Courting caleb, p.9
Courting Caleb, page 9
“Don’t you want to see the library?” she whispered, pulling at him. He smiled at her insistence.
“I’m sorry,” a woman nearby said softly. “She’s pretty demanding at times.”
Caleb looked down into the lady’s tired eyes. “She’s fine,” he said. “You’re Mom?”
She nodded, and Caleb felt another insistent tug at his hand. “Do you want to see?”
“All right,” he said at Mom’s nod. He allowed himself to be pulled into the room, which was hardly bigger than two closets, yet was packed to overflowing with books of all kinds.
“I’m Miranda,” his guide announced, indicating that he should plop down on the blue bean bag next to hers.
“I’m Caleb.” He sat down awkwardly, surprised when she pried a thin black-spined book from the shelf nearest her.
“I wrote this,” she said proudly, handing it to him.
He looked at the detailed, colored cover which depicted Miranda with a long fall of yellow hair and a stick-necked body surrounded by dogs of every shape and color. “ ‘Miranda’s Dogs, ’” Caleb read carefully. “Do you have dogs at home?”
Miranda shook her head. “No. We don’t have any yard. Do you have dogs?”
“Well, I have Fred. He’s my dog and Tommy’s my horse.”
“Oh.” She nodded, taking the book back. “I’ll read it to you.”
“‘Miranda does not have dogs. Miranda loves dogs. Miranda has autism. She wonders if dogs have autism. When Miranda grows up, she will have dogs. The End.’”
She gazed over at him, clearly awaiting his response, but for a moment, he could make no sound. The child had touched his heart with a few simple words that held worlds of meaning. He suddenly hoped that whatever was in the gift from the pack, it was something priceless.
“Well, what did you think?” Miranda asked.
“It was wunderbaar—that’s something wonderful.”
She nodded. “That’s what my mommy says about me. Okay. See ya.” She hopped up and ran out the door, leaving him to unwind his long legs with a bit less ease. When he glanced up, he saw Abigail staring at him.
* * *
Abigail watched as he got to his feet and collected his hat. “You’re kind,” she said simply.
She watched him flush a ruddy color, and his gaze skittered away from hers. “They need a new library,” he pointed out, clearly wanting to change the subject.
“Maybe they’ll get one after tonight,” she said quietly. “The principal just opened a gift of three gold nuggets. I can only imagine what they’re worth.”
Caleb coughed faintly. “Three—gold nuggets? Do you know where—”
“Number seventy-seven!”
The school’s principal had gotten hold of a microphone and Abigail watched as Caleb shuffled through the tickets he’d pulled from his pocket. “I’ve got it,” he muttered after a moment. “I’d better geh claim my prize. I hope it’s your pottery, Abigail.”
She let him brush past, then stepped out into the small crowd to watch him as he reached the prize table. The principal seemed to be in a flurry of excitement once he got there, and she leaned across the table to press the microphone to her bosom and whisper something that caused Caleb to flush and nod, then step away. But she called him back once more and handed him the serving plate while the onlookers clapped.
Abigail was curious as to the exchange between the principal and her mail-order groom. Her, she thought suddenly. Was he hers? She pushed the idea aside as Caleb made his way back to the place she was standing, and she felt a strange thrill of pleasure wash down her back.
He was so very handsome, but he was more than that, she knew. Kind, caring, considerate—she didn’t care if he read or wrote poetry as her ad had specified. The way he moved was poetry and his kindness to the child in the library touched Abigail’s heart in a way she would never forget. Jah, he is more than fine. . . . But then she felt the brush of rose petals against her wrist and bit her lip. It seemed almost treacherous to dismiss Phillip when she remembered his kindness and hopes for the future, and she resolved once more to give the other mail-order groom his proper chance at becoming her husband—though the thought brought sadness to her heart....
* * *
Phillip threw the small, confiscated ball up into the falling snow, where it shone in the brightness of the streetlamp. He had walked the buwes some distance from the church and now paused as he considered their crimes.
