Joseph’s opinion of Naomi’s brothers dipped another several notches. “I see.” No wonder she didn’t want to go home. “And have you been happy here? Truly happy?”
“Ja.” This time her answer came quick and sure. “Happier than I’ve ever been in my life. It’s been so gut to be here, helping first with Katie and her sweet boppli, and now you and Miriam.”
Happier than I’ve ever been. Did she mean that? Joseph probed gently to find out. “I can’t think being here with us during this time could be very pleasant.”
“It has been for me. Not,” she added quickly, “that I’m happy for your troubles. Of course it’s not that. It’s just . . . I’ve never been like you, Joseph. You’ve always been strong. But me, I’ve felt useless for so much of my life. You can’t understand how much it’s meant to me to be allowed to help you all. It’s given me a real feeling of purpose, and that’s been the biggest blessing I’ve ever had. I thank Gott—and you—for giving me the chance.”
“It was you who took a chance, coming here with reporters at the door and the whole family in a mess.”
“Ah, well. I didn’t mind that.”
She sounded as if she meant it. His heart was pounding so hard now, he could barely think. All his common sense was slipping away from him, like reins sliding through slack fingers. Something strong deep inside him was taking control, like a horse took his head when the comfort of his barn came into view after a long ride home.
“Do you like to take chances, then, Naomi?”
She laughed, and the gentle sound tickled up the back of his neck like playful fingers. “Oh, ja, I do. I spent so long not taking any at all, you know. Mamm wouldn’t let me do anything the least bit risky while I was so frail. So I guess now I take them whenever I can to make up for lost time!”
He’d forgotten how to breathe, and he was feeling pretty light-headed, but it didn’t matter. He forged ahead. “I can think of another chance you could take, then, since you like them so much.”
She looked up at him, the metal cutter motionless in her hand. “And what would that be, Joseph?”
“You could marry me.” He could hear his pulse banging away behind his eardrums. “You could marry me and come to Ohio with us. As my wife,” he added stupidly, as if a schmaert girl like Naomi needed him to spell everything out.
Both her gray-green eyes and her mouth opened wide, and the cutter fell against the side of the crockery bowl with a clatter. “Oh!”
“It seems sensible,” he rushed on desperately. “You’re none too eager to go home to Kentucky, and Miriam’s sure to do better if you came along to Ohio with us. And I—” he stopped. He couldn’t say . . . what he wanted to say. Not now, not with her looking at him with that flat astonishment in her eyes. “It’s past time I married. Daed said so just before . . . he thought so, too. Unless,” he added, “there’s some other fellow you like the look of.”
She worked her lips twice before she seemed able to answer him. “N-nee. There’s no other fellow. But—”
He didn’t want her to finish that sentence, not yet, not while she had that shocked look on her face. “Don’t answer me now. I’ve sprung this on you sudden, and you’ll need to think on it. I’m going out to the woodshop for a while, and then I need to drive to town to sign the paperwork at the real estate office. Likely I’ll not be back until suppertime.” He hesitated another awkward second, then he forced his legs to work and got out of the kitchen as fast as he could.
He didn’t take another breath until he was inside his shop. He sank down on the cold earthen floor, his back pressed against the door, his heart hammering.
He never did anything like that, quick-like, without thinking it through. And proposing to a girl, well, his father had stressed to him time and time again growing up, that such a choice was one of the two most important ones he’d ever make. And the way he’d done it, just blurting it out like that. He’d bumbled it badly, just like he always did when it came to saying the right words.
Ja, he’d likely made a mess of things, all right, talking about marriage to Naomi like that, out of the blue. He waited for reality to sink in, to feel a sense of embarrassment or regret or something similar that he’d made such a zwickel of himself.
But when he remembered what he’d seen in Naomi’s eyes the split second before her surprise kicked in, what he felt wasn’t regret at all. Nee, it was something lighter, and stronger and far more promising.
He couldn’t be sure because he hadn’t felt this way in a long, long time. But as near as he could remember, this felt an awful lot like hope.
Chapter Twenty
That evening as Naomi washed the dishes she’d used to make the chicken casserole now steaming on the table, her gaze kept drifting out the window at the rapidly darkening yard.
Joseph had returned from his appointment in town a couple hours ago. She’d seen him driving up, and a thrill had run through her, starting at her toes and ending at the top of her head. She’d barely been able to breathe, waiting for him to come inside.
But he hadn’t.
She’d seen him unhitching Titus and leading the horse into the barn. He’d paused on his way out, casting one long look at the house, but then he’d disappeared into his woodshop, shutting the door behind him.
Now he was late for supper, and Naomi’s nerves had stretched to their breaking point. They’d been thrumming crazily all day, ever since he’d dropped that abrupt proposal in her lap and scooted out the back door like a scalded dog. Her heart had been so out of rhythm that she’d had to make the casserole sitting down.
Naomi had wondered, like any maidel, about what a proposal might be like. Such things weren’t talked about much back in Kentucky, so she’d had to use her imagination. Most of the time, they seemed to happen on buggy rides, late at night, clopping home from a Sunday night singing. She knew at least one of her brothers had proposed that way.
