Gabriel's Bride (26 page)

His father settled his hat back on his head and climbed down from the loft. “Go and see if there’s any lemonade left, Simon. I could sure use a drink.”

“
Jah
. Okay.”

His
dat
never stopped work in the afternoon to go to the kitchen for a drink, Simon thought as he tromped toward the house. And if he did, he always went himself. Was he avoiding the kitchen?

He shrugged. Why did he care? He’d be able to get a drink for himself and see if he could get any cookies before all the not-burned ones were gone. It might be his imagination, but it seemed to him that Rachel was even worse these days about forgetting what was in the oven or on the stove until it was too done to eat.

His
vatter
didn’t say a word, just ate the food without comment, not saying anything until their evening Bible reading. Then Simon and his brothers took turns getting ready for bed.

It could be that things seemed different because school was out, and Simon was at home more, watching this interaction for himself. He shook his head just as Matthew came in the front door, and let it slam behind him. Maybe Matthew knew what was going on.

“
Goedemiddag, bruder
,” Simon greeted as Matthew hung his hat on the peg.

Matthew squinted until his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the house. “
Jah, goedemiddag
.” He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a glass of the cool lemonade for himself, then drank it down in two big gulps before pouring himself a second serving.

Simon turned away, digging through the cookie jar for any edible cookies. He would have rather had some pie. His
grossmammi
made the best pies, but she hadn’t made one for them in a week or so. Rachel, it seemed, couldn’t roll out a crust if’n her life depended on it.

“So,
bruder
, anything of interest happening here?”

Simon looked back at his brother and considered his not-so-innocent question.

Matthew propped his hip on the counter and continued to sip his lemonade as he waited for Simon to answer.

“
Nay
,” Simon turned back to his chore, not able to find even one cookie without black edges.

“That’s not how David tells it.”

Simon stilled, keeping his eyes on the cookie jar. “What do you mean?”

“What are you hoping to prove by making her leave?”

Simon resisted the urge to slam the lid of the cookie jar back in place to rid himself of the burning anger. But the cookie jar had belonged to his mother and needed to be treated with the carefulness that it deserved. He held his temper in check knowing that he would have to add the episode to his prayers that night. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Don’t add lying to your other sins, Simon,” his brother said. “Look at me. I’m talking about all the pranks you’ve been playing on Rachel.”

Simon looked at his brother over one shoulder. “David was in on it too.” Only after the words had left his mouth did he realize they had proven his guilt.

“Promise me that you will stop trying to make her leave.”

Simon mumbled something he hoped Matthew would accept as an answer.

Matthew stood up straight and set his glass on the counter. “She loves him.”

Simon shook his head. “How do you know?”

“I can tell by the look in her eyes when she catches sight of him. She hides it though, when she thinks someone is watching.”

Simon let that sink in. He didn’t know if it were true or not. He was only thirteen. What did he know about love except that his
vatter
once loved his
mudder
very much.

Matthew continued to eye him. “He loves her too, you know.”

Simon shook his head. “That’s a lie!” He hadn’t meant to yell.

“It is not. He loves her, but he doesn’t know it yet.”

“How do you know?” Simon scoffed. “You’re just fifteen.”

“I remember,” he said, his voice quiet. “I remember how he looked at
Mamm
when she was still alive. He looks at Rachel like that.”

Simon shook his head, not wanting the words to be true.

“Either way,” Matthew continued. “Leave her alone. She hasn’t done anything to you.”

“She burns the cookies.”

“Really, Simon? Is that your objection to this marriage?”

Simon shrugged.

“Tell me this: What did you hope to gain?”

Simon dropped his head and stared at the scrubbed planks beneath his feet. They were clean now, because neither Simon nor David had the opportunity to drag in dirt from the garden. Shame filled him. “I didn’t want her to take
Mamm’s
place.”

Matthew sighed, and even to Simon’s ears, it sounded sad. “
Mamm
doesn’t have a place here anymore,” Matthew said, and to Simon’s dismay, tears filled his brother’s eyes. “Her place now is with Jesus.”

Simon wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. “But—”

“There are no buts.
Dat
is married to Rachel now. If she leaves it’s not like he can get married again. He’ll be lonely and miserable with no way out. Is that what you want for him?”

“
Nay
. But we thought . . .”

“Of yourselves. From now on, think about
Dat
and what he needs. Like it or not, Rachel is married to him. He loves her, and she’s here to stay.”

He was avoiding her, that much was certain. Rachel supposed it was for the best that he kept his distance, but him putting that space between them hurt all the more now that she knew how it felt to be held by him.

She bit back a sigh and started hoeing down the next row of the table garden. She was quite proud, in a humble sort of way, of how her garden was coming along. She’d tended the garden at her aunt’s house, but it was nothing compared to this. She straightened for a moment and looked across the patch of land. So the rows weren’t as even as she would have wished them to be. There were still all these beautiful green plants raising their heads toward the sun and a multitude of tiny flowers that would soon turn into fruit. It would be
gut
to see the many vegetables mature and feed her newfound family.

