CHAPTER 5
“What do you mean, he asked you to warm up?”
Sarah’s voice was excited, and Clara blew out a breath of exasperation as she tried to concentrate on measuring sugar. “How did you get up here so fast? I just saw you at the store, and I told you—I’m fine.”
Her older sister waved away her words with an impatient hand. “I know, but I want some details. I couldn’t hear a thing in all the ruckus of the Kauffman kitchen . . . so, tell me! You know Daniel Kauffman is absolutely beautiful and—”
Clara gave her a sour smile. “I thought you were happily married.”
“The idea is to get you happily married . . . again, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Ach, kumme on, Clara, he’s perfect for you, and the girls have been after him for years. Maybe he finds you . . . mysterious, up here on the mountain alone, with a goat, and—”
“All right—” Clara slammed the tin measuring cup onto the table. “That’s enough. I’ve got to bake.”
Sarah flounced into a wooden chair. “You do not. You just don’t want to think about what life might look like with someone other than Seth.”
“From anyone else, I’d consider that hurtful.”
“I’m not trying to hurt you, my love. I only want you to have joy again . . . to have the abundant life Derr Herr wants for you. And if Daniel Kauffman would ask you to marry him, then—”
“He already did,” Clara mumbled.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Clara saw Sarah stand up and come ’round the table and soon found herself squashed in a full embrace. “Sarah . . . I can’t breathe. . . .”
Her sister pulled back to smile with delight. “We’ll have a winter wedding.... Perhaps Bishop Umble would even allow a Christmastime wedding! Ach, Clara, I’m so happy for you!”
“I told him no.”
“You what?”
Clara frowned. “I told him nee. Look, it was two years ago, all right? Two years, Sarah . . . The week after Seth died, and I didn’t . . . I couldn’t.”
Clara saw her sister’s eyes fill with tears. “I understand,” Sarah whispered softy. Clara felt her lean forward and place a gentle kiss on her forehead; then she eased away.
Clara drew a deep breath; she knew her sister. Despite her tears, Sarah wasn’t going to let this go, and she tried to ready herself for another round of questions by counting out pecans with unsteady hands. But to Clara’s surprise, her sister merely gathered her heavy cloak and moved to the door.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at the bishop’s.”
Clara nodded, watching her go, then swiped angrily at a stray tear that suddenly fell from her eyes. “Two years . . .” she muttered aloud, feeling Blinks press against her skirts. “Two years is too long.” The goat made a small sound of commiseration, and Clara went back to resolutely counting pecans.
* * *
The following morning, Daniel rose early to bake before he went to work that day. His plan was to get the raisin-filled cookies done before the kinner woke up. Then he would take the cookies with him over to Joe King’s woodworking shop to save them from being devoured.
“I should have known better,” he groaned to himself when he heard the patter of small feet coming downstairs.
It was Paul, still clad in his nacht shirt and somehow managing to look both endearing and mischievous at the same time. The buwe clambered onto the bench by the table and gave Daniel a wide grin. “You startin’ to make Christmas cookies, Dan?”
“Nee.”
“You bakin’ for that woman and her goat, then?”
Daniel felt himself flush unaccountably but had to smile. “Nee. I’m trying to outbake her.”
Paul pulled a face and casually snatched a plump raisin from the bowl. “What’cha mean?”
“Stay out of the filling.... I mean, that I want to—well, sort of rile her up a bit by proving that I’m a better baker than she is.”
“You love her,” Paul stated flatly, shaking his head as if Daniel was lost at sea.
Daniel sank down on the bench beside his bruder, automatically beginning to roll out the dough. “I do not love her,” he whispered in case anyone else decided to make a sudden appearance in the kitchen.
Paul raised a minute brow. “Uh-huh.”
“Look, I like her, okay? That’s all. And since when have you become such an expert on . . . love?”
The child shrugged and snagged a piece of dough. “I jest know. It’s like we learn in church—ya tell the truth about what you know. And I know that you love that lady who talks to trees . . . and goats.”
Daniel frowned, staring down into the resolute little face, then he shook his head. “Go back to bed before Mamm catches you up this early.”
“Naw. I might as well get dressed and start my chores before school. Thanks fer talkin’, Dan.”
Daniel couldn’t resist returning the hug Paul threw at him, and he thanked Gott for having a little bruder who wasn’t afraid to tell the truth.
* * *
Clara told herself that she was being ridiculous when she checked her dress for the fourth time in the auld mirror above her dresser. She’d chosen to wear a cheerful dark green blouse beneath her dress and knew that the color did something for the paleness of her skin. As a widow, she did have to avoid the paler pastel colors, but the gut Bishop Umble was even lenient in this regard, so she knew he wouldn’t mind what she was wearing. But will Daniel notice?
She scowled in the mirror and tried to push away the thought, but there was no denying that the man had gotten under her skin somehow. She sighed aloud, then nearly jumped when the sound of muffled, merry sleigh bells rang from outside. She hurried to swing on her cloak when there was a brisk knock at the door.
