The Thorn Part 19

Rose was breaking an egg into the mixture of cooking oil and milk when she heard a chair slide across the floor overhead, then the distinct sound of footsteps. The noise grew even louder as she set the oven to two hundred seventy-five degrees and the timer for thirty minutes.

Looking over at Mr. Browning, who'd dozed off, Rose could no longer contain herself. She limped over to his chair and stood in front of him, her arms poised on her hips. "Mr. Browning, please wake up!"

He mumbled in his sleep.

"Someone's moving about upstairs."

He rustled and his head came up ... his eyes opened. "What?"

"Don't you hear it?" she blurted, anxious that he not do as before and deny the sounds. "It must be Beth!"

He startled, then scowled. "How do you know that?"

"I saw her name on an envelope."

He muttered, head down again.

"I want to meet her," she said firmly.

He scratched his jaw, his eyes blinking rapidly. "You don't know what you're talking about."

His confounding behavior made her feel both angry and helpless. Rose stepped back and folded her hands in front of her. "Beth must know I'm here - that's probably why she's making noise upstairs."

He straightened himself in the chair. "Have you completed your work for today?"

Ignoring the question, she said, "Beth waved to me when I dropped by Monday morning."

His eyes were fiery. "You had no right!"

"I only want to befriend her," Rose pleaded, hoping he might understand she meant no harm. "Why do you keep her up there?"

"You don't understand." He lumbered to his feet. "No one would." Gilbert Browning got up and moved the chair aside before heading into the sitting room, where he looked toward the stairs. But Beth had suddenly grown quiet. He shook his head, obviously worn down.

"You can trust me," Rose persisted. "Please?"

He leaned on the banister and gazed toward the window, a glint in his eye now. "Beth's all I have left," he said, as if resigned to telling Rose the truth. "I lost her dear mother, and I couldn't bear to lose her, too."

"So, Beth is your daughter?"

He nodded slowly, as if his heart were breaking.

Rose felt overwhelmed with his sadness and loss. "Is that why you keep her locked away?"

"It's best this way," he said. "But I only keep her upstairs when people are around - like you, on Wednesdays." He glanced at the stairs once again. "I need to protect my Beth ... it's not safe for her to be known."

Protect her from what? Rose considered entreating him yet again, wanting more than ever to meet his daughter. "Makes no sense to me."

Mr. Browning moved away from the stairs, back toward Rose. "If you'll excuse me, I must look after her now."

Rose felt desperate - she didn't want to leave. "Might I finish cleaning the kitchen?"

"You've done enough for today." His expression was less harsh now. "I'll put a check in the mail."

She hesitated, hoping he might change his mind, yet not wanting to push the man further.

"All right, then. Good-bye," Rose said reluctantly and turned to gather up her things.

"You told him that?" Solomon said to the bishop as the two men stood around in Sol's workshop.

"Well, isn't it obvious Nick's fond of your daughter?" Aaron helped steady the board while Solomon continued sanding by hand. "It may be our last hope to keep the boy in the fold."

"You honestly think usin' my daughter as bait is a gut idea?"

Aaron's eyes were pleading. "Sol ... it's all I know to do."

Solomon did not appreciate this idea whatsoever. Rose Ann was a special and beautiful girl - lily-white inside and out. Even Emma said they were blessed by G.o.d to have such a remarkable daughter. He could not understand why the bishop would put him - and Rose - in such a predicament, particularly when he'd already lost one daughter to a worldly fellow.

"Ain't a gut idea, Aaron ... puttin' it bluntly."

"Ah, Sol. It's up to Rose in the end, j ah? The two of them have been friends for years. Why not just wait and see how this all plays out?" the bishop added.

Solomon clenched his toes in his work boots, and he realized he was shaking his head. The thought of Rosie sacrificed to bring Nick to his knees before G.o.d and the church irked him no end!

By midmorning the sun was hidden by heavy clouds, and the atmosphere had turned hazy. Hen asked to borrow some of her mother's stationery. "I never thought of bringing along writing paper," Hen said as the two sat in the kitchen.

Mom, in her wheelchair, had been trying to darn some socks but kept stopping, obviously struggling to manage her pain today. She pointed to the corner cupboard, across the kitchen. "There's a tablet in the middle drawer," she said, her words clipped just now.

