by Adina Senft
“Ja, mine…and maybe that of a man who is thankful for his food at the dinner table.” She took her seat and scooped up a fingerful of the reddish-brown salve.
“I can do that. I’ve had a little practice.”
She dabbed it on the cuts where his fingers met his palms and, when she’d finished, pushed the glass jar toward him. “All right. You finish and I’ll get the bandages.”
Caleb stuck his head in the doorway. “I’m going to bed, Mamm.”
“Good night, son of mine.” Her hands were sticky, so she leaned over to kiss him on the ear as she passed him. “We’re up early tomorrow, so I won’t be long. Where is Simon?”
“Out in the barn, I think, saying good night to Dulcie. ’Night, Henry.”
“’Night, Caleb. I’d shake your hand but I’d get goop all over you.”
“It’s good goop, if it makes you better.” And with that, he loped upstairs.
With Sarah’s help, Henry bandaged up the remaining cuts, and when it didn’t seem as though Simon was in any hurry to leave the horse and come in, he stood to go.
“Can I offer you some coffee?” she asked.
“Sarah, you know I can’t stay.”
She looked away, the lamplight casting one side of her face in shadow, and illuminating the other in gold light, like a picture out of a medieval manuscript. “You’re so different tonight. Has my forward behavior spoiled our friendship? Or is it because you’re promised to Ginny?”
“Both. I mean, neither.”
When she looked up at him, the words fell out of his head and all he could see was the pain in those gray eyes—eyes that should hold laughter, or compassion, or love. Not pain that he had caused. “Sarah, don’t look like that.”
“How can I not? Henry, I must say it—you’re marrying the wrong woman.”
“Am I?” he got out, though his chest had constricted and he wasn’t sure how he was going to take his next breath. “And who is the right one?”
“The woman God has chosen for you,” she whispered. “A plain woman. A faithful woman, to make a home for you and your children.”
“I’m with a faithful woman.” No, that could be taken two ways. “The one in Philadelphia.”
He said it like an incantation, the way a priest would wave a cross to ward off evil. But Sarah wasn’t evil. She was just a temptation too great to be borne. He half expected her to say, Not the right faith, but she didn’t. Instead, tears filled her eyes and she blushed.
“Why are you doing this to me?” he whispered, his voice cracking.
“Why are you doing it to me?” It was almost a groan. “This was a mistake. My pride again.” The tears had overflowed now, and one dropped down her cheek with the suddenness of despair. “You have to go,” she said, so low he could barely hear her. “I can’t treat you anymore. And I must find a way to not see you, either, even if it means moving to the other side of the district.”
“Don’t do that, Sarah. Don’t even think it. This is my fault. I’m the one who’s betraying a good woman in my heart. At least you’re free.”
“Not for long.”
And before he could ask her what on earth that meant, the kitchen door banged open and Simon came in. Sarah turned and began cleaning up the papers from the Band-Aid strips as though her life depended on it. And when Henry wished her good night from the doorway, she didn’t look up.
Chapter 18
On Monday morning, Priscilla finished the breakfast dishes in record time and said to her mother, “Mamm, I’m going to go over to Yoders’ to see how Amanda is doing. Do you want me to take anything?”
“Ja, I do, but it might be best to drop in at Sarah’s and see if Amanda is well enough for a visit first. I made a big pot of chicken and dumpling soup, so if she’s well enough to eat it, I could take it by on my way to the fabric store at ten o’clock. Miriam Yoder is having her annual sale this week, and if I don’t go on the first day, all the best colors will be gone.”
“Poor Miriam. She’ll sure be busy without Amanda to help.”
“Miriam likes to be busy. And her girls are old enough to count change—they’ll be happy for the chance to help their mother.”
Katie turned from where she was putting the dry plates in the cupboard. “Mamm, I wonder if I could help her. I’m good at math, and I’m almost fifteen. It’s time I found some work to do.”
