A Man For Honor
Emma Miller
Second-Chance MatchWith four children and a dilapidated farmhouse, Amish widow Honor King asks Seven Poplars’ matchmaker to find her a secure and reliable new husband. Someone the opposite of her first love—who left her at the altar nine years ago—and yet someone she’s never been able to forget. Luke's back in town and also looking for a new partner. But for him, there's only one candidate for his wife—the woman he let get away. But when Honor won't let him into her life, he works his way into her house. Hammer in hand, he'll fix her home…but it'll take more than brawn and nails to mend her heart.The Amish Matchmaker: Bringing love to Seven Poplars–one couple at a time.
Second-Chance Match
With four children and a dilapidated farmhouse, Amish widow Honor King asks Seven Poplars’s matchmaker to find her a secure and reliable new husband. Someone the opposite of her first love—who left her at the altar nine years ago, yet whom she’s never been able to forget. Luke’s back in town, and also looking for a new partner. For him, there’s only one candidate to be his wife—the woman he let get away. But when Honor won’t let him into her life, he works his way into her house. Hammer in hand, he’ll fix her home...but it’ll take more than brawn and nails to mend her heart.
EMMA MILLER lives quietly in her old farmhouse in rural Delaware. Fortunate enough to be born into a family of strong faith, she grew up on a dairy farm, surrounded by loving parents, siblings, grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. Emma was educated in local schools and once taught in an Amish schoolhouse. When she’s not caring for her large family, reading and writing are her favorite pastimes.
Also by Emma Miller (#udbe69e71-c2c1-56c8-b873-f6af59ead48a)
The Amish Matchmaker
A Match for Addy
A Husband for Mari
A Beau for Katie
A Love for Leah
A Groom for Ruby
A Man for Honor
Hannah’s Daughters
Courting Ruth
Miriam’s Heart
Anna’s Gift
Leah’s Choice
Redeeming Grace
Johanna’s Bridegroom
Rebecca’s Christmas Gift
Hannah’s Courtship
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
A Man for Honor
Emma Miller
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08028-6
A MAN FOR HONOR
© 2018 Emma Miller
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Her knees went weak.
It happened whenever she looked at him. “I’m sorry I’ve been angry with you all these years. You were wrong, but...” Her throat constricted as she remembered. But maybe she’d rushed things. They were hardly out of their teens when she’d realized she loved him. And now...
“I think you’d better go,” she managed.
He stood. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“To work on the house?”
“To work on the house. And to court you.”
“That’s why the matchmaker brought you here, isn’t it? That was your plan from the beginning.”
“Ya, I hoped she could help me get my foot in the door,” he admitted. “But this, now, is about you and me. Let me show you I’m not the boy I was nine years ago.”
“And I’m not the girl.”
He grabbed his coat and hat. “We could make a good couple.”
She remained seated. Her legs were too wobbly to stand. “I can’t promise anything, Luke.”
“But you’ll think about it?”
She’d think about it...but she couldn’t guess what her answer would be.
Dear Reader (#udbe69e71-c2c1-56c8-b873-f6af59ead48a),
It’s been so nice to spend time with you. I’m happy to have been able to share Honor and Luke’s story. This time, the Amish matchmaker really had her hands full, didn’t she? When Luke showed up at Honor’s door that very first day, I was afraid Honor wouldn’t let him in! And then where would my story have gone?
Thank goodness Honor had such a steady head and opened that door. I think the moment she saw Luke again, she secretly saw the possibility of love and happiness. Once or twice, though, I was afraid those naughty boys would put an end to the romance before it really got going. I think the Lord guided Luke, though, don’t you? And in the end, true love—God’s and the love between Luke and Honor—brought the couple together.
I hope that you enjoyed Luke and Honor’s journey in search of happiness. Keep an eye out for my new Amish series, set in Chestnut Grove, where a blended family is just beginning their new life together.
Wishing you peace and joy,
Emma Miller
Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord,
how oft shall my brother sin against me,
and I forgive him? till seven times? Jesus saith
unto him, I say not unto thee, Until seven times:
but, Until seventy times seven.
—Matthew 18:21–22
Contents
Cover (#u14aab9fc-e838-548e-a73b-08c77eccabda)
Back Cover Text (#u1bee5c35-31c7-5a2f-8108-56d99ecdd5ef)
About the Author (#u339a6c0c-18f8-59c5-9762-10d865d98df0)
Booklist (#u339a6c0c-18f8-59c5-9762-10d865d98df0)
Title Page (#uec4ffbde-e711-54e3-b73c-b9d5f512795a)
Copyright (#uffc46bc8-a122-5f08-93fe-35680fa2c1fa)
Introduction (#u0de1b7a1-a9ea-59c9-bba0-706032806404)
Dear Reader (#u111db022-8c76-5f61-8c34-5c92e059357d)
Bible Verse (#u653a9803-0e77-55ad-9f2f-063c50ab4f8d)
Chapter One (#u862ea080-1f5a-516d-a493-e7886a0ce548)
Chapter Two (#u19711e69-599f-5c7c-b5c9-f6d33cf8eb76)
Chapter Three (#u7112d817-d4b1-5afd-98c0-ec27001608fc)
Chapter Four (#uea8b2f07-1a1e-52de-8400-90b9818c1bca)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#udbe69e71-c2c1-56c8-b873-f6af59ead48a)
Luke Weaver lifted the collar of his lined jean jacket to his neck, pulled down his still-wet black hat and made his way toward the exit of the convenience store and the raw December morning.
“That is you, isn’t it?” the college-aged boy behind the register called after Luke. He pointed to the TV screen mounted above the snacks section. “Look!” he proclaimed to several customers. “That guy’s the mystery cowboy they’re looking for! He’s the hero that rescued those people from the bus wreck in Pennsylvania last night!”
Luke kept walking. The last thing he wanted was to be recognized in his hometown of Dover, Delaware. When a tractor trailer had skidded on an icy highway the previous night, causing a multivehicle collision, he’d been in the midst of it. The bus he’d been riding had flipped on its side and slid down an embankment into a deep drainage pond. With icy water fast pouring in and people panicking, he hadn’t considered that his photo might end up being plastered all over the national news.
Luke had acted without thinking. He’d pulled the unconscious driver to safety and then broken a window to assist a mother and several small children out of the sinking bus. He’d gone back into the rapidly submerging vehicle twice to help other trapped passengers before state troopers and paramedics arrived. One of the officers had asked who he was, but not wanting to draw attention to himself, he’d refused to give his name. And that had only made things worse because the news media had made a big thing of it. Now everyone was hunting for the mystery cowboy, calling him a real-life superhero.
