Anna's Gift. Emma Miller
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be easier for Samuel to share his concerns if she continued with her work, Anna climbed the ladder again and dipped her brush into the can.
Aunt Martha had been telling Mam the other day that Samuel was finding it difficult to manage his farm, his house and to care for five children, and that it was just a matter of time before he realized it. “Then he’ll start looking for a wife,” she’d said. “Something he should have done three years ago.”
“When Frieda passed, little Mae was only two months old,” Samuel continued. “I had my hands full, so Louise thought it better if she took the baby home to Ohio until … until …”
Anna knew until what—until Samuel finished mourning his wife and remarried. Usually, widowers waited a year before looking for a new partner, but sometimes, when there were small children, the waiting period might be much shorter. Samuel’s widowerhood had somehow stretched to four years.
In all those years, Samuel had made no formal attempt to court anyone, but most of Kent County suspected that he was sweet on Mam. Despite their age difference—Mam was eight years older—it would be a fine match. Samuel was handsome, a deacon of the church, and would make an excellent provider for an extended family. Not only did their farms run side-by-side, but Samuel had one of the finest dairy herds in the state.
Everyone liked Samuel. It wasn’t just that he was a good-looking bear of a man, with his broad shoulders, a sturdy build and warm brown eyes, but he was hardworking, funny and fair-minded. It was clear that he and Mam were good friends, and Samuel spent many an evening at their kitchen table, drinking coffee, talking and laughing with her. Why he hadn’t formally asked to court her, Anna couldn’t guess. But that was okay with Anna. It was hard for her to imagine having Samuel for a stepfather. She’d secretly dreamed about him, although she’d never said a word to anyone other than her cousin, Dorcas. Even now, just having him in the room with her made her pulse race and her head go all giddy.
Anna knew, of course, that Samuel Mast, probably the catch of the county, would never look at her. Anna considered herself sensible, dependable, hardworking and Plain. But among the pretty red-haired Yoder sisters, Anna stuck out like a plow horse in a field of pacers. A healthy mare, her Aunt Martha called her, but no amount of brushing her hair or pinching her cheeks could make her pretty. Her face was too round, her mouth too wide, and her nose was like a lump of biscuit dough.
Her mother had always told her that true beauty was in the heart and spirit, but everyone knew what boys liked. Men were attracted to cute girls and handsome women, and it was the slender maedles with good dowries who got the pick of the best husband material.
No, Anna wasn’t foolish enough to consider ever marrying a man as fine and good-looking as Samuel, but it didn’t keep her from dreaming. And it didn’t stop her from wishing that there was someone like him somewhere, who could see beneath her sturdy frame and Plain features, to appreciate her for who she was inside.
“Don’t worry,” Aunt Martha always said. “Any woman works as hard as you do and cooks hasen kucha like yours, she’ll find a man. Might be one not so easy on the eyes out West someplace, or a bucktoothed widower with a dozen sons and no daughters to help with the housework, but someone will have you.”
Anna knew she wanted a husband, babies and a home of her own, but she wondered if the price might be higher than she wanted to pay. She loved her mother and her sisters, and she loved living in Seven Poplars with all the neighbors and friends who were dear to her. She wasn’t certain she would be willing to leave Delaware to marry, especially with the prospects Aunt Martha suggested would be available to her.
“Anna?”
“Ya?” She glanced back at Samuel, feeling even more foolish. While she’d been dream-weaving, Samuel had been saying something to her. “I’m listening,” she said, which wasn’t quite true.
“My Frieda is dead four years.”
Anna nodded, not certain where the conversation was going. “She is,” Anna agreed. “Four years.”
“And two months,” Samuel added. “Time I … made plans for my family.”
Suddenly realizing what he might be talking about, she grasped the ladder to keep it from swaying. “I’m sorry you missed Mam.” Her voice seemed too loud in the empty room. “I’m not sure when she’ll be home. A few days. It depends on the weather and how Grossmama is feeling.”
“I … didn’t come … didn’t come to speak … to Hannah.” Each word seemed to come as a struggle.
She paused, resting her brush on the lip of the paint can, giving him her full attention. If he hadn’t come to talk to Mam, why was he here? Was he sick? Was that why he looked so bad? “Do you need help with something? Charley should be back—”
“Ne. It’s you, really, I want to talk to.”
“Me?” Her mouth gaped open and she snapped it shut. Her stomach turned over. “Something I can do for you?”
“Ya. I want …”
Anna shifted her weight and the wooden step under her left foot creaked. “You want …” she urged, trying to help.
“If you would …” He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders.
He was a big man, so attractive, even with his scraggly hair and oatmeal on his clothes. He filled the doorway, and staring at him, Anna couldn’t stop the fluttering in the pit of her stomach. “Ya?” she coaxed. “You want …”
“I want to court you, Anna,” Samuel blurted out. “I want that you should give me the honor to become my wife.”
Anna froze, unable to exhale. Surely he hadn’t said what she thought he said. She blinked as black spots raced before her eyes. Abruptly, she felt her hands go numb. Her knees went weak and the ladder began to sway. An instant later, paint, ladder and Anna went flying.
Chapter Two
“Anna!” Samuel rushed forward in an attempt to catch her, and they went down together in a crash of wood, entwined arms and legs, and what seemed like gallons of blue paint. Samuel slid rather than fell to the floor and ended up with Anna in his lap, his arms securely around her middle. Somewhere in the jumble, the paint can hit the wall and bounced, spraying paint everywhere.
Samuel peered into Anna’s startled face. Her eyes were wide, her mouth gaped, but the only sound she made was a small, “Oh, no.”
“Are you hurt?” he asked, letting go of her when he realized he still held his arms tightly around her. He tried to rise, slipped in the river of paint and sat down hard, a splat rising from around his britches. As they fell a second time, Anna’s arms instinctively went around his neck, bringing her face only inches from his. She was so close, he could have kissed her full, rosy lips.
“Anna?” he said, out of breath. “Are you all right?”
She gave a gasp, wiggled out of his embrace and scrambled up, her back foot slipping. Throwing both arms out for balance, she caught herself before she went down again.
Samuel knew he had to say something. But what? Anna sucked in a gulp of air, threw her apron up over her blue-streaked face and ran through the doorway, nearly running into Susanna and Mae, and out of the room.
“Anna,” he called, trying to get to his feet again, but having less luck than she had. “Come back. It’s all right.” He dropped onto all fours and used his hands to push himself up. “It’s only paint. Anna!”
But Anna was gone, and the only evidence that she’d been there was the warm feeling in his chest, and a trail of bright blue footprints across the wide, red floorboards.
“You spilled the paint.” Susanna began to giggle, then pointed at him. “And you have paint in your beard.”
“Beard,” Mae echoed, standing solemnly