Caleb had been studying Rachel all through dinner and even afterward as she set to work with her new knitting needles and yarn. She’d apparently begun the project earlier in the afternoon—after losing her job, visiting the doctor and going by the general store. She’d been busy. Whatever she was knitting already stretched across her lap. How much of the yarn had she bought? It was a medley of blues—quite appropriate. He couldn’t fault her there, not that he was looking for a reason to find fault. He just didn’t understand her moods, and he was worried about this doctor situation.
He’d tried to catch her eye a few times, but she’d been completely focused on counting her stitches. Twice now she’d shushed him.
His mamm had laughed and said, “That’s why I was never very good at knitting—you have to count.”
Rachel had nodded in agreement as she continued mumbling, “Thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine...”
He waited for her to reach the end of a row and tug again on the ball of yarn, and then he jumped in with the first thing that came to mind. “I could use some help in the barn brushing down the horses.”
She stopped, midstitch, and stared at him. “Now?”
“Sure. Now’s a gut time.”
She bent forward to peer out the window at the pitch-black night. The cloud cover was so heavy that no stars or moonlight shone through, but she shrugged and said, “Ya. I could help with that, I guess.”
Caleb noticed his parents exchange a glance, but he chose to ignore that. The year before, his mamm had spent many an hour trying her best at matchmaking and dropping none-too-subtle hints about grandkinner. She’d finally given up sometime in the last six months, but he knew that sparkle in her eye meant she was considering meddling. He shook his head once, definitively. She only smiled and raised her eyebrows as if to say “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Gut to see you youngies taking responsibility for our animals.” His dat peered at them over the top of The Budget. “Those alpacas—I’m not exactly sure what to do with them.”
“Mostly they enjoy attention,” Rachel said, as if she’d been raising alpacas all of her life.
For all Caleb knew, she had been.
“I’ll put a kettle of water on to boil, and we can have tea and some of those leftover cinnamon rolls when you all are done.” His mamm added, with a distinctive twinkle in her eye, “But don’t hurry on our account.”
Caleb rubbed at the muscle just over his left shoulder and waited for Rachel to shrug into her coat.
They walked out to the barn in silence, the wind at their back causing them to walk closer together—shoulder to shoulder—as a barricade against the cold.
When they stepped into the barn, the smells of hay and animals and wood surrounded him. He watched Rachel as she walked around the main room, studying the tools and projects and sacks of feed. Finally, she turned to him and said, “You and your dat keep a clean barn.”
“Of course.”
“Not all Amish do.”
“You remember that?”
She shrugged, unprovoked by his intrusiveness. She’d been quieter, calmer, since going to the Englisch doctor...or maybe it was the knitting that had settled her nerves. “I’m not sure what I remember, but I do know this is especially clean. Can’t say I’m surprised, since you’re so...”
“So what?” He didn’t want to care what Rachel thought about him, but he braced himself for her criticism as if it was a dart she was about to hurl his way.
“Industrious. That’s the word I’m looking for.”
“Never been called that before. Thick-headed, stubborn—”
“Old-fashioned. Ya, I know. But what I mean is that you seem to like what you do out here, and it shows. It’s not about doing things the old way...though plainly you do.” She picked up a handheld seed broadcaster, studied it a minute and placed it back in its cubby. “People can be old-fashioned and messy. This place looks as clean as a veterinarian’s hospital.”
Had she worked for a veterinarian?
Everything she said, he wondered if it was a piece of the puzzle of Rachel, but maybe he was reading too much into things. Maybe he was afraid it was all going to come together at once, and she’d be whisked away. That was what he wanted, for her to be returned home, but he hoped it would happen slowly so that he could get used to the idea. He should already be used to it, since he spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about it—about her.
“So why did you want me to come out here?”
“I told you—”
“To brush down the horses at seven thirty in the evening. Ya, I heard you.”
“Could be a guy just likes a little help with the work. Plus I get a little restless, especially on winter nights. We’ve been sitting in that house since five o’clock.”
