Chapter 12
Tabitha crouched down beside Elmer and Greta Peachy’s chicken yard, watching a little brown hen as she pecked at the ground, grabbing up a passing cricket, and then moved on to some grain scattered across the dusty ground.
The hen passed by some carrot peels, and completely ignored the piece of pumpkin that had been nearly decimated by the other chickens in the flock.
Tabitha was doing her best to stay focused on the work in front of her, but today was Michael’s funeral, and everything felt a little bit dimmer.
Add to that, she’d found out the day before that Jonas had been matched in Ohio.
That news had been a shock, and she’d felt just a little bit stunned ever since.
She checked a watch pinned to the inside of her work apron.
It was a few minutes past three o’clock.
The funeral started an hour ago. In fact, the ceremony might already be over, and the family were probably on their way to the gravesite.
She felt around inside of herself, looking for some emotion in relation to her ex-husband’s death—sadness, regret, anything.
What is wrong with me? A man has died. Where is my sympathy? My sorrow?
Elmer Peachy stood back, arms crossed over his chest, and his wife came out of the coop with an egg in hand. She cracked it into a bowl one-handed and tossed the shell into a bucket of kitchen refuse that was likely going out to the fertilizer pile. She held out the bowl for Tabitha to inspect.
“You see?” Greta asked.
Tabitha looked down at the bowl with the cracked egg.
The yolk wasn’t just pale, it was completely white.
Tabitha stared at it mutely, her mind going back to the funeral she had decided not to attend.
Maybe she should have gone after all. It was a little late to reconsider, but if she’d gone, even if it would have been uncomfortable, she might have found some closure of her own.
She might have found some shred of human feeling.
“Is this chicken sick?” Greta asked.
Tabitha pulled her mind back to the problem in front of her. Elmer Peachy was a cousin of Jonas, and he and his wife had recently started raising chickens, and all the rest of the hens were laying perfectly normal eggs.
Tabitha nodded, acknowledging the egg sample she’d been given.
“She’s stubborn,” Tabitha replied. “In order for nice, darkly colored yolks, hens need to eat a good amount of xanthophylls. That’s the pigment in that pumpkin over there and the carrot peels. You’re offering your flock the rights mixture of foods, but your hen here is a picky eater.”
“But it’s white,” Elmer said.
“She’s exceptionally picky.” She cast him a wry smile. “You could try some marigold petals. Maybe she’ll like that better than your other offerings. Red and orange bell peppers can add some color to the yolks too.”
“Can we eat these eggs?” Greta asked. “I’ve been throwing them away when we crack open a white one. I don’t want to make anyone sick.”
“Yah, you can eat them. They’re perfectly fine. The nutritional value is not connected to the color of the yolk, contrary to popular belief. But if you’re selling them, you’ll get some disgruntled customers, so maybe keep those for the family.”
“How can we get her to eat the food with the . . . the . . . color in it?” Elmer asked.
“Xanthophylls,” she said, then shook her head. “The fancy word doesn’t matter. But you might try separating her for a while and giving her more of the colored foods and less grain to gorge on. She’s like a child avoiding her veggies.”
Greta smiled at that. “Like making her sit at the table until she finishes her meal?”
Tabitha chuckled at the joke. “A little bit.”
A buggy came down the drive, and Tabitha looked over to see Jonas with the reins in his hands. He spotted her the same time she saw him, and she saw the conflicted emotions flit across his face.
“I’ll go see what my cousin wants,” Elmer said, heading across the yard toward the drive and leaving Tabitha alone with Greta. Tabitha watched as Jonas reined in his horse and hopped down from the driver’s seat.
“I had meant to tell you how sorry we are to hear of your husband’s death,” Greta said, tugging her attention back.
“Oh.” Tabitha turned back to Greta, feeling some warmth in her cheeks. “Danke for that. I don’t even know what to feel yet, honestly.”
“That’s understandable,” Greta said. “My sister lost her husband two years ago, if you recall, but their marriage was a difficult one. He was . . . mean. I know we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but he wasn’t a good man.
