River of Mercy (14 page)

God strengthen me to bear myself.

C
HRISTINA
G. R
OSSETTI

N
othing could have prepared Gant for the events of the next morning.

The day started out typically enough. After getting breakfast for himself and the folks in the barn, he made his way to the shop. By eight thirty he had glanced through his most pressing orders and helped Lon Pierce unload the lumber from the mill, and now he stood staring with distaste at the wood he intended to use for the sideboard Samuel Beiler had commissioned him to make for Rachel's birthday.

Not that there was anything wrong with the wood. To the contrary, it was excellent, a fine walnut for which he'd paid a handsome price. Despite his resentment of Beiler being the one to present her with such a special gift, he wasn't about to build anything of inferior quality for Rachel.

It wasn't his nature to procrastinate, but he'd been doing just that for far too long now. Every time he thought of making the first cut, a twist of his emotions stayed his hand.

Gant still had a bitter taste in his mouth when he thought of Beiler's insolence the day he walked into the shop and ordered the sideboard. The man had clearly enjoyed himself. His intention to rile Gant could not have been more evident, given the way he'd watched Gant's reaction to every word he spoke.

The most infuriating thing about the entire encounter was that Beiler obviously thought Gant would refuse to fill the order. He simply meant to mark his territory, to leave no doubt in Gant's mind that he and Rachel were a couple. After all, no Amish man would present such a personal and expensive gift to a woman unless they were married or at least promised to each other. According to Doc, for an Amish man to give a woman anything but the most impersonal of gifts before they entered a committed relationship bordered on an embarrassment or even an insult.

Beiler had to know that by placing such an order with Gant, he was all but declaring his and Rachel's engagement. Had Gant not been so irritated by the other's impudence and so stunned by the significance of the man's act, Beiler's surprise at his acceptance of the order would have been almost comical. Somehow, Gant had managed to check his anger until after Beiler left the shop, but even now it threatened to surface when he thought about the other's motives.

But he'd made an agreement, and he would keep it.

He was still inspecting the wood when the shop bell rang and Doc Sebastian walked in. One look at his friend's usually pleasant, serene features, now flushed with what appeared to be either excitement or agitation, told Gant something was up.

David Sebastian knew he needed to be careful how he broke the news to Gant. He'd been taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself ever since stepping out of the buggy. In truth, his hands were shaking enough to endanger the pie he carried. He had slept little the past night and hadn't eaten much breakfast. Too much going on to relax.

“I hope that's for me,” Gant said, his gaze going to the pie.

“It is indeed,” David replied, setting it on the counter. “From Rachel, with thanks for all your help with the house.”

“She didn't have to do that.”

“She wanted to. And Susan sends her gratitude too. For everything you did at the house, of course, but especially for being with Rachel the night of the vandalism. We're all indebted to you.”

Gant was still eyeing the pie. “Apple?”

David nodded. “I believe that's your favorite?”

“Tops on the list.”

After a moment, Gant said, “You look like a man with something on his mind.”

“I'm that transparent?”

“Not often. But right now, yes.”

David took his time replying. Finally, he drew a long breath and, worrying his hat between both hands, said, “Well, you're right. There's news.”

“Bad or good?”

David hesitated. “Depends on how you look at it, I suppose.” He paused. “Bishop Graber passed on last night. Hard on his family and the People, but he died peacefully in his sleep.” He paused, not missing Gant's quick intake of breath.

“It wasn't entirely unexpected you know,” David added. “The diabetes had been taking its toll on him for some time. He had a number of problems that weren't likely to get any better. And the dementia didn't help.”

Gant nodded slowly, obviously distracted. “Will they be needing a coffin?”

David shook his head. “No, the men will take care of that themselves. It's their way—our way,” he amended.

Again Gant nodded and turned his gaze toward the front door. “Well then, let me know if there's anything else I can do for the family.”

Silence hung between them for a few seconds before David voiced what had been on his mind earlier. “You know what this means.”

Gant turned to look at him.

“A new bishop will be chosen. It's not…seemly for us to talk about it right now, of course, but all of us will be praying. For the right man. For God's choice.”

He felt the intensity of Gant's searching gaze. Neither spoke.

“Well then,” David finally said, “I'd let you get back to your work, but I told Susan and Rachel I'd wait here for them. They wanted to say hello.”

He saw Gant's expression quicken. “They're with you?”

“Why, yes. I took the pie off their hands so they could finish their shopping without having to carry it around with them.” He glanced toward the door and then back. “Something I've been meaning to ask you when Rachel isn't nearby. What do you think the break-in was all about?”

