Читать книгу A Man For Honor - Emma Miller - Страница 13

Chapter Three

Honor pulled back the curtain and peered out the kitchen window. Maybe he won’t come, she told herself. By this morning, he’s realized he doesn’t belong here. He’ll give up and go back to Kansas. Go somewhere. She certainly didn’t want him here in Kent County. She didn’t want to take the chance of running into him at Byler’s Store or on the street in Dover. Luke Weaver was out of her life, and there was no way that she would ever let him back in again. She couldn’t.

“Mam!” Elijah wailed. “My turn. My turn!”

“It’s not!” Justice countered. “He went first. I want to feed the lamb. I want to feed—” with each word, her middle son’s voice grew louder until he was shouting “—the lamb!”

“You already did. He did,” Tanner said. “Besides, he’s too little. They’re both too little. It’s my job to—”

“Please stop,” Honor admonished as she turned away from the window, letting the curtain fall. It was foolish to keep looking for Luke. He wasn’t coming. She didn’t want him to come. She didn’t know why was she looking for him. “I warned the three of you about fighting over the bottle.” She crossed the kitchen and took the bottle out of Tanner’s hands. “If you can’t get along, none of you get to feed her. Go and wash your hands. With soap.”

The children scattered. The lamb bleated and wagged her stub of a tail. The old wooden playpen that had once confined her oldest son had been pressed into service as a temporary pen for the orphan lamb that had been silly enough to come into the world the previous night. It wasn’t really an orphan, but the mother had refused to let it nurse, so it was either tend to it or see it die.

And the truth was that Honor had a soft spot for animals. She couldn’t bear to see them in distress. She had to do whatever she could to save them. And the barn was too cold for a smaller-than-usual lamb with a careless mother. So it was added to the confusion that already reigned in her kitchen. It wasn’t a good option, but she could think of no other.

Honor held the bottle at an angle, letting the lamb suck and wondering whether it would be possible to put a diaper on the fluffy animal. Probably not, she decided. She’d just have to change the straw bedding multiple times a day. At least here in her kitchen, near the woodstove, she wouldn’t have to worry about keeping the little creature warm. And the rain had stopped, assuring that both animal and children wouldn’t have to endure trickles of water dripping on their heads. “Thank You, God,” she murmured.

There was a clatter of boots on the stairs and the three boys spilled into the kitchen again. “We’re hungry,” Tanner declared. He held up his damp hands to show that he’d washed.

Greta wandered into the room behind them, baby Anke in her arms. Anke giggled and threw up her hands for Honor to take her.

“Just a minute, kuche,” Honor said. “I have to finish giving the lamb her breakfast.”

“I want breakfatht,” Elijah reminded her.

Greta had made a huge batch of oatmeal earlier, but she’d burned it. It wasn’t ruined, simply not pleasant. Raisins and cinnamon could make it edible, Honor supposed. But then she weakened. “I’ll make you egg and biscuit,” she offered.

“With scrapple,” Justice urged. “Scrapple.”

Justice liked to say the word. He didn’t like scrapple, wouldn’t eat meat of any kind, but the other boys did.

The other two took up the chant. “Scrapple, scrapple!”

Justice grinned. Sometimes, looking at him, Honor wondered just what would become of him when he was grown. He was a born mischief maker and unlikely to become a bishop. That was for certain.

The lamb drained the last of the formula from the bottle, butted her small head against the back of Honor’s hand and kicked up her heels.

“She wants more,” Tanner proclaimed, but Honor shook her head. Lambs, like children, often wanted to eat more than was good for them. She went to the sink and washed her hands, then looked around for a clean hand towel.

“All in the attic drying,” Greta supplied. “Still wet.”

Honor prayed for patience, dried her hands on her apron and turned on the flame under the cast-iron frying pan. “Get the eggs for me, will you, Greta?” she asked. That was a request she regretted a moment later when the girl stumbled, sending the egg carton flying out of her hand and bouncing off the back of a chair. Eggs splattered everywhere and the boys shrieked with excitement. Anke wailed.

Greta stood there and stared at the mess, looking as if she was about to burst into tears. “It was the cat’s fault,” she insisted. “Or maybe I slipped on a wet spot on the floor.”

One remaining egg teetered on the edge of the table. Justice made a dive for it and missed. The egg rolled off. Tanner grabbed it in midair and the egg cracked between his fingers. The cat darted toward one of the broken eggs, only to be confronted by the dog. The cat hissed, and the dog began to bark, barely drowning out the shouts of the children.

“Clean it up, please,” Honor told Greta. “And stop crying. It’s only eggs.” She scooped her daughter out of Greta’s arms as a loud knock came at the back door. “Ne,” she muttered, closing her eyes for a moment. “It can’t be.” Maybe it’s someone from Sara’s, come to tell me that Luke changed his mind, she thought as she pushed open the back door.

