Sitting on the sofa, Grace leaned closer to Ben and studied his stitches. Straight, even. Amazing. “You’ve done this before, jah?” “I’ve had plenty of practice.” He weaved the needle through the cotton fabric with ease and pulled the thread taut.
“And you made me show you how to thread the needle.” She shook her head.
“You can’t blame a man for wanting to get close to a woman.”
“I should have known.”
“You’re nett going to tell anyone mei secret, are you? After all, I might get invited to a sewing frolic.” He wiggled his brows at her.
“You’re . . . you’re—”
“Irresistible.”
“That’s nett what I was going to say.”
He shrugged. “It’s what your eyes said.”
She stiffened, then pinned him with a deadpan expression. He wasn’t going to get the best of her.
The playful flicker in his bright-blue eyes sent a chill skittering to her core. As he sat in front of the window, his blond hair shimmered with a halo, but he was no angel. He probably held every maedel captive with his smile back in Florida—here in Michigan too. Even Becky Lapp had been taken by his charm, and she was about to be proposed to when Philemon returned.
Grace cast her gaze across the room as warmth spread across her cheeks. Think of other things . . . The curtains were starting to look sun-faded. The windows had a thin layer of soot that would require full-strength white vinegar to get them clean.
He shifted on the sofa, glanced in the same direction, then continued to stitch the quilt block. “I know it’s tough to deny me.”
“You’re so full of yourself.” She quirked a brow. “I think you believe it too.”
He pushed the needle through the material, jabbed his thumb, and yelped. He boyishly shoved his finger in his mouth, then plucked it out and looked at it.
Grace resumed sewing. She wasn’t falling for his pretend injury.
After a minute, he picked up the block of navy-blue fabric with the needle hanging from it and continued to sew. “The first day I met you, I told Toby you were an icy one.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She pushed her sewing aside and stood. “I’m going to warm mei kaffi. Would you like another cup?”
He bit the end of his thread, then tossed the finished block on the pile. “I’m gut, Icy, but danki for asking.” He grabbed two more pieces of fabric and sandwiched a section of batting between them.
She took her mug and retreated into the kitchen. Icy one. She could only imagine what type of women he shared his time with, certainly nett someone with strong beliefs.
Aenti Erma looked up from the table. “I’m just finishing a letter to mei cousin.”
“Tell her I said hello.” Grace dumped the cold coffee from the mug into the sink, then put the kettle on the stove to boil.
Aenti folded the letter. “How are the quilt blocks coming along?”
“Gut. Ben can actually sew straight stitches. And he’s fast.” At more things than just sewing.
“It doesn’t sound like you need mei help.” Aenti smiled as she stuffed the letter into an envelope. “I think I’ll get supper started. Maybe you could invite Ben to join us.”
“Nay. I mean, Bishop Yoder and Mary are expecting him.”
Aenti licked the envelope and sealed it. “Maybe another time.”
“Jah, maybe,” she said, hoping to sound indifferent. She stared at the clear top on the percolator. Brew already, she silently coaxed.
“Why don’t you ask him over tomorrow nacht?”
“Tomorrow is Sunday.” The entire settlement spent the afternoon together fellowshipping after service, and usually they ate a big meal and heated leftovers at suppertime.
“I know what day it is.” Aenti lifted her brows. “I’m nett so old that I don’t remember Sunday singings.”
Grace snatched the kettle off the stove even though it hadn’t stopped perking. She filled the mug with weak coffee.
“I just thought it would be nice if you invited him—”
“Before someone else does?” Someone who didn’t limp. Grace picked up the mug. “We only have singings during the summer and early fall when the men are home. And since when do women ask the men to court?”
“I was only suggesting supper.”
Grace left the kitchen before her aunt got any more crazy notions. Even if Ben wanted to share a porch swing one evening, he would have two dozen unmarried women to choose from, so why would he pick her—the icy one?
Ben greeted her with a smile as she entered the sitting room. “I finished another block.”
She set the mug on the lamp table and picked up the blocks as she sat on the sofa. She studied his stitches. Some stitches were longer than others, but overall the spacing was good. “Nice work. When did you learn to quilt?”
“These are mei first blocks.”
She shook her head. Those were no beginner blocks.
“They are, really.” He reached for his mug and took a drink. “Mei father is a shoemaker, although most of his work consists of repairing old shoes. He taught me basic sewing, which until now, I didn’t have much use for.”
“You never mentioned working for your father. Only that you worked on a fishing boat and in landscaping. Did something happen?”
He flipped the material over in his hand and examined it as if trying to decipher between the right and wrong sides of the fabric.
