A Wells Landing Christmas Page 26

  “There you are.” It was almost a happy greeting.

  Ivy slipped out of her coat and hung it on the hook by the door. “Here I am,” she said as she pulled the scarf from around her head. She checked the mirror to make sure her prayer kapp was still in its proper place, then turned to fully look at Zeb.

  “What’s wrong?” Something was wrong. She could see it right away. His eyes had a hard edge that she had never seen before, and a muscle in his cheek jumped as if he was clenching his teeth.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Her heart gave a painful thump in her chest. “Sure. As long as I can warm up by the fire while you do.”

  He gave a stern nod, and Ivy moved to stand in front of the crackling flames. It was good to be home.

  “What’s up?” She tried to make her voice sound light and airy, as if she couldn’t tell he was about to blow, but her tone was a little too high-pitched to be believable.

  “Julie Ann Fitch went into the bakery today.”

  Ivy thought about it a moment. She didn’t remember seeing Julie Ann, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t there. She could have come in when Ivy was eating her lunch or when she took a break. But she didn’t think Zeb was asking. “Jah, I suppose so, I guess.”

  “And she saw you sitting with some Englischer.”

  Ivy nodded. “That was Logan Dallas.”

  He blinked at her, and for a moment Ivy was confused as well.

  “Ethan Dallas’s grandson.”

  “The man from the retirement home.”

  She nodded. “Right. He came by to try Esther’s pie.”

  Zeb scrubbed his hands over his face and plunged his fingers into his hair. “What about yesterday?”

  She frowned. “What about it?”

  “Did you go with him to eat at Kauffmans’, or is there another Englischer you’re running around with?”

  She crossed her arms and stiffened her chin. What was wrong with him? “Is something the matter?”

  He scoffed. “Jah. I mean, you’re out running around with all these guys, and I’m here taking care of your dawdi.”

  She had managed to hang on to her temper, but that grip was slipping. “No one asked you to stay here and take care of him.”

  “Don’t you think someone should? After all, you need to work, right?”

  She nodded.

  “I came so you could work. Not so you could go have pie dates with other men.”

  Her vision blurred. She wasn’t sure if it was anger alone or mixed with hot tears. “I appreciate you coming.” She started for the door, nearly tripping in her haste to get there. “But you can go now. Your help is no longer needed.”

  “Jah?” His cheeks were ruddy, and for the life of her Ivy couldn’t figure out what was happening. Well, she knew what was happening, but the whole encounter had a surreal quality, like it existed in a movie or someone else’s dream. It was somehow removed from her, though she could see it all as it played out.

  “Jah. And don’t bother to come back over here,” she continued, her voice rising to a shrill pitch. “You aren’t welcome here any longer.”

  “Fine.”

  She hadn’t known it was possible, but his face got even redder. He made it to the door, knocking her coat off its peg as he retrieved his own. He crammed his hat onto his head and looped his scarf around his neck before storming out the door. He didn’t bother to put on his coat. The door slammed behind him. Ivy stood there wondering if any of it was real. And if it was, should she go after him?

  She sank into the hard-backed chair next to the door. They sat there when they needed to take their shoes off, or put them on. She merely needed a place to collect her whirling thoughts.

  She wasn’t going after Zeb. It was better this way. They had been kidding themselves into thinking they could be friends, or even that they might have a second chance, but she had known from the beginning it was nothing more than a sweet daydream. And like the rest of her life, it wasn’t meant to be.

  But what had happened? One minute she had been so glad to be home, out of the cold, and the next she knew, she was toe-to-toe with Zeb, arguing over . . . nothing.

  “What’s all the racket out here?” Dawdi picked that moment to come through the door from the kitchen. Heaven only knew if he had been waiting on Zeb to leave before emerging, or if he had even been paying attention at all. These days it could go either way.

  “Nothing,” she muttered, suddenly too drained to explain.

  He looked around as if confused. “Where’s Zeb? He was supposed to play Uno with me again.”

  “He left.”

  “Left? Why did he leave? How’s he getting home? Will he be back?”

  “I don’t know.” She hoped that answer would suffice for all his questions. She didn’t want to explain. She couldn’t. She didn’t even understand it herself.

  Dawdi propped his hands on his hips and stared off at nothing. “Huh,” he said. “That’s not like him.”

  It was exactly like him. He ran when things got rough. He had run two years ago, and he was still running now.

  * * *

  He was certain he was half-frozen by the time he made it to the Brenneman driveway. He was saved from being completely frozen thanks to his own anger. It had managed to keep him warm most of the way, but now the cold was starting to seep through.

  Zeb stomped across the yard and onto the porch, wishing it would snow if it was going to be this cold. No sense in such low temperatures if there was no snow to help him enjoy his time. Somehow that was all Ivy’s fault too. He wasn’t sure how, but he was certain she had wished for no snow just to spite him.

  The thought was ridiculous, and he knew it. She had been wishing for a white Christmas. But he didn’t care. He pulled off his gloves, slapped them against one thigh, and let himself into the house.

  “Zeb!” Clara Rose clamped one hand over her heart as if he had startled her. “I wasn’t expecting you.” She let out a soft chuckle. “Nearly scared the life out of me. I didn’t hear a tractor.”

