CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Higher, Daadi, higher.” Matty was about to climb on the table in his eagerness to decorate the next day.
Noah removed him firmly. “That’s high enough. The greens need to go under the light fixture, not on top of it. You don’t want to start a fire, do you?”
“No.” But he still looked yearningly at the top of the lamp. “But it would look pretty.”
“Looking pretty isn’t an excuse to risk a fire.”
“What would we do if our house burned down?” Mark’s eyes widened with fear.
“That’s not likely to happen.”
“Never? Are you sure?” Mark was being unusually persistent. Noah got down from the step stool to focus on him.
“Nobody can say never about something like that. But if it did happen, we’ve talked about how to get out of the house quickly, yah? Once we were safe, then we’d depend on God and our gut neighbors to help us build again.”
“Like when Daadi helped build that barn for Joey Fisher’s daadi,” Matty said. “That’s right, isn’t it, Daadi?”
“Yah, it is.” He’d sometimes thought the twins would be easier to take care of when they were older. Maybe that was true as far as diapers and bottles were concerned, but their constant questions about anything and everything really kept him on his toes.
Matty stood back, looking at the greens they’d put up in the kitchen. “Grossmammi will like the way it looks. It will make her want to bake Christmas cookies.”
Noah chuckled. “You have a one-track mind.” He ruffled Matthew’s hair. “It’s always on your stomach, isn’t it?”
Matty grinned. “I like Grossmammi’s cookies. And she lets us help with the snickerdoodles.”
“Yah, she does.” He looked thoughtfully at his sons. Was this the right time to bring up his determination not to rely on his mother so much? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give the boys a hint, anyway.
“Grossmammi has always done a lot for us,” he said. “I’m thinking now that you’re older, we can do more for ourselves.”
“But she likes doing it,” Matty said, his face serious. “She does. She told us so.”
Mark’s forehead crinkled. “I don’t remember her saying that.”
“Sure she did. One time when Elizabeth came over. I heard her say that Grossmammi shouldn’t have to do so much at her age, and Grossmammi said she wasn’t that old and besides, she liked doing things for us.”
Noah struggled to hide his amusement. If folks realized how much kids heard and repeated, they’d be more careful of what they said. Matty’s voice had mimicked both women perfectly.
“I’m sure she does,” he said, trying to get back to the point. “But that doesn’t mean we should take for granted all that she does. We should show how much we appreciate it, and we should do things for ourselves as much as we can.”
Matty wore his mulish look that said he was about to argue, but Mark spoke first. “Grossmammi does things for us because she loves us. So we should do things to show we love her, too.”
“That’s right.” Mark had simplified it perfectly. Raising kinder was a challenge, but it was wonderful satisfying when something went right.
They worked their way through the rest of the downstairs, and he listened to the twins’ chatter, thinking how fortunate he was to have them. Did Janie have any idea what she was missing? He’d like to be able to forgive and wish her well, but he suspected he’d be struggling with that for a while yet.
He tuned back in to the boys’ talk in time to hear Mark saying that Sarah had taught him a special trick to help him talk louder.
“She did? What is that trick?” Noah asked, intrigued.
“This one.” Mark stood up very straight and gave a big, exaggerated yawn. Then he said the first line of his poem so boldly Noah could hardly believe it.
“That is amazing,” he said. “You mean, just yawning like that makes you able to talk in a big voice?”
Mark nodded, solemn as could be. “It works. Sarah says it relaxes your throat.”
“Wonderful gut.” Noah patted his shoulder. He wasn’t sure whether Sarah’s trick relaxed Mark’s throat or gave him confidence. But either way, it had worked . . . yet another reason to be glad Sarah had come into their lives and to do what he must to keep her there.
Helping the boys carry the discarded branches out of the house, Noah headed on to the workshop, surprised to find the twins following him.
“You can go and play until lunchtime,” he pointed out.
They exchanged glances. “We’d rather help you,” Matty said, apparently speaking for both of them. “It’s more fun.”
