In the weeks following her illness, Trina went out of her way to avoid Seth, and it appeared he was avoiding her, too. It would have been painful enough if they’d kept their distance because they were having an argument, but this time, Trina knew it was because they weren’t having an argument. They were keeping their distance because they both knew how dear they were to each other and they couldn’t act on those feelings.
Trina tried to force herself into cheerfulness, but even her best experiences with the boys were tinged with the awareness she’d soon leave them. Of course, the change in her mood didn’t escape Martha’s notice, nor did the change in her relationship with Seth. One Friday night when Trina and Seth were alone in the kitchen after having supper—Martha had insisted Trina eat with them since Seth had returned home so late that day—he handed her a plate by the sink. He was in such a rush to get away from her he didn’t wait until her fingers had wholly grasped the dish and it slipped and shattered on the floor.
Martha flew into the kitchen, nearly toppling a chair one of the boys had pulled away from the table so he could sweep the floor beneath it. “What is going on?” she demanded.
“I’m sorry. I dropped a dish,” Seth said before Trina could take the blame for it.
“I’ll clean it up,” Trina quickly offered.
“Neh, you’ll do no such thing,” Martha scolded. She had an edge to her voice Trina hadn’t heard directed at her before. “The two of you will clean up whatever disagreement you’ve had before you’ll tend to a few bits of broken glass.”
“We haven’t had a disagreement,” Seth objected.
“Don’t give me that. You’ve both been sulking like wet katze. The tension is almost unbearable. I can’t stand it in my house a moment longer and neither can the buwe. So go outside until you can kumme back reconciled and smiling.” Martha pointed to the door. She meant business.
Trina quietly dried her hands and lifted her light sweater from the peg by the door. The mid-April evening air was just chilly enough for her to need it, although Seth didn’t bother to put on his jacket. Trina walked to the railing and burst into tears. She didn’t mean to, but Martha was right; the tension was unbearable. She couldn’t contain it any longer.
“Trina, please don’t cry,” Seth said, but he didn’t draw near. His tone was so kind it made her cry even harder. “I wish I could make this better, but I don’t know what to do,” he said, walking to the railing but staying at least four feet away from Trina. What was he afraid of? It was insulting that he didn’t even trust her enough to stand by her side. Or maybe it was himself he didn’t trust. Maybe, instead of bridging the distance between them, they needed to increase it even more—for his good, as well as hers. Clearly he was hurting, too.
“I do,” she sighed, drying her eyes on the edge of her apron. “It’s only a couple more weeks until my time here is up. I’d considered staying until the house is sold and watching the buwe until school lets out at the end of May, but I think I should leave on May first, instead.”
Seth ran his hand through his hair and tipped his head toward the sky. Was that a tear he wiped from his face when he brought his hand down to his side again? “Jah, that’s probably for the best,” he admitted. In a lower voice he said, as if speaking to himself, “Even though it feels like it’s for the worst.”
Just hearing him acknowledge how difficult it was to separate moved Trina deeply. He was obviously upset and she wished she could allay his suffering. They were both silent, observing the dusky spring sky. It would have seemed romantic under any other circumstances but this evening Trina had to concentrate on practical matters. “Until I leave, we’ve got to convince Martha there’s nothing wrong between us.”
Seth shrugged. “I don’t know if we can. Nothing gets by her.”
“Nonsense!” Trina declared, sounding just like Martha herself. “If your buwe can pretend they’re wolves, then you and I can pretend nothing’s wrong.”
“It would be easier to pretend I’m a wolf,” Seth muttered, and then he quietly howled toward the rising moon, causing them both to laugh.
“Kumme,” Trina said, motioning toward the door. “We can do it. For the buwe’s sake. I don’t want them to remember our time together as being tense.”
Seth agreed and when they opened the kitchen door, Martha was standing there with a broom. “All better?” she demanded.
“All better,” they both claimed at the same time.
“Gut. Then Seth can sweep up the glass and Trina, you serve dessert. The buwe want to play Noah’s Ark again. I think it’s time for you to teach them a new game, Trina. I’m getting tired of guessing they’re bears, wolves or tigers.”
So when they finished eating dessert, Trina told Timothy and Tanner that Martha would be Noah and the boys had to be Noah’s sons, while Seth and Trina acted out the animals. Their imitations were humorously awful and everyone laughed so hard Trina’s smile came naturally again.
