Along Wooded Paths Page 5

“Is it the pain in your leg?” She took a tentative step forward, stretching her hand toward Trapper, then paused.

  “Some of it.” Aaron didn’t know how to tell her the pain in his leg mattered little in comparison to the questions of his heart.

  Marianna, do ya still love me? Did you ever? He swallowed hard looking to her hair, braided and hanging over her shoulder. He hadn’t seen it down like that in years—eight at least—but it was different than her childhood braids. What it would be like to untie it, to run his fingers through it? Did it feel as soft and silky as it looked?

  “I don’t know why he’s not coming to me.” She hunkered down and stretched out her hand to Trapper.

  Why didn’t Marianna come closer to get the dog? Did she feel the charged air in the room as he did? It reminded him of the time he’d first been digging the foundation for his house and a lightning bolt had struck a tree not too far away. The hairs on his neck had stood on end as they did now. Aaron tried to sit up but pain shot through his leg. The deep ache had been there all along but had been forgotten as soon as she walked into the room.

  “He’s never done this before.” She patted her legs, and still Trapper sat there, close to Aaron.

  Aaron smiled. “I guess that’s a good sign. Maybe he likes me.”

  “Ja.” Marianna stood and cocked her head. She placed a hand on her hip. “Maybe he wants to stay with you tonight. If you don’t mind.” She sounded disappointed.

  “I don’t mind. But will you be okay?”

  She sighed. “I think I will.” Her eyes stayed on him and he saw something there. Care. Appreciation. Love? He wasn’t quite sure, but he hoped.

  “Yes, Aaron. I’ll be gut.” She moved toward her room, her nightdress swishing against her bare calves. And for some reason Aaron had a feeling she wasn’t talking about the dog any more.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ben Stone straightened the quilt on his bed. What had he’d done to deserve such a gift? He’d made his bed everyday since Marianna gave the quilt to him, running his fingers over her careful stitching, sending up a prayer or two. First time in his life bed making had become a habit. First time he’d prayed so intensely for a beautiful woman.

  Sometimes he wanted to pinch himself that Marianna had stayed. Other times he kicked himself for not telling her more when she got off that train. In his dreams he ran toward her, sweeping her up in is arms, burying his face in her neck, and breathing in the scent of her. Every time he awoke, a powerful sense of loss assaulted him. She was here, but he could not hold her. He couldn’t see her . . . well, at least not often. Even though Mr. Sommer had made that fact clear, Ben had known it already. He understood all Marianna risked to return his affection.

  Some days he couldn’t help it. He’d visit the store despite his stocked pantry. A few times he’d chatted to her about nonsense things. Other times he’d entered quietly, so she wouldn’t notice. He watched her working in the kitchen, her hands busy with bread or pies. Her eyes looking out the window, lost in thought.

  The scent of brewing coffee filled the air. He headed to his kitchen for a cup of coffee when he heard knocking. Ben paused and turned to his front door. Surely someone wouldn’t be out this early. Maybe it was a chunk of snow falling from the roof. He pulled a coffee cup from the cupboard and heard it again. It was definitely a knock.

  Ben hurried to the door. When he opened it, he was surprised to find Ike standing there.

  “Look who’s the early bird.” Ben opened the door wider. “Come on in.”

  “Thanks. Do I smell coffee?” Ike stepped inside and removed his jacket. “I was out of coffee beans and I was sure I could find a cup here before we headed up to the worksite.

  Ben cocked an eyebrow. Ike lived halfway between him and the store. It would have been just as easy for Ike to walk over there. Unless . . . Ben eyed the Amishman, whose smooth face proved he was still a bachelor. There was a shadow of worry in the man’s eyes.

  Unless this had to do with more than coffee.

  Ben motioned to the dining room table, pushing to the side a pile of laundry he’d yet to put away.

  He poured two cups. “Take anything?”

  “Nope, just black.”

  Ben handed Ike his mug then added a teaspoon of sugar to his own.

  “So the roads are pretty bad out there.” Ike sipped his coffee. “There’s been all types of accidents. You’d think people would understand that when it snows they have to slow down.”

