Grace dashed into the kitchen to find the iron skillet on the floor in front of the stove, halfway between Mammi and a Mennonite man she didn’t know standing in the open doorway. Another man who appeared to be Amish stood in the shadows behind him. And behind the second man, Vernon. Mammi stared, unmoving, holding a rolling pin as a weapon. Had she dropped the iron skillet when the men appeared, or had she flung the iron skillet at the man? Or men? More importantly, had Mammi lost her mind?
Grace bent and picked up the skillet, setting it on the stove. She turned to the men. Someone had to be hospitable. She winced at the memory of Vernon’s last words and threats and the realization these men might be here to send Zeke home, especially if Vernon’s self-satisfied smirk was any indication. She added a quick prayer for sanity since this situation couldn’t get any weirder with Zeke’s kisses still burning her lips, Timothy upstairs, and Mammi threatening violence. Although, she’d like to toss the skillet at Vernon and knock the smirk off his face, too. But instead of being impulsive, she took the high road and pretended everything was fine. “May I help you?”
The first man didn’t look away from Mammi. Apparently she was the larger threat. “Daniel Zook, miss. We’re here to speak with Ezekiel Bontrager.”
Oh. Judging by the first man’s grim expression and Vernon’s folded arms, it wasn’t for a good reason, either.
Could she lie and say he wasn’t here? She picked up the clean clothes, returned them to the laundry basket, and moved it to a chair.
But no. Lying would be a sin, and not only that, Vernon was here and he’d know…not to mention Mammi would scold her for telling falsehoods.
“Um, take a seat on the porch,” Grace said. It was chilly outside, but since Mammi was armed with a rolling pin and possibly throwing dangerous frying pans, it somehow seemed the best place for them. “I’ll get him.”
“I’ll get him,” Timothy said rather sharply.
Grace whirled to see him standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She fought a giggle at how absurd this whole situation was turning out to be. If only now she could be dreaming. But no. Instead, storm clouds gathered, dark and scary looking, on her personal horizon.
The look Timothy gave her was downright possessive. As if now that he’d caught her in an embrace with another man he suddenly found her desirable. But now that she’d had that embrace, she could never say the same about Timothy.
Lord, get us through this storm. And if I can marry the man I love, I’ll never doubt Your ability to calm storms again. A weird sense of peace in the middle of it filled her.
She puffed out a breath. “Danki, because I have pies to make.” Despite the faint sense of peace, she desperately grasped for some anchor of normal in the middle of this swirling storm.
Timothy nodded and turned away, retreating upstairs. The three men returned outside. And instantly, she had more breathing room.
“Oh, and Mammi? Daadi Cliff sent ground lamb for supper. I think Bishop Nathan is coming because daadi requested cherry pies.”
And oh, please, Lord, let me have a chance to talk to him before Timothy does.
She set the package of meat beside Mammi on the counter.
Mammi made some sort of weird noise and didn’t move. She kept staring at the porch window. The men were still visible, making themselves comfortable on the porch furniture.
“Mammi?” Grace waved a hand in front of her face to end the statue pose.
Mammi shook her head. Hard, as if to clear it. “Bishop Nathan. Right. He’s especially fond of shepherd’s pie.”
“Daadi Cliff requested a few cherry pies, too. I’ll get started on that,” Grace repeated, in case Mammi hadn’t heard her the first time. She carried the canister of flour over to the table.
Timothy appeared in the doorway. His gaze pinned Grace’s. “I told Zeke some guys are here for him, but he’s taking a shower first. Hopefully, it’s a cold one.”
Grace’s face burned.
Mammi ignored him. “How many did Cliff invite for dinner exactly?”
“I don’t know,” Grace said.
“Me.” Timothy pointed to his chest. “He said Gracie and I need to talk about our wedding plans.” He raised a brow.
Grace sagged and braced her hands on the table. A storm raged to life inside her, a roaring noise in her ears just like that tornado, twisting, twirling, and wreaking havoc. A flash flood threatened to flow from her eyes. Dear Jesus, no. Please calm the storm. She hadn’t actually thought of Patience’s prayer until it emerged.
She closed her eyes for a moment as the prayer emerged, then opened them to look the source of the storm in the eye.
“And I can see we have plenty to talk about,” Timothy added glumly, maybe a bit of hurt in his voice, still staring at Grace. There was also a glint of jealousy in his eyes and a silent promise of punishment or a lecture later that she rebelled against.
“Jah, we do.” Grace opened her mouth to let loose with a torrent of words, starting with the obvious Where have you been, and why did you pretend—
Be still, and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the heathen, I will be exalted in the earth.
A verse from Psalms dammed the words on her tongue.
Be still? When Zeke had told her to talk to Timothy and she had so much she wanted to say. Not the least being, Please, let me go. Release me.
Timothy sat at the table and stared at her. He said not a word.
But then, neither did she. At least not verbally. She dumped ingredients in the bowl and mixed the dough. She still didn’t have any answers. She picked up Mammi’s rolling pin weapon and applied it to the dough. Be still. Impulsive is so much easier. She bit her lip and pressed down; then a noise caught her attention.
Zeke emerged, hair damp, in clean clothes, and carrying his packed bag.
Her heart lurched, and the storm swirled again. Oh, dear Lord…
“They’re on the back porch,” Timothy said.
Zeke stopped, shook Timothy’s hand. “I wish you every happiness.”
He glanced at Mammi, who’d finally started to brown the ground lamb, then looked at Grace. “Danki for your hospitality.”
Timothy snorted.
Shadows filled Zeke’s eyes as he gazed at Grace. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbed, and his jaw firmed. “I’ll think of you on Thursday. I’ll, um, never forget you.” His voice was raw.
She whimpered. Only their audience kept her from launching herself at him. And that was by a badly fraying thread.
Is this it, Lord? Did you want me to come to a complete and total end of myself? Well, I have. Now what? Will you finally calm the storm, or will it be like the other two times when the tornado destroyed our barn and Jon almost died? How am I supposed to be still? How are You exalted in any of this? She’d prayed the first part of the prayer twice before, but He hadn’t answered. There was no reason to expect He would now. Well, the tornado had postponed the wedding and brought Zeke here, but what good did that do her now?
Tears blurred her eyes as Zeke moved toward the door.
A car pulled into the driveway and parked behind the missionary’s van.
Zeke stepped outside.
Grace gulped and ran after him, ignoring the floury mess on her hands. If there were some way of stopping this…
Daed emerged from the van. He paid the driver, then stooped to pick up Timothy’s rusty green bicycle from where it lay in the yard. He pushed it far enough to lean it against the haus.
Slush howled and ran from the barn, launching himself at Zeke as the driver left.
And Zeke stumbled to a stop as he glanced at the trio waiting on the porch. “Daed?”