The Amish Widower's Twins and the Amish Bachelor's Choice

by Jo Ann Brown

  If Malachi had introduced Ruth to Leah as well, Ruth didn’t hear it over the buzzing in her ears. She gave a curt nod at the vision that had been holding Malachi’s hand, and headed into the workshop, to a world where she belonged. Or at least, one in which she used to belong, she thought as she stiffly strode back to her workstation, clenching her tongue between her teeth to keep any expression from showing on her face.

  Reaching her station, she stared unseeing at the empty workbench. What had she been doing? Oh, yes, she was preparing the desk for shipment. Ruth clasped and unclasped her hands, trying to relax. She’d been looking for a card to place in the drawer. She’d have to ask Malachi what he wanted to do since the cards weren’t available. Later. She’d ask later. She certainly wasn’t going back in there now.

  And now was not a good time to start on another project. She’d either waste the wood, injure herself—she winced at the memory of another injury and the moments of closeness afterward—or she’d disappoint a customer with shoddy workmanship. A glance at the wall clock determined it was close to lunchtime. Interest in food was far from her mind, but escaping briefly was very tempting.

  Ruth swallowed. Thankfully, her stomach acted like it was going to stay in place but she didn’t want to put anything in it right now. But if she couldn’t escape physically, she’d escape mentally. Even if it were into a piece that Malachi didn’t approve of her working on during his time. Ruth’s lips firmed. Maybe now would be the best time to work on something he didn’t approve of. Besides, working on the chair made Ruth feel close to Daed. Although it was painful, too, she needed that sensation now, when her heart and mind were racing and she felt on the edge of a precipice.

  She turned to where she kept the red oak pieces. They weren’t there. Ruth searched under the workbench and in the areas where she kept other projects. No red oak. Quickly rounding the end of her workbench, she checked workstations nearby. Still nothing. Her actions drew questioning looks from others in the workshop.

  Numbly walking back to her workstation, Ruth concentrated on the last time she’d seen the chair. She went still as the memory surfaced. Friday. When she’d just learned of Leah. When Malachi had chastised her for working on it. She’d stormed out and left it. And it was now gone.

  The door to the store opened and Malachi stepped through, immediately looking to her. Ruth met his gaze and didn’t blink as he walked through the shop.

  “Where’s my daed’s rocker?” Ruth didn’t recognize her voice when he was close enough for her to ask without shouting the question that burned through her. She did recognize the subsequent guilt she read in his face.

  “You took it,” she said bleakly.

  He pressed his lips together but made no response.

  Ruth turned away. Any energy she’d possessed swept out of her and she just felt...empty. “Just go. Please, go,” she whispered to the nicked bench that filled her vision.

  When she looked over a moment later, he was gone. Placing her hands on the counter, she dropped her head between her shoulders. A tear escaped from her eye, rolled down her nose and splattered on the wooden surface. How long ago was it that she’d been in this very spot, missing her daed, concerned the new owner would take away her chance to work with the wood, something she loved?

  How ironic that here she was again, crying. Willing to give up woodworking if only she could have the new owner for her own.

  * * *

  Malachi walked back through the workshop. He could have sawed off all his fingers and he wouldn’t have noticed. All he could feel was the pain evident in Ruth’s eyes. He had no words against that kind of heartache. Maybe what he’d done was wrong, but it’d been done for her.

  All morning he’d been trying to think of something to say that would breach whatever happened between them on the ride home yesterday. Something about Leah’s pending visit had disturbed her. Before he could think of a way to broach the subject, the bell had jangled as the store door opened and Leah had come in. Malachi hadn’t been expecting their visit this early. Correction—he hadn’t been expecting their part of the visit to him this early.

  He’d shaken her hand, asking after her and Solomon’s well-being, when Ruth stepped through the shop door, a stunned look on her face. She’d slipped quickly into the office. Not knowing what else to do in the situation, he’d introduced the two women. From what he’d glimpsed of Ruth’s face as she dashed back out the door, that’d been a mistake.

