Grace pulled her cloak tighter around her neck and stepped off the porch. The weather hadn’t warmed up much since this morning when she’d done the barn chores. At least the sky wasn’t overcast like it had been earlier. They didn’t need more rain.
Grace crossed the yard, walked past the lean-to, which was void of activity, and headed into the woods. The last time she had checked the sap buckets was when LeAnn had the flu. Grace recalled having to wade through a foot of snow to reach the maple trees that were tapped. Some trees had multiple taps and it took several trips to carry heavy buckets back. By the time she made a fire and boiled down the sap in small increments, her arms ached from constantly having to stir the thickening syrup. Later, she discovered the batch she had made wasn’t as sweet as LeAnn’s, which seemed to please her sister.
Grace spotted a white bucket hanging from one of the tapped red maple trees and cut through a patch of ferns to reach it. She peered inside the bucket. Except for a smidgen of watery sap, the bucket was empty. Perhaps the season had reached its end.
Branches snapped. Grace froze for a half second, then slowly turned around. She hadn’t heard of any bear sightings yet, but they were bound to be out of hibernation anytime now. Not that she would know what to do if she saw one. She couldn’t outrun a bear and it could climb to the top of a tree faster than she could. Grace scanned the woods. Nothing. A little more at ease, she moved to the next red maple. A much larger tree, it had two taps protruding from its trunk. The lower bucket empty, she rose to her tiptoes and peered over the rim of the second bucket just as a man’s voice called out her name.
Grace spun in the direction of the caller. She sucked in a sharp breath as the nearby pine branches moved. Ben emerged from the evergreens, brushing the pine needles off his pale-blue shirtsleeve.
“What are you doing here? I thought you went back to Florida,” she said.
He motioned to his boots. “I couldn’t leave wearing your bruder’s boots.”
“Really?” Grace shook her head in disbelief. “You missed your bus to return those old boots? I don’t think Emery would have missed them. Besides, he has another pair.”
“That’s okay. I had another reason too.” He kicked at a leaf on the ground.
Grace’s thoughts whirled in a million directions. “Did you and Toby decide to stay and help Bishop Yoder with the orders?”
“Toby went back.” Ben moved past her and over to the tree. He tipped the plastic bucket and looked inside. “That’s all the sap the tree puts out?”
“Ah . . . jah, this is the end of the season,” she said once Ben’s question fully registered.
Ben inspected the tree trunk. He touched an area where the tree had healed from a previous tap.
“Those marks are from a couple of years ago,” she said.
“How many times can you tap a tree?”
“Several, if it’s healthy. The red maples live to be well over a hundred.” She looked up at the branches full of new buds. “This one’s in gut shape. Our kinner will tap—I didn’t mean our—as in yours and mine.” She blew out a breath. Could she have sounded any more desperate? “Other generations, I meant to say. Nett our—”
A smile tugged at his lips and her thoughts flitted to his lingering kiss. Heat crawled up the back of her neck.
“I know what you’re trying to say.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Then why did you let me babble on like some fool?”
“You take things too seriously,” he said. “Don’t call yourself a fool. That’s far from the truth.” He mumbled something else under his breath. As his gaze traveled up the tree, his expression sobered.
The awkward silence gnawed at Grace. “You could have mailed the boots.”
“I suppose.” His lighthearted mood was suddenly missing as he continued to study the tree.
Perhaps it had something to do with why he didn’t return to Florida with Toby. “How long do you plan on staying in Badger Creek—nau that you’ve had the chance to return the boots?”
He motioned to his feet. “I haven’t given them back yet.”
Does that mean indefinitely? She stopped herself from asking. It didn’t matter. In another week or two, the men would return from camp and she and Aenti would leave for Ohio. “I suppose I’ll see you around,” she said, taking a few steps toward the path.
Ben caught up in a couple of long strides. “Where are you going? The haus is that way.” He motioned in the opposite direction.
“I thought I would find LeAnn collecting the buckets, but nau I’m thinking she went to her friend’s haus on the other side of the woods.”
“She didn’t.”
Grace stopped midstep and pivoted toward him. “You saw her?”
He nodded. “At the bus station.”
Her jaw went slack.
“I had no idea.” Ben lifted his arms, palms out. “That’s the truth, Grace.”
“Where did she go? Did she leave with Toby?”
He shook his head. “His bus had already left. I don’t think she was there for us.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I was sitting on the bench at the bus station reading a letter—when I glanced up, I saw her. She looked startled, and . . .”
“And what? Tell me, please, I need to know.”
“She was talking with an Englischer. His name is Clutch.”
“Clutch?”
“He works at the bus station.” A squirrel made a tsk-tsk sound and Ben paused long enough to look behind him. It flicked its furry tail, then darted along the length of a fallen log and disappeared into the underbrush. Ben turned back to her. “I didn’t get the impression she was waiting for a bus. I think she went there to see him.”
