Free A Promise for Miriam by Vannetta Chapman Page A

her and Pepper pressed against her legs. As she surveyed their home, it occurred to her that it looked like an illustration out of one of the children’s storybooks—wrapped in snow and only two weeks before Christmas. It almost seemed as if it were a picture-perfect morning—except for the scratch bleeding on her hand, which was a small price to pay for Stormy’s safety.
    Hot kaffi and a warm breakfast, and she’d forget the scratch.
    The scratch and her rumbling stomach.
    Her dad must have been thinking the same thing.
    “How ’bout we put that little guy back in his stall and head inside?”
    “Do you think Pepper chased him out?”
    “I doubt it.” They walked together to the back stall of the barn. When Miriam placed the kitten down beside the mother cat, she began licking him immediately. “I suspect the stall door didn’t latch tight when your bruder brought in that pan of milk.”
    “Pan of milk?” Miriam peered over at the foil pan as Joshua nudged her out and toward the house. Pepper curled up in front of the stall door like some sort of sentry. “I’ve never known Simon to care whether a barn cat had milk or not.”
    “Could be I sent him in with it,” her dad admitted.
    “You?” she linked her arm through his.
    “ Ya , well. It being cold and all. Say, tell me about your week at school.”
    “Now you’re changing the subject.”
    When her father grunted, she let it slide.
    “The children were good, except for the middle-grade boys who thought it would be fun to put snowballs in the girls’ mittens at the end of lunch. Within an hour the snow melted and water was everywhere.”
    “Did you make them clean it up?”
    “Yes, I did, and they had to write apology letters.”
    “ Gut girl.”
    “The three days off will do everyone good.”
    “Storm could be bad.” Joshua reached for the back door to the kitchen, pulled it open, and let her enter first.
    “How bad?” Miriam stopped in the mudroom. Her stomach was telling her to move on, but suddenly her mind was filled with images of Gabe Miller and his dilapidated barn.
    “Worst we’ve had in ten, maybe twelve years.”
    Miriam slowly unwound the scarf around her neck and placed it on her hook under the window.
    “Worried about someone in particular?”
    “Gabe—I mean, Grace.”
    “He knows how to contact us if he needs anything.” Joshua smiled at her, the expression wrinkling the skin around his eyes. “And if I’m not mistaken, that’s your mamm ’s cinnamon rolls I smell. They weren’t ready when I went out an hour ago, but I’ll bet they’re toasty brown and piping hot now.”

    “Do not put that in your mouth.”
    Miriam heard the teacher’s tone in her voice, but she couldn’t have stopped herself if she wanted to.
    At the moment she didn’t want to.
    Fortunately, Simon heard the tone as well, and though it had been years since he’d been in a schoolroom, he stopped, the cinnamon roll inches from his mouth.
    “Why?” His smile widened as he prepared to take a bite of the thick gooey roll.
    “You know why. It’s the last center roll. I like the middle ones too.” Miriam fought to keep her voice low, but with little success.
    “Now, Miriam, there are plenty of others. And oatmeal as well.” Her mamm set raisins and brown sugar on the table and then pushed an empty bowl toward her.
    “Edge rolls.” Miriam picked up her kaffi cup instead. “Don’t you take a single bite until I get back.”
    “But—”
    “Not one!”
    When Simon reluctantly set the roll back on the plate, she turned away from the table, walked over to the stove, and filled her cup.
    “You’re being a bit hard on him,” her mother whispered.
    The only answer Miriam gave was the look she had perfected.
    “I’m just saying…” Abigail raised her hands in mock surrender. “I’ll let you two work this out. You are both adults.”
    “ Ya . Only kinner would fight over a sweet roll.” Her dat sprinkled a small teaspoonful of brown