She only smiled wider, and he knew that he wasn’t fooling her. She didn’t call him on it, but plainly she knew that he’d brought her out here to talk about the doctor. She’d said nothing about it at dinner, which meant she’d talked to his mamm earlier. While he tried to figure out how to broach the subject, they might as well brush down the animals.
The alpacas usually stayed outside, even in the evening. They had a lean-to with a roof and a wall against the northern wind. They could also come into the barn through the southern stalls, where he left the outer doors open. He’d been doing that the last three nights, and each morning he’d arrived to find them bedded down inside. Apparently they knew a good deal when they saw one, and since his dat had only the two buggy horses, they had several unused stalls.
He handed her a brush and pointed to the nearest stall, and together they walked in and began brushing down Ginger, their older mare. Rachel didn’t ask any questions about how to use the brush or where to begin on the animal. She talked to it softly and then began stroking it from the top of its head and down its neck. The animal apparently liked what she was doing. When she stopped to move her kapp strings out of the way, the mare nudged her hand to encourage her to keep brushing.
He thought Rachel looked especially pretty in the glow of the lantern. He was suddenly glad that she had fallen into their lives. He was already starting to think of events in terms of “before Rachel” or “after Rachel,” as if she was some sort of dividing line in his life. She was certainly unlike any of the girls he had stepped out with. Rachel had a mind of her own, even if she couldn’t remember her name. She had strong opinions, but she was willing to listen to others—that was rare in a person. And though she seemed to struggle with her moods, he couldn’t know if that was because of the frustration of her situation or something more. She seemed to always push through. She seemed to always end up with that same small knowing smile she was wearing now.
A bead of sweat broke out along his hairline, and he felt as if he could hear the rush of ocean waves in his ears. What did that mean?
Was he falling for her?
Did he have...romantic feelings for Rachel?
That would be ridiculous. Why would he even entertain pursuing a relationship with her? It wasn’t like she was staying here. It wasn’t like they had a chance to build a life together. Then again, how much control did one have over whom they fell in love with?
He dropped the brush, bent to pick it up and stumbled as he was standing back up.
She looked at him quizzically but didn’t say anything.
He couldn’t be in love with Rachel. He just couldn’t. He liked things done the old way, while she was eager to embrace change. He was quiet and steady—his mood was the same nearly every day. She was smiling and chatty one moment, quiet and droopy the next. He lived in Montgomery, Indiana, and they had no idea where she lived. He couldn’t even speak to her dat about courting her because they didn’t know who her father was.
It was with those thoughts whirling in his head that he swallowed, began brushing the other side of the mare and broached the subject he’d wanted to talk about since she had come home earlier that afternoon.
Rachel thought Caleb was acting a bit strangely—staring at her one moment, then dropping things, then stumbling, and then blushing when he saw she’d noticed. If she didn’t know better, she’d ask him if he’d been sipping the wine that many Amish households kept for special occasions.
She didn’t, though.
The thought of Caleb Wittmer drinking a glass of wine almost caused her to laugh out loud. So instead of quizzing him about his odd behavior, she waited for him to begin the interrogation that she knew was coming. She certainly wasn’t going to make it any easier for him, but she did feel a bit sympathetic that he was grappling with it so.
Finally, he began brushing the mare with strong sure strokes and jumped in.
“I don’t understand why you have to see an Englisch doctor.”
“We already talked about this in the buggy.”
“I know we did, but explain it to me. I really do want to understand.”
“And I want to understand why you’re so dead set against it.”
“Good, let’s have a conversation. You start.”
“All right. I want to see Dr. Michie, who is an Englisch doctor, because I want to get well. And we don’t have any Amish doctors.”
“We may not have doctors, but we have people in our community who can help you.”
“Like who?” Rachel crossed her arms, her aggravation building. She should have known that he would have a better idea. Caleb always thought he knew the answer to things. Though she’d promised herself that she would be more patient with him after all Beth had told her, that was proving more difficult than she’d thought it would be.
They’d had that nice moment in the buggy earlier in the day—he’d seemed almost kind then. No doubt he was a kind person, but sometimes his certainty that he knew the best answer for every question got in the way.
