Читать книгу A Beau For Katie - Emma Miller - Страница 9

Chapter One

Millside Amish Community,

Kent County, Delaware

July

Suddenly apprehensive, Katie Byler reined in her horse on the bridge, easing the buggy to a standstill. Next to the dam was the feed-and-grain mill, a business that had been there since colonial times and was one of the few water-powered mills left in Delaware. On the far side was the millpond, a large stretch of water surrounded for the most part by trees. Out in the middle of the pond, a pair of Canada geese bobbed, and overhead, iridescent dragonflies and some sort of birds swooped and fluttered. It was a beautiful sight with the morning light sparkling on the blue-green water, and on any other day, Katie would have taken delight in it. Today, however, she had serious concerns on her mind.

She may have let Sara Yoder talk her into something she’d regret.

Behind her, Sara, the county’s only Amish matchmaker, stopped her mule and climbed down from her buggy. “What’s wrong?” She came to stand beside Katie’s cart. “Why did you stop?” Sara raised her voice to be heard above the rush of water under the bridge. “We’re blocking traffic.”

Katie made a show of looking in both directions, up and down the road. It was a private lane, and anyone using it would be coming to or leaving the mill. At the moment, the parking lot in front of the mill had only one car and it was parked, with no one inside. The lane behind her was empty. “Ne, I don’t think so,” she answered in Deitsch, the German dialect that the Amish used among themselves.

“Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.” Sara folded her arms over her bosom and gave Katie the look from beneath her black bonnet, the look that had given Sara a reputation for taking no nonsense. “You said you would accept the job, and I gave Jehu my word that you would start this morning.”

“I know I agreed to it, but now...” She met Sara’s strong-minded attitude with her own. She liked the middle-aged woman, admired her really. Sara had gumption. She was an independent woman in a traditional society where most widows depended on fathers or sons to provide for them.

Katie narrowed her gaze on the matchmaker. Sara didn’t have the pale Germanic skin of most Amish; she was half African American, with a coffee-colored complexion and dark, textured hair. Katie knew Sara’s heritage because she’d asked her the first time they’d met. “How do I know that you’re not trying to match me with Freeman Kemp?” she asked. “Because if you are, I’ll tell you right off, it’s a hopeless cause. He’s one man I’d never consider for a husband.”

Katie and Freeman had clashed when they were volunteering as helpers at a wedding the previous November. She’d been in charge of one of the work parties, and she’d made a suggestion about the way the men were loading chairs into the church wagon. Freeman had taken affront and had behaved immaturely, stalking off to sulk while the other men continued to work. It hadn’t been an argument exactly, but it was clear that although her way was far more sensible, Freeman was offended by being told what to do by a woman. Katie couldn’t have cared less. Growing up with older brothers, she’d learned early to speak up for herself, and if Freeman disliked her because of her refusal to be submissive, that was his problem.

Sara arched one dark brow and sighed. “Poor Freeman is laid up in bed with a broken femur. He hasn’t asked me to find him a wife, and if he did discover he needed one this week, I doubt you’re in any danger of him running you down and dragging you before the bishop.” She shrugged. “It’s because of his injury that he needs a housekeeper. You have no need for concern about your reputation, if that’s your worry. Freeman’s grandmother lives right next to him in the little house. She’s in and out of Freeman’s place all day long, and she’ll provide the chaperoning the elders expect.”

“That’s not what worries me,” Katie muttered. Sara was just like her: she never minced words. “I just don’t want any misunderstandings. Freeman Kemp is one of those men all the single girls moon over. You know, him being so good-looking and so well-to-do.” She nodded in the direction of the mill and surrounding property, the farmhouse and little grossmama haus where his grandmother lived. “I wouldn’t want him to think that I’m one of them.”

Sara laid a small brown hand on the dashboard of Katie’s buggy. “If you’re intimidated by Freeman, I’m sure I can get someone else to take the job. I wouldn’t want to force you to do anything that made you feel uncomfortable.”

