Brides of Iowa (51 page)

A mild scowl interrupted Everett’s features. For all the pleasant conversations they’d enjoyed during the summer evenings, now that August was coming to a close, he’d been mighty quiet. She’d had to remind herself not to chatter like a magpie. But if he didn’t talk to her, how could she know what he was brooding about?

“How are things going with your business?”

Everett shuffled the toe of his boot in the dirt. “Good.”

“Da said he ordered a new blade for the plow and it got here in only two weeks.”

Everett didn’t look at her but kept his gaze fixed on the worn path that traced the meandering creek. “Good.”

“Mr. Kyle, the owner of the hotel, was delighted that the new fixtures he ordered for the dining room arrived so quickly.”

“Hmm.”

Tillie raised her eyebrows and cocked her head to one side. “And wasn’t it fun watching the circus elephants parade down the middle of the street this morning?”

“Mm-hmm.”

She halted in her tracks and shook her head. “Everett Behr, have you heard a word I’ve said?”

He jerked his head up with a look of surprise. “I beg your pardon?”

Exasperation nipped at her. Since early summer they’d shared all sorts of things with each other. But lately Everett had reverted back to the sullen moodiness he’d displayed a few months ago. What had happened to make him so aloof and preoccupied? Had she said something to offend him?

“Is something wrong?”

That tiny frown pinched Everett’s brows again, and his hand slid up to cover the right side of his face. “Nothing important.”

As much as she wished to prod an answer out of him, she held her tongue and pursed her lips. His distraction likely had to do with business, and she wouldn’t intrude. She expelled a soft sigh as she fell back into step with him. Perhaps a change of subject might coax a smile into his eyes.

“The harvest picnic and barn dance are coming up next month, as soon as everyone has their crops in. Miss Pearl and Mrs. Witherspoon have been planning it. They’ve asked Dan and Sarah Miller if we can use their barn for the dance. It’s scheduled for Saturday, the twenty-sixth of September.”

Everett gave a soft grunt. “I heard. Ben mentioned it the other day.”

“I love autumn.” She schooled her voice to sound carefree. It had been a long time since she’d had to work so hard at a conversation between them. “It’s a little sad to see summer go, but I love the cooler temperatures and watching the trees turn color. The harvest picnic is Willow Creek’s way of saying farewell to summer and welcoming autumn.”

She hesitated, hoping that bringing up the topic might plant the idea in his head, and maybe—just maybe—he’d get up the nerve to ask to escort her to the picnic and dance.

To her disappointment, he steered the conversation in another direction. “You know, Ben Kiefer’s a very nice fellow. I was noticing a few days ago what a good job he’s been doing. He’s very diligent. I never have to tell him to do anything twice. And he’s well mannered, too. And generous. You know I saw him helping that older lady—Mrs. Wagner, I think is her name. Ben carried a crate of supplies to her buggy the other day. Yes, Ben is a fine fellow.”

Tillie slowed her steps and slid a sideways look at him. What did the change of seasons have to do with Ben Kiefer? “Yes,” she said slowly. “I agree. Ben is a nice fellow and certainly not lazy.” Was Everett trying to make a point, showering his employee with accolades?

“Yes, Ben was telling me all about that picnic and how he’s looking forward to it. He said he loves the barn dances, especially if he has a good partner.” His tone seemed artificially cheerful. “I sure hope he isn’t disappointed.”

Tillie drove her eyebrows downward into a V. “At the risk of seeming a bit foolish, what exactly is your meaning?”

He gave a noncommittal shrug. “Nothing, except that Ben Kiefer has been paying attention to you, and maybe…”

Her feet came to a halt so quickly she almost stumbled. Planting her hands on her hips, she challenged him to finish his sentence. “Maybe, what?”

He stopped and pulled a few yellowing leaves from the dangling willows. “Maybe you should…pay attention back, is all I’m saying.”

“Everett Behr, are you trying to aggravate me?”

