snorted. “Weeds, you mean? There’s nothing much growing now . . . Why not ride into town and get her something?”
“Just get a bouquet of something pretty. She likes the outdoors, and I want to get over there this evening and see her alone.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll have it ready.”
That evening Joshua thrust a thick bouquet into the darkness of the buggy.
“Danki.” Luke sneezed, wondering exactly what his brotherhad picked. He drove the short distance to the Benders’, glad to be rid of his crutches, and went to knock softly on the back door.
Rose opened it with a shy smile, and he produced the bouquet, watching her face light up as she stepped back into the light of several lamps. Then he noticed what she held and dashed the flowers from her arms to the floor.
“Luke? What—are you—”
“Ach , that bruder of mine! It’s poison ivy, Rose.”
She gasped and ran to the sink. They both knew that she was badly allergic to the stuff, and somehow Joshua had grabbed a strand as background to the Queen Anne’s lace and ragweed. She scrubbed frantically at her wrists and hands.
“I think I got it all. I barely held it.”
Luke scraped the would-be bouquet from the floor; he was not allergic to the annoying weed. Then he bundled the stuff together and stalked toward the door. “So much for romance,” he muttered.
“It’s the thought that counts,” Rose called with a smile.
He laughed as he went outside with the offending gift, then returned to wash his hands at the sink. She caught his arm and pulled him to a set of rockers in the living room.
“Everyone’s gone to bed, but I wanted to show you the coloring pages Ally’s been sending over from the Ebersols’ house.” She opened several wildly colored scenes, and he nodded.
“Nice.”
“You’re not getting it.” She poked his ribs. “Her clouds aren’t crying anymore.”
“Oh, I didn’t notice—but wait. I thought the clouds were crying for her daddy?”
Rose shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe just for a sense of home or”—she blinked her green cat’s eyes at him—“or community.”
He reached over, and with one hand pulled her easily onto his lap. He nuzzled her throat cheerfully until she laughed and tried to push him away.
“Luke!”
He was concentrating on her hair, taking deep breaths of its heady scent. “Hmmm?”
She sighed and relaxed back against him. “Nothing.”
T HE NEXT DAY WAS F RIDAY , AND R OSE WOKE WITH HER mind set to keep her promise to Priscilla and go and pick up her dress for the wedding. But when she sat up in bed, it was to look with horror at her wrists and inner arms.
“Ach, no,” she whispered aloud.
She dressed hurriedly, biting her lip in an effort to make no move to scratch, but the long wool sleeves of her dress were torture against the rash. She made her way to Priscilla’s in near tears from the sensation and knocked hurriedly at the back door, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
“Rose? What’s wrong?” Priscilla looked like she was prepared for anything from an ostrich to an airplane landing, and Rose plastered a smile on her face.
“Nothing,” she managed. Then she could stand it no longer and burst into a spat of intense itching that made her jump and then wriggle with short-lived satisfaction.
But Priscilla’s mother must have recognized the outlandishmovements, because she soon rooted in her herbal closet and sent Rose off with her attendant’s dress and some salve that she guaranteed would help the affliction.
Rose danced out onto the back porch, then gave in to another fit of intense itching, all the while praying silently that the salve would do something miraculous.
Chapter Twenty-Six
T HE WEATHER HAD TAKEN ON A DISTINCT CHILL, THE spiny spindles of tree limbs forming bare arms raised in supplication to the still bright sky.
That afternoon Rose opened the door to Luke, but knew that she probably looked distracted.
“Rose? Are you all right?”
“Just get a bouquet of something pretty. She likes the outdoors, and I want to get over there this evening and see her alone.”
“Suit yourself. I’ll have it ready.”
That evening Joshua thrust a thick bouquet into the darkness of the buggy.
“Danki.” Luke sneezed, wondering exactly what his brotherhad picked. He drove the short distance to the Benders’, glad to be rid of his crutches, and went to knock softly on the back door.
Rose opened it with a shy smile, and he produced the bouquet, watching her face light up as she stepped back into the light of several lamps. Then he noticed what she held and dashed the flowers from her arms to the floor.
“Luke? What—are you—”
“Ach , that bruder of mine! It’s poison ivy, Rose.”
She gasped and ran to the sink. They both knew that she was badly allergic to the stuff, and somehow Joshua had grabbed a strand as background to the Queen Anne’s lace and ragweed. She scrubbed frantically at her wrists and hands.
“I think I got it all. I barely held it.”
Luke scraped the would-be bouquet from the floor; he was not allergic to the annoying weed. Then he bundled the stuff together and stalked toward the door. “So much for romance,” he muttered.
“It’s the thought that counts,” Rose called with a smile.
He laughed as he went outside with the offending gift, then returned to wash his hands at the sink. She caught his arm and pulled him to a set of rockers in the living room.
“Everyone’s gone to bed, but I wanted to show you the coloring pages Ally’s been sending over from the Ebersols’ house.” She opened several wildly colored scenes, and he nodded.
“Nice.”
“You’re not getting it.” She poked his ribs. “Her clouds aren’t crying anymore.”
“Oh, I didn’t notice—but wait. I thought the clouds were crying for her daddy?”
Rose shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe just for a sense of home or”—she blinked her green cat’s eyes at him—“or community.”
He reached over, and with one hand pulled her easily onto his lap. He nuzzled her throat cheerfully until she laughed and tried to push him away.
“Luke!”
He was concentrating on her hair, taking deep breaths of its heady scent. “Hmmm?”
She sighed and relaxed back against him. “Nothing.”
T HE NEXT DAY WAS F RIDAY , AND R OSE WOKE WITH HER mind set to keep her promise to Priscilla and go and pick up her dress for the wedding. But when she sat up in bed, it was to look with horror at her wrists and inner arms.
“Ach, no,” she whispered aloud.
She dressed hurriedly, biting her lip in an effort to make no move to scratch, but the long wool sleeves of her dress were torture against the rash. She made her way to Priscilla’s in near tears from the sensation and knocked hurriedly at the back door, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
“Rose? What’s wrong?” Priscilla looked like she was prepared for anything from an ostrich to an airplane landing, and Rose plastered a smile on her face.
“Nothing,” she managed. Then she could stand it no longer and burst into a spat of intense itching that made her jump and then wriggle with short-lived satisfaction.
But Priscilla’s mother must have recognized the outlandishmovements, because she soon rooted in her herbal closet and sent Rose off with her attendant’s dress and some salve that she guaranteed would help the affliction.
Rose danced out onto the back porch, then gave in to another fit of intense itching, all the while praying silently that the salve would do something miraculous.
Chapter Twenty-Six
T HE WEATHER HAD TAKEN ON A DISTINCT CHILL, THE spiny spindles of tree limbs forming bare arms raised in supplication to the still bright sky.
That afternoon Rose opened the door to Luke, but knew that she probably looked distracted.
“Rose? Are you all right?”
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