Huckleberry Spring (9 page)

He turned to stone. Couldn’t Lizzie see how hazardous such an attempt would be? “If you push me, I’ll go back to Florida in a second and ask cousin Aden to care for Dawdi.”

All the light seemed to drain out of her. “You’d leave us again?”

He sighed in resignation and put a comforting arm around her. “I’m not going to be here much longer anyway. You know that.”

“Then it won’t matter what I do. Offended or not, you’ll be going away again.”

“I’m sorry, Lizzie. That’s how it has to be.”

She nestled closer under his arm. “Then I should enjoy the time we have left together.”

“Jah, instead of wasting your time trying to match me with girls I don’t want to be with.”

He flinched as Emma came around the bend in the lane. Had she heard any of their conversation?

Her mouth quivered as if she were trying to smile but found it impossible to actually do it.

An empty space yawned in the pit of his stomach. She’d heard enough. Hurting her had become a regular habit, even though he would as soon move to Africa as injure his dear Emma. He didn’t know how his heart could take much more of being near her and watching both of them suffer.

“Emma,” Lizzie said, a little too loudly as if to warn Ben of Emma’s approach. “I was just giving Ben a piece of my mind.”

Could he say anything to wipe that forlorn look off her face? “My dawdi’s surgery went well.”

The surgery went well?
Was that the best he could do? He ran a hand down the side of his face. Why had Emma ever fallen in love with him?

Emma nodded gravely, marched up the porch steps, and bolted into the house. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she said over her shoulder as she disappeared down Mammi’s hall.

Lizzie frowned and cuffed him on the shoulder. “I’m so mad at you right now.”

Ben spread his arms in surrender. “I don’t know what to do. What do you want me to do?”

“Stay in Bonduel and marry Emma.”

“I can’t, Lizzie. Don’t ask. Don’t ever ask again.”

Chapter 6

Ben’s legs felt as stiff as boards as he shuffled into the barn through the side door. Enough sunlight streamed through the high windows to let him see by, and if he propped the door open, he’d have no need for a lantern.

It had been two weeks since Dawdi’s surgery, and Emma had avoided him as if he had a foul smell hanging about him. It was better this way. As long as she stayed away from him, he wouldn’t have to gaze into those lake-blue eyes and dream about what a paradise it would have been to have Emma as his wife.

He also didn’t like to be reminded of how badly he’d hurt her last August and how deeply she still felt it. Even though she forced a painful smile when he was near, he knew his presence tortured her. Why else would she retreat to the safety of Mammi and Dawdi’s bathroom every time he looked at her the wrong way?

The sooner he could get out of Bonduel, the better. Emma must be allowed to heal.

He gathered the tools he would need from Dawdi’s bench and walked to the hooks on the wall where Dawdi hung his harnesses and other tack. He fingered the harness that needed repair yesterday and decided he might need that lantern after all. He could have sworn one of the straps was nearly worn through. Today it looked as good as new. Better than new. Someone had already replaced it.

He rubbed the back of his neck as he took a closer look at the buggy. The leather had been oiled and the buggy’s exterior buffed. Even the velvet seats had been brushed and the floor cleaned. Had Mammi done this? Or Emma?

Well then, one fewer item on his long list of things that would need to be done today. He limped to the bench and stowed Dawdi’s tools where they belonged.

The door on the other side of the barn opened and flooded the space with light. Emma walked into the barn and began searching for something on the shelves along the far wall. Ben turned into a statue. He was partially hidden behind a stout pillar and the buggy, so if he didn’t make a sound, Emma would never know he was there.

Why did his chest ache and his heart hammer against his ribs every time he laid eyes on her? He’d done his very best to let her go and move on. His body hadn’t gotten the message. He indulged in a little self-pity. She was so beautiful. Why had God required this sacrifice of him? Didn’t God want him to be happy, to have Emma beside him for a long life dedicated to God’s service? He squeezed his eyes shut and banished those thoughts from his head.

Emma stood on her tiptoes rearranging pots and seed boxes, still looking for something, but she wasn’t tall enough to see the highest shelves. Ben resisted the almost overpowering urge to go to her aid. He was tall enough to reach anything Emma might need.

She stretched her arm all the way up and her fingertips brushed against a ball of twine on the top shelf. She wouldn’t be able to get it down by herself. Too late he decided he should help her. Before he had a chance to step out of the shadows, her sleeve brushed against a teetering watering can on the shelf below, and it toppled off its perch and clocked Emma on the forehead.

Ben gasped, forsook his hiding place, and went quickly to her side. She groaned as her hand flew to her right eye. Blood had seeped between her fingers by the time Ben reached her.

“Emma, are you okay?”