After an instant’s surprise, warmth swept through Noah. Wasn’t that what every father hoped—that his sons would want to be like him? For the moment, at least, that was true.
“Gut, come on, then. We’ve got a little more work to finish today.”
Once in the workshop, he set them a couple of simple things to do, trying to imagine what would appeal to them. Matty, he knew, had less patience than Mark did, and he smiled to think about Sarah’s prediction that he’d be the salesman of the family. Every business needed someone to handle that side of it, he supposed.
It was nearly noon when he heard a car pull up at the shop and looked out to see Jeff Portman coming toward him. Opening the door, he welcomed him in.
“I’m wonderful glad to see you. Did the folks seem happy with the pair of rocking chairs?”
“What? Oh, yes.” Portman frowned. “That’s not why I’m here. I heard that you’re letting that harness shop in town sell your things for you. What’s the idea of that? We agreed that I’d be your sales point.”
The belligerence in Portman’s voice knocked him off his balance. Was that true? Had he broken the agreement they’d made?
A moment’s thought was enough to reassure him. They hadn’t even discussed such a thing. What’s more, he had Sarah’s written account of their agreement to prove it.
“I . . . I’m sorry if you think that.” Was he doing the right thing? He didn’t want to risk losing Portman’s business. It might be the best outlet he could find. “But we didn’t talk about that at all. I have the agreement we signed if you want to look at it.” He gestured toward Sarah’s file drawer.
“Agreement?” Portman’s voice rose. “We had an oral agreement. How do you think I felt when I saw you advertising your stuff and putting it in other stores? It doesn’t pay me to put in the effort to sell your things if you’re going to sell things out from under me.”
Noah took a step back, startled by Portman’s vehemence. What could he do in the face of that?
And then he saw his sons watching them. Seeing the man push him into an agreement he didn’t want to make. Mark had learned a lesson on how to speak up for himself. Did he have the nerve to do the same?
He took a deep breath, wondering what the man would think if Noah yawned in his face. Amusement trembled in him at the thought.
“I’m sorry you feel that way.” He said the words quietly. “And I will regret not working with you.”
For an instant Portman stared at him. Then his eyes dropped, and he shrugged. “Worth trying, anyway. Let me count out what I owe you, and then we can pick out a couple pieces to take back to the store.” He pulled a wad of bills from his pocket.
Noah gave him a receipt for the money, trusting Sarah would be satisfied with it, and Portman signed one of the consignment papers Sarah had made up. When Portman drove away a few minutes later with a bookcase and a small stand in the back of his car, Noah still felt a little stunned. He had nearly given in to the man, not wanting to risk one opportunity for another. He should have known that bargaining was part of any transaction. He shrugged, grinning, and pulled the boys into a hug.
“Denke,” he said.
Mark looked up, blinking. “For what, Daadi?”
“Your good example,” Noah said. “Komm, let’s fix our lunch.”
SUNDAY SUPPER WAS often a little later than during the week, at least on worship Sundays. Sarah had tried to persuade her grandmother to let her fix the meal, but that never seemed to work. Instead they worked around each other in harmony in the farmhouse kitchen, prepping the vegetables to go in with the pot roast that already simmered slowly on the stove.
“. . . so many people wanted to talk to you after worship,” Grossmammi was saying. “I should have stayed home with Ruthie so you could go and visit with them.”
“I enjoyed having a little more time with Ruthie and Mary.” And she felt quite sure that Grossmammi had enjoyed the inevitable chatter that took place among the women while they served the meal after worship. “She’s wonderful happy the midwife said she could sit in the chair a few hours a day.”
“We’ll have to keep even more of an eye on her,” her grandmother warned. “She’ll not be content until she can come downstairs.”
“No, I suppose not. She wants to get back to taking care of this little girl.” Sarah smiled down at Mary, who sat at the table engrossed in rolling out a piece of noodle dough with her tiny rolling pin.
