A Bee in Her Bonnet

  “Billy Idol?”

  A cautious smile flitted across Rose’s face. “Aunt Bitsy named all our cats.”

  She gently but firmly pried Billy Idol from Josiah’s other leg. The cat snarled as she wrapped her arms around him and cuddled him like a newborn buplie.

  One of Billy Idol’s ears was split down the middle and his right eye only opened halfway. His nose was also scarred, and his coat looked as if he’d been in a few catfights where fur had literally been flying. His upper lip was permanently lifted into a sneer by a scar that ran down the side of his mouth.

  “I’m sorry if they hurt you,” Rose said. She secured Billy Idol in one arm and scooped the white cat, which was still rolling around in the grass, with the other hand. “Farrah Fawcett isn’t usually so friendly.”

  Friendly? If this was friendly, he had no desire to see hostile.

  “I don’t mind,” Josiah said. “I’m not sure why all three of your cats suddenly took a liking to me.” Or how he could get Rose to do the same thing.

  Her lips twitched with uncertainty. “Well, you are a very nice boy.”

  Really? She thought he was a very nice boy? He cleared his throat in an attempt to keep his voice from betraying his elation. “You’re the one who’s nice. My sister can’t stop talking about that chocolate cake you baked for her family.” He threw caution to the wind and sat cross-legged next to her in the grass. Surely she wouldn’t mind if he sat beside her instead of towering over her.

  Rose tensed and clutched Billy Idol and Farrah Fawcett closer.

  Josiah’s heart sank. Nae. She didn’t like that better at all.

  To his added horror, all three cats chose that moment to resume their attack. Either they were incredibly protective of Rose, or it just wasn’t Josiah’s day. Leonard, the girl kitten, catapulted herself toward Josiah and gave his forearm four deep scratches trying to catch herself. Billy Idol struggled out of Rose’s arms and practically vaulted into Josiah’s lap where he sunk his tiny teeth into Josiah’s pocket. Farrah Fawcett also jumped onto Josiah’s lap and dug her claws into his leg. Josiah shouted in surprise and leaped to his feet, making all three cats tumble like balls of yarn off an Amish mammi’s lap.

  “Ach, du lieva!” Rose said.

  Not only had he sat too close to Rose without her permission, but he had also unintentionally upset her beloved cats. He might never be allowed on the farm again.

  Rose pursed her lips, and her blue eyes turned dark with distress. She scooped Leonard Nimoy into her arms. “Are you all right?”

  Josiah paused for a second until he realized Rose was talking to him and not the kitten. He swiped his hand across his forearm, hopefully erasing any evidence that Leonard Nimoy had drawn blood. He didn’t want Rose to worry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for them to fall like that.”

  She seemed more concerned for his feelings than her own. “Please don’t worry. Cats always land on their feet.” They both looked down at Billy Idol. He was rolling around in the grass. “I don’t know why they went crazy like that.”

  Poppy and Lily, Rose’s always-protective sisters, must have recognized that Josiah had tangled himself into some sort of impossible knot. They set down their smokers, took off their hats and gloves, and were at Rose’s side in less time than it would have taken Billy Idol to stab his teeth into Josiah’s neck.

  Poppy’s unruly hair was tied up in a royal-blue scarf, and she wore a thick cast on her right hand. She’d broken her hand a week ago punching an Englischer in the mouth—an Englischer named Griff Simons who had tried to give Rose a kiss.

  Lily wore a bright yellow scarf with a white zip-up jacket. They stood on either side of Rose and eyed Josiah as if he were a horse at auction. “It’s gute to see you, Josiah,” Lily said. She even acted like she meant it.

  Poppy folded her arms and cocked an eyebrow while amusement and annoyance made an uneasy truce on her face. “Need some help, Josiah?”

  Of course he needed help. Rose was nervous, the cats had gone crazy, and he had several puncture wounds in his legs—not to mention the blood that was slowly dripping down his arm courtesy of Leonard Nimoy. He quickly slid his arm behind his back.

  It would be best if he went away and tried again tomorrow. Was there a nice, nonthreatening activity he could do with Rose? Would she like sitting next to him on the porch while he read from the dictionary?

