Abigail's New Hope (41 page)

“True, but I wonder what Mr. Fisher wants with me.” She placed Daniel’s first sandwich in front of him.

“I guess you’ll find out Sunday.” He took a large bite, ending up with mustard on his lips.

“You sound very casual about this, while I’m…a little nervous.”
Which is a bit of an understatement
.

“There’s nothing to be nervous about, Abigail. Come and sit down. Tell me what you have planned for the afternoon. I thought maybe we could—”

“How do you know that, Daniel?”

“What could you possibly be afraid of?”

Abby crossed her arms. “Well, let’s see…it was in the papers that I administered a ‘dangerous’ drug to his wife and that I’m out after only a few months’ jail time. Oh, and that I’m allowed to resume delivering babies. In fact, I’m
expected
to midwife or I must pay five thousand dollars.”

He sat quietly looking at her while holding his sandwich in midair.

“He’s had plenty of time to think…and miss his wife. Maybe he’s changed his mind about not holding me responsible. Maybe Nathan wishes the judge would have thrown the book at me.” Even as she said that she realized she’d picked up more than one English expression from Rachelle.

“And maybe you’re making a mountain out of one little letter.” Daniel got up and walked to the counter where she stood and wrapped his arms around her. “Maybe you should let God be in charge of this one. Put it out of your mind.”

She nodded, inhaling a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll not think about Mr. Fisher until he drives into our yard this weekend.” She picked up her lunch and carried it to the table.

But following through with actions proved to be a whole lot harder than saying the words.

Catherine rocked in the porch swing, staring at a yellow moon breaking the horizon in the east—a harvest moon, because at no other time of the year did the moon look so large or glow so brightly. Supper was finished, the dishes dried and put away, and yet Isaiah’s meal still remained on the picnic table. Probably the moment she went inside for a bath, the plate would mysteriously disappear. She hadn’t seen him since the volleyball party. The man avoided crossing paths with her better than the slyest coyote.

During the ride home from the Millers’, he’d focused on the road ahead, ignoring any effort at conversation or her attempts to apologize. She understood he’d been embarrassed and uncomfortable when so many had crowded around, all talking at once.
But was that my doing? Who could have known people would be so friendly and eager to make up for lost years? It’s not my fault. I meant well
.

Yet the truth remained no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. She had forced Isaiah into a situation he neither wanted nor was prepared for, and in so doing had resurrected old pain from the past. Abby’s delicious pot roast churned in her stomach.
She
was to blame… not Sam Miller this time.

If she had some socks to darn, bread to bake, or a story to read to the
kinner
, it wouldn’t be so bad. But with her
schwester
back in her role as wife and mother, Catherine found less and less to occupy her time.

Suddenly a shout rang out in the yard. “Abigail!” called Daniel. “Come quick.”

Although the kitchen had been empty a minute ago, Abby emerged from the house by the time Daniel reached the porch. “What is it,
ehemann
? Is someone hurt?” Her thin face paled with fear.

“Not
someone
,” he said breathlessly. “It’s Boots. That fool pup stuck her head down a hole in the ground to figure out what was making all the noise. Turned out to be a nest of ground hornets, and she got stung at least a dozen times on her face and paws, everywhere the fur was sparse.”

Catherine jumped to her feet. Abby’s hand grasped her throat. “How is she? Will the dog be all right?”

“I don’t know. Call Doc Longo on your cell phone. His home number is in the book. Tell him we’re on our way to his place in the buggy. Ask him if he could meet us on the road with whatever he gives for allergic reactions. Boots is unconscious and not breathing right.”

Catherine’s eyes filled with tears while Abby flew into the house to find her phone. When Daniel turned to leave, Catherine followed him down the steps. “Please wait a moment, Daniel. I’m awfully fond of that dog too. May I ride with you to the vet’s?” She felt her heart thumping against her ribcage.

He leveled her a patient gaze. “No, Catherine. We’re taking the dog in the back of the two-seater so it’ll be faster.” He hurried down the walkway toward the barn.

She ran after him, grabbing a hold of his shirt. “Please, Daniel. Truth be told, I’m fond of Isaiah too. I’d like to lend moral support, to be there for him in case Boots…”

The word hung unspoken in the air while Daniel’s expression turned pitiful. “I’m aware of that. And I suggested that you ride along after he carried the dog up to the buggy. But he said no and was quite adamant about it.” He made a sideways chopping motion with his hand. “I’m sorry.” He sprinted toward the buggy shed, leaving her rigid on the path.

She knew the meaning of Isaiah’s gesture.
He hates me. He despises me for the trouble I have caused
. She covered her face with her hands in an attempt to hold back her emotions. Once she regained her composure, she walked inside the house.

Abby was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in hand. “Dr. Longo was home. He’ll meet Daniel and Isaiah with an anaphylactic injection along Route 514. I explained the way they would take.” It was then that Abby noticed Catherine’s face. “What’s wrong? You look as though you are on the verge of tears. Did Boots die before they had a chance hitch up the team?”

