Courting caleb, p.6
Courting Caleb, page 6
* * *
Mercy waited while Bishop Kore examined the invitation Mrs. Prescott had sent. Her thoughts drifted as she gazed out the window at the snowy afternoon. She and Abigail had joined Tracy for a delicious brunch of dainty sandwiches and a beautiful cinnamon Bundt cake as well as fruit, cheese, and sparkling cider. It had been strange to eat in the wide dining room with its stained-glass ceiling and exotic plants, but stranger still to try to focus on the conversation while her mind kept running back to touch the spot where she’d discovered an affection for Phillip Miller.... What is wrong with me and what kind of sister am I to have thoughts about my sister’s man?
“Great jumpin’ frogs and melba toast, of course we’ll help!” Bishop Kore’s distinctive voice crashed into her reflections and she nearly jumped herself.
“That’s gut, Bishop. I know it will be a worthy cause. I won’t geh myself, of course, but I’ll send along my winter soaps and—”
“Whoa, my maedel! What did you say? Not going? And why in toy ducks and bicycle raffles would you not geh?”
Mercy swallowed hard and looked at the pegged wooden floor. She could not admit that she felt an attraction for Phillip and wanted to avoid him at all costs. “I—um—will need to stay home and make supper for Joshua.”
“By rabbit tracks and chipmunk feet, I expect Joshua will be there himself—there’s always work for a buwe at such a doodaddle!”
“Jah, but—”
“Nee! You will attend, Mercy!” He smiled at her then. “Besides, it wouldn’t be the same without you, and I know that Abigail will appreciate your being there.”
Jah, she’ll appreciate my presence but only until she discovers that I’ve had sweet thoughts about that impossible mail-order groom of hers....
Chapter Nine
Caleb had set out from Birchbark’s cabin in the midafternoon, having been primed with the nebulous information that “Anke Mast” was the next person who needed a handyman. Not pregnant . . . not pregnant . . . The refrain echoed in his mind as he plowed waist-deep through the glistening snow. Then his thoughts slipped to the minutes in Frau Smucker’s attic—his raw terror at the sight of the bats, and the gentle, soothing compassion of Abigail’s touch. He felt his fingers sting inside his gloves when he remembered touching her, seeing her brown eyes lift to his in the haloed light of the lantern.
A distant baying caught his attention, and he shook himself from his reverie. He stopped and turned in time to see his dog, Fred, leaping happily amongst the snow piles, barreling right toward him. He caught the wriggly body against his chest and had to smile. He’d left Fred sleeping peacefully before Birchbark’s hearth, but the dog must have awoken and badgered the auld man to geh out.
Now, Caleb patiently accepted the slobbery licks on his cheeks and almost jumped when he heard a man clear his throat from behind him. He turned with Fred still in his arms and encountered a massive Amischer with silver blond hair and a light beard.
“Hello.” Caleb nodded.
The Amischer cocked his head to one side. “Ya look familiar . . . have we met?”
“Nee, not that I know—but I’m new around here. One of the mail-order grooms you’ve probably heard about . . . Caleb King.”
The Amisch man broke into a wide smile and swept his hat off, then put it on again. “Yer bruder’s one Matthew King, jah?”
“Jah, he is.”
“I’m Abner Mast, and your bruder is a gut friend of mine. Now put yer hound down so I might shake yer hand like a man.”
Caleb let Fred down gently, then had his hand wrung by the other mon.
“Aha! Well, I came out ta meet the handyman and found ya instead. A gut thing . . .”
“I think you’ve found us both actually. Birchbark has sent me to be . . . handy . . . for someone named Anke Mast. Is she related to you?”
“Related? Ach, she’s my bride of just a few days now!”
“Well, congratulations then!” Caleb smiled and shook hands once more; then he stood back. “Shouldn’t you be on your honeymoon?”
Amischers usually made the rounds of friends and family to celebrate their weddings, especially in the winter.
Abner laughed. “So we are, but we married in a very quiet way, as my Anke wanted. And we’re, uh, honeymooning at home, as it wuz.”
