A be had enjoyed Sunday dinners with the Voths more times than he could count, and he’d never been uncomfortable around Preacher Henry or his always-smiling, always-friendly wife. But on this Sunday, he was as uneasy as a raccoon treed by a pack of hounds. The tender pot roast stuck in his throat. The gravy turned into sawdust in his mouth. Even the cold, frothy milk tried to choke him. What was the matter with him, anyway?
Foolish question. He knew the answer. It bothered him to be at odds with the woman. He wouldn’t call her a friend. He couldn’t even call her his housekeeper since her time on his farm would be so temporary. There was no relationship between them at all. So it shouldn’t matter a bit if she was unhappy with him. Yet it did matter. It mattered a lot.
“Mr. Early, how is your planting comin’?” Mrs. Voth spooned more peas onto Abe’s plate. “I reckon it’s very different, workin’ alone. Will you plant both yours and your brother’s fields this year?”
Abe put down his fork, the remainder of his appetite fleeing. He sensed Miss Emmett sending him a sympathetic look from across the table, but he kept his gaze on the preacher’s wife instead. He didn’t want to see pity in anybody’s eyes. “I want to get both fields planted.” He hated looking at that empty stretch of ground, proof that Ed wasn’t with him anymore. “But it’s takin’ a lot longer’n I expected. I guess I never realized how much work Ed put in.”
“I don’t rightly see how you’ll manage without help.” Mrs. Voth shook her head, her eyes sad. “If only you were married already. Then you’d have a helpmate, the same way Ed did.”
Abe’s flippant comment about the city woman marrying up with him haunted him. Did she ever think about it, too? He glanced at her. Her face filled with pink, and she looked down at her plate. Yep. She was thinking about it now.
“But I s’pose,” Mrs. Voth went on, “that’s somethin’ best left to the good Lord’s doin’.”
“Indeed,” Preacher Henry said firmly. He rested his elbows on the edge of the table.
“Maybe you should hire a farmhand. After all, havin’ Miss Emmett doin’ the housework has surely eased a burden for you. Wouldn’t an extra pair of hands in the fields make things easier?”
Abe forced a chuckle. “Well, it ain’t exactly the same thing, Preacher. Miss Emmett isn’t costin’ me anything except the food she eats.” The woman ate like a bird—she hardly put a dent in his food stores. “But I’d have to pay a hired hand outright, an’ my bank account is pretty limited until my crop comes in.”
“Will you sell Ed’s land then?”
How could he sell his brother’s land? How could he watch somebody else till the soil, plant the seeds, harvest the grain? Whoever bought it would have to traipse across his acres to reach Ed’s place. He didn’t like the idea of somebody other than his brother using his land as a thoroughfare. Besides all that, if Lucy was Ed’s child in the eyes of the law, that land rightly belonged to her now. He couldn’t do anything until the judge reversed the adoption. Abe swallowed the lump in his throat. “Not unless I have to.”
The minister sat back in his chair, pinning Abe with a serious look. “The church has a fair amount in its benevolent fund. If you’ll recall, I offered some to you to help with Ed and Ruby’s burial. You refused it, but maybe you’d take some to pay a hired hand.”
Mrs. Voth chimed in again. “’Specially now that you’ve got a young’un, you can’t be out in the field every wakin’ hour of the day. That little girl needs attention, too, an’—”
Abe stood and dropped his napkin on the table. “I appreciate the good dinner, ma’am, an’ your offer of help, Preacher, but I’m doin’ all right on my own.” He eased backward toward the hall tree where his church hat waited, still talking. “Soon as the child gets settled in someplace else an’ Miss Emmett is free to move on, I’ll be able to put more hours into my farm an’ everything’ll be just fine. Yes, sir, things’ll return to the way it was before.”
Preacher Henry rose. “It’ll never be like it was before, Abe. ’Cause Ed an’ Ruby’ll never be with you again.”
Abe’s limbs turned to stone. He stood still as a statue beside the door, his chest hurting worse than the toothache he got when he was ten and ate a whole bag of taffy.
“You can’t get back the family you lost.” Preacher Henry spoke low, soft, kind as kind could be. Funny how even such kindly stated words stung. “But you can make yourself a new family by keeping Ed and Ruby’s little girl.”
Abe found the ability to move. “’Bye, Preacher.” He stormed out the door.
Amelia sighed. “I told you it wasn’t any use.”
Preacher Henry and Mrs. Voth exchanged sorrowful looks.
Amelia used her napkin to clean the gravy from Lucy’s chin then lifted the little girl from the chair. “Let me tuck her into my bed for a nap. Then we can talk.”
Lucy lay down without a fuss, and Amelia returned to the dining room, where the Voths remained in their chairs at either end of the long table, sipping coffee in companionable silence. She slid into her seat and picked up the conversation as if there’d been no interruption. “I admit I was hopeful when I saw him carrying her across the yard yesterday morning, but then he spent the rest of the day ignoring her. Just like he did here at your dinner table. I think it’s hopeless. I’m probably wasting my time waiting for an edict from the circuit judge. That man is not interested in becoming Lucy’s papa.”
Mrs. Voth tilted her head and pursed her lips. “Not to be contrary, but I think you’re wrong, Amelia. It isn’t a lack of interest that holds him aloof from little Lucy.”
