She sprinkled cheese on the prepared casserole and placed it into the oven. Of course he wouldn’t be interested in her. He was Amish. How ridiculous she must have seemed! Like a lovesick puppy.
This recipe wasn't keeping her mind off him, it was making it worse.
Why couldn't she go back to Florida, move in with Samantha, and finish high school with her friends? She would never have to face him again. But the thought of never seeing him again stung.
She moved to the living room and, still shivering, curled up with her thickest blanket on the couch.
Her eyelids were heavy, and she had nearly dozed off when the rattle of Paul’s buggy leaving the yard woke her vaguely.
She stood and rushed to the front door. She wanted to apologize, but he was already gone.
The book lay in the swing. Panic twisted in her stomach. She had left the novel in the barn. What if he had read some of it? What would he think of her?
Rain fell in a drizzle and the sky formed dark, gray clouds. A perfect setting for the way she felt.
The scent of cooked peppers and onions flooded the kitchen. When the timer chimed, she pulled out the tetrazzini and placed it on the counter to cool.
Pain throbbed through Rachel's temples as she fumbled through the medicine cabinet for Tylenol. They were out. She took a long, hot shower hoping the steam would diminish the tightening through her chest.
After grabbing her blanket from the couch, she shuffled upstairs and crawled into bed, feeling more alone than she had in a long time.
10
A twenty-minute wagon ride into town for supplies and another twenty minutes on the ride back, gave Paul plenty of time to ponder. Even now as he steered his horse into the Adams's drive, he seriously reconsidered his earlier actions. He needed to talk to Rachel. He'd run numerous scenarios through his head on how to explain.
His first thought was to tell her the truth. But the truth was he had no clue why he'd reacted that way. Except for the fact that not too long ago he'd watched another Englischer woman pursue his friend, as if it was some kind of game. Once she'd won his heart, she no longer wanted him. But none of that had anything to do with Rachel.
So he conceded to do the next best thing.
Apologize.
Disappointed Mrs. Adams hadn’t returned, he waited in the barn. It would be improper to go inside with Rachel's mother not present. Especially with the feel of Rachel's fingers still tickling his flesh. And he certainly didn’t want her out in the rain anymore.
The question kept nagging at him. Why would she be reading about his people? And why had he overreacted?
When Mrs. Adams returned, he stepped onto the porch and glanced at the swing, the book no longer there.
He inhaled the aroma of onions and peppers as he entered the house, but there was no sign of Rachel. Thankfully, Mrs. Adam's idle chatter didn't require much more than an occasional jah. It wasn't exactly the best time to discuss important matters concerning any project changes. Not when all his attention was centered on his employer's daughter and her whereabouts. He removed the linoleum floor from the hallway, checking and rechecking the stairs, but Rachel never came down.
That should've been a good thing. He hadn't realized that he would endure this particular difficulty when he took the job. But he needed this income for his business to survive. If he was going to continue to work here, he had to set some boundaries. He was already walking a fine line with his uncle. His construction business was top priority. He didn't need this distraction. The best way to keep that distraction at bay would be to stay as far away from Rachel Adams as possible.
After finishing the preparation for the hardwood floors to be installed in the morning, Paul left the their house and led Nelly down the country lane. Once in the stable, he set out piles of hay, filled the water trough, and packed the feed barrels.
Uncle Abram entered the barn. “Dinner’s ready. Your aunt’s waiting on you.” His voice was gruff as usual.
Paul kept his head lowered. “Danki.” He followed his uncle inside and spoke to no one as he took his seat.
Uncle Abram grunted. “I knew nothing good would come from you working with Englischers on a daily basis. If you're going to let it change your attitude, you're not cut out for it. Especially when I could use you here on the farm. I’ve given you a roof over your head and taken care of you as one of my own since you were a boy. But I will not allow you to come into this house with the sour attitude you’ve developed in these past few weeks.”
