by Ruth Reid
“I thank God too.” Faith’s throat swelled. She couldn’t imagine what life would be like without her parents.
Before Faith could ask her mamm about the conversation she’d had with the officer, her mother’s eyes closed.
“We should probably let her rest,” Beverly said.
“I think you’re right.” Faith leaned over the bed and gently kissed Mamm’s forehead. She hated to leave her mother alone. But not only did the animals need tending, she had to open the restaurant in the morning. Her family relied on the busy season, and Fourth of July was only a few days away.
The door opened and a nurse stepped into the room.
Faith motioned to her mother. “She just fell asleep.”
“I was actually looking for you. Your father’s nurse called and there’s a chance he’ll need to go back into surgery. They said you volunteered to donate blood.”
Chapter 12
Gideon debated whether to tell Faith the news about Buttercup now or wait until they were back at her place. Standing outside the hospital waiting for Beverly to pull the car around, he glanced up at the evening sky. No stars tonight. He wouldn’t be surprised if it rained again.
Faith hadn’t said much since she’d found out her A Positive blood type wasn’t a match for her father’s O Negative. Thankfully her father’s second surgery to repair a tear in his colon went better than expected, and he didn’t require additional blood.
“Tired?” Stupid question. Weariness and exhaustion were evident in her dull eyes.
“A little.” She hugged herself. “It’s been a long day. I went into the restaurant early to bake bread.”
He’d forgotten that her day started a few hours before The Amish Table even opened for business. No wonder her shoulders sagged and her face looked drawn. “Maybe you should close the restaurant tomorrow. You could post a sign saying it’s due to an accident.”
“Nay, I have to be there.”
“You’re wearing yourself thin.”
“Mei parents are counting on me. This is our busiest season.”
Beverly pulled up to the curb and stopped the car. Gideon opened the front passenger door for Faith, then crawled into the backseat. The small talk was sporadic between Faith and the Englischer as the radio played softly in the background. Gideon leaned his head back and closed his eyes, grateful the women hadn’t attempted to include him in the conversation. On Faith’s request, Beverly stopped at Catherine’s house so Faith could share the news and line up help for the restaurant. Gideon stayed in the car.
“Will you be needing a ride home, too, Gideon?”
“No, thank you. Mei horse is at Faith’s haus.” He hoped Bay’s leg would be able to handle the three-mile trip now that he’d had a few hours to rest. Otherwise it would be a long walk home in the dark.
After a few minutes, Faith climbed back into the car. “I hope I wasn’t in there too long,” she said.
“Not at all.” Beverly shifted the car into reverse. “Do you need to stop anywhere else?”
“Nay, mei cousin said she would tell the others.”
Gideon picked up on the relief in Faith’s tone. Hearing her sigh was like listening to the wheat field sway to a summer breeze.
Faith’s sullenness continued even after she’d stepped out of the car and waved good-bye to the Englischer, who pulled away slowly, then headed out of the driveway.
The last thing Gideon wanted to do was dampen Faith’s mood, but he had to tell her what he’d been keeping to himself. He cleared his throat. “I have some bad news. Buttercup had to be put down.”
As he studied her face and the news registered, Gideon regretted being so direct. Her lips started to quiver, and he reached for her hand. “I’m sorry.”
The crease in Faith’s brow deepened. “When did you find out?”
“While you were visiting your mamm, I called the police department, who referred me to the Posen Animal Clinic. Buttercup’s injuries were too severe. The veterinarian couldn’t do anything for her.”
Faith touched her fingers to her gaping mouth. She stared at the barn, her expression bleak. He should have waited. She didn’t need this news tonight.
“I need to milk the cows.” She shuffled toward the barn.
“Why don’t you go inside the haus and let me take care of the chores?”
