Читать книгу Amish Christmas Twins - Patricia Davids - Страница 11
ОглавлениеJohn Miller squeezed his eyes shut and braced for the impact of the bus hurtling toward the back of his wagon.
God have mercy on my soul.
A powerful draft knocked his hat from his head as the bus flew around him, missing his wagon by inches. The reckless driver laid on the horn as he swerved back into the proper lane. John’s frightened team of horses shied off the edge of the highway, jolting the wagon and nearly unseating him.
He quickly brought his animals under control and maneuvered his wagon back onto the roadway. It took longer to get his heart out of his throat. When his erratic pulse settled, he picked up his black Amish hat from where it had fallen onto the floorboards and dusted it against his thigh. God must still have a use for me here on earth. I’m sorry, Katie May. One day I will be with you again.
John shook his head when the bus pulled to a stop a few hundred yards down the highway. “Foolish Englischer. In a hurry to get nowhere fast.”
He settled his hat on his head and glanced back at his cargo. Thankfully, the restored antique sleigh carefully wrapped in a heavy tarp hadn’t shifted. He could ill afford another delay in getting it to its new owner.
His entire trip had been one misadventure after another. He’d left home in plenty of time to complete the two-day journey, but a wrong turn in unfamiliar country had taken him five miles out of his way. One of his tie-downs had snapped, forcing him to lose time rigging another. Then a broken wheel had taken three hours to repair, time he didn’t have to spare. This simple trip could end up costing him as much if not more than a hired hauler would have charged and he was already half a day late for his appointment. He hoped his Englisch client was the understanding sort.
Putting his team in motion, John reached the rear of the bus before it moved on. According to the directions in the letter from his customer, he needed to turn right at the rural intersection just ahead. He waited for the bus driver to move out of the way. After several minutes, he leaned to the side trying to see what the holdup was. A woman in a red coat with a purple backpack slung over her shoulder finally stepped off with two little children in tow. The bus pulled away, belching black fumes that made his horses snort and toss their heads. He spoke softly to quiet them.
The woman stood at the edge of the highway, looking first north and then south as if expecting someone who hadn’t shown up. The roads were empty in all directions except for the bus traveling away from them. The children, both girls about three years old, were clinging to her legs. One rubbed her eyes, the other cried to be picked up. The family’s clothing and uncovered heads told John they weren’t Amish.
He slapped the reins against his team’s rumps and turned his wagon in front of them, glancing at the woman’s face as he did. She looked worried and worn-out, but she smiled and nodded slightly when she met his gaze.
One of her little girls pointed to his team. “Horsey, Mama. See horsey?”
“I do, sweetheart. They’re lovely horses, aren’t they?” Her smile brightened as she glanced down at her daughter. The love in her eyes shone through her weariness. Why wasn’t anyone here to meet them?
“Horses bad,” the other child said, stepping behind her mother.
The woman dropped to one knee and pulled the child close. “No, they aren’t bad. They may look big and scary, but they won’t hurt you. This man tells them what to do. I’m sure they mind him far better than you mind me sometimes.”
The child muttered something he couldn’t make out, but the young mother laughed softly. It was a sweet sound. “No, precious. They won’t step on you and squish you.”
The child latched on to her mother’s neck and muttered, “I tired. Want to go home now.”
He should keep moving. He’d told his client to expect him four hours ago, but it didn’t feel right to drive away and leave this young mother standing alone out here even if she wasn’t Amish. He pulled the horses to a stop and looked down at her. “Do you need help?”
Detaching the child from her neck, she stood up and smoothed the front of her coat with one hand. As she did, he noticed a bulge at her waist. Was she pregnant?
“I’m trying to get my bearings. I haven’t been out this way in years. Do you know an Amish farmer named Ezekiel Lapp?”
Her voice was soft and low. He heard the weariness underlying her tone. The wind blew a strand of her shoulder-length blond curls across her face. She brushed her hair back and tucked it behind her ear as she looked at him with wide blue eyes.