The next day was Saturday, and after Seth returned from work, Trina went home to call the realtor from church Sherman and Mabel had recommended. She forgot she’d put the phone back in Abe’s old bedroom and she was glad to discover it was set on vibrate. She would have regretted if it had rung while Kate was sleeping there. Exiting the room, Trina noticed a Bible on the nightstand. Was that Abe’s or did Kate forget hers there? She picked it up to see whose name was inscribed in it; it was her grandfather’s. As she was putting the Bible back on the nightstand, an envelope fell from its pages. TRINA it said in big letters. It must have been from Kate; perhaps she’d written down more memories of Patience she wanted to share with Trina.
Deciding she’d be too emotional to make her phone call if she read the letter first, Trina set the envelope on the end table in the parlor and then turned her attention to her cell phone. It logged thirteen unanswered calls. Thirteen! All from Kurt, the realtor. Suddenly, she was infuriated. Seth was right, Englischers were pushy. Kurt just wouldn’t take no for an answer. Trina pressed his number in her call history setting and paced while she was waiting for him to pick up. When he did, she didn’t give him any time to work his sales pitch on her.
“This is Trina Smith and I want you to stop calling me,” she spouted. “I will never, ever sell my house to a land developer. If I have to, I’ll make it a stipulation of sale that any new owner can only resell to an Amish resident for the next one hundred years!” She was about to disconnect but she wanted to wait until Kurt confirmed he’d heard her loud and clear.
“You’re saying you wouldn’t sell to anyone who isn’t Amish?” he asked.
Trina didn’t know if such a stipulation was even legally allowed, but she confirmed, “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Not even if the buyer is your father, Richard Smith?”
Trina staggered backward and dropped onto the sofa. “My father? Is this some kind of joke?”
“It’s not a joke at all, Trina. How do you think I knew you had a house for sale? Your father contacted me and told me all about it.”
“How did he know?” Trina asked suspiciously.
“He tried to track you down after your mother died and eventually his inquiries led him to Willow Creek, where rumors spread like wildfire.”
Trina couldn’t deny how quickly gossip traveled through the tiny community. “Why would my father want to buy a house—my mother’s house—here?”
“He wants to reconnect with you, Trina. He wants to be part of your life again. Taking the house off your hands would be a way for him to help you out.”
That didn’t sound like her father. He had never tried to help her when she was a child and at her most vulnerable. Why would he help her now? “What’s in it for him?” she asked.
Kurt coughed. “Well, he’s sort of taken a hit recently, with the economy and the stock market... He sees this as an opportunity to get back on his feet. He’s afraid he’s going to lose his own house and wind up on the street.”
Trina hadn’t known that, but hearing it now filled her with conflicting emotions. Her first thought was of her mother. It didn’t seem fair that her father was griping about losing his house when Trina’s mother had never owned a house herself. Half the time, she’d struggled just to pay rent.
Yet Trina was also choked up to learn her father might be on the brink of homelessness. She didn’t want to turn her back on him, even though he had neglected to help Trina and her mother for years. Regardless, Patience had frequently urged Trina not to bear a grudge against him. “God is forgiving and he wants us to be forgiving, too,” she’d say. “For our sake as well as for the other person’s sake. Remember, bitterness harms us more than it harms anyone else.”
“My father wants to move here?” Trina asked Kurt. It didn’t make sense. She couldn’t imagine her father living next door to Seth. More importantly, she couldn’t imagine her father living in her mother’s childhood home. It wasn’t right; somehow, it seemed like a betrayal.
“Not exactly.” From the length of his pause Trina knew Kurt was going to tell her something she didn’t want to hear. “Uh, remember the developer I told you about? Well, the developer is actually your father. And he’s, um, partnering with a business associate who can front the cost of buying your house...”
Trina felt as if she’d been knocked flat to be told her father was the one behind the proposal to use the property for a liquor store. She didn’t even have to think about her response. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Don’t you care if your father ends up bankrupt and homeless?”
“Of course I care,” Trina said. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll sell him the house and land. Please don’t call me again. This matter is closed.”
Her emotions roiling, Trina’s hands trembled as she disconnected the call. She knew her refusal to sell to her father might mean he’d suffer financial hardship. No matter what he’d done—or what he hadn’t done—in the past, Trina still regretted letting him down now. As her mother had always reminded her, for better or worse, he was the only father she had.
