Snowfall (16 page)

No, she thought he was staring at her because of some flaw.

And that was when he realized that Ruth had no feminine wiles. At all. She was a completely different sort than Grace, who had been sweet as could be, but also very aware of her pleasing appearance.

Grace had been pretty. She also had known it. He'd never thought that to be a bad thing, and he still didn't. It had given her a confidence around most people, and her lively nature had been a blessing when all of the
kinner
were so terribly small.

In addition, she'd accepted her beauty the way he'd accepted that he was taller than most and had broader shoulders. God had given them those attributes, and it would have been a shame to hide them.

But while Ruth might not have Grace's striking looks, she was far from being plain. Very far. She also had a quiet grace about her, and her easygoing nature was just as appealing as Grace's chatter and bright laughter.

But the difference was that Ruth had no idea she was so appealing. Actually, one would think she had a scar or a handicap or blemished skin or, well, something that someone had teased her about at one time or another.

Now, as he was sitting at the kitchen table watching her make a big pot of beef and barley soup, he knew he was in danger of saying something inappropriate. It wasn't the time to hint about his burgeoning feelings.

Martin shook his head. He needed to get some space.

“Ruth, I'm going to go to the tree farm.”

She turned at his abrupt tone. Confusion—and, perhaps, disappointment—filled her features before she carefully tamped them down. “I didn't realize you were going in today.”

“It can't be helped. It's almost Christmas, you know.”

“Of course. Don't worry about your children. I'll take good care of them.”

“I know you will,” he said quietly before he realized that he was giving away too much. “I mean, you are doing a good job with the
kinner
. And they like you.”

Warmth entered her eyes. “And I like them.”

There was that pull again, tempting him to say more than he should. Tempting him to feel more than he'd ever felt before.

Carefully, he tamped it down again. It wouldn't do for her to know how much he'd started to think about her. “I won't be back until after supper.”

“I'll save you a plate.”

“That's not necessary.”

“Maybe not. But still, I will save you a plate.”

“
Danke
.” He turned, pushing away all the words that were on his tongue that had to do with all kinds of things that shouldn't be said. With more haste than was necessary, he grabbed his stocking cap, thick leather gloves, and wool coat, and exited, fastening his coat as he did so.

It was going to be a very long afternoon. He could only hope that he had so much work to do that he wouldn't have a spare minute to think about everything at home.

To settle on the person who had inadvertently made his house into a home, all over again.

Daed says Christmas is for family. That's
gut,
'cause we've got a lot of that.

Thomas, Age 8

The moment the door clicked tightly shut, Ruth leaned her head back and called herself every kind of a fool. “What did you think he was going to say to you, Ruth?” she murmured to herself. “That he was starting to feel something for you?”

Of course, she knew she was being more than a little harsh to both herself and Martin. They'd become friends, she knew that. She knew that even when she eventually left the Rhodeses' house and searched for a new job that she'd always be friends with Martin and his children.

She knew if they ran into each other in town or at the store they would probably stop and chat.

Being here was nothing, nothing like living in a relative's house, unwanted and as a focus of charity. She was getting paid for her time and getting paid well. She was also treated well, like an equal, and that was a nice thing.

She was the one who was at fault, suddenly changing their roles and wishing for things that couldn't happen. She was the one who was at fault, not him.

After checking on the children and seeing that Katrina and the twins were playing dolls in their room, Meg was napping, and Gregory was building a Lego set next to Frank, she realized that only Thomas was unaccounted for.

Happy to have something to do, Ruth walked up to his room and peeked in.

Sure enough, he was in his room, but not sleeping. Instead, he was lying on his side and staring out the window. When she entered the room, he rolled onto his other side and faced her. “Hiya, Ruth.”

“Hiya to you, too,” she replied with what she hoped was a cheerier smile than how she was feeling.

Sitting on the side of his bed, she reached out and felt his forehead and frowned. He was feverish and absolutely covered with spots. “You look like you've got a
gut
case of the pox,” she murmured. “You might even have it the worst.”

“Lucky me.” He attempted to smile, but it faded almost immediately.

“Well, you do seem to take things to extremes, Thomas,” she murmured as she reached out and lightly rubbed his back.

One corner of his lip rose before he frowned again. “I hate being sick.”

“I know. In just a minute I'll go run you another oatmeal bath. Those seem to help.”

“They make the water feel slimy and gross.”

“I know. But what can you do?”

He stared at her for a minute before cracking a smile. “You're funny, Ruth.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” she said lightly, though a lump had formed in her throat. She was really going to miss this little boy.

“
Nee
, I mean it,” he said as his smile grew broader. “I like you being here. You make things better.”

“I'm glad to hear that because I like being here.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do, though I wish I was here for a different reason.”

He blinked. “Like what kind of reason?”

Immediately, she wished she could rewind the last two minutes. “You know what I meant. I feel bad that all of you are sick, that's all. We could have had more fun together if everyone wasn't feeling so bad.”

“When we're all better you'll be gone.” He frowned.

She felt like frowning, too. But that wouldn't do, so she simply nodded. “
Jah
, I will, I'm afraid.”

“I wish you were going to stay longer.”

She did, too. “You
kinner
won't need me when you're back at school.”

“Do you ever wish you were a part of our family? Then you could stay?”

What would be the benefit of admitting such a thing? “I wish a lot of things,” she said evasively.

“Like what?”

Grasping at straws, she pointed to the window. “Well, I wish it would look more Christmasy. I wish it would snow.”

“Me, too. Do you think we'll get snow for Christmas?”

