Breath of Spring

by Hubbard, Charlotte

  “Jah, a dunce cap!” one of the twins crowed.

  “Oh, don’t anybody tell Jerusalem,” his brother chimed in, “or she’ll be makin’ us wear one when she starts playin’ school with us again!”

  A chuckle bubbled up from deep within Adam, and with the effort of standing absolutely still for Sara’s hat-making, his laughter came out in strained spurts. The pixie in his arms was giggling, too, and Timmy was pointing up at his head, stomping his small feet as he laughed. Despite Adam’s best efforts to hold still, the papers fluttered to the floor.

  Annie Mae quickly retrieved them. How was it that the gloom of his morning had suddenly disappeared, along with some of the anxiety about this dark, shining secret he’d been keeping in the barn all these years?

  When Annie Mae gave him the folded papers, the simple crayon drawings tugged at his heartstrings—but not as much as the expression on her flawless face as she gazed down at him. “There’s a story here, Short Stack, and I can’t wait to hear it when it’s just you and me,” she said in a low voice. “I’d ask for a ride, but I’ve told Bishop Tom I’m takin’ my vows as soon as possible. And what with you already belongin’ to the church, that wouldn’t look so gut.”

  “And then there’s the snow,” Adam pointed out, although the intensity of her gaze seemed to be driving all rational thought from his mind. “Not so gut, far as the traction on these old tires goes.”

  “Jah, the snow,” she echoed softly. “A reminder of how white and pure and clean we come when we’re washed in the blood of the Lamb, our Jesus.”

  Adam blinked. It wasn’t like Annie Mae Knepp, the previous bishop’s rebellious daughter, to go calling up religion. Nor had he figured she’d take her instruction immediately on the heels of yesterday’s events.

  But hadn’t he done the same? Hadn’t he seen the church as his refuge after he’d endured more than his soul could handle, the day he was to blame for his mother’s death? It didn’t feel one bit safe to him, knowing Annie Mae would insist on hearing the story behind this vintage motorcycle . . . but that wouldn’t happen today, what with the kids being here. “Some of us could use a cleaning up with the help of Jesus,” he agreed. “But for right now—”

  “Right now, I’m thinkin’ we should clean up that kitchen of yours, Adam,” Nellie remarked wryly. “While we talked with Matthias, it was easy to see that you bachelor brothers could use a little help.”

  Adam cringed. It was embarrassing enough that these visitors had caught him with his motorcycle, but it was downright humiliating that they’d seen the kitchen in such filthy disarray. “Matthias and I need to clean, all right, but it’s the Sabbath,” he pointed out.

  Nellie shared a purposeful look with her sister, shrugging. “Cleanin’ can be fun—like playin’ instead of work—when you’re doin’ it at somebody else’s place,” she said. “And even on Sundays, we girls wash the dishes and redd up the kitchen after meals, just like the fellas tend the livestock chores.”

  “And by the way, we’re supposed to bring you Waglers back to Tom’s for some of Jerusalem’s soup at suppertime,” Annie Mae chimed in. “Meanwhile, she and the bishop and Nazareth are knee-deep in plans for the wedding on Thursday, so we’re keepin’ the kids out of their way. It’s all gut.”

  Adam’s mouth dropped open. Just that fast, the Knepp sisters had volunteered to brighten his home and supply his supper. It is all gut—if you don’t mess up their kindness. Accept it without a fuss.

  He smiled again at Sara, who’d made herself quite at home in his arms. “I can’t argue with anything you’ve said,” he admitted. “And I’m grateful you’d want to help us out of a fix we’re in, on account of how one of us brothers didn’t think to do any grocery shopping. You Knepps have come to our rescue—like an answer to a prayer.”

  Was it his imagination, or did Annie Mae’s blue eyes twinkle? “Let’s call it payback,” she murmured. “How about if we girls get started on that kitchen and we’ll see ya when you’re ready to come in?”

  Adam nodded, relinquishing Sara when Annie Mae opened her arms. He was still uncomfortable that the kids would most probably blab to the bishop about his cycle when they got back to Tom’s place. But he’d caused this problem himself, by keeping the vehicle—and its secret—for so long. And Annie Mae would demand the full story. She was too curious to let him explain the cycle away as merely a memento of his rumspringa.

