A Plain Love Song (8 page)
“I see.” Richard licked his ice cream, which had already begun to drip on his hand. “I’d like to go back in there with you, where it’s nice and cool, but I’d best get myself back to the farm. Edna’s waiting for her medicine and I promised to pick it up while I was in town getting the horse shod.”
“I imagine they keep you pretty busy between the two farms.” Adah searched for something to say that would bring attention to Molly. “It’s like Molly here, she works at the library, but she still does a lot of work at home.”
“Like you do, I reckon.” Richard shifted his cone to the hand that held the bag and proceeded to remove his straw hat, revealing a head of rumpled brown hair. He wiped his forehead on the back of his sleeve. “I mean, you clean houses and then go home and clean some more.”
So he’d been keeping track of her life. “We all do our share.” What else could she say? “All in a day’s work.”
“All in a day’s work.” He settled the hat back on his head and grinned, showing off a set of white teeth against his dark farmer’s tan. “Speaking of which, I’d better get back to mine. Enjoy your ice cream. Don’t be strangers.”
“We won’t—I mean we will—I mean we’ll enjoy the ice cream.” If it were possible, Molly’s face reddened even more. She pulled at the strings of her kapp, looking miserable. “But we won’t be strangers.”
Richard smiled at Molly directly for the first time. If she were a scoop of ice cream, she would’ve melted onto the sidewalk right there and then. “That reminds me. Can you stop by the house on your way to town in the morning?”
“Jah, jah, of course.” Molly’s face brightened. Her fingers stopped fiddling. “I’d be happy to come by.”
“Edna has some books from the library that need returning and she’s been feeling poorly. It would save her the trip. I figure since you’re headed that way anyway…”
If Adah’s parents hadn’t brought her up right, she would’ve aimed a swift kick at the man’s shins. Could he not see the way Molly’s face crumpled and how hard she tried to smile as if she’d known all along
he intended for her to do Edna Daugherty a favor? She’d never thought of him as being cruel so he must be oblivious. Like most men were, it seemed.
“It’s no problem.” Molly opened the door, her head down. “I’ll come by right after breakfast.”
“Gut. Danki.”
He strode off without a backward glance. “See you.”
He didn’t say it, but that was directed at Adah. Maybe he meant to include Molly, but it didn’t seem that way. Adah scurried into the drugstore after Molly, who’d ducked into the cosmetic aisle and seemed to be studying a vast array of lipstick tubes as if she were in desperate need of one. As if she’d ever worn lipstick in her life. Adah squeezed in next to her. “What are you doing?”
The woman turned. Her eyes were bright with tears behind her glasses. “That’s why I’ll never marry. Men don’t even know I exist unless it’s to take care of some chore for them.”
Adah couldn’t stand the forlorn look on the other woman’s face. She wrapped her in a quick but firm hug. “Isn’t that what we all learn to do so we can be good fraas?”
Molly hiccupped a laugh and slapped her hand to her mouth as if to muffle it. She sighed and let her hand drop. “Why don’t men notice me? I know we’re not supposed to stand out, we’re supposed to be humble—but at this rate I’ll spend the rest of my life alone. As alone as I can be, living at home, which I’ll probably do forever. I know I’m supposed to be happy with God’s plan—”
“Molly, Molly, stop! Stop. It’s okay. I know all about trying to be content with God’s plan. Believe me. You don’t have to explain.” Adah touched a tube of red lipstick, marveling at how much it cost and how little use it had. “Do you like Richard? Is he the one who found someone else?”
Sniffing, Molly shook her head, her gaze on something called blemish concealer as if it were the most interesting item in the entire store. “Nee, it was someone else, but that was a long time ago. I’ve…been interested…liked…or thought I might…like…Richard for a while.”
“It’s okay to say it. It doesn’t hurt anything.”
“It’s not something you talk about, especially if the man doesn’t even pay you any more mind than he would a stray kitten or a squirrel. Less. It’s like I’m invisible. I’m the invisible girl.”