Hen, Mattie Sue, and Mammi Sylvia had just finished mixing together ingredients for chicken mushroom bake, one of Mom's favorite recipes for the noon meal. Before that, Hen had driven over to talk with Rachel Glick about changing her week's work schedule to this afternoon and tomorrow morning, which was just fine with Rachel. The woman seemed quite accommodating.

Nick had surprised her by dropping by to see if Mattie Sue wanted to go over with him to visit the bishop's wife, who was baking snickerdoodles with two of her granddaughters Mattie's age. Hen remembered what Dad had said about letting her roam about the farmland freely, so Hen agreed, but only if someone went along with Mattie Sue. Nick had seemed more pleasant than she'd ever remembered him being, but she wondered if it was just that Mattie Sue brought out the best in a person - even Nick Franco.

With Mattie Sue off at the neighbors', Hen was alone with her thoughts. She looked lovingly at Mom, who persevered in her attempt to darn socks, and wondered how many more years her mother could endure such suffering.

Will she live to see Mattie Sue grow up?

Hen closed her eyes and asked G.o.d to help her mother. And to help Hen know what to say in her invitation to Brandon - my own husband! She stared out the window, to the wind rippling the gra.s.s in the yard and beyond, in the pasture where the horses grazed leisurely. Oh, to live such a trusting life ...

To think she had to ponder her words so carefully, even in the first line of her letter, somewhat alarmed Hen. Yet she wanted to respect the bishop's wishes and write before it was time to set the table here in the main house. She was still getting acclimated to the daily schedule of eating right at eleven thirty on the dot. The early hour gave Dad all afternoon to accomplish his farming work, as well as his woodworking projects. Dad had mentioned writing an invitation of his own to Brandon, but she'd asked him to hold off until she first sent hers. "I'll see how he responds to mine," she had said, fairly certain the outcome would be negative.

Wis.h.i.+ng for a resolution to their dilemma, Hen picked up the pen and began to write.

Dear Brandon, I think of you all the time ... and miss you. I hope you're doing all right.

Mattie Sue is having an exciting day today, enjoying the farm and feeding the animals. It's so cute to see her chasing after all the kittens around here!

Both Mattie and I want to invite you to have dinner with us this coming Sat.u.r.day night. We'll cook something very special for you - we're staying in the smaller "grandfather" house for the time being, so it will be] ust the three of us.

I'm mailing this note today hoping that you can get word back to me soon. Either that or I will follow up with a call from the phone shanty in the neighbor's field down from us.

We really hope you'll come, Brandon!

With love, Hen (and Mattie Sue) Before she lost her nerve, Hen hurried back to the Dawdi Haus and found her purse, then rummaged through it to find a stamp. She gripped the letter and made her way out to the road. Will a dinner invitation make a difference?

Perhaps Hen should have started with something simpler and offered to make a meal for Brandon in their home together. But she felt unready to return to the English world so soon. Honestly, she felt torn, uncertain how to implement the things the bishop and Barbara had suggested.

What she truly longed for was to interest Brandon in joining the Amish church, and had started to ask G.o.d to soften his heart toward the Plain community. "Why does this seem so ridiculous, dear Lord?" Hen whispered as she walked back to the main house to check on her ailing mother.

Reaching for his carpenter's pencil, Solomon marked the surface where the next board would adjoin. Several hours had come and gone since Rose Ann left with Nick for her job over at the Browning house. All the while, he'd struggled to keep his mind on his work - finis.h.i.+ng up the orders for the two pony carts - and pondering what he and Emma might do to reach out to Hen's husband. The bishop had been quite direct with him about opening wide the door to a relations.h.i.+p.

As soon as Sol could come up with something, he would talk with Emma, who really didn't have much of an opinion these days. Just marking time, he sometimes thought, till she pa.s.sed on to the Hallelujah Sh.o.r.e. This made him downright cheerless when he thought of it. Yet wouldn't he wish for the same if he were forever laid up? Nothing more could be done for her, poor thing, and she was resigned to her immobile state.

"What can we do to include Brandon in our family?" he whispered. He placed the square level back in the pocket of his work ap.r.o.n.

A few minutes later, his father-in-law, Jeremiah, came wandering into the workshop and asked about the pony carts. "Are ya nearly done with 'em?"