  This was a fine fix he’d gotten himself into. But then, fixing was exactly what he’d needed for a long, long time now.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Annie Mae drove the buggy into Bishop Tom’s lane and stopped outside the barn. Her heart was thumping like an excited puppy’s tail as she glanced back to watch Matthias and Adam pull in behind them. Her little brothers had ridden with the Waglers, and that tickled her, but she wanted to make an important point to them before everyone went inside . . . because she suspected Adam could use a favor.

  “How about if ya unhitch us, Nellie, while I grab the boys?” she said. “They don’t need to carry on about how we, um, worked to get that kitchen clean again. Among other things.”

  “I’m with ya there,” Nellie replied. “We toyed with the truth of the Sabbath a bit—not that we weren’t doin’ the Lord’s work, helpin’ Matthias and Adam. Never seen a fridge that looked so empty and pathetic.”

  Annie Mae stepped briskly to the Waglers’ rig. When the buggy door opened, she extended her arms to catch the twins and Timmy before they could hop out. Joey and Josh looked like overfilled balloons, ready to burst with their discovery of Adam’s motorcycle.

  “We need to talk, boys.” Annie Mae gazed intently at them until they returned her attention. “I want ya to think about how itchy ya feel when you’ve done somethin’ naughty and ya don’t want anybody else to find out. Do ya know what I’m talkin’ about?”

  Their young faces tightened as they thought about it. “Like when the Zook boys came over before Christmas and helped us hitch up Dat’s sleigh?” Joey ventured.

  “And we knew we wasn’t s’posed to ride by ourselves, but we sneaked out to race with them anyway?” Josh chimed in.

  “I’m glad ya remember that—and how bad it all turned out when that English fella’s car hit the sleigh.” When Annie Mae glanced at Adam, his quizzical expression threatened to make her laugh and ruin the mood she’d set. “And ya recall how ya didn’t get rid of all the itchy feelin’s about it until ya told Jerusalem and Nazareth how sorry ya were, ain’t so? They’d figured out what you’d done, but until ya confessed the details yourself, ya didn’t really come clean.”

  Joey and Josh looked at each other in that way twins had of communicating silently.

  Annie Mae leaned closer, hoping to drive her point home with a minimum of fuss . . . hoping her brothers really listened. “It’s the same way with Adam,” she continued in a purposeful voice. “So that’s why I don’t want ya runnin’ inside blurtin’ out to Bishop Tom—or to anybody—about that motorcycle. Adam’s feelin’ that same itch, and it’s not our place to tattle on him—”

  “Jerusalem gets after us for tellin’ tales,” Joey interrupted with a decisive nod.

  “’Specially when we’re tryin’ to pass off the trouble onto somebody else,” Josh finished.

  “Ya got it just right,” Annie Mae said as she squeezed the twins’ shoulders. “So it’s best for all of us to let Adam have those itches—”

  “Itches in his britches!” Timmy piped up.

  Once again Annie Mae nearly laughed and ruined the serious mood—and Adam was biting back a chuckle, as well. “Right,” she replied. “Which means we’ll let Adam do the confessin’ in his own gut time. He’s doin’ the right thing, gettin’ the cycle ready to sell because he knows he’s not supposed to ride it. And he knows God’s watchin’ every move he makes, too—just like God knows every little thing you boys’re doin’. And He heard ya say you’d keep your lips zipped.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Nellie an
d Sara heading for the house. Annie Mae gazed one more time at each of her three brothers. “So—what’s gonna happen as soon as ya get into the house?” she quizzed them.

  “I’m gonna pee!” Joey announced.

  “Me, too—and wash up for supper,” Josh joined in. “I’m so hungry I just might eat all of Jerusalem’s alphabet soup myself.”

  “Supper!” Timmy echoed. “Grilled cheese sam-mitches.”

  “All right then,” Annie Mae drew her finger across her lips, as though closing a zipper. Then she stepped out of the buggy’s doorway. “We’re countin’ on you guys to be as gut as your word.”

  When the three boys had scurried halfway across the yard, they threw themselves down in the fresh snow to make angels. Annie Mae started toward the house. The Wagler buggy rolled toward the barn but Adam caught up to her and grabbed her hand while his brother parked.

