Joseph chuckled. “You know, I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but it was everyone’s idea to make sure you had twenty gifts on your birthday, since you were turning twenty. How many did you wind up with?”
“Counting yours?”
“Of course.”
She pretended to count, even though she already knew the number. “Forty-seven.”
His eyes widened. By the light of the oil lamp, they were robin’s-egg blue.
“You surely are the most loved girl in the village then.”
“The Lord has blessed me by making sure I am a part of a family and village so generous and caring, I have no doubt about that.”
Joseph’s face broke into a dazzling, dimpled grin.
Like the sun.
In an odd display of forthrightness, words tumbled off her tongue. “But the fishing pole was my favorite.”
He held up a packet of cheesecloths, tied up with a black ribbon. “Even more than these…well…things?”
Rebekah snatched them playfully. “Cheesecloths.”
Joseph stared down at her. The ghost of a smile lingered on his lips. Slowly, he took a step toward her.
Longing for even the briefest of brushes from his skin against hers, Rebekah forced herself to remain still. She sucked in a deep breath in an attempt to still her thundering heart. His sweet, woodsy scent left her head spinning.
“I’m glad you loved your gift,” he whispered. His breath was aromatic, like honey and coffee. “I loved making it for you.”
I’m going to melt. Into a twenty-year-old puddle right here on my family room floor.
Ever ladylike, she clasped her sweaty hands behind her back and watched from the corner of her eye as Joseph raised his hand, painfully slowly. He hesitated only a moment beside her cheek. Rebekah longed for the feel of his skin against hers. But the touch never came.
His hand continued past her cheek and touched the brim of his black felt hat. “Goodnight, sweet Rebekah. And happy, happy birthday.”
Chapter Two
“Rebekah. Rebekah, wake up.” Samuel’s voice came from somewhere in the darkness of her bedroom.
She pushed herself onto her elbows in her nest of blankets. “Pa?”
The musical sound of raindrops on the roof left her uncertain as to whether she was awake or simply dreaming. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m sorry to wake you, but you have one last birthday gift. Make haste, daughter.” Samuel picked his lantern up in the hallway and started toward the stairs.
Rebekah flung her legs over the side of her bed and fumbled for her housedress. Dashing into the chilled darkness, she pulled the hand-me-down garment about her shoulders, not bothering with the armholes. She followed the bouncing light of her father’s lantern out the front door and across the yard until she finally caught up to him in the barn.
Quiet bovine breathing filled the dusty expanse.
“What is it, Pa?”
When she reached the far side of the barn, where her father stood smiling, she saw why he had woken her. A tiny calf, solid black and still wet, lay next to her favorite cow, Cream. Its tiny head bobbled as it tried to look around its new world.
“Oh, Pa, Cream’s had her calf!”
The tiny animal answered with a weak bleat.
Rebekah and her father shared a quiet chuckle.
Samuel knelt beside the animal and held out the lantern so the ring of light shone on the shiny baby.
“He’s a she,” he observed. “And she needs a name. Would you like to name her?”
She felt her insides turn to mush as she watched in awe as Cream cleaned her baby.
Oh, what it must feel like to be a mother!
She didn’t have to ponder long. “We have Butter, and Cream,” Rebekah reasoned aloud. “Let’s call this one Buttermilk.”
***
“I hear there’s a new member of the Stoll family.” Joseph’s voice was a welcome distraction as she sat in the warmth of the barn, her quilt and needle in hand. “Isn’t she a little young to learn quilting, though?”
Rebekah held up a crooked cornflower-blue square. “I need to practice my stitching, but my mind kept wandering to Buttermilk.” She plucked a stalk of hay from her quilting bag. “So, I moved out here.”
He eyed her work. “I like the color you’ve chosen. It reminds me of my first quilt.”
She nodded. “It was a gift from my Ma when you were born, right?”