“Hey, mister! Are you the super cowboy?” a woman headed toward the doors to the convenience store asked as he stepped out. “You look just like him.”
Luke strode down Lepore Street. He was supposed to meet someone from the Seven Poplars Amish community at the bus stop, but he wasn’t hanging around. He’d find his own way to Sara Yoder’s home.
Beads of freezing sleet stung his face and hands, but he kept walking. Winters in Delaware weren’t as cold as those in Kansas, and he could dry off when he got to the matchmaker’s. He hoped someone had some spare clothes he could change into, because the trousers he was wearing were ripped and stained, and his duffle bag with spare clothes was still in the bus’s luggage compartment, probably resting at the bottom of that drainage pond.
Luke had just crossed the street and turned onto North State when he caught sight of a mule and buggy coming at a sharp pace. Guessing that that must be his ride, he waved the driver to a stop. To his surprise, the only occupant of the buggy was a plump, middle-aged Amish woman with dark curly hair, a nutmeg-colored complexion, and eyes as dark and shiny as ripe blackberries. “Sara?”
She nodded. “You must be Luke,” she said in Deitsch and then switched to English. “Jump in before we cause a traffic jam.”
He glanced up and down the street. Not a single vehicle was coming in either direction. He looked back at Sara as he swung up onto the bench seat. The interior of the buggy was plain black, neat and well maintained, pretty much what he’d expected of the woman he only knew from correspondence. “Dover hasn’t grown all that much in the time I’ve been gone,” he said.
“Atch. According to my neighbors, it has grown. They say the traffic has increased,” she replied. “I moved here from a rural area of Wisconsin a few years back, so Kent County still seems busy to me. You’re certain you want to trade the wide-open spaces of the Midwest for our little state?”
He nodded. “Ya, I do.”
“You said in your first letter that you grew up here.”
“I did, and I’ve always thought of Kent County as home,” he answered. “Kansas can be pretty dry. I miss the green and the rain.”
A line of cars slowed behind them, but Sara didn’t seem to notice. “Rain we have aplenty,” she said after a bit.
“And a strong church community.” He stretched out his long legs and rubbed absently at his aching shoulder. When the collision happened, he’d been thrown violently against the corner of the seat frame across the aisle. Nothing seemed broken, but he guessed he was going to have quite a bruise. “At least, that’s the way I remember it,” he finished.
“It is. And everyone will welcome you. We’re always glad to add to our family. You say you’re a master carpenter?”
“More of a cabinetmaker, but I can do any type of construction.”
Sara looked at him with frank curiosity. “I’m curious as to why you’d need my services. A nice-looking man like you with a good trade? Back in Kansas, mothers must have been parading their daughters in front of you. Girls must have been lining up hoping you’d take them home from a singing.”
But not the woman I want, he thought. To Sara, he said, “I’m ready to marry and start a family, but I thought the whole process would be easier if I used a matchmaker.”
“Mmm.” Sara’s brow arched. “I’ve checked up on you. Wrote a couple of letters. Your bishop tells me that you’re baptized and a solid member of your church.” She pursed her lips. “A matchmaker can certainly make it easier finding the right wife, but why me? Why not someone in Kansas?”
“The nearest Amish matchmaker to where I lived just celebrated her eighty-second birthday, and she doesn’t hear or see well. Besides, I want to move back to Delaware and marry a woman from here.” He glanced at her. “You have a good reputation. People speak of you as one of the best, and you specialize in hard-to-place cases.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you a difficult case, Luke Weaver?” She gave him an appraising look. “I’ll admit you do look a little worse for wear.”
“Ya.” He ran a hand over the three-cornered tear in the knee of his go-to-church trousers. There was a stain on the other leg he suspected might be blood and his wide-brimmed black wool hat had taken a beating. The brim was sagging and it was shrinking as it dried; it wasn’t meant to be submerged in water.
“I suppose I do,” he admitted. He considered whether or not to explain his condition to Sara. His first impressions of her were good, but he didn’t know that he was ready to tell anyone what had happened on the highway the previous night. The idea of talking about it made him uncomfortable; he’d done what any man would have done. End of story.
Sara turned off State Street onto Division. Traffic was still light for the center of town. A few pedestrians stopped and watched as the mule and buggy passed. A little boy in a fire-engine red rain slicker and yellow boots waved from the sidewalk, and Sara waved back.
“A lot of new construction in Dover,” he commented as the grand Victorian houses gave way to commercial buildings and smaller frame homes. “I’m hoping I’ll be able to find steady employment.”
“There’s always work for a carpenter,” she replied. “A good friend of mine has a construction crew. You’ll meet him at church tomorrow.” Her shrewd gaze raked him again. “If you’re planning on joining us for worship. It’s being held at Samuel Mast’s, not far from my place. You know Samuel?”
“I do. Good man. And ya, I do want to attend service. If you can find me something decent to wear. We, um...had some trouble... The bus.” He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid my duffle bag with all my clothes is lost. I don’t want to impose. I know I’ve picked an awkward time to arrive, two days after Christmas, but...it was time I came.”
“Not a problem. I can find clothes, and I’ve got a warm bed for you. All my prospective brides have either married or gone back to their families for the holidays. It’s much too quiet in my house. Even our little schoolteacher has gone visiting relatives. As I told you in my letter, I have a bunkhouse for my hired hand and male clients from out of state. Some stay for the weekend, others a few weeks or longer. It’s far enough from the house for propriety, but close enough so that your meals won’t be cold before you get to the table. Prospective brides stay in the house with me.”
“The bunkhouse sounds great. I appreciate it,” he said. “And I appreciate you coming to get me. It’s a miserable day for you to be on the road.”
Sara reined the mule to a stop as the light ahead turned from yellow to red. “I could have sent Hiram for you. He’s my hired man. But his judgment’s not the best. He might have decided to take the buggy down the DuPont Highway to stop at the mall. And the madhouse of a highway is no place for a mule, even a sensible one.” She glanced at Luke. “And the truth is, I was looking for an excuse to get out of the house.”
They rode in comfortable silence for a few minutes and then Luke spoke up again. He wasn’t one to keep quiet on things. Sometimes he was criticized for speaking too easily from his heart, with his feelings. It wasn’t something necessarily encouraged in Amish men, but he was who he was. “I hope you’re going to be able to help me make a match,” he said. If she couldn’t, he didn’t know what he’d do.
“No reason why I shouldn’t, is there?” She glanced at him again. “I’ll admit, Luke, you are something of a mystery to me. You do make me curious.”
He winced at the word mystery but said nothing.
“You know, young women seeking husbands are plentiful, but eligible bachelors with a solid trade seeking brides aren’t as easy to find. From what I see with my eyes, and from what I’ve learned from your letters and my own inquiries, you’re almost too good to be true.”
