Ketura shot Rosmanda a direct look. “Yah? And how is your stitching?”
“I’ve always been good with a needle,” Rosmanda said.
“And if you were asked to finish that quilt in a fortnight, could you do it?”
Rosmanda paused. “I suppose. If I stayed up late and sewed in the spaces during the day. Why do you ask?”
“Because customers will ask for a quilt made specially for them, but Englishers aren’t patient people. They make an order and they want results. If you can finish a quilt quickly enough, they’ll pay top dollar for it. But that means working hard on your part.”
“I wouldn’t know how to find a customer,” Rosmanda said.
“Right.” Ketura nodded. “You want to work with me, don’t you?”
Rosmanda felt the heat in her cheeks. She was asking a lot, and she knew it. Ketura had a business of her own, and she had her own customers.
“I can sew well,” Rosmanda said. “And I’ll work hard. The thing is, Ketura, I’m not ready to remarry just yet. I know I’ll have to, but I want some time first. I need to grieve . . . to be sure of my next husband.”
“I can understand that,” Ketura agreed.
“If it’s asking too much, you can tell me that,” Rosmanda said.
“You’re family, Rosmanda,” the older woman replied. “I’ll tell you what. Finish your quilt, and then I’ll see what you can do. If all goes well, perhaps we can sort out a financial arrangement that works for both of us.”
The side door opened and the men came inside. Anna stood up to welcome them, and Ketura leaned closer.
“You should think twice about taking this path,” she murmured, her voice low. “It’s hard work. And I only manage it because I live in a little room off the side of the kitchen here. If I wanted more than this, I couldn’t afford it. Do you understand?”
Rosmanda stared at Ketura, her breath bated. Ketura’s expression was grim, the lines around her mouth deepening.
“A husband will give you a home and pay those bills, Rosmanda,” Ketura went on in a whisper. “Think of that.”
But that home would be his, and Rosmanda wasn’t quite so eager to fall under another man’s dominion. Girls dreamed of marriage with wistful smiles on their faces, but grown women considered these things more pragmatically.
“I’m not ready to marry,” Rosmanda whispered back. “And I need to make some money.”
“Then finish your quilt. At least you’ll know how fast you can sew.”
Ketura stood up and went around the table to greet Levi with a handshake and a smile. Everyone said their hellos all over again, and the health and well-being of all the family members was asked about individually, but Rosmanda’s mind wasn’t on the pleasantries.
A husband was a safety net in many ways, but he could also be a woman’s demise. Rosmanda knew that well enough, because she’d seen a good woman tie herself to a coward. Jonathan’s wife, Mary, now faced a lifetime of consequences for one ill-considered choice in husband. In fact, that very husband may already be on his way to Abundance, abandoning Mary and the five children he’d fathered with her.
Rosmanda could not let that kind of dismal future befall her. If it could happen to Mary, it could happen to anyone.
* * *
Levi smiled at old Anna and sank into the seat she gestured toward. A slice of shoofly pie waited for him on the table, next to Josiah’s seat. Levi waited until the old man lowered himself into his chair before he sat down next to him. Josiah made a little sound of happiness as he pressed a trembling fork into the caramel-colored filling.
“Is there anything I can help you with today?” Levi asked, then he glanced around the kitchen, looking for a clue to what needed doing. “I could fill the wood box for you. Or get the eggs.”
This old couple really should move in with their children soon, but they’d wanted to keep their independence. When Josiah’s brother passed on, Ketura’s staying here seemed to resolve that issue for the time being—she got a home to live in, and they got the help they needed. But how long this solution would remain viable was anyone’s guess.
“The eggs? The last of the chickens stopped laying,” Josiah replied. “So we ate them this winter. The chicken house is empty. But that’s okay, because my daughter brings us eggs from her farm—they have too many.”
“That’s good of them,” Levi said. “What about wood for the stove?”
“There’s lots at the side of the house,” Josiah said.
