Inside his hiddy Ephraim stared through the telescopic lens, seeing nothing except his own thoughts. He’d been a sky watcher since he turned twelve, but he’d taken up stargazing through a telescope over a decade ago.
Now the vast expanse of the night sky and the brilliance of the stars and planets were hidden behind Cara’s face. Those golden brown eyes and soft features seemed to linger with him like his favorite nighttime view of the heavens in the fall—the harvest moon. In the right season the soft orange luminance of a true harvest moon outlined the terrain of bright highlands and darker plains, making them easily visible to the naked eye. And its beauty was a part of him. Too amazing to look away from, it seemed as if he could reach out and touch it. But regardless of how close a harvest moon appeared, it was more than two hundred thousand miles away.
A lot like Cara.
The couple she’d gone to see about painting for them—the Garretts according to the mailbox—walked outside with her as they said goodbye, and he’d overheard what they’d said to her. If she could find someone to help her move furniture and have the painting done by the end of next weekend, they’d hire her.
She hadn’t declined the job, nor had she accepted. He’d expected her to ask him for help during their long ride home, but she hadn’t. He refused to volunteer. Asking for help was one of the oldest biblical principles and one of the ways people showed each other respect.
Trying to focus on the sky, he adjusted the telescope. He didn’t hear or feel anything, but he knew the answer. Be me to her.
When God loved people, He didn’t count what something cost Him. He only counted what it’d do for the ones He helped. His Son’s life proved that. But Ephraim wasn’t God. And Cara irritated him as much as she fascinated him.
The Pennsylvania Dutch phrase he’d spoken to her last week circled through his mind. Die Sache, as uns zammebinne, duhne sich nie net losmache, awwer die Sache as uns ausenannermache schtehne immer fescht. He hadn’t intended to say it out loud, and he could never tell her what it meant. But one evening he was next to the buggy as she climbed out of it. She’d stumbled a little, and he’d helped steady her. As she stood so close to him, he’d spoken the truth, and some of the tension of the moment broke.
It wasn’t like he was interested in her romantically. Certainly not. His attentions belonged to Anna Mary. She was cut from the same broadcloth fabric he was. But Cara—
A terrified scream came from the house. He bolted across the yard. As he entered the house, he heard Cara shriek, “No, Ephraim!” The fear in her voice swirled feelings inside him like dust caught in a windstorm.
As he hurried through the kitchen, a shadow moved across the room. Cara ran into him, bouncing off his chest like a rubber ball. She staggered back.
Ephraim grabbed her arms to keep her from falling. “What’s going on?”
Her labored breathing didn’t slow as she gently splayed her hands across his face, touching him as if he might not be real.
“It’s okay, Cara. You’re awake now.”
She backed away. The image of her in his shirt, swallowed in it like a teenager, burned into his mind. She slumped into a kitchen chair. His Bible lay open on the table in front of her. Had she been reading it?
Her hands covered her mouth, and the silvery moonlight reflected a lone tear. She lowered her arms to her side. “What are you doing here?”
“I was watching the stars when I heard you scream.”
She glanced at the clock but said nothing about it being after two in the morning.
Cara drew a shaky breath. Against his better judgment he sat down across from her. The moon’s glow lay across parts of her body shadows filling in the rest. Pages of the Bible rustled as a breeze crossed the kitchen. Tree frogs and crickets played summer’s tune. She swiped the tear from her cheek and wrapped her arms around herself.
Ephraim waited for her to speak. But within moments her vulnerable side retreated, and she regained control of her breathing. The woman in front of him squared her body and became as unyielding as the day he’d met her.
Be me to her.
How was he supposed to do that? She didn’t trust him, and he wanted to be trusted—at least in some distant, “I won’t do any more damage to your life” sort of way. He angled his head, trying to make eye contact.
She pushed the Bible to the side, slid the chair back, and stood. “Good night.”
“Wait.”
Trying to think of something she’d talk to him about, he settled on her job situation. “What did the Garretts say?”
“Not much.”
Wondering if anything short of the threat of losing her daughter would make her ask for help, he stifled a sigh. “Will you take the job?”
“I could make really good money. The kind that would help me get out of here.”
Was his place that bad? He motioned for her to sit, but she didn’t. He went to the kitchen cabinet. “So what’s the holdup?” He grabbed a glass.
“I have to work a few things out.”
“For Pete’s sake, Cara. If you need help, just ask.”
