Read Online The Survivor by Shelley Shepard Gray - Free Book Online

could help you, if you want.”
    “I don’t see how. No matter how many times I write the words down, I still forget their spelling.” Pure pain entered his features. “I don’t know why I’m so bad at school. I just am.”
    “Now, Abel—”
    “I used to not be a good speller, too,” Jenna said quickly. “I learned tricks to help. It’s worth a try, right? I mean, if you want some help.”
    John noticed that Abel’s shoulders straightened again and silently blessed Jenna. Only a teenage girl would remember how sensitive a teenage boy could be.
    “Sure,” Abel said after a pause. “Danke.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    Mary looked as pleased as John had ever seen her when she stood up. “This was such a nice conversation, Jenna and Abel, that I’m giving you both the night off from the dishes.”
    Abel’s eyes widened. “Truly?”
    “Truly.” Her gaze softened on John. Feeling just like a caress. “I mean, you were going to look at my finger, right?”
    “I haven’t forgotten.”
    “And then you could help me for a bit?”
    “I don’t mind at all,” he murmured.
    Jenna met John’s gaze; then, with a small smile, he walked to Abel’s side. “Why don’t you go show me your words?”
    “Now?”
    “Oh, yes. Now,” she said with a wink John’s way as she ushered Abel out of the room.
    John picked up two plates and followed Mary to the kitchen. “I think that Jenna might end up being a blessing to you,” he said. “She’s sure helping tonight.”
    Mary tilted her head up to look at him. “I think she’s going to be a blessing for me in many ways. I’m sorry that she’s disappointed her family so much, but I can’t help but be grateful for her help and company here.”
    “I’m grateful she’s letting us have some time alone.” He looked at Mary’s hand. “Now, come over here by the overhead light,” he said, motioning to a gas-powered light in the center of the table. “Let’s see just how bad that cut is.”
    “It’s not all that bad . . .”
    He walked over, got a couple of paper towels, and picked up the Band-Aid box she’d left on the counter, too. “If it’s not that bad, this will be quick, then.”
    Looking put upon, she held out her hand to his.
    He stepped closer and carefully peeled the bandage from her finger. As he did so, John was amazed at how soft and creamy-looking her skin was. How did Mary keep her hands so smooth? Most other women he knew had far rougher skin, or at least a few calluses.
    But then he saw the cut, and whistled low. “Mary. This is pretty deep. You should have gone to the hospital.”
    Her eyes widened. “Truly? I didn’t think it was that bad . . .”
    Though it wasn’t swollen, it did look red and angry. When he tilted her hand, she winced. Mindful of her pain, he said, “How about I take you to the hospital now?”
    “Certainly not.”
    She attempted to pull her hand from his, but he held it firm in between his own. “I bet it needs at least three or four stitches,” he protested. “If you don’t get those, it will leave a scar.”
    “I don’t mind a scar.”
    “Mary, I think you’re being silly.” Wondering if she was avoiding the English doctors, he said, “I promise that I’ll stay with you the whole time.”
    “That wouldn’t be necessary. Besides, it’s just a cut.”
    “It’s more than that.”
    “If it gets worse, I’ll go to the doctor. But it’s fine. Now let’s do the dishes.”
    After bandaging back up her finger, he let go of her hand with some reluctance. “All right. But I’m going to wash. You can dry.”
    “Of course I can’t let you do that.”
    Looking over her lovely brown hair, neatly twisted and pinned under her kapp , and the way her dark red dress illuminated the creaminess of her skin, John was sure he’d never seen a prettier woman. Or a woman more stubborn. “Of course you can. Mary, I think you really hurt your hand. As soon as these dishes are done, you’re going to take a