But instead of pulling back, Mattie sighed and leaned into the kiss.
Giving him the invitation to kiss her again. He cupped his palms around Mattie’s jaw and held her still and pressed his lips to hers. Again. Just to make sure they both knew it hadn’t been a mistake. Eyes closed, he breathed in her scent. The faint combination of lemons and spice that was Mattie.
Desire spun forward. Making him imagine things he shouldn’t. Shocked, he broke away, breathing hard. Knowing he should apologize.
But he couldn’t. She glowed in the dim light of the burning embers of the fireplace. Her beautiful dark eyes were gazing at him with awe, her lips slightly parted in surprise. After a split second, she opened her mouth, then closed it.
Then opened her mouth again. Obviously searching for the right thing to say to him, but coming up at a loss.
If he had been able to, he would have smiled. For once in her life, Mattie Lapp was at a loss for words.
Well, so was he. “I should go,” he said. Because he couldn’t help himself, he brushed his lips against hers one more time. Then he turned, grabbed his gloves, scarf, and hat.
He opened the front door and stomped down her steps, putting on his hat, wrapping the wool scarf around his neck, and thrusting his fingers into the gloves as he did.
After finding the flashlight he’d left by the oak tree, he turned it on and began his long journey home.
The wind was cold against his skin, and the air was so silent he could hear the ground crunch under his feet.
Nothing was resolved. Everything was even more confused than ever before.
He shouldn’t have kissed Mattie.
He certainly shouldn’t have kissed her more than once.
But when he recalled how she’d felt in his arms. How her eyes had shone when he’d lifted his head . . . how perfectly right holding her felt . . . Graham smiled.
His heart was full and his spirits were high. All the worries that had been plaguing him all evening had dissipated.
As he shone the light in front of him, guiding his way, Graham began to whistle.
Chapter Sixteen
The moment Graham left the house, Mattie ran to her room. Closing the door swiftly behind her, she rushed to her bed and crawled inside the thick layers of sheets.
“Mattie?” her father called out. “Is everything all right?”
“It’s fine!” she called right back. Then burrowed deeper under her covers. As the darkness of the room eased her mind and the down comforter and quilts soothed and warmed her skin, she sighed deeply.
Graham had kissed her!
She wasn’t sure whether she was pleased by it or just plain shocked.
No, that wasn’t true, she realized as she felt her cheeks heat. That kiss had been like everything she’d ever imagined it would be, back when she’d been twelve or thirteen and had still thought she and Graham would have a chance together.
Graham’s embrace had been tender and sweet . . . but not too sweet. He’d treated her like a girl he liked—not as someone who was just a cancer survivor.
Of course, given the way he ran out of the house, there was no telling what he thought about what had happened.
Maybe he regretted it? Or maybe . . . just maybe . . . he had felt that certain something between them, too?
As her eyelids grew heavy, Mattie sighed and snuggled deeper into her pillow. And, for the first time in a long time, thought about weddings and wedding nights . . . and more kisses from Graham.
“Couldn’t stay away, hmm?” John asked.
“I needed coffee,” Mary countered as she entered the Kaffi Haus.
“And here I thought you were only coming here for my sparkling personality.”
Well, John’s eyes were sparkling, that was true. In addition, there was a new playfulness in his expression that made her feel like there were a hundred little special feelings between them that couldn’t be denied.
But even taking all of that into account, she surely wasn’t going to let him know her thoughts! “That most definitely is not the case. I’m only here because your coffee is almost as good as mine.”
He paused. “Almost?”
“Almost,” she returned with a smile. “But I have to admit to always appreciating your conversation.”
“Well, I’ll take that.” His voice warmed as he looked at her like he always seemed to—as if he was genuinely glad to see her. “Have a seat and I’ll pour you a cup.”
As she watched him open up a clear glass-fronted cabinet and pull out a white mug, Mary cautioned herself to keep her expression serene and not too interested in his every move.
That was harder than she imagined, because he made her so happy. In fact, John Weaver made her feel younger than she had felt in a terribly long time. It was a gift she couldn’t ignore.
As he handed her the mug, she caught a whiff of his scent. Ah. Fresh soap and leather and coffee and donuts—for her, a terribly appealing combination.
Eager to put even more distance between them, she said, “I’m rather hungry, too. Perhaps you could give me a donut as well?”
“I thought you were giving them up,” he teased as he went to the case, pulled out a glazed one and slipped it onto a plate. “Though, if you’re hungry, you probably need more than one.”
“One is enough. I did say I was cutting back.” She would’ve said something more, something more interesting than her need for food and drink—but the door chimed, signaling more customers.
John winked at her before turning back behind the counter.
Mary glanced at the new arrivals, then felt herself blushing when she saw it was her neighbor, Ruth. Ruth was older by twenty years and had never failed to give her opinion on most anything.
“Gut matin, Ruth,” Mary said politely. “Lovely day for November, wouldn’t you say?”
But instead of coming right over to chat for a spell, Ruth only looked down her nose at her. “Mary. I must say that I’m surprised to see you here.”