  Turning to follow her, not sure what he’d do beyond wrapping his arms around her when he caught her, Malachi had felt a gentle touch on his sleeve.

  “Your aunt and I came into town to do a little shopping. Miriam was drawn into a discussion at the quilt shop.” Leah smiled charmingly. “I wanted to see your store. We thought you might give me a ride to the bishop’s home, where my daed is visiting as she didn’t know how long she’d be.”

  Malachi looked at her blankly, thinking that she’d be able to walk to the place faster than he could harness his horse and drive her there. He shot a glance at the closed workroom door. Perhaps he could ask Samuel to give Leah the ride, while he checked on Ruth. Samuel never minded driving with a pretty girl.

  Good manners and appreciation for the opportunities Leah’s father had given him over the years made him reluctantly nod. But, he resolved, good manners wouldn’t prevent him from making himself scarce during the rest of their visit to his aunt. Good manners also didn’t stop him from telling Leah to wait in the store while he checked something in the shop. Ruth.

  Never, in all his years of working with furniture, had trying to make something better actually made it worse. Returning to the store after seeing Ruth—seeing her devastated for some reason she wouldn’t say—Malachi noticed his hand trembling as it closed around the knob. He paused and exhaled slowly. After stepping through the door, he closed it on the normally comforting sounds of the shop and turned to see Leah watching him, a smile on her beautiful face.

  “Are you ready?”

  Malachi’s eyes swept over her. There wasn’t anything out of place. Except her presence in his business and life.

  “Ja.”

  * * *

  If Kip was surprised about the unexpected outing in the middle of the day, Malachi wasn’t. It seemed to be Leah’s way. She never outright asked. She sweetly maneuvered. With quiet, gentle nudges.

  Malachi didn’t like it. But he’d always allowed himself to be nudged along.

  It was a primary reason he’d left Ohio. He was afraid he’d be nudged right into standing in front of the district as the bishop joined them as man and wife. It was obviously what Leah and her father wanted. As to what Malachi wanted, well, it hadn’t felt right. It’d felt like a harness collar that didn’t fit well. After a while the collar would wear a hole in his hide. And who knew how long the nudging would stay gentle.

  Malachi took his time harnessing the gelding. It was some time later when he poked his head in the store door and advised Leah the buggy was out front. If she’d wanted to check out the shop, she’d had plenty of time. Hopefully enough so she wouldn’t need to come back.

  Climbing up by the wheel, he felt somewhat churlish when he didn’t offer Leah assistance into the buggy. She gave him a sweet smile, but her eyes reflected surprise as she settled into the seat on his left side. A wife’s side, Malachi noted sourly as he gathered the reins. Leah gracefully tucked her cape around her and Malachi signaled Kip to head out.

  Malachi glanced over at the perfect profile visible just beyond the edge of her black bonnet. Returning his attention to the horse in front of him, he sighed. Yes, she was perfect, but for someone else. Not him. He clicked to Kip, who picked up his pace. Malachi’s tense shoulders began to relax. The sooner he delivered Leah to her father, the better.

  Kip made Malachi think of his new Belgian geldings. And another way to encourage plodding companions other than nudging. Jeb, the
older Belgian, would get the field plowed or the lumber hauled in a slow and steady pace. It was his teaming with eager and enthusiastic Huck that got work done more quickly, and Malachi could tell, more enjoyably, for the pair. Malachi’s lips quirked. Kind of like him. And...his badger. He could put his shoulders into the collar every day and pull willingly to accomplish things, but it was being in harness with Ruth that brought joy and passion to those accomplishments.

  Malachi sat up straighter at the realization. Leah looked over and smiled. Sweetly. Gently. Her right hand gracefully dropped, palm up, to the seat between them. Malachi kept his focus on the straps of leather and brown back that moved in steady rhythm ahead of him. He could still see the hand rested on the seat. Kip’s ears flicked back at the instructions that telegraphed down the reins to move faster. Malachi subtly shifted to the right until his elbow brushed the side of the buggy.

  * * *

  “Everything all right?”