“I don’t know about that. I’m as flawed as any man. But I assure you, I’ve not told you any untruths.”
“I didn’t say you had,” Sara said. “My first thought would be that I can think of a good dozen young women who would jump at the opportunity to meet you. But something tells me that there’s more to you, that you’ve not told me everything I need to know if I’m going to make the right match for you.”
He grimaced. “There is something I haven’t said.”
“And that is?”
“There’s a particular someone I’ve set my mind on, someone special I used to know.” He stopped and started again. “Someone I haven’t been able to forget.”
Sara reined the mule off the street and into a parking place in a car dealership lot. She looped the leathers over a hook on the dash, folded her arms and turned to face him. “I take it that this someone is of legal age, Amish and free to marry?”
“She is.”
“But you didn’t think that I should have that information before you arrived?”
He tugged on the sagging brim of his hat. It was a shame it was ruined because he’d bought it new before he left Kansas. “I thought it would be easier if I could explain in person.” He looked away and then back at the matchmaker. “Her name is Honor. Honor King.”
Sara didn’t hide her surprise. “I know Honor. A widow. She doesn’t belong to our church community, but I have introduced her to several prospects. Honor’s husband passed a year and a half ago.”
“Nineteen months.”
Sara frowned. “And you know that Honor has children. Four of them.”
“Ya, I do. That doesn’t matter to me.”
“Well, it should,” she harrumphed. “It takes a special kind of a man to be a father to another man’s children. Especially as they get up in age.”
He felt himself flush. “I know that. What I said about the children, that didn’t come out right. Her children are part of her. I want to be a good father to them. And a good husband to her.”
Sara raised a dark eyebrow. “You’re familiar with Honor’s children? You’ve met them?”
There was something in her tone that made him hesitate. “Ne...but I hope to have many children.”
She sniffed. “Easily said by a man who has none. As the preachers tell us, children are blessings from God. That said, they can be a handful. Some more than others.” She pursed her lips. “Any other revelations you’d like to share with me?”
He hesitated. “Well...”
“Like this, perhaps?” She reached under the seat and came up with a copy of the Delaware State News. The photo snapped by one of the bus passengers stared back at him. It was clearly his face, with a fire truck and a Pennsylvania State Police car in the background. In his arms was a screaming child. Under the photo, a bold headline proclaimed Mystery Cowboy Rides to the Rescue!
“You saw it,” he said.
“Ya, saw it and read it. What I didn’t know was that I would be welcoming the mystery cowboy into my home. You know our community takes a dim view of photographs. They are forbidden.”
“In my church, as well,” he agreed. “But I didn’t give anyone permission to take a picture. And I didn’t ask for people to talk about what happened. There was an accident. I did what seemed right.”
“But it will make talk.” She allowed herself the hint of a smile. “A lot of talk.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“That the hat you were wearing?” She frowned, looking up at him. “Doesn’t look much like a gunslinger’s hat. Or a rodeo rider’s.”
“Ne.”
She had a sense of humor, this perky little matchmaker. He liked her. Better yet, he had the strongest feeling that he could trust her in what might be the biggest step of his life.
Sara chuckled. “Englishers. Mistook your church hat for a cowboy hat, I suppose, and thought you were a cowboy.”
“Ya. Someone who isn’t familiar with our people.”
She nodded. “I can see that. Better for you that it doesn’t say Amish. Better for us.”
“Maybe so,” he said.
“I know so.” Her eyes lit with mischief. “But good of you to save the Englishers from the accident. They are God’s children, too.”
“I didn’t want the fuss. Anybody would have done what I did.”
“But according to the newspaper, you’re the one who took charge. Who kept his head, did what needed to be done and kept the unconscious bus driver from drowning. Not everyone would have the courage to do that.” She paused and then went on. “There’ll be questions we’ll have to answer from our neighbors, but if you don’t wear snakeskin boots, rope cows or sign autographs, the talk will pass and people will find something else to gossip about.”
“I hope so.”
She reached over and patted his arm reassuringly. “If you didn’t want your photograph taken, there’s no reason to feel guilty about it. Any of our people with sense will come to realize it.” She gathered the reins again and clicked to the mule. And as they pulled out onto the street again, she said, “One question for you. The widow, Honor King, will she look favorably on your suit?”
“I doubt it,” he admitted, gazing out at the road ahead. “She returns my letters unopened.”
* * *
Two days later, Luke and Sara drove west from her house in Seven Poplars. Eventually, they passed a millpond and mill, and then went another two miles down a winding country road to a farm that sat far back off the blacktop.
“I don’t know what her husband, Silas, was thinking to buy so far from other Amish families,” Sara mused. “I haven’t been here to Honor’s home, because she lives out of our church district, but Freeman and Katie at the mill are her nearest Amish neighbors. It must be difficult for Honor since her husband passed away, being so isolated.” She turned her mule into the driveway. “Atch,” she muttered. “Look at this mud. I hope we don’t get stuck in the ruts.” The lane, lined on either side by sagging fence rails and overgrown barbed wire, was filled with puddles.
“If we do, I’ll dig us out,” Luke promised, adjusting the shrunken hat that barely fitted on his head anymore. Now that they were almost to Honor’s home, he was nervous. What if she refused to let him walk through her doorway? What if he’d sold everything he owned, turned his life upside down and moved to Delaware just to find that she’d have nothing to do with him?
Honor’s farmhouse was a rambling, two-story frame structure with tall brick chimneys at either end. Behind and to the sides, loomed several barns, sheds and outbuildings. A derelict windmill, missing more than half its blades, leaned precariously over the narrow entrance to the farmyard.
“I’d have to agree with what you told me yesterday, Sara. She needs a handyman,” Luke said, sliding his door open so he could get a better look. He’d heard that Honor’s husband had purchased a big farm in western Kent County, near the Maryland state line. But no one had told him that the property was in such bad shape.
How could a woman alone with four children possibly manage such a farm? How could she care for her family? Why had Silas brought his young bride here? Fixing up this place would have been a huge undertaking for a healthy man, not to mention one who’d suffered from a chronic disease since he was born.
The wind shifted and the intermittent rain dampened Luke’s trousers and wet his face. He pulled the brim of his hat low to shield his eyes as the mule plodded on up the drive, laying her ears back against the rain and splashing through the puddles. As the buggy neared the farmhouse, Luke noticed missing shingles on the roof and a broken window on the second floor. His chest tightened and he felt an overwhelming need to do whatever he could to help Honor, regardless of how she received him.
As they passed between the gateposts that marked the entrance to the farmyard, Luke could hear the rusty mechanism of the windmill creak and grind. The gate, or what remained of it, sagged, one end on the ground and overgrown with weeds and what looked like poison ivy.