“I’m not intimidated by him.” Katie sat up a little straighter, tightened the reins in her hands and gazed ahead at the farmhouse. “Certainly not.” She was probably making too much of a small incident. Freeman had made a remark about her bossiness to a friend of her brother’s not long after the wedding incident, but he’d probably forgotten all about the unpleasantness by now.

“Good.” Sara patted Katie’s knee. “Then there’s no reason to keep them waiting any longer. The sooner you start, the sooner you can put the house in order.”

* * *

“Well, Uncle Jehu, if you hired a housekeeper without my say-so, you can just un-hire her.” Freeman lay propped up on pillows in a daybed against the kitchen wall. “We need a strange woman rattling around here about as much as I need another broken leg.”

“Now, boy, calm yourself,” the older man said quietly in Deitsch. His arthritis-gnarled fingers moved, twisting a cord in a continuous game of cat’s cradle, forming one shape after another. “It’s only temporary. A younger pair of willing hands might bring some order to this mess we call a house.”

Freeman glanced away. His uncle meant no insult. Calling him boy was a term of affection, but Freeman felt it was demeaning sometimes. He was thirty-five years old and he’d been running the family mill since he was twenty. Everyone in their Amish community accepted him as a grown man and head of this house, but because he’d never married, his uncle still thought of him as a stripling.

Uncle Jehu gestured with his chin in the general direction of the kitchen sink where Freeman’s grandmother stood washing their breakfast dishes. “No insult meant to you, Ivy.”

Freeman’s paternal grandmother bobbed her head in agreement. “None taken. I said from the start when I came to live here I wouldn’t be anyone’s housekeeper. I’ve plenty of chores to keep me busy at my own place, not to mention waiting on customers at the mill. And what with my arthritis, I can’t do it all.” She eyed her grandson, sitting up in the bed, his leg cast from ankle to upper thigh, resting in a cradle of homemade quilts. “Jehu’s right, Freeman. This house can stand a good cleaning. There are more cobwebs in this kitchen than the hayloft.”

“You think I don’t see them?” Freeman swallowed his rising impatience and forced himself not to raise his voice. “As soon as I get this cast off, I’ll redd it all up. I did fine before I broke my leg, didn’t I?” He still felt like a fool, breaking his leg the way he did. Anyone who’d been raised around farm animals should have known to take care and get a friend to lend a hand. He’d just been too sure of himself, and his own pride had gotten the better of him.

Ivy shook a soapy finger at him. “Stop fussing and make the best of it.” She dipped a coffee cup in rinse water and stacked it in the drainer. “Maybe the Lord put this hurdle in your path to make you take stock of your own shortcomings. You’ve a good heart. You’re always eager to help others, but you’ve never had the grace to accept help when you need it.” She drew her mouth into a tight purse and nodded. “Jehu’s already arranged the girl’s hire for two weeks.”

“And she’s coming this morning,” his uncle said as he twisted the string into a particularly intricate pattern. “So accept it gracefully and make her welcome.”

A motor vehicle horn beeped from the parking lot.

“Another customer,” Grossmama declared, quickly drying her hands on a dishtowel. “We’re going to have another busy one at the mill. Didn’t I say that buying those muslin bags with Kemp’s printed on them and advertising would pay off? The Englishers drive from all over the state to get our stone-ground bread flour.” Retrieving her black bonnet from the table, she put it on over her prayer kapp, and bustled out the door.

“With a housekeeper, we might get something to eat other than oatmeal,” Uncle Jehu offered his nephew by way of consolation.

“I heard that!” his grandmother called back through the screen door. “Nothing wrong with oatmeal. I eat it every day, and I’ve never been sick a day in my life.”

“Never sick a day in her life,” his uncle repeated under his breath.

Freeman couldn’t help chuckling. He was as tired of oatmeal as Uncle Jehu. There was nothing wrong with his grandmother’s oatmeal. It was tasty and filling, but after eating it every morning since he was discharged from the hospital, he longed for pork sausage, bacon, over-easy eggs and home fries. And he was tired of her chicken noodle soup that they ate for dinner and supper most days, unless a neighbor was kind enough to drop by with a meal. “A few more days and I’ll be up and about,” he told his uncle. “I can take over the cooking, like I used to.”

