Isaiah gave the long, flat piece of metal a final hit before putting it to one side rather than into the coals again. Stepping away, he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. It was impossible to concentrate on work. He hadn’t been prepared yesterday for the twins opening up about their grief over their parents’ deaths. He was grateful for Clara’s help as well as her pushing him to do what he needed to as the kinder’s guardian. But he kept hearing Clara’s questions in his mind.
How about your healing, Isaiah? When is that going to start?
He should have answered her instead of walking away. He would have answered her if he’d known what to say. He’d wanted to say his healing was well underway, but he wouldn’t lie. The more he thought about her penetrating questions that had stripped away the defenses he’d kept in place, the more annoyed he got. She didn’t understand. Nobody did.
God does. The taunting, truthful voice in his mind burst out.
He ignored it as he tried to ignore Clara’s questions. It was impossible.
The sound of a horse and buggy outside his smithy was a welcome respite from his thoughts. Or it was until he saw Curtis Mast step out of the buggy.
Isaiah silenced his groan as his father-in-law strode toward him. Forcing a smile, he called a greeting to Curtis.
“Busy?” the older man asked.
“Always, but being busy is better than not being busy, ain’t so?”
Curtis nodded, then said, “I know it’s not our way for a daed to interfere, but Ida Mae and I were wondering if we should plant extra celery in the garden this year.”
The Amish tradition of serving celery at weddings demanded extra rows be sowed in the gardens of families expecting to host a wedding after the harvest. Any family who put in extra spent most of the summer warding off curious questions about which son or daughter was marrying and to whom. Only when the couple’s intentions were published during announcements at a church Sunday service were suspicions confirmed or dashed.
But why was Curtis asking him?
“I don’t have an answer for you,” Isaiah said as he lifted off his leather apron and hung it on a hook beyond his forge.
“You haven’t made your mind up yet?”
“Yet?”
“We’re two grown men, Isaiah. You married one of my daughters. Don’t you think, as part of the family already, you should let me know what your plans are since you’re walking out with one of my other daughters?”
Isaiah opened his mouth, then shut it. He was too astonished and wasn’t sure what to say. He tried again. “Did Orpha say...?”
“She hasn’t said anything, but I’ve seen how she looks when she comes home late after walking out with you.”
“I’m not walking out with Orpha.”
“What?” Curtis’s eyes grew as round as a coal on the forge.
“I don’t know what she’s said—”
“She hasn’t said anything, which is why I assumed you two had reached a serious understanding.” He tugged off his straw hat and rolled the uneven brim between his fingers. “So you’re not walking out with her?”
“No. My time’s spent here or with the Beachy kinder. Orpha must be walking out with someone else.”
His father-in-law stared at him in disbelief, then sighed. “I’d hoped you would decide to marry her because I know you’re a gut man who would provide a gut home for her. But apparently she’s decided on someone else.”
“It would seem so.” His calm voice hid his exultation that Orpha wouldn’t be pressuring him any longer to marry her. “It sounds as if congratulations will soon be in order, Curtis.”
“Time will tell, but at least I know whoever she’s with is plain because he drives a buggy. It’s not like the bishop’s Katie Kay who has jumped the fence to the Englischers.”
“Is that for sure?” He couldn’t ask Reuben, who must be torn up to have his daughter turn her back on her people.
And Micah... Isaiah wondered how his younger brother was dealing with these rumors. Micah had been busy on several construction projects, and Isaiah hadn’t had much time to talk with him. He needed to make time.
Curtis shrugged, his mind on his daughters rather than the bishop’s. “She’s gone to live with an Englisch girl, so who knows whether she’ll come back or not?” Putting his hat on again, he turned to leave. “If you hear who Orpha is spending time with, let me know.”
The older man was gone before Isaiah could reply, which was just as well. No matter how bothersome Orpha had been, he wasn’t going to carry any tales he heard to her daed. She was Rose’s sister, and he owed her that much loyalty.
* * *
Clara had been delighted when Isaiah offered to bring pizza home for supper that night. It’d been such a treat when they’d had it after Ammon’s hearing test, and the kinder would enjoy having it again. They’d been subdued, but brightened when she mentioned having pizza.
She wished the promise of pizza topped with pepperoni and mushrooms was enough to get herself on an even keel. Throughout the day, it was as if a shadow draped over her, something she hadn’t experienced since her arrival in Paradise Springs. She wasn’t sure if the shadow was from the storm of tears yesterday or if caused by the thunderstorms rolling through one after another during the afternoon. She was on edge.
