Zeke’s breath caught. Had Gracie intended to kiss him? Intended, because with what could only be bad timing, Patience had interrupted.
Longing had flashed across her face, followed by horror, and then embarrassment. With a gasp, Gracie had planted her cold hands against his bare chest, still warm from his shower—his heart had pounded—and shoved away. Before he could react, she’d lost her balance and tumbled the rest of the way down the stairs.
Zeke was pretty sure he was still sleeping, and what might have been a very pleasant dream had just turned into a nightmare with every thump, thump, thump as she fell down the stairs.
Backward.
On her rump. Mostly.
She made a quiet “eek” sound, but Patience made up for it in volume by screaming and bursting into tears. Make those ear-piercing wails.
Okay, this was real life. There was no way he’d imagine that noise.
He caught his breath, lurched to his feet, and started down the stairs, when a whole crowd—well, a small gathering—of Amish women all rushed to Gracie’s side where she was sprawled at the bottom of the stairs.
He turned tail and attempted to run for his room before the women saw him shirtless, in his pajama pants. But then his bedroom door opened, and Vernon stumbled out, in much the same condition.
“What happened?” Vernon blinked owlishly.
“Gracie fell down the stairs,” Zeke said simply. No need for embellishment.
“Gracie was in Zeke’s lap,” Patience declared loudly enough for the women gathered below to hear. “And he shirtless.” She held up her flashlight, shining it full on Zeke’s face and blinding him.
Danki, Patience. Zeke shut his eyes and sighed. Seth would be sure to send him away now. Maybe even all the way back to Indiana. And wouldn’t Daed love that? Zeke hadn’t even lasted twenty-four hours. He imagined his father berating him.
You’re reckless and have a complete disregard for the rules. And worse, you’re a goof-off. You’ll always be a goof-off.
He turned back toward the stairs to rebut the situation somehow. He tried to think what to say that wouldn’t get Gracie into trouble. Or him.
The women gathered below gasped, staring up at him. And Vernon. And Patience. All still in their nightclothes. And they gasped again.
Vernon had enough common sense to back away. Quietly. But at least he wasn’t spotlighted. A door shut.
“Patience, go get dressed.” Jon was still upstairs and now standing somewhere behind Zeke.
The flashlight slid away from Zeke.
With Daed’s harsh words still ringing in his ears, Zeke turned to face brother number twelve. Jon was at least partially dressed.
“It’s my fault. I tripped and started to fall down the stairs, and he caught me,” Gracie said, her voice strained.
Truth, but not the whole truth.
“Looks to me like he missed,” an unknown woman replied, and the whole group twittered.
And with that the tension was over.
Jon grinned and clapped his hand on Zeke’s bare shoulder. “Danki for trying.”
Zeke didn’t want them to believe a lie, but if he told the whole truth, it’d get ugly fast. And did everyone really need to know that Gracie apparently had intended to kiss him and Patience had not so conveniently interrupted?
He didn’t think so.
“Good thing he missed. Timothy wouldn’t have liked another man’s hands on his bride,” another woman said from the foot of the stairs.
Jah, danki for the reminder. Zeke’s heart folded in on itself.
It might’ve been his imagination, but it seemed a heaviness descended upon the household—a thick, dark silence. But before Zeke could figure out why that might be, someone giggled nervously.
And with that, the women’s conversation shifted to talk of Gracie—“Are you hurt, dearie?”—to the mystery of Timothy’s disappearance and when the wedding might be rescheduled when he was found.
Zeke aimed a probably sick-looking smile at Jon and headed back to his bedroom to get dressed. And take on the day.
After a good night’s sleep, at least he could assist with a barn raising with his wits in place, so long as he stayed far from Gracie.
And so long as Jon or Seth didn’t single him out to get his story of what exactly happened between him and Gracie. Because if asked, he would tell the truth and not lie, even though they might never believe his side of the story. What Amish girl would be bold enough to attempt to kiss a near stranger on the stairs in a haus full of Amish there for a barn raising?
The answer hit him with enough force to knock the air from his lungs.
A woman desperate for escape. Was she so desperate to not marry Timothy that anyone would do? Even a stranger from Indiana?
Oh, that hurt.
Gracie wasn’t really attracted to him. Any single, unattached male would do. He really was the loser Daed called him for falling for it.
Because it meant he was nothing more than a means to an end.
He’d still be her friend, but he’d guard his heart.
He didn’t want it trampled.
* * *
Grace’s body ached from head to toe, but since she could move, albeit slowly and painfully, she figured nothing was broken. Just bruised.
Kind of like her emotions.
She slowly got to her feet, every muscle and joint in her body protesting at the movement. Her cheeks burned, but not as hot as the shame filling her to overflowing, spilling out from her pores. She’d meant to apologize to Zeke for her behavior, and instead she’d made it ten times worse. A hundred times worse. Maybe even a thousand times worse.
Zeke would be ever so glad to return to Indiana and get away from the too-forward Illinois hussy.
But oh, why couldn’t a man like him have noticed her first? Asked her if she wanted to go on a buggy ride? Treated her like she mattered? And instead she got Timothy.
At least Mamm was happy. His parents were happy.