Both his cousins avoided eye contact as if they were banned from speaking to him. His arm muscles tensed as he refrained from arguing. Instead, he met his uncle's gaze and kept his mouth shut to the things he wanted to say. “I apologize, Uncle Abram.”
After the blessing was given, Paul took a bite of moist cornbread and barbeque chops. The subtle hint of celery, mixed within the red sauce, reminded him of his own thoughts. Jumbled and confused. He knew better. He'd been taught to be polite, but not to get into deep conversations with the Englischers. It was better to distance themselves. Yet, he'd broken every rule. And he was paying a very high price for his selfish desires.
At the end of the meal, he left through the backdoor and went to the barn to hitch his favorite horse. He stroked her mane. “What’s wrong with me, Nelly? Why am I letting this girl get to me?”
Paul drove with no destination in mind. It was time to leave his uncle’s house. He wasn't a farmer, and he would never live up to his uncle's expectations. That was for certain sure. He approached Rachel’s house and slowed his horse. He wanted to stop, to apologize for being such a dummkup, an idiot. A light burned in the upstairs bedroom. Rachel’s silhouette moved against the window.
It took every fiber of his being to lead his horse past the house and not turn on the familiar path, knock on the door, and ask to speak to her. What good would that do anyway? He rode for over an hour as the sky darkened, yet shapes of light filtered through his thoughts of her. He returned home long after his uncle was sound asleep.
His determination to move on—to forget her—shattered.
11
Paul was standing at his buggy gathering supplies to install the hardwood floors when Mrs. Adams approached him.
“Paul, I need your help. Rachel’s sick. I have to go to the store. She's burning up with fever, and I have nothing to give her.” She turned, not waiting for his answer.
Sweat beaded across his forehead. He trotted to keep up with her long hurried strides. The woman was terribly worried. Should he be too? “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. A virus, maybe.”
He ran his hand across his freshly shaven chin. A symbol that he was unmarried, unengaged. “I’ll be glad to go to the store for you.”
“My car will be faster. I was hoping you'd sit with her? It shouldn't take me long.”
It felt as if an air compressor filled his chest as they climbed the stairs. What would he say to Rachel after the way he'd treated her yesterday?
Mrs. Adams entered Rachel’s bedroom, but he hesitated outside the door.
“She's sleeping,” she whispered. “You can come in.”
He pressed a fist to his stomach before moving forward. Rachel lay facing away, beneath a bright green bedspread. Pink curtains with lime green polka dots fell to the window's edge.
Mrs. Adams pressed a cold wet cloth into his hand. “If you’ll keep this cool and on her forehead, it might help with the fever.”
Not expecting to see her lying so still, he inched closer to get a better look. She was sound asleep. “How long has she been this way?”
“When I came in from my meeting yesterday, she stayed in her room and never came down last night. I checked on her before turning in and she told me she wasn’t feeling well.” She kept her gaze on Rachel, her voice edged with peace. “It's very common for Rachel to sleep really hard when she's running a fever. I just don't want her to wake up and find herself alone. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
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He sat in the space next to her. Her cheeks were pink from the fever. He took the cloth, placed it in a bowl filled with water on her nightstand, and wrung it out. Heat radiated from her forehead.
This was his fault. He should've compelled Rachel back inside yesterday, out of the rain. He shouldn’t have left her that way. If only he’d stopped to talk to her last night. If that stupid book hadn’t taken him by surprise, none of this would be happening.
He should’ve stayed with her, talked to her, to find out if she felt better after her fainting spell on Friday. He never even asked.
Something about the soft hum of her shallow breathing made him ache. He shouldn’t be here, sitting this close, not wanting to leave. His biting remorse moved him from the bed to open the white wooden blinds shading her windows. A pushpin board hung on the wall with pictures of her with a few girls. But one in particular caught his attention. A young man, about their age, had his arms wrapped around her. He leaned closer, studying their expressions, studying her. She looked carefree, happy. Was that her boyfriend? Were they still together?
