He didn’t correct her. What was the point? Plus, they did all walk in the fields more than they walked in the parks. He nearly slapped his own forehead. Ada’s misquotes were beginning to make sense to him. That could be an indication he was in real trouble.

  “Were the supplies I dropped off what you and Bethany needed?”

  “Yup. They were perfect.” She stood back now, smiling at the headboard.

  “Looks gut.”

  Ada ducked her head, as if to thank him for the compliment. “You did a good job cleaning it up and sanding it.”

  “And you did a good job making it shine.”

  Ada flopped onto the milk crate they used as a stool. “I’m going to miss hanging out here after the first of the year.”

  Stop hanging out here? Did she mean stop hanging out in the barn? Because, even after they were finished with the crib, there would be other things that they could work on. Or did she mean because she’d be moving back to the Yoder farm? He’d been so busy growing accustomed to having her around, that he hadn’t really thought about her leaving and going back to her own home.

  Ethan felt as if his heart had stopped beating. Impossible. He’d be lying on the barn floor if his heart wasn’t beating. “You mean because the boppli will be born, but I’m sure Bethany will still need help even after—”

  “Doubtful. Bethany is going to be a natural mother, and she always was gut at juggling more than one task at a time. I once saw her check in a guest at the RV park and knit at the same time. Didn’t even drop a stitch.”

  “Whatever that means.”

  “It means she did both well—simultaneously.” Ada shook her pretty head. “She won’t need me once the doctor releases her.”

  “You’ll still visit though.”

  “I will! I can’t wait to spend time with my new niece—with both of my new nieces.”

  “I can’t believe they’re both having girls. And they both know they’re having girls.”

  Ada stood and began putting up her supplies. The first night they’d worked together, she’d left everything on the workbench. When Ethan had reminded her—in the kindest way—that they needed to put away the supplies, she’d said, “Fine. But we’ll do this Dutch.” That, in Ada terms, meant she’d put up her supplies and he could put up his.

  “It’s going to be a busy new year, Ethan. With lots of changes! Two new girls in the family, my new job, your new crops, because I’m sure it will rain again. We’re already getting light snows so that must mean—”

  “What new job?”

  She turned from the cubby where she’d placed her things. “What?”

  “What new job?”

  “I thought I told you. About the job. With Sally.”

  “Nein.”

  “Oh.” She waved away his concerns. “It doesn’t seem real yet, but she offered me a job with the SPCA. Part-time, but it pays okay, and Dat has given his approval.”

  Something in Ethan twisted at that.

  He’d been sitting there imagining himself coming home to Ada every night, imagining her working beside him in the barn, and them walking across the fields together. He’d been daydreaming, and the entire time she probably couldn’t wait to get away from Huckleberry Lane—away from him and their poor, dilapidated farm—fast enough.

  “Sounds like a perfect place for you to work.” He tried to sound cheerful but the pretense didn’t quite reach his voice.

  Ada cocked her head then nodded in agreement. “I think so too.”

  He turned away, embarrassed. Not that he had anything to be embarrassed about. Ada couldn’t have known what he’d been thinking, what he’d been dreaming.

  “Think I’ll go make some decaf coffee and heat up a piece of that pie. Want some?”

  “No. Thanks. I’ll...um... I have a little work to do out here still.”

  She looked around in surprise then shrugged. “Everything looks spic and sparkly. You know, if you want some time alone, you can use your words and say so.”

  He rubbed at his neck muscles, which felt suddenly incredibly tight. “Fine. I want some time alone.”

  “Fine.”

  Now she was scowling at him, but the look in her eyes said he’d hurt her feelings. He should apologize. Instead, he turned and walked into the back room of the barn. Once he’d heard her leave—heard her gently shut the door and walk away—he went back into the main area.

  Placing both hands on the workbench, he tried to calm his emotions. It didn’t work though. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed with this farm, his job, his brother, Bethany, the baby...it was all too much. His head began to throb on the right side. Always, it started on the right side. Did that mean he had a tumor there? What would Aaron and Bethany do if he were to become desperately ill?

  Nein.

  It was only a headache.

  A blinding, skull-crushing, nausea-inducing, dream-smashing headache.

  He’d had worse, or so he told himself.

  He would probably have worse again.

  And with that cheery thought, he turned out the battery-operated lanterns, closed up the barn and sank onto the bench positioned under the roof overhang. He sat there in the cold, his head throbbing, waiting for every light in the house to go out. When he was reasonably sure that everyone was asleep, he finally trudged across the yard, climbed the steps and collapsed on the living room couch—only to fall into dreams of wandering the fields, looking for something or someone that he simply couldn’t find.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ada put up with Ethan’s moping for exactly one week. She focused on finishing the gifts for the RV guests. She started a few projects for her family. She fetched the box of Christmas decorations, which consisted of battery-operated candles that went in each window, place mats that Bethany had made from a green-and-red paisley fabric, and a white and dark blue knitted blanket that went over the back of the couch. Standing on the other side of the room, it looked like a snowscape with a night sky background.

