A Love Made New (12 page)

She stared at the cast-iron woodstove, then glanced around the room. It had been years since she'd been in this house, and only then when the Bontragers held church services. He was right; the place did look empty. But it looked new too. The walls were painted stark white. He had the stove and the rocking chair she sat in, which was a little tight on her hips but still comfortable. There was no other furniture, though. No couches, end tables, or even a bookshelf. Nothing decorated on the walls, like a clock or a calendar. No curtains on the windows, which were covered with blowing snow.

She looked at her feet and realized she still wore her boots. For a moment she worried about his wood floor, but then she saw it was scratched and needed refinishing. She'd heard he was fixing up the house after it had been wrecked by the former owners or squatters. Still, she didn't need to make wet spots on his floor. She started to pull off one boot when she heard him from behind her. She froze when she felt his warm hand on her shoulder.

He came around and knelt in front of her. “
Kaffee
's brewing,” he said, then took her boot and slipped it off her foot. He put it in front of the woodstove and turned to her.

A shiver ran through her, even though she was warm from the stove. “Asa, I can take off
mei
boots.”

“I know.” He lifted her other booted foot. “But I want to do this for you.”

She watched as he put her other boot in front of the stove. She curled her stocking feet underneath the chair.

“Do you need a blanket?” he asked.

“I'm fine, Asa.” And she was, surprisingly. Although having Asa take off her boots was unnerving, it was also nice to be cared for like this. Once again, he was making her feel special.

“It's really coming down outside.” He moved from his knees to casually sit in front of her, leaning his arm over one bent leg.

Looking down at him like this was awkward. But there was nowhere else for him to sit. Suddenly she felt guilty. “I'll leave the rugs with you,” she said, getting up from the chair. “You can give them back to Irene when you've decided which one you want.”

“You don't have to
geh
—”

“Aden will be at Irene's soon to pick me up. I don't want him to have to wait on me.”

“Oh.” He stood. “Well then, I'll drive you over there.”

“There's
nee
need to get
yer
horse out in this.” She took her boots and started to put one on, but she moved too quickly and lost her balance.

His hand went to her waist. “Steady,” he said.

Once again she was aware of her body as he touched her. And once again she was mortified. She regained her balance and moved away from him, giving him no choice but to drop his hand. “This is getting ridiculous,” she said, voicing her thoughts out loud.

“What do you mean?”

“You. Me. This.” She waved the boot in her hand. “I'm always
falling or tripping or upset or freezing . . . and you're always there.” She paused, lowering the boot. “You're always there.”

He swallowed, and she could see his Adam's apple working in the center of his neck. “I'm trying to be.” He moved closer to her. “I want to be
yer
friend.”

And if she needed any more confirmation that there was nothing romantic between them, he'd just given it to her. She took a deep breath. She should be glad about this. She didn't need to be romantically involved with anyone right now. It was too soon after Joel, and even though he could move on from what they had so quickly, she couldn't. That was also clear to her. She smiled. “
Danki.
I can use a
gut
friend.”

“Me too.” But as he spoke, his gaze didn't leave hers, and his gray irises turned that stormy dark color that made her feel things she shouldn't be feeling for a friend. Clearly she didn't have any idea how to read a man either. She'd been so wrong about Joel.

“We should get you to Irene's,” he said, still gazing at her with enough warmth that she was actually starting to get a little hot.

She shook her head. “Like I said, I'm walking over there.”

“Then I'm walking with you.”

Abigail shoved on the boot. “
Nee
, you're not.
Nee
sense in both of us freezing.”

He held up his hand. “Wait for me. It will only take a minute for me to grab
mei
boots and coat.”

But when he left, she shoved on the other boot, then grabbed her coat and bonnet off the banister and put them on as she opened the door. It wouldn't take her long to get to Irene's, and it really was foolish for both of them to be out in this horrible weather. She buttoned up her coat, tied her bonnet, donned her gloves, and then plunged into the wintry night.

