A Man of His Word (28 page)

Moriah seemed engrossed in cutting out biscuits and averse to accepting help. She also didn’t seem interested in making conversation. Rachel watched as Moriah wiped her brow with the back of her hand, her fatigue even more noticeable now. She should offer to help again, but it was common knowledge that Rachel wasn’t a very good cook—unlike Moriah, who could make a delicious meal out of the most sparse of ingredients.

Moriah had also experienced things Rachel hadn’t—marriage, pregnancy, and unfortunately, the death of her husband. Should she bring up any of those subjects? One thing she didn’t want to do was discuss Tobias, especially with his sister.

After a few more minutes of silence, Moriah turned. “How is your tea?”

“Delicious.” Rachel could detect the sadness in Moriah’s eyes, coupled with loneliness. Rachel couldn’t imagine the turmoil churning inside the young woman. She also felt powerless to help her.

Moriah gave her a small smile, then turned to place the last biscuit on a metal cookie sheet. She opened the hot oven and put the biscuits inside. As she closed the oven door she said, “From what I gather your brother has been a big help to Gabriel and John in the shop. He’s a really hard worker.”

Rachel frowned slightly. Not exactly who she wanted to talk about, but at this point she was glad to talk about anything. She lifted her tea and took a sip then set it down again. “He seems to have straightened himself out.”

“I don’t know what they would do without him,” Moriah added. “Since Levi . . .” A shadow passed over her face, but she quickly smiled again to cover it before turning around to wash her hands in the sink. “I have noticed that he doesn’t say much, though. He seems to like to keep to himself.”

“No kidding,” Rachel muttered. Then she looked at Moriah. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you’re all happy with him. I just hope he doesn’t go back to his old ways.”

“Why do you think he would?”

Rachel shrugged, cupping her hands around her mug.

“Do you think he will fail?”

Rachel’s eyes widened. “I hope not. But Aaron was a drug addict and he spent time in jail. I’m just saying that it’s easy to fall back into old habits. But I didn’t say I wanted him to fail.”

“I’m sorry, Rachel. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

With a sigh, Rachel said, “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so sensitive. And I shouldn’t have said that about Aaron. I know he’s been trying really hard to change his life.” She shook the coffee mug, swirling the liquid inside. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know what’s going on with him. We haven’t talked much since he came home. Actually, we haven’t talked at all. Sorry, I don’t mean to complain.”

Moriah stretched her arm across the table and covered Rachel’s hand with her own. “That’s all right, I don’t mind hearing about it. Trust me, we all have our problems.”

Guilt churned within Rachel. Her own problems were petty compared to how Moriah had suffered.

Moriah squeezed her hand. “I’ll pray for you, Rachel. And for Aaron.”

Rachel glanced down at their hands. When was the last time she had prayed for her brother? She couldn’t remember. And perhaps that was part of the problem. Lately she had focused all of her prayers on her own concerns—her doubts about Christian, her mixed-up feelings about Tobias. She silently vowed to put Aaron at the top of her prayer list from now on.

“
Danki
,” Rachel said. “I appreciate you praying for him.”

“I’m glad to do it. I haven’t been praying much at all lately, and you’ve reminded me how important it is to keep up that personal communion with God.” She removed her hand and sat back in the chair. “I’m really glad you came today.”

“Me too.” Rachel grinned, then sniffed the air. Her stomach growled. “Maybe I’ll have some of that chicken stew after all.”

With a long pair of tongs, Gabe removed a red-hot horseshoe from the burning forge and set it aside to cool. Some smiths plunged their hot shoes into cold water, but that made the iron brittle and would require a horse to be shoed more often. John had preferred to let his shoes cool on their own, and Gabe had always followed suit. He only cooled off metal by dunking when he made decorative ironwork. His forehead dripping from the heat of the forge and scorching metal, he wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his gloved hand, knowing he had probably smeared black soot all over his forehead.

While the metal cooled, Gabe tallied how many more shoes he had to make before the day was up. Nineteen. Tomorrow he needed to spend the day applying those shoes to several horses. While he was busy cleaning out hooves and filing the shoes so they would fit snugly, Aaron would work on making a simple iron sconce. Since his father had decided to add fancy ironwork, such as sconces and lantern hangers, to their inventory last year, he and Gabe had taught Aaron how to make a couple of plain styles. He turned out to be a quick study.

Turning around to grab another metal bar, he saw Aaron across the shop, struggling to pick up a heavy load of rods. As was the young man’s way, he never asked for help, but this time Gabe could see he really needed it. Putting his iron down, Gabe passed by John, who was filing the rough edges of one of the shoes, and went to assist Aaron.

“Thanks,” Aaron said in his trademark quiet tone once they’d moved the rods.

“No problem. Don’t be afraid to ask for help, Aaron. You don’t have to carry the load yourself.”

Aaron nodded in return, but didn’t say anything, merely went back to work. Gabe watched him for a moment, wondering what was going on inside the kid’s head. He’d been a mystery ever since he’d hired him. But he couldn’t complain about Aaron’s work ethic at all—sometimes he worked harder than Levi ever had. Then again, they had all been working extra hard since Levi’s death. Keeping busy helped stave off a bit of the grief.

One thing he could say for Aaron, he was a thorough employee. He’d been able to find the file that was missing off the pegboard, although he didn’t tell Gabe where he’d found it. He just put it back on its peg and went back to work. Gabe didn’t care, as long as he had his tool back.