Mamm gazed at her as if she hadn’t quite expected her to grow up so fast. She still looked at Priscilla that way sometimes. “Are you sure? Because with Pris working, you’re a wonderful help to me, and I’m not sure I can manage without you.”
“Not every day, maybe,” Katie said, the light in her face dimming just a little. “Or ever. But I could offer to help this week, while Amanda ischt krank.”
Mamm reached over and gave her a hug. “My girl has a bright mind and a big heart. Why don’t you come with me and we’ll ask Miriam. If she says yes, you can stay for the day and see how you like it.”
“And the next day?” Katie asked hesitantly.
“That will be up to Miriam, but we can talk about it at supper.”
Katie nodded, and ran to change out of her house dress to one that might be suitable for greeting the public. Though the Englisch long weekend wasn’t for another week, a number of Miriam’s Englisch customers knew about her sale and saved this Monday for quilt-group trips. Pris hoped it would work out for Katie—she was calm and responsible, and far better at arithmetic than anyone in the family. Counting change and cutting yardage would be the perfect job for her, even if it was only for a week or even a month, until Amanda was back on her feet.
Pris pinned on a freshly washed and starched Kapp and took her jacket off the peg near the door. The glorious crisp sunshine they’d been having seemed to have taken a holiday today, and Pris’s hand hovered, undecided, over the umbrella.
Better take it. Her nice crisp Kapp would be a sorry sight if it got soaked.
It didn’t take long to walk the half mile down the road, cross, and make her way down Sarah Yoder’s lane. She would just pop in, say hello, and ask if Amanda was seeing visitors, so as not to take up too much time on laundry day. But when she knocked at the back door, no one answered. She stepped into the kitchen, saw nothing but clean counters and empty chairs, and peeked into the compiling room.
“Hello? Sarah? Is anyone home?” In the silence, the clock on the windowsill over the sink ticked, telling her nothing but that it was ten minutes to eight.
Well, the laundry was hung out to dry on the line, despite the threat of rain. Maybe Sarah had taken a healing mixture over to Amanda, and Pris would find them all in the kitchen over there, talking over cups of coffee.
Priscilla crossed the yard, heading for the creek bottom and the shortcut up the hill that would take her to Jacob and Corinne’s, when someone called her name. She turned to see Simon emerge from the barn with a curved piece of wood in one hand and a nasty-looking knife in the other.
“Pris—I thought that was you. Are you looking for Mamm?”
“Ja, I wanted to know how Amanda is, and whether she’s well enough to have some of my mother’s chicken and dumpling soup.”
“It would be worth running off the road to have some of that.” He grinned. “My favorite.”
“I think Amanda would probably say the price was a little high. Has anyone heard how Jesse is?”
“Not yet, but Mamm was going to call the hospital from the phone shanty when she got back. She’s still worried that this aunt and uncle of his might not know.” As he spoke, he put his whittling down on a fence post and ambled over until he was leaning on one of the maples overlooking the creek. “I hear things might have gone a lot worse if you hadn’t ridden for help.”
She shrugged and pushed both hands into the pockets of her jacket, the braided loop of the umbrella handle over one wrist. “I thought Joe should go since you and he spent the whole summer riding horses, but he was right in the end. He was able to get them out of the
car in case it rolled away and hit bottom and made things worse, where I sure couldn’t have.”
“Mamm says it was quite a sight.” He paused for the briefest second. “But then, you’re a sight for sore eyes anyway.”
For a second, she thought he was teasing her, and then the warmth in his long-lashed gaze made the light come on in her brain. He’d just given her a compliment.
But it wasn’t the compliment that made her blush. It was that gaze, lying on her skin like honey and cinnamon.
But this was ridiculous. She’d practically thrown herself at him in the spring. Why had he decided to wake up now instead of then? How different things would have been if he’d behaved like this instead of the big brother type who always had something more interesting to do than be with her.
“Pris, while I was gone, I had the chance to do a lot of thinking.”
“Did you? So did I. What did you think about?”
