Abigail's New Hope (12 page)

“No mule? All right then, that question has been settled. You should let that tea cool a tad.”

“If you put a plate of food on the porch after breakfast and dinner, that would be fine. Cover it with plastic wrap. It doesn’t bother him if the food gets cold. Fill a travel mug with coffee in the morning and milk in the evening and snap the lid on tight.”

“What about lunch?” She blew across the surface of her cup.

“Two sandwiches, any kind. Mustard, no mayonnaise. Sliced tomatoes if we have them, and any variety of fruit. And if you’ve baked cookies, he’ll take as many as you can spare. Just put his lunch in one of those cooler bags with a can of cola and leave it on the table. He’ll come for it by-and-by. Sometimes he gets busy cutting deadwood in the hills or working the back fields, but he always comes eventually.”

Catherine sipped her tea. “Good to know. That’s useful information and not idle gossip.”

Daniel nodded. “Abby bakes him banana nut bread whenever the IGA puts bananas on the reduced rack. She buys all they have and freezes the extra loaves.” He took a gulp of tea. “Don’t be surprised if he avoids crossing your path, Catherine. He’s simpleminded and keeps to himself.” He tapped his temple with an index finger. “He’s not all there, but he’s a fine man and takes good care of himself in his cabin. You don’t have to worry about him except for setting out his meals.
Danki
for the drink. I’m going to read in my room for a while.
Gut nacht
.” He left the kitchen before she could ask any more questions.

While finishing her tea, she pondered the cousin who had grown only more mysterious with Daniel’s explanation. If the Graber family was concerned about gossip, the young man must have been shunned for some past transgression. She wandered onto the porch. With Daniel and the children already upstairs, she knew she should also retire to her bedroom, but she wasn’t sleepy and felt too addled to read. Setting the empty cup on the rail, she grabbed the flashlight from the steps and started walking from the house at a brisk pace. Walking always brought peace whenever her siblings were annoying or
daed
’s rules thwarted her plans. If she hiked for a while, sleep would come more easily to a weary body. She headed around the barn and down the path toward the river for some much-needed exercise.

She wasn’t spying on Daniel’s cousin.

She hadn’t planned to pick her way through the increasing gloom in the orchard, fending off low-hanging branches with an upraised arm. Mosquitoes feasting on her face and hands were no reason to turn back. After all, the moon rising low on the horizon would soon flood the fields with light to illuminate her way home. The evening breeze carried the sweet fragrance of honeysuckle and jasmine, while whippoorwills and owls joined the serenade of tree frogs and cicadas.

Catherine paused on the narrow path to catch her breath. With the orchard behind her, she spotted a line of swamp willows a quarter mile ahead. Those trees loved moist rocky soil. In between, briars and spiny shrubs encroached on the path on both sides. Who knew what critters lurked in the brush? She considered turning back, contemplating what her brother-in-law would say if he spotted her flashlight beam from his bedroom window. But Catherine Yost had always been a curious child. As a grown woman, that particular characteristic hadn’t diminished. With a final glance over her shoulder, she inhaled a deep breath and forged ahead, concentrating on where she walked as sharp blackberry thorns threatened both eyes and clothes.

As the path entered the woods and shadows soon enveloped her, Catherine stood still for several moments. The flashlight became more hindrance than help because it revealed too small an area to gain her bearings. Switching off the narrow beam, she waited patiently for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Soon the well-trodden path dimly reappeared between the trees.

What am I doing here? Why am I spying on someone who wishes to be left alone? Haven’t I annoyed Daniel enough my first day in his house?
But Catherine inched forward until scrub forest gave way to the tall sycamores and willows that grew near water. She paused and listened to the faint but distinctive sound of a rushing river, trying to ignore the chilling cries of a coyote up in the hills. Beyond the line of trees she spotted a black void, warning of the steep drop-off of a riverbed. She gingerly picked her way along the path, illuminated only by the light of a full moon overhead.

As she pushed aside some low tree boughs, she gasped. Yellow light from a kerosene lamp flickered through the wavy glass of a window. She had found the cabin—the residence of Daniel’s reclusive cousin, Isaiah. Though she yearned to peek inside his home, to discover the tastes of a man who lived by his own design, she didn’t dare. She’d already wandered from her sister’s home and had been gone too long. Feeling a shiver of excitement snake up her spine, Catherine watched spellbound for another minute. Then she turned and began the painstaking journey back to her new home.

Creeping along the path, darker now than on her way in, tiny hairs on the back of neck suddenly stood on end. She peered off to her left into the brush, maybe ten or twelve feet. Sitting motionless in the thicket with ears at full alert sat a very large yellow animal. His eyes reflected the moonlight with an evil, netherworld glint. The beast neither barked, nor howled, nor made any menacing approach, yet Catherine’s heart stopped beating within her chest for several seconds.

Was it a fox? Or a coyote? Perhaps a lone wolf that had wandered down from Canada across a frozen lake?

