The following morning Abigail stood on Micah’s front porch, her nerves jittering as if she’d consumed a whole pot of coffee by herself. She brushed the snowflakes off the front of her cloak, drew in a deep breath, and exhaled slowly. “Relax,” she told herself. “It’s just Micah.” Just Micah. She shuffled her feet, unable to stand still. “Why am I nervous? I’m nett normally nervous. He’s just—”
Footsteps clomped on the steps behind her. “He’s just what?”
Abigail twirled at the sound of Micah’s voice. Heat spread over her face.
“So why are you so nervous?” He grinned. “Is Miss Gabby Abby tongue-tied?”
“I, ah . . . Have I ever been tongue-tied?” She shook her head. “I’m kalt.”
“Hmm . . . I thought those rosy cheeks meant something else.” He reached for the doorknob and held it. “I am glad you came today.”
She brushed imaginary flecks of snow off her cloak. “Two more days, jah?”
He shrugged. “I’m hoping to complete the order today.”
“Then this will be mei last day.” She tried to mask her disappointment with a smile.
He opened the door and motioned for her to go ahead of him.
Edith greeted her at the door with a wide smile that reached her eyes and deepened the lines around them. “It’s gut to see you, Abigail. I missed you.” She shrouded her in a warm hug.
Micah moved past them, went into the kitchen, and returned with a cup of coffee as Abigail removed her cloak. “I’ll be out in the workshop if you need me.”
Edith shuttled Abigail into the kitchen. “We’ll fill our cups with kaffi and take it into the sitting room. I’m sure you’ll want to work on those socks for Micah.”
Abigail picked up the cups and carried them into the sitting room.
Edith settled into her chair and began knitting. “Micah mentioned your mother invited us to spend Christmas at your haus.” Edith glanced up and smiled. “I think Micah is looking forward to it.”
“You think so? I mean”—she gulped a breath—“did he say that he was?”
“Oh, sweet child, it’s what he doesn’t say that’s important.”
Abigail crinkled her nose. “I’d rather him speak his mind than have to decipher what he isn’t saying.”
“Perhaps you should just practice being a bit more quick to listen and slower to speak.”
“Jah.” Abigail resumed knitting. Her situation was hopeless. She would be an old maid before she developed the traits Micah wanted in a fraa. She wouldn’t dwell on it. God never promised her a husband.
“Do you like to garden? I used to put in a large garden every year,” Edith said.
Abigail appreciated Edith changing the subject. “I love working in the garden. Did you have problems with aphids? Last year they destroyed mei cucumbers.”
“Ah, you can rid them with a mixture using the rinds of lemon and oranges. Just spray the plant leaves every few days.”
“I’ll have to try that this summer.”
The two women continued to chat while they knitted. A few hours later, Abigail tied off the end stitch on the wool sock. She lifted it up to show Edith. “This one’s done. Nau, I just need to make its mate.”
“That’s wunderbaar.”
Abigail examined the sock closer. “It’s too long, isn’t it?”
“Is it a knee sock?” Edith chuckled.
“Nay.” Her eyes widened at the thought.
“Don’t fret. It’ll shrink.”
“Jah, after a few washings.” Abigail laughed as she reloaded the wool yarn on her empty needle.
Micah poked his head around the wall of the sitting room. “Sounds like a frolic in here.”
Abigail shoved her knitting aside. “Is it lunchtime already?” She bounded out of the chair, bolted past him to the kitchen, then grabbed a knife from the drawer to slice the bread. She had planned to make macaroni and cheese, but sandwiches would have to do.
He entered the kitchen. “I’m early.”
She glanced at the wall clock. “Jah, you are. It’s half past ten. You must nett have eaten a big breakfast.”
“Thomas didn’t show up today. I was hoping you might have a few minutes to help me.”
“Abigail would love to help,” Edith interjected. She smiled at Abigail. “Wouldn’t you, dear?”
“Ah . . .”
“Don’t worry about me,” Mammi said, holding up her hands. “I won’t touch the stove.”
Abigail set the knife on the counter. “Let me get mei cloak.” The way the wind had howled all morning, it must have been difficult to keep the fire going without Thomas.
Edith came to the door with a plate of cookies as they were leaving. “In case you get hungry.”
