“You sound a lot happier tonight,” Meg said a few minutes after Rachel called Thursday night on her speakerphone as she drove home from visiting Ivan. “Did you find out you got into the MSN program?”
Rachel groaned. “I’m sorry I’ve been so moody lately, but you’re right, I do feel a lot happier tonight, and no, it’s not because I found out anything about my application. It’s because I had a gut afternoon at the fabric store with Arden’s schweschder, Grace.”
Meg cracked up, and when Rachel asked what was so funny, she imitated, “A gut afternoon with Arden’s schweschder. You’re sounding more and more Amish every day.”
Rachel laughed, too. “If you think I sound Amish, wait till you see how Amish I look in the dress I’m making.”
“What?” Meg’s tone suddenly changed. “Why are you making Amish clothes? You’re going to stay there permanently, aren’t you?”
“Don’t be lecher—ridiculous. I’m making a dress because I brought so few skirts, and it gives me something to do in the evenings until Ivan is discharged.”
“Sewing doesn’t sound like a fun way to spend an evening. Haven’t you met any handsome, eligible bachelors who could take you out?”
“Only Arden.” Rachel’s answer slipped out of her mouth before she realized how it sounded. “I mean, he’s the only bachelor I’ve met, and his sister told me he’s not courting anyone. Which obviously is neither here nor there, because he’s Amish. My point is, no, I haven’t met any eligible bachelors I’d consider going out with.” She was grateful Meg couldn’t see her face, because her cheeks felt aflame.
“For as much as you’ve told me about Arden, you’ve never told me what he looks like. Is he handsome?”
“Not that it matters, but yeah, I suppose he’s good-looking. He’s tall and has blond—blondish—curls and light blue eyes. And a nice smile, when he smiles, which is rare.”
“He’s still being Mr. Morose?”
“Well...sometimes. It’s hard to say. He sort of turns on a dime. Like this morning, he was cracking jokes right and left, and then all of a sudden, he became surly again because I was talking too loudly to a customer or he couldn’t find where I put the inventory. And when his sister came by, he all but tried to drag her out of the workshop rather than let her talk to me. Who knows, maybe he’s afraid I’ll be a bad influence on her and she’ll go Englisch, too.”
“But she’s friendly to you?”
“Very. Although I suspect part of that is because she’s interested in my brother.”
“But you’re not interested in her brother?”
“Not at all,” Rachel insisted. “He’s Amish, remember?”
“I remember. Do you remember?”
Rachel gave an exaggerated huff. “Just for that, I’m saying goodbye now, Meg.”
“Gut nacht,” Meg chirped, and they both laughed before hanging up.
I don’t know why she’d suggest I’m romantically interested in Arden, Rachel thought. I think she’s just being lappich on purpose, to amuse me. The idea is as narrish as the thought of me lingering in Serenity Ridge. The moment Ivan is well again, I’m out of here.
Meanwhile, she was glad she’d gone to the fabric store with Grace, who’d filled her in on the news in Serenity Ridge. Ivan rarely mentioned people other than their family members when he wrote to Rachel, so she was surprised to discover how the population had grown and changed since she’d lived there. The fledgling community was only a little over twenty years old, and already it had nearly tripled in size, despite the fact several of the people who originally settled there had either returned to their home states, married and moved away, or passed on.
Maybe I’m being too sensitive to think people are avoiding me—they might not even live here any longer, Rachel realized. I suppose I could try to introduce myself to the Amish. But how? Showing up at church after having been gone for ten years would likely be awkward for everyone, as would dropping in on someone she used to know. And she wasn’t about to attend a singing. Ah well—for tonight she literally had her work cut out for her; she’d purchased fabric in a bright spring color Grace said would look pretty with her hair and eyes. It wasn’t until she’d already cut into it that she realized she’d chosen almost the exact shade of lavender Arden had spilled inside the playhouse, and the recollection made her laugh all over again.
“Arden, kumme look at this,” Grace called from the living room when he walked through the door on Thursday evening. It was after eight o’clock and he was beat, but hearing the urgency in his sister’s voice, he raced through the kitchen without removing his muddy boots.
She was standing over their mother, who was reclining on the sofa in a housecoat. “Stop fussing,” Oneita said to Grace. “Let your bruder eat his supper.”
Grace wouldn’t listen. “Look at Mamm’s fingers, Arden. That’s what I’ve been telling you keeps happening. Please show him, Mamm.”
