Courting caleb, p.8
Courting Caleb, page 8
“You’re welcome,” he hollered over the din, then noticed that Jeb was neatly stacking the baby things on the scarred wooden table in the center of the room.
“I can tell ya that Birchbark’s never let anyone else carry his pack, not so’s I noticed. He must trust ya.”
Caleb nodded, feeling as if he was forgetting something. Then he withdrew his pocketbook from his pants and took out some cash. Giving the money to Jeb seemed to make the situation feel less strange. He gathered up the pack, resisting the urge to look inside, threw his pocketbook in, and headed back into the coming nacht.
Then he remembered Tommy’s oats and he muttered to himself, leading the horse toward the sound of orchestra music that emanated from the center of town.
Chapter Twelve
Abigail looked around the town square of Farwell with delight. Beautiful, festive music came from the gazebo where several smiling townspeople, dressed in formal black suits and bright red scarves, were playing their stringed instruments. Folks milled about, pausing now and then to talk to each other, and all sent warm smiles her way even as they gave brief glances toward her long cloak and bonnet. She hadn’t been able to quite get the black paint off her gut cloak, but she was a little glad about that as she recalled the amazing first kiss she had received from Caleb. It would be easy to get lost in dreams, she thought, looking around. It had started to snow very lightly and the pine trees in the square glistened with colored lights and bright decorations. She wondered where Caleb might be ice sculpting, then started in surprise as she heard Mercy call her name.
Abigail looked up and saw Mercy and Phillip coming toward her. Mercy looked troubled while Phillip’s bright smile flashed white against the gentle snow. He carried a small white cardboard box that was adorned with a dark green bow.
“Mercy, are you all right?” Abigail asked as they stopped. “You’re wearing gloves that are much too big for you. Are you cold? I have an extra blanket in the sleigh and I—”
“I’m fine,” Mercy said as she stripped off the gloves. She slapped them against Phillip’s arm, and he caught them just before they fell. “I need to geh check on my soap stock. I hope you both have a wunderbaar time.”
Abigail watched as Mercy turned and headed back down the street. She clearly wanted nothing to do with Phillip, though he too seemed puzzled by her sister’s behavior. Abigail decided to find Mercy later in the evening and discover what was bothering her.
For now, Abigail remembered her resolve to spend more time with Phillip and moved with him as he gently pulled her down on a snow-dusted bench near the sidewalk. He held out the white box with its sumptuous bow and she took it with pleasure. It was nice to get a present, she thought.
She lifted the lid with its velvet ties, then smiled down into the careful nesting of gold-flecked tissue paper that surrounded the gift. Carefully, she pulled back the thin paper and lifted the flowers from their cradle. “Ach, Phillip! They’re beautiful.” She held the wrist corsage of velvet red roses, baby’s breath, and tiny ferns near her face and inhaled the heavenly scent. “Danki, Phillip.”
“You’re welcome. Mercy helped me pick them out. You can wear them on your wrist and sort of . . . hide them beneath your cloak. I know we are plain folk, but it shouldn’t hurt for one nacht. I thought—I thought when I got them about us maybe planting rosebushes on our farm one day.”
Abigail froze inside at his shy but steady look. What am I playing at? she wondered. Phillip already has us married and living on a farm. . . . What about my pottery? And rosebushes . . . And a mail-order groom on my terms?
She looked at the roses, absently running one finger over the delicate petals. “Ach, Phillip, I—”
“Here. Let me help you get them on your wrist.” He leaned closer to her and she blinked back sudden tears. He is so trusting but I—I would rather have a corsage of weeds if only they were from Caleb. . . .
* * *
Mercy jostled her way into one of the town’s crowded specialty gift shops, her eyes automatically drawn to the festive display where her soaps were nestled on a tartan scarf. She walked over to the counter, feeling her heart race. How could I return his kindness to me by slapping him with his own gloves? She put her fingers to her lips as an errant giggle nearly choked her with surprise, but she sobered quickly. Picking out the roses for Abigail had been terrible—Forgive me, Gott, but I wanted them for myself. . . .
