Smoke curled up from the workshop’s stovepipe as Micah pulled into the yard. After what Fran told him about Abigail, he had half a notion to send her and Thomas both home. He stopped Clover next to the barn and remained in the buggy while he contemplated what he should do.
I care a great deal for Abigail, Lord. But she’s going to bring condemnation on both of us. He rubbed his palms on his pant legs. Why am I so torn about this? I know what I have to do. Micah climbed out of the buggy, tied Clover to the post, and headed to the workshop. He couldn’t go against the Ordnung any longer. Rules were developed to keep us on the straight path. But the closer he got to the building, the more disheartened he became. He’d also given Thomas his word. What good was his word if he didn’t keep it?
“You’re a light into darkness. Thomas needs to see Jesus through you.” Her words were difficult to dismiss. He groaned. No doubt Abigail’s voice would be in his head forever. Micah glanced at the kitchen window but didn’t see any sign of her. A flurry of wind sent a chill down his neck. He tugged on his lightweight coat and crossed the yard. He would break the news to Thomas first.
The heat from the kiln struck Micah immediately as he entered the shop. Thomas had followed instructions and kept the fire blazing. Micah’s eyes needed a moment to adjust to the dim light. When they did, he sucked in a sharp breath. The ornaments and centerpieces he’d made yesterday were not on the table where he’d left them to cool.
“What did you do with the glass pieces?” Panic infused Micah’s tone as he scanned the shelves, the inside of the scrap barrel. Everything was gone. Acid rose to the back of his throat. “Thomas, they were sitting on the table this morning.”
“I wrap.” Thomas shifted his feet back and forth.
“You wrapped them? In what? Where did you put them?”
Thomas shied away from Micah like a dog who’d been kicked. He lowered his head and went to the far side of the room and picked up a wooden crate. He carefully brought it to the worktable and set it down, never looking Micah in the eye.
Micah looked inside the crate. Everything was bundled in brown packaging paper. Too much paper, probably the entire roll, but wrapped nonetheless. “It’s very fragile. You didn’t break anything, did you? You need to tell me nau if you did.” Micah lifted one of the larger pieces from the crate and eased it out of the paper. “I was careful,” Thomas said.
“Jah.” Micah exhaled his pent-up anger. “So I see.” He made a quick inspection of the other pieces. Everything had been double, even triple wrapped.
Thomas beamed. “I thought it would save some time.”
Micah nodded. “You could have—” used less paper.
Thomas’s smile faded. Vacancy replaced his childlike expression.
“Have patience with him.” Recalling what Abigail had said, Micah patted Thomas’s shoulder. “I really appreciate your hard work, danki.”
“Welkom.” His smile returned.
Micah silently tried to formulate what he would say to Thomas about not working for him anymore, but every time he came close, Abigail’s words came to mind. “You’re a light into darkness.” Micah shook his head.
He would be eaten up with guilt if he sent Thomas away now. He whispered a prayer, asking God to speak to the bishop’s heart regarding the matter, then turned to Thomas. “Let’s get to work.”
Abigail lifted the cool rag from her forehead and squinted at Edith. “I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you.”
“Nonsense.” Edith set another steaming cup of tree-bark tea on the lamp table beside Abigail. “Are you feeling any better?”
“I think so.” She turned and coughed into her hand. Abigail had drunk a cupful of the bitter fluid earlier at Edith’s insistence that it would ward off the flu-like symptoms, but her body hurt like she’d been kicked by a mule.
Edith placed her hand on Abigail’s forehead. “You’re still hot.”
“I keep alternating between fever and chills.” Now her stomach burned, but something told her that was from the tree bark.
“Take a sip of the tea. I think it’ll help.” Edith sat in the rocking chair and picked up her knitting needles. “I pray you’re over this by Christmas. I’d hate for you to feel run-down during the holidays.”
“Me too.” Abigail groaned. “I have less than a week to finish Micah’s socks.”
