“Ja, she came through it fine. Twins, she had.”
Fortunately a wave of boys came in just then, all of them helping to carry the planks. Pressed into service by their friends, no doubt. The barn was suddenly noisy enough and busy enough that Aaron wouldn’t be asking Gideon any more questions.
Not that he’d been keeping it from Aaron. The trouble was that talking about the kidding brought that night back too vividly. Made him too aware of everything he’d thought and felt and said.
He’d told Rachel things he’d never confessed to a living soul. Was it the circumstances that had loosened his tongue? Or was it Rachel herself, with her caring eyes and her stubborn chin?
It didn’t matter. He tossed a bale into place with unnecessary vigor. What he felt for her didn’t count next to what had happened to him. He’d twice survived when he’d gladly have died in place of others. Even if he could forgive himself, he wouldn’t risk living through that again.
And yet ...
The yearning was there, deep in his heart. He had to find some way to deal with that.
The level of noise in the barn had steadily risen. Abruptly, it lowered—not ceasing, but changing in quality. Gideon glanced toward the door. The girls were coming in. Demurely, for the most part, in pairs or in giggling groups, they filed into the barn, stealing glances at this boy or that.
For a few minutes neither boys nor girls made a move. Then they began to drift toward the tables, the girls’ dresses like flowers in the lantern light. The boys moved, too, in an awkward surge, as if in silent argument over who would go first. The girls took their places along one side of the table; the boys filed in opposite them.
A moment of silence, and then the high, clear notes of a familiar hymn soared toward the rafters. The boys, a little slower, joined in, and the sound grew richer, fuller.
Gideon realized he was holding his breath, and he let it out. Foolish, he supposed, to be so touched by the moment. They would spend the next couple of hours singing, with a lot of covert flirting thrown in. Then it would be time for the food, which was already appearing on the tables against the wall—eating, talking, maybe some discreet smooching in dark corners.
Some of them, the older ones, would pair off, with the boy driving the girl home if he was lucky enough to have a courting buggy. And in the fall, it might be that marriages would be announced.
Some of these very young folks, Gideon had no doubt, were engaging in riskier rumspringa behavior. Their parents, indeed their whole community, would turn their eyes aside and pray, trusting that God would bring them back to the fold in time. And mostly, it worked.
He stretched, tired. Aaron had already disappeared. Nathan, too, most likely. Duty said he should stay, but he could at least get something to drink and pull up a hay bale, while he was at it.
Cold jugs of cider, homemade root beer, and lemonade had already been placed on the table, along with trays of cookies. The rest of the food, tons of it, would be brought out from the kitchen before too long. He poured a glass of cider, snagged a couple of snickerdoodles, and headed for the nearest hay bale.
He rounded the end of the table and nearly collided with the woman carrying a tray full of moon pies. “Rachel.” He steadied her quickly, dropping the cookies as he did. “I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”
She looked equally surprised to see him. “Naomi talked me into it.” The tray wobbled a little, and he helped her set it down. “I must be clumsy tonight. I’ve knocked your snickerdoodles to the floor. Let me get you more.”
“Leave it. I really just wanted a drink anyway.” He lifted the cup and drained it quickly, the cider tart and cold on his tongue.
“You were helping to set up, I guess.”
He nodded, reminding himself that he needed to deal with these foolish fancies he had where Rachel was concerned. If he had any brains, he’d make an excuse and walk off.
But Rachel’s eyes glowed in the lantern light, and her head was tilted back to look at him, as if she really was glad she’d walked into him tonight.
She nodded toward the singers. “Remember when we were the ones sitting at those tables?” Her eyes went soft with the remembering. “We’d pretend we were concentrating on the songs, when instead all we could think of was each other.”
His throat tightened. He did not want to remember, but he couldn’t hurt her by saying so.
“You and Ezra were paired off right from the start, I remember.” He hesitated. “Does that bother you, to think of how you were then?”
She tilted her head to the side, considering. Several other women came through the door with trays, and he guided her a step or two back, where they were out of the way of traffic. Out of the light, too, it seemed, but he could still make out her features.
