Chapter 4

Tabitha had paled and looked unsteady on her feet. Seth feared she was about to pass out in the middle of her front porch. If she did, that would be his fault. His stupid joke had scared her silly.

Gritting his teeth, Seth called himself ten kinds a fool. Of course she was rattled. The woman barely walked out her door when someone else was on her property. He knew better than to approach so quietly—or to call out nonsense in the hopes of catching a smile. She was not going to be smiling with him anytime soon.

Part of him wanted to turn right back around and not grace her land for another twenty-eight days. But that wasn't possible. Not when she'd stepped outside to speak to him and had been so kind as to give him that basket of bread and jam. He was no psychologist, but Seth was pretty sure that if he retreated now, it might take him another year to get her to trust him again.

He didn't want to wait that long. Not ever again.

That meant there was only one choice, and that was to be up-front and honest. If she didn't want him to come around again, he wanted to hear her say the words. Plus, he had a notion that a frank conversation would be real good for both of them. She would feel like she had a choice about who was on her property, and he'd know if she didn't want him around. If she told him to his face to keep away, he would. He had no doubt about that.

"I hope you don't mind that I stopped by here so soon," he said when he was about three feet from the porch. "But if you do, tell me now and I'll leave."

Her eyes widened, but she said nothing.

"I mean it. I won't get mad. Not at all."

She remained silent.

Okay, then. It looked like he would be able to stay for a spell. Hoping to put her mind at ease, he kept talking. "Listen, I could make up a story about how I just happened to be around, so I thought I'd stop by, but we'd both know that was a lie. The truth is that I wanted to see you again."

Unable to force her to meet his gaze any longer, he turned his head away. Looked out at the yellow-brown overgrown grass in the field just beyond her. "Now, don't get too worried about that, though. I like looking out for people and checking on folks who I think might need a hand."

"Like me."

She'd spoken. Relief poured through him, though he tried to look oblivious to that fact as he gazed up at her. "Jah."

Her throat worked. Even from his distance, he could see that she was mentally coaxing herself to get up the nerve to talk to him. As painful as it was to watch, he didn't dare push her along. Instead, he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket. If she was willing to speak to him, he was willing to listen.

"Why?" Her voice sounded husky, almost rough.

It would be so easy to say something meaningless, but he wouldn't feel good about that. "Because there's something about you that appeals to me."

"How so?" She loosened the grip she had on the railing.

"Well, beyond the fact that you're the reason I know how to calculate percentages, I figure you and me are a lot alike."

"You honestly see some similarities?"

They were both outcasts. That was obvious. But how did one tell someone that? Staring at the dormant grass again, Seth nodded his head toward the distance. "I guess you and me are a lot like that field over there. Right now, it looks like that old pasture might need a helping hand. The overgrown grass needs to be cut, and underneath, the soil needs to be worked. But, by chance, if someone takes a closer look at it, they're going to see something else."

"What's that?"

He turned back to her. "Promise."

She cocked her head to one side. "I'm not following you."

He pointed. "That grass out there, come April or May, is going to be just fine. It'll be green and healthy and thick. If a city guy drove by and took the time to notice it, he might even say it looks real pretty."

"So you're saying that the two of us are just in a bit of a depression."

He laughed. "I reckon so."

"Hmm." She looked a little offended.

He held up his hands. "Come now. Don't get all riled up about being compared to dead grass."

"I am not riled, Seth Zimmerman."

Ah. There it was. Tabitha almost sounded like the schoolteacher he used to know. The seventeen-year-old beauty he'd had a crush on. The girl who'd been so fond of light blue dresses and rarely wore black stockings. The young woman he'd been tongue-tied around because he was fourteen and she only saw him as a child who didn't study enough or spell all that well.

"If you need a better reason for me being drawn to you, it's because you're quiet."

Tabitha inhaled. For a split second, he was pretty sure she'd been tempted to smile.

"Some might say that I'm a bit too quiet," she murmured.

"I reckon they would. I'm partial to it, however." When she stared at him, seeming to silently wait for him to tell her more, Seth added, "It was real noisy in prison. During the day, during the night, it didn't matter. Doors clanged, men yelled. Cried. It was difficult to get used to."

He stood still, waiting for her to ask him to leave now that he'd reminded her of where he'd been. Of what he'd done.

She didn't look taken aback by the reminder. Instead, she studied him more closely. Seth fought against fidgeting and let her look her fill. Then, to his surprise, she added, "Would you like something to drink?"

"Jah." He wasn't particularly thirsty, but no way was he gonna ever pass up anything she offered.

Tabitha froze for a second but then got her bearings. Lifting her chin, she said, "I have cold cider and water. Oh! I've got cider on the stove with some spices too. Do you like hot apple cider?"

He doubted he did but wasn't going to tell her that. "I don't know."

"You don't?"

He shook his head, doing his best to keep the smile teasing his lips from seeing the light of day. "I don't believe anyone's ever served me hot spiced cider." His younger self would have run from such a thing.

"It's probably time someone did, then." Tabitha turned and went inside. When he didn't follow, she cleared her throat as she held the door open. "Are you coming?"

"You sure you don't mind me inside your haus?"

"I'm sure." She looked so determined. So brave.