Oneita sighed, but she held up her hands. Although her thumbs were spared, the top halves of all eight of her fingers were so white they nearly glowed.
“Do they hurt?”
“They tingle a little, like when your foot falls asleep, but they don’t hurt.”
“Were you leaning on them?”
“Neh. I just got out of the tub.”
Arden tugged at his ear. “Did you use a new soap or something?”
“What is this, twenty questions?” Grace snapped. “She didn’t do anything. It just happens. See—now they’re turning blue. This is the sequence it follows. It’s not going to do us any gut to guess what’s happening. We need a medical professional’s help.”
“But if it doesn’t really hurt...” Oneita said, even as she winced and wiggled her fingers.
“Mamm, there might be an underlying reason this is happening. If that’s the case, it needs to be addressed now, before it progresses. I don’t want you to end up suffering needlessly.” Grace’s tone indicated she was struggling to remain patient. She shot a look at Arden and added, “The longer we wait, the more expensive the treatment might be.”
Although money might have been a prohibitive issue a few days ago, it was no longer Arden’s primary consideration. Thank the Lord, his concern over Ivan’s hospital bill had finally been put to rest this afternoon when Rachel confirmed she’d combed through the ledger, checking and rechecking the figures, and she’d assured him they had money to spare, even if Ivan wasn’t discharged on Saturday or Sunday as expected. Arden didn’t quite know how to explain their extra funds, but who was he to doubt Rachel? She’d carefully tracked every bill paid, supply bought and delivery scheduled and insisted they were in the black.
What he was more concerned about now was meeting the deadlines for the projects he’d taken on in an attempt to bring in as much money as possible during Ivan’s hospitalization. He was already working from six thirty in the morning until seven thirty or eight o’clock each evening. He hadn’t even begun the shed that was scheduled for pickup on Monday and he couldn’t work on the Sabbath, so how could he take time off to bring his mother to the clinic? Granted, he or Grace could ask someone else to take her, but there was no guarantee anyone would be available. Oneita taking a cab was even less likely than Grace taking the buggy to that side of town; cabs made her nervous, and she’d only ride in one if absolutely necessary.
“Has it gotten worse or happened more frequently?” Arden asked his mother.
“Neh. Definitely not.”
Grace threw her hands in the air. “Arden! Are you going to wait until her fingers fall off to do anything about this?” She stormed from the room, and Arden rubbed his eyes, stupefied by her comment.
His mother merely chuckled. “Don’t listen to her, Arden. If my fingers fall off, we’ll sew them back on again.”
Arden didn’t find the thought amusing. He sank into a cushion at the opposite end of the sofa. “Grace is right, Mamm. We need to get this checked out sooner rather than later. I’m sorry I hesitated. It wasn’t that I don’t want to take the time or spend the money. You’re more than worth it. It’s...” He stopped speaking, realizing if his mother’s health truly was his priority, he wouldn’t offer the flimsy excuse of needing to meet his work commitments.
“I know, suh.” His mother leaned forward to pat his knee. “You’re shouldering a lot of responsibility at the workshop—more than usual. That’s important not just for the customers, but for you and your familye, and especially for Ivan. Unless my hands get worse, this can wait.”
“Neh—”
His mother pointed a finger at him; it had almost returned to its normal hue. “You and your schweschder take excellent care of me and I appreciate it, but I am still your mamm and this is still my body, so I’m making this decision, not you. I’ll tell my rheumatologist about my fingers at my next appointment.”
Arden shook his head. “Can we compromise? Since I have a shed due on Monday, I’ll schedule an appointment for you for Tuesday. If your hands get better before then, we’ll cancel it. But if they get worse, we’ll go to the dokder immediately.”
“All right, all right. But the only reason I’m agreeing to this is because otherwise Grace is going to be upset with you.”
“Jah. Remember the time I procrastinated installing a heater in her buggy and she served meat loaf every night until I got around to doing it?” Meat loaf was Arden’s least favorite food.
“Do I ever! Even I didn’t like meat loaf anymore after that,” his mother joked. “And if we don’t want it for supper tomorrow night, you’d better wipe up the floor. Look at that mud.”
Arden gamely went into the kitchen to take off his boots and wipe up the footprints before returning to the living room to mop the floor there, too. As he worked, his mother said, “I’m surprised Grace flew off the handle tonight. She came back from the fabric store in such a gut mood.”