“A few months ago it would have,” she said. “But now—well, now it seems I can think of those happy times with joy, not pain.” She put one hand on his arm as if eager to make him understand. “I’ve made my peace with Ezra’s dying, maybe. Seems as if that’s opened my heart to remember and cherish.”
“I’m glad.” He muttered the words. Did she really feel that? Or was she trying to fool herself into thinking that was true?
“Gideon.” She said his name softly, her fingers insistent on his arm, so that it seemed he could feel her touch to his very bones. “Don’t you see? You can’t fight the pain. You have to walk through it and reach for the other side.”
She was looking up at him, her tilted face very close to his, her eyes pleading. She wanted, so much, to heal his pain. And he wanted ...
Without letting himself think, he lowered his face to hers and claimed her lips. He felt the sudden intake of her breath, inhaled the scent of her skin. Only their lips and their hands touched, but he was on fire with longing to hold her, protect her, love her—
The word jolted him back a step. He stared at her. Then, before he could say or do anything to make it worse, he spun and walked out the open door into the dark.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
W
orship
had ended, and folks were gathering to talk over the week’s events, as always. How many of them were talking about her?
Rachel shepherded the children toward the picnic tables that were set up under the trees at Aaron and Lovina’s farm. Prideful, that’s what it was, to imagine that she was the topic of people’s conversations. They had more important things on their minds than her little problems, didn’t they?
“Rachel, over here,” Mamm called, and she veered thankfully in her direction.
What if the rumors were true, and Isaac had talked to Bishop Mose and the ministers about her? That didn’t necessarily mean they’d agree with him. At least that was what Daad said, and the strength of his support warmed her like the sun on her back.
“Can we go and play until the meal is ready, Mammi?” Becky tugged at her apron. “I want to see Elizabeth.”
“Go, then, but mind you come straight back when it’s time to eat.” At least Becky’s relationship with Elizabeth was mended, and that was certainly something to be thankful for. “Mary and I will be with Grossmutter.”
Mary went running to her grandmother, and Rachel followed quickly.
“I’ll just go and see if Lovina needs any help in the kitchen, if you don’t mind watching the little ones.”
“Ja, go.” Mamm scooped Mary up onto her lap, tickling her. “We’ll be fine, ain’t so, Mary?”
Before she could let herself glance at Gideon, who stood talking with his brother, she hurried toward the kitchen. Surely she had enough things worrying her to make it easy to avoid thinking about those moments at the singing with Gideon. Not so.
The kitchen swirled with activity as women grabbed filled trays and carried them outside, and fortunately the busyness made it possible to join the parade without getting caught up in conversation with Lovina. Lovina’s quick curiosity might easily lead her to detect that something was different, just through an unwary word or expression.
No one must know what had happened between her and Gideon. Rachel could only pray no one had seen. Probably the young folks had been far too wrapped up in each other to notice anything about their elders. And surely, if anyone had seen, she’d have intercepted some knowing glances by this time.
She put the tray down, narrowly avoiding a collision with two running children. When she looked up, Gideon was standing a few feet away.
Her heart thudded against her ribs. He was going to speak to her, and she’d have to reply without reliving that moment when his lips had touched hers.
He gave her a curt, unsmiling nod, and walked away, joining a group of men who seemed to be discussing Aaron’s goats, to judge from their gestures.
Carefully she straightened the tray she’d set on the table, as if the success of the meal depended on its alignment. Gideon’s actions had made it only too clear that he regretted that kiss, regretted it so much, in fact, that he couldn’t even come and greet her properly.
While as for her—she pressed her fingers hard against the wooden tabletop. For her it had been an awakening. It had brought to life feelings she’d never thought to have again. And now what was she to do with them?
“Daughter?” Her father touched her arm, and she hadn’t even seen him approaching. “Bishop Mose is coming to speak with us.”
A taut cord twisted inside her. Never would she expect to dread a conversation with the man she loved so dearly. At least Daadi stood at her elbow, waiting with her.
