Abigail's New Hope (34 page)

Daniel grunted with disdain and picked up the next replacement rail. “You’re trying to move mountains during one supper at a local diner.” He shook his head like a mule. “I don’t think this is such a good idea, Catherine.”

“Are you saying we’re not allowed to stop to eat when our errands are done?” She shifted her weight from one hip to the other and crossed her arms over her apron.

“Oh, no. Like I said before, I wouldn’t dream of forbidding my wife’s sister from any harebrained notion she might have.” He started to plane the end of the next rail with renewed vigor.

“
Danki
, Daniel. I’m pleased to hear that.” She grinned at Isaiah, pointed toward the barn where the open buggy had been parked, and picked up Jake’s hand. “We’ll be off then.”

“At least give him one of my clean shirts to put on,” Daniel hollered when they were almost to the pasture gate. “He shouldn’t eat his first restaurant meal in a sweaty shirt.”

Catherine waved to indicate she’d heard him and then changed direction for the house. While Isaiah changed clothes, she filled water bottles and packed ice into the cooler. At the neighbor’s driveway, her niece and nephew jumped down from the buggy, overjoyed to play with other children. Mrs. Miller waved from the front porch.

“We’ll pick them up before dark,” Catherine called. After another wave from Mrs. Miller, Catherine and Isaiah were headed toward Shreve in an open buggy on a perfect summer day. They sat close together on the bench, and she caught him watching her several times from the corner of his eye. If his expressions were any indication, he was glad she’d invited him along.

She pointed out landmarks on the way, and he attempted to vocalize the words she formed. The approximations weren’t bad for a start, but she wished she’d had more training. Isaiah didn’t seem to mind repeating the words until either his enunciation improved or she gave up on the word. He was curious about many things they saw along the road. He pointed at a hawk soaring overhead, the lap robe they were using for a seat cushion, and a mosquito feasting on his arm, and then he waited for her to mouth each word. He found the game entertaining until they reached the grocery store. As she found each item on her shopping list, she would hold up the package and form the word.

Isaiah glanced around and then rolled his eyes. He motioned for her to hurry along as he pushed the cart up and down the aisles. Catherine assumed he was eager to get the chore over with. Few men enjoyed the usually female activity, so she filled the cart with staples and a few treats without slowing down for speech lessons.

After they loaded cold items into their ice chest and the rest into the back of the buggy, Isaiah offered his hand for her to step up.

She shook her head vigorously and pointed toward the restaurant across the street. His gaze followed to where her outstretched hand indicated. Bringing his attention back to herself, Catherine rubbed her belly and then mimed a person eating an ear of corn on the cob. He laughed and shrugged his shoulders. With relaxed familiarity, she gestured for them to cross the street.

After a moment’s contemplation, Isaiah nodded, rubbed his belly, and offered his arm. She hooked a hand in the crook of his elbow, and they entered the diner like any other courting couple. She tried not to think of them as such. She was afraid she would lose her nerve otherwise. Once inside, they were met with delicious smells and convivial conversation. After finding seats at a booth toward the back, Catherine picked up the menu to study.

Isaiah seemed content to study
her
. He tried to take her hand, but she pulled it back quickly and picked up her glass of ice water. She was pleased to note that many of the items had photos beside them, and she turned her menu around so he could see. When she pointed to the picture of roast beef, she mouthed the word “moo” like a heifer. For the fried chicken, she flapped her arms as though they were wings, and she did a fairly good imitation of swimming fish for the fried perch dinner. Both spaghetti and meatballs and stuffed roast turkey left her stumped, but she said “baa” like a spring lamb while pointing to the daily special of lamb stew.

It was too bad she wasn’t as good at reading people as she was at pantomiming food dishes.

Isaiah pulled the menu from her fingers, closed it, and laid it on the edge of the table. He was no longer smiling, and his cheeks had flushed to near purple. He glanced around the room and then met her eye with obvious discomfort. His own gestures indicated he wished his meal to be the same as hers…without further discussion on the subject. Then he crossed his muscular arms over Daniel’s shirt and leaned back.

She had embarrassed him. Upon the realization, shame washed over her. When the waitress returned for their order, she ordered them each a burger with fries with a blush almost matching his. By the time their meals arrived, Isaiah seemed to have forgotten his anger. He dipped fries into catsup, added steak sauce to his burger, and devoured both with obvious lip-smacking pleasure. She had difficulty swallowing the dry bun and greasy potatoes, but waited until they had returned to the buggy, away from observers, to attempt to apologize.

Her expression managed to convey her contrition better than any gestures. After a moment, he pressed a finger to her lips to stop her apologies. His eyes softened when she held her fist to her remorseful heart. He tipped up her chin and said clearly, “Okay, Cat. It’s okay.” Then he kissed her.

His lips remained on hers longer than any acceptance of an apology warranted. When he finally pulled back, she was gasping for air. Calm, cool, and collected, Isaiah released the brake, shook the reins over the horse’s neck, and started for home.

Catherine didn’t attempt further conversation during that drive to the Graber farm. For a change she’d been rendered speechless.

