Standing in the Pinkham’s kitchen, Gideon hemmed and hawed over telling Faith about Olivia. Faith most likely wasn’t aware of the rumors about her sister, and after everything she’d gone through, tonight wasn’t the night to bring it up.
Someone knocked and Faith scooted to the back door, leaving him alone with his thoughts. The bishop’s voice spurred Gideon to action. He rounded the corner of the kitchen as the bishop’s wife, Alice, pulled Faith into a hug.
“We heard the news about your parents and thought we would take the chance that your light was on.” Bishop Zook looked Gideon’s direction and narrowed his bushy white brows at him. “I didn’t know you were here, Gideon.”
“I, ah . . .” The censure in the older man’s tone made Gideon temporarily tongue-tied. Then he spied the milk canisters out of the corner of his eye. “I kumm by to help with the barn chores.”
The bishop’s slight nod acknowledged his comment, but Gideon couldn’t tell if he approved of his initiative. Usually as needs arose in their settlement, the bishop organized how the additional workload would be divided.
Gideon tugged on his collarless shirt, pulling it away from his neck. Under the watchful eye of the bishop, sweat pebbled his forehead. Of course the closed windows made the July heat stifling. Now that the rain had stopped, someone should open the windows. The stale air was suffocating.
Alice Zook scanned the room. “Where’s Olivia?”
“She didn’t want to leave Mamm and Daed alone, so she stayed at the hospital.”
“You’re alone?” the bishop’s wife pressed.
Faith gave Gideon a wary glance that begged for rescue. Earlier she’d been worried about someone spotting them at the river and spreading tittle-tattle through the district of them swimming together, which was a bit paranoid even for Faith. But he could see her point. She didn’t want anything standing in the way of her joining the church.
“Either Olivia or I had to kumm home and see that the chores were done.” Her simple explanation should have been enough, but she continued. “Gideon’s horse injured his leg earlier today, so he needed to check on Bay.”
Gideon’s heart sank listening to Faith scramble with excuses, fearful of the repercussions due to their lack of a chaperone this late at night. As a baptized member of the church, Gideon expected the bishop would want to speak with him privately about the matter.
Bishop Zook stroked his beard, then turned to Gideon. “How is your horse?”
Gideon thought he heard doubt in the man’s question, but he straightened his shoulders. “Bay’s still limping,” he said, sounding more defensive than he wished.
Bishop Zook motioned to the door. “Why don’t we go take a look at him?”
Gideon stole a glance at Faith as he headed to the door. She had no reason to be ashamed, and yet her downtrodden expression suggested remorse. Gideon groaned under his breath. Don’t let anyone heap guilt on you, Faith. We didn’t do anything wrong.
The breeze coming across the field felt good as he sloshed through shallow puddles that spanned part of the lawn and most of the driveway. Gideon’s thoughts lingered on Faith—alone in that suffocating room with the bishop’s wife.
“It sure rained hard today,” the bishop said. “Most of the roads in the area are washed out.” He crossed the driveway and stopped at his buggy to retrieve a lantern. He took time to light the wick. “Did your horse injure his leg in the storm?”
“Jah, Bay doesn’t like thunder.” He yanked the barn door open. “Mordecai’s horse had to be put down. I haven’t seen their buggy, but from what the officer told me over the phone, it’s in bad shape. Faith’s shook up.”
“Jah, I noticed.” He stepped into the barn. “I also noticed the two of you are spending more time together lately.”
“We’re friends.”
Bishop Zook raised the lantern to shoulder height, throwing more light on Gideon.
“Bay’s in the third stall.” Gideon took the lead, not stopping until he was standing before the stall’s half door. He unfastened the latch and slipped inside with the horse. “It’s his front right leg.”
Bishop Zook handed Gideon the lantern, then squatted next to Bay. When he ran his hand down the horse’s leg, Bay flinched. “It’s tender.”
“I lathered him in liniment hoping it would reduce the swelling. I’m nett sure what else to do.”