A feeling of unease rushed through her. “And why is that?”
“I would’ve thought you would be far too busy with your houseguest to leave, let alone be sitting here like this. Eating pastries and sipping coffee.”
Mary didn’t like busybodies. Especially not busybodies who seemed to find problems in even the tamest of activities. “How kind of you to be thinking of me,” she said, letting a hint of sarcasm tinge her tone.
If Ruth was taken aback or embarrassed, she didn’t let on. “Yes, from what we’ve heard, that girl is keeping you plenty busy.”
Mary didn’t miss Ruth’s use of “we’ve” to signal that Mary had been a topic of conversation for some. “Jenna is no trouble at all. Actually, she is a wonderful-gut houseguest.”
Ruth narrowed her eyes over the rims of her glasses. “Even if that is the case, I must say I’m surprised you took her in.”
“I don’t know why. Jenna is a mighty nice girl.”
Ruth pursed her lips. “She was. Now, though, I would worry.”
To Mary’s relief, John entered the conversation. Pretending to wipe the counter near them, he said, “And why is that?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard about her and Graham Weaver.”
John folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve heard malicious gossip—but I, for one, know that Graham did nothing untoward with Jenna.”
“So he says . . .”
“So I know.”
John’s voice was so hard and unforgiving, even Mary was taken aback.
And, by the look of Ruth’s flushed cheeks, the woman finally had decided to back down. “All I meant to tell Mary was that she should be careful, given that Jenna Yoder has quite a reputation now.”
“Perhaps,” Mary allowed. “But I think we all have a reputation of one sort or another.” No longer ca
ring about being rude, Mary glared at Ruth.
Ruth continued to flush, but lifted her chin. “All the same, you might want to watch her around your son.”
“Abel?”
“Of course. She could be a Jezebel, don’t you know.” Her voice rising, she added, “In fact, she could very well threaten every good thing you’ve done for that boy. If they’re ever alone together, he might get in trouble.”
Mary stared at Ruth, stunned. They’d known each other for years. Ruth had even organized dinners for Mary and Abel when her husband had passed. Though they’d never been especially close, Mary had never imagined the woman could think such venomous things. “I don’t think so.”
“Still . . . you never know . . .”
“I would know. Even though Jenna has made some mistakes, she still has a good heart. I think we could all name many instances when Jenna has either helped us cook or quilt, or helped watch our kinner.” Did the other woman really imagine that a lifetime of good choices could really be unraveled with just one houseguest?
“If you don’t wish to heed my warnings, that is your business. I just felt that I would say my piece.”
“I’m glad you did,” John said. “Now, may I help you with your order?”
“I need a dozen donuts.”
Though Ruth had turned her back on Mary and was now looking in the case of donuts, Mary felt like she needed to defend Jenna.
“Ruth, though I respect your opinion, I have to tell you that I think Jenna needs all of our prayers and support. The book of Matthew says that ‘God blesses those who are merciful, for they will be shown mercy.’ ”
Ruth’s lips thinned. “Indeed, she does need our prayers. And she needs to repent.”
“Her family put her out. She had nowhere to live.”
“That is her consequence,” Ruth said primly over her shoulder.
Mary’s hands shook with anger as she sipped her hot coffee and watched John quietly fill a bakery box with a dozen donuts, then take Ruth’s money.
Once Ruth left the shop, John walked to Mary’s side. “Are you okay?” he asked. To her surprise, he put a hand on her shoulder, offering comfort.
It took everything she had not to grip his hand with hers and hold him close. “Of course.”
“I’m sorry about the things she said. She was pretty harsh.” Sliding onto the stool next to her, he added, “Don’t let her get to you. I’ve never had much patience with narrow-minded people.”
As she gazed into his eyes, Mary’s stomach did a summersault. Suddenly, the donut looked like the absolutely worst thing she could imagine eating. With two fingers, she pushed it a few more inches away from her.
John noticed. Slowly, he got to his feet and took two steps back. “Not hungry anymore?”
“Nee.”
“You’re not actually giving her insinuations credence, are you? Abel is a good boy and is on his way to becoming a good man. Even if I worried about Jenna’s reputation—which I do not—I wouldn’t worry about your son.”
His words were so good to hear. “Thank you, John. You’re right. Abel is most definitely a good boy.” But even Mary heard the strain in her voice.
No, she wasn’t worried about Abel, but suddenly, she was worried about herself. Leaning too much on John was dangerous. Though she liked John’s conversation, he wasn’t Amish. Not yet.
Abruptly, she got to her feet. “I think I’ll go now.”
“You don’t even want to stay for my very good, very fresh coffee?” Lines formed around his eyes, drawing her attention to his handsome face again.
For a moment she yearned to sit back down and not think about the future . . . but she didn’t dare. “The day has gotten away from me. I should really get home to do my chores.”
“How about I come by tonight?”
“Oh, John . . .”
“Tomorrow night? Thursday?”
