by Adina Senft
“This won’t take long,” he said. “It might even be a yes or no answer.” He stepped all the way into the room and stood in front of her little white-painted bookcase filled with a growing library of herbals, along with a cookbook or two that Corinne had donated that focused on cooking with herbs and included a surprising amount of information about temperatures and how they affected various plants as they cooked.
Finally, it seemed, among all those words on the shelves, he found the ones for the question he wanted to ask. “You remember I told you about this TV program that D.W. Frith wants me to be on?”
“Ja. The shunning one.”
“Right. Shunning Amish, it’s called. Tell me honestly, Sarah…how do you think folks around here will feel if I do the program?”
“The Amish folks, you mean?”
“Yes. You, the boys, the Yoders, Paul and Barbara. The folks I know.”
Now she wished she had some of those words herself. “Why, I hardly know. I suppose you would have to ask the others.”
“And what about you?”
“I think you already know how I would feel. I don’t think it’s profitable to dwell on the past. Even less to tell the world about it, so that they have a view of us that’s distorted through an unhappy young man’s eyes, like looking through those old glass windows in Jacob’s hay barn.”
“But what if I said good things?” The low tone in his voice almost sounded desperate. What was going on behind these questions? Why did her answers matter?
“If you had only good things to say, Henry, they would wonder why you left the church at all,” she replied quietly.
He let out a long breath. “I guess if I wanted someone to make me feel good about this, I shouldn’t have come here.” His mouth canted up on one side, as if he were laughing at himself.
“But why do you care what I or any of your neighbors think? It’s none of our business what you do.” She screwed the lid on the jar she’d managed to fill without spilling. This would help on Jesse’s outside. But what was going on in his inside? He’d had ibuprofen, and yet he was “out of it.” That didn’t sound right.
Henry began to speak, and she snapped her attention back to him. “Because the store has threatened to cancel the order for the Christmas pieces if I don’t do it,” he said. “There’s something in the contract that says I have to do reasonable promotion. And apparently, spilling my guts about my past is what they consider reasonable.”
Ah. She released a long breath. Now she was beginning to understand the tension behind these questions. “So your livelihood depends on doing this? That seems dangerous.” She wasn’t sure how he would take it, but it had to be said. “You might do better not dealing with these people at all, if they’re going to force you to do things as silly as this program. Things that go against what you think is right.”
“That’s one option, all right,” he admitted. “Not the greatest one. It puts me back at Plan A, which is selling pieces at the Amish Market in summer, and doing goodness knows what in the winter. Making mugs for restaurants, I guess.”
“Is that so bad?” It sounded perfectly reasonable to her. “Do you want so many people to know about and admire your pieces, even when it could cause harm to others?” Which maybe wasn’t the smartest thing to say to a man who was obviously already torn on the matter. “I’m sorry, Henry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Why not say exactly what you think? That’s what I came here for, and you’ve never failed to deliver before.”
She bowed her head, uncomfortably aware that he was right—her tongue did run away with her. Here she was, doing it again—poking her nose in where it didn’t belong and giving advice before she prayed for the words in season. When was she going to learn?
“Sarah, don’t look like that. I only meant that I value your opinion. You never whitewash it, you never play games. I may not like it, but I appreciate it. Does that make sense?”
He was not angry with her for not showing him humility. Her heart expanded a little in relief. She would still have to approach der Herr later and ask for His forgiveness and guidance, though. “What does Ginny say about all this?”
“I’m going to talk to her about it later tonight, after she’s home. Because whatever I do, it’s going to affect both of us.”
Struck speechless after this reminder, she wiped off the small jar of salve and handed it to him.
“What do I owe you?”
She must not show how she felt. So she said the first thing that came into her head. “I could use one or two of those mugs you were talking about.”
“Done. Thanks, Sarah. For the salve, and for the talking-to.”
But she could no longer ignore the prompting of the still, small voice—the tiny anxiety that fluttered behind her breastbone. “Henry, something is bothering me about what Jesse said. About the ibuprofen. It doesn’t sound right.”