It was just that she suffered from…She sighed heavily. Cold feet.
Icy, cold feet.
Make that frozen feet.
“Does it hurt terribly, dearie?” Erma grasped Grace’s arm and held on as she shuffled her way into the kitchen, slower than the slowest snail would go. But bless her heart—she was doing it for Grace’s benefit, because even on her pokiest day, Erma walked fast. “Maybe it’ll help to put some ice on it.”
She’d pretty much have to pack her body in ice or take a handful of pain pills, but she deserved nothing less after her forward, foolish behavior.
But oh joy, there was still one cinnamon roll, waiting on the metal baking sheet on the table. Grace eyed it and inched closer, reaching out the arm that wasn’t gripped by Erma…
A bearded man grabbed the baked delight and turned away, adding insult to injury as Grace watched the very last melt-in-your-mouth piece of deliciousness get carried out the door. The whole reason why she had been hurrying in the first place.
She could’ve cried.
And that settled it. This whole thing was Erma’s fault. Because if she hadn’t brought cinnamon rolls, Grace wouldn’t have been hurrying; she wouldn’t have run into Zeke and almost fallen down the stairs and then gotten sidetracked enough to try to kiss him. Jah, it was all Erma’s fault.
Erma pulled out a chair and held on to Grace’s arm as Grace lowered herself into it; then Erma bustled to the freezer and pulled out a bag of mixed vegetables. “Where does it hurt most, dearie?”
Um, everywhere? But mostly her pride. And her conscience. But she couldn’t put ice on those. Nor on her bottom, which would likely be black and blue.
Grace waved it away. “I’ll be okay.”
Erma returned the vegetables to the freezer and then poured herself and Grace mugs of coffee and carried them to the table. She added cream and sugar. Sweet, but Grace didn’t like coffee. “Danki,” she murmured and tried not to grimace as she tasted the bitter brew.
The women, who’d arrived early, bustled around, carrying breakfast foods and drinks outside to a table that’d been set up from sawhorses and lumber. No more cinnamon rolls, but there were breakfast burritos, toast, hard-boiled eggs, cereal bars, fruit, bacon, and some fruit-filled pastries, as well as assorted juices and coffee to drink.
Jon, Vernon, and Zeke filed past to join the gathering crowd outside. Grace tried to catch Zeke’s attention to mouth her apology, but he wouldn’t look at her.
She couldn’t blame him.
Her eyes burned, and she swallowed at a stubborn lump in her throat. The coffee she’d forced herself to swallow didn’t stay put and she gagged. She slapped her hand across her mouth and raced from the room.
Every step ached. Her back, her neck, her rump, her…everything.
The first-floor bathroom was occupied, so she dashed upstairs. And barely made it. She didn’t even get the door shut, though she swatted at it.
Patience stumbled in and rubbed Grace’s back as she knelt on the floor, heaving and crying.
“Jesus, calm Gracie’s storm,” Patience prayed.
And the innocent words made Grace cry harder.
Lord, please forgive me for all my sins already this morning. Help me to make things right with everyone I wronged. Especially Zeke.
Oh, her behavior.
A fresh round of shame washed over her.
Patience dropped to the floor next to Grace and wrapped her arms around her.
So much for being strong for Patience. Maybe her sister was stronger than Grace thought.
Gracie twisted enough to wrap her arms around Patience. “Danki. Ich liebe dich.”
She rose to her feet, washed her face, and rebrushed her teeth; then she and Patience went downstairs together, hand in hand.
Some of the women were whispering together, hands over their lips, eyes focused on Grace as she appeared.
Patience released Grace’s hand and went to feed the peeping baby chicks in the boxes on the floor.
Erma wrapped Grace in a hug. “I wish I would’ve known, dearie. I never could drink coffee when I was in the family way. But Timothy’s mamm will be ever so glad to hear. Especially if he’s…gone.”
Grace stared at her. “Family way?” What? Why would they think that? Timothy and she had barely even kissed. Maybe only three times. And that wasn’t enough for…Oh. Oh no, no, no, no, no. Erma didn’t sound judgmental, but others would, even if it wasn’t true. Grace’s stomach roiled again. She swallowed the bile and made a second dash from the room.
* * *
Zeke helped the men as they used a pulley system to raise the prebuilt sides of the barn into the air. Then, as several men held the ropes in place, he and a few others shimmied up and started attaching the sides. Around him conversation hummed, and jokes were shared as well as good-natured gibes.
Zeke listened to the ebb and flow of conversation, present but not a part of the group. He missed joking around with his friends and coworkers.
Vernon seemed to be working in the same solitude but on the opposite side of the building, so Zeke couldn’t even talk with him. Not that he had any idea what they’d talk about. What could a known goof-off say to someone as perfect as Vernon? Except, maybe, ask him to share his secrets so Zeke could learn from them.
Zeke should’ve stayed home. Then he wouldn’t be used by a pretty girl desperate to escape. He wouldn’t be the laughingstock of the Lantz men. He and his younger brother and Kiah could be hanging out, having fun after work, and…
Kiah. Zeke lowered himself to sit on a beam and looked around the crowd of men. Surely, Kiah had to be there somewhere. But he didn’t see him. Very few men from Shipshewana were there. Just him, Vernon, and a couple of Mennonite men that Zeke didn’t know very well.
