by Reid, Ruth
Lindie waited. “I think I’ll stay out here a few minutes.” Her stomach was threatening to erupt and she didn’t want to go inside only to bolt back out the door. She crossed the porch and leaned over the railing. Dry heaves racked her sides.
He came up beside her. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. Right nau, I’m very frustrated with Hannah.”
She shouldn’t have interfered. She had crossed him in front of his daughter.
Josiah sighed. “Hannah hasn’t been right since her mamm died.” He looked away a moment. “She and Caroline had come out to the woods where Simon and I were cutting trees to bring us lunch. Hannah raced ahead.” He paused and picked at a loose paint chip on the banister. “The tree we were cutting . . . fell against another tree, which then snapped. The trunk crushed Caroline, who had run after Hannah. One of the smaller limbs struck Hannah and knocked her out.”
How tragic for a young child to have gone through so much. Lindie knew firsthand what it was like to lose a parent.
“Hannah spent several weeks in a coma. A subdural hematoma, the doctors called it. When I brought her home . . .” He blinked a few times and tilted his face toward the sky. “Hannah was devastated to discover Caroline had died.”
“I’m sorry.” Her words choked and her eyes burned. Why hadn’t Josiah told her this when she first arrived?
“She hasn’t been the same since. Most of the time she’s in this daze. In a world where I can’t reach her. She wanders off alone.” He rubbed his bearded jaw. “I suppose none of us have been the same. We closed the sawmill—at least the timbering portion. I avoided the woods altogether. Until Hannah’s wandering off forced me back . . .”
“I’ll watch her more carefully. I’ll learn sign language.” He should at least be able to depend on her to keep his child safe. The idea of stray bullets or strangers lurking in the woods terrified her. “Have you considered locking the door so she doesn’t get out?”
“Jah. But after a member’s haus caught on fire, I couldn’t risk that.”
“I’ll do better,” she said.
The deep-rooted lines across Josiah’s forehead eased. He held her gaze a long moment, then smiled. “Aren’t you kalt?”
She was beyond cold. Yet she wasn’t ready to go inside. She needed a few more minutes for her stomach to settle.
“Icicles are going to form on your eyebrows if you don’t kumm inside.”
She swept the back of her hand across her face and forced a smile. “I’ll be in shortly.” His life was in chaos and yet he was worried about her. She should feel blessed to be his wife.
“Well, don’t stay out here long.” Josiah leaned closer. “It isn’t gut for the boppli.” He turned and went inside.
She rested her head against the banister post and closed her eyes. This was her childhood dream. She was married, pregnant, and had a husband who worried about what was good for the baby. She massaged her forehead. If only things were different.
These were the times she missed her mother the most. Her mother would know how to gain Hannah’s heart. How to be a gut fraa. And her mother wouldn’t struggle to bond with an innocent boppli—a miracle growing in her womb, a gift from God—her mother would’ve proclaimed.
Lindie looked up at the sky. If her mother were still alive, she would be disappointed in her daughter too.
Chapter Eight
Lindie stays out on that porch a lot, doesn’t she?” Simon moved away from the window, shaking his head. “The woman doesn’t have much sense if she doesn’t know to kumm in from the kalt.”
“She’s nett adjusting very well.” Josiah opened the cupboard expecting to find coffee mugs and found plates. She wasn’t the only one having trouble adjusting. Having a woman in the house again was difficult. In the next cabinet, he found the mugs. Josiah removed three and filled them with coffee.
Simon pulled a chair out and sat. “Where did you find Hannah?”
“Sitting under a tree a few feet from where the timbering trail stops.” Josiah set the cups on the table, then returned to the stove and stirred the leftover chili. “Have you seen any of her drawings?”
“I’ve seen some of her scribbling. Why?”
Josiah shrugged. “Anything that looked like a deer or trees?”
“Nay. They don’t look like anything.” The lines across Simon’s forehead deepened. “Is something wrong?”
Josiah shook his head. “It’s nothing.” As he filled the bowls with chili, Lindie entered his peripheral vision.
