Brush of Angel's Wings (38 page)

“Yeah.” He had looked at each one before selecting the postcard of furry white kittens peeking out from underneath a wicker basket. It was far too feminine for him, but he thought Rachel would like the kittens. A small smile came with a silly thought: at least they didn't make him sneeze.

He needed to buy stamps so he could mail this card and the others he'd bought for Rachel, but he hadn't wanted to ask his father to make a special stop at a post office.

“You got a girl back in—” He glanced up when a man stopped in front of their booth. Clint extended his hand. “How's it going, Jack?”

The burly man grasped Clint's hand and shook it. “I wanted to thank you again for finishing my route last month.”

Clint smiled. “Glad to do it. How's your daughter?”

The man shifted his weight and looked at the black-and-white checkered floor. “They thought the remission would last longer.” He looked out the window. “It doesn't look promising.”

Clint's smile faded. “I'm sorry. Do you need me to take another load?”

“No. Thanks though. I've stopped taking the long hauls so I'll be closer to home.”

Jordan listened with sadness and disbelief. This man obviously cared about his family, so much so that he rearranged his route to be able to be near them. Why hadn't Jordan's father cared enough about his mother and him to do the same?

“I'll catch you later,” the man said.

Clint gave him a thumbs-up. “Poor guy,” he said as the man headed toward a table in the back. “His daughter has leukemia.”

Jordan studied his father's reaction, inwardly skeptical of Clint's sincerity. Jordan wasn't proud that his veins burned with resentment. He should be proud that Clint was thoughtful of the man needing time with his daughter.

“Must be hard,” Jordan said.

“I can't imagine. The road's already lonely, but he must've really felt isolated so far away.” Clint added another packet of sugar to his coffee and stirred. “It's hard when you're taking the long hauls to pay hospital bills. Most truckers on those routes do it because they can handle the isolation and they don't want the same mundane route every day.”

Jordan cut his eye contact and looked into his empty coffee cup.
At least some of them go home when their family needs them
.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

D
enki
. Lunch was
gut
.” Timothy pushed away from the table.

Rachel stood and collected the dishes. “I need to leave early today.”

“Why?”

Rachel set the plates in the sink. “I'm meeting with Bishop Lapp about the teacher's position.”

“Why today? The
schul
isn't even built.”

Rachel swept her hand over the front of her dress. “You'll be fine, Timothy.”

“
Nay
, I won't be. What do I know about a
boppli
?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You can't leave me alone with her. I won't know what to do!”

“Lower your voice or you'll wake your daughter.”

“Rachel.” He stepped closer and placed his hand on her shoulder. “I'll pay you to take care of Ella. You don't need the teaching job.”

Rachel frowned. She would watch her niece without pay. It wasn't about money. She merely wanted Timothy to bond with his daughter.

Timothy looked hopeful. “So you'll stay?”

Rachel cringed. “
Denki
, but I . . . I still want to talk with the bishop.” Rachel touched his shoulder. “You'll do fine. I promise you will.”

His shoulder tensed when Ella started to cry.

“Go get her,” she said, giving him a nudge. “I'll heat a bottle.” Disregarding his long sigh, she reached for a pot and filled it with water.

Ella's crying continued, but Timothy hadn't moved.

Rachel set the pot on the stove to heat. “Ella's
nett
going to stop fussing until she's fed.” Without facing Timothy, she measured the powdered formula, added the water, and shook the mixture.

Timothy walked out of the room.

Before the formula cooled, Ella stopped crying. Rachel smiled. It wouldn't be long before he bonded. She tested the warmth of the milk on her wrist, then headed into the sitting room.

Timothy bounced Ella in his arms while he paced the room. When he looked at Rachel, the deep lines across his forehead relaxed. “Here,” he said, extending Ella toward her.

Rachel patted the rocker. “Have a seat. I'll stay with you in case you have questions.”

Ella's arms flailed as she fussed.

Timothy reluctantly sat and Rachel handed him the bottle. “Loosen up. You don't have to sit so rigid.”

“That's easy to say.” He shifted a little, causing Ella to cry harder. The poor child sensed his anxiousness.

“I'll be back. I'm going to get a burp cloth.” She scampered to the bedroom and collected the cloth. When she returned, she paused at the sitting room entrance to watch him feed his daughter. He looked stiff and unnatural.

“She needs to hear your voice,” Rachel said, entering the room. She unfolded the cloth and placed it on his shoulder. “Talk to her.”

He looked baffled. “I don't know what to say.”

“Sometimes I tell her how much she looks . . . like Sadie.” Her throat tightened.

Timothy closed his eyes.

Rachel swallowed hard; it didn't change her throat's rawness. “How much has she eaten?”

“About an ounce.” He pulled the bottle away from the baby and held it up. Ella's face crinkled. She cried and Timothy jostled her in his arms. But his jerkiness caused her to cry harder. “Maybe you should take her
nau
,” he said.

“Burp her and then she can finish drinking,” Rachel said.

Although clumsy, he managed to position her on his shoulder. After several pats, she burped.

“There, you did it.” Rachel walked to the door and slipped on her shoes. “She'll need to eat again in two to three hours.”

