Love’s Journey Home (10 page)

“Edmond’s antics yesterday frightened him.” Thomas scratched his forehead, a preoccupied
look on his face. “He’ll get over it.”

“Or be upset for a long time.”

“He’s a forgiving man.”

“Then I’ll forgive him for being so stiff-necked.”

“
Gut
. About Edmond.”

Her own neck stiffened. “Is he not working hard out there?”

“Very hard.” Thomas pulled the door open and paused so Helen could pass through with
her medical supplies. “He seems bent on restoring my trust. And earning Gabriel’s.”

“That’s
gut
.”

“I’m wondering if it might not serve him well to have Josiah talk with him.”

“Josiah?” Annie’s brother remained known for a reckless rumspringa despite the hard
work and steadiness of the intervening years. “Having taken the path Edmond seems
to be seeking now?”

“Jah. It might help to offer this as a solution when you speak with the bishop tonight.”

“You think it’ll help?”

“It won’t hurt. Josiah has grown into a good husband and father. He’s a hard worker.
His mistakes are behind him.”

“You’re right.”

Thomas smiled down at her. “Most of the time.”

“Emma might differ with you on that.” Helen grinned back. Thomas always made her feel
at ease. Not awkward. Why had she not found that in anyone else since George? “But
then, like any good wife, she allows you to think you’re always right.”

“She is indeed a good fraa. Just as you were to George.” Thomas pointed to where Gabriel
stood, a towel wrapped around his left hand. “Best take care of the wounded. Tobias
and Thaddeus have this under control. I must go hunting for a good spot for a new
well. If you need anything, let us know.”

For a few seconds, Helen watched him stride across the front yard toward the corral
and the buggies. “Thomas!”

He looked back, his face haloed by his straw hat and the sun behind him. “Did I forget
something?”

“Danki.”

He tipped his hat and walked on.

Letting Thomas’s assessment of her wifely qualities settle upon her, Helen crossed
the yard to where Gabriel attempted to wield a hammer despite the blood-soaked towel
wrapped around his hand. He appeared to ignore her approach.

“You might want to stop a minute and get that fixed up.” Any warmth she’d felt seeped
away when she saw the polite but neutral look on his face. “Bleeding to death, are
you?”

“Just a nick.” He laid aside the hammer and faced her. “Thomas is making a big to-do
about nothing.”

Blood soaked the towel, which told Helen that Gabriel was downplaying the injury.
Helen inspected it.

“Better sit down. How’d you manage that?” She waited for him to lower himself onto
the porch steps. Then she laid the towel aside and began to blot the wound with a
clean one. “Did the saw slip?”

“Got my hand too close to the area where Daniel was sawing.” The set of his jaw and
the white around his lips said her ministrations caused him pain, but he didn’t jerk
away or protest. “An accident.”

“Jah, accidents happen, don’t they?”

Their gazes met. His frown said he’d received her message. He opened his mouth, then
shut it. Helen’s upbringing kicked in after a second and she managed to drop her gaze
to the bottle of peroxide in her hand. With a gentleness she didn’t feel, she dabbed
at the cut until it appeared clean, dried it, and began to cover it with gauze.

“You have a soft touch.”

His tone made her glance up. The frown had been replaced with something that looked
almost like longing. She could no longer force her gaze to the wound. He had a gingery
scent that mingled with the soap used to wash his clothes. His breath came light and
a little short. She hadn’t been this close to a man in years and it had to be Gabriel
Gless, who had studied her and found her wanting in her most important job—that of
mother.

“There, all done.” She slapped white surgical tape over the end of the gauze and backed
away, hoping he couldn’t see the trembling of her fingers. “You’ll want to put some
ointment on it tonight and a clean bandage.”

He rose and turned back toward the workers as if dismissing her. He pulled on gloves
that would further protect the cut and grabbed an ax from a nearby stack of tools.
He lifted it as if it were no heavier than a toothpick. Gabriel might be forty or
more, but he moved like a much younger man, all muscle and sinew.

