Читать книгу An Amish Match - Jo Brown Ann - Страница 12

Chapter Four

Joshua’s first thought when he opened his eyes the next morning was, Where am I? The angle of the ceiling was wrong. There was a single window, and the walls were too close to the bed.

Memory rushed through his mind like a tempest, wild and flowing in every direction. Yesterday he’d married Rebekah, his best friend’s widow.

Throwing back the covers, he put his feet on the rug by the bed. His beloved Tildie had started making rugs for the bedrooms shortly after they were wed, and she’d replaced each one when it became too worn. As he looked down through the thick twilight before dawn, he saw rough edges on the one under his feet. Sorrow clutched his heart. His sweet wife would never make another rug for the kinder.

Rebekah was his wife now. For better or for worse, and for as long as they lived.

He drew in a deep breath, then let it sift past his taut lips. He’d honored Lloyd’s request, and he shouldn’t have any regrets. He didn’t. Just a question.

Where did he and Rebekah go from here?

Unable to answer that, because he was not ready to consider the question too closely, he pushed himself to his feet. He dressed and did his best to shave his upper lip without a mirror. As he pulled his black suspenders over his shoulders, he walked out of the bedroom.

Light trickled from beneath one door on the other side of the hall. He heard heavy footfalls beyond it. Timothy must already have gotten up, which was a surprise because most mornings Joshua had to wake his older son. Not hearing any voices, he guessed Levi was still asleep. Not even the cacophony of a thunderstorm could wake the boy. The other doorway was dark. He considered making sure Deborah was up so she wouldn’t be late for school, but decided to let her sleep. It had been late by the time the kinder had gone to bed last night.

As he went down the stairs, Joshua heard the rumble of a car engine and the crunch of tires on gravel. His neighbor must be heading into Philadelphia this morning. Brad always left before sunup when he wanted to catch the train into the city, because he had to drive a half hour east to reach the station.

It was the only normal thing today, because as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he smelled the enticing aromas of breakfast cooking. He glanced at the bedroom where he usually slept. The door was closed.

The propane lamp hissed in the kitchen as he walked in to see Rebekah at the stove. She wore a dark bandana over her glistening hair. Beneath her simple black dress and apron, her feet were bare.

“Sit down,” she said as if she’d made breakfast for him dozens of times. “Do you want milk in your kaffi?”

“No, I drink it black in the morning.”

“Are the others awake?”

“Only Timothy.” He was astounded how they spoke about such ordinary matters. There was nothing ordinary about Rebekah being in his kitchen before dawn.

“Gut. I assumed he’d get up early, too, so I made plenty of eggs and bacon.” Turning from the stove, she picked up a plate topped by biscuits. She took a single step toward the table, then halted as her gaze locked with his.

A whirlwind of emotions crisscrossed her face, and he knew he should say something to put her at ease. But what? Her fingers trembled on the plate. Before she could drop it, he reached for it. His knuckle brushed hers so lightly he wouldn’t have noticed the contact with anyone else. A heated shiver rippled across his hand and up his arm. He tightened his hold on the plate before he let it fall to the floor.

He put the biscuits on the table as she went back to the stove. Searching for something to say, he had no chance before Timothy entered the kitchen. His son walked to the table, his head down, not looking either right or left as he took his seat to the left of Joshua’s chair at the head of the table.

Rebekah came back. Setting the coffeepot on a trivet in the center of the table, she hesitated.

“Why don’t you sit here?” Joshua asked when he realized she was unsure which chair to use. He pointed to the one separated from his by the high chair he’d brought down from the attic before the wedding yesterday. He’d guessed she would want it for her son, but now discovered it created a no-man’s-land between them.

She nodded as she sat. Was that relief he saw on her face? Relief they were no longer alone in the kitchen? Relief the high chair erased any chance their elbows might inadvertently bump while they ate?

He pushed those thoughts aside as he bent his head to signal it was time for the silent grace before they ate. His prayers were more focused on his new marriage than food, and he hoped God wouldn’t mind. After all, God knew the truth about why he’d asked Rebekah to be his wife.

As soon as Joshua cleared his throat to end the prayer, Timothy reached for the bowl containing fluffy eggs. He served himself, then passed the bowl to Joshua. That was followed by biscuits and apple butter as well as bacon and sausage.

Each bite he took was more delicious. The biscuits were so light he wondered why they hadn’t floated up from the plate while they’d prayed. The kaffi had exactly the right bite for breakfast. He could not recall the last time he’d enjoyed a second cup at breakfast, because his own brew resembled sludge.

For the first time in months, Timothy was talkative. He had seconds and then thirds while chattering about a baseball game he’d heard about yesterday at the wedding, a game won by his beloved Phillies. It was as if the younger version of his son had returned, banishing the sulky teen he’d become. Even after they finished their breakfast with another silent prayer, Timothy was smiling as he left to do the barn chores he usually complained should be Levi’s now that he worked every day at the buggy shop.

Joshua waited until the back door closed behind his oldest, then said, “Tell me how you did that.”

“Did what?” Rebekah asked as she rose and picked up the used plates. After setting them on top of others stacked on the counter, she began running water to begin the massive task of washing the dirty dishes that had gathered since the last time he’d helped Deborah with them.

“Make my oldest act like a human being rather than a grumpy mule,” he replied.

“Don’t let him—or any of the other kinder—hear you say that. He wouldn’t appreciate it.”