  Ben sat across from Ike, brushing a few crumbs from the table onto the floor. “It’s our hurried lives. We try to do too much, too fast and we end up paying for it.” He nodded at Ike. “That’s one thing your people have gotten right—taking the time to do things as they ought, in the time they need to take.”

  “Yeah, well, it was one of our own who was injured in one of those accidents.”

  Ben sat up straighter, leaning his elbow on the table. “Who?”

  “You don’t know him. It’s a kid from back where we come from in Indiana. Not a kid, really—a man. The man Marianna planned on marrying.”

  The coffee cup in Ben’s hand clunked onto the table, sloshing coffee over the side, but Ben paid it no mind.

  “Mari . . . Marianna was engaged?”

  Ben felt like someone had just sucker punched him in the kidneys. I’m such a fool.

  “No, we don’t have engagements like the Englisch. The easiest way to explain it was there was an understanding between them.

  “And he’s here?”

  Ike nodded. “At my brother’s home, all casted up with a broken leg.”

  Ben leaned back in his chair and slouched down. No wonder Marianna acted so distant yesterday. No wonder Mr. Sommer had given him that talk. Both needed to make sure he was out of the way so Marianna’s old beau could step back into place.

  Not that Ben ever had a slot on her dance card. He’d only wished for such a thing.

  Ben took a sip from his coffee then set it down. He swallowed it, wondering why it suddenly tasted so bitter in his mouth.

  Marianna walked to work, excited that her tracks were the first in the newly fallen snow. It glittered on the ground like tiny crystals reflecting the first rays of morning light. White snow stacked upon the dark green branches of the pine trees like a thick smearing of marshmallow cream.

  She moved her booted feet with slow steps, amazed she’d lived so many years not knowing that such a beautiful place as West Kootenai existed. As she rounded the corner, turning onto the main road leading to the store, she could hear the sound of a river in the distance. A large creek—Boulder Creek she remembered being told—plunged down from the mountains. Unlike the smaller streams in the area, it hadn’t frozen over and she guessed that it wouldn’t. Instead, she imagined the water rushing down to Lake Koocanusa. So much power being absorbed into the expanse of the water, just like her breathed prayers escaped into the cold air around her.

  God, show me. Help me.

  She didn’t know what she wanted to be shown. She didn’t know what type of help she needed. Nothing made sense anymore. When she left Indiana she’d been certain of her feelings for Aaron. When she’d gotten off the train and returned to her parents’ home, she’d been certain about that decision. But now? It was as if someone took a big, wooden spoon and mixed up her emotions. Thank goodness she had to work today. She needed to get away—to escape Aaron’s fixed gaze. To put her hands to work so her mind wouldn’t have too much time to think.

  Entering the front door of the store, Edgar’s smile greeted her first. His white beard looked fuller than she remembered, reminding her of the Santa decorations she’d seen in the windows of their Englisch neighbors back home.

  “You feeling better?” She removed her jacket and brushed it off.

  “As good as can be expected for an old man.” Edgar pretended that answering her questions was bothersome, even though he had nothing better to do than wait for the next customer.

  “It’s quite a cold fall
out there. Like nothing I’ve seen in Indiana.” She hung her coat on the hook behind the counter and tucked her gloves into the pocket. Then she moved to the counter.

  “Nothing unusual. Not like ’96. Now that was a snowy year . . .”

  “1896?” Marianna laughed, and he eyed her. Even though Edgar didn’t smile at her joke, she noticed humor in his gaze.

  “Haven’t been around that long, but I’ve seen a lot of changes.”

  “Really? Like what?” She had baking to get done, but she also knew it meant a lot to Edgar for her to stop and talk. She could tell he appreciated it even if he never said so.

  “Like the lake. It didn’t used to be there, you know.”

  “Lake Koocanusa?” Marianna thought about the first time she’d driven over the high, long bridge that stretched from hillside to hillside with the lake far below.

