Читать книгу The Amish Widow's Secret - Cheryl Williford - Страница 11
ОглавлениеSteam rose from the pot of potatoes boiling on the wood stove. The men would be in for supper soon and Sarah thanked Gott there’d only be two extra men tonight and not the twenty-five hungry workers she’d fed last night.
She glanced at the table and smiled as she watched Beatrice use broad strokes of paint to cover the art paper she’d given her. The child had been silent all afternoon, only speaking when spoken to. The pain in her eyes reminded Sarah of her own suffering. They grieved the same way—deep and silent with sudden bursts of fury. The child’s need for love seemed so deep, the pain touched Sarah’s own wounded heart.
Almost forgotten, Mercy lay content on her mat, a bottle of milk clutched in her hands. Her eyes traveled around, taking in the sights of the busy kitchen floor. The fluffy ginger kitten rushed past and put a smile on the baby’s face. Sarah saw dimples press into her cheeks. If she and Joseph had had kinder, perhaps they would have looked like Mercy and Beatrice. Blonde-haired with a sparkle of mischief in their blue eyes.
Joseph’s face swam before her tear-filled eyes. She missed the sound of his steps as he walked across the wooden porch each evening. His arms wrapped around her waist always had a way of reassuring her. She’d been loved. For that brief period of time, she’d been precious to someone, and she longed for that comfort again. Her arms had been empty but Gott placed these kinder here and she was grateful for the time she had with them.
“Would you like a glass of milk, Beatrice? I have a secret stash of chocolate chip cookies. I’d be glad to share them with such a talented artist.”
“Nee,” she said.
“Perhaps—”
“I want my mamm,” Beatrice yelled, knocking the plastic tub of dirty water across the table and wetting herself and Sarah’s legs.
Sarah stood transfixed as the child waited, perhaps expecting some kind of reprimand. There would be no scolding. Not today. Not ever. This child suffered and Sarah knew the pain of that suffering. She often felt like throwing things, expressing her own misery with actions that shocked.
Quiet and calm, Sarah mopped up the mud-colored water, careful not to damage Beatrice’s art. “This would look lovely hung on my wall. Perhaps I could have it as a reminder of your visit?”
Beatrice looked down at her smock, at the merging colors against the white fabric, and began to cry deep, wrenching sobs. Unsure what else to do, Sarah prayed for guidance. She knelt on the floor, cleaned up 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 chance meeting with them, and Mose.
* * *
Bathed in the golden glow of the extra candle Beatrice had insisted on lighting before their supper meal, Mose noticed how different Sarah looked. Her hair had been neat and tidy under her stiff kapp earlier that morning, but now she looked mussed and fragile, as if her hair pins would fail her at any moment. He didn’t have to ask if the kinder had been a challenge. She wasn’t used to them around the house. He read the difficulty of her day in her pale face, too, and in the way she had avoided him the rest of the afternoon.
As if feeling his eyes on her, Sarah glanced up, a forkful of runner beans halfway to her mouth. Her smile was warm, but reserved. He needed to get her alone, tell her how much he appreciated her dealing with his daughters. He knew they were hard work. She deserved his gratitude. He’d worked hard on the barn teardown, endured the sun, but knew she’d worked harder.
“Beatrice tells me she had a lovely day.” He smiled at his daughter’s empty plate. It had been months since she’d eaten properly, and watching Beatrice gobble down her meal encouraged his heart.
Sarah and Beatrice exchanged a smile as if they had a secret all their own. “We spent the afternoon in the garden and drank lemonade with chunks of ice,” Sarah said. “I learned a great deal about Mercy from your helpful daughter. She knows when her baby sister is hungry and just how to place a cloth on her bottom so it doesn’t fall off. She’s a wealth of information, and I needed her help.” Sarah patted Beatrice’s hand.
The child smiled up at her. “I ate everything on my plate. Is there ice cream for dessert?”
Mose found himself smiling like a young fool. Seeing his daughters back to normal seemed a miracle.
