A Heart Made New (24 page)

“You constantly complain they make more work. And now you complain that you can’t do the work without them. You can’t have it both ways,” Luke said. “Try putting our guest to work. It appears she’ll be here a while.”

Luke let the door slam.

Not wanting to see the look on Leah’s face, Annie whirled and threw herself into making the casserole. That way she wouldn’t have to think about the girls’ punishment or their empty seats at the table.

A shuffling sound told her Leah had left the room. Annie grabbed a knife and sliced ham from the bone. The more she thought, the harder she sliced. Why were things so difficult? The knife slipped. “
Ach!
Ouch!” She dropped it and danced around the room, holding her hand. Blood seeped from the end of her thumb and dripped on her apron.
“Ach!”

“Looks like you could use some help.” Charisma’s morose look had disappeared. Maybe she’d meant what she’d said when she got out of the car. Maybe she’d heard the discussion and realized things had to change. “You got any bandages around here?”

“There’s gauze and tape on the shelf.” Annie sank into the chair and applied pressure to the cut. “Where’s Gracie?”

“I put her in the playpen so I could have five minutes to myself. What were you doing? Trying to cut your finger off? You can’t make everything better, you know.”

“I’m not trying to make it all better.”

“Sure you’re not.” Charisma guffawed, then coughed the gravelly cough of a smoker. “You’ve been trying to take care of me since you met me. Don’t you get it? I’m pregnant. I got a kid. I gotta learn to take care of myself.”

Annie dabbed at her bloody thumb. “We’re supposed to help each other.”

“My mom says God helps those who help themselves.”

“
Aenti
Louise says that might be true, but it’s not exactly in the Holy Bible.”

Charisma shrugged as she wrapped the gauze around Annie’s thumb and cut the piece from the roll. “I just know I gotta figure this out.”

“You’re right.” Not about the book, but about putting her life back together. Annie held still until the white tape covered the end of her thumb. “What do you want to do?”

Charisma leaned forward in the chair, looking as if she were contemplating her sandals. “I want to have this baby and get on with my life.”

“The baby will get here when it gets here.”

“I need a job.”

“So let’s find you a job.” Annie couldn’t bear to suggest there would be no job for a girl in Charisma’s state. After the baby, yes. But then who would care for the two children? “What do you know how to do?”

“Have babies, apparently.”

“Charisma!”

She actually grinned. “Just kidding. I can wait tables. I can wash dishes. I know how to iron. I can babysit.”

In other words, she would make someone a good wife. “That’s a start.”

“Tomorrow, I’m going to town to find a job.” Her smile melted into a frown. “Can you loan me five bucks?”

Annie gave all her money to Luke. If she wanted to buy cigarettes, Annie couldn’t help her. “For what?”

“Gas. And no, I’m not buying cigarettes. I’m giving them up. Too expensive. And like you said, bad for the baby.”

“Good. That’s good.” What had David said about planting seeds? He was wise for his young years—about a number of things. “But you don’t need gas. You can get a ride to town with Josiah and me in the buggy when we go to work.”

Charisma nodded. “Good. You think Leah will watch Gracie?”

Annie shuddered at the thought of having that conversation. “I’ll take her to the bakery. Sadie will help. We need to start looking for a babysitter for you anyway.” She stood. “For now, why don’t you practice your cooking skills?”

“Who said I had any?”

“Me. Starting now, you’re a cook-slash-baker in training.”

Charisma grabbed an apron from the hook on the wall. “Look out, Betty Crocker, here I come!”

“Who’s Betty Crocker?” Annie teased. She’d seen the cake mixes and cookbooks in the store. She just wanted to hear Charisma laugh. “A relative of yours?”

Charisma whooped. “You slay me, Amish girl, you truly do.”

“Slay you? What kind of talk is that?” Annie shook her head. “Go pick some tomatoes from the garden, why don’t you? And pick up some fresh eggs at the chicken coop while you’re out there.”

“Where’s the garden?” Charisma grinned again. “What’s a chicken coop? Just kidding.”