But she couldn’t in good conscience allow the property to be used for a liquor store. To do so would add insult to injury in regard to her mother’s past. Not to mention, the presence of a wine and spirits store in a residential location would be a violation of the values of Willow Creek’s Amish community, especially the Helmuths. Suspecting Kurt would continue to hound her despite her refusal, Trina figured the only way to get him to back off would be to sell to someone else as soon as possible. Picking up the phone, she called the realtor from her church as quickly as her fingers could tap the numbers.
Seeing Emma Lamp at church always made Seth feel that much worse about his future. He knew he couldn’t court Trina, for obvious reasons. But each time he saw Emma he realized he couldn’t court her or Fannie or anyone else for a reason that had now become crystal clear: he couldn’t imagine himself growing to love another woman. Rather, he knew he’d never be in love with anyone the way he was in love with Trina. Knowing her had changed what was acceptable to him for a marriage relationship. Loving her had been effortless; it was not loving her that was going to be a struggle. From now on, he’d stay single and pay a nanny to mind the boys and help Martha rather than marry someone he didn’t love.
“Can we ask Trina to walk to the creek with us?” Tanner asked when they arrived home after church and Martha had turned in for a nap.
“Jah, she hasn’t caught a frog yet,” Timothy pleaded. “She hasn’t even seen any tadpoles.”
“Okay,” Seth agreed. It was exactly two weeks before May first, the day Trina would move, and he realized the boys wanted to spend as much time with her as possible. “You go knock on her door and invite her and I’ll wait here beneath the willow.”
The yard had come alive; green buds decorated the willow, yellow daffodils shone like sunshine along the lane and Martha’s tulips had overtaken the garden in a variety of purples, pinks and reds. But Seth’s appreciation of spring dimmed in comparison with how he felt when he glimpsed Trina walking toward him, her long hair loose and glinting in the sun, the boys frolicking at her side. But when she came close, Seth saw her nostrils were pink and she was wearing the mirrored glasses she’d loaned Martha so long ago.
“Buwe, you run to that big rock over there and climb up on it to make sure you don’t see any birds of prey around, okay? I need to talk to your daed.”
Seth held his breath. If Trina cried in front of him one more time, he might break down and take her into his arms.
“I have to tell you something about my daed,” she began, and he released his breath. So it wasn’t about him—about them—after all. Yet, as she told him about her father contacting the realtor and how he was the developer who wanted to build a liquor store, Seth had to fight twice as hard not to embrace her. He could hear how distressed she was that her father might be facing financial ruin. How could a father manipulate his daughter’s emotions for financial gain?
“My daed never honored a single commitment to help provide for me when I was a kin,” Trina confided. “My mamm had to scrimp and save and work two or three menial jobs at a time. As I’ve mentioned, we were often very poor. I didn’t care about that as much as I cared about my daed never following through with his promises. He’d say he’d kumme visit me and I’d get my hopes up, but then he wouldn’t show...and other things like that. After a while, I lost faith in him altogether. But mamm was never bitter. Before she died, she told me if my daed ever tried to reconcile with me, she hoped I’d give him another chance. She said she didn’t want my relationship with him to be estranged like hers was with her own daed.”
Seth’s fingers were curled into fists. “But your father hasn’t actually asked for your forgiveness, has he?”
“Neh, not exactly. But the realtor said he wanted to reconnect with me. I don’t know if he’s sincere or if he’s just after my inheritance. But that’s not the point. The point is it was important to my mamm that I allow him back into my life if he wants to reconcile. And the Lord desires us to be forgiving, too.”
“I understand,” Seth said solemnly, marveling at Trina’s willingness to honor her mother’s wishes, as well as to obey God’s word about forgiveness.
“Of course, forgiving him and allowing him back into my life doesn’t mean selling the property to him,” Trina clarified. “If he’s truly desperate, perhaps I can help him financially so he doesn’t end up homeless. I’ve contacted a realtor from church and I’ve asked about making a quick sale so no one can pressure me. We also discussed putting conditions on ownership, so no one can turn around and sell the house to anyone except residents in the future, too.”
The gravity of what Trina had done sank in for Seth. Not only was she honoring her mother’s memory, but she’d rejected her father’s offer in favor of the Amish. She no doubt would have profited greatly from selling the property to him, but she’d said no in part because she understood the adverse effect a liquor store in that area would have on Seth and his family, as well as on the rest of the Amish community. Just when he thought he couldn’t love her any more...
