The Amish Widow's Secret. Cheryl Williford

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СКАЧАТЬ the child before wrapping her arms around her trembling body. “I know you’re missing your mamm, Beatrice. I miss my husband, too. He went to live in heaven several months ago and I want him back like you want your mother back.”

      “Did he read stories to you at bedtime?” Beatrice asked, her innocent gaze locked with Sarah’s.

      Their tears fell together on the mud-brown paint stain on Beatrice’s smock. “Joseph didn’t read to me, but he told me all about his day and kissed my eyes closed before I fell asleep.” The ache became so painful Sarah felt she might die from her grief.

      “My mamm said I was her big girl. Mercy was just born and cried a lot, but I was big and strong. I help Grandmammi take care of Mercy. Do you think mamm’s proud of me?”

      Sarah looked at the wet-faced child and a smile came out of nowhere. Beatrice was the first person who really understood what Sarah was living through, and that created a bond between them. They could grieve together, help one another. Gott in his wisdom had linked them for a week, perhaps more. Time enough for Beatrice to feel a mother’s love again.

      She would never heal from Joseph’s death, but this tiny girl would give her purpose and a reason for living. She needed that right now. A reason to get up in the morning, put on her clothes and let the day begin.

      The screen door banged open and Mose walked in, catching them in the warm embrace. Beatrice scurried out of Sarah’s arms and into her father’s cuddle. “Sarah likes me,” she said and smiled shyly over at Sarah.

      Mose peppered kisses on his daughter’s neck and cheeks. “I see you’ve been painting again. How did this mess happen, Beatrice?”

      “I was angry. I knocked down my paint water.” Beatrice braced her shoulders, obviously prepared to deal with any punishment her father administered.

      “Did you apologize to Sarah for your outburst?”

      “Nee.” Beatrice rested her head on her father’s dirty shirt.

      “Perhaps an apology and help cleaning the mess off the floor is in order?” Mose looked at Sarah’s frazzled hair and flushed cheeks.

      “Sarah hugged me like Mamm used to. She smells of flowers. For a moment I thought Mamm had come back.”

      Sarah grabbed the cloth from the kitchen sink and busied herself cleaning the damp spot off the floor. She didn’t know what Mose might think about the cluttered kitchen. Perhaps he’d feel she wasn’t fit to take care of active kinder. She scrubbed hard into the wood. Maybe I’m not fit to care for kinder. She and the child had cried together. She was the adult. Shouldn’t she have kept her own loss to herself?

      “I’m sorry I made a mess, Sarah. I won’t do it again. I promise.”

      Sarah looked into the eyes of an old soul just four years old. “It’s time some color came into this dark kitchen, Beatrice. Your painting has put a smile on my face. There’s no need for apologies.” She smiled at the child and avoided Mose’s face. She felt sure he’d have words for her later. She leaned toward Mercy, kissed her blond head as she toddled past, checked her over and then handed her a tiny doll with hair the color of corn silk. “Here you are, sweet one. You lost your baby.” Sarah expected a smile from the adorable bobble, but the child’s serious look remained.

      Sarah scrambled to get off the floor. Mose stood over her, his big hand outstretched, offering to help. She hesitated, but took his hand, feeling the warmth of his thick fingers and calloused palm. His strength was surprising. She felt herself pulled up, as if weightless. She refused to look into his eyes. She’d probably find anger there, and she couldn’t handle his wrath just now. She’d be more careful to stay in control around the girls.

      “You’ve broken through her hedge of protection.” Mose leaned in close and whispered into Sarah’s ear. She looked up, amazed to see a grin on his face, the presence of joy.

      “I just—”

      “Nee, you don’t understand. You reached her, and for that I am most grateful.”

      Sarah didn’t know what to say. She’d never received compliments such as this before, except from Joseph and her brother, Eric. Joseph had constantly told her how much he loved her and what a fine wife she made. Receiving praise from a stranger made her uncomfortable.

      “I have supper to finish before my father returns. He likes his meal on the table at six sharp. If I hurry, I can avoid his complaints.”

      “I’m sure he’ll understand the delay with two kinder underfoot.”

      “You don’t know my father. He runs his home like most men run their business. I must hurry.”

      Sarah prepared the table with Beatrice trailing close behind. She let the child place the cloth napkins in the center of each plate and together they stood back and admired their handiwork.

      Beatrice glanced around. “We forgot Mercy’s cup.”

      “I have it in the kitchen, ready for milk.” Sarah patted Beatrice’s curly head.

      “And the special spoon she eats from.”

      Sarah laughed at the organized child. Beatrice had the intensity of an older sister used to caring for her younger sister. “You’ll make a great mamm someday,” Sarah told her, moving the bowl of hot runner beans closer to her own plate. No sense risking a nasty burn from a child’s eager hand.

      “Do you think my daed will be proud of me?” Beatrice looked excited, her smile hopeful.

      Sarah pulled the girl close and patted her back. “I’m sure he’ll notice all your special touches.”

      “My mamm said... I’m sorry. My grossmammi said I was to forget my mamm, but it’s hard not to remember.”

      Sarah’s face flushed hot. How dare someone tell this young child to forget her mamm? Had her own mother missed her when she’d left the Amish community for the Englisch? She had no recollection of how her mamm looked. No pictures graced the mantel in her father’s house. Plain people didn’t allow pictures of their loved ones, and she had only childhood memories to rely on, which often failed her. If she brought up the subject of her mother to her father, there always had been a price to pay, so she’d stopped asking questions a long time ago.

      “I believe remembering your mother will bring joy to your life. You hang on to your memories, little one.”

      A fat tear forced its way from the corner of Beatrice’s eye. “Sometimes I can’t remember what her voice sounds like. Does that mean I don’t love her anymore?”

      Sarah lifted the child into her arms and hugged her, rocking her like a baby. “Nee, Beatrice. Our human minds forget easily, but there will be times when you’ll hear someone speak and you’ll remember the sound of her voice and you’ll rejoice in that memory.”

      Beatrice squeezed Sarah’s neck. “I like you, Sarah. You help me remember to smile.”

      Sarah felt a grin playing on her own lips. Beatrice and Mercy had the same effect on her. They reminded her there was more to life than grief. She would always be grateful for her СКАЧАТЬ