The following week was the first of the year, and along with it came a surprise—a winter thaw. The morning paper forecasted several days of temperatures above sixty degrees. After a month of snowy, cold weather, Ella was glad for the break.
She was also getting a break from fighting with Junia, mostly because her sister was in a sullen mood and had been since their meeting with Wendy. She should be glad Junia wasn’t goading her into a fight and testing her resolve to keep her temper in check. But she didn’t like that her sister had transformed into a waterlogged dishrag, personality-wise. Junia could be self-absorbed, mercurial, and flighty. She was also creative and, when she wanted to be, a true sweetheart. One thing she’d never been was gloomy.
Ella pulled four loaves of bread out of the oven and set them on top of the stove burners. She’d been baking for the past two days, and she’d made twenty loaves so far—two for her family and the rest to be sold in the store. While she baked, her father and Junia manned the grocery. From what she could tell, her sister was doing her job, and her father hadn’t commented on her mood. But she’d caught him casting a few concerned looks Junia’s way when she wasn’t looking, mostly at mealtime while she was picking at her food.
The delicious scent of hot, yeasty bread filled the kitchen, but Ella couldn’t fully enjoy it. Now that she wasn’t constantly angry, she’d been thinking about her life in Lancaster. Her mother was on her mind, along with the good times she’d had with Junia. Had they even talked about Mamm lately? She couldn’t remember. It was getting harder to recall the fun times too.
She briefly wondered if she should talk to Nelson, but she rejected the idea. She assumed he was busy with his renovations. He’d been cutting down trees over the past several days, no doubt preparing to build his house. Good, because he didn’t need to spend the entire winter in a cold warehouse. She was surprised when she saw Daed out there with him and had almost gone over there to stop her father from doing such hard work. He wasn’t a spring chicken. She held back. I’m not bossy anymore, remember? But why was Nelson okay with accepting her father’s help and not hers?
Now that they were able to speak decently to each other, perhaps Nelson might reconsider. She’d have to make it clear that she wasn’t offering her assistance because of an ulterior motive. She genuinely wanted to see him succeed, not because it would benefit her business but because she truly wanted him to realize his dream.
She looked over the loaves and picked the one with the best crust, wrapped it in a clean, dry dish towel and put it in a basket, adding a jar of local honey at the last minute. They purchased the honey to sell in the store from an Amish cottage business in Holmes County, but she always bought a few extra jars to keep at home. After slipping on her coat, she headed over to Nelson’s. She didn’t hear him working outside, so she went to the front door and knocked. When he didn’t answer, she twisted the knob. The door opened and she went inside—and was almost knocked off her feet by the smell.
Nelson was on top of a tall ladder, wearing a face mask as he was rolling on a coat of white paint from a tray on a short platform attached to the ladder. Three gas heaters were spread throughout the space, warming the room to a springlike temperature. The back door was open, probably for ventilation. What was he painting with that was so noxious?
He set the roller in the tray and came down the ladder, then stepped back to look at his work. She walked toward him, the sound of the gas heaters muffling her steps. He was just about to climb up the ladder again when she tapped him on the shoulder.
He startled, then took off his respirator and frowned. “You shouldn’t be in here, Ella.”
“And hello to you too.” She started to scowl but realized he wasn’t being a jerk. He was serious. She watched him walk over to his bed and get another mask out of a package. “Put this on.”
“What’s that smell?” She drew the mask over her face.
“Oil paint.” He moved to the other side of the ladder, underneath the platform holding the paint. He studied the fresh coat he’d just applied.
Ella didn’t know much about paint, but there was a difference in the way this stuff smelled compared to what they’d used on the inside of their house after her family moved in. “Is there a reason you’re using that?” Her voice was as muffled as his, but they could still understand each other.
He turned to her, and she expected to see the usual annoyance in his eyes because of her questions. Instead, he calmly answered, “There were some stains on the walls. The hardware store suggested using this to cover them up, as long as I wore a mask and kept the place well ventilated.”
“Do you need some help?”
“I got it.”
“It will geh faster with two extra hands.” She set the basket on the floor and pushed it away from her with the toe of her shoe.
He paused, as if considering her offer. Then he shook his head. “I’m—”
“You’ll let Daed help, but you won’t let me?” She was surprised at the hurt in her voice, then irritated with herself for blurting out the question. Why did it matter if he turned her down? But it does.
“That’s different. Cutting down trees is long, hard work.” He gestured to the wall. “Painting isn’t difficult.”
“But there’s a lot to paint.” She moved closer to him until they were both near the ladder. “I know you think I’m only interested in how you can help mei business. But that’s not true. Not anymore.” She took another step toward him so she could look directly into his eyes so he would know she was telling the truth. Due to his height advantage, she had to lift her head, but they were close enough now that she could meet his gaze straight on. “You believe me, ya?”