Either dazed or ignoring him, she continued on course. Milking was often a time for him to mull over important matters. Maybe she felt the same. Over the years, he’d reasoned his way through a slew of problems while shoveling manure. Although his ideas didn’t always match God’s well-laid ones, he did feel better after hard work. Barn chores may be exactly what Faith needed. Only he wasn’t about to leave her alone. He would find a place to ponder his own problems. Like on his walk home if Bay was still limping.
Faith removed a bucket from the shelf in the milking parlor. “I really don’t need your help tonight,” she said, adding soap.
“I want to help.” Gideon reached for the bucket handle. “Let me take it out to the pump and fill it.”
Her gaze darted around the room, obviously avoiding his, but why, he hadn’t a clue.
“Okay, I’ll ah—” Faith wrung her hands as she always did when she was nervous. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He cocked his head, but that seemed to make her more uptight. Women. Why did they have to be so difficult to figure out?
Motioning to the door, she ordered, “Geh. Fill the bucket.”
He marched out of the milking parlor and made his way to the pump. After a few hard thrusts on the iron handle, water gushed out of the spigot and into the pail.
Faith was busy pouring oats into the feed buckets when he returned to the barn. “You should probably check on Bay and see if he’s able to make it home,” she said.
Her father raised Jerseys the same as his family. Jerseys were known for a high quantity of butterfat in their milk, as well as for their gentleness. But as it was with any cow that went too long between milkings, the Jerseys tended to become temperamental. Not only did the pressure build up in the udders, making it painful, but the cow was at an increased risk of infection. “Don’t you hear the herd bawling at the pasture door? We can’t keep them waiting any longer.”
“Jah, I hear them,” Faith said.
Gideon unlatched the door leading to the pasture and pushed it open for the cows to come inside. He counted only three. “Where are the others?”
“We have several in the back pasture with their unweaned calves. We won’t be milking them.” She fastened the stanchions as the cows took their place.
Gideon placed the stool and suds bucket next to the first cow as Faith dumped oats into their feed trough. “This shouldn’t take long,” he said.
“Exactly why I said I could handle the chores.” She tossed an extra rag into the sudsy water. She waited for him to finish cleaning the udders on the cow he was about to milk, then picked up the bucket and moved it to the next cow.
“You’re beginning to make me feel unwelcome,” he teased. “Aren’t we friends?” He paused, waiting for her reply, but none came. “Faith?”
“Jah, Gideon,” she said, wringing excess water from the rag. “We’ll always be friends.” Her tone didn’t hold the same promise as her words.
He stood up and peered over the cow, but her back was to him and he couldn’t see her expression. “Are you okay?”
“Jah,” she replied without looking at him. “Why?”
“You seem . . . different.” Distant. Conversation between them had never been a problem. They talked about everything. He plopped back down on the stool and resumed milking. After a moment of silence, he groaned under his breath. She was making it difficult to keep a conversation going. “You’re usually more talkative.”
“I suppose I am.”
“I know you’re upset about your parents, but is something else wrong?” Gideon milked faster. Normally if he pried too much, she would at least become frustrated an
d make some restrained squeal, which sounded more like a barn animal, before finally telling him to hush. If he could provoke a squeal, it would be better than silence. “What have I done to upset you?”
He crouched low to see between the cow’s legs. Faith was hunched over, head against the animal’s flank, and milking at a good, consistent pace. Even if she were crying, he wouldn’t be able to tell over the noise of the livestock.
“One cow done.” Gideon collected the bucket of milk along with the wooden stool he’d been sitting on, then moved to the last Jersey. As he passed Faith’s milking stanchion, she didn’t look up. Her lack of response brought back painful memories of when his older brothers ignored him. He moved his head from side to side, lengthening the muscles knotting his neck. Faith wasn’t mean-spirited like his brothers had been growing up. She’d had a rough day, a lot on her mind. Still, he didn’t want to be excluded. He wanted to be her sounding board as was the case when she vented about work.
“Gut girl, Snowflake.” Faith released the cow back into the pasture.
Gideon tried not to notice when Faith walked up beside him.
“Are you almost done?” Her tone sounded more exhausted than curt.
