Treasuring Emma (18 page)

She paced the width of the table, then halted and turned to him. “He’s the one who broke her heart.”

“He was with her when I walked into the workshop.” Mark crossed his arms over his chest. “Maybe she’s forgiven him.”

“She’s a fool if she has.” Clara faced him. “Don’t let Adam keep you from Emma, Mark. She’s much better off with someone like you. Someone Amish. Who puts
familye
first. Adam only thinks about Adam. No one else.”

Mark went to stare out the window. “I don’t know, Clara. If there is something going on with them, I don’t want to interfere. That would only cause Emma more trouble. I wouldn’t want to complicate things for her.”

Touched by the sincerity in his eyes, Clara nodded. “It’s a wonderful thing that you’re sensitive to her feelings. Adam never was.”

“Then he didn’t realize how special your
schwester
really is. I haven’t known her long, but I can tell she’s a caring, sweet
maedel
. She doesn’t deserve to be hurt.”

“
Nee
, she doesn’t.” Clara tapped her fingertip against her lip. “You let me take care of Adam. Focus your attention on Emma. Not just because of the shop. That’s important,
ya
, but she needs someone who will appreciate her.” She smiled. “I think you’re that
mann
, Mark.”

Clara made a note to visit her grandmother too. She hadn’t had a chance to discuss the idea with her. If she had both
Grossmammi
and Mark on her side, Emma and Peter would have to come around.

“What about Peter?”

“I’ll talk to him.” Tonight. She would be firm with him. More firm than ever before. Being so insistent with her husband would go against everything she’d been taught about being a proper Amish wife. Her mother had modeled that ideal with Clara’s father, knowing when to defer to him, when to support him, when to gently nudge him in a different direction than he might have considered.

But Clara’s father wasn’t like Peter. Her father worked every day of his life in the workshop with his own
daed
. And when business was slow, he picked up odd farming jobs with the neighbors nearby. Clara couldn’t remember a time when either of her parents expressed worry about money. They had never gone without.

Her family shouldn’t either. And if she had to push Peter, she would do it. If she had to force Adam to stay away from Emma, she would do that too.

She’d do whatever it took to make sure she was secure. Because one thing was crystal clear—it was up to her. Alone.

Adam went home, still fuming about Mark’s last words. Maybe he was right. Maybe Adam was a terrible liar, but that was better than being adept at it. Guess it took a really good liar to sniff out a bad one.

One thing he knew: he had to keep Mark King away from Emma.

He slammed through the front door and flung himself down on the couch. Silence washed over him, a balm to his tormented soul. Once again he was struck by the quietness of the house. It wasn’t as unnerving as it had been the past few days. It had started to feel like . . . home.

He shook his head. He had a home. In Michigan.

Yeah, a dingy one-bedroom apartment with a frosted-over freezer
, he said to himself.
And don’t forget the stains on that ugly brown carpet from the previous renters
. He shuddered to think what caused those. Especially the ones in the bedroom.

He sat up and surveyed the room. The polished wood floor. The stark, dust-free furniture. Someone had cracked open the living room window, and fresh air wafted in, bringing with it the loamy scent of autumn—earth, fallen leaves, wood smoke.

Adam was getting comfortable here. But that might be because he was a guest, not a prodigal son who had returned to live under his father’s heavy thumb.

He thought about the Bible story of the prodigal, a story he’d heard more than once in his life. The wayward younger son came home from his wanderings and was greeted by his father with an elaborate welcome, a feast, and forgiveness. But what about the rest of the story? What happened, Adam wondered, after the celebration was done? Did they go back to the way things were before? Did the wandering son come once more to resent his father’s rigid ways? Did they settle into an uneasy truce where the two of them barely talked because it was easier on them both?

And what about the prodigal’s mother? Was she even in the picture, working behind the scenes to help heal the breach between the men she loved?

He thought about
Mamm
. Emma. Leona. Mark. Four reasons for him to stay, at least a little while longer.

He fingered his beard and mustache. If he was going to stay, he should shave this thing off. Might as well keep the Amish clothes too. The lighter fabrics were easier to wash in the hand-cranked washer anyway. And they dried faster than his sweatshirts and thick jeans.

He stood and went to the bathroom where he found a razor and a small pair of scissors he could use to trim the hair down first. Funny, he didn’t remember his mother keeping these scissors in the bathroom before.

As he haphazardly attacked his chin, he planned his strategy. He’d use the emergency telephone in the barn to call work and ask for a leave of absence. He’d drop a check for next month’s rent in the mail so he didn’t get kicked out of his apartment. He’d pack up his Yankee clothes, so when he was sure his mother was all right and Mark was out of Emma’s life, he could pick up the suitcase and go. His stay here, while longer than he’d planned, was still temporary. He didn’t see how anything would change that.