It took Asa less than a minute to grab his coat and boots and put them on, only to come back and discover Abigail was gone. What a stubborn woman. Did she really think he was going to let her walk in this storm by herself? He opened the door and headed into the blowing snow, squinting his eyes and wishing he'd brought his hat. How could he have forgotten his hat? And his gloves. Another gust of wind kicked up, ruffling his hair and chilling the tops of his ears. Then again, his hat probably would have blown off his head in this wind.

He searched around in the darkness. Where was she? He'd started to worry when he finally made out the shadowy figure a few feet in front of him, struggling against the driving wind. He blew out a frosty breath and trudged toward Abigail. She wasn't the only one ready for spring.

When he reached her, he put his arm underneath her elbow. She jumped and gave him a frightened look. The storm howled around them. “I've got you!” he yelled, hoping she could hear him.

She nodded. But before she took another step forward, she wrapped her arm around his and held on tight to his coat.

Together they fought the blizzard, and for a little while Asa worried the weather might win. He couldn't remember the last time they'd had such a bad snowstorm. Even in Indiana they hadn't had a blizzard like this. Relief shot through him when he spied the faint light of the gas lamp in the Beilers' window. “We're almost there,” he hollered to Abigail.

She moved closer to him.

If it hadn't been snowing, he might have enjoyed the close contact. But their goal was to keep each other from blowing away. When they made it up the steps to the front porch, Abigail
let go of his arm. He faced her, leaning down and rubbing his stiff hands against her coat. “You okay?”

“
Y-ya
.” Then she asked, “A-are you?”

It was the first time she'd inquired about his well-being. He felt warm from the inside out as he nodded, then pounded on Andrew's door. Abigail huddled next to him as he blew on his hands. Finally the door opened.

“Asa? Abigail?” Naomi looked from him to her, her eyes widened. “
Gut
heavens, get inside!”

Asa let Abigail go in first, even though he was the one who had on fewer outer layers. The tops of his ears were numb. So were his fingers. He flexed them, looking at the red skin.

Then two gloved hands were around his own. Abigail's. She rubbed her palms over his in a brisk motion. “Better?”

You have
nee
idea.
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Naomi paused for a moment, looking at them, before saying, “
Geh
stand by the woodstove.”

Abigail let go of Asa's hands and they both moved close to the stove. Asa's frigid body soaked in the warmth like a frozen sponge. He held his hands toward the heat as Andrew, Irene, and Joanna came into the room.

Andrew's brow shot up. “Why didn't you wait the storm out at
yer haus
?”

Shooting a look at Abigail, Asa shrugged.

“It's not Asa's fault.” Abigail met Asa's gaze before looking at Andrew.

Joanna went to her sister. “Are you okay?
Yer
lips are almost blue.”

“I didn't realize how bad it w-was outside.” Her body shook next to Asa's. She looked up at him. “I'm sorry,” she said softly.

“I'll get some quilts,” Andrew said.

“I'll take
yer
coats,” Irene added.

“I'll make some hot chocolate.” Joanna patted Abigail's wet coat.

Asa and Abigail handed their coats and, in Abigail's case, her bonnet and gloves to Irene. Andrew and Joanna disappeared and Asa supposed Naomi had gone to the kitchen from the delicious smells wafting from there. His stomach grumbled. Something hot and delicious would be perfect right now.

Then he realized he was alone with Abigail, the crackle of the wood from the stove the only sound in the room. Abigail faced the fire, rubbing her hands together. Then she looked at Asa. “What about
yer
woodstove?”

“It will burn out on its own. I'm not worried.”

She sighed. “I'm sorry. You shouldn't have come after me.”

“I didn't mind.” And he didn't. He would have done anything to make sure she was safe. Even risk frostbitten ears. He touched the tops, making sure they were still there. He couldn't feel his hair against them.

Naomi appeared, holding two mugs. “Hot tea,” she said, handing one to Abigail, the other to Asa.

“Joanna's making hot chocolate,” Abigail said.

“You'll want that too.” She shook her head. “You two could have been lost out there.”

“We knew the way to
yer haus
,” Asa said, then sipped the tea.

“That's not what I mean. We haven't had one of these storms in years, but in a blizzard like that, when you can't see anything, it's easy to get off course.”