His uncle scoffed. “Unless you want to end up back in the hospital, you’ll follow doctor’s orders. A broken thighbone’s a serious thing. In the meantime, the house is getting away from us, and so is the laundry.” He shook his head. “It’s a good thing I’m blind. Otherwise I would have been ashamed to go to church in a shirt that’s been worn three Sundays and not been washed and ironed.”

“No. Housekeeper,” Freeman repeated firmly, emphasizing each syllable.

Jehu’s terrier, Tip, leaped off the bed and ran barking to the door.

“Too late.” Uncle Jehu broke into a self-satisfied grin. “Sounds like a buggy coming. Must be Sara Yoder and her girl now.”

“You should send her back. We don’t need her,” Freeman protested, but only half-heartedly. He knew the battle was lost. He wouldn’t hurt the poor girl’s feelings by sending her away now that she was here. He would have to make the best of it.

“Ne. You heard Ivy. I already hired her.” Jehu didn’t sound a bit repentant; in fact, he seemed quite pleased with himself.

Freeman had a lot of respect for his mother’s oldest brother, and more than that, he loved him. It was a pity when a man couldn’t be master in his own house. Freeman was used to having his grandmother living in the grossmama haus. She’d been part of the household even before his parents died, and the two of them got along as easily as chicken and dumplings. But Uncle Jehu had only come to live with him the previous summer and didn’t always seem to understand that Freeman liked to do things his own way. Caring for his uncle was his responsibility, and he was glad to do it, but he didn’t want to have decisions made for him as if he were still a child.

“Fine,” Freeman muttered, feeling frustrated that he couldn’t even get up to greet Sara and the housekeeper properly. It was demeaning to be laid out in a bed like this. But after a complication the previous week, his surgeon had been adamant. Freeman needed to keep his leg elevated at all times for another three days. “Who is this housekeeper? Do I know her?”

“She’s from Apple Valley church district, but the two of you have probably crossed paths somewhere.”

“You can at least tell me her name if you’re forcing me to have her in my house.”

His uncle looked up, sightless brown eyes calm and peaceful. “Name’s Katie. Katie Byler.”

“Katie Byler!” Freeman repeated. “Absolutely not.” He flinched as he spoke and pain shot up his leg. He groaned, reaching down to steady his casted leg. “Not Katie Byler, Uncle Jehu. Anyone but Katie Byler.” He frowned. “She’s the bossiest woman I ever met.”

His uncle chuckled. “I thought you said your mudder was the bossiest woman you ever met. Ya, I distinctly remember you saying that.” He rose, tucked his loop of string into his trousers’ pocket and made his way to the door. He chuckled again. “And maybe my sister was. But I never saw that it did your father any harm.”

“Please, Uncle Jehu,” Freeman groaned. “Get someone else. Anybody else.”

“Too late,” his uncle proclaimed. He pushed open the door and grinned. “Sara, Katie. Come on in. Freeman and I’ve been waiting for you.”

* * *

Katie followed Sara into the Kemp house, pausing just inside the doorway to allow her vision to adjust to the interior after the bright July sunshine.

“Here’s Katie,” Sara announced, “just as I promised, Jehu. She’ll lend a hand with the housework until he’s back on his feet.” She motioned Katie to approach the bed. “I think you two already know each other.”

“Ya,” Freeman admitted gruffly. “We do.”

“We’re so glad you could come to help out,” his uncle said. “As you can see by this mess, you haven’t come a day too early.”

Katie removed her black bonnet, straightened her spine, and took in a deep breath. The girls were right about one thing; Freeman Kemp wasn’t hard on the eyes. Even lying flat in a bed, one leg encased in an uncomfortable-looking cast, he was still a striking figure of a man. The indoor pallor and the pain lines at the corners of his mouth couldn’t hide the clean lines of his masculine jaw, his white, even teeth, or his straight, well-formed nose and forehead. His wavy brown hair badly needed a haircut, and he had at least a week’s growth of dark beard, but the sleeveless cotton undershirt revealed a tanned neck, and broad, muscular shoulders and arms.

