That was the three little pigs.”
“Maybe you’d best stick to telling them stories about when you and their daadi were small,” Zeb suggested. “And not be confusing the kinder. Or better yet, let Jessie tell the bedtime story.”
Caleb could feel his face freeze. Zeb made it sound as if Jessie would be around more than a few nights to tell them stories. She wouldn’t.
Jessie seemed to sense the awkwardness of the moment. She turned toward the kitchen. “What about some coffee and another piece of pie?”
“Sounds wonderful gut about now.” Onkel Zeb seemed to be answering for all of them.
Caleb almost said he didn’t want any. But he caught Jessie’s gaze and realized how childish that would sound. So he nodded instead. Jessie’s guarded expression relaxed in a smile, and for an instant she looked like the girl he’d spent an afternoon with all those years ago.
It was disconcerting. If he hadn’t gone to that wedding, if he hadn’t met Jessie and through her met her cousin Alice...what would his life have been then?
* * *
Jessie cleared up the plates and cups after their dessert, satisfied that her pie, at least, had met with universal approval. She’d have to take any little encouragement she could get.
Zeb and Daniel had gone to the bedroom to set up a few assistance devices the hospital had sent, leaving her and Caleb alone in the kitchen for the moment. She sent a covert glance toward him.
Caleb had his wheelchair pulled up to the kitchen table, and at the moment he was staring at the cup he still held. She suspected that he didn’t even see it. His lean face seemed stripped down to the bone, drawn with fatigue and pain. Today had been a difficult transition for him, but he wouldn’t want her to express sympathy.
No man wanted to admit to pain or weakness—she knew that well enough from being raised with six brothers. And clearly Caleb would resent it even more coming from her. The hurt she felt for him, the longing to do something to ease his pain...it would have to stay, unspoken, in her heart.
But the silence was stretching out awkwardly between them. “Becky is...” she began. But the words slipped away when Caleb focused on her.
“What about Becky?” He nearly snapped the words.
That didn’t bother her. When folks were hurting, they snapped, like an injured dog would snarl even when you were trying to help it.
“She seems so grown-up for her age. Very helpful, especially with her little bruder.”
The words of praise seemed to disarm him. “Yah, she is gut with Timothy. Always has been, especially since...” His lips shut tight then.
Especially since Alice left when he was just an infant. Those were the words he didn’t want to say. She could hardly blame him. But if only they could speak plainly about Alice, it might do everyone some good.
“I know how Becky feels. I always felt responsible for Alice after her mamm passed.”
Caleb’s strong jaw hardened. “I don’t want to talk about her. Not now. Not ever. I thought I made that clear.”
She wanted to tell him that she understood, but that hiding the pain didn’t make it go away. It just let it fester. But she couldn’t, because he wouldn’t listen. If she had more time...
“I’m sorry. I promise I won’t say anything about Alice.” Until the day you’re willing to talk. “But please, think twice about sending me away. The kinder are my own blood, like it or not. I want to care for them, and they need me. You need me.”
But she could read the answer in his face already. He spun the wheelchair away, knocking against the table leg in his haste. Impulsively she reached out to catch his arm.
“Please...”
The anger in Caleb’s eyes was so fierce she could feel the heat of it. He grabbed her wrist in a hard grip and shoved her hand away from him.
“No.” Just one word, but it was enough to send her back a step. “We don’t need you. I can take care of my kinder on my own. You’ll go on the bus on Friday.”
Jessie looked after him, biting her lip. She should have known better than to start her plea by referring to Alice. She’d been trying to show that she understood how Becky felt, but she’d approached him all wrong.
Resolutely she turned to the sink and began washing the plates and cups. If a tear or two dropped in the sudsy water, no one would know.
Caleb might not want to hear it, but she did feel responsible for Alice, just as Becky felt responsible for Timothy. She could only hope and pray Becky never went through what she had.
“You’re the older one,” her mother had always said. “You’re responsible for little Alice.”
Most of the time she’d managed that fairly well. But when she’d grown older, she’d sometimes become impatient with Alice always tagging along behind her. She’d been about eleven when it happened, so Alice had been only eight. She’d tagged along as always when Jessie and her friends had been walking home from school.
They’d been giggling, sharing secrets, the way girls did when they were just starting to notice boys. And Alice, always there, always impatient when she wasn’t the center of attention, had tried to burst into the conversation. She’d stamped her feet, angry at being rejected, and declared she was going to run away.
Jessie’s shame flared, as always, when she thought of her response. “Go ahead,” she’d said. “I won’t come after you.”
She hadn’t meant it. Everyone knew that. But Alice had run off into the woods that lined the path.
“She’ll come back,” the other girls had said. And Jessie had agreed. Alice was afraid of the woods. She wouldn’t go far. She’d trail along, staying out of sight until they were nearly home, and then jump out at them.
But it hadn’t worked out that way. Alice hadn’t reappeared. Jessie searched for her, at first annoyed, then angry, then panic-stricken. Alice had vanished.
Jessie still cringed at the memory of telling her parents. They’d formed a search party, neighbors pitching in, combing the woods on either side of the path.
Jessie had followed, weeping, unwilling to stay at the house and yet terrified of what the adults might find. She didn’t think she’d been quite so terrified since.
It had been nearly dark when the call went up that Alice had been found. Alice wasn’t hurt. They’d found her curled up under a tree, sound asleep.
Alice had clung to Jessie more than ever after that experience. And Jessie hadn’t dared let herself grow impatient—not once she’d learned what the cost of that could be. She was responsible for Alice, no matter what.
Jessie tried to wipe away a tear and only succeeded in getting soapsuds in her eye. Blinking, she wiped it with a dish towel. She heard a step behind her.
“Ach, Jessie, don’t let my nephew upset you.”
She