C
arrying a roll of mesh, hammer, and nails, Josiah strode across the yard toward the back fence. After a long day standing over the forge, the heat of the late afternoon sun seemed almost tepid. It felt good to be outdoors, away from the stifling air that awaited him in the blacksmith shop every day. A strange, resigned look on his face, Luke had stopped on his way out to the old shed to ask Josiah to repair the fence that ran along the back of the garden. Wanting to be far away from the twins’ punishment, he jumped at the chance. This fence was meant to keep the varmints out of the vegetable patch, but the wire mesh had some gaping holes it in that meant Leah’s precious vegetables were becoming dessert for many a four-legged creature.

This was something he could do, something he could fix. With his blacksmithing job and chores, the opportunity to slip away to see Sarah hadn’t presented itself. Maybe later this evening. Maybe Luke would think he was out courting Miriam. Sneaking around was wrong, but Luke would never believe the bishop had given him permission to talk to Sarah.

Josiah sank to one knee to examine the first hole. A loud voice singing high and sure—a pop song he recognized from his rumspringa days in Wichita—startled him into dropping the hammer. What a voice. The lyrics weren’t great, but the voice belonged in a prayer service or
a Sunday night singing. He stood and surveyed the garden. Nobody. It came from the chicken coop. That nasty little shed despised by the twins, who grumbled every time they were sent to collect eggs.

Laughing to himself, he slipped over to the shed to take a peek inside. Still singing at the top of her lungs, Charisma swung a basket in one hand and snatched an egg from a nest. She wore shorts and a tight white T-shirt that stretched to barely cover her big belly. Too busy performing, she didn’t seem to notice the chickens that squawked and scattered around her, their chatter indignant. Or her human audience of one who forced his gaze from her midsection to her face.

“You’re scaring the chickens with all that caterwauling.” Josiah scooped up an egg she’d missed and held it out. The singing stopped mid-lyric. Charisma jumped back and the egg fell to the floor with a crack and a wet splat. “You definitely don’t have the idea. Our womenfolk don’t scramble the eggs until they get to the kitchen.”

“You scared me!” Charisma stumbled back another step, her sandals squelching in the chicken excrement. “You idiot!”

“Idiot? That’s a little strong, don’t you think?”

“Sorry. Like I said, you scared me.” She went back to gathering eggs. “I thought I was alone. Besides, you
are
an idiot if you choose that Sarah chick over Annie’s friend. What’s her name? Miriam?”

“How do you know about that?” It was Josiah’s turn to be startled. “Why would you even be thinking about that?”

“Gotta think about something!” She threw her free hand in the air. “No TV, no soap operas, not even a Hallmark movie now and then. It’s crazy. The only romance going on around here is Annie and the bald guy or you and Miriam and none of you actually seem to know how to get it together. How could you not pick Miriam over some girl who’ll run off the first time you shake your hat at her?”

Josiah opened his mouth, closed it, tried again. “You’ve never even met Sarah. You’ve only been here, what, a month? You don’t know me or Miriam.”

“Like I said, I hear the talk.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste, she sidestepped an irate chicken that had its beak pointed at her bare toes that
stuck out from worn leather sandals. “I know the Sarahs of this world. And I know your type.”

With that silly statement, Charisma marched from the shed into the sun. Fuming at the loose lips that surely belonged to Annie and maybe even Miriam, Josiah followed. Anything was better than the acrid, putrid smell of chicken excrement trapped in a shed. Time to clean it with a large dose of bleach. A good job for Mark.

Josiah inhaled and tried to get a handle on his sudden irritation. She didn’t know what she was talking about. Which explained why she didn’t try to explain herself. She set the basket on the ground and began to pick tomatoes as if they’d never spoken.

As Sarah liked to say:
Whatever
. Josiah returned to the fence and went to work patching the hole. She didn’t know him well enough to know what his type was. He didn’t have a type. Wasn’t a type. Whatever.

“Go on. I know you’re dying to ask me.” Her shadow blocked the sun for a second, then moved to the side. He’d been so busy fuming he hadn’t heard her approach. She smelled like flowers. Pretty ones. “Ask me what your type is.”

“It’s a private thing that doesn’t involve you.”