“Nee. Thursday will be a busy day.”
“Mary, I know things are crazy, what with Jenna there . . . but I want to see more of you. I thought you felt the same way.”
“I did.”
“Then don’t shut me out.”
With some surprise, she realized John was exactly right. She’d been pushing him away. Pushing all her feelings away, just like she used to do right after her husband had died.
She’d thought she was stronger by now.
“Mary? Please?”
“All right. This weekend.”
His gaze softened. “I’ll see you this weekend, then. Goodbye, Mary.”
She walked away before she spoke. Before she was tempted to say something silly. Before she was tempted to tell John that she’d look forward to seeing him again very much.
Most likely, too much.
Chapter Seventeen
In the days since Graham had come by, Mattie kept herself busy. It wasn’t hard to do. After a year spent mostly being sick or bedridden, much of the usual spring and fall cleaning chores had been pushed to the side.
Now there was much to do to help get the house back in order. And because there was so much to do, Mattie was happy to help her mother in any way that she could.
For the last two hours, Mattie had been helping her mother organize and clean her sewing closet—and what a mess it was! Stacks and stacks of fabric, shoe boxes packed with knickknacks, sewing notions, and old mementoes filled every corner. Not even a year’s worth of sickness could create this nest of a mess. No, this was only possible after years and years of being a packrat.
As Mattie opened one old shoe box and found six sets of laces and two skeins of yellow yarn, she sighed. Had her mother ever met an item that she couldn’t justify keeping and storing away?
“Muddar, we need to get rid of some of these things.”
Over her shoulder, her mother glanced at the contents of the box. “Those items are perfectly useful.”
“Indeed. They are useful for someone who will use these things. You haven’t knitted in years.”
“But I still remember how.”
“And the shoelaces? Mamm, no one has worn the shoes these go with since I was in school.”
Her mother wavered. “Perhaps . . .” She reached for one, held it up, and inspected it. “Or, they might be useful for trim? Or cording?”
“Maybe for someone else.” Encouraged that her mother was at least thinking about clearing up some of the mess, Mattie held up a large basket filled to the brim with scraps of all different shades and colors. “And look at all this. We could surely get rid of all these scraps.”
“Oh, no we could not. These scraps can make a very good crazy quilt.”
“Mamm, we’re not going to be making crazy quilts anytime soon.”
“We might. Daughter, you need to learn to be thrifty. Everything can be used for something.”
“That is true. But, Mamm, some of this fabric you’ve had for years.” She pulled out a piece from near the bottom of the stack. “Plus, it’s all mighty dirty and dusty!”
“It can be washed . . .”
“Really? You want to spend the afternoon washing old scraps of fabric?”
“Nee. But it’s still useful.”
“Why don’t we make a sack of scraps and take it to some of the older ladies in our community. You know how they like to make crazy quilts. They will put it to good use. They are always passing out blankets and quilts to people in need.”
Her mother bit her lip, obviously wavering. “But—”
“And then I will have made good on my promise to Daed,” Mattie said, talking as quickly as she could. Pressing forward, she added, “You know Daed asked me to help you clean this out. If I don’t help you, Daed will wonder what we did today.”
“Your father has enough to worry about without concerning himself with storage closets.” Her mother seemed disgruntled as she
looked up from inspecting a violet-colored floral cloth about the size of a pillowcase. “If we don’t tell him, he won’t know.”
“I will. Come now, Mamm. Let’s make a dent in this.”
“All right.” After treating Mattie to a disappointed expression over her shoulder, she left, then returned with a large paper grocery sack. “We will fill this to the brim, but that is it for today, jah?”
“That will be enough,” Mattie replied. There were more boxes of half-filled spools of thread, needles, buttons, and thimbles, but Mattie knew better than to push her luck. Getting her mother to give up anything was a true accomplishment.
She settled for pulling the fabric out for her mother, then folding the discarded pieces and placing them neatly in the sack.
They worked together in unison for a time, hardly speaking. Mattie relaxed, enjoying the easy, mindless task, as well as the sense of accomplishment. In no time, they would have the sack filled, then could dust a bit.
On her knees, her mother competently lifted the fabrics and sorted. Then spoke. “So, dear. What did Graham want when he came over the other night? It seemed terribly late for him to come calling.”
Now, where on earth had that come from? Just like that, the tables had turned. And now she was the one who was worried about coming up with the right answers.
Though in this case, she wasn’t even sure if she had the right answers to describe what had happened between them.
“Mattie? Did he want something special?”
Right then and there, she thought about his kisses. And the way he’d held her close.
And the way she’d felt in his arms. So right. So complete.
But of course she couldn’t tell her mother any of that. Fumbling with her folding, she attempted to school her voice and features. “Oh, it was nothing,” she muttered at last. “He only came over to say hello.”
“To say hello? So late at night?”
“He had forgotten the time.” Oh, the lies were coming quick now!
“If Graham Weaver is forgetting the time, then it surely wasn’t nothing. He must have wanted something badly.”
The Survivor Page 12