He turned toward her but stopped halfway so all she could see in the shadows was his profile. “No, of course not. I’m merely suggesting that Ben might be a good candidate for an escort. That is, if you planned to attend the picnic and barn dance.”

Most of the time Tillie felt proud of her Irish heritage. Other times, like now, having Irish blood coursing through her veins could be a pure trial. She sucked in a deep breath and mutely counted to ten, hoping it might tamp down her temper.

“And when exactly did God put you in charge of selecting my escort to the picnic and barn dance?”

She heard him whoosh out a breath with what sounded like frustration. He took a step closer and turned to face her fully. His eyes met hers for only a moment before he lowered his head and raised his hand up to his face. In that brief heartbeat, she read something—something forbidden to her for months because he wouldn’t look straight at her. But for one instant she caught a glimpse of the agony of loneliness. When he spoke again, belligerence colored his voice.

“I’m not implying any such thing, and why are you being so stubborn?”

She bit her lip and swallowed back the retort that rose up in her throat. His purpose for pushing her in Ben’s direction wasn’t lost on her. That fleeting blink of insight painted the real picture of Everett’s turmoil, and a keen ache skewered her heart as she realized his intention. He viewed his scars as a stone wall too high to climb and too wide to circumvent, the result of which was permanent isolation. Well, she disagreed. The question now was how to get Everett to see things from her perspective. A shouting match didn’t seem prudent. Da always said the best way to avoid an argument was to refuse to argue and lower your voice. She removed her hands from her hips and adopted a more sedate posture, hoping to disarm him.

Instead of giving Everett the chance to turn away as he normally did, she turned and ran her hand through the dangling willow branches. She pulled three of them toward her and began twisting them into a braid like she did with Brenna’s flaxen hair. The activity served its purpose. The fire of aggravation that had kindled a minute ago fizzled.

Only then did she trust herself to open her mouth and speak gentleness to Everett’s heart. “I’m not trying to be stubborn.” She continued braiding and listened for his response. A defused sigh reached her ears, and she was grateful for the darkness so Everett couldn’t see her smile.

She released the willow withes and watched them untangle. “I agree with you that Ben is a fine fellow. But it would be difficult to attend the picnic and dance with him.”

This time when Everett spoke, all she could hear was resignation. “I don’t see what you’re waiting for.”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “He hasn’t asked me.” She returned her attention to the mangled willow curtain. “And a certain fellow I’d like to go with hasn’t asked me either.”

E
verett took the last sip of his cooling tea and rose to set his cup in the dry sink. Gray looked up at him expectantly and produced a squeaky
meow.

“You’ve already had your supper,” Everett said, holding the door open. “Go catch a mouse.”

Gray ambled out, brushing Everett’s leg as he passed. Everett stood in the open doorway for a few minutes, gazing at the stars flung across the inky sky. What was the verse that Pastor Witherspoon had used the previous Sunday? Everett scrunched his eyes shut in his effort to recall the scripture. It was somewhere in Isaiah—chapter 40, he thought. He closed the door and went to take up his Bible and see if he could find the words the preacher had used. Pulling up a chair, he leaned closer to the lamplight and leafed through the pages. He wished he were more familiar with the scriptures—something he meant to remedy. His finger slid down the page and across the verses until he found it.

“Isaiah 40:26. ‘Lift up your eyes on high, and behold who hath created these things, that bringeth out their host by number: he calleth them all by names by the greatness of his might, for that he is strong in power; not one faileth.’”

He leaned against the back of the chair and let his gaze travel to the window. Beyond the pane, the starry host winked against the black backdrop in silent testimony of God’s faithfulness. The very thought of being kept by a God who knew the precise location of each star and knew every one by name washed over him with soothing comfort. Those who put their trust in God were more important to Him than the stars. So if God cared enough to know the name of each star and secure it in place so that not a single star was missing, then surely God cared about him.