“Ach.”
She whirled and stomped up the steps. A woman her age thinking such thoughts. Ridiculous.
Unseemly. Ungodly.

No. They were the thoughts of a lonely woman who longed for companionship and the
love of a good man. Such things were gifts given by God, surely.

A
nnie slipped the spatula under the last spicy molasses cookie and set it on the cooling
rack. She swiped at a wisp of hair that had escaped her kapp. What a day. Noon had
come and gone without time for a quick rest in the storeroom with the meal she’d brought
from home. Thank goodness for Mary Elizabeth. She’d turned out to be a good worker
who didn’t flinch at a line of customers. She had the job if her father agreed. Annie
hoped he would. It would be such a relief.

She’d barely had time to think about Noah and how he was doing under the watchful
eye of Leah’s sister Bethel, who came to the house each day to help out with the children
and the laundry and the cleaning. The schoolteacher had yet to marry so she enjoyed
spending her summers helping out with Leah’s large brood. She had the added quality
of being the opposite of her sister in every respect. Tall to her short, a smile to
Leah’s frown, a nonstop talker to her sister’s silent introspection.

The bell over the bakery’s door dinged, drawing Annie from her exhausted reverie.
Her mind did seem to wander when she was tired. Pinging from one topic to the other
without finishing one before another popped up. Despite her weariness, she smiled.
Helen Crouch always served as a welcome respite on a busy day. The woman knew how
to make Annie laugh. She gave Helen a closer look. Another weary woman, her hands
full of a large box that held more jams and jellies. Annie rushed forward to relieve
her of the box.

“You needn’t have brought these today. I know you had a rough night with what happened
to Edmond yesterday and then the storm during the night. Mark told me all about it.”

“You said you were out of the peach and the strawberry jams. I can’t afford to have
the shelves empty.” Helen shook her arms out as if her muscles were cramped. “I needed
to pick up the proceeds from the last batch, anyway.”

“Of course. I have the envelope ready.” Annie set the box on the counter and began
unloading the jars. Helen did a lovely job with the labels, each handwritten and illustrated
with fruit. “Now come on, tell me, how are you doing?”

“The house is a mess, but what’s worse is the garden. The hail destroyed the vegetables.
We won’t be doing much canning this summer.” Helen blotted at her damp face with a
handkerchief and shrugged. “We’ll survive. We always do.”

“Jah, we will. At least we’ll still be able to get Colorado peaches.” Annie grasped
at straws. “I saw some at the farmers’ market Saturday and I thought of you.”

“I was going to buy three bushels today, but with the storm damage and Edmond’s…mistake,
I’ll have to wait now.” Helen set a jar of strawberry preserves next to a jar of blueberry
jam. “I don’t want to have them rot before we have a chance to have a canning frolic.”

Silence held for a second. Annie contemplated her friend’s face. She wished she dared
to add some extra funds to the jam and jelly proceeds. The three bushels of peaches
were an expense that Helen might not be able to afford right now, but they would mean
more income in the long run. The tourists loved to buy homemade canned goods.

Helen would be anxious to pay back Thomas and her brother. Annie wanted to help, but
she knew Helen would want to make her own way. “What’s on your mind?”

“What makes you think something’s on my mind?” Helen had a suspiciously bright smile
on her face. “I have a whole crew of men at the house working like busy ants. I’m
making a big roast and Emma’s bringing over a casserole, but I’ve no time to make
more bread so I thought I’d…”

“Of course. I’ll donate to the meal.”

“Nee, I’ll pay for it. I can’t have you—”

“No argument. If I can’t be there to help with the cooking, the least I can do is
offer what I’ve already baked.” Annie shook her finger at her friend, whose mouth
had opened again. “I mean it. No argument.”

Helen crossed her arms. “Aren’t you the bossy one?”

