The Thorn Part 18

He turned to go to his shop and realized in that moment just how much he secretly enjoyed having Hen home again with Mattie Sue. It had been years since either Hen or Rose Ann were little girls. They'd loved holding all the barn kittens just as Mattie Sue did. He and Emma were blessed to be able to regularly see their many Amish grandchildren, but having Mattie Sue around was mighty special.

Stepping into the shop, Sol went to the wooden hook and took down his old carpenter's ap.r.o.n and tied it around his waist. He filled it with his favorite tools - a carpenter pencil and a fold-up wooden ruler, a tape measure, hammer, a bag of nails, tin shears, square level, pliers, screwdriver, and his safety gla.s.ses.

"Hen's marriage must not fail," he whispered, recalling the bishop's adamant stance earlier. Aaron had urged Sol not to encourage Hen to leave Brandon permanently. In fact, he had advised Sol and Emma to reach out to their son-in-law in whatever way they could. Keep the lines of communication open at all costs....

So, under G.o.d - and the bishop - he had a duty to see that Hen did all she could to mend whatever rift she was experiencing with her husband. He'd noticed that both Hen and Mattie Sue were dressing rather Plain. Were their clothes the problem, or was there more to it?

Sol thought again of Brandon. How could he best extend himself to the son-in-law he hardly knew? These past several years he'd tried repeatedly through Hen to invite Brandon out for various work frolics and such, but he was always too tied up with his own work. Sol felt downright awful that there hadn't been any communication between himself and Hen's husband since before the wedding. And now here the bishop was, nearly demanding he get Brandon's attention somehow or other.

Moving to his workbench, Solomon wracked his brain, trying to think how he and Emma might successfully invite Brandon Orringer to have a glimpse into their cloistered world. How, indeed?

Not knowing what to expect from the bishop, Hen hurried to the Petersheims'. Admiring their sprawl of land from the sloping road, she had to smile at the remembrance of the many picnics she and the bishop's three daughters - Verna and twins Anna and Susannah - had often enjoyed out on the front lawn. They'd especially liked to spread out an old blanket and have cheese and lettuce sandwiches out there with their doll babies.

She wished she'd kept in touch with the bishop's girls, all married now, just as she regretted her lost friends.h.i.+p with Arie. It was hard not to wonder if Arie had even read the recent letter Hen had sent. Hen sometimes found herself hoping Arie might drop by the fabric store, although since Hen didn't work there consistently, it would be difficult for Arie to know when to go.

The day had started out rather calm, with only a hint of feathery clouds out to the west. But now there were occasional bursts of wind, and she wondered if another rainstorm might be blowing in like yesterday.

Barbara Petersheim met her at the back door and waved Hen inside. "Willk.u.mm, dear girl!"

"It's wonderful to see you," said Hen as she followed the very round woman into her warm kitchen.

"Made some brownies ... if you'd like." Barbara presented a platter.

"Oh, they look delicious, but I'd better not."

"Aw, for goodness' sakes! Just look at ya, though. You could stand to put on some pounds." Barbara stood there frowning as if Hen had done something terrible by turning down the treats.

"Well, I'm trying to eat fewer sweets."

"Are ya sure?" The bishop's wife had often been a force to be reckoned with. Not to be outwitted, she stood there holding the brownies in front of Hen. "Just half a piece?"

Hen had to smile, knowing she'd never get out of the generous woman's kitchen without at least picking up one of her brownies. "All right - but only a half." When she helped herself to the smallest one, intending to halve it, Barbara whisked the platter out of her reach.

"Go on, now ... you'll see how gut the whole thing tastes."

There was no arguing with Barbara. As Hen walked to the long trestle table, she wondered if this was a preview of things to come with the bishop. Still, she refused to get all worked up in advance over whatever the man of G.o.d believed was good and right in her situation. Hen would be much more receptive to his spiritual remarks than to Barbara's pleas to eat her rich, sugar-filled brownies. Even though she means well, Hen thought, taking a seat at the table to wait for the bishop.

Rose used her grandfather's cane as a crutch and managed to hop out to the barn after breakfast, eager to see George, Alfalfa, Upsy-Daisy, and the foals. And Nick. She hoped he realized how grateful she was for coming along when he had yesterday.

Soon she found him sitting in some fresh hay, holding a tiny gray kitten, with Mattie Sue sitting nearby. "Well, look at the two of ya."

"We're just wasting time," Mattie said, grinning up at her. "That's what Nick said."

He whispered something to Mattie that sounded like Deitsch, and Rose couldn't help but smile. "Go ahead and have your little secrets."