Lying next to a slim cell phone on the end table stood a framed photo of a man standing with Rachel. She looked several years younger and they wore the same orange and gray uniform. Paul lifted the book she'd been reading yesterday from her dresser and turned it over. That wasn't just an ordinary Amish book. It was one of those romance novels. Like the one he'd caught his cousin reading last spring. His mouth suddenly dry, he looked from Rachel to the book then back to Rachel again.
Then she shifted.
He dropped the book and it clattered onto the dresser. He reeled back and moved next to the bed, pulling the wet cloth from her head.
“Daddy?” The word came from her lips in a breathy rush.
Her weak, but frightened voice startled him. Heaviness settled over him as she drifted back into a restless sleep. He pulled the wet cloth from her forehead, rinsed it, and replaced it, careful not to wake her. Grabbing an extra blanket from the end of the bed, his fingers brushed against her covered feet. The cloth dampened her hair and stuck to her cheeks. After positioning the blanket on her, he gently pushed the wet strands of hair away from her face.
Rachel tossed and turned, pushing the blankets down. Maybe the additional throw was too much. When he reached over to remove the extra blanket, her eyes fluttered open. He stiffened, waited for her reaction, but she closed her eyes without acknowledging his presence. What if Mrs. Adam's was wrong? How sick was she?
He sat next to her and took a deep, pained breath, his guilt suffocating.
Paul took her warm hand, intending to place it under the covers, but she squeezed his fingers. Her skin felt smooth against his rough, calloused palm. He stroked her flesh, his awareness rising. Never had he held a girl’s hand before.
For the next twenty minutes, he kept the tender flesh of her palm secure in his grasp. Her head shifted occasionally on her pillow, but she gave no sign of waking. He couldn't move as the thought of leaving Lancaster County, of leaving her behind, caused an agonizing twinge through his chest.
“I’m back.”
He jumped up, and Rachel’s hand slipped away from his. The unusual warmth he'd felt dissolved and now there was only a cold, stark emptiness. He backed away from the bed.
Mrs. Adams stroked Rachel’s forehead. “Honey, I need you to wake up to take this.” Her voice rang through louder, more determined than before.
Paul wanted to move closer, but stopped himself and leaned against the wall near the door. Would he be able to stay long enough to speak to her?
“Thank you so much for staying.” She spoke in softer tones, her voice weary, though encouraging.
“I hope she’ll be okay.” He didn’t want to leave. Not yet. But he had no reason to stay any longer. “I need to go into town. Do you need anything else?”
Mrs. Adams covered her mouth. “Oh, I forgot. Could you stop by the restaurant and let Mrs. Mavis know she won’t be in today?”
His gaze shifted between Rachel and her mother. “The restaurant?” he asked, his voice wobbly.
“What's the name of that place?” She tilted her head toward the ceiling and let out a frustrated sigh. “The Plain and Fancy. She's supposed to work this afternoon.”
She had a job … at the restaurant? Paul grabbed his hat from the table. “I'll go right now.”
“Thank you, Paul.”
Why hadn’t he thought of that before? The first day he laid eyes on her came back to him. She'd visited the restaurant to inquire about a job. That had to be where she spent all her time.
He hurried to town, eager to do as asked and come back. Maybe she would be awake when he returned.
Mrs. Mavis greeted him when he entered the restaurant. Her boisterous voice boomed from behind the counter. “Good morning, Paul. Will you be dining alone today?” The wrinkles under her eyes suggested many long hours of labor.
Under her kind gaze, his shoulders slumped. “No, I’m not here for lunch. Rachel Adams, she works here?”
Her eyes narrowed, but she offered her answer with a smile. “Yes, but she won't be in until this afternoon. Why do you ask?”
“I’m working for her mamm. Rachel’s sick. Really sick.”
Her plump cheeks fell. “Oh, the poor dear. I'm so sorry to hear that.”
“Jah, me too.”
“Please tell her we’ll be praying for a speedy recovery. Thank you so much for letting me know.”
Nelly's ears wiggled as Paul trotted down the highway at a steady pace. He bounced to the familiar rhythm, his thoughts consumed with the same Englisch girl who’d stolen all of his good sense. Paul pulled onto the familiar path and headed back inside. “Please, God. Let her be okay.”
