Part 5 (2/2)
Rose nodded her agreement.
”My husband invited him to go small-game hunting, but Gilbert declined.”
”Maybe he's not a hunter,” Rose suggested.
Donna reached for her tea. ”Maybe not.”
”Well, I baked a cake for him today ... at his request.” She paused, looking across the yard at Mr. Browning's house. ”Might today be his birthday?”
”Who would possibly know? He has no friends that Roy and I've ever seen. He hardly says a word to us.”
”Too bad, ain't?” Rose felt sad. ”No close family, prob'ly.”
”Not that I know of,” Donna said. ”Makes you count your blessings for a close-knit family ... and good friends, too.”
They continued sipping their tea, and then suddenly Donna put down her cup. ”Come to think of it, there's an Amish fellow wandering about over there now and then.”
This surprised Rose. ”Doin' odd jobs, maybe?”
Donna nodded. ”Mowing and raking and other light ch.o.r.es.”
”Nice to know he has that sort of help.” Rose looked at the stove clock and wiped her mouth with the dainty cloth napkin. ”Well, thank you for the delicious tea,” she said. ”It was nice of you to invite me over.” She went to look out at Alfalfa. ”Goodness, you might not have to mow your side yard anytime soon!”
Donna clapped her hands and laughed when she got up to see. ”You'll have to stop by with that horse more often.”
Rose had to laugh, too. ”Well, thanks again!”
On the way to the horse and buggy, she realized she'd forgotten to collect her pay from Mr. Browning and decided to run over to his house. Inside, the man's favorite chair was vacant, but her money was lying on the kitchen table. Not knowing if she ought to take it without letting him know, she went into the sitting room and stood at the bottom of the stairs.
Looking up, she opened her mouth to call to him, but heard his footsteps overhead, then water running. Rose couldn't help noticing again how badly the room needed dusting and, for a fleeting moment, she thought of cleaning it up right quick, while she had the chance.
Instead, she headed back to the kitchen to write a quick note, stating she'd returned for her day's pay. I'll come again next Wednesday morning. I hope you enjoy the chocolate cake. If it's your birthday, have a real happy one! - Rose Ann K.
With that, she left the house and picked up her long skirt as she ran back to Alfalfa and the waiting carriage.
”I see you've been playing dress-up again.”
Hen wished Brandon would keep his voice down. She moved to close their bedroom door.
”I don't want my wife looking Amish. Not ever.” Brandon stared at her. ”You're stunning with makeup, so what's with the washed-out look today?”
She held her breath, suddenly feeling faint. Did he truly dislike the person she was - the girl he'd met and married?
”Where are those cute sweaters I bought you?” He motioned toward the closet. ”And the hundreds of dollars of s.e.xy jeans?”
Too tight fitting, she thought. Aloud she said, ”The sweaters seem so, well - ”
”Revealing?” he said with a sneer.
She'd felt comfortable wearing them for only a couple of years after they were married. ”I really can't wear those anymore.”
”Can't ... or won't?” He eyed her.
”Honestly, Brandon ...” She couldn't finish. Truth was, she felt sinful parading around in those clothes. Maybe it was being a mother. Or maybe her upbringing had taken root at long last.
Train up a child in the way that is right....
”So, are you comfortable in those long skirts you wear all the time?” he asked, shaking his head in disgust.
She couldn't refute it. ”Yes, I am.”
”C'mon, Hen. This is ridiculous.” He moved swiftly toward the door, opened it, and headed into the hallway.
She felt discouraged, and after showering, she dressed for bed. Hen lay quietly under the covers, feeling the soft sheet beneath her fingers and reached slowly, inching across the king-size bed, missing the warmth of her husband. Much later, in her sleepy haze, she stretched farther, hoping he'd returned as she rolled closer to his side.
Not finding him in bed, she raised herself slightly to look at the clock on Brandon's lamp table - 2:25 A.M.