"How's your knee?" Nick asked.

"Some better."

"You need a ride to work tomorrow?"

"Where do you work, Aunt Rosie?" Mattie Sue piped up.

"Over yonder, near the covered bridge," Rose replied. "You know where that is?"

"I sure do." Mattie smiled. "It's where my daddy met my mommy - during a big snowstorm, too." She was all excited suddenly. "Mommy could've died if Daddy hadn't come along right then!"

Nick looked at Rose and nodded, his eyes piercing hers. "Just like I did yesterday, ain't so, Rosie?"

"Oh, you!" She picked up a handful of straw and tossed it at him. Several pieces stuck to his hat and lay on his dark shoulders. "And to think I was goin' to say again how nice it was you rescued me."

He sported a rare smile. "And don't ya forget!"

She didn't say it, but she thought he seemed just a bit too pleased about having been the one to find her after she'd fallen.

"So, when do ya think you'll be able to go ridin' again?" He picked the pieces of straw off his s.h.i.+rt and flicked them at her.

Rose frowned at Nick and glanced at Mattie Sue, shaking her head as a warning. But he shrugged like he didn't think it was a problem for her young niece to overhear their plans. "We'll talk tomorrow, on the way to Mr. Browning's," she said, eager to return there. "I really want to meet the girl I saw through the window yesterday."

Nick nodded and held her gaze. "Some mystery, ain't?"

"What is?" Mattie asked, looking first at Rose, then at Nick.

Nick leaped to his feet and s.n.a.t.c.hed the gray kitten out of Mattie's lap. Just that quick, he flashed a mischievous look and ran off with Mattie's favorite cat.

"I like Nick," said Mattie Sue, jumping up. "He's silly."

Rose watched her chase after him, filling the stable with giggles.

She tested her leg and raised her cane to walk without it. Relieved her leg was already much more stable, she really hoped by tomorrow evening it would be strong enough to go riding again with Nick.

Hen could hardly keep her tears in check. "My husband is anything but interested in the Amish church - or any church," she said, her voice quavering. "So I don't see how what you're saying can happen ... even in the future."

The bishop's graying bangs rimmed his bushy eyebrows as he folded his hands and leaned forward on the table. "This is how things must be, Hannah." He'd always called her by her given name, ignoring the popular nickname. "If you want to join church someday, then Brandon must also be baptized with you. I will not allow you to become a voting member as a single woman ... because you are quite married." He paused, his hazel eyes boring into her. "There can be no exceptions."

She absorbed his words. "My husband won't even darken the door of my parents' house, let alone a Preaching service." She shook with sadness.

"G.o.d works in mysterious ways at times, so we will trust Him for the outcome. And always remember, His mercy holds us up when we reach the end of our own strength." He pushed his chair back from the table, signaling the end of the discussion.

G.o.d's mercy, thought Hen, wis.h.i.+ng for a greater sense of it even now.

Barbara added, "Meanwhile, dear, you just keep showerin' dei Mann with love."

"Invite your husband to come visit ya in the Dawdi Haus," the bishop said before leaving to return to the barn. "Don't give up."

Barbara advised Hen to talk to her mother about this, too. "See what she might suggest. Emma says very little, but when she does, it's often wise counsel."

Hen stared at the brownie before her - she'd yet to take a single bite. "I don't know what to do."

"The Good Lord will show ya ways to reach out to him, Hannah. Your father mentioned possibly invitin' Brandon for a meal with your mother and you and Mattie Sue." Barbara glanced toward the eastern window that faced the Kauffman house. "Might you write a dinner invitation to him, just maybe?"

"I can try."

"After all, the way to a man's heart can sometimes be his belly," Barbara said, apparently trying to lighten things up. She reached for her plate of brownies and rose, carrying them to the counter. "If it helps to know, I'll be prayin' for ya, Hen, dear."

"That's kind of you. Denki." Then, holding her hand over her trembling lips, Hen stood, grateful for Barbara's loving arms as she came to embrace her.

"That's all right ... you'll feel better soon. You just go ahead and cry, honey-girl."

Hen's pent-up tears flowed freely now - she felt overwhelmingly sad because she knew Brandon would never budge. There was not a smidgen of hope for that. In some ironic way, she'd trapped herself in no-man's land, by choosing a way of life and love she could no longer reconcile herself to.

The worldly English life smothers my spirit . . . and I'll never be able to join this one, Hen thought, stumbling miserably up Salem Road.

Rose was surprised how much better her leg felt Wednesday morning. She was glad she'd gone to get help from Old Eli, though he was not a medical doctor. His therapeutic ma.s.sages and herbal concoctions had gone a long way in helping her family through the years, as well as many others in the community. And Mamm, too.