* * *
Nelson gulped. He wasn’t even sure what Ella had asked him, his heart was thumping so fast. His pulse had started trotting when he turned around after she tapped him on the shoulder. She’d surprised him, but that wasn’t the only reason he was startled. It wasn’t even the fact that she’d smiled at him again. Other than the spot of flour on her left cheek, she didn’t look any different than when she was helping him at the grocery store. But for a split second, he felt a shock of attraction stronger than he had to any other woman. He’d covered it by handing her a mask, not wanting her to breathe in the fumes while he was trying to get a handle on himself, struggling to be nonchalant.
Now she was so close to him he could see the variegated grays in her irises. He felt lightheaded, and he couldn’t blame it on the paint. What is wrong with me?
“Nelson?”
He took a quarter of a step back, not wanting to run into the freshly painted wall. What had she asked him? Something about believing her?
“I want to help you reach your dream,” she said. “That’s all. No other motives.”
His heart was galloping now . . . because he did believe her. Despite his vow not to compare her to Miriam and Norene, he did it anyway. When had either of them been interested in his goals? His mind raced with memories—how Miriam had always talked about her problems and only what she wanted, and the way Norene had been an expert at making him believe she was interested in him without really asking his thoughts or opinions. He’d never seen the absolute sincerity from them that he was seeing in Ella’s eyes.
“Let me help you, Nelson.” Then she smiled.
And his pulse was off to the races. Which was why he spoke one single word. “Nee.”
Her smile faded into a confused frown. She opened her mouth, and he was sure she was going to ask him why. His brain scrambled for any explanation other than the real reason—he couldn’t be alone with her while his emotions were going haywire. Maybe he had breathed in too many paint fumes. Or he was more stressed out than he thought. Even if one or both of those things were true, his guard was down, and he was losing the battle to raise it back up.
Ella removed her mask to reveal her lips pressing into a hard line. But it wasn’t anger he saw in her eyes. Or irritation. Was it . . . disappointment? “I’m sorry I bothered you.” She turned to leave.
He felt like a heel. She was just offering to help him, and he had to be a jerk about it. He reached out to stop her. “Ella—”
She whirled around. Knocked into the ladder. The paint bucket tipped over, dumping oil paint over his head.
* * *
Ella gasped in horror as paint covered Nelson’s hair and dribbled down the sides of his face. “Oh nee.”
He yanked off his shirt, the neckhole getting tangled in the respirator, clearly frustrating him further. She watched, helpless, as he finally removed them both and wiped the paint off his head, making a bigger mess. She had to do something. “Nelson.”
“What?!” The hand holding the paint-covered shirt dropped to his side.
“This isn’t helping.” Without hesitation, she took his other hand and started tugging.
“What are you doing?”
He was angry, and he had a right to be. This was her fault. She shouldn’t have been so insistent on helping him. And she shouldn’t have backed him up near the ladder. She hadn’t realized she was so close until she bumped into it. And now he was paying for her mistake, and she needed to fix it. “I’m taking you to mei haus. You can clean up and get a shower there.”
He resisted. “It’s oil paint. Water won’t work.”
She lifted her chin. She was taking charge, and yes, being bossy. And she’d apologize for it later. He didn’t have a shower or even a bathtub to rinse off in—only a large cooler of water, which wouldn’t be enough to wash off the paint. “Then we’ll try something else.”
“Ella . . .” He closed his eyes, and she was 100 percent positive he was counting to ten. When he opened them, he said, “Maybe a shower will work since the paint’s still wet. Let me grab another shirt and I’ll be over.”
“I can get it for you—”
“Ella!”
Oops, she’d gone too far. “Sorry.” She scurried toward the door, then glanced over her shoulder. Which was a mistake because she suddenly noticed he was shirtless. Wow. Nelson Bontrager was built. She stared at the ground. “I’ll meet you in the bathroom. I mean inside. The house. My house.” She’d gone from being in control to being unable to speak in coherent sentences. I have to get out of here.
She ran across the road and dashed inside, then gathered up some towels and started the shower for him. By the time he arrived, the water was hot and his temper seemingly less so. He walked into the bathroom, and she pulled back the curtain, steam coming from the running faucet. “It’s all ready for you.”
“Danki,” he said flatly. He stared at her for a second. “I can do this myself, Ella.”
“Oh, right.” She left, shutting the door behind her, and said a quick prayer that the hot water would dissolve the paint. Then she threaded her fingers together and stared at the door, wincing inside. What a mess she’d made when all she wanted to do was help. She still didn’t understand why he’d told her no, and at this point she needed to let that go. He had his reasons, and other than aiding him in getting the paint out of his hair and off his face, she wasn’t going to offer again. She owed him that much.
She went to the kitchen and busied herself with packaging up the bread. She hadn’t even told him what was in the basket, and she wasn’t sure if he would accept it after what happened.
She was almost done wrapping the loaves in plastic bags secured with twist ties when he came into the kitchen. He was completely dressed, except for being barefoot. He even had nice feet. He’d also gotten almost all the paint off his face. Then she looked at his hair. “Oh nee,” she said.
“That was mei reaction too.” He tried to run his hand through the tangled mass of white paint and thick brown hair. His fingers jammed into a glob of paint. He yanked them out and shook his head. “Got any turpentine?”
“You’re not going to douse your—” She almost said “gorgeous hair” but caught herself. Where had that come from? She was literally losing her mind today. “You can’t wash with turpentine.”
