Plain Promise (4 page)

“Well, he ain’t nobody ’round here.”

“Jonas, what brings you out here on a day like this? It’s too
kalt
to be riding in a buggy today, unless you have to.”

Jonas pried his eyes from Kade and turned toward her, a blank expression on his face. “What?”

“Did you need something? You didn’t really come just to check on me, did you?”

Jonas stood taller, then raised his brows. “I reckon I must have.” He paused, as if unsure. “And now that fella knows to mind his manners.”

Sadie reached up and touched her head. The ache had lessened, but she was aware of it.

“You better go tend to that cut on your head,” Jonas said. He tipped his hat in her direction, as if he was leaving. “You don’t need no stitches. A
gut
cleaning oughta do it. And you’re probably gonna have a big bump for a while.”

Sadie nodded. Before she could say anything else, Jonas was heading back to his buggy. She couldn’t help but wonder if Lillian and Sarah Jane knew he was traveling around in the buggy on a day like today. Sadie recalled when Lillian and her mother had frantically showed up looking for Jonas a few weeks ago. Apparently, he’d left without telling anyone, and daughter and granddaughter were worried sick. Sadie hoped this wasn’t one of those times.

Kade warmed his hands in front of the fireplace and wondered why he kept foolishly walking out into these elements without his jacket. At least he remembered his shoes this time. He couldn’t help but smile at the way the old man had tried to intimidate him.

He kicked off his shoes, then pulled off his socks and hung them on a hook on the mantel. Something he’d never done before, but being here seemed to call for it. But then his socks dangling in front of the fireplace reminded him of recent Christmas preparations with Alicia. They had hung stockings at his house for each other. He’d been foolish enough to think Alicia might want to take their relationship to the next level.

His thoughts drifted to the Amish woman, the petrified look on her face when she awoke on the couch. Why didn’t she have a husband? She had to be close to thirty and was certainly attractive. Maybe she’d never had a man that close to her before. Kade shrugged. Their simple way of life—buggies, no electricity, the plain clothes—it all seemed so prehistoric in this day and time. Hard to believe people still lived this way.

But the woman had shoved him. Was that allowed by her people?

Kade paced around the small living room, questioning her aggressiveness, and suddenly he realized that for the first time in his life, he had no agenda. Nowhere he had to be. Nothing he had to do. And he could only think of one thing that mildly sparked his interest.

As he dove into the tapioca pudding, not even bothering to serve it up in a bowl, he feared he was a man on the brink of depression—binge eating like some of the women he knew. The thought didn’t stop him from shoveling the custard into his mouth. He propped his bare feet on the coffee table and made a mental note: if he had to rescue a damsel in distress again, he would take the time to put some shoes on. He wasn’t completely sure that he didn’t have frostbite.

He was on the verge of devouring the entire container of pudding when his cell phone rang. He blew out a sigh of exasperation, set the pudding aside, and walked to the kitchen where he’d left his phone on the counter. He glanced at the number.

No, no, no. Not now
. Talking to Monica was the last thing he needed. He hit the End button. Her calls were always upsetting—on so many levels

Sadie opened the medicine cabinet in her bathroom and found something for her head. She parted her hair with her fingers and felt for the cut. The pain led her to it. She gingerly dabbed it with ointment then carefully wound her hair in a bun. After placing a fresh prayer covering on her head, she silently thanked God that it wasn’t worse and headed back to the shop.

It was later in the afternoon before she had her first customer, who turned out to be her last customer as well. But the woman from Florida purchased a quilt for seven hundred dollars, two handmade pot holders, and four dolls.
It made for a fair day,
she thought, locking up the shop.

She walked to the road and checked the mailbox. Nothing. She had hoped for another letter from Milo. Disappointed, she headed back down the driveway, taking care with each step. Her eyes drifted toward the cottage. The
Englischer
was staring out the window—at her.

She put her head down and quickened her pace as she made her way to the farmhouse steps. Firewood was stacked neatly on the porch, piled against the house. Lots of firewood—that she hadn’t collected. And the empty container of pudding sat on top of the logs. Instinctively, she spun around and squinted to see if he was still there. He wasn’t.

She was thankful to have the firewood nearby, and she supposed another batch of pudding was a fair trade. She’d never known a man to eat so much custard. She took the bowl into the house, then remembered the newspaper’s prediction of another temperature drop into the teens tonight. Before she kicked off her boots, she went back to the porch for two logs and glanced quickly toward the cabin. No sign of him.

Later that evening, she prepared a fresh batch of pudding, then placed it in her refrigerator. She didn’t have anything else to do anyway. Loneliness began to creep in, the way it always did this time of day.

She headed upstairs for bed. It was only Saturday. Three more days until Milo would call. Until then, she’d have to be content rereading his letter. She considered penning him a note, but she’d already put two letters in the mail since the arrival of Milo’s last correspondence.

