said.
Jordan grinned. “Rachel made it.” He loaded his fork. “It’s gut.”
Rachel caught his last word. Gut. He almost never used any of their words. She closed her eyes against the thought that wanted to surface. She shut it down quickly, because of course he’d use the word with his Amish friends. It was nothing more tha
n that.
“I’ve had enough,” William said, patting his stomach. “I’m afraid nothing more would fit.”
“I think I’ll try some.” Peter started for the door. “I’m never too full to try something good.”
“Too late. It’s gone.” Jordan tipped his plate.
Had he eaten the entire casserole? Surely not. So who else had? She cringed, hoping no one else felt bad about upending it in the bushes.
But why would Jordan make a public fuss about her cooking?
She took the last bite of her sandwich and noticed Katie heading alone into the woods. She drew in a deep breath; even she hadn’t gone back to the river since James’s death. How often had Katie gone?
Jordan leaned toward Rachel, interrupting her thoughts.
“I would like to take a walk with you after everyone leaves,” he whispered. “Please. There’s something I want to show you.”
Chapter Eighteen
Jordan crossed his arms and leaned against the porch banister watching the groups laughing and talking around him. Some of the men rocked back on their feet as they listened. Some gesticulated to emphasize their point. A few of the younger members paired off to eat together. Children raced around in and about the adults until they were shooed away to find a better place to play.
He wanted to step off the porch and become a part of one of the conversations. But the more he attempted to mingle among the large families, the more he realized how disconnected he was from these people.
He pushed off the railing. If he had to wait until everyone left to show Rachel his surprise, he might as well muck out the barn. As he lumbered toward the toolshed to get the wheelbarrow, Onkel Isaac trotted toward him.
“Off to start the afternoon chores early?”
“Jah.” Jordan was falling more and more into using words he’d refused to use growing up as the other kids would make fun of him.
Onkel Isaac wiped his forehead with his hankie and jammed it into his front pocket. “I didn’t get the chance to tell you during the meal. You did gut out there. Grace would be proud.”
“Thank you.” His mother would probably be proud that he had stayed this long with her kin. “My rows are not the straightest.”
“The seed will still grow,” Isaac said. “If it’s God’s will to send the proper amount of rain and sunshine, it won’t matter if it’s growing in circles.”
“Denki, Onkel. That is more kindness than I deserve.”
Onkel Isaac slapped him on the back. “God gives us all more kindness than we deserve. It’s good to pass it along.”
Jordan heard so many people in the world say things that sounded good but never live them out. Yet everything said here was followed up by actions that proved it.
“I don’t really understand—” At that moment Jordan caught sight of Smokey hunched in a pounce position, his concentration focused on the fledglings tucked in their nest on his porch, calling for their mama to bring them food. In a flash he rushed over and scooped the cat into his arms. The cat fought to get free, his claws digging into Jordan’s arm. Jordan pinned the growling cat tight against his chest until the cat stopped his battle. The cat wasn’t happy, the tip of his tail snapping back and forth. “I’ll be right back,” he called to his onkel. He sneezed all the way into the little house, his eyes watering until they dripped.
With one hand he picked up the wicker basket filled with newspaper and upended it on the floor. With determination and quick movements he shoved the cat into the basket and slammed the lid on Smokey before he could escape. Another growl came from inside the basket. “Sorry, Smokey. I know Rachel loves you, but you need to find a new home for a while.”
Onkel Isaac appeared at the door. “Need any help?”
“Sure. Will you hold the lid closed while I get some twine?” He sneezed.
Onkel Isaac looked bemused. “I think I missed what happened.”
“Smokey was after some baby robins—” He sneezed several times in quick succession.
“Allergic, jah?”
“Jah.” Jordan rubbed his nose quickly, trying to rid it of the tickle. “Can the cat go home with you until those birds are strong enough to fly?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll get something to tie the basket closed.” Jordan jogged to the barn, found some twine, and hurried back. He worked to secure the lid, then placed the basket in his onkel’s buggy. “I’ll come get him as soon as that nest is empty.”
“Don’t worry about the cat. He’ll adapt to a new barn just fine,” Onkel Isaac said as he climbed into the buggy. After a quick wave, he flicked the reins and the horse trotted down the drive.
Jordan walked to the toolshed, brushing cat hair off his sleeves as he went, sneezing every couple of steps. Once he retrieved the wheelbarrow, he rolled it to the barn. He stopped at the calving pen to check on Wendy. He didn’t really know what to look for, so the extent of his checking involved looking for a new calf in the pen. He knew Rachel looked in on her frequently, so he wasn’t too worried. Certainly not as concerned as she was.
