A Promise for Miriam by Vannetta Chapman Page A

only advantages of living without a woman,” he muttered, as he picked up the kaffi pot and stared at yesterday’s sludge.
    The fire he’d banked earlier was still warm, so he added wood to it and moved the pot to the back. Wouldn’t hurt to heat it up. It had tasted bad yesterday. It couldn’t taste much worse today.
    But what to fix Grace? His oatmeal skills weren’t improving, and he needed to hurry back to the barn before the snow started falling again.
    She solved the problem by appearing at his side with milk and cheese from the icebox.
    “If you’re thinking grilled cheese for breakfast, we don’t have any bread.”
    Shrugging, she walked to the bread basket and uncovered two of the biscuits left over from Miriam’s dinner. Then she pulled open a drawer and found a knife and cutting board.
    “I get the idea. Run and get dressed while I warm the biscuits.”
    She started out of the room but then came back to hug his legs. Her arms around him sent a surge of warmth straight to his heart, as they always did.
    Kissing the top of her head, he muttered, “I suppose that means you want a sliver of cheese for Stanley.”
    Instead of answering, she skipped out of the room and down the hall.
    Of course she didn’t answer. He’d stopped expecting her to.
    Had he been wrong about that? He had never questioned himself until the scene in the barn with her teacher.
    As he heated up a little bacon grease and split the biscuits, he ran a hand over his jaw. Perhaps Miriam was right. Certainly, she dealt with more children than he did. Unfortunately, his daughter hadn’t come with an operating manual like the gasoline engine on the windmill pump. It was one of the few modern conveniences the bishop allowed them.
    As Grace settled back at the table, Gabe realized he’d given up long ago trying to figure out what was wrong with her speech. He’d learned to accept her as she was.
    Wasn’t that what God wanted him to do?
    And why couldn’t the teacher do the same?
    His temper threatened to spark like the grease in the pan heating the biscuits. Getting angry wouldn’t do a bit of good, though, so he pushed his anger down and ignored it the way he ignored so many of his feelings. Hope had always laughed at him in the evenings as she ran her hands through his beard and coaxed him into talking. She said feelings were like rocks in the field—if you didn’t clear them out, they would break something.
    He smiled at the memory as he slipped the hot biscuits onto a plate and topped them with cheese.
    Grace looked up at him in surprise.
    “What? Can’t I give you a breakfast that isn’t burnt without earning a surprised look?”
    She shook her head, kapp strings flying, and bit into the biscuit. She didn’t say danki , but the contented look on her face was all the thanks he needed.
    He checked the stove, made sure everything was away from the fire, and then wrapped his own biscuits in a cloth napkin and took a gulp of the kaffi he’d poured. Grimacing, he realized he should have taken the time to make some new—it actually did grow worse each day. Interesting.
    Glancing outside, he saw that his fears were confirmed. Snow was falling once again, already covering their tracks.
    “Grace, I have to go back to the barn and try to settle the animals. If you have to use the outhouse, you hold on to the rope to get there. Understand?”
    She nodded but remained focused on her drawing. That was another habit he needed to break—drawing while she was eating. One thing at a time, though, and today the animals needed to come first.
    “I’ll be back by lunch. You’ll be okay?”
    She still didn’t look up, so he squatted beside her chair, placed his hand under her chin, and forced her to look at him. When she did he was reminded once more of his wife, but this time he realized—maybe for the first time—that Grace was no longer the baby he had held in his arms. She was growing up with a look and a personality uniquely her