David hadn’t told her anything about it, of course, but her sister-in-law had. Driving her home that evening, David had taken a long detour around a pond, and he’d paused in a pretty spot. She’d known then, Lena said, that something was afoot. And right there, sitting in the buggy, he’d asked her to be his wife, offering her a pretty whistle he’d whittled to mark the occasion.
Her future sister-in-law hadn’t known what to think of David’s choice of gifts. Mostly if a present was given, it was some nice, practical thing that the girl could use in her new home. But Lena had laughed when David had explained that she only had to whistle, and he’d come running for the rest of his life.
Naomi had liked that way of doing things; it seemed both sweet and funny. She’d hoped that—if she ever did have a boy propose to her, which seemed increasingly unlikely—that he might do something like that.
One thing was for certain sure. She’d never imagined she’d be proposed to standing elbow deep in piecrust— because marriage seemed sensible and because the fellow’s sister didn’t want to lose Naomi’s company.
All in all, she’d rather have had the whistle.
She hadn’t been worth much for the rest of the afternoon, and making a decent pastry was out of the question. The pie had turned out terribly, but she’d baked it anyhow. Miriam had come down and politely picked at the tough-crusted mess before settling in at the table to do some quilting.
After scraping the remains of Miriam’s pie into the scrap bowl, Naomi had tried to join her, but sewing was another skill that was beyond her abilities today. After she’d poked her finger with the needle and bled on the cheery yellow cloth, she’d given up and decided to do a bit of cleaning in the kitchen instead.
At the sight of the blood welling out of Naomi’s finger, Miriam had gone pale. She’d risen unsteadily from her chair, claiming to have a headache, and disappeared upstairs as quickly as she could. Naomi had felt bad, but perhaps it was for the best if Miriam stayed safely upstair
s for the rest of the afternoon.
Naomi and Joseph needed to talk.
She’d gone over and over their earlier conversation in her head, looking at it from every angle, trying to make some sort of sense of the crazy twist her day had taken. She hadn’t been successful.
She felt the same way as she had the day her doctor had explained the operation that could fix her heart. That day, she’d sat in the medical office, hands clenched so hard, her fingernails had printed angry little half-moons in her skin.
She’d felt terrified and hopeful all at once, just as she felt right now. It had been overwhelming, and she’d asked the cardiologist question after question, repeating many of them as she struggled to convince herself that what he was promising her—the possibility of a healthy, useful life—could truly happen.
She had a few questions for Joseph, too. Naomi cast an agonized look at the relentless clock ticking on the wall. If he didn’t hurry up, Aaron would be here to take her back to Katie’s for the night.
She couldn’t wait until tomorrow. She just couldn’t.
She dropped the pot she’d been absentmindedly rewashing into the dishwater and dried her hands on a towel. Enough was enough. If Joseph wouldn’t come to her, she’d go out to Joseph.
She made it all the way to the barn door before realizing that she’d hurried outside without her shawl or her bonnet. She tucked her hair carefully under her kapp and smoothed down the front of her dress, listening to the unmistakable sounds of milk hitting a stainless steel pail.
Joseph was running late with the chores. That must be why he hadn’t come in for supper on time. It made sense, given that he’d had to spend part of the day in town, seeing to the rental agreement about the house.
She hesitated. Maybe she should have waited instead of rushing out here.
Nee, she told herself firmly. Joseph had started this. All she was trying to do was to finish it, and he’d already made her wait the whole, long afternoon. She pulled open the barn door and stepped inside.
The temperature in the snug barn was several degrees warmer than the yard. Daisy, the milk cow, was nose-deep in her grain, and the calm old Jersey flicked a disinterested gaze in Naomi’s direction.
Joseph was bent over, milking quickly, the strong, white jets streaming forcefully into the pail. He stopped and straightened up on the stool when he saw her.
“Naomi. Is Miriam all right?”
“She went up to her room a bit early, but that’s not why I came out here. I just . . . I thought we should talk before it was time for me to go home.”
He looked at her, his cheeks mottling red. “I suppose we should, ja.”
Impatient with the delay in her evening routine, Daisy turned a grain-encrusted nose in Joseph’s direction and mooed irritably.
“I need to finish up here,” Joseph said. Naomi detected a whiff of relief in his voice. “I’ll be up to the kitchen in a few minutes. Best you wait for me inside where it’s warm.”
“All right.” Disappointed, Naomi turned and started toward the door. When she reached it, though, she halted, one hand flat against the cold, rough wood. Then she squared her shoulders and turned. “Nee. Aaron’s likely to be along to pick me up soon, and I’d rather not put this off until tomorrow. I won’t sleep a wink if I do. You’re a dairyman, ain’t so? You can talk while you milk well enough, I reckon.”
The tempo of Joseph’s milking slowed for a pace or two, then sped back up. “I reckon I can, ja.”
She edged closer, watching his muscles flex as he methodically stripped the cow’s bulging bag of its milk. Naomi swallowed and gathered her courage.
“Before—” Her voice cracked on the word. She cleared her throat and tried again, “Before, back in the kitchen. You asked me to think on the idea of marrying you.”
