shop, as if it were only a day rather than years since he’d visited last. Jacob fingered the material. It was too small for him, and so he put on Joe’s. Next, he pulled on gloves to protect his hands.
The shop was warm, the heat from the fire a bit overwhelming as he set metal into flame until it glowed an orange red. Next, he hammered it into the shape of a horseshoe on the steel anvil. The sound of his cross-peen hammer against the glowing metal filled the room, rewarding him with a sense of familiar satisfaction. He hammered, checked the metal, fired it up again and hammered some more, then he suddenly became aware of someone’s presence. He didn’t have to look toward the doorway to know who had entered the shop. “Annie,” he said without looking up. “Do you need something?”
“Nay,” she called back, to be heard over the ring of iron against steel as he continued his work. “I’ve brought you a drink.”
Jacob stopped pounding, set down his tools and glanced her way. “Water,” he said with a grateful smile.
She carried the refreshments to the worktable on the opposite side of the room. “Dat said you’d be thirsty.”
“Ja,” he said, watching her closely. “I could use a drink.” She poured him a glass of water and offered it to him. He nodded his thanks and took a sip. “Just what I needed.”
“I brought cookies, too.” She placed the plate on the workbench within his reach. “For whenever you’re hungry,” she added. “Dat said you’re to join us for lunch.”
“You don’t have to feed me,” he said carefully.
“We’ve got plenty. So, you’ll come? Dat will be pleased if you do.”
“And you?” he dared to ask. “Will you mind?”
She blushed. “I’m asking you, aren’t I?” Her expression became unreadable. “We’re grateful that you’re handling Dat’s work.”
“First see how I do before you’re too grateful.”
“Dat has confidence in your abilities, so I do, too.” She touched a hand to her prayer kapp. “You will come?”
He noted the vibrant gold in her blond hair. “Ja, I’ll be there. I wouldn’t want to disappoint Joe.” He locked gazes with her.
She looked away. “I’d better finish my chores—”
He glanced down at the cooling metal. He would have to fire it up again before he could continue the job. “And I better get back to work.”
She hesitated. “If there is anything you need before then, come to the haus and let us know.”
He nodded and turned his attention back to the forge, conscious of the exact moment when Annie left the shop.
* * *
Annie was stirring the pan of chicken potpie when she heard her brother’s voice coming from the front of the house.
“Jacob!” Peter cried. “Come eat!”
Although she listened carefully, Annie couldn’t hear his reply, but she recognized Jacob’s deep male voice.
“Bread done?” Mam entered the room from the other side.
“Ja,” Annie said. “Fresh from the oven and ready to be sliced. I took the butter out of the refrigerator.”
“I’ll open a jar of chow-chow,” her mother said, referring to garden vegetables canned in a sweet-and-sour mix.
“I made a pitcher of iced tea this morning,” Annie told her. “And lemonade.” She filled a pitcher for those who preferred water.
Peter entered, followed closely by her father in his wheelchair. “Dat, I would have brought you something to eat.” Her voice trailed off when she saw who stood behind the chair.
“Hallo,” Jacob said as he pushed Joe’s chair farther into the room. “It smells wonderful in here.”
Mam turned from the kitchen counter with the dish of chow-chow. “I’m glad you could join us, Jacob.”
“I’m happy you asked.” He flashed Annie a look that made the heat rise in her face.
Annie scrambled to move furniture to accommodate her father’s wheelchair at the table. Then she turned to the stove, where she ladled their meal into a large ceramic bowl. “I hope you like chicken potpie.”
“Ja, ’tis one of my favorites.” Jacob smiled as he took the seat where instructed, next to her father. “Did ya make it?”
Annie shook her head. “Nay, Mam did.”
“You helped with the pie squares,” her mam said.
Annie had, in fact, rolled out the dough thinly, and she’d cut it into one-inch squares. Unlike the pie-crusted potpies made by the English, the Amish recipe for chicken potpie did not have a two-part flaky crust surrounding the cooked chicken and vegetables, nor was it baked in the oven. The women in their Amish community cooked the chicken in a stockpot until the meat was tender and the water became broth. Then they added vegetables and seasoning. Once the time was right, they stirred in pie squares, similar to the dough the English used in their chicken-and-dumpling recipes. Annie had learned the recipe from her mother at a young age, and over the years, she’d become skilled at making the thick, tasty dish.
The wonderful scent of chicken and the lingering aroma of baked bread permeated the kitchen, smelling delicious. Annie set the bowl on the table and went back for the bread. She placed the basket next to the main course.
The meal was simple, but there was plenty to eat. Annie put a hefty amount on each plate while her mother passed around the chow-chow bowl.
“Bread?” Annie extended the basket toward Jacob. “There’s butter and strawberry jam.”
Jacob smiled as he took a thick, crusty slice but he declined the toppings, apparently preferring to eat his bread plain.
“Where’s Josiah?” her mother asked with a frown.
“He’s coming. He’s out in the fields,” Annie told her. She heard the front door open and footsteps as someone entered the house.
Joe smiled. “There he is now.”
Annie saw her brother walk into the kitchen and note Jacob’s presence.
“How goes it in the shop?” Josiah asked pleasantly as he took a seat next to Annie, who sat across from Jacob.
“Just getting used to it again,” Jacob said, “but it’s beginning to feel like home.”
Her brother looked relieved, and her father appeared pleased. “Let me know if you need anything,” Josiah said. He addressed his father. “It’s nearly harvest time, Dat.”
Dat nodded. “Find out when the others are bringing in their crops. See if anyone
