Threads of Grace (4 page)

Wonderful,
she thought
. I’m staying the night at Seth Wyse’s house, and his mother thinks he’s been pining for me. Esther Zook will probably have it spread all over the community by noon tomorrow.

Grace couldn’t help but grimace when she thought of the gossipy Esther Zook. There were no secrets in a small community,
especially when Esther was around. The woman had been trying to create rumors about her since Grace had arrived in Pine Creek six months ago.

“Are you in pain?” Seth took two steps nearer, and she had to resist the urge to bolt.

“I—I’m all right,” she stammered.

“What do you need?”

What do I
need? Ach, only a better life. Fewer financial worries. More sleep. Help with Abel. An unbroken ankle.

And a man like you.

Her gaze shifted to Mary Wyse, who managed to look both happy and anxious at the same time. Grace couldn’t blame her. An older woman, a widow with a child, was not exactly prime potential courting material for a son like Seth Wyse.

Courting material? Where did that come from? It must be the pain medicine.

“Grace, what do you need?” Seth repeated.

“Water,” she whispered.

In one fluid motion he lifted her into his arms and strode across the room to deposit her on the couch. “Wait here.”

She watched him move toward the kitchen, then saw Abel standing in the doorway. He let out a rare laugh.

“
Mamm
, you’re like a
boppli
.”

Seth returned with a glass. He handed it to her without comment, but she could see the look of merriment in his eyes. He winked in her direction, then turned to Abel and bent to him where he perched in a comfortable chair. “And you, Abel. What do you want?”

Oh, to know the answer to that question, Grace thought. To
understand what the boy wanted, really wanted, what he thought and felt deep inside that mysterious mind
der Herr
had given him. Abel was so unpredictable, so different. She had learned to love these differences, but surely it would take someone else a lifetime to adjust to her son.

Nevertheless, Seth and Jacob Wyse had been persistent in working to help Abel overcome his fears. Seth, especially, had been teaching him to ride a pony. Grace was truly grateful for the times of respite the two Wyse brothers provided.

Still, she didn’t want Seth to get any ideas.

But the man had carried her in his arms twice now—contact her husband had never made with her. Seth had winked and smiled at her in a way that sent a quiver through her. He picked out her cast and knew what color would match her dresses. He—

“I want a puppy,” Abel said.

“What?” She craned her neck to see Abel’s face better.

“A puppy,” Abel and Seth replied in unison, then they both laughed.

Seth snapped his fingers. “I’ll bet old Widow Yoder’s got a pup or two left from that litter where Jacob got his dog. We could go tomorrow—” He stopped suddenly and whirled to look at Grace. “That is, if you say so, Grace? Or maybe when you’re feeling better?”

Abel was already flapping his arms in delight and rushing toward her. He halted within an inch of the couch. “
Ach
, can we,
Mamm
? Huh? Puppy! Puppy! Puppy!”

Grace squeezed a hand across her forehead and closed her eyes. A puppy? She had her hands full with Abel and work and trying to make ends meet. How could she possibly deal with a puppy?

She felt a slight touch on her uninjured leg and looked up to find Seth sitting on the end of the couch. “Grace, I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t stop to think—well, that he would take me so literally when I asked what he wanted. I was really asking what he wanted to drink, you know?”

Abel was now spinning about the room, his head tilted upward, unaware of their talk. Of course Seth wouldn’t understand how literal Abel could be. She breathed a deep sigh and cast an eye to where Mary Wyse had busied herself at the sink, her back turned.

“Look, if it’ll give him that much joy, he can have the pup. I’ve always wanted him to have a dog, but my husband—I mean, Silas—”

“Wouldn’t allow it?” Seth said.

She nodded but didn’t elaborate, and to her relief he didn’t press her for anything further. “Still, you should have asked me first. It’s a big responsibility, and it’ll fall on me.”

“I’ll help you.”

She covered her face with both hands and shook her head. No. She was not going to let him help. She should have gone home tonight, away from Seth Wyse and his blue eyes and his easiness with life. He had no idea how different her world was—or how difficult.

“Grace, please?” he whispered. “Let me help. I promise I won’t push you. Just friends. How about it?”

She lifted her face and took in his earnest expression. It might be good to have a friend—a strong friend, someone she could lean on. It would be good for Abel too.

She lifted her hand from her lap and held it out to him. “Just friends,” she said clearly.

He shook her hand in a warm grasp, then let her go. “Just friends.”

S
eth paced the confines of his room in the still darkness of the summer’s night. He was wearing his loose painting shirt and black pants, and his suspenders hung about his hips, tapping him every time he turned. He was full of restless energy, knowing that Grace slept a floor beneath him. Maybe he could make some excuse to check on her.

What am I, fifteen? Do I want to go down and get a bedtime drink of water? Tuck her in? Pretend I heard a noise or something?

Just stop and paint! And quit being so narrisch!

He went to stand before the canvas, running a fan brush hard against his thumb and forefinger. There was a soft knock at the door and he turned, his heart in his throat at the crazy notion that it might be Grace.

“
Kumme
in.”

It was his
daed
. Samuel Wyse was as tall as his sons and had clear, knowing, green eyes in a face prematurely craggy from a lifetime of sun and wind.

Seth laid the brush aside and looked at his father expectantly. “What’s the matter,
Daed
? It’s late to be up.”

His father smiled and went to sit on the edge of Seth’s bed. “But you’re up,
sohn
. I heard you pacing like a panther in here.”

Seth grimaced. “Sorry.”

Samuel waved a large hand in dismissal. “
Nee
. I’m worried about you—and your
mamm
frets too.”

