Lakeside Romance (19 page)

Freeman's compelling gaze met hers. His eyes were brown, not the walnut shade of Sara's but a golden brown, almost amber, with darker swirls of color, and they were framed in lashes far too long for a man.

Had he caught her staring at him? Unnerved, she recovered her composure and concealed her embarrassment with a solicitous smile. “Good morning, Freeman,” she uttered in a hushed tone.

Puzzlement flickered behind Sara's inquisitive eyes, and then her apple cheeks crinkled in a sign of amused understanding. She moved closer to the bed, blocking Katie's view of Freeman's face and his of hers and began to pepper him with questions about his impending recovery.

Rescued, Katie turned away to inspect the kitchen that would be her domain for the next two weeks. She'd never been inside the house before, just the mill, but from the outside, she'd thought it was beautiful. Now, standing in the spacious kitchen, she liked it even more. It was clear to her that this house had been home to many generations, and someone, probably a sensible woman, had carefully planned out the space. Modern gas appliances stood side by side with tidy built-in cabinets and a deep soapstone sink. There was a large farm table in the center of the room with benches on two sides, and Windsor chairs at either end. The kitchen had big windows that let in the light and a lovely old German open-shelved cupboard. The only thing that looked out of place was the bed containing the frowning Freeman Kemp.

“You must be in a lot of pain,” Sara remarked, gently patting Freeman's cast.

“
Ne.
Nothing to speak of.”

“He is,” Jehu contradicted. “Just too stubborn to admit to it. He'll accept none of the pain pills the doctor prescribed.”

Freeman's eyes narrowed. “They gave them to me at the hospital. I couldn't think straight.”

Katie nodded. “You're wise to tough it out if you can. Too many people start taking those things and then find that they can't do without them. Rest and proper food for an invalid will do you the most good.”

Freeman glanced away, as if feeling uncomfortable at being the center of attention. “I'm not an invalid.”

Katie sighed, wondering if a broken femur had been the man's only injury or if he'd taken a blow to the head. If lying on your back, leg encased in a cast propped on a quilt, didn't make you an invalid, she didn't know what did. But Freeman, as she recalled, had a stubborn nature. She'd certainly seen it at the King wedding.

For an eligible bachelor who owned a house, a mill and two hundred acres of prime land to remain single into his midthirties was almost unheard of among the Amish. Add to that Freeman's rugged good looks and good standing with his bishop and his church community. It made him the catch of the county, several counties for that matter. They could have him. She was a rational person, not a giggling teenager who could be swept off her feet by a pretty face. Freeman liked his own way too much to suit her. Working in his house for two whole weeks wasn't going to be easy, but he or his good looks certainly didn't intimidate her. She'd told Sara she'd take the job and she was a woman of her word.

“I agree. Rest is what he needs.” Ivy Kemp came into the house, letting the terrier out the door as she entered. “But he's always been headstrong. Thinking he could tend to that injury to the bull's leg by himself was what got him into trouble in the first place. And not following doctor's orders to stay in bed was what sent him back to the hospital a second time.”

“Could you not talk about me as though I'm not here?” Freeman pushed himself up on his elbows. “Two weeks, not a day more, and I'll be on my feet again.”

“More like four weeks, according to his doctors,” Jehu corrected.

Katie noticed that the blind man had settled himself into a rocker not far from Freeman's bed, removed a string from his pants' pocket, and was absently twisting the string into shapes. She didn't know Jehu well but she'd seen how easily he'd moved around the kitchen and how he turned his face toward each speaker, following the conversation much as a sighted person might. She found him instantly likable.

“Do you know this game?” Jehu asked in Katie's general direction. “Cat's cradle?”

“She doesn't want to play your—”

“I do know it,” Katie exclaimed, cutting Freeman off. “I played it all the time with my father when I was small. I love it.”

“Do you know this one?” Jehu grinned, made several quick movements and then held up a new string pattern.

Katie grinned. “That's a cat's eye.”

“Easy enough,” the older man said, “but how about this one?”

