Love Prevails Through Silence, page 11
“It’s such a fine day,” she said.
He nodded. “It is, Amy. It is.”
She grinned again and ran on ahead, aware now that he didn’t mind it. She could see a butterfly and she wanted to see it closer. It settled on the grass and she stared at the lovely patterns on its wings; black and orange swirled together in a fine, intricate pattern so perfect that it made her think of how glorious the Creator was. The work of His hands so perfect.
She glanced back at Noah, who was walking along more slowly.
“Look!” she yelled, but the butterfly flew up as she did so, and Noah, grinning, nodded.
“I saw it!” he called back. Because she was watching his lips, she could hear the words.
She chuckled and waited for him to catch up and they walked on more slowly, side-by-side.
Amy looked around and realized that she wasn’t frightened anymore. In fact, she was smiling, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt truly happy.
She paused. If only she could understand a little more about her parents. She wished, too, that she and Noah could talk more so she could find out more about him; then she would be more content than she would ever have imagined. She found herself thinking of a prayer and she said it in the quiet of her mind, thanking God for the miracles He had wrought in her life.
Chapter Ten
Noah carried the bag of purchases into the kitchen. He could hear Amy in the hallway behind him. She sounded tired or hesitant—her footsteps were slow and uncertain. He put the bag on the table, straightened his back, and sighed.
“So much to do,” he said aloud.
Since discovering she was unable to hear most of what he said, Noah had felt oddly more at ease with Amy. It meant he couldn’t say the wrong thing. He was sure he always said the wrong thing to women; he still didn’t know if he could have done anything to make Esther stay with him.
At least with Amy, unless he spoke facing her, she couldn’t hear him.
He frowned, feeling guilty at the thought. He was keeping a lot of secrets from her, and maybe that wasn’t the right thing. But how could he tell her of his own fears, or of the fact that the farm she’d inherited was a liability, not an asset?
How could he tell her about his own past when she was supposed to rely on him for their future success.
He ran a weary hand down his face. A brief glance around had shown him the truth—it would take months for them to get it to the stage where they could live off it. I would maybe be longer before they started to make a profit. And he didn’t know how they were going to start.
He took a deep breath and looked around the kitchen. He’d only been here a day, he reminded himself. His gaze alighted on Amy, who was standing in the doorway, looking up at him with that hesitant gaze of hers. It reminded him of a horse that Mr. Stuart had rescued from a bad owner. The horse had been frightened of everyone, and no matter how hard Noah had tried to approach it, that watchful gaze had never allowed him to even get close.
“Amy?” he said carefully. “Do you want to unpack the things? You can decide where the food should go.” It was her ranch, after all.
He saw her eyes widen and he wasn’t sure if she had understood him properly. He was about to repeat himself, when she went to the table, opened the bag, and took out the first of the purchases.
Noah watched her, feeling amused as she found spaces for everything. The food supplies he had bought were not exactly plentiful—flour, tea, sugar and some yeast to make bread. He hoped he could earn some money doing odd jobs so that they could purchase eggs and perhaps some meat. All the groceries he had bought today were on account; he’d have to pay for them later as soon as he had some money. He couldn’t think of that now, though.
He looked around the kitchen, distracting himself from that responsibility, and watched Amy struggle with a heavy bag of flour. He grinned then went to lift it from where she held it tight against her, struggling with the weight.
“I’ll lift it. Where do you want to put it?” he asked her. Now that he was used to communicating with her, it seemed easy enough.
“There,” she said. She pointed upward. He set the bag in the cupboard she’d indicated. They would need to clean the cupboards out, too…He’d done his best cleaning the kitchen that morning, but there was still a lot of dust.
Amy seemed to agree with him, because he saw her head over to the counter where he’d been cleaning and grab a rag. She started scrubbing the counter and then went to the table, tidying as she went.
Look at her. She seems to know exactly what to do.
He felt amused at first and pleased to have some help. As she continued to dust and polish, he felt uneasy and slightly ashamed because he wasn’t doing anything.
“I’ll go and take a walk,” he offered awkwardly. “To see what needs doing on the farm.” He was standing close to her and facing her when he spoke.
“Good,” Amy said lightly. “I’ll clean in here.”
“Good,” he said, amused as she bent down over the counter again, scrubbing at a stubborn stain.
He hurried out of the kitchen, planning a brisk walk about the grounds.
He paused at the back door and looked around.