Gant's features tightened. “I think it was meant to frighten her.”

David frowned. “But why? Who would want to frighten Rachel?”

Gant backed up a little to lean against the counter. “I don't know.”

“You don't even have an opinion?”

“Why? Do you?”

David shook his head. “Nothing was taken. And nothing in the house was actually disturbed—except in the workroom. It makes no sense.”

“Not to us, maybe. But you can bet whoever did it had a reason.”

“You don't think he meant to hurt her?”

Gant's eyes went cold. “Not physically. Otherwise he would have waited until she was there alone.”

“Yes, well, we can be thankful she wasn't. I still don't see—”

David broke off at the sound of the shop bell as Susan and Rachel stepped inside.

Gant started toward the two women as they entered but then stopped, suddenly awkward in front of the others. As always, Rachel looked wonderful, her cream-smooth skin faintly flushed by the cold morning, the hair framed by her Plain bonnet shining like polished wood.

The faint light in her eyes asked, “You heard?” and his silent acknowledgment carried the tenuous reply that he had but was afraid to think about it. They might just as well have spoken aloud, for there was no denying the thoughts arcing between them.

He realized he was staring when a deep blush stained her face and she glanced down. In an attempt to relieve the tension, Gant inclined his head toward the counter. “I appreciate the pie, Rachel. But you didn't need to do that.”

“Oh, no, I wanted to…to thank you somehow for…well, for everything. The workroom. Everything.”

“I didn't do that much. But you can be sure I'll enjoy the pie.”

Again they stood looking at each other. Doc finally cleared his throat, saying, “Well, ladies, if you've finished your shopping, we'd best be getting along. You wanted to visit with your cousin Sara Ann a few minutes, Susan.”

Susan nodded but took a moment to thank Gant before leaving. “We're grateful for all your help, Captain Gant. You've been a
gut
friend to us.”

Always uncomfortable with another's thanks, Gant merely nodded and watched them go. Rachel glanced back over her shoulder before reaching the door.

As soon as she left the shop, he felt the same cold emptiness he always felt when they parted, even when they'd been together only a brief time.

For the rest of the morning, he tried not to think about the death of Isaac Graber. As Doc had pointed out, this wasn't the time to consider any personal consequences of the bishop's passing. What kind of a man would stoop to wondering what another's death might mean to his own hopes? The question made Gant so uncomfortable that he launched into a fury of work that freed his mind of speculation and its accompanying guilt.

When the shop bell rang again almost an hour later, he looked up with impatience. He had been so immersed in the tedious process of carving an ivy motif on the back of a chair that he very nearly gouged his finger.

At the sight of Ellie Sawyer with wee Naomi Fay, he quickly straightened, wiped his hands, and crossed the room to greet them.

“Good morning, Captain. We were out for our walk and thought we'd stop in to say hello.”

The fair-haired, attractive Ellie Sawyer always reminded Gant of a flower. A daffodil or maybe a lily. With her sunny appearance and bright disposition, the pretty young widow had a way of brightening her surroundings wherever she happened to be. She invited a smile simply by walking into a room. And although Gant had never been one to make a fool of himself over a baby, he found it impossible to resist the tiny girl in her mother's arms.

“I'm glad you did,” he said. He nudged the blanket back from the sleeping baby's face. Mindful of the paint and dust that almost certainly lingered on his hands from the morning's work, he was careful not to touch her.

“She gets prettier all the time, Mrs. Sawyer.”

“I thought you were going to call me Ellie.”

“Things slip my mind these days, Ellie. I'm getting older.”

She made a sound of derision. “Hardly.”

They made small talk for another few minutes while the baby went on sleeping.

“I should let you get on with your work, Captain. But I actually had another reason for stopping. I was wondering if you'd like to accompany Naomi Fay and me to the monthly supper at the church this Friday evening.”

Caught off guard, Gant fumbled for an answer. “Well…”

“Now before you say no, let me just tell you that it's a small group that attends these suppers. I'm sure you would know everyone there.” She hurried to add, “And the food will be wonderful. We attended last month, and the tables were almost buckling from all the different dishes.”

“I don't think I can make it this week, Ellie. Maybe another time,” Gant managed to say, suddenly uncomfortable.

“You can't make it, or you don't want to?” she said, her smile faltering a little.

“To be honest? I'm not much on…social affairs.”

She regarded him with a studying look. “I might have guessed that, Captain. You
do
strike me as a solitary kind of person. But don't you ever get tired of being alone? I know I do.”

Gant spoke before he thought. “But you're not alone. You have Naomi Fay.”