Ach, you do have a weakness. She was going to draw attention to his avoidance, then chose not to. It took a long time after her mother died to talk about it. A moment of silence fell between them.
“Mei daed and I have never seen eye-to-eye,” he finally said. “I upset him when I didn’t want to be the fifth generation of Eicher shoemakers.” The sparkle in his eyes faded.
“Telling him must’ve been difficult.”
He nodded. “So was telling him that shoemaking was a dying trade. But it’s true. A person could buy three pairs of shoes for what it cost him to buy supplies for one.”
“I’m sure his shoes last longer.”
Ben sighed. “Mei father argued that point as well.”
She made a few stitches. “Is that why you left Florida?” When he didn’t answer, she looked up from her sewing and met his gaze. “Oooh . . . You’re hiding something, Ben Eicher. Don’t you know that every gut sewing frolic has juicy gossip to talk about?”
He cracked a smile, but only for a second. “Some things happened that I’m nett proud of.” He bowed his head. “I disappointed mei father—for the last time, as he put it. Then he sent me here.”
Grace recalled the disappointment she’d seen in her father’s eyes when she brought up the idea of seeing a specialist about her limp. Isn’t God’s grace sufficient for you? her father had asked, creating an abyss of guilt so deep, it swallowed her whole. After that, she avoided the subject of moving to Ohio, and even when her muscles grew weaker, she pretended to believe in God’s grace.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Ben said. “Nau that I’ve told you all that, you nay longer like mei character?”
“I hate to burst your bubble, but your character was a little sketchy to begin with. But that’s coming from an ‘icy one.’ ”
“I only said that because . . . well, you’re judgmental.”
“Nay, I’m nett.”
His brows shot up and his eyes widened.
“Okay, so I did judge you in the beginning. I thought you were a fence-jumper . . . And that you might lure LeAnn away with all that talk about the ocean. You don’t take anything serious.”
“I’m nett a fence-jumper, although I have thought about it, but I wouldn’t intentionally lure her away.”
“Danki,” she said with a smile. “LeAnn’s been talking about leaving since she turned seventeen last spring, and I find her gazing at the bus station every time we go into town. It’s been especially hard on her since our mother died. Aenti Erma has kumm every year to help while mei daed and bruders go to camp for the winter, but I think LeAnn’s convinced she doesn’t want to live in northern Michigan. It’s too desolate.”
“And you?”
“I don’t mind our small settlement. The winters are difficult with the men gone, but we manage. I’m sure Bishop Yoder is grateful that you and Toby are here and are available to help. He’s probably already told you about the lumber order that needs to be shipped by the end of next week. And once the men return with the fresh-cut timber, it’ll have to be debarked and rough cut. They timber a year in advance since it takes several months for the wood to be seasoned.”
“Jah, he mentioned it.” His expression sobered.
“Is something wrong?”
“Nay. Nothing.” He smiled, though it appeared strained and disappeared quickly.
“Shipments don’t always go as planned. The weather has a tendency to interfere.” She followed his gaze to the floor. What was he staring at, her shoes? Grace tucked them under her dress, but it was too late. Ben had slipped off the sofa and was bending at her side.
“May I see your shoes?”
“Why?” She slid her feet back against the sofa.
“Please,” he said. “I think I know what’s wrong with them.”
She did too. The wooden lift on her left heel was worn to a nub. But she sure didn’t want him inspecting them. And yet, he hadn’t moved from his kneeling position. The man was forward speaking, asking for her foot the way he had. Now he stared up at her with coonhound eyes. “You’ve teased me enough, Benjamin Eicher.”
“I’m a shoe repairman, Grace. I’m nett teasing you.”
She inched her good foot out from under her dress and gasped when he reached for her ankle.
Cradling her foot in the crutch of his elbow, he pressed the tip of her shoe, pushing first against her big toe, then worked his way across. “Nett much room. Do they feel tight?”
Did he really expect her to answer? She could barely breathe.
His hands moved to the back of the shoe, sending a parade of tingles that prevented her from concentrating on anything but the trailing sensations coursing along her nerves. He had unlaced her shoe and slipped it off before she could object.
He lowered her foot to the cold, plank floor and examined the shoe. His forehead crinkled. “No arch support to speak of . . . ,” he said, more as a note to himself.
The front door opened as Ben readied the shoe to slip back on her foot.
Humming softly, LeAnn entered the house. She removed her cloak, hung it on the wall hook, then, turning to face them, her jaw dropped.
Grace snatched the shoe from Ben’s hand and glared at him until he rose from his squatting position.
“It’s her left leg that gives her problems,” LeAnn said, stepping farther into the room.
