Brightest and Best (29 page)

M
argaret disliked the stares. This was not the first time she had arrived at church with Gray. Two hundred people turned up at this church every Sunday morning. Why should it raise eyebrows when two of them chose to sit together?

“Good morning, Margaret.”

The cheery voice belonged to Mrs. Baker, who had been the first person to speak to Margaret on her first Sunday in town, four and a half years ago. At the time, Margaret thought her friendly and welcoming. Over the years she had realized Mrs. Baker simply liked to know everything that went on.

“Good morning, Mrs. Baker,” Margaret said. Gray’s light touch on her elbow steered her away from the encounter.

“People are starting to whisper about us,” Gray said into Margaret’s ear.

Margaret was well aware. People whispered if she and Gray sat together in church, and they whispered if they did not. She had not meant for her relationship with Gray, as ill defined as it was, to come under speculation. Rumors would fly if she broke it off with him—or if she didn’t.

They sat in Gray’s regular pew. When she came on her own, Margaret sat on the other side of the sanctuary and farther back. Everything felt odd from this perspective. The minister’s voice intoned more deeply. The organ swells sounded reedy. The angle of the light coming through the front windows washed out the faces of the choir. The scent of flowers on the altar tickled Margaret’s nose. More than once, as the choir sang an invocation and the minister announced the opening hymn, the urge to flee to the comforts of her own habits circulated through Margaret’s veins.

And then the congregation stood, and Gray opened a hymnal and placed it so they could both see it. Margaret’s mouth moved, but little sound came out. Instead, she was enthralled with the notes coming from Gray. He sang the most exquisite tenor harmonies, earnest and confident and the sort of lilting sound Margaret could listen to for her whole life and never tire. Margaret had not heard Gray sing outside of church. What else did Gray sing other than church hymns? Folk songs? Love songs? Ballads? Opera? Perhaps nothing.

As the third stanza began, Margaret tried to sing more robustly. Her voice was no match for Gray’s.

Perhaps she was no match for Gray at all. Her stomach solidified every time they talked about the Amish. They never disagreed about anything else that Margaret could remember. It wasn’t that she thought husband and wife must agree on every point. But if Gray could think as little of the Amish as he seemed to, who else would he be willing to dismiss for his own convenience?

Once Gray knew that Margaret intended to help Ella Hilty get the Amish school running smoothly, that could be the end of them.

And perhaps it should be.

If they stopped now, they might maintain a sincere friendship without expecting more from each other. Margaret would find a way to gradually see less of Gray. She would get used to being on her own again, as she had so long expected to be, and his attentions could turn elsewhere.

If only she didn’t love having him near.

After church, Margaret took the arm Gray offered for the stroll to his brother’s house. During the weeks of their casual courtship, the only time Gray had spoken of his brother was the day of the auction.

“What does your brother do?” Margaret asked. “When he’s not setting up tents.”

“Whatever he likes,” Gray said.

“Is that a way of saying his employment is … unstable?”

“You might say that. He used to run the old farm after our parents … but he ran it into the ground. I had to insist he sell and move into town. Sometimes I hire him to help me, but he’s picky about what he’s willing to do.”

Under her fingers, Margaret felt the muscle of Gray’s arm stiffen.

“I’ll warn you. Braden is Braden,” Gray said. “A little rough around the edges. Don’t take him too seriously.”

“It’s kind of him to have us for Sunday dinner.”

“He knows I’ve been courting someone. I wanted to wait until you and I knew each other better before introducing Braden.”

Margaret fought the grimace her face seemed determined to form. She never should have agreed to meet Gray’s brother, not under the weight of doubt that they were meant for each other.

They ambled toward a gray-shingled house on a corner.

“Here it is.”

Gray knocked on the door and then patted Margaret’s hand while they listened to the shifting footsteps inside. When the door opened, Margaret stared into the familiar features of Gray’s face. The eyes were a lighter brown, but they were set at the exact distance from the nose as Gray’s—the same slender nose with its gentle slope. The black curly hair was cut slightly longer than Gray’s with more flecks of gray, but the widow’s peak notched the forehead in the same spot.

Margaret’s breath caught and she glanced at Gray.

“Are we twins?” Gray said. “No. Just one stubborn combination of genes.”

Margaret smiled through the doorway at the man who had not yet spoken.

“Braden,” Gray said, “I would like you to meet Miss Margaret Simpson. Margaret, this is my older brother.”

“Please come in,” Braden said. “It may take me a few minutes to get everything on the table.”

“I would be happy to help,” Margaret said, stepping into a hall that ran through the lower story of the house, with a parlor and dining room on one side and—she supposed—the kitchen on the other side at the back, behind a room with a closed door.

“Not necessary,” Braden said, turning to walk to the back of the house.

Gray nudged Margaret’s elbow. They stepped into the parlor, and he leaned in to whisper, “I warned you he’s rough around the edges.”

Margaret looked at the adjoining room, where a table had been laid with a level of care that suggested a woman’s touch.

“Is Braden married?” she whispered.

Gray rolled his eyes. “Goodness, no.”

Braden emerged from the kitchen with a platter of sliced ham in one hand and a bowl heaped with mashed potatoes in the other.

“I told her there were only three of us,” Braden muttered, setting the dishes on the table.

“Her?” Margaret said

“The housekeeper,” Braden said. “She never listens. She made two vegetables. Who needs two vegetables?”

Braden disappeared into the kitchen again.

“Let’s sit down,” Gray said, gesturing to the table. He pulled a chair out for Margaret, and she arranged herself in it.

Braden returned with two hot vegetable dishes. “If things are overcooked, it’s her fault. I only followed the instructions she left to put everything in the oven.”

“It all looks lovely,” Margaret said.