“Oh?” Arden didn’t look up from wringing the cloth into the bucket. Rachel had seemed almost giddy after the trip to the fabric store, too. All afternoon he’d had to fight the temptation to worry about whether Grace told Rachel something he wouldn’t have wanted her to disclose, such as that he had trouble reading or that their mamm wished he’d meet someone to court.
“Jah, she said Ivan’s schweschder took her in her car—don’t fret, she made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone Rachel is here, although I can’t imagine it will stay a secret for very long. Anyway, afterward they drove around so Grace could show Rachel some of the new farms and Amish heiser in Serenity Ridge.”
That would explain why they were gone so long. “Hmm.”
“Grace said Rachel is in her late twenties. There aren’t too many people that age to socialize with here. You ought to invite her to our haus for supper after work one evening.”
I knew that was coming, Arden thought. I wish the weather were as predictable as my mamm and schweschder. “She goes to visit Ivan in the evenings after work.”
“Ah, that’s right. She offered Grace a ride. I’m surprised she didn’t offer to take you, too, considering your relationship with Ivan.”
“She did offer, Mamm.” Arden shifted himself upright and picked up the bucket.
“But you didn’t accept? Don’t the two of you get along? Or are you uncomfortable about how it would appear to be alone with her? If that’s it, Grace could go with you, too.”
Arden felt trapped; no matter what he said, his mother would likely draw the wrong conclusion. “W-we wo-work w-well together.” The repetition of Ws made his stutter even more pronounced. He edged toward the door, adding, “I-I’ve b-been working late and I wa-wanted to give her time alone with her br-bruder since it’s been so long since she’s seen him. She went Englisch ten years ago, you know. She hasn’t been b-back since then.”
“Jah, Grace mentioned that.” A frown pulled at his mother’s mouth. Satisfied she’d gotten the message, Arden moved toward the kitchen on his way to dump the dirty water outside. Just as he turned the door handle, his mother called, “When Ivan comes home from the hospital, we’ll have to invite both him and Rachel to have supper with us. Won’t that be schpass?”
Rachel kicked her sheet aside. Between the rainy weather and the warming temperatures, there was already a hint of summer humidity in the air. It was a good thing she could sew quickly, because if the heat kept up, she couldn’t continue to wear the clothing she’d brought with her, with the exception of the short-sleeved cotton top she planned to put on again today.
The clamminess in the air not only made her cranky, it caused her hair to wilt, too, so she swept it into a high ponytail. It felt good to have it off her neck, but Rachel realized if she leaned forward while she was painting the chicken coop, her ponytail might brush against it and she’d wind up with even redder highlights than her natural ones. She released her hair and gathered it in a bun at the nape of her neck instead. I can imagine what Meg would say if she saw me now...
The rain was coming down in sheets as she sprinted across the lawn to the workshop a few minutes later. The instant she reached the door, she realized she’d left her cell phone at the house and had to race back. The battery was running low—she didn’t drive often enough to keep it charged—but it had enough power for her to check her email for news from the university. The second time she got to the workshop, she was so soaked she felt as if she’d been swimming.
“Guder mariye,” Arden greeted her from behind the wall of a shed that hadn’t been there when she’d left the previous evening. He was fast.
“Guder mariye,” she echoed. Noticing she was dripping on the catalogs on the desk, she asked, “Do we have any towels in here?”
“Neh,” Arden replied as he came around the shed into view. He did a double take when he spotted her. “The rags in the bin are clean, though. Let me get you a couple.”
“Denki,” she said when he handed her several cloths in assorted sizes a moment later. She patted one along the length of her sleeves before using the second one to blot her hair and then her face. Lowering the cloth, she spied Arden watching her. “I know, I look like a drowned rat.”
His ears turned pink. “D-do you wa-want me to run to the haus and get a r-real towel?”
“If you do, it’ll be wet before you make it halfway back to the fence,” she replied. “Just listen to it coming down.” They both paused and looked toward the roof of the barn, which was being pelted with raindrops. “Even you don’t make that much noise when you’re hammering, and you’ve got a really quick, powerful swing,” Rachel said.
When Arden’s cheeks and neck ignited with color, Rachel realized her comment may have sounded flirtatious, but she didn’t know how to indicate that wasn’t her intention. Changing the subject, she said, “I guess if there’s one gut thing about wearing my hair like this, it’s that it doesn’t look any different when it’s wet than when it’s dry.”
Terrific, now it sounded as if she was insulting Amish women’s hairstyles. Rachel didn’t know what was wrong with her brain and mouth today, but they weren’t doing her any favors. “Ivan really should keep an umbrella in the haus,” she added feebly.