“What? You're
nett kumming
back after you talk with Bishop Lapp?”

Rachel smiled. “You don't need me, Timothy. You can do it.”

“What about tomorrow?”

“
Jah
, I'll be here.” She slipped out the door.

Rachel choked back her tears as she harnessed Ginger. Then, as she steered the buggy onto the road, she let loose and cried. Her vision blurred as unrestrained tears streamed down her face. She pulled back on the reins, slowing Ginger to an easy trot. Perhaps she should turn around. Rachel veered the buggy off to the shoulder of the road. Cars whizzed by as she contemplated returning to Timothy's house.

“He is not alone,” Nathaniel soothed.

Rachel squeezed her eyes closed. “God, this is hard,” she cried.

“God holds them both in his hand.”

“I should've spent more time with Sadie. I could've found time to cook and sew with her more.
Nau
I've lost that time.” She pulled out a tissue that she'd tucked up her sleeve and blew her nose.

“Only God holds tomorrow. He knows the beginning and the end.”

Rachel bowed her head. “Lord, I don't know your thoughts. I don't understand your ways. Help me accept Sadie's death. I haven't done very good at accepting James's. God, you are Timothy's provider. Give him peace and direct him as he cares for Ella today. Give me peace too.”

Rachel snapped the reins. The bishop's farm wasn't far. Maybe she would check back on Timothy after she talked with the bishop. She kept Ginger at a steady pace until the bishop's house came into view.

Naomi and William stepped out of the house with Bishop Lapp as Rachel parked her buggy. Naomi waved at Rachel, then left William and the bishop talking on the porch and met Rachel by the buggy.

“Ask me why William and I are speaking with the bishop.” She smiled.

Rachel stepped down from the buggy and cocked her head. “The twinkle in your eyes says it's something about marriage,
jah
?”

“
Ach
, you know me too well.” Naomi elbowed her.

Thoughts of Jordan seeped into Rachel's mind without warning. She allowed herself a few secret moments to dream of marriage.

“Have you received more postcards?” Naomi wiggled her brows.

Rachel shook her head. She weaved her arm with Naomi's and shifted the subject back to her friend's upcoming wedding. “I'm happy for you. When is the day?”

“Two weeks from next church Sunday. It's
wundebaar
, ain't so?” She covered her mouth and retained most of her squeal.

“How are you going to keep it a secret until after it's published? You're about to burst
nau
.”

“I don't know!” she whispered, excitement filling every part of her.

William strolled toward them, a bashful smile on his face.

Rachel glanced at Bishop Lapp standing on the porch. “He's waiting for me. I've
kumm
to ask about the teaching position.”

“We have to visit soon,” Naomi said.

“
Jah
, I suppose you'll have a sewing frolic at your
haus
. Let me know when.” Rachel made her way to the porch steps. “
Gut
afternoon, Bishop Lapp.”

The gray-bearded man stood aside. “Micah's Rachel, let's go inside.” He opened the door and waited for her to enter, then pointed to a kitchen chair. “Have a seat.”

She pressed her hand over the wrinkle in her dress. “I'm interested in becoming a teacher for the new
schul
.”

Bishop Lapp leaned back in his chair and stroked his beard.

“That's a big commitment.”

“
Jah
, I understand.”

The bishop was a wise man, able to discern beyond what was on the surface of a person's words or facial expression. Rachel squirmed under his kind scrutiny.

“I will consider your request.”

Rachel bowed her head a brief moment.
“Denki.”

“Katie Bender is also interested.”

“I hadn't heard.” It didn't surprise her, though.

“I don't know that she is a better fit, but she is older and has no marriage prospects,” he said.

Rachel recalled Katie's despondent expression while standing at James's grave after Sadie's funeral. Katie was lonely. Still, Rachel wasn't holding her breath for marriage either.

“The
schul
won't be built until after harvesttime.” He stroked his beard as he did when he pondered the Scriptures. “Perhaps your interest will change between
nau
and then.”

“Perhaps, but I don't think so.”

“How is Timothy? I understand you've been watching the
boppli
.”

“He has
gut
and bad days.” Her throat went raw.

“
Jah
, and understandably so. And you?”

“Sometimes it is hard to accept God's will.”

Jordan drew a deep breath at the Grand Canyon's north rim lookout point. “The air's so clean up here.”

“Yep.” Clint inhaled, then blew out his breath. “It's good to fill your lungs with something besides exhaust fumes.”

Jordan's eyes rested on the oblong opening in the cliff. “I see why this place is named Angels Window.” As he gazed at the canyon's distant shades of purples and blues, peacefulness surrounded him. Only God could create something so magnificent. He glanced at Clint. “You think up here we're closer to God?”

Clint shrugged. “Isn't he everywhere?”

“I suppose. But don't you feel a lot more peaceful here?”

Clint stared at the gorge a few moments. “Yes.” He hesitated.

“I think it's because we're used to the constant noise around us all the time.”

Jordan knew that wasn't it. The peacefulness engulfed him. He'd never experienced such peace.

“Too much of a good thing for me,” Clint said. “This change in altitude thins my blood and makes me dizzy.” He motioned to the hiking trail. “I'm heading back to the lodge.”