Even on the brief sleigh ride into town, she had to admit to herself that she had a nagging fantasy of what it might be like to sit beside Phillip as his frau. . . . She nearly jumped when Joshua called to her.
“Mamm, Tad and I each wanted to do some sledding on the big hill behind the church. Is that okay?”
“Jah,” she answered absently, missing the mischief in Tad’s eyes. The two buwes ran out of the store and she added more soaps from her basket to the display. Then, satisfied, she turned, only to run full tilt into Phillip’s broad chest.
Her arms felt hot where he steadied her, and she had no idea what to say, which was a rare thing. “Wh—where’s Abigail?” She knew she sounded angry, but it was better than wallowing in misery that she couldn’t have her sister’s suitor. “Did she like the roses?” There. I’m doing the honorable thing by asking after the flowers....
“She liked them.” Phillip nodded, but there was something in his voice that made her pause. She looked up into his handsome face and could see the shimmer of doubt in his fine eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, the words out of her mouth before she could help herself.
He shook his head, then guided her backward to avoid an Englisch woman who obviously wanted to see Mercy’s soaps but had a screaming toddler in tow. Mercy watched Phillip turn sideways, then stoop to face the furious little boy. Phillip began to whistle, and immediately, the child quieted and Mercy blinked in disbelief.
“Oh, thank you,” the mother whispered, two soaps in her hand. “He’s a handful sometimes and I wanted to get some Christmas shopping done.”
Phillip rose to his feet, patting the child on the head. “You’re more than welcome.”
The pair walked off and Mercy looked up at Phillip. “I wish you had been here when Joshua was little.” She swallowed then coughed at the implications of what she’d said. Despite her discomfiture, Phillip merely expressed understanding.
“I bet it was hard to be a single mamm.”
“Jah,” she agreed after a long moment. She didn’t like to talk about the early days of Joshua’s life, and no one but Abigail questioned her about that time.
“I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable, Mercy. Please forgive me.”
Mercy nodded and sought to quickly change the subject. “Uh, you were telling me about the flowers and Abigail. . . .”
“Ach, jah.” He moved to idly run a lean finger across the edge of a bayberry soap. “I—I think I must spend more time with her. I don’t know that she really wants to become a farmer’s wife.”
Something inside Mercy rose up in hope. I would be a farmer’s wife . . . his helpmeet and beloved frau . . . But she soon crashed into the reality of Phillip bidding her goodbye without even a backward glance.
* * *
Phillip wandered along the sidewalks without noticing the festivity around him. He felt defeated somehow, as if he truly stood no chance of winning Abigail’s hand and heart. But there could be far worse things, he considered. Like Mercy raising a sohn alone. Oh, the community would have helped but there would have been gossip as well. He frowned then heard the low pulse of organ music. He stopped in the street, realizing he’d drifted away from the bustle of the shops to a back street where an old-fashioned redbrick church stood. It had high stained-glass windows that flickered with light from within. He felt drawn to the wide stone steps and eased open the heavy door. He stepped inside and saw a large group of worshippers in the long wooden pews. They were standing and singing “Silent Night” or, as he knew it, “Stille Nacht.” He loved the auld carol and found himself singing along as he stepped into one of the back pews beneath the choir loft. It felt gut to be united with others in something, and as he sang the verses, he felt his spirits rise. He knew a peace that was only interrupted by the strange sight of a small colored ball bouncing like a missile down the center aisle.
The organist continued unaware, and two more Super Balls ricocheted off the pews, one hitting an older woman in the back and another bouncing off the bald head of a man halfway up the aisle. Both turned around with indignant expressions and Phillip had to suppress a smile. The balls were coming from the empty choir loft behind him, and he had a gut idea of who the bouncers were. Then a black ball landed somewhere near the organist, who broke off her playing with a discordant screech. “Mouse!” she screamed. “There’s a mouse!”
The church was in an uproar in seconds, with everyone looking for the mouse. Two more balls followed, adding to the furor, and Phillip slipped quietly from his pew and headed outside into the light snow. He didn’t have to wait long before he caught sight of two shadowy figures stealing out of the church and past the lighted garland decorations on a nearby tree.