“I suppose he figures since he wears a hat, he doesn’t need an umbrella,” Arden remarked with a shrug, and Rachel was glad he walked away before she could embarrass either of them again.
As Arden pulled out his tape measure and measured the length of a joist, he fought to keep his hands steady. Ordinarily, he might have felt complimented if a young woman noticed his strength, but coming from Rachel, it unnerved him.
But why? Because she’s Englisch? he asked himself. She sure didn’t look Englisch today; with her hair combed into a bun like that, for the first time Arden could envision the young Amish girl she’d been before she left Serenity Ridge. The severe hairstyle was an unsettling contrast with her Englisch clothing, and he wished she’d worn her tresses loose, the way she usually did, but that was beside the point. It wasn’t her hair or clothing or the fact she’d gone Englisch that made him feel upset by her flattery. Arden was upset because he realized a comment about his strength was going to be the best compliment he’d ever get from Rachel. It’s not as if someone that bright would ever think of me as clever or wise.
His tape measure snapped his thumb as he retracted it into its casing; he had the reflexes of an amateur this morning. Last night he’d lain awake in bed for hours, worrying about his mother and Grace eventually inviting Ivan and Rachel to supper. Board games would inevitably follow their meal, and if any of those games involved reading aloud... Arden yawned. He was tired. Tired from having spent the night tossing and turning, tired from trying to stay one step ahead of their customers, and tired from trying to hide his shortcomings. How ironic that the one thing people noticed about him was his strength, when at the moment, he felt as weary as could be. He closed his eyes and prayed. Lord, please empower me to do Your will today and to meet the commitments I’ve made to others.
“Arden? Are you okay?”
His eyes flew open; Rachel stood in front of him. “Jah. Do you need something?”
She extended him the phone. “Grace wants to talk to you. She sounds upset.”
He pressed the phone to his ear. “What’s wrong, Grace?”
“It’s Mamm’s...this time it’s not just...and her...” Whether it was because of the rain, the phone shanty or the cell phone’s reception, Grace’s voice kept cutting in and out.
“I can’t hear you, Grace. But I’m coming home right away. I’m bringing Rachel. We’ll be right there.” He turned toward the desk to ask Rachel for her help, but as he’d mentioned the day before, sound carried well in the workshop and she’d heard everything he’d said.
“I’ll run to the haus to get my keys. You lock up here and meet me at the car.”
Reaching the car before Rachel did, Arden prayed, Please, Gott, keep Mamm well.
A moment later Rachel slid into the seat behind the steering wheel. “Which road do I take?” she asked as they neared the end of the driveway.
Arden’s mind clouded, and his tongue felt thick. Two of the three streets he usually traveled to access the road he lived on were washed out, so he’d taken a roundabout way to the workshop that morning. He couldn’t have told Rachel the names of those streets if his life depended on it—not even if his mother’s life depended on it.
“Arden.” Her voice was firm but calm. “Which way?”
“R-r-right,” he said, and she turned in the opposite direction of where he wanted her to go.
He hadn’t mixed up right and left for years—it only happened when he was stressed or tired. As a child, it had taken him much longer than the other students to learn the concept of right and left. He was finally able to memorize the two directions when the teacher told him, “Think of it this way. Right is on the same side as the hand I write with. The other hand is left.” Except Arden always completed the mnemonic as, “The other hand is wrong.”
“Neh!” he barked now. “Wrong! Go wrong!”
Rachel tapped the brake, and his upper torso swung toward the dashboard before the seat belt jerked his momentum to a stop. “Which way do you want me to go? Right or left?”
Arden pointed. “That way.”
“Okay.” She reached over and tapped his hand, repeating, “Okay. It’s going to be okay.”
For the rest of their trip, each time they came to a stop sign or the end of a street, he’d squint into the rain and point in the direction he wanted her to continue. The downpour pelted the rooftop so hard it made it difficult for them to hear each other, and twice they temporarily lost all visibility when passing vehicles shrouded them in water.
“Ivan told me about your Mamm’s lupus. Has she had a flare of symptoms recently?” Rachel asked as they approached another four-way stop.
“Jah, a fe-fever.” Arden pointed. “Up the hill. Then t-turn by the Grischtdaag tree farm.”
Rachel did as he said. “Anything else?”
Arden was confused; couldn’t she see the tree farm? “There’s a small b-barn.”
“No, I meant any other symptoms?”
