“Those home-care jobs are how she supports herself. Fern is not your frau.” As if he didn’t know. As if he wasn’t constantly reminded that everyone else thought she ought to be. Nay, Fern was certainly not his wife. But she and Charity had been as close as sisters. Charity would be sorely disappointed if Nick didn’t at least try to look out for her cousin. The bottom line was that Fern ought to be safe. He didn’t have to be her husband to make sure she was escorted home safely.
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d stepped in. Ada certainly hadn’t minded fifteen years ago when Nick had been looking out for her granddaughter. If Gott hadn’t changed Nick’s course that afternoon... Nick shuddered at the memory. He couldn’t bear the thought of how much damage the fire might have done to Fern that day if he hadn’t found her when he did.
Charity had a way of making him feel like a hero after that, which, of course, he wasn’t. He’d merely used the common sense the Lord gave him.
Fern, on the other hand, had withdrawn from him—from everyone. She’d only come out of her shell years later by caring for the sick in their community. Maybe because she knew better than most how they were suffering.
A sizzle sounded from the stove where the percolator boiled. He wasn’t used to drinking his morning kaffi alone on a weekday. And he didn’t much like it.
Bang. The familiar slam of the back door set everything back to right.
“I sure am glad to smell that kaffi.” Fern’s familiar voice drifted in from the mudroom. “Did you oversleep?”
Hardly.
Grabbing a pot holder, Nick removed the steaming carafe from the heat and poured their drinks. Then, just as Fern came through the mudroom into the kitchen, he added the healthy dollop of cream he knew she liked.
“Gut mariye.” He pushed her mug toward the chair where she usually sat, then leaned against the back of his chair, thankful the dim light hid how relieved he was to see her.
“Are you going to stay in the dark, Nick?” She lit the kerosene lamp above the table and plopped down in the chair. Her hands wrapped around the mug before she blew out a slow, tired breath. “I think I need the entire pot this morning.”
“I didn’t sleep so well last night, either,” Nick confessed.
Her mouth opened, as if she was going to reply, but she shook her head instead.
Nick watched a strand of her nut-brown hair fall across her face as she bent her head toward the steaming liquid. Her long and slender fingers encompassed the mug gracefully. She took a sip, then closed her eyes for a moment and sighed.
“No frost this morning, but it’s still cold out there, I reckon.” He drank the first mouth-melting swallow of his own.
“Not so bad as it has been. I noticed the daffodils poking through the ground yesterday. Definitely nippy, though.” She rubbed the tip of her nose. Again, he thought she was about to say something more, but she returned her focus to her mug.
She looked so different from Charity, even though they were first cousins. Fern’s eyes were as dark as the kaffi before he’d added the cream. He couldn’t tell where her pupils ended and the eye color began. Where Charity had been fair, rosy and lightly freckled, Fern’s complexion was smooth and ivory—until summer when the sun darkened her skin several shades and her hair lightened to the amber of pure maple syrup. The scar from the accident that she kept mostly hidden had faded. In fact, if he didn’t know it was there behind her ear and along her neck, he’d probably never notice it now.
“What?” she asked, returning his stare. “Ach, I guess you’re wondering why I was late.”
Not at that exact moment, nay.
“No matter. It’s not like you’re an employee.” Another area of failure on his part that made him as uncomfortable as her walking home alone at night. He was keenly aware some folks believed he was taking advantage of Fern’s natural tendency to serve others. As if he hadn’t offered—more times than he could count—to pay Fern for her time caring for the children. She always stubbornly refused.
“Ada had a few words to say before I left this morning.” She swiped at the hair falling from her prayer kapp.
“A few?” Nick had never known Ada to have less than a mouthful to spill.
Fern’s gaze caught his. A grin trembled at the corner of her lips.
Nick downed the rest of his drink to hide his pleasure at almost making her laugh.
What was he doing? Something that felt dangerously close to flirting. And with Fern. He pushed his chair back and stood.
“I best get to the store.” As he avoided the confused look on Fern’s face, his eyes landed on the surprise he’d saved for Bethany this morning. Now he’d messed that up, too, and would miss the pleasure on his daughter’s face. “I brought home an extra hand-pie yesterday for Bethany’s lunch. Can you put it in her pail for school today?” He waited long enough for her nod of agreement, then strode to the sink, rinsed his cup and headed out the way Fern had just come.
“Nick?” she called after him with an understandable question in her voice. “Aren’t you going to eat breakfast?”
Another task Fern performed because he’d botched up his efforts at that, too. “Nay, I’ll eat one of those granola bars down at the store.”
He hadn’t even turned around to address her. His conscience reprimanded him for being rude. Fern had done nothing wrong.
Looking over his shoulder, he attempted to add some cheer to his tone. “I have an extra-busy morning. Besides, I didn’t dare attempt making myself eggs and burn the house down.”
Fern’s hand flew to her neck and the spot where her prayer kapp covered her ear and the horrible scar from the accident. But it was the pitiful little cry she made that tore his heart.
“I didn’t mean... Fern, that’s not what I was thinking.” Could he mess this day up any more?
“I know.” She waved him off, but he still saw the sting of his words in the drooping of her eyelashes. “I’m just...a little extra sensitive this morning, is all.”
He took a step closer to her, then paused.
“Denki, Fern, for being so forgiving. It was a dummkopf thing to say.” He waited for her nod, then headed straight for the door.
He was truly sorry, but he needed to leave before he said or did anything to make matters worse. He also had to get more sleep.
Fern couldn’t let Nick leave, not now that she’d finally gotten up the courage to talk to him. And today, of all mornings, he was running off almost as soon as she arrived.
For months, she and Nick had ignored the nagging of their families and the church elders about marriage—or their lack in that department. At least, she and Nick sure hadn’t talked about it.
The hints began about a year after Charity’s passing. And now, another year later, nothing had changed between her and Nick and the whispered hints were turning to full-on meddlesome threats.
She had to talk to Nick before the bishop and her grossmammi got to him first.