“That was great!”
Phillip recognized Tad’s strident voice and didn’t wait for a reply from the other culprit. He stepped out of the shadows, struggling to keep the laughter from his words. “It was a great prank, buwes. But what would your mothers have to say?”
* * *
White Christmas lights lined the cobblestone path, and Abigail knew that she was the lone spectator in the hedge maze, at least for the moment. She couldn’t help but covertly admire the strength in Caleb’s arms and back as she stood behind the tall shrubbery. He’d removed his coat and hat and had rolled up the sleeves of his dark blue shirt. She watched with quiet intent as the shape of an evergreen was coaxed from the block of ice by Caleb’s confident strikes of the hammer and chisel.
He paused to study his work, then turned and looked directly at her through the snow-dusted branches. “I thought it might be you, Abigail.” His voice sounded husky.
She swallowed and slipped around the tall hedge to face him. “And why did you think that?”
He smiled and laid aside his tools, then walked toward her. She felt for a moment a curious and tantalizing thrill in her breast, almost as if some big snow cat held her in thrall. She resisted the urge to lean back against the hedge for support, then caught the glorious scent of him as he neared—snow and pine and the tantalizing note of bayberry. He smelled like Christmas.
“I could feel you,” he whispered as he ran a lean finger down her cheek. “Does that make any sense?”
She wanted to say nee, but some impulse bubbled up inside her and she decided that a bit of truth might be warranted. “Jah,” she said quietly. “I—I think I can feel your nearness too at times.” She swallowed hard when he took a step closer, almost as though he was compelled by her admission.
She was very aware of the warmth of his big body despite the nip in the air, and she shivered a bit with pleasure as his clever fingers undid the ties of her bonnet and eased it back. Then he bent his head and whispered in her ear.
“Mmmm . . . you smell like roses. I haven’t stopped thinking about you all afternoon.” He smiled down at her as he confessed his feelings, and she raised her mittened hands to his chest and heard his sharp intake of breath. He drew nearer, slanting his head, and her mouth burned as she waited for his kiss.
But, instead, she felt a sudden laugh in his chest as he rocked his long legs forward then bent his back to catch the scent of the flowers secured on her wrist. “Now, my pretty, I know your secret. Mmmm . . . roses in winter. Where did you find them?”
Abigail badly wanted him to ignore the flowers and proceed with the kissing, but she couldn’t help but be truthful. “They were an early Christmas gift—from Phillip.”
He gave her a wry smile. “Smart man, my rival. But he increases my pleasure so I can’t complain.”
Abigail swallowed. “Was it—is it a pleasure to kiss me?”
He groaned. “Jah, sweet pleasure that I would taste again.”
She waited with delicious expectation, but then she felt him wrench himself from her, and she stared in confusion at his broad back as he lifted his tools and began to strike at the ice again.
“Caleb? What is it?”
He half laughed, then stopped working and glanced at her over his shoulder. “I know what I want, Abigail. And we are alone in such a place that one kiss may lead to another and another.... I need to treat you with dignity and respect.”
“Why, I believe you’re shy, Caleb King.” The bold words were out of her mouth before she could think, but when he made no reply, she took an impulsive step forward. She drew a deep breath. “Perhaps, it is you who needs courting. . . .”
She would have continued when feminine laughter echoed from nearby. Abigail made haste to tug the strings of her dark bonnet close about her chin and slipped once more behind the high hedge. The smart tap of high heels echoed on the cobbled walkway and three Englisch women in dark boots and pretty coats soon came into view.
Abigail bit her lip, wondering if she might slip away, but then she froze in place as the young women stopped near where Caleb was working.
“Gut evening, ladies.” He paused in his sculpting to smile easily at them, and Abigail felt a sudden prick of jealousy. She was amazed at herself. Why shouldn’t he interact with the guests? But then one of the women cooed softly as she ran a pointed fingertip down the evergreen ice sculpture, then trailed the same finger across the muscles in Caleb’s left arm.