“But there must be something I can help with. I’ll muck out your stables, maybe.”
“Oh, no need to worry about all that,” Josiah said, lifting the fork to his lips. “That King boy comes by . . . Aaron. You know him, right?”
Levi paused for a beat, glancing in Ketura’s direction. His aunt’s cheeks pinked and she wouldn’t meet his gaze. Yes, that “King boy” would be coming by here quite often, wouldn’t he? And being the decent sort of man he was, Aaron would be helping out old Josiah.
“Yah, I’ve known Aaron since our school days,” Levi said.
“A good boy,” Josiah said with a nod. “He comes by a few times a week after he’s done his chores at his daet’s farm. He helps with the stables, fixes things that break . . . Between my grandsons and that King boy, we’re well taken care of.”
“Not a boy, Josiah,” Anna interrupted. “He was married to that sweet young thing—Lorianne. So he’s a grown man, now. And high time he was married again, if you ask me.”
“Oh, well, you all look like children to me,” Josiah said with a short laugh, and he put the fork into his mouth closing papery lips over the tines. He pulled it free and chewed slowly. “Mmm. Good pie.”
Levi glanced toward his aunt again, and she smiled tightly, then rose to her feet, moving toward the sink. He watched her retreat.
“Ketura takes good care of Aaron after he helps us out, too,” Anna added. “She always makes him a nice meal and makes sure it’s hot. And there’s always some baking waiting for him, too. Don’t know what I’d do without Ketura. I certainly couldn’t keep that young man fed the way she does. I’m too slow these days. She keeps this kitchen humming.”
“Speaking of Aaron marrying again,” Josiah said, wiping a crumb from his chin. “Rosmanda—you could do worse. He’s a hardworking young man and he’s about your age, I believe. And he knows the pain you’ve been through in losing your dear husband. There’s much to be said for that kind of shared experience.”
A shared experience, perhaps, but Levi couldn’t help the surge of annoyance that rose up inside of him, and he couldn’t explain exactly why. Rosmanda didn’t answer, dropping her gaze instead.
“Wouldn’t you say, Ketura?” Josiah asked, raising his voice. “That was what brought you and Matti together, wasn’t it? You’d both lost someone, and it was good for both of your hearts to come together.”
Ketura’s face paled, and she licked her lips. Methuselah had been Josiah’s younger brother, younger than Josiah by ten years.
“Josiah’s quite the matchmaker,” Ketura said with a low laugh. “He sees weddings everywhere.”
“The right marriage is a blessing,” Josiah said sagely. “I’ve lived these ninety-three years because of Anna there. She’s the one who breathes life into me. Marrying her was the best thing I ever did. And was she ever pretty in that wedding apron . . .” He chuckled, pushing his fork into his pie once more. “I’d go on for another ninety-three if I thought I could live them all with her.”
Anna smiled over at her husband and shook her head teasingly. “He says this with another woman’s pie on his plate.”
Levi laughed at that, and when he glanced toward Rosmanda he noticed that her expression was worried and distanced again, the joke having missed her entirely. Her hands on the tabletop were balled up into fists and when her gaze flickered in his direction and she found him scrutinizing her, she pulled her hands down into her lap.
“Ketura, let me help you clean,” Rosmanda said
, and she started to rise.
She didn’t need to be put to work just now . . . besides, he’d come to talk with his aunt privately. Levi pushed back his chair and stood up before Rosmanda could stand.
“No, let me,” Levi said quickly. “I was hoping to talk to my aunt, anyway.”
Rosmanda sank back into her chair, and Levi gathered up his plate. Rosmanda smiled wanly and leaned toward Josiah as he turned his conversation toward her and Levi headed toward the sink where Ketura stood.
“Is she okay?” Ketura asked softly, glancing in Rosmanda’s direction.
Rosmanda was listening to something Josiah was saying, nodding politely, but the spark had gone out of her eye. Was it just her anger toward him that brought it back these days?
“I’m not sure,” Levi replied. “I’ve only been back for a few days.”