She was a pretty woman. Her daughters, identical twins by the look of them, were the spitting images of her with blue eyes and curly blond hair. Some man was fortunate to have such handsome children and a lovely wife to come home to at night.
She placed a hand on each little girl’s head in a comforting or perhaps protective gesture, her fingers moving gently through their hair. She raised her chin as she faced him.
The gesture reminded him of his wife, Katie, and sent a painful pang through his chest. Katie used to give him that exact look when she was determined to do things her own way. The woman at the roadside wasn’t physically similar to his wife. She was tiny where Katie had been tall and willowy. She was fair where Katie had been dark, but the two women shared the same stubborn set to their chins and the same determination in their eyes. He smiled in spite of himself.
Katie would have been a good mother, too...if only she had lived.
He shut away his heartbreaking memories. Katie May was gone, their unborn child laid to rest with her. It had been four years since their passing, but his grief was as sharp as if it had been yesterday. Most folks thought he had moved on with his life. He’d tried to, but he couldn’t forgive God or himself for her death.
He looked away from the young woman and her children. “I don’t know him. I’m not from this area.”
Realizing how gruff his voice sounded, he gestured to the tarp on the flatbed wagon behind him. It had taken him eight weeks to restore the sleigh and two days to haul it this far. He was anxious to drop it off and head home. “I’m delivering this sleigh to Melvin Taylor. The directions he sent said he lived four miles south of this intersection. Does that help?”
Her face brightened. “I remember Melvin. He lived a half mile south of Grandfather’s farm. We can find our way now. Thank you. Come on, girls.” She repositioned the backpack on her shoulder and took each girl by the hand as she started down the road.
John didn’t urge his horses to move. A three-and-a-half-mile walk was a lot to ask of such small children, and the woman if she was pregnant. It would be dark before they arrived at their destination. The mid-November day had been pleasant so far, but it would get cold when the sun started to go down.
He didn’t normally concern himself with the affairs of the Englisch, but something about this young woman kept him from driving away. Maybe it was the worry he had glimpsed on her face when he first saw her, or how she spoke so caringly to her girls. Perhaps it was the way she squared her shoulders, looking as if she carried a great weight upon them. He didn’t know what it was, but he couldn’t leave without offering her assistance.
Maybe it was because she reminded him of Katie.
This is foolish. They’ll be fine on their own. An Amish family wouldn’t think twice about walking that far.
However, an Amish mother and her children would be properly dressed with heavy coats and sturdy shoes. The thin white shoes on this woman’s feet didn’t look as if they would last a mile. He sighed heavily and urged his team forward to catch up with her.
He pulled his horses to a halt beside her. “It’s a long walk, frau. I can give you a lift. I’m going in the same direction.”
She stopped walking and eyed him with obvious indecision. “That’s very kind of you, but I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble.” It was, but it would trouble him more to leave her.
“We’ll be fine.” She started walking again.
Stubborn woman. “It will be dark before you get there. The kinder, the children, already look tired.”
She glanced at her girls and then at him. “You’re right, they are tired. It was a long bus ride from...home.” Her gaze slid away from his.
He didn’t care where she was from or why she didn’t want to share that information. The more time he spent reasoning with her, the longer his client would be waiting. He leaned toward her. “Then hand the children up to me and save them a long walk.”
She hesitated, chewing on the corner of her lower lip.
Exasperated, he was ready to leave her and get on with his journey. “You’ll be safe with me, frau, if that is what worries you.”
“That’s exactly what a serial killer would say.”
He scowled at her but noticed the twinkle in her eyes as she tried to hide a smile. “Are you teasing me?”
She grinned. “I was trying to, but I fear I have offended you.”
The Englisch were a strange lot. “I take no offense. Give over your kinder.”