If only he wasn’t so aggravating and pushy, she might actually enjoy being around him.
He was studying her now as if she was a child and he needed to think how to persuade her without causing a tantrum. She did not have tantrums! She might have strong opinions, but there was nothing wrong with that.
“You were about to suggest people in your community who could help me find my memories.”
“Let me think,” he said.
“Uh-huh. I’m waiting.”
They both continued brushing down the mare. It had been a long day for Rachel with too many ups and downs. She was embarrassed that she’d lost her job at the quilt shop on the first day she’d shown up, but she was also optimistic after seeing Dr. Michie. Now Caleb was ruining even that.
Ginger moved closer, so she continued brushing her mane. It was amazing how much animals enjoyed human attention.
“Many people in our community see a chiropractor,” Caleb pointed out.
“I don’t have a sore back!”
“I’m just saying that there are...” He paused, his eyes going up and to the right as he tried to think of another word.
“More traditional?”
“That’s it. There are more traditional ways to address, uh, health issues.”
“This is a mental health issue.”
“Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Your brain was apparently bruised—sounds physical to me.”
She shook her head in exasperation.
“We have midwives.”
“Not having a baby.”
“And we have an herbalist.” He snapped his fingers. “That’s it. You could go see Doreen.”
“An herbalist?”
“Ya. She’s very gut. Lots of people say so.”
“Have you ever seen her yourself?”
“Nein.”
“Have your parents?”
“Not that I can remember.”
“But you want me to go and see her.”
“Ya.”
“I thought herbalists helped people who had digestive issues or maybe trouble sleeping.” She started to add “people who were depressed,” but she wasn’t ready to admit she had that problem. Maybe she did, but maybe her feelings were a natural reaction to what had happened. If her moods were a side effect of her amnesia, would that still be considered depression? She’d have to ask Dr. Michie the next time she saw her.
“I have another appointment with Dr. Michie next week.”
“Oh.”
She could practically hear him snap his mouth shut, as he no doubt tried to stop the suggestion that was about to come out. Maybe he did realize how irritating he was—points in his favor. She felt her aggravation with him soften.
She felt her resolve wobble.
“If you think it’s a gut idea to see this Doreen, I suppose I could give it a try.” She didn’t want to see an herbalist, but it might be worth it to please Caleb. He suddenly looked so relieved, almost as if it was already Christmas morning. “No idea where she is or what I’ll say to her.”
“I’ll take you.”
Caleb glanced away when she stared up at him.
“Now, why would you do that?”
“Just trying to help.”
Ginger again nudged her hand, encouraging her to keep brushing, and Rachel laughed—whether at herself, Caleb or the mare, she couldn’t have said.
“I don’t have anything to do tomorrow, since I lost my job. The manager at the restaurant didn’t want to see me until Wednesday.”
“Tomorrow afternoon, then. I’ll take you over to Doreen’s.”
“It’s a date!” Rachel wanted to take back the word as soon as she said it, but Caleb was looking at her as if she’d just told him there was an alien standing behind him. It really was comical.
Did he think she wanted a date with him? He looked seriously stumped, so she shook her head, patted the mare one last time and moved over to Stormy’s stall. There was no point in trying to clear up misunderstandings as far as Caleb Wittmer was concerned. She’d tried that before, and she usually ended up digging a deeper hole.
She started working on Stormy, who really was a beautiful animal. His coat was a deep black, and he was delighted to receive the attention. After twenty minutes, Caleb admitted they should go back inside, that his mamm probably had the tea ready. They both knew that brushing the horses had been an excuse for them to have a little privacy.
As they walked back toward the house, staying close together against the north wind that seemed to cut right through her coat, Rachel felt her mood plummet again. She’d felt almost content for a few moments, working on the scarf for Ida. The yarn and knitting needles had seemed to move effortlessly between her fingers. But now her emotions were churning again. She’d agreed to see this Doreen, but she didn’t hold much hope that any herb would help her to remember. It was quite possible that Dr. Michie’s suggestions wouldn’t, either.
