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the unusual sheen of the wood.
    His eyes were intent as he scanned the workbench and chose a slender tool from among the gougers and scrapers. There was an air of suppressed energy in his movements, almost a sensuality in the way he turned the wood in his hands.
    “Luke?”
    “Hmmm?”
    He was making small additions to the scrollwork, bending to cast an eye over the wood, then straightening to start again.
    “Why don’t you tell your daed the truth?”
    He stilled and stared at her. “What do you mean?”
    She gestured to the wood. “You love this; you always have. Tell your father so you can get out of that office.” And away from women like Barbara . . .
    He bent over the wood again with a shrug. “It doesn’t matter.”
    She was silent, watching him work, liking the way the dust motes he stirred up played in the fall of light and landed in his brown hair. She’d rarely seen him so enthused, and her throat ached when she thought of the hours he gave without complaint to the work his father expected of him. Perhaps that was why he sought some sort of diversion—dressing like an Englischer , playing at being a thief. But still, it didn’t quite make sense . . .
    After a few minutes he looked up with satisfaction. “There.” He blew the wood off and tilted it toward her as the sound of a wagon and horse echoed from outside. Luke put the wood down, stepped away from the workbench, and caught her hand. He pulled her toward the door as Mark entered, looking hunted.
    “ Daed ’s back.”
    Luke gave him a swift cuff on the shoulder and looked out to see their father coming toward the door.
    “Daed . ” Luke greeted him calmly. “I was about to see Rose to her buggy, if you’ll excuse us.”
    “ Ya , surely. I wanted to see how Mark did on the—”
    Rose watched as he broke off and drifted past them to the workbench. The older man lifted the wooden piece with near reverent hands. “ Ach , Mark. What is this?”
    Mark stepped forward as if to speak when Luke caught his arm.
    “It’s wondrous craftsmanship, my son. And I’ll risk the vanity to tell you so. I’ve never seen the like of such an intricate design.”
    Rose watched Mark open his mouth again, and Luke turned abruptly. She felt the jolt through their entwined hands when his elbow connected with Mark’s ribs, knocking the breath from him. Then Luke pulled her out the door and into the sunlight.

    “W HAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? ” R OSE HISSED . S HE SNATCHED her hand away from him as he moved to help her up into the wagon.
    He swung up beside her. “What?”
    “Why would you let your daed think that Mark fixed that design?”
    Luke lifted the reins and tilted his hat back a bit, exposing his handsome profile. He answered slowly. “It would trouble my father—make him feel torn if he knew I could work wood like that. It’s less worry for him if I do the books. And he doesn’t need any worry—not since Mamm . . . well . . .”
    “You miss her so much, don’t you?”
    She watched him reach to rub at his neck as if to soothe an ever-present ache. “ Ya , of course I do.”
    “I never asked you before . . . did she know? I mean, how much you love the woodworking?”
    “Maybe. I don’t know. I planned on telling her once, and then there was the flu. It all happened so fast. And Daed , well . . . it nearly broke him.”
    Rose took a deep breath and a shot in the dark. “You’re afraid. It’s not your daed , Luke—it’s you. You’re afraid to be who you really are.”
    He turned to face her, blinking solemnly. “ Ya . You’re right, Rose. And you’d know, because your secret is that you’re afraid yourself. So don’t tell me about being who you really are.”
    “I know who I am,” she cried, wanting it to be true. Wanting to banish the meetings with him as the Englischer in the woods from her mind. Suddenly, the planned footing of her future seemed treacherously slippery.

Chapter Ten
    R OSE TOSSED BENEATH THE NINE-PATCH QUILT OF HER