“You, mostly, especially when I was laid up and didn’t even have my work with the horses to keep me from seeing the truth.”
Heat prickled into her cheeks. “What did Joe have to say about that?”
He grinned. “You think I’m fool enough to talk about it with him? He’d have thrown me in the stock pond in two seconds.”
“Joe’s not like that. He’ll talk about anything with anybody.”
“The subject of Priscilla Mast isn’t for everybody. It’s special. I guess that goes for both of us.”
“Simon, are you trying to flirt with me?”
He laughed, but it could be because she was flushed with embarrassment despite the coldness of the day. “Maybe. Maybe I’m thinking what a fool I was not to notice you before he did. Maybe I’m wondering if you still like me the way you used to—and whether you’d go on a date with me sometime.”
“Maybe you ought to talk that over with my special friend first. He might be able to suggest a handy stock pond.” There was something thrilling about this—about being wanted by two boys. And the fact that one of them was Simon, whom she’d been dreaming about for a year at least…well, even though she knew perfectly well it was prideful and wrong, she couldn’t help the tiny trickle of female triumph that somehow, some way, she’d finally managed to make him notice her.
Even if she no longer planned to do anything about it.
Simon laughed. “Maybe he would. But if you told him that you wanted to date other people, then the stock ponds and I would be safe.”
“I couldn’t do that, Simon.”
He levered himself slowly off the tree, which brought him to within touching distance. “Don’t you care for me?”
“I—I—ja.” Of course she did. As a brother. Or maybe not. Brothers were safe. And there was nothing remotely safe about Simon Yoder. “But not in that way.”
“Are you sure?” He reached out, and instead of taking her arm, he tugged gently on the little folding umbrella. Because its loop was over her wrist, her hand came out of her pocket and he tugged some more. If she didn’t take a step, she’d lose her balance.
The wind kicked up behind her and blew her skirts flat against the backs of her legs. It also pushed her the last inch, as if it were conspiring to make her stand this close to him.
“Ja,” she said.
“Ja, so?” His voice fell halfway between a bass note and a whisper. The wind got under her collar and tickled the back of her neck, and she shivered. “Bischt du kalt, Pris?”
One last tug, and she was in his arms.
He dipped his head and kissed her, the heat of his body warming her hands, the umbrella dangling forgotten from her wrist. His lips were cold. Cold and firm and a bit wet. Not at all like Joe’s.
Somewhere, thunder rolled, a long grinding sound that didn’t bode well for her staying dry until she got to Yoders’. She wrenched herself away. “Simon—Joe—he—”
At the sound of Joe’s name, his best friend set her away from himself. She searched his face, looking for—what? An apology? An acknowledgment that they’d done something unworthy? A gaze that would match the tone of his voice a few seconds ago?
But no. He was looking up, past her hair, over her head.
She turned just in time to see Joe bring his buggy to a halt, the grinding of the gravel under the wheels a sound like thunder in her ears.
Priscilla may as well have stepped into a freezer. Even her blood had chilled to a crawl at the look on Joe’s face—at the naked pain and betrayal in his eyes.
Caught.
She had walked into a trap she had set for herself out of pride and greed—why be satisfied with one boy courting you when you could have two with a wave of your hand?—and now she had to pay the price.
“I came to talk to Sarah,” he said to Simon, the reins held loosely in his hands. “She in?”
Priscilla couldn’t speak. How could he say a single word in such a calm tone when his eyes blazed like that? Wordlessly, she shook her head.
“She went over to Daed and Mammi’s to see Amanda,” Simon said. “Joe—”
Joe flapped the reins and guided the buggy past them in a wide turn. When the horse was facing back down the lane, he didn’t even pull up, just nodded. “Denki. See you.”
And without another word, the buggy rattled off up the lane. Priscilla felt as though Joe had taken her heart with him, all her blood vessels and sinews that connected it to her body stretching between them to the breaking point.
If it broke, she would be broken forever.
“Now look what you’ve done!” she snapped, whirling to face Simon.