“Uncle Jehu, she didn't come to play children's games.” Freeman again. “She was hired to clean up this house.”

Katie rolled up her sleeves. “So I was.” She glanced Jehu's way. “Later on, I'll show you one you might not know, but right now I better get to work.” She turned back in the direction of the kitchen appliances. “I can see I'm desperately needed. There's splatters of milk all over the floor near the stove, and I see ants on the countertop.” She removed her black apron and took an everyday white one from the old satchel she'd brought with her.

“It sounds as if Katie has her day's work cut out for her.” Sara clapped her hands together. “I'd best get on my way and leave her to it.”

Ivy glanced out the window. “I see she's driven her own buggy.”

“Ya,”
Katie confirmed. “We came in two vehicles.”

“Katie lives in Apple Valley with her mother and brother,” Sara volunteered. “Too far for her to drive back and forth every day. I have all those extra bedrooms since I added the new addition to my house. It seemed sensible that she should stay with me.”

Especially since my brother just brought home a wife
, Katie thought. Patsy deserved to have the undisputed run of her kitchen. Katie was quite fond of Patsy, who seemed a perfect wife for Isaac. But Katie didn't need to be told that an unmarried sister was definitely a burden on a young couple, so taking this job and living away for a while would give them time to settle into married life. Plus the money she earned by her labor would be put to good use.

“No need for you to run off so quick,” Ivy told Sara. “Won't you take a cup of tea over at my place?”

Ivy Kemp was a neat little woman, plump rather than spare, tidy as a wren and just as cheerful. Again, Katie only knew her from intercommunity frolics and fund-raisers, but she seemed pleasant and welcoming.

“Tea?” Jehu got to his feet with more vigor than Katie would expect of a man near seventy. “Tea would hit the spot, Ivy. You don't happen to have any of those raisin bran muffins left over, do you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Ivy beamed, heading for the door. “But I won't promise they taste as good as they did yesterday when they came out of the oven. You will stay for tea, won't you, Sara? I do love a chance to chat with someone from another church. I hear you made a good match for that new girl with that young man—what's his name...”

In less time than it took Katie to locate a broom, she and Sara had made their goodbyes, and the three older people had left to go next door to the
grossmama
haus
for their tea and muffins. Ivy had invited Katie, too, but she'd declined. There was too much to do in Freeman's house and she wanted to get busy.

“I imagine you'll be wanting dinner at noon,” she said to Freeman, careful not to look directly at his face and into those striking golden eyes. “Do the doctors have you on a special diet?”

“Oatmeal,” he said testily. “I've been eating a lot of oatmeal.”

Katie cut her eyes at him. “Odd thing for a sickbed.”

“I'm not sick.”

“
Ya
, you said that.” She opened the refrigerator and grimaced. “I hope the milk and eggs are fresh.”

“And why wouldn't they be?”

“If they are, they would be the only thing in that refrigerator that is. It looks as if a bowl of baked beans died in there. The butter is covered in toast crumbs and it looks like there's a hunk of dried up cheese in the back.” She wrinkled her nose. “Pretty pitiful fare.”

“Spare me your humor.” Freeman shut his eyes. “Just cook something other than oatmeal or chicken noodle soup. Anything else. My grandmother has served me so much chicken soup it's a wonder I'm not clucking.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” She closed the refrigerator door, thinking of the cut-up chicken that Sara had insisted they bring in a cooler. Chicken soup had been one of her options, since she'd known that Freeman was confined to bed and recovering from a bad accident. But she could just as well fry up the chicken with some dumplings. Providing, of course, that there weren't weevils in the flour bin. She'd have to take stock of the pantry and freezer, if Freeman even had a freezer or a flour bin. If they expected her to cook three decent meals a day, she'd have to have the groceries to do it.