But there he was, taller and handsomer than he’d seemed last night. He had just shaved; an Amish man didn’t grow a beard until he married. She could smell the scent of his shaving cream. His blond hair, showing from beneath the too-small hat, was as yellow as June butter. She drew in a deep breath.

“Are you going to let me in?” he asked. And then that familiar grin started at the left corner of his mouth and spread, as sweet and slow as warm honey, across his face. “You look surprised to see me, Honor. I told you I’d be here.”

Behind her, the kitchen chaos continued: Greta whining, the boys quarreling, the cat hissing at the dog and the lamb bleating. For a few seconds, she felt as if she were trapped in a block of ice. She couldn’t let him in. There was no way she could invite him into her house...into her life. She’d lived through Luke Weaver once. She could never do it again. She’d crack and break like those eggs on the floor if she tried.

“Honor?” His green eyes seemed to dare her to turn him away. Or were they daring her to let him in?

She turned and walked slowly back to the kitchen, where the frying pan was smoking. Justice had pulled off his shoes and was dancing barefoot in a mess of egg yolk and crushed shell, and Elijah was trying to climb into the lamb’s playpen.

“Turn off the burner!” Honor called to Greta. “The pan’s too hot. There’s smoke...” She trailed off and did it herself.

Patience, she cautioned herself. If she wasn’t gentle with Greta, the girl would run weeping to her bed and she’d be no help all the rest of the day. Not that she was much help, but at least she was another pair of hands. And there were never enough hands to do all that was needed in the house or outside on the farm.

She thrust the baby into Greta’s arms. “Put her in her high chair and give her a biscuit. Break it up, or she’ll try to get it all in her mouth at once.”

She realized that Justice and Tanner were staring at something behind her. She glanced back and saw that Luke had followed her into the kitchen. A leather tool belt—weighed down with a carpenter’s hammer, screwdriver and pliers—was slung over one shoulder. In his other hand he carried a metal toolbox. What was he doing in here? She’d closed the door on him, hadn’t she? She opened her mouth to ask him what he thought he was doing, but clamped it shut just as quickly. She’d left the door open behind her...an invitation.

“Is that coffee I smell?” he asked.

“If you want some, pour it yourself. Cups are up there.” She pointed to a line of mugs hanging on hooks.

“You remember that I like mine sweet.” His tone was teasing.

“Cream is in the refrigerator. Sugar on the table.” She turned her back on him, refusing to acknowledge his charm. She waved the smoke away from the stove.

“Honey?”

She snapped around, a hot retort ready to spring from her throat. But then she realized he was grinning at her and pointing to the plastic bee bottle on top of the refrigerator. Honey. Luke had always preferred honey in his coffee. She retrieved Elijah from the playpen, saving the lamb from certain destruction. “Ne,” she admonished. “You cannot ride her. She’s not a pony.”

“What if she was a pig?” Justice asked, leaning on the playpen. “You can ride a pig.”

“You can’t ride pigs!” Tanner corrected.

“Hungry,” Elijah reminded her.

“Justice, put your boots on. The floor’s cold.”

“Once I fix those holes, it will be a lot warmer.” Luke squirted honey into his coffee. “I need to get up on the roof now that the rain has passed. If it can’t be patched, I’ll have to look into getting a roofing crew together.”

“Ask Freeman at the mill.” Honor turned the flame on under the frying pan again and went to the refrigerator for scrapple. “Tanner, run out to the barn and see if you can find more eggs. Greta, go with him. You carry the eggs, and don’t let him lock you in anywhere.” She turned her gaze back to Luke. “James Hostetler has the best contracting bunch, but he’s busy for months. I already tried him. If anyone is available and has the skill to hold a hammer, Freeman will know it.”

“Freeman Kemp? I know him,” he said, taking a seat at the table. “Did know him.”

She turned her back on Luke again. She felt almost breathless with anger or something else, something she didn’t want to confront. “Ya, Freeman owns the mill, so he’s usually there.”

“That’s right. I forgot his family has the mill. I’ll stop and talk with him on the way back to Sara’s.”

“If you’re stopping there, you might as well pick up some chicken feed and save me the trip. I’ll give you the money. That one can’t drive a horse and wagon.” She nodded in Greta’s direction. “She’s afraid of horses,” she said, managing to keep any disapproval from her tone. She needed to work on judging people. But who ever heard of an Amish girl who was afraid of horses?