When she noticed he was feeling a little chilled, she smoothed his covers and tucked him back in. “I don't know. I haven't been around anyone but you children. I'm not sure what the weather reports say.”

“I hope it snows, but I doubt it will.”

“What happens will happen,” she said simply. Long ago, she'd taken those words to heart.

His eyes narrowed. “That's true. Ain't so?”

“God knows what He wants to happen. That's what we must always remember.
Gott
knows best for us.”

“Hey, Ruth?”

“Hmm?”

“Do ya remember your parents?” he asked around a yawn.

Ruth inhaled sharply. No one ever asked about her family. And because the memories hurt too much, she often took care not to think about her parents, too. But the boy was staring at her with so much hope in his eyes, she knew he was thinking about his mother. And about how time moved on.

“I do,” she said softly. “My parents were older than most of my friends' parents. I was their surprise baby after fourteen years of marriage. When I came along, they'd long since given up hope of having a family.”

“Were they even older than my
daed
?”

She chuckled. “Oh,
jah
. My father was forty-eight when I was born, my
mamm
forty-three.”

“What were they like? I mean, besides being so old.”

“They were kind, I remember that. And they were kind of goofy.”

“Goofy?” His lips curved up. “How did you know?”

“I didn't realize it at the time, I thought all parents were like mine. But after being with other families . . .” Her voice drifted off before she cleared her throat and remembered to keep the pain from her voice. “After being around them, I realized that other mothers and fathers didn't do the things mine did.”

“What did your
mamm
and
daed
do?”

“They played games with me. We did things together. Everything was always the three of us,” she added, realizing with dismay that she hadn't let herself think of such things in a long time. “Let's see, what else? My
daed
liked to fish. My
mamm
didn't care for it much, but she used to sit with him on the bank and watch. When I came along, I used to sit with them and try to be quiet.” As he shifted and yawned again, she smiled. “I'm afraid I never did too good of a job. I liked to talk, you see.”

“And then they died?”

“They did.” The loss shouldn't hurt so much but it did. She forced herself to continue even though she felt she would rather do just about anything else. “My father had a heart attack and my
mamm
kind of wasted away not long after.”

“Did she have a heart attack, too?”

Ruth had always imagined it was more like a broken heart, but that sounded too tragic, too full of angst. So she simply shrugged. “More or less.”

“That's sad.”

She blinked, struck by the matter-of-fact way he said it. And by the truth of it, too. It was sad. Terribly sad indeed. “It was sad, but it couldn't be helped. The good Lord wanted them up in heaven, you see.”

“And now you are okay.”

“You are right. Now I am okay.” Anxious to move away from the focus on herself, she ruffled his hair. “Just like one day you will be okay, too. These chicken pox will pass, Thomas. I promise.”

“I know. Gregory says he's already feeling better.”

“See?” She got up. “Now before you get too sleepy, I'm going to draw you a bath.”

“Am I allowed to say that I still don't like those baths?”

“Of course you are allowed. But you're still going to have to take one. It will make you feel better.”

After drawing the bath and helping Thomas get a fresh towel and clothes to change into, she left him to soak, then checked on the girls again. Since they were still doing all right, she headed downstairs and decided to make some sheets of gingerbread. Tomorrow, perhaps, they could cut out shapes and make some simple houses.

She made the dough, placed it in the oven, then set to make some bean and ham soup.

Soon after she chopped the vegetables, Meg came in to keep her company. Then came the twins. Followed by Gregory and Frank. At last, Katrina joined them.

After filling them all in about their father, she served a simple meal of soup and corn bread and showed them the gingerbread pieces she'd baked.

They'd just finished their simple meals when the back door opened and Martin entered. His cheeks were red from the cold, but he still had a smile for the children.

She washed the children's bowls and plates as he chatted with them and got an update on their spots.

Of course, that led to a flurry of complaints and show-and-tell, each boy or girl anxious to have the worst or best case of chicken pox.

During the next hour, she coaxed the children back to their beds. Meg and Thomas went right to sleep. The others were tucked in and were looking at picture books.

She was just thinking of making herself a cup of hot tea and lying down when she spied Martin sitting by himself at the kitchen table, his bowl of soup practically untouched.

Before she took time to reflect that perhaps he would rather she give him some time and space, she pulled up a chair next to him. “Are you all right?”

Martin lifted his chin and met her gaze. Ruth realized he looked more than a little taken aback, almost as if he was surprised to be asked.

But then he must have seen something in her eyes that reassured him, because he spoke. “I guess I'll have to be all right. Christmas Eve is tomorrow.”

He sounded so wistful, he spurred a memory, one she'd long ago hidden away.

Before she could stop herself from revealing something so silly, she murmured, “When I was little, I used to think that the angels were probably busiest on Christmas Eve. I used to go to sleep by imagining them flitting from one place to the next.”

He smiled. “That's a nice image. I suppose they are seeing to the needs of their flock—and proclaiming the good news.”

Her shoulders relaxed, glad that for whatever reason she'd coaxed a smile from him. “The children will be all right, Martin. None of them are very feverish anymore. Just uncomfortable.”

“I'm embarrassed to tell you this, but I've been actually spending most of my time worrying about all those Christmas trees instead of my children.” He brushed a hand along his neatly trimmed beard. “I feel guilty about that, but I can't seem to help myself, either. A lot depends on making a profit this month.”

“I know. Did everything go okay today?”

He shrugged. “Well enough. It's been better than last year. Not as good as a couple of other years, but
gut
. Plus Floyd said he expects a lot more customers tomorrow morning. That needs to be good enough for me,” he said around a sigh. “After all, after tomorrow, the sale will be over. We'll have another season behind us and there won't be much more I can do.”