“Trina,” he said, touching her arm gently. “Please take off those sunglasses and look at me. I need to see your eyes.”
Trina did as he asked and gazed at him, droplets collecting on her lashes.
“I can never repay what you’ve done for my family and me. For all of Willow Creek’s Amish. What you’re doing takes courage and—” Seth’s voice cracked and he abruptly stopped talking and tried to regain his composure.
“Denki,” Trina uttered, blinking. Then she cleared her throat and said pointedly, “It was the right decision, but sometimes even making the right decision is difficult. It’s excruciating.”
Seth nodded, knowing what she meant. She was talking about the two of them parting ways because it was the right thing for each of them to do.
“Trina! Daed! Why are you just standing there like that?” Tanner called from atop of the large rock in the distance.
Timothy was more polite. “Please kumme! If you don’t hurry all the tadpoles will be grown up by the time we get to the creek.”
The two adults chuckled, in spite of themselves. Trina glanced sideways at Seth and taunted, “I’ll beat you there.”
“Don’t be so sure about that,” Seth retorted, breaking into a run.
Several paces later, Trina passed him, her hair flying out behind her as Timothy and Tanner cheered them on. She tagged the rock before Seth did and then collapsed onto her back on the new grass, laughing and clutching her stomach. The boys scrambled down to pull her up by her hands, just as they had that first day. It was the only moment in his life when Seth ever wished he had a camera so he could capture the sight on film as well as in his memory.
Trina had been so distraught about Kurt’s phone call on Saturday that she completely forgot about the envelope with her name on it until midway through the week. She was cleaning her house on Wednesday morning because the realtor, Dianne Barrett, had said she’d come over later that day while Martha watched the boys. The meeting with Dianne was really just a formality since Trina had already spoken to her about making a quick sale and about the stipulation of the property being family owned for any sales within the next fifty years.
Trina tucked the envelope into her nightstand drawer so she could read it at bedtime and then she surveyed the house. Aside from the surface cracks Seth had fixed, it was a sturdy, well-built home and she hoped the realtor could find a nice, quiet but friendly couple or small family to make it their home. Seth had said he’d ask Amish families to spread the word to their relatives in neighboring districts. Perhaps one of them would want to relocate to Willow Creek. As long as it’s not Fannie Jantzi, Trina thought. Because I don’t believe she’s given up on Seth so easily.
Trina should know; she was still having a hard time letting go of him herself. She was so depressed about it her appetite vanished again and she spent more time awake than asleep at night. Despite her insomnia, Trina forced herself to go through the motions of a regular routine, just as she had after her mother died. For the sake of the boys—and to make things easier on Seth—she was determined to keep her feelings about leaving to herself, too. There would be enough time to cry after she returned to Philadelphia.
But who would help comfort her there? Missing her mother had been more bearable when Trina was surrounded by people who knew her and could bring memories of her to mind. But because Patience and Trina had moved around so frequently and her mother tended to keep to herself, there was no one in the Englisch world who could comfort Trina as well as the Amish had comforted her, even if their memories were only of Patience when she was a girl.
By the time Seth returned home that evening, Trina was beat and she declined Martha’s invitation to eat supper with them. Remembering the envelope from Kate and hoping it contained memories about her mother, Trina went to bed early so she could savor reading it beneath the covers. She delicately tore the envelope open and unfolded the paper. The letter was longer than she expected and as she scanned the page, she was aghast to realize the signature was Abe Kauffman’s. Her hands trembled as she read.
Dear Trina,
You probably know a little about me from stories your mother told you. Regrettably, they’re all true. I was exactly the kind of father she said I was. Actually, knowing her kindness, I was probably much worse than Patience ever described.
It’s not an excuse for my behavior, but after your grandmother died, part of me died, too. Instead of cherishing my daughter and relying on Gott for comfort, I turned to drinking, may the Lord forgive me.
You’re probably also aware that your mother sent me a photo of you with a brief letter every year until you turned eighteen. What you don’t know is how much her messages meant to me. I’ve kept them and the photos in the drawer in my nightstand if you want them.
Trina sat straight up in bed. It felt as if her world was tipping on its axis. She had no idea her mother had communicated with Abe for eighteen years, much less sent him photos of Trina. She didn’t know what to make of this new information. Why wouldn’t her mother have told her she’d done that? She continued reading.