While she pressed her hand over the right half of her face, he led her to the milking stool and helped her sit. Then he found another milking stool and sank next to her.

Emma pulled her hand from her face, caught sight of the blood on her fingers, and immediately slapped her hand back over the wound. “Oh, bother,” she mumbled.

Ben had to concentrate on keeping his breathing steady. He usually didn’t mind the sight of blood, but this was Emma’s blood. Why had he not set aside his own selfishness and helped her in the first place?

“Can I have a look?” he said, as calmly as if he were asking for a glance at the latest news in
The Budget
.

She faithfully clutched her face. “Head wounds always look more serious than they are. I’ll go in and get a little bandage from Anna.” She tried to stand.

Ben nudged her back down. “It wouldn’t be very gute if you fainted on your way to the house and flattened Mammi’s newly planted petunias.”

Frowning in concentration, she studied him with her good eye. “I need the twine for measuring to the center of the pumpkin mound. I want to move Anna’s plant from the pot this morning. I’m a little clumsy today, I guess.”

“That watering can was bound to come over on you. It was teetering before you even walked in the barn. Someone didn’t scoot it back far enough on the shelf.”

“I’m the one who put it away,” she said.

“Oh.”

Her mouth drooped. “I’m all thumbs, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I’ve never noticed that about you. Some people are naturally accident-prone.”

“Same thing.”

“Can I see your very impressive cut?”

“How do you know it’s impressive?” she asked.

“Because there’s enough blood running down your arm to donate to a hospital.”

She gave him a sheepish twitch of her lips and pulled her hand from her face. A deep cut gaped half an inch above her eyebrow. She’d definitely have a scar.

“You’ll probably need a tetanus shot when we take you to get stitches.”

She held out her left finger for his examination. “Already got one, remember? When I sewed through my finger?”

“Well, that’s good news. No need for a tetanus shot.” He leaned close and touched her forehead just above the nasty-looking cut.

She stiffened as soon as his skin brushed against hers. “I don’t need stitches. I’ll be right as rain with a gauze pad and some antibiotic ointment.”

“Nope. I know what a tough girl you are, but trust me. You need stitches.”

“It’s that bad?”

“I wouldn’t look in the mirror if I were you. You might freak out.”

“Thanks for the words of comfort,” she groaned.

“Just trying to be helpful.”

“You’ve seen me in enough scrapes to know when I need medical attention, I guess.” She grimaced and lowered her eyes as if she were suddenly seized by a gripping headache.

Ben stood up, ignoring the tightening in his chest. “Stay here, and I’ll get something for your head.”

“Don’t trouble yourself. I can go.”

“We’re trying to avoid fainting, remember? I’ll be right back.”

He jogged to the house where Dawdi sat in his usual place reading the paper and Mammi busily prepared dinner. Ben didn’t even want to guess what kind of smell wafted from her bubbling pot.

“Ben,” Mammi said, without looking up, “will you make sure Emma knows she is invited for dinner? I’ve decided that I need to learn how to cook pumpkin if we’re going to have a giant pumpkin come autumn time. I’m trying out my first recipe today.”

“What is it, Mammi? It smells delicious.” He knew it was a sin to lie, but Mammi always got so enthusiastic about her cooking. He couldn’t hurt her feelings.

“I call it Chunky Pumpkin Soup. It was supposed to be just pumpkin soup, but I can’t make the lumps disappear, so I’ve renamed it.”

“Sounds gute.” He marked off another lie on his sin chart.

“Also,” Mammi continued in her bossy voice, “I want you to help Emma tie up the tomato plants. It’s too big a job for one little girl to do all by herself.”

“I’ll see they get done today,” Ben said, rifling through Mammi’s cupboards for a first aid kit.

“What are you looking for, dear? The twine for the tomatoes is on the top shelf above the potting soil in the barn.”

“Emma already found it. A watering can fell and clunked her on the forehead.”

Mammi put her hand to her mouth. “Is she all right?”

Dawdi’s recliner groaned as he lowered the footrest. “She can take my place on the recliner. I don’t want to sit in it ever again.”

“Now, Felty,” Mammi said with a wink at Ben. “We know how brave you want to be, but you are nowhere near well enough to rise from your bed and walk around.”

Dawdi stood and harrumphed dismissively. “Nonsense. I’m fit as a fiddle.” He wildly swung his arms back and forth and marched smartly around the great room. Then he got down on the floor and did two push-ups. He couldn’t manage a third, but for a man of almost eighty-five, Ben found it quite impressive.

“Now, Felty,” Mammi scolded. “See what happens when you overdo it? You end up flat on the floor, worse off than you would have been if you had stayed put in your chair.”

Dawdi stifled a grunt and got slowly to his feet. “Banannie, how much longer do you think I can sit in that chair without going crazy?”