Glancing again at the clock, she placed her hand on his pillow to see if it was warm. Perhaps he'd merely gone to the bathroom and would return soon. But his pillow was cool to the touch, and Hen wondered if it was possible he hadn't come to bed at all. She groaned softly, realizing he must have chosen to stay up working. Or to stay away from me.
When she finally fell back to sleep, Hen dreamed she was a little Amish girl again, playing with a favorite barn kitty. But in the end it was her daughter's wide eyes looking back at her, her wispy blond hair parted down the middle. She wore a pretty white prayer cap atop her head and held the old Kauffman family Bible in her small hands.
Hen heard Brandon's reprimand in the background of her dream. ”You left that life -for me.”
When Hen awakened to daylight streaming across the dresser and the wall beyond, she looked again for her husband's long frame but saw only his pillow and the smooth covers where he had not slept.
She felt apprehensive; there was a horrid kink in her neck as she pushed the blankets back and pulled herself out of bed. Fumbling for her slippers, she reached for her blue bathrobe at the foot of the bed and hurried to splash cold water on her face. When she reached for the hand towel and dabbed it against her cheeks, she looked into the wide mirror and wondered how to explain to Brandon what she was feeling. No, it was more than a feeling - she was experiencing something, a gnawing at her very soul.
Hen replaced the crimson-colored towel and stumbled across the floor to the small scale out of sheer habit. She hadn't gained a single pound since having Mattie Sue.
She wandered down the hall and out to the living area and kitchen, hoping she wouldn't find Brandon asleep at the breakfast table, his arms cus.h.i.+oning his head. She sighed as she looked for his usual spot for posting a note to her. Nothing.
She glanced in the living room, where the rumpled afghan on the sofa indicated he'd slept there, though she saw no sign of him now.
He's gone to work early, she told herself before looking in on Mattie.
Lining the hall on both sides were favorite photographs from her life with Brandon. Farther down the hall, baby Mattie Sue's sweet little face appeared in several lovely frames, and then the three of them together, the picture-perfect family. As much as Brandon had seemed to love their beautiful baby, he'd once told her he wanted only one ... and no more than two. Hen, of course, had been eager to start a family. She'd even hoped she might be pregnant again recently but was sadly disappointed.
Staring at the picture of the three of them last spring, near their backyard forsythia bush, she wondered if some men, more than others, possessed a natural way with little ones. Her father came to mind. He had always been loving and warm, not as austere and rigid as some Amish fathers she'd known, including a couple of her own married brothers.
She remembered the first time Brandon had seen newborn Mattie Sue. He'd kissed her tiny peach of a cheek, tears sparkling in the corner of his eyes. ”She's beautiful, honey. Our baby looks just like you.” He'd kissed Hen, too, his tears wet on her cheek.
She smiled, the sweet memory lingering as she stepped into Mattie's colorful, cozy room. Soft pink and yellow floral designs adorned two of the walls, while the others were painted the palest shade of yellow Hen could find. Mattie was still sleeping, but a sunbeam peeked under one window blind and was spilling over her favorite dolls. Like a blessing, thought Hen, smiling sleepily as she sat on the edge of the small bed.
There were days, not so long ago, when she and Brandon had crept happily into this very room and stood holding hands, watching their darling girl in her slumber. Hen breathed slowly, recalling the times she'd asked to take Mattie to visit her Amish grandparents, only to have Brandon recoil as if he'd been slapped. ”What for?” he'd asked when they were out of their daughter's earshot. ”Aren't you finished with that life, Hen?”
He'd had every right to think that, given the joy she had exhibited on their wedding day ... minus any Plain relatives. Hen had lived to regret not having her parents or Rose there to witness their marriage vows. What had possessed her to shut them out, breaking their hearts? Months later, Rose had traveled by horse and buggy to try and find Hen's new residence and gotten tearfully lost in the process. ”Didn't you want Dat's and Mamm's approval?” her sister had asked, astonished. But to Hen none of that had mattered then.
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