Love’s Journey Home (31 page)

Helen dried her hands on the dish towel before opening the front door. She froze.
The last person she’d expected to see on her porch was Gabriel Gless. He stared down
at her with a wary look on his face. The woodsy scent she normally associated with
him had disappeared, replaced by something…awful.

“I need your help.” He spoke before she could say anything.

Gabriel Gless needed her help. Helen clamped down on the uncharitable thoughts that
ran through her head. She moved aside and opened the door wider. He seemed to hesitate,
then stepped across the threshold.

“Who is it, Helen?” Her mother called from the kitchen where they were feverishly
trying to finish canning a bushel of tomatoes before they went bad. Helen had gotten
behind, what with the damage to the house, Edmond’s problems, Emma’s baby, and helping
the Glesses move. “Invite them in for lemonade and cookies, why don’t you?”

That was Mudder. It didn’t matter who it might be. Company was company.

“Would you like something cool to drink? We have ice.”

Gabriel shook his head. She could see the vein pulsing in his jaw. Whatever he needed
from her, he didn’t want to ask.

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

“The girls are sick.”

He stopped, as if that explained everything.

“Do they need a doctor?” She glanced around for her bag. “Doctor Chapin sees my kinner
when they’re ailing.”

“It’s some kind of stomach flu. It’ll pass.” He grimaced. “All over my boots, mostly.”

She buried a smile. Men weren’t built to deal with bodily fluids. Women were used
to cleaning up floors and washing clothes when children were sick. She didn’t even
flinch anymore.

“The thing is, Abigail’s sick too.” He stopped. Again as if that explained it all.

“Poor thing,” Helen murmured. “They need lukewarm tea and toast. Keep the liquids
in them so they don’t get dehydrated. Ginger ale and saltine crackers will help settle
their stomachs.”

“Gut, gut.”
He nodded. “That’s
gut
.”

“Are you coming, Helen?” Her mother stomped into the living room, leaning heavily
on her cane. “The tomatoes are boiling. The jars are in the bath. I can’t see well
enough to…”

Her voice trailed off and she stomped closer to Gabriel. “Is that you, Thomas? I didn’t
recognize your voice or I would’ve come out to say howdy sooner.”

“No, it’s not Thomas,” Helen intervened. “This is Gabriel Gless. Remember how he helped
repair the house when the tree fell on it?”

“Jah, jah, I remember.” She moved still closer, peering up at Gabriel. “You do look
like Thomas, don’t you? Come on out, have some lemonade. Helen made apple-rhubarb
coffee cake. Helen makes good pastries. Mighty fine pastries.”

“Mudder, Gabriel’s children are sick. He doesn’t have time for coffee cake right now.”
She glanced at his splattered boots. Or the stomach for food. “He stopped by to…”

“I stopped by because Abigail is sick too. She can’t take care of Isabelle and Rachel
when she’s sick. Mary Beth already went to the bakery. Isaac’s at the shop. The other
boys are all working too.”

“An industrious bunch, you’ve raised. That’s
gut
.” Mudder eased into the rocking chair, looking ready for a chat. “You moved here
from where?”

“From Indiana. The reason I stopped by is because I can’t leave the girls alone with
Abigail. She needs help herself. But I can’t stay with her. I’ve got to get into town.
We don’t have any family here and Emma just had a new baby. She can’t be watching
over mine.” He pulled at his suspenders. “I wondered if you could…if you would mind…if
you would stay with them, just for today.”

That had been like pulling teeth.

“You have the makings for soup?” Helen bustled toward the kitchen. Gabriel followed
and watched, his dark eyes filled with what looked like relief, as she grabbed items
from the kitchen shelves—crackers, medicines, tea bags, a big bottle of ginger ale.
“Chicken, noodles, and such?”

He nodded.

“
Gut
. Mudder, Naomi and Betsy will help with the canning. Gabriel, go to town. Get your
shop open. I’ll stay with the girls.”

He nodded again and disappeared through the door.

