Free The Missing by Beverly Lewis

his shoulder at the barn as he came into the kitchen.
    “Enough what?”
    “Food, silly.” Joe’s light brown hair was matted under his ratty straw hat, which he had just removed to fan himself. “Yonnie’s goin’ to be putting his feet under your table today.” His brown eyes sparkled as if delighted.
    “Today?” She drew in her breath.
    “And every day, prob’ly . . . ’cept for Saturday and the Lord’s Day.” He scratched his oily head. “Dat wants him workin’ here, seems. At least till birthin’ season is past.”
    “Dat does?” She puffed the words out of her mouth.
    Joe nodded. “Yonnie’s mighty gut with the frail lambs. That’s his job, makin’ sure the new ones that’re rejected by their mothers are bottle-fed frequently.” He went on, lauding Yonnie as if he was his long-lost brother.
    “You best be washin’ up,” she told him and headed back to the table. Grace did not like this unforeseen turn of events, not one bit. Her hands shook as she filled each glass with water. Cooked enough food, indeed!

chapter
eight
    A t dinnertime, Yonnie sauntered indoors with Adam and Joe to wash up. Grace felt awkward and disconcerted with Yonnie staying for the noon meal. And he was looking her way, of all things.
    “Where would ya have me sit?” he asked quietly, drying his hands.
    In your own kitchen , she thought. His steady gaze unnerved her as he waited for her response. Did her expression give her away? Could he tell she was displeased?
    “Right there’s fine.” She pointed to an empty spot on the bench down near where Dawdi Jakob always sat.
    Not only did he slide in next to her grandfather, but he chattered like a magpie before the silent blessing. Dat’s frequent blinks seemed to suggest Yonnie’s yammering surprised him, as well.
    After Dat’s prayer, Yonnie lost no time in dishing up a generous portion of beef stew. Grace had made hot biscuits, too, serving those alongside dishes of pickled beets, chowchow, and Mamma’s delicious dill pickles.
    But she could hardly wait for the meal to end. Goodness, but other than Adam and Joe, she’d never fed another young fellow in this kitchen, including her former fiancé.
    She sat stiffly next to Dat, in her mother’s usual place, her hands fidgeting beneath the oilcloth. She picked at her apron and tried to avoid Yonnie’s eyes. This fellow seemed downright indifferent to their traditional ways—either that or he was just plain stubborn.
    Like her father and brothers, Yonnie cleaned his bowl several times. Grace lost count how many. If there was anything to be relieved about, it was that Yonnie brought an air of surprising ease with him, an arresting confidence she’d not seen in other men his age.
    As he talked with Joe and Dawdi Jakob, who seemed quite friendly toward him, she considered that Becky must be right now pining for Yonnie, next farm over. Clenching her teeth, Grace reached for her water glass. I must talk to her soon .
    Then, because Mandy had insisted earlier that her sweet tooth needed some attention, Grace brought out two snitz pies made with dried apples. Her sister could not conceal her delight; food always seemed to do the trick with her. And the pies weren’t lost on Yonnie, either, she noticed.
    When the pies were gone but for a few slices, Yonnie thanked her across the table. “Denki, Grace . . . a wonderful gut meal.”
    She could hardly believe her ears. What a peculiar thing to do! Although there was no denying how nice such a compliment was to hear, rather than the slurping and burping men traditionally used to show appreciation at the table.
    Later, when the kitchen was empty, except for Mandy at the sink, Joe pulled Grace aside. He steepled his fingers. “You’re scheduled to work at Eli’s today, ain’t?”
    “Jah, and I need to leave right quick.” Grace noticed the mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes and drew a long sigh. “Joe . . . why are you askin’?”
    “Just thinkin’ something might