Everett propped an elbow on the arm of the chair and leaned his head into his palm. “God, I’m grateful for Your love. I just wish I understood why You’ve allowed the circumstances in my life to be what they are. How do I fit into Your plan? Can You use someone who looks like me?”

The book in his lap coaxed his attention. His father had encouraged him to read through Proverbs. He found the place he’d left his bookmark in
chapter 4
. A frown tugged his brows together. So many of the verses talked about getting wisdom and understanding, but for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why God wanted him to live with scars. Maybe if he just read on, the understanding would come later. He turned the page and hadn’t read a half dozen verses when he backed up and reread a verse.

“‘My son, attend to my words; incline thine ear unto my sayings.’” He tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. It wasn’t hard to understand the first part. God instructed him to pay attention to His Word. The second half of the verse, however, gave him pause. “‘Incline thine ear.’” He mulled over the words. “How does one incline the ear?’”

Puzzling over God’s choice of words, he rose and carried the lamp into the bedroom to prepare for bed. Tired as he was, his tumbling thoughts dogged him as he lay down on the feather tick. Despite shifting positions and determinedly keeping his eyes closed, he found that sleep eluded him. The clock on the bureau ticked away too many minutes to count as he lay awake. Surrendering, he opened his eyes and tucked his hands behind his head with a sigh.

A thin shaft of moonlight filtered through the curtain and fell across the darkness of the room like an invitation from God, assuring Everett He was listening. Staring at the ceiling, he allowed his thoughts to wander. Not surprisingly, Tillie’s image crept into his mind.

Father and Pearl seemed to think he should pursue a deeper relationship with Tillie. In order to do so, he’d have to put himself in a position of vulnerability. He doubted that he’d fooled either of them into believing he didn’t care for Tillie. Here in the dark solitude of his bedroom, he admitted concern for her was only part of the reason he felt the need to put distance between them. Of course he didn’t wish to hurt her, but if he were to be completely honest, he’d have to admit being vulnerable scared him.

He rolled over and studied the pale sliver of moonlight dimly illuminating the room. “God, I thought if I could live the life of a hermit and limit my contact with other people, I could create some kind of a private cocoon for myself—a niche in this world where people couldn’t point and stare and laugh.” An ache began to swell in his chest. “But it’s lonely here. God, You know the smallest detail of my heart. Down deep, I really want to court Tillie. Sometimes I lay here in the dark and think of how it might be to watch her walk down the aisle to me and put her hand in mine. I can hide here where nobody knows my thoughts except You, and imagine how it might feel to kiss her.”

Shoving back the covers, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Elbows on knees, he ran both hands through his hair. “When it’s daylight, I think how foolish it is to dream about such things. I can’t lie to You. You know I’m not being noble by saying I don’t want Tillie to be embarrassed or hurt, because that’s only half the truth. I’m a coward, Lord. I’m afraid of the reactions of other people if I dared to behave as a normal man and ask a lovely young woman like Tillie if I could court her.”

He stood and crossed the room, pushing the filmy curtain aside to look once again up at the stars that all had names. “God, help me grow my faith. You care for me like You care for the stars. I’m tired of being isolated and smothered. Give me the courage to step out and ask Tillie to accompany me to the harvest picnic.” A warm breath of comfort caressed the side of his face—the side he continually tried to hide.

Everett didn’t see Tillie for three whole days. Whether she left work earlier than usual or he closed the depot late, he wasn’t sure. He’d rather have taken advantage of the privacy of their evening walks to ask if he could escort her to the picnic and barn dance. Perhaps this was part of God’s answer to his prayer—nudging him to step away from his private cocoon.

Sunday morning dawned gray and gloomy with the scent of rain in the air. Everett paced the kitchen with a cup of coffee in hand, waiting to hear the church bell ring. He’d rehearsed what he planned to say a hundred times. Now he couldn’t remember a single word. What if he tripped over his tongue and stammered? What if someone else overheard? He came to an abrupt halt. “What if she says no?”