She didn’t stick around to ask questions or gather additional canine details. She picked up her skirt and ran pell-mell for the house. She didn’t stop until the porch loomed before her eyes, and then she doubled over, panting like the species she had encountered.

Despite her best effort, Catherine hadn’t been remotely unobtrusive. Alive to the nuances of the night, Isaiah Graber had sensed her approach from the moment a blackberry briar had first caught the sleeve of her dress and she’d muttered in dismay. Overcome with his own curiosity, he’d circled around in a wide arc to watch the stranger approach his cabin.

He knew she was afraid—he’d caught the scent of fear—but on she’d crept.

He could tell she had little experience in the great outdoors, yet she hadn’t turned back when the path left the sparse orchard and entered the dense, dark woods. Little illumination reached the forest floor until a person reached the clearing for his cabin, but the woman had waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness and then kept going.
Will she boldly let herself in and sit down on my sofa? Maybe fry up a few eggs for a late night snack?
At the spruce tree she had paused and approached no farther. She stood staring at his cabin, watching what he couldn’t fathom. Then she’d tripped over the same rocks and been scratched by the same briars all the way back. Utterly perplexed, Isaiah followed her until she reached the orchard without breaking her neck.

This was the same woman who had arrived this afternoon with a bulging a suitcase. He’d seen a buggy pull up to the house while he’d been repairing fences in the high pasture. Little happened on his cousin’s farm that escaped his notice, unless he was off hunting in the autumn or buried under a blanket of snow during winter. Was she the one who had cooked the delicious fried chicken, buttered noodles, and spinach salad with pieces of bacon? He’d watched Abigail climb into a car with flashing red and blue lights and not come back. Isaiah couldn’t imagine what Daniel would do without his wife. And he’d been rather curious about the woman ever since her arrival. But now that she had bravely ventured down the path, all the way to his cabin, he was downright mystified.

N
athan Fisher paid no attention when the late model sedan drove up his driveway. English folks often pulled into the yard to ask directions or to see if they were selling eggs, cheese, or garden produce. Once an elderly
Englischer
asked if he had any cuckoo clocks for sale. When he had been dumbfounded by the question, the woman explained that because the Amish originally came from Switzerland, she thought he might have maintained an old-country trade.

Cuckoo clocks. Just when you think you have heard it all
.

Whoever this person was, most likely he or she would soon leave when no one came out with things for sale. He had chores to do. His recently baled hay needed to be stacked in the barn loft out of the weather. Cows needed milking and garden vegetables were ready to be picked. Although Ruth had managed their garden on her own, he couldn’t expect his aunt to keep house, cook meals, care for his son, and do outdoor chores too. He needed to do more than his share because she owed him no lifetime commitment. Besides, he couldn’t drop what he was doing in his present condition. He was dirty from head to toe and probably smelled worse than their sow after a roll in fresh mud.

Pulling on the rope with all his strength, Nathan raised another pile of bales up to the loft. Two more loads and his latest cutting of hay should be finished. He would cover the remaining bales with plastic and leave them outdoors to supplement pasture grass for the next few weeks.

“Hello? Mr. Fisher?” A female voice called from the barn doorway.

Nathan clenched down on his back teeth. “
Jah
, I’m Nathan Fisher, but I’m busy right now. We have no eggs for sale if that’s why you’re here. And if you’re collecting donations, my aunt’s up at the house. Tell her there’s some money in the canister by the door.”

The woman chuckled, stepping inside rather than going on her way. “I’ll remember that come time for the March of Dimes drive, but today I’m not soliciting money. I’m here to talk to you.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her from the ladder. The woman was as skinny as a fence pole, with curly yellow hair standing out from her head like a lion’s mane. But her manner of dress was all business—gray suit, white blouse, and high-heeled shoes. As Nathan stared, she ventured deeper into the barn. “Careful there, ma’am, in those fancy shoes. There are things in here you do not want to step in.”

She instantly stood still. “Right, then. I’ll wait for you outside in the shade.” She pivoted and headed to the pasture fence, where low dog-wood trees offered cool relief.

Because she did not appear to be leaving, Nathan had little choice but to tie off the pulley rope, wipe his dirty hands on a rag, and walk out into the oppressively hot sunshine. He shielded his eyes from the glare. “What can I do for you, Miss…”

“Mrs. Patricia Daly,” she said, digging in her purse. “I’m a social worker with Children’s Services. I’m here to make a home inspection regarding the care of an infant, Abraham Fisher.” She smiled pleasantly and held out her identification card from a brown wallet.

He blinked once or twice like an owl. “What kind of inspection?”

She slipped the wallet back into her shoulder bag. “Just routine. Nothing to worry about. Your son was admitted to the hospital for observation following your wife’s passing. In these situations, the case is assigned to Children’s Services. A follow-up visit is scheduled to make sure the baby is receiving proper care and nutrition. And please accept my deepest sympathy for your loss.”