Freeman’s compelling gaze met hers. His eyes were brown, not the walnut shade of Sara’s but a golden brown, almost amber, with darker swirls of color, and they were framed in lashes far too long for a man.

Had he caught her staring at him? Unnerved, she recovered her composure and concealed her embarrassment with a solicitous smile. “Good morning, Freeman,” she uttered in a hushed tone.

Puzzlement flickered behind Sara’s inquisitive eyes, and then her apple cheeks crinkled in a sign of amused understanding. She moved closer to the bed, blocking Katie’s view of Freeman’s face and his of hers and began to pepper him with questions about his impending recovery.

Rescued, Katie turned away to inspect the kitchen that would be her domain for the next two weeks. She’d never been inside the house before, just the mill, but from the outside, she’d thought it was beautiful. Now, standing in the spacious kitchen, she liked it even more. It was clear to her that this house had been home to many generations, and someone, probably a sensible woman, had carefully planned out the space. Modern gas appliances stood side by side with tidy built-in cabinets and a deep soapstone sink. There was a large farm table in the center of the room with benches on two sides, and Windsor chairs at either end. The kitchen had big windows that let in the light and a lovely old German open-shelved cupboard. The only thing that looked out of place was the bed containing the frowning Freeman Kemp.

“You must be in a lot of pain,” Sara remarked, gently patting Freeman’s cast.

“Ne. Nothing to speak of.”

“He is,” Jehu contradicted. “Just too stubborn to admit to it. He’ll accept none of the pain pills the doctor prescribed.”

Freeman’s eyes narrowed. “They gave them to me at the hospital. I couldn’t think straight.”

Katie nodded. “You’re wise to tough it out if you can. Too many people start taking those things and then find that they can’t do without them. Rest and proper food for an invalid will do you the most good.”

Freeman glanced away, as if feeling uncomfortable at being the center of attention. “I’m not an invalid.”

Katie sighed, wondering if a broken femur had been the man’s only injury or if he’d taken a blow to the head. If lying on your back, leg encased in a cast propped on a quilt, didn’t make you an invalid, she didn’t know what did. But Freeman, as she recalled, had a stubborn nature. She’d certainly seen it at the King wedding.

For an eligible bachelor who owned a house, a mill and two hundred acres of prime land to remain single into his midthirties was almost unheard of among the Amish. Add to that Freeman’s rugged good looks and good standing with his bishop and his church community. It made him the catch of the county, several counties for that matter. They could have him. She was a rational person, not a giggling teenager who could be swept off her feet by a pretty face. Freeman liked his own way too much to suit her. Working in his house for two whole weeks wasn’t going to be easy, but he or his good looks certainly didn’t intimidate her. She’d told Sara she’d take the job and she was a woman of her word.

“I agree. Rest is what he needs.” Ivy Kemp came into the house, letting the terrier out the door as she entered. “But he’s always been headstrong. Thinking he could tend to that injury to the bull’s leg by himself was what got him into trouble in the first place. And not following doctor’s orders to stay in bed was what sent him back to the hospital a second time.”

“Could you not talk about me as though I’m not here?” Freeman pushed himself up on his elbows. “Two weeks, not a day more, and I’ll be on my feet again.”

“More like four weeks, according to his doctors,” Jehu corrected.

Katie noticed that the blind man had settled himself into a rocker not far from Freeman’s bed, removed a string from his pants’ pocket, and was absently twisting the string into shapes. She didn’t know Jehu well but she’d seen how easily he’d moved around the kitchen and how he turned his face toward each speaker, following the conversation much as a sighted person might. She found him instantly likable.

“Do you know this game?” Jehu asked in Katie’s general direction. “Cat’s cradle?”

“She doesn’t want to play your—”

“I do know it,” Katie exclaimed, cutting Freeman off. “I played it all the time with my father when I was small. I love it.”

“Do you know this one?” Jehu grinned, made several quick movements and then held up a new string pattern.

Katie grinned. “That’s a cat’s eye.”

“Easy enough,” the older man said, “but how about this one?”

“Uncle Jehu, she didn’t come to play children’s games.” Freeman again. “She was hired to clean up this house.”

