“You’re really making lunch. Here? In my house?”
“Yes, I am. Now go check on your ma.” With his order delivered, Joseph turned his full attention to the woodstove.
Rebekah crept up the stairs and took extra care to avoid the squeaky one.
Ma should be resting. I don’t want to be the one to wake her up.
She eased the door open. There, on the bedside table, was Elnora’s tray of untouched breakfast. Rebekah tiptoed across the floor and peered over the bed. Strong and steady breathing came from the nest of handmade quilts that covered the woman she loved most in all the world.
Her pounding heart slowed to a dull thud. “You rest, Ma.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I love you so.”
With Elnora’s breakfast tray in hand, Rebekah returned to the kitchen. Joseph kneaded something furiously in her wooden bread bowl when she entered.
She slid the tray onto the countertop. “Can I help?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “No, think I’ve got it.”
Rebekah opened her mouth to speak but squeaked instead. Joseph’s face was smudged with smears of flour and lard.
Her eyes watered as the same sense of hilarity as that of the rooster incident returned. She bit her lip, but the more she tried to hold her laughter in, the funnier the entire scene became. With an unladylike snort, Rebekah gave in to the throes of a laughing jag once again.
Joseph turned to face her. “What’s so funny?”
Sure enough, his entire front, from his forehead to his chest, was spotted with floury globs.
Rebekah held her middle and leaned against the wall. Tears streaked her face and she was powerless to stop laughing.
He touched his face and examined his fingers. With a slow grin, he advanced toward her.
“Oh no you don’t, Joseph Graber.” Rebekah stepped backward along the wall, but a chair stood between her and the kitchen door. Her sides ached, and her cheeks hurt from smiling. She backed into a corner, completely at his mercy.
“Miss Stoll, you need a smidge here…” He tweaked the end of her nose with one buttery finger. “And a touch there.” Joseph dabbed her chin with his other floury hand.
Rebekah flailed her arms and protested through the giggles. The absurdity of the moment made the entire scene even more enjoyable. Joseph’s deep, throaty laughs harmonized with hers as they failed to make a delicious lunch.
After a moment, the laughter fizzled away and left a comfortable silence in its stead.
She gazed at his doughy face. Suddenly, he stiffened. “My cinnamon rolls!”
Rebekah watched as he donned Elnora’s pot-holders and pulled the delectable pastries from the oven.
How good they will taste after dinner. Rebekah licked her lips. But then again, anything cinnamon tastes good any time.
“Joseph Graber, you’re a cook? After all these years, I should have known that by now.” She dabbed her face with a hanky and feigned annoyance. “What am I going to do with you?”
He slid the hanky from her hand and stepped closer. Ever slow, he removed a blotch of flour from below her right eye. He continued to dab long after the flour was gone. “What are you going to do with me, Miss Stoll?”
The vulnerable feeling was back, heavy and hard, in the pit of her stomach. Rebekah gulped. It sounded awfully loud in the sudden quiet.
“Um…”
“Say you’ll attend the Spring Festival this weekend.”
Phew.
“Of course we’re attending.” The words tumbled forth much too quickly. “Our families always—”
“Sshh.”
Rebekah shut her mouth and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Say you’ll attend the Spring Festival,” Joseph repeated, “with me as your escort.”
Chapter Four
Thunder boomed outside Rebekah’s window with such intensity, the glass rattled in the frame. Still mostly asleep, she jumped and landed in a heap on the floor. Her waist-length blonde mane twisted in her fall and clung to her face like Peter’s bandana had clung to his neck.
With her heart pounding in her chest, Rebekah’s sleepy eyes flew wide open to view the world with adrenaline-charged vision. Something was wrong.
Bright flashes of lightning forced her to cover her eyes. Even then, she could feel the brief heat from the striking bolts on her skin.
Fear swelled within her. A torrent of rain hammered violently on her windows, demanding to be let in—or else.
“Halp!” A familiar voice echoed between the squalling sheets of rain. “Somebody. Halp!”
She stopped fighting with her hair and sat as still as a windmill on a breezeless day.
That’s Pa’s voice.