Abby’s question tipped Catherine over the edge. Tears coursed down her cheeks. “Not as far as I know. I heard the buggy leave just before I came inside.”

“Whew,” breathed Abby with palpable relief. “Then what’s wrong? Dr. Longo is the best vet around. If they can reach him in time, he’ll save the dog.”

Catherine slumped into a chair, awash with despair. “I hope that’s true, but my tears aren’t for Boots. I’m afraid they’re purely selfish.” Shame rose up her throat like acid indigestion. She stared at the wall, sniveling like a child.

“Tell me what’s wrong. It must have something to do with Isaiah. You’ve been moping around the house since I got home, yet I know you’re happy to see
me
.” She winked at Catherine. “And if I had a dollar for each time you checked the back porch or scanned the cornfield looking for him, I’d have the five thousand dollars to pay Judge O’Neil and never have to midwife again.”

Catherine laughed, despite herself. “Apparently, I’m as subtle as a herd of elephants marching to town.”

Abby set a cold glass of water in front of her. “You have stewed enough. It’s time to tell me what’s happened. You never know, Catherine. I might be able to help.”

And so Catherine began more or less at the beginning and told the story of her short-lived romance with Isaiah. Abby’s eyes grew wide hearing that her sister had entered his remote cabin alone, she blinked several times upon learning about the bountiful berry patch, and she shook her head with disbelief when again Catherine described how she had mounted a horse to ride the pasture on a moonlit night. During the narration, Abby remained quiet until Catherine reached the part at the snack table after the volleyball game. Then she clucked her tongue with disapproval. “Oh, no. Poor Isaiah. He
hates
not being able to communicate with other people.”

“I know. That’s why I tried to help. But instead I only made things worse.” Catherine took a long drink, feeling the water ease her parched mouth.

“Not on purpose. Your intentions were noble.” Abby patted her arm.

“A candle left to light the way can burn down a house, same as an arsonist.”

Abby shook her head to remove the mental picture. “Let’s not speak of such things. Besides, this conclusion is nowhere near as foregone. Isaiah might simply need time to collect himself.”

“That’s what I hoped, but he refused to let me to ride with them to the vet’s.”

Abby’s expression revealed more than her words. “He might not want you to see Boots die.”

“Please, sister. This isn’t helping. You weren’t there when we came home from the party. I grabbed his hand and tried to talk to him. He yanked it away like I was a rattlesnake. He motioned for me to go the house and glared with his arms crossed until I did. Then he took the horse to the barn and I haven’t seen him since.” Catherine’s eyes smarted with unshed tears. “He hates me.”

“I doubt that. Hate is not an emotion Isaiah knows.”

“Well, he sure doesn’t want me near him.” Her voice cracked.

“Not right now. His ego has been bruised. He is a man, after all.” Abby attempted half a smile.

“I want to make it easier for him to come get his meals. I’ll return home as soon as Daniel can take me or I can get word to our
bruder
.”

“Oh, Catherine. Let’s not be hasty. Why don’t you—”

“It’s been well over a week. That’s hardly being hasty. Besides, you’re home. This is your family. Your
kinner
don’t need a nanny anymore.”

“Maybe not, but I still need my
schwester
.”

“Please, Abby, let me go home,” she pleaded. “I can’t stay here any longer, torturing myself because…I love him. And each day would only remind me of what I cannot have.”

S
unday dawned clear and mild—a good day for new beginnings. Nathan shaved his upper lip and then combed and trimmed his beard. It had been a long time since he’d worn his Sunday best clothes, including his
mutza
, the Amish vest, and polished black shoes. Iris had used so much starch on his white shirt that it would stand up on its own. The collar chafed his sunburned neck, but he’d be able to tolerate that minor discomfort and a whole lot worse. After all, it was the Lord’s Day. And he was returning to preaching services.

He could hear Iris humming a tune in the kitchen while she fed Abraham his breakfast. The horse, already hitched to the buggy, stood in the shade swishing flies with his tail. With a final tug of the comb through his thick hair, Nathan walked downstairs with a spring in his step. He feared nothing. The decision he’d made after prayers last night had allowed him to sleep soundly for a change.

“
Guder mariye
,” said Iris. “Ready to go, I see. Sit down and eat some oatmeal. Otherwise your grumbling stomach will keep the rest of us from concentrating on the sermon.”

He grinned while pouring coffee. He would miss Aunt Iris. He’d grown as fond of her as his own
mamm
. She certainly had a better sense of humor than his
mamm
. “All right, I’ll have a bowl.” He carried his cup to the table where Abraham tried to capture dust motes in the streaming sunshine. “Good morning, son. How goes your day so far?” He spoke to the child in
Deutsch
because children didn’t usually learn English until they started school. The boy giggled.