Her Secret Amish Child. Cheryl Williford

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ police later confirmed her suspicions. Her husband had been driving drunk the night of the accident, and their old mare, Rosie, was out of control and running wild when the Englischers’ car hit the buggy.

      She’d been too ashamed to admit she knew he had taken to drink to dull the pain of his lost sons. Jonah had lashed out at her earlier that dreadful night at the supper table. He’d screamed at her, told her she was useless. But she knew it had been the drink talking and she had forgiven him everything he’d said. Who could blame a man whose fraa could not give him more sons? Benuel had been a witness to the wreck, to her moments of insanity.

      She glanced down at her trembling hands, at her little finger, once broken and now permanently twisted out of shape. A reminder of Jonah’s fits of rage when her tiny boys were laid to rest in the cold ground. Dark memories surrounded her like a heavy shawl. She pushed the memories away and went back to work, her thoughts on Benuel. He mattered now. No one else.

      The final pan scrubbed and rinsed, she placed it on a dish towel and leaned against the stainless steel sink, her eyes closed, pushing away all the misery, the memories of her past life with Jonah.

      Her son had paid the highest price of all. He had no daed to follow around, no man to emulate, to show him how to grow strong. And it was her fault. She knew she had to do something. He needed a father, but she didn’t want another husband, someone she would disappoint. No Amish man in his right mind would want a traumatized woman with the built-in ability to fail. Gott’s will be done in Benuel’s life.

      The scrape of a chair behind her caused her to turn. Fredrik moved toward the commercial-size refrigerator, his empty glass in hand. The other server had left the room moments before, leaving her alone with the last shift of workers. She jerked a square of paper towel from the roll and dried her hands. “Can I get you something?”

      He stopped, turned toward her with a warm smile. “You’re busy. I can pour my own milk.”

      “Would you like some ice in it?”

      He quietly observed her. “Little Lizzy, I can’t believe you remember I like ice in my milk.”

      “I’m the one who introduced you to it.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And I’m not so little anymore. Neither one of us is, Freddie.”

      “I still see your bruder as often as I can. I’m sure he still thinks of you as little.”

      Lizbeth found herself smiling at the mention of her older brother. “Ya. His two boys look just like him, ain’t so?”

      Fredrik nodded. “Remember those childish fights we used to get into? You were always such a pesky kid, hanging around, bothering us. Back then, Saul and I were convinced you were only born to annoy us.”

      He laughed again and Lizbeth felt her face and neck flush pink with warmth. When she was little, both boys had made it clear they didn’t want her tagging along. Her young life had been full of merciless teasing. “Mamm made Saul take me along. I didn’t want to go.” Her mother’s image impressed itself on her mind. The beloved woman had been tall and always too lean. She’d worn simple dresses of cotton made by her own hands. Lizbeth could almost hear her mamm’s words floating in the air around her. Ya, Saul. You will take Lizbeth with you, or you won’t go yourself.

      She gently edged her memories of her mother away, along with the pain of her loss. “Mamm always wanted me out from under her feet so she could clean or quilt with the ladies.” She wiped at the side of the big fridge and opened the door, her thoughts back to her youth as she wiped down the rack where milk had been spilled. Her childhood feelings for the man standing next to her flushed her face warm again. She felt eleven years old again, longing for Fredrik to take notice of her. Embarrassment had her chatting again. “You boys teased me terrible when you took me fishing. You threatened to use me as bait.”

      “Ya, because you didn’t know how to shut up.” He softened his words with a lopsided grin. “You were so skinny back then. I was always afraid you’d fall in the river and we’d have to fish you out.”

      She stood tall, almost eye to eye with him. With a mind of its own, her finger poked at his broad chest. “Ya, well. I never fell in and you didn’t have to save me once.” She snickered. This was one of the few times her above-average height served her well.

      “Nee.” He stepped back and removed his hand from her arm. “I never did have to save you, but you ran off lots of fish.”

      She took the glass from his hand, splashed in frothy milk from a cold metal pitcher and then dropped two ice cubes into the milky swirl. “Two enough?” she asked, looking up at him.

      He had a strange expression on his face and was smiling like someone who had just been given a special Christmas gift. “Ya. Sure. Two is perfect,” he said and turned away with the glass of milk in hand, but not before winking at her with one bright blue eye lined with rusty brown lashes.

      She turned on her heel and left the room, but not before turning back and giving the man one last look. He sat down at the kitchen table circled with men and went back to eating like nothing had happened.

      She hurried away from the kitchen, leaving the men to fend for themselves. She’d left Benuel alone with the other children a long time. It was best she checked up on him and made sure he was behaving himself. Left to his own devices, there was no telling what he’d get up to.

      She forced her thoughts to Benuel and off Fredrik. What foolishness. The man had never been drawn to her.

       Chapter Five

      Lizbeth leaned her borrowed bike next to her father’s big-seated tricycle and followed him up the steps of the porch. She was encouraged the two of them had finally found spare time to look at the empty house together.

      The street was quiet, the homes well kept. The front lawn was neatly cut and edged. Made of white clapboard, with a brown tiled roof, Ulla’s house looked exactly like every other home in the small Amish community. Plain and nondescript as it had been described to her. The dwelling had a big wraparound porch, graced by two oversize cushioned rockers. They made the home more inviting, an added bonus she hadn’t expected but was thrilled to see.

      Her foot on the last step, she glanced back at the neighborhood, trying to take it all in at once. She turned back to the white house and admired the tidy beds of fragrant pink rosebushes nestled along each side of the porch. The wood fence surrounding the backyard had a pleasant gray patina and looked strong enough to hold her son behind its sturdy walls.

      She smiled as she went up the steps, picturing Benuel climbing trees and running around in the privacy of his own yard, where he’d be safe from the dangers of the road. This house would suit them to perfection if the inside was as nice as the outside.

      Her daed turned the key and stepped back so Lizbeth could precede him. “Ya, well. Like I told you. There’s a few repairs to be done. The roof needs a shingle or two, but all that will be fixed before you move in.”

      The entry hall was clean and spacious, the hardwood floors shining from a fresh coat of beeswax. He led the way to the great room filled with comfortable-looking furniture. Solid navy drapes were pulled back at each side of the big windows. “You’ll get the morning sun in here.”

      “Gut,” Lizbeth said, hoping to find a brick fireplace and then realizing she wouldn’t СКАЧАТЬ