Plain Promise Read Online Free PDF Page A

suddenly he realized that for the first time in his life, he had no agenda. Nowhere he had to be. Nothing he had to do. And he could only think of one thing that mildly sparked his interest.
    As he dove into the tapioca pudding, not even bothering to serve it up in a bowl, he feared he was a man on the brink of depression—binge eating like some of the women he knew. The thought didn’t stop him from shoveling the custard into his mouth. He propped his bare feet on the coffee table and made a mental note: if he had to rescue a damsel in distress again, he would take the time to put some shoes on. He wasn’t completely sure that he didn’t have frostbite.
    He was on the verge of devouring the entire container of pudding when his cell phone rang. He blew out a sigh of exasperation, set the pudding aside, and walked to the kitchen where he’d left his phone on the counter. He glanced at the number.
    No, no, no. Not now . Talking to Monica was the last thing he needed. He hit the End button. Her calls were always upsetting—on so many levels

    Sadie opened the medicine cabinet in her bathroom and found something for her head. She parted her hair with her fingers and felt for the cut. The pain led her to it. She gingerly dabbed it with ointment then carefully wound her hair in a bun. After placing a fresh prayer covering on her head, she silently thanked God that it wasn’t worse and headed back to the shop.
    It was later in the afternoon before she had her first customer, who turned out to be her last customer as well. But the woman from Florida purchased a quilt for seven hundred dollars, two handmade pot holders, and four dolls. It made for a fair day, she thought, locking up the shop.
    She walked to the road and checked the mailbox. Nothing. She had hoped for another letter from Milo. Disappointed, she headed back down the driveway, taking care with each step. Her eyes drifted toward the cottage. The Englischer was staring out the window—at her.
    She put her head down and quickened her pace as she made her way to the farmhouse steps. Firewood was stacked neatly on the porch, piled against the house. Lots of firewood—that she hadn’t collected. And the empty container of pudding sat on top of the logs. Instinctively, she spun around and squinted to see if he was still there. He wasn’t.
    She was thankful to have the firewood nearby, and she supposed another batch of pudding was a fair trade. She’d never known a man to eat so much custard. She took the bowl into the house, then remembered the newspaper’s prediction of another temperature drop into the teens tonight. Before she kicked off her boots, she went back to the porch for two logs and glanced quickly toward the cabin. No sign of him.
    Later that evening, she prepared a fresh batch of pudding, then placed it in her refrigerator. She didn’t have anything else to do anyway. Loneliness began to creep in, the way it always did this time of day.
    She headed upstairs for bed. It was only Saturday. Three more days until Milo would call. Until then, she’d have to be content rereading his letter. She considered penning him a note, but she’d already put two letters in the mail since the arrival of Milo’s last correspondence.
    After her bath, Sadie lit the gas heater in her bedroom, climbed into bed, and snuggled underneath a thick quilt, extra blanket, and flannel sheet. She reached for Milo’s letter, and her bedside lantern illuminated the page.
    When she was done reading, she put the letter back on the bedside table, feeling like it was somehow losing its impact. She tried to stay hopeful, and each letter carried her into another week until she heard the sound of Milo’s voice on Tuesdays. But the letters seemed to have slowed down on his end. If she allowed herself to think too much, her heart ached. Two years was a long time to be writing letters back and forth.
    She pulled the nightstand drawer open and took out her brush, as she’d done at bedtime