Amelia arched her brows in silent disagreement.
The woman laughed. “Don’t give me that sour look. I happened to notice the way he watched Lucy during the service this mornin’ when she got wiggly and began whisperin’ at you. Some folks frowned, but he was fightin’ a grin. Even here at my table, every time he looked at you wipin’ her mouth or holdin’ her cup for her, his eyes took on a warm glow. I could almost hear him wishin’ he was the one helpin’ that way.”
Amelia huffed and threw her hands wide. “Then why does he tiptoe around her as if he feared she carried the plague?” He did the same to her, which also stung. He was very polite, thanking her for preparing his meals, washing his clothes, or straightening his house. But he did so from a distance. Always stiff and formal. “The man has erected barriers around himself, and I doubt anyone will be able to penetrate them.”
Preacher Henry cleared his throat and set his coffee cup aside. “Miss Emmett, I’ve known Abe Early since he was a boy of fifteen. Even back then, he was taller than most grown men. You’ve heard of boys goin’ through a gangly stage during the years between boyhood and manhood? Abe Early was gangly an’ then some. Probably ’cause he shot up so fast. He had a hard time findin’ his footing, so to speak.”
Amelia tried to imagine Mr. Early as a smooth-faced youth, clumsy and awkward. Images of his chiseled features, broad shoulders, and determined stride intruded.
The preacher continued. “If someone was gonna knock over a cup of milk at a church potluck, it would be Abe. If someone was gonna send a basket of fruit sailing over the edge of a counter, it would be Abe. If someone was gonna step on a cat’s tail and send it yowlin’—”
The two Voths chorused, “It would be Abe.”
The preacher chuckled. “Poor fella just couldn’t seem to help it—his limbs flew out farther than he expected them to, I reckon.”
Mrs. Voth shook her head. “He took a fair amount of ribbin’ from the local youths because of his long shadow an’ the way he stumbled over his own feet. I can’t tell you how many times I heard his brother tease that if Abe ever married he better find himself a buxom girl who could hold up to bumps an’ bruises ’cause she’d probably get knocked down every time he went to hug her.”
“His own brother said such things?” Indignation stirred through Amelia’s chest. “Why was everyone so unkind to him?”
“Oh, now, honey.” The preacher’s wife squeezed Amelia’s hand. “I don’t think any of it was done in meanness. Folks tend to josh other folks. But I suppose, over time, some of the teasin’ started to feel like truth to Abe. An’ now he’s fearful of gettin’ close to somebody. Most especially a little somebody like Lucy. Or you.”
Heat attacked Amelia’s face. She clapped her palms to her cheeks. “Me?”
“Why, of course you.” A knowing grin climbed the woman’s cheek. “I’ve lived long enough to recognize when someone’s smitten. And you, Miss Amelia Emmett, are smitten with our Abe Early.”
How had she been so transparent? She’d tried mightily to hide her fascination with the tall farmer, a fascination that bloomed the moment she saw him kneeling at his brother’s graveside. And how could she reverse her feelings? Obviously they weren’t reciprocated, and she was only setting herself up for heartache if she couldn’t squelch her growing affection.
“Lizzie, you’re embarrassing Miss Emmett.” The preacher patted Amelia’s shoulder. “Never mind Lizzie’s speculations. She fancies herself a matchmaker and just can’t seem to help herself.”
Amelia sighed. “Unfortunately, Preacher Henry, her speculation about me is correct. I am smitten with Mr. Early.”
“I knew it!” Mrs. Voth clapped her palms together and beamed.
“But it’s pointless. He isn’t interested in caring for Lucy, and he isn’t interested in me.” Tears pricked her eyes. “If I had any sense at all, I would send a telegram to Miss Agnes and inform her that Lucy’s placement failed and return to New York as quickly as possible.”
Preacher Henry frowned. “But you said you’d cut your ties with the orphan’s home.”
How could she have forgotten? The orphanage was crowded enough with hapless children. Miss Agnes wouldn’t be able to take in an adult even if she had nowhere else to go. Amelia groaned and buried her face in her hands.
The preacher’s warm hand curled over her shoulder. “Now, don’t despair, Miss Emmett. You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need to. An’ there’s still a month until the circuit judge comes. A whole lot can change in a whole month.”
“That’s right.” Mrs. Voth caught Amelia’s wrists and pulled her hands away from her face. “We all know Abe Early is a good man who’d provide a lovin’ home for that little girl. He might be runnin’ scared now, but that doesn’t mean he can’t change his mind. All it’ll take is a little coaxin’ an’ a little teachin’ an’ a lot of prayers.”
Amelia managed a weak smile. “Well, if you folks are willing to provide the prayers, I’ll do my part to coax them together and teach him how to take care of Lucy.”
“An’ in case it don’t work out,” Preacher Henry said, “I’ll start spreadin’ the word about a little girl needin’ a home. That way you don’t need to worry any about Lucy, Miss Emmett. She’ll be cared for.”
Amelia nodded, but inwardly she cringed. Of course someone would welcome a sweet, adorable little girl into their home. But Amelia needed a home, too. Who from this little Kansas town would want to woo an old-maid, big-city woman?