All she knew was that she wanted to go home, to be where she belonged, and she was willing to try just about anything to achieve that.
Caleb barely said a word through their evening snack and as he made his way to bed. Did Rachel think they were going on a date?
How did he get himself into these messes?
And why, as Gabriel had pointed out, was he so skittish around her? He should be happy that she’d agreed to see the herbalist, though why he’d suggested Doreen he couldn’t have said. All he knew was that Rachel didn’t need to see that Englisch doctor. Amish folks did see doctors—sure they did—for things like broken legs or deep cuts or rotten teeth. They didn’t see a doctor for their feelings, and this Michie woman... It wasn’t as if she was a specialist in memories. There was no such thing. Was there?
He went to sleep Monday night feeling like he’d done a good thing steering Rachel back toward the Amish way. He wanted her to get well, wanted it as much as she did, but he didn’t think paying a woman to talk to her for an hour was the answer. If she needed to talk to someone, she could talk to him. He wouldn’t charge her a thing!
The next morning again dawned dark and gray. They were certainly having a string of gloomy days. Saturday’s sunshine and the episode with the snake seemed like it had happened weeks or months ago. Unfortunately Rachel’s mood seemed to mirror the weather. He was learning that mornings were the hardest for her. She seemed to perk up by afternoon. And cloudy days? They were the worst.
His mamm and dat seemed a little surprised that Caleb had suggested Doreen, but they didn’t offer an opinion. Instead they shared a look. He’d seen unspoken words pass between them as long as he could remember, and he still didn’t understand how they did that. His mamm sipped her coffee and said, “I wish I could tag along, but I promised to go over and help Rebekah finish up a quilt for the new grandbaby she’s expecting. Both her girls are due with their first about the same time, and she’s in quite a tizzy over getting ready for them.”
So it was that after lunch he found himself pulling the buggy up to the front door and waiting for Rachel. He didn’t have to wait long, and when she did come out, she at least looked perkier than she had that morning.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
“Who said I was feeling bad?”
“Doesn’t take a genius to see.”
“I guess.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nein.”
“Fair enough.”
They traveled in an uncomfortable silence. Caleb didn’t remember where Doreen lived, but his mamm had written down instructions on the back of an envelope. Fortunately, it was only a few miles away, so he wouldn’t have to endure Rachel’s silence for very long.
He needn’t have worried.
By the time they were on the main road, she was chatting about red birds and Beth’s baby and the knitting she’d started the evening before.
“Going better than the crochet work, huh?”
“You noticed that?”
“Looked like a cat had taken hold of your yarn ball.”
“Think you could do better?”
“Nein. I wasn’t saying that at all.” He couldn’t help smiling, though. The world felt right when Rachel teased him. When she was quiet and sad, he felt as if he had a stone in the pit of his stomach.
“Tell me about this Doreen,” she said.
“Not much to tell.”
“Really?”
“She’s older.” He thought she might have celebrated her ninetieth birthday, but he decided not to bring that up.
“Amish?”
“Nein. She’s Mennonite.” Some folks thought she was struggling with dementia, but he was sure that was an exaggeration. Though he had heard that she wore a knitted cap with pom-poms even during the heat of summer.
They pulled up to a tiny little home that was probably surrounded by gardens, but snow covered the entire property now. No one had shoveled the walk. He supposed she didn’t get out much, being as old as she was. There was no sign near the lawn advertising her herbs, but the name Penner was stenciled on the mailbox.
“Her name is Doreen Penner,” he explained as he pulled the buggy to a stop.
“I wonder where she keeps her plants in the winter.”
But they didn’t have to wonder for long. Doreen answered the door, with a striped cat in her arms and a rather large parrot sitting on her shoulder. “I don’t know you, so I guess you’re here to see me about some herbs. Come in. Come in.”
“Come in,” squawked the bird.
As Caleb had feared, she was wearing a knitted cap done in a striped purple pattern with a large pom-pom on the top, but her clothing was even stranger than her headwear. She wore a denim dress embroidered with cats chasing yarn, cats chasing butterflies, even cats chasing children. The dress reached to the floor, and her outfit was rounded out with pink bunny slippers and a pink sweater that was unraveling. The cat stared at them briefly, yawned and then began to lick Doreen’s hand.