One eyebrow rose in surprise. “He did say he’d never had it before.”
“I wonder…” She thought quickly, then plucked a book from the shelf and paged through it until she found what she wanted. “I know it’s an imposition…but would you mind if I came to see him? Does he have a rash?”
“I didn’t think to look. All I saw was bruises. But he doesn’t feel good, I’ll tell you that.”
“I have the ingredients for a tea here that might help. I wonder if he might be allergic to ibuprofen. If he is, this might balance out his system and help him absorb it better.”
“It’s no imposition. But your boys are due home any second, aren’t they?”
Did he not want her to come? Was this his way of giving her a graceful way out? But she couldn’t ignore the urge inside any more than she could a pang of hunger. “I’ll turn off the oven and leave them a note. The casserole won’t suffer, and I don’t feel right leaving this until later.”
Swiftly, she gathered what she needed and filled her basket. Then she turned off the oven and put a lid on the corn so it wouldn’t dry out, scribbled a note, and followed Henry out. There was just enough light to see them over the hill.
“I’ll start a fire,” Henry said as he let her precede him into the house. “I should have thought of it before, but it was kind of an upside-down day.”
“And I’ll need to boil some water for these twigs.”
While he busied himself with wood and kindling in the old-fashioned woodstove that marked the dividing line between kitchen and front room and heated the entire house, as Sarah remembered from coming here for church, she got the water going on the kitchen stove and then turned to her new patient.
“Hallo, Jesse, wie geht’s?”
But the eyes he turned to her were half closed and he was far paler than a young man ought to be. Restlessly, he scratched at his arms through his torn shirt. “Who are you?” he asked.
“I’m Sarah.” She reached into the basket for the salve she had prepared. “I’m going to give you some medicine.”
“Don’t need it.”
“Yes, you do. You seem to be allergic to whatever they gave you at the hospital, so I’m going to give you something to counteract it. But before I do that, I’m going to attend to your bruises and that rash you’ve got going.”
“Don’t want any more.”
Henry closed the door on the fire just beginning to leap in the stove, and joined them. “Sarah is a Dokterfraa and you’ll do as she says.”
She could have handled Jesse, even if it had meant wedging his jaws open with the spoon and pouring the tea down his throat. She was not the mother of two teenage boys for nothing. But not for the first time, she was grateful that Henry’s first instinct was to back her up—to demand obedience on her behalf when hers was the place of authority.
His gaze sliding between her and Henry, Jesse nodded. She unbuttoned his shirt and frowned in distress at the bruises spreading in a pattern similar to those on Amanda’s chest. “Joe said you might have a broken rib, Jesse. Is that what the doctor said?” His ribs di
dn’t seem to be wrapped. He just looked as though a cow had used him for a welcome mat.
“No broken ribs,” the boy managed. “But it sure feels like it.”
When she had compiled the tea, she propped up his head and let him drink it slowly. He swallowed and made a face. “What is this?”
“This is called Mormon tea, with some coneflower and agrimony to settle your stomach. Come now. I want you to drink half of this mug now, and the other half in an hour. And some more in the morning.”
Unwillingly, he swallowed. “Yuck. Did you give this to Amanda?”
“No, but if she had needed it, I would have.” Her tone was soothing. “It will make you feel better. I’m using this salve I’m going to put on you on Amanda’s bruises, though, so you’ll have someone to keep you company in your misery.”
Along with the bruising, there was the allergy rash on his arms. As gently as she could, she massaged the salve into his chest, shoulder, and ribs, and dabbed it on the rash. When she was finished, she glanced at Henry. “Can we move him to a bed, do you think?”
“We can try.” Jesse tried to sit up, and between the two of them, they got him into Sadie’s old room at the rear of the house and into bed. Henry pulled off his jeans, and took the sorry garments out to the kitchen when Sarah sat next to Jesse to dab more salve on the rash on the boy’s legs.