He caught the ball, then stared at the two. Tad looked thoroughly unrepentant, but Joshua was clearly miserable. “Well,” Phillip began, “as I said, it was a gut prank and life should have some room for pranks but not at the expense of others. You nearly terrified the organist, and I bet the congregation is still looking for the invisible rodent.”
“Are you going to tell my mamm?” Joshua asked with resignation.
“Nee. I’m not. She—she’s got enough worries, I suspect. But I will make sure that you both do some work with me on the upcoming seed exchange.”
“Seed exchange?” Tad’s eyes glimmered as if he was considering what havoc might be created with a packet of seeds.
“Jah,” Phillip continued. “And even if you never farm the land, you will gain some knowledge—which is something no one can ever take from you.” He bounced the ball lightly off the top of Tad’s head, then turned to lead them back to the festivities.
* * *
Mercy had wandered from the main street of shops and found herself feeling deeply alone as the crowd of people laughed gaily around her. She sought the relative solace of a small diner when she realized she’d eaten nothing since early that morning.
The space held only a few customers and Mercy picked up the menu, intending only to get tea. But the cheerful Englisch waitress who came to her table made the special sound good.
“I’ll take your drink order, honey. But the cook makes a mean hot roast beef sandwich with mashed potatoes on the side.”
Mercy considered and decided that it had been a long time since anyone but Abigail had cooked something for her. “I’ll take tea and the special.”
“Comin’ right up.”
Mercy gave a covert glance around the diner. She realized that everyone seemed to have someone to sit with, and loneliness engulfed her once more. She had read once about eating alone and the difficulty it presented. She looked down at her work-worn hands, then almost started when a bell clanged and the diner door opened, allowing blowing snow to enter.
She swallowed hard when she saw that it was Phillip and the buwes and almost wished that she could crawl under the seat. But it only took a few seconds before Phillip saw her and the buwes crowded into the booth, one on each side of the table. Mercy longed to geh and fix her hat and damp kapp but then she sternly repressed the idea. I needn’t make myself look better for him—he’s Abigail’s man. . . .
“Mercy, hello.” Phillip hung his black hat on a coat rack attached to the table and smiled at her as he sat down.
“Where have you been?” She wanted to sound soft and feminine, she realized, but her tone bit just the same.
“Ach, seeing things, bouncing ideas around. If I have your permission, Joshua and Tad are going to help me with some of the heirloom seeds for the seed exchange in January.”
Mercy lifted her chin and looked into Phillip’s dark eyes. “I know I can speak for Tad’s fater . . . the buwes can participate, but only if they won’t be a bother.”
“No bother at all.”
“Well . . . all right.”
“And you might help, too,” Phillip invited with a surprised look on his handsome face—almost as though he couldn’t believe what he’d said.
But Mercy didn’t want a handout of quality time. “Nee,” she responded stiffly. “I’ll stay at home. That’s where I belong. . . .”
* * *
Abigail noticed that Caleb seemed more than a little relieved when they left the school and stepped out into the nacht air. Musical notes drifted and faded around them as Caleb led her back into the maze, which glistened with white lights.
“Where do you suppose those gold nuggets came from?” she asked, wondering what was on his mind.
“I don’t know.” He shook his head slowly. “They could have been in someone’s family a long time.”
She agreed, then stopped and took an impulsive step toward him, forgetting her resolve to spend more time with Phillip. “I wonder,” she whispered, “if I might court you a bit?” She bit her bottom lip, trying to guess what he’d say, then felt a surge of power as she did when something beautiful had cooled inside the kiln at the pottery. He nodded slightly and she stripped off a single mitten to hold her bare palm open to the falling snow. She didn’t really know what she was doing but she felt sensuous and wanted to communicate that feeling to him.
Carefully, she lifted her palm to his right cheek. She pressed the dusting of snow against his sculpted cheekbone and felt him shiver, whether with cold or anticipation, she didn’t know. But then she stood on tiptoe and put her mouth against his wet cheek and tenderly began to kiss, then, lick, at the wet snow. She felt a groan reverberate in his chest and she smiled, continuing until all hint of moisture was gone. Then she swallowed and looked into his ocean-blue eyes.