“Your husband finished preparing the meal,” Simon snipped. He eyed the chair where she usually sat. “You might as well sit while he serves you.”
Lindie sat down but immediately bounced back up. “Where is Hannah?”
“In her room.” Josiah carried the bowls to the table. One he gave to Simon, the other he set down at Lindie’s place.
“I’ll let Hannah know it’s time to eat,” Lindie said.
Simon cleared his throat.
“I sent her to her room.” Josiah motioned to the chair. “Have a seat.”
Lindie glimpsed Simon’s scowl and eased back into the seat.
Josiah closed his eyes, said a quick grace, then began eating. He was halfway through his meal before he noticed Lindie’s bowl sat untouched. “You’re nett hungry?”
She shook her head, but as he continued to look at her, she picked up the spoon and took a few bites.
Her big blue eyes stole his breath. It was hard to recall the same freckle-faced redhead whom he met visiting Eli’s district so many years ago. Her kapp was still askew on her head. She hadn’t adjusted it after getting it caught on the fence. Her shiny, coiled locks spilling out captivated his attention. His mind wandered with thoughts of combing his fingers through her hair and unraveling the rest of those soft curls. His thoughts would be normal had they enjoyed a normal marriage.
Josiah pushed back in his chair and stood. “Anyone need their kaffi warmed?”
Simon and Lindie shook their heads as Josiah grabbed his cup. He dumped the perfectly fine coffee into the sink and took a long, calming breath while refilling his cup. Returning to the table, he arched his brows at Lindie and used his free hand to brush up the back of his neck.
She cocked her head and shrugged, failing to understand that a good portion of her hair had come undone.
How could she not feel her hair spilling over her neck? Caroline would have known. His fraa would’ve—his fraa. He bit his lip. How long would it be before he recognized Lindie as his wife?
Josiah waited for Simon to look away, then tried to get Lindie’s attention. Once more he shoved his hand up the back of his neck.
She reached to the back of her head and ran her fingers down a long red strand. Crimson-faced, she tucked it back under the kapp. Her eyes pleaded with Josiah’s, as if seeking his approval.
Josiah nodded slightly. He probably could have let it go. Simon hadn’t lifted his head from his bowl since he was served. Josiah shifted on his chair. Many times a woman’s hair came loose during the day, especially after working in the garden or scrubbing floors. Now he’d led Lindie to believe she had done something inappropriate. His mind wandered again into restricted areas, imagining her soft curls between his fingers. No! He wouldn’t let these wayward thoughts interfere with the pledge of neverending love he’d made to Caroline.
Simon ate quickly, then used the first opportunity to leave, stating he had some things in the barn that required his attention.
Josiah understood. This new family structure was difficult on all of them. He, too, planned to find a reason to go into town later just to get away from the house for a few hours. That is, if he could trust Lindie to keep an eye on Hannah. He still needed to talk with his daughter about running off, but first he wanted to see the picture of the deer—if there really was such a picture. He hoped Lindie hadn’t made it up as a way to stop him from punishing Hannah. If so, he would put an end to such nonsense straightaway. He needed a helpmate, not more problems.
Lindie had eaten all she could of the chili. The next time she made chili, she would limit the amount of seasoning. At least while she was pregnant. Her stomach would remain active the rest of the day.
She stood and reached for Josiah’s empty bowl. “Would you like more?”
“Nay, denki,” he mumbled, too preoccupied with examining his finger to look up.
She looked over his shoulder. “Is it a sliver?”
“Jah.” He twisted his finger sideways and tried to pinch the area with his other fingers.
Lindie set the dishes in the sink and turned on the tap.
“Kumm wash your hand. Do you have any rubbing alcohol?”
“Under the sink.” He chewed the edge of his finger.
“You won’t get it out that way either.” She grabbed the alcohol, then tapped the sink basin. “Kumm on. Let me take a look.”
He hesitated.
She had her hands washed before he’d budged from the chair.
Josiah crossed the room and met her at the sink.