Asa hadn't thought about that. It was true, though. And they hadn't brought a flashlight. They could have frozen to death out there.
Thank you, Lord.
He met Abigail's eyes and knew she was thinking the same thing.

They were wrapped in quilts, sipping on hot chocolate in front of the woodstove when Naomi said supper would be ready soon. “Then we'll figure out where everyone is going to sleep.”

“I'll help Andrew with the horses after supper,” Asa said. He had bedded down his own horse in the stall before Abigail arrived. The young mare would be warm for the rest of the night. If the storm continued into the morning, he'd have to make his way over there. But he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

“You don't have to. Sol's with Andrew right now taking care of them.”

“Sol's here?” Abigail asked.

“
Ya.
He's not going anywhere either.” Naomi went back into the kitchen.

Asa took another sip of his hot chocolate. He'd had Joanna's hot chocolate before, and it was delicious. He wondered if Abigail had her sister's recipe. An image popped into his mind. He and Abigail, seated around the fire at home, sipping hot chocolate . . .

He froze. That was the first time he'd imagined them together. As a married couple. With the image still firmly in his mind, he cast her a side glance. She was staring at the stove, but not with the frozen, glazed expression she'd had earlier. Then she looked at him. Smiled. And he forgot to breathe.

“I guess we're all having a sleepover,” she said, turning back to look at the stove.

“When I was younger Andrew and I would split time between each other's houses.” He grinned. “Part of me feels like a kid again tonight.”

“Even after almost freezing to death?”

“I wouldn't have let that happen.” He looked at her, an idea coming. “Think you might be up for a game of Dutch Blitz tonight?”

She arched a surprised eyebrow, then a competitive gleam appeared in her eyes. Oh, wow. This was a side of her he hadn't seen before.

“It's
mei
favorite card game.”

“Mine too.” He angled toward her and crossed his arms over his chest. “I'll have you know that I rarely lose.”

“And I'll have you know that I
never
lose.” Then she smiled, a genuine, relaxed smile that almost had him flat on the floor. He didn't need divine convincing anymore to want to be with Abigail Schrock. Now it would take an act of God for him not to want to be with her.

A
fter eating a delicious supper, Sol munched on Joanna's peach cobbler while he stood at the perimeter of the kitchen watching Joanna, Abigail, Asa, and Andrew play Dutch Blitz. Naomi and Irene were washing dishes, and Homer was under the table at Joanna's feet. Outside the wind howled and shook the windows, but inside it was cozy, warm, and comfortable. Everyone seemed at ease with one another. Something he wasn't used to.

He frowned, putting his fork on his plate, only half finishing his cobbler even though it was the best peach dessert he'd ever tasted. Growing up, his father had forbidden games in the house. He and Aden only played when they were at friends' houses or at school. When Sol was a teenager, he'd lost interest in games and became interested in getting drunk instead.

Abigail took her set of cards and shuffled them expertly. Sol couldn't help but catch Asa watching her. The guy had barely kept his eyes off her. She seemed oblivious, though. Sol's frown deepened. He didn't know Asa very well and had no idea what
his intentions were where Abigail was concerned. But Abigail was part of his family now. He didn't want to see her hurt, like she had been by Joel.

He stilled. When had he started to care so much about the Schrock sisters? Yes, they were family by marriage. Then again, if Asa ended up hurting Abigail, what could Sol do about it? He was a pariah. And why? Because of
Daed
. Everything always circled around to his father.

Irene came up to him. “Don't tell me you don't like the cobbler. There's something wrong with
yer
taste buds, if you don't.”

“
Nee
, it's
gut
. I'm just not very hungry.” And he wasn't. Thinking about his father destroyed his appetite.

“
Mamm
's chicken stew is delicious. And Joanna makes the best biscuits. So flaky and flavorful.” She leaned forward. “I love Joanna, but I doubly love that she's a
gut
cook. Andrew's going to have to watch his waistline.”

Sol almost smiled at that. Leave it to Irene to make him feel a little lighthearted. She was so sweet and earnest and, of course, pretty, with sparkling blue eyes and blonde hair that never stayed completely under her
kapp
. Right now a few wisps brushed against her cheek, and he wished he could tuck them behind her ear. At one time he probably would have. But he respected her too much now. He hadn't expected her to offer to help him paint the birdhouses. But now he couldn't help but look forward to spending time with her. She wasn't treating him like an outcast . . . she treated him like a person.

