Chapter Twenty-One
The twins settled in right away. Within a few days it felt as if they had always been there—except that everything felt brighter, happier, and more exciting. For the first time in her life, Greta even looked forward to cooking because Peter and Eliza liked to help. Peter would watch her work with a serious expression on his small face, ready to hand her a pot or cooking utensil. Eliza would roll up her sleeves and kneel beside the fire. She would stir and taste, then give a solemn nod when Greta pulled the cauldron off the fire.
The first baking day the twins helped as always—and ended up covered with flour. Greta could only see their eyes as they stared up at her and blinked to keep out the white powder. She stared at the mayhem and almost scolded her messy charges, but could not help laughing instead.
“My goodness! How did this ever happen?!” Greta shooed them toward the door. “Outside, both of you. We will have to wash it off.” She started with Peter, but when she tried to rinse the flour off of him with a bucket of water, the powder transformed into a sticky paste. Greta put her hands to her cheeks and groaned. “I should have thought of that.” The harder she scrubbed the more the paste stuck to his skin.
“Yuck!” Peter ran away from the wash bucket. “Too gooey!”
“Peter, wait! Come back!” Greta took off after him with the wet washrag in hand. Eliza followed, a trail of flour billowing behind her. Peter dashed across the backyard and through the field. He laughed and shouted as he dodged mud puddles and chickens. Greta giggled as she leapt a ditch and raced after them. The wind whipped against her skirts and hair and made her feel alive.
Eliza whizzed past. “You can’t catch me either!”
Greta grinned and picked up speed. “I will get you both!” Eliza cut to the right and Greta turned her head to watch where the girl went, but kept running forward, toward Peter. Greta whipped her head back around just in time to see Jacob’s tall, muscular body blocking her path. She gasped and stumbled to a halt.
“Oh! Oh, my.”
Jacob smiled indulgently. “I am not sure I should ask. . . .” Peter zipped by and screamed. His body was still covered in a sticky coating of flour. Jacob raised an eyebrow.
“Oh!” Greta covered her face with her hands, humiliated. When she moved them away she noticed that her palms were covered in flour. “Oh, no!”
Jacob’s smile widened to a grin. “That’s right, Greta, you are covered in flour too.”
“I did not realize.” She bit her lip and brushed her blouse. I wish I could sink into the ground right now! Of all the people to see me like this! Peter raced past again, still screaming. Eliza followed close behind, shrieking and laughing. “We are not always this strange. Honestly.”
Jacob shrugged. “Looks like they are happy, anyway.”
Greta nodded. “Ja.”
Jacob looked down at her, the grin on his face softening his hard features. They stood quietly for a moment, unsure of what to say. Jacob broke the silence with a loud, sickly cough.
Greta frowned. “That sounds bad. Are you all right?”
“I will be fine. Been a little under the weather is all.”
“I noticed that you have not been out for the hunt or the harvest.”
“You noticed that, huh?”
“Ja. I mean, no. I mean, not that I was watching your farm or anything. I just happened to see, or not see, when I got water . . .” Greta cleared her throat and adjusted her prayer kappe. She could feel her cheeks turning red. Jacob watched with an amused expression on his face.
“I have gotten some of it done. Not as much as I’d like, but there is still time yet.”
“I did not know that you were ill. I would have offered to help. Especially after all that you did for us when I sprained my ankle.”
“It was nothing.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away. “Anyway, Catrina came by with food.”
“Ja. I noticed that, too.” Greta gasped. “I mean, not that I was watching.” She shook her head. “Like I said. I just noticed that . . . Never mind.”
“Jacob!” Catrina’s shrill voice carried across Jacob’s backyard.
“Sounds like her grandmother has sent me another basket of food.” He turned around and gave the beautiful young woman a polite nod.
“Oh. Well. How nice of her.” Greta’s stomach sank. She remembered her unkempt appearance and tried to smooth out her skirts. The motion spread the flour onto more of the fabric.
“Don’t worry, Greta, a little flour never hurt anyone.”
Greta smiled. “No, I suppose not.”
Catrina waved dramatically and held up the basket. “Jacob, you should be resting. I have your supper.” She raised the hem of her skirts to avoid the mud and carefully picked her way toward them. “You must be feeling better, ja?” She glanced at Greta dismissively, then did a double take. “My goodness, whatever happened to you?”
Greta shrugged and gave a half smile. “Just enjoying baking day.”
“Hmmm. Yes. Well, I am sure you are.” Catrina put her arm in Jacob’s. “You ought to get out of the cold air, Jacob. It is not good for your recovery.”