She handed him the bar of lye. “Soap it gut.”
She’d never seen someone so slow to lather his hands. Hadn’t he had a sliver removed before? When he finally finished, she handed him a clean dish towel from the drawer and waited for him to dry them off.
“Okay, let’s take a look.” She reached for his hand and examined the reddened area on his finger. It was difficult to concentrate with him standing so close. She squeezed his finger on both sides of the splinter. Too deep. It didn’t move. She released his hand.
“Denki anyway,” he said.
“I’m nett done.” She reached to the front of her dress and removed one of the straight pins she used to secure the opening.
His eyes widened.
Lindie searched the front of her dress. Removing the pin had not left a large gap. She would replace it once she took care of his finger.
She doused the pin with rubbing alcohol, then grabbed his hand once more.
He inched closer, his warm breath caressing her face.
She twisted his finger to get a better grip, causing him to flinch. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay.” He changed positions, and moving closer still, he rested his uninjured hand on her waist.
Her hands trembled as they stood nose to nose in this intimate position.
“Tell me if I hurt you,” she said.
“You won’t.”
Her knees weakened as his breath brushed her ear. She jabbed the pin under his skin. The muscles in his forearm tightened and she withdrew the pin.
He tapped her hip, but his smile turned into a frown.
“What’s wrong?”
“Your bony hip isn’t much to grab hold of.”
She ignored his comment. “You better hold on to something. This is deep.” Concentrating on her effort, she quickly finished the task. “Okay, I think I got it all.”
He looked over his injured finger while his other hand remained on her hip.
The floor creaked behind them.
Lindie turned to see Hannah standing there, her mouth agape, her narrow eyes darting from her father to Lindie. The girl spun and ran down the hall.
Josiah shook his head slowly. “I told her she wasn’t allowed to leave her room.”
“The child’s hungry.”
His brows rutted. “The child is disobedient.”
“Denying her food isn’t right either. You worry about me eating enough for this unborn boppli and you don’t worry about your own dochder.” His face turned red and the veins in his neck protruded, but she continued anyway. “Your punishment is either too hard or too lax.”
He crossed his arms. “Are you done?”
His expression warned her to stop, but she couldn’t. “The only way Hannah will learn responsibility is if she’s assigned chores, but you keep sending her to her room. Does she know how to set the table? Has she ever made her own bed? You hire out the laundry—”
“Enough, Lindie,” he said sharply. He paused, and when he continued, he lowered his voice. “I’m doing the best I can.” He inhaled and slowly released his breath. “But I can’t allow her to be disobedient any longer.” He strode from the room and his heavy footsteps echoed down the hall.
“Jesus, we need you,” Lindie whispered. “This isn’t how you intended family to be.”
A few minutes later Josiah returned. “I looked around her room, but I couldn’t find her drawing pad. If you think that’s why she ran off to the woods, I have half a notion to take it away from her.”
“Nay—” Lindie clamped her mouth closed. She’d already said more than most wives would dare. Any minute he would remind her of her place.
But he didn’t. Instead, he turned, took a few steps, then circled back around. She thought he was about to say something, but he swiped the other woman’s clean casserole dish off the counter and strode out of the room.
If Lindie hadn’t been an outsider in his eyes before this, she was now. She squeezed her eyes closed, but prayers wouldn’t come. How could she pray that this marriage would work after she’d practically chased him out the door? She craned her neck to look out the window and watched him place the woman’s dish into his buggy. Running between two women wasn’t part of their arrangement and was something she was not willing to accept. No Amish district, no matter where it was located, would accept that type of behavior from its members.
She moved away from the window after he disappeared into the barn. She scanned the room, from the sink piled with dirty dishes, to the counter scattered with crumbs where the bread had been sliced. The spots of chili splattered on the wall behind the stove were almost artistic. The kitchen was a mess. Even the floor under the table had puddles of water from the snow melting off Josiah’s and Simon’s boots. Perhaps if she hinted at having to mop multiple times a day to keep the floor clean they might leave their boots at the door.
