Love Inspired November 2013 #2 (6 page)

Amelia chewed at the protruding lip. “Will I get a new mother, too?”

“Maybe,” Rebecca said. “
Ya,
I think maybe you will.”

“When?”

Rebecca shook her head. “Only God and your father know. And maybe your
dat
doesn't know, either. But someday, I'm sure you will.”

“Will she be nice?”

“Absolutely. As nice as Anna is to Mae. And she will love you and take care of you.”

“Like Mae?”

“
Ya,
just like Mae.”

A sharp rapping on the bathroom door made the two of them jump.

“Amelia? Rebecca?” Caleb's voice.

“Yes?” Rebecca swallowed to dissolve the lump in her throat. Caleb sounded cross. Had he seen what happened with the children? “I was just—”

“Open the door.”

Rebecca did as he asked. “Amelia's fine. She and Mae just had a little fuss and—”

“Amelia? Did Rebecca spank you?”

The little girl looked at her father and burst into tears.

Rebecca blanched. “Spank her?
Ne,
I just—”

“I thought you said she was fine,” Caleb said. “Look at her.” Amelia flung herself into her father's embrace and started sobbing again.

“She
was
fine until you...” Rebecca tried to maintain her composure. “It was just a children's spat.”

“If there was a problem, you should have called me. I'm her father. It isn't your place to discipline my child.”

Amelia's wails became a shriek.

“I didn't
discipline
her.” Against her will, Rebecca's eyes teared up. Caleb wasn't listening to her. He was judging her without hearing her side. “I was just trying to—”

“Your aunt told me what you were doing.” He glared at her, his face contorted with anger.

“I don't care what anyone said. I would never—”

“When I need your help, I'll ask for it,” Caleb said. Then he lifted Amelia into his arms and carried her out of the bathroom and down the hall.

Rebecca walked out of the bathroom, then turned, but not toward the parlor and living room where church members were already beginning to file in for the afternoon worship service. She went in the opposite direction.

She heard footsteps behind her and stopped, expecting to confront Caleb again. Instead she found that it was Mary.

“What happened?” Mary asked. “He yelled at you, didn't he? I heard him from the kitchen. What did he say?”

Rebecca shook her head. Mary was her friend, but she wasn't about to escalate the embarrassing situation. Bad enough that Caleb had been misinformed and believed it—believed that Rebecca would spank his child. She didn't want to distract the community from Sunday services and cause a bigger scene. “It doesn't matter what he said,” Rebecca hedged. “Amelia was crying and Caleb thought I'd taken her into the bathroom to punish her.”

“You wouldn't listen to me about him, would you?” Mary whispered with a satisfied expression. “But I told you so.”

Chapter Six

T
he following morning, Rebecca arrived early at Caleb's house, not certain if she wanted to continue working for him—or if he wanted her. She'd gone over and over in her head what had happened the previous day, and she'd come to the conclusion that maybe she had overstepped her bounds in dealing with the incident between Mae and Amelia. As unusual as it was for a father to become involved in such a small matter in public, Caleb was Amelia's parent, her only parent. And if he believed that she'd overstepped her boundaries and interfered, he'd been right to be irritated with her.

Obviously, Aunt Martha had said something to Caleb that had agitated the situation. What she'd said Rebecca didn't know, but she could imagine. “Spare the rod and spoil the child.” Aunt Martha loved to quote that, although Rebecca had never seen her aunt physically correct Dorcas or any other child. Rebecca had to believe that Aunt Martha hadn't meant to cause discord. Mam said Aunt Martha had a good heart under all her bluster; she just said whatever popped into her head without considering the harm it could do. Rebecca liked to think that Mam was right, but sometimes...sometimes it was difficult not to believe that her aunt enjoyed making mischief—especially for her sister-in-law Hannah and her daughters.

When Rebecca arrived at the farm, she found Caleb in the kitchen attempting to pack his lunch. Amelia, still in her nightgown and barefooted, was standing beside him, chattering away about Mae's giraffe book. When Rebecca entered the room, the little girl gave her a shy smile and ran to greet her.

“I'm hungry, Becca. Can I have pancakes for breakfast? I like pancakes. Blueberry. Can I?”

Rebecca removed her bonnet and hung it on a hook near the door, then added her cloak. It was cool this morning and the snap of autumn filled the air with the scents of wood smoke, newly split kindling and falling crimson and gold leaves. “Good morning, Caleb,” she said hesitantly.

Fritzy gave a happy yelp and wagged his tail before dropping into a sitting position and raising one front paw.

“Good morning, Fritzy,” Rebecca said. “Good boy.”

Ignoring the dog, Caleb's eyes locked with Rebecca's, his steely gray gaze clouded with emotion. “I'm glad you came this morning.” He looked at the floor, then back up at her. “I talked to Amelia. She told me what happened with Mae and what you said to her in the bathroom. I was wrong to jump to conclusions.” Tiny wrinkles creased his forehead. “I owe you an apology.” He swallowed. “I let my temper get the best of me, and I made a fool of myself. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Ya,”
Rebecca murmured. “You did. Embarrass me,” she added quickly. “I didn't mean to imply you were a fool.”