“Well, what can I do for you?” Caleb eyed Abner’s work-worn hands and wondered how he might help the newlyweds.
“Ach, it’s not me who be wantin’ ta have ya. It’s Anke. So, bring yer dog and kumme along.”
Caleb followed Abner Mast through the deep snow with Fred wriggling happily along behind. They passed the general store and the big Stolfus cabin, then came to an icy stream running parallel to a much smaller cabin. The front porch was dressed in pine garlands, and a wreath of holly with bright red berries hung on the door.
Abner tugged on the latch and invited Caleb inside.
“Anke? The handyman’s here. He’s brought a hound.” Abner nudged Caleb. “She loves a gut dog.”
“Ach, gut! Just in time for a fresh sugar cookie with teaberry icing. Abigail’s getting ’em out of the cookstove now.”
Caleb half froze and swallowed. Abigail? Abigail, the mail-order groom seeker, is here? He cleared his throat and concentrated on slipping off his wet boots. He found himself standing awkwardly in the snug little cabin, and he wondered if this was part of courting her—being willing to feel strange in his own body. Then she looked at him and he knew a peculiar warmth in his chest.
“Do you want a cookie?” she asked merrily. Her words didn’t seem to match her eyes, and he shook his head slowly. Why do I feel that she is truly sober inside despite the smile on her lips?
“Ach, now—we’ll wait until they’re iced,” Abner said as he wrapped one of his big arms around his new wife. “Now, Anke, let’s give the buwe a drink and then he’ll do yer bidding. What do ya say?”
Caleb glanced away when Abner boldly kissed his wife. What is it to love? To cherish a woman as a vessel of Gott’s making? The words of Abigail’s ad swam behind his eyes as he covertly took in her fine figure.
He was startled from his thoughts when Anke handed him a frosty mug. “It’s eggnog—my own mixing.”
“Danki. I’m sure it’s delicious.” He took a long pull of the drink, then licked his upper lip. The frothy brew was refreshing and tasted only faintly of alcohol. He smiled in appreciation and sat at the table where Abner indicated. He was directly across from Abigail; trays of large, glistening sugar cookies sat between them. He could feel the heat from the pans, and it made him aware of the flush on her pretty cheeks. He took another drink of the eggnog and felt content.
He watched Abigail stir the bright pink teaberry icing and thought of the sweet taste of the berries themselves. “I love teaberries,” he remarked to the room at large.
“Ach, gut!” Anke exclaimed. “Ya can take some cookies home ta Birchbark for ya both. But right now, I wonder if I might speak ta ya a wee bit in private?”
“Surely.” Caleb put down his mug and got to his feet, his long legs knocking the underside of the table. He avoided Abigail’s gaze and followed Anke through to the living room. The aulder woman looked up at him with gentle eyes.
“Birchbark said ya would have the heart fer this as a proper handyman. . . .”
Here we geh, Caleb thought grimly though he kept a smile on his face. He was prepared for everything from feeding a boppli rhino to the potential delivery of twin giraffes, so he was pleasantly surprised when Anke told him how he might help her.
“Ya see, it’s a present for Abner, for the Christmastime. I bought it with my own money and had George Stauffer hide it in our big shed.”
Caleb nodded. “I’ll do my best, Frau Mast.”
“Ach, danki. But ya must keep it a secret, though Abigail knows, of course.”
He cleared his throat, still warmed inside by the eggnog. “She’s a talented artist. Perhaps she might help me a bit with the design.”
“Ach, that would be wunderbaar! I’ll tell her later.” Anke pressed his hand, and Caleb drew her in for a brief hug.
When she went back toward the kitchen, Caleb followed her. Delicious, eggnoggy thoughts swirled in his head, thoughts that had little to do with the now-iced cookies. As he watched Abigail scrape a fingertip of icing from the bowl and put it to her lips, he stopped dead. Yep, definitely more sugar here than teaberry-iced cookies....
* * *
Abigail stepped out into the gloaming. The trip to town with Phillip that morning had been pleasant and working with Mercy peaceful. Then an afternoon of cookie baking with Anke had left her happy. She traced the word over in her mind—Happy? Me? Surely I’ve had joy in the purposeful work of my pottery, but something about Caleb standing there in his blue shirt and dark pants, a large cookie in his hand, has made me feeling the stirrings of some new freedom . . . . More freedom than I’ve known since Zinnia’s death. . . .
