by Jan Drexler
“He’s gone.” Davey jerked away from her hand, his face red. “He went away and he’s never coming back. Just like—” Davey stopped, biting his lower lip.
Naomi glanced at Cap. “Just like who, Davey?”
Her son’s blue eyes brimmed with tears under his lowered eyebrows. He shook his head, hard and fast.
Cap moved around the blanket to sit next to her and pulled Davey close. Her son resisted at first, but then let Cap hold him tightly on his lap. Davey buried his face in Cap’s shoulder.
Cap stroked Davey’s hair. “I think I know. You mean your ma and pa, right?”
Davey nodded and Naomi’s heart turned. She never thought Davey remembered his parents who had died.
Cap laid his cheek on top of Davey’s blond head. “Crow Flies only went to spend the summer with his family. He plans to come back, and you’ll see him again. He didn’t die.”
Davey lifted his head. “But he left, just like Ma and Pa. When people leave, they don’t come back.”
Naomi reached for his hand. “They do if they can. Sometimes things happen so that we can’t do what we want to do.”
“Why not?”
Cap laid his hand over Naomi’s, grasping both of their clasped hands in his. “Because even though we make our plans, sometimes God has something different in mind for us.” He squeezed Naomi’s hand and she looked into his brown eyes. “Something just as good, or better than what we thought we wanted.”
Davey twisted his head to look up at Cap. “Like my new family? Memmi and everyone?”
Cap didn’t stop looking at Naomi, but tears pooled in his eyes. “Ja, like a new family.” He smiled at Naomi. “God’s plans are always best.”
Shem spread a spoonful of rich butter on the bread Peter’s Mary had sent over with one of their boys, sighing with contentment. He sat back in his chair, his feet propped on his kitchen table, and brought the thick slice to his nose to savor the aroma. Fresh baked and still warm.
And his plans for the new Clinton church district were falling into place.
He smiled and took a large bite out of the bread, letting the sweet butter melt against his tongue as he chewed. Peter’s Mary was the best baker he had ever known. He took another bite. And Susan was walking in her footsteps. Her cakes were as light as a cloud.
Shem dusted the crumbs off his fingers and contemplated the remaining half of the loaf. He should save the rest to have with his supper. He was reaching for the knife to cut one more slice when he heard footsteps on his front porch.
“Preacher Shem?” A timid knock followed the sweet voice.
Shem brushed the crumbs from his shirt front as he passed from the kitchen into the front room where Susan’s lovely profile showed through the glass window. Opening the door, Shem leaned one hand against the doorframe and took a deep breath. She always smelled like vanilla and flowers.
“It isn’t time for our evening walk yet.”
Susan blushed. “I thought you might need some cleaning done, or your laundry.”
Shem stepped back as an invitation for her to enter the house. “Do you think I’m in need of a woman’s touch around here?”
“I know you are.” Susan closed the door behind her, smiling. “And you know it just as well as I do.”
She stepped into his arms and he nuzzled his beard into the sweet-smelling skin under her ear. She was so soft and willing, he ached from the restraint of keeping his affections in check. He hadn’t done more than kiss her tender lips, and he wouldn’t until they were married. He caught her mouth with his and lost himself in the overwhelming joy of her surrender to him.
The jangling of a harness brought him to his senses, and he stepped back, holding her at arm’s length. Her lips were swollen where he had claimed them, and her smile was seductive.
He took another step back from the temptation. “Someone is coming.”
She closed the distance he had put between them and threw her arms around his neck. “It’s only a wagon passing on the road.”
She lifted her face for another kiss, but footsteps on the porch sent a rush of adrenaline through him. He pushed her away, holding both of her arms at the elbow. At the knock on the door, her eyes went wide.
“Go through the kitchen, and don’t let anyone see you.” Shem tried to whisper, but dread made his voice rise. If they were caught, he would never be a preacher in this district.
As Susan passed into the kitchen, the visitor knocked on the door again. Shem straightened his clothes and ran a hand down his beard. He could throttle whoever thought a Thursday afternoon was a good time to visit. He pasted a smile on his face and pulled the door open.