“If I’d known things were this bad here, I would have asked Caleb to organize a work frolic to clean this place up,” Sara observed. “Caleb’s our young preacher, married one of the Yoder girls. You know Hannah Yoder? Her daughters are all married now, have families of their own.”
“Knew Jonas Yoder well. He was good to me when I was growing up.”
“Jonas was like that,” Sara mused. “Hannah and I are cousins.”
Luke continued to study the farm. “You’ve never been here before?”
“Ne, I haven’t. She’s been to my place, though. I’d heard Honor doesn’t have church services here, but I always assumed it was due to Silas’s illness and then her struggle to carry on without him.”
Luke didn’t know how long Honor’s husband had been sick before he’d been carried off by a bout of pneumonia, but either he’d been sick a long time or he hadn’t attended to his duties. The state of things on this farm was a disgrace.
A child’s shriek caught his attention, and he glanced at the barn where a hayloft door hung open. Suddenly, a squirming bundle of energy cannonballed out of the loft, landed on a hay wagon heaped with wet straw and then vaulted off to land with a squeal of laughter in a mud puddle. Water splashed, ducks and chickens flew, squawking and quacking, in every direction, and a miniature donkey shied away from the building and added a shrill braying to the uproar.
The small figure climbed out of the puddle and shouted to someone in the loft. Luke thought the muddy creature must be a boy, because he was wearing trousers and a shirt, but couldn’t make out his face or the color of his hair because it was covered in mud.
“What are you doing?” Sara called to the child. “Does your mother know—”
She didn’t get to finish her sentence because a second squealing child leaped from the loft opening. He hit the heap of straw in the wagon and landed in the puddle with a satisfying splash and an even louder protest from the donkey. This child was shirtless and wearing only one shoe. When a third child appeared in the loft, this one the smallest of the three, Luke managed to leap out of the buggy and get to the wagon in time to catch him in midair.
This little one, in a baby’s gown, was bareheaded, with clumps of bright red-orange hair standing up like the bristles on a horse’s mane and oversize boots on the wrong feet. The rescued toddler began to wail. With a yell, the shirtless boy launched himself at Luke, fists and feet flying, and bit his knee.
“Let go of him!” the leader of the pack screamed in Deitsch. “Mam! A man is taking Elijah!”
Luke deposited Elijah safely on the ground. “Stop that!” he ordered in Deitsch, lifting his attacker into the air and tucking him under one arm.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Luke turned toward the back porch. A young woman appeared, a crying baby in her arms, wet hair hanging loose around her shoulders. “Let go of my son this minute!”
For a moment Luke stood there, stunned, the boy still flailing against his arm. Luke had been expecting to see a changed Honor, one weighed down by the grief of widowhood and aged by the birth of four children in six years, but he hadn’t been prepared for this bold beauty. He opened his mouth to answer, but as he did, a handful of mud struck him in the cheek.
“Put Justice down!” the biggest boy shouted as he scooped up a handful of mud and threw it at Luke. “You let my brother go!”
The little one did the same.
Luke spit mud and tried to wipe the muck out of his eyes, only succeeding in making it worse.
Sara, now out of the buggy, clapped her hands. “Kinner! Stop this at once! Inside with you. You’ll catch your deaths of ague.” She reached out for Justice, and Luke gladly handed him, still kicking and screaming, over to her.
Honor came down the steps, carefully stepping over a hole where a board was missing. “Sara? I didn’t realize—” She broke off. “You?” she said to Luke, raising her voice. “You dare to come here?”
He sucked in a deep breath. “Goot mariye, Honor. I know you weren’t expecting me, but—”
“But nothing,” Honor flung back. Red-haired Elijah’s cry became a shriek, and a dog ran out of the house and began to bark. Honor raised her voice further to be heard over the noise. “What are doing here, Luke?”
“Calm down,” he soothed, raising both hands, palms up, in an attempt to dampen the fire of her temper. “Hear me out, before—”
“There will be no hearing you out,” she said, interrupting him again. “You’re not welcome here, Luke Weaver.”
“Now, Honor—”
“Why did you bring him here, Sara?” Honor demanded.
To add to the confusion, the rainfall suddenly became a downpour. Sara looked up at the dark sky and then at Honor. “If you’ve any charity, I think we’d best get under your roof before we all drown,” she said.
Honor grimaced and reached out for the child struggling in Sara’s arms. “Could you grab Elijah?” she asked the matchmaker. “Stop that, Justice,” she said, balancing her middle child on one hip and the baby against her shoulder. “Why are you half-dressed? Where’s Greta? And where’s your coat?” She glanced up. “Ya, come in, all of you. Elijah! Tanner!” She rolled her eyes. “You, too, Luke. Although it would serve you right if I did leave you out here to drown.”
Chapter Two (#udbe69e71-c2c1-56c8-b873-f6af59ead48a)
Honor set Justice down on the top step and herded him and the other two boys into the narrow passageway that served as a place to hang coats, wash clothing and store buckets, kindling and fifty other items she didn’t want in her kitchen. “Watch your step,” she warned Sara. “The cat had kittens, and they’re constantly underfoot.”
Her late husband had disliked cats in the house. The thought that this was her house and she could do as she pleased now, in spite of what he thought, gave her a small gratification in the midst of the constant turmoil. “Tanner? Where’s Greta?” She glanced back at Sara who was setting Elijah on his feet. “Greta’s Silas’s niece. She helps me with the children and the housework.” She raised her free hand in a hopeless gesture. “She was supposed to be checking on the sheep. She must have taken the little ones outside with her.”
Kittens, sheep, Greta and the condition of her kitchen were easier for Honor to think about than Luke Weaver. She couldn’t focus on him right now. Barely could imagine him back in Kent County, let alone in her house. What had possessed Sara to bring him here?
Queasiness coiled in the pit of Honor’s stomach and made her throat tighten. It had taken her years to put Luke in her past...to try to forget him. And how many hours had she prayed to forgive him? That was still a work in progress. But she wouldn’t let him upset her life. Not now. Not ever again. And yet, here he was in her home. God, give me the strength, she pleaded silently.
Confusion reigned in the damp laundry room where the ceiling sagged and the single window was cracked and leaked air around the rotting frame. Her baby daughter, Anke, began to wail again, and Justice was whining.
“Inside,” Honor ordered, pointing. “You’ll have to forgive the state of the house,” she said over her shoulder to Sara. She chose to ignore Luke as she led the way into the kitchen. “The roof has a leak. Leaks.” Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Water dripped from the ceiling into an assortment of buckets and containers. Not that she had to tell Sara that the roof leaked. She could see it for herself. She could hear the cascade of falling drops.