  Nae. She got anxious when he got too close.

  “I’m wonderful sorry about disturbing you,” he said, pulling the drawstring bag from his pocket and handing it to Poppy. “Luke asked me to bring this to you. He said you need it for a recipe.”

  Poppy put the bag to her nose and rolled her eyes. “That boy!” she said, but there was affection behind her aggravated tone. Luke Bontrager drove her crazy, but she was still madly in love with him. “Doesn’t he know what basil is?”

  Lily grinned while keeping her eyes glued to Josiah’s face. “He’s better with tools.”

  “It isn’t basil?” Josiah asked.

  Poppy closed the bag and looped the drawstring around her finger. “It’s catnip. No wonder the cats are so interested.”

  Lily and Poppy shared a look that Josiah knew wasn’t meant for him to see. “Maybe Luke is smarter than we think,” Lily said.

  Poppy winked at Lily. “The smartest.”

  Lily’s expression was one of pure, unsympathetic pity. “He sent you into the lion’s den with a pocketful of catnip. No wonder the cats attacked.”

  “I’m sorry about my thick-headed fiancé,” Poppy said, not acting sorry at all.

  Josiah wasn’t sure what to think. The catnip had attracted the cats, and the cats had attracted Rose. He’d actually had a conversation with Rose Christner because of Luke’s catnip.

  And that was probably Luke’s intent all along.

  Luke thought Josiah was slower than cold tar on a frosty morning when it came to courting Rose. Perhaps Luke was trying to speed things up.

  Josiah didn’t know whether to be offended or grateful that Luke had stuck his nose into Josiah’s business. He’d have a few scars, that was certain, but Rose had said more to him in that one conversation than she had in almost four years combined. He wanted to give Luke a big hug. And then punch him.

  He wiped a grin off his face. With friends like Luke, who needed a meddling mammi?

  Rose gasped. “You’re bleeding.”

  Oy, anyhow. He should have left his hand behind his back so Rose wouldn’t be upset. He studied the smear of blood on his forearm. Ach. He probably had a gute-sized spot of blood on the back of his shirt from trying to hide his injured arm.

  “It’s nothing,” he said, giving Rose the most reassuring smile he could muster. “Doesn’t even hurt.”

  Poppy glanced sideways at Rose. “Josiah, you should put some ointment on that. It looks like it really hurts, and I’d hate to see you get an infection.” Josiah gaped at Poppy. He had never seen such consideration from her before. She was more likely to tell him to go rub some dirt in it.

  “Jah. It looks very bad,” Rose said, her eyes alight with sympathy. She wrapped her fingers around Poppy’s wrist. “Will you go help him wash it out? I would feel terrible if it got infected.”

  Poppy waved her substantial cast in the air. “I’ve only got one good hand.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Josiah said. “I’ll rinse it in the hose when I get home.” He’d have to be tricky and leave without turning his back on them. Rose would probably faint if she saw the blood on the back of his shirt.

  Rose’s lips drooped. “I’m sure it hurts something wonderful. You need special ointment.” She looked at Lily. “Can you take Josiah into the house and bandage it up?”

  Lily was already strolling the other way, smiling like Billy Idol with a mouth full of mouse. “I’ve got to get back to the bees.”

  Rose glanced at Josiah and nibbled on her bottom lip as the tiny lines around her eyes crinkled with worry. “It was Leonard Nimoy’s fault. We should
see that Josiah is taken care of.”

  Poppy waved the bag of catnip in Farrah Fawcett’s direction. “I’ll take care of the cat problem.” She scooped some catnip from the little bag, crumbled it in her hand like dry bread, and let it fall to the ground as she walked away. All three cats followed her. Billy Idol meowed and carried on as if she were dragging him by the tail.

  Josiah frowned to himself. Didn’t Rose’s schwesters see how unsettled she was? Couldn’t one of them sacrifice two minutes of her time to take him into the house and slap a Band-Aid on his arm? Rose would feel better if he had a Band-Aid.

  Rose fingered a strand of hair at the nape of her neck. He did his best not to be distracted by the graceful curve of her fingers or her hair the color of white clover honey.

