Threads of Grace (16 page)
“Oh, honey, you have been needing me.”
S
eth set the suitcase down in the front bedroom. Alice Miller looked like a comfortable kind of woman, and Violet was young and energetic and great with Abel. Maybe both women would help Grace come out of her shell a bit.
He headed toward the stairs, and as he passed his old bedroom, he noticed that the door was slightly ajar. He thought Abel was outside, but here he was, painting on a new canvas. He must have used the back stairs and come up to paint instead.
Abel had chosen bright primary colors: blue, red, orange, and yellow. The child had a masterful stroke of the brush; he was painting with feeling, his small jaw clenched with an emotion Seth suspected might be anger, or maybe fear.
Seth understood the sacredness of art and personal space. He started to back quietly out of the room. Then Abel turned to look at him.
“I’m sorry, Seth.” The boy bit his lip and let the brush sag downward.
“For what?”
“Mama said no painting, but your room was open, and I saw the paints, and I just wanted to try.”
Seth nodded. “I understand. Can you tell me what this painting is about?”
Abel shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s about me inside.”
Seth wanted to push a little bit more but did not want to frighten the child. “Abel, can you tell me about the red in the painting? What does the red mean?”
“Red is mad,” Abel said. “Mad, mad, mad.”
Seth nodded. “
Jah
, sometimes we use red when we’re upset or passionate.”
“What’s pash’nate?”
“It means we really care about something. What do you really care about, Abel?”
The boy’s face scrunched as he thought, and for a minute Seth didn’t think he was going to respond. “Mama,” he said finally. “I want to keep Mama safe.”
“She is safe,” Seth said.
“Maybe. Maybe.”
Seth stooped down next to the boy and whispered softly, “Abel, you can come here and paint anytime you want.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I’ll talk to your mother. Remember, anytime you want. Now, put that brush in the water if you’ve finished. You should always clean your brushes.”
Seth had a million questions going around in his head that he
wanted to ask about Silas Beiler, about what kind of a father he had been to the boy. But Abel couldn’t describe the picture in more dynamic terms, and Seth wouldn’t pressure the boy to say bad things about his father. He closed the door gently on the boy and headed back down the stairs.
He gave a passing grin to Alice, who eyed him like he was something to have on a plate. Seth was used to this kind of behavior from women, young and old, so he just laughed it off. Grace, however, looked uncomfortable, and he went to her side.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“Fine. We’re fine,” Grace said.
Fine
. Such an empty word.
Violet breezed through the kitchen, declined the strudel, introduced herself to Alice, and then flitted off again.
“That girl’s up to something,” Grace muttered to no one in particular.
“Well, okay then, I’ll get back to work.” Seth went out the kitchen door. He couldn’t bring himself at the moment to tell Grace about Abel’s painting, so he went down the field to bring up Grace’s horse, Amy, who had thrown a shoe.
He fired up the smithy and put the new shoe into the coals, but he was thinking about Grace rather than paying attention. When he went to pick it up, he accidentally touched one side of the hot tongs. He plunged his hand into the cooling bucket, and when he pulled it out, the burn was already puckering.
He looked at the horse. “Well, Amy, you have your new shoe and I have a burn.” He supposed that he should go back to the house, clean it, and wrap it. On the positive side, Grace
might give him some tender sympathy—which would be more than worth a stinging burn.
G
race sat at the table with Alice, and they talked about baking and quilting. Alice was an excellent quilter, even for an
Englisch
woman. Grace explained her design about the honeybees—the hive pattern and the yellow and browns that would suit a male room. Alice was pleased.
“What a great idea! So you got stung by the bees?”
“Yes.”
“And your husband got the stingers out?”
Grace felt her cheeks flood with color and she nodded.
Alice laughed. “Well then, maybe it was worth a few stings.”
Abel came humming downstairs then. He had his hands behind his back.
“Abel, what are you up to?” Grace said. “I thought you were outside.”
“Nothing.” He went to the sink and started to wash his hands. Grace came over and saw the colors red and blue mix with the water from the washing basin.
“Abel? Were you painting? Were you in Seth’s paint?”
The child looked up at her with some alarm. “
Jah
, but Seth said I could.”
“Seth
said
you could?”
“I’m sorry,
Mamm
.”
Grace sighed. “It’s okay. Go outside and play with Pretty.”
“So, if you don’t mind me asking, what is wrong with painting?” Alice looked at her from the table. “I know that the Amish are concerned about graven images—no faces and no photographs and all of that—but surely painting a simple picture without any people is not a big deal, is it?”
Grace shook her head. “I don’t know what the bishop would think.”
“Well, isn’t it more important what God thinks? If Abel likes art and can express himself through it—because Lord knows that the boy doesn’t talk much—this might be just what he needs.”
Grace bowed her head. “Maybe you’re right, but I—” She broke off as Seth came in the door with his hand cradled in front of him.
“What happened?”
“Only a burn,” he said cheerfully. “No big deal. I was being careless at the smithy and lost my train of thought.”
Grace took him by the arm and led him to the basin of water, now clouded a vaguely purple color from the blue and red paint.
Seth cleared his throat. “I guess we need clean water.”