The much-handled dough was turning soft and sticky from the warmth of Mary’s hands. She gave it a pat as she’d seen Sarah do, and it came away, clinging to her fingers. She grabbed at the dough, getting it onto her other hand so that they stuck together. Mary stared at her hands in perplexity for a moment and tilted her face up to Sarah, lighting up with laughter.
Sarah’s heart turned over, and yearning welled up in her. Where had it come from, this sudden longing to have a child of her own? She’d thought when she came home that she’d be content to live single, independent, and on her own.
Noah slid into her thoughts despite her determination to keep him out. Maybe that was all of a piece—her growing affection for the twins, the fierce attraction that had led them so close to an embrace, even this yearning for a child.
Sarah yanked her thoughts away forcibly. She’d had her two days away from Noah and had thought it was helping. And then it jumped out at her when she wasn’t looking, all because of Mary’s laugh.
“Let me help, sweet girl.” She took the sticky hands and rubbed some flour into them, peeling off the dough. No sooner had she gotten it into a ball than Mary snatched it, eager to do the whole thing again.
“Sarah? Did you hear what I said?”
“Sorry, Grossmammi. I was helping Mary. What was it?”
Her grandmother dropped a couple of handfuls of potatoes into the pot and turned back to her. “I said, did Nancy tell you that Janie Burkhalter’s daad and cousins are part of her community?”
Sarah’s mind raced. How much to admit?
Her grandmother saved her the trouble. “Don’t you go thinking you can pull the wool over my eyes, Sarah Grace Yoder. I can see you heard about it.”
“Yah, Nancy did tell me. It makes me wonder if Janie is out there someplace, too.”
“Did you tell Noah what Nancy said?” Her grandmother was determined to know the whole story, but at least she was safe. No one would hear anything from her.
“I felt I had to. Now I don’t know if I did the right thing or not. Maybe he’d have been happier not knowing.”
Her grandmother shook her head. “He’d have heard anyway, what with Margaret Esh knowing about it through her cousins. That woman has a tongue that won’t quit. But she said something else.” Her clear blue eyes clouded. “She said folks have noticed that Amos has been going to the hospital over in Standish.”
Sarah’s startled gaze met her grandmother’s. “It doesn’t have to have anything to do with Janie. It might be Amos is going for treatment, or tests, or something.”
“Yah. Or it might be Janie.”
“There’s no way of knowing if Janie really is there,” Sarah argued. “It’s all just speculation, ain’t so?”
Grossmammi shrugged. “Gossip, and plenty of times it’s all wrong. But sometimes it’s true.”
Sarah’s throat went tight with strain. “I don’t want to be the one to tell Noah. Not again.”
Her grandmother rounded the table to put an arm around Sarah’s waist. “Tell me, child. You have feelings for Noah, ain’t so?”
Sarah turned her face away, unwilling to meet those wise old eyes. “We’re friends. I . . . I care about him and the boys. I know it can’t go beyond that.” Please, don’t ask me anything else. Please don’t read my heart.
“It’s hard sometimes to understand God’s doings.” She gave Sarah a squeeze. “This is one of those times. All we can do is trust His plan.”
Sarah nodded, her heart full.
“Anyway, most likely you won’t have to tell him. His brother’s wife was right there in the kitchen when Margaret’s tongue was wagging. She’ll tell him soon enough.”
She’d think that would make her feel relieved, but it didn’t. How could it, when she knew this news would make the grief in Noah’s life even worse?
AS SOON AS she reached the shop on Monday, Sarah realized that Noah knew. He glanced in her direction without meeting her eyes, gave a curt nod, and turned back to his work. Feeling as if she were walking on shattered glass, Sarah hung up her coat and went across to her desk.
A note, scribbled in Noah’s hand, lay atop the ledger. It was a consignment form signed by Jeff Portman for two more items.
Ordinarily she would make some comment on that, but a glance at Noah’s face discouraged her from speaking. He looked as if he wore a mask—a stiff, solid mask that froze his features and hid whatever he felt behind an implacable barrier. No, it was best just to get on with her work. He’d have to figure out how to handle this situation himself.
But her heart ached for him.
