Читать книгу The Amish Widow's Secret - Cheryl Williford - Страница 11

Chapter One

It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

Sarah Nolt couldn’t resist the temptation. Gott would probably punish her for coveting something so fancy. She allowed the tip of her finger to glide across the surface of the sewing machine gleaming in the store’s overhead lights.

She closed her eyes and imagined stitching her dream quilt. Purple sashing would look perfect with the patch of irises she’d create out of scraps of lavender and blue fabrics and hand stitch to the center of the diagonal-block quilt.

“Some things are best not longed for,” Marta Nolt whispered close to Sarah’s ear.

Sarah jumped as if she’d been stung by a wasp. A flush of guilt washed over her from head to toe. “You startled me.” She shot a glance at her lifelong friend and sister-in-law—the two had grown up together and had even married each other’s brothers. Had Marta seen her prideful expression? All her life she’d been taught pride was a sin. She wasn’t convinced it was.

Compared to Sarah’s five-foot-four frame, Marta appeared as tiny as a twelve-year-old in her dark blue spring dress and finely stitched, stiff white prayer kapp. Marta’s brows furrowed. “It is better I startled you than your daed, Sarah. He’s just outside the door waiting for us. He said to hurry, that he has more important things to do than wait on you this morning. Did you do something to irritate him again? One day he’ll tell the elders what you’ve been up to and—”

“And they’ll what? Call me in for another scolding and long prayer, and then threaten to tell the Bishop how unruly a widow I am?” Sarah turned for one last look at the gleaming machine and moved away.

“If they find out about you giving Lukas money, you’ll be shunned. You know they’re looking for someone to blame and wanting to set an example since he ran away with young Ben in tow. Everyone believes they’ve joined the Englisch rescue house. The boys’ father is beyond angry. Nerves have become rattled throughout the community. People are asking who else is planning to leave.”

“I’m not joining if that’s what you’re thinking. I wasted my time by looking at a sewing machine I can’t ever have. I dream. Nothing more. How can that fine piece of equipment be so full of sin just because it’s electric and fancy? It’s made to produce the finest of quilts.”

Sarah shoved back a lock of hair and tucked it into her kapp. “Last week an Englisch woman used one of the machines for a sewing demonstration. My heart almost leaped out of my chest, Marta. You should have seen the amazing details it sewed. It would take a year or more for us to make such perfect stitches by hand. Daed needs money for a new field horse. If I had this machine, I could make quilts more quickly and sell them to the Englisch on market day. I could make enough money to keep my farm and eat more than cooked cabbage and my favorite white duck.”

“All you have to do is ask for help, Sarah. You are so stubborn. The community will—”

“Rally round? Tell me I must sell Joseph’s farm because a family deserves it more than a helpless widow. Nee, I don’t want their help.”

“Careful. Someone might hear you.”

Marta had always tried to accept the community’s harsh rules, but today her words of mindless obedience angered Sarah. “I will not ask for help and will not be silent. Will Gott finally be satisfied if He takes everything dear from me, including my dreams?”

“Ach, don’t be so bitter. Your anger comes from a place of pain. You need to pray. Ask Gott to remove the ache in your heart.” Marta took her hand and squeezed hard. “Since Joseph died you’ve done nothing but stir up the community’s wrath. You know what your daed’s like. He’ll only take so much before he lets the Bishop come down hard on you. You can’t keep bringing shame on the Yoder name.”

“I don’t care about my daed’s pride of name. Is his pride not sin too? I am a Nolt now, not a Yoder. I’m a twenty-five-year-old widow. Not a child. I will make my own decisions. You wait and see.”

“Meine liebe. The suddenness of Joseph’s death brought you to this place of anger and confusion. Don’t grieve him so. His funeral is over, the coffin closed. It was Gott’s will for Joseph to die. We must not ever question, Sarah. Joseph was my older brother, but I’m content to know he’s with the old ones and happy in heaven.”

Memories of the funeral haunted Sarah’s sleep. “I’m glad you are able to find peace in this rigid community, Marta. I really am. But I can’t. Not since Gott let Joseph die in such a horrible way. To burn to death in a barn fire is too horrible. What kind of Gott lets this happen to a man of faith? This cruel Gott has nee place in my life.” Sarah sighed deeply. Will I ever be happy again and at peace?

She reached out a trembling hand and grabbed a card of hooks-and-eyes and threw it in the store’s small plastic shopping basket that hung off her wrist. She added several large spools of basic blue, purple and black thread and turned back toward Marta, who stood fingering a skein of baby-soft yarn in the lightest shade of blue. “Do you have something you want to tell me?”

“Nee.” Marta’s ready smile vanished. “I’m not pregnant. Gott must intend for me to rear others’ kinder and not my own.”

Marta had miscarried three times. Talk among the older women was there would be no bobbel for her sister-in-law unless she had an operation. Sarah knew the young couple’s farm wasn’t doing well. There would be no money for expensive procedures in Englisch hospitals for Marta, even if the Bishop would allow it.

Sarah said, “I wish—”

“I know. I wish it, too. A baby for Eric and me. And Joseph still alive for you. But Gott doesn’t always give us what we want or make an easy path to walk.”