Aenti Erma breezed in and wrapped her arm around LeAnn’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re home. I can use some help in the kitchen getting the meal ready. Ben, you’re welkom to join us for supper.”
“Danki, but Bishop Yoder and his fraa are already expecting me.”
“I hope you’ll plan on having supper with us another time,” Aenti Erma said.
“I’d like that.” He watched them leave the room, then turned to Grace. “I should probably go so I’m nett late.” He ran his hands down the sides of his pants as though drying them. “I could help you sew more blocks tomorrow, if you want.”
“Sunday service is tomorrow morning, and the meal afterward takes up the entire afternoon.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Do you already have plans for the evening?”
Sunday service was always shorter in the winter and early spring. With the ministers away at camp, there wasn’t anyone to read the Scripture. The group sang several hymns from the Ausbund, then Bishop Yoder combined the Scripture reading with his main sermon.
Grace shifted on the bench. This service was running longer, or so it seemed. Bishop Yoder tended to direct most of his sermon about living a godly life toward Ben and Toby, who sat attentively on the front row in the bishop’s sitting room.
Once the congregation was dismissed, the children went outside to play in the yard, Ben and Toby loitered in the sitting room with the bishop, and Grace followed the women into the kitchen. Everyone looked forward to the Sunday afternoon meal following service. The scent of roast beef made her mouth water. She stood at the counter beside Mattie. “Did you find anything out about your pie?”
“Nay, but I see plenty of desserts. I don’t think it’ll be missed.”
Grace removed the cover from a cheesy noodle dish, then handed it to Jenny, one of the teenage girls, to set on the table.
Mattie leaned closer and elbowed Grace. “Did you get much sewing done yesterday?”
“Jah, we did.” Grace stuck a spoon into the green-bean casserole. “I thought he was bluffing about being able to sew, but he can stitch a straight line.” She glanced over her shoulder into the sitting room at Ben. Some of the maedels who had finished setting the table were socializing with Toby and him. Her sister was one of them. A spark of jealousy niggled at Grace.
Aenti Erma tapped Grace’s shoulder. “Did you remember to bring the bread? I can’t seem to find it.”
“It must still be in the buggy. I’ll go get it.” Grace scooted outside without grabbing her cloak. If it wasn’t for the gusts of cold air sending a chill down her spine, she would have preferred to eat outdoors. A robin chirped on a nearby beech tree branch, a sure sign that spring wasn’t far away. Soon the lilacs would bloom.
Grace opened the buggy door. The bread wasn’t on the bench. She searched the floorboard and the back but didn’t find the loaves there either. It didn’t make sense. Closing the buggy door, she spotted a large set of footprints in the soft ground. Grace followed them. The tracks went from one buggy to the next. Some of the teenage boys had large feet; perhaps one of the boys was looking for a place to hide while playing hide-and-seek. Mitch had better not be one of them—the boys all knew not to play by the horses.
Grace reached the last buggy, but the tracks continued toward the horse corral. She rested her hand on her hip and scanned the area. No sign of anyone. She hiked over to the fence and crawled between the rails. This was foolish. Was chastising the boys so important that she would chance getting manure on her favorite Sunday dress? She had saved up for months to buy the plum-colored material, and she didn’t want it soiled. Something blue flashed in her peripheral vision. She turned in that direction and proceeded toward the barn.
The bishop’s barn was one of the few with a walk-out basement. She followed the slope of the concrete steps down the side of the barn and entered through the milking parlor. Her eyes needed time to adjust. The small windows near the ceiling were intended more for ventilation than a source of light.
Behind her, the door hinges creaked. Light flooded the area. She held her hand up, shielding her eyes, as a silhouetted form stepped forward.
“Grace?” Ben blinked a few times before his eyes adjusted to the dim light.
“What are you doing here?” Her voice cracked.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m sorry.” He crossed the empty parlor. The place looked larger without cows standing in the milking stalls. “So, what are you doing?”
“I was getting the loaves of bread—”
“From the barn?”
“Nay,” she said sharply. “From the buggy. What tore you away from the swarm of maedels?”
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I saw you leave the haus.” He stepped closer. “And I’m pretty sure you saw me wave at you from the porch.”
She cocked her head and shot him a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding glare before crossing the milking area and disappearing into the larger section of the barn where the horses were stalled.
He leaned against the barn wall and watched as she peeked stealthily around the half wall of the calf pen. The young calves met her at the fence and she gave them a scratch on their foreheads. They tilted their heads up and bawled when she left. The woman was on some type of mission. She went to the opening, which led to the hayloft, and looked up.
He joined her at the ladder. “You don’t think the bread is up there, do you?”
