An Unexpected Joy Page 7

  This time, his tone indicated he was teasing. Gabby Abby. She had a pet name.

  “I should get going. Is there a chance you can kumm earlier tomorrow? I’m really behind and could use more time in the shop.”

  “Have you considered hiring someone to help?”

  “Jah, I hired you, Abby.”

  “I mean in the shop.”

  “Without training, which I don’t have the time or patience to do, there isn’t much someone could do.”

  “What about stoking the stove? You said you couldn’t keep up feeding the woodstove.”

  “I don’t know anyone available. The younger boys are in schul and everyone else is working.”

  “But would you use someone, say an Englischer, if he was available?”

  He cocked his head and raised his brow. “You’re nett thinking about giving that homeless man a job, are you?”

  She chewed the inside of her lip.

  “Abigail?” His eyes narrowed.

  “Nay. Nett him.” But someone just as lost and lonely.

  Micah slowed Clover when he came to the corner of Rambadt and Trukenmiller and looked down the road toward the house. He shouldn’t leave his grandmother alone anymore. But he also had Abigail’s voice in his head, and he couldn’t ignore her concerns about the homeless man.

  He continued toward town. The snow hadn’t let up. No telling if cars would see his buggy. It was crazy going into town in this weather. He should be home preparing something for his and Mammi’s supper.

  Micah rolled into the city limits and stopped next to the hardware store. The store was closed, the street bare. This is stupid. He was about to pull away when he spotted movement in the alley, so he climbed out of the buggy. Slowly, he edged toward the side of the building. “Hello?”

  A man coiled in the fetal position was lying next to the wall. Micah moved closer, and a hand grabbed his ankle and held it tight.

  The stranger peered up at Micah. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous after dark around here, kid?”

  “I, ah . . .”

  The stranger released his hand. “Get lost.”

  “Don’t you have any place to go?” Micah blurted.

  The man was silent.

  Micah took off his coat and lowered it over the man’s shoulders. “The wool lining might itch at first, but you’ll get used to it.” He turned and took a few steps toward his buggy.

  “There’s a church a few blocks down the road,” the man said. “They leave the door open to the youth center on cold nights. Sometimes they leave sandwiches out.”

  Micah pivoted around. “Wouldn’t you rather sleep inside where it’s warm?”

  “I didn’t think I could walk that far.”

  Micah swallowed hard. The man’s shoes were ragged to the point that several of his toes were exposed. “I’ll give you a ride.” He’d ridden in Englisch cars before but had never offered one a ride in his buggy.

  The man pushed off the ground, clutching Micah’s coat in his hand.

  “You better put that on. It’s much colder outside this alley.”

  The man shoved his arms into the sleeves, the hem resting well past his wrists. A little snug, but at least he could close the front. The wind sent a shudder down Micah’s spine, but doing something for a stranger warmed his heart. He pictured Abigail smiling approvingly and for a half second considered offering the man a job, but chose to pray about it and leave the outcome in God’s hands.

  CHAPTER 9

  What were you thinking, Abigail! I couldn’t possibly give him a job.” Micah snorted and a cloudy patch hung in the air.

  He resembled a bull. Any minute he would start pawing at the ground, ready to charge if she didn’t calm him down. She glanced over her shoulder at Thomas, standing a few feet away from Micah’s workshop, who seemed oblivious to the situation. Abigail returned her focus on Micah. “You need help. Thomas needs a job.”

  “It’s nett that simple. The Lambrights are one step away from a formal shunning because of him. I don’t need that kind of trouble.” His index finger went from tapping his chest to pointing at her. “And neither do you.”

  “You and Thomas used to be friends. Aren’t you at least curious where he’s been? What’s happened to him?”

  He stared silently, taking deep breaths.

  She glanced again at Thomas kicking at the snow. “Thomas could use a friend—a godly example.” Lord, I thought Micah had a heart like Yours. Was I wrong?

  He groaned under his breath.

  “Did Jesus hang out with the religious folks or with the sinners who needed to see His love?”

  “Abigail . . .”

  “We’re supposed to be Christlike. A light for the world.”

  The tension etched across Micah’s face softened and his squared shoulders rounded. “All right.”

  “Thomas is gut at keeping the fire going.” She grinned at Micah. “And he doesn’t talk much.”

  “I already said yes. Are you going to delay me from working nau by talking?”

  She slapped her hand over her mouth and shook her head.

  “I hope I don’t regret this.”

  “You won’t, I promise. Danki, Micah.”

  “You’re hard to say ‘no’ to.” His lips curled into a tight smile, then he muttered something under his breath she couldn’t decipher.

  She waved Thomas over to them before Micah had time to change his mind.

  Dressed in brown camouflaged pants and a dark sweatshirt, Thomas lumbered toward them.

  “You remember Micah, don’t you?”

  Thomas nodded, although Abigail wasn’t sure if he was just agreeing.

  “He wants you to help him today.” She caught a glimpse of Micah’s glare and shifted her stance to avoid seeing him. “Do what he says, okay, Thomas?”

