“Or sister.”
“Ja. But I am hoping for a brother.” Christian grinned and dashed to the cluster of men on the far side of the cabin. They stood with tools in their hands as they measured and planned, stroked their beards, and nodded.
Eliza and Peter grabbed Greta’s hands. “Greta?”
“Ja?”
“Will there still be room for us here, when Mrs. Gruber has another baby?” Peter’s big, round eyes widened with concern.
Eliza pulled on Greta’s hand. “Mrs. Gruber is already so busy. How will she take care of us when she has one more of her own?” The little girl looked down and frowned. “We do not want to be a burden.”
“Oh, Eliza, you could never be a burden!” Greta crouched down and hugged both children to her chest. “Neither one of you could ever be a burden.”
“But Mrs. Gruber already has six children. With the new baby that will make seven.” Eliza’s lip trembled. “Even with the new addition, there will not be room for us.”
Peter tightened his grip on Greta. “Can we come live with you? You have enough room for us. And we promise to help. We could fetch the firewood and water.”
“Oh, Peter. I would love for you to live with me. I would love that very much.”
Eliza drew back and stared at Greta. “So we can come?” Her frown transformed into a brilliant grin. “Do you want us to live with you? Do you really?”
Greta’s heart melted at the children’s need for love and a permanent home of their own. But how can I be a mother to them when I can barely put enough food on the table for Ruth and me?
“I cannot say what will be. I will have to speak with the elders.” She straightened Eliza’s prayer kappe and hugged the girl again. She kissed Peter on the top of his head, then fastened a hook and eye on his waistcoat that had come undone. “I do want you to come. I just do not know if it will work out.”
“Please try, Greta.”
Peter’s big brown eyes stared into hers. “Ja. Please try.”
Greta took a deep breath. “I will try. But I cannot promise anything.” She forced an optimistic smile. “Now, why don’t you see what the menfolk need? I am sure there is something that you can fetch for them.”
The children nodded and scampered away. Their eager voices carried back to Greta as she watched their small feet pound through the tall grass. Ruth frowned. “You should not get their hopes up, Greta. They need more than we can provide.”
Greta pursed her lips. “We will see.”
Something caught Ruth’s attention and she cut her eyes toward the cabin, then cleared her throat and looked away. Greta turned around to see what Ruth had seen. Catrina walked confidently beside Jacob, a soft, slender hand resting on his arm. Greta let out a long breath.
“I have seen all that I need to see.”
Ruth changed the subject. “I suppose we ought to get to work. Let’s go see what we can do to help.”
Greta nodded and tried to set her mind on other things. Soon the two women were leaning over Barbara Gruber’s hearth, helping her prepare a hearty meal for the men. They could hear the bang of hammers and the screech of handsaws as they scrubbed and quartered root vegetables. Barbara skirted an obstacle course of toddlers as she stoked the fire and sliced salt pork to season the stew.
Greta liked the feeling of working side by side with her friends. She relished the fact that the entire settlement came together to help a growing family. It is our way. Soon the smell of simmering meat wafted through the cabin and mixed with the earthy scent of woodsmoke. A cold wind blew outside, but in the snug one-room cabin, the women felt cozy and warm.
Barbara stirred the cauldron and ladled out a taste. She nodded and set down the spoon. “That will do just fine.” She glanced out the window to check the position of the sun.
“We still have some time until lunch. Why don’t we make a treat for the men?”
Ruth cocked her head. “What do you have up your sleeve?”
Barbara beamed. “Coffee!”
Greta clapped her hands. “How did you ever?”
“We have been saving the last of the beans. I think this is the perfect time to use them. What better way to thank everyone for their hard work?”
The women heated the cast-iron spider over the coals and poured the last of Barbara’s precious coffee beans across it. Barbara stirred the beans as they chatted and laughed, their faces aglow with the thrill of surprise. After the beans roasted, Greta ground them in the Grubers’ little coffee grinder while Barbara pulled out a pallet so that the youngest children could nap.
