milk.”
“I know.”
“How did you do all this in such a short time?” he asked as if he expected to see dirty dishes piled in a corner.
“Practice.” She smiled at the kinder. “And plenty of eager hands to help.”
He faced her, surprise in his eyes. “Those same hands make anything I try take two or three times longer than if I’d done the job by myself.”
“I know a few tricks.” She smiled. “I’m glad there are plastic glasses in the cupboard. Otherwise, I would have been sweeping up plenty of glass.”
“Ja. They sometimes confuse glasses with a volleyball.”
Her smile widened. “Wash up, and I’ll get the food on the table. It’ll be ready when you are.”
When he glanced at her in astonishment, heat rushed up her face. She was acting as if she belonged there. It wasn’t an impression she wanted to give him or anyone in Paradise Springs. As soon as he went into the bathroom, she busied herself getting milk from the refrigerator and filling each kind’s glass halfway. She needed to guard her words and remember she was the hired girl whose duties were to cook and clean and look after the kinder.
If Isaiah was bothered by what she’d said, he showed no sign when he walked into the kitchen. As he pulled out a chair, he said, “I’m amazed how fast you cleaned the kitchen. It took two of my sisters-in-law more than a day to set everything to order yesterday.”
“The kitchen was cleaned yesterday?” She halted with the casserole halfway between the stove and the table.
“Ja. They came over to help.”
Clara blurted, “You made such a mess in a single day?”
He arched a pale brow, and she laughed.
Sudden cries of dismay erupted from the twins, and Clara set the casserole on the stove. Had one of them gotten hurt? How? The shrieks threatened to freeze her blood right in her veins.
At the same time Isaiah jumped to his feet and hurried around the table to where the youngsters stood together in a clump as if trying to protect themselves from an unseen monster. Their eyes were huge in their colorless faces.
“What is it?” Isaiah asked, leaning toward them. “What’s wrong?”
All four pointed at Clara. Shock riveted her. Were they insulted by her comment about the house becoming a disaster area in a day? No, they were barely more than toddlers. They didn’t care about the state of their house.
“No laugh,” said Nettie Mae around the end of her braid she’d stuck into her mouth again. She put her finger to her lips and regarded them with big, blue eyes. “Quiet and no laugh.”
“No laugh. Quiet.” Nancy pointed at Clara. “No laugh. Gotta be quiet.”
Clara listened in appalled disbelief. Isaiah’s face revealed he was as shocked as she was.
“Not laughing is hard,” Andrew lamented. “Really, really hard.”
“Squirrel funny, but no laugh,” added his twin, his words coming out in an odd mumble. Was he trying not to cry? “Really, really hard no laughing.”
“Really, really hard.” Nettie Mae’s lower lip wobbled, and a single tear slid down her plump cheek.
Clara gasped when Isaiah sat on the floor. He held out his arms, and the kinder piled onto his lap. But there was nothing joyous about them as they held onto him like leaves fighting not to be blown away by a storm wind.
“Tell me about the squirrel,” Isaiah said. “I like funny stories.”
Andrew shook his head, and his brother and sisters did, too. “No laughing. Be quiet.”
“Who told you to be quiet?”
“She did.” He pointed an accusatory finger at Clara.
When Isaiah frowned, she said, “I asked them—”
“It’s gut,” Andrew said. “What Clara told us. To be quiet when we sing so Jesus can hear what’s in our hearts.”
Again Isaiah’s pale brows rose, but his voice became calmer as he replied, “That is true. Clara was very kind to help you learn that. Has anyone else told you to be quiet?”
“You!” Nancy poked one side of his suspenders.
He tapped her nose and smiled. “I’ve told you that a lot, because you make more noise than a whole field of crows, but you don’t listen to me. You keep chattering away.”
The twins exchanged glances, and Clara couldn’t help wondering if they had some way to know what one another was thinking. She’d heard that twins seemed to be able to communicate without words, but had no idea if it was true.
“Tell me the story about the squirrel,” Isaiah urged. “Did he chatter, too?”
Four small bodies stiffened. Nettie Mae chewed frantically on her braid, and Nancy’s thumb popped into her mouth. The boys grabbed each other’s hand and shook their heads.
“No laughing,” Andrew whispered.
Clara squatted beside them and Isaiah. “Who told you that, Andrew?”
The little boy clamped his lips closed as his eyes grew glassy with tears. Beside him, his siblings’ lips quivered.
When Isaiah started to speak, she put her hand on his shoulder to halt him. She wasn’t sure if she was more astonished at her temerity or at the pulse of sensation rippling up her arm. She didn’t want to be attracted to her employer—or any man—until she had sorted out what to do with her life. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake of believing a man loved her and then being shown how wrong she was.
Pulling her hand back, she forced a smile. Now wasn’t the time to worry about herself. She needed to focus on the kinder. “Let’s have supper,” she urged. “It’ll taste better hot than cold.” She made shooing motions, and the twins clambered onto their chairs.
She started to stand but wobbled. When Isaiah put a steadying hand on her back, she almost jumped out of her skin at the thud of awareness slamming into her so hard that, for a moment, she thought she’d fallen on the hard floor. She jumped to her feet as the kinder had and edged away so he could stand without being too close to her.
He asked quietly, “Do you have any idea what’s going on with them?”
“You’d know better than I would. You’ve been around them their whole lives.”
Gritting his teeth so hard she could hear them grind, he said, “My guess is, sometime during the funeral or the days leading up to it, someone they respect enough to listen to must have told them laughing was wrong.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. You see how they don’t always listen to me, and they love me. I’ve got no idea who might have told them not to