Suddenly the sound of a loud crash caused Gabe to spin around. John, who had moved over by the forge, was reaching out to steady himself. Gabe watched in horror as his father’s hand landed on the super-heated side of the forge. The rancid smell of burning flesh permeated the air.

“
Daed!
” Gabe ran over to John, who was holding his burned hand against his chest. Although he didn’t utter a sound, agony contorted his features.

He looked at the red flesh of his
daed
’s hand, which was now bubbling with blisters. “You’ve got to see a doctor.”

John sucked in his breath. “I . . . don’t need . . . a . . . doctor.” John started to sway, and Gabe put a supporting arm around his shoulders. “Just . . . take . . . me inside.”

“
Nee
—”

“Don’t argue! Help . . . me inside!”

Surprised at his father’s sudden burst of energy and convinced by the stubborn look in his eyes, Gabe did as he was told. He led John into the kitchen, where he was surprised to see Moriah talking to Rachel Detweiler.

“Good heavens, what happened?” Moriah said, jumping out of her chair when they entered the room.

“He burned his hand on the forge,” Gabriel said, easing his father into another chair at the table. John’s complexion had suddenly turned gray, adding to Gabe’s worry. “I want to take him to the hospital, but he refuses to go.”

“Don’t . . . need . . . to,” John said, still holding his hand against his chest.

“Now’s not the time to be mulish,” Gabe said, losing his patience. “It’ll only take me a second to call for a ride—”

“He’s right, Gabriel.” Moriah brought over a clean towel and laid it on the table. Gently she took John’s wrist and positioned it on the towel, taking care not to let his burned palm touch the terry cloth fabric. “It will take too long to get him to the emergency room. We need to take care of it here.”

“I know . . . what to do . . . anyway,” John said, his breathing becoming steadier. He looked at Moriah. “Up in the cabinet . . . second to the right . . . there’s salve.”

“Rachel,” Moriah said. “Help him hold his hand. Be careful not to touch the burn. There doesn’t seem to be any damage on the back, so he can lightly rest it against the towel. Just make sure his hand doesn’t move.”

With a nod Rachel did as Moriah requested.

Gabe watched with fascination—and a bit of awe—as his father directed the women in tending his burn. True to his word, he knew exactly what to do and instructed Moriah on how to wrap his hand with gauze from the first aid kit he always kept on hand, even when he and Levi were growing up. Moriah seemed to know where everything was in the kit. Gabe surmised she had probably found it and kept it stocked while she and Levi were married.

“That’s better,” John said, once his hand was securely wrapped. Some of the color had returned to his face. “Now, I need a cup of tea. The nighttime blend, Moriah. And make it strong.”

“Do you want a pain reliever?” She rinsed out the kettle and filled it with fresh water.

He shook his head. “The salve is doing the trick.”

Gabe plopped down at the table, the tension draining from his neck as he realized his father was going to be all right. “I still wish you would have let me take you to the doctor.”

“And miss being nursed by the two prettiest ladies around?” John cracked a smile, albeit a faint one. “
Nee
. Not a chance.”

Gabe grinned back. His father’s smiles had been so rare lately, ever since Levi had died. It was nice to see him lighthearted, even if he was in pain. “What were you doing by the forge?”

John sobered. “I thought I’d help you with the shoes. I know how many you have to finish off today. Didn’t count on tripping over my own two feet.” He glanced down at his bandaged hand, his expression filling with melancholy once again.

Not wanting to add to his father’s frustration and guilt, Gabe patted him on the back. “I appreciate the help,
Daed
. And you’re right, I do have a lot of shoes to make today.”

“Then you should get back to it, don’t you think?”

“You don’t need me anymore?”

John looked up and shook his head, not quite as somber as before. “I’ve got these two, remember?”

Gabe looked at Rachel, who smiled at him. He didn’t know her very well, but he would have to tell her later how much he appreciated her helping his father.

Moriah poured John his cup of tea, then went over to Gabe. “We’ll make sure he’s okay,” she said. “If there’s a problem, I’ll come get you.”

“I don’t want you do go to any trouble—”

“It’s no trouble,” she said, smiling at him.

Dear God in heaven, what a beautiful smile she had. “I didn’t realize you were here. Or Rachel.”

“I thought you and John might like something different to eat, so I stopped by to make some chicken stew. There’s enough for at least two days. I also thought I’d straighten up a little bit around her.”

Her generosity touched him. He knew it had to be difficult for her to be here, surrounded by painful memories. Yet she had set aside her own grief to help them out. Although he wished more than anything her motives were driven by something other than a sense of duty to her late husband’s family, he knew it wasn’t true. “It smells wonderful,” he said, breathing in deeply. And it did. She was an excellent cook. “But you don’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“I don’t mind. We’re family, remember?”

How could he forget? “Right. Family.” Just not the kind of family he wished they could be. As he gazed at her, he noticed a smudge of flour on her temples. He fought the urge to wipe it away. “You look tired,” he said softly. “Don’t worry about the house. I plan to clean it up this weekend. Besides, you know us bachelors. A little dust doesn’t get us too riled up.”

Her grin grew wider. “Don’t worry about me. Or the house. Just get back to work. Rachel and I will take care of everything here.” She stepped toward him and shepherded him toward the door, giving him no recourse but to leave.

A few moments later he entered the shop, the faint acrid scent of his father’s burned hand still hanging in the air. He glanced at the forge and gave a quick prayer of thanks that his
daed
’s injury hadn’t been worse. Gearing himself up for the rest of the afternoon’s hard labor, he looked around the shop for Aaron. When he didn’t see the young man, he headed for the back room. The cashbox was open, and Aaron was shoving something into his pocket.