Abigail's New Hope (43 page)

Daniel had been correct about that. Isaiah could never get to know God in the traditional way. Nevertheless, while she watched, the man on his right elbowed the late-arrival in the ribs, motioning for him to remove his hat.

Catherine gasped as the room tilted to one side. There was no mistaking the silky long black hair, tucked behind his ears without the traditional Amish bangs. The man was definitely Isaiah Graber. Her face flushed as the temperature skyrocketed inside the barn. She pulled away from his hypnotic dark eyes and looked at her sister. Abby was staring with the same slack-jawed shock. Laura turned from her
mamm
to her
gefunden
and whispered, “It’s Isaiah,” in case they hadn’t noticed.

After Catherine’s heart rate slowed, she chanced a second peek. He was surreptitiously watching her while mimicking the other men’s behavior. When their gazes met, he winked and smiled. She felt suddenly light-headed. Her palms had grown clammy, while her stomach complained about the meager handful of Cheerios. When it became hard to catch her breath, she feared she was suffering a heart attack.
What better place to die than in a church?

For two sermons, much singing, many prayers, and plenty of Scripture, Catherine tried to keep her mind on worship, and at most times she succeeded. But during the three-hour service, something was growing deep in her gut—a seed of hope.

Why has he come?
The only logical answer was hard for her to trust.

When church ended, people filed out into early fall sunshine to chat with friends and neighbors. Most of the women bustled to set the food on long tables for the noon meal. Catherine walked outdoors at her sister’s side, while Laura scampered off to join the girls headed to the swings.

“We don’t need your help with lunch, Catherine,” said Abby. “We have plenty of ladies. Plus I think there’s someone you need to talk to.” She arched an eyebrow. “Time’s awastin’. None of us is getting any younger.”

Catherine’s stomach twisted like a rope. “Okay, here goes nothing,” she said.
Or everything
, she thought. Meandering toward the shade, she found a spot to assess the situation. Isaiah stood in the barnyard, surrounded by young men. One man slapped Isaiah on the back, while another stepped close to speak something she couldn’t hear. At least they appeared to be taking turns and were not all talking at once. Isaiah glanced from one to the other, sometimes nodding in agreement, sometimes shrugging his shoulders in confusion. But he was smiling.

Catherine approached on legs barely capable of holding her weight. When she stood behind Isaiah, Sam Miller touched his arm and gestured for him to turn around. As he did, her heart attack symptoms ratcheted up a notch.

His expression grew into a full-blown grin. “Hullo, Cat.” He winked without the least bit of shyness.

“Hello, Isaiah,” she said. “Can I talk to you?” She used the sign language he had learned during their brief, happy times together.

He nodded to his compatriots and then took her arm. As they walked toward the pasture, away from hearing ears, her confidence drained away like water from a bathtub.
How can I explain? How can I say how sorry I am for shaming him?

They stopped at the fence, overgrown with wild grapes. Plump purple berries still clung in bunches to the vines. Isaiah tipped up her chin with one finger.

She gasped from his touch and blurted, “How’s Boots?” She used his gesture for calf-high footwear for the dog’s name.

“
Gut
,” he answered and indicated the dog still slept most of the day.

“What do you think about today’s weather?” She mimed that she thought it neither too hot nor too cold.

Isaiah laughed at her, agreeing that the temperature was just right.

In a soft voice she enunciated slowly, “Why did you come today?” Then Catherine gazed across the rolling fields, feeling like an idiot.

He took hold of her chin to turn her face. “For you, Cat. I came for you.”

Then using verbal words and nonverbal articulations, he expressed that he wished to learn to read lips better and communicate more. In fact, his pantomimes were so concise and easily interpreted she knew he must have been practicing them…maybe since the evening of the volleyball party, or perhaps the night of the hornet emergency. But either way, Catherine clapped her hands as though a children’s program had just concluded.

Isaiah didn’t clap. He didn’t even try to use words or gestures to make his heart’s desire known. Instead he leaned down and kissed her as though he had all the time in the world and didn’t care a fig if anyone saw them.

His meaning was crystal clear, in the age-old language of love.

Abby nibbled on a piece of corn on the cob and sampled some of the local fresh sausage. Delicious though it might be, she had little appetite once she sat down with her lunch. All around her, people were eating, visiting, and enjoying the Sabbath. Even her sister looked far different from the sullen woman who had stared blankly over Jake’s head at scenery she’d viewed a hundred times before. And the reason for her change in attitude was sitting across from her at the long table reserved for single folks.

Isaiah worked on a plate of food that could have fed an average English family of four. Yet he ate without paying much attention to the meal. His eyes were glued on Catherine. He sat on the very end of the bench while she seemed to be talking for both of them. Seeing those two communicating was the only thing lifting Abby’s spirits. Nathan Fisher’s visit later that afternoon weighed heavily on her mind.

When Daniel pushed away his plate, he met her gaze with a grin. “Why did I eat so much,
fraa
? My stomach feels like it might explode.”