“Yes,” Grace said. “Abel just washed his hands.”
“I’ll go see if Abel remembers me and meet that pup of his.” Alice jumped up and left the kitchen, banging the screen door behind her.
“I didn’t encourage him to do it,” Seth said. “The boy found it of his own accord, and I will not dissuade him. It might give him a chance to open up, Grace, to speak in a way that he can’t speak. If you want to know what was in the painting, you should look at it. There was anger and passion and—”
“That’s enough,” Grace snapped.
There was a tense silence for a moment, then Grace went on in a shaky voice. “I asked one thing, that Abel not paint, and you promised. You broke that promise.”
“I never promised,” Seth said.
“You put your cheek to mine, you made a pact,” Grace cried. Then she caught herself and said, “I’m sorry for speaking so abruptly. Please forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Seth said. “Grace, you have to understand that you can talk back to me. You can say what you want. I will not hurt you. This is a different world.”
“No,” she said, leaning wearily against the sink. “It’s really not.”
She poured out the basin of cloudy water and filled it with fresh water from the pitcher, then drew his hand down into the cool bowl. “It’s really not a different world if I don’t have a say, if I don’t have a place to feel and to think and to make decisions about my son. And he is my son.”
Seth looked at her and she felt the intensity of his gaze. “I don’t take that lightly, Grace. I love him.” He stopped and then looked at her again, a gentle smile playing about his lips. “Grace, let me adopt Abel. Please. We can go into Lockport to the courthouse and do the adoption papers. I want him to be Abel Wyse. I want him to be my son in truth.”
Grace swished her hands in the water and gazed down at their hands linked together in the basin. The issue of the painting wasn’t over, she knew. But marriage required compromise, and she very much wanted Abel to have Seth’s name.
“I’d like that,” she said.
“Would Abel mind?”
“I don’t know if he would understand.”
“Then let’s talk to him,” Seth said. “And let’s talk more about the painting later.”
T
he screen door banged open. Alice came in, followed by Abel, who held out a fistful of fresh daisies to his mother. She took them gracefully.
“Abel and I have been talking,” Alice said. “And Abel is going to come in my room tonight. I told him I get scared in this big old house, and he offered to sleep beside me—with Pretty, even.”
“Oh no, I don’t want him to disturb you—” Grace began.
But Seth cut her off. “I think it’s a great idea.”
N
ighttime came on faster than Grace would have liked. She delayed as long as she could, tucking in Alice and Abel and Pretty and checking on Violet in her cheery room on the third floor.
Finally she went to the master bedroom. She turned the lamp low and slipped into her nightgown, for once pulling off her
kapp
and feeling the short curls growing on her head.
Seth had still not come to bed. Right after dinner a mare had started to foal, and both Jacob and Seth had to be with her. Grace kept the light burning so that he would be able to see when he came in the room. She dozed fitfully. Finally, close to midnight, he came in, tired and disheveled.
“Did it go well?” Grace asked.
“Yep, we got a fine little filly. She got up on her legs—long, wobbly legs. I love to see that.” He pulled down his suspenders and slipped off his shirt. “I love feeling connected to that first time when the baby rises off the ground and takes its first steps.”
Grace was quiet for a moment. “I remember Abel taking his first steps.”
Seth looked at her and dropped onto the bed, turning on his side and leaning up on one elbow. “Grace, I was serious today about the adoption. Can we go tomorrow into Lockport?”
“It’s Saturday,” she reminded him. “The courthouse will be closed.”
“All right, then how about Monday next week? I’ll tell Jacob I need to take the morning off and we’ll go together.”
She glanced over at his well-muscled chest and watched the play of breath through his body as his rib cage moved in and out. She thought about the fragility of life and how quickly people could be lost, and she realized that she did not want to lose Seth Wyse.
As if reading her thoughts, he smiled. “Maybe we should talk some—get to know each other better.”
“You’re tired.”
“I’d have to be dead not to want to talk with you. Will you tell me why you never had any more children?”
The question was so casually put that she felt disarmed. “Are you asking me if I’m going to be able to give you children, Seth? We haven’t even gotten past kissing, let alone
kinner
.”
He laughed, but she didn’t miss the seriousness in the depths of his blue eyes. She sighed. “After I conceived Abel, Silas never touched me again in that way. He said my body was a temptation to him and that I was cursed in my appearance.”
Seth nodded. “So Abel was born. Was there trouble at the birth? You told me once that he had a brain injury.”
Grace fought back tears for a moment. She spoke low and fast
and told him how Silas pushed her down a flight of stairs, simply because she hadn’t made the corners of the bed square off properly. How terrified she was, and how she didn’t tell the doctor the truth when Silas said she had slipped and fallen.
Then she drew a deep breath. “The doctor said that Abel was probably going to be different—he had a swelling on the side of his head when he was born. When he was six months old, I thought he was deaf. He didn’t speak, and when he did, it was a muffled kind of sound as if he were speaking underwater. Silas thought of him as inferior, and of course, Abel looked so much like me that Silas also believed he was, well, evil . . .” She trailed off lamely, feeling utterly drained. She had told that story to no one before and it was like lancing an infection from an old wound; she hurt but felt relieved at the same time.