“I have two loaves of dill bread made this morning. Two of the whole wheat and a raisin
loaf. Will that do it?”

“More than enough. You’re too generous.”

“You can’t be too generous.”

Helen nodded, but she studied the rows of jams and jellies with more attention than
they warranted.

“Now, tell me what else is on your mind. Is it Edmond?” Annie moved behind the counter
and selected the loaves of bread she would contribute to the supper. “The bishop will
be fair. This is the first serious mistake Edmond has ever made. He’s a good boy.”

“I know. I know.”

“Then why do you look so sad?”

“I’m not sad.” Helen sat down on a bench across from the display cases. She smiled
up at Annie. “Actually, I came by to see how you’re doing. I missed you at the parade
last night—before things got out of hand. You told me you would be there.”

“I know I did.” Annie examined her apron. It already had strawberry stains on it.
She turned to the drawer where she kept clean ones. That way Helen couldn’t see her
face. “Noah was fussy, and I had a pile of sewing to do. I told Leah I would help
her. I’m away all day long—”

“Excuses, excuses. Excuses are very close to being lies and lies are sins.” Helen
sounded so much like Annie’s Aenti Louise she had to turn and stare at her. A deep
frown had erased her friend’s smile. “I’ve been where you are right now, missy, and
the best medicine is to get out of the house. Learn to celebrate small things again.
Life is in those moments, like sitting on a quilt, watching a parade, watching the
children enjoy the fun.”

“I meant to go.” Annie sank into a straight-backed chair at the oak table where tourists
often had a cup of
kaffi
or tea before leaving with their purchases. “I really did. I know it’s been a year
and that’s what’s expected. Leah and Luke let me know that. Even Emma. But when the
time came…I don’t know. I was too tired. I felt tired. Like I couldn’t lift my feet.”

“I remember that feeling. It’s as if sadness makes you tired.” Helen patted Annie’s
arm. “But once you get out there, you’ll feel better. I promise. It takes your mind
off it.”

“I don’t think anything can make me feel better, truth be told,” Annie admitted. “It
doesn’t feel like a parade will make me feel better. It feels like I’m forgetting
him. I’m already forgetting what he looked like. How can I celebrate without him?”

“Ask yourself if David would want you to be sad. Would he want you to mope around
the house? Would he want Noah to miss out on the fun because you were too tired to
go to a parade?”

“It’s not as if you’ve moved on.”

Silence reigned for several seconds. Looking at her friend’s stricken face, Annie
regretted her tart tone. Helen had been with her from the moment David passed. She’d
been the one to hold her hand and walk her from the room when Annie had been unable
to leave his side that last time. Helen helped arrange his clothes, oversaw the making
of the food for the viewing, sat next to Annie at the funeral. She helped Annie walk
away from the newly dug grave. She helped her give away David’s clothes and boots
and hats to families who needed them. She came by to make sure Annie arose, dressed,
and cared for her new baby in the weeks after his father’s death.

“You’re right.” Helen’s voice cracked. “Who am I to give advice?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Helen.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’ve been alone for seven years and there are still days when I have
to wrench myself from my bed.”

“I see others—women and men in our community—who lose a husband or wife and a year
later they’re remarried. Even Thomas remarried after three years.” Annie thanked God
for Thomas’s ability to move on. He and Emma were meant for each other. “When do you
and I stop being sad?”

“You have to insist on it. Our faith demands it.” Helen sat up straighter as if the
thought reinforced her spine. “The community expects it. To do otherwise is to show
a lack of faith in God’s plan for us.”

“We’re only human.” Annie couldn’t shake the anger mingled with grief that caught
her in a stranglehold at the most inopportune moments. “We’re only women who loved
our husbands. Is that so bad? Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?”

“We’re women who’ve been blessed.” Helen wiggled in her seat like a small child during
prayer service. “I have no right to be sad about anything. I’m blessed with four healthy
children, a family, and a farm that we work together. My mother is still with me.”