A Bee in Her Bonnet by Jennifer Beckstrand Page B

and longing darkened her features but passed as quickly as it had come. “I think of her every time I bake a loaf of bread. I think of her all the time, but especially when I bake.”
    â€œHow old were you when she died?”
    â€œSeven. My favorite thing was to watch her long fingers shape dough into pretzels. At night when she read to me, I would listen to her soft voice and trace the veins in her hands with my finger. I’ll never forget her hands.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said.
    She tilted her head and studied his face. “I’m sorry too.”
    â€œBitsy took you in after your parents died.”
    â€œWe stayed with our grandparents until the courts sorted out custody.” Poppy stiffened, as if every muscle in her body had pulled tight. “Aunt B moved us to Wellsby for a short time, but then she bought this farm and we came back up here.” She sighed and tried for a resigned smile. “Our grandparents are strict, but Aunt B thought it best to live close to our mamm ’s only relatives. At least we didn’t have to live with them.”
    Sol Kiem, Poppy’s dawdi , was a stern and rigid man, with a long, gray beard and a perpetual frown. He and Poppy’s mammi lived in town in a little house on a couple of acres with a gute -sized garden and a small stable for their horse. Luke could only imagine how having a granddaughter like Poppy would rankle Sol’s sense of what was right and proper.
    Sol wouldn’t look too kindly on a tomboy for a granddaughter.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Luke said again. Maybe there was a reason for Poppy’s stubborn insistence that she help with the chicken coop.
    â€œAunt B says that one day all tears will be wiped from all faces. I hope that’s true, but if I ever get to heaven, I’m going to sit down with Gotte and give Him a piece of my mind.” She frowned. “You probably think that’s wicked of me—to want to scold Gotte for taking my parents.”
    â€œThere’s nothing you can tell Gotte that He doesn’t already know. He doesn’t want you to hide yourself from Him. He wants you to give yourself over to Him with your whole heart, not just the nice pieces.”
    â€œI don’t know if there are any nice pieces.”
    He looked to the sky and pretended to think about it. “There must be something.”
    With a tentative curl of her lips, she waved her left hand as if swatting flies. There was a nasty scrape on the palm from her fall this morning. Luke flinched for her. Did pain ever stop this girl? “Don’t worry, Luke Bontrager. I know exactly what you think of me.”
    It was the closest to teasing each other they’d ever gotten. He felt like a little kid with his hand in the forbidden cookie jar. Would she smack him down if he let down his guard? Better to not find out.
    â€œWe’ve got six more pallets to do,” he said. “Are you up for it?”
    She smirked. “You’re having a hard time keeping up with me.”
    He hadn’t hoped for a quick surrender, but it didn’t hurt to ask.
    She shifted on the ground slightly and smoothed her dress around her ankles. “Ready when you are.”
    Luke gasped. There was a smear of blood in the dirt by her leg. “Poppy, are you bleeding?” He didn’t mean for it to come out like an accusation, but it did anyway.
    Her gaze traveled to the dirt, and she pursed her lips. “It’s nothing. I’ve had more blood with a paper cut.”
    He studied her foot and nearly fell over. The black stocking on her right leg seemed to be saturated in blood. Why had he not noticed it before? “Let me see.” Ach , he should have tempered his harsh tone. Poppy didn’t like to be told what to do, even if it was for her own good. Stifling a growl, he marched to the five-gallon bucket that held about ten thousand nails. He overturned it, not caring that the nails