Her sweet letters might be of consolation now that Patience is with the Lord instead of with you, just as they were a comfort to me when she was in the Englisch world instead of with the Amish community.
This part of the letter made Trina so furious she would have liked to rip the letter to shreds. The nerve of him! He was the very reason Trina’s mother left the Amish. What right did he have to claim he missed her?
As you’ll read, after your father divorced her, your mother asked me each year to say the word and she’d return with you to Willow Creek. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. And I want you to know why because it had nothing to do with her or you or with being Amish.
Now Trina started to cry. Was Abe lying? She felt as if she didn’t even know her mother anymore. She’d had no idea Patience had so much as thought about returning home, much less asked for Abe’s approval to do so. Every time she’d talked to her mother about going back to Willow Creek, her mother said they were better off where they were. Why would Patience lie to her about something so important?
Then Trina realized her mother hadn’t actually ever said she wasn’t in contact with her family. Whenever Trina asked her if she wanted to go back, her mother had replied, “You don’t understand, honey. That’s just not done under circumstances like mine.”
“It isn’t? Not ever?”
“Well, there is a process which allows a person to repent and return. But for someone who is divorced...well, there’s a great deal of shame in that.”
Trina had always assumed her mother was talking about her own shame. Now it was dawning on her that Patience had longed to return, but she wouldn’t because she wanted to spare Abe the shame of having a divorced runaway daughter. Trina sat there weeping for some time before she could read any further.
To say I wanted my daughter to come back would be to admit I was the reason she left in the first place. That would mean coming to terms with my drinking, which I was unwilling to do.
As contradictory as this sounds, I was ashamed of myself. I read Patience’s letters and saw the photos of you and I knew your mother was raising you far better than I ever raised her. I thought you’d be happier in the Englisch world with her than you’d ever be within a one-hundred-mile radius of me.
It wasn’t until I stopped drinking four years ago that I began to take responsibility for my wrongdoings. By then, the letters had stopped coming and I figured Patience no longer wanted to return home. I tried several times to locate you two, but my letters were returned with a stamp indicating you’d moved. Smith is a common name so I couldn’t track you down after that.
I didn’t hear about you and Patience again until your father contacted me and informed me of her passing.
So, Trina’s father had known about Patience’s death. Why hadn’t he at least gotten in touch with Trina to offer consolation? Hadn’t he been able to find her, either?
To say how grieved I was would be an insult to your own grief.
That’s for sure! Trina thought and then she kept reading.
But I want you to know I am so sorry for your loss. Your mother loved you dearly and I’m sure you loved her dearly, too.
People often said Patience made the decision to leave the Amish, but in truth, I didn’t give her much of a choice. I feel like I’ve stolen an opportunity from you as well as from her, which is why I put the stipulation on the inheritance that you have to stay here for sixty days. I want you to decide for yourself whether you want to live in Willow Creek.
Your mother gave you the best parts of being Amish—her faith and her love. But she couldn’t give you the community. For what it’s worth, I want to give you that now.
Whether or not you choose to stay in Willow Creek, I pray you’ll forgive me. I wish I had said those words to your mother, too, but I trust we’ll be reconciled in heaven, through God’s grace.
Abraham Kauffman
PS: I’ve had a problem with mice. The next-door neighbor, Seth Helmuth, might be able to trap them for you if you’re squeamish.
Despite her heartache, Trina laughed aloud at the postscript, but the laughter twisted deep within her chest, like a sob. Too distraught get up and retrieve the photos and letters from the drawer in Abe’s old room, she curled up in a ball, alternately thinking, weeping and praying for guidance until the sun came up.
When Seth returned from milking the cow on Thursday morning, he noticed the kitchen lamp on and he smelled something baking in the oven, but his grandmother wasn’t present.
“Groossmammi?” he said quietly, wiping his boots on the rag rug by the door. When she didn’t answer, he walked toward the parlor, but she wasn’t there, either.
“I’m here,” a muffled voice cried from the hall.
When Seth came around the corner, he spotted her sitting on the floor with her back against the wall and he rushed to her side. “Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so. Help me up, slowly, please.”
Seth cautiously eased her to a standing position and she moaned as she limped toward the sofa with his assistance. Then he settled her onto a cushion.
“That’s better,” she said. “I’ll sit here awhile. Will you bring me my kaffi?”