His pupils were large and dark, and he slanted his head and brought his mouth down on hers, quick and hard. She thrilled to his touch and couldn’t help but notice the way his big body rocked against her, tantalizing her with desire she had never felt before. She was about to tangle her arms about his neck when a cackle of female laughter made her freeze. She felt the tension in Caleb’s body as he slowly turned her around and held her in front of him, his arms providing a comforting circle.
She recognized the other Amisch woman—It was Heather Lambert, the frenemy from Abigail’s adolescence in Blackberry Falls. Abigail rarely encountered Heather these days—only at church meeting, or the occasional community picnic. But now, Abigail felt trapped and somehow guilty of the pleasure she’d found in Caleb’s arms. Heather’s smirk was easy to see in the light from the Christmas bulbs, and Abigail longed suddenly to be back in the refuge of her pottery. Her feelings must have communicated themselves to Caleb as he began to rock her gently from side to side.
“Heather,” Abigail said coolly. “What is it that you want?” Because you surely don’t want to be pleasant—your face shows nothing but venom. You only want to taunt and to threaten. Abigail clung to the words inside her head. I’m not guilty . . . not guilty . . .
“I was simply passing and couldn’t believe it was you, Abigail!” Heather purred. “But then, I heard you were courting two men. Where’s the other? I wonder if they know just how clever you can be behind that sweet mask of yours?”
“I don’t know you, but you clearly have nothing of merit to say here. So, you’d best geh on,” Caleb rumbled low.
Abigail felt her eyes prick with tears to hear his defense of her—even though he didn’t know the circumstances. . . the truth . . .
“Of course, I’ll geh,” Heather simpered. “And leave you both . . . alone. But one thing you might ask of your courting partner, by and by, is what she was doing in the Blackberry Falls Amisch cemetery tonight.”
“You were there,” Abigail snapped before she could think.
“Nee—I simply know your dedication to a mutual friend.” Heather’s laughter carried on the nacht air as she tightened her bonnet strings and walked away.
Long moments passed before Abigail slowly turned around to face him, ready for a frustrating line of questioning. But he said nothing—instead simply pulled her close. She felt the tenderness of his touch and was about to apologize for the ugliness of the past few minutes when he bent and nuzzled her neck. He took her mittenless hand in his and whispered softly in her ear. “Sweet Abigail, sei se gut. . . . Court me again.”
And she did.
Chapter Fourteen
“Three gold nuggets. Three! And enough boppli supplies to choke a horse.” Caleb paused as Birchbark began to cough.
Caleb sighed and poured a teaspoon of the honey-and-lemon mixture the healer had left that morning, then spooned it into the auld man’s mouth.
“Listen,” Caleb continued when the coughing stopped abruptly, “I don’t believe in Santa Claus—I’m too auld. You’ve got me thinking I’m narrisch.”
“Well, mebbe ya are.”
“Nee . . . I’m not crazy. You are! Or this whole place is. . . .”
“Mebbe yer crazy in love.”
Caleb drew a deep breath as images of Abigail kissing him pulsed behind his eyes. He turned around from Birchbark’s bed and faced the window in the cabin. Crazy in love? I don’t even truly know what love is. It’s got to be more than snow kissing, even though that makes my blood heat....
“See, that got ya thinkin’,” Birchbark said with a hoot of laughter.
Caleb closed his eyes. “Tell me about the gold, sei se gut.”
“What’s ta know?”
“Somehow you put that gold in that pack, and I can’t explain it.” Caleb opened his eyes and half turned to stare at the wily aulder man.
Birchbark must have sensed Caleb’s growing frustration because he suddenly became serious. “All right. All right. Simmer down and I’ll tell ya a tale of Blackberry Falls.”
Caleb dropped into a chair. “Fine. I’m listening.”
