The Amish Widow's Secret. Cheryl Williford

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ girls as much as they needed her.

      * * *

      Dressed in a plain black mourning dress and kapp, her black shoes polished to a high shine, Mose could see why Joseph had chosen Sarah as his bride. There was something striking about her, her beauty separating her from the average Amish woman. She tried to act friendly, but he’d experienced the pain of loss and knew she suffered from the mention of Joseph. Greta had been the perfect wife to him and mother to his girls. After almost a year, the mention of her name still cut deeply and flooded his mind with memories.

      “I hope they’re not a handful for you.” A genuine smile blossomed on the willowy, red-haired woman’s face. She looked a bit more relaxed. The heavy tension between Sarah and her father surprised him. Surely Adolph would be a tower of strength for her. She’d need her father to lean on during difficult times. Instead, Mose felt an air of disapproval between the two. He’d heard Adolph Yoder was a hard man, but Sarah seemed a victim in this terrible tragedy.

      “I’ll bring the girls around in an hour or so, if that’s all right.”

      “Ya. I’m not doing anything but cooking today. The girls can help bake for tomorrow’s big meal.” Sarah smiled a shy goodbye and followed Marta into the buggy. She pulled in her skirt and slammed the door. Through the window she waved, “I look forward to taking care of the kinder.”

      “Till then,” Mose said, and waved as the buggy pulled onto the main road, his thoughts still on the tension between father and daughter.

      Walking came naturally to Mose. He set out on the two-mile trip to his cousin’s farm and prayed his daughters had behaved while he was gone. Dealing with her own grief, he wasn’t sure Sarah was up to handling the antics of his eldest daughter. Four was a difficult age. Beatrice was no longer a baby, but her longing for her dead mamm still made her difficult to manage.

      The hot afternoon sun beat down on his head, his dark garments drawing heat. He welcomed the rare gusts of wind that threatened to blow off his straw hat and ruffle his hair. Lancaster took a beating from the summer heat every year, but today felt even more hot and muggy. He would be glad to get back to Sarasota and its constant breeze and refreshing beaches.

      A worn black buggy rolled past, spitting dust and pebbles his way. To his surprise, the buggy stopped and a tall, burley, gray-haired man hopped out.

      “Hello, Mose. I heard you were in town.”

      I should know the man. He recognized his face but struggled with the name. “Forgive me, but I don’t remember—”

      “Nee. It was a long time ago. I’m Bishop Ralf Miller. It’s been five years or more since I last went to Florida and stayed with your family. I’ve known your father for many years. When we were boys, we shared the same school. I believe you’d just married your beautiful bride when your father introduced me to you.”

      “My wife died last year,” Mose informed him. “Childbirth took her.” Saying the words out loud was like twisting a knife in his heart.

      “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

      “There’s no reason you would know,”

      “Nee, but it worries me how many of our young people are dying. I assume you’re here to help with Joseph Nolt’s barn clearing.”

      “I just met his widow. Poor woman is torn with grief.”

      “Between the two of us, I’m not so sure Sarah Nolt is a grieving widow. One of the men at the funeral said they heard her say Joseph’s death was her fault. The woman’s been unpredictable most of her life. Her father and I had a conversation about this a few days ago. He’s finding it hard to keep both farms going, and Sarah is stubbornly refusing to return to her childhood home. Joseph’s farm needs to be sold. If she doesn’t stop this willful behavior, I fear we’ll have to shun her for the safety of the community.”

      Surprised at the openness of the Bishop’s conversation and the accusation against Sarah, Mose asked, “What proof do you have against her, other than her one comment made in grief? Has she been counseled by the elders or yourself?”

      “We tried, but she won’t talk to us. She’s always had this rebellious streak. Her father agrees with me. There could be trouble.”

      “A rebellious streak?”

      “You know what I mean. Last week she told one of our Elders to shut up when he offered her a fair price for the farm. This inappropriate behavior can’t be ignored.”

      “You’ve just described a grieving widow, Bishop. Perhaps she’s...”

      Bishop Miller interrupted Mose, his brows lowered. “You don’t know her, Mose. I do. She’s always seemed difficult. Even as a child she was rebellious and broke rules.”

      “Did something happen to make her this way?” Mose’s stomach twisted in anger. He liked to consider himself a good judge of character and he hadn’t found Sarah Nolt anything but unhappy, for good reason. Adolph Yoder was another matter. He appeared a hard, critical man. The Bishop’s willingness to talk about Sarah’s personal business didn’t impress him either. These things were none of Mose’s concern. He knew, with the community being Old Order Amish, that the bishop kept hard, fast rules. In his community she’d be treated differently. If she had no one to help her through her loss, her actions could be interpreted as acting out of grief. Perhaps the lack of a father’s love was the cause of his daughter’s actions. “Where is Sarah’s mother?”

      “Who knows but Gott? She left the community when Sarah was a young child. She’d just had a son and some said raising kinder didn’t suit her. Adolph did everything he could to make Sarah an obedient child, like his son, Eric, but she never would bend to his will.”

      “I saw little parental love from Adolph. He’s an angry man and needs to be spoken to by one of the community elders. Perhaps Gott can redirect him and help Sarah at the same time.”

      “We’re glad to have your help with the teardown and barn-building, but I will deal with Sarah Nolt. This community is my concern. If your father were here, he’d agree with me.”

      Mose drew in a deep breath. He’d let his temper get the better of him. “I meant no disrespect, Bishop, but all this gossip about the widow needs to stop until you have proof. It’s your job to make sure that happens. You shouldn’t add to it.”

      “If you weren’t an outsider you’d know she’s not alone in her misery. She has her sister-in-law, Marta, to talk to and seek counsel. Marta is a godly woman and a good influence. If she can’t reach her, there will be harsh consequences the next time Sarah acts out.”

      “I’ll be praying for her, as I’m sure you are.” Mose nodded to the bishop, and kept on walking to his cousin’s farm.

      But he couldn’t help wondering, who was the real Sarah?

      * * *

      Beatrice squirmed around on the buckboard seat, her tiny sister asleep on a quilt at her feet. “I want cookies now, Daed.”

      Mose pulled to the side of the road and spoke softly. “Soon we’ll be at Sarah’s house and you can have more cookies, but if you wake your sister, you’ll be put to bed. Do you understand?”

СКАЧАТЬ