“Please, don’t. I haven’t meant to trouble you these last months with my, ah, interest in Grace Beiler.”

His
daed
laughed gently. “I think it goes a bit beyond
interest
, don’t you?”

“I don’t know. I gave my word tonight to be her friend, to stop pushing for something more.”

“Can you do that, Seth? Lay aside something you’re passionate about?”

Seth caught his father’s eye. “Why do I think we’re talking about more than Grace here?”

His father stroked his beard. “I have to tell you something, Seth. I heard tonight that over in Elk Valley, an
Amisch
community shunned a man because he was doing pen-and-ink drawings of nature and the like.”

Seth gazed briefly at the half-finished forest scene on the easel. A knot twisted in his gut. “Oh.”

“You know we love you, Seth,” his father went on quietly. “We’ve hidden this art of yours from the community for years—to keep the joy you’ve had in it this long. But I wonder what Grace Beiler would say about this passion of yours? Maybe there’s more than just a floor that separates the two of you. She may not understand.”

Seth looked hard at his father. “Are you saying now, after all this time, that I should give up my art, or tell the bishop?”

“I don’t know,
sohn
. That’s your decision as a man. I’m just pointing out that there’s much more to you than Seth Wyse the skirt chaser.” His father smiled, then grew serious. “And maybe,
sohn
, there’s also more to Grace Beiler than meets the eye.”

Seth picked the brush back up with slow intent. “Then I still have a lot to learn in life.”

“We all do, Seth—always learning, always growing closer to
der Herr
. That is where you will find your wisdom.”

“Thanks,
Daed
.” Seth crossed the room as his father rose from the bed. He hugged the older man tightly and smiled when his
daed
ruffled his hair like he did when he was a kid. Then the door closed with a quiet click and Seth turned back to the painting.

His eyes burned, and the image on the canvas wavered in front of him. How could he survive without his art? But could it drive Grace away if she knew? And what about his
mamm
and
daed
—so honest, so faithful. He had let them harbor a lie all this time. Suppose Bishop Loftus found out and took a cue from the Elk Valley community? What had seemed like an innocent family secret had the potential to hurt so many.

He clenched the brush in his hand, closed his eyes, and started to pray.

CHAPTER 4

A
re you sleeping, Mama?” Abel’s voice was hushed in the semi-dark living room. Mary Wyse had left a single lamp burning low on the kitchen table, a warm and comforting glow. Grace sat up a bit to look at her
sohn
.

“I’m
supposed
to be sleeping.” She laughed softly. “Are you having trouble?”

“Nee.”
The child’s voice was muffled. “I was thinking how nice it is here—like home, kinda.”

Grace swallowed.
Like home.

The small house that she and Abel had moved to six months ago was a sanctuary, certainly. But home? All she had of home were teasing memories: her parents, her brothers, her little sister, Violet, who had just turned eight when Grace left home. She was nearly grown by now, probably looking for a husband and family of her own.

Once she’d married Silas, he had forbidden any contact with
her family. They were still neighbors, but they might as well have lived a thousand miles away. Silas kept her on a short leash, and her
mamm
and
daed
avoided any contact. Maybe they felt guilty for what they had done, or maybe they feared Silas would change his mind and call in their debts. Whatever the case, she rarely saw them except at a distance, and they kept her brothers and sister away from her as well. Anything she knew about the family came to her secondhand.

She sighed faintly, then refocused on the moment. “Do you want me to tell you a story,
sohn
?”

She heard the smile in Abel’s voice. “
Nee, Mamm
. I’ll tell you one, about a handsome prince. Maybe he looks like Seth . . .”

Grace smiled wryly and settled back to hear her son’s tale. It seemed that no one was immune to the visible charms of Seth Wyse.

V
iolet Raber yawned and crawled with stiff weariness from the back of the van. Rock music blared from the stereo, shattering the predawn peace.

“Thanks for the ride, Tommy.” She reached into her satchel for some money to pay the teenage neighbor who’d driven her from Ohio to Pine Creek, Pennsylvania.

“Hey, I’ll only take enough for gas, all right?” He grinned at her, crooked teeth in an honest face. “So, you got family here?”

“Distant cousins,” she answered vaguely. “Haven’t seen them in years.” She handed him the money, thanked him, then shut the van door against the noise of the music and adjusted her
kapp
.

Tommy waved and roared away. When he was gone, Violet stood in the darkness and blinked until her eyes adjusted to the inky light. An
Amisch
man she and Tommy had passed directed her here, but the small house seemed lifeless. Grace and her son—what was his name? Adam? Abe?—could very well be asleep at this hour. She yawned again and made her way to the small run of steps.

She knocked. No answer.

She tried the door. It was locked.

“Well,” she muttered aloud, “maybe she’s moved somewhere else.”

Within a month of Silas Beiler’s death, Grace had packed up and left Middle Hollow without a word to anyone. Rumor was that she had gone to the
Amisch
community of Pine Creek, Pennsylvania, where their King relatives lived, but no one seemed to know for sure. A few weeks later both
Mamm
and
Daed
died when a truck came over a hill and rear-ended their buggy. But when Violet wrote to Grace in care of Pine Creek General Delivery, the letter was returned undelivered.

It was a long shot, coming here. And yet the local
Amisch
man seemed to know who Grace was—the young widow from Ohio with a little boy in tow.

Violet trudged off the porch and decided to walk the mile or two up to the big farm they passed on the road coming in. It was nearly daybreak. Somebody there was bound to be up, and maybe they knew something more about Grace.