Reminding himself to let her call the shots, he climbed the steps and crossed the porch. Alone in the living room, he closed the door and looked around. The floorboards were uneven, the walls scuffed, and even the stones around the fireplace were in disrepair. It was obvious that her ex-husband had never invested much time working on the house and that it was far too much for her to handle. The house didn't just need a helping hand. Nothing less than an army of workers and a pile of money would make it shine.

But amid the dents and scratches was the scent of warm bread and a woman's presence. And, he supposed, the aroma of spiced apple cider.

"I'm in here," she said.

He walked through the living room to a small seating area and finally into a surprisingly spacious kitchen. Like the rest of the house, it looked worse for wear. The laminate on the counters was peeling up in places, the stove was old, and the refrigerator made a low humming noise.

However, it was also spotlessly clean. And surprisingly pretty. She'd put some wildflowers in a jar on the counter. Two quilts rested on the living room sofa. There was even a bright yellow tablecloth covering the table.

When their eyes met, she grimaced. She'd been watching him take it all in. "I know it's not much."

She was right. It wasn't. But once upon a time the house had been special and it could be again. Just like Tabitha. "It suits you."

She flinched. "Maybe it does."

Seth swallowed, embarrassed that his words had come out the wrong way. But who was to say what was the right way? It wasn't like he had a lot of practice saying anything of worth to women. "I didn't mean any disrespect, Tabitha."

"No?"

"No." Sure, he could say more to try to defend himself, but what was the point? What remained true was the simple fact that she had been through hell at the hands of the one man on earth who'd vowed to care for her until his last breath. Instead, he'd betrayed that trust in the worst way possible.

To make matters worse, what little trust and faith she'd possessed had been trampled on by many of the people in their community's tight circle. Too many folks had sided with a book of rules and their long-held traditions instead of what their eyes and ears told them was true.

In the stiff silence between them, Tabitha looked around, seeming to study the space with fresh eyes. "I suppose this old house does suit me. It's broken but still standing."

"I meant that it looks comfortable and pretty," he said quickly.

Her eyes flared before she tamped that down. "I'm neither, Seth."

"You are to me. I find you relaxing to be around."

Her lips parted. Her tongue darted out, moistened her bottom lip.

He pretended not to notice.

Carefully she poured two mugs of cider. "Well, um, here you go. Hot cider." Looking a little unsure, she added, "Do you want to sit at the table?"

He'd just noticed the filled canvas bags on the floor as well as a giant bag of flour. "What is all this?"

"Groceries. My sister and her boys stop by once a month. They left a few moments before you arrived."

"Want me to help you put them away?"

"Nee. It will give me something to do later." She carried the mugs to the table.

"All right, then." He followed and sat down across from her.

"Oh! I forgot." In a flash she was on her feet again, fluttering around the kitchen like a scared bird.

Tabitha pulled a plate out of a cabinet, opened a pie safe, and sliced a piece of apple pie. Despite how he was fairly sure he didn't like spiced cider, he sipped his drink, needing something to do as he attempted to come to terms with her generosity. It was hot and a bit too sweet but not awful.

"You didn't have to do this," he murmured when she set the plate and a fork in front of him.

"You've been bringing me meat and produce for months. You've split most of my wood. I don't think a slice of pie is too much to give in return."

True. "Perhaps not."

He closed his eyes and silently gave thanks. It was their way. And even though he was no longer Amish, he still found comfort in giving thanks to the Lord for His gifts.

When he opened his eyes again, he found her watching him from across the table. "Do you still pray before meals too?"

"Sometimes."

"It's hard to give up, ain't so?"

"I have no need to stop." Her voice lowered. "I understand why I had to leave the order. Marriage is a sacred vow before the Lord and the community. I know some couples whose marriages fail choose to separate and live apart, but that didn't feel right to me. I felt as if I had no choice. I didn't want any ties to Leon."

"I understand." He tentatively took another sip.

"Do you? Some women came here soon after I told the bishop about my divorce lawyer."

"What did they say?"

She looked down at her untouched drink. "About what you'd imagine. They reminded me of my marriage vows."

"I was in prison, but I still heard about how badly you were beaten. It wasn't the first time, was it?"

Those eyes, so soft and vulnerable, met his again. "It wasn't even the worst," she whispered. "But I still lost my baby."

"You did what you had to do, Tabitha. Even if folks here in Crittenden County don't understand, I do. I think God does too."

Tabitha curved her hands around her mug but still didn't take a sip. "I hope He does. I made my peace with His will some time ago. I decided that no matter what, I'll have to face my Maker one day, but until then I have to live on this earth. I couldn't live like that anymore."

Seth had never imagined he was a kind person. Certainly not sensitive. He had no experience hugging children or holding a woman in his arms while she cried. But at that moment, he wanted to hold her hand. That was it. Simply hold her hand in between his two work-roughened ones. Give her a bit of contact. Give her a reminder that she wasn't alone in this world. Nee, remind her that she wasn't going to have to wait until death to find comfort.

"You haven't tried the pie."

He couldn't help but grin at that. "And you haven't tried the cider."

Her eyes brightened as she brought the earthenware cup to her lips and sipped while he took a bite.

Just as he'd imagined, it was delicious. The crust was flaky and light while the filling was cold and tart and sweet. Cinnamon teased his tongue.

She was watching him.

"It's very good. Better than that, actually."

"Thank you."

"You're very welcome."

She smiled slowly. It was tentative yet genuine.

Seth realized he needed nothing else in the world at that moment. Except, perhaps, to stay another moment longer.