Abigail's New Hope (42 page)

“Strawberries or bananas?” asked Iris. When he indicated the latter, she added a heaping pile to his oats.

“What do you think about the church service at your own home?”

Iris sat down to finish her own breakfast. “All I have to say is my daughters-in-law had better be wearing running shoes if that house isn’t spick-and-span.”

He glanced up to find her eyes twinkling. “You would chase after them with your broom?”

“If need be, but I’m not too worried. They are good girls.”

“Are you anxious to get back to your family?” When the question caught in his throat, he gulped down some coffee.

“You’re my family too, Nathan, you and Abraham. Don’t you forget that.” She wiped her mouth and then pulled her apron over her head.

“I don’t think I will ever stop being grateful.” He scraped the sides of his bowl with his spoon.

“For what? For taking care of this little angel?” She lifted the baby from the highchair, making all the appropriate noises, and hugged him to her chest. “This child is a gift from God.” Abraham gurgled while reaching for a
kapp
ribbon.

“That he is, but we’d better be off. I don’t want to be late.” He carried his bowl to the sink and carefully positioned his black hat on his head.

“Are you nervous?” she asked, wrapping a lightweight quilt around the boy’s legs. “These are just Plain folk, nephew, and no different than you or me.”

“They might wonder why I’ve stayed away after everybody was so nice at the funeral.” He picked up the hamper of pies she had baked yesterday for the lunch table.

She emitted a dismissive snort. “Nonsense. Many of those folks have walked in your shoes. You’re not the only one to suffer sorrow.”

So like Iris to put things in perspective. “In that case I’m as ready as I ever will be.” He opened the door for her and they walked into glorious sunshine, perfect for a day to give thanks.

Neither spoke much during the drive to the service except for the requisite comments about the weather. Once at Iris’ home, they had to park quite a distance from the house. Nathan hefted the heavy hamper while she carried the infant. Because the bishop hadn’t yet summoned people inside to worship yet, many milled around in the crisp fall air.

“Oh, my,” called a voice. “Nathan has come with
mamm
, and they have brought the little one!” Iris’ eldest daughter-in-law, Mary, ran toward them. “How he has grown and put on weight since I last saw him.
Mamm
Fisher is quite an expert with doing that.” Mary slapped a hand on a well-rounded hip.

But Iris wasn’t listening. She was studying the windows of her house, cocking her head to catch the reflection of sunlight on the glass. “Did you wash the windows this past week? You had plenty of notice about this service.”

Mary exchanged a sly look with Nathan. “
Jah
, with vinegar and old newspapers, just how you taught me. Let me take that
boppli
to show around. People will be itchin’ to see him.” She pulled Abraham from Iris’ arms and began bouncing him on her hip.

Iris was itching to see the inside of her home. “You go on ahead. I’m going in for a moment.”

Mary chuckled under her breath. “Welcome back, Nathan. I’ll show off your son while I hide from my mother-in-law, just until she finishes her inspection. Her other sons’ wives are inside in case something needs last-minute polishing.” Mary strode off toward the knot of women, while Nathan walked to the menfolk. The bishop, minister, and deacon stood within the group.

“
Guder mariye
,” he said, sweeping off his hat.

Those who hadn’t seen him approach pivoted, their expressions registering surprise. But in a moment they had surrounded him with warm welcomes, queries about his harvest, and complaints about the overly cool nights. He felt as though he’d been drawn into an Amish cocoon.

When the minister announced it was time to begin the service, the bishop placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hold up a moment,” he ordered. Nathan peered into the elder’s lined face and swallowed hard. The bishop waited until everyone else had filed into the house before speaking. “I’ve been wondering when you would return. If you didn’t come back after the harvest, I was going to pay you a visit. Iris told me you needed some thinking time.” He studied Nathan as though he were a peculiar bug on the windowsill. “You do your thinking, son?”

“
Jah
, sir, I did.” He met the older man’s gaze without blinking. “I’m sorry if—”

The bishop held up a palm. “You owe me no apology. You might owe Him some kind of explanation if you wandered too far from prayer.” He turned his face skyward where clouds scuttled by on the high breeze.

“I’ve set things right in that department.”

A slow smile pulled up one corner of his mouth. “
Wunderbaar!
” he boomed. “Then let’s see what the minister has in store for the first sermon.” His hand tightened on Nathan’s shoulder as though he half expected him to bolt for the buggies.

But Nathan wasn’t going anywhere. As the two men entered the front room, his heart swelled with hope as he heard voices lifted in the first hymn. He might still be in Ohio, but for now, it felt like home.

When Catherine approached the kitchen that Sunday morning, the room was so quiet she thought it must surely be empty. Instead, all four Grabers were in various stages of breakfast. Jake and Laura were eating cereal and milk with heads propped up with their hands. Daniel sipped coffee, reading something in the German Bible, while Abby was filling another bowl with Cheerios. She didn’t look up when Catherine entered the room.

