The Lesson (35 page)

Jenny bent over and inhaled the tangy scent of the yeast in the dough. Fern sprinkled another dusting of flour over the ball of dough. Their elbows bumped as they worked. It was like Fern carried a force field of quietness, and when she came close, it wrapped around Jenny. Tears prickled her
eyes. Would she ever stop crying over her mother, ever stop feeling so fragile?

When the dough was finished, Fern put it in an oiled bowl, covered it with a damp dishrag, and set it on the windowsill to catch the winter rays of sun.

Then Fern took Jenny’s hands in both of hers and gently squeezed. Jenny remembered when she had first noticed Fern’s hands, months ago, and thought they were rough and worn and reddened from too much work. Today they looked beautiful to her.

“You know, Jenny, you live long enough in this world and you’re going to get rained on. It’s as simple as that.”

Jenny took a deep heaving breath. “My mother is not ever going to be well, is she? God can’t fix her.”

“Just because God can heal her and that is what you want, it doesn’t mean it will happen. Faith means we trust God will act in love.”

“I hate her,” Jenny sobbed. “But I love her.”

Fern opened her arms and Jenny fell into them. “Remember, though, that sometimes you can love and forgive somebody, but you might still want to keep your distance.”

There was something wonderful about that moment. She savored it and promised herself never to forget. Whenever she fell into Fern’s arms—twice now—it was just like falling into the arms of a mother. A real mother. This terrible thing had sent her into the arms of something called Family.

Two kisses. In less than two weeks, M.K. had been kissed twice by two different men. Two entirely different men. She was surprised by how warm and soft Jimmy Fisher’s lips felt against her skin. She was thoroughly confused by that kiss.
Even more so by his professions of love and commitment. Where did such an outpouring of emotion come from? She never would have thought Jimmy had such deep feelings for her. For anyone! She always thought he was mostly in love with himself.

Nor would she have thought Jimmy Fisher could be such an accomplished kisser. But he was. She couldn’t deny that his kiss was rather . . . noteworthy. Afterward, it had taken her a moment to regain her balance. But it was curiosity that she felt, not desire.

Now that she thought about it, Jimmy had been hanging around Windmill Farm more often than usual. And he hadn’t even talked about Emily Esh since . . . hmmm . . . she couldn’t even remember. How had she missed the signals? The obvious clues? She was completely losing her remarkable ability to sniff out news. She blamed teaching. Too consuming.

It was just this one time. That’s what Jimmy Fisher told himself as he led Samson down to the horse track where Domino Joe waited for him. The amount of money he owed Domino Joe had grown into a staggering sum. Domino Joe had lost his friendly countenance toward Jimmy and was turning surly. Jimmy needed one big win to pay Domino Joe off, then he would quit pony racing—quit it cold turkey—and start courting M.K. He already mentioned his intentions to Amos last week, and Amos looked pleased. Jimmy would get serious about his future. It was time. He didn’t want to end up like his brother Paul, who dallied through life.

When Jimmy had first seen Samson, he knew this was the horse that could get him out of debt, permanently, with Domino Joe. He drove Samson down to the track and put
him in crossties to check him over again. Cleaned his hooves, brushed him down, talked to him about the racetrack. Jimmy thought it helped the horse to know what to expect. Or maybe it helped the rider.

Thirty minutes later, he walked Samson directly past Domino Joe to go to the starting gate. He might have slowed a little as he passed him. Domino Joe looked Samson up and down, appreciating the animal’s fine form. He whistled. “Hey, Fisher—since it’s the day before Christmas and I’m in a charitable mood, I’m willing to offer you a bonus. All or none.”

Jimmy narrowed his eyes. “If I win, my debt is wiped out? All of it?”

“That’s right,” Domino Joe said. “And if I win, I get that horse. Deal?” He held out his hand.

Jimmy looked at Samson. He had tremendous confidence in this exceptional horse. Today’s win would give him a fresh start, a clean slate. He stuck his hand out to shake Domino Joe’s. “Deal.”

Jimmy lined up Samson at the starting gate. He could feel Samson’s tension build: his ears pinned flat against his head. His tail swished. The whites of his eyes were showing. The horse was practically prancing in the box, eager for the race of his life.

Perfect. The moment was perfect.

That afternoon, after the talk with Rome, Chris waited for Amos to return from fishing with his grandsons and cornered him in the barn as the little boys ran into the house with Uncle Hank.

“Amos,” Chris said, boldly and firmly, though he didn’t
feel bold or firm, “there’s a hardness between us. Have I done something to offend you?”

Amos’s face tightened. “Something like, say, kissing my daughter in front of the schoolhouse? In broad daylight?”