She filed the note about the consignment pieces and brought the ledger up-to-date with the sales he’d recorded on Saturday. Then she was free to return to the finishing work.
That was proving far more enjoyable than she’d thought possible. The lure of bringing out the beauty that existed in Noah’s fine work was incredibly strong. Seeing the grain of the wood glow under her polishing gave her a sense of accomplishment that book work could never do.
When she’d finished the fine sanding on the current piece, she paused. Ordinarily she’d ask for instructions before moving on, but Noah’s expression still didn’t encourage it.
He looked up abruptly, as if he’d felt her gaze on him. “What is it?”
“I thought you’d want to check this before I go on to the emery cloth.” She took a step back away from the workbench, giving him space.
She needn’t have taken the precaution. Noah obviously had firmly in mind the need not to touch her. He came to the other side of the workbench, running his hand slowly over every inch of the small cabinet. His eyes closed at one point, as if he were reading the wood through his fingers.
“There. You’ll need to give that another going-over. Then you can go on to the emery.”
Sarah touched the place he’d indicated, feeling the slightest roughness he’d caught.
“Yah, I see what you mean. I’ll take care of it.” Did she dare venture something light? “That’s what it is when you have untrained labor.”
The slightest tremor seemed to break through his barriers. “You’re doing all right,” he muttered, and went quickly back to his work.
Sarah followed suit, thinking she should have kept her mouth shut. But how could she know whether it was better to let him brood in silence or try to speak normally?
As they continued to work, she eyed Noah covertly from time to time, her heart hurting from the pain that was obvious in his shuttered face. How could he have reacted to learning not only that his wife might be ill but that everyone in the community was talking about it? For such a private person, that would be doubly painful.
Sarah tried to focus only on the movement of the emery gliding along the grain of the wood, but it seemed she was extraordinarily sensitive to Noah’s every movement. She wouldn’t have thought his face could tighten any more, but it had, and even his movements, usually so sure and deft when he worked, had become taut and jerky. Even as she watched the tool in his hand slipped. He let out an involuntary sound.
She had crossed to him before she realized what she was doing. “You’re hurt. Let me see.”
Noah turned away, hunching over his injury like a child unwilling to have a cut tended. “It’s nothing. Leave it alone.”
If he wanted to act like a child, she’d treat him like one. “Stop that. I can see the blood, and you’re not helping by grabbing it that way. Now come to the sink and let me wash it off.” Grasping his arm, she piloted him across to the small sink in the corner. He could have pulled away, but he didn’t, which was a small gain, at least.
Taking his left hand in hers, she ran water over the cut gently, wiping away the blood, and gave a sigh of relief. Not deep, thank goodness. Experience with the many ways her brothers had found to damage themselves told her it wouldn’t need stitches.
“That’s not too bad.” Quickly she made a pad from a small towel and pressed it firmly against the cut. “Can you hold that on? Do you have a first aid kit?”
He actually managed the beginnings of a smile. “In a workshop? For sure. It’s on the bottom shelf.” He nodded toward the cabinet that held the coffee fixings.
Sarah managed to persuade Noah to sit down by the simple expedient of pushing the chair against the back of his legs. Carefully she removed the pad just enough to see if the cut was still bleeding. It seeped blood, but the initial flow had stopped, and the edges of the cut didn’t gape. Good news, she knew, but probably small consolation. Even a minor injury could be a problem to someone who worked with his hands.
Returning the pad to its place, she opened the first aid box. Iodine seemed to be the only choice, but there was an assortment of bandages. She held up the bottle. “What do you think? Are you ready for this?”
He gave a short nod, and she went on talking as she wiped the cut and then dabbed it with iodine. He jerked involuntarily but didn’t speak, and she hurried, hating to hurt someone who was already hurting. Then for the bandage. Mindful of the way Noah used his hands, she folded a thick pad to cover the area, holding it in place with tape.
“There, that should do it.” Sarah began putting things back in the first aid box.
He turned his hand, flexing it as if to be sure he still had movement despite the bandage. “You a nurse in your spare time?”
