by Kelly Long
“You,” he said with a grin. “You need help, and you’re going to get it.”
Grace leaned on the crutches and tested her weight on the walking cast. She gazed down at it—it was blue, the color of the sky on a midsummer day. The thing felt cumbersome but not too heavy, and much to her surprise, she had very little pain.
Still, she wondered why on earth she had listened to Seth Wyse when he told her that she was coming to the hospital. Because she’d done nothing but listen for years and years, that’s why. She had been conditioned to obey.
He pulled the wagon up, then jumped down to help her.
“Back or front?” he asked.
She could barely recall the ride into town. He had laid her on a pile of quilts in the back of the wagon. Now she decided the front would be better—even if it meant sitting next to him and balancing her cast.
“Front.”
He lifted her, crutches and all, before she could even catch her breath.
“You weigh nothing, Grace,” he said.
“It’s not the most polite thing to comment on a lady’s weight.”
He slid her onto the seat, took her crutches, and deposited them into the bed of the wagon. Then he grinned. “Maybe I’m not the most polite of men.”
She stared straight ahead as he climbed up beside her and took the reins. Of course he was polite. She could hear his kind voice in her mind, talking to people before Meeting, joking with Jacob at some gathering, soothing Abel as he taught him to ride.
The wagon jerked forward and he caught her arm. “Hey, better lean against me with that leg.”
“I’m fine.”
“Come on. I don’t bite, Grace.”
She inched a little nearer to him, careful to keep her leg propped on the front board. He encircled her shoulder with a strong arm, edging her flush against his side.
“You can’t drive with one hand.”
He laughed, a merry, rich sound from deep in his throat. “Grace, I could drive a horse blindfolded and using two toes. Don’t worry. And, by the way, I picked that color out, you know.”
“What color?”
“The blue. Your cast. I picked it out for you. Could have had green, but I thought it wouldn’t go well with your dresses.”
She stared down at the blue cast and forced herself to concentrate on the dull throbbing of her leg and the rhythmic sounds of the horse’s shoes striking the pavement. “It’s vanity to think that way. It . . . it doesn’t matter what I wear or how I look.”
He pulled her an inch closer. “Nee. It doesn’t matter, Grace. It doesn’t matter at all.”
Seth wished the ride would last forever; she fit so perfectly within the circle of his arm. But he knew she was in pain, and more than that, he knew that she would not like what he was about to say.
“You know,” he began in a matter-of-fact way, “you’re going to need help, like the doctor said. Your place is so small, to get around with crutches and all. I thought that maybe you should stay—”
“Nee.”
He glanced down at her. “What?”
“Nee, danki. Abel and I will be fine together.”
He nodded. “Might be a challenge, though, keeping an eye on that boy at the start of a summer’s fun.” He knew the boy was jumpier than a fly on a string.
She seemed to hesitate, just for a split second. “I—we’ll be fine.”
Despite her response, he persisted. “You’re quilting too, right? You’ll need something rigged up so that you can keep that ankle elevated while you work.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“I have no doubt you can handle everything, Grace. But at least for a day or so—especially while you’re taking the pain medicine—why don’t you stay at our house? We can keep an eye on Abel, and you can go home feeling better.”
She was wavering. He could see it in the set of her fine jawline and the pulse that throbbed in her throat.
“It really would be gut for Abel,” he added. “I’ll take him riding.”
This final volley seemed to do the trick. She squared her shoulders beneath his arm. “It’s late. I guess—for tonight only. If your mamm won’t mind.”
Mind? She’d be ecstatic. “She will welcome you, Grace. And we’ve got plenty of rooms, though you might be more comfortable on the couch.”
Grace glanced sideways at him, and he felt his heart rate accelerate at the veiled look.
“Abel—he’s been sleeping with me lately. He gets these bouts of anxiety.”
Seth smiled. Here was a concrete fact about the beautiful woman: her son was everything to her. “He’ll be right with you. I promise.”