“Yah.” Ketura sighed. “She’s lost her husband, though. I know what that’s like.”
Was that what Levi was seeing, the worry and sadness tugging at her—was it grief? He could understand that, because he was mourning the loss of his brother, too. To be home again without his brother here . . . to be tramping over those familiar fields without Wayne to nag him about how he lived his life, or to joke about their daet’s way of doing things—it felt hollow. He missed Wayne, even the most irritating parts of his stoic personality.
“Just keep an eye on her,” Ketura said quietly. “She’s trying to be strong, but she’s afraid of the future.”
“Aren’t we all,” Levi murmured.
“Women more than men,” Ketura said, casting him a sharp look. “At least you have control over yours.”
“Did she say something to you?” Levi asked.
“If she did, would it be your business?” His aunt raised an eyebrow, and he felt the heat in his own face now. Ketura was right. Whatever passed between them wasn’t for him to worry over.
“Maybe you’d be a better one to keep an eye on her,” Levi murmured.
“She’s in your home,” Ketura said with a shake of her head. “There is no shifting that responsibility. When you lose a spouse, it cuts away a part of your heart. But it’s more than that. She’s got to find a way to make an income. She’ll have to find a new husband, too, and she won’t have much choice—just the ones who step forward. If there is more than one. She’s afraid, as well she should be. Life as a widow isn’t easy.”
It wouldn’t be, and somehow, the thought of sending Rosmanda off to marry some man just for the financial support was an ugly one. She’d stay with them as long as she needed. She might drive him crazy, but he’d take care of his own.
“It isn’t easy for you, either,” he said. “Is it?”
“No.” Ketura shook her head. “It isn’t. But sometimes scraping together a little income is preferable to the men who offer me marriage.”
He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Aaron King came by to see me,” he said. “Is he one of the men you’d rather avoid, then?”
Ketura’s cheeks pinked again, and she pressed her lips together into a firm line.
“He says he loves you,” Levi went on. “He says he wants to marry you. He was very clear about that. Is he bothering you?”
Ketura’s gaze met Levi’s for a moment, then she sighed. “I don’t think marrying him is even possible.”
“But is he bothering you?” Levi pressed. “Has he been harassing you? Because I can speak to him and tell him to leave you alone. I mean, it’s silly to think of a young man like him proposing to a woman your age—”
“It’s not silly,” she interrupted him, and her eyes snapped in irritation. “It’s embarrassing, and a little humiliating, but it’s not silly. He and I have been getting to know each other, and I know there is a huge age difference between us, but he’s got an old way about him. And he listens . . .” Tears misted her eyes. “And I may have allowed myself to feel things I shouldn’t.”
Levi stared at her, processing her words slowly. “So . . . you return his feelings?”
“I do.” She shrugged weakly. “It isn’t smart, mind you. And I know we have no future, but he isn’t bothering me or overstepping. If I wanted him to go away, I could take care of that myself.”
Levi was silent for a moment, his mind chewing over this new turn of events. So Aaron wasn’t completely off base here . . . There’d been something developing between them, and Aaron wanted to make an honest woman of Ketura.
“You’re old enough to be his mother,” Levi said after a couple of beats of silence.
“Except I have no children,” she said. “So it doesn’t feel that way to me.”
“What about him, though?” Levi angled his body so that he was shielded from view from the others at the table. “What if he wants children?”
“I couldn’t provide them.”
“And what would people say?” he pressed. “If you were to announce your engagement at church . . . What would the reaction be?”
He could only imagine the shock and gossip that would whip through the community. It would be the topic of conversation in every house.
“They’d say about the same as what you’re saying right now,” she said, and he saw the hurt in her gaze then.
“I’m sorry, Auntie,” he said quietly. “It isn’t my business, but he asked me to speak to my daet about you two getting married, and I couldn’t do that for him without talking to you first.”
He saw tears mist her eyes, and she pressed her wobbling lips together, holding back the emotion.
