Abigail's New Hope (36 page)

After hanging up the dish towel to dry, she rinsed out her mouth with mouthwash, pulled off her soiled apron, and walked onto the porch with as much dignity as a breathless person could muster. “Good evening. Dinner good?” she asked, smoothing her
kapp
.

“
Jah, gut
.” He patted his flat stomach and sprang to his feet. With gestures they both understood, he conveyed his desire for her to walk toward the back pasture to see something. She controlled herself from jumping up and down and asked how long would they be gone.

Picking up the flashlight from the steps, he indicated a medium-length time period. Catherine stashed his dirty plate, glass, and silverware behind the potted fern and reached inside for her shawl. Goose bumps rose on her arms that had nothing to do with any cool breezes.

The
kinner
were spending the night at their friends’ homes. Daniel had taken his hunting dog for a walk and would probably stop at the neighbors’ for a late cup of coffee. He would be gone for more than an hour. She had time to herself…they had time to themselves. Anticipation rose inside her like a stack of presents on Christmas morning.

Once they were behind the barn, with little chance of being seen, Isaiah took her hand. It felt massive wrapped around hers; the calluses warm and oddly comforting, as though someone who worked so hard must be strong and protective. They swung hands like children as the path skirted the pasture and wound its way through the scrub brush. As daylight waned, the meadow came alive with sounds from indiscernible creatures that crawled, flew, or slithered. She stayed close to his side to avoid unexpected encounters with black snakes or skunks. Once she had crossed paths with a red fox and screamed as though her life hung in jeopardy. The unfortunate fox had bolted on sight, equally frightened by her.

Isaiah occasionally glanced over his shoulder as though he too preferred not to run into his cousin along the way. Catherine tugged on his suspender to get his attention. “Where are we going?” she asked.

He winked slyly and put his finger to his lips, as though keeping a secret.

Soon the trail left the scrub brush and entered the cool, dim woods. Darkness fell earlier in the forest because little light pierced the tall canopy even at the sun’s zenith. Isaiah switched on the flashlight and tightened his grip on her hand. Although she couldn’t see very well and heard strange noises around her, she didn’t worry. Utterly safe—that’s how she felt in his company.

He quickened their pace as they skirted around his home. The cabin looked little more than a dark shadow in the gloom. They hopped a row of flat rocks to cross the creek, and then the path turned steeply uphill beyond the riverbank. Catherine breathed deeply, trying not to sweat or pant like a dog, but she had to take two steps for each one of his long strides. Just when her lungs began to burn and she was about to demand a slower pace, Isaiah stopped short and pulled her to his side.

A clearing in the forest, formed by the death of several formidable trees, opened before them. The dead wood had been cut up and hauled away, leaving a mossy glen where wildflowers, mountain laurel, and wild dogwood grew. Though well past the blooming season, new growth had created a private grotto hidden to all but Isaiah…and now her. Light from the setting sun dappled the forest floor. Purple violets and white trilliums were bathed in gold, lending a mystical quality found usually only in storybooks.

“Oh, my goodness,” she breathed, stepping into the glade. He followed close behind her, his hand resting on the small of her back. He flicked his flashlight beam across the clearing, illuminating a bench—a handmade wooden bench for two, sanded and stained for protection from the weather. She ran toward it as though it were a pot of gold beneath a rainbow. Plunking down on one end, she patted the spot beside her. Isaiah needed no invitation. He plunked down and draped an arm around her shoulders.

“Did you plant those?” she mouthed, pointing at the magnificent dogwood shrubbery, prized by gardeners everywhere.

After a moment’s consideration, he indicated two of them.

“Did you make this?” she asked, patting the bench where they sat. She tapped one fist on top of the other to mean “build” or “work.”

He nodded affirmatively, his pride obvious even in the thin light.

“
Wunderbaar!
” Her expression underscored the meaning of her word.

“
Danki
,” he said as two white rabbits crept into the glade to nibble on tender young shoots. For a few minutes the couple watched the diners until Isaiah turned to face her on the bench. His sudden movement sent the rabbits scurrying into the brush. Hooking a thumb toward his chest, he patted the location of his heart with a fist and pointed at her.

She
knew
what this meant. He liked her. Or he
loved
her. Either way, the sentiment filled her with joy as she repeated the gesture to him.

He shrugged his shoulders and nodded, as though he’d known that particular tidbit for quite some time. Stretching out his long legs, he seemed content to sit in the growing darkness as the bunnies ventured from hiding once more.

She smelled the scent of pine drifting on the breeze and the familiar fragrance of Ivory soap. He must have bathed in the river or showered in the barn just before showing up for supper. Whippoorwills called to one another from nearby trees while crickets and cicadas began their evening chorus. Catherine pulled up the shawl around her neck, not because of any chill but to keep mosquitoes from feasting on exposed skin. She was glad she’d forgotten to grab the can of bug repellant. Somehow its odor might have intruded on the idyllic serenity in Isaiah’s secret garden.

Inhaling a deep breath for courage, she peered into his chiseled face—his high cheekbones and strong jaw, his clear olive skin and dark, shadowy eyes—and broached a subject she’d been mulling over for days. After several misunderstood pantomimes, she finally managed to ask, “Would you go with me to a party?”