  He gave a curt nod and headed for the fireplace to warm himself. “There wasn’t a tractor.”

  She frowned. “Then how’d you get home?”

  Zeb opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted as Obie came through the front door.

  “Was that you I saw walking down the road just now?”

  “Walking?” Clara Rose squawked over Zeb’s answer of “Jah.”

  “It’s barely thirty degrees out there,” she continued. “You must be frozen.”

  Zeb shrugged and blew on his tingling fingers. He’d had on gloves, but not the sort that could combat this kind of cold. Or maybe his brother was right and he was soft. Florida winters could do that to a man.

  “Actually, it’s just over forty out there,” Obie said.

  Clara Rose sniffed. “That is still too cold with all those clouds hanging around.”

  Heavy gray clouds in varying degrees of darkness crowded the sky. It was cold out there. And gloomy. Perfect for his mood.

  “Clara Rose,” Obie started, not bothering to look at her as he spoke, “I think I heard Paul Daniel.”

  She looked up from her quilting to study her husband’s features, then she nodded, set her sewing aside, and made her way up the stairs.

  “I didn’t hear the baby,” Obie said after she had disappeared from view.

  “I didn’t think so,” Zeb replied. Which could only mean one thing . . .

  “You’ve got to pull yourself together, brother.”

  That.

  “I’m fine,” Zeb said by way of protest. Frankly he was tired of having to constantly defend his position to his family, to everybody.

  “Not if you had to walk home from her house in this weather.”

  “I had a coat.”

  Obie shook his head. “You just don’t get it. She’s going to be the death of you.”

  He was so tired of defending himself that he couldn’t find the words to do s
o. He didn’t even search for them.

  “You love her.” Obie’s words weren’t a question.

  Zeb nodded. At least this he could answer.

  “But you’re unhappy.”

  What could he do but nod again? He was unhappy. It was like he couldn’t reach Ivy. It was like she existed on a different plane from the rest of them. She would run around with an Englisch man, but she wouldn’t go places with him. She wouldn’t be a part of the community. How could she live that way?

  She loved him. Of that he was certain. But she couldn’t forgive him. She couldn’t forgive herself. She couldn’t forgive the situation that they had found themselves in. Until she could do that . . .

  Obie sucked in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “It’s time to forget about her.”

  His brother’s words sliced through him. Forget about her. How could he forget? There was only one way.

  “Obie, I—”

  “I know,” his brother interrupted. “It’ll mean you going back to Florida, and I will miss you horribly, but I would rather see you happy hundreds of miles away than miserable right underfoot.”

  Zeb was speechless. He hated when his brother was right, and this was one of those times. He needed to move on, and the only way to do that was away from Wells Landing. Away from Ivy. Leaving her a second time would be harder than the first, but he knew he had to do it. And the sooner, the better.

  Chapter Twenty

  Ivy got up Saturday morning like nothing was different. Like her heart wasn’t broken. She ate breakfast, got dressed, and drove into town to work. Funny how the world kept spinning even when a person didn’t feel they could go on. Ivy had been feeling this way so long she hadn’t realized it had eased when Zeb came back, only to return full force when she had made him leave the day before.

  Who was he to tell her about going around with an Englisch guy? Like he had any room to talk. He’d run off to Pinecraft and taken up with the Beachy Amish for the last two years. He’d been driving a car, going to church in a building, and who knew what else, all in the name of . . . of . . . well, she didn’t know what he called it. But she was sure it was something.

  “You okay?” Esther asked just after noon. The cookie crowd had come and gone, and Ivy was happy to report that all the Christmas cookies were gone.

  “Of course,” Ivy answered, the lie falling easily from her lips.

  Esther eyed her with skepticism. “You sure?”

  She smiled to add some weight to her words. “What could possibly be wrong?”

  The other woman shrugged and checked on a pan of dinner rolls. “I don’t know, but you keep slamming around here like you’re mad about something.”

  Ivy unclenched her jaw, only realizing in that moment that she had been grinding her teeth together. “Sorry. I must have some oil on my gloves or something.” Another lie.

  “If something’s bothering you, you know you can talk to me. Jah?”

  Ivy nodded. There was nothing to talk about. Not really. And there never had been.

  “Ivy, phone’s for you,” Jodie called from the door to the office.

  Ivy couldn’t say the two of them had mended all the problems between them, but they had come to an understanding of sorts. Ivy didn’t bother Jodie and Jodie didn’t bother Ivy and a small truce was born.

  “Me?” She couldn’t imagine who would be calling her at work. Most of the people she knew would sooner come by than call. Who was she kidding? No one she knew who would come by would care enough to talk to her at all.

  “Jah.” Jodie’s voice gained an impatient edge, then she moved away from the office.

  Ivy stripped off her thin plastic gloves and tossed them in the trash. Maybe it was Logan calling to tell her that he was leaving soon. Or . . . well, she couldn’t think of an or.

  She picked up the receiver from its resting place on the desk and held it to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Ivy?”

  The voice was familiar.

