“Wait.” She called after him as she ran across the kitchen. The mudroom was empty. He’d already left. She yanked the back door open and stepped out again into the cool morning. “Nick!”
He was already halfway through the yard with his long, sure strides. Fern ran a few feet after him and called again. This time he stopped and turned to face her.
“Please, stay a little longer. I need to talk to you.” He didn’t look angry, even though he’d marched off in a hurry. She wasn’t sure what was going on with him this morning. If anything, he seemed confused. And what she had to say wasn’t going to help. “Can’t you come eat breakfast?”
She shivered.
This would go much better inside. And thankfully he agreed, following her back to the house.
“I could use a second cup of kaffi. How about you?” he said as he held the door open.
“Ya,” she answered just as a sleepy-eyed Bethany wandered through from the kitchen. Like every morning, she did her chores before breakfast and dressing for school.
“Gut mariye,” Bethany said as she wrapped her curly dark hair into a band to hold it back. While her brother resembled their fair-headed mamm, Bethany took after Nick with her dark locks that fought to be free of any pins or kapps all the way to her long legs that threatened to outgrow Fern too soon. She was not only tall for her age but exceptionally athletic—something neither Fern nor Charity had ever been, but her mother would certainly have admired.
Bethany glanced over at her dat, then back to Fern. “I was going to get the eggs. Did I oversleep?”
“Nay.” Fern pulled the girl into a hug and kissed the top of her head. She was at a loss to explain why she and Nick had been outside. And clearly, they hadn’t done the chores as they had neither eggs nor milk in hand.
Nick squeezed past them without an explanation, either.
Fern reached for the egg basket still sitting by the door and handed it to Bethany. “There’s enough left for breakfast. You can milk Susie and then bring in the eggs. No need for an extra trip.”
“All right.” Bethany shrugged into her coat without any questions and headed toward the chicken coop.
If Fern was going to talk to Nick, she’d better get on with it. Bethany’s chores wouldn’t take very long, and little Josh would come running as soon as the smell of bacon wafted up to his room.
Nick was waiting at the counter by the stove. He handed her another cup of kaffi. “What is it that you need to tell me? Is it the kinner?”
Of course his first concern would jump to his children. It was a fear they held in common, ever since Charity’s sudden illness and passing. And her main worry this morning was all about the kinner, but not as he feared. Nothing was wrong with Bethany and Josh.
Not yet.
“Nay, Josh and Bethany are doing fine.”
He blew out a deep breath.
She passed Nick a frying pan to set on the stove beside him, then she began cracking eggs into a bowl. Nick watched her. She had to get to the point.
“The bishop is coming to see Ada this afternoon. She didn’t give me a reason, but she’s been acting very strange the past couple of weeks, since...” This was the part she dreaded to mention—the part about Charity’s father, the man who had married her grandmother’s only dochter. After she died tragically in a buggy accident, he left their infant boppli with Grossmammi to raise, and he’d rarely been heard from since. “She received a letter from Thomas Miller and has been very secretive about what he had to say.”
“I reckon the man ought to communicate with Ada. He was once her son-in-law, even if that was many years ago.” Nick’s mouth set in a straight line. Likely he was attempting to do what she had—convince himself it didn’t mean anything. Only a feeling that something serious was happening kept nagging at her. “So, what do you think that has to do with the bishop coming to visit your grossmammi?”
“I don’t know exactly. But, Rhoda came by yesterday.” Fern watched Nick’s brow rise at the mention of his mamm. “She asked a lot of questions about things she thought she ought to know so she can help out here sometimes.”
Nick looked more confused than ever. “What kind of questions? Mamm knows how to care for a house and her own grosskinner.”
Exactly. “I think it was more of a warning. A kind one. As if I was supposed to understand something. And there’s only one thing I know of.”
Please don’t make me spell it out for you. The humiliation of her family and the bishop joining forces to push her into marriage was bad enough without having to explain it outright.
Fern whipped the eggs, waiting for Nick to reach his own conclusions. She traded spots with him, so she could lay the bacon in the now-hot skillet.
Nick turned to face her and leaned against the counter. A storm seemed to be waging in the gray blue of his eyes.
Fern tugged at the corner of her prayer kapp and focused on her task at the stove. Whatever Nick was thinking, he was keeping it to himself. But he must have some idea of what was going on.
Poor Fern. She’ll never marry unless we make it happen.
Maybe those weren’t the exact words of their families in recent months, but the sentiment was the same as always when the elders and her family stepped in to help her. But why now? She was fine. In fact, she’d been doing perfectly well on her own for a long time now.
She’d never been happier than when she was caring for Bethany and Josh while Nick ran his Amish grocery during the day. Why couldn’t her grossmammi and the bishop see she was doing what she wanted to be doing? No one needed to pity her—or force marriage on her. Or Nick.
Beneath her fingertips the rough line of skin that ran from her ear to her shoulder was the ever-present reminder of their reasons. Ever since the accident that left her scarred at age fourteen, they’d all been extra protective. Even now, fifteen years later, they were trying to fix her life for her.
Poor Fern.
Even though she’d proved herself capable of handling responsibility after years of caring for the community’s sick and elderly, the old whispers after the fire still haunted her. Didn’t she know better? No man will ever trust her to keep his house. What a shame...
But Charity had trusted her.
Caring for her kinner was the closest Fern was likely to ever come to having a family of her own. Not only were the children her last connection to their mother, she’d promised Charity she would care for them. Fern hadn’t fully understood her cousin’s insistence, but never once had she regretted giving Charity her word to watch closely over Bethany and Josh and bring them up with the love she wanted them to have.
And Fern meant to keep her promise.
“Fern?” The sound of Nick’s voice startled her from her thoughts. “I’ve no intention of changing anything here. Is that what you’re afraid of?”
“Ya. That’s the gist of it, I think.” If they tried to convince Nick the right thing to do in their situation was to marry Fern, she knew he wouldn’t.