She pursed her lips. “And are you gut at that, Seth Wyse?”
“At what?”
“Making promises?”
He pulled her closer and smiled again. “Only the ones I’m sure I can keep.”
She nodded. “We’ll see then, won’t we?”
He swallowed hard. For the second time in one day, the Widow Beiler had intimated that there was the potential for future encounters between them.
A shirt and a promise. He could live on that.
CHAPTER 3
Seth Wyse, I’d say you planned this, but for the falling of the stone wall.”
In search of a drink of water, Grace was wrangling her crutches toward the sink when she caught the whispered admonishment coming from the pantry. She froze, then realized it was the worst possible thing to do. A moment later Seth and his mother emerged from the pantry room and both stopped still at the sight of her.
“Grace, please forgive me. You must have overheard. I just meant . . .” She trailed off rather helplessly, and Grace couldn’t help but notice the flush that stained Seth’s cheeks.
Wonderful, she thought. I’m staying the night at Seth Wyse’s house, and his mother thinks he’s been pining for me. Esther Zook will probably have it spread all over the community by noon tomorrow.
Grace couldn’t help but grimace when she thought of the gossipy Esther Zook. There were no secrets in a small community, especially when Esther was around. The woman had been trying to create rumors about her since Grace had arrived in Pine Creek six months ago.
“Are you in pain?” Seth took two steps nearer, and she had to resist the urge to bolt.
“I—I’m all right,” she stammered.
“What do you need?”
What do I need? Ach, only a better life. Fewer financial worries. More sleep. Help with Abel. An unbroken ankle.
And a man like you.
Her gaze shifted to Mary Wyse, who managed to look both happy and anxious at the same time. Grace couldn’t blame her. An older woman, a widow with a child, was not exactly prime potential courting material for a son like Seth Wyse.
Courting material? Where did that come from? It must be the pain medicine.
“Grace, what do you need?” Seth repeated.
“Water,” she whispered.
In one fluid motion he lifted her into his arms and strode across the room to deposit her on the couch. “Wait here.”
She watched him move toward the kitchen, then saw Abel standing in the doorway. He let out a rare laugh.
“Mamm, you’re like a boppli.”
Seth returned with a glass. He handed it to her without comment, but she could see the look of merriment in his eyes. He winked in her direction, then turned to Abel and bent to him where he perched in a comfortable chair. “And you, Abel. What do you want?”
Oh, to know the answer to that question, Grace thought. To understand what the boy wanted, really wanted, what he thought and felt deep inside that mysterious mind der Herr had given him. Abel was so unpredictable, so different. She had learned to love these differences, but surely it would take someone else a lifetime to adjust to her son.
Nevertheless, Seth and Jacob Wyse had been persistent in working to help Abel overcome his fears. Seth, especially, had been teaching him to ride a pony. Grace was truly grateful for the times of respite
the two Wyse brothers provided.
Still, she didn’t want Seth to get any ideas.
But the man had carried her in his arms twice now—contact her husband had never made with her. Seth had winked and smiled at her in a way that sent a quiver through her. He picked out her cast and knew what color would match her dresses. He—
“I want a puppy,” Abel said.
“What?” She craned her neck to see Abel’s face better.
“A puppy,” Abel and Seth replied in unison, then they both laughed.
Seth snapped his fingers. “I’ll bet old Widow Yoder’s got a pup or two left from that litter where Jacob got his dog. We could go tomorrow—” He stopped suddenly and whirled to look at Grace. “That is, if you say so, Grace? Or maybe when you’re feeling better?”
Abel was already flapping his arms in delight and rushing toward her. He halted within an inch of the couch. “Ach, can we, Mamm? Huh? Puppy! Puppy! Puppy!”
Grace squeezed a hand across her forehead and closed her eyes. A puppy? She had her hands full with Abel and work and trying to make ends meet. How could she possibly deal with a puppy?
