Gabriel's Bride (15 page)

The glaring glances shot her way were of no help at all. It was as if they blamed her for their misbehaving. ’Course, if she had been a better mother, she would have been looking for them to come home and not so busy cleaning that she hadn’t missed them at all. She could have reminded them of their chores and sent them into the barn straight away.

But she wasn’t a good mother. She wasn’t a good housekeeper. She wasn’t a good cook. All the things that Gabriel had hired her to do and the main reason he had married her. He was probably biding his time until he could throw her out on her ear.

The Amish never divorced, but that didn’t mean they had to live together. It didn’t happen much, but it did happen that a husband and wife couldn’t manage to get along well enough to remain in the same household. And since this was Gabriel’s house . . .

She put the cornbread in the warm oven and wiped her hands on a dishtowel as the front door swung open. Matthew led the way with his brothers following behind and their father bringing up the rear. The edges of their shirt cuffs were wet from washing their hands in the spigot outside, their hair shiny and slicked back from the cool water.

She pushed her own hair back under her prayer
kapp
and for the millionth time in her life wished that the strands weren’t so unruly. For as soon as she completed the action, the stubborn curls popped free again.

“Mmm . . . that smells gut.” Matthew hung his hat on the peg by the door and rubbed his belly. “I’m so
hungerich
.”

The other boys removed their hats as well and nodded in agreement.

“Jah,”
Simon said, his mouth turning down at the corners. “We didn’t get an after-school snack.” His tone implied that it was all Rachel’s fault.

She stiffened her backbone and pulled the pickled beets and applesauce from the propane-powered refrigerator. They could have come in any time and gotten a snack, but they had chosen to go down to the creek. That wasn’t her fault. But her heart gave a guilty little jump. “Come and sit down. I’ve made you a good hearty
natchess
.”

They looked skeptical and hopeful in the same instance. Rachel made a note on her mental prayer list to ask for humility. But she was proud of herself. She had made dinner, the cornbread was almost done and not black around the edges. For the first time since she had decided to cook for the Fisher brood, she had managed to make a meal that was
gut
and properly cooked. She had a lot to be proud of . . . even if pride was a sin.

“Are those peas I smell?” Gabriel asked.

Rachel peeked in at the cornbread. Just a few minutes more. “
Jah
. Katie Rose said they were your favorite.”

He gave a nod, then lifted the lid on the pot. He gave a tiny cough. Then shut it again. “Uh, Rachel?”

She turned just as he was peeking under the lid once more.
“Jah?”

“Did you check the peas for bugs before you cooked them?”

She frowned. “Bugs?”

“Weevils.”

Her gaze flickered to the steaming pot. “Weevils? Was I supposed to?”

“I expect that means no.” She thought she saw a smile flicker across Gabriel’s face, but when she turned her attention to him fully, his usual frown pulled at the corners of his mouth.

She grabbed the potholder out of his hand and lifted the lid. A delicious aroma wafted up from the cooking peas and ham hock. But they weren’t alone in the pot. Dozens of little weevils floated on the top of the water.

“Ugh.” She slammed the lid down. “How did those get in there?”

She closed her eyes against the thought of all those floating weevils and the snickering that erupted from the table. But when she opened them again, everything was still the same.

Gabriel cast a stern look toward his boys. “You didn’t clean through the peas.”

“
Jah
, I washed them,” she said.

Gabriel shook his head. “You have to pick out all the ones with little holes in them. They have weevils.”

Little holes? She had never done that in her life.

Then again, she and her aunt didn’t have peas very often, usually when someone brought some over to them. Rachel had never grown them herself. Truth was, she was as bad at gardening as she was at cleaning. But she made enough cheese to barter and trade and get what she and her aunt needed—fresh corn, sweet potatoes, and okra. That was one reason why she took such
gut
care of her goats. They provided them with much more than milk and cheese.

She glanced at the table where five
hungerich
buwe
sat waiting expectantly. She was certain she would never be able to make enough cheese to support them all.

She cut her eyes back to her husband of one day and wondered what he was thinking. It was hard to read his eyes shadowed by the stern ridge of his brow. But it didn’t take an
Englisch
education to figure out he was mad. He had worked all day helping his
vatter
, Matthew had been over with his
onkel
, and they were all hungry and waiting. She wasn’t sure if she had enough cheese and bread to get her out of this one.

“Allrecht.”
He gave a firm nod. “Everybody get on your shoes. We’re going into town to eat.”

He should be mad. He’d worked all day and come home to weevil-y peas. He had hungry boys who had worked hard as well. He’d done his part to provide for them, he’d married a woman to care for them, prepare them meals, and wash their clothes.

Except he had trouble picturing her as a woman, and instead thought of her more as a slip of a girl. She looked as if a strong wind could knock her to the ground. Yet there was a strength about her, slats of steel lying just beneath the surface. He’d seen her close her eyes after looking at the mess of peas and floating bugs. She wanted to break down right then and there, but she hadn’t. Instead, she had taken a deep breath and moved forward.

He chanced a quick look in her direction. That she cried when faced with the prospect of having to give up her goats said a lot to him. Showed him how much they meant to her. He knew he couldn’t be too hard on her.

