Threads of Grace (13 page)
A tightness clutched at her chest. Her breath came in short gasps. Without looking at him, she jerked the
kapp
onto her head and hurried out of the room.
Never again would she allow herself to be captured by a man.
Any man.
S
eth fooled with the painting for about half an hour, feeling his heart rate slowly settle as he tinkered. He had been turned upside down inside by Grace’s nearness, by the silken feel of her hair. He wiped his hands on a rag and decided it was time to head back to work. Jacob had to be wondering where he was.
When he went downstairs, he saw Grace through the back kitchen window, splotches of white on her neck and cheek, a proper
kapp
back in place as she hung up sheets on the line. He decided he didn’t want to press her right now with his presence and headed out the front door instead, only to encounter Abel sitting in the dust at the front of the steps.
He stooped down next to the boy and watched the intensity with which the child drew something on the ground with a stick. Seth cocked his head, sensing it was better to observe than interrupt. He studied the picture on the ground. It was a basic tree with a heavy branch extending from its side. There was a large protrusion hanging from the branch. In the next drawing, a stick figure
waved its arms wildly around its head while stick flowers bent at its feet. Seth saw a drop of moisture hit the ground and realized that Abel was crying.
“Hey,” he said softly, touching the child’s shoulder. “What is it?”
Abel shook his head, the tears coming faster now. Seth sensed he was gathering energy to bolt and spoke quickly.
“Abel, remember when you came to me and Jacob about the bad man? We helped you, right?”
Abel nodded after a long moment.
“Then let me help you now. You can tell me anything.”
But then
again, maybe he couldn’t. Maybe the drawing is the telling.
Seth studied the outlines more closely, and the figure waving its arms suddenly clicked in his brain. Grace in the garden with the bees. Had the boy seen his mother get hurt?
“Abel, your
mamm
is
gut
. She’s hanging out clothes right now. She got a few stings, but she’s all right. Did you see her?”
“I did it!” the child burst out, flinging the stick across the ground and scrambling to his feet. He was off like a shot, and Seth dashed after him. He’d played this game before and was not about to let the boy get out of sight.
Abel rounded the house and Seth followed. They passed Grace, who looked up in alarm. She started to move toward them, but Seth waved her off. “Hiya! Having some quality bonding time, that’s all!”
The kid was fast, but Seth’s long legs covered the ground easily—until they entered the cornfield.
The stalks were high, and Abel left little imprint of his passage. Seth sighed in frustration, then hollered for the boy. There were rattlesnakes in the field as well as the normal corn and black snakes.
“Abel! Come on, please!” He stood on tiptoe and caught the slightest waver in the silken tops about ten feet ahead and to his left. He plunged into the corn and saw the flash of a small black pant leg. He pressed on and finally caught the child, who squawked and kicked furiously.
“Don’t run and I’ll let you down.”
Abel stilled, and Seth lowered him to the ground between the cornstalks.
“All right. Now, what do you mean,
you did
it
?”
Abel shifted restlessly and caught hold of a cornstalk. “I had my slingshot and I was by the garden and I saw this big thing hanging down from the tree. I shot at it and it fell down by Mama. But I didn’t see her until too late. It was my fault.”
The child began to sob. Seth dropped to his knees in front of him, catching him close. He felt the tension in the small body and then the release as he let his weight rest briefly against Seth.
“It was an accident, Abel.”
“I’m scared.”
“Don’t be. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. You’re very brave to tell me the truth.” Seth thought for a moment, then caught the boy’s small hand. “Listen, Abel, come with me. I want to tell you a story.”
G
race had to resist the urge to follow her husband when he passed by with Abel, giving her only a brief wave. She was pleased to see Abel’s hand in Seth’s.
As she went back to pinning clothes to the clothesline, a fly
buzzed past. She jumped and swatted, then laughed at herself when she saw it wasn’t a bee. She stretched one of Seth’s broad white shirts on the line and smoothed it with her hands.
There was a time when marriage to a man like Seth would have been the culmination of all her dreams. He was perfect—well, nearly so, if you didn’t count the painting. Why did she have to second-guess herself all the time? Why couldn’t she just be thankful to
der Herr
for what He had given her?
She set another clothespin and took in a sharp breath. Deep inside, she had to admit that she’d struggled on a soul level with God since her marriage to Silas. She couldn’t help feeling as if God had set a trap for her, that the whole thing was either a cruel joke or, at best, a faulty plan. Still, she knew that der Herr had plans
not to harm her but to give her hope and a future.
Was Seth Wyse part of that plan? She couldn’t tell. God’s voice seemed faint and far away.
“Where is Seth?”
Jacob’s voice made her jump, and she swatted through the damp clothes to see her brother-in-law.
“
Ach
, he took Abel inside a bit ago. I don’t know why. I can go and see.”
“
Nee
, never mind. You’re bee-stung. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,
danki
.”
“I was thinking maybe you and Abel and Seth could come over for dinner one night?”
“Uh,
jah
. We will.”
“When?”
Grace hid a smile. Jacob was so blunt, while Seth tended to be cryptic in what he said.
“Whenever you like.”