Impulsively, she turned from Abner and Anke’s cabin, having insisted that she’d prefer to geh home alone. She moved through the snow until she could see the faint hint of lantern light shining through a crack in Abner’s back shed. She glanced once behind her, feeling as though someone watched her. Then she strengthened her resolve and told herself it was only her imagination that there were eyes behind her. She thought of the Bible verse about Derr Herr providing peace to those who fixed their minds on Him and pressed on toward the shed. She paused for a moment before reaching for the cold latch, then slid the door open, feeling her heart skip a beat.
Caleb stood in a loose, paint-stained, once-white shirt, his suspenders lowered to hang against his long, black-clad legs. She felt as if she had captured him in some state of intimacy, and she almost backed away.
“Abigail?”
His voice was a bit rough and she noticed another half-empty glass of eggnog atop an old barrel.
“Sei se gut, kumme inside,” he said. “Though it’s not much warmer in here . . . I have to keep the back door open for ventilation.”
She did as he asked, noticing for the first time that he held a paintbrush.
“Ach, Caleb, you’re working on the sled for Anke! But isn’t it late? Surely you could have started tomorrow?”
He nodded. “True. But back home I worked a lot at nacht. It’s peaceful. Besides, I was waiting for a certain cookie baker to retire for the evening.” He gave her a slow smile that caused her heart to flutter.
“I see.”
“You didn’t think I’d let you walk home alone?”
Abigail considered. “I’m fine being alone.”
He put the paintbrush down and came toward her. “I know that. I can tell.... But why then did you write the ad? Why did you want a mail-order groom in the first place?”
She looked up into his sea-blue eyes and her thoughts slammed against each other.
She thought of the strange feeling that she was being watched from behind and wondered briefly if the past had eyes. She thought of the pull of the water and her regret over going swimming that day so long ago.... Then she remembered that she stood warm and safe in Abner’s shed with a steady-eyed man before her. Asking her . . .
“I suppose I saw the success of Tabitha and Matthew’s match, so I wrote the ad,” she blurted.
He took a step nearer her and she caught the rich pine scent of his skin.
“And I wanted . . .” She paused, searching her heart and mind. What had she wanted?
Caleb had moved to stand before her. She swallowed and found her eyes level with his bare throat. He reached a lean finger to stroke the curve of her cheek and she knew that color rushed beneath her skin to meet his touch. “You wanted,” he whispered. “What do you . . . want . . . sweet Abigail?”
She wet her lips, not knowing how to reply. What do I want? Freedom? Peace? Love? His gentle touch was destroying the cloak of secrecy she usually kept wrapped around her. She barely understood the response of her body to his rough voice. He bent as if to kiss her and she looked down, uncertain as to what to do. Then Fred caught the scent of some small creature stirring in the shed and let out a loud baying, shattering the silence and breaking the spell that had held her mesmerized only moments before.
* * *
Caleb linked his arm through Abigail’s as they walked toward her home and tried to remember that he was probably half-drunk from Anke’s seemingly innocent eggnog. He certainly felt a little warm, and there was a tightness in his belly at Abigail’s nearness. He took a deep breath of the cold nacht air to center his head.
“Would you like me to help you work on the sled in the evenings?” Abigail’s voice was tentative.
“Jah, that would be great. I think I can get the base coat on and then allow you to do the decorative work. The velvet in the seat needs to be sewn, and the reins need to be replaced.”
“Ach, and don’t forget the sleigh bells,” she added.
He smiled and stopped still in a beam of moonlight, letting Fred run on ahead. Then he turned and looked down at Abigail.
“Is there something wrong?”
“Nee,” he whispered. “But I like that you remembered the bells—that merry part of life.”
He watched a slight frown touch her lips. “Well, ‘merry’ doesn’t normally describe me, I’m afraid.”
“Why not?” He reached his right hand to gently cup her cheek.