She angled her brow at him. “I thought I saw a man in a blue shirt,” she said, her focus fixed on the haymow. “I noticed muddy tracks near the buggies and I followed them here.” She placed her hands on the ladder rung.
He caught her wrist. “Are you serious?” He eyed her closely. She was. “Toby and Bishop Yoder are in the haus. And I’m nett wearing a blue shirt.”
“I’m just going to take a peek.” She lifted her foot to the first rung.
“Let me.”
Grace stepped aside.
Ben climbed the length of the ladder. Rays of sunlight shot through the cracks between the boards and motes of hay dust danced in the air. She hadn’t followed him up the ladder. She was a tough one to figure out. He climbed down. “Just a bunch of hay,” he said, taking the last step. She was inches from him and energy shot through him like he’d been infused with caffeine. He smelled a hint of laundry soap on her dress. On her kapp. “We should go back inside,” he said, warding off the voice in his head enticing him to kiss her.
“Jah, you’re right.” She turned.
His heart hammered hard. Fast. Blood whooshed in his ears as adrenaline fed his blood supply. He reached for her arm, swung her around, and lowered his lips to hers. Gentle at first, then unleashing what little reserve remained, he placed his hand on her back, pressed her closer, and deepened his kiss.
For all of a second, the tension drained from her body and she melted into his embrace. Then she broke from the kiss, breathless.
His throat dried and he swallowed. He tried to recall the bishop’s sermon. Godly living . . . avoiding temptation . . . Ben’s mind went blank.
“I didn’t . . . lure you out here.” She gasped ragged breaths as she stepped backward, every fiber in her body quivering from his touch.
“I know.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.
“Then wh-what was that—all about?” Her lips still tingled where he’d kissed her so completely as only a husband should do. He left her flushed with excitement and her speech muddled. “Answer me.”
He scratched the back of his neck.
She fisted her hands at her sides, ready to fatten those lips of his if he made an offhanded remark. “Ben Eicher,” she said through gritted teeth.
He shook his head and shrugged.
She spun around, heat blazing in her face, and fled to the door.
“Grace,” Ben said, trailing her out of the barn. “Don’t leave upset.”
He stole her heart and wrung the life from it all at the same time, and he didn’t want her leaving upset? She hurried across the yard.
“I didn’t mean to get you riled.”
She halted at the base of the porch steps and whirled around to face him. “Then you should have asked.”
His eyes shined with pride. “Okay,” he said with a nod. “Next time I will.”
“You shouldn’t assume there will be a next time.” She shot up the steps and pushed open the door. Considering the stares from some of the women, she should have taken a moment to catch her breath. Grace touched her prayer kapp. Thankfully it was still in place.
Grace moved quickly through the sitting room and into the kitchen. She found her aunt in the kitchen talking with Mattie and her sister-in-law, Susan. The way the women were fussing over Mattie, they must have figured out her secret. Grace came up beside Aenti. “I couldn’t find the bread.”
“I must have left it on the counter at home.” Aenti shrugged. “I don’t know what’s happened to mei memory.”
Grace placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head sideways. Her aenti’s memory was impeccable. She wasn’t fooling anyone.
“Here,” Aenti Erma said, handing Grace two plates. “Give one to Ben. You both must be starved.”
“Don’t forget these.” Mattie handed her two sets of utensils, smiling widely. Had they seen Ben and her leaving the barn together?
Ben entered the kitchen. He ran his hands down the side seams of his pants. “Mary sent me in here to get a plate.” He almost sounded apologetic.
“Grace?” Aenti said, giving her a gentle nudge. “Give Ben his plate.”
Grace handed him the dish and utensils without making eye contact. How could he eat? Her stomach was twisted tighter than a lid on a canning jar.
LeAnn breezed into the room. “I just heard you and Toby are going back to Florida. What time does your bus leave in the morning?”
Ben drew a deep breath and knocked on Grace’s back door. He hadn’t been this nervous standing on a woman’s porch in a long time. But since Grace had avoided him the remainder of the afternoon after their kiss in the barn, he wasn’t sure the supper invitation still stood.
“Ben.” Grace sounded surprised.
He shuffled his feet awkwardly when she didn’t immediately invite him in. “I, ah . . .”
Erma came up behind Grace. “Don’t leave Ben standing on the porch. Invite him in.”
Grace opened the door wider and stepped aside.
“I’m warming up meatloaf. I hope you’re hungry,” Erma chirped.
“Jah, it smells wunderbaar.” Ben stole a glimpse at Grace, whose furrowed brow and deep lines between her eyes were anything but inviting.
Erma turned. “Supper will be ready in ten minutes,” she said over her shoulder.