Micah took them. “Danki, mei stomach is already growling.”
The wind was stronger than Abigail anticipated. Her bonnet lifted off her head and would have blown away had she not held the strings.
Micah went ahead, opened the door, and ushered her into the warm building. He set the plate of cookies on the bench next to the wall of shelves.
Abigail’s gaze fell on the shiny glass doves sitting on the steel table. “You’ve put a lot of details in the doves’ wings. They’re beautiful.”
He came up beside her. “This is the cake topper.”
“It must be a fancy wedding.”
“Much fancier than any Amish wedding I’ve been to.” He went to the kiln and opened the fire hatch.
She focused on the other glass pieces, admiring the intricate details. “You’re very talented. Are the snowflakes hard to make?”
“Nay. I can make them in mei sleep.” He tossed a chunk of wood into the furnace, closed the hatch, then swept his hands of bark. “It’ll take a minute or two to melt the glass.”
She smiled nervously. “So, what would you like me to work on?”
He went to the shelf and removed a roll of brown paper, then looked it over. “Hopefully there’s enough paper. Thomas got a little carried away with wrapping the other pieces.”
Abigail took the roll from Micah. “I prayed every day that you and Thomas would work well together, and that Thomas would want to return to the church.”
“He lived in the world a long time. He’s changed a lot.”
Abigail spread the paper over the table next to the glasswork. “I know you’re right. But I still believe that God can restore his mind so that he has the ability to know right from wrong and can repent.” She picked up the smallest piece and wrapped it in the paper first.
“I only heard him curse the first day,” Micah said with a shrug. “That must mean something.”
“I hope so.”
Micah set a wooden crate beside her. “Try not to pack them too tight.”
He returned to the stove and added more wood. A few minutes later, he dipped the end of the pipe into the molten glass and twirled it slowly.
Abigail watched in awe as he shaped the glass into a deer. “You make that look easy.”
“Just takes practice.” He smoothed the hooves of the deer with a flat piece of wood, then eased it into a standing position on the table.
“I’m amazed at your talent.”
He looked down, a humble gesture.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I joke about God giving me a gift of gab, but He’s clearly given you a real gift.”
“Danki,” he said softly. “I view it as a means to one day . . .” He moved in front of the kiln, then dipped the end of the pipe into the molten glass and began twirling.
“One day what?”
“Support a family,” he replied, keeping his focus on the end of the pipe. Then, as if cutting off further discussion, he removed the pipe, twirled it a few times, and lifted the end to his mouth. He made another deer, this one with antlers.
Abigail stared at the glowing glass. “It’s perfect.”
He set the pipe down and eyed his work. “They can be better.” His gaze traveled to the end of the table where the snowflakes sat that hadn’t been wrapped.
Abigail ripped a section of paper off the roll. “Sorry, I guess I was distracted.” She picked up an ornament and gently wrapped it in the paper. “I like that you made each of the snowflakes different.”
“It wasn’t intentional.”
She folded the paper over another piece. “God makes each snowflake different, yet it all blends into a beautiful landscape of snow.” She placed the glass ornament into the crate, catching a glimpse of his smile. “It’s one reason I like winter.”
“Each person is unique too.” His gaze met hers.
“Jah,” she muttered, mesmerized by his eyes. “Why aren’t you married?” It wasn’t until his smile dropped that her words registered. She hurried and wrapped the last piece, then added it to the crate with the others. “Should I add more wood to the kiln?”
“It doesn’t need any.”
She reached for the crate. “I can move this out of the way. Where should I put it?” She grasped the wooden handles and lifted it. Her muscles strained under the weight, but Micah lunged forward and supported the container.
“I have it,” he said calmly. “You can let go of it nau.”
Abigail released her hold.
“I’ve been loading the crates in the back of the buggy.” He headed to the door.
She raced around the other end of the table and held the door open. Abigail followed him outside. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”
“You didn’t.” He stepped cautiously through the snow.
“Well, I shouldn’t have asked that.”
His foot slipped, and the glass rattled inside the box.
Abigail reached for the container, placing her hand on the bottom of the wooden slats.
“Danki. I think with your help keeping it steady, we’ll make it.” He smiled.
She kept her hand in place and stepped backward.
“Why don’t you have a bu?”