Priscilla.
His knees turned to water.
She glanced at him, then turned to the driver of the wagon. “Bring my trunks in here, please.”
Priscilla stepped aside for the man who brought two trunks into the front room and dropped them on the plank floor. From her shawl to her black skirt, she was covered in dust from traveling, and the corners of her mouth were pointed down in the expression Shem knew so well. Priscilla was displeased.
He dropped to the horsehair sofa that dominated the room, unable to stand any longer. All he could hope was that Susan was safely gone.
Priscilla counted out some money and handed it to the silent driver. He nodded and left. She walked to the door with measured steps and closed it behind him. Then she turned her back to the door and held Shem with her gaze.
“Hallo, Priscilla.” Shem tried to smile. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I could tell. She is gone, isn’t she?”
He swallowed, his throat dry. “Who?”
“That little girl I saw in your arms when I looked in the window. You sent her out the back door, didn’t you?”
Shem nodded. The horsehair itched his thighs through the fabric of his trousers.
“And she won’t be back.”
Shem shook his head. Ne, Susan wouldn’t be back. Not as long as Priscilla was here.
Priscilla walked around the room, surveying the space. “Is this the house you expect me to live in?”
Shem stood, his hands spread out. “It’s the finest house in the area.” He followed her into the kitchen. “I knew you wouldn’t want to live in a log cabin like the other settlers here.”
“Hmm.” She opened the oven door on the cast iron stove. Her nose wrinkled.
Shem sidled along the kitchen wall to the loaf of bread he had left out and wrapped it in its towel. “Why . . . I mean, what brings you here?”
“Once I got your letter telling how you were having trouble finding a place to live and settling in here as a preacher, I knew you needed my help.”
He felt his face heating. She always assumed he needed her help. “You were wrong. Things are going very well here.”
She caught him with the look of a cat holding a mouse under its paw. “Are you installed as a preacher yet?”
“Not exactly.”
“Do you have the confidence of the families in this district?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I am not happy.”
“I can tell.” Shem tried a smile. “You look like you’re feeling better than you were when I left Canada, though.”
She sniffed. “For now.” She walked back into the front room and peered up the stairs. “I assume there is more than one bedroom?”
The bread was a stone in his stomach. “Three bedrooms. Two upstairs, and a nice one with a fine bed in here.”
He scuttled ahead of her and opened the door to the bedroom. A large oak bedstead and chest of drawers dominated the space, along with his clothes and bedding piled on the mattress.
Priscilla opened one of the drawers. “This will do. You will have to move your things. And I want the bedding washed.”
“Move my things?”
Her look pierced him through and he squirmed. “You said there were two bedrooms upstairs, didn’t you?”
He moved past her a
nd started picking up his clothes from the bed and floor where he had tossed them over the last week, then slid toward the door.
Priscilla caught his elbow with an iron grip as he passed by her. “Shem, dear, I’m so happy to be here with you.”
Her smile turned his stomach to a fiery mass. “Ja, for sure. I’ve missed you.”
She released his arm, but he refrained from rubbing his aching elbow. “Bring my trunks in here. And draw a bath. I need to lie down, but I won’t until I’m clean.”
“Ja, Priscilla. For sure. Right away.”
He walked into the living room. His head hurt, his stomach burned, and his temper sizzled like it hadn’t since he had left Ontario. Of all the people to show up on his doorstep. He looked from the trunks to the stairs. Should he take her trunks in first, or take his things upstairs? And where in the world would he find a bathtub for her?
Because she was going to have a bath or she would make his life miserable. He gritted his teeth and started up the stairs.
Saturday morning started out warm and sunny, but in spite of the weather, Naomi couldn’t look forward to her trip to visit Mattie.
Since the picnic with Cap on Sunday, her mind had taken her places she had never dared to consider before. The feeling of his hand holding both Davey’s and hers in his grip tugged at her thoughts, compelling her to open the door to the hope of a family, a husband, a future for the three of them.
