An Unexpected Joy Read online

  “Jah, I know.”

  “Do you think Jesus sat on the other side of the mountain so He didn’t have to fellowship with the sinners?”

  Micah clenched his jaw.

  “Of course He didn’t. He had a heart for the lost.” She exaggerated a shrug. “Shouldn’t our actions and compassion toward others reflect His?” Her piercing eyes held his gaze.

  Micah turned his attention to the sandwich. “That’s a lot of peanut butter for someone to—”

  “I’ll replace the jar tomorrow.” She punctuated each syllable through clenched teeth.

  Micah pushed away from the counter and went to the far cabinet. He removed his father’s thermos from the shelf, then filled it with milk. “If you’d give someone else a chance to talk,” he said, setting the thermos on the counter in front of her, “maybe you’d discover I’m nett as inconsiderate as you think.” He motioned to the sandwich. “All that peanut butter will stick to the roof of his mouth if he doesn’t have something to wash it down with.”

  The lines softened between her big green eyes.

  “Danki.” She quickly collected the sandwich and container of milk, then headed toward the foyer.

  “Hey.” He rushed after her. “I wanted to talk with you about tomorrow.” He reached the door at the same time and grasped her hand when she went to turn the knob. Her face angled toward him at the same time he moved closer. For a half second, they were nose to nose. He stepped back and his gaze traveled to her parted lips.

  The thermos landed on his foot with a thump. He sucked in a breath and held it.

  “I’m sorry. It slipped out of mei hands.”

  Her face turned beet red, a perfect distraction. His pulsating big toe was a dull throb in the back of his mind.

  “Are you all right? Can you stand on it?”

  “It’s nothing. I’m fine. See?” He hobbled a few steps until he caught sight of Mammi in his peripheral vision.

  Mammi placed her hands on her hips. “What’s all the commotion about?”

  “I dropped the thermos on his foot.” Abigail grimaced when she looked at him.

  “It doesn’t hurt as bad as when Clover stepped on me.”

  “I see you two have everything under control.” Mammi ambled back into the sitting room.

  “What did you want to say about tomorrow?” Abigail asked.

  “I need to pick up a few things in town in the morning. I might nett be here when you arrive. Do you think Thomas is capable of getting the stove going so we can get started right away? I asked him, but I’m nett sure he . . . comprehends everything.”

  “You want Thomas to start the fire?” Her brows arched.

  Micah nodded. “I believe he still wants the job.”

  “But I thought . . . Yes, he’s capable.”

  He removed her cloak from the wall hook. “You might want to put this on.”

  The red of her cheeks deepened. She handed him the sandwich and thermos to hold while she slipped on her cloak and mittens. “Same time then?”

  “Jah.” He opened the door. “I’ll give you a ride.”

  She smiled. “And Thomas too?”

  The muscles in Micah’s neck stiffened.

  Her smile faded. “Never mind, we’ll walk.”

  “Abigail . . .” He exhaled a long sigh. At least when Thomas worked inside the shop, the likelihood of anyone finding out, especially this close to Christmas, was minimal. Driving him home was a risk. Besides, Thomas lived a quarter mile down the road. He could walk.

  The door closed hard behind Abigail.

  Micah groaned. Didn’t she care if they were shunned? He looked forward to eating Christmas turkey and fellowshipping on Second Christmas with the members of the settlement. Being treated as if he were a fence-jumper wasn’t his idea of a merry Christmas.

  Abigail held her tongue when Micah stopped the buggy fifty feet from Thomas’s driveway. Be grateful. It’s better than walking, she reminded herself.

  Thomas climbed out of the buggy. “Tomorrow, jah?”

  Micah nodded. “Danki for your help today.”

  “Tell Malinda,” her voice squeaked, “I said hello.”

  Thomas nodded. “You skate tonight?”

  “I don’t—” Her throat dry, she turned and coughed into her fisted hand. “I don’t think so.” The scratchiness made her cough again.

  “Okay.” Thomas waved.

  Micah clicked his tongue, and the buggy lurched forward.

  Abigail rocked back against the bench. “You could have waited until he was farther off the road before pulling away.” Her hoarse voice was barely above a whisper.

  “I have things to do at home.” He stared straight ahead.

  She gazed out the window. Gray sky. Bare trees. It couldn’t get much gloomier. “Do you think it’ll snow tonight?”

  “It’s December.”

  She shifted on the bench to face him. “Do you find it strange that the spruce trees stay green all year?”

  “They’re called evergreens.”

  She shrank back against the seat. “You don’t have to be snippy.”

  He tapped the reins, nudging his horse faster.

  Abigail gripped the edge of the bench. “You certainly are in a hurry to get home.”

  He glared in her direction, then resumed watching the road. “Perhaps you should conserve your voice and nett talk so much.”

  Nett talk so much. She harrumphed. Was it getting hot? She removed her mitten and touched her forehead. Moist. Her throat hurt when she swallowed, and her body was beginning to ache all over. She shifted on the bench. If she hadn’t promised her mother she would help sew the boys’ new clothes for Christmas, she would go straight to bed.

  Micah pulled into her driveway and stopped the buggy next to the porch.