With the pan the right temperature, Honor added thick slices of scrapple. She tried to concentrate on what she was doing, because what sense would it make to burn herself making breakfast through foolishness over a man she’d put aside long ago? Rather, one who had put her aside. She winced inwardly. The hurt was still there, mended over with strong thread, almost forgotten, but still having the power to cause her pain if she dwelled on it.

“Good coffee,” he remarked. “And that scrapple smells good, too. You always did have a steady hand at the stove.”

She glanced over her shoulder and glared at him. “No doubt Sara already fed you a substantial breakfast. She’s known for her bountiful table.”

Luke shrugged and offered that lethal grin of his. “I could eat a little something, if you’re offering. A man can’t do better than to start the day with a scrapple-and-egg biscuit.”

“With catsup,” Justice added. He carried a large bottle to the table and plopped it down in front of Luke. “I like catsup on my biscuit.”

“That sounds good.” Luke smiled at her son.

“That bottle’s almost empty,” Honor said. She was feeling a little steadier now. Children grounded a person. “Get Mommi another bottle from the pantry.”

Justice darted off to get the catsup. Elijah climbed onto a chair and grabbed a biscuit from the plate on the table.

“Watch it doesn’t burn.” Luke pointed to Honor. “The scrapple.”

She turned away from him and carefully turned the browning meat. “Your shoes are muddy,” she said to Luke. “I’d appreciate it if you’d leave them in the laundry room. I scrubbed this floor once this morning.”

Luke chuckled. “You’ve been busy. It’s still early and you’ve made biscuits and mopped the floor and I don’t know what else.”

“Milked the cow and fed the livestock,” Honor said, “and changed diapers and made beds. And if you don’t take off those boots, I’ll be scrubbing this floor again, too.”

He got up from the table, went out of the room and removed his shoes. “Honor,” he said as he returned in his stocking feet. His voice had lost the teasing note and become serious. “We need to talk. You know we need to talk about what happened, right?”

She shook her head. “Ne, I have nothing to say to you on that matter. It’s long in the past. As for the present, do you want the job of fixing this house? If you do a decent job at a fair wage, I’ll let you.”

“You’ll let me?”

She pressed her lips together. “I didn’t ask you to come here.”

“I couldn’t stay away.” He crossed the room to stand only an arm’s length away from her. “You have to let me explain what happened. Why I did it.”

She whirled around, hot spatula gripped in her hand, barely in control. “Ne,” she murmured. “I don’t. I’ll make use of your carpentry skills for the sake of my children. But there will be nothing more between us. Either you respect that, or you leave now.”

His green eyes darkened with emotion.

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Honor,” he said softly.

“Ne, Luke.” She looked away. “You decide. Either we have a business arrangement or none at all.”

“You know why I came back here.”

His words gently nudged her, touching feelings she’d buried so long ago.

“Luke, I can’t—”

The back door banged open and Tanner came flying in. “Eggs, Mommi. Lots of eggs. I found where the black hen had her nest.”

“Good.” Honor took a breath. “Wash your hands. Greta, put those eggs in the sink. Carefully.” She laid the spatula on the table and clapped her hands. “Breakfast will be ready in two shakes of the lamb’s tail, boys.”

Luke was still standing there. Too close. “We will have that talk,” he said so that only she heard him. “I promise you that.”

A few minutes later, her children around her, eggs fried, breakfast to put on the table, Honor’s foolishness receded and her confidence returned. “Luke, you’re welcome to a breakfast sandwich, the same as the rest of us.” She indicated the chair he had been sitting in before. “Greta, bring Anke’s high chair here.” She waved to the space beside her own seat, trusting her daughter’s sloppy eating habits to keep Luke at a proper distance, letting him see the wall between them. She ushered her family to the table, shushing the children with a glance and bowing her head for silent grace.

Please God, she whispered inwardly. Give me strength to deal with Luke, to move on with my life, to use him for what we need and then send him on his way, gracefully. She opened her eyes to find Luke watching her, and she used the excuse of her children to look away. Her heart raced as her hands performed the familiar tasks of stacking eggs, scrapple and cheese on biscuits and pouring milk for her sons and daughter.

Luke went to the stove for another cup of coffee. “Some for you?” he asked.

She hated to ask any favors of him, but she did want the coffee. She needed more than one cup to get through the morning. Reluctantly, she nodded. “Danke.”

He carried it to the table, added cream and placed the mug carefully in front of her plate. The children and Greta chattered. Anke giggled and cooed and tossed pieces of biscuit and egg onto the floor where the dog and cat vied for the best crumbs.

“I thought I’d start here in the kitchen, if that suits you,” Luke said after finishing off his second egg-and-scrapple sandwich.

“It would suit me best if you weren’t here at all,” she reminded him and then realized how ungrateful she sounded. She needed the work done. The state of the kitchen was hardly fit for her children—for anyone to prepare food or eat in. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That was unkind. Ya, it would be good if you started in here. It certainly needs it.”