But why? She should be rejoicing that the twins had realized it was okay to show their grief. It might be the first step toward convincing them to laugh again. But how could she revel in their breakthrough when Isaiah clung to his grief? She wished she could understand how he was able to offer the kinder what they needed when he refused to accept the same from her. Although she didn’t want to believe what she could see, it seemed to her that he acted as if he deserved to be miserable. It made no sense.
Or did it? She’d been unhappy since she received Lonnie’s letter. Only because she’d come to Paradise Springs and met Isaiah and the twins had she relearned how to smile and tease and enjoy simple, wunderbaar things.
Or maybe her uneasiness had nothing to do with him and the twins. Maybe it was from the two letters delivered that morning from the kinder’s grandparents. Like the one from their aenti, the letters were filled with news about where the couple was working in Africa. These had been written with the twins in mind, so she didn’t have to edit as she read to them, but neither letter mentioned if or when their grandparents were coming to Paradise Springs.
How much longer would it be before they arrived? Clara had been at the Beachys’ house for more than a month. She wasn’t in a hurry to leave because she loved spending time with the twins. Having an hour in the evening to talk with Isaiah was a blessing, too, though she must make sure they didn’t end up holding hands as they had on the trampoline. Had he guessed she’d stumbled because her knees had gone weak at his touch?
“You’re wasting time better spent on doing something other than fretting,” she chided herself.
While the boys played with their trucks and the girls with plastic horses they made gallop across the floor, Clara cut out clothes for the twins from the fabric she’d found in the other storage room upstairs. They were growing fast, especially the boys. They needed play clothes and nicer clothing to wear to services on a church Sunday. Today was a gut day to spend with the task because she could sit near the kinder, ready to offer a hug whenever it was needed, and not seem to be hovering.
The twins noticed what she was doing and asked which garment was for which kind. The girls were delighted with the light green and dark blue fabric she had for their dresses. As they wore the same size, they discussed which of them would wear which color first. The boys were less interested in color and more concerned that their new trousers didn’t have hems halfway to their knees as youngsters their age often did, so new pants didn’t need to be made every time they grew another inch. She assured them the hems wouldn’t be any deeper than Isaiah’s, but didn’t mention why. With the kinder due to join their Mennonite relatives, their clothing could be quite different. She had no idea how conservative their aenti and grandparents were.
As the sky clouded for another round of thunder, lightning and rain, Clara put aside her sewing. The twins were getting antsy being stuck in the house, so she asked, “I’ve got my scissors out. Would you like me to cut your hair, boys?” She smiled at Andrew and Ammon. “Did your mamm cut your hair in the kitchen or bathroom?”
“Kitchen,” Andrew replied, then lowered his eyes as he spoke about his mamm.
She guessed he didn’t want anyone else to see tears in his eyes. Giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze, she wasn’t surprised when he leaned into her instead of pulling away as he might have before yesterday. Perhaps now that they’d started to release their grief, they’d heal. It would take a very long time before the mention of their parents’ names didn’t cause pain. She hoped time would help reminiscences of the happy times eclipse their sorrow.
“Mamm’s shears here,” Nancy said, opening the drawer near the stove where Clara kept the matches and the other odds and ends needed in the kitchen.
“Gut.” She reached in the drawer and pulled out the scissors. She also used a book of matches to light the propane lamp over the table as the clouds continued to thicken. Tossing the matches in the drawer, she closed it and said, “Please get me two bath towels, Nancy. You know how many two are?”
The little girl held up three fingers.
With a smile, Clara lowered one. “Put one towel on each of those fingers, and you’ll have two towels. Nettie Mae, will you get a clothespin from the laundry basket?”
“One?” She held up a single finger.
“Perfect.”
“What about me?” Ammon asked.
“You can help by getting one of the booster seats the girls use while Andrew pulls out the chair we’ll use.”
The kinder scurried in four different directions and did as she asked. Oh, how she was going to miss their eagerness to help! And their sweet smiles and their many questions. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she dashed them aside as she took the towels from Nancy. She put one on the floor and set on top of it the chair Andrew had moved away from the table. Ammon placed the booster seat on the chair.
When she motioned for him to climb up, Ammon scrambled like a squirrel climbing a tree. She wrapped the second towel around his neck and held it in place with the clothespin beneath his chin. After she had him hand her his hearing aid, because she didn’t want to risk snipping its thin wire, she put it in her pocket for safekeeping. She took a small mirror Melvin probably had used for shaving off the wall by the sink and handed it to the little boy.
“Be careful,” she said.
“I will.” His shoulders stiffened with his resolve.