Chris rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. “I thought that was maybe the reason you fired me. Maybe I should have talked to you first, to let you know I care about Mary Kate. I’m sorry about that. But I’m going to own my grandfather’s house as soon as I turn twenty-one. Just four weeks from now. I’ve been fixing the house up so it’s livable. I have plans. I want to buy some mares soon and start breeding Samson. I want to settle down in Stoney Ridge.” He took a deep breath. “Amos, I’d like your blessing to court Mary Kate.”

Amos’s face was still tight. “You’ll never have it. Never.”

This wasn’t going well at all. “Do you mind telling me why?”

Amos looked at him. “Your given name is Mitchell.”

A feeling of dread rolled through Chris’s stomach, but there was no turning back now. “How did you know?” He had been so careful.

“I knew your grandfather, Colonel Mitchell. So did my first wife, Maggie.”

Chris tilted his head, confused. “But I thought your first wife’s name was Margaret. I saw her grave at the cemetery.” Chris felt the air whoosh out of his lungs. “Oh.
Oh.
” Maggie was a nickname for Margaret. He knew that. How had he not connected the dots? Chris had to sit down. The room started to spin and he thought he might get sick. He put his head in his hands. Maggie Lapp was the neighbor lady who came to help them. Maggie Lapp was the woman his mother had pushed down the porch stairs, the reason they
fled Stoney Ridge. Maggie Lapp’s death was the reason the Colonel went to jail.

Amos’s hands tensed into fists. “I realize you were only a child. But I just can’t let you court my daughter. I just . . . can’t.”

“I’m not good enough.” Chris wasn’t asking. He knew that was true. It always, always came back to that. He was tainted. He glanced up at Amos. He didn’t blame him.

Amos’s frown of worry eased from his forehead, but he didn’t acknowledge Chris’s comment. “M.K. doesn’t know how her mother died. Neither does Sadie or Julia. They just think their mother tripped and fell and hit her head on a rock, that it was just an innocent accident. There’s no need for them to know anything else. It’s all too . . . complicated.” He rubbed his face. “Jimmy Fisher spoke to me about courting Mary Kate last week, and I told him he has my blessing.” He walked past Chris, stopping briefly. “If you truly care about M.K., you’ll let her go.”

M.K. said she was going to bed early, and that wasn’t a lie. She did go upstairs and she did go to bed. But she kept one eye on the window, watching the barn. She knew Rome and Chris were in the barn, feeding the animals. Tomorrow morning, early, the van was coming to pick them up to return to Stoney Ridge. They had gone today to visit Annie and little Joe-Jo, who looked so much like her brother Menno as a little boy that everyone left Annie’s home quiet and reflective, remembering Menno. Missing him. Annie was married now to a nice enough fellow, and they had two children of their own. Joe-Jo was happy, secure, growing up in a healthy family. What more could they want for him?

They had done everything they had come to do. Mary Kate didn’t want the trip to be over, but in another way, she did. Chris was acting so distant that she couldn’t stand another minute of being near him, yet so far from him. She had to do something. Now. Tonight.

Patience, schmatience. It was highly overrated.

She heard her father and Fern go up to their room, listened to the hum of their voices through the wall, and then there was quiet. Jenny, sleeping in the twin bed in M.K.’s room, was snoring a light whiffling sound. The coast was clear.

M.K. waited awhile, quietly dressed, tiptoed downstairs, grabbed her big sweater, tiptoed past Uncle Hank snoring so loudly in the rocking chair by the fire that it rattled the windows, and slipped out the back door without Julia or Sadie spotting her. She had always been particularly adept at sneaking past her sisters. It was one of her best skills.

M.K. hurried across the yard to the barn and pulled the door open. Rome and Chris were just about to leave and looked startled by her appearance. “Rome, would you mind if I had a few minutes alone to talk with Chris? Dad and Fern went to bed, and I got past Julia and Sadie without them seeing me.”

Rome grinned. “I’m glad to see you’ve still got your sneaky side, M.K. I surely am. You’ve been so quiet this visit that I’ve worried teaching has plumb worn you down.”

“Oh, it definitely has,” M.K. said. “But there’s something I need to talk to Chris about. Without a crowd listening in.”

“Like, a crowd that resembles Amos Lapp?” Rome walked past her and whispered, “I’ll cover you for a while. But don’t stay out too late. If Julia catches wind of my letting her little sister out in the barn, unchaperoned, with a young man, I’ll be sleeping out here for the rest of the winter.” He looked back
at Chris and added, “Talking only, young man.” He grinned, winked, slipped out the barn door, then shut it.