“Do you really need to ask?” Her foot landed on an icy patch and she lost her balance. Somehow, her feet tangled with his and they both crashed to the ground.
He closed his eyes and held them shut for several seconds, grimacing.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I am. Are you?” He pushed to his knees and began collecting the scattered pieces.
“I’m sorry. I must have stepped on a patch of ice.” She should have paid closer attention to where she was walking.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head. “But your glass. Oh, Micah, I’m sorry.”
“It was an accident. It’s nett your fault. I’m glad you didn’t get hurt.” He reached for her hand, helped her up, then gathered the last few items and placed them in the crate.
“Do you think they all broke?” She bit her bottom lip.
“We’ll know in a few minutes.” He carried the container back into the shop.
Abigail held her breath, watching him carefully remove each piece and unwrap it. So far, three snowflakes had chipped glass.
He peeled back the paper on a dove and sighed.
The wing had broken off.
Tears pricked her eyes. He wouldn’t have fallen if she hadn’t slipped. Now his hard work lay in shambles.
Micah inventoried the pieces and blew out a breath. “Nothing broke that Thomas wrapped.” He shook his head as if in disbelief. “I kept telling him nett to use so much paper . . .” He smiled. “I’m glad he didn’t listen to me.”
“I am too.” She sniffled.
His expression sobered. “Don’t cry, Abby.”
She cracked a smile. “You forgot Gabby.”
He cupped her face in his hands and brushed away her tears with his thumbs. “Don’t cry, Gabby Abby. We have time to remake what broke.”
“Are you sure?”
He smiled. “If you’re still willing to help.”
Light flooded the room. Micah dropped his hands, and his face paled.
The door closed and Abigail recognized Bishop Schwartz’s shadowy figure before he spoke.
“Micah, I’d like to speak with you about a matter that’s kumm to mei attention.” His stern glare fell on Abigail as he approached them.
She swallowed hard. The bishop’s sister Velda must have filled his ears. Say something. Her throat tightened.
Micah turned to her. “Will you go into the haus and check on Mammi?”
No, she had to set things straight.
“Please,” Micah said.
Abigail nodded. She hurried to the door without looking back. Lord, I never meant to get Micah into trouble. This was all her fault. Please forgive me, Lord.
Tears streamed down her face as she crossed the yard to the house.
Edith glanced up from her knitting when Abigail entered the sitting room. “Is everything all right?”
“Jah.” She hesitated, then blurted, “Nay, I don’t think it is.” Abigail went to the window and looked toward the workshop.
“What is it, dear?”
Abigail closed her eyes. “I made a mess of things.”
“Was Micah short with you again? I’ll have another talk with him.”
“Nay.” Abigail moved away from the window. “The bishop’s here to have a word with Micah.”
“Perhaps he’s inquiring about Micah’s sister’s new boppli or when his parents are expected home.”
Abigail picked at her nails. “It’s something else. I’m afraid I’ve gotten him into trouble.”
Edith’s expression sobered. “Why do you say that?”
“Thomas, the man who helped Micah the past two weeks, is a fence-jumper. He left the faith several years ago. He’s Malinda’s bruder—mei cousin, and . . . and her family has been given the silent treatment ever since they took Thomas back into their home. They’ll be formally shunned any day. The bishop was lenient, but Thomas hasn’t shown any interest in returning to the church.” She pointed to her head. “He has a brain injury. I don’t think he’s capable of repenting.”
Edith was silent several seconds. The lines in her forehead deepened. “I suppose that is a lesson for us all. We must remain close with God at all times. We don’t know what tomorrow holds.”
“Jah, that is true.”
“Another reason we must separate ourselves from the world.”
From Thomas. Abigail’s heart grew heavy. God, Your word says You are faithful even when we are nett. Why would Jesus tell the story about the prodigal sohn if it wasn’t a message of forgiveness?
Abigail turned to look out the window and gasped. Thomas was traipsing across the yard. “I have to stop him.” She rushed out the door without taking time to put on her cloak and met Thomas at the corner of the shop.
“Thomas.”
A smile lit his face. “Hiya.”
“Hello.” She hugged herself, trying to get control over her shivering. “Would you bring an armload of firewood into the haus, please?” She reached for his arm and turned him toward the woodshed. “I’ll show you where the wood is kept.”