A Love Made New (11 page)

The snow continued to fall, making the roads both slushy and slick. When they reached Irene's house, Abigail motioned for her to turn into the driveway. “I can walk to Asa's from here.”

Irene shook her head. “It won't take me long to drop you off.”

“I don't want you to get the wheels stuck in his driveway.” Plus, she needed the extra time. For some reason her gut was churning. Which didn't make any sense. This was Asa. She'd show him the rugs, then she'd leave. It had taken them so long to get here in the thickening snow that Aden wouldn't be very far behind.

“Are you sure? Do you want me to send Aden over to pick you up when he gets here?”

Abigail was already getting out of the buggy. “
Ya
, I'm sure. And I can walk back to
yer haus
to meet Aden
.
I'll see you later.”

Irene nodded and Abigail peered through the snow. Asa's house was only a little farther down the street, but set way back on a hill, against a copse of woods similar to the ones by her house. She hugged the rugs against her as she trudged through the snow. Her boots kept her toes warm and dry, but she couldn't say the same for her legs. The wind kicked up, swirling the snow, and making her dress whip against her calves. Oh, this was a bad idea. She hadn't realized that the falling snow was now on the verge of a blizzard. Her nerves forgotten, she tucked her chin and pushed against the whirling wind and pounding snow.

By the time she reached Asa's house, her feet were no longer dry or warm. Her mouth felt frozen, and each inhale was like razor blades in her lungs. Her heart pounded in her chest as she climbed the hill to his house, the rag rugs wet and weighing at least twice as much as they had when she left Irene's buggy. When she got to his front door, she leaned against it, using her hip to knock on it.
He better be home.
She waited a moment, then moved her hip to knock on the door again—only to have it give way. She tumbled into the living room and fell against Asa.

Asa's eyes widened as Abigail propelled toward him, holding rugs and covered in snow. She slammed into him with such force that he couldn't steady himself and he landed on his rear end. Abigail hit the floor in front of him, facedown in the rugs.

He scrambled to his feet and slammed the door against the wind and blowing snow. He'd knocked off work a little early today to clean up the place before she got there, but the weather hadn't been this bad when he left work. He knelt down beside her. “Abigail! Are you all right?”

She lifted her gaze to his. Delicate flakes of snow covered her cheeks, her nose, even her lips. “I'm very ready for spring.”

He wanted to laugh, but her dark expression ended his good humor. “Let me help you up.”

“I've got it.” She moved to her knees and blew a few snowflakes off her lips. Then she stood up, looking a bit bewildered, quite disheveled, and very, very cute.

He put his hands on his hips. “What did you do, walk over here from Irene's?”

She nodded. “It seemed like a
gut
idea at the time.”

She was shaking again. And red-faced. He caught the weariness in her eyes. The walk and subsequent fall must have taken a lot out of her. “Give me
yer
coat and bonnet, and then sit by the fire.” He'd made sure the fire in the woodstove was blazing for her arrival. The house had a cold, empty appearance. It didn't need to feel cold too.

He'd been steadily working to repair and clean the house, but some days his heart wasn't in it. Last fall he'd spent a couple of weeks working on Andrew's addition, and that had taken time away from the renovation too.

For once Abigail didn't argue with him. She took off her coat and bonnet and handed them to him. The skirt of her light purple dress was wet. Although she was cold and looked miserable, he couldn't keep his gaze off her. Regaining his senses, he grabbed his rocking chair and moved it close to the stove. “Here. Have a seat.”

She plopped down in the chair, her head hanging, every bit of Abigail-spunk gone. “I'll hang these up on the banister,” he said. She didn't respond as he went to the staircase and draped her coat and bonnet over it. He had a pegboard in the mudroom off the kitchen, but her clothes would dry faster in the heat of the living
room. He turned and saw the pile of rugs on the floor. They were wet too. There wasn't enough room for them on the banister, so he asked, “Can I set these over the kitchen chairs to dry?”

