had described how they worked—Trina hadn’t actually used one herself.
“Even so—” Seth started to say, but he was interrupted by a muted cry from inside the house.
“Fire! Help! Help!” It was Martha.
“Buwe, stay here!” Seth commanded. He vaulted past Trina and was up the stairs in two strides.
Chasing close behind, Trina peered through the smoky room to see Martha doubled over, coughing, as something burned atop the stove. Seth clicked off the burner, grabbed the flaming item by an edge and tossed it into the sink. Then he turned the faucet on full force.
While he was dousing the flame, Trina led Martha out of the house.
“Groossmammi, are you okay?” Tanner asked. The crease between his eyebrows made him appear like a wizened old man.
Martha nodded but she was still coughing and couldn’t answer. Trina and the boys eased her into a sitting position on the stairs and then Trina darted back into the house to fetch a glass of water.
Seth moved away from the sink. “Looks like my groossmammi started a towel on fire, but I don’t see any other damage. Is she alright?”
“Yes, I think so. She just needs to catch her breath.” Trina filled the glass and they both stepped outside, leaving the door open behind them.
By then, Martha was no longer gasping. “I spilled water on the stovetop when I was pouring tea, so I tried to dab it up with the towel,” she explained. “I was certain I had turned off the burner first.”
“Neh, you had turned it up,” Seth said.
“Ach! Well, that explains how the tea towel caught fire.” Martha’s eyes were watering and Trina didn’t know if she was crying or recovering from the sting of the smoky air. Suddenly Martha seemed tiny and frail as she prayed aloud, “Denki, Lord, for keeping us safe.”
“It’s cold out here and you’re trembling,” Trina noticed. “Please come back inside and we’ll have that tea now.”
“Alright,” Martha agreed. “Seth, kumme get the woodstove started, please.”
Trina took Martha by the arm and assisted her up the stairs and into the parlor. She expected the others to come in, too, but when she returned to the kitchen to retrieve the tea, she heard Seth on the porch warning the boys not to leave the front yard or go near the puddle.
“They’re probably cold, too. They should come in,” she said from the doorway.
“Neh, their boots are muddy.” Seth waved his hand. “They’re fine outside. Here in Willow Creek, we believe fresh air is gut for kinner.”
Once again Trina wasn’t sure what he meant by his remark. She replied, “We believe fresh air is good for children in Philadelphia, too.”
“Jah, but there’s less of it in Philadelphia than there is here, so our kinner can stay outside longer.” Seth grinned widely at her before he began filling his arms with logs from the woodpile stacked next to the porch stairs, and since she didn’t disagree, Trina chuckled, too.
As she and Martha were sipping tea and Seth was lighting the fire, the older woman said, “Imagine what would have happened if you weren’t here!”
Seth stood up from where he’d been kneeling in front of the woodstove and brushed his hands against his pants. His grandmother had a valid point and he knew she was waiting for him to acknowledge defeat. “Okay, okay, you win,” he said to Martha.
Trina glanced at Martha and then at him, curious.
“I, uh, well, we wanted to ask if you’d be available to watch the buwe while you’re in Willow Creek,” he stuttered. “As a job, I mean. You’d be paid.”
“You could watch them at our house, so I could help and we’d get to know each other better,” Martha added, beaming again.
Trina hesitated. Although the will stipulated she had to live in Willow Creek, she hadn’t intended to become very involved with the Amish—or the Englisch, for that matter—during her residence. She’d planned to mostly keep to herself. But the boys were well behaved and fun, and after today’s incident she hated to think of Martha trying to manage them on her own. Still, she had her misgivings about Seth. He wasn’t as strict as she imagined an Amish father might be, based on her mother’s depiction of Abe, yet there was something about his attitude toward her that gave her pause. She couldn’t discern whether his comments were meant to be comical or condescending. But Martha had been so helpful to Trina’s mother that it would almost be like honoring her mother’s memory to show Timothy and Tanner the same kind of care. And she did need the money...
“I’m only going to be here for a couple of months,” she warned. As soon as her two months were up and she sold the house, she was moving back to the city.
Seth replied, “That’s all the time we’ll need your help. After school lets out in late May, we’ll hire one of the graduating meed to help. But right now, no one else is available to watch them.”
“Okay, it’s a deal,” Trina said, but this time she didn’t hold her hand out to shake on it. She was already catching on to Willow Creek’s Amish traditions.
* * *
Martha leaned on Seth’s arm, slowly shambling across the barren ground to their house while the boys galloped ahead. If he didn’t know better, he’d have suspected his grandmother deliberately started the fire to scare him into asking Trina to mind the boys.
“Why are you moping?” Martha asked him.
“I’m not moping. I’m thinking.”
“When you’re thinking with a frown on your face, I call that moping.”
Seth laughed. “I hope I made the right decision by asking Trina to watch after the buwe.”
“Pah!” Martha sputtered dismissively. “It’s not as if you’ve asked her to marry you, Seth. If things don’t work out, you can tell her as much. But I think they will. If she’s anything like her lovely mamm was as a maedel, you won’t find a better woman to care for the kinner.”
Seth bit his tongue so he wouldn’t ask the obvious question: if Trina’s mamm was so lovely, why did she go Englisch? Nor did he say that the best woman to care for the kinner was their mamm.
Eleanor’s pregnancy had been an easy one, especially considering she was pregnant with twins, so when she’d passed away during childbirth, it had come as a shock to Seth. Eleanor, however, had seemed to have a sense of foreboding about her delivery.
Once, shortly before the boys were born, she’d whispered to Seth as they cuddled on the sofa, “If anything happens to me, please choose a wife who will take gut care of the bobblin.”
“If anything happens to you, I’m going to look for a wife who doesn’t burn the meatloaf. Or chide me when I track mud across the kitchen floor. Or say lecherich things,” Seth joked, trying to make light of her sentiment.
Usually she played along with Seth’s teasing, but this time Eleanor had scolded, “Seth, I’m serious.” She’d rubbed her rotund stomach counterclockwise, repeating, “Marry someone who will take gut care of the kinner.”
Although Seth knew it was irrational, he often wondered if he had taken Eleanor’s sentiment seriously, could he have alerted the midwife to her concern and somehow prevented her death? He felt guilty for not paying closer attention to what Eleanor had said, especially since she’d ordinarily been such a calm and practical woman.
In fact, it was her practicality that had made Seth decide to court and marry her. The pair had been friends since they were children and Eleanor was sensible, forthright and humble. While the love they