This Passing Hour by Leslie Gould

Author:Leslie Gould
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Contemporary Fiction;Amish—Fiction;Mennonites—Fiction;Christian fiction;Romance fiction;Novels;FIC053000;FIC042100;FIC042040
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2023-10-16T00:00:00+00:00

After breakfast, I spent the rest of the day dusting every single object in the shop. It was definitely the slow season. Everyone seemed to be getting ready for Thanksgiving—and were shopping for groceries, not antiques. Business would pick back up after Thanksgiving, at least that’s what happened in the past.

As I dusted, I thought about the upcoming trip back to Oregon. I had no desire to return at all, even though it had been over three years. Now I was going back to a crowded house, including Johann. What if I had a panic attack?

Three years ago, I never would have expected to make the progress I had. But counseling, medication, and baby steps set me on a functioning path, along with the love of my sisters, grandparents, and Rosene. I just hoped it was a path I could continue to walk.

At three, Mammi said, “Go back to the house. Maybe Arden will want to start the milking early.”

“Denki.” If he didn’t, I could get a cup of coffee and a snack before we started. Dark clouds hung in the sky, threatening more snow as I reached the house, but all was quiet. I guessed Rosene was resting. I changed into my chore dress, grabbed a warm work coat off the back porch, put on rubber boots, and headed out to the barn.

Dawdi was cleaning the milk room. “You’re early,” he said.

“The store is really slow.”

“I can imagine,” he said. “I’ll be done in a minute. You can get started.”

We didn’t talk much as we worked. The snow started again, and the cows who waited in the yard started to bawl. When we finished, I blew on my hands to try to warm them and then told Dawdi I was going to head to my apartment. “I need to get clothes for church tomorrow. I’ll be back tonight,” I said. “I’ll go change and tell Rosene.”

She had a pot of barley soup on the stove that smelled delicious, but I said I’d get something to eat at the apartment. Which meant a protein bar.

When I reached the stairs to our apartment, I heard voices and turned. Rylan’s door was open, and Viktor stood outside of it, smoking. “Brenna!” he called out. “We just arrived. Marko is preparing chicken Kiev for dinner. There will be plenty.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m only here for a few minutes. I’m going back to my grandparents.”

“Aww.” He dropped his cigarette and ground it into the cement. “At least come in and say hello.”

I considered declining but remembered I was still trying to be kind. I followed Viktor inside. There was a card table and four folding chairs in the space for a dining table. I guessed Marko had brought them.

Rylan was in his recliner with a beer in his hands, Gabe was loading the dishwasher, and Marko was chopping garlic. He saw me first and belted out a hearty “Hello, Brenna. How are you?”

“Good.”

Gabe turned and smiled. “How was milking?”

“Cold,” I answered. “How was drill?”

He grinned.

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