Rachel shot Caleb a look that told him there would be a reckoning coming as soon as they left the house. She thanked Doreen politely and stepped inside.
The home looked to be four rooms—a living room with windows that faced the street, a dining room to the left of that. Beyond, Caleb could just make out a kitchen, and the bedroom must have been to the right of the back room.
Every conceivable surface was covered with plants. They were crowded onto tabletops and windowsills, lined along the floor beneath windows and even crowded on top of stacks of books. Doreen placed the cat on the floor, and it immediately disappeared between a large aloe vera plant and a cactus.
Who grew cactuses in Indiana?
“Come into the kitchen and tell me what type of treatment you’re needing.”
“Actually we just wanted to talk with you,” Rachel said.
A calico cat had replaced the striped one at Doreen’s feet. It walked over to Rachel and began to rub against her legs. She stooped to pet it, and Caleb could hear the beast purring from where he stood. This was a nightmare—instead of a physician’s office, he’d brought Rachel to a house with an undetermined number of cats, one large bird and an old woman wearing a purple knitted cap on her head.
Caleb fought the urge to turn around and head back out to the buggy, but Rachel was already walking toward the kitchen, explaining that she’d suffered a slight concussion and amnesia.
“Is that so?”
“Ya. It happened a little over a week ago, as near as we can tell.”
“So you’re not from around here. That would explain why I don’t recognize you, though I’ve seen your beau at barn raisings and such.”
Caleb wished he could melt into the yellow linoleum floor. Rachel’s beau? Had the old woman actually said that?
“Sit. Both of you, sit and talk to Doreen.”
The chairs were filled with more books, some newspapers and seed packets. Caleb cleared off a place for Rachel to sit and then another for himself.
“Caleb, he found me in the snow out near his parents’ farm. They took me to the hospital.” Rachel put a hand at the back of her head. “I had a lump, but no other injuries.”
“And you can’t remember any details of your past?”
“Not at first. A few things have returned since then—the name of my bruder, that I wore sunglasses, a couple of childhood memories.”
“How interesting.” Doreen sounded delighted to be presented with such a challenge. She hobbled over to the stove and set a kettle on the burner.
Caleb glanced at Rachel in alarm. “I’m not sure we can stay long enough—”
“Nonsense. It’s rude to not offer guests a cup of tea. Isn’t that right, Peaches?” The bird’s head and back were adorned with turquoise blue feathers, but its breast was a bright orange.
It squawked, “Tea,” and then flew away to perch in the boxed windowsill amid a sea of plants.
“Macaws aren’t the smartest parrots...”
“Smart bird.” Peaches’s head bobbed up and down when he spoke.
“African gray parrots are better at understanding and mimicking human speech, but Peaches is good company.”
“Good company.” The bird began to groom himself, and Caleb didn’t know whether to laugh or hang his head in his hands. Who let a bird fly around their home? There wasn’t a cage in sight. Doreen made a cooing sound, pulled a baby carrot from her sweater pocket and offered it to the bird, who squawked, “Carrot,” and snatched it from her hand.
“Do you think you can help me?” Rachel asked.
Doreen’s back was to them as she fiddled with the teakettle. Rachel glanced at Caleb, then pressed her fingers over her lips in an attempt to hold in her laughter.
“A cheerful heart is good medicine,” Doreen said, pulling three cups and saucers from her cabinet. There was no place to put them on the counter, so Caleb jumped up and took them, carrying them over to the table. Doreen followed with a metal tin. Her hands shaking, she slowly opened it, dug around among the contents, pulled out three bags and placed them in the mugs. “The Good Book says that.”
“Proverbs,” Rachel said.
“Proverbs,” squawked Peaches, though his attention had switched to a solid yellow cat. He dropped to the floor, strutted across the room to the cat, who was lying near the back door, and began to preen it.