Adolph banged his fork down and dusted food crumbs from his beard. “There will be no ice cream in this house tonight. Kinder should be seen but not heard at the table. There’ll be no reward for noise.” He glared at Sarah, as if she’d done something terrible by drawing the child out of her shell.
“My kinder are encouraged to speak, Adolph. Beatrice has always been very vocal, and I believe feeling safe to speak with one’s own parent an asset, not a detriment. I’m sure we can find another place to stay if their noise bothers you.”
“There is no need for you to leave. I’m sure I can tolerate Beatrice’s chatter for a few more days.” Adolph frowned Sarah’s way, his true feelings shown.
Mose fought back anger. He wondered what it must have been like to grow up with this tyrannical father lording over her.
As if to avoid the drama unfolding, Sarah pushed back in her chair and began to gather dishes.
“The meal was wunderbaar. You’re an amazing cook,” Mose said.
Sarah nodded her thanks, her eyes downcast, her hands busy with plates and glasses.
Beatrice grabbed her father’s hand and pulled. “Let’s go into the garden. I want to find the kitten.” She jumped up and down with excitement.
Adolph scowled at the child.
Mose scooped Mercy from her pallet of toys and left the room in silence, Beatrice skipping behind. Seconds later, the back door banged behind them.
Mose heard Adolph roar. “You see what you did? Can I never trust you to do anything right?” Adolph walked out of the kitchen, leaving Sarah alone with her own thoughts.
* * *
Moments later the sound of splashing water and laughter announced a water fight had broken out in the backyard. Sarah longed to join in on the fun, but instead went for a stack of bath towels and placed three on the stool next to the back door and a thick one on the floor. Mose would need them when their play finished.
She peeked out the window, amazed to see Mose Fischer soaked from head to toe, his blond hair plastered to his skull like a pale helmet. Beatrice had him pinned to the ground. Water from the old hose sprayed his face. She’d had no intention of watching their play but was glad she had. Mose’s patience with his daughter impressed her. Even young Mercy lay against her father’s legs as if to hold him down so Beatrice could have her fun with him.
Their natural joy brought Joseph to mind. He’d been playful and full of jokes at times. It had taken her a while to get used to his ways when they’d first married, and she’d known he’d found her lacking. She’d soon grown used to his spirit and had found herself waiting with anticipation for him to come in from the fields. She missed the joy they’d shared. A tear caught her unaware. She brushed the dampness away and sat in her favorite rocker. Minutes passed. She listened to the kinder’s laughter and then Mose’s firm voice reminding them it was time for bed.
The quilt she was stitching was forgotten as soon as the back door flew open and three wet bodies rushed in. She laughed aloud as she watched Mose try to keep a hand on Beatrice while toweling Mercy dry.
“Would you like some help?”
“I think Mercy is more seal than child.” He fought to hold on to her slippery body. Mercy was all smiles, her water-soaked diaper dripping on the kitchen floor.
Sarah rushed over and took the baby. The child trembled with cold and was quickly engulfed in a warm, fluffy towel. Sarah led the way to the indoor bathroom, baby in arms. Mose filled the tub with water already heated on the wood stove. Sarah added cold water, checked the temperature of the water, found it safe and sat Mercy down with a splash. Mercy gurgled in happiness as Sarah poured water over her shoulders and back.
“You’re a natural at this.” Mose spoke behind her.
Sarah reached around for Beatrice’s hand and the child jumped into the water with all the gusto of a happy fish. Water splashed and Sarah’s frock became wet from neck to hem. She found herself laughing with the kinder. Her murmurs of joy sounded foreign to her own ears. How long has it been since I giggled like this?
In the small confines of the bathroom, Sarah became aware of Mose standing over her. “I’m sure I can handle the bath. Why don’t you join my father for a chat while I get these lieblings ready for bed?”
Beatrice splashed more water. Mercy cried out and reached for Sarah. Grabbing a clean washcloth from the side of the tub, Sarah wiped water from the baby’s eyes. “You have to be careful, Beatrice.” She held on to the baby’s arm and turned to reach for a towel. Mose had left the room silently. She thought back to what she had said and hoped he hadn’t felt dismissed.
