The Amish Widower's Twins. Jo Ann Brown

too. He was becoming dependent on caffeine. When was the last time he’d gotten a full night’s sleep? “If this doesn’t work for them, I don’t know what will.”

      “Why not be positive? Isn’t that what you always say?”

      He watched Michael fill the cups and add a touch of cream and sugar to each. He and his brother weren’t identical twins. There never had been any trouble telling them apart, but the physical differences had grown more pronounced as they grew older.

      Michael’s hair wasn’t flame red. Instead it was a darker brown with a faint tinge of russet that became, in the summer sunshine, more pronounced. He was several inches taller than Gabriel and had a nose someone once had described as aristocratic. Gabriel wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, but he’d always admired his brother’s strong profile, which was not softened by a beard, for his brother remained a bachelor. Like Gabriel, he had hands calloused from work. His fingers, which were broader than Gabriel’s, could handle a plank of wood as delicately as if it were glass. He’d worked as a finish carpenter in Pennsylvania while Gabriel had focused on rough-in work.

      There were more subtle differences, too. Gabriel was the steady one, the person anyone could go to when things were getting rough. He’d give them a well thought-out solution after deliberating on it. Michael jumped into any situation. As a boy, Gabriel had read comic books with an Englisch friend, and Michael had reminded him of a superhero who never hesitated to run toward trouble. Gabriel saw himself more as the person picking up the pieces after the super-villain had been defeated.

      “Here you go,” Michael said, holding out a cup.

      “Danki.” Gabriel continued stirring the goats’ milch formula while they talked about the job they’d been hired for next week.

      The small project, rebuilding a garage in the tiny town of West Rupert, Vermont, about six miles east, was a beginning. They’d need as much work as they could get because they’d arrived too late to get a crop in this year.

      Gabriel stared into the pot. “I don’t think it’s supposed to be this thick.”

      “You should ask the person you’re getting the milch from. Maybe he’ll know.”

      “She. Leanna Wagler.”

      His brother’s brows rose in surprise. “The same Leanna Wagler you met in Pennsylvania?”

      “One and the same.” He didn’t add she’d wandered through his daydreams almost every day since he’d last seen her. “I knew she’d moved with her family away from Lancaster County, because her brother was eager to get out of that meat-processing plant and wanted a farm of his own.”

      “And she was eager to get away from you.”

      “Ha ha,” he said without humor. He didn’t want to give his brother’s teasing comment any credibility although, with a sinking feeling, he wondered if it were true.

      No! He wasn’t going to add another layer of guilt to the burden he carried.

      Michael whistled a long note. “Talk about coincidences! Who would have guessed you’d find the one who got away here?”

      “She’s not the one who got away.”

      “Okay, she’s the one who let you get away when you decided to marry Freda instead.” Slapping Gabriel on the shoulder, he asked, “Do you think Leanna wants you back?”

      “No.” The answer burst out of him.

      Seeing Michael’s gut humor become astonishment, Gabriel didn’t want to hear another lecture on how he should get on with his life. Why did everyone seem to think they could tell him what to do? How many people had told him the bopplin needed a mamm? He was fumbling through each day, trying to be a competent daed as well as a gut business partner for his brother. He wasn’t succeeding at either because he snatched only a few hours of sleep each night. Even on the nights when the twins slept through, his conscience kept him awake with questions about how he could have failed to notice Freda’s despair before she died.

      He set the pot aside to cool, then joined his brother at the table, selecting a seat where he could keep an eye on the bopplin. Wanting to talk about anything but Leanna, he asked, “Have you found the rest of our tools yet?”

      “Most of them. I dug the nail gun out of a box marked ‘curtains.’” He laughed. “That’s not close!”

      Michael didn’t seem to notice when Gabriel remained silent. Had his brother gotten accustomed to Gabriel’s inability to smile and laugh? Gabriel hadn’t been able to remember the last time he’d done either; yet, seeing Leanna today resurrected memories of the times they’d shared a laugh together. It was shocking to think a part of him had died along with Freda, and he hadn’t realized that until he’d looked into Leanna’s wunderbaar eyes and recalled when his biggest concern had been if he’d have the courage to ask her to let him drive her home.

      “Have you found someone to take care of the kids while we’re at work?” Michael asked, yanking Gabriel out of his thoughts.

      “Not yet.”

      “Our job begins a week from yesterday.”

      “I know.”

      “It’s going to take two of us to get that foundation straight again. Or as straight as we can get it after the garage has been leaning for the past fifty years.”

      “I know,” he repeated.

      “Benjamin Kuhns—he and his brother run the sawmill—mentioned his sister used to be a nanny for an Englisch family. Maybe she’d be interested in the job.”

      “Maybe.” He hated the idea of leaving Harley and Heidi with a stranger.

      “How about Leanna? You know her. Do you think she’d be willing to watch the kids?”

      “She said she already has a job.”

      “Doing what?”

      “I didn’t ask.”

      Michael arched that expressive eyebrow again. “What did you two talk about? Certainly not about old times.”

      “We talked about her selling me her goats’ milch.”

      Harley let out a cry and Gabriel jumped to his feet, almost grateful for the interruption despite being worried about why Harley was crying. The boppli was far quieter than his sister, who wanted everyone to know when she was upset.

      His anxiety eased when he realized the tiny boy had lost his hold on his toes and was frustrated with trying to capture them again. Kneeling, Gabriel guided Harley’s foot toward his fingers. The boppli grabbed them and gurgled with contentment. Gabriel gave the kinder kisses before standing again.

      “You’re going to spoil them,” Michael said with a fake frown. “Aren’t daeds supposed to set rules for their kinder?”

      He mumbled something in response. It must have satisfied his brother because Michael turned the discussion to the list of supplies they’d need before they began their first job.

      Gabriel went to check on the formula. He kept his back to his brother, not wanting his expression to give any hint to the truth nobody living except him knew. He wasn’t the bopplin’s daed.

       Chapter Three

      Leanna shouldn’t have felt so proud of herself. She was well aware of the fact hochmut was wrong for a plain person, but she couldn’t help congratulating herself for treating Gabriel as she would have any customer.

      For the past four days, Gabriel had come to the house every morning to collect milch for his bopplin.

      For