Nathan Fisher sat on his porch swing, reading the newspaper, and rocking his son’s cradle with his bare big toe. This was the most pleasant evening in a long while. A short afternoon thunderstorm had washed away the dust and oppressive humidity that had hung in the air for weeks. A cool breeze blew from the south, bringing the soft scent of pine, which was so much nicer than the scent from the sow pen he’d scrubbed out earlier today.

Iris had taken the pony cart down the road to sew with some of her lady friends. She’d left a large slice of cherry pie under plastic wrap on the kitchen table. He planned to enjoy his dessert with a cold glass of milk before bed. Birds were chattering in the nearby maple tree as they settled down for the evening with their customary fuss. The familiar sounds soothed him.

However, the sound of crunching gravel in the drive produced the opposite effect.

Nathan craned his neck around the porch post, frowning when he saw Patricia Daly exit her sedan. “Oh, mercy,” he mumbled, but he managed to feign a smile. He rose to his feet and tipped his hat. “Good evening, Patricia. What brings you to our neck of the woods?”

“I’m here to see you, of course. And what a nice night for a drive.” She climbed the steps to the porch. “Mind if I have a seat and chat for a while?”

“Sure.” He noticed she’d brought along her Bible.

“I was wondering how your family has been getting on. I see little Abraham is putting on weight. He’ll turn into a big bruiser at this rate.” She peered into the cradle, clucking her tongue and making cooing noises, even though the boy was sound asleep. Straightening, she walked to a chair and dragged it closer to the swing. “You have been on my mind since the grief therapy session. I wished you would have let me drive you home.”

He turned his gaze skyward for a moment. “I’m sorry I ran off like that. I had no call to lose my temper and behave like some hot-headed child.”

After an uncomfortable pause, she asked, “Why did you?”

Nathan continued rocking the cradle while he thought. “Because I was uncomfortable. I realized I didn’t belong with a group of
Englischers
. It’s not the Amish way to spill our guts like that.”

“The
Ordnung
says you are not to talk during group therapy?”

“No, not to my knowledge. We just don’t do it.”

“Amish people are supposed to wallow and suffer in their misery?”

He glanced up. “I’m not wallowing. Those other folks were wallowing by rehashing the past. I prefer to grieve for Ruth in my own way.”

She nodded but her expression didn’t change. “And you want to make sure you don’t forget your wife.”

“Of course I don’t want to forget her. She’s my son’s
mamm
.” He focused on the sleeping infant, who would never hear the sound of his mother’s laughter or feel her soft lips against his cheek. “Why would I want to forget?”

“You shouldn’t, but let’s see what the Good Book says about sorrow…about grief. Get your Bible, Nathan. I’ll wait for you here and sit with the baby.”

He sat temporarily paralyzed.
Who is this bold woman to walk onto my porch and begin barking orders?
Nevertheless, he stood, strode inside the house, and retrieved his Bible from the mantel. If not for Iris’ fastidious housekeeping, it would be dusty from neglect.

When he returned, Patricia had slipped off one sandal and was rocking the cradle with a barefoot big toe as he had done. “Turn to First Thessalonians and read chapter four, verses thirteen and fourteen. Tell me what it says in your own words.”

Thinking of no polite alternative, Nathan opened the book and silently read the passage. “It says that God wants us to know what will happen to believers when they die. Because Jesus was raised to life after death, when He comes back he’s bringing all the believers with Him.”

Patricia nodded in agreement. “That’s heartening to hear. So you will see Ruth and I’ll see my husband again. Why does the apostle Paul remind us of this?” She spoke in little more than a whisper.

“So we will not grieve like those who have no hope. Grief is natural, but if we grieve too long or too hard, God may think we’ve lost our faith.” He leaned back in the swing. “But it’s hard to stop. You can’t turn sorrow off like a faucet. Sometimes I get mad at God, even though I know that’s not right.” He thought she would rail against such blasphemy, but she actually smiled.

“I was mad for a while too. I guess that’s normal, but our fellow Christians can help us overcome our anger if we let them. I understand that our English meetings weren’t your cup of tea, but what about your Amish community? Can you talk to a deacon or to the bishop of your district?”

Nathan stared off at the crimson sun, dancing just above the treetops. Soon only the fiery glow would remain. “Like I told you before, we were new here. I’m a stranger to those men.”

“So they’ll turn a deaf ear since you haven’t been a member long enough.” She clucked her tongue with disapproval.

“I didn’t say that. It’s just not easy to show up at preaching after I haven’t gone since the funeral.”

She nodded at the closed book between his hands. “In that case, turn to Ephesians 4:11-14 and tell me what you think it means.”

“You sure came here prepared, didn’t you?” he muttered. Nathan found the Scriptures and read them over twice because he’d never heard them before. The sooner he met her demands the sooner she would go home. When he finished reading, he looked up to meet her gaze. “It says we’re supposed to keep going to preaching and listen to what the teachers and pastors say to build up the church. We can’t stop until we measure up to the full standard of Christ.”

“Are you there yet, Nathan?”

He shut the book with a snap. “No, ma’am. I’m not there yet.”

“Neither am I,” she said, grinning. “I’m still a long way off, I suppose.”

He couldn’t help but smile too.

“You’re on the right track though. At least you didn’t run in the house and hide when you saw my car, pretending not to be home.”

“Don’t think that didn’t cross my mind.” He gave his beard a pull.