ABRAM SET THE BRAKE ON THE WAGON AND STARED FOR a long minute at the large, pretty house. Ezekiel Yoder had left his young wife more than well off, having married late in life after building up a fine leather tooling business.
His jaw tense, he decided that maybe he was a bit narrisch coming here in the first place. He let his mind rove back to the time he’d first been to this house, shortly after Ezekiel had died. He’d been asked to fix box sills on the downstairs windows so that Tabitha might grow pansies to brighten the front of the house. He’d actually been a little leery of her then, thinking she might want to be more than friends—like most of the women he’d encountered in his life. Instead, he’d discovered an intelligent friend, one who was willing to listen to him without chiding. They kept their friendship private, though; Abram did not want to set tongues wagging about him and Tabitha, who was more or less happy in her widowed state. He jumped down and approached the steps only to look up in surprise when the front door eased open with a cozy squeak.
“Abram Fisher! You’ve caught me cleaning and everything’s a mess. But come in—what’s wrong?”
He sighed. She knew him well.
He mounted the steps, then let her close the door behind him. He let her take his hat, and his gaze swept the beautifully carved furniture and the light-blue walls. It was a homey room, and against his will he thought of Fern. He’d love to give her a home like this . . . He nearly groaned aloud at his wayward thoughts and dropped onto a nearby couch. Tabitha joined him there.
She spoke with a laugh. “It must be bad if you can’t even get it out.”
He looked at her pretty, smiling face. “Women,” he managed.
Her smile grew to one of delight. “Women? Or . . . woman?”
He rolled his eyes. “Okay . . . woman.”
She clapped her hands. “Who?”
He put his face in his hands and mumbled, “Fern Zook.”
“Fern? Why, she’s wunderbaar! Beautiful eyes, kind, loving . . . she’d be a great mother.”
He shook his head. “No, no, no.”
“But why?”
He looked up, then stretched his legs out tensely. “I don’t want any woman. I want to farm—to keep things simple.”
“Well, Gott never meant for things to be simple—I should know.”
He touched her hand. “You miss Ezekiel?”
“Always. And believe me—loving someone is worth the pain of losing them.”
“I just don’t know,” he said. “Look, I don’t want to bother you. I’ve got some errands to get done. I only wanted to talk for a minute.”
“Well, my advice is to seek her out.”
“We’ll see.” He rose and offered a hand to help her up. As they walked into the hall, they were both startled by a quiet knock at the door.
Fern stopped at the screen door. She couldn’t help but recognize the shadowy figure of the man standing behind Tabitha Yoder. She clutched the bottle of stinging nettles, wishing wildly for a moment that she might shatter the glass. Instead, she turned and spun off the porch, intent on walking as far away as possible, even as she told herself that she had no right to think anything of what Abram Fisher did with his spare time. He’d never given her any indication that he was interested in her.
“Well, there goes Gott’s intervention,” Tabitha said with a smile. “You know what she’s probably thinking . . . Go after her!”
He nodded, confused by the sudden apparition of all of his thoughts. “Right.” Then he stepped out the door into the bright sunlight of day.
He could see Fern’s straight back fading into the distance of the dirt road, and he couldn’t help himself when he clambered onto the wagon seat with haste and tugged on the reins. He drew up beside her within moments and set the brake, hopping down to catch up with her.
“Fern . . . Fern, wait.”
She kept going, swinging one arm and ignoring him completely.
“Fern!” Something whispered in his mind and he found himself hollering to her as she stirred up the dust on the dirt road with her furious steps. “Fern . . . tell me about the windows!”
She stopped and spun on her heel to stalk back to him. He swallowed as he admired her blazing green eyes.
“Who do you think you are, Abram Fisher? Who?”
And then he found himself praying that the answer to her question would come to him . . .