“
Ya.
Sure.”

He took the rugs and hung them over the backs of the two secondhand chairs in the kitchen, thankful he'd recently been able to add them and an old table to his sparse furnishings. When he returned he asked, “Do you want some
kaffee
? I can brew a pot real quick.”

She shook her head.

He moved to crouch down in front of her and took her cold hand in his. Her fingers were like ice. “Now's not the time to
geh
silent on me, Abigail.”

“I'm tired,” she whispered. “So . . . tired.”

He knew she didn't mean just physically. The weeks after he first came back, when he was trying to find a job and had only a ratty sleeping bag to sleep on, were physically and emotionally painful. Forcing himself to get up each morning, to not let his circumstances drag him down, had been difficult. “You can rest here. As long as you need to.”

Her gaze met his, and he was relieved when he saw a small spark ignited in her eyes. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked.

“Because I'm a nice guy.”

“It's more than that. You always see me at
mei
worst . . . but you somehow manage to make me feel a little bit better.”

He sat back on his haunches. “That's the point.” Her eyes filled and she looked away, which made him want to take her into his arms right there. He wanted to sit in the rocking chair and cuddle her in his lap. He wanted to feel the softness of her cheek against his shoulder, to rub his hand down her back and
tell her everything would be okay. That despite all the pain she'd been through, God was with her. Wasn't that how he had survived the past few months? God had uprooted him, but he'd also been his closest ally.

But he couldn't hold her. Couldn't tell her what was on his heart. Not yet. He didn't need God to tell him it was too soon. “I'll make that
kaffee
.”

A
s Irene drove to the barn to put up her buggy and stable her horse, she noticed an extra buggy parked outside. Was Aden already here to pick up Abigail? But that didn't make sense. In this weather he wouldn't have gotten to her house before she did. Someone must be visiting. They would have to go home soon—the wind and snow were turning brutal.

She went inside, welcoming the cozy warmth of the house. She removed her coat and bonnet and hung them on the pegboard in the mudroom, then slipped off her boots. Her feet hit the concrete floor, coldness sliding through her stockings. She couldn't wait for something warm to drink and something hot to eat. Then she'd relax with a book after supper. She'd been trying to finish this latest mystery for over two weeks, but she was having trouble getting into the story.

She opened the door to the kitchen and walked inside, ready to greet whoever was visiting, only to halt when she saw Sol Troyer. He was sitting at the table, where four birdhouses sat. She stared at them for a moment. Until he'd started creating
birdhouses and selling them at the Schrocks' store, she hadn't any idea just how talented he was. No wonder he was doing well selling them at the store.

But what were they—and he—doing here?

He rose from his chair. “
Yer mamm
ordered these a few weeks back. I was in the neighborhood and I thought I'd drop them off.”

She glanced at the birdhouses again. “I wonder who they're for?”

Sol frowned. “I hope I didn't ruin a surprise. She didn't say they were a surprise.” He pointed his thumb toward the door. “She went to get her purse.”

Irene nodded and inspected the birdhouses. None of them was too fancy, but they were each made of different woods and stained to a dull but pretty gleam that would hold up well in any kind of weather. One was a simple replica of a log cabin, complete with square shingles and a front porch. The other three were more rustic with small angled roofs, a hole near the top, and a perch underneath. She liked all four. Sol was a master craftsman.

“They're lovely, Sol.” She looked at him. “You do wonderful work.”

His cheeks reddened almost to the color of his hair. He shrugged off her compliment.

Mamm
walked into the kitchen. “Sorry it took me so long.” She looked at Irene and smiled, then at Sol. “I remembered
yer mamm
wants to try that pineapple fluff recipe I brought over Sunday.” She held up a card. “I thought I knew where it was, but it took me awhile to find it. I put it in the wrong note file after I finished making it.” She turned her gaze back to Irene. “What do you think of the birdhouses?”

“They're beautiful.”

“Aren't they? They'll make lovely gifts.”