“Do you want—” He swallowed. “If you could, would you marry him?”
Ketura turned her pain-filled gaze toward him. “It isn’t about what we want, is it?”
“It might be.”
“I love him,” she breathed. “He’s kind and sweet, and he has a strength about him that I can’t deny . . . I don’t know what to say. I’ve fallen in love with him, but I don’t want to drag him through some embarrassing, public humiliation, either. His feelings might change. I wouldn’t blame him for coming to his senses.”
“Maybe your feelings will change, too,” Levi said hopefully.
“No, not mine.” She shook her head. “But I could go on with a broken heart. I’ve done it before, and I can do it again.”
“Do you want me to speak to my daet about this, then?” Levi asked cautiously.
“Only if you can ensure that it will stay a secret,” she said earnestly. “I don’t want either of us to be embarrassed.”
Levi nodded quickly. “I can promise you that. I’ll talk to Daet privately, and I’ll make sure he knows your wishes.”
Ketura sucked in a deep breath and gave him a quick nod. “You always were my favorite nephew. Thank you, Levi.”
Her favorite . . . she said that to all her nephews and nieces. And it brought him back to his younger years when he was a kid and Aunt Ketura was the fun-loving aunt who would hike up her skirts and run races with the kids outside on the lawn.
And now she was in love with a man his age . . .
It didn’t sit right with him, and he wasn’t going to pretend that it did. But he also didn’t want to hurt his aunt. She’d had her share of loss in her life. She’d married older farmers twice, and both had died, leaving her very little. She’d never had kinner of her own, and after two marriages, it would seem that hope for her own babies had passed. So if she loved a man now, who was he to take it away from her?
Levi licked his lips and glanced back toward the table where Rosmanda sat.
“She’s a better match for Aaron,” Ketura said bitterly. “Josiah is right about that.”
“Does Josiah know about you and Aaron?” Levi asked.
Ketura shook her head. “We’ve kept it a secret.”
“Josiah’s not right,” Levi said, his voice low. “He’s all wrong for Rosmanda. A dead spouse isn’t enough.”
Rosmanda would marry again—it was only a matter of time—but God willing, it wouldn’t be to one of his friends. He’d been forced t
o wish her well with his brother. He wouldn’t have the strength to wish her well with Aaron, too.
“Oh, I hear a buggy—” Anna slowly rose from her seat and shuffled around it, moving toward the side door.
“It’s him,” Ketura whispered.
“Yah?”
Ketura smiled then, a sweet smile that made the years drop away, and she reached for another plate and fork—for Aaron, presumably.
It was time for Levi and Rosmanda to go home.
Chapter Six
Rosmanda sat at the kitchen table that night, a kerosene lamp burning next to her. The night was silent, the only sound was the distant snores of her father-in-law that filtered through the floorboards. She pulled her shawl closer around her—the nights still dropping down to near freezing this early in the spring. Upstairs her daughters were fast asleep in their cribs, at long last. It had taken some time to get them settled, but her mother-in-law had helped her with the rocking, and all that time, Rosmanda had been silently composing the letter she would write to her daet. When the babies were finally sleeping and Miriam had gone to bed with Stephen, Rosmanda had crept back downstairs with paper and pen in hand.
She normally wrote to her mother, not her daet. She knew that the letters she wrote were read by both her parents, but writing directly to her father felt strange. And perhaps this should feel a little strange, because it was no ordinary letter. It was a plea for help.
Daet was a kind father—loving and wanting only the best for his children—but he had high expectations, too. He knew all about the original situation—all of Morinville did—but he’d also been clear with her before she got into the van that would take her to Aunt Dina’s house:
You have a second chance, Rosmanda. I cannot stop life’s consequences from hitting you. Be careful in everything you do. You have seen how quickly a reputation is ruined. Don’t squander this. God forgives, but consequences follow regardless of our soul’s condition. I’ll pray for you, but watch your steps, my girl. And may you find a godly husband.
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