“Yes. Now, some people think herbs are just weeds, but we know better—Peaches and I do. Gotte gives us everything we need. People have been using plants for medicine since Adam and Eve stepped out of the garden—after all, there were no pharmacies then.”
“What kinds of things do you treat?” Rachel asked.
“Mistletoe can help with a nervous disposition or high blood pressure.”
“I don’t have either of those things.”
“Peppermint helps with sleeplessness.”
“She doesn’t have trouble sleeping,” Caleb said. If they didn’t move this along, they’d be here all afternoon. They hadn’t come for a botany lesson. In fact, he couldn’t quite remember now why he’d thought this would be a good idea.
If Doreen heard him, she chose not to respond.
“Rhubarb is useful for eczema or arthritis.” Her hands shook as she reached for Rachel’s and covered them with her own. “Now, your situation is unusual. I would normally use ginkgo leaves for someone who is confused, but you seem mentally alert.”
“Ya, I think I am.”
“What you need, what I’ve put in your cup, is rosemary.”
“Rosemary?” Rachel asked.
“Rosemary,” Peaches squawked, flying across the room and landing on the table.
Caleb jumped backward, causing his chair to scrape against the floor. He couldn’t believe he was seeing a large blue-and-orange bird on a kitchen table. Certainly, that couldn’t be healthy.
At the same moment, the kettle whistled. Caleb jumped up. “I’ll fetch that.” He did not want to drink anything Doreen gave him. What if the parrot had been in her cabinets? What type of disease could they catch from the bird? Or the cats? He might as well eat off the barn floor.
Rachel seemed nowhere near as tense as he was. In fact, she actually seemed to be considering drinking the rosemary tea.
He filled their cups, then stood behind Doreen, telling Rachel with hand motions not to drink or eat anything. Rachel, being more than a little mischievous, smiled at him, raised the cup to her lips and nearly drained the contents in one swallow.
“That’s a girl.” Doreen dunked her own tea bag up and down. “I think your beau will enjoy it, as well. What was your name, young man?”
“Caleb.” He shrugged back into his coat. “I just remembered somewhere we need to be.”
“Need to be,” the bird squawked and jumped to Doreen’s shoulder, where it began to poke its beak in the woman’s purple cap.
“One of the reasons I wear the cap in the house.” Doreen smiled as if she’d said the most clever thing. “It’s better than having my hair preened. Peaches is very affectionate.”
Caleb wanted to leave—immediately.
Rachel was in much less of a hurry. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, and he couldn’t quite tell if she found this situation humorous, or if she was simply hiding the anger she was going to unleash on him once they were back in the buggy. Not that he would blame her.
“Danki for the tea, Doreen. Do we owe you anything?”
“For a cup of tea?”
Caleb had walked around the table and was pulling Rachel to her feet. She continued trying to thank Doreen. Peaches was squawking about seeds and carrots. Yet another cat had jumped into Caleb’s vacated seat. He felt as if he was caught in a bad dream.
Rachel’s life had been topsy-turvy since she’d opened her eyes with no memories the week before. It had been dramatic and terrible and frightening and difficult. Today was like the cherry on someone’s ice-cream sundae. She honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
Caleb practically pulled her out of Doreen’s house—the bird was still squawking and one of the cats tried to follow them outside, but Doreen scooped it up in her arms. Rachel glanced back to see Doreen standing in the doorway, Peaches on her shoulder, one cat in her arms and another rubbing against her legs. The dear old woman waved at them and hollered, “Come back anytime.”
Which didn’t seem likely.
Caleb seemed intent to get her into the buggy as quickly as possible. Even the gelding, Stormy, seemed surprised to see them back so soon. How long had they been inside Doreen’s house? Fifteen minutes? Twenty at the most.
She climbed up into the buggy and pulled the buggy blanket over her lap. Caleb jumped in, called out to Stormy and took off at a speed that had the gelding tossing his head and threatening to break into a gallop.
And then it happened. All of the tension and worry and anxiety of the last week caught up with her. She sat forward and covered her face with her hands.
“I’m sorry, Rachel. I really am.”
She took two deep breaths—she knew what was coming, but was powerless to stop it.