Maybe she needed to do something to make him sit up and take notice. Moving on to the hair products that ran the gamut from hair-spray to mousse to gels that Adah had no idea what to do with, she pondered what would make Richard sit up and take notice of Molly without being too forward. Something a good Plain girl could do.
Together, they left behind the rows of eyeliners, mascara, eye shadow, and lipsticks for the good stuff—the ice cream at the soda shop. Adah studied the problem as they walked. How could she help Richard notice Molly? It would make Molly happy, and, in turn, make Matthew happy.
Maybe it would be the first step on a long road toward making up for hurting him.
She waited until they ordered their cones—rocky road for Molly and plain chocolate for herself—to venture into new territory. “When you stop by the Daughertys’, take a plate of your double fudge brownies with walnuts and make sure you tell Edna you made them for Richard. They’re his favorite.”
“How do you know—”
“I saw him eating them at a frolic the other day and he told me so.”
“Why would I—”
“Just do it.”
Molly accepted her cone from the clerk behind the counter. She started to dig money from her bag, but Adah shooed her aside and handed him two crisp dollar bills and enough change to cover the tax. Molly licked her cone, her eyes narrowed as if trying to decide if it were the right flavor. “Are you matchmaking?”
Adah feigned great interest in her own cone. “Me? Never. Courting is private.”
She turned and made a beeline for the door so Molly couldn’t read the glee in her face.
But sometimes you have to give love a little push.
A
dah sneezed so loudly the sound reverberated around her in the Harts’ cavernous living room. The room had a high ceiling, thick, tan carpet so soft it made her feel as if she walked on air, and half a dozen pieces of mammoth leather furniture. Even with all that furniture, it seemed empty because of its size. It didn’t have the coziness of the study, but maybe that’s because it didn’t have the piano and the books she so loved. Dozens of windows allowed sunlight to spill across the room, highlighting particles of dust that hung suspended in the air around her. Sniffing, Adah turned the knob on the stereo radio so the song, a beautiful ballad about three crosses, enveloped her, and went back to wiping down the endless knickknacks on the enormous stone fireplace mantel.
Bronze horses in all sizes and shapes covered the varnished wood. Rearing on their hind legs, with riders, riderless, large and small. They made for tedious work on her part, but she liked them. The sculptor had taken great care with the details of the muscle, sinew, and the hair of the manes and tails. She hummed as she worked. A new song came on, this one about a girl mad at her boyfriend for cheating on her so she beat up his car.
The humming died in Adah’s throat. She scurried across the room and flipped the dial to another station. She drew the line at some country songs, a lot of them, truth be told. About drinking, cheating,
fighting, and…other things. Guilt made the muscles in her neck and shoulders feel tight. Truth be told, she felt like the cheater. She hadn’t done anything wrong, but her situation with Matthew was never far from her mind. He wanted her for his fraa. He wanted to move from courting to marriage. That was what Plain couples did.
So why did the thought make her chest tighten and her hands sweat? She scrubbed her face with the back of her sleeve. Even the frigid air-conditioned air whipped by the whirring blades of the ceiling fan didn’t seem to cool her.
One of her favorite songs began. Determined not to think about the problem with Matthew, she sang along, letting her soprano soar and mingle with the singer’s baritone. The writer of this song was a kindred spirit. Adah knew she was hard to love because she didn’t follow the rules. She tried, but she fell short. Over and over. The songwriter must’ve felt the same way, but at least he knew the woman in his life loved him anyway.
Matthew said he loved her. The thought shook her. She sang louder to drown it out.
“You have an incredible voice.”
So did the person who spoke. Husky. Unmistakable. Red heat searing the skin of her neck and cheeks, Adah whirled to find Jackson standing in the doorway, leaning on one crutch, his left leg in a cast that ended below the knee. In his other hand he held a beautiful guitar, its honey-colored wood burnished to a lovely sheen. A white bandage peeked from the V of his black T-shirt and the bruise around it had darkened to an angry green and purple. Adah didn’t know where to look first, so she glued her gaze to the intricate designs stitched into the soft brown leather of the cowboy boot on his right foot. Something about his bare left foot made him seem…young.