  “Whose side are you on?” he teased, although his deep brown eyes seemed serious. “Nice job, covering my butt, Annie Mae. But you forced my hand about telling Bishop Tom about my motorcycle.”

  Annie Mae shrugged, although she didn’t feel nearly as nonchalant as she was trying to appear. Adam was gazing at her, gripping her hand, making tingles dance up her arm. “Did I? Confessin’ is a private matter, between you and Tom—and God—the way I see it.”

  “You said right out that you wanted to hear the story behind that cycle.”

  “And I do.” Annie Mae let the grin she’d been suppressing bloom all over her face. “Who knew the boy next door had a fast black bike like they ride in motorcycle gangs? I suppose you’ve got the black jacket and bandanna with the skulls on it, too?”

  “What if I do?” Adam challenged. He widened his eyes and stood taller, so his nose nearly touched hers.

  Annie Mae felt strangely, dangerously happy about how this day had turned out. “I’m joinin’ the church soon, but that doesn’t mean I’m turnin’ into a saint, ya know. If ya want to practice on your confession, I’m all ears—and your secret’s safe with me, even if ya sell the cycle without sayin’ a word to Bishop Tom.”

  Adam smiled, even though wariness—or something else she couldn’t define—flickered briefly in his eyes. “We’ll have to wait and see how it all comes out, won’t we?”

  Over the next few days, Adam observed Annie Mae as she took orders and poured coffee at the Sweet Seasons, wondering how she stood the suspense about when her father would get his revenge. While they were all riding high about rescuing the four youngest Knepp kids, it was only a matter of time before Hiram would swoop in and chastise his eldest daughter for presuming she knew what was best for his children. From there, it was an easy assumption that her dat would strike at him. . . .

  “Here ya go, Short Stack,” Annie Mae said as she set his plate of pancakes and eggs in front of him on Wednesday morning. “Don’t forget—we’ll be closed tomorrow for Tom and Nazareth’s wedding.”

  “I’ll take home something from the bakery case for tomorrow’s breakfast, then. Why don’t you box up whatever you think Matthias and I will like? You can’t miss.”

  Adam saw that his brother and the Kanagy boys were chatting at the steam table as they loaded their plates, so he took a moment to really look at Annie Mae. Shadows underlined her eyes and an anxious expression tightened her pretty face this morning. Was he imagining it, or did she glance toward the door a lot? “From that aroma of roasting chickens, I’m guessing Miriam’s started cooking for the wedding feast. A man could spend his whole day in here, inhaling that heavenly scent,” he said.

  As he’d hoped, this happy subject brought Annie Mae’s smile out. “Oh, jah, we’re busy bees,” she replied. “A bunch of us will be havin’ a pie frolic here after we close the café at two. The Brenneman boys are settin’ up tables in their shop today, for the meals.”

  “It’s handy that Miriam and Naomi can do the baking here—and that the wedding guests just have a short walk to the shop from the bishop’s house to eat their dinner,” Adam remarked as he poured syrup on his cakes. “How’re Tom and Nazareth holding up?”

  “Oh, Naz is giddier than a girl! Jerusalem finished her new blue wedding dress last night, and got her white apron and kapp all pressed,” Annie Mae replied wistfully. “It’s such a wonderful-gut thing that those sisters have found fine men to love at this time in their lives.”

  Adam couldn’t miss Annie Mae’s poignant tone. “That’ll happen for you someday,” he murmured. “To everything comes a season, after all.”

  And where had that idea come from? Adam quickly cut into his cakes, hoping Annie Mae didn’t take it as a hint that he intended to make that dream come true for her.

  “When I told Bishop Tom I intended to join the church, I also vowed I’d remain a maidel, to support my sibs,” she replied quietly. “I believe that’s why the Lord led me to find them, and also brought me to the Sweet Seasons, so I can make the money to do that.”

  Adam wanted to kick himself. “I—I didn’t mean to let on about—”

  “Oh, no, what ya said didn’t bother me a bit, Adam.” Annie Mae gazed directly at him, all the way into his soul. “I know now that those kids are my most important responsibility—gettin’ them through school and into their own lives—because who else is gonna do it? Certainly not Delilah. Or Dat.”