She opened it and gazed up at Daniel’s ruddy handsomeness. He’d taken his hat off, and his chestnut hair caught the light from the lantern and shone with faint strands of red.
“Hello,” he said with a smile, breaking into her wayward thoughts.
“Hello. I’m—uh—ready,” she announced, tugging on her bonnet.
He reached a hand up to graze her cheek, and she had the ridiculously exciting notion that he might be preparing to kiss her when he tucked her kapp string within the confines of her bonnet. “Are you really ready?” he asked in a husky tone and she nodded, flushing . . . hoping.
“Nee, you’re not,” he declared with a whimsical smile, and she felt herself look at him blankly. “You need your cookies, right? Unless you’ve decided to bow out gracefully?”
She felt her flush deepen, and she spun on her heel to grab the tinfoil-wrapped platter from the kitchen table. She turned back to face him just as Blinks chose that moment to butt her unflatteringly from behind, and she watched in dismay while the platter went flying.
Daniel caught it with remarkable deftness and she gasped in relief.
“No worries. I couldn’t let my competition lose out so unfairly. And”—he held up a hand when she would have made some rejoinder—“I need to let you know that we Kauffmans always let everyone assume that the cookies or whatever might be baked kumm from Mamm—not me.”
She took her platter from his outstretched hand and gave him a saucy smile. “I have never truly seen you bake.”
He bowed his head in acknowledgment, then put his hat on. “That’s a situation we’ll have to remedy sometime . . . if you’d like?”
His question hung in the frosty air, warm and inviting.
She lowered her lashes, then looked at him directly. “I’d like.”
“Gut,” he said briskly. “And I imagine Blinks comes tonight, too?”
“If you don’t mind?”
He looked down at her, and she thought he was going to say something teasing, but instead he merely smiled and widened the door for her goat.
* * *
“Absolutely . . . You have absolutely outdone yourself, Esther. These raisin cookies are superb!” Bishop Umble made the declaration with obvious pleasure, and Daniel shot a grin in Clara’s direction.
He found her to be as beautiful and tantalizing to his senses as the coming Christmas season could be, and he was still warm inside from the closeness of their sleigh ride down from the high timber.
“So, Daniel, have you tried Clara’s cookies?” Sarah King asked, coming up beside him. “My little sister is a wunderbar baker.”
Daniel smiled, easing the cut-glass cup of punch that he held from one hand to the other as he greeted Ice Mountain’s local healer and her husband, Edward King. “She is, indeed,” Daniel agreed, shaking Edward’s hand.
“We have to thank you again for offering her the chance to warm up yesterday,” Sarah said, giving Edward a none-too-circumspect poke in the ribs, but the big man, as usual, seemed to have difficulty dragging his attention from his wife.
“It was my pleasure,” Daniel said, noting that Clara was fast approaching through the pleasant throng gathered, almost as if she was afraid that her big sister might be talking about her. “And here’s Clara now,” he murmured warmly. “We were just discussing your baking—er—talents.”
He had to hide a grin at the frown she threw in his direction, but she recovered nicely when Bishop Umble joined them, a praline cookie in his hand.
“Mmmm . . . mmmm, Widow Loftus. I have to tell you that your pralines are a perfect match for Daniel’s mamm’s raisin-filled cookies. Both simply delightful!”
Daniel secretly thrilled to the arch look Clara gave him, then cleared his throat. “I’m sure we—uh—Mamm might not be put out by a cookie bake off of sorts, Bishop Umble.”
The auld man’s blue eyes twinkled in sudden delight. “What an excellent thought, Daniel! Indeed, I’m sure all the ladies hereabouts would enjoy such a thing. Now, let me think of a gut cause. . . .”
“Why the school, of course,” Daniel heard Clara declare sweetly, while her eyes shot daggers in his direction. “Perhaps we might offer the buwes cooking classes?”
Daniel hastily joined in the round of good-natured laughter as he noticed Clara did, as well. The little minx . . . She can give as gut as she gets!
Bishop Umble stroked his beard as the laughing trailed off. “I do think the school is a gut idea, though. Although the community provides teaching supplies, there’s always some new book Jude Lyons wants the kinner to read. In fact, I’ll talk to him about having the cookie bake off on the nacht of the school Christmas play.”
“Wunderbar idea,” Daniel agreed, noticing that he spoke nearly in time with Clara’s similar words.
The bishop shot a glance between them, then smiled a gentle smile. “There’s a storm brewing, so I hear, Daniel, up in the high timber. So, if you’ve a mind to take Clara home tonight, you may want to leave early.”
“Of course, sir. Sarah and Edward, I’ll see Clara safely home, I promise.”
Edward spoke up idly. “We can take her, Dan.”
Daniel had to conceal another smile as Edward received his second poke of the evening from his petite wife.
“We’re grateful, Daniel,” Sarah said in clear tones.
“Jah, very grateful,” Clara declared, but he knew that there’d be fireworks on the sled ride home if he gauged her temper right, and he looked forward to the cold nacht with abject pleasure.