“It looks as though you’ve done everything you can do for nau.” Bishop Zook stood, removed a hankie from his pocket, and used it to wipe the liniment off his hands. “The swelling isn’t too bad, but he’s definitely favoring it. I wouldn’t suggest you drive him anywhere tonight. Mei fraa and I will give you a ride home.”
“Danki for taking a look at him.”
“If the swelling isn’t down by tomorrow, you’ll probably need to call a vet. He might have a stress fracture.”
Gideon didn’t want to think about the possibility of an injury that severe. A big vet bill would deplete the money he’d been saving to buy a farm. Not that he was in a rush to make that type of purchase. “I’ll be praying that isn’t the case.” He’d put his heart into training the three-year-old and could kick himself for not getting him home before the storm. He should have seen the weather changing and left the river sooner.
“It’s getting late,” the bishop said. “Your parents are probably worried about you.”
“Jah, I’m sure you’re right.” Gideon looked down at his muddy boots. Mamm did have a tendency to worry too much. It wouldn’t be the first time she stayed up late, knitting into the night until all of her sons were home. Her hair didn’t turn gray until his older brothers went on their rumspringa. Although Gideon had vowed not to put her through the same stress, he’d failed tonight.
He latched the stall door. “I’ll plan on doing Mordecai’s barn chores while he’s in the hospital.” He glimpsed Bishop Zook studying him and gulped. “Unless you have someone else in mind to assign the work.”
“I know you’re capable of handling the extra chores, but are you able to avoid temptation?”
Gideon coughed into his fist. He hadn’t known the bishop to be so blunt before. But now that he was a baptized member, things were different. He was expected to follow the rules of the Ordnung.
“You’re a member of the church,” Bishop Zook said sternly. “Spending too much time with the young Pinkham maeds would not be wise.”
“I haven’t forgotten our talk about being unequally yoked, and Olivia and I haven’t courted since she changed her mind about joining the church.” He pushed a piece of straw with the toe of his boot. He’d recited the passage in Second Corinthians about not being yoked together with unbelievers until it became permanently etched in his mind—on his heart.
“Olivia isn’t the only maedel I was talking about,” Bishop Zook said.
Sure, he and Faith had been spending more time together, but she was in the process of becoming baptized, making the same lifelong commitment to the church. It wasn’t like he was developing feelings for someone who had no intention of joining the faith.
“Faith’s a gut person, and becoming a member of the district is very important to her. She’s forgone rumspringa in order to surrender her life to God,” Gideon said.
“Then I suggest you heed mei warning about temptation.”
Faith shuddered beneath the quilt each time the wind picked up and the old oak tree’s long branches scratched against the glass. She flipped over, closed her eyes, and buried her face in the depths of the feather-stuffed pillow. Olivia’s snoring usually drowned out sounds that were now noticeable in her absence. Faith had shared a bedroom with her sister her entire life, and while she had sometimes wondered what it would be like to have a room of her own, tonight she wished Olivia was home, filling the silence with her nasal-clogged breaths.
Faith tried to block out the moonlight projections of fingerlike shadows crawling over the chest of drawers and along the wall. Her mind was playing tricks on her. The shadows weren’t moving closer, were they?
“Think about other things,” Faith told herself, then pressed the sides of the pillow against her ears. She squeezed her eyes tighter, but just as disturbing was the conjured image of Gideon that her subconscious created. She’d never experienced the warmth of his gaze or seen his dark-blue eyes twinkle so intensely as in the barn seconds prior to Olivia arriving. It’s nett what you think.
Faith flopped over on her back, the bed springs squeaking. She would never get to sleep if she couldn’t stop him from invading her mind. Gideon was off-limits.
At home, Gideon removed his boots in the mudroom and placed them next to his father’s by the back door. His mother was a stickler for not tracking in dirt and had trained him well. He tiptoed into the kitchen, his mouth watering as he inhaled the lingering aroma of fried chicken and biscuits.
Moonlight filtered through the kitchen windows, lighting the way around the oversized butcher-block island in the center of the room. He stopped at the stove, lifted the lid on the warmer compartment, and smiled at his discovery. Wrapped neatly in tinfoil was the supper plate his mother had saved for him. Heat radiated from the stove, which meant his mother must have recently banked it.
