The Amish Midwife's Courtship. Cheryl Williford

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       Chapter Four

      Molly hummed as she worked for an hour in the hot kitchen, preparing rosemary pork chops, roasted new potatoes with chives and fresh green beans slathered in butter and onion sauce for later that night. A homemade cheesecake drizzled in thick strawberry syrup sat waiting on the kitchen counter. The meal begged for her mamm to come home with an appetite, but at 6:00 p.m. the house remained quiet and still.

      Dinnertime came and went. Darkness shrouded the plain, wood-framed house, the only home she had ever known. The old clock in the front room chimed seven times before Molly rose from the kitchen table, flipped on the light over the sink and stored the uneaten meal into containers. She cleaned up the dirty pans and was wiping the last of the crumbs off the counter as Isaac walked through the back door, his face etched with tired lines from his long day at work.

      “Something sure smells gut in here. Am I too late for dinner?”

      Molly beamed, her mood lifting, glad for company and conversation, even if it was only Isaac. “Nee, not at all.” She pulled out a kitchen chair. “Come. Sit. Let me heat some food for you.”

      Isaac removed his hat and tossed it on the spare kitchen chair. He ran his fingers though his hair before he sat. “No other houseguests tonight?”

      “Nee. Our last short-term guest left early this morning. She’s on her way to see her sister in Lakeland, but she’ll probably stop for another night with us on her way back to Ohio. Seems everyone else went to Pinecraft Park for the bluegrass singing tonight.” She pulled the containers of food out of the refrigerator and then turned back to Isaac, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Is the shop ready to be opened yet?”

      “I think so. I still need some parts, but they should get here in a few days.”

      He flashed a grin at her that played havoc with Molly’s insides. She ignored the feeling and shoved their plates into the still-hot oven. “Gott brought you here. He’ll make sure the customers come through the doors, Isaac. We have to trust His will. Why don’t you clean up a bit while the food’s heating?”

      He looked down at his dusty clothes and reached for his crutches. “Gut idea. I think I will.” He rose, wincing as he put his weight on his leg. “I won’t be long.”

      She watched him lumber out of the kitchen, his limp more noticeable than it had been in days. Her heart went out to him. Pain was a lousy friend. She knew. She’d lived with it long enough.

      Turning on another light to dispel the nuance of an intimate setting, she puttered around the kitchen, putting an extra place mat on the table, then some silverware. A tub of locally made butter was set in the middle of the table.

      She stood still for a moment, listening to the sounds Isaac made at the back of the house. Just as she put down the bread plates and poured tall glasses of cold milk, he hurried back into the kitchen wearing clean work clothes, his hair slicked back from his thin face.

      “I hope you don’t mind if we eat in the kitchen. It’s just you and me tonight,” Molly said. “I waited for Mamm, but she must have gotten held up.” Her mother usually served the last meal of the day in the more formal dining room, around the big wooden table that was large enough to seat twelve for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

      Isaac returned to the chair he’d been sitting in moments before and leaned his crutches close by. “Ya, sure. Here is fine,” he said, taking a sip of milk.

      She pulled the rack of reheated chops out of the stove. “I hope you like stuffed pork chops.”

      “I do. They’re my favorite,” he murmured, watching her.

      She СКАЧАТЬ