He took each child she lifted to him and settled them on the bench seat, knowing he would likely be sorry for his generosity before long. The children would whine and cry, and the woman would probably talk his ear off. He offered her his hand.
A blush stained her cheeks rosy pink. “I’m not as light as the girls.”
He almost laughed at the absurd notion that she was too heavy to lift. “I can get you up here without undue effort...unless your pockets are full of bricks. Are they?”
A smile twitched at the corner of her lips. “They aren’t, but you may think so.”
Her sweet expression pulled a chuckle from him in return. “I doubt that.”
She slipped her hand in his. Her fingers were soft and dainty compared to his big calloused paw. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to hold a woman’s hand, how it made a man feel strong and protective. Gazing into her upturned face, he was drawn to the humor lingering in her blue eyes. Sunlight glinted on her hair as the breeze tugged at her curls. He easily pulled her up to the wagon seat. The delicate scent of jasmine reached him. Was it her perfume?
Amish women never wore perfume. It was considered worldly to do so and was thus forbidden, but the fragrance of this young woman reminded John of summer evenings spent on his grandmother’s porch as the bees hummed around the hanging plants she had cherished. Perhaps he would buy a plant in the spring to remind him of his grandmother and of this young mother.
He slowly released her hand and forced himself to concentrate on his horses. “Walk on, Jake. Get along, Pete.”
* * *
Willa Chase glanced from under her lashes at the man beside her. Her Amish Good Samaritan had amazing strength. He had lifted her pregnant bulk with one hand as easily as he had lifted her three-year-old daughters. Seated beside him, she felt dwarfed by his size, but, oddly, he didn’t intimidate her. He had spoken gruffly at first, but there was a gentle kindness beneath his teasing that put her at ease.
It was an unusual feeling for her. Before her husband died, he had taught her not to be the trusting sort. Perhaps she’d made an exception because this man was Amish. She had been Amish once, too. A very long time ago. To keep her children safe, she would become Amish again. Then Willa Chase and her daughters would disappear forever.
“I like horsey. Like horsey man,” Lucy said, giving their driver a shy smile.
“Horse bad. Man bad.” Megan glared at him and stuck out her lower lip as if daring him to argue with her.
“No, he isn’t bad, Megan.” Willa slanted a glance at the man beside her. As was typical of married Amish men, he wore a beard but no mustache. “I’m sorry about that, sir.”
He shrugged. “Little ones speak the truth as they see it.”
Relieved that he wasn’t offended, she smiled her thanks. “You must have children of your own if you know how embarrassing they can be.”
His expression hardened. “Nee, Gott has not blessed me with kinder.”
His tone said the conversation was over. Remembering how much her Amish grandfather had disliked idle chitchat, Willa whispered to her girls, “We must be quiet so we don’t scare the horses or annoy our new friend.”
She settled them against her sides, hoping they would fall asleep again as they had on the bus. Willa remained silent, too. The less she said, the better. She couldn’t believe she had let slip that she was going to her grandfather’s farm, but at least she’d caught herself before she blurted out where they were from.
God had been looking out for her when He sent this man to aid her. Unlike some of the talkative, nosy people on the bus who were full of questions about the twins, an Amish person was unlikely to be inquisitive. Most believed it was impolite to question strangers. Others worried they might be speaking to a shunned former member and would choose silence out of caution. Either way, it worked to her advantage now.
Soon they would be safe with her grandfather. She refused to think about what would happen if he turned them away. He wouldn’t. She had to believe that.
The rocking of the wagon, the jingle of the harnesses and the steady clip-clop of the horses’ hooves slowly soothed the tenseness from her muscles. She closed her eyes to rest them just for a minute.
The moment she opened the door and saw a police officer standing in the hall outside their apartment in a run-down section of Columbus, Willa knew something terrible had happened. An accident, the officer said. A hit-and-run. Glen was dead. They were still looking for the driver. At least the police officer didn’t take her daughters away from her.
