Emma was standing at the stove frying bacon and scrambling eggs when Joseph knocked on the back door. He came inside when she called out to him, but he stood in the doorway between the mudroom and the kitchen, as if he was unsure what to do next.
Glancing his way, Emma could see he’d attempted to wash, though the water outside must have been quite cold. His hair, several inches too long, was combed down. He’d also put on a different shirt and pants, so he must have had at least two sets. He didn’t look particularly healthy—a little too thin and a little too pale. But he didn’t appear to be sick either. Mostly, he gave the impression of a lasting misery.
Mary Ann shuffled into the room as Emma carried the plate of bacon to the table. They had spoken earlier about Joseph, when they’d each had their first cup of kaffi. She had told Mary Ann about their late-night meeting. Mary Ann approved of Joseph staying and even had some ideas of chores he could do.
“You must be Joseph.” She patted the seat beside her. “Sit. Sit and eat. Do you drink kaffi or milk?”
“Either is fine.” Joseph didn’t make eye contact with Emma or Mary Ann. Instead he stared at the table. His stomach growled when Emma set the bacon in front of him, causing Mamm to laugh.
“The sound of a growing boy is a blessing indeed. Ya, Emma?”
“It is, Mamm.” She placed kaffi and milk in front of him. He reached for the milk and then stopped himself, tucking his hands under the table.
Emma returned with a plate of eggs and biscuits.
They bowed their heads, and Emma silently prayed for Joseph. How long had it been since she’d been so worried about someone else? Someone outside of their family? Yet it seemed God had brought Joseph to them for a reason. After all, he could have stopped at any barn. She prayed for wisdom, for guidance, and that Joseph wouldn’t decide to run when he learned what chores he’d be doing.
Mary Ann reached for a hot biscuit, breaking it open and releasing steam and the rich, yeasty smell. “My dochder makes the best biscuits around, Joseph. And her pies are gut too.”
Joseph watched them begin to eat, then hesitantly reached for his glass of milk and downed it in a single long drink. As Mary Ann passed him each plate, he took a minimal amount. Emma could guess easily enough that he wanted more. The child had manners.
“It’s only the three of us, Joseph, and I cooked extra for you. Fill your plate.”
He wasn’t speaking much, but then again, he was completely focused on his food. She let him enjoy the meal, then refilled his glass of milk and cleared her throat.
The massive amount of calories he’d just consumed would be hitting his stomach, so she guessed he’d be less likely to put up too much resistance when he heard their plans for the day.
She thought about offering him some of the lemon cake.
In the end, she decided the extra sugar might push him over. The last thing they wanted was him in the bathroom chucking up his first meal in several days.
“Let’s talk about your situation, Joseph.”
Mary Ann had moved to her rocker in the corner of the kitchen and was leafing through her Bible. She acted as if she wasn’t listening, but Emma knew she’d hear every word they said. And she’d jump in if needed. Bolstered by her presence, Emma ignored the panic on Joseph’s face.
“I gather from what you said last night that you’re not ready to return home.”
“I’m never going back there.”
“Never is often longer than we imagine,” Mary Ann said.
“It’s not something we need to decide now. But there are a few rules you’ll need to agree to.”
Joseph’s glance darted left, then right, but he remained in his seat.
“First, you do the chores I ask of you. There’s not a lot of work around here, but there are some regular tasks you can help me with. Once those are done, there are a few things I’ve put off since my husband passed.”
“What if I don’t . . . don’t do them well enough?”
Joseph was talking to the table, his eyes glued to the spot where his plate had been before Emma set it in the sink.
“Will you do them to the best of your ability?”
“Ya.” He raised his eyes to hers, then flicked his gaze toward the back door. “’Course I will.”
“Then it will be done well enough.”
Joseph shrugged, but Emma thought she detected a small light of hope in his eyes.
“I will not tolerate alcohol or smoking in my barn. Drink too much and you could knock over a lantern. Leave a cigarette smoldering, and we could lose the entire thing. I understand that you’re on your Rumspringa—”
He flinched at the word.
“A phone, something like that, is your decision to make.”
“How would I pay for a phone?” He looked as if Emma had suggested he purchase an Englisch car.
She waved away his question. “What I’m trying to say is that I understand the difficulties of your age, but I won’t allow the drinking or the smoking. Any sign of that, and you’ll have to move on.”
Joseph hunched his shoulders and jerked his head up and down at the same time. He resembled a box turtle, which would have been funny if the expression in his eyes hadn’t tugged at the heart so fiercely.
“There’s only one other thing, and I expect you won’t be happy about it. Can’t be helped though.”
“Why won’t I like it?”
“Because it involves our bishop. I gather you’d rather others not know you’re here, but I have a responsibility, Joseph.”
“What will the bishop do?”
“Simon is a fair man. I expect he’ll want to meet with you, and then he’ll probably insist on contacting your parents.”
“My parents?” Joseph jumped up, and the sound of his chair scraping against the floor echoed across the kitchen. “My parents don’t care. They don’t want me, they don’t miss me, and there’s no chance they’d insist I come home.”
She doubted that was true, but telling Joseph that would make matters worse. “We’ll have to trust that Simon does the right thing, the best thing for everyone involved.”
“What if he makes me go back?”
A sigh escaped from deep within her. “No one can make you do anything, Joseph. Unless you’ve broken the law—”
“I haven’t!”
“Then there’s no need to worry. You’re welcome to stay here, but my responsibility is to notify our bishop and then trust his decision on whether to contact your parents.”
Joseph rammed his hands into his pockets. “What chores did you want me to do?”
“Are you gut with horses?”
“Ya.”
“Then let them into the field and clean out their stalls. Once you’re done with that, give them a gut brushing and check their hooves. All the supplies, including a hoof pick and conditioner/sealant, are in the barn.”
He nodded once, brown hair flopping into his eyes, then turned toward the back door.
“God’s mercies are new every morning, child.” Mary Ann’s voice was as soft as the May breeze coming through the kitchen window.
“I don’t know anything about that.”
“Perhaps you will learn.” Mary Ann reached for his hand, patted it once, and beamed at him.
“We’ll have sandwiches for lunch. I’ll ring the outside bell when they’re ready.”
Joseph had no response for either of them. As he clomped through the mudroom and down the back porch steps, Emma watched him from the window.
“What happened to him, Mamm? What could cause such bitterness in a fellow his age?”
“Many things are capable of wounding a young man. Maybe the cause isn’t as important as the cure.”
“And what would that be?”
“What you’re doing—a place for him to rest, a full stomach, prayers that he find his way.”
Emma hoped her mother-in-law was right. It had been years since she’d had a teenage boy under her roof. If she remembered correctly, it wasn’t all pansies and roses.