“Blackberry Falls was sacred to the Susquehannock tribe. So much so that they brought their dead to be buried in mounds of earth with all of their valuables, too. But when the tribe was gone and much time had passed, the burial mounds began to be dug up by explorers and treasure hunters. Only a few of the Susquehannocks still rest in peace in the forests around Blackberry Falls.” Birchbark thumped himself on the chest. “And I know where they are, but I pledged never ta talk except to an honest man near the end of my days.”
Caleb sighed. “So, the gold was from a burial mound? How did it get into the pack?”
“I told ya about the gold. Now that’s enough jabberin’ fer one day. I needs me sleep. Ach, and don’t ferget that John Stolfus is on yer handyman’s list ta tend to.” Caleb was about to protest, then watched helplessly as Birchbark turned on his side and snuggled deeper into the quilts.
* * *
Abigail came blinking awake as a knock sounded on the front door of her cabin. She had been dreaming—warm, luscious dreams of kissing Caleb in the snow the nacht before.... But now, the knock sounded again and she hastily grabbed a robe and hurried to open the door.
Phillip stood outside wearing a lopsided smile. He held a small, pink piglet under one arm. “Gut morning.”
Abigail could barely hear his words due to the outraged squealing of the baby pig. “Where did you find him?” she shouted, motioning the unlikely pair inside. She went to a yellow cabinet in the kitchen and pulled out a container of various bottles, then snatched up a thick glass container that she used for milk. Filling the bottle, she turned, and, without preamble, stuck it into the tiny, squealing mouth.
The silence was deafening. And Phillip laughed a bit as the piglet suckled. “I’m sorry to wake you, Abigail. Someone left this little one in a basket on Grossmuder Mildred’s porch. It’s a wonder he didn’t freeze to death. Grossmuder Mildred agreed—uh—thought I should bring it here—you are so kind, Abigail.”
“Ach, danki,” Abigail muttered, pulling the edges of her robe more tightly about her. She could only imagine the picture she presented to Phillip. Her hair hung free, reaching beyond her hips; her robe was not made for the chill of the winter, and she had nee prayer kapp on her head. All in all, she felt rather exposed, though she wondered vaguely how she might feel if it was Caleb who stood before her. She shivered a bit when she considered her bold courting of Caleb the nacht before.
“You’re cold,” Phillip observed, looking for some place to lay the now-contented piglet.
“I’m fine,” Abigail said as she indicated a wicker basket in the small sitting place. “We can put him here for now.”
Phillip gently laid the drowsy piglet on the quilt that was folded in the basket. “This is the way it is on a farm,” he said softly. “You have to be prepared for anything and everything.”
Abigail nodded. “Life is like that too.” She wanted to pull away from his talk of life on a farm—still, she knew that she was perhaps, again, not giving him a fair chance at becoming her mail-order groom. “Uh . . . danki again for the flowers you gave me. I put them in the icebox to stay fresh.”
“Jah, I wanted you to enjoy them.”
“Well, I did.” She pushed aside the thought that she’d enjoyed the roses all the more because their heady scent had added to the intensity of kissing Caleb.
There was a brief silence as the piglet nestled down deeper in the quilt folds; then Phillip cleared his throat. “Ach, Abigail, you’re so beautiful, but I guess I shouldn’t be looking at you this way.”
Abigail wet her lips and realized that she should probably be ashamed for answering the door dressed as she was. “Well, I best geh and . . . get ready for the day. . . .”
She was just about to step past him when it came to her that she had feelings of desire for Caleb fueled by damp kisses, but she’d tried no intimacy with Phillip. How can I be sure . . . unless? She stood still and rose on her tiptoes to brush her mouth against his. Nothing but a vague feeling pleasure was all she felt, and she told herself she must try again....
* * *
Phillip tried hard not to gasp in surprise when Abigail squeezed the muscles of his arms and started to kiss him. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel pleasure, but he was startled by her boldness. And, even as he touched her thin shoulders, it occurred to him that he wished she was a little plumper so his fingers might touch deep softness. Abigail had moved to kiss him a second time when he heard a soft knock and then felt cold air swirl about his legs. He almost broke the kiss, but Abigail thankfully pulled away first. He didn’t really want anyone to see Abigail being so forward. But then he looked up.