“Yep.” He kept milking.
“If you need more horse liniment for Bay’s leg, it’s on the shelf in the equipment room.”
He glanced up, opened his mouth to say something about her red-rimmed eyes, but decided it was best not to mention it. “Are you heading back to the haus with the milk?”
“Nett yet. I still need to feed and water the hogs and chickens. I just wanted to let you know you’re welkum to use the liniment.”
“Danki.” He studied her downturned head, gaze locked on the concrete or maybe her shoes. Her courteous yet impersonal demeanor wasn’t the Faith he’d come to love—like—he liked hanging out with her. But until he could talk face-to-face without a cow in between them, he would keep things simple. “Do you need help tending the other animals?”
“Nay, I can handle it.”
A calico barn cat curled its body around Faith’s legs, meowing. Soon two more cats joined the chorus of meows, their tails twitching as they tried to get Faith’s attention. She poured some milk into a shallow tin and watched them devour the treat.
Watching her gentleness with the cats, heat infused Gideon’s veins. An uneasy feeling, something he hadn’t experienced in a long time, coursed through him, making his hands clammy and his stomach queasy.
Hooking the lantern handle over the fence post, Faith tossed the sow feed over the wooden slats of their pen. “A slim supper tonight, but I’ll make sure you eat better tomorrow.” The hogs were used to having their feed supplemented by a variety of table scraps from the restaurant. They especially liked potato peelings and vegetables that had gone limp or were about to go bad.
As the sows wrangled for the best placement at the trough, Faith looked for the two runts that the others sometimes pushed aside. She removed the lantern from the post and waved it over the herd of eight. There, at the end, the smaller ones struggled to get their portion. The little one with a freckled snout looked up from the trough and snorted.
“Nay attitude please, Freckles,” Faith said, leaning over the fence. “I’ve had a rough day.”
“I know this has been a rough day,” Gideon said, coming up beside her. “But why won’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”
She lowered the lantern to evade his stare. “You know, mei parents were in an accident,” she chided. Wasn’t that reason enough to feel sad, overwhelmed . . . useless? “I couldn’t donate blood to help mei daed, and I couldn’t stay to keep them company through the nacht. I’m feeling useless at the moment.”
“Anyone can sit next to a hospital bed and watch someone sleep. But nett everyone can keep the farm and restaurant afloat. Trust me, Faith, you’re nett useless.”
She swallowed hard. He had a way of making her feel special.
“You’ll feel better after you get some sleep,” he said.
“I’m sure you’re right.” Faith yawned.
He placed his hand on her shoulder and pivoted her toward the house. “Go inside. I’ll finish feeding the animals.”
She hesitated, then sighed and ambled to the house. Once inside, darkness surrounded her. Realizing this was the first time she’d been alone at night, she hurried to find a box of wooden matches in the drawer and light the lamp wick. A warm yellow glow bounced off the kitchen walls, contrasting the darkness with flickers of dancing light.
A heavy rap on the door broke the silence. “There’s no reason to be jumpy.” She drew a deep breath to settle her nerves, then opened the door.
Gideon lifted the milk canister. “I figured you would want me to bring this inside.”
“Jah, danki.” She stepped aside, allowing him to enter.
He set the five-gallon stainless-steel container on the counter, then faced her. “Are you going to be all right here alone?”
She was bound to have a restless night having never been alone. But even if she stayed with her cousin, thoughts of Gideon in the loft with Olivia would keep her up. “I’ll be fine. Danki for coming to the hospital with us. I’m sure Olivia appreciates—”
“Can we nett talk about Olivia right nau?”
Faith flinched at his sharp tone.
“I’m sorry.” He lowered his head.
“This is the first time you haven’t wanted to talk about Olivia,” she said. “I’m guessing it has something to do with the barn loft.”
“Faith, it’s nett what you think.”
“Really? That’s what you told Olivia when she walked in the barn.”
