JOHN STARED DOWN into her sky blue eyes and couldn’t find it within himself to disappoint her, yet the vestiges of his dream lingered hauntingly in the back of his mind, and the Bible commanded that one should not lie. But that’s all I’ve been doing since I made this promise to Rob. . . lying. . . and it doesn’t feel good. He took a step backward and shook his head, sighing faintly as her blue eyes welled with tears. He balled his hands into fists and stuffed them into the pockets of his black coat.
“Tabitha, Rob’s grossdaudi is still very ill. Rob probably doesn’t have that much time, and he’s never been much of a writer. In school he was always good with figures, but he hated reading and writing.” John broke off, unable to continue. Why should he be defending Rob, when clearly his friend wasn’t treating his intended as he should? Tabitha kept staring at him, as if hoping he would explain away something inexplicable to both of them.
Unable to bear Tabitha’s hurt gaze, he ducked his head and scratched behind his ear, searching for another way to soothe her feelings. Then he was struck by an impulsive thought. “Tabitha, I’ll tell you what, while you’re waiting for Rob to write, why not let me help you become more acquainted with his mother, Frau Yoder, and perhaps improve her liking of you.”
Her eyes grew round, despite her tears. “Improve . . . her . . . liking of me?”
John felt a sick sinking in his stomach. Was it possible that Tabitha did not realize that Mrs. Yoder didn’t care for her?
“I mean . . . ach. . . improve . . . in the way that all future dochder-in-laws must do with their new mamms and . . .” Another lie.
She took two staggered steps from him, then sank down onto a nearby tree stump. The stump was low to the ground, and her skirt dragged in the snowy mud surrounding it. “I’ve always wondered why Rob’s mamm avoided me.” Her pretty voice was flat, and John wanted to kick himself, but he wanted to kick Rob too. The girl deserved the truth.
He moved forward and hunched down next to her. “Tabitha, I didn’t mean . . .”
“You said it; you meant it. I’ve never known you to be anything but honest, John Miller, and I don’t suppose you’d change now.” She swiped at her rosy cheek with her hand, and he pulled a clean handkerchief from his back pocket.
“Here.”
She took the snowy white cloth and blew her small nose prodigiously, only to begin crying anew.
“Perhaps Rob is using this opportune distance to let me know that because his mother doesn’t like me much that maybe he thinks he shouldn’t court me.” She glanced at him, and John shook his head.
“Nee, don’t think that way, please, Tabitha, sei se gut.” He reached out and lightly touched her dark blue sleeve, then drew away sharply when he realized that he was thumbing the fabric in soothing motions. For a moment he felt tempted to tell Tabitha of how Rob had charged him to keep an eye on her while he was gone. He knew that information would help reassure her that Rob cared for her, but for some strange reason he found himself unable to tell her. It’s that it would make your job more difficult, he told himself, but he wasn’t sure that he might not be lying to himself.
He got to his feet. “Tabitha, you can either buck up or keep wallowing. You should keep your thoughts focused on Derr Herr, who walks beside us and before us—perhaps not worrying so much about Rob.” He knew he was speaking more harshly than he intended, but he was uncomfortable with the way he felt when she was near.
Without offering her his hand, he glanced down at her and then away. “I’m going to fix your mailbox. Kumme, Tabitha. I will fetch some tools from the barn. You geh inside before you catch a chill.” He sighed in silent relief when she scrambled to her feet and walked away from him.
He waited until he heard the creak of the screen door before he turned toward the barn, intent on repairing what he could.
Tabitha swiped at her face with John’s handkerchief, then stopped short inside the kitchen door, realizing that the hem of her dress was dripping with watery mud.
“Tabby, was en der weldt are you doing?” Aenti Beth called from the kitchen, holding a carrot and peeler poised in midair.
Tabitha swallowed hard; she had no desire for her beloved aenti to know she had bawled like a calf in front of John Miller or that Rob’s mamm didn’t like her overmuch. She had to stave off fresh tears at the thought, then slipped out of her boots.
“An Englischer came wanting some seedlings for his mother, and John Miller showed him the way. I also got a little muddy.” She felt ridiculous for stating the obvious, but her thoughts were jumbled. “I’ll run and change quickly and then clean up the floor.”
Aenti Beth frowned. “Well, where is John Miller now? I hope you asked him in.”
Tabitha paused in peeling off her damp wool sock. “Um . . . I did; I mean, I will—he’s fixing the mailbox post.”
“Why?”
“It’s a bit off kilter. I’ll be right back down, then I’ll go and fetch him.” She hurried across the hardwood floors and took to the stairs, trying to avoid her aenti’s curious gaze.