So much of what Silas had promised had been left undone. And not for lack of funds, a truth she hadn’t realized until after he had passed and she had taken the family finances into her hands. They were by no means poor, as he’d always led her to believe. Whatever his reasons for making her think that, he’d taken them with him to Heaven. And it would do no good to think ill of him. “Excuse me, Anke needs tidying up. Greta, see to the children.”

She lifted a squirming Anke out of her high chair and carried her out of the kitchen and upstairs to the bathroom. There, she placed the toddler on a clean towel and proceeded to wash her face and hands, and wipe most of the egg and biscuit from her infant’s gown. “It’s going to be a new start for us, isn’t it, baby?” she said to the child. “We’ll make our house all sound and tidy and the matchmaker will find you a new daddi. Won’t you like that?”

Anke needed a father, and the boys certainly needed one. That was what she had told Sara when she’d sat down in her office over a month ago to discuss an appropriate match. They needed a father with a steady but kind hand. Honor spoiled her children. Everyone said so. And she knew she did, but that was because Silas hadn’t...

She bit off that line of thought. She wouldn’t allow herself to wallow in self-pity. She had her faith, her children and her future to think of. She summoned a smile for Anke, tickled her soft belly and thrilled to the sound of baby laughter. She’d dealt with problems before, surely some greater than having Luke Weaver in her house. She’d find a way to manage him.

“After all,” she said to her daughter, “how long can he be here? A few days? A few weeks? And then...” She lifted Anke in the air and nuzzled her midsection so that the baby giggled again. “And then we’re done with him.”

* * *

Freeman Kemp swung the bag of chicken feed into the back of Sara’s wagon. “It’s good of you to take this to Honor. Saves her a trip. And I’m glad you’re going to do repairs on the house. That farm was in bad shape when Silas bought it, and I don’t think he made many improvements before he took sick.”

“It has to be difficult for a young widow with the children, just trying to get to the daily chores,” Luke replied. “I can’t imagine trying to get to bigger projects.” He’d liked Freeman the moment he met him. Met him again. They had known each other as teenagers. Not well, but they’d once played on the same softball team.

“Our church community is getting so big that it’s time we split off,” Freeman said. “And it’s natural that those of us farther out should form the new church. We’re all hoping Honor will find a husband willing to settle here. You know how it goes. One young Amish family settles in an area and others usually follow.”

Freeman tugged the brim of his hat down to shade his eyes from the glare of the setting sun. “You know,” he said slowly. “Honor’s mourning time is over. And you’re a single man. Maybe you ought to think about courting her. ’Course you’d need a new hat.” He offered a half smile. “She’d make someone a good wife. Honor’s a sensible woman. Smart. Capable. And she speaks her mind.”

“That she does.” Luke grinned. Some men didn’t like a woman who didn’t hold back with their opinions, but he didn’t have a problem with it. In fact, he wanted a wife who could be his partner. And it was a partner’s duty sometimes to present the opposite side of an argument. “Honor and I knew each other from childhood.”

Freeman shrugged. “Sometimes that’s best. No secrets between you, then.” He hesitated, as if sizing Luke up. Then he went on. “I’ll be honest with you. I didn’t care all that much for Silas. He was moody. Always seemed an odd match to me, him being older and on the serious side. But who am I to say? My family had given me up for a lifelong bachelor until my wife, Katie, came along and set me straight. Why don’t you join us for church next month when we have service here at our place? We always appreciate a new face.”

“I’d like that,” Luke said. “I’ve promised Sara I’ll attend Seven Poplars so long as I’m staying with her, though.”

“That’s no problem, then,” Freeman answered. “We hold ours on a different schedule.” He thought for a moment. “Long trip every day. And I see you have Sara’s rig.” He pointed to the wagon. “If you think you’d like to be closer, we’ve got a spare room you’re welcome to. I’d have to check with my wife, but I’m sure it would be okay with her.”

Luke met Freeman’s gaze. “I might just take you up on that. Once...I get an idea of how long I’m going to be working for Honor.” Once I get an idea if she’s going to kick me off her property, he thought.

“Well, we can talk about it. I’m sure I’ll see you at Sara’s Epiphany party Saturday. Nobody wants to miss that.” He offered Luke his hand. “Glad you’re back. It’s good to meet you again.”

“And you,” Luke said.

“Just a word to the wise,” Freeman said as he opened the gate that led onto the hardtop road.

“Ya?”

“Honor’s children can be a handful.” He pointed at him. “Don’t turn your back on them.”

“Oh, I’ve already seen evidence of it. But boys can be mischievous. And those three are still little.”

Freeman laughed. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”