“I’m serious. You have a beautiful voice—what my music teacher calls a natural vibrato.” He shook his head, his mouth hanging open for a beat. “Don’t stop. Go on, keep singing.”
She had no idea what a vibrato was, but she wanted to know. She wanted to know everything his music teacher had taught him. She
wanted a music teacher.
Stop it!
Her job was to clean the house and Jackson was getting in her way. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here.” The force of his gaze didn’t lessen. “Thought you knew that.”
Before she could answer, a dog hobbled into the room, circled Jackson, and halted in front of him, as if standing guard. He was a medium-sized dog with a white face, black ears, and a patch of black over one eye. He also had a limp. “This here is Captain. Captain, this is Amish Girl. Captain! Slow down, there’s a good boy, take it easy.” Jackson spoke to the dog much the same way he’d spoken to the horse in the corral. “He’s laid up like me.”
Englisch folks had interesting names for their pets. “Why Captain?”
“It’s short for Captain Jack—you know, the pirate. Patch on his eye, wooden leg.” He grinned. “My sister named him. She gets a kick out of calling the dog Jack, you know—like me, Jack, short for Jackson.”
Englischers also had a strange sense of humor. “He seems pretty spry to me. What happened to his leg?”
“My dad accidently ran into him with the truck. He’s a border collie, a working dog, so he tended to herd everything. He can’t work no more so he went off to school with me. He’s pretty psyched to be home, though. Living in an apartment with city boys ain’t his thing. Mine neither, come to think of it.”
Captain sidled up to Adah and sniffed. She held out her hand. He sniffed again, woofed, and circled back to Jackson, dragging one back leg.
“You passed inspection.”
“That’s good. I’m cleaning in here so you’d both better not have dirt on your feet. Don’t be tracking up my carpet.”
“We wiped our feet, didn’t we, Cap?”
Captain woofed again and laid down at Jackson’s feet, plopped his head on his paws, and fixed Adah with a quizzical stare.
Adah returned the look. Captain had intelligent eyes and a snout that made him look as if he had a perpetual grin. Dog and owner…they looked a lot alike. She balled up the dust cloth and smoothed it out.
Work, she needed to work. She grabbed another bronze horse, this one heftier than the others, and gave it a quick swipe with the cloth. “Your mother said you went in to town with your brother.”
“I did. He dropped me off and headed out to mend a fence that the cattle busted down last night.”
“I see.”
“So you won’t sing for me?”
Back to the subject she’d rather avoid. Jackson was turning out to be as stubborn as a heat rash in summer. Sort of like herself. “I don’t sing for an audience. Just to keep myself company while I work.”
“That’s a shame. A waste. Maybe you’ll sing for me later, when you get to know me.”
Would she get to know him? Nee. She couldn’t. She focused on dusting, ignoring the sudden trembling of her hands.
Jackson hobbled into the room and laid the guitar on one end of the chocolate brown sectional sofa. Captain popped up and followed, circling the sofa and settling in front. With a grunt, Jackson lowered himself next to the instrument, tossed the crutch aside, and propped his leg on the rustic pine coffee table—the one she’d just cleaned. He wiggled his toes. He had big toes. Big feet, really. “You aren’t even going to ask how I’m doing?”
Her first time back at the house after the accident, Adah had learned from Mrs. Hart that Jackson had suffered a broken ankle. The cut on his chest had required nine stitches, he had half a dozen broken ribs, and the bruises had been many and colorful, but he would live, as his mother put it. “From the looks of you, you’re doing fine.”
“Nice.”
She did sound sharper than she intended. “I mean, you seem to be mending quickly.”
“It’s irritating my dad that I’m not helping out more.” He waved his hand over the cast. “But truthfully, it’s been good. It’s giving me time to work on my music and finish some songs I started while I was at school. I figure things happen for a reason. Anyway, I thought I’d sit here and work on a song I just started.”
He wrote songs. Not just the lyrics like she did, but the notes too.
The melody. It took every ounce of her willpower not to ask questions. How did he make the words match the music? Did the words come first or the music? Did the words whirl around in his head the way they did in hers?