  “Everything changed when they put in the Libby Dam.” Edgar sighed. “Sometimes I get homesick for how things used to be. My aunt and uncle’s house is just under where the Koocanusa bridge now stands. My parents’ house was two miles past that. When they put in the dam, they cleared off the mountainside. The Boulder Creek I knew changed too.”

  “You mean there used to be houses down there—where the lake is now?” Marianna straightened the stack of postcards on the counter, glancing at the captured images of the lake, mountains, and trees.

  “There used to be a whole town. Stuff got moved up the mountain when they put the dam in. Other things just got covered over.”

  “That doesn’t seem right.” Marianna brushed a strand of hair back from her forehead. “Seems like things should stay the same.”

  “Nothing stays the same, darling.” Edgar looked at her and winked, the hard edges on his face softening. “The older you get the more you’ll know that. Even when we make it our goal to keep things the same”—Edgar nodded to her kapp—“life has a way of making changes for us. Our decisions and desires only go so far. Remember that.”

  “Yes, of course.” Marianna nodded and then hurried toward the kitchen. Sarah, the other young Amish woman who worked there, hadn’t arrived yet. Edgar’s words replayed in Marianna’s mind, yet before she had time to think about them, she paused at the threshold between the open kitchen and the dining room. Ben sat at the table closest to the kitchen and his eyes were on her, as if he expected her. No, more than that . . . as if he studied her. Without having to ask, she knew why he’d come.

  He must have heard about Aaron.

  Marianna paused and eyed the man who’d drawn her heart. If only she could be sure about her feelings for the handsome Englischman—about anything. Like water rushing over her, all she once knew lay buried under curling depths of emotion. Surfacing seemed impossible. Her steps paused. Her lips parted, but no words came.

  He looked at her, and she saw in his eyes the same tenderness she’d first seen that night, months ago, when he played his guitar and sang at the restaurant. She could still remember how she’d felt hearing his music, how it had affected her when their eyes met. And yet . . .

  Though she’d replayed that memory dozens of times, today she could no longer remember the tune.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Ben sat at the table, nursing a cup of coffee. All during the drive to take Ike to the worksite, and then the whole way back home, he’d told himself it didn’t matter that an Amish man had arrived to sweep Marianna off her feet. That he’d probably been mistaken about her interest in him. The more he thought about it, he realized Marianna always tried to keep her distance. He’d been the one to approach, to talk with her. He’d been the one to wrap his arms around her as she held the guitar.

  All during the drive back to his place, he told himself to give the woman time to figure out her own future. Even so, he’d showered, shaved, put on cologne, and dressed in his nicest jeans and shirt—without looking too dressed up—and put on his snow boots and headed out. He tried to pretend he’d come here because he hadn’t had breakfast, but he knew better. Maybe that’s what Ike had expected. He didn’t seem surprised when Ben headed down the hill instead of staying at the worksite.

  Now he watched Marianna cook up scrambled eggs and ham for him. She worked with an efficiency that she’d been trained to from birth. Her long skirt swished around her calves as she whisked the eggs in a bowl. Ben tried to convince himself he wasn’t going against Mr. Sommer’s wishes by being here, but he knew he was kidding himself.

  Five minutes later Marianna approached, placed the plate before him, and refilled his coffee cup.

  “Do you have a few minutes to sit? We haven’t talked in a while.”

  Marianna nodded. “Ja.”

  That surprised him. He hadn’t expected her to agree.

  She placed the coffee carafe on the table and then sat in the booth across from him. She glanced behind her, to where Edgar washed the front window. The store was empty of customers. She turned back to Ben.

  “So, I hear that your friend was in an accident. Is he okay?” Ben added sugar to his coffee, stirring in slow circles.

  Marianna shrugged and eyed him. She didn’t seem shocked he knew about Aaron. News traveled quickly around these parts.

  “He’s okay, but not great. Aaron’s leg is broken, just above the knee.”

  “Aaron, huh?”

  She nodded. “Aaron Zook.”

  A good Amish name for a good Amish man.

  “It’s a bad break. He won’t be able to do much for six weeks.”

