Free A Place of His Own by Kathleen Fuller

wasn’t about to break that promise.
    She moved toward him, placing her hand back on his arm. “Talk to me, Josiah. You never had trouble doing that before. Remember how much time we spent just talking? Lying on a soft bed of grass on a summer night, looking at millions of stars, sharing our hopes and—”
    â€œStop.” He grabbed her hand, a little harder than he meant to. But he couldn’t help it. Every word she spoke dug into him.
    Shock registered on her face, and she tried to twist out of his grip. “Josiah, you’re hurting me.”
    He glanced down at his hand locked around her wrist. Stricken, he released her, not missing the red ring circling her pale skin. He staggered backward. “Amanda, I’m . . .” Unable to finish, he turned and ran to the barn. Only when he reached the inside, away from her view, did he allow himself to breathe.
    She had said he would never hurt her. Just now, he had proven what he always knew—he could.
    Amanda rubbed her wrist as she watched Josiah flee. It didn’t hurt that much, only tingled, and she had been surprised more than anything. Why had he grabbed her like that? She was tempted to follow him but thought better of it. In the old days she would have chased him down and demanded that he talk to her. But his reaction gave her pause, and she remembered her mother’s warning about being too nosy. Instead she headed for the house, trying to figure out what to do.
    As she passed through the backyard, she barely noticed her siblings running around and playing by the swing set. She had to find a way to help Josiah. But how, when she had no idea what was wrong?
    Still thinking, she walked into the kitchen, where the scent of fried chicken filled the air. Her mother stood next to the stove, a hot pot of oil bubbling over the gas burner. She dipped a chicken leg into a shallow dish holding beaten eggs, then rolled it in a separate dish of flour. Grease spattered as the floured piece hit the hot oil. Katharine wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, looking less tired than she had been lately.
    Her mother turned her head, apparently noticing her for the first time. “Amanda. I’m glad you’re home. I could use some help. I know you’ve been over at Josiah’s all day, but if you could fix the corn, I would appreciate it.”
    Amanda nodded and walked to the pantry to retrieve two quart jars of home-canned corn. As she dumped the vegetables into a large pot, she continued to consider her dilemma.
    â€œAndrew and Thomas seem to have had a gut time today,” Katharine remarked, flouring another piece of chicken. “They couldn’t stop talking about Mr . Josiah. I’ve never heard them get that tickled from doing a day’s hard work.”
    â€œHe’s sehr gut with them.” Amanda added a soft pat of butter to the corn and stirred. “And they worked really hard. So did Rachel. We got a lot accomplished in the kitchen.”
    â€œThere’s much satisfaction in a job well done.” Katharine cast Amanda a sidelong glance. “You always do a gut job, Dochder .”
    â€œ Danki, Mamm .” She set the pot on top of the stove and turned on the burner, staring at the small yellow kernels as if they held the answers she needed.
    â€œAmanda?”
    Her mother’s voice jerked her out of her thoughts. “Ya?”
    â€œIs everything okay? You haven’t said much since you got home.” Using a small wire mesh basket with a long wooden handle attached, she fished out three pieces of golden brown chicken and put them on a platter covered with two layers of paper towel. “That’s not like you.”
    â€œI just have a lot on my mind.” Amanda stirred the corn again, which had started to bubble.
    â€œI suspect Josiah’s on your mind.”
    Amanda looked at her mother and sighed. “ Ya , he is. He’s different, Mamm . A lot different than he