An Amish man down below started mocking a street preacher he’d heard in town. Something about how the tornado was Gott’s wrath. “The funny thing was he is a pastor at that there church the tornado destroyed. Made me think maybe Gott was judging him.”
Several of the Amish men concurred, but unease slithered up Zeke’s spine and he shuddered. The Englisch man who oversaw the boys’ ranch where Zeke volunteered preached about everyone needing to be saved. That it wasn’t based on works, or on who one’s family was, or on what religion you were, or on anything except the blood of Jesus. I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man comes to the Father, but by me. The verse was engraved on the front of the chapel at the ranch. It always made Zeke a bit curious. He and his coworkers always sat in on the sermons, but he never was brave enough to ask about what he heard. Especially since Amish generally believe salvation is based on church membership and works.
The Mennonite missionaries stilled. One stood on the beam up near the top of the barn and loudly cleared his throat. “Amish or Englisch, we all need to be saved. If anyone has any questions, come see me.”
“Or me,” the other Mennonite said.
The two missionaries exchanged glances and returned to work.
Zeke fought the urge to go over there. It’d be a bad move when surrounded by Amish men who’d agreed with the storyteller.
Below him someone muttered, “I’m Amish. I don’t need to worry about salvation.”
More murmurs of assent.
Zeke’s stomach twisted.
“I agree with the missionaries,” a quiet voice said behind Zeke. “Salvation is not so widely preached among the Amish, but it’s a fact. We need Gott, and He is calling for us to come to Him. There’s this Gott-sized hole in each one of us that no one can deny, if they are honest.”
Zeke’s Gott-sized hole responded with a tug and a rush of longing. But Zeke wasn’t sure who the man was talking to. No one answered. But maybe the loudmouthed ones below didn’t hear him. Zeke carefully swung a leg over the beam he was sitting on and swiveled around to face the thin, wiry guy he’d first seen at the public school yesterday morning. Gracie’s grossdaadi. And he was on the beam next to him, his pale-blue gaze focused on Zeke.
“Cliff Lantz. And you’re Zeke Bontrager.”
“Good memory.” Now that he was face-to-face with the pun-loving daadi, Zeke didn’t know what to say.
“I make it a point to remember people I like.”
People he liked?
“I remember you arriving. You were kind to the dog. Stood up to the man who kicked the dog. And returned him to his family.”
“And you named the horses and cows here.”
Cliff grimaced. “And the hog.” He glanced toward a tree, but other than a rope, nothing was there now. “Named her Crispy Bacon. She’s gone to the butcher. Guess she’s going to live up to her name. Tornado killed her.”
“I’m sorry. Loved the names you came up with, though.”
“How’s your stay so far? Any unmarried daughters?” There was a twinkle in Cliff’s eyes.
Zeke shook his head. “With twelve brothers, ain’t it a wonder?”
Cliff roared with laughter. “I knew I liked you.”
They both fell silent, working on the barn, for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Below them, the joking and gibing continued. Zeke eyed the missionaries. Could Gott really love someone like him? Someone his own daed couldn’t love? He longed for that unconditional love and acceptance. Something inside him urged him to seek the missionaries out. Would he have a chance to talk to them privately sometime? Maybe on the way home.
Then Cliff shifted. “I think I’m going to talk to one of those missionaries.”
Zeke puffed out a breath of relief. “I’ll go with you. If you don’t mind.”
“It’s easier with two, ain’t so?”
“Much.” Zeke swung down to the ground and headed in the direction of the missionaries. Vernon was already there. Huh.
Patience approached with two glasses filled with what appeared to be water. Probably had apple cider vinegar added to it like they did at home. Her eyes shimmered with tears. She handed a glass to Cliff, then turned to Zeke.
Zeke took a cup. “Danki, Patience. What’s wrong?”
“They say Gracie in family way. She not in way.”
She was pregnant? Zeke’s stomach twisted and cramped. Had Timothy forced her to…? His heart skipped a beat. She wasn’t with child. It wasn’t true. When she’d appeared to try to kiss him, she’d said, “I must be dreaming.” When Patience caught them, she’d pushed him away. He could hear the pain in her voice when she talked about Timothy’s behavior and her doubts. He thought of the curve of her assets in the windblown dress, and Patience’s obvious tears and denial.
A verse in Proverbs came to mind. He paraphrased it in his mind: A person with wisdom has patience. It’s in one’s glory to overlook an offense.
Distance was good for his sanity’s sake, but Gracie needed a friend and a listening ear. He’d just keep making it clear that he wasn’t here to date. And if it turned out she’d been trying to play a game with him, well, then Daed would be right if he called him a fool for falling for it.
Cliff stilled. He stared at Patience. “What did you say?” His voice was dangerously calm.
Zeke’s stomach roiled. A throbbing began in his temples.
Patience tearfully repeated it.
“That boy,” Cliff muttered. “That boy.”
Jah. Twelve brothers would be circling the missing groom.
If he was still alive.