"Oh, 'bout three more hours or so. Why?"

"Just wondered if you might run me over to BB's right quick. Sylvia wants some kidney beans for her three-bean salad."

"Well, either I can take you or Hen can drive ya later today after work."

"In her fancy car?"

Solomon smiled. "It's a mighty perty blue, ain't?"

His father-in-law grinned and looked at him. "How long before you ask her to park it somewhere ... well, out of the way."

"Might be best to let that come up on its own, I daresay."

"No, no ... ya need to say something," replied Jeremiah. "She best be hiding it under a tree somewheres ... or out back behind the barn."

"All in gut time," Solomon said. "She's only been home a couple days."

"Fair enough." Jeremiah changed the subject. "I hear we're hosting the applesauce-making frolic this Sat.u.r.day."

The notion that Brandon Orringer might be interested in seeing how this was done popped into Solomon's mind. "Do ya think Hen's husband might come, if we invite him?"

"I've never even met the Yankee, so I can't really say."

"Well, I'm tryin' my best to get Hen's husband over here, is all."

Jeremiah smacked his lips and pulled on his beard. "A mighty big hurdle the bishop's got you about to jump over."

Sol agreed. "Still, if the Lord's in it - which He must be, to put it in Aaron's mind - then things'll fall into place."

"Fall into the Englischer's lap, ya mean."

Sol had to chuckle at this. Fact was, G.o.d had either called Hen's husband to be one of the People or He hadn't. It would be interesting to watch and see how Brandon responded to a divine tug, if that's what you could call an invitation to make quarts of applesauce.

Thanks to Solomon's mother-in-law and Rose, by the time his prodigal daughter had arrived back from working at the fabric shop, the supper of roast beef, new potatoes, carrots, and onions was piping hot and ready to serve. Solomon had been over in the main house, savoring the aroma and hoping to catch Hen before she walked in the back door.

He stepped outside to wait and saw her coming down the steps of the addition. "Hen!" He went to meet her.

She smiled, looking more rested than when she'd arrived the day before yesterday. "How was your day, Dad?"

He told her the pony carts were finished and that he'd even had time to deliver them. "How 'bout you?"

"There were oodles of customers at the shop this afternoon, so that's good," she said. "What's on your mind?"

"I've been thinkin' about what the bishop asked your mother and me to do." He took off his straw hat and pushed a hand through his hair. "What chance is there that Brandon would spend time here with us this Sat.u.r.day? We're goin' to make applesauce to divide amongst several families."

"Oh." Her smile faded instantly. "I really doubt he'd come."

"Well, we can invite him anyways, jah?"

"Can't hurt, I guess," Hen said. "But I already mailed him an invitation to join Mattie Sue and me for supper that night... over in our little Dawdi Haus."

"If he accepts, then all the better."

"It'll be a miracle." Hen glanced toward the big house.

"G.o.d ain't short on those." Sol offered a smile. "Just look at you, standin' here like this."

She hung her head. "And I said I'd never darken your door, didn't I?"

Sol remembered too well how those unbearable words had spewed forth. "You're followin' what's right." He sighed. "Now we'll hope and pray you can interest your husband in the same."

Hen sighed and they fell into step together, following the sidewalk to the main house. "I suppose Mattie Sue's been helping Rose and Mammi cook," Hen said.

"Last I saw her, she was over yonder with Nick, riding one of the bishop's ponies."

"Why's she so drawn to him, I wonder?"

"Maybe she's like Rosie," he said before thinking. Then he added quickly, "Nick does have a gentle side when it comes to children. I've seen it many a time." He opened the screen door.

Just then, they spied Mattie Sue running across the meadow. Nick stood a ways back, waving to them. "See? He's watchin' out for her," Solomon said.

"And Rosie ... who's looking out for her?" asked Hen.

He rubbed his forehead. "You're worried 'bout that, too?"

"My sister's eyes sparkle when she talks of Nick," Hen said. "I doubt she even realizes how fond she is of him."

Like a moth to aflame ...

Solomon felt a wave of nausea as he hung up his straw hat. He hoped to goodness Hen was wrong. Even so, he asked, "And Nick - how's he feel about her?"

"Oh, he's a goner."