  Thomas nodded.

  She smiled at Micah, but it weakened when he didn’t return the same gesture. She leaned closer to him and whispered, “Please be patient.”

  “You have no idea how patient I’m being.” He gave her a fake smile, then he and Thomas headed to the shop.

  Abigail plodded behind their lengthy steps. When she came to the door, Micah held up his hand, stopping her from entering.

  “He’ll be fine.” Micah went inside the building, Thomas at his heels.

  She stood still a moment and stared at the closed door, then pivoted to leave. Abigail hadn’t made it more than a few feet before the shop door opened. She glanced over her shoulder as Micah shot outside, a grueling expression on his face.

  He stormed up to her, head wagging. “You said he didn’t talk much.”

  She swallowed hard. “He doesn’t.”

  “For someone who doesn’t talk much, he’s got a very worldly vocabulary.”

  Abigail cringed. “Oh, did he start cursing again?”

  The muscles in Micah’s neck corded. “You knew?”

  “I can explain,” she said. “He has a steel plate in his head. The head injury causes him to behave oddly . . . sometimes.”

  Micah rubbed the back of his neck.

  “He also has something called post-traumatic . . . stress,” she added, not quite sure the full extent of what that was.

  “He’s nett the only one under stress at the moment.”

  She took a few steps backward. “Remember”—oh, please remember—“you’re a light into darkness.”

  “Abigail Kemp.” He crossed the distance between
them with a few long strides. “You better pray he doesn’t use the Lord’s name in vain. If he does—he’s off mei property.”

  She liked it better when he called her Gabby Abby.

  “No wonder the woman’s nett married. She’s either talking nonstop or trying to fix everyone’s problems. It’s enough to make a man run for the hills,” he mumbled to himself as he reentered the shop.

  Thomas stood next to his worktable, eyeing the glass pieces Micah had made yesterday.

  Micah drew a deep breath as he approached the work area. Perhaps if he explained to Thomas why his word choice wasn’t acceptable, maybe they could move forward. Thomas had changed over the last ten years and more than just the different style clothes he wore.

  Micah motioned to the snowflakes. “They’re fancy, jah?”

  Thomas nodded.

  “I’m making them for an Englischer’s wedding.” He slipped his work gloves on, deciding to wait until the need arose to talk with Thomas about his worldly language. Meanwhile, he would pray the occasion wouldn’t arise. Micah went to the kiln and opened the wood-burner hatch. “This is what I want you to do.” He used the fire poker to stir the ashes, then added pieces of kindling. “We need to keep it hot.”

  Thomas nodded.

  Micah prepared a batch of sand, lime-ash, and cullet, then mixed the ingredients using a metal rod. While the mixture molted, he unrolled a tube of lightweight packaging paper. Before he started making the new pieces, he wanted to wrap and box the other items so they didn’t break.

  Thomas watched as Micah carefully bundled up the glassware and set the crate aside. He appeared just as interested in how Micah collected the mass of molten glass on the end of the blowpipe and then worked it into a recognizable object.

  “A star,” Thomas said as the glass took shape.

  Micah tilted his head to view it from another angle. Perhaps the snowflake wasn’t so recognizable. He clipped the pliable glass off the end of his pipe.

  Thomas went to touch it, but Micah blocked his hand.

  “Hot. Very hot.” He grabbed the roll of brown paper and tore off a small section. “Watch this.” He tossed it on the snowflake. Flames engulfed the paper.

  Thomas jumped back, his eyes wide with curiosity.

  Micah tasked Thomas with adding more wood to the kiln while he formed another snowflake.

  It wasn’t long before Thomas anticipated what tool Micah needed and would hand it to him. Within an hour, Micah admitted to himself that having Thomas to keep the kiln stocked with wood made the process go faster than he had expected.

  Lunch sat on the table uneaten. Abigail craned her neck to look out the window. The only sign of activity was the smoke coiling into the air from the pipe.

  “Stop fretting, child. Micah will kumm in when he’s hungry.” Edith tapped the chair next to her. “Let’s eat.”

  Abigail wasn’t sure her nervous stomach could handle food. She’d prayed all morning that Thomas would hold his tongue and that Micah would find it in his heart to accept Thomas’s help. She sat down and bowed her head. Lord, please grant Micah patience. Give him eyes to see Thomas as a lost and suffering soul who needs compassion. And Lord, please give Thomas a reconcilable heart, and the understanding needed to break free of the worldly bondage and ask for forgiveness. And Lord, please watch over the homeless man. I don’t know why You’ve placed him on mei mind so much these past few days. Will You please bless him? Amen.

  Edith smiled. “You’ve been praying all morning. Is something wrong?”

  Abigail’s stomach roiled. She set her fork down. “Do you think I should go out to the shop and tell Micah it’s time to eat?”

  Edith chuckled. “You act like a newly wedded woman.”

  Heat erupted on Abigail’s cheeks. A pleasant thought that Edith hadn’t ruled her out of finding a husband, even if it would never come to pass.