Willa stumbled through the following days of grief with leaden feet. After writing to inform Glen’s parents, she moved again. Glen had always been the one to say when and where they went. He knew how to erase their trail—only no matter how often they moved, he would inevitably come home one day and say they had to go again. His parents were closing in. She shared Glen’s deep-seated fear without knowing why. She knew only that his parents had the power and the money to take the children away. They said she was an unfit mother. She had been, but she was better now. Glen was the one who knew what to do. How could she fight his parents without him? She was pregnant, broke and on her own against their terrible scheme. She could think of only one way to keep her children safe. She had to run.
Someone grabbed her arm. Willa jerked upright. It took her a few seconds to gather her foggy wits. The wagon had stopped moving. She found her Amish Good Samaritan staring at her.
“You were asleep. I feared you’d falla out da wagon.”
She checked her daughters and found them awake, too. “I guess I was more tired than I thought.”
He released her. “Is this your grandfather’s place?”
She looked past him and saw a mailbox for E. Lapp. A glance up the lane proved she had arrived at her destination, for she recognized the farm where she’d grown up. “It is. Girls, we are here. Thank the nice man for giving us a ride.”
Lucy did. Megan only glared at him. Willa got down and lifted them off the wagon without his help. He touched the brim of his hat and drove on. He glanced back once. Willa knew because she was still standing by the mailbox looking after him. She raised her hand in a simple wave. He did the same and then turned back to the road.
The Amish were quiet, kind, peaceful people. Willa had forgotten how unassuming they could be during the years she had been away. Her Good Samaritan hadn’t asked a single question about who she was or why she was in the middle of nowhere with two little children. She was glad he hadn’t. She hated the idea that she might have had to lie to him.
She watched the burly man drive away with a sense of loss, almost as if she were losing a gentle giant of a friend. Although he was a stranger, she had felt safe in his company. For the first time since her panicked flight from Columbus, she felt hopeful about her decision to return to her Amish grandfather. It had to be the right choice. She didn’t have another option.
She cupped a hand over her abdomen and raised her chin. Time was short, but she would find a safe place for her daughters and her unborn baby before it was too late.
Adjusting her bag on her shoulder, she shepherded her tired girls up the dirt lane. When she drew close to the house, she saw an elderly man standing on the farmhouse steps. It had been ten years since they’d last met. It wasn’t a time she liked to recall. She stopped a few feet away. “Hello, Grandfather.”
Ezekiel Lapp’s weathered face gave no indication of what he was thinking. His dark Amish clothing, full gray beard and black hat added to his somber appearance, but he was frailer and thinner than she remembered. Her daughters clung to her legs as they peered at him from behind her.
“Why have you come?” he asked.
“I wanted you to meet my daughters. This is Megan and this is Lucy.” Willa placed a hand behind their heads and urged them to step forward. Lucy faced him, but Megan spun around and retreated behind Willa again.
“Hi.” Lucy opened and closed her fingers to wave at him.
“Where is your Englisch husband?” Ezekiel asked, ignoring the child.
“Glen passed away six months ago.”
* * *
“It was Gott’s will, but I am sorry for your loss,” Ezekiel said softly in Pennsylvania Deitsh, the language of the Amish.
Willa blinked back tears. The pain was still fresh in her heart. “Danki. Thank you.”
“Mama is sad,” Megan said.
“I sad,” Lucy added. “I’m cold, Mama.”
The early fall wind had a bite to it. Willa shivered despite the coat she wore. It wasn’t heavy enough, but it was the only one she had that she could button across her pregnant stomach.
“Come inside.” Ezekiel turned and went in the house without waiting for them.
Relief made Willa’s knees weak. So far, so good.
She had no idea what she would do if he turned them away. She had spent the last of her money to get this far. Unless her grandfather took them in, they would be sleeping in a barn or under a bridge tonight. She climbed the steps with the girls close beside her.