The twins noticed that Greta had stopped chasing them and circled back to the adults. Peter whooped and careened into Greta. She hugged the boy despite the sticky paste covering his body. “I told you that I would catch you!”
“You did not catch me!” Peter protested. “I caught you!”
Jacob’s heart warmed as he watched Greta laugh and pull the child closer. He leaned forward and tousled Peter’s hair. The little boy turned to hug him and Catrina, but she shrank back. “No! You are all gooey! What is that? What have you done to yourself?”
Greta laughed and pulled Peter back into her arms. “It is just flour and water.”
Catrina wrinkled her nose and tried to catch Jacob’s eye, but his gaze stayed on Greta. Catrina tugged at his arm. “Come, Jacob. There is an unhealthy chill in the air.”
* * *
The next morning Greta did not see Jacob working outside when she went to fetch water. She shielded her eyes from the sun with the edge of her hand and scanned the fields. Greta wondered if his health had taken a turn for the worse. She frowned, slid the yoke from her shoulders, and cut across the field to Jacob’s land.
“Jacob? Are you about?” She marched to the cabin and knocked hard on the stout oak door. “Hello? Jacob?” He responded with an explosive cough. She knocked again. “Jacob?”
“Come in.”
She pushed open the door and saw Jacob crouched by the hearth. His eyes looked glassy and his skin was slick with sweat.
“Jacob! You are terribly unwell!”
“Ja.” He broke into another coughing fit.
“You must lie down. Let me tend the fire.”
“I am so cold.” He shivered and leaned closer to the flames. Greta rushed to him and placed her palm on his forehead. She gasped and jerked her hand away. “You are burning up!” Greta grabbed a quilt off the foot of his bedstead and draped the heavy fabric over his shoulders. “There. That will help.” She pulled the quilt tight around his chin, then stooped to pick up a log. She dropped it on the flames and pulled her hand back to avoid the shower of sparks that flew upward from the coals.
“So cold.”
Greta wondered if Jacob even realized that she was there. “It will be warmer soon.” She picked up the poker and jabbed the log until the flames licked against the edge of the hearth. Greta set the poker aside and wiped her forehead. What now?
A knock on the door interrupted her question.
“Ja. Come in.”
The door creaked open and Catrina swept into the room, followed by her grandmother. The young woman looked surprised. “Oh. Greta. Whatever are you doing here?”
“I came to check on Jacob. Seems that he has taken a turn for the worse.”
Catrina’s grandmother clucked her tongue and felt Jacob’s forehead. “Ja. He is burning up.” She observed him for a moment and nodded. “He is delirious, I imagine.”
Catrina smoothed her prayer kappe and watched her grandmother dip a rag in the water bucket. “We were afraid of this.” Mrs. Witmer wrung out the rag and pressed it to Jacob’s forehead.
“He should not have been outside yesterday.” Catrina gave Greta a sharp look. “You should not have kept him out there. When I got there I insisted that he go back inside right away.”
“I did not even know that he was ill.”
Catrina raised an eyebrow. “No. You wouldn’t have, would you?”
Greta opened her mouth and then closed it again. She did not know how to respond.
“My grandmother and I have been taking care of Jacob all week. You have not been here.”
“I have not been here because . . . because . . .”
“Because why?”
“Because you and he . . . I thought . . .”
“Ja. Jacob has shown his intention to court me.” Catrina frowned and looked away. “I am sorry that I snapped at you. It is just that Jacob and I have grown close these last weeks and I cannot bear to see him ailing.”
“Ja. Of course.”
Greta’s eyes stung. Catrina had taken Greta’s place in Jacob’s life completely. She felt pushed aside and unwanted. Greta glanced at Frena Witmer to see if she had heard the conversation. The elderly woman was too busy sponging Jacob’s forehead to pay attention and Greta felt relieved that her humiliation went unnoticed.
Catrina turned her back on Greta and flounced to the hearth. “You poor dear.” She placed a soft hand on his brow. “It’s all right. I am here now.” Greta studied the scene with a sinking heart. There is no place for me here. She backed out of the room, rushed out the door, and hurried across the clearing with her heart pounding in her ears.
Eliza met Greta at the cabin door. “Where is the water? I thought that you went to the creek.”
Greta sighed. “Oh. The water. I forgot all about it.”
Eliza gave her a quizzical look and then shrugged. “Don’t worry. I will get it.”
“I will come too!” Peter jumped up and bounded into the sunshine.
“I left the buckets and yoke in the clearing. You will see it.”
Eliza nodded her head and chased after Peter. Greta took a deep breath and shut the door. She leaned her forehead against the rough oak doorframe and closed her eyes.