“You’re Amish, right?” she asked, sidling closer to him.
“Jah . . . or . . . yeah, I guess you’d say.”
Abigail watched as he nodded to the other two girls, who were smiling rather seductively. What did they expect? Abigail thought indignantly. That he’d lay aside his tools and kiss each of them? The thought made her flush. Wasn’t that exactly what she wanted from him?
“Are you married, honey?” The brunette, with hair like a waterfall, asked the question softly.
Abigail couldn’t stand to wait for his reply. She pulled the edges of her second-best cloak tight around her and tiptoed away from the hedge to lose herself deeper in the maze.
* * *
Caleb had finished the star and tree and had stepped back into the shadows of the maze as more people came to admire the ice sculptures. He knew Abigail had gone, probably soon after the women had stopped and expressed their interest in him and all things Amisch. The truth was, he’d felt overwhelmed by the forwardness of the Englisch girls, and it had surprised him. He realized that he far preferred Abigail’s quiet reserve and the gentle pink of her parted lips lifting to his mouth.
His own thoughts aroused him and he automatically navigated the maze, always keeping his right hand on the snowy branches. He was able to quickly exit the high hedges and found himself on a well-lit street that was filled with families and happy chatter. He recognized that he was very near the school for the unique kinner when an auld woman asked with a charming smile if he’d like to purchase a raffle ticket for a lovely pottery serving plate.
“It’s to benefit the school,” she said. “As is everything tonight! The tickets are a dollar each.”
Caleb knew instinctively that it was a plate of Abigail’s design, and he wanted it on the spot. It’ll give me something to remember her by if she chooses Phillip as her mail-order groom.... He pushed the anxious thought aside and reached into his pocket for his wallet, then had a sudden memory of tossing it into Birchbark’s pack when he’d left the Englisch haus earlier that nacht. The pack was with Tommy, who was tied up at a convenient shed.
“I’ll be right back, ma’am. Please save me twenty-five tickets.”
He turned and walked as quickly as he could through the friendly throng, hoping he’d run into Abigail. But he made it to the faint light of the shed without seeing anyone he knew and found Tommy still contentedly chewing his feed bag of oats. Caleb patted the horse fondly, then reached for the oversized pack, lowering it to the ground to find his wallet. But when he opened the top flap and reached inside, he pulled out a heavy, gaily wrapped package, with red ribbons that caught in the nacht breeze.
Caleb sank to his knees in the snow, holding the package and wondering if he was truly losing his mind. He let his fingers play with the ribbons, then slowly turned over the gift tag. The thin card was easy to read.
FOR THE CHRYSALIS SCHOOL
He sighed aloud and absently patted Tommy, who was nudging him. Then he reached into the sack once more and found his wallet. He had half a mind to stay where he was and not to deliver the package to the school, but, in his heart, he knew he could never do such a thing.
“Well, one thing’s for sure,” he muttered grimly to Tommy as he got to his feet. “Birchbark and I are going to have a long talk about this pack.”
Chapter Thirteen
Caleb walked back to the day school as quickly as he could. He didn’t want to miss the raffle for Abigail’s work, and he was glad when the same aulder woman came smilingly toward him with a handful of tickets. “I saved you twenty-five exactly,” she said, and Caleb gladly handed over the money. “Thank you, Mr. uh . . . ?”
“King. I’m Caleb King.”
“And I’m Miss Barbara, the school’s principal.”
“Well, then, I think this gift should geh to you.” He slid the present from beneath his right arm and handed it over gratefully. He was all too glad to pass the gift on; he didn’t want to think about where it had come from or what was inside—pack or no.
“Would you like to come inside the school?” Miss Barbara asked. “The raffle is about to begin.”
“Jah, surely.”
He followed the principal inside the door and admired the vibrant paintings of butterflies that graced the interior walls. Folks began to press forward, and Caleb stepped aside, pausing across from the small room that must be the school library. He didn’t see Abigail, and he wondered if she was with Phillip. He pushed the frustrating thought aside and listened as they began to call ticket numbers. But then he felt an impatient tug at his arm. A sprite of an Englisch girl was staring up at him through thick, purple cat’s-eye glasses.