And to her credit, she was sad that he was gone, but she said that it was more complicated for her. I imagine it’s the same for you?”
Complicated. That was a kind way of putting it. Tabitha didn’t feel complicated at all. She felt nothing. She felt dead inside.
“Yah, I suppose it is,” Tabitha said.
“You’re well and truly a widow now,” Greta said. “It might help how you fit in around here.”
This was the first time that Greta had shown any friendliness since Tabitha had returned to Shepherd’s Hill, so perhaps it was easier for Greta to understand too.
Tabitha was reminded of the circle of widows who had prematurely made her one of them.
One of the ladies had told her that she had lost her husband to divorce just as truly as they had lost theirs to death.
But now that Michael was gone from this life, maybe Greta was right.
“Is this what widowhood feels like?” Tabitha asked.
“I think it must be.” Greta gave her hand a squeeze. “You’ll be okay, Tabitha.”
Tabitha felt her eyes mist with unexpected emotion, and she heard the sound of footsteps.
She looked up to find Elmer and Jonas heading in their direction.
Jonas caught her gaze and held it for a moment longer than was entirely proper.
She broke off the eye contact and gathered up her veterinarian bag.
“Hi, Tabitha,” Jonas said.
“Good afternoon.” Tabitha attempted a professional smile. They were in front of her clients, after all, and she had hardly expected to see him again for the first time since learning about his match. She had too many things to say to him.
“Tabitha was checking out one of our layers,” Elmer said. “See this egg?”
Greta held out the bowl, and Jonas looked down at the white egg yolk.
“What’s the matter with the hen?” Jonas asked.
“Nothing more than picky eating,” Tabitha said. “She’ll be fine, and the egg is perfectly fine to eat.”
“Right, right.” Jonas caught her gaze again, and she wondered if he had as many things to say to her as she did to him.
They couldn’t discuss any of this with Elmer and Greta staring at them.
Long, intense talks started rumors, and while Tabitha dearly wanted to discuss everything with Jonas, that was a conversation to be had in private.
“I’m going to head out, then,” Tabitha said, giving Elmer and Greta each a nod. “You obviously have things to do. I’ll mail you my invoice, Elmer.”
“Yah, please do,” Elmer replied, then turned to Jonas. “We can try your chicken feed and see if it makes a difference.”
“You came with chicken feed?” Tabitha asked, turning back.
“Yah, just the feed we use for our own,” Jonas replied. “I thought they could try it.”
“Do you mind if I check the ingredients before you give it to them?” Tabitha asked.
“That’s a good idea,” Elmer said. “We’d appreciate your opinion, Tabitha.”
“Absolutely,” Jonas replied. “It’s in my buggy. If you want to come with me, I’ll show you.”
So much for beating a hasty exit.
“Daet!” a boy’s voice called from the direction of the stable. “Daet! I can’t lift the bale!”
One of Elmer’s young sons needed his father’s help, and as if that little voice had burst a bubble, Greta suddenly turned back toward the house.
“I’d better check the food in the oven,” she called over her shoulder.
And just like that, she and Jonas were left alone. Was that planned? Tabitha looked first at Elmer’s retreating back, then his wife’s, and then she fell into step beside Jonas as they headed toward his buggy. She looked over at him uncertainly.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” Jonas said. “Hi.”
“Are you trying to avoid me?” she asked.
“Nee . . . not really. I guess I don’t know how to talk about this with you.”
“Why?” she asked. “Aren’t we friends?”
“Tabitha . . .” He cast her a miserable look. “We are well past friendship, you and I.”
“And yet we are not courting,” she said. “So gray areas or not, we are still only friends. And friends can talk.”
“Can we really?” He fixed her with a direct stare that was a relief to see. It was the old Jonas—the open, honest man she cared for so deeply.
“Yah, really.”
“Then how are you doing with Michael’s death?” he asked. “I’ve been really worried about you ever since I heard.”
“Are you? Maybe you should be.” Tabitha swallowed hard. “Jonas, I think something is very wrong with me.”
“Why?” He stopped then and turned his warm gaze onto her, his attention fixed on her so completely that it felt almost intimate.