“If you weren’t Amish, you’d be the bad boy type.” Charisma leaned against a fence post and fanned herself with long fingers. Her face glistened with beads of perspiration. She smiled a lazy smile. “Even being Amish, you can’t help but be the bad boy. You’re attracted to Sarah because you know it’s wrong to want her. You’re even attracted to me with my big belly.”

“You’re so full of yourself, I don’t even know where to start.”

“Is that anyway for an Amish guy to talk? You don’t even sound Amish.”

“I’m as Amish as any man in Bliss Creek.” Was he? The extended rumspringa had changed him. Exposed him to things. He’d done things he shouldn’t have, no doubt. But that was the point of the running around. To get it out of his system. It also helped him know what was important. “The way I talk has nothing to do with what I believe.”

“You like women you know will make your brother crazy and make the big kahuna bishop guy mad.” She wiggled a finger at him. “Naughty boy. You just want to be different, that’s all. Be your own person. I’ve been doing it all my life.”

“Funny, I thought you were just the girlfriend of a thief, not a shrink.” As soon as the words were out, Josiah wanted them back. They were mean and he wasn’t a mean person. He concentrated on nailing the mesh to a fence post well away from the one she occupied. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. You better finish picking the tomatoes. Annie’s probably making supper right now.”

With a grunt, Charisma knelt next to him. Her blonde hair swung in her face, wisps sticking to her damp cheeks. His gaze was drawn to her lips. He swung the hammer, missed the nail, and hit his thumb. “Ouch, ouch!” He dropped the hammer and shook his hand. “Now look what you made me do.”

“See, I told you so.” She said the words in a sing-song voice. “Told you so. I know exactly what yanks your chain. I know what makes you tick because Logan is a bad boy too. He makes you look like a choir boy, but you’re trying. You have that dark brooding thing going on, but it’s hard to make it work when you wear blue work shirts and suspenders and cover that gorgeous curly hair with a hat all the time.”

Caught somewhere between embarrassed and ashamed at his unbidden reaction to a woman he had no interest in, Josiah grabbed the hammer and focused on his work. Doing what he should’ve been doing all along. Working. Maybe she would lose interest and leave.

“Me, I’m like Sarah, bad news.” She went on, her voice like the incessant buzz of a bee. He couldn’t ignore it, because it might sting. “You need to run away from her. Don’t walk, run.”

He didn’t bother to tell her he planned to send Sarah home—if he could ever get the chance to talk to her. It was none of Charisma’s business. The Englischer’s tone and her harsh words about someone she didn’t even know sent a wave of protectiveness through him. Sarah was still his friend. He hazarded a glance at her. “You don’t know Sarah.”

“I know her kind. You ask her to sew clothes for you and your kids,
make your breakfast, dinner and supper, can vegetables, do laundry by hand, quilt, and show up for a three-hour service every other week, and she’ll run for the hills. Maybe not at first, maybe not for a while, but she’ll run. She’ll run so fast, she’ll be a streak on the highway.

“Don’t let the package fool you. You can dress up an old box with pretty, shiny wrapping, but what is inside doesn’t change.” She stood and picked up the basket. “Miriam is a sweet person. A good person. She’s in it for the long haul. One look at her face when you’re anywhere near her would tell you that. She’ll never leave you. She’ll never hurt you. Girls like Sarah and me, we’re a dime a dozen. Miriam is worth a hundred Sarahs. Take my word for it. When you look at Sarah, see me. See what’s on the inside.”

She strolled away, swinging the basket and her backside. Josiah tore his gaze from her and focused on the fence, but his mind’s eye wouldn’t let the image of Charisma Chiasson go. It would be a miracle if the eggs arrived in the kitchen unbroken and the tomatoes without bruises. Like the person who carried them. She was covered by bruises that couldn’t be seen. Josiah didn’t know how or why they’d been inflicted, but Charisma was a walking wound. Jaded, cynical, and nineteen years old. How did that happen? He mulled over her words. Words spoken by someone who’d experienced life. Experienced pain. Someone who thought she couldn’t love or be loved. The thought hung around him like a shroud. He didn’t want to end up like Charisma. Despite his gut reaction to her, Josiah was glad Annie had brought her home. Charisma might know the Sarahs of the world, but it was someone like Annie who could help her heal.