Abigail's New Hope (27 page)

And it was a good thing, because her tears returned with a vengeance. Abby pressed her fist to her mouth to keep from screaming. Her cellmate was yet another person telling her how to think or feel or act.

This
Englischer
, as well-meaning as she might be, couldn’t imagine what her world was like. And though she’d been gone barely a month, Abby was having difficulty remembering the familiar details that had sustained her for years.

Catherine Yost had known better moods than the one she was in. Yesterday she had traveled over bumpy roads to downtown Wooster and never saw her sister. She would have appreciated five minutes even if Daniel had wanted the lion’s share of the time. Seeing that Abby was thriving would have eased her mind. While they were young, her sister never ate properly if she was upset. Hopefully, Abby hadn’t wasted down to skin and bones with her current circumstances.

During the drive home, Daniel had answered her questions with grunts, sighs, and one-word responses. He had said only that Abby looked well but wasn’t listening to reason. “You would do well not to become as stubborn and willful as your
schwester
,” had been his final words on the subject. Jake and Laura, buoyed by their brief visit, received no more information about their
mamm
than she did.

Daniel Graber set his jaw so tight, a nervous tick in his cheek appeared. And he had clenched the reins as though expecting wild mustangs to suddenly bolt for freedom. The children soon grew tired and dozed off in the backseat, so Catherine stared at the passing scenery with no desire to irritate a crabby man. She’d slept fitfully last night, dreaming of building snowmen with Abby on crisp winter days and then drinking cups of cocoa by the woodstove while their socks and gloves dried.

This morning at breakfast, her brother-in-law’s mood hadn’t improved. He remained cordial but silent as he wolfed down oatmeal and toast like a starving stray dog. She might not have minded a few complaints about burnt bread or too much maple syrup in the oats, but Daniel was a troubled man with no relief for his woes in sight.

Her disposition was in for a treat, however. After she fed the children and fixed a plate for Isaiah, she found him already on the porch. Two shirt buttons were open, his sleeves had been rolled to the elbow, and his damp hair again sported no hat. But the quiet man was wearing a smile as he waited at the table, fork and knife in hand.

She regretted not spraying on a little body mist, a birthday gift from Abigail. “Good morning, Isaiah,” she mouthed, setting down his food.

“
Gut
morn!” He nodded and pulled the plate and bowl closer.

Catherine perched on the edge of the bench. For some reason, watching him eat fascinated her, despite the fact that he did so same as everyone else. Midway through his meal he gestured with his fork toward the porch steps. Four pails had been lined up by size—two large and two small.

“Buckets,” she said, stating the obvious. She walked over to look into the first. A thin layer of blackberries, plump and juicy, lined the bottom. “Yummy,” she declared before the first ripe berry passed her lips. She didn’t speak again until she had consumed half the contents. “I love blackberries,” she mouthed, returning to the table. “They’re my favorite fruit.” He might not have been able to read lips well, but her licking each fingertip managed to convey the message.

When Isaiah finished breakfast, he gazed at her with a crooked grin. “Pick today,” he stated. Twin dimples gave away his enthusiasm.

Catherine glanced into the empty pail and back at the other three. “You want to pick berries today with Laura and Jake and me?” She had difficulty reducing verbiage, even when she understood his ideas.

Isaiah downed his coffee in two swallows and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “
Jah
. You, Cat, Lorr, and Jake pick.” He peered from under his dark lashes. His eyes could have drilled holes through her if she hadn’t broken the connection.

The way he looked at her…
it is the look that passes between lovers, between those who are courting and will someday marry
. Catherine shivered, even though no breeze stirred the wind chimes overhead. She held up an index finger, made a swishing motion over his empty plate and bowl, and then fled inside with cheeks ablaze. What was happening here? Wasn’t she supposed to be improving his communication skills? Bringing the man out of his reclusion to enjoy the camaraderie of family and friends? Daniel had long since left for his chores, yet nevertheless she kept glancing over her shoulder while she washed the breakfast dishes. She knew for certain
he
wouldn’t like the way Isaiah looked at her.

Drying her hands, Catherine dismissed the notion. No doubt she was imagining things. How many times had she misinterpreted a simple act of kindness or a sidelong glance during a preaching service that had been intended for another?

At twenty-three I might be older but no wiser
, she thought. “Laura, Jake, where are you? Let’s go berry picking.”

The children bounded into the kitchen at speeds that belied their short legs. “Blackberries? Is it that time?” Laura jumped up and down. “
Mamm
always takes us to the back pasture fence. Then we make blackberry pie and blackberry pancakes. And she stirs some into our milk too.”

Catherine didn’t think she would appreciate anything floating in her milk, but Laura’s excitement knew no bounds. It only increased when she spotted Isaiah on the porch through the screen.

“Isaiah,” Laura shrieked and ran out the door, followed by her shadow, Jake. She threw her arms around his waist.

Catherine tucked stray hairs beneath her
kapp
and sprayed insect repellant on her neck instead of body mist. She slipped it into her apron pocket to use on the
kinner
.

“Hullo, Lorr,” said Isaiah, returning her hug shyly. He handed her a bucket.

“Ready, Cat?” he asked, meeting her eye. His words were low and guttural, yet recognizable. Considering he had never heard two barn cats howling at each other, she didn’t mind the nickname.