* * *
The girls finally asleep and her father in his room with the door closed, Sarah dried the last of the dishes and put them away. Looking for a cool breeze, she stepped out the back door and sat on the wooden steps. Her long, plain dress covered her legs to her ankles.
Fireflies flickered in the air, their tiny glow appearing and disappearing. She took in a long, relaxing breath and smelled honeysuckle on the breeze. Somewhere an insect began its lovesick song. Sarah lifted her voice in praise to the Lord, the old Amish song reminding her how much Gott once had loved her.
“Dein heilig statthond sie zerstort, dein Atler umbgegraben Darzu auch dein knecht ermadt...”
No one except Marta knew how much she’d hated Gott when Joseph had first died. She’d railed at Him, her loss too great to bear. But then she’d remembered the gas light in the barn and how she’d left it on for the old mother cat giving birth to fuzzy balls of damp fluff. She’d sealed Joseph’s fate by leaving that light burning. When she woke suddenly in the night, she’d heard her husband’s screams of agony as he tried to get out of the burning barn. Her own hands had been scorched as she’d fought to get to him. She hadn’t been able reach him and she’d given up. She’d failed him. He had died a horrible death. Her beloved Joseph had died, they’d said, of smoke inhalation, his body just bones and ashes inside his closed casket. She stopped singing and put her head down to weep.
“Something wrong, or are you just tired?” Mose spoke from a porch chair behind her.
With only the light coming through the kitchen window, Sarah turned. She strained to see Mose. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were there.” She wiped the tears off her face and moved to stand.
“Nee. Don’t go, please. I want to talk to you about Beatrice, if that’s all right.”
Sarah prepared herself for his disapproval. She’d heard it before from other men in the community when she’d broken Ordnung willfully. The Bishop especially seemed hard on her. She sat, waited.
Mose cleared his throat and began to talk. “I wanted to tell you how much I appreciate your taking such good care of my girls. They haven’t been this happy in a long time, not even with their grandmammi.”
Sarah touched the cross hanging under the scoop of her dress, the only thing she had left from her mother. If her father knew she had the chain and cross, he would destroy them. “I did nothing special, Mose. I treated the kinder like my mother treated me. Your girls are delightful, and I enjoy having them here. They make my life easier.” She clamped her mouth shut. She’d said too much. Plain people didn’t talk about their problems and she had to keep reminding herself to be silent about the pain.
“Well, I think it’s wunderbaar you were able to reach Beatrice. I’ve been very concerned about her, and now I can rest easy. She has someone to talk to who understands loss.”
Understands? Oh, I understand. The child hurt physically, as if someone had cut off an arm or leg and left her to die of pain. “I’m glad I was able to help.” She rose. “Now, I need to prepare for breakfast. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day for both of us. There is food to cook, a barn to haul away.”
“Wait, before you go. I have an important question to ask you.”
Sarah nodded her head and sat back down.
“I stayed up until late last night, thinking about your situation and mine. I prayed and prayed, and Gott kept pushing this thought at me.” He took a deep breath. “I wonder, would you consider becoming my frau?”
Sarah held up her hand as if to stop his words. “I...”
“Nee, wait. Before you speak, let me explain.” Mose took another deep breath and began. “I know you still love Joseph and probably always will, just as I still love my Greta. But I have kinder who need a mother to guide and love them. Now that Joseph’s gone and your daed insists the farm is to be sold, you’ll need a place to call home, people who care about you, a family. We can join forces and help each other.” He saw panic form in her eyes. “Wait. Let me finish, please. It would only be a marriage of convenience, with no strings attached. I would love you as a sister and you would be under my protection. The girls need a loving mother and you’ve already proven you can be that. What do you say, Sarah Nolt. Will you be my wife?”
Sarah sat silently in the chair, her face turned away. She turned back toward Mose and looked into his eyes. “You’d do this for me? But...you don’t know me.”
“I’d do this for us,” Mose corrected and smiled.
The tips of Sarah’s fingers nervously pleated and unpleated a scrap of her skirt. “We hardly know each other. You must realize I’ll never love you the way you deserve.”
