with his grandmother’s oatmeal. It was tasty and filling, but after eating it every morning since he was discharged from the hospital, he longed for pork sausage, bacon, over-easy eggs and home fries. And he was tired of her chicken noodle soup that they ate for dinner and supper most days, unless a neighbor was kind enough to drop by with a meal. “A few more days and I’ll be up and about,” he told his uncle. “I can take over the cooking, like I used to.”
His uncle scoffed. “Unless you want to end up back in the hospital, you’ll follow doctor’s orders. A broken thighbone’s a serious thing. In the meantime, the house is getting away from us, and so is the laundry.” He shook his head. “It’s a good thing I’m blind. Otherwise I would have been ashamed to go to church in a shirt that’s been worn three Sundays and not been washed and ironed.”
“No. Housekeeper,” Freeman repeated firmly, emphasizing each syllable.
Jehu’s terrier, Tip, leaped off the bed and ran barking to the door.
“Too late.” Uncle Jehu broke into a self-satisfied grin. “Sounds like a buggy coming. Must be Sara Yoder and her girl now.”
“You should send her back. We don’t need her,” Freeman protested, but only half-heartedly. He knew the battle was lost. He wouldn’t hurt the poor girl’s feelings by sending her away now that she was here. He would have to make the best of it.
“Ne. You heard Ivy. I already hired her.” Jehu didn’t sound a bit repentant; in fact, he seemed quite pleased with himself.
Freeman had a lot of respect for his mother’s oldest brother, and more than that, he loved him. It was a pity when a man couldn’t be master in his own house. Freeman was used to having his grandmother living in the grossmama haus. She’d been part of the household even before his parents died, and the two of them got along as easily as chicken and dumplings. But Uncle Jehu had only come to live with him the previous summer and didn’t always seem to understand that Freeman liked to do things his own way. Caring for his uncle was his responsibility, and he was glad to do it, but he didn’t want to have decisions made for him as if he were still a child.
“Fine,” Freeman muttered, feeling frustrated that he couldn’t even get up to greet Sara and the housekeeper properly. It was demeaning to be laid out in a bed like this. But after a complication the previous week, his surgeon had been adamant. Freeman needed to keep his leg elevated at all times for another three days. “Who is this housekeeper? Do I know her?”
“She’s from Apple Valley church district, but the two of you have probably crossed paths somewhere.”
“You can at least tell me her name if you’re forcing me to have her in my house.”
His uncle looked up, sightless brown eyes calm and peaceful. “Name’s Katie. Katie Byler.”
“Katie Byler!” Freeman repeated. “Absolutely not.” He flinched as he spoke and pain shot up his leg. He groaned, reaching down to steady his casted leg. “Not Katie Byler, Uncle Jehu. Anyone but Katie Byler.” He frowned. “She’s the bossiest woman I ever met.”
His uncle chuckled. “I thought you said your mudder was the bossiest woman you ever met. Ya, I distinctly remember you saying that.” He rose, tucked his loop of string into his trousers’ pocket and made his way to the door. He chuckled again. “And maybe my sister was. But I never saw that it did your father any harm.”
“Please, Uncle Jehu,” Freeman groaned. “Get someone else. Anybody else.”
“Too late,” his uncle proclaimed. He pushed open the door and grinned. “Sara, Katie. Come on in. Freeman and I’ve been waiting for you.”
* * *
Katie followed Sara into the Kemp house, pausing just inside the doorway to allow her vision to adjust to the interior after the bright July sunshine.
“Here’s Katie,” Sara announced, “just as I promised, Jehu. She’ll lend a hand with the housework until he’s back on his feet.” She motioned Katie to approach the bed. “I think you two already know each other.”
“Ya,” Freeman admitted gruffly. “We do.”
“We’re so glad you could come to help out,” his uncle said. “As you can see by this mess, you haven’t come a day too early.”
Katie removed her black bonnet, straightened her spine, and took in a deep breath. The girls were right about one thing; Freeman Kemp wasn’t hard on the eyes. Even lying flat in a bed, one leg encased in an uncomfortable-looking cast, he was still a striking figure of a man. The indoor pallor and the pain lines at the corners of his mouth couldn’t hide the clean lines of his masculine jaw, his white, even teeth, or his straight, well-formed nose and forehead. His wavy brown hair badly needed a haircut, and he had at least a week’s growth of dark beard, but the sleeveless cotton undershirt revealed a tanned neck, and broad, muscular shoulders and arms.
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.