Gideon removed the plate from the warmer using a quilted potholder, then carefully carried the meal to the table. Leaving the plate covered to conserve heat, he went to the cabinet for a glass. Normally he liked coffee with his meal, but water would have to do. He didn’t need caffeine this late. In order to do his chores plus the Pinkhams’, he’d have to get up before the birds sang. As he filled a water glass at the sink, a petite figure appeared in the doorway.
“Why are you rummaging around in the dark?” Mamm whispered.
“I didn’t want to wake anyone.” Gideon kept his voice low. He fished a fork, knife, and spoon from the drawer.
Mamm shuffled into the room barefooted, her thinning gray hair down past her shoulders. She rotated the lazy Susan in the center of the table until she located the box of wooden matches. She ignited the lamp wick, and a soft yellow glow filled the table area.
“Did you get caught somewhere in the storm?”
No hint of sleepiness in her voice. Gideon recognized this was her roundabout way of prying. He pulled a chair out from under the table and sat. “I was at the hospital most of the nacht. The Pinkhams were in an accident.”
“Ach! Are they all right?”
“Mordecai broke his leg in several places. Apparently a severe enough break that his bone nicked an artery, and he lost a lot of blood.”
“And Irma?”
“The doktah admitted her for observation, although something was said about her organs being bruised.”
Mamm covered her mouth. His mother tended to be one of the organizers when a family was in crisis. In the silence, she was probably already planning the meal deliveries.
Gideon peeled the tinfoil away from the plate, then breathed in his favorite meal before he bowed his head. Heavenly Father, bless this food. Watch over Faith tonight, and please heal her mother and father. Amen. His prayer was short and to the point, but God was certainly aware his stomach had been growling for hours.
Mamm removed the butter dish from the lazy Susan and slid it across the table for him to lather his biscuits.
“Danki.” He bit into the crispy chicken thigh.
Mamm pushed away from the table. A drawer squeaked open, then closed. She draped a dish towel over his shoulder and returned to her seat. “Did you hear how long Mordecai and Irma will be in the hospital?”
He wiped his face with the soft cloth. “Nothing definite. But Mordecai’s leg will take anywhere from four to six weeks to heal. And that’s if all goes well.” He tossed the picked-clean bones on the plate and selected the fluffier of the two biscuits.
Mamm leaned forward. “How’s Olivia?”
“Shook up, I guess.” He concentrated on slathering the biscuit with butter. When he thought it was safe to look up, he lifted his gaze, but dropped it immediately when her brows crinkled and the lines across her forehead became more pronounced. Give her a minute or two and she would figure another way to slip Olivia into the conversation. Mamm always did. Even when he’d purposely kept her, as well as the rest of his family, in the dark about who he was courting. “Mothers know these things,” he remembered her saying. “I’m praying for your future fraa.” Sparing her the details, he used to simply thank her. She did, after all, only want the very best for him.
He pretended not to notice that his mother had sunk back against the chair and crossed her arms. Gideon took a bite of the biscuit and savored the flavor as the butter melted in his mouth.
“I’ll arrange meals and help around the house. Do you know if Olivia and Faith will need assistance at the restaurant?”
“Faith stopped at Catherine Glick’s haus on the way home from the hospital and talked with her about working more hours.” Perhaps the inflection in his voice when he mentioned Faith gave him away, but his mother’s jaw went slack for half a second.
His mouth dried, the biscuit clogged his throat. Gideon gulped the entire glassful of water in one long drink.
“You gave Faith a ride home from the hospital?”
“Actually, Beverly Dembrowski was kind enough to give us both a ride to Alpena and back to Faith’s haus.” Realizing he’d said too much, he changed the subject. “Did I tell you Bay injured his leg? He became spooked by the thunder and lightning and ended up stumbling. I doktahed it with Mordecai’s horse liniment, but Bay was still favoring it too much to chance hitching him to the buggy. Bishop Zook and Alice gave me a ride home.”
Gideon pushed up from the table. “I think I’ll turn in. I promised to help with the barn chores tomorrow at the Pinkhams’.” He set his dishes in the sink, then escaped the kitchen before his mother found her voice.