“I can tell ya that Birchbark’s never let anyone else carry his pack, not so’s I noticed. He must trust ya.”
Caleb nodded, feeling as if he was forgetting something. Then he withdrew his pocketbook from his pants and took out some cash. Giving the money to Jeb seemed to make the situation feel less strange. He gathered up the pack, resisting the urge to look inside, threw his pocketbook in, and headed back into the coming nacht.
Then he remembered Tommy’s oats and he muttered to himself, leading the horse toward the sound of orchestra music that emanated from the center of town.
Chapter Twelve
Abigail looked around the town square of Farwell with delight. Beautiful, festive music came from the gazebo where several smiling townspeople, dressed in formal black suits and bright red scarves, were playing their stringed instruments. Folks milled about, pausing now and then to talk to each other, and all sent warm smiles her way even as they gave brief glances toward her long cloak and bonnet. She hadn’t been able to quite get the black paint off her gut cloak, but she was a little glad about that as she recalled the amazing first kiss she had received from Caleb. It would be easy to get lost in dreams, she thought, looking around. It had started to snow very lightly and the pine trees in the square glistened with colored lights and bright decorations. She wondered where Caleb might be ice sculpting, then started in surprise as she heard Mercy call her name.
Abigail looked up and saw Mercy and Phillip coming toward her. Mercy looked troubled while Phillip’s bright smile flashed white against the gentle snow. He carried a small white cardboard box that was adorned with a dark green bow.
“Mercy, are you all right?” Abigail asked as they stopped. “You’re wearing gloves that are much too big for you. Are you cold? I have an extra blanket in the sleigh and I—”
“I’m fine,” Mercy said as she stripped off the gloves. She slapped them against Phillip’s arm, and he caught them just before they fell. “I need to geh check on my soap stock. I hope you both have a wunderbaar time.”
Abigail watched as Mercy turned and headed back down the street. She clearly wanted nothing to do with Phillip, though he too seemed puzzled by her sister’s behavior. Abigail decided to find Mercy later in the evening and discover what was bothering her.
For now, Abigail remembered her resolve to spend more time with Phillip and moved with him as he gently pulled her down on a snow-dusted bench near the sidewalk. He held out the white box with its sumptuous bow and she took it with pleasure. It was nice to get a present, she thought.
She lifted the lid with its velvet ties, then smiled down into the careful nesting of gold-flecked tissue paper that surrounded the gift. Carefully, she pulled back the thin paper and lifted the flowers from their cradle. “Ach, Phillip! They’re beautiful.” She held the wrist corsage of velvet red roses, baby’s breath, and tiny ferns near her face and inhaled the heavenly scent. “Danki, Phillip.”
“You’re welcome. Mercy helped me pick them out. You can wear them on your wrist and sort of . . . hide them beneath your cloak. I know we are plain folk, but it shouldn’t hurt for one nacht. I thought—I thought when I got them about us maybe planting rosebushes on our farm one day.”
Abigail froze inside at his shy but steady look. What am I playing at? she wondered. Phillip already has us married and living on a farm. . . . What about my pottery? And rosebushes . . . And a mail-order groom on my terms?
She looked at the roses, absently running one finger over the delicate petals. “Ach, Phillip, I—”
“Here. Let me help you get them on your wrist.” He leaned closer to her and she blinked back sudden tears. He is so trusting but I—I would rather have a corsage of weeds if only they were from Caleb. . . .
* * *
Mercy jostled her way into one of the town’s crowded specialty gift shops, her eyes automatically drawn to the festive display where her soaps were nestled on a tartan scarf. She walked over to the counter, feeling her heart race. How could I return his kindness to me by slapping him with his own gloves? She put her fingers to her lips as an errant giggle nearly choked her with surprise, but she sobered quickly. Picking out the roses for Abigail had been terrible—Forgive me, Gott, but I wanted them for myself. . . .