Once she’d gained her room, she hastily changed her wet and dirty clothing and balled it up into a wicker basket, along with John’s handkerchief, to take downstairs for washing a bit later. John’s piece of linen was a keen reminder of what he’d said about Rob’s mamm, and Tabitha wondered how it could be that Rob hadn’t told her about his mother’s feelings. And yet I’m not telling Aenti Elizabeth the truth. At the thought, she felt fresh tears threaten and drew a deep breath.
Then she resolutely went back down to the first floor, knowing she’d have to face John again to ask him in for at least a cup of tea—Aenti Beth was an excellent hostess and would settle for nothing less. But first, there was the mud to clean up and a fresh rag rug to place before the back door.
“Mercy, Tabby.” Her aenti smiled as she reentered the kitchen. “That was fast.”
“I didn’t want the mud to have a chance to dry,” Tabitha said, going to the pantry for the old tin wash bucket and scrub brush. Soon the kitchen smelled of fresh pine soap and was in its normal pristine order. Putting the cleaning supplies away, Tabitha took a quick glance out the kitchen window and saw John’s black coat and hat as he worked at the mail post up the lane.
“John Miller is still about, child?” her aenti asked.
“Ya. I’ll go up and invite him in for a cup of something hot, but I’m sure he’ll need to get back to his daed’s to work.”
Aenti Beth glanced at her sharply. “That almost sounds like wishful thinking on your part, Tabby.”
“Hmm?” Tabitha wrapped a light blue shawl round her head and put her boots back on. “Nee. . . of course not. I’ll be right back.”
She shivered as she walked, wishing more than anything that it was Rob’s tall frame that was intent upon the mailbox post and not John Miller’s, but this seemed mean-spirited somehow and she pushed her thoughts aside and concentrated instead on avoiding the muddier patches of the lane.
Elizabeth sighed to herself as she continued with the preparations of a macaroni salad to go with lunch. She had to admit that she hoped John Miller would come in for a bit. It was pleasant to have a man about, and John’s dark hair and blue eyes reminded her in poignant flashes of the buwe who’d long ago professed that he loved her, wheelchair and all.
“And that worked out well,” she muttered grimly at her thoughts. Then she bit her lip.
What right do I have to say to Derr Herr what is or isn’t gut for my life? Perhaps Nathan’s love was real for me for a time, and certainly I became stronger because of the pain. Still, it’s better to learn lessons without such discipline.
She ran the peeler down the carrot she held and smiled softly to herself.
John swung the mallet with precision, working up a sweat as he straightened the post into the hard earth. It would have been easier to fix the mailbox when the ground was warmer and softer, but he’d given Tabitha his word that he would repair it. He was bent placing stones around the base when he saw Tabitha approaching. He got to his feet slowly and waited until she’d drawn near.
“Aenti Beth wanted to ask you in for a cup of tea,” she said. He watched her glance at him briefly, then look away.
He took off his hat and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “And what do you want me to do, Tabitha?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop, and he frowned heavily, annoyed with himself for some reason. He slammed his hat back on his head.
She looked at him straight on then, her fine brows arching in confusion. “What do I want? Why does it matter?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t.”
She sighed. “You’re strange, John Miller, but no stranger than I am, weeping and lolling about because Rob’s mamm doesn’t . . . won’t—”
John put a hand on the mailbox. “Look, I shouldn’t have said that, all right.” But Rob should have told you.
“But you did, and I’m willing to accept any help you might give me in the cause of winning Frau Yoder’s heart to me. I want a family badly . . . I mean, Aenti Beth is, but she may pass sometime, and I mean, we’re an oddity I suppose among the Amish, with so few relatives . . .” She trailed off, and he set his mouth in a grim line.
Idiot. You’ve got her all worked up, and she has enough to worry about. He absently ran a thumb over the rusted edge of the metal box and blinked when she gave a small cry.
“Ach, you’re bleeding. Hold still.”
She’d taken his hand into hers before he could say a word, and once again he felt a disconcerting tingle pass through him as she took the edge of her shawl and bound it round his thumb.
He stood frozen for a moment, connected to her by homespun threads and blood and fingertips, and he wondered why the sudden image of a hearth and two bentwood rockers suddenly burned into his brain.
He pulled away roughly, ignoring her frown, his blood clearly visible on the cloth. “Danki, Tabitha, but it’s nothing, and now you’ll have to wash your shawl.”
She shrugged indifferently, then a sudden brightness came over her face. “How shall you help me win Rob’s mother’s heart?”
He stared down at her, resigned to his promise to Rob. And now to making Tabitha happy. He smiled slowly. “Pie.”