He watched while she seemed to debate within herself as to what answer she might give and regretted that he had troubled her with his question. He lowered his hand and mentally wrenched himself away from her. “Never mind, Abigail. We’d best get you home; it’s cold out tonight.”
He would have moved on if she hadn’t laid a black-mittened hand on his sleeve. “Nee, wait. You told me about the bats. That was a trust. I’d like to trust you the same way.”
“You don’t have to—you can tell me in your own time or not at all. I don’t expect you to—”
“Sei se gut, Caleb. I think I wasn’t entirely truthful with you in my ad.”
He smiled, staring down at her. “Soooo, you’re already married? Or have two other mail-order grooms waiting in the wings?”
He stopped his gentle teasing when she shook her head. “Nee, but I am perhaps a lot more serious than you might think. I—I’ve made some bad decisions in my life.”
“Who hasn’t?” he asked somewhat roughly, thinking of his fater. “We all have dark waters within us, but it is Derr Herr who illuminates us and brings us new life.”
“I know that.” She paused. “At least, some of the time.”
He nodded. “Well, don’t think that I’m saying I know it all the time either. It’s hard to hold on to real Truth.” He became aware of the minutes passing and reluctantly took in her windblown cheeks. He slipped his arm around her, pulling her close. “Let me see you home, Abigail. You’re going to freeze out here.”
He felt her yield against him and he set a brisk pace, following Fred’s tracks in the snowy trail of moonlight.
Chapter Ten
The news spread about Bishop Kore’s desire that the Amisch of Blackberry Falls participate in Farwell’s Winter in the Garden benefit, and both young and auld Amisch hurried to find treasures that might be donated for the silent auction or any other of the festive booths listed in the invitation Mercy had circulated. And, as if doing penance for her personal thoughts about Phillip, Mercy lost herself in a fever of work, leading right up to the nacht of the benefit.
She made a double batch of goat’s milk soap, mixing in festive scents like peppermint, pine, and bayberry. She also dug out a beautiful bright yellow crocheted baby’s blanket and stayed up late at nacht to finish the stitches she had abandoned long ago due to a lack of time. She had forgotten how comforting it was to rock and stitch by bright lantern light. She even found herself humming snatches of songs from her girlhood, and the bitterness she’d felt during the last years seemed to fall around her feet, like a tattered gown.
She was in such a frame of mind one afternoon when there was a brisk knock at her front door. She opened it, expecting to find Ann Bly with some fresh holly and ivy, but instead, it was Phillip. She blinked as she stared up into his handsome face and immediately her guard went up—she was once more the abandoned and foolish young pregnant woman who had no one to blame but herself.
“Jah. What do you want?” she snapped.
“Not much really,” he said. “I’d like to give Abigail a surprise at the benefit in Farwell and needed your advice.”
Mercy’s throat burned; she knew at once both happiness for her sister and a heavy jealousy for herself. This is ridiculous.... He’s nearly Abigail’s betrothed. Gott forgive me.
“So, what do you think?”
Mercy stared up at him. “Uh . . . what?”
He rolled his eyes. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”
“I did so. Kumme in out of the cold.”
“Danki.” He took off his hat, revealing his dark tousled hair.
She turned away from him and carefully smoothed the folds of the yellow blanket she had placed on the kitchen table.
“That’s pretty,” he said from over her shoulder. She watched as his lean fingers stroked the yarn, inches from her own hand. She felt surrounded by him and closed her eyes for a moment.
“My mamm crocheted back home,” he said.
She tried to make her voice stern. Abigail’s mon . . . this is Abigail’s mon. . . . “Where is home? Surely you had to travel far to come to Blackberry Falls?”
She sensed him move away and opened her eyes. He sat down at the table. She wanted to frown but couldn’t manage the gesture.
He gave her a sunny smile, and she slid into the chair across from him. “Home was Lockport, PA.”
“And—and was that close to Renova? I mean, you saw Abigail’s ad. . . .”
“Forty minutes by horse between the two places. I caught sight of the ad by chance in a little diner—but then, perhaps it wasn’t chance. I feel Gott worked to bring me here.”