Even on the brief sleigh ride into town, she had to admit to herself that she had a nagging fantasy of what it might be like to sit beside Phillip as his frau. . . . She nearly jumped when Joshua called to her.
“Mamm, Tad and I each wanted to do some sledding on the big hill behind the church. Is that okay?”
“Jah,” she answered absently, missing the mischief in Tad’s eyes. The two buwes ran out of the store and she added more soaps from her basket to the display. Then, satisfied, she turned, only to run full tilt into Phillip’s broad chest.
Her arms felt hot where he steadied her, and she had no idea what to say, which was a rare thing. “Wh—where’s Abigail?” She knew she sounded angry, but it was better than wallowing in misery that she couldn’t have her sister’s suitor. “Did she like the roses?” There. I’m doing the honorable thing by asking after the flowers....
“She liked them.” Phillip nodded, but there was something in his voice that made her pause. She looked up into his handsome face and could see the shimmer of doubt in his fine eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, the words out of her mouth before she could help herself.
He shook his head, then guided her backward to avoid an Englisch woman who obviously wanted to see Mercy’s soaps but had a screaming toddler in tow. Mercy watched Phillip turn sideways, then stoop to face the furious little boy. Phillip began to whistle, and immediately, the child quieted and Mercy blinked in disbelief.
“Oh, thank you,” the mother whispered, two soaps in her hand. “He’s a handful sometimes and I wanted to get some Christmas shopping done.”
Phillip rose to his feet, patting the child on the head. “You’re more than welcome.”
The pair walked off and Mercy looked up at Phillip. “I wish you had been here when Joshua was little.” She swallowed then coughed at the implications of what she’d said. Despite her discomfiture, Phillip merely expressed understanding.
“I bet it was hard to be a single mamm.”
“Jah,” she agreed after a long moment. She didn’t like to talk about the early days of Joshua’s life, and no one but Abigail questioned her about that time.
“I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable, Mercy. Please forgive me.”
Mercy nodded and sought to quickly change the subject. “Uh, you were telling me about the flowers and Abigail. . . .”
“Ach, jah.” He moved to idly run a lean finger across the edge of a bayberry soap. “I—I think I must spend more time with her. I don’t know that she really wants to become a farmer’s wife.”
Something inside Mercy rose up in hope. I would be a farmer’s wife . . . his helpmeet and beloved frau . . . But she soon crashed into the reality of Phillip bidding her goodbye without even a backward glance.
* * *
Phillip wandered along the sidewalks without noticing the festivity around him. He felt defeated somehow, as if he truly stood no chance of winning Abigail’s hand and heart. But there could be far worse things, he considered. Like Mercy raising a sohn alone. Oh, the community would have helped but there would have been gossip as well. He frowned then heard the low pulse of organ music. He stopped in the street, realizing he’d drifted away from the bustle of the shops to a back street where an old-fashioned redbrick church stood. It had high stained-glass windows that flickered with light from within. He felt drawn to the wide stone steps and eased open the heavy door. He stepped inside and saw a large group of worshippers in the long wooden pews. They were standing and singing “Silent Night” or, as he knew it, “Stille Nacht.” He loved the auld carol and found himself singing along as he stepped into one of the back pews beneath the choir loft. It felt gut to be united with others in something, and as he sang the verses, he felt his spirits rise. He knew a peace that was only interrupted by the strange sight of a small colored ball bouncing like a missile down the center aisle.
The organist continued unaware, and two more Super Balls ricocheted off the pews, one hitting an older woman in the back and another bouncing off the bald head of a man halfway up the aisle. Both turned around with indignant expressions and Phillip had to suppress a smile. The balls were coming from the empty choir loft behind him, and he had a gut idea of who the bouncers were. Then a black ball landed somewhere near the organist, who broke off her playing with a discordant screech. “Mouse!” she screamed. “There’s a mouse!”
The church was in an uproar in seconds, with everyone looking for the mouse. Two more balls followed, adding to the furor, and Phillip slipped quietly from his pew and headed outside into the light snow. He didn’t have to wait long before he caught sight of two shadowy figures stealing out of the church and past the lighted garland decorations on a nearby tree.
