coiled in the pit of Honor’s stomach and made her throat tighten. It had taken her years to put Luke in her past...to try to forget him. And how many hours had she prayed to forgive him? That was still a work in progress. But she wouldn’t let him upset her life. Not now. Not ever again. And yet, here he was in her home. God, give me the strength, she pleaded silently.
Confusion reigned in the damp laundry room where the ceiling sagged and the single window was cracked and leaked air around the rotting frame. Her baby daughter, Anke, began to wail again, and Justice was whining.
“Inside,” Honor ordered, pointing. “You’ll have to forgive the state of the house,” she said over her shoulder to Sara. She chose to ignore Luke as she led the way into the kitchen. “The roof has a leak. Leaks.” Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Water dripped from the ceiling into an assortment of buckets and containers. Not that she had to tell Sara that the roof leaked. She could see it for herself. She could hear the cascade of falling drops.
Honor gazed around the kitchen, seeing it as her visitors must, a high-ceilinged room with exposed beams overhead, a bricked-up fireplace and cupboards with sagging doors. She’d painted the room a pale lemon yellow, polished the windowpanes until they shone and done her best with the patchy, cracked linoleum floor, but it was plain that soap and elbow grease did little against forty years of neglect. What must Sara think of her? As for Luke, she told herself that she didn’t care what he thought.
But she did.
“Tanner,” Honor said brusquely. “Take your brothers to the bathroom. Greta will give you all a bath and clean clothes. As soon as I find her,” she added. “But you’ve not heard the end of this,” she warned, shaking a finger. It was an empty threat. She knew it and the children did, too, but it seemed like something a mother should say. She put the baby into her play yard and looked around. Where was that girl? Greta, sixteen, was not nearly as much help as Honor had hoped she would be when she’d agreed to have the girl come live with her. Sometimes, Honor felt as if Greta was just another child to tend to. “Tanner, where is Greta?”
Tanner flushed and suddenly took a great interest in a tear in the linoleum between his feet.
Justice piped up. “Feed room.”
Tanner lifted his head to glare at his brother.
“What did you say?” Honor asked.
“Feed room.” Justice clapped his hands over his mouth and giggled.
“What’s she doing in the feed room?” Honor frowned, fearing the answer as she spoke.
Justice shrugged. “Can’t get out.” He cast a knowing look at his older brother, Tanner, whose face was growing redder by the second.
Honor brought the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Did you lock her in again?”
Tanner’s blue eyes widened as he pointed at Elijah. “Not me. He did it.”
“And you let him? Shame on you. You’re the big boy. You’re supposed to—”
“Wait, someone’s locked in the feed room?” Luke interrupted, using his handkerchief to wipe the splatters of mud off his face.
“Tanner, you go this minute and let Greta out,” Honor ordered, still ignoring the fact that Luke, her Luke, was standing in her kitchen. “And the three of you are in big trouble. There will be no apple pie for any of you tonight.”
“I’ll go,” Luke offered, shoving his handkerchief into the pants he’d borrowed from Sara’s hired hand. “Where’s the feed room?”
“Barn,” Tanner supplied.
“The’th in the barn,” Elijah lisped.
Luke turned back toward the outer door.
Honor watched him go. The way it was pouring rain, he’d get soaked. She didn’t care. She turned back to her boys. “Upstairs!” she said. “Go find dry clothes. Now. I’ll send Greta up to run your bath. And you haven’t heard the last of this. I promise you that.”
They ran.
Honor exhaled and glanced at Sara. “I’m not as terrible a mother as I must seem. I was changing Anke’s diaper. I thought Elijah was in his bed napping and the other two playing upstairs. Fully dressed. They were dressed the last time I saw them.” She pressed her hand to her forehead again. “Really, they were.”
Sara looked around the kitchen. She didn’t have to say anything. Honor wanted to sink through the floor. Not that her kitchen was dirty. It wasn’t, except that she’d been making bread. Who wouldn’t scatter a little flour on the counter or floor? There were no dirty dishes in the sink, no sour diaper smell, and if her boys looked like muddy scarecrows, at least the baby was clean and neat. But the buckets all over the room...
“I hired someone to fix the roof and make the repairs to the house,” Honor explained. “But—” She gave a wave. “It’s a long story, but basically, it won’t be happening anytime soon.”
“I know,” Sara supplied. “I heard. Robert Swartzentruber fell off a ladder and broke his ankle. A pity.”
“Ya, a pity. Poor man. I’ve been looking for a replacement, but—” she opened her arms “—I’ve been a little busy.”
“Which is exactly why I brought Luke Weaver,” Sara said smoothly.
Honor studied her. Did Sara know about her and Luke? She must know. But it had all happened before Sara came to Seven Poplars. Maybe she didn’t know. “Why him?” she asked.
“He’s a master carpenter. And he’s new to town and looking for work.”
“I’m sorry. No, that’s not possible.” Honor picked up a small tree branch, brought in by one of her boys, and tossed it in the trash can. She checked her tone before she spoke again, because she’d been accused more than once of speaking too sharply to people. Of having too strong an opinion. “Luke Weaver is not working on my house,” she declared. “I don’t want him here. He’s the last carpenter I’d—”
“Honor.” Sara cut her off. “Think of your children. If you have a leak in the kitchen, you must have them elsewhere in the house. And your back step is broken. And you’ve got a cracked windowpane in your laundry room and another on the second floor. And the bad winter weather hasn’t even set in on us.”
“Half the house is broken,” Honor answered honestly. Her late husband had bought the farm without her ever seeing the place. He’d promised to fix it up, but he hadn’t kept many promises. And now she was left to deal with it.
“Don’t let pride or an old disagreement keep you from doing what’s best for your children,” Sara cautioned.
So she knew something. The question was, what had he told her? “Just not him,” Honor repeated. “Anyone else. I can pay. I don’t need...” It was difficult to keep from raising her voice. Sara didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. Honor didn’t need Luke. Couldn’t have him here. Why would he ever believe she would let him walk in and then hire him?
“I’m not asking you to marry him,” Sara said with an amused look. “I know you have a history—”
