The Heirloom Brides Collection (39 page)

She nodded, swallowing a smirk. “And I hope you won’t mind if I accompany you.”

Papa let out a whoop, and Rowdy plopped down on his behind, lifted his nose, and howled.

Titus lay in bed, hands locked behind his back, and stared at the ceiling. Every muscle in his body ached. Tiredness plagued him. But sleep refused to come. In place of the shadowy ceiling, he saw Clara Rose Frazier’s wide-eyed gaze, but try as he might, he couldn’t discern what thoughts trailed through her mind while she stared at him from the other side of that window.

Why hadn’t she come outside during the day? Her father had never gone in. What word had Ezra Frazier used to describe Titus?
Affable.
That was it. Affable. Friendly. Clara’s father was that—friendly. But Clara?
Unaffable
, if such a word existed, described her. He revisited the frustration he’d experienced when she closed the door to her father’s room, closing him away from her sight. The frustration faded, and a deep hurt replaced it.

Why doesn’t she like people, Lord?
At least he knew for sure he wasn’t the only one she disliked. Her refusal to come out and greet any of the workers made it clear her unaffability extended beyond him to the entire community. But knowing didn’t ease his discomfort the way he’d expected.

The burden drove him from the mattress to the floor. He knelt, bowed his head, and closed his eyes. “God, I’m an affable man. You made me that way, and I do not wish to change it. You also opened my heart to Clara Frazier. When I saw her the first time, sitting at the table in our kitchen with Ma, I knew she was the one I’ve prayed for and waited for all these years. But, Lord, can an affable man and an unaffable woman comfortably join as one?”

He remained on his knees, listening for an answer. None came.

He sighed. “Well, Lord, You turned water into wine and parted the Red Sea. You can do anything. So I’m going to trust You to work in my life and Clara’s life and bring us together if it is Your will. Amen.”

Placing the situation in God’s hands eased Titus’s mind. He slid back into bed, closed his eyes, and before he even realized he’d fallen asleep, fingers of sunlight sneaked through his bedroom window and poked him awake.

The smell of bacon, eggs, and toasted zweibach propelled him out from beneath the covers, and he dressed in his best suit, then hurried downstairs. The ride to town with his parents and brothers proved pleasant. Titus liked Minnesota in mid-May better than any other time of the year. In June the humidity—and the influx of mosquitoes—would start. But for now, the cool-but-not-cold temperatures, the good scents rising from the earth, and the expanse of blue sky overhead lifted his spirits. Mid-May was a time for rejoicing, and Titus anticipated joining his heart with his fellow believers in praise for God’s many blessings during the worship hour at church.

The churchyard was already crowded with wagons by the time Pa pulled their wagon up beside the church. Titus glanced across the horses drowsing within the traces of the various wagons. If any familiar horses were missing, the preacher would probably share news of an illness or a calamity, so Titus always hoped to see every area family’s horse and wagon in the yard. He inwardly identified the Friesens’ mare, then the geldings belonging to the Kerfes’ and the Rempels’. Next was the Fraziers’ mare, Penelope. And then—

Realization struck like a lightning bolt. Penelope—the Fraziers’ mare? He leaped from the back of the wagon and pounded across the ground.

Ma’s voice called after him, “Titus, slow down, Son. Wait for your brothers, father, and me.”

But Titus couldn’t slow down. Had Ezra Frazier somehow driven himself to church today, all alone, or had Clara brought him? He had to know.
Please, Lord. Please, Lord.
He leaped up the stairs, taking the six of them in only two bounds, crossed the narrow porch with one wide stride, and entered the church door reserved for the men’s use with his heart thudding like a bass drum in a county fair marching band.

He looked to the left side of the church, where a sea of women’s flowered hats greeted him. His breath coming in tiny puffs of anticipation, he bounced his gaze across each hat, and there she was, third bench from the back, her molasses hair covered by a pert straw bonnet trimmed in orange poppies. A smile broke across his face.
Thank You, my Father!

Titus made his way to his usual bench, feeling as if he floated inches above the wide-planked floor. His father and brothers joined him just as the music leader stepped onto the dais and invited the congregation to rise for an opening hymn. Titus risked a glance over his shoulder as the gathered worshippers opened the
Gesanbuchs
and raised their voices in song. Ma had slipped in next to Clara instead of going to the bench across from Pa, and she shared a hymnbook with Clara.

Seeing the two women he loved side by side in his place of worship filled Titus so thoroughly, he lost the ability to speak. So he stood between Pa and John and listened as those around him sang,
“Ach bleib mit deiner Gnade…
”—
“Abide among us with Thy grace…”

The service passed more slowly than Titus could ever remember. He tried to pay attention to Reverend Fast, but his thoughts continually carried him to the bench on the women’s side. Clara had come. She had come to service. He couldn’t wait for worship to end so he could approach her, thank her for coming, ask her if she liked the way her house now looked in its fresh covering of white.

At last they sang their closing hymn, and Reverend Fast released them to fellowship with one another. Titus pushed past Pa and strode directly to Ma and Clara. Women had already surrounded Clara, and he shifted impatiently from foot to foot, waiting his turn.

Ma caught his eye, and a knowing smile curved her lips. She took Clara’s elbow and nodded to the women. “
Dankscheen
, everyone, for your kind welcome to Miss Frazier. If any would like to visit more with her, please come to our place for Faspa.”

