Brush of Angel's Wings (5 page)

Jordan leaned closer. “You must mean the farmer's
fraa
. I've never heard of a farmer with spare time enough to wait for the cream to be skimmed.”

Something the opposite of Amish meekness rose up inside her. She glared at him. He responded with a grin that annoyed her even further. After a brief pause, she pasted on a smile and took the plates of food to the table while her mother poured the coffee.

Daed
pulled a chair out and offered it to Jordan. “Have a seat.”

Rachel set the plate of eggs on the table in front of her father.

She swallowed hard, trying to remind herself that Jordan was their guest and she needed to treat him as such.

Mamm
gave Rachel's shoulder a subtle nudge, and Rachel placed the other plate in front of him.

After a brief look at the platter, Jordan lifted his head, settling his green eyes on her. “Thank you. It smells good.”

Was he lying? Or could he not tell that the kitchen smelled of burnt potatoes and eggs? If Jordan meant what he said, his senses were probably tainted from mucking out the horse stalls—which should have been her job.

Rachel crinkled her nose.
“Gut.”

When her father cleared his throat, she forced a smile at her guest, trying not to ask him to change seats—she didn't like him sitting in James's chair any more than she liked him usurping her place beside her father in the fields.

Mamm
leaned toward Rachel. “Sit. Your father is ready to pray
nau
.”

Rachel slid onto her chair and bowed her head, silently begging God for forgiveness of her jealousy. Had she lost her mind to be jealous over barn chores? Anyone would gladly welcome more helping hands. She chewed her bottom lip and forced herself to concentrate on her prayer.

God, with your blessing, every year our crops have provided a decent yield and our garden is larger than we need. Why has
Daed
requested Jordan's help? Am I not enough?

I thank you for this food
, Aemen.

Jordan shifted in his seat, opening and closing his fist. Obviously he hadn't milked a cow before. No wonder he didn't get a full bucket. She grinned. He wouldn't last working for her father. Maybe God would answer her unspoken prayer and she would soon be back at
Daed's
side where she belonged.

Daed
and
Mamm
opened their eyes at the same time.

Jordan bowed his head, then lifted it immediately.
“Aemen.”

“Aemen?”
Rachel raised her brows.

Jordan ignored her and jabbed his fork into his eggs. He paused to look at
Daed
soaking his biscuit in his runny yolks. Jordan made a slight shrug, then lifted his over-hard cooked egg on top of the biscuit.

“
Gut
meal,” her father said, exchanging a glance with
Mamm,
seated at the end of the table.

“Yes, very good,” Jordan echoed.

Miriam lowered her fork from her mouth. “Rachel cooked the eggs.”

Her mother was always so careful not to sound boastful. Why would she tell of Rachel's cooking, as though frying eggs was a great achievement? It wasn't like she'd mastered her grandmother's recipe for
schnitzboi
.

Jordan shifted his attention. “Micah, what do you intend to plant in the back field? Corn?”

“Soybeans,” Rachel replied, eager to show her knowledge of their farming plans.

Her father looked at her. “We've planted soybeans in that field the past two years—”

“Jah.”
Rachel made one sharp nod aimed at Jordan.

Daed
cleared his throat. “We'll plant corn.”

Corn?
Daed
actually agreed with Jordan.

“Why?” she blurted.

“Crop rotation.” Jordan lifted his brows at her. “Helps control cloddy soil.” He turned to her father. “Am I right?”

Her father smiled.
“Jah.”
He pivoted in his chair to give Jordan his full attention. “It also helps the nitrogen balance and groundwater runoff.”

Jordan's eagerness to please and her father's elation with his new field hand gnawed away at her. How had Jordan weaseled his way into her family—and so quickly? She had enjoyed working in the barn with her father while her older sisters helped
Mamm
with the indoor chores. She preferred it. Now Jordan's presence threatened the thread of normalcy her family had found after James's death.

Rachel set the fork on her plate of half-eaten food. She'd lost her appetite. She stood, taking the plate with her.

“While you're up, maybe Jordan would like more
kaffi,” Mamm
said.

Rachel and Jordan locked eyes. She forced herself to turn away from him and focused on picking up the coffeepot and refilling his cup without his asking for more.

“Thank you.”

“Kaffi, Daed?”

“
Jah
. Warm it, please.” He moved his cup closer to the edge of the table, then shifted his attention back to Jordan. “We can take a walk and I'll show you the property lines. If the ground is dry enough, I'll show you how to use the plow.”

Rachel collected the dirty dishes from the table and loaded them into the sink. If she hurried, she could have the dishes washed before they finished their coffee. Then she would ask to go along. Maybe
Daed
would explain the importance of nitrogen balance to her.

Rachel emptied the kettle of hot water into the sink and added soap. She washed as
Mamm
brought more dishes from the table.

“Are you finished?”
Daed
asked Jordan.

“Yes, sir,” he said and pushed back his chair. Jordan picked up his empty cup and took it to Rachel. “You want this in here?”

“Jah, denki.”

As he leaned close to put his cup in the sink, his hand brushed against hers. The way he studied her bored into her, causing a whooshing sensation to speed through her, leaving her feeling off balance. He followed
Daed
out of the kitchen, but his woodsy scent lingered.

“They will work well together,”
Mamm
said as she scraped the grease from the fry pan into an empty can. “You should have plenty of time to sharpen your household skills.”

Rachel knew what she wanted to sharpen, and it had nothing to do with household skills.