“Because”—she licked her lips—“when I got the news from the lawyer, do you know what I felt?”
Jonas shook his head.
“Relief.” Tabitha rubbed a hand over her forehead. “Jonas, I felt relief! I didn’t think of his parents. I didn’t consider his wife—”
“To be fair, they never seemed to consider you very much,” he retorted.
“I didn’t consider his soul, Jonas. Did Michael die right with Gott? I have no idea. My first thought was for myself. What does that say about me?”
Jonas pursed his lips in thought. “I think it makes you human. The Good Book says that Gott knows we are but dust.”
“‘For dust thou art and unto dust shalt thou return,’” she quoted.
“There is no excuse for selfishness, Jonas. I need to get that under control, or I won’t be right with Gott.
” She paused, looking in the direction of the stable.
Elmer was still inside, and for the moment, they were alone. “Today is Michael’s funeral.”
“I see you didn’t go.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t think anyone would want to see the dead man’s ex-wife.”
“Who invited you?” he asked.
“Michael’s widow.”
Jonas’s eyebrows went up. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
She shook her head. “Not really. But danke.”
They went to the back of Jonas’s buggy, and he pulled out a fresh bag of chicken feed. She ran her finger down the list of ingredients. It looked like it should help with getting more xanthophylls.
“That looks good,” Tabitha said. “This is a pricier feed than they were using, but if it works, they might be willing to pay the extra. You can let them know I approve.”
“Yah, I will.” Jonas swallowed, and for a moment, neither of them moved.
Tabitha should leave now—she should get into her buggy and drive away. Appearances mattered, and the longer she lingered here, the more Elmer and Greta would talk.
“So, what about your match in Ohio? Who is it?” She tried to sound casual and failed miserably.
“Her name is Christina, and she’s very sweet. She’s got a nice smile too. She’s a couple of years younger than me, but she’s ready for a home of her own, and I am, too, it would seem.”
Christina. Not just some faceless woman. A woman with a name. It made her feel more real somehow.
“So I guess you’re getting to know each other at this stage?” she asked, forcing some cheer into her tone. Maybe they’d annoy each other. Was it entirely selfish to hope so?
“I’m going to marry her.”
Tabitha felt like her breath was knocked out of her body, and she looked up at Jonas in dismay.
“She’s everything I’m looking for,” Jonas went on, but he didn’t sound as enthusiastic as a man should. “And I’m everything she’s looking for. I’m sorting out a few details here at home, and then I’m going back to propose.”
“Oh” was all she could think to say. So it was as serious as that.
“Well, I’m . . .” She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “I’m happy for you.”
“Yah?” He sounded a little surprised, maybe even disappointed.
But he was the one with good news and a future unrolling ahead of him.
He deserved happiness and a life filled with blessings.
She was the one who couldn’t even pull up some regret or sadness for the death of a man she’d once been married to.
“Maybe I’m not. Not yet, at least,” she admitted. “But I’ll get there, Jonas. I’ll work on it until I’m really, truly, deeply happy for you.”
And with Gott’s help, she would get there too. She might need a friend right now, but with Jonas almost engaged, it wouldn’t be right for her to lean on him.
Elmer came out of the stable then with his preteen son at his side. They walked in a similar way, kicking out their rubber boots in the same rhythm. Tabitha headed for her own buggy and deposited her bag in the back of it.
“It looks like good feed,” Tabitha called to Elmer. “I think it will help.”
“Danke,” Elmer replied. “We do appreciate everything, Tabitha.”
She forced a smile in return and headed over to untie Fritz from the hitching post. Looking into her draft horse’s expressive eyes, she could see he seemed to feel her overflowing emotions.
“Let’s go home,” she whispered, and Fritz nickered in response.
What she needed was time alone with Gott to sort out this tangle of emotion.
Her friendship with Jonas was coming to an end.
They couldn’t remain close if he was getting married.
It wouldn’t be appropriate, and his wife would never stand for it.
Tabitha understood all of this completely and even agreed.
But she was going to have to face the reality of the situation: Jonas was no longer hers in any capacity.