  “Danki for the . . . ride.” Her voice strained. She started to get out, but his hand caught her arm.

  “Are you going skating tonight?”

  She glanced at his hand, then looked into his eyes. He had a strange way of showing interest. Lousy time to feel feverish too. Perhaps she could skate for an hour. She hated to turn down an invitation. “Are you asking me to go?”

  He released her arm. “Nay.”

  Anger infused her fatigue as she swung around to face him. The motion roiled her stomach and caused Micah to blur before her eyes. “Then what were you doing? Just seeing if I’d say yes?”

  “What? Nay.” He shook his head as if reinforcing his denial.

  “Never mind.” Abigail lowered her head, hoping to conceal her disappointment, and scooted out of the buggy.

  She cringed. Why did she think Micah was different? He wasn’t interested in spending any more time with her than he had to. Well, Christmas was only a few days away. Other than seeing him at Sunday services, he would disappear from her life soon enough. As she hurried up the porch steps, Edith’s words ran through her mind. “Men his age are looking for a fraa.” Her throat tightened. His grandmother couldn’t be more wrong.

  The early-morning frost sparkled across the field of snow as Micah headed into town. His thoughts of Abigail had consumed him most of the night and early into the morning. She was like a wild vine that somehow, through sheer persistence, entwined her life with his. The mere thought of Abigail conjured an image of her lively wide smile and big green eyes.

  She stole his breath like no other woman had. Don’t fall in love.

  A gust of wind sent a chill down his spine. He held the reins with one hand and
used the other to rub his arm. He wouldn’t be so cold if he had his other coat. The one he wore now was lightweight and all right for working in the barn. The animals and hay kept the barn somewhat insulated. His thoughts skidded to Abigail’s plan to buy Cactus. Stubborn woman—stubborn horse—neither of them trainable. He made a mental note to talk with her brother and father after church service tomorrow.

  Micah pulled into the back parking lot of the hardware store where the owner kept the barrel of broken pieces of glass for him to recycle. He set the buggy brake and climbed out. The barrel was nearly empty. He’d hoped there would be more, but he wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Micah dumped the contents of the barrel into the plastic bin he kept in the back of his buggy, then went inside the store.

  “I hear we’re in for another storm,” the clerk said as Micah approached the counter. “Big one.”

  “How many inches?”

  “Could drop as much as two feet according to the news this morning.” He removed the two bags of sand from the back shelf that Micah had special ordered and placed them on the counter. “Can I get you anything else?”

  With what sand he already had, the two bags should be plenty to finish this project. “That will do it.” He paid for the supplies.

  “Drive carefully. I see it’s already starting to snow.” The clerk handed Micah his change.

  “Jah, thanks.” Micah gathered the bags in his arms. He had one more stop to make before heading home. He glanced up at the snow coming down. Another hour and the roads would be covered. He rounded the corner of the building and slid to a stop. The man he’d given his coat to was standing next to Clover. Micah cleared his throat. “Can I help you?”

  He looked Micah’s direction and smiled. “I saw you pull up.”

  The man dropped his hand from the horse’s neck and moved toward the rear of the buggy. “You save broken glass?”

  Micah nodded. “I turn it into art.” He kept his tone steady despite his veins pulsating with unease. A narrow alley joining the parking lot wasn’t the same one where he’d found the homeless man the other night. Perhaps he wanted another ride to the church down the road.

  A garbage truck rumbled into the parking area, its brakes screeching to a stop. The driver rolled down his window. “Mind moving your buggy? I need to get to those Dumpsters.”

  “Sure.” Micah untied Clover from the tree branch and, when he turned around, the homeless man was gone. He climbed onto the bench and clicked his tongue. Better not to get too friendly with the stranger.

  Micah stopped at Gingerich’s Market.

  Fran waved as he entered the store. “It’s really snowing hard, isn’t it Micah?”

  “Jah. I heard we might get two feet.” He pulled the supply list from his pocket and glanced over it. Thankfully, it wouldn’t take long to gather the items his grandmother had jotted down. He grabbed a basket and moved down the aisle. He found everything except the cookies, for which his mouth had been watering.

  Micah spotted Fran stocking a shelf of canned goods and went over to her. “Have you moved Abigail Kemp’s baked goods to another area? I can’t seem to find them nau.”

  “Oh, Micah, haven’t you heard?”

  CHAPTER 11

  Smoke curled up from the workshop’s stovepipe as Micah pulled into the yard. After what Fran told him about Abigail, he had half a notion to send her and Thomas both home. He stopped Clover next to the barn and remained in the buggy while he contemplated what he should do.

  I care a great deal for Abigail, Lord. But she’s going to bring condemnation on both of us. He rubbed his palms on his pant legs. Why am I so torn about this? I know what I have to do. Micah climbed out of the buggy, tied Clover to the post, and headed to the workshop. He couldn’t go against the Ordnung any longer. Rules were developed to keep us on the straight path. But the closer he got to the building, the more disheartened he became. He’d also given Thomas his word. What good was his word if he didn’t keep it?