He cleared his throat, a noisy rattle rising from his chest. “You avoided me all afternoon.”
“Jah, I know.” Grace removed her cloak from the wall hook.
“Are you leaving?” He’d come to spend time with her, not her aenti.
She rushed out the door without giving him another look or taking time to put on her cloak.
He shot out the door behind her. “Grace,” he said, following her to the woodshed. “Didn’t we have plans this evening?”
“I assumed you had packing to do.” She stooped down at the woodpile and collected a few of the smaller pieces of kindling.
Ben squatted next to her and filled his arms with wood. “I was going to tell you tonight about mei plans to leave.”
“Tonight!” Her jaw tightened. “You kissed me—knowing that you were leaving.”
He nodded sheepishly. He’d berated himself over his actions all afternoon, starting the moment he saw the hurt in Grace’s eyes when LeAnn had asked what time his bus was leaving.
“Why? To brag to your buddies in Florida?” She shook her head. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” She marched toward the house, but stopped prior to entering and turned to face him, eyes glaring. “Jah, I do want to know—I deserve to know. Why did you kiss me if you knew you were leaving?”
Hurt flooded her eyes and he wanted nothing more than to tell her the truth. He began with a slight catch in his throat. “I wanted to know if there was a reason to stay.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits and she spun around.
Ben jostled the armload of kindling and, reaching for the doorknob, kept her from going inside. “I care about you.” His throat dried. Her maddening silence bored through him like acid. “Is there a reason for me to stay?”
She blinked, and for a moment, the lines between her eyes softened. But with renewed vigor, she straightened her shoulders and jutted out her chin. “Aenti Erma doesn’t like it when supper is delayed.”
She should have just kicked him—the air left his lungs as though she had. He opened the door and waited for her to enter. On his way into the kitchen, he tried to come up with an excuse to leave, but couldn’t. Perhaps after supper he would have the chance to sit with her on the porch. Beg for her forgiveness.
Erma carried the conversation throughout the meal, with exception to LeAnn asking about the length of the trip. Seated directly across the table from him, Grace refused to look him in the eye. The meatloaf settled in his stomach like a bag of cement.
Ben cleared his throat. “Danki for the meal,” he said to Erma.
“You’re welkom to join us anytime.”
He wished Grace had extended the same invitation. His hands turned clammy and he rubbed them on his pants. He looked at Grace, but she averted her gaze when he opened his mouth to speak.
Grace scooted her chair back from the table, stood, and started collecting the dirty supper dishes.
“I can get these,” Erma said, rising from her chair.
Ben rose, too, and picked up his plate. He followed Grace to the sink. “I’ll help.”
Erma set a stack of dishes on the counter. “If you two are going to redd-up the kitchen, I think I’ll sit in the other room and read.” She left the room, signaling for LeAnn to also.
“You don’t have to stay. I’m sure you have a lot of packing to do.” She lowered the dishes into the sink and started to fill it with water.
“I didn’t kumm with much.”
The sink hadn’t filled completely before she started washing the plates.
Once the dishes were rinsed, he dried them with a dish towel. “Where do you want these?” He motioned to the stack of plates.
“You can leave them on the counter. I’ll put them away later.” When she rinsed the last pan and handed it to him, their hands touched. She released the pan immediately and jerked her hand away. She busied herself by the stove, adding more slabs of wood, then placed a large pot of something liquid on the cast-iron surface.
“Do you have a few minutes to go for a walk or sit on the porch?” he asked.
“I don’t think that’s a gut idea.” She removed a wooden spoon from the drawer and stirred the concoction.
Ben tried to decipher the scent, but the best he could come up with was a liniment of some sort. Then he recalled the day he arrived and how she’d come out of the barn carrying a similar-sized pot. The kitchen stank that night, too, as she heated the mixture.
“What are you making?” He leaned closer to look into the pot.
“Nothing to eat.”
“I figured that. It smells like medicine.”
She stiffened briefly. “It is.” She resumed stirring and kept her focus on the pot. “I have problems with mei joints and this reduces the swelling.”
“You need a better pair of shoes.”
Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. “It’s more than just old shoes. I limp because one of mei legs is shorter than the other.”
“I know that. I looked at your shoes, remember?”
“Oh yes. The man who snubs his nose at repairing shoes inspected mine. I remember.”
Grace lifted the steaming pot from the stove and placed it on the wire rack. She removed a pair of tongs from a drawer and dipped them into the water. She removed the amber-soaked cloths from the pot and placed them on a plate. His eyes watered.
She picked up the plate. “Good-bye, Ben. I hope you have a safe trip.”