A Wife for Jacob. Rebecca Kertz
“Do you have a list of any back orders?” he asked.
“Ja,” Joe said. “Annie, push me closer.” He gestured toward the other side of the shop.
“Dat...”
“I’m not going to work, daughter. I’m hardly in a position to do anything but sit—and even that’s getting painful.” Annie pushed her father’s wheelchair farther into the room. “This is fine, Annie.” Joe gestured toward a wall shelf. “Jacob? See that notebook? Inside, you’ll find a list of special orders. Not horseshoes but cabinet hinges, tools for specific use and other requests.”
Jacob pulled the book from its nesting place on the shelf. He flipped through pages, seeing Joe’s notes. “This will be helpful.”
Joe looked tired. “There will be the usual orders for horseshoes. Abram Peachy has been patiently waiting for me to shoe one of his mares. If you can take care of that soon, I’d appreciate it.” Jacob saw a hint of tears in the older man’s eyes. “Danki, Jacob.”
“I’m grateful you had the patience to teach me about blacksmithing when I was younger,” Jacob replied.
“I enjoyed having you in the shop, interested in my work.” Joe smiled.
Jacob grinned. His good humor dimmed as he met Annie’s gaze briefly before returning his attention to her father. “Go home and rest. Things will be fine here.”
Joe’s smile was weak. “I think I’ll do that.”
“It was gut of you to visit me on my first day,” Jacob said. He gave Annie a nod, and she acknowledged it politely. He knew that she would take good care of her father.
As she pushed Joe from the shop, Jacob sighed. Annie. He had a lot to do and he didn’t need his thoughts muddled with Annie Zook and whether or not she approved of him. A blacksmith’s job took concentration, skill and patience, and he planned to ensure that Zook’s Blacksmithy continued to run smoothly in Horseshoe Joe’s absence.
* * *
Annie pushed her father up the wheelchair ramp and into the house. “You’ll be resting now, Dat?”
Her father sighed. “Ja. I’m feeling weak.”
“’Tis to be expected. You’ve done too much today.” She eyed him with concern. “Is your shin hurting?”
He nodded. “I’ll just sit in my chair and put up my leg.”
“Do ya need a pain pill?”
“Nay. I’ll be fine. Would you get me a cup of tea?”
Annie smiled. “I’ll bring you some of your favorite cookies, too.” She helped him move to his favorite chair. With Annie’s help, he set both of his legs onto the stool Noah Lapp had made for him and closed his eyes.
Annie picked up a quilt, spread it carefully over his legs and tucked it in near his waist. “I’ll be right back, Dat.”
He acknowledged her with a small sound that told her he might be ready to sleep. Still, she left the room and entered the kitchen to put on a pot of tea. As she placed the kettle on the stove, she thought of Jacob. It was strange to see him in the shop again. Watching him take stock of Zook’s Blacksmithy, she became overly conscious that he was no longer a boy but an attractive man.
I’m older and wiser; I won’t make the same mistake twice. She wouldn’t fall for another Lapp brother.
When the water was hot, she poured it into a teapot and added two bags. She’d enjoy a cup, too. Her mother and sister were not home; they were next door at her grosseldre’s house.
When the tea had steeped, she poured out two cups. After filling a plate with treats, she went back to the gathering room and her father. Her dat opened his eyes when she entered the room.
“Gut,” he said. “Those cookies look delicious.” He smiled when Annie placed his tea just the way he liked it on the table beside him.
“I put more than one kind on the plate,” she said as she offered him a napkin and extended the dish.
“They’re all my favorite,” he said with a weak grin. There was a tired look about his eyes, but there was enjoyment, too. Annie was happy to see it. “Annie.” Her father captured her hand as she turned to leave. “Take the boy something to eat later.”
Annie frowned. “Boy?”
“Jacob,” Dat said as he took a bite.
“Jacob’s not a boy, Dat.” She held out the plate for him.
“Man, then,” her father corrected as he selected another cookie.
She opened her mouth to say more but promptly thought better of it. “I’ll make him something to eat.”
“How about that leftover chicken potpie of yours?”
“Mam made it.” She rubbed her nape with her left hand. “I’ll bring him a bowlful and something to drink.”
“Nay, Annie. Invite him to eat lunch with us,” her dat said. “He’s doing me a favor by pitching in.”
“Are ya sure he’ll do a gut enough job for you?” she asked. She was upset that Jacob hadn’t waited for her to talk with her father about the idea.
“He’ll do a fine job.” Dat took a sip of his tea. “I taught him well.”
“But he was only eleven or twelve then,” she said. “That was a long time ago.”
“He’s a natural. He hasn’t forgotten what to do.” Her father smiled. “Shouldn’t your mudder be back by now?”
Annie shook her head. “She and Barbara are cleaning for Grossmudder.”
“And you had vadder duty,” Dat said sadly.
She settled her hand on his shoulder. “Dat, ’tis my pleasure to be here for you.”
Her father regarded her with affection. “I know.”
Annie saw her dat’s eyes brighten as he caught sight of her dog, Millie, curled up in her bed. He’d grown attached to the dog since his accident.
“Millie,” she called softly. The dog picked up her head. “Go sit by Dat.” As if she understood, little Millie rose from her bed and went to lie next to the base of Joe’s chair. “Watch him for me, girl.”
“Bring Jacob some water when you ask him to lunch. Working in the shop makes a man thirsty,” Joe said as he closed his eyes.
Annie stiffened. “Ja, Dat,” she said dutifully. In the kitchen, she filled a large plastic jug with water. She then grabbed a cup and a plate of cookies before she reluctantly headed out to the barn.
* * *
Jacob pulled out the tools he needed to make the horseshoes for Abram Peachy’s mare and stoked up the fire in the forge. He could use the propane torch but not today. He wanted to do it the way he’d first been taught. The leather apron Joe had bought for him still hung in the shop, as if it were only a day rather than years since he’d visited last. Jacob fingered the material. It was too small for him, and so he put on Joe’s. Next, he pulled on gloves to protect his hands.
The shop was warm, the heat from the fire a bit overwhelming as he set metal into flame until it glowed an orange red. Next, he hammered it into the shape of a horseshoe on the steel anvil. The sound of his cross-peen hammer against the glowing metal filled the room, rewarding him with a sense of familiar satisfaction. He hammered, checked the metal, fired it up again and hammered some more, then he suddenly became aware of someone’s presence. He didn’t have to look toward the doorway to know who had entered the shop. “Annie,”