He didn’t say thank you, but Helen didn’t mind. One didn’t have to thank a person
for doing the neighborly thing. She thanked God Gabriel thought enough of her to allow
her to take care of his girls. Maybe he’d finally forgiven her for not being the kind
of parent who could prevent her son from doing something foolish and dangerous, like
driving a buggy while drunk.

It took another thirty minutes to hitch up the horse to the buggy and drive to the
Gless farm. The minute she walked into the house she put her hand to her nose. The
stench made her stomach rock. One look at the pile of dirty laundry on the bedroom
floor and the mess on the sheets, and Helen swung into action.

This she knew how to do. She sent Abigail back to bed in her own room after helping
her strip off her sweaty, soiled nightgown and replace it with a clean one. Then she
cleaned up Rachel and Isabelle, stripped their sheets, and replaced them. Admonishing
the girls to stay in bed and rest, she carried the dirty linens and nightclothes downstairs.
Before starting the laundry she washed her hands and put a big pot on the stove. She
jostled the wood to bring up the flame before pouring in the chicken stock she found
in the propane-operated refrigerator. Leftover baked chicken, a few peeled potatoes,
and egg noodles followed.

Feeling as calm and collected as she had in weeks, Helen moved outside. She turned
the knob until water flowed through a garden hose that ran in through the back porch
window. She filled the tub with water and began adding buckets of hot water heated
on the stove. While the dirty clothes soaked, she took a glass of ginger ale and a
plate of crackers to Abigail’s room. The girl’s eyes opened as soon as Helen entered.

“How are Isabelle and Rachel?” the girl asked through cracked lips. “I’m sorry you
had to clean them up. I wanted to do it, but I felt so weak.”

“They’re fine. They’re sound asleep. No need to apologize.” Helen took the damp cloth
she’d slung over her shoulder and used it to dab at the girl’s feverish forehead.
“Try to eat a cracker and drink a little ginger ale and then you need to do the same.”

“I don’t think I can swallow.” Abigail eyed the plate of crackers. “I’m sorry you
went to all that trouble to bring me…”

“You need to stop apologizing.” Helen paused for a second. She always apologized for
everything too. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll leave the plate. Take a nap and when you’re
feeling better, you can have a snack.”

Abigail squirmed under the blanket and then sat up. “Wait, don’t go.”

“Did you need something?” Helen paused at the door. “If you feel sick, just use that
bucket I set on the floor there. Don’t try to get out of bed.”

“It’s not that. It’s just that…I mean.” Her cheeks, already rosy from fever, darkened.
“Edmond says you don’t want him to see me anymore.”

“Your daed doesn’t want it.”

“But it’s my rumspringa…”

“You should talk to your father about it.”

“Don’t you like me?” Her chin trembled and her voice quavered. “I try to be nice.
I know I’m new here and you don’t really know me. There’s probably other girls who
would be better for Edmond, but I promise I’ll try…”

The girl slapped both hands to her face and burst into tears.

“Abigail, Abigail!” Helen rushed to the bed. She sat down so she could put an arm
around her. “Honey, I like you fine. You seem like a nice girl. I haven’t given any
thought to Edmond courting. I hadn’t even thought of him as being old enough. Silly
me, he seems like a little boy to me.”

“I miss my old house,” Abigail sobbed, her shoulders heaving. “I miss my mudder.”

“I know you do.” Helen patted her thin shoulders. “You’ll get used to it, and in the
meantime, Edmond gives you company.”

“Jah. He talks to me. And he listens to me. He asks me what it was like in Indiana.
And he knows what it’s like to lose a parent. He knows how I feel.”

So Edmond had given this girl the company she needed. Remorse at how she’d treated
her son roared through Helen like a stampede of horses. He was nice. Her son was a
nice person who felt bad for a young girl far from home.

“I’m glad you two can talk.”

“Are you?”

“Jah, I am.”

“Why can’t my daed see that?”

“He’s scared.”

“Scared? Daed isn’t scared of anything.”