Heavy footsteps announced Sarah’s father’s approach. Both women grew silent.

“Do you realize the sun is at its zenith and a man grows hungry?” Adolph Yoder’s sharp tone cut like a knife. The short-statured man rubbed his rotund stomach and glared at his only daughter.

Sarah straightened the sweat-soaked collar of her father’s blue shirt and smiled, trying hard to show her love for the angry man. “I’m sorry, Daed. Time got away from us.” Sarah gathered the last of the sewing things she needed and tried to match his fast pace down the narrow aisle.

Her father stopped abruptly and turned toward her. His blue eyes flashed. “You must learn to drive your own wagon, daughter. Do your own fetching. Enough time has passed.”

“Ya.” Sarah nodded. He turned away and moved toward the door. She thought back to the times she’d begged him to teach her the basics of directing a horse or mending a wheel, but nothing had ever come of it. He had always been too busy trying to be both Mamm and Daed to her and her younger brother, Eric. She blamed herself and her mother’s sudden disappearance into the Englisch world on her father’s angry moods. Once again she wished her mamm had taken her with her when she’d left Lancaster County.

Joseph would have been happy to teach her to drive, but Gott had taken him too soon. Bitterness swelled in her heart, adding to the pain already there. Tears pooled in her eyes and slid down her cheeks as she thought of him. She brushed them away, not willing to show her pain.

Moments later the familiar woman at the checkout line greeted Sarah as she might an Englisch customer. “Hello, Sarah. How are you today, dear?”

“Gut, and you?”

“Oh, I’m fine as I can be,” she responded. “You’re buying an awful lot of thread. You ladies planning one of your quilting bees?”

“Nee, just stocking up.” Sarah emptied the small basket on the counter and began stacking the spools of thread.

“Well, you let me know if you need someone to help sell your quilts. I’ll be glad to place them in the shop window for a small fee. You do beautiful work. You should be sewing professionally.”

Distracted by her thoughts, Sarah tried hard to follow the older woman’s friendly banter. “Danke. I’ll speak to the Bishop’s wife and see what she says, but I don’t hold much hope. There are rules about selling wares in an Englisch shop. You know how strict some are.”

“Yeah, I do.” She patted Sarah’s hand.

Sarah’s father walked past and glanced at the two women. He hurried out of the shop, letting the door slam. His bad mood meant problems for Sarah. When riled, he could be very cruel. She had no one to blame but herself for his bad attitude today. She knew he grew tired of her lack of control and rule breaking. People were openly talking about her. She had to learn to keep her mouth closed and distance herself from the Englisch.

Sarah hurried out of the store and trailed behind Marta. Fancy Englisch cars dotted the parking lot. She made her way to her father’s buggy parked under a cluster of old oaks.

He stood talking to a man unfamiliar to Sarah. The man turned toward her as she approached. He wore a traditional blue Amish shirt, his black pants wrinkled and dusty, as if he’d been traveling for days. The black hat on his head barely controlled his nest of dishwater-blond curls. Joseph had been blond and curly-haired, too. Memories flooded in. Her heart ached.

Men from all around the county were coming today. The burned-out barn was to be torn down and cleared away. The man standing next to her father had be one of the workers who’d traveled a long distance to lend a helping hand. She often disapproved of many Amish ways, but not their generosity of heart. Helping others came naturally to all Amish. She honored this trait. It was the reason she’d helped the neighbor boys get away from their cruel father.

“Sarah,” Marta called out and motioned for her to hurry. Sarah picked up her pace.

“Come, Sarah! Time is wasting,” her father called out.

“Ya, Daed.”

The tall, well-built man smiled. She was struck by the startling blueness of his eyes and the friendly curve of his mouth. His light blond beard told her he was married. She gave a quick smile.

Marta stepped forward. “This is Mose Fischer, Joseph’s school friend. He came all the way from Florida to help us rebuild the barn.”

Mose Fischer took her hand. The crinkles around his eyes expressed years of friendly smiles and a good sense of humor.

Sarah wasn’t comfortable with physical contact, but allowed him to take her hand out of respect to Joseph. She returned his smile. “Hello. I’m glad to meet you.” She meant what she’d said. She was glad to meet him. She’d only met her husband’s sister, Marta. Meeting Joseph’s childhood friend made her feel more a part of his past life.

Adolph put his hand on Sarah’s shoulder. Touching her was something he rarely did, especially in public. “Sarah loves kinder. Perhaps you’d like her to care for your young daughters while you work?”

“If Sarah agrees, I’d like that very much.” Mose Fischer seemed to look deep into her soul, looking for all her secrets as he spoke. Why hadn’t his wife come to Lancaster with him? “I’d be glad to care for the bobbles, and I’m sure I’ll have help. Marta seldom gets a chance to play with kinder and will grab at this opportunity.”

Marta nodded with a shy laugh and smiled. “Just try to keep me away.”

“How old are the kinder?” Sarah grinned, happy for a chance to be busy wiping tiny fingers and toes. She’d be much too preoccupied to fret or watch the last of the barn come down.

