Emma Miller - A Man For Honor

“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 chuckled. “You’ve been busy. It’s still early and you’ve made biscuits and mopped the floor and I don’t know what else.”

“Milked the cow and fed the livestock,” Honor said, “and changed diapers and made beds. And if you don’t take off those boots, I’ll be scrubbing this floor again, too.”

He got up from the table, went out of the room and removed his shoes. “Honor,” he said as he returned in his stocking feet. His voice had lost the teasing note and become serious. “We need to talk. You know we need to talk about what happened, right?”

She shook her head. “Ne, I have nothing to say to you on that matter. It’s long in the past. As for the present, do you want the job of fixing this house? If you do a decent job at a fair wage, I’ll let you.”

“You’ll let me?”

She pressed her lips together. “I didn’t ask you to come here.”

“I couldn’t stay away.” He crossed the room to stand only an arm’s length away from her. “You have to let me explain what happened. Why I did it.”

She whirled around, hot spatula gripped in her hand, barely in control. “Ne,” she murmured. “I don’t. I’ll make use of your carpentry skills for the sake of my children. But there will be nothing more between us. Either you respect that, or you leave now.”

His green eyes darkened with emotion.

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Honor,” he said softly.

“Ne, Luke.” She looked away. “You decide. Either we have a business arrangement or none at all.”

“You know why I came back here.”

His words gently nudged her, touching feelings she’d buried so long ago.

“Luke, I can’t—”

The back door banged open and Tanner came flying in. “Eggs, Mommi. Lots of eggs. I found where the black hen had her nest.”

“Good.” Honor took a breath. “Wash your hands. Greta, put those eggs in the sink. Carefully.” She laid the spatula on the table and clapped her hands. “Breakfast will be ready in two shakes of the lamb’s tail, boys.”

Luke was still standing there. Too close. “We will have that talk,” he said so that only she heard him. “I promise you that.”

A few minutes later, her children around her, eggs fried, breakfast to put on the table, Honor’s foolishness receded and her confidence returned. “Luke, you’re welcome to a breakfast sandwich, the same as the rest of us.” She indicated the chair he had been sitting in before. “Greta, bring Anke’s high chair here.” She waved to the space beside her own seat, trusting her daughter’s sloppy eating habits to keep Luke at a proper distance, letting him see the wall between them. She ushered her family to the table, shushing the children with a glance and bowing her head for silent grace.

Please God, she whispered inwardly. Give me strength to deal with Luke, to move on with my life, to use him for what we need and then send him on his way, gracefully. She opened her eyes to find Luke watching her, and she used the excuse of her children to look away. Her heart raced as her hands performed the familiar tasks of stacking eggs, scrapple and cheese on biscuits and pouring milk for her sons and daughter.

Luke went to the stove for another cup of coffee. “Some for you?” he asked.

She hated to ask any favors of him, but she did want the coffee. She needed more than one cup to get through the morning. Reluctantly, she nodded. “Danke.”

He carried it to the table, added cream and placed the mug carefully in front of her plate. The children and Greta chattered. Anke giggled and cooed and tossed pieces of biscuit and egg onto the floor where the dog and cat vied for the best crumbs.

“I thought I’d start here in the kitchen, if that suits you,” Luke said after finishing off his second egg-and-scrapple sandwich.

“It would suit me best if you weren’t here at all,” she reminded him and then realized how ungrateful she sounded. She needed the work done. The state of the kitchen was hardly fit for her children—for anyone to prepare food or eat in. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That was unkind. Ya, it would be good if you started in here. It certainly needs it.”

So much of what Silas had promised had been left undone. And not for lack of funds, a truth she hadn’t realized until after he had passed and she had taken the family finances into her hands. They were by no means poor, as he’d always led her to believe. Whatever his reasons for making her think that, he’d taken them with him to Heaven. And it would do no good to think ill of him. “Excuse me, Anke needs tidying up. Greta, see to the children.”