Honor gazed around the kitchen, seeing it as her visitors must, a high-ceilinged room with exposed beams overhead, a bricked-up fireplace and cupboards with sagging doors. She’d painted the room a pale lemon yellow, polished the windowpanes until they shone and done her best with the patchy, cracked linoleum floor, but it was plain that soap and elbow grease did little against forty years of neglect. What must Sara think of her? As for Luke, she told herself that she didn’t care what he thought.
But she did.
“Tanner,” Honor said brusquely. “Take your brothers to the bathroom. Greta will give you all a bath and clean clothes. As soon as I find her,” she added. “But you’ve not heard the end of this,” she warned, shaking a finger. It was an empty threat. She knew it and the children did, too, but it seemed like something a mother should say. She put the baby into her play yard and looked around. Where was that girl? Greta, sixteen, was not nearly as much help as Honor had hoped she would be when she’d agreed to have the girl come live with her. Sometimes, Honor felt as if Greta was just another child to tend to. “Tanner, where is Greta?”
Tanner flushed and suddenly took a great interest in a tear in the linoleum between his feet.
Justice piped up. “Feed room.”
Tanner lifted his head to glare at his brother.
“What did you say?” Honor asked.
“Feed room.” Justice clapped his hands over his mouth and giggled.
“What’s she doing in the feed room?” Honor frowned, fearing the answer as she spoke.
Justice shrugged. “Can’t get out.” He cast a knowing look at his older brother, Tanner, whose face was growing redder by the second.
Honor brought the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Did you lock her in again?”
Tanner’s blue eyes widened as he pointed at Elijah. “Not me. He did it.”
“And you let him? Shame on you. You’re the big boy. You’re supposed to—”
“Wait, someone’s locked in the feed room?” Luke interrupted, using his handkerchief to wipe the splatters of mud off his face.
“Tanner, you go this minute and let Greta out,” Honor ordered, still ignoring the fact that Luke, her Luke, was standing in her kitchen. “And the three of you are in big trouble. There will be no apple pie for any of you tonight.”
“I’ll go,” Luke offered, shoving his handkerchief into the pants he’d borrowed from Sara’s hired hand. “Where’s the feed room?”
“Barn,” Tanner supplied.
“The’th in the barn,” Elijah lisped.
Luke turned back toward the outer door.
Honor watched him go. The way it was pouring rain, he’d get soaked. She didn’t care. She turned back to her boys. “Upstairs!” she said. “Go find dry clothes. Now. I’ll send Greta up to run your bath. And you haven’t heard the last of this. I promise you that.”
They ran.
Honor exhaled and glanced at Sara. “I’m not as terrible a mother as I must seem. I was changing Anke’s diaper. I thought Elijah was in his bed napping and the other two playing upstairs. Fully dressed. They were dressed the last time I saw them.” She pressed her hand to her forehead again. “Really, they were.”
Sara looked around the kitchen. She didn’t have to say anything. Honor wanted to sink through the floor. Not that her kitchen was dirty. It wasn’t, except that she’d been making bread. Who wouldn’t scatter a little flour on the counter or floor? There were no dirty dishes in the sink, no sour diaper smell, and if her boys looked like muddy scarecrows, at least the baby was clean and neat. But the buckets all over the room...
“I hired someone to fix the roof and make the repairs to the house,” Honor explained. “But—” She gave a wave. “It’s a long story, but basically, it won’t be happening anytime soon.”
“I know,” Sara supplied. “I heard. Robert Swartzentruber fell off a ladder and broke his ankle. A pity.”
“Ya, a pity. Poor man. I’ve been looking for a replacement, but—” she opened her arms “—I’ve been a little busy.”
“Which is exactly why I brought Luke Weaver,” Sara said smoothly.
Honor studied her. Did Sara know about her and Luke? She must know. But it had all happened before Sara came to Seven Poplars. Maybe she didn’t know. “Why him?” she asked.
“He’s a master carpenter. And he’s new to town and looking for work.”
“I’m sorry. No, that’s not possible.” Honor picked up a small tree branch, brought in by one of her boys, and tossed it in the trash can. She checked her tone before she spoke again, because she’d been accused more than once of speaking too sharply to people. Of having too strong an opinion. “Luke Weaver is not working on my house,” she declared. “I don’t want him here. He’s the last carpenter I’d—”
“Honor.” Sara cut her off. “Think of your children. If you have a leak in the kitchen, you must have them elsewhere in the house. And your back step is broken. And you’ve got a cracked windowpane in your laundry room and another on the second floor. And the bad winter weather hasn’t even set in on us.”
“Half the house is broken,” Honor answered honestly. Her late husband had bought the farm without her ever seeing the place. He’d promised to fix it up, but he hadn’t kept many promises. And now she was left to deal with it.
“Don’t let pride or an old disagreement keep you from doing what’s best for your children,” Sara cautioned.
So she knew something. The question was, what had he told her? “Just not him,” Honor repeated. “Anyone else. I can pay. I don’t need...” It was difficult to keep from raising her voice. Sara didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. Honor didn’t need Luke. Couldn’t have him here. Why would he ever believe she would let him walk in and then hire him?
“I’m not asking you to marry him,” Sara said with an amused look. “I know you have a history—”
“A history?” Honor flared, feeling her cheeks grow warm. “Is that what he told you?”
“The details aren’t my business.” Sara’s face softened. “Honor, I know how difficult it can be for a widow alone. I’ve been there. But you have to make choices that are in your best interest. And those of your children. If Luke’s willing to make the repairs you need and you pay a fair wage, you’re not obligated to him. He’s an employee, nothing more. He could do the job and then move on. And you and your children would be much better off.”
Honor shook her head. The insides of her eyelids stung and she could feel the emotions building up inside her, but she wouldn’t cry. There was no way Luke would make her cry again. “He didn’t tell you what he did to me, did he?”
“He wanted to, but I wouldn’t hear of it,” Sara said. “As I said, I don’t need to know. What I do know is that he seems to be a good man.”
“I believed that, too. Once, a long time ago.” Honor gripped the back of a chair. “But then he walked out on me nine years ago.” Against her will, tears filled her eyes. “The morning we were to be married.”
* * *
As soon as Luke walked into the barn, he could tell where the feed room was by the muffled shouts and thuds. He found his way past a dappled gray horse, a placid Jersey cow, stray hens and a pen of sheep to a door with a wooden bar across it. He swung the bar up, and the door burst open. Out spilled a slight, sandy-haired, teenage girl with tear-streaked cheeks.