Mammi and Dawdi continued discussing Dawdi’s health while Ben found the supplies he needed to tend to Emma’s cut. Even with his doctoring, she would need a trip to the hospital. As soon as he saw to Emma, he would go to the nearest phone shack and find a driver.

Mammi was trying to get Dawdi back into his chair. “The doctor said you shouldn’t blow your nose for three months. The minute you go outside, you’ll catch a late-spring cold and your nose will swell up like a one of Emma’s pumpkins.”

He really couldn’t help it. Ben curled one corner of his mouth and bit his tongue. Neither Mammi nor Dawdi would take it well if he burst into laughter while they were discussing very important matters—like if Dawdi should be admitted to a hospital.

He ran back outside, and to his relief, Emma sat right where he had left her, with her head cradled gently in her hands. He rejoiced she hadn’t tried to stand and ended up facedown with a mouthful of dirt or something even more disgusting from the floor of Dawdi’s barn.

“How’s your head?”

“Throbbing.”

He placed his supplies on the milk stool and knelt on one knee in front of her. “Let me clean it off, and we’ll see how bad it is.”

“Or how good it is.”

“I’m glad you’re thinking positive thoughts.”

Being grateful he’d brought an extra rag, he handed her one of the wet ones, and she cleaned the blood from her hands. While she concentrated on her hands, he carefully wiped the blood from around the cut, working his way from the outside to the center. She hissed when he got too close to the actual wound. “Just a little more?” he asked. “I want to make sure it’s clean.”

“Of course. I’d rather not come down with an eyebrow infection.”

“I hear those are terrible.” He fell silent as he tried hard to concentrate on the ugly cut on Emma’s forehead instead of her perfectly shaped lips, which were almost irresistible. Unfortunately, his imagination hijacked his discipline, and he pictured himself brushing his lips softly against hers. Longing overpowered him as fire seemed to travel through his veins.

He jerked his hand away from her forehead, jumped to his feet, and put three strides between them. As soon as he got his wits about him, he turned his back on her and pretended to look for something on Dawdi’s work table so Emma wouldn’t wonder if he’d completely lost his mind—which he had. But she certainly didn’t need to know that.

“Are you looking for something?” she said, gazing at him doubtfully, as if his sudden retreat had somehow been her fault.

He motioned with the rag. “I think I’ll go squeeze a little soap on this.”

He ran back to the house, faster this time, concern for Emma warring with anger at himself. He had to be stronger than this. He had to give up this ridiculous fascination with Emma’s mouth.

“How about Lasik?” Mammi was saying as Ben entered and made a beeline for the kitchen sink.

She sat at the sofa reading a stack of colorful pamphlets, though Ben didn’t take the time to see what they were about.

Dawdi stretched out on the floor near his recliner doing sit-ups. Sparky barked her encouragement every time Dawdi came up. “I can do dozens of these,” he said, grinning at Ben.

Ben furrowed his brow. Lord willing, Dawdi would not break his back.

No time to find out. Ben was already in the process of treating one injured person in the barn. Dawdi’s future injuries would have to wait.

With a clean rag and a dab of soap, Ben went back to the barn determined to ignore his rapid pulse and Emma Nelson’s rose-petal lips.

Emma sat patiently on her stool with a cloudy expression on her face, dabbing the blood off her hands. He didn’t dwell on what he suspected she was probably thinking. Instead, he knelt down and sponged the cut with his soapy washrag. She flinched. “Sorry,” he said.

She managed a half smile. “It’s not bad. The soap stings a little. I’ve had worse.”

He returned her smile with a weak one of his own. “Jah, I know you have.” He dabbed his rag once more at her cut before taking her hand and pointing to her scarred thumb. The skin there was jagged and white.

She blushed and slowly pulled her hand away. “For as clumsy as I am, it’s a wonder I don’t have more scars to show for it.”

“That wasn’t your fault. The knife was dangerously sharp. They use it to gut fish.”

She wouldn’t meet his eye. “I thought it might work well on carrots.”

“I’m glad they were able to save your thumb.” He nudged her chin up with his finger. Her brilliant eyes almost took his breath away. “Although I felt bad I never got a chance to call you by the nickname I made up.”

A grin played at her reluctant lips. “What was that?”

“I wanted to call you ‘Stumpy.’”

She giggled cautiously. It was the most delightful sound he’d heard for several days. “I only sliced the tip of my thumb. Not the whole thing.”

“Then I would have called you ‘Half-a-Stumpy.’”

“It takes too long to yell, ‘Hey, Half-a-Stumpy, watch out for that ditch!’ I would already have fallen in by the time you finished saying my name.”

Ben fingered the stubble on his chin. “True. It’s very good those doctors were able to sew you back together.”