An Amish Christmas Promise. Jo Ann Brown

sure he can find someone else who’s willing to be the focus of the article.”

      She whispered her thanks, then began to apologize. When he stood near her, he was surprised how tiny she was. Her personality and heart were so big that she seemed to tower over others around her. Now she appeared broken. He wasn’t sure why, but he must halt her from making a huge mistake.

      “No, Carolyn. There’s no need to ask for forgiveness. Not mine, anyhow, but you need to be honest with Glen and the rest of the team. They deserve to know how you feel.”

      She lifted her chin and drew in a deep breath. “You’re right.”

      “It’s been known to happen every once in a while.” His attempt at humor gained him the faintest of smiles from her, but it was enough for him to know she’d made up her mind to negotiate for what she had to have.

      When they returned to the table where the other 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.