The Saddle Maker's Son Part 10

"Or you. Understand that, child."

"I do."

"Lesson learned, then."

Some lessons were far harder to learn than others.

FOURTEEN.

Nothing like hard work to make food smell good. Tobias's stomach rumbled. He'd spent all day unloading boxes and arranging his tools in the shop. It was beginning to look like his home away from home. He'd been so busy he'd forgotten to eat his sack lunch. Being busy was a good thing. It helped him forget about homesickness. And wrong roads taken. Not to mention a certain wayward woman who lived down the road here in Bee County who might never forgive him for doing the right thing.

He had done the right thing, so why did he feel so guilty for telling Susan about Rebekah's secret? She'd only been trying to help Diego and Lupe. He understood the desire to do that. But a person couldn't ignore the rules. They existed for a reason.

He sounded like his father. Sighing, he tossed his hat on the counter. So much for not thinking about things. Shake it off. That's what Daed would say. He did the right thing and now he had to stand by it.

If Tobias's big snout was correct, Martha had made his favorite spaghetti ca.s.serole for supper. It was his sister's sixteenth birthday and she'd spent it working hard. And without saying a word. Likely she thought they'd forgotten. It was an important milestone for a Plain boy or girl. The beginning of rumspringa.

He poured more water in the tub and stuck his dirty hands in it, thinking of his own time. Up north he'd grown up with a pack of friends, mostly the same age. They'd done their share of exploring the Englisch ways, pasture parties, kegs of beer, cars. He'd experimented but then had come home at night, glad to be there. What he hadn't done was find a special friend.

Until Serena.

He shook his head. He must look addled, shaking his head for no apparent reason. He dried his hands, focusing on the rough feel of the towel on his fingers. Looking back again. It was a habit that needed to be broken. No need to look backward, only forward. The plot for the vegetable garden was ready for planting. All the boxes had been unpacked. The furniture at the house arranged with much discussion from the girls about where the sofa and rocking chairs belonged. A man could lose a lot of time in the field waiting for them to make up their minds.

"La ce-na." Diego trotted into the kitchen, Nyla at his side. "Ce-na."

"Ce-na," Nyla repeated. "Supper."

"Su-per."

Nyla giggled and shook her head. "Nee. Supper."

"Sa-purr." Diego grinned and squeezed into the s.p.a.ce next to Tobias. "Nee? No?"

"Nee is a German word." Tobias tousled the boy's long locks. "Talk about getting confusing. Two languages are surely enough. And you need a haircut."

Diego c.o.c.ked his head, his expression perplexed. "Cmo?"

Tobias grabbed a handful of his dark hair and made chopping motions with the fingers on his other hand. "Haircut. Chop, chop."

"Nee. Nee." Diego scampered away, dirty hands flopping. "Pelo mo."

Tobias had no idea what that meant, but he swiped a pair of scissors from the prep table and stomped after his guest. "S, s." Yes was a Spanish word he did know.

Shrieking with laughter, Diego ducked under the table, Nyla right behind him. "Hide, hide," Nyla yelled. "My bruder is terrible with the scissors. You'll look like Rueben did."

She told the truth. Tobias had once taken it upon himself to cut the boys' hair. Never again. It was, apparently, a job more suited to women. The more Tobias had tried to fix his handiwork, the more hair ended up on the floor below his brother's bare feet. Poor Rueben had looked like a shorn sheep for a few months until it grew out.

Laughing, he knelt and stuck his head under the table. "Fine. I'll let Martha do the honors." He leaned closer to Nyla and dropped his voice. "Did you wrap Martha's present for me?"

"Jah." Nyla's delight at being in on the secret shone on her thin face. She looked like a miniature of their mudder. They were blessed to have a living memory. "I hid it under my bed with Ida and me's presents."

She patted Diego's arm. "Show Tobias what you made for Martha."

"Diego made a present for Martha?" Intrigued, Tobias settled down cross-legged, his head ducked so it didn't bang on the table. "Let me see."

"Birt-day?" Diego plopped down, knees spread, legs and feet behind him, in that loose-hipped way kinner had. "For Marta."

He dug through the pockets of his dirty pants and produced a small barrel-shaped piece of wood with the bottom hollowed out and connected by a string to a wooden handle that looked like a stick they'd found on the ground by the trees out front. He'd painted it in red and blue stripes. He held it in the palm of a hand that needed a good washing. "Capirotada."

Glancing at Nyla, Tobias let Diego place the gift in his hand. "What is it?"

A flood of Spanish words spewed from Diego's mouth.

"Whoa, whoa!"

"It's like a top. Rueben helped us carve it out." Nyla s.n.a.t.c.hed it from Tobias and began to twirl the toy in her hand. After a few expert twists, the ball landed on the stick. "See, easy peasy! All the kinner in El Salvador have them. Now Martha will have one too. And Diego says he can make more for us. It's fun doing what they do in another country."

Indeed it was. International relations right here in Nowhere, Bee County, USA. "Let me try." He gave it a whirl. The ball knocked against his fingers and dangled from the stick. "I might need to practice. What other games do you play in El Salvador?"

Diego c.o.c.ked his head and frowned. "Ftbol."

That one Tobias recognized and he didn't do a half bad job in his younger days. "Maybe we'll play some soccer after the birthday celebration." He touched the wooden toy in Nyla's hand. "Can you make me one?"