“For who?”

Mamm
's smile widened. “You'll have to find out.”

Irene didn't think she was being all that sneaky. Her birthday was next month, and everyone knew how much she loved watching birds. Some of her favorite memories were of sitting on her front porch or in the yard and watching the robins, cardinals, blue jays, finches, and other birds fly around, play in puddles, and pick at the grass.

Naomi handed a check to Sol. “
Danki
,” she said. “I appreciate you bringing them over.”

“Not a problem.” He folded the check and put it in his pocket.

“I also appreciate you getting them finished early. I'm sure you've been busy with lots of orders.”

“I have.” His voice was quiet and low and he wasn't looking at
Mamm
.

Irene saw him frown. “That's not a
gut
thing?”

“Oh, it is.” He glanced up. “But one person wants a painted birdhouse. I can stain wood, but not paint, and I'm running out of time. I don't know anyone who can paint for me, and Aden hasn't been able to find anyone for me either.”

“Irene's an excellent painter.”

Irene shot a look at her mother. She could paint walls, but she wasn't particularly skilled at it and had never tried any other kind of painting.

“You are?” asked Sol, one reddish eyebrow lifting.

“Oh
ya
,”
Mamm
said before Irene could answer. “Especially in school. She would bring home the sweetest pictures, very detailed.”

“
Mamm
, that was coloring. With crayons.”

“Some were with paints.” Naomi turned to Sol. “She's being modest, of course.”

“Of course.” But Sol continued to look at her with questioning eyes, along with something else she couldn't define that caused a shiver between her shoulder blades. Before she could stop herself she said, “I could try painting one.” Her eyes widened. What was she doing? She already had a job with Abigail, although that didn't take up all her time. And it wasn't like her family was hurting for money. Andrew's farrier business was doing well, easily supporting her and her mother and Joanna, along with being able to give extra to the community fund. So why was she offering to work with Sol?

Because he needs you
.

The words nearly made her stumble backward.
He needs me?
She met his gaze and, for a brief instant, saw beyond the physical attraction to the deep hurt he held inside.
He needs me.
“I'm not an expert, and the last time I painted something it was this kitchen a couple of years ago.” She spread her hands out, gesturing to the walls. “That's not the same as birdhouses, but I could give it a try.”

He looked around the kitchen. “Looks nice.” Again his voice was low, but appreciative. He looked back at her. “Aren't you working with Abigail?”

“
Ya
.”

“I don't want to give you more work.”

“Don't you think that's
mei
decision to make?”

His top lip lifted in a half-smile. “I suppose so.”

“Sol, why don't you stay for supper and you and Irene can discuss this further?”
Mamm
said.

Irene had forgotten her mother was in the room. So had Sol
apparently, from the surprised look on his face. “
Danki
, but I'm sure
Mamm
has supper ready for me at home. I should get going.”

“
Nee
one's going anywhere,” Andrew said as he strode into the kitchen. “I just got home. One of
mei Englisch
customers said we're probably getting at least twelve inches of snow before midnight. The way it's coming down right now, I believe him.”

“I'm sure I'll be fine,” Sol said.

Andrew shook his head. “You'll end up getting
yer
horse stuck if you
geh
now. You're welcome to stay here tonight.”

Irene looked at Sol, who flicked a glance in her direction. She saw his Adam's apple move up and down before turning back to Andrew. “
Danki.
I'll take you up on the offer.”

That was a relief. The last thing she wanted was for him to get stuck in a storm. Then she remembered Abigail. “Aden,” Irene said, turning to her brother. “He's supposed to pick up Abigail here.”

“I'll call and tell him not to come.” Andrew started to leave the kitchen, but Irene touched his arm.

“She's at Asa's.”

Andrew paused. “What's she doing over there?”

“Showing him some rugs.”

“Rugs?”

“
Ya
.” She explained about the rugs to Andrew, his frown growing as she spoke. When she finished talking he said, “It's not
gut
for her to be walking out in this weather, even if she is only coming from Asa's.”