  Her schweschder was an amazing crafter.

  Her bruder-in-law, on the other hand, was being a real pill. He barely spoke, walked around with a scowl etched on his face, and asked them to “please stop” if they sang Christmas carols.

  She tried to be patient.

  She spoke with Bethany about it, at great length. Bethany cautioned her to give him time and space.

  So she gave him a week and the space from the little house to the in-need-of-repair barn. Thursday evening, when he once again fled from the kitchen after eating very little of his dinner, she decided to confront him.

  Why now?

  Why could she suddenly not wait a moment longer?

  Maybe it was because of what she’d read in her mother’s journal that afternoon. Something about the “preciousness of time” and not wanting to “waste a single second.”

  Ethan had pretty much banned her from helping with the crib. The last time she had tried, he had used his words to say, “I’d rather work alone.” That was it. No explanation. No, “Sorry, Ada, I’d love for you to be out here with me but...”

  But Ada wasn’t one to be put off so easily.

  She cleaned up the dinner dishes, stored the leftovers in the fridge, and attempted to work on the knitting project Bethany had helped her begin—washcloths to give for Christmas. They were made from a pretty ivory-colored yarn, and though they were simple and plain, Ada thought that her schweschdern would like them. Who didn’t love new washcloths?

  Alas, the project took a downhill dive. Ada kept losing count of her stitches. What should have been a square-shaped cloth now resembled something narrow at the bottom and inexplicably wide at the top. One row had a hole in the middle of it. How had that happened?

  She would have to frog it out.

  Was that the word?

  Or maybe it was toad. Toad it out? Sounded wrong.

  She tossed the project back into her bag, paced the kitchen and stared out the window at the barn.

  She’d given Ethan time.

  She’d given him space.

  Ada didn’t have any more patience.

  She made sure Bethany was being watched over by Aaron—they were sitting on the couch and he was rubbing her feet—and then she snagged up some of the oatmeal-raisin cookies she’d made and marched over to the barn.

  They’d had another light dusting of snow and the wind was blowing from the north. She should have put on her coat, but her anger and frustration seemed to provide a shield against the winter night. At least, it did until she was halfway across the yard.

  Yikes, but it was cold.

  She jerked open the door to the barn, expecting to find the crib done and Ethan reading a magazine.

  But that wasn’t what she found at all.

  “Ethan. What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Her anger melted away like snow on a sunny afternoon. She set the cookies on the workbench—a workbench that looked as if it hadn’t been used in quite some time. Ethan tried to look up from where he was sitting, tried to give her a weak smile, but even that seemed to cause too much pain. He winced, clutched his head with both hands and stared at the barn floor.

  She pulled the extra milk crate over to sit on, positioning it in front of him—sitting knee to knee. “What is it?”

  “My head,” he mumbled.

  “A headache?”

  He shook his head, then his shoulders drooped as if even that small motion had caused him great pain.

  “Ethan, look at me. Do you need to see a doctor?”

  She thought he wouldn’t answer her. Ada put her hands on his shoulders and waited for him to look up.

  He finally did, misery etched on his face. “It’s only a headache.”

  “Looks much worse than that.”

  Ethan closed his eyes, pressed the palms of his hands against his temples.

  “Talk to me, Ethan. It’s plain that you’re in pain. How long has this been going on?”

  “Comes and goes.”

  “How long has it been coming and going?”

  “Weeks? Months?”

  “And the pain...what’s it like?”

  “Feels as if one of Bethany’s knitting needles has been driven through my skull.”

  “Does all of your head hurt? Both sides?”

  “Right. Only the right. Tomorrow it will be the left.”

  Only the right. Tomorrow it will be the left. Those words confirmed what Ada suspected.

  “I’ll be back in a jiffy.” She ran to the house, relieved to see that Bethany and Aaron had moved to their bedroom. She wasn’t sure how she’d explain brewing coffee before bed. She was sure that Ethan was trying to hide his pain from his family and, for the moment, until she knew more, she would honor that need for privacy.

  Fifteen long minutes later she was back in the barn with a thermos of the dark brew. He had one lantern turned on and set to its lowest brightness. She found the other and turned it on, as well, bringing it closer to where he sat.

  Ethan yelped as if the light caused him physical pain, and maybe it did. She turned the setting to low and placed it a few feet away. Then she poured some of the coffee into the lid of the thermos and pushed it into his hands.

  He glanced up at her, winced and shook his head.

  “Ya, drink it. Trust me.”

  Probably hoping it would make her go away, he sipped a little.

  “All of it.”

  He sighed, tipped his head back and finished what was in the lid. She waited ten more minutes, not talking, being as quiet as a church squirrel. After ten minutes had passed, she poured another cupful.

  “Ada...”

  “It will help, and this time I want you to eat one of the oatmeal-raisin cookies too.”

  Ethan drank the coffee, accepted the cookie, nibbled around the edge of it, then looked at her curiously. “I actually do feel a little better.”

  “Wunderbaar.”