Katie rolled up her sleeves. “So I was.” She glanced Jehu’s way. “Later on, I’ll show you one you might not know, but right now I better get to work.” She turned back in the direction of the kitchen appliances. “I can see I’m desperately needed. There’s splatters of milk all over the floor near the stove, and I see ants on the countertop.” She removed her black apron and took an everyday white one from the old satchel she’d brought with her.

“It sounds as if Katie has her day’s work cut out for her.” Sara clapped her hands together. “I’d best get on my way and leave her to it.”

Ivy glanced out the window. “I see she’s driven her own buggy.”

“Ya,” Katie confirmed. “We came in two vehicles.”

“Katie lives in Apple Valley with her mother and brother,” Sara volunteered. “Too far for her to drive back and forth every day. I have all those extra bedrooms since I added the new addition to my house. It seemed sensible that she should stay with me.”

Especially since my brother just brought home a wife, Katie thought. Patsy deserved to have the undisputed run of her kitchen. Katie was quite fond of Patsy, who seemed a perfect wife for Isaac. But Katie didn’t need to be told that an unmarried sister was definitely a burden on a young couple, so taking this job and living away for a while would give them time to settle into married life. Plus the money she earned by her labor would be put to good use.

“No need for you to run off so quick,” Ivy told Sara. “Won’t you take a cup of tea over at my place?”

Ivy Kemp was a neat little woman, plump rather than spare, tidy as a wren and just as cheerful. Again, Katie only knew her from intercommunity frolics and fund-raisers, but she seemed pleasant and welcoming.

“Tea?” Jehu got to his feet with more vigor than Katie would expect of a man near seventy. “Tea would hit the spot, Ivy. You don’t happen to have any of those raisin bran muffins left over, do you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Ivy beamed, heading for the door. “But I won’t promise they taste as good as they did yesterday when they came out of the oven. You will stay for tea, won’t you, Sara? I do love a chance to chat with someone from another church. I hear you made a good match for that new girl with that young man—what’s his name...”

In less time than it took Katie to locate a broom, she and Sara had made their goodbyes, and the three older people had left to go next door to the grossmama haus for their tea and muffins. Ivy had invited Katie, too, but she’d declined. There was too much to do in Freeman’s house and she wanted to get busy.

“I imagine you’ll be wanting dinner at noon,” she said to Freeman, careful not to look directly at his face and into those striking golden eyes. “Do the doctors have you on a special diet?”

“Oatmeal,” he said testily. “I’ve been eating a lot of oatmeal.”

Katie cut her eyes at him. “Odd thing for a sickbed.”

“I’m not sick.”

“Ya, you said that.” She opened the refrigerator and grimaced. “I hope the milk and eggs are fresh.”

“And why wouldn’t they be?”

“If they are, they would be the only thing in that refrigerator that is. It looks as if a bowl of baked beans died in there. The butter is covered in toast crumbs and it looks like there’s a hunk of dried up cheese in the back.” She wrinkled her nose. “Pretty pitiful fare.”

“Spare me your humor.” Freeman shut his eyes. “Just cook something other than oatmeal or chicken noodle soup. Anything else. My grandmother has served me so much chicken soup it’s a wonder I’m not clucking.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She closed the refrigerator door, thinking of the cut-up chicken that Sara had insisted they bring in a cooler. Chicken soup had been one of her options, since she’d known that Freeman was confined to bed and recovering from a bad accident. But she could just as well fry up the chicken with some dumplings. Providing, of course, that there weren’t weevils in the flour bin. She’d have to take stock of the pantry and freezer, if Freeman even had a freezer or a flour bin. If they expected her to cook three decent meals a day, she’d have to have the groceries to do it.

She decided that cleaning the refrigerator took precedence over the sticky floor; she’d just sweep now and mop later. Once that was done, she decided she’d better do something about the state of the kitchen table. The tablecloth was stained and could definitely use a washing. Someone had washed dishes that morning and left them on the sideboard to dry, but dirty cups, bowls and silverware littered a side table next to Freeman’s bed. A kitchen seemed an odd place for a sick man to have his bed, but she could understand that he might want to be in the center of the home rather than tucked away upstairs alone. And it could be that the bathroom was downstairs. She hadn’t been hired for nursing, but, if she knew men, doubtless the sheets could stand laundering.