“Ready,” she said, picking up a pail. Catherine thought the walk to the berry patch would be a perfect opportunity to gauge Isaiah’s lip-reading abilities. She would ask short, direct questions without a companion action to see which words he recognized. Perhaps by day’s end she would have determined which vowel sounds were harder for him to discern.

Too bad Isaiah couldn’t read her mind. With his long strides and the
kinner
running beside him, she was soon left in the dust on the pasture lane. As Laura chattered away, oblivious to the fact no one was listening, Isaiah loped along, taking in the sights and smells of a summer day. He sniffed low-hanging dogwood branches and plucked buttercups growing along the fence line.

Catherine, however, marched as fast as she could without running. She had no wish to sweat heavily during the outing. When the threesome disappeared around a bend in the path, she grew annoyed.
Am I not the nanny? Aren’t these children my responsibility to keep safe? Hadn’t Isaiah extended the invitation to include me?

She fumed until she rounded the bend and discovered her companions waiting in the shade. Each held a different colored nosegay of weeds—Jake’s were purple ajuga, Laura white yarrow, while Isaiah presented yellow buttercups he’d pulled up by the roots. With a blush, she accepted the gifts.

“Hurry, Aunt Catherine,” demanded Laura, “before the birds eat all the berries.”

Catherine held her skirt up with one hand to keep pace with the group. “Looks like we won’t have to worry about sharing,” she answered as they reached the pasture fence. Stretching for fifty yards, briar bushes hung over the split rails. “Oh, my,” she gushed. She’d never seen such a rich harvest. Honeybees buzzed in and out among the late flowers while the fruit glistened with the last of the morning dew. And not a single blue jay in sight!

Isaiah hooted as he handed Jake his pail. The four spread out and began picking. For the first twenty minutes, they ate as many as they gathered. When they had eaten their fill, they concentrated on filling the buckets with berries to take home. Abby kept an eye on the youngsters to make sure they didn’t entangle themselves in the thicket, but both knew how to pluck the low berries without encountering too many thorns.

“Enough?” asked Isaiah, over Catherine’s shoulder.

She started, not realizing he’d come up behind her. “
Jah
, more than enough. I had no idea the Grabers owned this goldmine.”

He plucked one firm berry and inspected it carefully before pressing it to her lips. Without thinking, she chomped down like a fish taking a baited hook. “
Danki
,” she murmured, hoping Laura wasn’t watching. But the child worked diligently as Isaiah fed Catherine berry after berry as though she were incapable of eating on her own. She felt a rush of exhilaration as she plucked a ripe fruit for him. She should discourage his boldness, yet she couldn’t seem to muster the energy. When she fed him a second berry, he bit lightly down on her fingertip. He laughed while she flushed with embarrassment.

“Stop that,” she hissed under her breath. “Load your bucket, and then we’d better head back.”
Before Daniel notices we’re gone
. They picked for another ten minutes, swatting at mosquitoes and wiping the back of their necks. Then Isaiah took Laura’s hand. “Come,” he instructed and lifted both children over the fence. He climbed over effortlessly and made a motion for Catherine to follow.

“Come where?” she asked, her brows knitting together above her nose.

Isaiah strode toward the scrub pines, holding his bucket and Jake’s hand. Laura ran ahead, spilling berries as she swung her pail like a pendulum.

“Where are you all going?” She hollered to no avail. “There are still plenty more here to pick.” But because Isaiah couldn’t hear her and the
kinner
didn’t appear to want to, she had no choice but to climb over the fence too. It was neither a graceful nor ladylike maneuver. By the time she caught up with them, she was perspiring and had a horde of gnats swarming around her head.

“Where are you going?” she asked, catching Isaiah’s sleeve.

He stopped abruptly to face her, holding up his index finger as she had done this morning to signal patience. Then he flicked the tip of her nose and resumed hiking.

After a quick glance over her shoulder, Catherine grabbed Laura’s hand and followed. Curiosity had gotten the better of her. They walked not in the direction of Isaiah’s cabin but toward the neighboring property. A fast-moving stream separated the two farms, more or less creating the property line. Tall sycamores and cottonwoods lined the riverbank, while the namesake white fluff floated on the breeze as they drew close. On the western side, catching plenty of sun while being sheltered from the strong burning rays, stood another stand of briars. Although smaller than the first patch, its location along the river provided optimum conditions. The berries were the largest she’d ever seen.

Catherine began picking as though part of some race or competition. Soon they had all filled their buckets to overflowing. When she glanced over at Isaiah, he was watching her. He pressed his finger to his lips and said, “
Ssshhhh
.”

She didn’t have to ask him what he meant. This patch of blackberry bushes would be their secret. He wouldn’t bring anyone else here and neither should she. She nodded eagerly, loving that she shared a secret with him. She’d become his trusted confidante. And judging by the way he walked at her side on the way home, she’d also become his friend. Although he attempted no conversation, his sparkling eyes told plenty.

Back in the Graber yard, Catherine took everyone’s berries to the porch to be washed and sorted later. The ripest would be eaten tonight with sugar and cream, and then the remaining would be baked into pies or canned. When she came back to find Laura and Jake, they were taking turns on the swing. Isaiah pushed one, then the other on the oak slat hanging from the tree. Patient and careful were his efforts so that Jake didn’t fall off or Laura swing too high.