A Man For Honor. Emma Miller
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eggs for me, will you, Greta?” she asked. That was a request she regretted a moment later when the girl stumbled, sending the egg carton flying out of her hand and bouncing off the back of a chair. Eggs splattered everywhere and the boys shrieked with excitement. Anke wailed.
Greta stood there and stared at the mess, looking as if she was about to burst into tears. “It was the cat’s fault,” she insisted. “Or maybe I slipped on a wet spot on the floor.”
One remaining egg teetered on the edge of the table. Justice made a dive for it and missed. The egg rolled off. Tanner grabbed it in midair and the egg cracked between his fingers. The cat darted toward one of the broken eggs, only to be confronted by the dog. The cat hissed, and the dog began to bark, barely drowning out the shouts of the children.
“Clean it up, please,” Honor told Greta. “And stop crying. It’s only eggs.” She scooped her daughter out of Greta’s arms as a loud knock came at the back door. “Ne,” she muttered, closing her eyes for a moment. “It can’t be.” Maybe it’s someone from Sara’s, come to tell me that Luke changed his mind, she thought as she pushed open the back door.
But there he was, taller and handsomer than he’d seemed last night. He had just shaved; an Amish man didn’t grow a beard until he married. She could smell the scent of his shaving cream. His blond hair, showing from beneath the too-small hat, was as yellow as June butter. She drew in a deep breath.
“Are you going to let me in?” he asked. And then that familiar grin started at the left corner of his mouth and spread, as sweet and slow as warm honey, across his face. “You look surprised to see me, Honor. I told you I’d be here.”
Behind her, the kitchen chaos continued: Greta whining, the boys quarreling, the cat hissing at the dog and the lamb bleating. For a few seconds, she felt as if she were trapped in a block of ice. She couldn’t let him in. There was no way she could invite him into her house...into her life. She’d lived through Luke Weaver once. She could never do it again. She’d crack and break like those eggs on the floor if she tried.
“Honor?” His green eyes seemed to dare her to turn him away. Or were they daring her to let him in?
She turned and walked slowly back to the kitchen, where the frying pan was smoking. Justice had pulled off his shoes and was dancing barefoot in a mess of egg yolk and crushed shell, and Elijah was trying to climb into the lamb’s playpen.
“Turn off the burner!” Honor called to Greta. “The pan’s too hot. There’s smoke...” She trailed off and did it herself.
Patience, she cautioned herself. If she wasn’t gentle with Greta, the girl would run weeping to her bed and she’d be no help all the rest of the day. Not that she was much help, but at least she was another pair of hands. And there were never enough hands to do all that was needed in the house or outside on the farm.
She thrust the baby into Greta’s arms. “Put her in her high chair and give her a biscuit. Break it up, or she’ll try to get it all in her mouth at once.”
She realized that Justice and Tanner were staring at something behind her. She glanced back and saw that Luke had followed her into the kitchen. A leather tool belt—weighed down with a carpenter’s hammer, screwdriver and pliers—was slung over one shoulder. In his other hand he carried a metal toolbox. What was he doing in here? She’d closed the door on him, hadn’t she? She opened her mouth to ask him what he thought he was doing, but clamped it shut just as quickly. She’d left the door open behind her...an invitation.
“Is that coffee I smell?” he asked.
“If you want some, pour it yourself. Cups are up there.” She pointed to a line of mugs hanging on hooks.
“You remember that I like mine sweet.” His tone was teasing.
“Cream is in the refrigerator. Sugar on the table.” She turned her back on him, refusing to acknowledge his charm. She waved the smoke away from the stove.
“Honey?”
She snapped around, a hot retort ready to spring from her throat. But then she realized he was grinning at her and pointing to the plastic bee bottle on top of the refrigerator. Honey. Luke had always preferred honey in his coffee. She retrieved Elijah from the playpen, saving the lamb from certain destruction. “Ne,” she admonished. “You cannot ride her. She’s not a pony.”
“What if she was a pig?” Justice asked, leaning on the playpen. “You can ride a pig.”
“You can’t ride pigs!” Tanner corrected.
“Hungry,” Elijah reminded her.
“Justice, put your boots on. The floor’s cold.”
“Once I fix those holes, it will be a lot warmer.” Luke squirted honey into his coffee. “I need to get up on the roof now that the rain has passed. If it can’t be patched, I’ll have to look into getting a roofing crew together.”
“Ask Freeman at the mill.” Honor turned the flame on under the frying pan again and went to the refrigerator for scrapple. “Tanner, run out to the barn and see if you can find more eggs. Greta, go with him. You carry the eggs, and don’t let him lock you in anywhere.” She turned her gaze back to Luke. “James Hostetler has the best contracting bunch, but he’s busy for months. I already tried him. If anyone is available and has the skill to hold a hammer, Freeman will know it.”
“Freeman Kemp? I know him,” he said, taking a seat at the table. “Did know him.”
She turned her back on Luke again. She felt almost breathless with anger or something else, something she didn’t want to confront. “Ya, Freeman owns the mill, so he’s usually there.”
“That’s right. I forgot his family has the mill. I’ll stop and talk with him on the way back to Sara’s.”
“If you’re stopping there, you might as well pick up some chicken feed and save me the trip. I’ll give you the money. That one can’t drive a horse and wagon.” She nodded in Greta’s direction. “She’s afraid of horses,” she said, managing to keep any disapproval from her tone. She needed to work on judging people. But who ever heard of an Amish girl who was afraid of horses?
With the pan the right temperature, Honor added thick slices of scrapple. She tried to concentrate on what she was doing, because what sense would it make to burn herself making breakfast through foolishness over a man she’d put aside long ago? Rather, one who had put her aside. She winced inwardly. The hurt was still there, mended over with strong thread, almost forgotten, but still having the power to cause her pain if she dwelled on it.
“Good coffee,” he remarked. “And that scrapple smells good, too. You always did have a steady hand at the stove.”
She glanced over her shoulder and glared at him. “No doubt Sara already fed you a substantial breakfast. She’s known for her bountiful table.”
Luke shrugged and offered that lethal grin of his. “I could eat a little something, if you’re offering. A man can’t do better than to start the day with a scrapple-and-egg biscuit.”
“With catsup,” Justice added. He carried a large bottle to the table and plopped it down in front of Luke. “I like catsup on my biscuit.”
“That sounds good.” Luke smiled at her son.
“That bottle’s almost empty,” Honor said. She was feeling a little steadier now. Children grounded a person. “Get Mommi another bottle from the pantry.”
Justice darted off to get the catsup. Elijah climbed onto a chair and grabbed a biscuit from the plate on the table.
“Watch it doesn’t burn.” Luke pointed to Honor. “The scrapple.”
She turned away from him and carefully turned the browning meat. “Your shoes are muddy,” she said to Luke. “I’d appreciate it if you’d leave them in the laundry room. I scrubbed this floor once this morning.”
Luke