Diego grinned and nodded his head so hard it was a wonder it didn't fall off.

"Martha will love it." Tobias unfolded his legs, knees popping and cracking, and edged his way out from under the table. "You better go get the other presents and put them by her plate at the table."

Nyla crawled from under the table and turned to tug on Diego's arm. "Come. We don't want Martha to see her present yet."

Diego followed her, taking a wide berth around Tobias as if still worried about the haircut. "Birt-day!"

Nyla began to sing the birthday song.

They raced from the room, still chattering in the universal way kinner had. Language barriers seemed to fall away at that age. Too bad the same couldn't be said of adults who hung on to differences as if they were badges of honor.

"What are you doing on the floor?"

He looked up. Martha stood in the doorway, a basket of towels in her arms. His little sister was growing up. Sixteen. On the cusp of adulthood. She had the deep-blue eyes of their mother but the tall, thin build of their father. He dragged himself upright. "Happy birthday, schweschder."

"It is happy." She set the basket on the table and began to fold the towels. "New house, new place, new friends. They're all like birthday presents."

"That's a good way of looking at it."

She held up a towel with a big hole in the middle. "I guess this one can become a rag."

"They have singings here, just like we did back home, only smaller, I reckon."

She kept folding, her expression noncommittal. "I'm sure they do, but there's too much work to be done right now. Maybe later."

He'd suspected as much. "This is your time."

"For what?"

"To start thinking ahead."

"I don't have time to think ahead. We have to plant the garden. We're already behind. Liam is shooting up like a weed. He needs new pants and his shirts are stained. The boy doesn't know how to hit his mouth with a spoon. Nyla's dresses are too short. We need to get some canning done or we won't-"

"You're not their mudder."

She dropped an unfolded towel back into the basket and frowned. "That's a mean thing to say."

"It's not intended to be mean."

"You're not my daed."

"Nee, but I know better than anyone around here how you must feel."

"You have Daed."

"So do you."

"It's different." She shook out another towel and began to fold it. "For girls, I mean."

Tobias gripped the back of a chair with both hands, letting his gaze flit to the floor and back to her. He was the last one on earth to talk about feelings with a little sister. "You wish you had someone to talk to and ask questions."

She nodded, her cheeks suddenly bright pink. "There are things . . ."

"Things a girl can't ask her daed."

"Jah."

"I'm sorry it's hard. No one ever says much in appreciation."

"They shouldn't. I only do what any girl would do. It's expected." She picked up another towel and folded it with expert, economical motions, her expression pained. "No appreciation needed or wanted."

"I know. But the kinner will grow up and where will you be? You'll want to have your own bopli one day."

"One thing at a time."

Plain folks didn't talk much about such things, less a brother to his sister. Tobias shifted his boots and searched for words in the wooden planks below the chair in front of him.

"It's okay. I know what you mean." A trace of humor colored her words. "I'm happy doing what I'm doing right now."

"Playing mudder to your schweschders and bruders?" Like Tobias played daed in those long, dark days when Daed disappeared into the shop and stayed until late at night, his expression forbidding questions. "Don't let Mudder's death keep you from having your life."

"I'm doing what needs to be done-for now."

"I don't want you to wake up one day and find you've missed out."

"You, either."

"I messed up my chance." If he hadn't, Martha most likely wouldn't be here in Texas instead of back home with her childhood friends. He'd never given thought to whether she'd had her sights on someone there, just waiting to be old enough. "And you all have paid the price."

"Gott gives many second chances, from what I've heard."

A wise girl, his sister. "I hope you're right."

"Right about what?" Daed tromped into the kitchen, a pan protruding from a brown paper bag in his hands. "Don't you know women think they're always right?"

"Because we are always right. What is that?" Martha reached for the sack. "Is it for me?"

Daed pushed her hand away. "A surprise for supper."

Looking pleased and obviously trying hard not to be, Martha scooped up her basket and slipped from the room. "Supper is about ready," she called over her shoulder. "Wash your hands."

Tobias tugged at the sack and unveiled a pan of chocolate-frosted brownies. "That looks mighty fine."

"Rebekah Lantz made them. She said a girl should have cake on her birthday and she shouldn't have to make it herself."

"How did she know it was Martha's birthday?"

"A little birdie told her, I guess." Daed sounded smug as he lowered the pan on the counter next to a basket of sweet rolls. "What did you get her?"

"Three of those Janette Oke books she likes to read. I saw them at a garage sale before we left home-Ohio."

"Good idea. I don't know when she reads."

"At night, after Liam stops getting out of bed every five minutes for a gla.s.s of water or to go to the bathroom."

"Your mudder would say she turned out all right, I think." Daed's face turned pensive. "She was a puny baby. Sickly. Your mudder nursed her every two hours or more those first few weeks, all night long, trying to get her strong. She was so afraid . . ." His voice trailed away and his Adam's apple bobbed.

"She turned out fine. Strong as an ox." Tobias had to clear his throat. He couldn't remember the last time Daed had shown such emotion. Not even at the funeral. His stoicism had been the rock to which his children clung in those dark, uncertain days. "She's a stubborn one though. Says she doesn't have time for singings."

Daed plunged his hands in the water and washed them. "She needs to make time."

"That's what I told her."

"You're one to give advice." Daed didn't often resort to sarcasm, but Tobias heard a tinge of it in the words. "The blind leading the blind."

"I tried-"