Her Secret Amish Child. Cheryl Williford

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 as an afterthought and then speared a meaty chicken leg covered in crispy fried batter.

      Together they headed for the drinks table, and stood in a line with community leaders and hardworking Plain men waiting for a cold glass of sweet tea. The big oak tree draped with moss spared them the bright overhead sun.

      Fredrik had hoped to speak privately with Mose, but the park grounds were already packed with people supporting the lunch that would bring in enough money to pay for the new roof on the church.

      Fredrik frowned, not liking the idea of someone from the congregation overhearing what a fool he’d been. In Pinecraft, simple situations were known to grow into full-blown gossip sessions, innocent words passed on from family to family until the truth could barely be recognized.

      Balancing his tall glass of tea and a few napkins against his chest, Fredrik followed close behind Mose.

      “What were you riding, a golf cart?”

      “No, a scooter.” He waited for the critical remark he knew was coming. Acting as his mentor and older brother, Mose had warned him about leaning too close to Englischer ways, but Fredrik had prayed about buying the scooter and Gott had remained silent. Fredrik had taken His silence as approval, and he’d been wrong.

      “Were you speeding?” Mose’s brow arched as he placed his glass of tea on a cloth-covered picnic table and slid his plate in front of it.

      Fredrik joined him at the table and smiled at Sarah, Mose’s fraa, as she kissed her husband fondly on the forehead, then hurried off, pushing a twin stroller of chubby kinner. A curly-haired toddler followed her, tugging at the back of her skirt. “Sarah’s looking well rested. The twins must be sleeping through the night at last.”

      The big blond-haired man wasn’t smiling. “Don’t change the subject. You’ll have to tell me sometime. Are you hiding a secret about this scooter you borrowed?”

      “I didn’t borrow the scooter. It’s mine. I picked it up the other day. That’s why I was late to work.” Fredrik took a gulp of tea and sat the sweating glass back on the table.

      “Ya, well. You said you were buying one with your savings, but didn’t you know you’d need insurance for the thing?”

      Fredrik nodded. “I did know, but I got ticketed before I could get the insurance.” He paused to pray silently over his food and then shoveled in a mouthful of potato salad and chewed as he thought back to the day of the accident. An image of the pretty widow came back to haunt him. If only he could get her and her son off his mind. He pictured them round-eyed with worried looks. Were they still traumatized by his stupidity? He hoped not.

      “Well, it makes me to wonder if you should have prayed more about this magnificent piece of machinery of yours,” Mose said after he’d prayed. “Perhaps Gott isn’t pleased with your purchase and is letting you tie a rope around your neck.” Mose flashed a sardonic smile that showed a piece of mustard green stuck to the front of his tooth. The man bent forward and went back to attacking his food.

      “Ya, you might be right.” Fredrik nodded. “Nothing gut has come from the purchase.” The other side of their picnic table was still empty. Now was as good a time as any to speak to Mose. He blurted out the lines he had practiced. “You think there’s any chance I could get a church loan for a down payment on Ulla’s house?”

      Mose laid down his fork. “Ya, sure. We have money set aside for such as this. Ulla’s house would make a fine house for a young man like yourself. There’s plenty of room for a fraa and kinner.” He smiled, probably expecting his words to unsettle the unmarried man. “I’m sure she’ll sell it to you. She has no use for it now. Let’s walk over by the river and talk for a moment.”

      Throwing his paper plate into the trash for the flies to buzz around, Fredrik ambled alongside Mose, his mind racing.

      Houses in Pinecraft seldom came up for sale since they were usually passed on from family member to family member. When they were put on the market, they were too dear for most young people. Perhaps Mose could convince Ulla to sell the house to him at a reasonable price.

      “So, you’re finally ready to marry,” Mose said, stopping to sit at an old picnic table close to the river.

      Fredrik followed his lead and sat. “Ya.” He’d never experienced being tongue-tied in his life, but it seemed he couldn’t get his words to untangle on his tongue to form a complete sentence. “I...” he said and hiccupped from a nervous stomach. He groaned silently and then plunged on, forcing the words out. “Before we talk about the loan, I need to tell you I had an accident on the scooter the first day it was mine.” There! The words were out.

      “My daed used to talk to me about his bruder, Thomas. Seems all his life my onkel liked all things fast. The Englisch ways appealed to him more than Gott and the church.” Mose waved at his small blond son running past on short, dimpled knees.

      Fredrik watched clusters of Amish and Mennonite people eating their meal. A cooling breeze blew across the park. Tablecloth edges flapped in the breeze like white sails at sea. A gull’s sharp cry rang out overhead, perhaps predicting doom and gloom for Fredrik’s project.

      He got a quick glimpse of Lizbeth Mullet and Benuel sitting with a crowd of women one table over. Today she was smiling and talking to her son in an animated way, the wind blowing lengths of her fine blond hair around the simple neckline of her yellow dress. Regret tightened his stomach once again.

      “Church and Gott mean a lot to me. More than that scooter,” Fredrik said, and swallowed hard. “I’ll be thirty soon. It’s time I settle down and get married.”

      “Have you found anyone suitable?”

      “I’ve made a list of available women in the area.” He laughed and glanced back at Lizbeth, wishing she was someone he could mention as a prospective fraa. “Ulla’s sister is a matchmaker, and coming for a visit soon. If I can’t decide on someone, I hope she’ll help me find a woman from the surrounding communities while she’s here.”

      “Have you considered Lizbeth Mullet? She’s widowed now and could use a husband to help raise her soh.”

      Fredrik wanted to admit he was considering her, but he had a feeling she’d never agree to stepping out with him. She just thought of him as her big brother’s annoying friend. “Not really, but I will add СКАЧАТЬ