HAS ROB WRITTEN to you again? Tabitha struggled to sound casual, but her fingers curled with nervous tension in the fresh earth.
The rain had given way to filtered sunlight, and John’s dark blue eyes flashed in her direction as he shoveled a mix of cold, wet dirt and potting soil into the long planter box. “Why do you ask?”
“Then he has,” she mumbled dolefully, knowing for some reason that he was trying to stall.
John sighed aloud and she lifted her chin. “How many times?”
“What difference does it make? Rob loves you. That’s all that matters.” He moved to begin filling the second box, and Tabitha followed slowly. “You sound so sure.”
“And you’re not? Shouldn’t you . . .” He broke off as an Englischer in an old pickup truck roared down the lane that ran parallel to the farm on the opposite side.
Tabitha blinked in surprise as John dropped the shovel and caught her hand. “Kumme on. I recognize that truck. That guy drives over here once every—”
“What? Where are we going?” she asked bewildered as she followed hastily by his side.
“To Stehley’s Pond down the lane. We’ve got to hurry and be quiet.”
She ran with him, respecting the quiet note of determination in his voice. Clearly something was wrong, but the time for asking questions was not now.
They hitched up beside some tall shrubbery in time to see the grizzled Englischer fling a large, brown cloth sack far out into the pond where it landed with a deep splash, then sank slowly. The man got back in his truck and pulled away to rattle back up the lane without looking back. Then John dropped her hand, and for a brief moment, she felt dizzily like she’d lost her sense of direction in the world, but she didn’t have time to process the flash of feeling. She realized that he’d pulled off his coat and hat and was dashing for the murky pond water.
“John . . . what . . . ?”
“There are puppies in that bag,” he said over his shoulder, then dove into the water.
Tabitha gave a small gasp of horror, then did the only thing she knew to help the situation. She kicked off her boots and followed John head first into the pond.
The water was shockingly cold. Tabitha swallowed a mouthful of the water, then came up choking. She saw John’s broad back break the surface about three feet from her and swam rapidly in his direction before diving under again. Visibility was like looking through green stained glass, and she found herself kicking toward the bottom, feeling for the sack, and realizing that time was running out.
Then her fingertips grazed human flesh and she realized she was touching John’s hand. She felt desperately below his fingers and suddenly grasped the fabric of the sack. She began to pull with John on the seemingly heavy bag until they’d broken the surface of the pond once more. Then she swam beside him while John managed to touch bottom and hold the sack above his head.
They gained the bank of the pond and she listened desperately for any sound from inside the fabric, but all she heard was John’s harsh breathing and the best of her own heart. She watched his long fingers work in desperation at the knot on the bag, and then he’d managed to open it. Still, there was silence.
“We’re too late,” she breathed.
“Nee,” John said firmly, his dark hair dripping like a raven’s wing after a storm. He reached into the bag and pulled out a sodden ball of gray and white fur, rubbing it gently between his hands. The scrap stirred, and Tabitha’s heart jumped.
“Here, try and keep it as warm as you can in your lap.” John handed her the little creature and she leaned over it, blowing out air onto its dampened fur.
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched John withdraw a second puppy, but this time there seemed to be no response to the brisk motions of his hands. He turned the creature onto its back and bent to gently put his mouth over the little black muzzle, blowing warm air into its nostrils and mouth.
Tabitha felt her throat tighten with tears at John’s kindness and wondered vaguely if Rob would do such a thing. She chided herself for making such a comparison. Then the pup gave a choking gasp as John pulled away and turned it onto its side to expel a baby bellyful of pond water.
“Ach,” Tabitha half sobbed. “He’s breathing.”
John nodded, handing her the puppy. Then she watched him stare down at the bag, a stillness coming over his handsome face. He laid his hands on the soaking black fabric covering his thighs and sighed aloud.
Tabitha stared down at the unmoving lump in the bag and swallowed hard as he reached inside the sack. She wanted to look away but she couldn’t, and then she saw John’s face light up. He turned blazing blue eyes to her and pulled a single heavy rock from the bag.
Tabitha choked on a happy cry and had to stop herself from flinging her arms around his neck in joy. Instead, she reached out for his hand, and he caught her fingers in a warm grip.
“Ach, John . . . you saved them. You were wunderbar.”
He smiled faintly, and she noticed his fine cheekbones flush with color, but then he shook his head. “Nee, and I’ve missed many a litter to the bottom of that pond.” He half glanced over his shoulder at the water, and she frowned.
“What do you mean? How do you know?”
“That guy runs a puppy mill outside of town. He drowns the runts. I went to his farm once, and he bragged about it almost. It was by Derr Herr’s blessing that we saw him today.” He looked at her suddenly and reached to pull a long piece of pond grass from her kapp. “And you were the one who was wonderful. I don’t know another maedel who’d dive headfirst into a messy pond to save an animal.”
She smiled at his praise, feeling her eyes well again with tears as her gaze locked with his. She was aware that his blue eyes had darkened and his grip on her fingers tightened. She felt warm and flustered and confused. Then he dropped her hand and half turned away, staring straight ahead at the grassy bank.
“John?”
“What will you name them?” he asked almost bleakly.
She frowned, then an idea came to her. “You mean what will we name them? We’ll each have one, and I’ll never forget how you—”
He stood abruptly. “Kumme. You must be freezing.”
Then she had to struggle in her sodden skirts to keep up with his long legs as he headed back toward the farm while she carried the pups.
“I send you to install flower boxes, and you kumme home with a hund,” John’s fater joked lightly as he stroked the black ball of fur in John’s outstretched hands.
“I’ve got the box of flannels ready,” his mamm declared, hastily coming across the kitchen to take the puppy and nestle it in a warm cocoon. “Now, geh upstairs and change, or you’ll be sick for sure.”
John left the room with a lingering touch on the pup’s head and headed to his bedroom. He only realized that his big body was shivering when he’d stripped off his shirt and went to wash in the large bowl and pitcher on the strapped wood dresser. He caught a glimpse of his pale face in the small mirror on the wall and met his own eyes in the glass with reluctance. When I knew she’d jumped in that water with me, when she reached for my hand, there was such a connection. . . I saw her heart in her eyes for a moment.
He splashed cold water on his face, then gripped the edge of the dresser with rigid force. He bowed his head and began to pray. Derr Herr, help me through this. Rob is my best friend, and I made a promise to him. Please have Your way in my life and guide me.
He hurried into clean clothing, then noticed that the afternoon sun was fading. He closed his eyes against the thought of going to the singing that night but knew he had no choice.