“Should I
geh
get her?” Irene asked.

Andrew shook his head. “I'm sure Asa wouldn't let her
geh
out in weather like this.”

Irene wasn't sure Abigail being alone with Asa was such a good idea. When she mentioned the possibility of Asa being
interested in Abigail, she had been serious. He was acting odd and had been ever since he arrived in Birch Creek. He was different than she remembered, a little less sure of himself, more introverted than he used to be. But she'd noticed how he couldn't keep his eyes off Abigail, especially when Abigail wasn't looking.

“I'll call Aden,” Andrew said, “and I'll be happy to call
yer mamm
as well, Sol. To let her know you're staying here tonight. I'm sure she'll check
yer
phone shanty for messages when she starts to worry about you.” Then he disappeared into the mudroom. Since Andrew owned his own business, he was allowed to have a cell phone, but he didn't keep it in the house. They also had a phone shanty at the end of the driveway, but in this weather she didn't blame him for using his cell.

She glanced at Sol. He was staring at the seat of a kitchen chair, his strong hands gripping its back. A gust of wind kicked up, rattling the windows.

“Then that's settled,”
Mamm
said. “We've got plenty of chicken stew and Joanna's biscuits for supper. And Joanna made a scrumptious peach cobbler last night too. I took a little taste when she wasn't looking.” She went to Sol and looked up at him. “You're welcome to stay as long as you need to.”

Sol nodded again, and Irene's heart did a tiny twirl. Uh-oh. She needed to settle her feelings where Sol was concerned. Especially now that she would be working alongside him.
He needs you
. She couldn't get those words out of her head. He wasn't the same man who had flirted with her in his parents' basement last fall. His confident swagger was gone, replaced with a shyness that didn't fit him either. He was a man in turmoil; she could plainly see that. But what could she do to help him? Right now, she could paint birdhouses. She'd let the Lord lead her to do the rest.

Andrew came back into the kitchen, this time with Joanna behind him. Very close behind him, Irene noted. She thought living with her brother and his wife would be awkward. But it wasn't. Joanna was so sweet and gracious that she was a pleasure to live with. And Andrew was happier than she'd ever seen him since their
daed
left.

She glanced at Sol again. Did he think about his father often? Was he hoping for him to return? The bishop had left in disgrace. But that didn't mean Sol didn't still love him or want him to come back. Irene's own father was paying the consequences for his mistakes. And, like Sol, she didn't know when her father would be coming back, if at all, and it left a hole in her life.

“I'll help you with supper,” Joanna said, moving past Irene and giving a glancing smile to Sol. He released the back of the chair, seeming to relax a bit. At that moment Joanna's dog, Homer, came barreling into the kitchen. He skidded to a standstill in front of her and sat on his haunches, looking up at her with adoration. Or hunger. Irene wasn't sure which.

“Homer, behave.” Joanna pointed to the corner of the kitchen. “
Geh
.”

Homer looked at her a little longer, then trotted to the corner and settled himself on the large pillow bed Andrew had bought for the dog. He wasn't any trouble, and along with Joanna he had become a welcome addition to the family.

“Andrew said Abigail is at Asa's.” Joanna looked out the kitchen window. “Wow, it's turning brutal out there.”

Irene nodded. What were Abigail and Asa doing? Hopefully staying warm and dry. Things might be awkward between them, especially since Asa had been acting so out of character. But at least they weren't out in the blizzard. Irene couldn't imagine either one of them doing something that stupid.

Falling on her face in front of Asa had crushed the dam Abigail had set up around her emotions. She added that to her failures. He'd also seen her tears, although she'd tried to fight them. She thought she'd had everything under control. But she didn't.
God, what is wrong with me?
She hadn't wanted to admit she was tired. Or weak. But there was no use hiding it anymore. Not that she hid anything very well from Asa. He always seemed to be around at her worst moments.