But as she and Davey reached the lane leading to Jacob and Mattie’s farm, the apprehension of seeing Mattie again overshadowed all of her other thoughts. How was she feeling? It had been almost a month since she lost the baby.
“Come with me to see Jethro,” Davey said, tugging at her hand. “If you go talk to Mattie, you won’t come to the barn before we leave.”
Naomi glanced at the cozy house on the top of the ridge, but she didn’t see her sister anywhere. “All right, but only for a minute. I need to talk with Mattie.”
She let Davey lead her through the barn to the sheep pen on the other side. Most of the ewes and lambs had gone out to the large pasture beyond the trees, but one sheep and her little brown lamb were in the pen by the barn. Jacob joined them as they walked through the barn, leaving his task of greasing the wagon wheels. He wiped the grease off his hands with a rag.
“You’ve come to see the little ram again, I see.”
“Davey said I had to look at him before I go in to see Mattie.”
Jacob’s expression darkened slightly, but he smiled at her. “She will appreciate your visit.”
Naomi’s heart wrenched. Jacob tried not to let his grief show, but she could see how much he was hurting.
Davey hung over the top board of the fence, waving at the lamb. “Jethro. Come here, Jethro.” He wiggled his fingers, but the lamb hid behind his mother.
“Why aren’t they out with the other sheep?” Naomi joined Davey at the fence, captivated by the little ram.
“Since he is going to be your ram, I thought you’d like to raise him at your place. I talked to your daed, and he said there is room in the barn for him.”
Naomi frowned as Davey turned toward her, his eyes shining with excitement. “I don’t know. Aren’t rams a lot of bother?”
Jacob shrugged. “They can get into mischief, just like any boy.” He tousled Davey’s hair. “But he’ll be a better ram if he isn’t raised with the other lambs, especially the wethers.”
“What are wethers?” Davey asked.
“They’re the sheep we’ll butcher for mutton in the fall. They’re like the steers we butcher for beef.” Jacob turned to Naomi. “You’ll need to make a sturdy pen for him.”
“How soon can we take him?” Naomi’s thoughts whirled with the idea of caring for her own sheep.
“Not for another month. He’ll be weaned by then, and that gives me enough time to teach Davey how to take good care of him.”
“Davey?”
“Ja, for sure. He’s plenty old enough, and he needs to learn.”
“Can I, Memmi? I want to take care of Jethro.” Davey wrapped his arms around her waist.
Since when had he gotten so big? Naomi hugged him, but her mind was on Cap’s advice. Davey needed this responsibility.
She tilted his chin up. “You’ll need to listen carefully to everything Jacob teaches you. You’ll be Jethro’s shepherd, and that is a big task.”
Davey couldn’t keep still. He ran into the barn and back, jumping as he went. “My own lamb!” He stopped at the fence, leaning over it as close to the lamb as he could get. “We’ll be best friends, Jethro. I’m going to take good care of you.”
“We’ll start as soon as I finish with the wagon.” Jacob glanced at Naomi with a smile. “I’ll teach him everything he needs to know, so don’t worry.”
Naomi pushed down her lingering doubts. Davey loved the lamb already and would work hard to take care of him. “I had better go see Mattie. She’ll be wondering where I am.”
Jacob’s smile grew tight. “She’s been looking forward to your visit.” He looked down at his feet, and then back at her. “She needs a woman to talk to.”
Naomi tried to give Jacob a reassuring smile, then left the barn and went to the house. The top of the Dutch door was open, and dish towels waved on the clothesline. She knocked on the door and then opened it.
“Mattie?”
Her sister came out of the spare room. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She gave Naomi a tight hug.
“How are you doing?” Naomi looked closely at Mattie’s face. She was looking better, even though her eyes still held the shadow of her grief.
“I’m looking forward.” Mattie smoothed her apron, then turned to the stove. “Can I get anything for you? A cup of tea?”
Naomi shook her head. “I don’t need anything. Davey is with Jacob, learning how to take care of the lamb.”