“Hi, Aunt Catherine,” said Laura. “
Mamm
says you’re leaving soon. Is that true?” Her face expressed her opinion on the subject.

“What’s your hurry?” asked Daniel. “Why not wait until the harvest is in and all the garden produce canned. We still need your help.” He stared over his reading glasses.

“Maybe you can talk some sense into her. I’ve had no luck,” muttered Abby, shutting the cupboard door with a clatter.

Catherine chose the child to answer. “
Jah
, little one. Your
grossmammi
might need me for a while. But maybe I can return for a Saturday or two if your
mamm
can’t manage without me.”

“I want you to stay.” Laura dropped her spoon into the bowl.

She patted the little girl’s head. “
Danki
, I would if I could. I’ll miss you too.”

“You are being hasty and impetuous. Typical Catherine Yost behavior,” declared Abby.

“I am not. I’ve thought the matter through.” Catherine set down the coffeepot and narrowed her gaze across the room.

“Ladies, ladies,” said Daniel. “It’s the Lord’s Day. At least postpone this discussion until after preaching.”

Abby’s face turned rosy pink. “Sorry,” she murmured. “Daniel is right.” She carried two bowls of cereal to the table, handed one to Catherine, and then bowed her head in silent prayer.

After a few minutes, Catherine spoke. “There really isn’t much to discuss. I’ve finished packing. My suitcase is in the hallway. If Daniel can take me home after the service, I’d be much obliged.” She poured milk into her coffee.

Abby’s head snapped up from her breakfast. “And miss his lunch? A man has to eat! It wouldn’t hurt for
you
to eat a little something too, as you’ve lost your fondness for my cooking.” She took a long gulp of coffee.

“That’s not true,
schwester
. I’ve simply lost my appetite in general.”

Daniel put his hand over his wife’s and squeezed, but he focused on Catherine. “I’ll take you home after we eat, but why don’t you just ride home with your parents?”

“Because they will stay all day. I’d like to go home as soon as possible.”

“All right, it’s settled.” He returned to reading the Bible passage.

Catherine ate a handful of dry cereal for something to do, but she couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer. “How is Boots?” she blurted. “Does she continue to recover?”

“You know where Isaiah’s cabin is,” said Abby. “You should have walked down to check on the dog yourself.”

Daniel rose from the table. “Why don’t you help me carry the food out to the buggy? The team is already hitched. I’m afraid if you stay in here any longer, my wife might start pulling your hair, Sabbath or no.”

Catherine put the box of cereal away, picked up a roaster full of sliced beef, and followed him outdoors. The September breeze felt good on her overheated skin. After they had stowed the food behind the seats, Daniel turned to face her. “Boots will make a full recovery. As I told you when I got home, Doc Longo injected her with medicine to counter the toxins in her system and then cleaned the stinger wounds. Her respiration had improved by the next morning. He put her on some pills to help her breathe easier, plus antibiotics twice a day to fight infection. The pills make her sleepy, and Doc says that’s a good thing. She’ll recover faster if she’s not trying to run around. Isaiah has that big dog sleeping on the foot of his bed.” He shook his head. “Big dog, big man—must make for cramped sleeping.” He walked toward the house twenty paces.

“And how is Isaiah?” she asked, trailing one pace behind him.

“He’s fine, Catherine. Just shook up by the ordeal.” Daniel halted, put his hands around his mouth, and hollered, “Abby, time to go. Get the
kinner
loaded up.”

“Thanks for telling me and for saving me from a hair-pulling.” She stepped around him to help Abby carry anything else needed for the noon meal, and then she climbed into the backseat to ride to preaching. Sitting between her niece and nephew, Catherine wouldn’t see Abby pouting and could therefore concentrate on what to do with the rest of her life. Maybe she would look for another job watching other people’s children because having her own had grown unlikely.

“The Lord said, come unto me all who are troubled and heavy laden, and I shall give you peace,” the bishop said in German. His words eased Catherine’s heart because she knew them to be true.

“He’s talking to you, sister,” whispered Abby over her daughter’s head.

“
Jah
, peace at
mamm
and
daed
’s,” Catherine whispered back.

Abby leaned over with another comment, but Catherine shook her head and stared at the doorway. A tardy man had entered the outbuilding and slipped into the last row on the men’s side—a man who looked familiar. Tall, with a broad chest and shoulders, he had an exotic complexion the color of olive oil. His loose-limbed, catlike movements indicated he’d be more comfortable anywhere but on a hard bench for a three-hour church service.

She blinked twice.
This can’t be. Isaiah doesn’t come to preaching. He can’t hear Scripture or the sermons, and he can’t read the songbook to follow along with the hymns
.