Ella couldn’t breathe, not with both of Nelson’s hands resting on the sides of her waist. Was he lightly squeezing too? Hmm, that felt nice. Really nice.
As she righted herself, he dropped his hands fast as lightning and averted his gaze, bringing her out of her stupor. He wasn’t touching her because he wanted to. She’d stumbled and he was steadying her. He didn’t want her ruining his hair.
Quickly she went back to work, words tumbling out of her mouth. “I cut mei grossvatter’s hair once after Aenti Tabitha showed me, because Grossmammi died when I was ten and Aenti Tabitha said I should learn how to cut hair in case I ever got married.” All true, except she left out the part where her aunt had said, “On the outside chance you ever get married.” She frowned. Even back when Ella thought boys were ew, her aunt was predicting her romantic failure.
Nelson definitely wasn’t ew.
Snip. Oops, she cut off a little too much. Easy to fix, though. If only I could just shut up now. It helped that he didn’t answer, and as she evened up the other side of his hair, she couldn’t resist playing with it a little under the guise of checking the length. It was so soft, thick, and a little damp from his shower. Feeling slightly guilty about enjoying the process, she cleared her throat.
“Something wrong?”
“Nee. I’m almost done.” She’d gotten most of the paint out, and she could probably stop right now, but she found another spot. And another . . . and then another.
“Sure you’re not cutting off too much?”
“Of course not.” But when she stepped back and took an overall look, she flinched. In her zeal to remove every bit of paint, she’d given him a short haircut. Very short. Not quite as short as some English men wore, but close. Definitely not the Amish style. Yikes. “Uh . . .”
His hand flew to his head, and he spun around in the chair. “What did you do?”
“There was so much paint—”
He jumped out of the chair and ran to the bathroom with the towel around his neck and leaving a trail of hair in his wake, some tinged with white.
Slowly she placed the scissors on the table and lowered herself onto the chair. She folded her hands in her lap and waited for—
“Ella!”
—him to realize how much she’d cut off. She squeezed her eyes shut, grimacing as she heard his bare feet slamming on the wood floor. When he entered, she opened one eye.
“You said you knew how to cut hair!”
The other eye flew open. “I do. I was trying to get out all the paint.”
He ran his hand over his head and glared at her.
And they had been getting along so well. She winced. When it came to Nelson, she couldn’t do anything right. This time he had every right to be angry. She stood and turned away from him.
“Don’t do that,” he said.
“Do what?”
“Cry.”
“I’m not.” But as she spoke, she wiped the back of her hand over her eyes and left the room, wondering if she’d ever have the courage to cut a man’s hair again . . . and if Nelson could ever forgive her.
* * *
Nelson ran his hands over his hair again. When he saw his reflection in the mirror, he was shocked. He’d expected a shorter-than-average Amish haircut, not the English cut she’d given him. He was so stunned he didn’t even know if she’d gotten all the paint out, and he’d rather have a little paint in his hair than what he’d ended up with. Now he looked like he was still in his rumspringa before he’d joined the church years ago. Everyone in Birch Creek knew he was a member of the church, but he was a stranger in Marigold. He’d have to explain, surely more than once, why he didn’t have an Amish cut so people wouldn’t think he was unbaptized.
When he walked into the living room, the sight of her by the door holding his things distracted his anger. She didn’t look at him as she gave him his coat and set the boots in front of him.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a small, un-Ella-like voice. “I won’t bother you again.” She fled the room.
Should he go after her? He should still be furious with her. It would be easier if he were. He was the one with the weird haircut, not her. But he couldn’t stand to see her upset. He never could. He started to head to the kitchen, then stopped. Both their emotions were running high right now, and he wasn’t up to getting into another fight—with her or with himself.
He shoved his feet into his boots and didn’t bother to put on his coat, choosing to carry it as he crossed the street. He took one last glance at the house before going up his driveway and walking into the warehouse. He had a big mess to clean up. Better to focus on that than his hair.
When he entered the building, he had an unexpected visitor.
Malachi gaped at him. “What happened to you?”
Ella happened. But when he eyed the disaster in front of him, he had to take responsibility. She’d tried to help him. He just wished she hadn’t tried so hard. He went to pick up the roller lying in the spilled paint near the ladder and groaned when it didn’t move.
“And what happened here?” Malachi appeared beside him.
