<< Go Back

Love's Dwelling

By Kelly S. Irvin

Order Now!

Chapter 1
A crimson cardinal perched on top of the empty bird feeder outside the kitchen window. Cassie Weaver paused, a package of pork chops in her hand, to study it. Didn’t the dandy with his fancy red plumage know he was early? Spring wouldn’t show its face in southern Kansas for another month. February was an in-between month when Mother Nature couldn’t seem to make up her mind. Five inches of snow had fallen since dawn, and the fluffy wet stuff continued to accumulate.
Working for Dinah Keim, who was fast losing her eyesight, made Cassie acutely aware of the blessing of sight. Not to be able to see a ruby-throated hummingbird clothed in delicate, shimmering greens and blues, sipping nectar from purple, pink, and red pansies, would diminish her world. Having seen it and now be bereft of it only made it worse. Cassie stopped to count her blessings. She could see, which meant every day was a beautiful day, beginning with a brilliant sunrise and ending with her sister sunset.
Life was good.
“Cassie? Are you there?”
Dinah’s arrival signaled that the time for gathering wool had ended. Cassie forked the pork chops into a cast-iron skillet on the stove and turned. “I’m here. I’m making pork chops and fried potatoes for lunch. Did you check your blood sugar?”
Her wooden walking stick making a thunk, thunk on the oak floor, Dinah trotted to the kitchen table with a sure step. Every piece of furniture in the house remained in the same resting spot it had occupied for years, so she never had to worry about colliding with a misplaced chair or table. “I feel light-headed.”
“The potatoes are done. The slaw is on the table. All I have to do is fry the pork chops. Check your blood sugar while I finish.” Cassie turned up the gas flame under the skillet and strode to the propane-driven refrigerator. The never-ending balancing act between too high and too low blood sugar had become more difficult as Dinah’s frail body failed her. “I’ll get your shot ready.”
When she started working for Dinah and Job Keim six years ago, Cassie had been squeamish and then timid about the shots. Not anymore. Were she not Plain, she might have been a nurse or even a doctor. Snorting under her breath at the fanciful thought, she took a tiny bottle of insulin from the box on the refrigerator shelf, placed it on a saucer, and added a syringe. The cotton balls and alcohol were already on the table.
“Something smells gut.” Job barged through the back door and stamped snow from his enormous work boots on the rug. Her employer had the biggest feet Cassie had ever seen. But then he stood well over six feet tall. The feet matched the man. “I shoveled off the walk, which makes no sense, I know, fed the animals, fixed that hole in the fence, and chopped wood. Now I could eat an elephant.”
“No elephants on the menu today.” Cassie smiled as she set the saucer in front of Dinah. “But I can see if the meat market offers it next time I go into Yoder. It’s probably more tender than the last chuck roast I bought from them.”
Job’s belly laugh always made Cassie laugh with him. His smile wide over a long black beard shot through with silver, he slapped his broad chest and let one rip. “You tickle my innards, girl.”
“Someone’s coming.” Her head cocked, forehead furrowed, Dinah leaned forward in her chair. Her thick-lensed black glasses magnified her blue eyes. Failing eyesight had magnified her hearing. “Sounds like a van or an SUV coming up the drive.”
“Somebody has gut timing, fraa.” Job squeezed his wife’s shoulder as he walked past her. “They managed to arrive just in time for lunch. I’ll meet them at the front door.”
If they wanted lunch, Cassie was in trouble. Six thin pork chops wouldn’t go far—especially with Job’s insatiable appetite. The man didn’t have an ounce of fat on his sixty-seven-year-old frame, even though he inhaled all the food Cassie put in front of him.
“I wonder who it could be.” Dinah took care of her finger poke, used the test strip, and handed it to Cassie to read. “How am I doing?”
“Time for the shot and then some food. Guests or no, you need to eat.” Cassie administered the shot with an ease that her sixteen-year-old younger self would not have thought possible. “There you go. I have some sugar-free banana pudding with vanilla wafers and bananas slices for dessert.”
That drew a delighted whoop from Dinah, who barely seemed to register the injection anymore. The dessert was a favorite. Her sweet tooth seemed to grow in direct proportion to her disease. She preferred chocolate-frosted brownies or apple pie with ice cream, but even those made with sugar substitutes had to be saved for special occasions. Her thin body was just what the doctor had ordered.
“Fraa, come out here.” Job no longer sounded jovial. “Now.”
“She just had her shot,” Cassie called back. She shook her finger at Dinah. “I’ll go. Start with a roll. They’re in the basket on the table, along with the butter.”
She turned off the stove and moved the skillet to a back burner.
“Dinah, you need to get out here.”
Something akin to bewilderment mixed with panic reverberated in Job’s deep voice. He didn’t rattle easily or at all. Cassie raced down the hallway to the living room. Job stood in the foyer. He’d taken off his black wool hat. He kept running his big hand through curls more silver than black so they stood up all over his head.
Lined up in front of the fireplace stood five English children in stair-step fashion. The oldest one, a boy, held the youngest one, a girl whose red cheeks and wet face told the story of recent tears. A gray-haired lady in a green pantsuit, a worn leather satchel in one hand, joined them.
In the doorway loomed one more visitor. A tall, muscle-laden man with charcoal-black hair and blue eyes who methodically wiped his muddy work boots on the rug. He wore faded jeans with holey knees, an untucked red plaid flannel shirt, a fleece-lined jean jacket two sizes too big, and a Kansas City Royals baseball cap. Everything about his stance said he’d rather be sitting on a doctor’s exam table than standing in the Keims’ living room.
“I only have six pork chops.” The words came out of Cassie’s mouth of their own accord. Embarrassment flooded her. “I mean, I can heat up the leftover roast from last night’s supper—”
“They’re not here for lunch.” Job settled his wide-brimmed hat back on his head. His cheeks were damp and his face ashen. “They’re—”
“Perry? Suh?” One wrinkled hand outstretched, Dinah tottered past Cassie, heading for the man standing on the welcome mat. “Is that you, Suh? Where have you been? I’ve missed you so much. Where’s Georgia? Is she with you?”
“I’m not Perry. He’s my uncle. I’m Mason. Mason Keim.” The man’s big hand sought the doorknob. He took two steps back. “I’m Georgia’s son.”
“Georgia? Our dochder’s suh? Gott has answered our prayers.” Dinah’s face brightened as if a lamp’s oil had been replenished and light restored. “Where is she? Where’s my dochder?”
Mason Keim’s jaw worked. His gaze went to the children who stood oddly silent, too still for kids. The girl with a tangled dark-brown ponytail that reached her waist grabbed the smaller boy’s hand. Finally, Mason spoke. “She died.”
Confusion clouded Dinah’s face, extinguishing the light. “Died?”
The smallest girl buried her head in the boy’s shoulder and sobbed.
The walking stick clattered to the floor. Dinah crumpled in a heap beside it.

Order Now!

<< Go Back