It took her a while to convey that other people would be there, men and women around their ages.

He realized that there would be plenty of delicious things to eat and drink, besides a bonfire for roasting marshmallows.

At last, she expressed that the drive wouldn’t be very far by horse and buggy. But she couldn’t convey the concept of a volleyball game—the main purpose of the social event—no matter how hard she tried. He scratched his chin and shrugged his shoulders in confusion.

Catherine decided that a man with Isaiah’s strength and agility would be able to catch onto any game easily, so she dropped her ineffective playacting. “Will you go with me or not?” she demanded.

He stared at her for a long moment, pondering a question he understood perfectly.

“Please?” she begged, with growing fear she had misinterpreted his affection.

“Okay, Cat,” he said. “For you.”

Light had faded in their hidden garden as the sun dropped below the horizon. Isaiah picked up her hand, switched on the flashlight, and led her down the path with the assurance of one who had spent ten years in the woods. Twice she stumbled on unseen rocks. More than once Catherine glimpsed the yellow eyes of critters that wondered who the intruders were in their domain. A flashlight beam illuminated a pitifully small area in absolute darkness. Yet Isaiah hiked back at nearly the same speed they had maintained on the way there.

She clung to his hand, following close on his heels, content that she had a date to a young people’s event before she was no longer young. Without tumbling into the ravine, twisting their ankles, or suffering too many bug bites, they emerged from the forest. And all too soon they rounded the path behind the barn.

Isaiah hesitated, pointing toward light streaming from the barn windows, and motioned to stop.

“Ah, you left the battery light on.” She nodded as he sauntered toward the open doors. Then on impulse, she followed him inside, despite the outbuildings being her least favorite spot. This main barn, with a loft bulging with stored hay bales, had an open ground floor so that buggies could be driven inside during foul weather. Catherine pivoted in the center of the room, scanning the walls and shelves in all directions. Farm tools, gardening implements, and children’s toys hung in neat rows from pegs. After a moment, she spotted what she sought—a beach ball, muddy and forgotten, but serviceable.

“Isaiah!” she called as he was halfway to the shower light. She tossed the ball at him.

Of course, he couldn’t hear her so the ball bounced off his head, knocking off his hat. He turned quickly, picked up the ball, and threw it back at her with an amused laugh.

She clamped her palms together, bent her knees, and returned the ball as though it had been a volleyball serve. Too bad she seldom demonstrated such athletic ability during actual games. The ball arched upward and then descended toward her target. He duplicated her movement without hesitation, sending the beach ball soaring toward the rafters. Catherine positioned herself underneath, and then she sent the ball back to him with open, flat palms. He lunged to copy this new hand position, returning the hit with a high, arching ball.

Doves and swifts roosting in the rafters didn’t appreciate the nighttime commotion one bit. They cooed and ruffled their feathers in protest. But Isaiah enjoyed the game. They volleyed back and forth until Catherine’s prowess finally gave out. Her missed shot flew into the sow’s pen and disturbed the slumbering family of pigs. Isaiah leaned over the gate to retrieve the ball. When he straightened up, he met Catherine face-to-face.

“Voll-lee-ball,” she pronounced slowly.

He repeated the word with some similarity, tossed the ball back to the corner it came from, and then switched off the lights. They walked from the barn hand in hand halfway to the house, where Isaiah nodded and headed toward his path.

But not before he placed the lightest and sweetest of good night kisses on Catherine’s lips.

Sweat soaked through Daniel’s shirt and ran down the back of his neck. His hat brim was sodden and would need replacing as soon as Abby returned home. But he wouldn’t stop working until he plucked every Japanese beetle from her roses and every slug from the hostas. He’d already pruned back the lilacs and forsythia, pulled up the dried tulip and daffodil stems, and deadheaded the spent rose blooms. Abby set great store by her flower garden, and he wouldn’t have it looking neglected no matter how his back ached.

Besides, the physical activity took his mind off his sister-in-law. He had seen Isaiah and Catherine walk from the darkened barn last night from his bedroom window. What had they been up to?

He truly liked his sister-in-law and was grateful for her help in his family’s time of need, yet he didn’t want her friendly desire to also help his cousin turn into something more serious for Isaiah. Daniel didn’t want to see him hurt. It was time to pray about the situation.

He had just come to that conclusion when he saw that Catherine was headed his way with a glass of iced tea in hand. Maybe it was also time to say something directly to her.

“You look like you could use this,” she said, handing him the cool drink.

“
Danki
.” He drained the contents in four long gulps.

“I wanted to speak to you about Isaiah,” she said, smoothing her palms down her skirt.

Daniel wiped his mouth.
Well
.
Perfect timing
. “That’s probably a good idea.”

“I’d like him to come with us to preaching on Sunday. It’s time he gets to know the Lord.”

He blinked as though he’d seen snowflakes falling on the cornfield. “What would the point in that be? He can’t hear the sermons or hymns, the ministers don’t know sign language, and Isaiah couldn’t follow signing even if they did. It would be a waste of time.” He handed back the empty glass and focused on pulling up weeds by the roots.