  Josiah took a handkerchief out of his pocket and swiped it across the scratch. He grimaced. The attempt to wipe it away smeared the blood across his arm and made it look ten times worse. “I’ll go straight home and wash this out with soap. It’s not deep. Leonard Nimoy is just a kitten.”

  Rose eyed him as if he might bite her. How was he ever going to convince her to love him when he saw nothing but uncertainty in her eyes? He swallowed the lump of despair in his throat and took two steps backward. “It was wonderful-gute to see you, Rose. Denki for saving me from the cats.”

  “Will you be able to work the fields today?”

  He nodded. “I’ll be sure to wrap it up.”

  The troubled, vulnerable look on Rose’s face made him ache to gather her in his arms and reassure her that she could be certain of him, that things weren’t as bad as she seemed to think they were. But something told him that ambushing Rose wouldn’t be a gute idea. Not a gute idea at all. He couldn’t prove his love if she ran screaming for the hills.

  Rose pressed her lips into a determined line. “Cum into the house. I will wrap it up for you.” She was too tenderhearted to let anyone suffer, even someone she was afraid of. Though fear often paralyzed her, she would brave a whole roomful of strangers if someone needed her help. It was one of the things Josiah loved about her.

  Spending even three more minutes in Rose’s company sounded wunderbarr, but knowing how uncomfortable she was, he would be selfish indeed if he took advantage of her kindness. “I don’t want to be a bother. I’ll wash it and wrap it as soon as I get home.”

  She lowered her eyes. “Please just come into the house. I’ll feel better knowing someone saw to it.”

  “Rose,” Josiah said. He paused long enough for Rose to lift her gaze to his face. “What will make you happy?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Would you be happier taking care of my scratch or having me out of your hair?”

  She cracked a smile. “You’re not in my hair.”

  He returned her smile with an uncertain one of his own. “I don’t want to be a pest, and I want you to be happy.”

  She started playing with that strand of hair again. “What I feel doesn’t matter.”

  “It’s what matters most to me.”

  That seemed to trouble her more than anything. She swaddled both arms around her waist. “It’s better if we just do what you want. If you do what I want, then it’s my fault if you’re unhappy about it.”

  He smiled to prove to her he didn’t care either way. He cared deeply, but she wouldn’t see that from him. “Maybe it is my fault if you’re unhappy. I can be very pushy. Your cats were right to try to scare me off your farm.”

  Rose’s lips curled slightly. “Would you like to come in, or would you rather I stay out of your hair?”

  He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his short-cropped hair, courtesy of his nephew. “I don’t have enough hair to answer that question.”

  Her smile bloomed like roses in late spring.

  His heart swelled until his chest felt crowded. “Although you have cleverly tried to change the subject, I’m going to walk to my buggy—backward so you don’t see the big spot of blood on my shirt. If you want me to come into the house, stop me now. Otherwise, I’ll climb in my buggy and go. No hard feelings either way.” He made the gesture of buttoning his lips together and took four steps backward.

  She glued her gaze to his, and he could see the choices struggle with each other on her face. “I’d feel better if you came in the house,” she finally said.

  He stopped short and smiled with his whole body. “Me too.”

  She smiled back and motioned toward the house. He let her lead the way up the porch steps. A tiny dead mouse lay on the welcome mat. Rose shuddered but pasted a pleasant look on her face. “Billy Idol is such a dear cat. He’s always leaving presents for us. He has taken care of our mouse problem, but Aunt Bitsy isn’t happy about the dead mice. She keeps threatening to give Billy Idol away.”

  “She’ll never have to know about this one,” Josiah said, picking up the mat and shaking it so the mouse tumbled into the dirt to the side of the house off the porch.

  “Denki,” she said, not meeting his eye but smiling anyway.

  He opened the front door for her and followed her into the house where the heavenly smell of freshly baked bread met them.

  “It smells delicious in here,” Josiah said.

  Rose’s Aunt Bitsy stood at the butcher-block island straining at the lid of a jar of pickles, and Josiah grew more agitated than he already was. According to Lily’s fiancé Dan Kanagy, Bitsy did not like boys in the house, even if it was for something as harmless as a Band-Aid. She owned a shotgun, and she wasn’t afraid to point it at people.

