An Amish Christmas Promise. Jo Brown Ann

volunteers had left Glen sitting alone, the project director had closed the blue folder.

      Michael felt his stomach clench. Did that mean Glen would be shutting down work on Carolyn’s house, too? Michael didn’t want to believe that, but he knew little about Englisch ways.

      Pulling out a chair, Glen motioned for Carolyn to sit. He gave Michael a pointed look over her head, but Michael decided not to take the hint and allow the two to speak alone.

      “I’m sorry to distress you,” Glen said in a subdued voice.

      “I’m sorry I tried to storm out of here,” she whispered. “I can’t—I don’t want to be interviewed or have the children interviewed. I understand if you can’t build us a house.”

      Michael saw his own questions on Glen’s face. Carolyn had used the word can’t. Why couldn’t she be interviewed? What was she trying to hide about herself and the kinder?

      “Of course we’re going to build your house,” Glen replied. “We’d love to have you and the children be part of the information we share with possible volunteers and donors, but that’s not a requirement for you. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.”

      “Don’t blame yourself,” she said, once more with the quiet composure Michael admired. “I’m on edge. If someone says boo, I’ll jump high enough to hit my head on the clouds.”

      Glen laughed. “We’ll keep that in mind when we’re ready to put the roof on your house. We wouldn’t want you to go right through it the first day.”

      Fifteen minutes later, Michael stood in the hall with his friends from Harmony Creek Hollow while Carolyn knelt nearby, tying Rose Anne’s bright red and yellow sneakers. He spoke in Deitsch. Benjamin and James, peppering him with questions about why Carolyn had reacted as she had and if the project was moving forward, used the same language. He didn’t want Carolyn to know they were talking about her, though he guessed she had some suspicion of that because she glanced in their direction a couple of times. He told his friends he wasn’t sure what had bothered her.

      “We might never know,” he said.

      “Women,” grumbled Benjamin. “One thing I learned from my sister is it’s impossible to guess what they’re thinking. I’ve figured out it’s better not to try.”

      James nodded. “I guess that’s why we’re bachelors.”

      Michael changed the subject to the next day when they’d start loading building materials onto a donated forklift and moving them to the construction site.

      “It’ll take us at least a day to get the forms set up and ready for concrete,” Benjamin added.

      “Do we have tarps to protect the supplies from rain and mud?”

      “I saw some among the pallets of supplies.” James scratched behind his ear as he mused, “There are three houses being started at the same time. I wonder if we’ve got enough supplies.”

      “Let’s not look for trouble before we find it,” Michael replied, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

      “Thanks for coming today,” Carolyn said as she walked past them. “I’m sorry for the scene I caused. Let me make it up to you. I’ll have the keys for the forklift waiting for you at supper so you can get a good start in the morning. See you there.”

      Michael stared after her. They’d been talking in Deitsch. Yet, Carolyn had spoken about the forklift as if she’d understood everything they’d said.

      How was that possible?

      Looking at his friends, he saw the same consternation on their faces.

      “Deitsch isn’t so different from German,” James said. “If she’s fluent in German, she’d get the gist of our conversation.”

      “Ja.” Michael didn’t add more.

      But if his friend wasn’t right, it meant one thing: Carolyn Wiebe might not be what she appeared to be.

       Chapter Four

      Michael quietly shut the door to the trailer he was sharing with his friends from Harmony Creek Hollow and stepped out into the cold morning. He didn’t want to wake Benjamin or James or anyone else who might be asleep in the other travel trailer parked behind the used car dealership. The two trailers had been donated for the workers rebuilding the homes. He hadn’t expected anything so comfortable when he’d volunteered.

      Though describing the cramped trailer as comfortable wasn’t accurate. With three full-grown men trying to squeeze past each other as they got ready each morning and went to bed each night for the past three days, it was a tight squeeze. However, the narrow bed where he slept had a gut mattress.

      He looked at his trousers. They were his next-to-last clean pair. The local laundromat had told volunteers that as soon as the business was open in a couple of weeks, they were welcome to come in anytime to wash their clothes for free. Something in the water had left a dirty line above the tops of his rubber boots. The scum might have been gasoline or fuel oil or some other chemical that had leaked into the brook after the flood swept cars and furnaces and everything else along it. He hadn’t seen the telltale rainbow sheen, but it might have dissipated enough so it was no longer visible.

      The volunteers working in the flooded houses had been given white plastic coveralls as well as ventilating masks. Mold had begun growing as the water receded, so those workers had to be protected when they tore out drenched drywall and tossed the pieces into wheelbarrows that were then taken to big dumpsters sitting at a central spot in town. The plan, as he understood it, had been for the debris to be removed daily, but so far nobody had come to retrieve it. Stacks of reeking building materials and furniture and carpet were piled along the streets.

      The rumble of generators came from the village. He walked past a collection of used cars marked with bright orange paint. When he’d asked why, he’d been told the cars would be destroyed. Water was as destructive to an internal combustion engine as it was to a wooden structure.

      Michael counted more than two dozen buildings with visible damage before he stopped, knowing there were more with ruined interior walls and drenched contents. Grimacing, he guessed anything in those buildings wore the same dark sheen as whatever stained his trousers.

      What a mess! Before he arrived he hadn’t imagined the breadth of the disaster.

      There was one thought he hadn’t been able to shake out of his head as he stared at the brightly colored trees on the mountain beyond the village. If the storm had blasted its way up the other side of the Green Mountains, the settlement along Harmony Creek could have been washed away.

      God, make use of my hands and my arms and whatever else You need to help these people regain their normal lives. Let my heart be as eager to help here as it would be to do the same for those at home.

      He prayed something similar every morning when he went on a short walk before breakfast. He depended on the prayer to focus him on the work ahead of him. Talking to God also helped him clear his mind of thoughts that seemed to center around the enigma Carolyn was. She’d never explained why she’d reacted so vehemently when Glen spoke about an interview.

      Shoving his hands into his pockets, Michael continued toward the village. How had Carolyn coped with this day after day for the past week? Nobody could have been prepared for what had occurred, but except for the single outburst at the school, she’d been calm. He was a bit envious because he wished he knew how she managed the drama surrounding her. Maybe if he could learn how she did it, he’d be able to do it himself.

      Michael didn’t meet anyone else as he walked past the library. The large two-story building was solid on its foundation, or at least the stone walls made it appear that way. He couldn’t say the same for the seafood restaurant next door. The