would have told her the names of all the birds.
Or he would have been just content to walk with her, saying nothing.
But William did none of those things.
Once more, she was beginning to get the feeling that he never would.
Chapter Seven
J ohn felt as clumsy as a teenager as he clasped the dish of green beans that Mary had just handed him. “Danke,” he murmured, spooning up a few and tossing them on his plate.
But of course, three of the beans wobbled off the spoon before they reached their destination and flew onto the white tablecloth. Immediately, an angry blotch stained the cloth.
Right after, he felt his cheeks heat. Across from him, Abel snickered.
Now what to do—pick them up with his fingers? Pretend they weren’t decorating the space to his right?
“Just pick them up with your fingers,” Jenna whispered from his left. “Mary didn’t see. Besides, your spill doesn’t mean anything. Spills happen to everyone.”
He needed no more reassurance than that. Still reluctant to look at Mary, he set the bowl down, tossed the run-away beans onto his plate, then wiped his now oiled fingers on his napkin.
Making his cloth napkin stained well and good, too.
Inwardly, he sighed. His clumsiness with the beans was only the latest in a string of misfortunes that had happened since he’d arrived.
He’d tracked mud onto her floor, knocked over a glass of water, shattering the glass on the countertop, and had inadvertently told Mary that he wasn’t all that fond of peanuts. Just before he’d discovered she’d made a peanut butter pie for dessert.
Right away, she’d started looking for something else to serve for dessert—and he had begun to wish that he’d learned to keep his mouth shut.
As everyone around him ate silently, John’s nerves began to get the best of him. Perhaps this dinner was a worse than bad idea. Maybe they were rushing things a bit . . . eating all together like they were. At his sister-in-law’s house, he often stayed in the background, not wanting to make any waves.
Here, Mary was treating him like her honored guest . . . and Abel was treating him as an unwanted one. Obviously he had a lot to learn about family-style dining.
He glanced Mary’s way.
However, Mary didn’t do anything but smile sweetly.
After a moment, she cleared her throat. “Abel and I started something the other day that was mighty fun. We shared one good thing and one not-so- gut thing about our day. Shall we do that now?”
With a sideways glance in Jenna’s direction, Abel groaned. “Mamm, let’s not.”
“Oh, come now, Abel. When it was just the two of us, I thought it was great fun.”
Ignoring her son’s put-upon expression, she clasped her hands in front of her. “All right, then, I’ll go first. My good thing is this, dinner together. Jenna, I’m so glad you’ve come to live with us, and John, it’s a pleasure to share something besides donuts and kaffi with you!”
John couldn’t resist smiling right back. He was eager to do anything that brought the attention away from his string of mistakes. “And the not-so-good thing?” Oh, he hoped she wouldn’t say him staining her good tablecloth!
“That’s easy.” She lifted her hand, to reveal a row of three neatly applied bandages to the side of her palm. Right below her pinky finger. “I cut myself on the buggy wheel this morning.”
John leaned forward. “Mary, I didn’t even notice your hand. What happened?”
“Oh, nothing too earth-shattering. Something must have ripped at one of the wheels. When I rested my hand on one, hitching up Daisy, I scraped myself.”
“So that’s why I saw those cloths soaking in the stationary tub!” Jenna exclaimed. “I wondered what had happened. Mary, you must have bled something awful.”
“It was nothing. Truly.”
John grew concerned. “Mary, perhaps you should go to the doctor or urgent care? You might need stitches or a shot.”
Her cheeks pinkened, just as if she wasn’t
Or he would have been just content to walk with her, saying nothing.
But William did none of those things.
Once more, she was beginning to get the feeling that he never would.
Chapter Seven
J ohn felt as clumsy as a teenager as he clasped the dish of green beans that Mary had just handed him. “Danke,” he murmured, spooning up a few and tossing them on his plate.
But of course, three of the beans wobbled off the spoon before they reached their destination and flew onto the white tablecloth. Immediately, an angry blotch stained the cloth.
Right after, he felt his cheeks heat. Across from him, Abel snickered.
Now what to do—pick them up with his fingers? Pretend they weren’t decorating the space to his right?
“Just pick them up with your fingers,” Jenna whispered from his left. “Mary didn’t see. Besides, your spill doesn’t mean anything. Spills happen to everyone.”
He needed no more reassurance than that. Still reluctant to look at Mary, he set the bowl down, tossed the run-away beans onto his plate, then wiped his now oiled fingers on his napkin.
Making his cloth napkin stained well and good, too.
Inwardly, he sighed. His clumsiness with the beans was only the latest in a string of misfortunes that had happened since he’d arrived.
He’d tracked mud onto her floor, knocked over a glass of water, shattering the glass on the countertop, and had inadvertently told Mary that he wasn’t all that fond of peanuts. Just before he’d discovered she’d made a peanut butter pie for dessert.
Right away, she’d started looking for something else to serve for dessert—and he had begun to wish that he’d learned to keep his mouth shut.
As everyone around him ate silently, John’s nerves began to get the best of him. Perhaps this dinner was a worse than bad idea. Maybe they were rushing things a bit . . . eating all together like they were. At his sister-in-law’s house, he often stayed in the background, not wanting to make any waves.
Here, Mary was treating him like her honored guest . . . and Abel was treating him as an unwanted one. Obviously he had a lot to learn about family-style dining.
He glanced Mary’s way.
However, Mary didn’t do anything but smile sweetly.
After a moment, she cleared her throat. “Abel and I started something the other day that was mighty fun. We shared one good thing and one not-so- gut thing about our day. Shall we do that now?”
With a sideways glance in Jenna’s direction, Abel groaned. “Mamm, let’s not.”
“Oh, come now, Abel. When it was just the two of us, I thought it was great fun.”
Ignoring her son’s put-upon expression, she clasped her hands in front of her. “All right, then, I’ll go first. My good thing is this, dinner together. Jenna, I’m so glad you’ve come to live with us, and John, it’s a pleasure to share something besides donuts and kaffi with you!”
John couldn’t resist smiling right back. He was eager to do anything that brought the attention away from his string of mistakes. “And the not-so-good thing?” Oh, he hoped she wouldn’t say him staining her good tablecloth!
“That’s easy.” She lifted her hand, to reveal a row of three neatly applied bandages to the side of her palm. Right below her pinky finger. “I cut myself on the buggy wheel this morning.”
John leaned forward. “Mary, I didn’t even notice your hand. What happened?”
“Oh, nothing too earth-shattering. Something must have ripped at one of the wheels. When I rested my hand on one, hitching up Daisy, I scraped myself.”
“So that’s why I saw those cloths soaking in the stationary tub!” Jenna exclaimed. “I wondered what had happened. Mary, you must have bled something awful.”
“It was nothing. Truly.”
John grew concerned. “Mary, perhaps you should go to the doctor or urgent care? You might need stitches or a shot.”
Her cheeks pinkened, just as if she wasn’t
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