Slip of a girl. Tiny hands. Solid core.

She was something else.

He turned the buggy into the parking lot at Murray’s Pizzeria. Joseph, David, and Samuel all squealed in delight, while Matthew and Simon shared a high slap of hands. High five, he thought they called it. Some
Englisch
gesture they had picked up in town.

He hated it. But only because it just served to remind him of Mary Elizabeth’s desertion. He’d gotten a letter from her just yesterday, but he’d put it in the little wooden box under the bed, the special place where he kept all of his keepsakes. He couldn’t read it, not yet. He couldn’t know how wonderful it was for her in the
Englisch
world. How well she was getting along with whatever family had taken her in. Couldn’t stand the thought of his beautiful firstborn among the sinners of the world.

“Pizza?” Rachel asked, as she slid open the door and stepped down from the buggy. She reached out and Samuel jumped into her arms, anxious as ever to devour his favorite treat.

“You like pizza,
jah
?”

She shrugged. “I’ve never eaten it before.”

“Never?” Matthew’s eyebrows nearly disappeared under the brim of his straw hat.

Samuel grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the restaurant entrance. “Are you in for a treat!”

Gabriel laughed, surprised at the sound. How long had it been since he had truly laughed? He could not remember. But that was only because a person didn’t go around each day tallying their chuckles. He had more to do, more to worry about than how much laughter was in each day.

He adjusted his galluses and followed behind his family into the restaurant.

The patrons of Murray’s were mostly locals who didn’t give the Amish a second look. Gabriel made his way to the counter to order while Rachel seated the boys around a table.

She was a sight, his Rachel. Once again her hair was flying every-which-a-ways, her prayer
kapp
pinned to the middle of the mess. If there was one thing he could change about her it would be her hair. For the most part she was as neat and tidy as the next Plain woman, but her hair
. Ei, yi, yi.

He ordered their pizzas and joined Rachel at the booth. The boys knew better than to act out in public, and for the most part they sat together at a separate table and minded their manners.

“I just . . . wanted to thank you for this.” Rachel waved a hand around.

“Gern gschehne,”
he said. “But no thanks are needed. We all have to eat.”

She nodded, her chin stiff. She lifted her nose a little higher, and he knew she was warring with her own feelings. “But I wanted your meal to be special.”

He rubbed his hands together. “Oh, it will be.”

Samuel nodded. “You will love pizza, Wachel.”

She smiled at the
bu
, her entire face warming, softening, changing until she hardly looked like the same person. “Let’s get you ready, huh?”

Gabriel found himself trapped, staring at her as she shook out a paper napkin and tucked it into the collar of Samuel’s shirt. “I wanted to be the one who made it,” she said.

“Huh?” He jerked himself out of his thoughts and focused his attention once again.

“I said I wanted to make the meal. I can cook, you know.” She crossed her arms on the table in front of her. She had changed back into the other Rachel, the regular one.

“
Jah
, of course.”

Thankfully their server chose that particular moment to bring their pizzas.

“There’s pepperoni,” he explained pointing to each pizza as he said their kind. “A double cheese and deluxe.”

“Cheese is the best,” Samuel said with a sage nod.

The other boys shook their heads, calling out their favorites.

“Which one do you like?” She turned those deep brown eyes on him and Gabriel’s stomach dropped. Why did he feel like she had asked for more than his pizza preference?

He coughed and then cleared his throat before speaking. “I like the deluxe.”

“That’s what I want to try then.” She smiled, and his stomach fluttered. Maybe pizza wasn’t such a
gut
idea. He felt like he was coming down with something.

Or maybe it was the intimacy of the situation. They had come here so many times as a family and now here he was again. Only this time with another wife. He never thought he’d be in this situation again, and the ghosts haunted him. But he somehow felt . . . connected to Rachel. Through more than just their fake marriage.

But it’s not a fake,
a voice in his head whispered. There was no such thing as a fake marriage among the Amish. They married for life. He had tied himself to the woman across from him, pledged to cherish and protect her in front of friends and family. In private he’d vowed to never demand any more than clean clothes and tasty meals in return.

And yet he felt—

“Are you
allrecht
?” Rachel asked.

“
Jah, jah.
I’m fine.”

She pointed to his plate. “Your pizza is getting cold.” He picked up the lukewarm slice and took a huge bite. It was just starting over. That was what bothered him. Nothing more, nothing less.

Pizza, Rachel decided, was the most wonderful meal ever invented. Even better, she had talked to the owner about adding a goat cheese pizza to the menu. He’d asked her to bring him some samples and he’d see what he could do. Nothing in stone, but a start, nonetheless.

She smiled into the darkening sky. She loved the long summer days when the sun set late and the sky turned a dozen different colors before finally relinquishing its hold to the stars.

She loved this new family that she had found. She swayed with the movement of the horses, her shoulder brushing against Gabriel’s. Samuel sat between them, but she had put her arm around him on the way home, pulling him close so he could rest his sleepy head against her as they rode. Now she wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. Her arm touching Gabriel’s in the waning light seemed too familiar by far.