“Because everything tastes better on a day as fine as this.” Abby forced herself to finish her sausage and not be wasteful.

“Your sliced beef was a crowd-pleaser. There’s barely enough left in the roaster for cold sandwiches tonight.” He lowered his voice so no one would overhear him.

“Worry not,
ehemann
. I saved a bowlful at home so my dear one wouldn’t go hungry.”

“You are the best wife in the world!” he announced. Everyone around them laughed, while a few elderly matrons rolled their eyes.

“Enjoy the appreciation while you can get it, Abigail,” called one woman midway down the table.

“True. Soon enough I’ll return to my normal status—somewhere between peach pie à la mode and day-old white bread,” answered Abby to the woman’s delight.

Daniel clamped his hand over hers. “Never day-old. Always freshly baked in my book.”

She smiled, wishing they could remain carefree with their friends for the rest of the day. “If you’ll have nothing more to eat, please hitch up the buggy. I’ll go look for Laura and Jake.”

His brow furrowed. “What’s the hurry? Evening milking is hours away.”

“Have you forgotten? Nathan Fisher is coming by this afternoon.”

Daniel stood, scratching his chin. “Slipped my mind. I’ll hitch the horse and bring up the buggy.” He tipped his hat to the district members and strode away.

Abby cleaned up their mess, packed her hamper, and thanked the hostess. She bid her parents goodbye, found her
kinner
and sent them to the buggy, and then she went looking for her sister. She wasn’t hard to find. Catherine and Isaiah sat in the shade, where she was again trying to teach him sign language.

“Ready?” asked Abby as she approached their quilt. “It’s time to go.”

Both looked up in surprise. “What?” Catherine squawked. “It’s barely one thirty.”

“Don’t you recall? Daniel is driving you home today after dropping me off at the farm. You’re eager to return to
mamm
and
daed
’s.” Abby perched a hand on her hip.

Every drop of blood in her body seemed to have rushed to Catherine’s face. “Oh…
jah
. I almost forgot,” she stammered.

Abby could practically see the wheels turning in her head.

“I hate to be selfish and demanding, because I’m sure Daniel enjoys talking to the other men.” Catherine smoothed her skirt with her palms.

“You’re not demanding at all,” said Abby. “Daniel is bringing the buggy up to load at the barn. I need to leave anyway because I’m expecting a visitor this afternoon.” She stretched out her hand. “Let me help you up.”

Catherine glanced at Isaiah before accepting the hand. His head rotated from one woman to the other in confusion. “
Danki
,” she said. Once on her feet, she pulled Abby away from the quilt. “There’s been a change of plans,” she whispered. “I believe I will stay longer.”

“But your packed bag is sitting in the back of the buggy.”

“I know, but you’re the one who accused me of being impetuous.”

“You insisted you’d considered the matter carefully.”

“Can’t a woman change her mind?” Catherine’s whisper was close to a hiss, while she stood so that Isaiah couldn’t possibly read her lips.

“
Jah
,
schwester
, you certainly can. And a mind like yours should be changed…often.” Abby stepped back before Catherine could pinch her. “I’ll see you later. I trust you can persuade Isaiah to bring you home.”

Catherine placed both hands on her hips. “You’d better hurry along so you don’t keep Daniel waiting.”

Abby did hurry toward the buggy, chuckling all the way…until she remembered Nathan Fisher, and then her good mood vanished.

Abigail had enough time to bake brownies and brew fresh iced tea before Nathan drove into their side yard. Her
kinner
were taking a nap after their busy day, while Daniel tended the livestock. Upon hearing the crunch of gravel, she dried her hands on a towel and walked outdoors to meet her fate.

Mr. Fisher was leaning into his buggy from the passenger side. Abby couldn’t see what he was fussing with, but when he straightened up his arms were filled with a patchwork quilt.

“Oh, my,” she whispered, starting down the steps. “
Guder nachmittag
, Mr. Fisher. What have you got there?”

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Graber,” he called on his approach.

She felt apprehension ripple up her back.
Fear is the handiwork of the devil
, she thought and sucked in a deep, calming breath.

“I thought you might like to see little Abraham,” said Nathan. With the bundle tucked into the crook of one arm, he used his free hand to draw back one corner of the cover. “What do you think? Has he changed much since the last time you saw him?”

Memories of the worst night of her life crept from the recesses of her mind. She batted them away like thirsty mosquitoes. Rubbing her hands down her skirt, she leaned forward for a better view. The
boppli
had fisted one hand by his rosebud mouth, while the other gripped a small stuffed bear. Dark thick eyelashes fluttered while he slept, as though he dreamed of future summer days playing in the sun. His round cheeks were pink with vitality and dusted with a smattering of tan freckles. Abraham was the prettiest baby boy she had ever seen—except for her own Jake. “A handsome son,” she said. “Thank you for showing him to me.” She stepped back as though pressing business awaited her in the house.