Clattering pans together was a gut way to work off frustration, Abby decided as she searched for the exact cookie tray she wanted to put beneath the cherry pies she had ready to go into the second oven. The other was filled with pans of chocolate-chip cookies.
Isaac had refused to tell her where he’d gone this afternoon, and she’d discovered why half an hour ago. She’d happened to overhear a couple of the Englisch volunteers talking about whether David would be joining their teams at the new houses. They’d overheard her brother talking with David. That, the Englischers were certain, was a sign David would be bringing his skills more often to the new house sites.
She wasn’t so sure.
Isaac had rushed out after he’d learned more about the job Glen had given her and David. Knowing her brother as she did, she should have guessed he’d gone to see David so he could remind David an Amish woman shouldn’t marry an Englischer. She wanted to remind her brother she was a grown woman, but that wouldn’t make any difference. Isaac saw it as his job to watch over his only sister until the day she exchanged vows with an Amish man of whom he approved. For Isaac, her future was an unfinished detail, and he hated leaving anything undone.
What could she say to him? Don’t care about me as much as you do? She appreciated how much he worried about her. To be honest, in spite of teasing him about leaving their younger brother in charge of the farm, she was always shocked when he left long enough to come and help in Evergreen Corners. He was torn between his duty to family and his duty to help others as Jesus urged His disciples to do.
It is more blessed to give than to receive. That was one of the earliest lessons the kinder in her family had learned. She and Isaac had taken that verse from Acts to heart.
“Hey, Abby!”
Her grumpy mood vanished at Mikayla’s voice. The girl sounded carefree, a gut sign she hadn’t had a run-in with the bullies after school.
In fact, the bullies hadn’t bothered anyone the last few days. It might have been only a reprieve, but Abby prayed they’d given up their hurtful ways and found better venues to expend their energy.
“Hey yourself, Mikayla.” Abby bent to take the pans of cookies out of the oven and slid them, one at a time, onto the butcher-block counter next to the stove. With the ease of practice, she used a spatula to lift the cookies from the trays to the aluminum foil where they could cool. “The other kids have stopped by already and headed out to where they’re working today. Aren’t you joining them?”
“I am, but I came to talk to you first. Do you know Doris Blomgren?” Mikayla came into the kitchen and reached around Abby to snag a chocolate-chip cookie.
“Be careful! Those are hot.”
Bouncing the cookie from hand to hand, the girl grimaced. “You could have warned me.”
“I would have told you to be careful if I’d known you were going to grab one right after you watched me take them out of the oven. Would that have stopped you?”
“Probably not. Your cookies are the best, Abby.” After taking a bite of the soft cookie and melted chocolate, she sighed. “So good.” She didn’t pause before she asked again. “Do you know Doris Blomgren?”
“Ja. I should say I know of her, because we’ve never met. She’s been generous in sending casseroles over to share with the volunteers.”
“She’s Jack’s aunt.” Her nose wrinkled. “Maybe his great-aunt. Anyhow, she’s a nice old lady.”
Abby had to wonder how old “old” was in Mikayla’s estimation. It could mean Doris was any age from forty up. Maybe even in her thirties. To a teenager, that was old.
“She needs help with something,” Mikayla said, “and I thought we might be able to help.”
“We? You and me?” Abby asked as she set the cookie sheets aside to reuse with the next batch to put into the oven.
“No, the teen volunteers. I heard David talking on the phone to Glen about the project you two are supposed to be working on with us.”
Delighted the girl was interested in a project that would mean spending more time with her guardian, Abby said, “We’re hoping to do projects and fun events.”
“Fun? David?”
The girl’s words echoed what David had said at the diner. Was he averse to having a gut time? No, he’d said someone else had told him he wasn’t fun.
Abby asked, “Do you think he’s fun?”
The girl looked away, lowering her eyes. The motion told Abby everything she needed to confirm her suspicions. Daed and daughter were leading parallel lives, residing under the same roof but having little interaction. Sorrow bubbled tears into her eyes because she couldn’t imagine anything sadder than two people resisting anything that would make them a family.
“Well,” Abby said, trying to sound casual, “if you don’t think he’s fun, maybe you think he’s funny, too.”
“Too?” The teenager stared in astonishment. “You think David is funny?”
“He’s always saying things that make me laugh. He’s got a way with words, I guess you could say.”
“Really?”
“It’s subtle, ain’t so?” She reached for the bottle so she could pour a thin sheen of oil on the cookie sheets. “I find I’ve got to listen for the jokes he’s making. If I wasn’t paying attention, they’d probably go right over my head.”
She held her breath, watching as the girl digested her words. It was a long shot, Abby knew, but if Mikayla listened more to what David had to say, there was a chance they could become closer.
When Mikayla mumbled a noncommittal answer, Abby let her breath sift through her teeth. Getting the two to see their lives would be enriched by each other was going to be more difficult than she’d thought.
She spooned dough onto the cookie sheet. Once she finished baking this batch, she would head to the apartment and prepare supper for herself, Isaac and their guests. Maybe she’d have another opportunity then to persuade Mikayla to spend more time with her guardian.
“Abby, what do you say we make our first project helping Doris Blomgren?”
Putting the trays into the oven and setting the timer, Abby asked, “What does Doris need?”
