That didn't mean he thought he was special and had some big purpose to accomplish—some big contribution to society to make. But it meant that he had to make the time he had been given worth something. Others hadn't gotten it.
He thought about that a lot. Especially after Vince had been killed and left him his Bible. Vince had talked to him about God and Jesus and about their love for him. Chris didn't understand why he'd lived and his friend had died. Vince had been the one with the connection to God. He was such a good person. Wasn't he more worthy of life?
His counselor called it survivor guilt. A lot of people— especially soldiers—felt this way.
Chris had no idea that he wouldn't be able to talk to Jenny alone. Now he had to think of how he could stick around without arousing suspicions.
And the woman he would be playing tourist with the next morning—he'd have to be careful around her if he didn't want to make anyone suspicious of his motives.
The burns on his chest had made wearing a shirt to bed a bad idea. Now, as Hannah had predicted, the night had turned cool and he felt cold under a top sheet only.
He reached for the quilt, unfolded it, and spread it over the bed. Pulling it up over his shoulders, he wrapped himself in the scent and soft fabric of bedding that had been dried outdoors.Finally at peace, he slept.
The next morning, Mary opened the door when Chris knocked. "Guder mariye, Chris." She smiled and explained, "It means 'good morning.'"
"Good morning to you too." He stepped inside and inhaled the wonderful breakfast aromas of bacon, eggs, cinnamon, and coffee.
He nearly stumbled over the suitcase that sat near the front door.
"Mamm's leaving for New York City right after breakfast."She shut the door. "Did you sleep gut?"
"Very gut, thank you."
She stopped and so he did too. "Chris? Do the burns still hurt?"
Chris stared at her. The child looked like a little angel with her long moss-green dress and almost white-blond hair worn in pigtails. Her big blue eyes gazed up at him.
"They don't hurt at all," he lied.
She smiled and slipped her hand into his. "Gut. Are you hungerich? We made cinnamon rolls."
"Sounds wonderful." He looked at her. "How do you say that in Pennsylvania Dutch?"
"Wunderbaar."
Chris said the word, and she giggled at his pronunciation.
"What's all this mirth first thing in the morning?" Matthew asked sternly as they entered the kitchen.
Then Matthew waggled his eyebrows and sent Annie into a fit of giggles.
"Silly Daedi," she said, sitting at the table. She scribbled in a notebook. "Mirth means funny. Right?"
"Right."
She looked up at Chris. "I'm keeping a book of words," she told him seriously. "I'm going to grow up to be a schreiwer like my mamm. A writer," she explained with a giggle.
Tucking her pencil into the notebook, she plunged her spoon into a bowl of oatmeal.
"That's a stupendous idea," he said.
Annie's eyes grew big. She pulled the notebook open and got out her pencil. "Stupendous! I don't know that word! I have to look that up. It sounds like it means really, really good.Right?"
"You bet."
"Help me spell it?"
"S-t-u-p-e-n-d-o-u-s." He hoped. For confirmation, he looked at Jenny who grinned and nodded.
"Have a seat," Matthew told Chris.
Jenny glanced over from the stove where she used a spatula to lift fried eggs from a cast iron skillet.
"Good morning." She picked up the percolator and walked over to pour him a cup of coffee.
Chris breathed in the scent. It smelled like heaven."Thanks."
"Hannah should be over soon. I'm not sure if she told you that she lives next door with Phoebe."
"Mamm?"
Jenny glanced at Mary and some unspoken message seemed to pass between them. Jenny nodded.
"Chris, how are the burns this morning?"
"Not a twinge," he lied. "The burn ointment you gave me worked really well."
Mary smiled and sipped from a glass of milk.
"I hope you like bacon and eggs?" Jenny asked.
"Love them."
They said a prayer for the meal and then passed around platters of eggs and bacon. The cinnamon rolls were bigger than a man's hand, warm from the oven, and they oozed spicy, sugary sweetness and ribbons of white icing. Chris took one and wondered if he'd be rude to take more. Manners kicked in, and he passed the basket.
"We made lots and lots," Mary told him shyly, giving him a conspiratorial smile as if she'd read his mind. "You can have as many as you want."
The children chattered about Jenny's trip but didn't seem worried about her being away.
"Mamm's going to talk to her editor about her new book," Annie told him. "It's not a storybook. It's to tell people what's happening to kids who aren't fortunous like us." She frowned and looked at Jenny. "Fort—fort—?