The house was quite small, set on an area of land that was a little raised from the landscape around it. He could see Mrs. Black’s land on his left. It was set in a slight depression. From the front of the house, he could stare over the landscape to the distant, grassy hills behind the town of Fouroaks. He stood there, breathing deeply. The air smelled dusty and warm, the day already hot. He guessed it to be almost midday, the shadows cast by the fence posts shrinking rapidly to ink-like lines on the dirt.
He set off, walking about the land.
The first thing that he reached was a fenced-off area, which he assumed had been used to grow vegetables. He’d noticed it the previous day. It was filled with weeds now, and the first thing he had to do was clear it. He’d need to get a spade.
He contemplated the garden briefly then his steps took him further, past the remains of a barn, past a fence that straggled across the land, to the fields. He guessed cattle had grazed there once, hence the fence dividing it from the rest of the farm. But that must have been many years ago, because the grass was withered, and no cattle could graze there now. He took a deep breath, batting away a fly that buzzed about his head in the summer heat.
“We’ll need to plow that and sow fresh grass—it’s rank with weeds.”
He walked further down the fence and then stopped, feeling dizzy. The amount of work that was needed around here was staggering. He couldn’t guess how long it would take—or how much money would be needed—to get it back in working order.
I don’t even know where to get started.
He walked back slowly towards the house. As it was, he’d needed to borrow money or take an advance on labor to buy what they needed. The plows, spades, and other tools he foresaw they would need would cost more than he could imagine right now.
“I’ll have to figure it out,” he told himself.
He’d need equipment, seed, and a man to help him, too.
Maybe, once, he would have prayed about it. But now he was sure no help was forthcoming. God didn’t seem to exist, if his own life was anything to judge by, and if He did, then he surely didn’t care about Noah Bradford. He’d have to figure it all out himself, and all he could think of was that it was going to be weeks of hard labor.
Well, he was used to that, wasn’t he?
He walked back to the kitchen.
Inside, Amy was still busy. She had cleaned the surfaces and already the place looked more pleasant than it had that morning. She must have found some beeswax polish or something in one of the cupboards, because the air smelled fresh. He drew in a deep breath, feeling his spirits lift slightly.
“Are you all right?” he asked her, going to stand in front of her where she rinsed something in the sink.
“Very well, thank you,” she said.
He watched her tidy away the things he’d taken out that morning, and then he went to fetch the other supplies out of the bag—nails, rope, some glue. It was all precious little, given how much needed to be mended.
He ran a hand through his hair, feeling frustrated. He didn’t even know where to start. The more he thought about it, the more concerned he became. His cheerful mood from earlier had worn off, becoming even lower when he thought of the fact that he hadn’t even paid for the food yet.
Amy went to the table and lifted one of the bags of nails. He called to her to put it down but she didn’t hear him—he still wasn’t used to that—and when she lifted it, the nails all spilled out, scattering on the floor.
Noah swore in annoyance. All his worries and concerns about the money, the state of the farm and his ability to fix it welled up in him.
“Don’t interfere with my things!” he shouted as she looked up. “Look what you’ve done. Let me organize things properly in here.”
He saw her face crumple and he cursed himself inwardly as he realized that he’d upset her. He’d spoken so harshly, motivated solely by his worry, and not thought about the effect it would have. She was crying and she turned around and ran from the room.
“That was smart,” he told himself. He felt guilty. He bent down to gather up the precious nails, hoping that none of them had gone missing. He had bought two dozen. “That was just right. Now you’ve scared her and upset her and all the trust she’s started to build has gone. So good.”
He swore again under his breath and put the nails back into the paper packet. It wasn’t her fault they’d spilled out.
He stood, straightening his back. All the nails were safe, and he felt like a fool. He’d shouted at her for no reason other than that he was frustrated and weary.
“Now can you see?” he told himself aloud. “You’re no good at this. No good at all.”
He’d managed to let Esther down, and now he was letting Amy down, too. He just had no skill at this whatsoever.
He sighed. He’d lived with this pain for too many years now to let it drive him so far out of his sanity. If he was a failure, well then, that was that. Right now, though, he needed to comfort Amy.
He walked towards the stairs, feeling nervous. How did one go about comforting a crying woman? Especially one who seemed so afraid of humankind? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he had to try. He went up the stairs slowly and stood outside her room.
Chapter Eleven
Amy sat on the bed. She felt fear grip her insides. She had done it now. She should have known better than to trust Noah. He had tolerated her; he had even attempted to be kind.
But I’m just a useless sinner. A workhouse brat. And now he knows what they all already know.
He would take her back to the workhouse again and that would be that.
She took a deep breath.