“They locked me in again!” she declared. She seemed about to elaborate on her plight when she suddenly saw him and stopped short in her tracks, eyes wide. “Atch!” she cried and clapped a hand over her mouth.
“I’m Luke,” he said. “Honor sent me to let you out.” That wasn’t exactly true, but close enough without going into a detailed explanation. “Are you all right?”
“They are bad children! Bad!” she flung back without answering his question. “And that oldest is the worst. Every day, they lock me in the feed room.” She thrust out her lower lip, sniffed and began to weep again. “I want to go home.”
“Don’t cry,” Luke said. “You say they lock you in the feed room every day? So why...why did you give them the opportunity to lock you in? Again and again?”
“Aagschmiert. Tricked. I was tricked.” She wiped her nose with the back of the sleeve of her oversize barn coat. “And it’s dark in there. I hate the dark.”
“Ya.” Luke nodded. “I’m not overly fond of it myself. At least I wouldn’t be if someone locked me in.” He reached out and removed a large spiderweb from the girl’s headscarf.
She shuddered when she saw it. “Wildheet,” she insisted. “Wild, bad kinner.” She pointed at a chicken. “See? They let the chickens out of their pen, too. And yesterday it was the cow. Everything, they let loose. Me, they lock in.”
Luke pressed his lips tightly together and tried not to laugh. “As I said, I’m Luke. I came to make repairs to the house. And who are you?”
“Greta. Silas’s niece. From Ohio.” Another tear rolled down her cheek. “But going home, I think. Soon.”
“Well, Greta from Ohio, best we get back in the house before they send someone else out in the rain to see if I’m locked up somewhere, too.”
Still muttering under her breath about bad children, Greta led the way through the cluttered barn and, hunching her back against the downpour, made a dash for the house.
They went inside, leaving their wet coats and his hat hanging on hooks in the laundry room, and made a beeline for the woodstove in the kitchen. Greta’s teeth were chattering. Luke had the shivers, but he clamped his teeth together and refused to give in to the chill. He put his hands out to the radiating heat, grateful for the semidry kitchen, and glanced sideways at Honor.
In the time since he’d gone to the barn and returned, she’d twisted up her hair and covered it with a woolen scarf. Her plain blue dress had seen better days and her apron was streaked with flour and mud. Her black wool stockings were faded; her slender feet were laced into high black leather shoes. Honor had always been a small woman, and now she was even more slender and more graceful. Life and motherhood had pared away the girlish roundness of her face, leaving her stunning to his eye, more beautiful than he’d dreamed.
“Again?” she said to the girl. “You let them lock you in again?”
Greta began to sniffle.
“None of that,” Honor said, not unkindly. “Go change into dry things and then find the boys. They need a bath and clean clothes.”
“The wash is still damp,” Greta protested. “I hung it in the attic like you said, but it’s still wet.”
“Then bathe them and put them into their nightshirts. I won’t have them running around the house in those muddy clothes.”
“They won’t listen to me,” Greta muttered. “Justice won’t get in the tub and the little one will run off as soon as I turn my back to him.”
“Never you mind, child,” Sara said. “I’ll come along and lend a hand. I’ve bathed my share of unwilling kinner. And, I promise you, they won’t get the best of me.” She fixed Luke with a determined gaze. “Honor and Luke have some matters to discuss in private, anyway. Don’t you?”
He nodded, feeling a little intimidated by Sara. She reminded him of his late mother.
“I wrote to you,” he said when they were alone, as he held out his cold fingers to the warm woodstove. “I wrote every month since I heard that...that your husband passed. You refused my letters and they were returned.” He searched her face, looking for some hint that she still cared for him...that she could forgive him. “I apologized for—”
“I didn’t want to hear what you had to say then or now,” she answered brusquely.
He exhaled. “Honor, I was wrong. I regret what I did, but I can’t change the past.” Only a few feet separated them. He wanted to go to her, to clasp her hands in his. But he didn’t; he stood where he was. “I’m sorry, Honor. What more can I say?”
“That you’ll go back to Kansas and leave me in peace.”
“I can’t do that.” He gestured to the nearest leak in the ceiling. “You need help. And I’m here to do whatever you need. I’m a good carpenter. I can fix whatever’s broken.”
“Can you?” she asked softly.
And, for just a second, he saw moisture gleam in her large blue eyes. Emotion pricked the back of his throat. They weren’t talking about the house anymore. They were talking about their hearts.
“I can try,” he said softly.
She shook her head. “It’s over, Luke. Whatever we had, whatever I felt for you, it’s gone.”
He stared at the floor. Despite her words, he still felt a connection to Honor. And he had a sense that what she was saying wasn’t necessarily how she felt. So he took a leap of faith. He lifted his head to look into her eyes. “I’ll be here first thing tomorrow morning with my tools. I know you hate me, but—”
“I don’t hate you, Luke.”
“Good, then we’ve a place to start. As I said, I’ll be here early in the morning to start patching your roof.”
“Patching won’t do,” she said, looking up and gesturing. “Look at this. The whole thing needs replacing.”
“We’ll see. If it can’t be patched, I’ll find a crew and we’ll put on a new roof.”
She faced him squarely, arms folded, chin up. “I want no favors from you.”
“Then you’ll have none. You can pay me whatever the going hourly wage is. I’ll start in this kitchen and go from there. I’ll mend whatever needs doing.”
She pursed her lips, lips he’d once kissed and wanted desperately to kiss again. “You will, will you? And what if I lock the door on you?”
“You won’t.”
Darker blue clouds swirled in the depths of her beautiful eyes. “And what makes you so certain of that?”
“Because you’ll think better of it. You didn’t expect to see me here, and you’re still angry. I get that. But you always had good sense, Honor. When you consider what’s best for you and your children, you’ll decide I’m the lesser of two evils.”
“Which is?”
“Putting up with me doing your repairs is better than living with a leaky roof and a fallen windmill.” He smiled at her. “And you will agree to let me do it. Because turning me away isn’t smart, and you’ve always been the smartest woman I’ve ever known.”
Chapter Three (#udbe69e71-c2c1-56c8-b873-f6af59ead48a)
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.”
Chapter Four (#udbe69e71-c2c1-56c8-b873-f6af59ead48a)
Honor glanced out the window to where her three red-cheeked boys were playing in the snow. Justice had climbed up on the gate, and Tanner was pushing it open and shut while Elijah threw snowballs at them both.
At least, she guessed he was attempting to throw snowballs. His aim was good, but he hadn’t quite mastered the art of forming fresh snow into a ball. It was probably for the best, she thought, because no one was crying yet. Even Greta, who was in the barnyard, tossing shelled corn to the chickens and ducks, seemed to be having a good time.
