Her Secret Amish Child

She would always grieve the two tiny souls. She’d asked Gott to protect them from Jonah’s bruising blows. But Gott chose a different path for them. Both had died in her arms. It had been Gott’s will, but she would never understand. She’d left a part of her heart there in that cold Ohio soil. She would never forget her boys.

* * *

Fredrik moved fast through the spacious apartment behind the house on Ulla’s property—his property—noting the discolored walls begged for a lick of paint. He frowned as he walked into the kitchen and viewed the table. Once sturdy, it now made do on three legs and threatened to fall. It would have to be thrown out and a new one built. Someday he would be building furniture for his home, maybe even a cradle for his firstborn son.

He rubbed his hands together as he visualized the new eating area. He would build the replacement table a bit bigger than this tiny one.

He opened a door at the back of the kitchen. Narrow shelves lined the shallow pantry walls, ready for jars of homemade jams and spices.

He turned on his heel and looked back into the kitchen. He could picture someone in the galley-shaped work space, cooking their simple meals. He took in a long, satisfying breath of air. Whiffs of gasoline and machine oil wiped the smile off his face. To keep its musky smell from seeping into the apartment, he’d need to seal the walls of the storage shed built against the outer partition of the room.

He glanced out the window to the big white house down the driveway. His spirits rose. He had finally found the home he had been looking for. Ulla’s house was certain-sure good enough to bring a fraa home to, and he’d been surprised when she’d lowered the price down to a manageable amount for him this morning. He’d start to search for his bride from amongst the church ladies. He’d missed a lot of church services the past three months, his mind busy with work and not on spiritual growth.

He was a little hesitant when conjuring up faces of the eligible women he knew. What if he decided on someone and they turned him down? Without a doubt, he knew Lizbeth Mullet would reject him.

The color of Lizbeth’s hair caught his attention, drawing him away from his thoughts. He couldn’t settle on her just yet. He would have to grow spiritually, find a way to make himself the kind of man she’d want for a husband, and then see.

Thoughts of marriage were on his mind all the time, filling every moment of the day now that he’d made his decision to wed.

For years the idea of courtship with anyone set alarm bells ringing. Unrequited love had sent him running back to Pinecraft and the comfort of a small, lonely apartment in Sarasota. He’d finally healed, but he hadn’t been ready for this step of faith. Until now.

He didn’t know what had changed, but something was building in him, an excitement, some emotion he didn’t completely understand. Perhaps it came because of the loneliness he endured, or the way his body ached when he worked extrahard for nothing more than his own benefit. Both were reminders that he wasn’t a boy anymore. At twenty-nine he wasn’t exactly long in the tooth, but time was passing and he wanted to find someone to share his life with. Maybe even start a family now that he had a family home to raise kinner in.

He heard voices and made his way to the open apartment door. Chicken John stood on the side steps of the house Fredrik had just purchased, his back to him, talking to someone inside.

“There’s a work shed outside, not that you’ll need one. But the backyard is perfect for Benuel.” Chicken John stepped down onto the driveway.

From inside the house a feminine voice called out, “Gut. I’ll be right out.”

Fredrik walked into the bright sunshine, leaving the apartment door ajar.

Chicken John placed a hand against his brow, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight. A smile of welcome lifted the corners of his mouth. “You scared the life out of me, Fredrik. I thought we were the only ones on the property. Weren’t you supposed to come by yesterday?”

Fredrik returned his smile. “I was, but I got busy at work and ran out of daylight. I hope you don’t mind me coming by today.”

“Nee. Today is gut. You know you’re always welcome, but I think you might have left it a bit too late if you were interested in buying this house.” He leaned toward Fredrik and whispered, “Lizbeth needs a rental house. If she likes what she sees she’ll snatch this place away from you.”

Nerves gripped his stomach. He’d have to be the one to break the news about the sale of the house to Lizbeth and her father. He hated the idea of slipping the house from her grasp, but he needed it as much as she did. She could always stay at her father’s if she didn’t find a place to rent. His need was more urgent. He wanted to marry. If he could talk Lizbeth into courting him, she would have this house as her own, and he’d have a wife he might eventually learn to love. If he could find a way to trust her with his heart.

The screen door squealed for oil as Lizbeth appeared and stepped onto the porch. She turned in his direction, her brow furrowing from the bright noontime sun. She wore the same navy dress and shoes she’d worn to church on Sunday. Again today her expression was relaxed and friendly.

“Fredrik,” she said and nodded.

He tipped his straw hat in her direction and grinned back, noticing her smile reached her warm blue eyes. “Lizbeth.”

“You two have made friends?” Chicken John said, his tone inquisitive.

Fredrik spoke first. “A long time ago—”

“Ya, well. Remember, Benuel and I just happened to meet Fredrik at the café and became friends,” Lizbeth interjected, cutting off his words. Something in her gaze told Fredrik she still didn’t want her daed to remember they knew each other as children. “And speaking of Benuel, we really should be on our way. Ulla offered to watch him for a few hours. Not the whole day.”

“Ya, you’re right. We’ve taken too long,” her father agreed. He reached around, locked the doorknob from the inside and then shut the side door behind him. “Good seeing you, Fredrik. I’ll call you about the house repairs later today.”

“Ya. Later today is perfect. I’ll be at the shop. It’s gut seeing you again, Lizbeth. Tell Benuel I said hello.”

She dipped her head in acknowledgment. “I’ll tell him. You have a pleasant night,” she said and hurried away, the sun reflecting strands of gold in her hair.

His heart racing at the sight of her, Fredrik pushed his straw hat down on his head and followed behind them as they crunched down the pea gravel driveway. He was ashamed he hadn’t found the nerve to tell Lizbeth he’d bought the house she wanted as her own, but his dreams of working in the leaning shed blossomed. Became bigger than life.

He observed Lizbeth as she gathered up the skirt of her plain blue cotton dress and climbed onto her bike. He liked the way she held her head high, as if nothing could touch her.

Both turned and waved as they pedaled off. He wondered about the widow wearing a different colored dress now. Did that mean she was over her time of mourning? When she’d arrived in Pinecraft she’d still dressed in black.

He knew grief could make a woman distant and unfriendly, but Lizbeth seemed friendlier now. Perhaps he’d done the right thing putting her name on his list of potential women to step out with. The fact she had a boy didn’t bother him one bit. It just made his odds better, since she might be looking for a prospective husband to help raise her son. And she might not expect a potential husband to immediately surrender his heart.

He looked back at the simple wood house and lifted his shoulders as he took in a long, contented breath. He or Ulla would tell John he’d bought the house. No doubt the man could find another house for Lizbeth, but until Fredrik found a suitable wife, he was in no hurry. The widow could rent from him and live in the house if she wanted. He didn’t mind sharing, but she’d have to move once he married. He truly believed Gott would help him find his bride soon.

Fredrik made his way back to the apartment door, his gaze wandering to the backyard shaded by a big oak draped full of hanging moss. Lizbeth’s son seemed full of energy. This yard would have been the perfect place for a boy like him to play. It still could be.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he opened the solid wooden apartment door he’d left ajar and stepped back inside, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dim light. The picture window at the side of the big room had a set of closed, wide wooden blinds that blotted out the daylight. He tugged on their dangling cord and stepped back as dust floated on the sunlight flooding the room. The walls had once been a bright white, but now looked yellow with age. Just as he’d thought, they would need to be washed down and painted.

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