“Only right if you did,” he answered. He spread his hands, palm up, and Rebecca noticed a smear of mustard on his fingers. “I'm a blunt man. It's a fault of mine, and I fear I'm too old to overcome it. But I wronged you, and I intend to say so—not just to you, but to the community. Someone said something that made me think—”

“Aunt Martha,” she supplied, going to the sink and retrieving a clean washcloth.

He nodded.

“Your hand,” she said, running water on the cloth. She held it out to him. “Mustard...from your sandwich.”

Caleb took the offered washcloth and cleaned off the mustard. “I'm all thumbs in the kitchen. Always was.” He indicated the lumpy sandwich with bits of cheese and roughly cut ham spilling from the sides of the bread slices. Neither of them mentioned the obvious. His scarred hand didn't work as smoothly as the other. Not that he was handicapped. He managed his woodworking business, but using the burned hand was more awkward. “I'm apparently not much better in the role of preacher,” he added.

Rebecca smiled gently. “I thought your sermon yesterday was a good one.” A basket of clean laundry stood on the counter and Rebecca rifled through pillowcases and towels in search of socks for Amelia.

“Your opinion or that of the other members?”

“I only know what some of the women say. Mam gave you a B plus.” Rebecca had worn a lavender dress today with the usual white apron. The garment was new. She'd finished stitching it on Mam's treadle machine on Saturday. It was as plain as her other dresses, but the cotton was soft and it was just the right weight for a fall day.

Caleb chuckled. “Bishop Atlee said I was a little long on the flight from Pharaoh's army and a little short on scripture.” Caleb grimaced. “Too short altogether. He said that it was a good thing that Preacher Reuben can always be counted on to bring an abundance of sermon.”

Caleb wore navy trousers, a light blue short-sleeved shirt and navy suspenders over his high-top, leather work shoes. It was what he wore every day but Sundays. Rebecca noticed that, as usual, his shirt was wrinkled. This one was also marred at the shoulder by what looked like a burn mark in the shape of an iron. She washed and ironed Amelia's clothes, but not Caleb's. He'd said that it wasn't fitting, and he liked to do his own laundry. Rebecca thought that he needed, at the very least, either help or instruction in the art of ironing.

Looking at his shirt, she thought how strange it was that she noticed the burn on his shirt first, not the scars on his face. His scars had been a little frightening the first time she'd seen them, but now she accepted them as part of Caleb. She simply didn't notice them when she looked at him. One side of his face, one hand, were smooth, and it was easy to imagine the other half as a mirror image...the way he'd been before the tragic fire.

She met his gaze. “I liked the part where you spoke about Moses's doubts when the Israelites were crossing the Red Sea and the soldiers were right behind them. That was good.”

“I think I can understand a little of how he felt. Moses. God had called him, but he didn't feel up to the task.” He opened a plastic bag and began to gather up his sandwich to put it in. “It's all new to me, preaching. I can't help thinking there are other men in the church who would do a better job.”

“I can help,” Amelia said.

“Wait—” Rebecca put out her hand to take Amelia's, but it was too late. Amelia pulled her father's sandwich to the edge of the counter, knocking half onto the floor. Fritzy dove for the bread and meat and gobbled it up.

“Fritzy!” Caleb said. The dog trotted to the far side of the kitchen, lay down and licked the crumbs off his chin with a long, red tongue.

“Not much left of your ham sandwich, I'm afraid,” Rebecca said. “Do you like tuna salad?”

Caleb's mouth twisted into a grimace. “Like it fine. Don't have a can of tuna in the house. It doesn't matter. I can do without—”

“You can't work without your midday meal. Take this.” She went to where she'd hung her cape and removed a foil-wrapped package from the pocket. “Two tuna sandwiches on rye with lettuce and mayonnaise. Mam was pushing them this morning. We had a lot of tuna salad left over from yesterday.”

Caleb's face reddened. “I can't take your lunch.”

“Of course you can. I'll just make some macaroni and cheese at nooning. Amelia loves mac and cheese.” She looked at the little girl. “Don't you, Amelia?”

“Ya,”
the child agreed.

Caleb hesitated. “If you're sure...”

“I'm sure. I like mac and cheese, too, and we had tuna sandwiches for supper last night.”

“All right.” Caleb reached for the foil-wrapped sandwiches. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” Rebecca lifted Amelia onto a chair and knelt to slip stockings on to her bare feet. “You need to find your shoes,” she said. “The floor is cold.” She glanced back at Caleb as Amelia jumped down off the chair. “What you said about you being a preacher. Grossmama says that God doesn't make mistakes. If He chose you for the job of preacher, it was the right decision.”