Honor was glad. It wasn’t often that she saw Greta enjoying herself. The girl had been so homesick when she first arrived that Honor had seriously considered sending her home. However, Silas’s sister had made it clear that she had a lot of mouths to feed and the wages Honor paid Greta were a blessing to the family. There were nine children still at home, and the father was disabled, his only income coming from what he earned fixing clocks. And as inexperienced as Greta seemed to be with most chores, she was better than no help at all for Honor.
“Have you got time to help me for a couple of minutes?” Luke asked, interrupting Honor’s thoughts. “This would go faster if you could hold that end of the board.”
She glanced at him standing at a window, a freshly cut board in his hand. She tried not to smile. She still didn’t want him here, but she was astonished at the amount of work he’d gotten done in only three days. And it was amazing how easily he seemed to be easing into the household. The children were already trailing after him as if they had known him their whole lives. That rankled most of all. “Of course,” she said as she put Anke in her play yard.
Honor wondered why she hadn’t found someone to do this carpentry work sooner. But she knew why. It was her own fear of spending all her savings, leaving nothing to live on, as Silas had warned she would. Silas had made all the financial decisions in their marriage. He’d even given her an allowance for groceries and household items. And now that she was free to make her own decisions, it had taken some time begin to trust her own judgment.
“Just hold this end,” Luke instructed, indicating a length of wood. “The kitchen will feel a lot snugger once these leaks around the window are patched. Just some decent framing and some caulk is all you needed here.”
It already felt a lot warmer. The first thing that Luke did every morning when he arrived was to chop wood and fill the wood box. She could cut wood, and she was capable of carrying it. But it was hard work. Luke made it seem easy. Of course, she had propane heat to fall back on, but firewood from her own property was free.
Honor grabbed her end of the board and held it in place.
“Something smells wonderful,” he said between the strikes of his hammer. The nails went in true and straight. “Downright delicious,” he persisted.
She sighed. “I’m making a rice pudding. I put it in the oven while you were rehanging the gate.”
He glanced out the window to where all three of the children were now swinging on the gate. “It looks like those hinges are getting a thorough quality-control inspection.”
Honor laughed. “That’s a nice way of putting it. Most people aren’t quite so charitable.”
“They ought to be. They’re fine youngsters.”
“Danke.” She thought so, even if they were full of mischief. But that was natural, wasn’t it? Boys were mischief makers. It was their nature.
Luke pushed another piece of trim into her hands. “Line the bottom of that up with the horizontal board.”
“Like this?”
“Just a little higher. There. That’s perfect.” He quickly drove several finishing nails into place. “A little paint and this window will give you another ten years of service.”
“I can do the painting,” she offered. “At least in here.” She wanted the trim and ceiling white. The walls were a pale green, lighter than celery. She liked green, and the white trim would set it off and make the room look fresh.
“You’re welcome to it, if you can find the time. Painting isn’t one of my favorite tasks. I can do it if I have to, but I’m happier with the woodworking.” He motioned to the corner of the room where he’d pulled up a section of cracked and worn linoleum. “The original floor is under here. White pine, I think. Wide boards. If we took up all the linoleum and refinished the floor, it would be a lot cheaper than putting down another floor covering.” He met her gaze. “What do you think?”
She considered. “A saving when there was so much money to go out would be a blessing, but...” She frowned, trying to think how to word her thought delicately, then just said what was on her mind. “You think the children will ruin it?”
“I suppose it’s possible,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. “But more than one family of children has lived in this kitchen over the last two hundred years, so I doubt it. The hardwood would come up beautiful.”
“And plain?”
“As plain as pine.” He chuckled and she found herself smiling with him. “Plain enough to suit a bishop.”
“And we want to do that, don’t we?” she replied.
Staying within the community rules was a necessary part of Amish life, one that she’d never felt restricted her. Rather, it made her feel safe. The elders of the church, the preachers and the bishop, told the congregation what God expected of them. All she had to do was follow their teaching, and someday, when she passed out of this earthly existence, she would be welcomed into Heaven. It was a comforting certainty, one that she had dedicated her life to living.
Anke pulled herself to her feet and tossed a rag doll out of her play yard onto the floor. Luke scooped it up and handed it back to her. She promptly threw it a second time, giggling when he retrieved it yet again.
“It’s a game,” Honor said. “She’d keep it up all day if you’d let her.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Look at the time. I’d best get the dumplings rolled for dinner.”
Luke handed the doll to Anke again, then tickled her belly through the mesh side of the play yard. The baby giggled. “She was born after her father passed, wasn’t she?” he mused.
Honor nodded. “She was.”
“It must have been terribly difficult for you, not having him with you. And after, when Anke was an infant.”
Honor thought carefully before she responded. She wasn’t going to lie to make her late husband out to be someone he wasn’t, but she wouldn’t disrespect him, either. “Silas was a good man, but he believed that small children were the responsibility of the mother. He said he would take them in hand when they were older.”
How old, she wasn’t certain. Tanner hadn’t been old enough to command his father’s attention beyond Silas’s insistence that their little boy hold his tongue at the table, in church and whenever adults were present. As for Justice and Elijah, she couldn’t recall Silas ever holding one of them in his arms or taking them on his lap. Not to read to them. Certainly not to snuggle with them. Looking back, she could see that her decision to marry Silas had been impulsive, she’d agreed without really thinking through her options. If she was honest with herself, the truth was, she married Silas because he was the first man to ask. After Luke.
“I’m so sorry that you had to—”
“Don’t be sorry for me, Luke,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “We all have trials to live through. They say that God never gives anyone more than they can bear.”
His green eyes filled with compassion. “I’m still sorry.”
“Silas left me a home and four healthy children. Riches beyond counting,” she murmured, turning away from him to take a dish towel from the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “I’m truly blessed.”
Luke was quiet for a moment and then said, “So what do you think?”
“About what?” She turned back to him.
“The floor? Will you be satisfied with the old wood planks?”
“How will you finish them?”
“A high-grade poly. But it still won’t cost much.”
She held up her hand. “Say no more. We can try it. If I don’t like it, I can always cover the floor again.” She lifted a heavy cast-iron kettle from the countertop.
“Let me get that.” Luke took it from her and carried it to the stove. “What’s going with those slippery dumplings?”
“Fried chicken, peas, mashed potatoes and biscuits,” she said, fighting a smile as she washed her hands at the sink. The man did like to eat.
“Mmm, sounds good. You don’t suppose you could spare a bowl of dumplings.”
“Didn’t Sara pack you a lunch?”
He grinned. “She did. But it’s a ham sandwich and an apple. Cold. Hot chicken and slippery dumplings sounds much tastier. Especially on a chilly day like this.”