  When the bell above the door jingled, she smiled at the English folks coming in for their breakfast. “I’ll be right with ya,” she called over to them. “Sit wherever ya want.” Then she focused on Adam again. “Enjoy your food, Short Stack. I’ll be back in a few to see if ya need anything.”

  As Annie Mae bustled to the serving window to pick up the steaming plates that awaited her, Adam considered their conversation. What young woman of seventeen vowed to remain single so she could support her brothers and sisters? Annie Mae sounded absolutely positive that God had intended this burden to be hers alone . . . as though she were to sacrifice her own future. Her happiness.

  What with Timmy being about three, it would take another dozen years before he’d finish school. It might be awhile before he found an occupation . . . which would make Annie Mae thirty before she considered herself eligible to wed. By then, she’ll already have raised a family . . . might not want to marry a man who’ll expect a brood of his own. . . .

  “You’re a million miles away, Brother,” Matthias remarked as he sat down with his plate. “Mooning over Annie Mae, no doubt.”

  “She’s vowed not to marry until she’s raised her sibs,” Adam murmured. “I’ve never known a girl her age to—”

  “So that gets ya off the hook!” Matthias interrupted with a chuckle. “Annie Mae’s smart enough to know nobody’ll be in a hurry to hitch up with her—although it was nice to see how quick she and Nellie whipped our kitchen into shape.”

  Adam scowled. He had a notion to pick up his plate and move to another table, because his brother’s attitude was getting old. While most Amish men did indeed believe women were the keepers of home and hearth, Adam hoped there was a place for some love and respect . . . even romance, between a husband and his wife. Annie Mae deserved to be more than some fellow’s slave.

  Rather than keep this negative banter going, Adam took a big bite of his ham steak. It wasn’t as though he planned to relieve Annie Mae’s burden by marrying her, after all. But her statement of purpose—the way she faced her mission square in the face instead of whining about how she couldn’t handle it—certainly gave him something to think about.

  Makes you look pretty pathetic, too. All these years you’ve stayed away from relationships to avoid such responsibilities. . . .

  Adam’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. Sometimes that voice in his head irked him, but it was usually right. He could do a better job of manning up, in the responsibility department—but for now he would finish eating and move on. He had a job in New Haven today, installing fancy organizing systems in three closets for a woman who said her husband was all thumbs, when it came to handling a hammer and nails.
>
  “Later,” he said to Matthias as he slipped a few bills under his plate.

  “Bring something home for supper. Shoppin’s not on my honey-do list today,” his brother replied.

  Shaking his head, Adam proceeded to the checkout. Annie Mae rang up his tab and then handed him two white bakery boxes, a small one stacked on a larger one. “Have a gut day, Adam, and I’ll see ya at the wedding tomorrow.”

  “Jah, we’ll be there. Nobody in Willow Ridge wants to miss that,” he replied. “Denki for the takeout. I’m not going to look at what ya boxed up until I get it home, or Matthias might not get any.”

  “Hold these boxes by the bottom,” she said. Was that a twinkle in her eyes?

  As Adam stepped outside, noting how the bigger box felt awfully warm, the cold air accentuated the aromas of sugar, cinnamon and . . . something that reminded him of lasagne. He was barely inside his remodeling wagon before he popped off the boxes’ lids, his resolve eroded by the mouthwatering smells that filled his vehicle. His jaw dropped. Annie Mae had wrapped up a loaf of raisin bread that was still warm, along with four fruit-filled pastries. The second, heavier box held a foil pan of casserole that oozed cheese and tomato sauce and—

  How did she know Matthias has refused to shop for supper? Adam quickly closed the box, knowing he’d burn his finger taking a taste. Upside-down pizza casserole had been listed as the lunch special on the café’s white board, and he was eager to dig into it even though he was full to bursting with pancakes, eggs, and ham. Annie Mae had him and his brother all figured out. It was her thoughtfulness that touched him, though—

  And her strength. And her faith. I could take lessons from that girl. . . .

  For single fellows with no intention of tying the knot, weddings were mostly an opportunity to load up on a really good dinner. Yet Adam suddenly looked forward to attending Tom and Nazareth’s service tomorrow. He didn’t read too much into this change of attitude as he directed Jerry to turn left on the blacktop, toward New Haven. He just savored the sense of being happy.