“Me!” Simon’s brows rose in comic dismay. “There were two of us in that kiss, if you remember.”
“How can you talk about it like that when you know he saw us!”
He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “He saw us. It’s done. At least we all know where we stand.”
“We do not! Didn’t you see his face? I’ve hurt him something awful, and now I have to go make it up to him. Somehow. If I can.”
How did you make up for a hurt that deep? She knew Joe cared for her—it was impossible not to know, with the way he always put her first. Whether it was opening a door or passing her a bowl of food at the table, he made sure she knew that, for him, she came before anyone else.
How could she have cheapened that kind of caring by kissing Simon? How could she have thrown away Joe’s faithful heart by listening to her own selfish pride?
“Don’t get all worked up, Pris,” Simon said, his hand sliding into the crook of her elbow. “He’ll be okay. I mean, ‘I came to see Sarah’? Not, ‘Take your hands off my woman’? I know you two were special friends, but maybe it doesn’t run as deep as you thought.”
“Don’t say were! And what do you know about it? You’ve never had a special friend because you think too highly of yourself to share yourself with anybody.”
He was still smiling, that aggravating amused smile that he used for nearly everything. “I think highly of myself?” He snorted. “Hardly.”
How could she have been in love with this boy? He didn’t know the first thing about what it was like to care for someone. “You do—and that’s why you can’t see how hurt he was. Joe Byler would be the first one to expect that I’d choose someone else. He’d be the first one to encourage me to go…because he doesn’t think he’s worthy. He’s the humblest, most self-effacing guy I’ll ever meet. Don’t you see? In his mind, I just proved him right.”
“Nothing wrong with being humble.”
“Maybe you ought to try it.” She yanked her elbow away and heard the whisper of the rain falling through the last of the red leaves of the maple above. “I’m going after him.”
“No, you’re not. Come into the house with me and have some coffee. I think you’re probably a free woman now.”
She whirled to stare at him. “How can you be so insensitive? He’s your best friend!”
“How can you get so worked up?” he shot back, and she saw she’d finally gotten under his skin. “I’ve known
Joe my whole life, and you’ve got him all wrong. He doesn’t think about stuff the way you do. And he certainly doesn’t get all emotional like this. I’ll have a talk with him, say we were just goofing around, and it’ll be fine.”
Boys, honestly.
But they weren’t boys anymore, were they? This wasn’t the schoolyard, and they weren’t six years old, learning to take their turn with the ball. This was real—real emotion, real feelings, real people who hurt and were hurt in their turn.
“It’s not your place,” she told him stiffly. “I’m the one who’s in the wrong, so I’m the one to talk to him.”
“He’s probably there by now. You’ll never catch him.”
“Watch me.”
Fleet as a rabbit, she ran past Sarah’s quilt garden and down the slope to the creek bottom. She took the log bridge in three long strides and dashed up the hill on the other side. It was a quarter mile between places. Joe would probably be just turning in at the mailbox, so if she cut through the hay meadow here and climbed the fence, she’d meet him coming halfway down the lane—right about—
“Joe!” Panting, disheveled, and wet because opening the umbrella would have slowed her down, she slapped both hands on the passenger door to get him to stop the buggy.
“Whoa!” she heard him say to the horse, and the reins scraped against their channels in the windscreen as he pulled the animal up. The door slid open.
“Pris, you’re soaking. Get in.”
She couldn’t get her breath, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but heave against the constriction of the waistband of her dress. But she had to. She had to apologize, had to make him see that it was all a mistake.
She hadn’t known before, but she knew now, and she had to tell him.
Finally she could get a good lungful of air. She sounded like the engine on the corn augur when it started up on a November morning, all puffing and coughing and hesitating.
“Joe—what you saw—Simon—”
“It’s okay, Pris.” He gazed at his hands, holding the reins so the horse wouldn’t pull forward and bring them out from behind the spruces into the yard where anyone looking out the windows could see them.
