Free Rebekah's Quilt by Sara Barnard

blot out the rest of the room. She inhaled, closing her eyes. His scent was woodsy, like he’d just traipsed through a pine forest.
    “And you’re gonna rest.” His breezy voice, meant to reassure, only stoked the gentle heat that smoldered in her chest.
    She watched Joseph’s angular jaw flex as he ascended the stairs. Katie’s high-pitched words like “inappropriate” and “shameless” caught her attention, but a genial laugh from Heloise quelled any anxiety before it even had the chance to bloom.
     

     
    “I’ll take care of things. You just get well.” He laid the cool rag on her puffy foot. The purple mottling had begun to creep up her leg and her entire foot was tinged a deep green.
    “That toe is broke,” Joseph observed. “I’m sure Ma’ll be in here to check on you later. Planned on looking in on your ma today.”
    Rebekah managed a smile as she spread her hands over her quilt. Gazing out the window, a sudden tiredness tugged at her eyelids. “I’ll just close my eyes a minute, then get up to start dinner.” A yawn interrupted her spiel.
    “Dinner, pshaw.” Joseph closed his eyes and waved both hands as if to dismiss her. “I’ll take care of dinner.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “You do trust me, don’t you?”
    A note in his voice gave her pause. “Trust you?”
    He grinned, offering her a sly wink that transformed her insides into hopeless mush.
    “You can trust me, Rebekah.”
    Surely he doesn’t know, er think, I went downstairs just to check up on him and Katie? Her mushy insides quivered. She hoped the flush that flamed in her face wasn’t as visible as it felt.
    “Do you?”
    She nodded, once again not trusting her own voice.
    “So I trust you won’t be wandering down the stairs for the rest of the day?”
    “I won’t,” she said half-heartedly.
    He gestured to her nightstand. “Your quilting bag is sitting there if you get the urge to stitch.” The corner of his mouth tilted into a smile. Rebekah liked the way the corners of his eyes crinkled with his smile, making him even more alluring than usual.
    “I’ll be back to check on you later,” he assured her, reaching for the handle of the closed door. Before he could pull it open, the door flung inward, whacking him squarely on the nose.
    Heloise’s voice, thickly accented, rang through the air. “Whoopsie! Sorry Son!” With green eyes a-sparkle, she entered Rebekah’s room. “Rebekah, I see you made it upstairs.” The elder Graber flounced across the room with a youthful gaiety untelling of her forty years.
    Rebekah flickered her gaze to Joseph.
    “How’s everyone doing outside, Ma?” he asked.
    “Ah, everyone is fine, fine,” she said, a dismissive quality to her voice. “I come to see the hero of the day.” She perched on the foot of Rebekah’s bed like a plump bird. Her smile was wide and bright beneath the fiery locks that peeked out from her black covering.
    “The men are replacing the barn, Rebekah,” she reported. “All the women brought supplies and food. Oh!”
    Hopping up, Heloise danced back across the room.
    Joseph and Rebekah inhaled in unison when she reappeared with a full basket of home baked goods.
    “Mmm, I smell apple strudel!” Rebekah sighed.
    Heloise plopped the basket on the bed, grinning as Rebekah began unpacking it with zest.
    With a tender smile, Joseph looked on.
    “Apple strudel,” she confirmed, taking a big whiff of the first plate before setting it off to the side. “Apple butter. A loaf of buttermilk bread. Noodles and chow chow. And, oh my goodness, a rhubarb pie! Thank you Heloise!”
    “Don’t sank me, sank Katie,” Heloise said, her German accent thick as the creamy strudel frosting. “’Twas her idea to fix you a basket.”
    Rebekah’s voice was muted and humble. “I will thank her,” she promised. “Oh, what’s this?” She slowly drew the heavy object from the bottom of the basket. “Sewing shears?”  Confused, she looked up at Heloise.
    The stout