“Here,” she said, taking his plate from him. Then she glanced at the table. “You don't want to play?”

“It's a four-person game.”

“We have two decks.”

He shook his head. “I don't really know how.”

Her eyes widened. “You don't know how to play Dutch Blitz?”

His jaw set again. “
Nee.
I don't.” Another reminder of how barren his life had been—and still was. He couldn't play or enjoy a simple game. “If you'll excuse me . . .” He turned and left the kitchen to be alone in the living room. He sat down on the couch and started counting again, not to curb his temper, but to stifle the ache in his chest. He didn't want to be alone. He wanted to be a part of the fun in the kitchen. To feel like he wasn't always going to be an outsider. Yet he didn't see how that would change. He was too broken inside. He'd hurt too many people.

But something else held him back. He'd spent a lifetime being disappointed. He couldn't bear that again, especially over Irene. Eventually she would find out his true character, and she would abandon him too. It was only a matter of time.

Irene wanted to chase after Sol and apologize, although she didn't know what she'd said to upset him. She'd seen him, off to the side, enjoying his peach cobbler, which of course was the best cobbler she'd ever had because Joanna had made it. Then she saw a shadow pass over his face and he put down his fork. He looked so lonely, and nothing could have kept her from going to him to try to cheer him up. For a brief moment she had even gotten him to smile.

Then she'd mentioned the game and he was back to brooding again. Which made her want to try to comfort him. But he'd refuse, and she wouldn't go chasing after him. He might need her, but he wasn't making things easy.

She took his plate and dumped the rest of the cobbler in the trash bin. Joanna was too busy with the card game to notice she'd thrown away the treat. Then she took the plate to the sink. Her
mother was drying the last cup. Irene washed the dessert dish, rinsed it, then took the towel from her mother to dry it.

“It's nice to see everyone having a
gut
time.” Naomi turned and leaned against the counter, her gaze on the card players.

Not everyone.
Irene glanced over her shoulder. But at least the rest of them were. Abigail had just called out “Blitz!” That meant she won the hand, and she turned to Asa and gave him a triumphant smile.

“Lucky,” he said, grabbing the cards and shuffling.

“Not luck. Skill. And give me those.” She took Asa's deck and shuffled them for him.

“Hey. I can shuffle
mei
own cards.”

“And we'll be here all night if you do,” Abigail shot back.

“Um, I think we'll be here all night anyway.”

Abigail grinned and handed Asa his deck. Andrew and Joanna had already shuffled theirs. Abigail gave hers a quick couple of shuffles and the game was on again.

“Why don't you join them?”
Mamm
asked.

Irene wanted to. Dutch Blitz was one of her favorite games. But she didn't want to intrude on the two couples. Her suspicion about Asa was right on—he was interested in Abigail. Abigail didn't seem to notice, but it was obvious the way he leaned close to her while he was playing, brushing her shoulder with his. The game was a lively one, but that didn't keep Asa's eyes from watching Abigail. No wonder he kept losing the game.

Maybe that's why Sol hadn't wanted to join them. It was clear that the two couples didn't need a fifth and sixth wheel.

Irene turned to her mother. “It's awkward with five people. You need an even number.”

“What about Sol?” Naomi scanned the kitchen. “Where did he
geh
?”

“He was tired.” Irene immediately felt bad for the little lie, but explaining about Sol was too difficult.

“Blitz!” Abigail sat back in her chair, her arms across her chest.

“Again?” Joanna said.

“I give up.” Andrew lifted his hands. “You're unbeatable tonight, Abigail.”

“I told you she was
gut
at this game,” Joanna said.

Asa remained silent. Irene watched him watch Abigail, and she hoped whatever feelings he had for her, he would take things slow. Abigail was still fragile, even though she was tough on the outside. She'd suffered enough pain in the past few months. She didn't need Asa adding more.