After her bath, Sadie lit the gas heater in her bedroom, climbed into bed, and snuggled underneath a thick quilt, extra blanket, and flannel sheet. She reached for Milo’s letter, and her bedside lantern illuminated the page.

When she was done reading, she put the letter back on the bedside table, feeling like it was somehow losing its impact. She tried to stay hopeful, and each letter carried her into another week until she heard the sound of Milo’s voice on Tuesdays. But the letters seemed to have slowed down on his end. If she allowed herself to think too much, her heart ached. Two years was a long time to be writing letters back and forth.

She pulled the nightstand drawer open and took out her brush, as she’d done at bedtime ever since Ben died. Then she mechanically smoothed the tangles, careful of her cut. Sometimes, like tonight, her loneliness was beyond tears as she remembered the feel of Ben brushing her hair before bed, something he’d said he enjoyed doing. And, oh, how she’d loved the feel of his hands in her hair, the brush sweeping downward to her waist. She cringed, recalling that Kade Saunders had seen much of her hair when it fell from beneath her
kapp
.
So wrong
. Only a woman’s husband should see her hair in length. She drew in a breath, blew it out slowly, and continued to brush, thinking about Ben, about Milo, and strangely enough . . . about Kade.

He was an odd fellow. Void of enough sense to protect himself from the cold too.
But one of God’s children
, she reminded herself when judgment cut in. Still she speculated. Why was he here for three months? Why does he seem so angry one minute and then rather heroic the next? But was he? Heroic, that is. It had been unfit for him to be so close to her on the couch. But she was hurt and . . .

She twisted in the bed, pushed the covers aside, and examined her shin. She still wasn’t sure how she had acquired the bruise.

Her mind played back and forth about Kade. He embarrassed her when he told her he knew she was listening to the music from the porch. So brazen when he’d said it too. She shook her head, decided not to give him another thought, and closed her eyes to pray

It was only an hour later when Sadie was startled out of a deep sleep. It took her a few seconds to focus on the battery-operated clock by her bed, illuminated a soft white. Nine o’clock. What could all the ruckus be about? Four o’clock came early in the morning. No one she knew would be visiting at this hour. The noise grew louder, and it was quite clear that someone was pounding on the front door. Loudly.

She pulled her thick robe over her nightgown and headed down the stairs as fast as she could, holding the handrail for support. She couldn’t see a thing at first, but the cooler temperature downstairs hit her when she neared the first floor. The fire was still flickering in the fireplace, and the glow from the hearth offered enough light for her to stumble her way across the den. She reached for the doorknob but stopped when she heard
him
yelling—hollering like a madman.

“Sadie!”

Only one thought came to mind, as silly as it seemed.
Serial
killer
. She’d read about people like that in the newspaper. He yelled again.

“What is it, Mr. Saunders?” She was shaking all over.

“It’s freezing out here! Can you open the door?” His tone was agitated, and she wasn’t sure what to do.

“What’s the matter?” She fought the tremble in her voice.

“For heaven’s sake, woman, please open the door.”

Sadie reached for the knob. Then hesitated. “Is anything wrong?”

“Yes. Something is wrong!” he yelled.

She heard him mumbling from the other side of the door. She reached for a scarf hanging on a peg nearby and draped it over her head.

“What is the problem?” She tossed one end of the wrap over her shoulder and assumed she must look a mess.

“I need your help with a problem at the cottage. Can you please open the door?”

Silly, silly woman
, Sadie thought. There is something wrong at the cottage, of course. She opened the door. “I’m sorry, I just . . .”

The
Englischer
scooted past her and went directly to the fireplace, stretching his arms near the dwindling fire.

“Don’t you own a coat, Mr. Saunders?” Sadie folded her arms across her chest.

He looked down at his jeans and white sweatshirt, then shook his head. “I don’t know why I keep running out the door without it on.” He shook his head and returned his attention to the fire. “

What is wrong that brings you here at this time of night?” She held her place firmly by the door . . . just in case.

He turned to look at her. “Were you asleep?” He sounded shocked. “It’s only nine o’clock.”

Sadie prepared to defend her schedule, but he waved his hand as if to say never mind.

“I forget you people go to bed early and get up early.”

You people?
She pierced her lips together and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Sorry,” he said when he saw her expression.

Sadie took two steps forward. “Mr. Saunders, what do you need?”

He sighed. “That phone in the barn is ringing nonstop, followed by the sound of an answering machine picking up. The barn is so close to the cottage, and, well . . . it’s irritating me. Why don’t you have the phone in the house?”

“The phone is ringing?” Sadie couldn’t imagine who it might be.
Milo?
But on a Saturday?

“Yes. It’s ringing over and over again. I walked outside to take the darn thing off the hook, but the answering machine had just picked up again. I decided I better come get you when I heard the message.”