Brush of Angel's Wings by Ruth Reid Page A

from the wall and reached for her elbow. He moved her toward the dwindling food line. “Let’s eat.”
    Rachel stepped in line, following the others, aware of Jordan close at her shoulder. She reached for the same spatula as Peter Wyse and pulled back her hand.
    Peter gestured for her to go first. “Are you enjoying the singing, Rachel?”
    â€œ Jah , it’s a wundebaar gathering.” Her hand trembled as she scooped a serving of shoofly pie that was so large it teetered on the spatula. Peter brought his plate under her hand just as the slice slid out of control. “Perfect teamwork,” he said when it landed on his plate. “Thanks.”
    â€œAch.” She handed Peter the server. “Please, you go first.”
    Peter selected a slice and reached for her plate to place it on.
    â€œDenki.”
    Peter continued to offer help with her food selections as they made their way along the counter. At the end, she looked at the heaping plateful and gulped. In her eagerness to accept all that Peter served, she hadn’t considered how foolish she looked with more food than she could possibly eat.
    Jordan peered at her plate and grinned. “You have a hearty appetite tonight.”
    Rachel looked at him, everything in her pleading with him not to tease her in front of everyone or point out her folly. Whether he understood her silent plea or not, he pivoted to shield her from the others. “Slide what you won’t eat onto my plate.”
    She eased a good-sized portion of her food to his dish, grateful for his willingness to rescue her from embarrassment. Perhaps he was thoughtful after all.
    â€œI guess I was somewhat distracted,” she admitted.
    â€œSo it seems.”
    Judging by his amused expression, the cherries in the cobbler were not colored as brightly red as her face.
    He leaned closer. “Should we find a seat, Red?”
    Naomi took the chair opposite William, while Rachel sat across from Peter. Anne, a small-framed girl, eyed the chair opposite Jordan. It seemed the pairing up had begun. At the other end of the table, Dorothy and her sister Tamara chatted with Noah and James, who had come over from the adjoining district. Clearly, by the ongoing prattle, plans of who would ride home together were already in the making.
    Rachel’s stomach knotted. Even though the last singing she’d attended was so long ago, she remembered feeling like she wore two left shoes. Timothy had kindly volunteered to drive her, but she didn’t want to impose on Sadie and him. After that last time, even Daed didn’t say much when she dallied in the barn feeding the animals on Sunday evenings.
    â€œDo you have a favorite song?” Anne asked Jordan.
    He looked up from eating long enough to answer. “No.”
    Rachel touched Anne’s forearm. “He doesn’t sing.”
    Jordan glanced at Rachel, then looked at Anne. “I sing. I just don’t know any Deitsch songs.”
    â€œHe’s a distant sort,” Naomi whispered to Rachel. “We’ll have to work on that.”
    Distant wasn’t necessarily the way Rachel would describe Jordan in a group. Impersonal, aloof, downright rude—she could name multiple descriptions of him. She could name more, and each one made her very aware that he was not one of them. Except for his attachment to her father, Jordan appeared content not interacting with anyone.
    Several people excused themselves to talk on the porch.
    Rachel picked at her food. She didn’t want to appear wasteful, but this was still too much. Without looking up, she could feel Jordan’s eyes piercing her.
    He slid his empty plate across the table. “You can trade with me.”
    Rachel considered him. “You sure?”
    â€œYes, just pass it over.”
    She quickly glanced around the room to see if anyone was watching, then traded his empty dish for her barely touched food.
    Jordan ate in silence while she