“She’s tired. And her ha-hands are—” He rapidly tapped the dashboard. “Here, turn here. Down this road at the end is wh-where I live.”
“Hold on, I haven’t stopped the car yet,” Rachel said when she pulled up to the house, but Arden already had one leg out the door. How many times had she treated patients who’d wound up injured because they’d panicked while trying to help a family member during an emergency?
She turned off the ignition, nabbed her first aid kit from beneath the seat and hurried behind him into the house, through the kitchen and into the living room. There a thin, older woman whose head of dark hair didn’t contain a strand of gray was placidly resting in an armchair while Grace stood beside her holding a glass of water.
“Why, hello. You must be Rachel Blank. I’m Oneita Esh,” the woman greeted her as if she’d been expecting Rachel to stop by for a sister day.
Before Rachel could respond, Arden began firing off questions. “Are you okay, Mamm? Is it your hands? Grace, what happened?”
“Her nose changed color, just like her fingers. It was the oddest thing.”
Oneita looked at Rachel and raised her hands as she shrugged. “They’re better now, as you can see. I only wanted Grace to tell Arden we might need to schedule an appointment after all, but I guess they didn’t have a gut phone connection. I’m sorry you came all the way out here in the rain. Grace—please make Rachel a cup of tea. She’s dripping wet.”
“Mamm, as long as we’re here, you should let Rachel look at your hands. And your nose,” Arden suggested.
Oneita rolled her eyes. “My kinner fret so much you’d think they’re the eldre and I’m the kind.”
Rachel laughed. Then, sensing Arden and Grace’s frustration with their mother, as well as Oneita’s resistance, she suggested, “A cup of tea would be wunderbaar, Grace. Perhaps while you’re making it and I’m chatting with your mamm, Arden will go remove his shoes and get a towel for me. I’m afraid we’ve made a mess of your floor.”
Arden looked at her askance, but Grace sighed and nudged him out of the room, saying, “Okay, we’ll give you privacy to chat.”
“You’re going to want to look me over, aren’t you?” Oneita asked.
“It might help keep those two from breathing down your neck,” Rachel whispered, causing Oneita to chuckle.
She proceeded to take Oneita’s temperature and discuss her symptoms. Rachel was almost certain she could identify the phenomenon, as she’d read about it and seen several lupus patients treated for it in the clinic over the years. She didn’t think Oneita’s case was urgent, but since Rachel wasn’t qualified to offer a diagnosis, she encouraged her to see a doctor soon.
As Arden and Grace reentered the room, Oneita argued, “I understand that, but I’d still like to hear what you think it is and what I can do about it until I get in for an appointment.”
“Mamm, if she doesn’t know for sure—” Arden started to say.
“She does know. And she knows what I can do to treat it or prevent it.” Oneita pointed her finger at Rachel in a way that reminded her of her own mother. “Kumme now, you’ve studied and learned a lot about Englisch medicine. I understand some people might think that’s a matter of hochmut. But it’s false hochmut to act as if you don’t know something when you clearly do.”
Flustered, Rachel was at a momentary loss. Somehow Oneita’s words sounded less like a scolding and more like...like encouragement. She felt the same way now that she’d felt when Arden pointed out how she’d held her ground with Colin—it was as if Oneita and Arden appreciated the very attributes in Rachel that the people in her family condemned as character flaws.
“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll tell you what I know, but first I have to admit there’s something that’s confusing me. If this is what I think it is, usually it’s triggered by cold temperatures, but the weather’s been so warm lately. It seems odd you’d be experiencing it now—especially after bathing.”
Grace clasped her hands together. “Mamm’s been taking tepid baths, not hot baths. It’s what she does for her fever.”
“But she didn’t have a bath this morning, did she?” Arden countered. “And even if she did, it’s not as if she put her nose under water.”
“Maybe today was an exception,” Oneita said.
“Did you do anything else with cold water today, Mamm?” Arden pressed. “Rinse vegetables? Make lemonade?”
“Neh. Grace has been doing all the food preparation. She thinks I’m so weak she barely allowed me to get my compress from the freezer before she was chasing me out again.”
“Mamm, that’s it! You opened the freezer, which is right at nose level, and you’ve been handling the compress. Could being exposed to the cold for such a short time trigger it, Rachel?”
“Jah. I think you’ve solved the mystery, Arden,” Rachel said, silently admonishing herself for making assumptions about Oneita taking hot baths and for not asking additional questions, as Arden had done. But now that she was more confident about the diagnosis, she told the Eshes everything she knew about the disease, including how to prevent it, what to do when it happened, what tests the doctor might want to run and what alternative medicine options she might consider. She concluded by again urging Oneita to schedule a doctor’s appointment.