“I’ll wash those and mend the shirt,” she said to Henry when she came out of the bedroom, and joined him on the sofa. The woodstove was going now, and the room warming up. “He can’t go around in these pants—look, they’re stained with blood.” She rolled up the jeans and tucked them into the basket. “I hate to ask this, but can you check on him at least once during the night, and give him another half mug of the tea? It doesn’t matter if it’s cold.”
“Sure,” he said, nodding. “Ten to one I won’t be able to sleep much anyway, what with thinking over this TV thing and listening for him to fall out of bed.”
With a smile, she said, “Hopefully he won’t do that. Like Amanda, he needs rest. I wonder if tomorrow we might take him over to Corinne’s. She’s already worried about him, and it might make her feel better to nurse both of them.”
“Joe offered, too. At this rate, the kid will be adopted by somebody.”
“I hope so. The poor boy, cut off from his family and hurt. At least when Simon got hurt, he knew he could turn to us, whether we were a thousand miles away or not. I wonder who Jesse turns to.”
“If he didn’t know before, I’m sure he knows now,” Henry said in a gentle tone that told her the sooner she got out of his front room, the better.
Quick steps sounded on the front porch, and then came a rapid knock. Both of them jumped at the unexpected sound, and before Henry could open the door himself, Ginny whirled in, bringing a gust of cold air with her.
“Henry!” She bounced across the room and threw herself into his arms, giving him a smacking kiss on the mouth that Sarah could hear on the other side of the room.
“Well, hey, you,” he said, glancing over her hair at Sarah. “Why didn’t you call me? I’d have come over.”
“Haven’t been home yet.” She kissed him again. “I couldn’t wait to see my man and tell him all about my adventures. Except for the dress. Mum’s the word about that.”
“Ginny—”
“But I found a great pair of shoes and saw about a hundred relatives, all of whom want to come this time because they couldn’t come last time.”
“Gin—”
“And Mom and Daddy wanted me to tell you that you’re not to worry about paying for everything, because since they kinda got left out last time, they want to chip in.”
Sarah couldn’t stay silent another second, listening to a conversation that was none of her business. And if she had to see another kiss, she’d probably start to cry, and that would be disastrous.
“It all sounds wonderful,” she said, surging off the sofa and crossing the room, hands outstretched. “I don’t want to intrude anymore, and you’ll have lots of news to tell each other, so I’ll be on my way.”
Ginny’s eyes rounded as she turned in Henry’s embrace. His arms fell away as she shook Sarah’s hand automatically. “Sarah? I’m sorry—I didn’t see you. I—where did you come from?”
“I’ve just been treating Jesse Riehl.”
“I’m sorry—who?”
Henry cleared his throat. “Jesse, the boy who ran his car into a guard rail over a cattle culvert on Sunday. Remember, I told you about him?”
“Vaguely.” Her brows wrinkled. “But what does that have to do with—wait. He’s here?”
Sarah nodded. “In Sadie’s old room, down the hall. I just treated him with a salve for some pretty awful bruising, and had just asked Henry if he would give him another dose of this”—she held up the mug—“sometime in the night.”
“Is there a reason this boy isn’t in the hospital?” Ginny asked.
“He was just released today. Joe brought him back here in the buggy because his car is here. The kid is homeless, Ginny. Sarah and I were just talking over what to do with him when you came in.”
“Sarah and you, huh?”
Her tone began to change, with just the slightest edge a woman got when her man paired his name with that of another, even in the most ordinary way. Sarah picked up her basket. The sooner she got out of here and they got back to kissing and exchanging news of wedding preparations, the better.
“I’d best get back to my own boys,” she said, “or there won’t be any sausage casserole left for me. It was nice to see you, Ginny. I’m glad your trip went well and you’re safely home.”
“Me, too,” Ginny said, but by then Sarah was safely out the door.