  “These cookies aren’t oatmeal.”

  “Oh, ya. I forgot and used flour instead.”

  “And there aren’t any raisins.”

  “We were out, so I substituted chocolate chips.”

  He smiled, the first smile she’d seen from him in many days, and oh, how that helped to ease the worry in her heart.

  “I came out to give you a real talking to, Ethan King.”

  “Did you now?”

  “You’ve been terrible company lately. No company at all, actually.”

  He didn’t defend himself.

  “Have you been having the headaches every night?”

  Slowly, as if he didn’t want to admit it even to himself, he nodded. “I’m worried. Worried something terrible is wrong with me. Worried I’ll be a burden to Aaron and Bethany. Worried I’ll be no help to my new niece.”

  “I think you’re having migraines.”

  “What?” His head jerked up and his eyes met hers for the first time.

  In that look, she saw the entirety of his misery. She thought about the fact that he’d been carrying these worries alone. She thought of her mother’s journal, her mother’s argument with her sister, the bitter sweetness of their reconciliation. She, Ada Yoder, wasn’t going to wait for someone to pass from this life to the next before making things right with Ethan. One way or another, they were going to take care of the misunderstanding between them in the next few minutes.

  “The teacher I worked with had migraines.” She pulled the milk crate she’d been sitting on next to him so their shoulders were touching. She understood that sometimes it was easier to talk about a thing if you could stare across the room instead of into someone else’s eyes. “She’d have terrible pain. Usually on one side of her head and then, sometimes, the next day it would be on the other side.”

  Ethan nodded. “Always starts on the right.”

  “Caffeine helped a little.”

  “Oh.”

  “But eventually she went to the doctor. There’s medicine they can give you for this, Ethan.”

  “I’m not going to the doctor.” He didn’t sound as if he was arguing. He sounded as if she’d asked the impossible of him.

  “Why is that?”

  He simply shook his head and reached for another cookie. “Sometimes I get nauseous. Didn’t realize how hungry I was. Any of that coffee left?”

  “There is. Though I have to warn you, I made it quite strong. You might be up all night.”

  “I don’t think anything could keep me up all night.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Can’t remember the last time I slept well.”

  “Eunice is coming over tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  “I can go with you to the doctor.”

  “I’m not a child, Ada.”

  “No, but you are a stubborn man.” She couldn’t resist teasing him a little. “You could take me to JoJo’s afterward.”

  “Ah. So this is your attempt to wrangle a date.”

  “Absolutely. I’m not above wrangling.” She bumped her shoulder against his.

  “Not sure they can get me in so soon,” he finally said.

  “We’ll call first thing.”

  It felt so good in that moment, just to be sitting by Ethan. To understand why he’d been avoiding everyone. To be able to do something to alleviate his pain. To stop attempting to hide her feelings.

  She slipped her hand into his. “We’ll go together.”

  * * *

  “I feel rather foolish,” Ethan admitted.

  They were sitting in the coffee shop adjacent to JoJo’s Pretzels the next afternoon. Christmas music played softly over the speakers, though it wasn’t yet Thanksgiving. The place had a very festive look to it. A Christmas tableau had been painted on the windows. A decorated tree stood in the corner. Their coffee was topped with whipped cream and red and green sprinkles. And Ada Yoder, looking prettier than any Christmas decoration, sat across from him.

  “Because you’ve been diagnosed with migraines?”

  “Because I waited so long to go to the doctor.” He shook his head. “As you said, stupid of me.”

  “I never called you stupid, only stubborn.” She reached across and squeezed his hand.

  Ethan felt as if a barrier that had existed between them was suddenly gone. Ada seemed to look for reasons to touch his hand, stand close to him, smile at him. Why had he never noticed how kind and caring she was? Of course, he had noticed, and it had only made him love her more.

  He loved Ada Yoder.

  The truth seemed so obvious.

  And he had run from that truth. He had been as afraid of it as he was afraid of seeing a doctor.

  “The teacher I worked with told me she’d had migraines since she was a young girl. But yours started recently, ya?”

  He nodded. Then he remembered her admonition to use his words. “I think they started when Aaron and Bethany told me they were expecting a child. The doctor said that stress can bring them on.”

  “And the prescription will help?”

  “If it doesn’t, I’m supposed to call him, and we’ll try something else.”

  “That’s wunderbaar, Ethan.”

  He nodded again, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He was still thinking about how beautiful she was. About how much he loved her.

  He loved Ada Yoder!

  It was like being awakened from a nightmare to find the sun was breaking over a brand-new day. That was it exactly. He felt renewed.

  “What are you smiling about?”

  “You.”

  Ada’s eyes widened. “Me?”

  “Ya. I was thinking about how you showed up in the barn with your too—strong coffee...”

  “Can coffee be too strong?”

  “And your oatmeal-raisin cookies.”

  She laughed with him at that, then leaned forward and said, “I dropped the bat on that one.”

  He cocked his head and decided that now was a good time to ask, if there ever was a good time. “Why do you do that?”

 

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