Mikayla snatched another cookie and, as she ate it, explained how she’d known Doris most of her life. “She was my grandmother’s best friend. She has an old-fashioned sewing machine that isn’t working. Maybe we can help her get it fixed.”
“All of us? Fixing an old sewing machine sounds like something David can do on his own.”
“It is.”
“But?” she asked when the girl again wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“Mrs. Blomgren is pretty old-fashioned as well as old.” Mikayla rolled her eyes. “She must be close to a hundred.”
“Really?”
Lifting her phone, Mikayla tapped it a couple of times and handed it to Abby. “That’s Mrs. Blomgren in the photo. See? She’s ancient!”
The picture was blurred, but, squinting, Abby could make out the image of a woman. She had pure white hair, and her hands, resting on the arms of an overstuffed chair, were wrinkled. Perhaps her face was as well, but Abby couldn’t tell by the photo.
A man stood next to the chair where the woman sat. Like Doris, the man’s face wasn’t clear. Could that be Mikayla’s daed? Was that why she kept such an out-of-focus photo?
Handing the phone to Mikayla, she said, “She looks to be in her seventies or eighties.”
“Maybe, but she acts like she was born and raised in Victorian times. She says she doesn’t think David should be alone with her in her house for the time it’ll take to fix the sewing machine.”
“Then why doesn’t he take it to his shop to fix it?”
“A good question” came the answer in a deeper voice.
She looked over her shoulder to see David crossing the community center’s main room. His coat was unzipped and his bright yellow-and-green winter hat and dark gloves were nowhere to be seen.
Had it warmed up outside? It suddenly felt much hotter inside the kitchen. As if both ovens were set on Broil and each of the dozen burners lit. She realized the warmth came from within her as he entered the kitchen. She was startled by how pleased she was to see him.
She was the only one. Mikayla said something under her breath, grabbed her coat and rushed out of the kitchen.
“Mikayla!” Abby called after her. “Don’t you want to tell David about your great idea?”
“You tell him! I’ve got to go—I should be—” The outer door slammed behind her.
Abby looked at David. He held up a hand before she could speak.
“Don’t apologize, Abby,” he said in a clipped tone. “You didn’t do anything to make her run off.”
“Nor did you.”
“And that’s the problem.” He sighed. “How can you fix something when you don’t have any idea what’s wrong?”
Abby wished she had an answer for him but, for once, she couldn’t see a quick solution to a problem and how she might have been able to help resolve it.
David saw the sorrow on Abby’s expressive face and he wanted to kick himself...again. First, his arrival had sent his daughter fleeing. Now he’d upset Abby. Though he didn’t want to admit it, maybe her brother was right to worry about David spending so much time with her. Everything he did seemed to distress those around him.
Stop it! he told himself as he had so many times before. He’d made the cafeteria workers happy by fixing the dishwasher. Too bad relationships didn’t come with user manuals and a way to repair them with a simple hand tool.
If it’d been easy to mend problems among people, his parents would have discovered how long ago. They would have put to rest the bad memories of their lives among the Amish. Though they’d pretended they had, they hadn’t, because anytime he tried to initiate a discussion about his past, they shut him down.
Pushing those thoughts aside, because each day he spent with Abby made him more baffled about his parents’ opinions, he asked, “What great idea has Mikayla had?”
He listened while Abby took cookies out of the oven and outlined what his daughter had told her. Not sure why Mikayla wouldn’t have wanted to share with him, he said, “I’d be glad to fix Doris’s sewing machine for her. I don’t know how we would involve the teens.”
“I said the same thing. According to Mikayla, Doris Blomgren believes she needs a chaperone so her neighbors won’t gossip about a man being behind her closed doors while her sewing machine is repaired.”
When her lips twitched, he felt his do the same. He hadn’t thought he’d be able to smile after his conversation with her brother. “I’m not surprised, because Doris has her own view of the world and nobody’s going to change her mind at this late date.”
“What do you think of it being a project for the teenagers?”
“It would give us the answer to the riddle of how many people it takes to fix a treadle sewing machine.”
He heard a soft sound behind him. Shock riveted him when he realized it was Mikayla muffling a laugh. Mikayla? She’d come back? Though he wanted to turn and see for himself that she’d found his weak joke funny, he didn’t. Would she stop laughing if she realized he’d heard her?
When Abby looked past him, he rested one elbow on the counter with what he hoped looked like nonchalance. He didn’t say anything as Mikayla explained she couldn’t show up without cookies. Abby wrapped up almost two dozen of the delicious smelling cookies and handed them to Mikayla.
“Anything else?” Abby asked.
“Not now,” his daughter said before rushing for the door.
“Don’t be too late. We’re having supper at Abby’s tonight,” David called.
He thought she wasn’t going to respond, but she paused and faced them. “Are we really having supper tonight with you, Abby?”
“Ja, with me and my brother.”
“Okay.” Mikayla glared at him before leaving.
He sighed, wondering if he’d ever figure out his daughter.
“At least, she likes the idea of joining us for supper.” Abby gave him a sympathetic smile as she put the cookie sheet into the sink to soak. He was no longer amazed she seemed privy to his thoughts, even when they were a jumble in his head. “Our apartment is neutral territory. Maybe she’ll open up to you a bit more while you’re there.”
“I hope so.” He did because he was running out of ideas on how to reach the girl.