Braden grunted and sat down.

“I agree,” Gray said. “You should try to hang on to this one, instead of chasing her off like all the others.”

Braden glared at Gray. The fire in his eyes startled Margaret.

“I could say the same to you,” Braden said, glancing at Margaret. “Are you going to hang on to this one?”

“If meeting you doesn’t frighten her off,” Gray said, “I just might.”

Margaret’s legs were ready to bolt, but her mother had been a stickler for manners, so she concentrated on keeping her feet flat on the floor under the table.

“Let’s eat,” Braden said.

“Margaret likes to return thanks before a meal,” Gray said, bowing his head.

Margaret bowed also, listening to the simple prayer of blessing for the meal that Gray spoke. When he finished, Braden picked up the platter of meat and offered it to Margaret.

“I heard about the trouble on your street,” Braden said. “Twice now, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Margaret guarded her response as she laid a slice of ham on her plate.

“You should be careful,” Braden said. “I would hate for any harm to come to my brother’s friend.”

Gertie and Savilla gripped the sides of Ella’s cart while she rumbled to Gideon’s farm after school on Monday. Each day, it felt more and more natural to spend her afternoon hours with Gideon’s family, and the children had gotten used to having her there, even Tobias. The wedding was less than six weeks away. Ella found comfort in establishing some routines now, before she married Gideon. The adjustment in December would be easier for everyone, including Miriam. Ella pulled around to the side of the barn and unhitched the cart to let the horse graze in the pasture. The girls ran ahead into the house. By the time Ella got there, Savilla stood in the kitchen with her face scrunched up.

“What’s the matter, Savilla?” Ella said.

“It’s almost three thirty,” Savilla said.

“Yes, that’s right.” Ella set a stack of books on the counter.

“Look at the food.”

Ella glanced around the kitchen. Two winter squash from the garden. Eight potatoes, three of them cut in half. A plate with half a beef roast.

“It looks like Miriam is getting a head start on supper,” Ella said.

Savilla shook her head and picked up a cut potato. “This is turning brown. She wouldn’t leave food around to turn brown.” Savilla touched the roast. “And this isn’t cold. If she had just taken it from the icebox, it would still be cold. She hasn’t been here in a long time.”

Apprehension shivered through Ella.

“
Aunti
Miriam always has a snack out for us,” Savilla said. “Milk and cookies or some strudel.”

Savilla was right.

“Go see if she’s upstairs.”

“
Daed
told her the upstairs was our responsibility now,” Savilla said.

“Let’s just make sure,” Ella said. Miriam could be stubborn.

While Savilla scampered up the stairs, Ella stepped out on the back stoop to scan the yard. Miriam could have decided to hang sheets to dry, pull overgrowth from the depleted vegetable garden, or do something else equally innocuous.

Savilla thundered down the stairs. “She’s not anywhere in the house.”

Gertie’s shout came from the
dawdihaus.
Ella and Savilla raced across the yard and burst into the small home where James and Miriam lived and ran through to the bedroom.

“She won’t wake up,” Gertie said.

Ella gulped air. “Has she said anything?”

“I can’t understand what she’s saying,” Gertie said. She thumped Miriam’s shoulder.

Miriam lay on the bed, pale, but beginning to thrash against the quilt.

“Napping,” Miriam said. “Just … a few minutes.”

Ella touched Gertie’s shoulder to nudge her out of the way. “Miriam,” she said, “are you feeling unwell?”

“No,” Miriam said, trying to push herself up on one elbow.

Ella looked into Miriam’s unfocused eyes. “Perhaps you should rest a little longer.”

“I’ll make supper,” Miriam said. “It will just have to be simpler than I planned.”

“I’ll look after supper,” Ella said. “The girls and I will start by making you some soup.”

“Soup is for sick people,” Miriam said. “I may be a tired old woman, but I’m not sick.”

“We’ll find something else, then. But you don’t have to worry about it.” Ella turned to Savilla. “Can you finish chopping the potatoes?”

Savilla nodded.

“And Gertie,” Ella said, “you can set the table for supper. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Is
Aunti
Miriam coming?” Gertie asked.

“Shh,” Savilla said, grabbing Gertie’s hand. “Come on.”

Miriam was sitting up now. Ella debated between encouraging Miriam to lie down again and taking her to the main house where Ella could keep an eye on Miriam and the girls at the same time.

“How about some tea?” Ella said.

“James will want
kaffi
,” Miriam said, rubbing an eye with one hand.

“
Kaffi,
then,” Ella said. “I’ll make a pot here and you can take a cup over to the main house.”

The door opened, and a man’s footfalls approached.

“James?” Miriam said.

He appeared in the doorway. “What’s going on in here?”

“I took a nap,” Miriam said. “Ella and the girls are determined to make a fuss.”

Ella exchanged a glance with James.

“Well, if you’re tired,” James said, “you should have a nap. You know I’m always telling you that.”

“It’s nothing.” Miriam leaned on James’s arm and stood up. “How were things in Seabury today?”

“Our prayers for peace have been answered at last,” James said. “The war in Europe is over. The armistice was signed this morning in Paris. It’s all the
English
are talking about in town.”

Miriam put her hand over her heart. “Many mothers and fathers will be glad to have their sons home again in one piece.”

“I was just going to make
kaffi
,” Ella said.

James smiled. “
Kaffi
is always a good decision.”

Miriam threw off James’s supporting arm. “I’ll make the
kaffi
.”

A
re you sure you’ll be all right on your own?” James evaluated the features of his wife’s face. Extra lines fanned out from the corners of her eyes, and the color of her cheeks lacked its usual height.

“Old man, just go,” Miriam said. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice that you’ve neatly arranged the day so I won’t be alone for more than thirty minutes?”