She decided that cleaning the refrigerator took precedence over the sticky floor; she'd just sweep now and mop later. Once that was done, she decided she'd better do something about the state of the kitchen table. The tablecloth was stained and could definitely use a washing. Someone had washed dishes that morning and left them on the sideboard to dry, but dirty cups, bowls and silverware littered a side table next to Freeman's bed. A kitchen seemed an odd place for a sick man to have his bed, but she could understand that he might want to be in the center of the home rather than tucked away upstairs alone. And it could be that the bathroom was downstairs. She hadn't been hired for nursing, but, if she knew men, doubtless the sheets could stand laundering.

“That wasn't kind of you,” she remarked as she cleared the table and stripped away the soiled tablecloth. “Chastising your uncle when he wanted to show me his string game. You should show more respect for your elders.”

Freeman opened one eye. “He's blind, not slipping in his mind. Cat's cradle is for
kinner
. It was him I was thinking of. I wanted to save him embarrassment if you assumed—”

“I hope my mother taught me better than that,” Katie interrupted. “I try not to form opinions of people at first glance or to judge them.” He didn't answer, and she turned her back to him as she scrubbed the wooden tabletop clean enough to eat off. She would look for a fresh tablecloth, but if none were available, this would suffice until she could do the laundry.

“I don't mean to be rude,” Freeman said. He exhaled loudly. “I didn't know you were coming—didn't know any housekeeper was coming. It was my uncle's idea.”

“I see.” Katie moved on to the refrigerator. The milk container seemed clean and the milk smelled good so she put that on the table with whatever else seemed salvageable. The rest went directly into a bucket to be disposed of. “It's been a good while since anyone did this,” she observed.

“It's not something that I can manage with my leg in a cast.”

“Six months, I'd guess, since this refrigerator has had a good scrub. You don't need a housekeeper, you need a half dozen of them if you expect me to get this kitchen in shape today.”

“It's not
that
bad.” He pushed up on his elbows. “Neither Uncle Jehu nor I have gotten sick from the food.”

“By the grace of God.” The butter went into the bucket, followed by a wilted bunch of beets and a sad tomato. “Do you have a garden?”

Freeman mumbled something about weeds, and she rolled her eyes. Sara's garden was overflowing with produce. She'd bring corn and the makings of a salad tomorrow. A drawer contained butter still in its store wrapping. The date was good, so that went to the table. “Is there anything you're not supposed to eat?” she asked.

“Oatmeal and chicken soup.”

She smiled. He was funny; she'd give him that. “So you mentioned.”

A few changes of water, a little elbow grease and the refrigerator was empty and clean. Katie started moving items from the table, thinking she'd run outside and get the chicken to let it sit in salted water.

“Butter goes on the middle shelf,” Freeman instructed.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Not where it says
butter
?” She pointed to the designated bin in the door with the word printed across it.

He scowled. “We like it on the middle shelf.”

“But it will stay fresher in the butter bin.” She smiled sweetly, left the butter in the door and went back to the table for the milk.

A scratching at the screen door caught her attention and she went to see what was making the noise. When she opened the door, the small brown-and-white rat terrier that Ivy had let out darted in, sniffed her once and then made a beeline for Freeman's bed. “Cute dog.”

“His name is Tip.” The terrier bounced onto a stool and then leaped the rest of the way onto the bed. He curled under Freeman's hand and butted it with his head until Freeman scratched behind the dog's ears.

Katie watched him cuddle the little terrier.
Freeman couldn't be all bad if the dog liked him.

She filled the kettle with water and put it on the gas range. She'd seen that there was ice. She'd make iced tea to go with dinner. And if there was going to be chicken and dumplings, she would need to find the proper size pot and give that a good scrub, as well. She planned the menu in her head. Besides the chicken dumplings, she'd have green beans and pickled beets, both canned and carried from Sara's pantry, possibly biscuits and something sweet to top it all off. She'd have to check that weed-choked garden to see if there was something ripe that she could use.

“What are you making for dinner?” Freeman asked.

Oatmeal
, she wanted to say. But she resisted. It was going to be a long two weeks in Freeman Kemp's company. “I'm not sure yet,” she answered sweetly. “It will be a surprise to us both.”