“He’s scared of not being a good parent. I know. So am I.”

“You’re
gut
. He’s
gut
. He takes care of all of us every day.”

“That’s right. That’s why you need to give him some time to get used to you and Edmond.
Just give him some time. Now go to sleep. You need to rest so you can get better.”

The girl’s eyes closed before Helen finished the sentence. Feeling ashamed of herself,
Helen tiptoed away from the bed and slipped down the hallway and checked on the little
ones again. She’d let Gabriel’s view of the situation between Abigail and Edmond color
her own opinions. She’d been wrong to do that. Edmond was a good boy. Abigail was
a good girl. Edmond had shown kindness toward her. Welcomed a stranger into their
midst. He should be commended, not condemned.

Determined to do better by him, Helen turned her attention to the little girls. Rachel
had worked her way to the side of the bed—precariously close to falling off. Helen
tugged her small body back toward the center. The little one felt hot to the touch.
Helen smoothed her blond curls from her face. Such a cute face, with the same almond-shaped
eyes and round face as her older sister. Two special children. A handful.

She sighed. Special children were gifts from God. But for a widower with eight children,
these two presented an even bigger challenge. They had no mudder to help them learn
what they could and take care of what they couldn’t. She pressed a kiss on her fingertips
and touched the girl’s cheek with them.
God, help Gabriel with these blessings. You have not given him more than he can handle.
Help him to rise willingly and lovingly to the yoke
.

She tucked a sheet over Isabelle and moved back into the hallway. Something banged
in the next bedroom. Helen plowed to a stop. She and the girls were alone in the house.
Or so she had thought. Shuffling noises followed. Perhaps Gabriel had returned? No,
he asked her to come to the house because he had the shop to open. It couldn’t be
him. Unless he’d forgotten something. Or one of the boys? They were supposed to be
working. Her palms sweaty, hands shaking, Helen tiptoed toward the open door. She
peeked in. “Gabriel?”

A young man spun around—Gabriel’s son Daniel, she thought—with a folded shirt in his
hand. “What? Oh, it’s you. Helen.”

“That’s me. You’re Daniel, right?”

“Jah.” His gaze traveled beyond her. “What are you doing here? Where’s Abigail?”

“Abigail’s sick.” Helen glanced at the bed. Daniel had thrown open a battered suitcase
over the quilt. The suitcase held a small pile of pants. “So are the little ones.
Your daed asked me to take care of them until he could return.”

“Well, okay.” He dropped the shirt on top of the other clothes, then stood there,
hands dangling, his expression uncertain. “I…I just…I’m…”

“Looks like you’re packing.”

“Jah.” He turned his back on her and went to a row of hooks on the far wall. There
he removed another pair of pants and a nightshirt. “I am.”

“Can I ask why? Where are you going?” It was none of her business, but something in
the young man’s rigid posture and flushed face told Helen the question needed to be
asked. “Does your daed know you’re taking a trip?”

“It’s not a trip.”

“What then? You’re too old to run away from home.”

“I’m not running away from home.” He turned and faced her then. His expression said
she had no right to probe into his life. “I’m going back to my home.”

“Ach.”
Helen’s heart contracted. Surprised, she tried to grasp the reasons why. Gabriel
might evoke all sorts of mixed emotions in her, but she recognized the symptoms of
a lingering broken heart in another. He didn’t deserve this new pain. A child leaving.
Without saying goodbye. Without offering an explanation.

“I’ve made soup. It’s good. Have some before you go.” Maybe she could stall him until
Gabriel returned. “Fortify yourself for the long trip. Indiana is a mighty long way
from here.”

Daniel glanced out the open window where a white curtain fluttered in the soft midday
breeze. “I can’t stop for food. Like you said, Indiana is a mighty long way.”

“Then let me pack you a sandwich. No sense wasting your nest egg on food along the
way.”

“Nest egg?”

“Surely you’ve saved money for the journey. How are you getting there?”

“Bus. Mr. Carver from the Stop-N-Go is giving me a ride to the bus stop.”