Maybe she wouldn’t need to go back. Part of her, having now tasted freedom, would not submit to that again. She could run away. Maybe she could take some of the things—some blankets, maybe some wood from the barn—and run into the hills. She could find a cave to live in. It was summer, and it wouldn’t be impossible. Even John the Baptist had eaten locusts and honey in the desert—the Lord would provide for her.
She stood and rolled the coverlet off the bed. It was hers, after all—it wouldn’t be theft. She had inherited this place.
The thought of freedom in the hills drove her and she was rolling up the sheet, planning to take the bedding with her, when the door opened.
She froze.
Noah was there.
She looked up at him, thinking that when he saw what she was doing—taking the bedclothes—that he would fly into a rage. She was prepared for the worst, but the expression on his face was sorrowful, not angry.
“Amy?” he said. His expression was gentle. “Amy? I’m sorry I snapped at you. It wasn’t your fault…it’s all right.”
Amy stared at him. It wasn’t the first time he’d apologized, but it still struck her. The words were so confusing, so unexpected, that it took her a moment to notice that he’d taken her hand again. She sat down on the bed and felt a faint flush in her cheeks, but then responded instantly.
“You didn’t,” she said. “I was foolish. I dropped the nails.”
Noah sighed. He was standing opposite her, shoulders slumped, posture seeming defeated. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “Anybody could have dropped them. It wasn’t your fault,” he repeated. “It was such a small thing. I was thinking about something else that troubled me. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”
Amy cleared her throat. It was confusing, what he was saying, but she wasn’t going to focus on it. There was something more imperative at hand, and even more confusing. He looked sad.
Sadness was something she knew, and she couldn’t bear the thought that she’d made him sad. He had seemed sad when she first met him—a sort of ingrained sorrow she couldn’t understand that permeated his every gesture.
But what would cheer him up?
“You didn’t mean to shout, Noah,” she said carefully. “It wasn’t your fault, either.”
He smiled. She blushed, knowing that it was the first time she’d used his name.
“Thank you,” he said. He looked relieved, and some other expression was in his eyes, too—some warmth that she hadn’t imagined seeing. Was he blushing? She pushed the thought away. That wasn’t possible. Men didn’t feel embarrassed, did they? No, she was sure they didn’t. “Thank you, Amy. Will you come downstairs? We should eat something. It’s past midday.”
Amy nodded. Her stomach was empty, she realized, despite the large breakfast.
She followed him downstairs.
They sat quietly at the table. Amy watched Noah, thinking that she knew him so little. She wondered how to start asking questions.
“You grew up around here?” she asked him as she reached for a slice of bread.
He looked over at her, seeming surprised by the question. After a moment, he answered it. “No. Further south than this by about a day’s ride. Small village called Norwich.”
“I see,” Amy said. She watched him take a hardboiled egg from the plate in the center of the table. She ate slowly, thinking about his answers.
“I moved here when I was twenty-two,” Noah said, without her having to ask him. “That’s eight years ago.”
“I see,” Amy said again. She could hear tightness in his voice, as if he was reluctant to discuss something, but she couldn’t guess why.
“It’s a good town, this,” he said.
“I suppose,” Amy agreed. Fouroaks was a large town; large and prosperous. She had little enough experience of it, despite having lived there all her life.
They ate the rest of the eggs and bread for lunch.
“Shall we go for a walk?” Noah asked.
Amy felt sleepy, but she agreed, thinking that she’d promised herself she’d try to find out more about him.
It was a sunny afternoon, and the heat hit them like a wall when they left the kitchen. The house was cool inside, built to withstand the summer heat. They headed towards the open fields.
“There’s a lot to be doing,” Noah said when they paused at a fence.
Amy looked around. She could see far across the landscape since the ranch was on a slight ridge. The distant hills were green and thick with grass, and she could hear crickets and other insects calling in the greenery in the field next door. The land closer to them—her land—seemed parched and barren compared to what she saw. She nodded.
“I guess.”
“There’s a lot to do,” he repeated. “But we’ll manage, won’t we, Amy?” he asked her. She thought she could see fear in his eyes, and she couldn’t guess what it was there for.
“Yes,” she said. “The Lord will help us.”
Noah looked down. He seemed uneasy suddenly, his one hand twitching at his sleeve. When he looked up again, he spoke lightly, though she could see he was uncomfortable.
“Yes. Well. I suppose He will. What would I know?”
His voice seemed forced. Amy looked at him, considering.
He didn’t believe, did he?
She had not considered that before. Everyone she knew in the workhouse was Christian—even Matron, though it was hard to believe that she ascribed to the religion of love and forgiveness preached in the Bible. But then, even Matron certainly would have believed the Lord would help one in troubled times.
Noah didn’t seem to believe that.