“That was one of my worst ideas ever. I’d heard that Doreen had gone a little strange, but I had no idea...” Caleb touched her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
He called to Stormy and pulled the horse over into a parking area. “Are you—are you crying? Wait...you’re laughing?”
Her shoulders shook and her laughter came from a place deep inside. She laughed until she had to clasp her stomach from the ache. Tears sprang from her eyes, and every time she thought she had control of herself, she’d glance at Caleb—Caleb, who was staring at her with eyes wide and a look of disbelief on his face—and she’d dissolve into laughter again.
He waited her out and handed her a handkerchief when she seemed to be finished.
“Oh, my. I haven’t laughed that hard since my sister fell in our pond trying to pull in a fish.” Another puzzle piece, and she knew then, she was convinced, that there would be more until her life resembled something that she recognized. “The look on your face when Peaches jumped on the table made me wish I had an Englisch camera.”
“Never seen anything like it.” He crossed his arms as if he was still perturbed about the whole thing.
“And your pantomiming not to drink.” Laughter spilled out of her again and she wiped at her eyes.
“So why did you drink it?”
“I thought that was the reason you took me there—to receive Doreen’s cure.”
“You did it to spite me.”
“Actually it simply seemed polite, and I didn’t think a little rosemary could hurt me. Seems my mamm used to add some to our tea when we had a headache.”
“Cats all over the place, plants everywhere, that bird... It was a nightmare.”
“Carrot,” Rachel squawked, and then she was laughing again, only this time Caleb joined her.
She was rearranging the blanket on her lap, trying to get control of her emotions, when he reached across and placed his hand under her chin, turning her face toward him. His touch caused her stomach to do funny things, or maybe that was the burst of laughter or even the rosemary tea.
“You’re something else, Rachel. You’re a special woman. Did you know?”
“Because I can laugh at an old woman’s attempts to lighten other people’s loads?”
“Because you can find the humor even in an extremely uncomfortable situation.” She had the bizarre thought that he was going to kiss her then, but instead he pulled back his hand and picked up the horse’s reins.
They continued toward home, and though the clouds still pressed down, Rachel’s heart felt lighter. “Parrots are known for their problem-solving abilities, and the African gray she mentioned? It’s said they have the intelligence of a five-year-old but the temperament of a two-year-old.”
“A two-year-old that never grows up.”
“Indeed, but I suspect Peaches is a good companion for Doreen.”
Caleb shifted in his seat. “Are you going to the restaurant tomorrow...to work?”
“I suppose. I really should find a job. Sitting around all day isn’t helping me, though the knitting...it makes me feel calmer.”
“Wasn’t the schoolhouse on Amos’s list?”
“Ya. I thought I would try it if the restaurant doesn’t work out.”
“Maybe you should try the schoolhouse first.”
“Why? I’m not sure they really need me. Most schools have only one teacher. Amos said the teacher in your community could use an extra hand during the holidays, preparing for the school play and all. I had the feeling it was a charity position if nothing else worked out for me.”
“I know Martha. She’s a gut teacher, but she definitely has her hands full. Our schoolhouse is brimming with children. Plans are to build another and divide in the summer.”
“Why do you think I should work there?”
“Because you know things.”
“I know things?”
“Ya. Like about the parrots.”
“Oh, that was just...something I remembered.”
“And the snake. Remember all the things you told me about snakes?”
“Why did I know that?”
“I think maybe you were a teacher before. That would even explain the book of poetry you were carrying with you.”
Rachel stared out the window at the snowy fields. Could she see herself teaching? She supposed she could. She wasn’t sure she had the temperament for it—her moods were too up and down, but perhaps it had been something that she was good at.
She turned toward Caleb and studied his profile. He was a nice-looking man, and he was trying to help her. “Your last idea was terrible.”
“True.”
“I want to continue seeing Dr. Michie.”
“Can’t blame you. She probably doesn’t have cats or parrots in her office.”
“But I think you might be right.”
“You do?”
“Ya. I’ll go to the schoolhouse tomorrow. We’ll see what Martha says.”