Chapter 22
The Rose Arbor Inn on Wednesday was the quietest Priscilla had ever heard it. Not only were there no guests from the weekend to clean up after, but there was also no singing. No humming. And none of the usual chatter that would follow her “Good morning, Priscilla—isn’t it a beautiful day?”
Come to think of it, Ginny hadn’t even added that last part, which was really strange, because even when it was the dead of winter and snowing like mad, Ginny found something to appreciate about every new day.
Well, that was fine. Today Pris didn’t feel much like looking for the good in a gray, rainy day like this, except that it would make the ground softer for people turning over their gardens.
She’d finished polishing Ginny’s antique furniture in the public sitting room and was dusting the contents of the china breakfront when Ginny leaned in the doorway behind her. “Pris, when you’re finished with the dusting, you may as well go on home. The rooms are all ready in case we get a booking, and I hate to keep you when you probably have a ton of stuff to do.”
That was true. “I do. Evie Troyer says that I should make a whole bunch of pot holders for the Amish Market’s final weekend of the season. Lots of Englisch folks come from the cities to look at the fall colors and buy preserves and things. She says I could maybe make all my Christmas money in one weekend if I have enough stock.”
“Then how about we just call this week a bust and you spend your time doing your sewing?”
“Are you sure?” Ginny’s eyes looked tired, as though she hadn’t slept much. “Are you feeling well?”
Half a smile quirked up one corner of Ginny’s mouth. “Yes, I’m fine. Shopping takes a lot more out of me than it used to—especially a marathon like this past weekend. We tried on dresses at six stores over three days, can you believe it?”
“Did you find one?”
“Yes—the very first one I tried on turned out to be The One.” She turned away and took a couple of steps across the hall to the guests’ dining room. “I just hope I get a chance to wear it.”
Pris must have misheard. She followed Ginny into the kitchen. “Sorry—I didn’t catch what you said.”
Ginny put on her oven mitts and opened the oven door. “Never mind. Man trouble. Want a pecan tart?�
��
A couple dozen were already cooling on the worktable. “I’d love one. After your sticky buns, these are my favorite.”
“Exclusive to the Rose Arbor Inn.” Ginny set the new batch to cool, piled a few cooled ones on a plate, and poured them each a glass of milk. When she sat opposite, she took a bite and then sighed. “You ever have man trouble, Pris?”
Priscilla gulped her milk and swallowed. “All the time. Which up until this summer I never would have thought I’d ever say. But most of it is my fault.”
“Tell me.”
So she did. About Simon, and how she’d liked him so much but he never saw her as more than a friend—until his friend did. About Joe, and how nice he was, and how badly she’d messed up in letting Simon kiss her. And even about Benny Peachey, who still had the nerve to make jokes about courting her, even though Joe was home and he’d seen them together.
Ginny licked the pad of her thumb and pressed it into the pastry crumbs to pick them up. “Sounds like you might be giving poor Benny a chance, then, huh?”
“No,” Pris said bluntly, setting her empty glass aside. “He’s too wild—even though most of it is just his silly jokes and horsing around. Joe is the one for me, and I spoiled it.”
“There isn’t another girl involved, though, is there? You don’t have any competition?”
Pris shook her head, making her Kapp strings dance on her shoulders. She’d flipped the knot over her head to keep them out of the way while she cleaned. “Not yet. But Joe is so humble. He doesn’t think he’s worthy of me—when it’s me that isn’t worthy of him—and so to him, it’s perfectly normal that I would choose someone else. Expected, even.”
“Isn’t that taking Demut a little too far?”
Pris sighed. “I don’t know if it’s Demut or if it’s just the way he is.”
“No self-esteem, you mean.” When Pris nodded, Ginny said, “Have you talked with him about it?”
“Yes. And he just says that if I want Simon, I should date him. Which misses the point of me apologizing and wanting him, not Simon. It was just a silly little kiss. An experiment, almost,” she said half despairingly. “The only boy I’ve ever kissed and meant it was Joe.”