“An accident.” He looked at his nephew. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Are you and Jalon finished with the barn addition?”
He shook his head. “Not yet.” Then he walked over to Nelson’s bed and plopped down on the end, his shoulders sagging.
Nelson pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t need to face another problem today, but he had a feeling he was about to. “What’s wrong?”
“Junia dumped me.”
“What? When?”
With an agonized expression, he said, “Two days and three hours ago. I don’t know what I did, Nelson. I thought we were fine. I talked to her on the phone, we wrote letters, we even met at—” He waved his hand.
So he and Junia were seeing each other on the sly. He was sure Barnabas didn’t know. Or Ella. If she did, she wouldn’t have been in a good mood when she arrived earlier today. It also explained why Malachi couldn’t spare any time to help him clear trees. He was spending every free moment talking to, and being with, her.
“So what happened?”
“I don’t know. We were even talking about having another date instead of . . .”
“Sneaking around?”
He hung his head. “Ya. Junia didn’t want Ella to chaperone us, even though she agreed to it. I didn’t know about Barnabas’s decision, but when I asked her why we had to keep meeting in private, she finally told me. That’s when I insisted we geh on a date, with Ella.”
“She wouldn’t be yer only chaperone. I offered to do it too.”
He lifted a surprised eyebrow, then sighed. “It doesn’t matter now. Nelson, what am I going to do?”
Patting his nephew on the back a couple of times, he said, “I’m sorry, but there’s nix you can do.” He got up and went to pry the roller loose.
“I can’t accept that.”
He paused, staring at the splattered paint on the floor. He’d said those words to himself more than once after being dumped. “You can’t force her to love you.”
“But that’s just it.” He stood and moved in front of him. “I know she loves me. Not only has she told me, but I feel it.” He put his hand over his heart.
His nephew was coming perilously close to describing his own pain, and that wasn’t a path he wanted to travel again. He grabbed Malachi’s shoulders. “Listen to me. I know this is hard, but you’ll be better off in the end. It’s gut you know how she truly feels about you before you do something dumb.”
Like propose.
“I was going to ask her to marry me.”
Too late. He dropped his hands.
“I just don’t understand.”
“What’s to understand?” Nelson heard the bite in his tone, but he couldn’t prevent it. “She’s probably dating someone else, or decided you don’t have the right ‘qualities,’ whatever that means. Maybe she’s already making plans to geh back to Lancaster and marry her ex-boyfriend. Or she might be seeing someone right here in Marigold.”
He frowned. “What are you talking about? She doesn’t have an ex-boyfriend or anyone else.”
“That you know about.”
Malachi shook his head. “She wouldn’t cheat on me.”
“You haven’t known her that long.”
“One month, one day, six—”
“Stop!” Nelson lifted his hand. He didn’t want to be mean, but he had to get through to him. “Just . . . stop. She doesn’t love you, Malachi. She’s been lying to you. Why would you waste your time with someone like her? She doesn’t deserve you. Trust me, I know.”
“You don’t know Junia.”
“I know women like her!” That was as much as he was going to admit about his past romantic life. His heart clenched. “They’re not worth it, Malachi.”
His nephew stared at him. Then he shook his head. “I refuse to believe that. I think something else is wrong.”
“Malachi—”
“She’s not like other women, and you don’t know her like I do. Up until now, we’ve been able to talk about anything. She reads a lot and is very smart. She draws beautiful pictures too. Best of all, she’s also got a gut heart, and I trust her. There are things we’ve only shared with each other.”
“Did you tell her about yer biological father?”
He nodded. “She didn’t judge me or Mamm, not even for a second.”
That was a mark in her favor. Nelson had to give her that.
“She’s also the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a frau.”
Except she doesn’t want you. Nelson’s history was repeating itself with his nephew. But would he have listened if one of his siblings or parents had warned him about Miriam and Norene? Even looking back on the night Norene broke his heart, he recalled Selah’s subtle negative reaction when he said he was waiting for her. Would he have listened to her either?
No. He would have done exactly what he did—forge full steam ahead. All he could say was, “I’m sorry. I wished it would have worked out for you two.”
“It still can. Junia told me not to contact her ever again, but I need to know why she broke up with me.”
“Malachi—”
“And yer the only one who can find out.”