“Why not?”
“Because it sounds poisonous. And it smells bad.”
“I don’t care about the smell. I have to get rid of this.” He jabbed his finger toward the paint clumps.
She sprang from the floor, an idea coming to her. “I can cut it out.”
“Oh nee.” He backed away from her. “That’s not a gut idea.”
At that moment, she felt small. Very small and very rueful. “I’m so sorry, Nelson. This is my fault.” She looked up at him. “Please forgive me.”
* * *
There was nothing else Nelson could do but raise the white flag. He was upset about the paint but not with her. He’d made the mistake of putting the pan on the ladder platform. He didn’t think about how it could have been easily knocked off, and he probably would have ended up doing it himself. He was also to blame for her running into the ladder. If he had just agreed to let her help him, they would be painting right now instead of standing in her kitchen, talking about cutting his hair. He’d had the water on the hottest setting and used half a bottle of shampoo trying to clean his hair. He smelled nice, but it was a waste.
“Ella.” He attempted to run his hand through his hair again, only for it to get stuck. He winced as he yanked his fingers out. “This isn’t your fault.”
“I knocked over the paint.”
“Because I wasn’t careful with it.” He sighed. “I guess there’s no other choice but to get the scissors.”
“Okay, I’ll be right back.”
He plopped down in the chair and looked at several loaves on the table and recognized the packaging. Ella baked the delicious bread they sold at the store? That explained the flour on her face, which was still there when she returned with a huge pair of shears and a light-blue bath towel. His stomach twisted. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
“Don’t worry,” she said, her tone confident. “A few snips and I’ll be done.”
“Okay.” He tried to focus on the bright side. He could have been working with stronger chemicals. It was only hair anyway, and it would grow back.
She set the scissors down, scooped the loaves off the table, and put them on the counter and came back. “I’ve been cutting Daed’s hair for a long time,” she said as she moved behind him. “I know what I’m doing.”
Her sureness helped his doubt, and he was able to relax a little.
She draped the towel around his neck and stood in front of him, studying his hair. She crossed her arms and leaned her elbow on her hand, tapping her bottom lip. “Hmm.”
“What do you mean, ‘hmm’?”
“Just trying to figure out the best way to do this and salvage as much hair as I can.” At least she wasn’t hacking at his hair yet without taking stock of the condition of it, like he most likely would have done.
“Do you always have a plan?”
She moved to stand behind him again. “I try to. Don’t you?”
He didn’t answer, and soon he heard the snip of the shears.
“Most of the paint is on the top and sides.” She fluffed the back of his head. “You have a lot of hair.”
“I’m just glad it’s not as curly as Jesse’s,” he said. “When we were younger, his head was always a rat’s nest.”
“Does anyone else in your family have those curls?”
“Not my siblings, but mei niece Hannah does. That’s Malachi’s sister.”
“How old is she?” Snip, snip.
“Twelve? Thirteen?” He couldn’t remember. It was hard enough keeping up with his siblings, and now that he had several nieces and nephews and one on the way, he couldn’t retain all of their ages unless he wrote them down, something he hadn’t gotten around to yet.
“I can’t imagine growing up with such a big family,” she said.
Her calm tone helped him settle down. “Is Junia your only sibling?”
“Ya. I have a couple of cousins, but overall our family is small, even the extended ones. I have two aunts who never married.” She brushed some hair off his neck and moved to the right side. “They sure did have a lot of opinions about marriage, though.”
She mumbled something he thought sounded like, “especially about me,” but he wasn’t sure. “How’s it looking?” he asked, trying to stem his lingering concern that she wasn’t going to do a good job.
“It’s getting there.”
“You sure you’re not taking too much off?”
Snip, snip. “I could cut hair in mei sleep if I had to.”
Her confidence was contagious, and he decided to let her do her work and not question it anymore. He closed his eyes as she silently continued to cut the paint out of his hair. It was kind of nice. And he would have needed a cut in the next couple of weeks anyway. His mother had always cut his hair, and per tradition, she would until he got married, and that wasn’t happening anytime soon.
He opened his eyes, and she was standing in front of him, finger combing his bangs. They were almost eye to eye, and she was focused on his hair. Now that he wasn’t as upset about the paint catastrophe, the attraction he experienced back at the warehouse came back again. To top it all off, she smelled good too, like fresh laundry and fruit-scented soap. He kind of recognized the second scent. He must have used her shampoo.
She set the shears down and brushed aside his bangs. He barely noticed they felt a little shorter than usual. She was moving closer, examining his hair from all sides. Was she aware that her face was only a few inches from his? He was. And he was aware of everything else, especially how he was feeling right now. How for some bizarre reason—the biggest one being that this was Ella Yoder—he wanted to brush the back of his hand over her cheek, not only to wipe the flour away but to see if her skin was as soft as it looked.
She took another step forward, stubbing her toe against his bare foot and pitching forward. On instinct, his hands shot out and went straight to her waist to steady her. His thoughts were barely registering, but one came to the fore as his hand settled on the waistband of her apron and her surprised gaze locked with his.