“That wasn’t kind of you,” she remarked as she cleared the table and stripped away the soiled tablecloth. “Chastising your uncle when he wanted to show me his string game. You should show more respect for your elders.”

Freeman opened one eye. “He’s blind, not slipping in his mind. Cat’s cradle is for kinner. It was him I was thinking of. I wanted to save him embarrassment if you assumed—”

“I hope my mother taught me better than that,” Katie interrupted. “I try not to form opinions of people at first glance or to judge them.” He didn’t answer, and she turned her back to him as she scrubbed the wooden tabletop clean enough to eat off. She would look for a fresh tablecloth, but if none were available, this would suffice until she could do the laundry.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Freeman said. He exhaled loudly. “I didn’t know you were coming—didn’t know any housekeeper was coming. It was my uncle’s idea.”

“I see.” Katie moved on to the refrigerator. The milk container seemed clean and the milk smelled good so she put that on the table with whatever else seemed salvageable. The rest went directly into a bucket to be disposed of. “It’s been a good while since anyone did this,” she observed.

“It’s not something that I can manage with my leg in a cast.”

“Six months, I’d guess, since this refrigerator has had a good scrub. You don’t need a housekeeper, you need a half dozen of them if you expect me to get this kitchen in shape today.”

“It’s not that bad.” He pushed up on his elbows. “Neither Uncle Jehu nor I have gotten sick from the food.”

“By the grace of God.” The butter went into the bucket, followed by a wilted bunch of beets and a sad tomato. “Do you have a garden?”

Freeman mumbled something about weeds, and she rolled her eyes. Sara’s garden was overflowing with produce. She’d bring corn and the makings of a salad tomorrow. A drawer contained butter still in its store wrapping. The date was good, so that went to the table. “Is there anything you’re not supposed to eat?” she asked.

“Oatmeal and chicken soup.”

She smiled. He was funny; she’d give him that. “So you mentioned.”

A few changes of water, a little elbow grease and the refrigerator was empty and clean. Katie started moving items from the table, thinking she’d run outside and get the chicken to let it sit in salted water.

“Butter goes on the middle shelf,” Freeman instructed.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Not where it says butter?” She pointed to the designated bin in the door with the word printed across it.

He scowled. “We like it on the middle shelf.”

“But it will stay fresher in the butter bin.” She smiled sweetly, left the butter in the door and went back to the table for the milk.

A scratching at the screen door caught her attention and she went to see what was making the noise. When she opened the door, the small brown-and-white rat terrier that Ivy had let out darted in, sniffed her once and then made a beeline for Freeman’s bed. “Cute dog.”

“His name is Tip.” The terrier bounced onto a stool and then leaped the rest of the way onto the bed. He curled under Freeman’s hand and butted it with his head until Freeman scratched behind the dog’s ears.

Katie watched him cuddle the little terrier. Freeman couldn’t be all bad if the dog liked him.

She filled the kettle with water and put it on the gas range. She’d seen that there was ice. She’d make iced tea to go with dinner. And if there was going to be chicken and dumplings, she would need to find the proper size pot and give that a good scrub, as well. She planned the menu in her head. Besides the chicken dumplings, she’d have green beans and pickled beets, both canned and carried from Sara’s pantry, possibly biscuits and something sweet to top it all off. She’d have to check that weed-choked garden to see if there was something ripe that she could use.

“What are you making for dinner?” Freeman asked.

Oatmeal, she wanted to say. But she resisted. It was going to be a long two weeks in Freeman Kemp’s company. “I’m not sure yet,” she answered sweetly. “It will be a surprise to us both.”

“Wonderful,” Freeman said dryly. “I can’t wait.”

Katie swallowed the mirth that rose in her throat. Her employer’s nephew might not be the cheeriest companion but at least she wouldn’t be bored. Sara had warned her that working in Freeman’s house would be a challenge. And there was nothing she liked better.