Ruth looked up from her spinning. “You are in quite a state, I see.”
“It is that Catrina Witmer. She seems certain of a match.” Greta clenched her teeth. “It is just so hard to watch.”
Ruth raised her eyebrows. “She was at Jacob’s farm again?”
“Ja. She’s been there all week, apparently. He’s been sick and I did not even know it. Catrina and her grandmother have been taking care of him.”
Greta looked down. Her stomach churned. “I have no place there.”
“Humph!” Ruth frowned as she spun the drop spindle. “You have been so intimidated by Catrina that you tucked your tail and ran. You practically pushed her right into his arms.”
“That is a terrible overstatement!”
“Is it?”
Greta paused. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “All right. I admit it. But you cannot blame me, Ruth. Just look at her!”
The drop spindle kept twirling with a soft whir in Ruth’s hands. “Do you really believe that, Greta? As a Plain woman, do you really place greater worth on beauty than character?”
“I do value character over looks.” Greta looked down. “Well, I do in theory, anyway.” She glanced back up at Ruth with a pleading expression. “But when I have to face it in real life, that is a different story. I feel so inadequate next to her. And it is not just her looks. She is always so well put together; nothing is ever stained or wrinkled. And she can bake a perfect cake. Everything she does is perfect.” Greta threw up her hands. “Meanwhile, everything that I bake burns, and I run around with flour all over my face and—”
Ruth put up a hand. “That is quite enough. We all have our insecurities, but we do not have to let them win. You need to hold your head up and know that der Herr made you to be exactly who He wants you to be.”
“Do you really think that Jacob likes me for who I am?”
“Ja. I have told you that from the first day you met him.”
Greta frowned. “But what about Catrina?”
“I feel sorry for Catrina, really.”
Greta looked surprised. “You do?”
“Of course. She must be terribly insecure. Why else would she rely on her beauty the way she does? Why else would she show off her baking skills and put so much effort into her appearance?”
“Catrina, insecure? Why on earth would she be insecure?”
Ruth shrugged. “Who knows? We all have our own problems to deal with. Nobody is perfect—no matter how much it seems otherwise.”
Greta laughed. “She did not seem insecure to me today, when she practically kicked me out of Jacob’s cabin! She made it clear that she was taking care of him and that I was not needed.”
Ruth shrugged. “Whose cabin is it?”
“Jacob’s, of course.”
Ruth grinned. “Then Catrina has no say in the matter.”
“No.” Greta spread out her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “But—”
Ruth shook her head. “No buts about it. She’s got no claim on Jacob. They are not engaged.” She gave Greta a hard stare. “Not yet anyway.”
Greta narrowed her eyes. “No, not yet.”
Ruth shrugged and turned the drop spindle. “Although it seems only a matter of time, ja?”
Greta felt intimidated and conflicted. But truth weighed down her heart like a stone. She knew that she had given up on the love she had for Jacob. Only a matter of time? What have I done? She remembered the way her heart leapt when Jacob gazed down at her with a sly twinkle in his eyes. She remembered the way her breath caught in her throat when he scooped her up in his strong, muscular arms and carried her to safety. She remembered the warm, familiar joy she felt when he teased her.
Something sparked deep within her and rose to the surface. Greta sat up straighter. She knew that she wasn’t willing to give up on Jacob. Not yet. Not ever. She took a deep breath and let it out. A confident smile spread across her face. “’Tis only a matter of time—unless someone helps Jacob realize that he is on the wrong path.”
Ruth smiled. “Might that someone be you?”
Greta squared her shoulders. “Ja. Naturally.”
“Naturally.”
“The only question is how.”
“Perhaps you should tell Catrina that you held a claim to his heart before she arrived.”
“No.” Greta’s face tightened. “I cannot. The humiliation would be too great if he chooses her. And besides, I only want Jacob to choose me if he truly loves me. If he prefers Catrina, then he should be free to choose her. I want him to make the decision. I don’t want to feel that he settled for second best because Catrina removed herself from the competition.”
“Then, it is simple. If you believe that you are meant to be with Jacob Miller, let him know it. He cannot choose you if he does not know that you want to be chosen.”
“Declare my affection for him? Why Ruth, you push the boundaries of propriety!” Greta shook her head so hard that a lock of hair escaped her prayer kappe. “It would be unseemly. I have already told you that.”
“Then don’t communicate your feelings with words. Show him. Try talking to him again. Let him get to know you better. Do not run away every time Catrina tries to shoo you away.”
“Ja. That is the way to reach him, surely. I will show him that I care. And then, if he chooses her over me—after I show him that I have affection for him—that is his fault.”