“I know how much Joseph meant to you. He was like a bruder to me. You’d have to take second place in my heart, too. Greta will always be my one and only love.” Mose watched her nervous fingers work the material, knowing this conversation was causing her more stress. He waited.
She glanced at him. “I’d want the kinder to think we married for love. I hope they can grow to respect me as their parent. I know it won’t be the same deep love they had for their mamm. I’ll do everything I can to help them remember her.”
“I’m sure they’ll grow to love you. In fact, I think they already do.” Mose fumbled for words, feeling young and awkward, something he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He’d never thought he’d get married again, but Gott seemed to be in this and his kinder needed Sarah. She needed them. If she said no to his proposal he’d have to persuade her, but he had no idea how he’d manage it. She was proud and headstrong.
“What would people think? They will say I took advantage of your good nature.”
Mose smiled. “So, let them talk. They’d be wrong and we’d know it. I want this marriage for both of us, for the kinder. We can’t let others decide what is best for our lives. I believe this marriage is Gott’s plan for us.”
Sarah’s face cleared and she seemed to come to a decision. She smoothed out the fabric of her skirt and tidied her hair, then finally took Mose’s outstretched hand with a smile. “You’re right. This is our life. I accept your proposal, Mose Fischer. I will be your frau and your kinder’s mother.”
Sarah paused for a moment, then spoke. “Being your wife brings obligations. I expect you to honor my grief until such a time I can become your wife in both name and deed, as a good man deserves.” She looked him in the eye, seeking understanding. He deserved a woman’s love and she had none to give him right now.
Mose smiled and nodded, gave her a hand up and stepped back. “I wish there was something I could do to help you in your grief.”
Sarah didn’t know what to say. Few people had offered her a word of sympathy when she’d lost Joseph. They’d felt she’d caused his death. “I’m fine, really. I just need time.” She lied because if she said anything else, she would be crying in this stranger’s arms.
“Time does help, Sarah. Time and staying busy.”
She could feel his gaze on her. She hid every ache and hardened her heart. This was the Amish way. “Ya, time and work. Everyone tells me this.”
“Take your time, grieve.” He murmured the words soft and slow.
Her heart in shreds, she would not talk of grief with him, not with anyone. “I don’t want to talk anymore.” She moved past him and through the door, ignoring the throbbing veins at her temples. She would never get over this terrible loss deep in her heart. This unbearable pain was her punishment from Gott.
* * *
Mose wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He’d caused her more pain, reminding her of what she’d lost. Joseph had been a good man, full of life and fun. He’d loved Gott with all his heart and had dedicated himself to the Lord early in life. His baptism had been allowed early. Most Amish teens were forced to wait until they were sure of their dedication to Gott and their community, after their rumspringa, when they’re time to experience the Englisch world was over and decisions made, but not Joseph. Everyone had seen his love for Gott, his kindness, strength and purity. He felt the painful loss of Joseph. What must Sarah feel? Like Joseph, she seemed sure of herself, able to face any problem with strength...but there was something else. She carried a cloud of misery over her, which told him she suffered a great deal. What else could have happened to make her so miserable?
He heard a window open upstairs and movement, perhaps Sarah preparing for bed. Mose laughed quietly. Was he so desperate for a mother for his kinder that he had proposed marriage to a woman so in love with her dead husband she could hardly stand his touch? They both had to dig themselves out of their black holes of loss and begin life anew. Could marriage be the way? He knew he would never love again, yet his kinder needed a mother. Was he too selfish to provide one for them? Would marrying again be fair to any woman he found suitable to raise his kinder? No woman wanted a lovesick fool, such as he, on their arm. They wanted courtship, the normal affection of their husband, but he had none to give. He was an empty shell. Mose looked out over the tops of tall trees to the stars. Gott was somewhere watching, wondering why He’d made a fool like Mose Fischer. Stars twinkled and suddenly a shooting star flashed across the sky, its tail flashing bright before it disappeared into nothingness. It had burned out much like his heart.