“That's what I keep telling myself.” He grabbed an apple off the counter and put it in a battered old black lunchbox, along with Rebecca's tuna sandwiches. “I may be a little late this afternoon. I have to finish cutting out some delicate pieces and pack them for a UPS pick up.” In the doorway, he grabbed his straw hat and pulled it down over his forehead. He turned back to her. “I hope you'll accept my apology.”

Rebecca looked at Caleb. “You've already apologized to me. There's no need to say anything more to me or to anyone else.”
That would give people more to talk about,
she thought, but wisely didn't add.

“There's every need,” he said gruffly as he reached for his denim jacket. “How can I point out the mistakes others make if I'm not willing to take responsibility for my own?”

“Is that how you think of it?” she asked. “A preacher's job is to point out mistakes?”

“Isn't it?”

She nibbled at her lower lip. “I think it's about being a shepherd, helping the flock to find water and a safe place to rest.”

He shook his head. “People aren't sheep. I'm responsible for their souls.”

She wasn't certain that she agreed his job was to point out the errors of people's ways, but it wasn't her place to argue. “I still don't think you need to say anything to anyone about what happened. It was such a small misunderstanding, Caleb. And I was partly in the wrong, too. I'm not Amelia's mother.”

“
Ne.
You're not.”

His face hardened and Rebecca wished she'd had the good sense to keep her mouth shut while she was ahead.

“Other than that, you're satisfied with my housekeeping and looking after Amelia?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Let's give each other a little more time.” He patted Amelia on the head. “Be a good girl for Rebecca, pumpkin.”

“Dat!” She giggled so hard that her nose wrinkled. “I'm not a pumpkin. I'm a girl.”

“And a good thing, too, or Rebecca might be baking you into a pie.” He tickled her belly.

And with that, Caleb was out of the house, leaving Rebecca confused and frustrated. What had just happened? He'd been so warm and friendly with her that she'd thought that everything was all right between them. And then he'd turned cold on her again.

She didn't know what to think, and she wished that she could talk the problem over with her mother or one of her sisters. One of the best things about having such a large family was that there was always someone to listen to you and share both good times and bad. But where Caleb was concerned, it didn't feel right. She was oddly reluctant to bring someone else, even someone she loved and trusted, into her confidence. Whether she kept the job or not, it was up to her to mend the breach with Caleb. The question was, how was she to do it?

“Rebecca. I'm hungry. I want pancakes.”

“All right, pancakes it is,” she agreed. “But we have no blueberries. I can make apple and cinnamon, if you like.”

“Ya!”
Amelia clapped her hands. “Apple.”

Rebecca smiled to herself as she pulled out a mixing bowl, spoon, measuring cups and ingredients. Everyone in the community thought that Amelia was a problem child, but Rebecca felt that the problem lay with her father, the troublesome new preacher.

* * *

The week passed quietly for Caleb. When he'd met on Friday evening with Bishop Atlee, Deacon Samuel Mast and Reuben, he'd told them, “On Sunday, I raised my voice in anger to a young woman who'd done nothing wrong. I know that some of the congregation couldn't help but hear my foolish outburst. I think you should consider if my lapse in judgment is reason to dismiss me from my position as preacher.”

For a moment, there'd been silence, and then Samuel laughed. “We're all as human as you,” he had admitted. “And as likely to wade into muddy water when it comes to children's quarrels.”

“Best to leave such matters to the women,” Bishop Atlee had said.

“But as Amelia's father, isn't the responsibility mine?”

The bishop had stroked his gray beard thoughtfully. “And a heavy burden it must be for a man alone.”

“Which is why you should find a wife,” Reuben had advised.

“The sooner, the better.” Samuel had leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I was widowed and left with young children, too, and the Lord led me to a good woman. The only regret that I have is that I didn't ask her to marry me sooner.”

Samuel's words echoed in Caleb's head now, as he rode in his buggy to Hannah Yoder's farm. Rebecca had invited Amelia to have supper with her family and had taken her home with her in the afternoon. It worked out for the best because Caleb had been unsure how long it would take to go over the church business, and he didn't want Rebecca to be out late. It would be simpler to carry a sleeping child home in his buggy than to worry about getting Rebecca home safely.

She met him at the back door and urged him to come in. “We have fresh coffee and apple-cranberry pie,” she said.

“I thought I'd just pick up Amelia and—”

“Don't tell me that you don't have time for a slice of pie.” Rebecca rested one hand on her hip.

He was about to refuse when his stomach betrayed him by rumbling. Pie was his weakness, and he hadn't had time to make himself anything substantial for supper before the meeting.

Stepping into the kitchen, he glanced around for Amelia. He didn't see her, but his gaze fell on the pie. The crust was brown and flaky, and it was impossible to draw a breath without inhaling the wonderful scents of apple, nutmeg and cinnamon.

“Irwin churned ice cream tonight for the children. There's plenty left.” Rebecca motioned toward the table, poured him a mug of coffee and began cutting the pie. “Ice cream on top?”

Caleb groaned an assent, and in what seemed like seconds, he'd shrugged out of his jacket and a large slice of pie covered in a mound of vanilla ice cream had appeared in front of him.