and I will tell them what they need to know about her.”
Her thoughts were bursting with objections, but Jessie kept herself from voicing them. “I didn’t mean any harm, Caleb. Isn’t it better that they hear people speak about Alice naturally?”
The lines in his face deepened, and Jessie felt a pang of regret for the loss of the laughing, open person he’d once been.
“I won’t discuss it. You’ll have to do as I see fit during your visit.”
He’d managed to avoid speaking Alice’s name thus far, and that should have been a warning in itself. Arguing would do no good.
“Whatever you say. I’m just here to help in any way I can.”
Some of the tension seemed to drain out of Caleb, but not much. She suspected there was more to come, and suspected, too, that she wasn’t going to like it.
“Since you’re here, you may as well visit with the kinder for a few days.” Instead of looking at her, he focused on the National Parks calendar tacked to the kitchen wall. “I’ll arrange for you to take the bus back to Ohio on Friday.”
“Friday? You mean this Friday? Two days from now?” She hadn’t expected this to be easy, but she also hadn’t anticipated being turned away so quickly.
Caleb gave a short nod, still not meeting her eyes. He swung the chair away from her as if to dismiss her.
Without thinking, Jessie reached out to stop him, grabbing his arm. His muscles felt like ropes under her hand, and the heat of his skin seared through the cotton of his sleeve. She let go as if she’d touched a hot pan.
“Please, Caleb. I came to help out while you’re laid up. Obviously you need a woman here, and your uncle mentioned that the person who had been helping couldn’t any longer. Please let me fill in.”
A muscle twitched in Caleb’s jaw as if he fought to contain himself. “We’ll get along fine. We don’t need your help.”
He sounded like Becky. And arguing with him would do about as much good as arguing with a six-year-old.
Would it help or hurt if she showed him the letter Alice had written a few days before she died, asking Jessie to do what she could for the kinder? While she struggled for an answer, he swung away again and wheeled himself toward the door.
“Friday,” he said over his shoulder. “You’ll be on Friday’s bus.”
Jessie lingered in the kitchen until Daniel and the kinder returned. Becky and Timothy ran straight to the living room, as if they couldn’t bear to be parted from their daadi for more than a few minutes. Daniel, with what she thought might have been a sympathetic glance at her, followed them.
She stood, irresolute, watching the red glow in the western sky over the ridge. It turned slowly to pink, fading as dusk crept into the valley. She wasn’t used to being surrounded by hills this way. Her area of Ohio was fairly flat—good farmland. These enclosing ridges seemed to cut her off from everything she knew.
Caleb made good use of the land on the valley floor, and his dairy herd of forty head was apparently considered fairly large here. Where the ground started to slope upward toward the ridge, she’d spotted an orchard, with some of the trees already in blossom. Too bad she wouldn’t be here to see the fruit begin to form. Caleb would see to that.
She turned abruptly toward the living room. Best make what use she could of the little time he seemed willing to grant her with the kinder. As she entered, she heard Becky’s plaintive voice.
“But isn’t Daadi going to help us get ready for bed?” She stood in front of her father’s wheelchair, and her look of dismay was echoed by the one on Caleb’s face.
“Ach, Becky, you know Daadi won’t be able to go upstairs for a bit,” Zeb gently chided her. “That’s why we fixed up the room downstairs for him.”
“I’m sorry.” Caleb cupped his daughter’s cheek with his hand, his expression so tender it touched Jessie’s heart. “You go along now, and come tell me good-night when you’re ready.”
Timothy was already rubbing his eyes. It had been a big day for a not-quite-four-year-old.
“Komm. I’ll help you.” When Jessie held out her hand, Timothy took it willingly enough.
But Becky’s eyes flashed. “We don’t need your help.”
The sharp words were so unexpectedly rude coming from an Amish child that for a moment Jessie was stunned. She realized Zeb was frowning at Caleb, while Caleb was studiously avoiding his eyes.
“Becky, I’m ashamed of you to speak so to Cousin Jessie.” Zeb had apparently decided that Caleb wasn’t going to correct the child. “You go up at once with Cousin Jessie, and don’t let me hear you talk in such a way again.”
Becky looked rebellious for a moment, but at a nod from her father, she scurried ahead of Jessie and her brother, her cheeks flaming. Jessie, clutching Timmy’s hand, hurried after her.
She was quick, but not quite quick enough. Behind her, she heard Zeb’s voice.
“Caleb, I should not have had to speak to Becky. It’s your job to teach your kinder how to behave.”
Caleb’s response was an irritable grumble that faded as she reached the top of the stairs.
“That’s me and Becky’s room,” Timothy informed her, pointing. “And that’s where Daadi sleeps. Onkel Daniel has that next one.”
“Onkel Zeb is sleeping in the little front room,” Becky said. “He had to move to make room for you.” She shot a defiant look at Jessie.
But Jessie had no intention of responding in kind. Becky must see that rudeness wouldn’t drive her away, if that was what the child had in mind. It had been a natural thing in a houseful of men for Zeb to put her into the adjoining daadi haus.
“It was nice of Onkel Zeb to let me use the daadi haus,” she said. “He’s a kind person, ain’t so?”
Becky was forced to nod, and Timothy tugged at Jessie’s hand, his sister’s rebellion clearly passing over his head. “I’ll show you where everything is.”
With Timothy’s help, Jessie soon figured out how he expected to be gotten ready for bed. She had to smile at his insistence on doing everything exactly the same way as always, according to him. Her brother’s kinder were just like that. His wife always said that if they did something once, it immediately became a tradition they mustn’t break.
The bathroom was as modern as those in any Englisch house, save for the gas lights. And she’d noticed a battery-powered lantern in the children’s bedroom—a sensible solution when a light might be needed quickly. Caleb had done his best to make the farmhouse welcoming for Alice and the kinder, but that hadn’t seemed to help Alice’s discontent.
Alice had been too young, maybe. Not ready to settle down. She’d thought marriage and the move to Lost