She felt a slight touch on her uninjured leg and looked up to find Seth sitting on the end of the couch. “Grace, I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t stop to think—well, that he would take me so literally when I asked what he wanted. I was really asking what he wanted to drink, you know?”
Abel was now spinning about the room, his head tilted upward, unaware of their talk. Of course Seth wouldn’t understand how literal Abel could be. She breathed a deep sigh and cast an eye to where Mary Wyse had busied herself at the sink, her back turned.
“Look, if it’ll give him that much joy, he can have the pup. I’ve always wanted him to have a dog, but my husband—I mean, Silas—”
“Wouldn’t allow it?” Seth said.
She nodded but didn’t elaborate, and to her relief he didn’t press her for anything further. “Still, you should have asked me first. It’s a big responsibility, and it’ll fall on me.”
“I’ll help you.”
She covered her face with both hands and shook her head. No. She was not going to let him help. She should have gone home tonight, away from Seth Wyse and his blue eyes and his easiness with life. He had no idea how different her world was—or how difficult.
“Grace, please?” he whispered. “Let me help. I promise I won’t push you. Just friends. How about it?”
She lifted her face and took in his earnest expression. It might be good to have a friend—a strong friend, someone she could lean on. It would be good for Abel too.
She lifted her hand from her lap and held it out to him. “Just friends,” she said clearly.
He shook her hand in a warm grasp, then let her go. “Just friends.”
Seth paced the confines of his room in the still darkness of the summer’s night. He was wearing his loose painting shirt and black pants, and his suspenders hung about his hips, tapping him every time he turned. He was full of restless energy, knowing that Grace slept a floor beneath him. Maybe he could make some excuse to check on her.
What am I, fifteen? Do I want to go down and get a bedtime drink of water? Tuck her in? Pretend I heard a noise or something?
Just stop and paint! And quit being so narrisch!
He went to stand before the canvas, running a fan brush hard against his thumb and forefinger. There was a soft knock at the door and he turned, his heart in his throat at the crazy notion that it might be Grace.
“Kumme in.”
It was his daed. Samuel Wyse was as tall as his sons and had clear, knowing, green eyes in a face prematurely craggy from a lifetime of sun and wind.
Seth laid the brush aside and looked at his father expectantly. “What’s the matter, Daed? It’s late to be up.”
His father smiled and went to sit on the edge of Seth’s bed. “But you’re up, sohn. I heard you pacing like a panther in here.”
Seth grimaced. “Sorry.”
Samuel waved a large hand in dismissal. “Nee. I’m worried about you—and your mamm frets too.”
“Please, don’t. I haven’t meant to trouble you these last months with my, ah, interest in Grace Beiler.”
His daed laughed gently. “I think it goes a bit beyond interest, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. I gave my word tonight to be her friend, to stop pushing for something more.”
“Can you do that, Seth? Lay aside something you’re passionate about?”
Seth caught his father’s eye. “Why do I think we’re talking about more than Grace here?”
His father stroked his beard. “I have to tell you something, Seth. I heard tonight that over in Elk Valley, an Amisch community shunned a man because he was doing pen-and-ink drawings of nature and the like.”
Seth gazed briefly at the half-finished forest scene on the easel. A knot twisted in his gut. “Oh.”
“You know we love you, Seth,” his father went on quietly. “We’ve hidden this art of yours from the community for years—to keep the joy you’ve had in it this long. But I wonder what Grace Beiler would say about this passion of yours? Maybe there’s more than just a floor that separates the two of you. She may not understand.”
Seth looked hard at his father. “Are you saying now, after all this time, that I should give up my art, or tell the bishop?”
“I don’t know, sohn. That’s your decision as a man. I’m just pointing out that there’s much more to you than Seth Wyse the skirt chaser.” His father smiled, then grew serious. “And maybe, sohn, there’s also more to Grace Beiler than meets the eye.”
Seth picked the brush back up with slow intent. “Then I still have a lot to learn in life.”
“We all do, Seth—always learning, always growing closer to der Herr. That is where you will find your wisdom.”