Inside the house, little had changed since the day her parents walked away from their Amish life with her in tow. The wide plank floor of the kitchen had been scrubbed clean. A simple table with four chairs sat in the center of the room. The windows were free of shades or curtains, for an upright Amish family in her grandfather’s ultraconservative church had nothing to hide from the outside world. A single plate, cup and fork in the dish drainer by the sink proved her grandfather still lived alone. The room smelled faintly of bleach and stout coffee. The scent transported her to the past the way nothing else had done.
She had been fifteen the last time she stood in this room, completely confused by the family quarrel taking place. One day she was Amish and knew her place in the world. She knew what was expected of her. She had been a week away from her baptism. The next week she was an awkward, shy, frightened girl trying to fit into the perplexing English world her parents had chosen.
Her Amish childhood had been filled with hard work, but she had been happy here. If her grandfather took them in, she could be happy here again. Nothing mattered as long as she had her children with her.
She led her girls to the heavy wood-burning cookstove and held out her hands to the welcome heat. “Don’t touch. It’s very hot,” she cautioned them.
“Are your children hungry?” her grandfather asked, speaking Deitsh.
“I’m sure they are.”
“Have them sit.” He walked to the counter and opened a drawer.
Willa helped the girls out of their coats and seated them at the table. She hung their coats on pegs by the front door and then stood behind her daughters, not daring to assume the invitation included her.
He scowled when he turned around. “Sit. I will not eat with you, but I am permitted to feed the hungry as our Lord commanded us. Then you must go.”
Willa’s heart sank, but she held on to the hope that he would change his mind when he learned the details of her situation. She took a seat at the table and waited while her grandfather prepared church spread for her daughters.
A mixture of peanut butter, marshmallow cream and maple syrup, the tasty treat was often served on bread or used as a dip for apples or pears. He spread it on thick slices of homemade bread and set it on plates in front of them. It was just as good as Willa remembered...
The girls loved it. When they were finished eating, she led them to the stark living room and settled them for a nap on the sofa.
When she was sure they were sleeping, she returned to the kitchen. Her grandfather sat at the table with a cup of coffee in his hands.
She stood across from him and laid a protective hand on her stomach. “I have no money. I have no job. I don’t have a place to live, and my baby is due the second week of January.”
Willa thought she glimpsed a flash of sympathy in his eyes. “Your husband’s family will not help you?”
A chill slipped over her skin. She crossed her arms to ward it off. They were the ones claiming she was an unfit mother because of her mental breakdown. According to Glen, they had paid an unscrupulous judge to grant them custody of the twins while she was in the hospital. Willa knew nothing about the law, but without money and without Glen to help her, they would succeed in taking her children away. She couldn’t allow that. “Nee, you are my last hope.”
* * *
Her grandfather took a sip of his coffee. “I have no money to give you.”
“I don’t want money. I wish to return to the Amish faith.” She held her breath, hoping he believed her.
He was silent for a long time. She waited and prayed for his forgiveness and for his understanding.
He shook his head. “I can’t help you. You must go.”
She couldn’t bear to hear those words. Not after she had come so far. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them back. “Please, I’m begging you. I have nowhere else to go. Don’t turn us away. We are your flesh and blood.”
His brow darkened. “You come to me wearing Englisch clothes, with your shorn hair and your head uncovered. I see no repentance in you. I have heard none from your lips, yet you say you want to be Amish again. You share in the shame your father brought to this house.”
“I was a child. I had no choice but to go with my parents.”
“You chose to remain in the Englisch world all these years, even after the death of my son and his wife. You could have come back then. I would have taken you in. Nee, I will not help you now. This suffering, you have brought on yourself.” He rose, put on his hat and coat and went out the door.
Willa sat at the table and dropped her head on her crossed arms as she gave in to despair. Gut-wrenching sobs shook her body. Why was God doing this? Hadn’t she suffered enough? How much more would He ask of her?