“Beatrice is almost five and Mercy will soon be one. But, I warn you. They miss their mamm since she passed and can be a real handful.” Pain shimmered in his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were a widower. You were very brave to travel alone with such young daughters.”

“We came by train from Tampa, but my memories of Joseph made all the effort worth it. I didn’t want to miss the chance to help out his widow.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Mose and the girls will stay on my farm, and so will you.” Adolph gave Sarah a familiar glare.

“That’s fine. I can stay in my old room for a few days, and the girls can sleep with me.” Sarah nervously straightened the ribbons hanging from her stiff white prayer kapp. Since she was in deep mourning, her father knew she wanted to continue to hide herself at her farm, far away from people and gossip. “If that suits you, Mose.” She held her breath. She suddenly realized she needed to be around the 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?”

The tear rolling down her flushed cheek told him she didn’t understand and was pushing boundaries yet again.

“Mamm would give me cookies. I want Mamm.” An angry scowl etched itself across her tear-streaked face.

These were the times Mose hated most, when he had no answers for Beatrice. How can I help her understand?

“We’ve talked about this before, my child. Mamm is in heaven with Gott and we must accept this, even though it makes us sad.” He drew the small child into his arms and hugged her close, his heart breaking as he realized how thin her small body had become. He had to do something to cheer her up. “Let’s hurry and go and see the nice ladies I told you about. Sarah said she’d be baking today. Perhaps she’ll have warm cookies. Wouldn’t cookies and a glass of cold milk brighten your spirits?

“I only want Mamm.”

Tucked under his arm, Beatrice cried softly, twisting Mose’s heart in knots. His mother had talked to him about remarriage, but he had thrown the idea back at her, determined to honor his dead wife until the day he died. But the kinder definitely needed a woman’s gentle hand when he had to be at work.

His mother’s newly mended arm limited her ability to help him since the bad break, and now her talk of going to visit her sisters in Ohio felt like a push from Gott. Perhaps he would start considering the thought of a new wife, but she’d have to be special. What woman would want a husband who still loved his late wife? But he couldn’t become someone like Adolph Yoder either, and leave his young children to suffer their mother’s loss alone. Adolph’s bitterness shook Mose to his foundation. Would he become like Adolph to satisfy his own selfish needs and not his daughters’?

Deep in thought, Mose pulled into the graveled drive and directed the horse under a shade tree. Sarah Nolt hurried out the door of the trim white farmhouse, her black mourning dress dancing around her ankles. She approached with a welcoming smile. In the sunlight her kapp-covered head made her hair look a bright copper color. A brisk breeze blew and long lengths of fine hair escaped and curled on the sides of her face. The black dress was plain, yet added color to her cheeks. Mose opened the buggy’s door.

Beatrice crawled over him and hurried out. A striped kitten playing in the grass had attracted her attention. Mercy chose that moment to make her presence known and let loose a pitiful wail. Mose scooped the baby from the buggy floor.

Beatrice suddenly screamed and ran to her father, her arms wrapping around his leg. “Bad kitty.” She held out a finger. A scarlet drop of blood landed on the front of the fresh white apron covering her dress.

Sarah took the baby and tucked the blanket around her bare legs as she slowly began to rock the upset child. Tear-filled blue eyes, edged in dark lashes, gazed up at the stranger. “Hello, little one.”

Amazed, as always, that the tiny child could make so much noise, Mose watched as Sarah continued to rock the baby as she walked to the edge of the yard. Mose soothed Beatrice as Sarah moved about the garden with his crying infant.

Moments later Sarah approached with the quieted baby on her shoulder. “The bobbel has healthy lungs.” She laughed.

Mose ruffled the blond curls on Mercy’s head. “That she does. You didn’t seem to have any trouble settling her.”

“I used an old trick my grandmammi used on me. I distracted her with flowers.”

Beatrice looked up at Sarah with a glare. “You’re not Mercy’s mamm.” She pushed her face into the folds of her father’s pant leg.

“I warned you. She’s going to be a handful.” Mose patted Beatrice’s back.

Sarah handed the baby to Mose and dropped to her knees. Cupping a bright green grasshopper from the tall grass, she asked, “Do you like bugs, Beatrice?” She held out her closed hand and waited.

Beatrice turned and leaned against her father’s legs, her eyes red-rimmed. “What kind of bug is it?” She stepped forward, her gaze on Sarah’s extended hands.

Motioning the child closer, Sarah slightly opened her fingers and whispered, “Come and see.” A tiny green head popped out and struggled to be free.

“Oh, Daed! Look,” Beatrice said, joy sending her feet tapping.

Sarah opened her hand and laughed as the grasshopper leaped away, Beatrice right behind it, her little legs hopping through the grass, copying the fleeing insect.

Mose grinned as he watched his daughter’s antics. “You might just have won her heart. How did you know she loves bugs?

“I’ve always been fascinated with Gott’s tiny creatures. I had a feeling Beatrice might, too.”

Mose’s gaze held hers for a long moment until Sarah lost her smile, turned away and headed back into the house.