Kent County, ten months later
Grace pulled her car into the driveway and parked under the old Sheepshead apple tree. Ripe fruit rolled and crunched under her feet as she opened the back door and scooped up her books and a bag of groceries she’d picked up on her way home. Glancing at her watch, she let herself into the mudroom with her key.
She kicked off her clogs and walked through the swinging doors into the spacious kitchen. As whenever she entered the new house, a rush of disbelief swept over her. The log house had been completed in September, two months after she and John had been married in the small, white frame Mennonite Church a few miles down the road, the same church where she’d been baptized. No matter how many times she went out of the house and came back in, seeing the warm hominess of the beautiful log cabin still thrilled her. The house John had built for her...for them.
She dropped the bag of groceries and her books on the counter and gazed around the great room that featured bare beams, reclaimed barn-wood flooring and a massive stone fireplace. “I must be dreaming,” she said to the tabby cat curled up in a basket on the hearth. “I’m afraid I’ll wake up and find myself back in the trailer park with a refrigerator that doesn’t keep Dakota’s milk cold and a stove with one working burner.”
Cat, wisely, said nothing but purred in understanding. Cat had seen tough times, as well. Susanna had rescued him from two English boys at Spence’s who were attempting to drown the half-starved creature in a bucket of rainwater. Cat had come out of the ordeal with a broken tail, one missing tooth and a tattered ear. Uncle Albert had soon healed her wounds, and sweet John had brought her home to live out her days in the cabin beside the pond.
Grace pulled a sweater on over her dress, turned on the oven and retrieved a family-size chicken potpie from the cloth grocery bag. She had time to stick dinner in the oven and start assembling a salad before she had to run over to Hannah’s to pick up Dakota.
Hannah had been true to her word and been supportive, even when Grace had confessed that her marriage to Joe hadn’t been real. The whole family had kept their promise, and a year after her arrival in Seven Poplars, Grace felt more like one of the Yoders than ever.
She glanced at the kitchen clock, wondering if she could squeeze in a shower before going for Dakota. Tonight was Wednesday prayer meeting, and Dakota’s Bible school class would be packing boxes of school supplies, toys and sandals for Leah’s mission school. They had to be there by seven and she wasn’t sure how long the frozen potpie would take to bake. She searched for the directions on the back of the box and was about to rip open the packaging when she heard Dakota’s voice at the front door.
“Mam!”
She hurried into the great room in time to lean over and catch her son as he hurled himself into her arms.
“Mam! Mam!” he cried. “We’re going to do a play at school! A Christmas play. I’m going to be a sheep herd!”
“A sheep herd? That’s wonderful,” Grace exclaimed. She met John’s gaze as he walked in the front door carrying their son’s little backpack in one hand, a basket in the other. “Dakota’s going to be a sheep herd,” she repeated.
“I think that’s a shepherd.” John set the large wicker basket and the backpack on the counter and glanced down at the frozen potpie. “You can put that in the freezer. Hannah sent chicken and dumplings, biscuits and green beans with pecans.”
“Bless her.” Grace sighed. “She remembered that it was my busiest day of the week.”
“Don’t knock Wednesdays,” he teased. “I had a good day and got off in time to pick up Dakota.”
“Mam! Mam!” Dakota jumped up and down. “Jonah and me caught the black hen—the one with the white tail feathers that laid her eggs on the buggy seat.”
John grinned, looking at her. “How was your day? Did you get your grade on the test?”
“Ninety-four.”
“That’s my girl.” He put his arms around her and kissed her.
For a few seconds, Grace forgot her grade point average, forgot that dinner would be rushed and forgot that her son was telling her about an escaped hen. Nothing mattered but her dear husband and her sweet son.
When she and John separated, she was laughing and breathless. “And tomorrow we’re learning to put in IVs,” she managed.
John arched a dark brow. “Hopefully, you had the good sense not to mention to your instructor that you’ve been doing them since you were fourteen.”
“I didn’t.” She ruffled Dakota’s hair as he shot past her, taking his backpack with him.
“I’ll make you a deal,” John said. “You jump in the shower and Dakota and I can set the table for supper.”
“And what do you get in return? Husband of the Year award?”
John’s grin widened. “A happy wife makes for a happy house.”
“Is this a happy house?” she asked him, taking a step toward him.
“Are you a happy wife?”
Her answer was to stand on tiptoes and kiss him again. “Couldn’t be happier,” she whispered. “Not even in my dreams.”
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