  Ruth wasn’t surprised at Rebecca’s question. She forced her stiff lips to smile and strove to ignore what she knew were red-rimmed eyes.

  “Everything’s fine, thanks,” she lied to the waitress, trying not to wince as she said the words. Everything was far from fine. Which was why she was taking action. Do not ask the Lord to guide your footsteps if you are not willing to move your feet. The proverb popped into her head. I’m moving my feet, Lord. I just omitted the asking part.

  A grimace edged across Ruth’s face. She had no excuse not to ask Gott to guide her steps. It was why she always wore the kapp. Women covered their heads when they prayed. As they were to pray continually, the kapp was always worn.

  But if it was Gott’s will that she stay, why would He make it so painful? So it must be His will that she go. And it was what she wanted, so she was keeping her promise to Daed that she choose her path. She was simply going to move her feet before she could change her mind.

  “I just need to use the phone.”

  “Oh, sure,” the young woman agreed before turning to the next customer with a smile. A big smile. Even in her misery, Ruth turned her head to see who was greeted with such enthusiasm, then instantly wished she hadn’t. It was Samuel. Of course.

  She whipped around and hunched her shoulders, trying to make herself smaller or, hopefully, even disappear before he saw her. It didn’t work. She caught his quizzical glance at her before he flashed a smile that matched the one the pretty waitress offered him. Ruth waited for a minute before she picked up the phone receiver, hoping Rebecca would ring him up and he’d move on. No such luck. Samuel was in full flirt mode and Rebecca was a willing recipient. She even rang up a few other customers, who looked askance at Ruth as they passed her hovering at the end of the counter.

  Sighing, Ruth lifted the receiver and dialed the number she’d memorized. As she listened to it ring, she cleared her throat several times. Maybe no one would pick up and she wouldn’t have to do this. No. It had to be done. She drummed her fingers on the countertop to drown out the sound of the man’s voice behind her. The voice that was too much like his brother’s.

  “Hello, Mr. Morrow? This is Ruth Fisher of Fisher Furn—I mean Schrock Brothers Furniture. Yes. I’m fine, thank you. How are you doing? That’s gut to hear.” She let the man ramble on for a moment. He talked even faster than she did.

  “Say, Mr. Morrow,” Ruth interjected when he took a breath. She hunched around the phone, dropping the volume of her voice. “When we visited you earlier, you mentioned you knew of a few people in Portage or Madison who might be interested in hiring me if I was available. I was wondering if you could provide some names and numbers.”

  Ruth squeezed her eyes shut as Mr. Morrow exclaimed over this request. Although not listening, she was throbbingly conscious of the conversation behind her and who was in it. “Yes, yes. I realize it’s a big step. But it’s one I’m ready to make. Things have changed here and I...I need to make a change, as well.” A tear dripped down from her compressed eyes and splashed on the black plastic phone. Opening her eyes, Ruth hastily wiped it off.

  “If you could give me a few names now, that’d be wonderful. Yes, you know we’re not available at phones for a callback. Yes, I’ll wait.” Briefly and painfully. Her heart thumped with every second as Mr. Morrow apparently pulled up a computer screen. “Yes, I’m ready. Okay, got that. And the next? Could you please repeat those last two numbers?” She struggled to make the pen mark on the sweat-dampened note in her hand. “Okay. No, that’s enough for now. Thanks so much, Mr. Morrow.”

  Carefully setting the receiver into the cradle, Ruth muttered thanks to a distracted Rebecca and hustled out the café door. Once outside, she flicked a quick glance back through the glass windows that fronted the café. To her relief, Samuel wasn’t paying any attention to her. And as she had his attention, Rebecca wasn’t, either.

  Pent-up energy ebbed out of Ruth. She managed to get two storefronts down before she leaned against a hitching post, knees weak from making the call and the realization of the change in her life that she’d just implemented. She blew out a deep breath. Perhaps it was possible to go back.

  The rapid tattoo of hoofbeats filtered through her bonnet. Turning her head, she saw a bay coming down the street. It was Kip. In the buggy was Malachi, his face turned in conversation to Leah, seated on his left. Where Leah would continue to sit with Malachi. Ruth watched them travel down the street and turn the corner.