He was right. It did. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of hot biscuits dripping with butter and chicken fried crispy brown. She loved to eat, too, and she had no doubt that by the time she reached middle age, she’d have lost her girlish figure. Not that she looked much like the slim, wide-eyed girl who’d married Silas King. Four children coming so quickly had added inches to her waist and hips. It was only long hours and hard work that kept her from becoming round.
“So, am I to fast on Sara’s charity, or are you willing to give me just the tiniest cup of dumplings?” Luke began plaintively.
He sounded so much like a little boy that Honor had to chuckle. “All right, all right, you can have dinner with us. But you’d best not waste Sara’s ham sandwich.” Honor began to remove flour and salt from the Hoosier cabinet she’d brought with her to the marriage. The piece had been her great-grandmother’s, and it had been carefully cared for over four generations. The paint was a little faded, but she loved it just the way it was.
“I’ll eat it on the way back to her house,” Luke promised. He tucked several nails into his mouth and finished up the last piece of trim work on the window frame. “I replaced the sash cord so the window will go up and down easier,” he said. “And you won’t have to prop it open with a stick anymore.”
“Danke,” she said. Now, if he could just do something with the ceiling. It was low, which made the room darker than she liked. And crumbles of plaster sometimes fell on them. Once, she’d had to throw away a whole pot of chicken soup when a big chunk dropped into their supper.
The kitchen was one of the worst rooms in the house. Silas had promised that he’d get to it, but he never had. The parlor, he’d remodeled. Partially. Silas had said that he was making it a proper place for the bishop to preach, but he’d never asked the bishop to come. Instead, the room had become Silas’s retreat from the children and from her. He would close the door and huddle in there with a blanket around his shoulders against the chill while he went over his financial records.
“What do you think?” Luke asked her.
Honor blinked. She wasn’t sure what he’d asked her but didn’t want to admit that she’d been woolgathering. “I’m not sure,” she ventured as she measured out three level cups of flour.
“It would save time. And I’d get more work done here because I could work until dark.”
She turned to him, realizing she had no idea what he was talking about. “I’m sorry?”
“If I stayed at the mill instead of driving back and forth to Sara Yoder’s every day. Freeman invited me. He said I was welcome to stay in the farmhouse, but I didn’t want to be a burden on Katie. And they’re not married that long, so I think they should have their privacy. But...there’s a little house for a hired man. Just a single room. The boy who works for him still lives with his parents a mile away, so the place is empty. I offered to rent it from them, but Freeman wouldn’t have it. He says if I help them out a few hours on Saturday morning, when they have the most customers, I can live there for free.”
“It sounds a sensible arrangement, but you won’t be working on my house for long. What would you do then? Wouldn’t you be better situated closer to Dover?”
“The mill will be fine. I don’t know how long it will take to finish your house, but honestly...” He scratched his head. “There’s a lot that needs fixing around here, Honor. Some things, like that windmill, have to be rebuilt. I can’t go on using Sara’s mule. It’s not fair to her.”
“What were you doing for transportation in Kansas?”
“I have horses. A neighbor is keeping them for me until I can find someone reliable to transport them to Delaware. Freeman says I can keep them at his place once they arrive.” He shrugged. “Meanwhile, I can easily walk from the mill to your place.”
“In bad weather?”
“Rain and snow don’t bother me. After Kansas, Delaware weather will be mild.”
“I’ll remind you of that when you’re soaking to the skin and wading through mud puddles.” She shrugged. “Do as you please,” she said, but secretly she thought it was a splendid idea. Who could complain about getting more work out of a hired man? And that’s all Luke was, she told herself firmly. All he could ever be to her.
* * *
“You’re certain you don’t want to ride with us?” Freeman asked. “Plenty of room.” He stood just inside the door of the little house he’d helped Luke to move into the night before.
The small log structure stood in the shadow of the mill within the sound of the millrace and shaded by willows in summer and spring. Wood-floored and low-ceilinged, the single room contained a bed, a braided rug on the floor, a table and two chairs, a propane stove and a built-in cupboard. It was sparse but spotless with a cheery red-and-white quilt and plain white curtains at the two narrow windows. Hand-carved pegs held his coat, water-damaged hat and spare shirt. It was a solid place for a man who needed a roof over his head close to a certain woman’s house and one that Luke hoped he wouldn’t have need of for long.
Luke shook his head. “Ne, you and your family go on. I’ll be fine. I want to shine my boots and shave. I’ll catch a ride with Honor and the children.”
Freeman nodded. “I can understand how you’d rather go with them.” He grinned and glanced around the cabin. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here. Anything you want, you know you’re welcome to come up to the house. And we expect you to eat with us whenever the widow doesn’t feed you.”
He chuckled. “Sara Yoder thinks highly of you. And it’s not always easy to make an impression on our matchmaker. Well—” he slapped the doorjamb “—see you there. Sara’s Epiphany suppers are talked about all year. Every woman that comes brings her special dish, and we make up for the morning’s fasting by stuffing ourselves like Thanksgiving turkeys.”
“I can’t wait.” Luke remembered Honor saying something about the sweet potato pies she was planning on making the previous night, after he left and the children went to bed. “And thanks again for your hospitality,” he said to Freeman.
The miller tugged on his hat and went out, and Luke hunted up the shoe polish and cleaning cloth he’d seen on the shelf in the miniscule bathroom. He’d lost all his good clothes in the bus accident and hadn’t had the time to replace them. Until he bought a new wardrobe, he’d have to make do with the borrowed shirts and trousers that didn’t quite fit. Not that he wasn’t grateful to Sara and Hiram and Freeman for their kindness, but it was hard for him to be on the receiving end of charity when he’d been accustomed to being the one giving a helping hand to those who needed it.
Luke waited until he heard Freeman’s buggy roll out of the mill yard before donning his coat and hat. He hoped he hadn’t waited too long and missed Honor. But he was counting on the children to keep her from leaving early. He hadn’t exactly made arrangements to ride with her, and it would be a long walk to Sara’s if things didn’t work out. Or if Honor said no. Which he wasn’t even going to consider.
The wind was rising as he strode away from the cabin and past the mill. There would be no customers today. The “closed, come again” sign hung at the entrance to the drive. Across the way and down, at the dirt pull off, he saw a blue pickup parked, and beyond it, at the pond’s edge, a man and a small boy. It was too cold for fishing but they stood close together, tossing pebbles into the water and laughing about something.
A father and his son, Luke thought. A pang of regret knifed through him. If he’d not made the decision he had, Honor’s children might have been his own. He could have been the man standing with his son beside the millpond, laughing with him, lifting him high in the air. So many years lost...so many possibilities that could never be. He swallowed hard as a lump formed in his throat.
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