Seth retrieved the steaming cup and only then did he ask what happened.
“I don’t know. I slipped on something, I guess.”
Seth walked to the hall and looked. One of the boys’ library books lay on the floor. How many times had he told them to put their books away at night? Yet he wasn’t really angry at them; he was upset that such a small thing could have resulted in a big accident for his grandmother.
“Are you certain you’re okay?” he asked again. “You didn’t bump your head, did you?”
“Neh. I caught myself before my head hit. My arm hurts a little, but it was probably from the impact.”
But Seth continued to worry about her until Trina arrived and he pulled her aside to tell her what happened.
“Oh, neh!” she exclaimed, which elicited a scolding from Martha in the other room.
“You two need to stop talking about me in there. I told you I’m fine.”
Trina whispered, “She probably is fine but should we take her to the hospital to get checked out?”
“She hates hospitals. She wouldn’t go,” Seth answered. He didn’t add, “And I wouldn’t, either.”
“Perhaps you could ask Ethan if he’d take a look. She seems to like him alright.”
Seth agreed but instead of using the phone shanty he decided on his way to the shop he’d stop and talk to Ethan in person at his home. The doctor seemed glad to help before going to the clinic. “I want to see Trina as often as I can before she goes back to Philly, anyway.”
His reminder that Trina was leaving soon was like a punch to Seth’s gut, but he thanked Ethan and continued toward work. It was pouring and it took him longer than usual to get there. On the way he thought about what could have happened to Martha. He couldn’t put it off: he definitely needed someone to keep her safe as much as he needed someone to watch the boys. What was he going to do in between the time Trina left, and school let out and a local maedel was available? Would it really be so offensive if he asked Emma Lapp to help? His understanding was she didn’t have a full-time job until the summer when her family sold produce at their roadside vegetable stand.
Inside the shop, he examined the leather frame he’d made for Trina. He just had to burn a few more details of the etching before it would be ready to give to her, but since it was a parting gift he delayed finishing it, as if that would mean she wasn’t leaving. Once again, thinking about her departure made his stomach hurt and he was unusually irritable with a customer because her coat dripped rain onto one of the suede purses he had on display.
Then, as if his day couldn’t get any worse, at two o’clock Fannie Jantzi came by with Hope and Greta. “We were buying cupcakes for Greta’s birthday at the bakery,” she explained.
Seth was surprised—Elmsville to Willow Creek was a long way to travel for cupcakes. Faith Schwartz’s were the best around, but they were considered specialty items, not something the Amish would ordinarily buy for a child’s birthday.
“I see,” he said noncommittally.
“So the Englischer is leaving Willow Creek soon, jah?”
Through clenched teeth, Seth replied, “As you know, her name is Trina, but jah, she’s moving the Sunday after this one, on May first.”
“Who will care for the buwe until school lets out?” Fannie asked.
Seth didn’t know why it was any of Fannie’s business, but he was too tired to point that out to her. “I don’t know,” he said with a heavy sigh. “I thought I’d ask Emma Lamp.”
“Emma Lamp? You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“She broke her ankle chasing that scamp brother of hers, Thomas.”
Seth tried not to show the disappointment he felt. “I guess I’ll have to make other arrangements.” But who would he ask? Pearl and Ruth couldn’t keep up with the boys. Iris might be able to, but she was already occupied tending to Ruth.
“I suppose I could help,” Fannie volunteered, “since my sister-in-law lives right next door to me and her kinner are in school, too, I could take the meed to her house in the morning and pick them up when I return from your house toward evening.”
I suppose now that Trina is leaving, Fannie isn’t avoiding me any longer, Seth thought. As unpalatable as the idea of having her as a nanny was, he didn’t have any other options. It would only be for a few weeks until school let out. As long as Fannie understood he wasn’t interested in any other kind of relationship with her, he decided to accept her offer.
“I’d appreciate it,” he said. Then, to emphasize it was an employment arrangement, he added, “I’ll pay a fair wage, especially considering you’ll have to kumme from Elmsville.”
“Gut. I’ll see you bright and early on Monday, May second. Mach’s gut, Seth.”
After she exited the shop, Seth shook his head. He knew he should have been grateful the Lord had provided him a solution to his problem, but all he could think about was that when Trina first arrived, he’d wished time would pass quickly until she left. Now he wished it would stand still.