  “You’re a light into darkness. Thomas needs to see Jesus through you.” Her words were difficult to dismiss. He groaned. No doubt Abigail’s voice would be in his head forever. Micah glanced at the kitchen window but didn’t see any sign of her. A flurry of wind sent a chill down his neck. He tugged on his lightweight coat and crossed the yard. He would break the news to Thomas first.

  The heat from the kiln struck Micah immediately as he entered the shop. Thomas had followed instructions and kept the fire blazing. Micah’s eyes needed a moment to adjust to the dim light. When they did, he sucked in a sharp breath. The ornaments and centerpieces he’d made yesterday were not on the table where he’d left them to cool.

  “What did you do with the glass pieces?” Panic infused Micah’s tone as he scanned the shelves, the inside of the scrap barrel. Everything was gone. Acid rose to the back of his throat. “Thomas, they were sitting on the table this morning.”

  “I wrap.” Thomas shifted his feet back and forth.

  “You wrapped them? In what? Where did you put them?”

  Thomas shied away from Micah like a dog who’d been kicked. He lowered his head and went to the far side of the room and picked up a wooden crate. He carefully brought it to the worktable and set it down, never looking Micah in the eye.

  Micah looked inside the crate. Everything was bundled in brown packaging paper. Too much paper, probably the entire roll, but wrapped nonetheless. “It’s very fragile. You didn’t break anything, did you? You need to tell me nau if you did.” Micah lifted one of the larger pieces from the crate and eased it out of the paper. “I was careful,” Thomas said.

  “Jah.” Micah exhaled his pent-up anger. “So I see.” He made a quick inspection of the other pieces. Everything had been double, even triple wrapped.

  Thomas beamed. “I thought it would save some time.”

  Micah nodded. “You could have—” used less paper.

  Thomas’s smile faded. Vacancy replaced his childlike expression.

  “Have patience with him.” Recalling what Abigail had said, Micah patted Thomas’s shoulder. “I really appreciate your hard work, danki.”

  “Welkom.” His smile returned.

  Micah silently tried to formulate what he would say to Thomas about not working for him anymore, but every time he came close, Abigail’s words came to mind. “You’re a light into darkness.” Micah shook his head.

  He would be eaten up with guilt if he sent Thomas away now. He whispered a prayer, asking God to speak to the bishop’s heart regarding the matter, then turned to Thomas. “Let’s get to work.”

  Abigail lifted the cool rag from her forehead and squinted at Edith. “I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you.”

  “Nonsense.” Edith set another steaming cup of tree-bark tea on the lamp table beside Abigail. “Are you feeling any better?”

  “I think so.” She turned and coughed into her hand. Abigail had drunk a cupful of the bitter fluid earlier at Edith’s insistence that it would ward off the flu-like symptoms, but her body hurt like she’d been kicked by a mule.

  Edith placed her hand on Abigail’s forehead. “You’re still hot.”

  “I keep alternating between fever and chills.” Now her stomach burned, but something told her that was from the tree bark.

  “Take a sip of the tea. I think it’ll help.” Edith sat in the rocking chair and picked up her knitting needles. “I pray you’re over this by Christmas. I’d hate for you to feel run-down during the holidays.”

  “Me too.” Abigail groaned. “I have less than a week to finish Micah’s socks.”

  Footsteps thumped on the porch outside the window, then the door opened. Abigail cau
ght a glimpse of Micah as he went into the kitchen. She pushed off the sofa, a whoosh of dizziness staggering her first few steps.

  Edith toddled behind her.

  Abigail made it as far as the kitchen entryway and leaned against the trim molding, perspiration beading her forehead.

  Micah stood at the kitchen sink, drinking a glass of water. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he drank. He set the glass down and glanced over at her.

  “Abigail isn’t feeling well,” Edith volunteered.

  “What’s wrong?” His tone was flat with lack of interest. Something had changed since lunchtime, when he’d come inside long enough to grab food to take out to the shop.

  Edith placed her palm over her own forehead. “I’m feeling a little faint myself.”

  Micah came up beside Mammi and wrapped his arm around her waist as Abigail supported her other side. “Are you okay?”

  “Help me into the sitting room, please.” Mammi sounded frail. She collapsed in the rocking chair with a heavy sigh.

  “Micah, I could drink a cup of tree-bark tea. It’s in the pot on the stove. Make Abigail one too.”

  He hadn’t made it out of the room before he heard Mammi call him back.

  “Micah, kumm quickly.” Mammi motioned to Abigail who’d broken out in a sweat. “Help her, please.”

  “I’ll be . . .”

  Abigail teetered as Micah placed his hand on her back for support. Heat radiated through her dress. He guided her to the couch.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened.”

  “No need to apologize.” Not for being sick. Omitting the fact the bishop had stopped her from selling baked goods at the market was another issue. He glanced over his shoulder at Mammi. Her eyes were closed. “I’ll get the tea.”

  “I can do it.”

  “You’re nett in any shape to do anything.” He went to the kitchen, found the pot of amber liquid simmering on the stove, and poured two cups. Abigail’s eyes were closed and she was slouched against a pillow. He placed one cup on the lamp table beside her and gave the other one to his grandmother.