“Tomorrow night, then. Thursday. Bring Violet too, if she wants to come. I’ll tell Lilly.”
Grace had to laugh. “Don’t you think you should ask Lilly first?”
Jacob smiled, and for once she could see the similarity between the two brothers. “Lilly’s fine with it. She’s been waiting to ask but wanted to give you time alone too.”
“Well, then we’ll be glad to come.”
“
Gut
. Tell Seth I’m meeting a buyer out at the corral. A woman.”
“All right,” Grace said. She wondered why Jacob had emphasized that the horse buyer was a woman. Then with a shrug she dropped a last clothespin into the bag and headed off to see what Seth and Abel were doing.
S
eth opened the door to his old bedroom and art studio. He lifted the painting down and set it on the floor against the wall. Then he put a fresh canvas onto the easel. He turned to Abel.
“Did you know I like to read, Abel?”
The boy shrugged, his eyes drifting about the room.
“I’ve read a lot of stories about very brave men going into battle.”
“We’re not supposed to fight.”
“You’re absolutely right. We’re not. But we can learn something from these men. They often prayed to be brave, and then they would paint their faces.”
Seth knew he had the child’s full attention and curiosity by the way his eyes grew wide.
“Why paint on their faces?”
“Some people called it ‘war paint.’” Seth took his palette and mixed a little blue tempera powder with a few drops of the clean water he kept in a jug on the shelf.
“But war is bad . . .”
“Suppose we called it something else—not war paint, but bravery paint? A way of showing on the outside the courage you can feel inside. I know you remember bad things from your
fater
, Abel, but that’s over. You got through it—you’re brave and strong.”
He dipped a finger in the paint and reached his hand to Abel’s cheek. The boy didn’t flinch when Seth drew a line of blue across his skin.
“You really think I’m brave?”
Seth clenched his jaw at the quiver in the child’s voice and marked his other cheek. “
Jah
, Abel. And you can be brave and tell me anything you want, anything you remember, anytime.”
“I remember a lot.”
Seth nodded and laid the palette aside.
“Nee!”
Abel cried suddenly. “You do it too, Seth. You’re brave too.”
“All right.” Seth stared into the mirror of the child’s eyes and drew the blue lines across his own face.
“We’re the same now,” Abel said. He ran his fingers back and forth across a fan brush.
“
Jah
, the same,
sohn
.” He said the last word without thinking and felt his eyes well up with tears. But Abel didn’t seem to notice. Seth swallowed hard.
“Can I paint?” Abel asked.
“
Jah
, of course you can.”
N
o! He cannot!”
The words exploded from the depths of Grace’s being. She
had been standing outside the doorway, listening, feeling her heart throb at Seth’s tenderness. Painting, however, was not something she could allow.
But she was also amazed that she had dared to contradict her husband. She knew it was not good for a child to see parents at odds—it was one reason she had been compliant with whatever Silas wished. But there were other reasons too.
Was it possible that she could argue with Seth and not get hurt?
Seth bowed his head slightly toward her with a frown, but his words were calm and sure. “Abel, go outside and work at weeding the kitchen garden. Pretty can watch you. And wear your paint proudly. There’s no one to see anyway, so don’t worry about looking funny.”
“Are you keeping yours on, Seth?”
“For a little while. Now, obey your
mamm
. There will be other times to paint.”
Abel went to his mother. “I’m brave,
Mamm
. See my face?”
She touched his dark hair gently. “Very brave, my love.” Abel nodded, and his footsteps echoed on the treads as he went downstairs.
Grace clutched her hands together, waiting to see what her husband would say to her.
“In case you’re wondering, it’s only tempera paint. It won’t hurt him, and it washes off.” He picked up a rag and wiped the blue paint off his fingers. “How long were you there?”
“Long enough to hear what you said to him. I thank you.”
“There’s no need to be so stiff and formal, Grace. I understand that you don’t want him to paint, but with a kid like Abel—well,
painting might give him an outlet for his thoughts and feelings. I caught him drawing in the dirt outside.”
“That’s different,” she said.
He smiled grimly and walked to her. “Is it really? It’s art. Primitive, perhaps, but still art.”
“I don’t understand you—what you want. Why you’re willing to risk offending the community by—”
He ran his finger across his face and reached out in a flash to swipe her cheek blue.
“What . . . what are you doing?”
“Brave, Grace Wyse. You’re very brave, and I admire you.”
She floundered for a moment and he wet her other cheek, then stepped so close that his legs brushed her skirts. She resisted the urge to step back.
“That’s right, my brave wife,” he whispered. “No backing away.”
“I don’t want Abel to paint.”
“I know.” He bent close enough to whisper the words in her ear, and for just an instant touched his cheek to her own. She couldn’t breathe for a moment. She understood what he was trying to say—that they were together, their bravery, their strength as one.
But the intensity of the moment overwhelmed her, and she fled from him to their bedroom. She looked at herself hesitantly in the small bureau mirror and then felt the smeared blue paint on her cheek with wonder.
Silas had always been careful not to mar her face in any way; he worried what others would think, she supposed. But never had he touched her with anything approaching tenderness. Never had she known such intimacy as she had with Seth.