“Nee.” He backed away. “I’m not getting involved. No. Way.”
“I’ll owe you a huge favor. Whatever you want.”
The very last thing in the world he wanted to do was get into the middle of Malachi’s relationship problems, particularly since it was dredging up his own past he’d fought so hard to bury. But maybe if Malachi knew the truth behind why Junia had dumped him, he would be able to move on. “I’ll talk to Barnabas.”
“Nee. It has to be Ella. Junia says her father doesn’t understand her, or anything else.”
“He’s got to be aware of a few things.”
Malachi lifted his hands. “I’m sure she didn’t mean everything, but she’s upset with him.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. She won’t tell me. And she doesn’t want me talking to Ella either.”
Nelson was losing the battle. “But you want me to talk to her.”
He nodded. “Please?”
Good grief, his nephew was stubborn. Rubbing the back of his neck, he relented, knowing that Malachi wouldn’t give up. “All right,” he said with a heavy sigh, “I’ll ask Ella.”
Malachi beamed. “Danki, Nelson. Can you talk to her now?”
He thought about her last words. “I won’t bother you again.” Not that long ago he would have been happy to hear her say that. He wasn’t now, and Malachi was giving him an opportunity to speak to her. Once they talked about Junia, they could discuss what had happened and get back on an even keel again. But it was too soon, for both of them. “I’ll see her tomorrow. I’ve got to clean this up first.”
“I’ll help.” He was looking at Nelson’s hair. “It doesn’t look bad. Kind of English, though.” He picked up the tray, jiggling it a little to break it free from the dried paint, and proceeded to loosen the roller.
Nelson moved to drop his coat on his bed when his foot hit something. He glanced down and saw the basket Ella had brought. Picking it up, he noticed the top of a bread loaf peeking through the dish towel. Was this bread and honey for him? He couldn’t be sure since she didn’t say anything about it. She might have been on her way to take it to someone else when she stopped by. He set the basket next to his coat and returned to work. He’d take the basket to her tomorrow. And then we’ll talk.
His spirits were sinking a bit. While he was sure he was doing the right thing for Malachi’s sake, he didn’t want his nephew to get his heart broken. Unfortunately, it seemed inevitable.
* * *
“I don’t think I’ve ever had such a well-stocked kitchen,” Mom said, peering in the pantry, no doubt looking for something forbidden to eat.
Wendy smiled. The day after they talked about Parker, she visited Charity and asked her for some cooking lessons. Initially she had assumed that Wendy wanted to learn the French cooking Charity seemed obsessed with, but when Wendy pointed out she wanted Amish recipes, Charity understood. “We’ll start with some of Shirley’s favorites,” she’d said as they made a list of recipes and supplies. “I made some adjustments for her diet.”
That hadn’t surprised Wendy. Although she’d been wary of hiring the young Amish woman, she’d turned out to be the perfect caregiver for her mom. And now Wendy had that responsibility, and she took it seriously. But she didn’t have to be so strict all the time. “There are still some sugar-free morning glory muffins in the bread box.”
“Oh good. Those were delicious.”
Wendy pieced together the pattern for an Amish dress she’d asked Eunice to help her with. Her sewing lessons had turned into daylong visits, and for the first time since she could remember, Wendy had a female friendship that wasn’t tied to school or work, and those had always been short-lived due to her busy schedule. She was also growing closer to Charity, who was open to answering more of her questions about the Amish faith. It was all so lovely.
Placing a small dish with one morning glory muffin on her walker seat, Mom wheeled over to the table and sat down.
“No butter?”
“I have to watch my figure.” She winked. “These don’t need butter or jelly. They’re perfect on their own.” She looked at Wendy’s project. “I should have known you would be good at sewing and cooking too.”
“I have a lot more to learn.” But she smiled at the compliment as she placed three pins in her mouth and matched the fabric edges.
“Maybe next time you can make whoopie pies.”
She looked at her mother. “Don’t push it. Your blood sugar—”
“Is the bane of my existence.” She bit into the muffin.
Despite their frequent discussions about her sweet tooth, Mom was in good health for her age and for being a stroke survivor, not to mention having diabetes. She’d had her latest checkup after Christmas, and although Wendy had expected her numbers to be off due to a few holiday indulgences, she was right on target. “Do you want some coffee with that?”
“Not this late in the afternoon or I’ll be up all night. What’s for supper?”