“Could you fix up Andrew's room for Sol?” her mother asked. “It hasn't been used since the wedding, and I'm sure it needs a little dusting. The sheets are clean, but you should probably replace the quilt on the bed with a fresh one from
mei
hope chest.”

Irene nodded. “Sure. I'll do that now.”

“
Gut
. And Irene?”

She turned and looked at her mother. “
Ya?
”

“I'm sorry if I overstepped a little while ago. You know, about painting the birdhouses. I feel like I put you and Sol on the spot, and I shouldn't have. It's just . . .”
Mamm
's eyes filled with compassion.

Irene put her hand on her mother's arm. “I know,
Mamm
. And it's all right. I don't mind helping him.”

Mamm
patted her hand. “
Gut.
I think he needs someone to reach out to him. To make him feel like he's part of our community again.” She pulled away. “
Geh
on. You better get the bedroom ready since Sol is tired.”

Nodding, Irene left and headed for her mother's bedroom
to get the quilt out of the hope chest. She passed through the living room and saw Sol sitting on the couch, his head slightly down. She moved toward him, hating to see his strong shoulders slumped as if in defeat.
Mamm
was right. God was right. Sol did need someone in his corner. She took in a deep breath and said, “I'll have Andrew's old room ready for you in a few minutes.”

He turned around and looked up at her. “That's okay. You don't have to
geh
to any trouble. I can sleep on the floor if need be.”

“Sol Troyer, you're not going to sleep on the floor.” She put her hands on her waist. “We have plenty of room in this
haus
. Besides, I'd give up
mei
bed before I let you sleep on the floor.”

He stared at her for a moment, long enough to make her cheeks heat. Okay, maybe she shouldn't have said that out loud. But it was true. Surely he didn't think he deserved to sleep on the floor. “Just give me a few minutes to get the room ready for you.”

He nodded, still staring at her. This time her cheeks heated for a different reason, and she had to pull her gaze from his. This was all getting complicated—her attraction to him coupled with the strong prompting to reach out. She hurried out of the living room and up the stairs, grabbed a quilt from the hope chest in her mother's bedroom, and made her way down the hall.

She opened the door to Andrew's old room and turned on the battery-operated lamp on the side table. Up until he'd built the addition, Andrew had the smallest bedroom in the house. He'd never complained, saying he didn't need much room. “I'm a guy,” he used to say. “I could live in a closet if I needed to.” He probably could, and this room was only a bit larger than a closet. There was a bed, the side table, and a small bureau, plus a window and a tiny closet. The wind rattled the glass pane as she stripped the blue-and-white quilt off the single bed, smoothed out the sheets, and placed the fresh quilt on top.

Then she frowned. Pink. The quilt was pink. Not just one shade of pink, but at least a dozen different ones, all laid out in an intricate pattern of flowers. It had been her grandmother's quilt, passed on to her mother. Irene had taken the first quilt off the stack in the hope chest without paying attention.

Then she chuckled at the thought of strapping Sol Troyer wrapped up in a pink flowered quilt.

Her laughter subdued when she heard footsteps on the stairs. She fluffed the pillow, then looked around for something to quickly dust the furniture. She pulled open the top drawer of the bureau, which of course was empty since Andrew had moved all his clothes to the addition. Then she saw a stray sock in the back corner of the drawer. She snatched it, shut the drawer, and began wiping the dust off the dresser.

“You really don't have to do that.”

She turned to see Sol standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders still slumped but not as much as before. “I don't mind,” she said, wiping off a small clump of dust. When was the last time anyone cleaned in here?
Mamm
must have been right that it had been since the wedding. “It will only take a—” Dust flew up her nose and she sneezed.

“
Gesundheit
,” Sol said.

But Irene wasn't done. She never sneezed only once. Usually it was five, six, sometimes seven times before she was done. Andrew had counted thirteen one time. That had been miserable and Irene had been out of breath by the time she was finished.

“
Gesun—
”

She sneezed again, held up one finger, and continued to sneeze until she thought her head would explode. Finally, she finished, her eyes watering and her nose running.

“Wow.” Sol stepped into the room. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, sniffing. “
Ya.
Sorry about that.”