Rachel smiled and went back to work, stopping minutes later as she heard an engine rev from the road. Not an unfamiliar sound to have cars and trucks zoom by, but this one stopped.

Her goats!

“Samuel,” she said, calling out to the
bu
as he sat in the shade of the large oak tree. He had wandered out of the house after completing his alphabet tracings and now played with finger puppets while he waited for her to finish.

“
Jah
?”

“The goats are here.”

He looked around in all directions. “The new goats?’

“
Jah
.” She propped the hoe against the tree and reached down a hand to help him up. “Are you ready to go see?”

He stood, brushing off the seat of his pants.

Rachel smiled with love for the child. What a blessing he was.

Hand in hand, they walked around the side of the house expecting to see the large livestock truck delivering the new goats she and Gabriel had bought at auction.

Instead, a slim teenage girl walked slowly toward them. She was dressed in the way typical of
Englisch
youth—faded jeans and a loose T-shirt, flip-flop sandals slapping against the dirt drive. Her steps were heavy and weighted with what tragedy Rachel did not know. But it seemed this wayward traveler needed something.

The girl stopped halfway to the house and held her arms open. “Samuel?”

“Mawy!” He turned loose of Rachel’s hand and ran toward the girl, not stopping until he collided with her.

She dropped her backpack in the dirt and swept him into her arms, holding him tight. “You’ve grown so much.”

Rachel stood, rooted to the spot, not sure what to make of this new development, but somehow knowing . . .

The girl continued to hold Samuel close, raining kisses on his sweet freckled face. Then she picked up her bag, still juggling Samuel on her hip as she tottered toward the house.

“Wachel! Wachel! Look, it’s my
shveshtah
.”

Mary Elizabeth Fisher had come home.

15

I
’m sorry your father’s not home. He should be back soon, though.”

Mary Elizabeth nodded as Rachel ran out of words. She wished that she had something more to say, a better welcome to offer the girl. She looked dead tired, her eyes listless, as if she had seen things better left unseen.

Rachel shook away the thought. She was being dramatic. Most Amish children who left during
rumspringa
returned. Though some left again. It was hard out in the
Englisch
world. Everyone knew that. But Rachel wished she had something more to offer the girl besides half-burned pie and lemonade. At least the latter wasn’t burned.

What she really wished for was a way to contact Gabriel to let him know that Mary Elizabeth had returned. Surely he would be happy to see her whole and healthy despite the sad, sad look in her eyes.

“He’s the deacon now, you know.”

“No,” Mary Elizabeth replied without remorse in her voice, without any feeling at all, as a matter of fact. After dealing with Gabriel’s
sohns
and all their pranks and tricks, Rachel found it hard to believe that his
dochder
was so . . . unenthusiastic. Or maybe she took after her father, more on the quiet side than the
buwe
.

“Well, he is.” Rachel eased down in the chair opposite Mary Elizabeth and tried to think of something more to say. When was Gabriel coming home?

After all of the excited “Welcome homes” and “We missed yous,” Rachel had made the boys—including Samuel—go outside and finish up their chores.

Gabriel would be home soon, she would serve dinner, and that would be that. The day would go on like nothing momentous had happened—when that was far from the truth.

“He’s out talking with Beth Troyer. Seems she started hanging her undergarments out on the line and her
Englisch
neighbor doesn’t cotton to that.”

A ghost of a smile flickered across the young girl’s lips. “She’s been trying to get that neighbor’s attention for nigh on five years now. I don’t know why. He’s
Englisch
and she’s Amish, but she’s sweet on him—it is a sin to gossip.” Mary Elizabeth shook her head as if confused by her own behavior, as if ashamed at what the outside world had done to her.

“I just thought you should know where your father is.”

Mary Elizabeth nodded.

“Once the boys get back in, I’ll feed them their supper, and they can go to bed early. Though I doubt anyone will sleep much tonight.”

She nodded again.

“Would you like some more pie?”

Mary Elizabeth glanced at the pie on the sideboard and shook her head.

“I’m sorry. I know the crust is awfully brown, but . . .” She had no excuse. She just got sidetracked when it came to baking . . . and frying . . . and cooking in general.

“I’m not a
gut
cook,” Mary Elizabeth muttered. “Even on an
Englisch
stove, I burn everything.” Her shoulders seemed to droop as if holding herself so stiff had become a burden unworthy of the effort.

“I suppose it’s strange coming home and finding your
vatter
married.”

She shrugged.

“I was supposed to just help but—” Why was she telling Gabriel’s daughter all of this? It was his responsibility to explain these matters to Mary Elizabeth, not hers.

She glanced toward the ceramic clock on the fireplace mantel. Surely he would be home soon. How long did it take to tell Beth Troyer to watch where she hung her unmentionables?

Just then the front door slammed open. Rachel’s heart jumped into her throat. But it was only the boys back in from their chores. “All of you, get back outside and wash your hands. Your father will be home any minute.”
She hoped.

The boys, so happy to see their sister, hugged her once again before trudging out to do as Rachel told them. She wasn’t sure why they had picked tonight not to argue with her over their responsibilities, but she was grateful nonetheless.