woods she could hear the sharp sound of dogs barking, probably chasing the birds or squirrels. At least some of her pets were happy.
Adam went to her. He paused, then sat down. She angled away from him, her hands pressing the dark green skirt of her Sunday dress against her legs.
He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the knees of his dirty jeans. “Emma, I didn’t mean it that way. I know you would never hurt anyone, or anything you care about. Dill’s leg isn’t your fault. I wanted to do something to help her, that’s all.”
She pulled at the strings of her kapp , hard enough that she felt a bobby pin loosen. As she breathed in, she smelled the mixture of soap and barn dust on his skin and clothes. Why couldn’t he just leave? She didn’t want to be beholden to him for anything. But as usual, she never got what she wanted.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“How do you think I’m doing?” She glared at him, sighed, and looked away. “ Mammi died. Dill’s lame. I’m—”
The rest came unbidden to her mind: I’m alone and shattered . She swallowed down the truth and said, “I don’t need your pity.”
“I didn’t come back to Middlefield because of your mammi , although I am upset she died. And I am sorry about your horse. But I don’t pity you.”
She turned toward him but couldn’t think of a thing to say.
“You don’t need my pity, Emma. You’re stronger than that.”
She looked down at her shoes. Brown specks of dirt covered the toes. “I don’t feel strong,” she whispered.
“You are. You’re the strongest person I know. Except for maybe your grossmammi .”
His words made her smile for just a moment, and that made her resent him even more. She was supposed to be mad at him, not charmed by him.
“The reason I came back was because of mei mudder ,” Adam said. “Leona wrote and said she thought there was something wrong with her. That I should come back and see for myself. But I don’t know what she’s talking about. Mamm seems fine.”
Emma shot up from the hay bale. “And you figured that out in a few days? Maybe if you’d been around longer, you would know more about what’s going on.”
“Do you know something? If you do, you’d better tell me.”
She shook her head. “ Nee . But if mei grossmammi thinks something is wrong, then I believe her.”
She heard movement behind her. Felt the heat of his body as he stopped, inches away. But he didn’t touch her.
And after all that had happened between them, she still wanted him to.
“I am sorry, Emma. About everything that’s happened.”
“So am I. But being sorry doesn’t change anything.”
“I know. I can’t change it either. I can only do what you’ll let me. And right now, other than taking care of Dill’s foot, that isn’t much.”
She heard his fancy tennis shoes shuffle across the straw and dirt of the floor. When she thought he had left, she turned around. He was standing in the doorway, looking at her.
“When the time comes, Emma, let me know what I can do. I’m sure you don’t believe this, but I miss you. I don’t think I realized how much until now.”
Creak. Creak. Creak .
Mark pushed the toe of his boot against Peter’s back porch. The swing moved back and forth. He stared at the small yard. Grass turning brown. Two rows of dry cornstalks edging a dying garden in the corner. A wooden sandbox, covered. Beyond the warped wire fence, a herd of black-and-white cows grazed on the last stubble of edible grass.
Not Peter’s cows, or his pasture. He couldn’t afford that much land and livestock. The lowing of the herd interspersed with the twitter of birds, the chirp of crickets, the beat of a horse’s hooves on Bundysburg Road.
Creak. Creak. Creak .
Peter was inside. No doubt trying to talk to Clara, who was probably ignoring him. Maybe even arguing. The two of them did that a lot. Mark had noticed Clara watching him during church. At the fellowship gathering after the
Adam went to her. He paused, then sat down. She angled away from him, her hands pressing the dark green skirt of her Sunday dress against her legs.
He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the knees of his dirty jeans. “Emma, I didn’t mean it that way. I know you would never hurt anyone, or anything you care about. Dill’s leg isn’t your fault. I wanted to do something to help her, that’s all.”
She pulled at the strings of her kapp , hard enough that she felt a bobby pin loosen. As she breathed in, she smelled the mixture of soap and barn dust on his skin and clothes. Why couldn’t he just leave? She didn’t want to be beholden to him for anything. But as usual, she never got what she wanted.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“How do you think I’m doing?” She glared at him, sighed, and looked away. “ Mammi died. Dill’s lame. I’m—”
The rest came unbidden to her mind: I’m alone and shattered . She swallowed down the truth and said, “I don’t need your pity.”
“I didn’t come back to Middlefield because of your mammi , although I am upset she died. And I am sorry about your horse. But I don’t pity you.”
She turned toward him but couldn’t think of a thing to say.
“You don’t need my pity, Emma. You’re stronger than that.”
She looked down at her shoes. Brown specks of dirt covered the toes. “I don’t feel strong,” she whispered.
“You are. You’re the strongest person I know. Except for maybe your grossmammi .”
His words made her smile for just a moment, and that made her resent him even more. She was supposed to be mad at him, not charmed by him.
“The reason I came back was because of mei mudder ,” Adam said. “Leona wrote and said she thought there was something wrong with her. That I should come back and see for myself. But I don’t know what she’s talking about. Mamm seems fine.”
Emma shot up from the hay bale. “And you figured that out in a few days? Maybe if you’d been around longer, you would know more about what’s going on.”
“Do you know something? If you do, you’d better tell me.”
She shook her head. “ Nee . But if mei grossmammi thinks something is wrong, then I believe her.”
She heard movement behind her. Felt the heat of his body as he stopped, inches away. But he didn’t touch her.
And after all that had happened between them, she still wanted him to.
“I am sorry, Emma. About everything that’s happened.”
“So am I. But being sorry doesn’t change anything.”
“I know. I can’t change it either. I can only do what you’ll let me. And right now, other than taking care of Dill’s foot, that isn’t much.”
She heard his fancy tennis shoes shuffle across the straw and dirt of the floor. When she thought he had left, she turned around. He was standing in the doorway, looking at her.
“When the time comes, Emma, let me know what I can do. I’m sure you don’t believe this, but I miss you. I don’t think I realized how much until now.”
Creak. Creak. Creak .
Mark pushed the toe of his boot against Peter’s back porch. The swing moved back and forth. He stared at the small yard. Grass turning brown. Two rows of dry cornstalks edging a dying garden in the corner. A wooden sandbox, covered. Beyond the warped wire fence, a herd of black-and-white cows grazed on the last stubble of edible grass.
Not Peter’s cows, or his pasture. He couldn’t afford that much land and livestock. The lowing of the herd interspersed with the twitter of birds, the chirp of crickets, the beat of a horse’s hooves on Bundysburg Road.
Creak. Creak. Creak .
Peter was inside. No doubt trying to talk to Clara, who was probably ignoring him. Maybe even arguing. The two of them did that a lot. Mark had noticed Clara watching him during church. At the fellowship gathering after the
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