  Edith lowered her fork. “You haven’t been yourself all day. Is something troubling you?”

  “I’ve had a lot on mei mind.” She chewed her bottom lip. “Christmas is almost here. I thought I would knit Micah a pair of socks. Do you think he would like socks? Maybe I should make him something less personal. A plate of brownies . . . that’s nett much of a gift.”

  “You could give him both.” Edith smiled. “I have some extra wool if you’d like to get started on them today.”

  Abigail rose from the table.

  “Don’t you want to eat first?”

  “Maybe I’ll be hungry later. But please, you eat.” She wet a dishrag and wiped the counter, pausing every few seconds to glance out the window. Maybe Micah was avoiding her. Is that why he hadn’t come inside for lunch? “I pray he isn’t upset with me still,” Abigail whispered.

  “If he is,” Edith said, coming up beside her and lowering her plate into the sink, “he won’t stay that way long.”

  “You didn’t see the look in his eyes.”

  Edith frowned. “Were you talking over him again?”

  “Nay, I—I don’t think I did.”

  “Too pushy?”

  Abigail nodded. “Definitely that.”

  “Tsk-tsk.” Edith shook her head.

  “I know. Men don’t like pushy women.” Looking back at the men who had offered to drive her home after a singing, they were equally as eager to drop her off by the end of the ride. She must have sounded pushy or talked so much their ears burned from her nervous chatter.

  “At his age, a man is looking for a fraa—even if he isn’t willing to admit it.”

  “I’m sure he’ll find the right maedel.” A pang of despair weighed her words. “I think I’ll get started on those socks,” she said over her shoulder as she fled the kitchen. Abigail blew out a breath once she reached the sanctuary of the sitting room. She eyed the basket but wasn’t sure which ball of wool, the black or gray, Edith had planned to give her to use.

  Edith joined her, taking a seat by the basket of yarn. She fished the black ball of wool out of her basket and handed it to Abigail.

  “Danki.” Abigail looped the wool onto her knitting needles, focusing on her work more than she needed. She had learned to knit at age eleven and could do it with her eyes closed without missing stitches.

  “Do the youth still have singings on Sunday evenings in this district?”

  “They do, but if you’re wondering about Micah, he stopped going to them a few years ago.”

  Edith smiled. “What about you?”

  “I haven’t attended one since last year.”

  “That’s where I met mei Abraham.” Edith stopped knitting. “We sat across from one another and each time he snuck a peek at me, his face turned red. I thought he might never ask to drive me home.” Edith sighed.

  “That’s why I’m buying a horse,” Abigail said. Edith frowned, but before she could express any pity, Abigail elaborated. “I’m very excited. I’ve even started making a quilted horse blanket to put over him in the winter.” Abigail kept her head down, not wishing to see the pity in Edith’s eyes. Over the years she’d seen her share of disappointment in her mother’s expression. Her knitting needles clacked as she went faster.

  “How often do the women have sewing get-togethers?” Edith asked.

  “Usually once a month, but I think several of the widows get together more often.” Abigail appreciated the changed topic. It wasn’t long before she had the top portion of one sock knitted.

  The door opened and Micah entered.

  Abigail shoved her knitting aside and stood. “You must be starved.” She crossed the room, alarms firing when she didn’t see her cousin.
“Where’s Thomas?”

  “Outside.”

  “I’m sure he’s hungry too. He didn’t pack a lunch.” She pushed the curtain to one side and peeked out the window. Thomas’s shoulders were hunched and he was standing with his back against the wind. Abigail grew more irritated by the second. She spun around to face Micah. “Would you leave a stray dog outside in that wedder?” Without waiting to hear his reply, she marched into the kitchen.

  “Abigail,” Micah said, tromping behind her. “We need to talk.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Micah stormed into the kitchen behind Abigail. “You certainly are quick to talk and slow to listen. You—you disregard the rules. You’re blatantly defiant, is what you are.”

  Abigail didn’t so much as flinch at his words. She merely opened the cabinet drawer, removed the bread knife, and began slicing the loaf.

  “The Ordnung clearly directs us nett to break bread or fellowship with shunned individuals. You know the rules and yet you expect me to invite him to mei table?”

  She twisted toward him, wagging the knife. “I expect you to have compassion.”

  His jaw twitched. In other words, she expected him to bend over backward for a man who wasn’t part of the fold.

  “Your food is on the table,” she said.

  He leaned against the counter beside her and folded his arms over his chest. The woman was impossible. He was a fool to be mixed up with her. Before the week was over she would have him standing before the bishop, giving account for his involvement.

  Abigail opened the jar of peanut butter, dipped the knife inside, and pulled out a glob, then slathered the slice of bread rather thickly.

  He cleared his throat, which drew her attention. Micah eyed the sandwich she was making. “Thomas must love peanut butter.”

  “Even a horse that works all day in the field is fed extra oats,” Abigail mumbled. She dipped the knife back into the jar and plopped another mound on the bread. “Jesus didn’t send the multitude away when they were hungry. He fed them.”