Her New Amish Family. Carrie Lighte

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      “I’ve waited this long. A couple more months isn’t going to make a big difference,” Seth replied, but his resolve was wavering.

      Martha pointed to the window. “Listen to how much fun they’re having out there.”

      Seth glanced out at them. Just then Trina attempted to hurdle the puddle, but Timothy stepped into her path. Trying to avoid him, she veered and lost her footing upon landing. She fell backward, splintering the puddle’s thin layer of ice and landing on Tanner, who hadn’t given her enough time to clear it before he jumped over it, too. Seth charged out of the house and down the steps. By then the boys had untangled their legs and arms from Trina’s and they were pulling on her hands. Instead of helping her up they were stretching her forward and she struggled to rise.

      “Stop that!” he yelled as he noticed Trina’s leg was bent awkwardly beneath her. The boys immediately released Trina’s hands and she dropped backward into the puddle again.

      * * *

      Thudding onto her backside in the mud a second time, Trina got the wind knocked out of her. Before she had a chance to catch her breath or unfold her leg, Seth slid one arm under her knees, wrapped the other around her waist and swooped her up. As he carried her to the porch, Trina’s cheek brushed against his woolen overcoat and she closed her eyes. Never had she felt so cared for by a man and she was overwhelmed by his chivalrous gesture.

      “Are you alright?” he asked after gingerly placing her on the porch steps. He leaned forward and looked into her eyes. His own eyes were gunmetal gray, a few shades paler than his sons’ baby blues but just as big and round. They’d also inherited Seth’s curly blond locks, although his hair was more waves than curls. Wholesome was the clichéd word people used to describe anyone who lived in the countryside, but in Seth’s case, Trina found the adjective to be accurate. Not merely because of his looks, but because of the honest quality of his concern.

      “I’m fine, just a little wet,” she replied, embarrassed. She could feel her skirt clinging to her skin.

      “I’m sorry,” Timothy said mournfully. “I shouldn’t have stepped in front of you.”

      “And I shouldn’t have stepped in back of you,” Tanner chimed in.

      The boys looked so pitifully sad Trina forgot about her own discomposure. “It’s nobody’s fault but my own. I’m such a klutz,” she said, rolling her eyes. When the boys didn’t smile, she assured them, “I didn’t break any bones. My skirt got a little dirty, but I’ll wash it and it will be as good as new.”

      Seth looked dubious. “It will get clean, but I doubt it will be as gut as new. Abe’s house doesn’t have an Englisch washing machine, you know.”

      Now Trina couldn’t tell if he was speaking matter-of-factly or tongue in cheek. “I’m familiar with Amish wringers,” she replied. She was familiar with them in the sense that her mother had described how they worked—Trina hadn’t actually used one herself.

      “Even so—” Seth started to say, but he was interrupted by a muted cry from inside the house.

      “Fire! Help! Help!” It was Martha.

      “Buwe, stay here!” Seth commanded. He vaulted past Trina and was up the stairs in two strides.

      Chasing close behind, Trina peered through the smoky room to see Martha doubled over, coughing, as something burned atop the stove. Seth clicked off the burner, grabbed the flaming item by an edge and tossed it into the sink. Then he turned the faucet on full force.

      While he was dousing the flame, Trina led Martha out of the house.

      “Groossmammi, are you okay?” Tanner asked. The crease between his eyebrows made him appear like a wizened old man.

      Martha nodded but she was still coughing and couldn’t answer. Trina and the boys eased her into a sitting position on the stairs and then Trina darted back into the house to fetch a glass of water.

      Seth moved away from the sink. “Looks like my groossmammi started a towel on fire, but I don’t see any other damage. Is she alright?”

      “Yes, I think so. She just needs to catch her breath.” Trina filled the glass and they both stepped outside, leaving the door open behind them.

      By then, Martha was no longer gasping. “I spilled water on the stovetop when I was pouring tea, so I tried to dab it up with the towel,” she explained. “I was certain I had turned off the burner first.”

      “Neh, you had turned it up,” Seth said.

      “Ach! Well, that explains how the tea towel caught fire.” Martha’s eyes were watering and Trina didn’t know if she was crying or recovering from the sting of the smoky air. Suddenly Martha seemed tiny and frail as she prayed aloud, “Denki, Lord, for keeping us safe.”

      “It’s cold out here and you’re trembling,” Trina noticed. “Please come back inside and we’ll have that tea now.”

      “Alright,” Martha agreed. “Seth, kumme get the woodstove started, please.”

      Trina took Martha by the arm and assisted her up the stairs and into the parlor. She expected the others to come in, too, but when she returned to the kitchen to retrieve the tea, she heard Seth on the porch warning the boys not to leave the front yard or go near the puddle.

      “They’re probably cold, too. They should come in,” she said from the doorway.

      “Neh, their boots are muddy.” Seth waved his hand. “They’re fine outside. Here in Willow Creek, we believe fresh air is gut for kinner.”

      Once again Trina wasn’t sure what he meant by his remark. She replied, “We believe fresh air is good for children in Philadelphia, too.”

      “Jah, but there’s less of it in Philadelphia than there is here, so our kinner can stay outside longer.” Seth grinned widely at her before he began filling his arms with logs from the woodpile stacked next to the porch stairs, and since she didn’t disagree, Trina chuckled, too.

      As she and Martha were sipping tea and Seth was lighting the fire, the older woman said, “Imagine what would have happened if you weren’t here!”

      Seth stood up from where he’d been kneeling in front of the woodstove and brushed his hands against his pants. His grandmother had a valid point and he knew she was waiting for him to acknowledge defeat. “Okay, okay, you win,” he said to Martha.

      Trina glanced at Martha and then at him, curious.

      “I, uh, well, we wanted to ask if you’d be available to watch the buwe while you’re in Willow Creek,” he stuttered. “As a job, I mean. You’d be paid.”

      “You could watch them at our house, so I could help and we’d get to know each other better,” Martha added, beaming again.

      Trina hesitated. Although the will stipulated she had to live in Willow Creek, she hadn’t intended to become very involved with the Amish—or the Englisch, for that matter—during her residence. She’d planned to mostly keep to herself. But the boys were well behaved СКАЧАТЬ