  “Six weeks?” The words shot out before he could stop them. Ben looked down to his plate, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. He picked up his fork and cut off a chunk of his scrambled eggs. He took a big bite and inhaled. The still-hot egg burned his mouth. Ben swallowed fast, but it didn’t help. The eggs burned all the way down his throat. Pain traveled with it, but it didn’t compare to the pain Marianna’s words caused.

  The man she once loved—the man she’d planned on marrying—would be staying with her family for months. He’d be there, every day, close to Marianna. Close in a way Ben couldn’t be.

  He lifted his napkin to wipe his mouth, blowing air over his singed tongue and studying Marianna’s face. Did she still love Aaron? Had she always?

  Marianna sighed. “It shocked me too. I didn’t even know he was coming. He’s using my room, and I’ll be sleeping with my little sisters. They may be small, but they sure take up a lot of space yet.” The more Marianna spoke, the more she relaxed. Ben’s shoulders relaxed too. He could tell from her wide-eyed gaze that she didn’t want to talk about Aaron. She leaned forward more, as if saying, I want to talk to you, not talk about him.

  Following her cue, he changed the subject. “I want to thank you. You know, for the quilt. I think of you when I use it.”

  “I’m glad.” She offered a soft smile. “I enjoyed making it. It’s my way of thanking you for—”

  Ben raised his hands. “I know, you told me. I didn’t say that to have you gush.” He reached around and patted his back. “I have a big enough head as it is without your accolades. Time to change the subject again.”

  Laughter spilled from Marianna’s lips, and the room seemed to brighten. “Okay, what is it we can discuss?”

  He leaned forward, fiddling with the corner of his napkin. “Working on anymore quilts?”

  She tilted her head down and eyed him under her lashes. “I thought we were going to change the subject.”

  “We did. Got it back off me and onto you. Or rather your handiwork.”

  “Well, I do have to make one for Annie. I’ve yet to start.”

  “If you need a ride down to Eureka, to the fabric store, well, I can give you a ride.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Her finger ran up and down the crease where the wood planks of the tabletop joined together. She studied the wood as if it were a Michelangelo painting. From her expression, it was clear she was thinking about more than a ride to the fabric store. But what?

  If only he could read her mind. Was sh
e thinking about Aaron?

  Ben chewed on his bottom lip. Should he ask the question that fogged up his mind, just like their warm breath fogged up the window beside the table?

  “So you going to make a quilt for your friend? Aaron, right?”

  “Yes.”

  Ben’s heart sank. For all these weeks he’d considered the quilt a special gift, a token of her care, but if she made one for Aaron Zook too—

  “Yes, his name is Aaron, but I have no plans on making a quilt for him.” She paused and gazed at Ben, as if she wanted to say more.

  “I better get back to work.” Marianna rose and smoothed her apron. “And I’m glad yer enjoying that quilt, Ben. It has a special place in my heart.”

  With that, she turned and hurried toward the kitchen. He watched her and couldn’t help but smile. He’d rather she’d confessed he had a special place in her heart, but he was satisfied with what she did say now. His appetite restored, he tucked into his breakfast.

  He glanced down at his watch. He had work to do. He couldn’t spend all day at the restaurant, sitting by the heat of the fire with a pretty Amish girl warming his heart.

  So she’d once planned on marrying that Aaron Zook—he rose and left a generous tip—but what were her plans now? Surely, if she still loved Aaron, her special quilt would be draped over his lap instead of Ben’s bed.

  With a wave to Edgar, he headed out into the cold. The snowfall had stopped, and morning light turned the sky into a faded pink color—the same pink that had colored Marianna’s cheeks when she saw him. He climbed in his truck and smiled.

  She cared for him. Just as he cared for her. The problem was, neither could do a thing about the matter.

  The morning crowd had been filled with familiar faces. Both Millie Arnold and Jebadiah Beiler had asked about Aaron. Others had asked too, and Marianna was surprised by how the news spread. Then again . . . it was news. In a small place like this, getting a new horse or a dog having a litter of puppies could stir conversation for a day or two. She supposed Aaron’s accident was the biggest happening since the Carashes’ barn fire and Charlie’s accident before that.