Footsteps thumped on the porch outside the window, then the door opened. Abigail caught a glimpse of Micah as he went into the kitchen. She pushed off the sofa, a whoosh of dizziness staggering her first few steps.
Edith toddled behind her.
Abigail made it as far as the kitchen entryway and leaned against the trim molding, perspiration beading her forehead.
Micah stood at the kitchen sink, drinking a glass of water. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he drank. He set the glass down and glanced over at her.
“Abigail isn’t feeling well,” Edith volunteered.
“What’s wrong?” His tone was flat with lack of interest. Something had changed since lunchtime, when he’d come inside long enough to grab food to take out to the shop.
Edith placed her palm over her own forehead. “I’m feeling a little faint myself.”
Micah came up beside Mammi and wrapped his arm around her waist as Abigail supported her other side. “Are you okay?”
“Help me into the sitting room, please.” Mammi sounded frail. She collapsed in the rocking chair with a heavy sigh.
“Micah, I could drink a cup of tree-bark tea. It’s in the pot on the stove. Make Abigail one too.”
He hadn’t made it out of the room before he heard Mammi call him back.
“Micah, kumm quickly.” Mammi motioned to Abigail who’d broken out in a sweat. “Help her, please.”
“I’ll be . . .”
Abigail teetered as Micah placed his hand on her back for support. Heat radiated through her dress. He guided her to the couch.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.”
“No need to apologize.” Not for being sick. Omitting the fact the bishop had stopped her from selling baked goods at the market was another issue. He glanced over his shoulder at Mammi. Her eyes were closed. “I’ll get the tea.”
“I can do it.”
“You’re nett in any shape to do anything.” He went to the kitchen, found the pot of amber liquid simmering on the stove, and poured two cups. Abigail’s eyes were closed and she was slouched against a pillow. He placed one cup on the lamp table beside her and gave the other one to his grandmother.
Mammi took a sip, then handed the cup back to him. “I’ll drink it after I take a short nap.” She pushed off the chair. “Watch over Abigail.” She pointed to the rag at the end of the couch. “I’ve been keeping a cool cloth on her forehead. Don’t let her fever get out of control.”
“Ah . . .”
“Micah, I won’t be able to rest unless I know she’s being cared for.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on her.” I’ll drive her home.
“I thought you would.” She ambled down the hall toward the bedroom.
He looked at Abigail sleeping peacefully. He should wake her. She’d be more comfortable at home in bed. The cherry-red hue gave her face a nice glow. He eased her into a more comfortable position and placed the pillow under her head. She was warm, her face boiling.
Micah re-wet the rag and returned to the sitting room. Kneeling down beside the couch, he placed the cloth on her forehead.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered, her eyes still closed.
“Don’t be.” He watched her a moment, purring like a kitten, then sat in the rocking chair. A surge of protectiveness rose up inside him. He wanted to take care of her in sickness, in health, from buying a dangerous horse.
Two hours went by before she stirred. Abigail removed the cloth from her forehead and squinted at him. “How long have you been sitting there?”
He shrugged.
“Where’s Edith?”
“Lying down.” He rose from the chair and came up beside her. “Are you feeling better?”
“I think so.” She placed her hand on her forehead.
He picked up the cup. “I’ll warm this up.”
She shook her head, then cringed as if doing so gave her a headache. “I don’t want anymore.” She pushed into an upright position. “I didn’t mean to keep you from working.”
“It’s okay.”
“I’m sure Thomas is waiting for you. You should go back to work.”
Micah shook his head. “I promised Mammi I’d look after you. Besides,” he said, walking toward the kitchen with the cup, “I sent Thomas home awhile ago.” He dumped the contents from the cup into the sink, then placed the pot on the stove to reheat. One whiff of the steaming contents brought back memories of when his grandmother had brewed the bitter concoction for him.
“Honestly, Micah, I can’t drink that.” Abigail held up her hand in refusal.
“I know it doesn’t taste very gut, but it’s gut for you.” He stood before her, cup in hand and not budging.