Jordan filled the wheelbarrow with animal waste, then dumped the contents outside on the compost pile, his thoughts focused on the words Onkel Isaac had said to him.
“You shouldn’t be doing that.”
He looked up to see Rachel coming toward him. “If you get that burn infected—”
“It’s healed.”
Her cute button nose scrunched. “You’re just saying that.” She reached for his arm.
He moved it away. “No, really. I’m okay, Doc.” He grasped the wooden handles of the wheelbarrow and gave it a push over the mound of dirt and back into the barn where he leaned it against the rafter post.
“Prove it.”
He removed his gloves. “All right.” He pulled the hem of his shirt from his trousers and unfastened the eye hooks. “It’s what I wanted to show you.” Stepping into the lamplight, he slipped his arm out of his sleeve.
Rachel lifted her hand to shield her eyes.
He stopped. “I think it’s okay, Rachel. You saw me earlier without a shirt. I really don’t want to make it difficult for you, so if it is, I won’t show you.”
Rachel lowered her hand slowly, looking uncertain.
Jordan waited.
“Okay.”
He slipped his other arm out of the sleeve and peeled the bandage from the wound. “Look at this.”
Her eyes widened. She took a closer look.
“It’s gone.”
“How can that be?” She gingerly touched his skin where the burn had been. “Nett even a discolored blemish.”
“God healed it,” he said. “It’s like it never happened. Weird, huh?”
Rachel touched her prayer kapp. She touched the skin again, a light, feathery touch. Everything in him wanted her to continue. So he quickly slipped his arms back into the sleeves of the shirt and fastened the hooks, turning his back to her as he did so.
“Wundebaar.” She touched his shoulder. “Jordan, nau you know that God hears your prayers. He loves you.”
“You aren’t surprised?” His heart beat in a way that made him feel a little faint. He faced her.
She cocked her head, considering him. “Yes. And no.”
“Why not?”
Her eyes looked beyond him. “The angel.”
“The one I read about?”
“Yes.” Her voice was as soft as her feather-like touch. Yet she still did not look at him. “He healed little Samuel.”
He wanted to ask why the angel had not healed her brother. But that would be too cruel. And it didn’t make sense. Why had God healed his arm as though the burn had never been there, yet her daed suffered greatly from his leg wound?
“I saw you tying up the basket. What was in it?”
Her abrupt change of subject took him a moment to track. Then he latched on. “Smokey.”
“What? I know you don’t like the cat, but that doesn’t—”
He put up his hand to stop h
er. “He was getting ready to pounce on the baby birds.”
Her flare of anger dissipated. “Did he get any of them?”
“I got to him first.”
She put her hand to her chest. “Gut. I’m glad. Denki. Did you give him to your onkel?”
“Yes, just until those birds can fly. Okay? Then I promise I’ll go get him.”
“Okay.” She fingered the strings of her prayer kapp.
“I know how important he is to you.”
She looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude.
They stood there an awkward moment. Jordan cleared his throat. “I want to finish mucking out the barn before I . . . leave.”
Her forehead crinkled. “You’re leaving?”
“The fields are all planted.”
“Will you be going back to work for Kayla Davy’s father?”
“No. I might be an Englischer, but I’m not interested in her.”
She looked as though she didn’t believe him. She watched herself smooth the folds of her dress as though she couldn’t look at him as she spoke her next words. “You don’t have to be an Englischer. Bishop Lapp can help you.”
“Rachel, I . . .”
She looked at him, her eyes speaking words he could not understand.
“Do you think I’ve changed my mind?” He tried to speak gently, but it seemed as though his words slapped her. “From the very beginning I told you I wouldn’t be staying. That I’m not Amish and never planned to be.”
Confusion filled her expression. “I don’t understand. You were so kind to eat the food I cooked even though it was terrible. I thought . . .”
Realization hit him of what he had he done. “Rachel, I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong idea.”
“Then why—”
“I ate your food so the unmarried men wouldn’t find out it was burnt. I want them to see you in a different way. I want you to be chosen—” He couldn’t say any more. The clenching in his stomach and the sickness in his heart stopped him.
She wrapped her arms around her waist. “Why do I need to be seen in a different way?”
“Well . . . Timothy said you haven’t attracted a husband because—”
“Because I can’t cook?”