She stared at him. “You heard what they wanted?”
He drew water from the tap and set the glass on the table near her. “Ya.”
“You have a full-time job. It’s already a huge cut into your time to chauffeur us back and forth. How could I ask you for more?”
“You could ask me to help you find someone.” His curt tone didn’t seem to faze her.
She took a sip and leaned against the counter, seeming neither angry nor stressed. At this moment he’d give her his house if she’d open up and help him understand her. She wanted to make that money. He knew she did. It’d mean the start of independence for her and Lori. Why was she still afraid of him?
Frustrated with her, he couldn’t keep his silence any longer. “Fine. I’ll help. Thank you for asking.”
“You?”
“You don’t have to sound so confident in my abilities.”
“But you already have a job.”
“Actually, I’m off for a while.”
“Off?” Lines of uncertainty creased her brows. “And you’re willing to paint a house while you’re on vacation?” The confusion on her face faded. “Oh.”
“What oh?”
“If you help me do this, I can get out of here sooner. That’s worth painting during your vacation.” She looked pleased with herself, and he wasn’t going to correct her.
“Here’s the deal. I’ll be your employee for a week, do everything you need. But you have to answer one question.”
“Depends on the question.”
“Words like stubborn and mulelike aren’t strong enough to describe you.”
She laughed softly. “Hey, your beliefs can’t be turned off and on at will. When you have to be stubborn to survive, it becomes a part of you. And then you’re its slave.”
He wondered if she had any clue how much some of her thinking followed the teachings of God. “You were screaming at me in your sleep. What’d I do in the dream?”
Her fingers moved over her lips, across her cheek, and back again.
“I just want to know so I can help.”
She opened her mouth three times before words squeaked out. “I was blindfolded, and you were leading me somewhere. When we got there, you told me to take off the blindfold because you had something special waiting.” She placed the glass on the table. “This is silly. I’m going to bed.”
He shrugged. “Fine. Go to bed.” He wouldn’t be out-stubborned by a woman—a featherweight at that.
She huffed. “There was a hot-air balloon with a basket. You talked me into getting in it. It went up and up. Everything below was gorgeous, and I felt free. Then I noticed a rope attached to the bottom of the basket. The end of it dangled inside a black hole that kept expanding, but with every inch of growth, it made the basket shudder and begin to unravel. I screamed for you to help me.” She sighed. “The bottom fell out of the basket, and I woke right before I hit the ground.”
Ephraim’s heart thudded.
“Happy now?”
He shook his head. “I won’t lead you to a place where the weight of the world can be defied only to watch you fall.”
“It was a stupid dream.”
“Or maybe it’s your greatest fears surfacing while you sleep—fear of trusting a man, fear that when troubles come, no one can help you.”
She lifted the glass, took a sip, and set it down. Then she shifted from one foot to the other, but she didn’t respond to what he’d said. She pointed to the Bible. “That says some really odd stuff.”
His mother had bought him an English version of the Bible when he was a teen. Reading a German Bible had been difficult, and she’d wanted to make it easier for him to turn to God’s Word if he ever had a mind to. At the time he hadn’t considered it much of a gift, but it’d grown to mean a lot to him.
“Ya, it does.”
“You think so too?”
“Sure. Everyone does. Parts of it are thousands of years old. If you and I have trouble understanding each other because of cultural differences, imagine if we weren’t from the same generation and country or if we didn’t speak the same language.”
“Do you honestly believe there’s a God?”
“Ya. And I believe He sent His Son Jesus and that He left His Spirit to help guide us.”
“My mother believed in God. In his own way Johnny did too.”
“His own way?”
She shrugged. “The diner he managed was open seven days a week, so going to church was out. I never saw him read a Bible, but sometimes I’d see him praying—not just at mealtime, but walking the floors, talking out loud to God. A lot of it seemed to be for me and Lori.” She moved to the Bible and smoothed her fingers across the page. “I can see why people would want to believe in something stronger than themselves.”
In spite of wanting to open a discussion on this topic, he decided to say nothing rather than the wrong thing. She didn’t know it, but God was having a conversation with her.
She closed the Bible and pushed it away. “If you can be there for me for another week, maybe two, that’s all I need.” She ran her fingertips across her lips. “Can you?”
It was as if she’d calculated how much inner strength he had to continue helping her, and all she could come up with was a week’s worth, possibly two. “Yes. I promise you that much.”
She nodded, but he didn’t think she believed him.