“That was great!”
Phillip recognized Tad’s strident voice and didn’t wait for a reply from the other culprit. He stepped out of the shadows, struggling to keep the laughter from his words. “It was a great prank, buwes. But what would your mothers have to say?”
* * *
White Christmas lights lined the cobblestone path, and Abigail knew that she was the lone spectator in the hedge maze, at least for the moment. She couldn’t help but covertly admire the strength in Caleb’s arms and back as she stood behind the tall shrubbery. He’d removed his coat and hat and had rolled up the sleeves of his dark blue shirt. She watched with quiet intent as the shape of an evergreen was coaxed from the block of ice by Caleb’s confident strikes of the hammer and chisel.
He paused to study his work, then turned and looked directly at her through the snow-dusted branches. “I thought it might be you, Abigail.” His voice sounded husky.
She swallowed and slipped around the tall hedge to face him. “And why did you think that?”
He smiled and laid aside his tools, then walked toward her. She felt for a moment a curious and tantalizing thrill in her breast, almost as if some big snow cat held her in thrall. She resisted the urge to lean back against the hedge for support, then caught the glorious scent of him as he neared—snow and pine and the tantalizing note of bayberry. He smelled like Christmas.
“I could feel you,” he whispered as he ran a lean finger down her cheek. “Does that make any sense?”
She wanted to say nee, but some impulse bubbled up inside her and she decided that a bit of truth might be warranted. “Jah,” she said quietly. “I—I think I can feel your nearness too at times.” She swallowed hard when he took a step closer, almost as though he was compelled by her admission.
She was very aware of the warmth of his big body despite the nip in the air, and she shivered a bit with pleasure as his clever fingers undid the ties of her bonnet and eased it back. Then he bent his head and whispered in her ear.
“Mmmm . . . you smell like roses. I haven’t stopped thinking about you all afternoon.” He smiled down at her as he confessed his feelings, and she raised her mittened hands to his chest and heard his sharp intake of breath. He drew nearer, slanting his head, and her mouth burned as she waited for his kiss.
But, instead, she felt a sudden laugh in his chest as he rocked his long legs forward then bent his back to catch the scent of the flowers secured on her wrist. “Now, my pretty, I know your secret. Mmmm . . . roses in winter. Where did you find them?”
Abigail badly wanted him to ignore the flowers and proceed with the kissing, but she couldn’t help but be truthful. “They were an early Christmas gift—from Phillip.”
He gave her a wry smile. “Smart man, my rival. But he increases my pleasure so I can’t complain.”
Abigail swallowed. “Was it—is it a pleasure to kiss me?”
He groaned. “Jah, sweet pleasure that I would taste again.”
She waited with delicious expectation, but then she felt him wrench himself from her, and she stared in confusion at his broad back as he lifted his tools and began to strike at the ice again.
“Caleb? What is it?”
He half laughed, then stopped working and glanced at her over his shoulder. “I know what I want, Abigail. And we are alone in such a place that one kiss may lead to another and another.... I need to treat you with dignity and respect.”
“Why, I believe you’re shy, Caleb King.” The bold words were out of her mouth before she could think, but when he made no reply, she took an impulsive step forward. She drew a deep breath. “Perhaps, it is you who needs courting. . . .”
She would have continued when feminine laughter echoed from nearby. Abigail made haste to tug the strings of her dark bonnet close about her chin and slipped once more behind the high hedge. The smart tap of high heels echoed on the cobbled walkway and three Englisch women in dark boots and pretty coats soon came into view.
Abigail bit her lip, wondering if she might slip away, but then she froze in place as the young women stopped near where Caleb was working.
“Gut evening, ladies.” He paused in his sculpting to smile easily at them, and Abigail felt a sudden prick of jealousy. She was amazed at herself. Why shouldn’t he interact with the guests? But then one of the women cooed softly as she ran a pointed fingertip down the evergreen ice sculpture, then trailed the same finger across the muscles in Caleb’s left arm.
“You’re Amish, right?” she asked, sidling closer to him.
“Jah . . . or . . . yeah, I guess you’d say.”