C
HAPTER
16

The next morning, before sunrise, Clara slipped out of bed, being careful not to disturb Peter. But as she crept across the room, she stubbed her toe on the edge of the twin bed that lay perpendicular to their double. She gasped a little but managed not to cry out. The boys stirred, then shifted and went back to sleep.

On a chair in the corner she had laid out her clothes the night before. Without turning on the light, she pulled off her nightgown, slid into her dress and long stockings, and started winding her hair into a bun.

“Clara?” Peter’s hoarse, quiet voice reached her ears.

Her hands froze for a moment, gripping the thick coil of hair at the crown. She pushed in a couple of bobby pins to secure it. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispered. She kept her back to the bed and heard the sheets shift as Peter moved.

“I wish you had. I had no intentions of sleeping in.”

“I was just dressing.” She turned and almost bumped into him. Clara backed up a step. “I would have awakened you before I went downstairs. I didn’t want to disturb the
buwe
.”

He didn’t answer her. Instead he reached up and cupped her cheek. She flinched. He must have felt it. Sensed it. He withdrew his hand. “So. What are you doing today?”

She turned and put on her
kapp
. “I’m going to
Grossmammi’s
. I need to talk to her and Emma.”

“How are you getting there?” The mattress springs creaked as Peter sat down.

“Walking.” She hesitated. “Mark is accompanying me.”

“Mmph.” Melvin grunted, turned over on his side, and stuck his feet into Junior’s face. Junior, who slept deeper than a bear in winter, didn’t move.

“Clara.” Peter stood. “Outside.”

She followed her husband to the hallway. The bedroom door shut with a soft click. “Why didn’t you mention this to me yesterday?” he asked.

Clara straightened the ribbons of her
kapp
. “I assumed you’d be busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Looking for a job!” At his warning look, she lowered her voice. They both stepped away from the bedroom. This time she faced him, her gaze matched with his. “I thought you might have some prospects. In town, maybe.”

“Actually, I do.”

Her brow lifted.
“Ya?”

“Ya.”
Clara looked at him. Clad in only a T-shirt and the pants he’d slipped on just before leaving the bedroom, he appeared vulnerable. Weak, almost.

“Doing what?”

“Temporary work. Repairing a roof on a school in Parkman.”

Now she knew why he was hesitant. “Parkman. How will you get there?”

“A van will pick me up. The job should last a week.”

Clara did some mental calculating. “Are they paying transportation?”

Peter looked away. “
Nee
. Have to get my own.”

“So most of the money you’ll make will pay for the taxi.”

He nodded. “It’s the only job available right now. I’ll keep—”

“Looking. I know.” She turned around and headed for the stairs. “I’ll get
mariye-esse
started.”

Peter touched her arm. “Clara. Wait.”

She paused. Turned around. “What?”

“Why is Mark going with you? You and the
kinner
can walk to Leona’s by yourselves.”

“Julia’s watching the
kinner
.” Clara’s cheeks heated. But why should she feel guilty? Mark was her cousin. He was interested in her sister. And she and Mark were a team, trying to start a business. She could have been a team with her husband, but he insisted on working against her.

Peter’s eyebrows flattened. “Just you and Mark.”

She swallowed. “
Ya
. He wants to see Emma.”

“So he says.”

Clara frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean, his interest in Emma is kind of sudden, don’t you think?”

“Just a few days ago you thought it was a
gut
idea.”

“I changed my mind. Mark hasn’t said anything to me about Emma. He hasn’t talked to me much at all.” Peter’s gaze narrowed. “Can’t say the same for you, though.
Mei
cousin seems more than eager to spend time with
mei fraa
.”

“You sound jealous.”

“Should I be?”

When she didn’t respond right away, he pressed his lips together. “Clara, I know you’re upset about me being out of work. You think I want this? That I want the community to know I can’t support
mei familye
?”

For the first time in weeks, Clara felt a pang of sympathy. “
Nee
. I don’t.” She moved forward, tentatively touched his chest with her hand, and looked into his eyes. “That’s why we need to have the business. Then I—both of us, won’t have to worry about this.”

“We shouldn’t be worrying. God has a plan. I’m just not sure opening this fabric shop is it.”

“I thought you agreed it was a
gut
plan.”

“It is, but not at the expense of Emma and Leona.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We’ve already talked about this.”

“
Ya
. But we haven’t settled it.”

“Clara, I’m saying it’s settled.”

She looked at him. Her husband. The man she promised to love forever. The man she had been so sure God had set apart for her. She wanted to shake sense into him. “So you’re saying there’s no business? That
Grossmammi
and Emma will have to fend for themselves? Or Emma will have to get a job? Oh, wait.” She put her hands on her hips. “There are no jobs.”

Peter’s jaw clenched. Without a word he turned his back on her, returned to the bedroom, and shut the door behind him.

Clara lifted her chin. But her lower lip trembled. Her hands shook. She had pushed Peter. He had pushed back. But they were still at the same place they’d always been. At odds.