Her Secret Amish Child. Cheryl Williford

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СКАЧАТЬ her hands and rehung the dish towel on its wooden peg next to the window and then pressed her hands into the small of her back. A long, busy day stretched out in front of her and she had no energy left.

      She had to talk to Benuel about his behavior at the breakfast table, and was dreading it. He’d poured milk on Ulla’s clean tablecloth. He’d done it on purpose, even though her father claimed it had been an accident. All she seemed to do was scold the child, when all she wanted was to pull him onto her lap and hold him until his anger went away.

      “So, you have nothing planned for your day?” Ulla came back into the room with a load of sheets ready to be washed. Her tone and smile were friendly and inviting, unlike the daily dramatic scenes that played out back in Ohio with her mother-in-law. She could never please the woman, no matter how hard she tried. And she had tried.

      Lizbeth took in a deep, cleansing breath, her memories of Ohio pushed to the darkest recesses of her mind once more. She smiled. “I’ve got the usual. Keeping Benuel entertained and getting that quilt top finished after I make our beds.”

      Ulla paused under the kitchen’s arched door. She braced a wicker basket, fluffy with unfolded sheets, against her stomach. “We have church service tomorrow. I make it a practice to help with the cooking of the communal meal. You can join me if you like. It would give you a chance to get reacquainted with some of the ladies of the community.”

      Preparing the communal meal had been one of Lizbeth’s mother’s favorite chores. Being one of the volunteer church cooks was something Lizbeth could embrace now that she was back, not that she was a very good cook. Going along with Ulla would give Benuel a chance to play with children his own age. But doubt stalled her. “I don’t know. He’s such a handful today.”

      “Ach, don’t let his acting up stop you from doing a good deed. You haven’t met Beatrice, my oldest kinskind yet.” Ulla laughed, her smile animating her wrinkled face with a glow. “Now that child is a certain-sure handful. She and her sister Mercy will be there.” The woman’s tone became serious. “Benuel needs the company of other kinner, Lizbeth.”

      Lizbeth’s face flushed. He needed so much more than she seemed able to give him, but she would learn. “Ya, maybe I will come after all.”

      “Gut. I’ll get this load of sheets folded and then we’ll make a list for our trip to the store. I thought I’d make chicken and dumplings and a peanut butter shoofly pie. Is there anything special you’d like to make?”

      Benuel had smashed his fist into the center of the last cake she’d baked, sending chunks of chocolate cake all over her mother-in-law’s kitchen floor. “Maybe I’ll make chocolate cupcakes for the kinner. Chocolate is Benuel’s favorite.”

      Ulla laughed. “Beatrice and I have an understanding when it comes to cupcakes of any flavor. She behaves and does what I tell her, or I get to eat hers. You might try that on Benuel. Missing a few cupcakes might bring about a bit of good behavior from the boy.”

      Lizbeth found herself smiling. “Ya, I might try that. Danki.” Her smile grew. “You’ve been so kind to us since we arrived, Ulla. I want to thank you for opening your home, taking us in.”

      “Nonsense. This is your home, too. John and I are happy you moved back to Pinecraft, sudden or not.” Ulla set the basket on the floor. “Having you here has been a blessing. But what’s this John tells me about you already looking for a home of your own?”

      “Ya, I am looking, not that you both haven’t made us feel so very willkumm. It’s just that Benuel needs to settle into a routine before school begins.” Still so unsure of her parenting skills, she wasn’t positive she would be putting him in school. She had to decide soon, but not today.

      Ulla grinned as she flipped out a square tablecloth and shoved it into the washer. “I own an empty house that’s up for sale and begging for a family to bring it back to life. It’s simple and Amisch Plain, but not too far from here and close to the Christian school. If the local man who asked about it doesn’t buy it, you’re welcome to rent it until you marry again. We have a busy weekend, but John can show it to you on Monday.”

      “That would be wunderbaar. A simple house would be an answer to prayer,” Lizbeth said, ignoring Ulla’s comment about a new marriage. She had no intention of marrying again. It would be just her and Benuel from now on.

      Surely the money she had squirreled away would be enough to make rent payments until she could find a part-time job and someone safe to leave Benuel with. Maybe there would be enough left over for a few pieces of secondhand furniture. When they had left Ohio, she had taken nothing but their clothes and a few of Benuel’s favorite toys. She pushed away her reasons for leaving the farm, unwilling to bring back the harsh memories that haunted her unguarded sleep each night.

      Gott’s will be done. He had brought them back to Pinecraft, to the Plain people she’d grown up with, and she was grateful to be home.

      * * *

      At noon on Monday, Fredrik leaned his old bike against an orange tree and turned on his heel, ready to begin his search for a wife in the crowd of Amish women standing around, chatting.

      After seeing Lizbeth Mullet wearing a pretty blue dress at church the day before, and hearing two pastors preach on the joys of married life, he’d lost sleep that night, tossing and turning, but managed to make a firm decision. It was time to forget Bette, who had accepted his proposal and then run off and wed his best friend in Lancaster County, where Fredrik was completing his apprenticeship. He would buy Ulla’s house and settle down. It shouldn’t be too hard to find someone to marry him. Perhaps Lizbeth Mullet would consider him and if not her, someone else just as comely. Whoever he chose, though, would have to understand that theirs would be only a friendly partnership. An attempt at showing the community—and himself—that he could grow and become responsible. He’d never give another woman his heart after the way Bette had stomped on it.

      The woman he married would have to be patient, accept him as he was. He wasn’t exactly sure how much he could change his youthful ways, but almost killing a child had affected him deeply. It was past time he stopped behaving like a youngie and got on with his life.

      He ambled across the dry park grass, over to the food tables and joined his boss, Mose. The square-shouldered Amish man greeted him with a nod of his head and then filled one side of his sturdy paper plate with fried chicken. He inched his way forward, toward a bowl of hot potato salad decorated with perfect slices of boiled eggs and olives.

      “You’re late. You almost missed out on my Sarah’s specialty,” Mose said, adding an extra helping of the creamy potatoes to his too-full plate. “It’s almost gone.”

      “I see that,” Fredrik smiled and took the last of the potato salad with a half-moon of boiled egg buried on top.

      “You oversleep?”

      Fredrik cleared his throat before speaking. “No, I had to pay a traffic ticket. No insurance.”

      Glancing back, Mose said, “Is this one of your yarns?”

      Fredrik glanced up. “Nee, I’m not joking.”

      “Then what do you mean? The police don’t give tickets for bike riding.”

      Fredrik lumbered close behind Mose, both men still circling around the table laden with food. “I wasn’t exactly riding a bike.” He reached across the table for three meaty ribs shining with barbecue sauce. He added a forkful of pickles СКАЧАТЬ