into the kitchen, his cheeks bright pink. He tossed the Amish newspaper and a stack of mail onto the counter. “What’s this, fraa? You’re sitting around, sipping coffee while a hardworking man needs his lunch?” He buzzed a kiss across her cheek.
“You’re home early. Even when you’re working in the fields you never come to the house before noon.” She rose to her feet and headed toward the fridge.
“I missed you.” He lifted her up and swung her around the kitchen. “I don’t ever want to be separated again.” He nibbled at her neck.
“Put me down. You’re acting like a teenager,” she demanded, but only halfheartedly.
“I think they must have spoiled you in that place,” he teased while washing his hands. “Bringing you gourmet meals on a tray without your having to lift a finger. Now you are back to the grind, Mrs. Graber, if I must chain you to that stove.” He snapped the hand towel toward her skirt hem.
Abby jumped back in time, and then she carried bread, lunchmeat, cheese, and a tomato to the counter to make sandwiches. “No chain will be necessary. I’ll stay willingly.” Her gaze flickered over the sprawled pile of mail, landing on one handwritten envelope. She didn’t recognize the return address of any regular correspondent. Abby set down her paring knife, tore open the envelope, and extracted the single sheet.
She looked first at the signature. “I got a letter from Nathan Fisher,” she said with a ripple of unease.
Daniel sat down at the table with a glass of milk. “Read it aloud, Abby.”
She glanced at him and then back at the small, cramped handwriting. “Dear Mrs. Graber,” she read. “I saw in the papers that they let you out of jail. I would like to talk to you, face-to-face. If you’ll be home, I’ll stop over this Sunday after church. Expect me sometime in the late afternoon.”
Her gaze met his. “That’s it?” he asked.
“Jah, just his signature—Nathan Fisher. No ‘very truly yours’ or ‘best regards’ or anything else.” She returned to making sandwiches, cleaving the tomato into uniform slices even as apprehension took away her appetite.
“Men aren’t very good with letter-writing. You can give him some pointers when you see him.”
“True, but I wonder what Mr. Fisher wants with me.” She placed Daniel’s first sandwich in front of him.
“I guess you’ll find out Sunday.” He took a large bite, ending up with mustard on his lips.
“You sound very casual about this, while I’m…a little nervous.” Which is a bit of an understatement.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about, Abigail. Come and sit down. Tell me what you have planned for the afternoon. I thought maybe we could—”
“How do you know that, Daniel?”
“What could you possibly be afraid of?”
Abby crossed her arms. “Well, let’s see…it was in the papers that I administered a ‘dangerous’ drug to his wife and that I’m out after only a few months’ jail time. Oh, and that I’m allowed to resume delivering babies. In fact, I’m expected to midwife or I must pay five thousand dollars.”
He sat quietly looking at her while holding his sandwich in midair.
“He’s had plenty of time to think…and miss his wife. Maybe he’s changed his mind about not holding me responsible. Maybe Nathan wishes the judge would have thrown the book at me.” Even as she said that she realized she’d picked up more than one English expression from Rachelle.
“And maybe you’re making a mountain out of one little letter.” Daniel got up and walked to the counter where she stood and wrapped his arms around her. “Maybe you should let God be in charge of this one. Put it out of your mind.”
She nodded, inhaling a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll not think about Mr. Fisher until he drives into our yard this weekend.” She picked up her lunch and carried it to the table.
But following through with actions proved to be a whole lot harder than saying the words.
Catherine rocked in the porch swing, staring at a yellow moon breaking the horizon in the east—a harvest moon, because at no other time of the year did the moon look so large or glow so brightly. Supper was finished, the dishes dried and put away, and yet Isaiah’s meal still remained on the picnic table. Probably the moment she went inside for a bath, the plate would mysteriously disappear. She hadn’t seen him since the volleyball party. The man avoided crossing paths with her better than the slyest coyote.