Grace put her hand over her mouth. Her father would be distraught over the news.
“She’s at the haus now,” he said.
“You made sure she got home safely? Is that why you didn’t leave?”
Ben bowed his head and shuffled his feet. The man was humble.
“Danki.” Grace drew a deep breath and released it. “Did you talk with her? Did she tell you what she was doing at the station—with an Englischer?”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t mei place to ask.”
“Well, it is mine.” She marched toward the house. Her sister had some explaining to do. Clutch. Who in their right mind would name their child after a piece of machinery?
“Grace,” Ben said, coming up beside her. “Everyone makes mistakes. I’ve sure made plenty of them.”
“What are you saying? I should let her ruin her life so she can learn from her mistakes?”
“I don’t know what I’m trying to say—except you don’t need to be so . . . judgmental. Understanding and forgiveness goes a long way . . .”
“Condemnation will push her farther away.”
When Grace’s eyes locked on his, it was as if God removed a veil from her eyes, and she sensed the depth of his pain. I disappointed mei father—for the last time, as he put it. Then he sent me here. She recalled Ben’s words and the same hurt in his eyes.
He looked away. “We should get going. I still need to speak with the bishop.”
A deafening silence fell between them as they continued the course. He kept his head down and appeared to be deep in thought. Reaching the house, Grace cleared her throat. “Would you like to kumm inside for a cup of kaffi before you leave?”
“Just kaffi? Nay cookies?” He protruded his bottom lip in a pout.
Grace smiled. “I think I can find you a few cookies.”
She led the way up the porch steps and opened the door. Voices came from the kitchen. Grace recognized Aenti’s, but not the man’s voice. Clutch? Had he come to visit LeAnn? Anger rose within her. She murmured a short prayer for the right words as she rounded the corner to the kitchen.
Seated at the head of the table, the man jammed a cookie in his mouth. The crumbs spilled onto his whiskered face and down the front of what looked like the same short-sleeved shirt Ben had worn the first day he arrived.
Aenti Erma made a nervous nod toward the man. “We have another visitor from Florida.”
A hungry visitor. The cookie jar was full this morning and now it had maybe a half dozen left.
“This is Gordon Wellford.” Aenti smiled warmly at the man, then turned to Ben. “He’s a long way from home. I told him your district was in Florida too.”
“Long way,” the man said, looking at Aenti as if for reassurance. “Long way from home?”
He didn’t know? Grace took a step farther into the kitchen, and the stranger snatched the cookie jar from the table and pressed it against his chest. She paused for a half second, and then, feeling his gray, wideset eyes following her across the room, she moved in front of the sink.
The floor plank creaked when Ben took a step.
Still clutching the jar, the stranger snapped his attention to Ben. His shoe tapped the floor.
“Hiya,” Ben said.
“Hiya,” he echoed. He tapped faster.
Ben inched into the room. “You’re from Florida?”
“Florida.” The man’s body rocked back and forth in the chair, while still tapping and still clinging to the cookie jar.
“Those are gut cookies, jah?”
“Jah.” Clenching the jar protectively, the tips of his fingers paled.
Ben eyed the man’s tapping foot. “How’s your fraa and kinner?”
Why was Ben asking him about his wife and children? Did he know the man? His face had day-old whiskers and the beginnings of a mustache, something all Amish districts forbade.
When the stranger didn’t answer, Ben continued questioning him in Pennsylvania Deitsch.
“Stop!” The stranger squeezed his eyes shut. “No more voices. No more voices. Tell them to go away.”
Grace inched closer to Aenti, then took her by the arm and led her over to the sink. “Where’s LeAnn?” she whispered.
Aenti leaned closer. “Fetching the bishop.”
“No more voices!” The man’s warning rang out.
Grace clamped her mouth shut and squeezed Aenti’s arm. She caught a glimpse of Ben, edging closer to them, his hands fisted at his sides.
“Gordon,” Aenti said in a soft tone. “Would you like me to make you something to eat? I could fry some eggs.”
His expression softened and he smiled almost childlike and nodded, tossing his matted, unkempt hair.
“Gut.” Aenti turned to Grace. “I’ll need some meat from the icehaus, and, Ben,” she said, turning to him, “I’ll need you to fetch more wood.”
The hairs on Grace’s arms stood on end—she wasn’t about to leave her aenti alone with the man. Grace widened her eyes at Aenti Erma, then nodded at the full woodbox beside the stove.
Aenti Erma nudged Grace’s shoulder. “Please run along, and be sure to show Ben where to find the special wood inside the shed. We’ll need a big armful to get a strong fire going.”
“Jah . . . okay.” She glanced at the man shoving another cookie into his mouth. At least he hadn’t noticed that the woodbox was full—not yet, anyway.