Abigail watched as he nodded to the other two girls, who were smiling rather seductively. What did they expect? Abigail thought indignantly. That he’d lay aside his tools and kiss each of them? The thought made her flush. Wasn’t that exactly what she wanted from him?
“Are you married, honey?” The brunette, with hair like a waterfall, asked the question softly.
Abigail couldn’t stand to wait for his reply. She pulled the edges of her second-best cloak tight around her and tiptoed away from the hedge to lose herself deeper in the maze.
* * *
Caleb had finished the star and tree and had stepped back into the shadows of the maze as more people came to admire the ice sculptures. He knew Abigail had gone, probably soon after the women had stopped and expressed their interest in him and all things Amisch. The truth was, he’d felt overwhelmed by the forwardness of the Englisch girls, and it had surprised him. He realized that he far preferred Abigail’s quiet reserve and the gentle pink of her parted lips lifting to his mouth.
His own thoughts aroused him and he automatically navigated the maze, always keeping his right hand on the snowy branches. He was able to quickly exit the high hedges and found himself on a well-lit street that was filled with families and happy chatter. He recognized that he was very near the school for the unique kinner when an auld woman asked with a charming smile if he’d like to purchase a raffle ticket for a lovely pottery serving plate.
“It’s to benefit the school,” she said. “As is everything tonight! The tickets are a dollar each.”
Caleb knew instinctively that it was a plate of Abigail’s design, and he wanted it on the spot. It’ll give me something to remember her by if she chooses Phillip as her mail-order groom.... He pushed the anxious thought aside and reached into his pocket for his wallet, then had a sudden memory of tossing it into Birchbark’s pack when he’d left the Englisch haus earlier that nacht. The pack was with Tommy, who was tied up at a convenient shed.
“I’ll be right back, ma’am. Please save me twenty-five tickets.”
He turned and walked as quickly as he could through the friendly throng, hoping he’d run into Abigail. But he made it to the faint light of the shed without seeing anyone he knew and found Tommy still contentedly chewing his feed bag of oats. Caleb patted the horse fondly, then reached for the oversized pack, lowering it to the ground to find his wallet. But when he opened the top flap and reached inside, he pulled out a heavy, gaily wrapped package, with red ribbons that caught in the nacht breeze.
Caleb sank to his knees in the snow, holding the package and wondering if he was truly losing his mind. He let his fingers play with the ribbons, then slowly turned over the gift tag. The thin card was easy to read.
FOR THE CHRYSALIS SCHOOL
He sighed aloud and absently patted Tommy, who was nudging him. Then he reached into the sack once more and found his wallet. He had half a mind to stay where he was and not to deliver the package to the school, but, in his heart, he knew he could never do such a thing.
“Well, one thing’s for sure,” he muttered grimly to Tommy as he got to his feet. “Birchbark and I are going to have a long talk about this pack.”
Chapter Thirteen
Caleb walked back to the day school as quickly as he could. He didn’t want to miss the raffle for Abigail’s work, and he was glad when the same aulder woman came smilingly toward him with a handful of tickets. “I saved you twenty-five exactly,” she said, and Caleb gladly handed over the money. “Thank you, Mr. uh . . . ?”
“King. I’m Caleb King.”
“And I’m Miss Barbara, the school’s principal.”
“Well, then, I think this gift should geh to you.” He slid the present from beneath his right arm and handed it over gratefully. He was all too glad to pass the gift on; he didn’t want to think about where it had come from or what was inside—pack or no.
“Would you like to come inside the school?” Miss Barbara asked. “The raffle is about to begin.”
“Jah, surely.”
He followed the principal inside the door and admired the vibrant paintings of butterflies that graced the interior walls. Folks began to press forward, and Caleb stepped aside, pausing across from the small room that must be the school library. He didn’t see Abigail, and he wondered if she was with Phillip. He pushed the frustrating thought aside and listened as they began to call ticket numbers. But then he felt an impatient tug at his arm. A sprite of an Englisch girl was staring up at him through thick, purple cat’s-eye glasses.