She shook her head. The aroma roiled her stomach. If she drank anymore, she wouldn’t hold it down. But he planted himself, feet shoulder width apart and as concrete as a pillar of stone. “Fine.” Abigail took the cup and held it, warming her hands. She peered up at him when he didn’t move away.
“Drink it,” he said.
She sipped the tepid fluid and grimaced. “I think I’m feeling better.”
Micah took a seat in the rocking chair, planting his elbows on his knees and studying her. “I can’t figure you out,” he said.
“I’m nett complicated. What are you trying to figure out?”
“I stopped at Gingerich’s Market this morning. I tried to buy some of your cookies.”
She swallowed hard. “I’ll make you a batch when I’m feeling better.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His stare bored a hole through her heart.
Mammi entered the sitting room. “I think the nap helped. How are you feeling, Abigail?”
“She’s feeling better.” Micah stood and motioned for Mammi to take the rocking chair. “I’ll hitch the buggy. I’m sure Abigail is anxious to get home.”
Abigail felt the air leave her lungs. For a few short-lived minutes he’d treated her so tenderly. Fran must have told him why her baked goods were no longer for sale at their market. He didn’t waste time hitching the buggy. Micah came back inside, plucked her cloak off the hook, and held it out for her.
Silence made the ride home seem longer than usual.
Micah stopped the buggy next to the porch steps. When she didn’t immediately climb out, he shifted on the bench to face her. “Do you need assistance up the steps?”
“Nay.” Her throat tightened. “Would you have hired me if you knew the reason Mr. Gingerich wasn’t accepting mei baked goods anymore?”
“Nay.” His jaw muscle twitched.
Tears burned her eyes. “I didn’t mean for you to—”
“Find out?”
She bowed her head. “I just wanted to be able to buy mei horse. I shouldn’t have involved you.”
“You shouldn’t have gotten involved yourself.”
“Don’t say that,” she said. “Thomas is mei cousin. His family prayed many years for him to return.” God, please forgive Micah. He should understand that Thomas needs a bit more grace.
Neither of them spoke for a few moments.
Micah was the first to break the silence. “You should probably go inside nau.”
Thirty people sat wedged, like a dozen cookies in a box too small, in the bishop’s sitting room for Sunday service. Abigail liked the summer months better when they could fellowship outside. She missed Malinda. The two of them always sat together in the back row along with the other unmarried women. Abigail looked beyond her sister Elizabeth and stole a glance at Micah, seated across the aisle. His solemn face tore at her heart.
She hung her head and closed her eyes. Forgive me, God. I should be paying attention to the Scripture reading.
The bishop would probably call her name at any moment and ask her to stand. She would have to give account to her actions. Abigail wasn’t sure she could repent for helping the lost, feeding the hungry—despite breaking the rules of the Ordnung. Even under the weight of Micah’s disappointment in her.
The service ended with a prayer.
Chatter about Christmas filled the room as the women made their way into the kitchen. Abigail rose from the bench. If she could go home without bringing attention to herself, she would.
Edith ambled toward her. “How are you feeling?”
Abigail forced a smile. “Better. And you?”
“I’m full of energy. Shall we go help the others prepare the meal?”
Apparently, the tea worked for her new friend; Edith was already heading toward the kitchen. Abigail trailed behind. Although once the meal was served, she planned to make an excuse to go home. Rounding the corner of the kitchen, she glanced over her shoulder at Micah. He stood near the woodstove talking with David and her father.
Micah stopped and looked her way a brief moment, as did her father and brother. Something in their riffled expressions told her they were discussing Cactus.
She lowered her head and continued into the kitchen. She had a suspicion that her dreams were about to be shattered.
That night at the supper table, her father finished the last bite of his cherry cobbler, set his fork down, and cleared his throat. “Peter, Daniel, if you two are finished, I’d like you to start the barn chores.”
They pushed off their chairs at the same time and scampered out of the kitchen.
“Sadie, why don’t you help your bruders tonight.” Daed nodded toward the door, and she scurried out of the room.