“I told you—my brothers were experts in damaging themselves, and my mother taught me early how to cope. Sometimes I’ve wondered if she sensed I’d be taking care of them.” A flicker of regret went through her.
Would it be worse for the twins, never having known their mother, than it would be to lose a loved one? She couldn’t tell.
“It’s useful, anyway.” He started to rise. “I’d best get back to work.”
“How about a cup of coffee first?” She gestured toward the pot on the stove. “Give it a few minutes so we know it’s not going to start bleeding again.”
To her surprise, he nodded without arguing, and she fixed the coffee quickly, bringing his to him and then fixing a mug for herself. She tilted it up, inhaling the warmth. She didn’t know about him, but she certainly needed a moment to relax. Taking care of his injury had been an intimate action. She hadn’t felt it at the time, engrossed in what had to be done, but now she replayed the feeling of his hand in hers.
They drank without talking, mainly because she couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t risk showing what she was feeling.
“Denke,” he muttered finally. “Sorry I acted like a child.”
“We all revert when we’re hurt, I think.” She hesitated, wondering if she ought to bring up the subject that was on both of their minds.
“I guess you heard what folks were saying at worship yesterday.” He brought it up for her.
“Yah. Well, I was home with Ruthie, but my grossmammi was in the kitchen, so she heard. She says some folks just can’t help babbling anything they hear.”
He nodded, staring absently at the bandage on his hand. He didn’t speak again for a long moment, but eventually the words seemed to spurt out as if a dam had been breached.
“That’s what it was like when Janie left. Talk, talk, talk. All the time. Everybody asking questions, telling me they were sorry, wanting to comfort me. I just wanted them to leave me alone. And now it’s happening again.”
“I’m so sorry.” That was inadequate, but it was all she could find to say.
“I figured it was over with finally.” He didn’t seem to be aware of her. It was as if he were speaking to himself. “People got used to it. They stopped talking. I figured we could just go on with our lives and maybe someday I’d hear something about Janie. But I didn’t expect it now.”
It would have been hard on anyone, of course. But for a man as private and self-contained as Noah, it must have been twice the nightmare.
“I . . .” She didn’t want to repeat that she was sorry. “It must have been so painful when she said she was going away.”
Noah seemed frozen for an instant, and then his face came alive with anger. “She didn’t tell me. That would have been bad enough, but she never said a thing. She just left. I was in the shop, working. I came in for lunch never imagining such a thing. I heard the babies crying upstairs. I went up, wondering why she wasn’t going to them. And they were all alone. She wasn’t there.”
Her heart twisted at the thought of the twins crying and no one hearing. “How . . .” How could she, that was what she wanted to say, but better not to.
“I didn’t realize at first.” He seemed to take it as a question. “I called to her, tried to comfort the boys, and finally went all over the house carrying them. She wasn’t anywhere. I panicked. Thought she was hurt, abducted, who knows what. The family came right away to help. Mamm and my sister took the babies, and the rest of us searched, thinking she was somewhere fallen, hurt . . . Then Mamm said I should check the bedroom, just to see if there was any clue. So we looked. All Janie’s clothes were there. All of them. And I found a couple of plastic bags. They had receipts for clothes—Englisch clothes. She’d gone.”
Her heart seemed to be breaking in tiny pieces for him. “She didn’t tell you why?”
“Nothing. Not a note, not anything. Her daad seemed as much in the dark as any of us.” His face changed. “But maybe that wasn’t true. He knows now, anyway, doesn’t he?”
“I guess so.”
She wondered what kind of a man Amos was. She tried and failed to remember him. Most likely he hadn’t known then—it was hard to believe anyone would connive at that sort of disappearance—but certainly it seemed he knew now. Noah would have trouble forgiving that.
Noah rose suddenly, startling her. He moved his shoulders as if shrugging something off. “Funny. I haven’t told anyone that story in the past five years. Feels good to get it out.”
Sarah managed to smile. She was glad Noah was relieved to shed a little of his burden. But now it seemed to be settled on her.