He shot a glance out of the corner of his eye at her and nodded, once. Then he turned his eyes back to Daisy’s deflating udder. “And have you? Thought on it?”
What a question. “I’ve not been able to think of much else, all the day long. That’s not something a fellow usually flings at a girl with no warning.”
He glanced at her again and nodded sheepishly. “Suppose not.”
She waited for him to explain, but he kept working silently, the steady pulses of his milking marking the passage of time. Naomi inhaled air that smelled of warm milk and the rich, dark molasses mixed with the sweet feed Daisy was crunching, and she prayed for patience.
“Before I give you an answer, I’ve a couple questions of my own, if you don’t mind.”
Joseph stripped the last of the milk from Daisy’s back teats and slid the lid onto the pail. He stood, scooting the three-legged wooden milking stool over out of the way.
“Ask me whatever you like, Naomi. I’ll answer you, best I can.”
“All right.” Now that the time had finally come to ask the question that had been burning in her breast all afternoon long, she was reluctant to ask it. But she had to know, so she did. “Did you mean it?”
Daisy’s rhythmic chewing, the sound of a hen cackling in the chicken coop, the rattle of a loose shingle in the wind on the roof. Those were the only sounds she heard over the ragged thump of her own heart.
Joseph studied her, his brows drawn together. Was he going to answer her or not? She shivered nervously, and he frowned.
“You’re cold.” He set down the pail and jerked a heavy chore jacket off a hook on one of the barn’s supporting wooden posts. As he came close, her gaze fastened on his face. The closer he came, the harder she found it to think— and to breathe.
Finally, he was standing only a step away. Reaching around her, he settled the musty jacket on her shoulders. Her breath came in quick, shallow puffs as their eyes met.
She’d rarely stood so close to a man not related to her, never had a man do something so intimate as this. His eyes were gentle, and a little sad, as he smoothed the rough fabric over her arms. Then he put his hands back down at his sides, but his gaze stayed connected with hers.
“Ja, Naomi,” he said quietly. “I meant it. I’d not have joked with you, not about something like that.”
“All right.” She nodded jerkily. “I . . . wasn’t sure.”
The corners of his lips twitched upward slightly. “I must’ve made a real hash of it, if you couldn’t tell.”
“I’ve never had anybody ask me before. So I didn’t know.”
Something flickered in his eyes, but it was gone before she could figure out what it was. “We’ve that in common, then. I’ve never asked anybody before, so I reckon we’ll have to figure the rest of this out together. If, I mean, you do decide to . . .” He trailed off, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t mean to rush you for an answer, Naomi. I know it’s a big decision, and I’m bringing little enough to the table. It’s only sensible for you to think it through.”
Sensible. Naomi’s mind flitted suddenly to a schoolmate back in Kentucky. Like Naomi, Lyddie had never been too pretty or sought after by the boys, but she’d had her share of romantic dreams, just like all the other girls. Then a year ago, she’d up and married an overwhelmed widower with a brood of nine children.
“I know Amos Byler ain’t so much,” Lyddie had admitted to Naomi with a practical shrug. “He’s skinny as a beanpole and gray as a cat, and he’s no more in love with me than I am with him. He mainly wants a mamm to look after his young ones. But I’m sensible enough to know I’m not likely to get any other offers, and I’ve always wanted a family of my own. Amos is a kind man and a gut father, and he makes a decent living with his chicken houses. That’s enough for me.”
Naomi had stood up with Lyddie at her wedding, and she’d secretly felt a bit sorry for the bride. Still, that match had worked out all right, hadn’t it? Lyddie had a sweet baby son of her own now, and she seemed content with her choice. If she’d held out for romance, likely she’d still
be alone.
Naomi blinked and refocused on Joseph. “You’ll be leaving pretty soon, ain’t so? That doesn’t leave much time for thinking, seems to me.”
“I reckon you’re right about that. Isaac will understand how things are, and I think he’d work with us to make a quick marriage, if that’s what we want. But you should take enough time to be real sure, Naomi.”
“Are you real sure, then, Joseph?”
The question came out before she could stop it. She was torn between wishing she could call it back and wanting to hear the answer so badly, she could barely bring herself to breathe.
Maybe he would say . . . something. Just a little something that would sweep away the silly disappointment she’d felt and make all this seem less . . . Amos-like.
He looked at her and the silence stretched out between them for what seemed like just a hair too long. Then he nodded.
“Ja, Naomi. I’m sure. I’d never have asked, otherwise.”
She pressed her lips together to keep them from wobbling. Amos Byler couldn’t have said it any plainer.
So there would be no come-a-running whistle, not for her. But there would be this kind man, and a gut life, a better one than she’d ever expected to have, if only, like Lyddie, she had enough sense to be grateful for the blessings Gott was offering her instead of pining for the ones He was not.
“Then I don’t need any more time to think about it. I will marry you, Joseph. Just as soon as you like.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Joseph hesitated on the sidewalk, studying the buzzing throng of people inside Isaac’s bakery. It was crowded today. Not good, since he needed a private word with the bishop if he wanted to start the wheels turning for his wedding to Naomi.
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