“Lentils and rice.”
She shuddered. “You know the old saying—‘Just say no to lentils.’”
Wendy grinned. Her mother had always been witty, and at times over the years she’d found that annoying. She was more serious like her father. But after living with Mom all this time, she enjoyed her sense of humor. “I love lentils,” she said. “One day you might too.”
“That’s a negative, my favorite daughter.”
“I’m your only daughter.” Wendy went back to pinning the fabric.
Mom got up, leaned over, and kissed her cheek. “And you’re the best.” She sat back down. “Have I told you lately how much I love that you’re living here? And how happy you seem?”
Pinning the fabric, she said, “Last week. But I don’t mind hearing it again.”
“You’re happy, aren’t you?”
“Very much so.” Since their talk, she had called the owner of the office building and told her she wasn’t renewing her lease in February. Last Sunday she’d gone to church service with Eunice again, this time visiting her sister’s Amish district. In spite of being in a different church, she felt even more at home than she had the first time she went, and she wore her Amish dress the rest of the day. That was part of the reason why she wanted to learn to make her own. She hadn’t used her cell phone all week either. It was still plugged in, but she didn’t miss it. She was even thinking about buying a stovetop percolator like Eunice and Charity had. But when she showed Mom the picture from Lehman’s catalog, she was less than impressed. “I did my duty with those things,” she said. “Give me modern technology any day.”
Mom polished off the rest of the muffin. “What time are you going to E&J’s Grocery?”
Wendy glanced at her, confused. “I’m not. Do you need something?”
“No. I just figured since you’ve gone there almost every day this week, you would be going today.” She gave her a sly smile. “How’s Barnabas?”
Wendy’s cheeks heated and the pin she’d just pushed into the navy blue fabric was crooked. She straightened it, keeping her head down. “He’s fine. So are his daughters.” At least she thought they were. They weren’t at the store at the same time when she stopped by, but Barnabas hadn’t mentioned there were any more problems.
She knew she didn’t have to visit Yoders’ as much as she did. And there were days when she was out for her walks and had tried everything she could to avoid going there, but she couldn’t help herself. She thought it was because she wanted to check on the family, but the truth was she wanted to see Barnabas, even if only for a few minutes. She didn’t understand it herself, and she felt like a teenager with a crush, except the only crush she ever had when she was a teenager was on education.
Who wouldn’t have a crush on him, though? In fact, she thought his eyes were unusually bright and welcoming the last two times she was there. Or was she imagining they were? More like wishing.
The doorbell rang, saving Wendy from speaking her thoughts. “To be continued,” Mom said, rising from the chair.
“I’ll get the door,” Wendy offered, already standing.
“Finish your pinning,” she said. “Maybe one day you can show me how to work with a pattern. I’m sure it’s a pay grade or two above my button-sewing skills.” Mom scooted out of the kitchen, Monroe at her heels.
She took several pins out of the quilted red, white, and blue pin cushion Eunice had gifted her on their second lesson and thought about church again. More and more she found herself not only drawn to the simple Amish lifestyle but to their faith. The structure of it appealed to her. The daily practice of living out their obedience to God wasn’t just an idea but was intricately woven into the fabric of their existence. She’d never seen or experienced anything like it. And while her mother’s church was fine, and the people were incredibly nice, she found herself longing to sing the German hymns in the a cappella Gregorian chant style in the Amish church. She didn’t know how to explain the shifts in her thoughts and feelings when she didn’t quite understand them herself.
Mom poked her head into the kitchen. “One of the Yoder girls is here.”
Wendy’s eyes jumped to hers. This was a surprise. Maybe Ella wanted to talk about their progress since the last meeting.
“She had to stop by the powder room for a minute.” Mom frowned slightly.
Uh-oh. Wendy gathered up her sewing materials, making sure she didn’t lose any pins or tear the pattern. “Is anything wrong?”
“I’m not sure. She said it was important, though.” Mom turned around and wheeled her way back to the living room.
Wendy tried not to be pessimistic. Just because her mother was uncertain about Ella’s mood didn’t mean that the conflict mediation had failed. Even if the Yoder family had made only a little headway in communication, they could count it a success.
She heard footsteps in the kitchen and turned around. But it wasn’t Ella standing there. It was Junia . . . tears streaming down her face.