She was ready and waiting when Nick arrived with the bishop's family buggy. Still using Dawdi's cane to steady herself, she shuffled out the back door and down the walkway. Nick hopped out and came over to walk close to her.

"I don't need to be carried today," she said, laughing.

He followed her around the buggy and stood there watching her struggle to get in. "So, ya think you're doin' fine on your own, then?" Now he was chuckling.

"Just be still." She smiled. "And give me a little boost on my gut foot," she added, anxious to be back to normal again. Once she was settled inside, she realized how very sore she still was.

"Are ya up to ridin' tonight?" he asked when they were out on the road.

"Not sure I can manage a horse well enough," she admitted. George could sometimes be rambunctious, although she loved the horse all the more for being so.

"Well, if it would help, we could ride Pepper together," he suggested. "I'd be careful hoisting you up."

"Let's see how my leg's doin' later. Maybe I'll be able to take George on my own."

He fell silent suddenly and turned his head away to look at the other side of the road.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothin'."

"You looked awful disappointed."

Nick nodded slowly. "Just tryin' to please the bishop." He sounded glum and sarcastic. "He's eggin' me on to spend time with ya."

"Whatever for?"

Nick shrugged his shoulders.

"You're makin' this up, ain't so?"

He looked surprisingly serious. "No, Rosie. I'm not kidding."

She pondered this while they rode in the buggy, beset with the idea their bishop would want his unbaptized boy spending time with her. "You can't mean he wants us to be more than friends," she said quietly, still puzzling this over.

"He didn't say that, no."

"Well, what, then?"

He paused and glanced at her, then away. "Even if he did want us to court, you've already given your heart away, jah?"

She stared at him. "How on earth would ya know that?"

"So, I guess I'm right." A flicker of a frown crossed Nick's ruddy brow.

True to the People's age-old tradition, she was not going to reveal what she'd agreed to with Silas. "Just because I left with someone after Singing doesn't mean anything," she spouted back.

"No need to holler'bout Silas Good."

She shot him a quick look but decided not to bother with a response.

"By the way, I'll come over and fix up that porch." He motioned toward the Browning house, his tone suddenly more conciliatory.

She nodded abruptly, unsure now why she'd felt so upset with him. "I'll tell Mr. Browning to expect ya."

"Tell him I'll be there first thing tomorrow."

Rose didn't wait for him to come around and help her down. Instead she inched carefully out of the buggy, making sure she was ready to land on her good leg. But she slipped and landed unsteadily all the same, and Nick was there just in time to catch her. "Denki," she said, stepping back quickly, not waiting for him to say more. "Can ya pick me up around eleven o'clock today?"

"Only if you go ridin' with me tonight."

"To please the bishop."

"It'll please him no end."

Rose limped up to the front porch, considering again what Nick had said about the bishop. Supposedly, she thought as Nick circled the lane and headed out with a mocking wave of his hand.

Whoever heard of a man of G.o.d encouragin' such a thing!

While Rose washed the week's worth of dishes, she listened for sounds overhead, thinking surely the young woman she'd seen on Monday was upstairs somewhere. Might she still be asleep? She'd heard from Hen that some English folk slept in late.

She looked over at Gilbert Browning, who was reading a magazine. Every so often he glanced at her, which she found curious. Peering down the hallway toward the back door, she wondered if there was another access to the second floor, and if so, where it might be. She'd cleaned the back hall and small bathroom nearby enough to know there wasn't a second stair there. As far as Rose knew, there was no other way upstairs. The reason Mr. Browning plants himself in the doorway ...

The man's odd habit annoyed her greatly, and it was all she could do to keep from asking right out to see the girl he was hiding.

Going now to sort through the papers on the kitchen table, she came upon a few pieces of mail. She turned her back to Mr. Browning while furtively glancing through. Rose noticed a utility bill, a receipt from the nearby general store for two spiral notebooks, and a letter from Arthur, Illinois, addressed to Miss Beth Browning.

"Beth?" she whispered. "Is that the girl I saw?"

Rose finished redding up and quickly wiped down the counters, wondering again if Beth Browning was Gilbert Browning's daughter. She'd appeared young enough to be just that. Yet if that was the case, why hide her?

Rose measured out some rolled oats, cinnamon, baking powder, sugar, and salt and mixed them together. Her employer liked a hearty oatmeal, and it had been a couple of weeks since she'd made her favorite baked oatmeal recipe with pieces of apple, cinnamon, and walnuts.