Ruth leaned over and whispered in Greta’s ear, “You should be the one to take Jacob his cup.” Greta shook her head. But she imagined Jacob’s reaction when she handed him a cup of rich, steaming coffee. He probably has not had coffee in months. Years, maybe. She smiled as she remembered the fashionable coffeehouses that lined Germany’s bustling streets. She had never been inside one of those trendy cafés—that would have been far too worldly for a Plain woman living a simple farming life. But the smell of coffee still made her feel as if they were overcoming the wilderness by bringing a little bit of Old World sophistication and luxury to the bleak backcountry.
Greta looked to make sure that no one could hear and whispered back to Ruth. “That seems a bold move, especially since we just saw Catrina on his arm.”
Ruth shrugged. “What do you have to lose, Greta? He might welcome your company. And if he does not, there is no loss of face. It is perfectly reasonable for you to pass out the coffee to him. You must pass it out to all the men. It is not forward of you.” Ruth raised her eyes to see if anyone else was in earshot. “Just try, Greta. You may be surprised by his reception. And you would have an opportunity to tell him how you really feel.”
Greta frowned as she considered. It would make a positive impression. Greta shook the coffee grounds out of the grinder and into a linen bag, then dropped the bag in boiling water to steep. Almost ready. She imagined passing the warm drink into Jacob’s hands. Greta could see his face light up with surprise and she made up her mind. I will do it! And maybe, just maybe he will notice me again.
Greta watched the boiling water until it turned a rich brown. “It looks ready!” She ladled a serving into a pewter cup and hurried outside, careful not to slosh the hot liquid over the top. Her stomach jumped at the thought of Jacob’s smile when she surprised him. Slow down, Greta. Do not spill it! She forced herself to slow her pace as she rounded the corner of the cabin.
Jacob stood on the far side of a pile of lumber, a mallet in his hand. She studied his strong, sharp jaw and brooding eyes as she cut the distance between them. He does not see me. Greta started to shout a greeting when she felt a gentle pressure on her arm. She looked down and saw a soft white hand, unblemished from work or sun.
“Oh, Greta!” Catrina smiled and moved her hand from Greta’s arm to the pewter cup. “Please let me! Jacob will be overjoyed.”
“Oh, no, I—” Greta tried to hold on to the cup, but Catrina pulled it toward her.
“Thank you!”
The coffee sloshed across the lip of the cup. Greta gasped and let go. Better to let her have it than to spill it—there is barely enough to go around.
“Aren’t you a dear? The men have not had coffee in ages.” Catrina turned and marched over to Jacob before Greta could protest.
“Jacob?” Catrina gazed at him with beguiling eyes. “I have refreshments.”
“Huh?” He stopped working and looked up. “Oh. Danke.” He wiped his brow and took the cup.
“Careful! It is hot.”
“Hot? What is it?” He glanced down, raised his eyebrows, and grinned. “How did you ever manage . . . ? Catrina, you do know how to work wonders. I have not had a cup of coffee in . . .” He shook his head and blew across the surface of the liquid. “I do not know how long it has been.”
Catrina giggled. “I did not do it all on my own, but I do hope you like it.”
Jacob smiled. “I
certainly do.”
Greta watched with her mouth agape. Well, I never! She clenched her fists as she listened to Catrina’s feminine giggles and the murmured responses of Jacob’s deep, warm voice. When Jacob broke out into a grin—his eyes still locked on Catrina’s—Greta knew that she had had enough. She turned on her heels and stalked back inside the cabin, muttering to herself the entire way.
Greta refused to let the other women see her distress. She turned her face toward the fire and filled the pewter cups with coffee. Her hands trembled as she worked and the cups clinked against the cast-iron cauldron. Greta closed her eyes and swallowed hard. Do not let them get to you. She opened her eyes and pushed back her emotions. “Barbara? Are these all of the cups that you have?”
“Ja. We only have four. You will have to pass out the coffee in rounds.”
Greta nodded and set off with a cup in each hand. Her expression looked more fit for a funeral than a work party. She kept her face down each time she marched back and forth from the hearth and made sure not to let her eyes wander toward Jacob. I will not let him see me pining after him! If he wants to go googly-eyed over another woman then that is fine with me! But Greta could still feel the lump in her throat and her eyes burned from holding back tears.