The other kinder watched and chattered with each other and her as she cut Ammon’s almost white hair. It was as fine as corn silk and clung to her fingers. She shook them to send the strands drifting to the towel on the floor.
The kitchen door opened, and Isaiah came in as Clara was finishing the last section of Andrew’s hair.
“No pizza?” she asked.
“I thought we’d go to the pizza parlor and eat it there,” he replied.
The twins cheered, and she had to put a hand on Andrew’s shoulder to keep him from jumping like the others. She made the final snips before unhooking the towel from around his neck. “There.” She shook the towel over the wastebasket, making sure the hair fell into it. “All done. As soon as I clean up, we can go for pizza.”
“But what about Onkel Isaiah?” asked Ammon, who was talking more and more each day.
At that thought, she handed the device to him, and he slipped it into place with ease. It hid behind his ear and was almost invisible beneath his hair. More than once, she’d had to peer at him to make sure it hadn’t fallen off.
“Aren’t you going to cut his hair?” Ammon continued. “It’s too long, too.”
“Ja,” interjected Nancy from where she was dancing around Isaiah with her twin sister. “Cut his hair, too! Mamm cut Andrew’s and Ammon’s and Daed’s.”
The little girl halted as she mentioned her parents. Her face didn’t crumble, but she was on the verge of tears. As she had with Andrew earlier, Clara put her arm around the youngster’s thin shoulders and gave her a gentle hug. The little girl grabbed two handfuls of Clara’s apron and pressed her face into it.
Knowing she needed to do something to lighten the mood in the kitchen, Clara asked, “Well, Isaiah, do you want me to cut your hair?”
Isaiah gave the slightest shrug, which meant the decision was in her hands. Hoping a quick trim of his hair would bring back the kinder’s gut spirits, she motioned toward the chair.
Andrew had already pulled the booster seat off it by the time Isaiah crossed the kitchen and sat. The twins gathered around the table to watch her cut his hair.
“Ready when you are,” he said with a smile and a wink for the youngsters.
She hoped they’d giggle at him, but they only grinned. She had to be content with that.
Moving behind Isaiah, she listened to the twins tease him while she wrapped the towel around his shoulders and closed it with the clothespin. Where the towel had draped over the boys to their waists, it barely covered his broad shoulders.
She averted her eyes and picked up her scissors. “Your hair is longer than the boys’ was,” she said as she clipped and combed and cut more as he watched in the mirror to make sure his hair was the proper style and length set by the district’s Ordnung.
“Getting my hair cut wasn’t at the top of my list of priorities in the past few weeks.”
“I know, but you don’t want the deacon coming around to chide you for letting it grow to your shoulders.”
He smiled. “You know if Marlin comes here, it won’t be to chide me about my hair.”
“True.” His hair was almost as soft as the boys’, but its color was much richer. “And it’s true you’d do anything to avoid his matchmaking. Even let me cut your hair.”
“You did a gut job with Ammon’s and Andrew’s, so why not?” He continued to tease her and the twins as she made sure his hair was even.
When she stepped around him to do the front, his gaze rose and locked with hers. Her fingers froze as she held a section of his hair between them. Had she believed cutting his hair would be no different from doing the boys’?
His almost gray eyes were unlike the bright blue of the kinder’s, but revealed so much more. The emotions within them were not the least bit childish. Nor was the tingling response his steady gaze created within her.
She dropped the hank of hair and started to move away. Gently he caught her wrist, keeping her where she stood.
“Don’t,” he whispered.
Don’t what? Don’t move away? Leave his hair half-cut? Look at him as if her heart was about to dance right out of her?
“Clara, it’s okay.” His quiet words wouldn’t reach the twins, who’d gotten bored and gone to color in the living room. “We know where we stand.” One corner of his mouth quirked, and she couldn’t tell if he was trying to grin or trying not to. “Okay. Where you stand and where I sit.”
She didn’t smile as she finished trimming his hair. What would he say if she said her brain had lost complete control of her heart? She knew it would be foolish to fall in love with a man who had told her right from the beginning he didn’t want to marry her. Hadn’t she learned anything from her relationship with Lonnie?
But this was different.
With Lonnie, she had fallen hard and fast, but, in retrospect, she realized it hadn’t been more than a crush and the opportunity to have a life with a man who appreciated her instead of believing she made a mess of everything, as her daed did.
But this love—and she couldn’t pretend it was anything else—for Isaiah was real.
Utterly real.
Real and unrequited, and she was a fool to heed her heart when it was leading her to a grief greater than she’d ever known.