his own counsel without folks asking nosy questions or giving him advice he doesn’t need.”
“Honey or sugar?” she asked, dunking tea bags into both cups.
“Honey, two teaspoons.” His pique changed to an expression of bafflement.
“My, you like things sweet,” she murmured, while measuring the precise amount of honey into his cup. “I asked because I’m filling in for Abby for a while, and I would like to know the number of mouths to feed. And if the arrangement is to set a plate of whatever we’re having on the porch picnic table, or send a hamper of sandwiches tied to a pack mule down the back path, please just let me know.” She handed one cup to him, keeping her gaze locked with his.
Daniel was struggling not to smile as he accepted the cup. “We don’t own a pack mule, Catherine, only Percherons, standardbreds, and one Shetland pony.” He singed his lips when he sipped his tea.
“No mule? All right then, that question has been settled. You should let that tea cool a tad.”
“If you put a plate of food on the porch after breakfast and dinner, that would be fine. Cover it with plastic wrap. It doesn’t bother him if the food gets cold. Fill a travel mug with coffee in the morning and milk in the evening and snap the lid on tight.”
“What about lunch?” She blew across the surface of her cup.
“Two sandwiches, any kind. Mustard, no mayonnaise. Sliced tomatoes if we have them, and any variety of fruit. And if you’ve baked cookies, he’ll take as many as you can spare. Just put his lunch in one of those cooler bags with a can of cola and leave it on the table. He’ll come for it by-and-by. Sometimes he gets busy cutting deadwood in the hills or working the back fields, but he always comes eventually.”
Catherine sipped her tea. “Good to know. That’s useful information and not idle gossip.”
Daniel nodded. “Abby bakes him banana nut bread whenever the IGA puts bananas on the reduced rack. She buys all they have and freezes the extra loaves.” He took a gulp of tea. “Don’t be surprised if he avoids crossing your path, Catherine. He’s simpleminded and keeps to himself.” He tapped his temple with an index finger. “He’s not all there, but he’s a fine man and takes good care of himself in his cabin. You don’t have to worry about him except for setting out his meals. Danki for the drink. I’m going to read in my room for a while. Gut nacht.” He left the kitchen before she could ask any more questions.
While finishing her tea, she pondered the cousin who had grown only more mysterious with Daniel’s explanation. If the Graber family was concerned about gossip, the young man must have been shunned for some past transgression. She wandered onto the porch. With Daniel and the children already upstairs, she knew she should also retire to her bedroom, but she wasn’t sleepy and felt too addled to read. Setting the empty cup on the rail, she grabbed the flashlight from the steps and started walking from the house at a brisk pace. Walking always brought peace whenever her siblings were annoying or daed’s rules thwarted her plans. If she hiked for a while, sleep would come more easily to a weary body. She headed around the barn and down the path toward the river for some much-needed exercise.
She wasn’t spying on Daniel’s cousin.
She hadn’t planned to pick her way through the increasing gloom in the orchard, fending off low-hanging branches with an upraised arm. Mosquitoes feasting on her face and hands were no reason to turn back. After all, the moon rising low on the horizon would soon flood the fields with light to illuminate her way home. The evening breeze carried the sweet fragrance of honeysuckle and jasmine, while whippoorwills and owls joined the serenade of tree frogs and cicadas.
Catherine paused on the narrow path to catch her breath. With the orchard behind her, she spotted a line of swamp willows a quarter mile ahead. Those trees loved moist rocky soil. In between, briars and spiny shrubs encroached on the path on both sides. Who knew what critters lurked in the brush? She considered turning back, contemplating what her brother-in-law would say if he spotted her flashlight beam from his bedroom window. But Catherine Yost had always been a curious child. As a grown woman, that particular characteristic hadn’t diminished. With a final glance