With Elizabeth and David at the singing, it left Abigail alone with her parents. She stood and began gathering the dirty dishes.
“Have a seat, Abigail,” Daed said.
She eased back onto the wooden chair.
“I understand you’ve been talking to Mr. Troyer about buying his horse.”
Abigail nodded. “I’ve been saving for a year.”
“She has, Emery,” Mamm added.
“I don’t want you buying that horse. He isn’t the right one for you.” Daed took a drink of coffee.
“Mr. Troyer has several horses for sale.” Not that she could afford a different one.
“I’m referring to the one named Cactus. I’m nett familiar with the horse, but Micah tells me he’s too high-spirited for you.”
She chewed the inside of her cheek. Micah probably gave him an earful of other news too. “I’m gut with horses. You know that. I’ll have Cactus trained in no time.”
Her father shook his head. “I have to agree with Micah. He knows a lot about horses, and he claims that one has a bad disposition.”
Mamm reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’ll find another horse—a better one.”
Abigail nodded, but she found it difficult to believe. She never should have told Micah about Cactus. She wheezed.
“Are you feeling sick again?” her mother asked.
“Jah—” Her dry, scratchy throat made it difficult to talk. She turned her head and coughed, but it was more for a reason to be excused.
“I’ll reddy-up the kitchen,” Mamm said. “Go upstairs to bed.”
Abigail looked at her father, then seeing his nod of dismissal, rose from her chair. She hurried out of the room before he could call her back and ask about her baked goods.
The Mason jar of money caught her eye the moment she entered her bedroom. It would take another year—maybe two—to save for a better horse. That’s if she found another job. Micah wouldn’t need her after . . . She dropped on her bed, buried her face in her pillow, and sobbed.
Several hours later, something hit Abigail’s window with a thud. She squinted in the darkness. Another thud. This time Abigail could see the imprint of the snowball. Her sisters were fast asleep in their own beds on either side of her. She went to the window, spotted a flicker of lantern light, and lumbered downstairs to check out who it was. The last person to wake her up was James. Last spring he’d thrown pebbles at the window trying to get Elizabeth’s attention.
Abigail slipped her bare feet into her boots and put on her cloak.
“Psst. Over here,” Malinda whispered.
Abigail scurried across the lawn to the large maple tree. “What’s wrong?”
“I had to talk to you.” She sniffled. “I overheard mei parents talking about moving.”
“Oh no. That’s horrible news.” Abigail wrapped her cousin in a tight hug.
“We’re going to go live with meidaed’s parents . . . in Lancaster.” Her breath hitched.
“Because of Thomas?”
“I heard mei daed tell mei mamm we won’t make it through the winter.”
“Has he tried to talk to the bishop? What about mei daed?
I’m sure someone would loan him money to get through the winter.”
Malinda shook her head. “He’s hardheaded, and he refuses to let Mamm ask your mamm.” She wiped her face on her coat sleeve. “Do you know when Thomas will get paid?”
Abigail didn’t even know if he still had a job. Micah had sent him home early. “Wait here.” She retraced her steps back to the house, tapped her boots against the porch railing, and brushed the snow off the hem of her nightdress, then tiptoed inside and up the steps. She grabbed the Mason jar from the top of the dresser and made her way back outside.
Malinda shook her head when Abigail tried to hand her the jar. “I can’t take your savings. What about Cactus?”
“Your family needs it more than I do. Besides,” she said with a winded sigh, “I’d like to think this was the reason God had Micah crush mei plans to buy Cactus.”
“How did he do that?”
“He told mei daed that Cactus wasn’t a gut horse for me, and mei daed listened.”
“I’m sorry.” Malinda patted Abigail’s arm.
“So you can’t move—unless you take me too. You’re mei cousin, mei best friend.”
Malinda hugged Abigail. “I don’t know when we can repay you.”
“It’s a gift.” Abigail smiled. “It’s better to give than receive.” She couldn’t explain the warmth—the peace she was experiencing.
“I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve blessed us more than I—”
“God blessed you. The gift is from Him.”