“Amos, Rachel,” he greeted them. “A fine day. Everyone is grateful once we can have our meal outside, ain’t so?”
Rachel opened her lips to reply, but her father spoke first.
“It might be that you should come to the house to talk to our Rachel.” He stood very stiffly, his lean face seeming drawn against the bones.
Bishop Mose, on the other hand, looked as relaxed as if there was nothing on his mind but the weather. “Come now, Amos. A call from the bishop is just what I’m trying to avoid. If Rachel and Isaac have a bit of a disagreement, seems to me it’s best to settle it quietly among ourselves, rather than dealing with it in church.”
To stand in front of the congregation with Isaac, to confess that she was at odds with a brother—anything was better than that.
“If Isaac Brand thinks—” Daad began, but she put her hand on his arm to quiet him.
“I agree with Bishop Mose. Much better to settle things quiet-like if we can.”
If.
“That’s gut, that is.” Bishop Mose chuckled a little. “No need for everyone to know what we’re talking about, is there? Now, you just tell me what you have to say. Isaac seems to have a whole list of complaints, but the only one I can see that affects the brotherhood is the idea that you’d sell to an Englischer, instead of one of us.”
She took a deep breath, trying to compose her mind. “I’m not wanting to sell at all. That’s the thing that has Isaac upset. He feels I can’t run the farm. He wants me to sell it to him for Caleb.”
For an instant she thought of telling Bishop Mose about the accidents—accidents that could be aimed at convincing her she couldn’t manage the farm. But that would come dangerously close to accusing a brother. She couldn’t. It would be a failure of faith to do so.
A small frown puckered the bishop’s white eyebrows. “Where does the Englischer come in, then?”
“Thomas Carver, the dairy owner, offered to buy the herd. He wants only to lease the barn and pastures, not buy.” How many times had she explained this now? “He’s pushing me for an answer.
“And do you have one for him?”
“No.” She met Bishop Mose’s gaze. “It’s not what I want. You know that. But I have to think what will be best for the children.”
Relief filled his eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses. “Gut, gut. If you haven’t committed to Mr. Carver, let me see what I can do. I’ll talk to Isaac, try to get him to think, see if there’s not some other solution. See that it’s a bad thing, straining the bonds of family over a farm. All right?”
“Ja.” Her lips trembled, and she pressed them together.
He patted her hand. “Don’t worry so much. As for your nursery business—well, seems like I’ve invested in that already, ain’t so?” His eyes twinkled. “No one can object when your family is supporting you.” He glanced toward her father.
For an instant Daad didn’t say anything. Then he took a step closer to Rachel. “Ja. We do.”
“Well, then.” Bishop Mose studied her face, his callused hand resting on hers. “See if you can make peace with Isaac, child. It’s not gut for brothers and sisters to disagree.”
“I’ll try.” She would, because she agreed with everything the bishop had said.
But knowing Isaac, she feared there might be no compromise he’d be willing to consider. Then what? Did she give up her dream to keep the peace?
Gideon
came back to work on the windmill the next day as calmly as if nothing at all had happened between them. Rachel was hanging laundry on the line when his buggy pulled in. He slid down, and if he hesitated when he saw that she was outside, he didn’t let it show.
He started toward her, and Joseph came running from the barn, throwing himself against Gideon’s legs. He used to do that with Ezra, and the memory squeezed her heart.
“And what are you doing home from school today? Did Teacher Mary kick you out for misbehaving?” Gideon took off Joseph’s hat, ruffled his hair, and clapped the hat back on his head again.
Joseph giggled. “Teacher Mary wouldn’t do that. She had a meeting today with teachers from all the other schools in the district, so we’re staying home to help Mammi.”
“Most of the helping so far has involved those goats.” At least the goats made for a safe topic of conversation, and they were eased past the difficult spot.
“The kids are growing like weeds. They want to eat all the time.” Joseph babbled on about the goats, giving her a moment to catch her breath.