“Thanks, Daed.” Seth crossed the room as his father rose from the bed. He hugged the older man tightly and smiled when his daed ruffled his hair like he did when he was a kid. Then the door closed with a quiet click and Seth turned back to the painting.
His eyes burned, and the image on the canvas wavered in front of him. How could he survive without his art? But could it drive Grace away if she knew? And what about his mamm and daed—so honest, so faithful. He had let them harbor a lie all this time. Suppose Bishop Loftus found out and took a cue from the Elk Valley community? What had seemed like an innocent family secret had the potential to hurt so many.
He clenched the brush in his hand, closed his eyes, and started to pray.
CHAPTER 4
Are you sleeping, Mama?” Abel’s voice was hushed in the semi-dark living room. Mary Wyse had left a single lamp burning low on the kitchen table, a warm and comforting glow. Grace sat up a bit to look at her sohn.
“I’m supposed to be sleeping.” She laughed softly. “Are you having trouble?”
“Nee.” The child’s voice was muffled. “I was thinking how nice it is here—like home, kinda.”
Grace swallowed. Like home.
The small house that she and Abel had moved to six months ago was a sanctuary, certainly. But home? All she had of home were teasing memories: her parents, her brothers, her little sister, Violet, who had just turned eight when Grace left home. She was nearly grown by now, probably looking for a husband and family of her own.
Once she’d married Silas, he had forbidden any contact with her family. They were still neighbors, but they might as well have lived a thousand miles away. Silas kept her on a short leash, and her mamm and daed avoided any contact. Maybe they felt guilty for what they had done, or maybe they feared Silas would change his mind and call in their debts. Whatever the case, she rarely saw them except at a distance, and they kept her brothers and sister away from her as well. Anything she knew about the family came to her secondhand.
She sighed faintly, then refocused on the moment. “Do you want me to tell you a story, sohn?”
She heard the smile in Abel’s voice. “Ne
e, Mamm. I’ll tell you one, about a handsome prince. Maybe he looks like Seth . . .”
Grace smiled wryly and settled back to hear her son’s tale. It seemed that no one was immune to the visible charms of Seth Wyse.
Violet Raber yawned and crawled with stiff weariness from the back of the van. Rock music blared from the stereo, shattering the predawn peace.
“Thanks for the ride, Tommy.” She reached into her satchel for some money to pay the teenage neighbor who’d driven her from Ohio to Pine Creek, Pennsylvania.
“Hey, I’ll only take enough for gas, all right?” He grinned at her, crooked teeth in an honest face. “So, you got family here?”
“Distant cousins,” she answered vaguely. “Haven’t seen them in years.” She handed him the money, thanked him, then shut the van door against the noise of the music and adjusted her kapp.
Tommy waved and roared away. When he was gone, Violet stood in the darkness and blinked until her eyes adjusted to the inky light. An Amisch man she and Tommy had passed directed her here, but the small house seemed lifeless. Grace and her son—what was his name? Adam? Abe?—could very well be asleep at this hour. She yawned again and made her way to the small run of steps.
She knocked. No answer.
She tried the door. It was locked.
“Well,” she muttered aloud, “maybe she’s moved somewhere else.”
Within a month of Silas Beiler’s death, Grace had packed up and left Middle Hollow without a word to anyone. Rumor was that she had gone to the Amisch community of Pine Creek, Pennsylvania, where their King relatives lived, but no one seemed to know for sure. A few weeks later both Mamm and Daed died when a truck came over a hill and rear-ended their buggy. But when Violet wrote to Grace in care of Pine Creek General Delivery, the letter was returned undelivered.
It was a long shot, coming here. And yet the local Amisch man seemed to know who Grace was—the young widow from Ohio with a little boy in tow.
Violet trudged off the porch and decided to walk the mile or two up to the big farm they passed on the road coming in. It was nearly daybreak. Somebody there was bound to be up, and maybe they knew something more about Grace.