Titus almost socked the air in delight. Ma had invited the Fraziers to eat with them. He’d have lots of time to talk to Clara. He thanked Ma with a wink, then hurried out to the Frazier wagon. He’d be waiting to help Ezra into the back and Clara onto the seat. And maybe, if he was very lucky, Clara would allow him to drive her and her father to his farm. He couldn’t imagine a better end to this fine Sunday morning than accompanying Miss Clara Rose Frazier to Faspa.

C
lara, still reeling from the enthusiastic welcome from members of the Mennonite Brethren congregation, held Papa’s elbow and matched his slow, hitching stride as they left the church building. She’d been nervous at first when she realized she and Papa wouldn’t be able to sit together, but Mrs. Klaassen on her right and the grocer’s wife, Helena Voth, on her left—both so friendly and warm—bolstered her and sent the nervousness out the window.

What a pleasure to personally thank those who had come yesterday and worked magic on their property. Even if she and Papa chose not to join this congregation, she would always think kindly of them and ask God’s blessing on them.

They reached their wagon, and Clara started to release the hatch. Another pair of hands crowded in, and she turned her startled gaze on Titus Klaassen. “Why, hello.”

His smile sent a tremor of reaction from her scalp to her toes. “Hello, Miss Frazier. May I help your father?”

His strength was greater than hers. She’d nearly tipped Papa on his nose while assisting him before church. She took a step back. “Please.”

Papa braced his palms on the edge of the bed. Mr. Klaassen bent down, gripped Papa by the good leg behind his knee, and gave a push. Papa was sitting in the bed almost before Clara realized he was moving. She shook her head, laughing softly as Mr. Klaassen straightened.

He grinned at her. “What?”

“You make everything look so effortless.”

“Everything?”

Heat filled her face. Why had she made such a blatant statement? Now he would think she watched him perform every task… and admired him. But didn’t she owe him words of praise? She forced her embarrassment aside and looked directly into his eyes. “Yes. Papa and I both appreciate the work you’ve done. All the work.”

He sucked in his lips for a moment, seeming to study her. He said in a near whisper, “All the work?”

How she knew he referenced yesterday’s accomplishments she couldn’t guess, but she knew. So she nodded. “Yes.”

A smile lit his handsome face. “Thank you.” They stood on opposite sides of Papa’s extended feet much the way they’d stood on either side of the window gazing at each other. But this time they both smiled. Clara much preferred being able to smile with ease at this man. She could have remained there forever beneath his blue-eyed gaze, but Papa cleared his throat.

“Can we go now, Clara Rose? The churchyard has emptied.”

She glanced around, and a second wave of heat attacked her face. How could she have been so oblivious? She gasped. “Oh! Your family has gone on without you, Mr. Klaassen.”

His smile didn’t fade. “I know. I told them to go since Ma wanted to get things set out for our lunch.” He shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to ride with you and your father.”

Papa scooted back several inches, bringing his feet all the way into the bed. “Put up that hatch, then, and let’s go. The next time I decide to ride in this wagon bed, I’m throwing a feather mattress in first. I’ll probably be black and blue by the time we’re home.”

Mr. Klaassen closed the hatch and offered Clara his arm. With a self-conscious giggle, she allowed him to escort her to the front of the wagon and assist her onto the seat. His strong hands on her ribs should have frightened or perhaps offended her, but instead it seemed right for him to lift her. She settled on the seat, but he didn’t climb up beside her. She glanced at him, confused.

“Would you prefer I rode in the back with your father?”

His solicitousness touched her. She should probably send him to the back. If people saw them sharing the tight seat, they might get ideas. But how often would she be able to enjoy the company of a handsome man on a Sunday afternoon? Surely God would understand and not condemn her for her answer. “Please, take the reins, Mr. Klaassen. You’re more familiar with the road to your home.”

He hooked his toe on the hub of the wheel and pulled himself up in one smooth motion. The bench bounced on its springs when his weight descended, tipping her in his direction. She grabbed the far side of the seat, and he sent her a brief, apologetic look. She smiled to assure him no harm had been done, and he lifted the reins. Before bringing them down on Penelope’s back, however, he pinned her with a serious look.

“Miss Frazier, when we reach my house, you will be in the company of six Klaassen men. You can’t call all of us ‘Mr. Klaassen.’ It would be too muddling. So would you consider reserving that title for my pa and calling us boys by our given names?”

He was hardly a boy. Sitting so close, gazing into his square, honed face, she realized more than ever how fully masculine he was. His suggestion made sense, but she hesitated. What would Mama tell her to do?

From the back of the wagon came Papa’s droll voice. “For mercy’s sake, Clara Rose, agree with the man so we can get going. My backside is falling asleep.”

Clara covered her mouth with her fingers and giggled. If Papa could be unconventional enough to mention his backside, she could call Mr. Klaassen by his given name. She lowered her hand and grinned at the driver. “All right. Titus it is.”

No simple declaration had ever pleased him as much as her willingness to call him by his name. Titus arched one brow, inwardly praying. “And I may call you… Clara?”

Her cheeks bloomed a delicate pink, but she nodded.

“Thank you, Clara,” he said.

“You’re welcome, Titus,” she replied.

“Let’s go,” Mr. Frazier groused.

Titus laughed and flicked the reins. As the wagon rattled out of the churchyard, he couldn’t resist asking, “Were you satisfied with the color of your house, Clara?”

Her face lit, making his pulse stammer. “Oh yes! It’s lovely. Especially the porch posts. What a wonderful touch, the bands of green at top and bottom.”