  “This is Daryl Hicks. Your grandfather—”

  A buzzing started in Ivy’s ears and she missed the rest of what he said. If Daryl was calling it wasn’t good. That much she knew.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Can you repeat that?”

  A sigh came from the other end of the line. “I can’t keep doing this, Ivy. He’s upsetting my mother.”

  Daryl’s mother was ninety if she was a day and had started to lose some of her faculties.

  “What’s he doing?” She couldn’t leave work. No, that wasn’t the truth. She didn’t want to leave work. The responsibility pressed down on her so hard she could scarcely breathe. But the other options didn’t bear thinking about.

  “He’s on top of my barn.”

  “What?” Ivy dropped the phone, then hastily picked it up again.

  “Are you there?” Daryl asked.

  “I’m here.” Ivy’s voice trembled with worry. “Have you called the sheriff?” How was she supposed to get him down?

  “I didn’t want to involve the law. You are my first call.”

  She was grateful that he was thinking about them, but honestly, this was way more than she had ever dealt with.

  “Call the sheriff,” she instructed. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  “Okay, Ivy.” She could hear the relief in his voice. “If he falls, I’m not responsible,” he added.

  Just like an Englischer, always wanting to assign blame.

  “Of course not,” she reassured him. But more importantly, she didn’t want to think about her grandfather falling. “I’ll be there as soon as possible,” she said as she took her purse out of the desk drawer where Esther allowed them to stash them. “And Daryl,” she added, “don’t let him fall.”

  She hung up the phone without waiting for his response. “Esther!” she called, then grabbed her coat and rushed from the office back into the front of the store. She slowed her steps, realizing that being frantic would only make matters worse. Everyone in the bakery didn’t need to know about her troubles. They would find out soon enough.

  “What’s the matter?” Esther met her at the entrance, clasping her hands in that reassuring manner she had.

  “It’s my grandfather. He’s in trouble.”

  Esther’s lips pressed together, and her eyes dimmed. “Go,” she said simply. “We’ll take care of things here.”

  Relief flooded her. She couldn’t ask for better people to work for. “I don’t know when I can come back.”

  Esther shook her head. “Don’t worry about that. We’ve got it covered.”

  “Thank you.” Those tears threatened once again. Tonight maybe she would allow them to fall, but now she had to take care of the most important man in her life.

  Ivy barely acknowledged Helen Ebersol, the bishop’s wife, as she hurried out the door. She pulled on her coat as she ran. Without a backward glance, she hopped on her tractor and headed toward home.

  The drive seemed to take hours, days. She wished she had the Mustang. It would get her there in record time. But she had given it back to Luke Lambright long ago. After it’d had the desired effect on the good citizens of Wells Landing, of course. Now she wished she had it for entirely different reasons.

  Finally she pulled into the drive at Daryl’s house. The sheriff’s deputy was already there, along with two of the policemen for the city and one from the Lighthorse Tribal Police. Great, one old man gets stuck on the roof of a barn and half the cops in the county show up. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

  “There,” Daryl said, pulling on the deputy’s coat sleeve and pointing toward her. “She’s his granddaughter.”

  The deputy met her halfway and tipped his cowboy hat to her. “Miss. Can you tell us why he’s up there? We thought perhaps this was a jumping situation, but now we’re not so sure.”

  Jumping?

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. What did Daryl say?” She inclined her chin toward her neighbor.

  “He’s as baffl
ed as we are.”

  She nodded, unable to find any words for the situation. “My grandfather . . .” she started. “Sometimes he has problems remembering certain things.”

  “Like his name or who he is?”

  “More like what year it is. And what’s happening around him. How old he is. What time of year it is. That sort of thing.” When she ran it all out in the line like that it sounded much worse than it ever had in her head.

  “I see.” He motioned for her to follow him. “Let’s see if you can figure out what he’s talking about and help him decide to come down.”

  She wondered if the man was passing judgment on her and her grandfather, but she only had a couple of seconds to worry about it before her grandfather came into view.

  Ivy stumbled a bit when she saw him, but she recovered quickly. Daryl had told her that he was on top of the barn, but she hadn’t expected him to be on top of the barn. Terrible thoughts raced through her mind, mixed with memories from a few years back. Chris Flaud’s brother Johnny had fallen off their barn roof and broken his neck. Now the poor boy was bedridden and most likely would be for the rest of his life.

  Please Lord, help me get him down in one piece.

  She cleared her throat and tried to get herself together. Getting all upset would get him all upset, and that wouldn’t be good for anyone involved.

  “Dawdi!” She took another step forward and shaded her eyes to better see him. It was still December-cold, but the sun was peeking out in between the floating winter clouds. “What are you doing up there?” She tried her best to make her voice sound offhand and casual, as if she found him sitting on the eaves of the barn every day.

  The sound of a tractor coming down the lane leading to Daryl’s house floated to her. A tractor this time of year meant an Amish person was coming, but she didn’t turn around to see who it was. There’d be time enough for that later.

  “I’m sitting, Irene.”

  “Ivy,” she corrected, then wished she could kick herself. She didn’t need all these Englischers to have more problems against her grandfather than were already stacking up. “I’m not Irene,” she mumbled only to herself.