Did Elizabeth mention anything about Abigail?” Micah asked nonchalantly as he added a log to the woodstove in the sitting room.
“She said plenty.” Mammi continued to knit.
He tossed in another log. “Did she say why Abigail didn’t come today?” He closed the firebox hatch and adjusted the flue.
His grandmother furrowed her brows at him. “She was upset about a horse. Apparently someone told her father the horse was no good, and he stopped the sale.”
“It isn’t a gut horse.”
“You don’t understand. Buying that horse represented independence for her.”
“A headstrong woman with independence isn’t a gut combination.” He stormed into the kitchen. Someone needed to stop her from buying that horse. He’d done the right thing.
Mammi lumbered into the kitchen. “She’s of the marrying age . . .”
His eyes widened. And she was telling him, why? Micah filled a glass with water and took a drink.
“When a woman reaches a certain age . . .” She touched his arm with her frail hand. “She starts planning her future. For Abigail, it’s buying a horse.”
He eyed her closely. She cared a great deal for Abigail. “Why are you telling me this, Mammi?”
“Be her friend, Micah. If that horse isn’t the one she should buy, help her find the right one.”
“I’m nett sure that’s a gut idea.” The past two weeks he spent with her had sent him into a tailspin. He hadn’t sorted his feelings out yet. He only spoke up about the horse because . . . he cared for her. “I wouldn’t want her to get the wrong idea.”
Mammi chuckled. “If she were interested in you, she wouldn’t be looking to buy a horse. She’d be pampering you with cookies and pies.” She patted his arm. “I think you’re safe.”
Safe. That should have pleased him, rather than knot up his insides.
Abigail skated to the center of the rink and spun in a tight circle. She liked to skate while the younger children were in school and she had the rink to herself. Abigail glided with her hands behind her back, making long, graceful strides. The air was cold on her face and white puffs of foggy breaths escaped her mouth when she increased her speed. After baking Christmas cookies all morning, it felt good to spend time outside.
She circled the rink several times, relaxing to the sound of blue jays chirping nearby. The two-acre man-made pond was a natural resource for wildlife and a place to harvest ice for their settlement’s icehauses in the winter, but to her, it was a slice of heaven.
“I thought you were sick,” Micah called out.
Abigail’s blades went out from under her and she landed on her rump. She caught a glimpse of him shuffling over the ice toward her and pushed to her feet.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.” If she didn’t think about how painful it was to land on her tailbone. Her ankles wobbled. Sometimes standing still on ice was more difficult than moving. “How long were you standing there?”
“Long enough to know you’re nett sick.”
“Who said I was?”
He shrugged. “I guess I was hoping you were.”
She snorted. “Gee, thanks.” She swiped at the snow on her dress skirt.
“That came out wrong.” He kicked at a clump of snow. “I was hoping you weren’t upset with me.”
“So you’re sorry you told mei father about Cactus?”
“Nay. I had to.”
Abigail skated past him, the blades scraping against the ice. Nearing the edge of the pond, she dragged the tip of her blade over the ice to slow down. She stormed off the rink, trekked through the snow to where she’d left her boots next to the old oak tree, and plopped down.
He came up beside her, breathing heavy. “Don’t be angry. That horse is trouble. He requires a strong hand.”
“Jah, so I heard.” She unlaced her skate and jerked it off her foot.
He handed her boot to her. “There are other horses for sale. Better ones. Safer ones.”
It didn’t matter now. Even if she found one for the same price as Cactus, it would take another year to save up. She slid her foot into her other boot, tied the laces of the two skates together, and stood.
“I didn’t want you to get hurt . . . I care about you.”
She allowed his words to register.
Micah broke eye contact and glanced at the ground.
He must mean like one of her brothers. She dismissed the glint of hope that his words could mean something more and turned toward the path home.
Micah raced to catch up to Abigail. “I’ll help you buy a better horse.”
She stopped, her brows crinkled with puzzlement. “Why would you do that?”
Micah cupped his hands on her shoulders. “I told you . . . I care about you.” Saying it the second time was easier. “I’ll carry these.” He lifted the skates off her shoulder.
Except for the snow crunching under their feet and the occasional branch snapping under the weight of heavy snow, they walked in silence.
And he couldn’t stand it.
“There’s only three days until Christmas,” he said, breaking the silence.
“Are you going to complete your order on time?” Flecks of snow glistened on her face.
“I think so. The cake topper and centerpieces are finished. Tomorrow I’ll make the remaining snowflakes.”
Abigail smiled. “I’m happy for you.”
The Kemp’s barn was in the distance. The trail would end soon. Micah moved ahead of Abigail and stopped her. “Mammi would like you to kumm back. She wanted me to remind you that your knitting project is at the haus.”
Abigail bowed her head.
“Can I tell Mammi you’ll be there tomorrow?” Please.
She shrugged without looking up.
He lifted her chin and swallowed hard when their eyes met. His focus shifted to her lips. “I’d like to see you tomorrow too,” he said, leaning closer.
“You would?” She jerked her head back.
Stupid move. He’d almost kissed her. Now she was blushing.
“I, ah . . . I didn’t mean to . . .” He hadn’t felt this foolish in a long time.
“I’ll be there bright and early.” She stepped away, then smiling awkwardly said, “I should probably get home.”
He nodded.
They plowed through the snow at a quick pace. Minutes later, they’d reached her yard and his buggy. “See you tomorrow.” He nervously untied Clover from the post.
“Tell your mammi I said hello.” She hurried up the porch steps and shot him a wave before disappearing inside the house.
Micah grimaced at the sight of her skates still draped over his shoulder. He climbed the steps two at a time and knocked on the door.
Abigail answered. “Did you forget—” She noticed the skates he was holding.
Abigail’s mother came around the corner of the kitchen. “I intended to tell you earlier, Micah. We’ll be eating Christmas dinner around four.” She glanced at Abigail. “Did Micah tell you? He and his grandmother will be spending Christmas with us.”
Abigail faced him. “You heard from your parents?”
“Mei sister had her boppli last Friday, but he’s still in the hospital.”
“What’s wrong?”
“He had breathing problems. Mei mamm doesn’t want to leave Lancaster until they know more about his condition.”
“I insisted he and Edith spend the holiday with us,” Mrs. Kemp said.
Abigail smiled. “The more the merrier.”
He handed her the skates. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Micah left, repeating her words to himself. “The more the merrier.”
Was that sarcasm?
After hearing that Micah and Edith would be spending Christmas with them, Abigail worked herself into a frazzle scrubbing the floors and washing windows. With only two days until Christmas, she worked well into the night. Cleaning helped burn off pent-up energy, and she was exhausted by the time she dropped into bed.
Her thoughts flitted between what still needed to be done before Christmas to the shudder that went through her when Micah had lifted her chin. Her breath caught in her chest just as it had when they were standing so close and he’d leaned toward her. He would have kissed her if she hadn’t interrupted him. Now she might never know what that would feel like.
Abigail covered her mouth to stifle her groan. She’d ruined the moment. He’d joked that she had a gift of gab—now it felt more like a curse.