* * *
Jacob noticed Greta as she strode across the clearing with pewter cups in hand. Everywhere she went, faces lit up and spirits lifted at the unexpected treat. But Greta did not notice. Her expression remained blank and unreadable. Jacob followed her with his eyes. He studied her determined posture and the calluses on her hands. She is so dedicated to her work. She is always serving, always thinking of others. He waited for her to glance his way, to give him some small sign that she noticed him too.
She never looked his way. He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. I cannot change her heart. It is time to let that dream die, no matter how much affection I have for her. But there was another woman who watched him. Catrina caught his eye from across the clearing and looked away coyly. Jacob did not smile, but he met her gaze with a thoughtful stare. I do not care for Catrina as I do for Greta, but I need to move on from the past and forge a new life. I cannot let myself slip back into solitude and grief. And here is a beautiful young woman, ready to help me feel whole again. She could be a good partner. Couldn’t she? His stomach felt heavy, as though he had swallowed a stone. He knew that he could never feel true love for Catrina Witmer. But I cannot bear the thought of another long, hard winter, cold and alone in my isolated cabin, pining for both Marta and Greta.
Chapter Eighteen
Greta threw herself into her work. She scrubbed harder, swept faster, and taught with more enthusiasm. On baking day she punched the dough with all of her strength. The warm, elastic flour sank beneath her fists. But no matter how hard she hit, Greta could not let go of her hurt and regret. Her thoughts returned to the moment when Catrina grabbed the coffee cup from her hand and stole her chance to connect with Jacob. She punched the dough even harder.
Ruth raised an eyebrow. “Well, you certainly seem to be winning the fight against that dough.” Greta squeezed her eyes shut. Her entire body felt tense. Lord, help me not to hold a grudge! Help me to be happy for them.
“You know, dear, the Lord has a way of working things out.”
Greta let out a long breath and opened her eyes. “Ja. Jacob is learning to let someone back in his heart. That is a good thing.” She pushed her palms into the dough. “I must be happy for them.”
Ruth paused and chose her words carefully. “Ja, it is good that Jacob is learning to love again. But, I am not so sure that Catrina is the one who he loves.”
Greta shrugged and sank her fist into the dough. “Looks clear enough to me.”
“Ja. Well, as I have said, the Lord has a way of working things out in ways we do not see and cannot expect.”
“I did not see Catrina coming, that is for sure.”
“That is not what I meant.”
Greta shrugged again. “That is what I see.”
Ruth patted her shoulder. “Do not trust in what you can see. Trust in what der Herr can do without your seeing.”
Greta nodded and willed herself to believe, even as her heart cried out that all was lost.
“You have taken your feelings out on that dough long enough, haven’t you?”
Greta sighed, folded the dough into a clean, white cloth, and headed to the bake-oven.
Thoughts of Jacob and Catrina swirled through her mind as she walked through the clear, crisp air. Cold had settled across the backcountry like feathers of a plucked goose that drifted down and settled against the earth. The barren winter fields echoed the stark isolation that she felt within her heart.
Greta contemplated her rival’s stunning smile, innocent expression, and flawless beauty. Greta sighed and kicked a stone. She watched it skid across the path and into the woods. I know that I cannot compete with her beauty or her competency in the kitchen. If der Herr has blessed her with beauty, so be it. He has blessed me with other things. And if Jacob prefers beauty . . . well, then he is not the man I thought he was. She raised her chin. So what if she is charming and a talented cook? I have gifts too. And I will share them with whomever der Herr sends my way. She thought of the children and felt a renewed sense of purpose. They need me. And I have more to offer them than a pretty face or a freshly baked cake.
When she reached the bake-oven, another woman blocked the entrance, her back to Greta. The woman’s bodice and neck cloth looked perfectly ironed, her prayer kappe neatly starched, and her apron bright white. There was only one woman in the settlement who managed to keep such a neat appearance. Greta noticed her own stained apron, wrinkled skirt, and limp prayer kappe. How does she manage it? How on earth does she manage to stay so perfect?! Greta felt her stomach tighten, but she refused to give in to her emotions.
“Good day, Catrina. I hope you are well.”
The woman turned around and flashed a dazzling grin.