“Then come with me. I’m sorting out some pieces for a quilt, and you can help me.”
Mattie led the way back to the spare room where scraps of fabric covered the floor.
Naomi picked up a length of dark blue. “Is this from the dress you wore for your wedding?”
“Ja. The sleeves wore out, so I saved the rest of the dress to make over into . . . into . . .” Mattie hiccuped.
Holding up the fabric, Naomi finished Mattie’s thought. “You were going to make a gown for the baby.”
Her sister nodded, her eyes pooling. “I’m all right most of the time, but then something happens to remind me.”
“I noticed that you avoided Hannah and the others at church on Sunday.” Naomi put the blue cloth down and sat on a low stool near Mattie’s chair.
The tears flowed down Mattie’s cheeks and she rubbed them off with the heel of her hand. “I just couldn’t listen to them talk about their babies.” She squeezed Naomi’s hand. “It’s not that I don’t love them, I do. I want to see their little ones grow and be healthy, but it makes me—” Mattie sighed with a deep, shuddering breath. “It makes me so sad.” She wiped at her tears with the hem of her apron. “But I’m not going to let the sadness linger. I’ve cried enough tears, and I want to look forward to something else now.”
“So you’re starting a quilt.” Naomi raised her eyebrows and Mattie laughed, still dabbing at her eyes.
“I know, I know. I hate to sew and I always have. But I need a new project. Something to keep my hands busy and something that will keep me from thinking about myself and my problems.” Mattie looked at the piles of scraps around the room. “Besides, I have to do something with this mess, don’t I?”
Naomi grinned as she hugged her sister. “That’s the Mattie I know. You’re going to be fine.”
Mattie fingered the navy cloth. “Do you remember Betsy Zook, back in Brothers Valley?” She picked up a green scrap and laid it next to the blue. “She wove a coverlet one winter.”
“I remember. It was such an intricate design that it must have taken hours of weaving.”
Mattie nodded. “She told me one
time that it was for remembrance. Her husband had died that autumn, and they had been married for nearly sixty years. She said that every time she couldn’t sleep, she would weave and pray. Every pass of the shuttle was accompanied by a prayer for one of her family or for someone in the church.”
Naomi sorted out three dusky rose–shaded scraps of fabric. “So your quilt will be for remembrance?”
“By the time I finish, I should be past my grief, don’t you think?”
Naomi matched her sister’s tremulous smile. “Ja, I think so.”
18
Cap grunted as he pulled at the stump. Still no movement at all. He jumped back into the hole and swung his pick in the narrow space, loosening some more dirt. He dropped his pick at the edge of the hole and picked up the spade. Working between the roots, he managed to dig out a few more shovelfuls of soil.
He climbed out of the hole and flopped on his back in the long grass, sweat soaking his shirt and hat. The end of June had come with a series of hot days and no relief at night. But the garden was thriving, his oats were growing tall, and the grass in the pasture was rich and green. He couldn’t ask for better growing weather.
Getting to his feet, Cap went to the well and drew a bucket of water. He raised the dipper and took a drink, letting the cold water run down his throat, and then splashed the remainder over his face. The well had been a big task, but Eli and Henry had helped. They had finished it in one long day of digging and the water was ice cold and tasty. He filled the dipper again and took it to a bench he had placed on the shady side of the house next to the stone chimney. He rested and sipped the water.
The farm wasn’t the only thing he had on his mind, though.
Naomi.
He closed his eyes and leaned back against the cool stones of the chimney. When he had thought of looking for a wife, he never thought he would meet someone as perfect as she was. Beautiful, a wonderful mother to Davey, conscientious in her work, and faithful in her worship. He smiled. He hadn’t gone a day without seeing her since their picnic a little more than a week ago. Even if they had no more than a few minutes for a quick conversation in the late twilight of the summer evenings, he cherished the time he spent with her. Someday soon he would ask her to marry him. They could have the wedding at the end of the summer, and she and Davey could move into his cabin.