She would get everything in order, but first Hannah had to eat. She placed the pot of chili back on the stove to heat, sliced a piece of bread, and pulled a bowl down from the cabinet. Once everything was ready, she brought the dish into Hannah’s room.
Hannah looked into Lindie’s eyes. The contempt was gone.
Lindie pointed to the food. “Eat,” she said, making an eating motion with her hands.
The girl dipped the spoon into the chili, blew on it, then took a bite.
Lindie left the room. Josiah might be upset with her once he found out, but she wouldn’t let the girl go hungry.
Josiah scribbled a note to Ellen and shoved it into his pocket. He figured she would be gone to one of the women’s get-togethers and this would be a perfect time to leave the dish on her doorstep with the note about Lindie. By now, Rebecca would have spread the news of his marriage to the other women, but he figured he owed Ellen a personal explanation since she had more than once suggested they merge their families.
Josiah set the buggy brake and climbed off the bench. He carried the dish up the porch steps, set it down next to the door, then dug his hand into his pocket for the note.
The door opened and Ellen stood in the threshold smiling. “Josiah.” She opened the door wider. “Please, kumm in.”
He picked up the dish and stood. “I was driving by and I thought I would return this.” He handed her the dish and shoved the note into his pocket. “I thought you would be at a women’s get-together.”
“Little Ted woke up with a fever. I decided he shouldn’t be around the other children.” She motioned for him to enter. “Kumm inside so the haus doesn’t fill with cold air, or do you need to get your laundry basket?”
“Nay, I didn’t bring any clothes.” He stomped the snow from his boots and entered. Her late husband was a true woodcraftsman. Her house was filled with the fine furniture he’d made over the years.
“Take your coat off and I’ll make some kaffi.”
“I can’t stay.” He cleared his throat. “Have you talked with Rebecca lately?”
/> “Nay. Is something wrong?”
He looked down at the braided rug. “I thought maybe she told you I got married last week.” When he looked up, her eyes were wide. “Lindie is from Ohio. We didn’t want a big wedding with a lot of fuss.”
“I see.” Ellen set the dish on the kitchen counter, then wiped her hands on her apron. “I suppose that would make sense nett to wish for a big fuss. After all, second marriages are never the same as . . . well, we both know it isn’t the same as when two people are young and starting out together.”
He didn’t consider himself old, but he understood what Ellen meant. “I should be heading back home.”
“So what did Simon think of you remarrying?”
Josiah shrugged. Simon had seen through Ellen’s advances immediately and had made his disapproval known.
“Well, I look forward to meeting her. How many children does she have?”
“None yet.” He looked at the floor, hoping she noticed how uncomfortable the topic was for him.
“I made an extra apple crisp.” She picked up the dish sitting next to the stove and handed it to him. “Please wilkom your fraa to our district for me and let her know I’m looking forward to meeting her.”
According to the battery clock on the kitchen wall, Josiah had driven his buggy out of the yard exactly one hour and twenty-three minutes ago. Lindie peeked out the window, then pulled away when she didn’t see him. Rushing to the window every time she heard a noise was nonsense. She needed to busy herself in other ways. She had already entered the invoices and payments received in the logbook, and had returned all the dishes to their proper cabinets. He should be relieved by that. The kitchen stove had enough wood, but the woodstove in the sitting room needed its fire built up. She tossed a couple of logs on the hot embers as the front door opened.
A gust of cold air rushed in with Josiah. He held a glass dish, this one smaller, and not empty like the one he snatched off the counter.
“It’s starting to snow,” he said.
“So I see.” She wasn’t interested in the contents of the dish, but his hands needed to be freed so he could remove his coat and hat, both of which were covered with a fine powder of snow. She didn’t want little puddles all over the floor, so she crossed the room and reached for the glass dish. She would have peeled back the foil and looked, but she didn’t want to appear too curious. Whatever it was, it needed heating. “I’ll take this into the kitchen. I suppose you prefer eating this instead of what I have in the oven.”