Mrs. Adams stayed upstairs with Rachel. He couldn’t go to her room—it wasn’t his place. He would have to wait for Mrs. Adams to come down. At least he had plenty to do downstairs, where he'd be close.
He glanced toward the stairs over and over, willing Mrs. Adams to appear. He picked up another floorboard, hammering it in place. He worked diligently and had finished part of the living room by the end of the day.
Mrs. Adams never came down so he left without knowing if there had been any change.
Paul brushed Nelly and gave her fresh hay before walking toward his uncle's house. The sun hid behind the tall pines, casting shadows across the dirt yard.
“Was us ketz?” Aunt Leah asked.
Paul laid his hat on the rack, buying time to hide his disappointment. He assembled a half-hearted smile for her. “Nothing’s wrong, mir lew uff hoffning.”
“Nothing, we live on hope. That’s your honest answer?”
A mixture of hay dust and heaviness had settled on his chest, and he cleared his throat. “Mrs. Adam’s daughter is mied. Something smells wunderbaar.”
“You go from sick child, to how gut the food smells. Jah, you’re worried.”
He paced in the kitchen. The sound of his shuffling shoes reminding him how much he wanted to march up those steps today and cradle Rachel close to his chest. “She’s in God’s hands. Can I help you?”
Aunt Leah slapped him heartily on the backside with her towel. “Ach, Paul. You work hard all day and want to help in the kitchen. Have a sit down. Dinner’s almost ready.”
Tossing and turning all night, he dreamed of Rachel. She called his name over and over, but he couldn’t reach her. Her tear-filled eyes accused him before she vanished into thin air. He sat up in a cold sweat. Moonlight beamed through his upstairs window casting a shimmering glow across the dark colors of his patchwork quilt. He collapsed into his pillow, crossing his arms behind his head, the dream still dancing across his mind.
The following morning, just after dawn, Paul arrived at the Adams'. Was Rachel feeling better? Would he get the opportunity to see her? These questions took the place of any normal emotions he had before yesterday.
Paul let himself in and peered down the hall. He checked Mrs. Adams' office. It was empty
. He worked quietly, not wanting to disturb Rachel, but not so quiet that Mrs. Adams wouldn’t hear his presence. During lunch, his tension wound tighter each time he crossed by the stairway. His unease was so rigid, by the time Rachel's mom appeared toward the end of his lunch hour, Paul nearly came out of his boots.
“Hi, Paul.
He straightened at the sound of her voice. “How is she?”
“She’s better. Her fever came down some, but she’s still sleeping a lot.” A measure of relief flowed through her words. “I've been working from her room to keep an eye on her.”
He mumbled under his breath, “Thank you, God.” Then stronger. “Do you know what’s wrong with her?”
“I called the doctor's office. There's a virus going around.” She sighed. “She insists on not going, but if she's no better by tomorrow, I'm taking her.”
“My aunt could check on her. We don't usually see outside doctors, except for emergencies, so she's our community nurse.”
“That's very nice of you to offer. Rachel has the most outgoing personality of anyone you will ever meet, but when it comes to her needs, she doesn't want to burden anyone.” Her brow crinkled. “And she's very stubborn about accepting help. But I will definitely keep your aunt in mind. I really enjoyed our visit.”
His shoulders relaxed. “Mrs. Mavis sends her thoughts and prayers.” He paused. “I was surprised to find out Rachel was working at the restaurant.”
She stirred cream into her coffee. “Is it that obvious she’s never had a job?”
“That's not what I meant.”
“I’m only teasing. Her daddy never wanted her to have to work. They were always so busy with softball.” She gave a part laugh, part cry. “She wanted to get a job, hoping to make some friends. It wasn’t easy for her to come here. She’s so unhappy.” She poured Paul a cup and placed it in front of him before sitting. “It’s been hard leaving her friends behind. Leaving everything behind.”
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