He sighed. “Okay, fine. I didn’t want to bring it up because I know you’re tired and you’ve been through a lot, and frankly, I’m exhausted. Olivia is . . . she isn’t—”
An urgent knocking on the door startled Faith and she jumped.
Chapter 13
Standing in the Pinkham’s kitchen, Gideon hemmed and hawed over telling Faith about Olivia. Faith most likely wasn’t aware of the rumors about her sister, and after everything she’d gone through, tonight wasn’t the night to bring it up.
Someone knocked and Faith scooted to the back door, leaving him alone with his thoughts. The bishop’s voice spurred Gideon to action. He rounded the corner of the kitchen as the bishop’s wife, Alice, pulled Faith into a hug.
“We heard the news about your parents and thought we would take the chance that your light was on.” Bishop Zook looked Gideon’s direction and narrowed his bushy white brows at him. “I didn’t know you were here, Gideon.”
“I, ah . . .” The censure in the older man’s tone made Gideon temporarily tongue-tied. Then he spied the milk canisters out of the corner of his eye. “I kumm by to help with the barn chores.”
The bishop’s slight nod acknowledged his comment, but Gideon couldn’t tell if he approved of his initiative. Usually as needs arose in their settlement, the bishop organized how the additional workload would be divided.
Gideon tugged on his collarless shirt, pulling it away from his neck. Under the watchful eye of the bishop, sweat pebbled his forehead. Of course the closed windows made the July heat stifling. Now that the rain had stopped, someone should open the windows. The stale air was suffocating.
Alice Zook scanned the room. “Where’s Olivia?”
“She didn’t want to leave Mamm and Daed alone, so she stayed at the hospital.”
“You’re alone?” the bishop’s wife pressed.
Faith gave Gideon a wary glance that begged for rescue. Earlier she’d been worried about someone spotting them at the river and spreading tittle-tattle through the district of them swimming together, which was a bit paranoid even for Faith. But he could see her point. She didn’t want anything standing in the way of her joining the church.
“Either Olivia or I had to kumm home and see that the chores were done.” Her simple explanation should have been enough, but she continued. “Gideon’s hor
se injured his leg earlier today, so he needed to check on Bay.”
Gideon’s heart sank listening to Faith scramble with excuses, fearful of the repercussions due to their lack of a chaperone this late at night. As a baptized member of the church, Gideon expected the bishop would want to speak with him privately about the matter.
Bishop Zook stroked his beard, then turned to Gideon. “How is your horse?”
Gideon thought he heard doubt in the man’s question, but he straightened his shoulders. “Bay’s still limping,” he said, sounding more defensive than he wished.
Bishop Zook motioned to the door. “Why don’t we go take a look at him?”
Gideon stole a glance at Faith as he headed to the door. She had no reason to be ashamed, and yet her downtrodden expression suggested remorse. Gideon groaned under his breath. Don’t let anyone heap guilt on you, Faith. We didn’t do anything wrong.
The breeze coming across the field felt good as he sloshed through shallow puddles that spanned part of the lawn and most of the driveway. Gideon’s thoughts lingered on Faith—alone in that suffocating room with the bishop’s wife.
“It sure rained hard today,” the bishop said. “Most of the roads in the area are washed out.” He crossed the driveway and stopped at his buggy to retrieve a lantern. He took time to light the wick. “Did your horse injure his leg in the storm?”
“Jah, Bay doesn’t like thunder.” He yanked the barn door open. “Mordecai’s horse had to be put down. I haven’t seen their buggy, but from what the officer told me over the phone, it’s in bad shape. Faith’s shook up.”
“Jah, I noticed.” He stepped into the barn. “I also noticed the two of you are spending more time together lately.”
“We’re friends.”
Bishop Zook raised the lantern to shoulder height, throwing more light on Gideon.
“Bay’s in the third stall.” Gideon took the lead, not stopping until he was standing before the stall’s half door. He unfastened the latch and slipped inside with the horse. “It’s his front right leg.”