The peas had sprouted despite last week's late frost. Thankfully, Rachel had listened to
Mamm
and waited before sowing the other seeds. The soft ground held a few wet patches, so instead of planting today and chancing seed rot, she would till the remainder of the garden. Although, this year, they wouldn't need a large garden. They'd planted extra last year anticipating Iva's wedding meal. Truly, there might not ever be a need for another large garden. Rachel had suppressed her hopes of marriage shortly after she became of courting age and no one paired up with her or offered to drive her home after the singings. The disappointment was easier to handle once she accepted that her life wouldn't necessarily follow the path of the other young women in the community.

Rachel worked until her bare hands became raw from not wearing gloves and the cold April wind hindered her progress.

She kicked off her dirty shoes at the door and padded into the kitchen, shaking her hands and then tucking them under her arms in an attempt to get them less numb.

Mamm
set a water-filled jar on the counter, then proceeded to fill another one from the tap. She glanced at Rachel. “Is something wrong with your hands?”
Mamm
turned off the tap, dried her hands, then reached for Rachel's to examine them. “
Ach
, your hands are cold.”

“I should've worn gloves.”

“
Jah
, the wind is chilly.”

Rachel put her hands into her armpits again and wiggled her fingers, hoping to get the blood flowing. “What are the water jars for?”

“I thought your
daed
and Jordan might be thirsty.”

“They might want
kaffi
too.” They were bound to be cold in the open field.

“
Gut
idea. And you might want to use some beeswax salve on your chapped hands. It's in the cabinet.”

“I'll take the drinks out first,” Rachel said.

Mamm
pulled the thermos from the cupboard. The kettle already filled with heated water, she made the coffee as Rachel slipped back into her cape and shoes.

Rachel trekked across the field with the thermos clutched under her arm and a jar of water in each hand. Like the aroma of morning-brewed coffee, the scent of freshly turned ground jolted her senses. Her
daed
used to tease her that she liked dirt as much as the earthworms. She smiled. It was still true. She was not afraid of dirt and hard work. And considering her love for the animals, she wondered why she couldn't spend all her days outdoors.

She found Jordan and
Daed
squatting down in the center of the field studying the dirt. Probably analyzing the cloddy soil, maybe the nitrogen content, whatever that was. Rachel had never concerned herself with soil to that degree. She also had never shared long conversations with her father about water runoff. Jealousy pricked her conscience. She knew to rebuke sinful thoughts but couldn't just yet.

They both looked up as she approached. Jordan tossed the handful of dirt he held and returned to the plow, commanding Clyde forward. Her father stood, his dirt-smudged forehead wrinkled from squinting against the bright sun.

“I thought you might be thirsty.” She held out one of the glass jars to her father. “And I brought you
kaffi
for later.” She set the thermos on the ground next to other items they'd brought to the field with them.

While he took long gulps of the water, she stole another glance at Jordan. “
Daed
,” she said, “why can't you teach me about cloddy soil and groundwater runoff? And I can handle Clyde as
gut
as anyone.” She meant as good as Jordan. Better than Jordan. He didn't know the temperamental horse like she did.

Daed
lowered the jar. “Take Jordan the water. He's thirsty.”

She sighed. Why did he continually push her away?

Jordan lifted his head and pulled back on the reins as she approached, her dress flapping around her ankles in the breeze. She extended the jar toward him.

He pushed his hat down on his head and wiped his grubby hands across his thighs. “Thank you,” he said, accepting the jar.

Jordan gulped down the water in one continuous drink, released a satisfied sigh, and handed the empty container to her. “How's the cream? Have you watched it separate yet?”

She ignored his wiggling brows and spun in her father's direction. Walking up to
Daed
, she said, “I'll work with you tomorrow.”

“
Nay
need.”

“But I've worked in the field ever since—”

“It's already been decided.” The jagged lines around
Daed's
eyes softened. “I'm doing this for you.”

“Me?”

“You won't learn how to become a
fraa
by working in the field.”

What was he talking about? She had no marriage pledge.

He chuckled. “I saw those eggs you served Jordan.”

A look of horror must have crossed her face because
Daed
laughed harder. Although it was wonderful to hear him laugh again—she hadn't heard him laugh much since James died—why did it have to be linked to Jordan's arrival?

She waited until Jordan and Clyde were far enough away that he wouldn't be within earshot. “Even if I could cook as
gut
as
Mamm
”—the ties of her head covering blew in her face, and she grabbed them and held them away—“it doesn't mean I'll find a husband.”

Perhaps
Daed
sensed her embarrassment because he sobered. “In God's timing, I pray you will.” He put his hands in his pockets and watched Jordan. With the reins draped over his shoulders, Jordan's hands held steady on the plow as it cut through the dirt.

“I might
nett
know much about cooking and sewing,” she said, “but I do know Jordan isn't plowing a straight line.” She waited for him to agree. Any farmer knew to keep his sight fixed in the distance and not on the ground. Jordan would have the corn growing in circles if he didn't guide Clyde properly.

Daed
scratched the back of his neck. “
Jah
, he's got some learning to do, but it'll be
gut
to have a set of strong hands on the farm.” He continued to keep his eyes on Jordan. “It's too far to make that two-hour drive back and forth from his
onkle's haus
every day, so he's moving into the
grossdaadi haus
.”

The
grossdaadi haus
? She tried to hide her disbelief. James had been given their grandparents' house when Katie Bender and he made plans to marry. Rachel couldn't bear the idea that Jordan was taking James's place living in the
grossdaadi haus
, or more importantly, in her father's heart.