  No. Going back wasn’t possible.

  * * *

  Malachi looked up from the onerous task of accounting to see Samuel prop a broad shoulder against the door frame. He frowned. Samuel never sought him out in the office. If he had something to talk about, he’d call Malachi over when he was in the workshop or wait to discuss it at home over chores or supper.

  “Well, big bruder. I don’t know what you did, but apparently you did it with your standard flair for effectiveness.”

  Setting his pencil down, Malachi swiveled the wooden desk chair to meet his brother full on. Something in Samuel’s normally irreverent tone conveyed that complete attention was necessary. Attention that’d been fractured since Ruth had stared at him with devastated eyes.

  Since returning from driving Leah to meet her father at the bishop’s house, he’d thought of nothing but Ruth, which was why he’d pulled the accounting out to punish himself. Several times he’d sprung from the desk chair to pace to the workshop door, only to return and plop down in the chair again. He didn’t know yet what to say to settle whatever was going on in that active mind of hers.

  She was a reasonable woman. Normally. Sometimes. Maybe his drive home would provide time to consider a reasonable response. He’d leave a little early and stop by the shop where Hannah worked and let her know he’d be picking up Ruth in the morning. It was unlikely Ruth would jump out once she was in the buggy, regardless of what she thought of their conversation. It’d be a good time to talk. Maybe she’d calm down overnight, a little at least. If people started speculating from the frequent buggy rides that they were walking out—Malachi shuffled that around in his mind much as a horse might work a new bit in his mouth—maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.

  “She’s leaving.”

  Malachi was confused with Samuel’s flat statement. “Of course she is. She and her daed weren’t planning to stay long.”

  “I don’t mean Leah. I mean the other one. The one you want, big bruder. Ruth is leaving.”

  “What?” Malachi stood up so fast the wooden desk chair rocked against his leg. Its motion slowed much faster than his suddenly racing heart.

  “Just overheard her using the phone at the Dew Drop. She called a Mr. Morrow.” Samuel’s eyes quirked toward Malachi to see if the name meant anything to his brother. Reading that it did, he continued, “She was asking about names and numbers of people in Portage and Madison that might want to hire her. She said something about needing to make a change. I think you had a change in m
ind for her, as well. But I don’t believe it was this one.”

  When Malachi’s gaze darted to the workshop door, Samuel straightened from his slouch against the doorjamb. “She’s not there. You’ve got some work to do, bruder.” He shook his head. “When I find the woman I might want to marry, I’m going to make it a lot less complicated than you.”

  Staring at the door, Malachi eased back into his chair. He didn’t like complicated, either. How did it get to this point? How did he fix it? As he gazed unseeingly out the office window to the well-ordered showroom beyond, things finally started to fall into place like the handcrafted furniture it displayed. Intricately, seamlessly, beautifully.

  He wanted Ruth for his wife. It was as simple as that. He’d come to Miller’s Creek for a business and had found a match. Now if only he could make Ruth see that, as well.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bits of red rubber flew across the lamp-lit table as Ruth furiously erased what she’d just written. She slumped back in her chair and tossed the now-eraserless pencil onto the table. If she hadn’t already gone back and forth several times between knitting and the coursework tonight, she’d go back to knitting again. But she’d dropped two stitches on one row of the much-abused afghan and picked up three stitches the following row. Those were just the mistakes she was aware of. It was a mess. So was Ruth.

  The pup lay at her feet under the table. Even he was tired of the pacing back and forth. Ruth curled her toes to keep her foot from tapping and stayed put, although her eyes returned to the mound of yarn in the rocker. She sucked in and blew out a breath in a long huff.

  Usually her knitting, unlike her inept quilting, was impeccable. And calming. Nothing was calming tonight. Ruth’s mind churned as much as her stomach. The challenge with the knitting wasn’t just this evening. She’d been making one mistake after another on the project. Several rows required ripping out and redoing, an exercise Ruth despised.