  Bitsy wasn’t old. She couldn’t have been more than fifty or so, but she seemed to have a permanent frown on her face and it looked as if the worry line between her eyebrows had been ironed into place. Even though she wasn’t elderly, she had salt-and-pepper gray hair that she often tinted pastel colors. Today her hair was a light shade of green. With her Kelly green dress, she looked a little like a houseplant.

  Bitsy narrowed her eyes when Josiah followed Rose into the house. “Josiah Yoder,” she said. His name sounded like a grunt when she said it. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  Josiah nearly choked on his surprise. He hadn’t expected a warm greeting. “You are?”

  “Well, not really glad. I don’t want you to get the notion that I’m happy to see you. But I need this bottle opened, and you’re just in time to do it. Then you can leave.”

  Bitsy was the door Josiah would have to go through to get to Rose. He would do a backflip off the roof if it would win Bitsy’s approval. He strode to the island and took the jar from her. “I’m honored you would ask for my help.” The jar opened with one easy twist of his wrist. He smiled and handed it back.

  “Don’t get cocky,” Bitsy said, setting the jar on the counter. “I loosened it for you.”

  Josiah wasn’t offended by her brusque manner. Everybody knew what a gute and charitable woman Bitsy was, always the first to a sickbed, always baking or sewing for someone who needed a hand. She was a tough nut to crack. That was all. “I’m glad I could help.”

  Bitsy eyed him unapologetically, as if trying to figure out why he was standing in her kitchen. “Well. I always say denki, so denki. You can go now.”

  Rose smiled at her aendi before pulling the ointment and bandages out of the drawer and setting them on the table. “Leonard Nimoy gave Josiah a bad scratch, Aendi Bitsy. I told him I’d give him a Band-Aid.”

  Bitsy propped her hands on her hips. “Leonard Nimoy? We haven’t even had her a week, and she’s already scratching people. I’ve half a mind to send those cats to obedience school.”

  Josiah followed behind Rose as she slipped a towel from the drawer, got it wet, and squirted a little soap on it. She turned before he had the chance to back away, and he found himself face-to-face with her with only inches between them.

  She caught her breath. He cleared his throat and backed away a bit. Oy, anyhow. He wanted to kick himself. How could he gain Rose’s trust if he kept startling her?

  But he lik
ed being close, for sure and certain.

  She didn’t relax. “Do you want to sit down?”

  “Where do you want me to sit?” He wanted to sit next to her, wherever she was going to sit.

  She pointed to a chair at the table.

  He knew how uncomfortable she was, and he wished he knew how to make everything all better. He’d have to settle for a reassuring smile. Would she see the concern behind it? He sat down, rested his injured arm on the table, and stretched it out so Rose could reach it easily. She hesitated for only a moment before sitting next to him and dabbing at the scratches with her wet towel.

  “Does it hurt? I don’t want to hurt you.”

  He would rather let Leonard Nimoy scratch him again than let Rose think that she was causing him any pain. “You’re very gentle. I can barely feel it.”

  “Josiah is a farmer,” Bitsy said, still standing at the island. She skewered a pickle with her fork. “His life is pain.”

  Josiah chuckled. “It’s not as bad as all that.”

  “You’re at the mercy of the weather,” Bitsy said.

  “Not so much the weather as the grace of Gotte,” Josiah said. “Farming is hard work, but it’s taught me to trust in the Lord. He might send rain or drought or an early frost. I’ve learned to surrender to His will no matter how hard the lesson.”

  Bitsy nodded. “After all you’ve been through, I suppose you’ve learned that.”

  After all he’d been through.

  Jah. The pain of his parents’ deaths still felt like a fresh, untended wound. He glanced up to see Rose studying his face, her own eyes soft and misty, her expression lined with sympathy and pain. He’d lost both his parents, just like Rose had, but he had been old enough when his parents died to make some sort of sense of the whole thing. Rose had been a little girl.

  “I’m sorry,” Rose whispered.

  “I’m sorry about your parents too.”

  He could see her struggling for a carefree smile. “I almost don’t remember them. I was only five when they died, too little to remember much.” Something even deeper than grief briefly darkened her features. “And of course, there were no photos.”