“Arden will do that for me, but I doubt the dokder will tell me anything you haven’t already said.” Oneita brought her teacup to her lips. “Oh, this is cold. Would you put another kettle on for us, Grace?”
“Actually, Rachel and I ought to get back to the workshop now.” Arden was shifting from foot to foot, but Rachel noticed the color had returned to his cheeks and he wasn’t stuttering anymore. He was probably nervous about meeting his deadlines, and she didn’t want to add to his anxiety.
“Jah, we should go,” she agreed, hoping she didn’t appear rude for dashing off.
“Then you must kumme for tea another day, shouldn’t she, Grace?”
“Absolutely.” Grace smiled at her brother. “Arden and I have been talking about Rachel visiting since she got here, haven’t we, Arden?”
“Denki, I’d like that,” Rachel agreed, and in that moment she realized just how much she’d longed to be welcomed into an Amish family’s home again.
On the return trip, Arden could hardly speak, except to indicate in which direction Rachel should turn. Now that he wasn’t so distraught over his mother’s condition, he had the wherewithal to verbalize left or right instead of just pointing, but beyond that, speech eluded him. He needed to process the gamut of emotions he’d just experienced, from his fear about his mother’s health to his admiration of how skillfully Rachel managed the situation, to his apprehension about her coming to their house socially. Fortunately, either Rachel understood his need for silence or she was deep in thought, too, because she was as quiet as he was.
Although the rain had let up and Rachel only used her intermittent wipers to clear a fine mist from the windshield, the unpaved back roads were soft with puddles. More than once she navigated onto the shoulder in order to bypass the standing water, but when they came to a particularly large pool that extended across the road’s width, she stopped the car and bit her lip.
“Uh-oh. That looks deep. I better not cross it. I don’t want the engine to seize.” She glanced into the rearview mirror and at both sides of the road. “It’s too narrow to turn here. I’m going to have to back up a little first, and then I can maneuver a three-point turn.”
Rachel put the car into Reverse and Arden could hear the engine revving, but they went nowhere. “Are we stuck?”
“I think so. I’ll look.” Rachel shifted into Park and reached for the door handle, but Arden pressed her shoulder to stop her from getting out.
“No need for both of us to get dirty,” he said. As soon as he placed his weight down, he sank far enough into the soggy ground that the muddy water nearly covered the top of his boots. The muck created noticeable suction as he trudged to the front of the car, where he confirmed the driver’s side wheel was stuck indeed. “Put it in Reverse,” he instructed Rachel, who was sticking her head out the window.
“It is,” she confirmed.
“I’m going to rock it a couple times first. On the count of three, apply the gas.” Arden bent to place his hands against the front bumper, shoulder width apart, thinking, This is never an issue with a horse and buggy. “One... Two...” He could feel the car begin to budge, and he heaved with all his might. “Three!”
Rachel must have pushed the pedal to the floor, because the driver’s side wheel gyrated in place, wildly throwing blobs of mud at him before both tires gripped the ground and the car shot backward with such force Arden lost his balance and thumped onto his bottom in the ooze. Fortunately, he was able to halt his backward momentum by bracing his torso with his arms, so he remained in an upright sitting position instead of lying flat in the sludge.
As he wiped dirt from his eyelid with a clear patch of his sleeve, he saw Rachel charging toward him on foot, waving something white in the air. “Arden, are you okay? I’m so sor—” One of her feet was submerged in mire, and as she extended the other leg forward, it lost traction and slid beneath her. Her knee hit the soft ground first, followed by her elbow on one side and then her palm on the other. By the time she stopped moving, she was lying flat on her belly with her chin in the mud.
Arden scrambled to his feet to help her up, too. “Are you okay?”
“Jah,” she said once she was upright. Blinking at the damp, dirty wad she still gripped in her fist, she added, “But I’m afraid these were my only napkins.”
The notion that a couple of flimsy paper napkins could have made a difference to them caused Arden to howl with laughter, and Rachel clutched her stomach and joined him. Noticing that the grime on her face made her bright teeth appear even brighter as she laughed, he couldn’t think of any woman he knew who would be as good-natured as Rachel was being right now. If her attitude in the face of being drenched with rain and gunk wasn’t a demonstration of demut, he didn’t know what was.