“Greta dear, how are you?” Her eyes ran down Greta’s worn bodice, then back up again. “Why ever are you still in that old thing? Have you not sewed a new shift and neck cloth yet?”
“No. I am much too busy of late. Perhaps after I air the linens and gather kindling tomorrow. Although. . .”
“Although what, dear?”
“It is just that I am not sure I feel comfortable. I do appreciate your generosity, but I fear some of those fabrics are too lovely for me. The rich textures and the quality of the weave . . . they seem too luxurious.”
“Too luxurious? Greta dear, you have been in the wilderness too long. Why, you should see what they are wearing in Philadelphia—not to mention London and Paris.” She flicked her hand. “I would hardly call the fabrics I gave you luxurious.”
“Ja.” Greta frowned and tried to find words that sounded both polite and firm. “But we do not compare ourselves to worldly fashions or worldly standards. Even the smallest bit of ornamentation is too much for us. We want to be Plain.” She put her hand over her chest. “When we are Plain, the beauty of our hearts shows through. That is the only beauty that is real or lasting.”
“Is that how you really feel?” Catrina looked at her with wide, questioning eyes.
“Ja, it is.”
Catrina looked surprised. Her mouth opened to speak, but she closed it again when Jacob emerged from the woods. Greta felt flustered. She focused on unwrapping the dough that she carried in her basket. “Are you finished with the bake-oven?”
“Ja. And the temperature should still be good for baking. No need to build a new fire.” Catrina picked up the wooden paddle, slid it in the oven, and pulled out a perfect loaf of bread. “Ah, just right.”
Ja. Of course it is.
“You know, I would be happy to help you with your baking. I hear that you have a habit of burning bread.” Catrina’s face looked genuine, but Greta could not see past her hurt. She clenched her jaw. She counted to ten. “No, thank you, Catrina. I am sure that I can manage
.”
“As you wish.” Catrina turned away from Greta and waved at Jacob as he walked toward them. She held up the loaf of bread, then tucked it in her basket and strode toward him. Greta crouched over the oven and refused to watch Catrina slink away with the handsome widower.
* * *
Catrina slipped her arm into Jacob’s as soon as she passed him on the path. “Won’t you carry my basket? All of this freshly baked bread is getting heavy.” She moved the cloth aside and let the warm, nutty aroma reach Jacob’s nose. “You may have some if you escort me home. And preserves as well. Grandmother brought ajar of mayhaw jelly with us that she canned last year. Do say that you will join us for some refreshment.”
“Oh, well . . .” He glanced past Catrina and hoped to catch Greta’s eye. But Greta refused to turn around. I know that she saw me coming this way. Now she will not even say hello? She will not even wave? He clenched his jaw. Does she not even want to be my friend?
“Do say you will join us, Jacob.”
Jacob felt the soft touch of Catrina’s delicate fingers on his arm. He sighed. “Ja. Sure. Let us walk and enjoy a nice meal.”
“Yes, let’s.” Catrina smiled sweetly, but her touch felt distant. He remembered the way Greta held on to him when he carried her home after she twisted her ankle. Her grip had felt warm and full of life.
“Jacob?”
Jacob nodded. “Ja.”
“Whatever is distracting you? My cabin is this way.” She tugged on his arm. “I will have to bake you a pie soon,” Catrina murmured as she led him away. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Ja, sure.” Jacob glanced back again. He caught a glimpse of Greta’s profile outlined by the low afternoon sun. The silhouette looked simple and honest: straight lines of a homespun skirt and bodice and the curve of her bound chestnut-colored hair. He sensed a gentle purpose in her movements, a beauty that he felt as well as saw.
Greta did not turn her head to look at him. Jacob cleared his throat and looked back to Catrina. She tightened her grip on his arm and peered up at him through thick black lashes. The alluring young lady tried to pull him into a conversation by gushing over his carpentry skills. Her chatter and giggles provided a comfortable distraction and he let himself slip into a mindless rhythm as he strolled through the long afternoon shadows with a beautiful woman on his arm. And yet, he could not ignore the quiet tug on his heart. An image of a woman standing alone in the setting sun burned inside his mind.
Where the Heart Takes You Page 15
