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

by Jo Ann Brown

  She frowned at the pile of dark blue. The pup raised his head at a few escaped foot taps. How far down did it need to be ripped out? The rows had been neat and organized. Until she met Malachi. No, she’d managed to keep it together beyond that. The stitching had gotten uneven when she’d fallen in love with him.

  Crossing her arms on the paperwork strewed over the kitchen table, Ruth dropped her head upon them. Experience is a hard teacher, the old adage said. She gives the test first and the lesson afterward. Ruth clenched her jaw. She’d failed the test. Miserably. She’d done the opposite of what she’d planned—she’d fallen in love with an Amish man.

  Ruth bit her lower lip as another unwanted homily surfaced. Advice when most needed is least heeded. She hadn’t listened to her own advice. If she had, she wouldn’t have fallen in love. And definitely not with a man who already had a sweetheart. How foolish was that?

  I will not cry, she vowed as she pushed off the table, though her lips felt numb and her eyes hurt. Sitting back, she stared at the papers spread over the table’s surface. The writing on the pages could be hieroglyphics for all she saw.

  Apparently it was Gott’s will for her to leave Miller’s Creek. Because she certainly couldn’t stay. Not now. An Amish man had tempted her from her path. Ruth pressed her lips together to prevent a sob. But Gott had wisely put an obstacle in that direction. Malachi’s already-chosen match. So Ruth’s path must lie in another direction. One she’d finally set in motion.

  Her eyes wandered around the home she’d grown up in. The one she’d shared with her daed. She looked at the furniture pieces he’d made. Those would go with her, of course. Even if she had to cram them into a tiny apartment with considerably less space than the rambling farmhouse had. But all her memories of her father were here or at the shop or somewhere in the community. And he wouldn’t be around to make new ones in new places with her anymore.

  A few shallow breaths fought off her threatening nausea. She calmed herself with the realization that she didn’t have to sell the farm. The acreage could be rented, while the house remained available for her to stay in. Should she come back for a visit. Or return permanently, if the Englisch world wasn’t all she hoped it to be.

  But if she stayed in the Amish community, she’d already disregarded the other husband prospects here. She’d be an old maid. Bile crept up the back of Ruth’s throat. The pain of that stigma and loneliness would be less than the ache of seeing a married Malachi every day and every other Sunday at church. Assuming she could get her job back.

  Dropping her chin, she tried to focus on the rows of numbers in front of her. Concentrate on this. This test you won’t fail. With a sigh, Ruth shoved the coursework to one side of the table. The challenge of learning didn’t bring the joy it once did. The pencil rolled and dropped to the floor with a clatter, and the puppy scrambled after it.

  Ruth wearily got up, amazed at how tired just trying not to cry made her, and picked up the pencil before Rascal gnawed on it with his needle-sharp teeth. Picking him up as well, she rested her chin on his head.

  “Let’s go to bed. I can’t seem to do much else.”

  Rascal sensed her mood and did his business without his standard exploration when they went for their nightly trek outside.

  He offered further support with his quiet, warm presence once they were in bed, when Ruth whispered, “Please, Gott, let him be happy. I bow to Your will, but pray that Your will is also that Malachi be happy. Even if I won’t be the one to make him so.”

  * * *

  Midmorning the following day, Ruth apprehensively stepped into the Dew Drop Inn, the piece of paper with the names and numbers Mr. Morrow had mentioned clenched tightly in her hand. She’d gone to work early to ease the guilt of leaving briefly when she hoped the traffic at the restaurant was slower. When she’d mumbled her request for an unscheduled break to Malachi, she’d kept her eyes downcast. Ruth couldn’t look at him. It hurt too much. He, too, seemed more than usually subdued in his response, although he’d murmured an agreement to her request.

  It was the first time she’d seen him after her call to Mr. Morrow.

  Much to her surprise, there was already a note addressed to her when she reached the counter in the relatively quiet restaurant. It was from one of Mr. Morrow’s contacts, wanting to talk with her. With more dismay than excitement, Ruth discovered when she returned his call that Mr. Morrow had already phoned the numbers and told them of her. The man on the line wanted to talk to Ruth about a job. He was sure she’d be an asset to his operation. He’d arrange for a car to drive her to Madison, about forty miles away. When could she come for an interview?

  With closed eyes, Ruth remembered Malachi holding Leah’s hand and his stilted interaction with Ruth this morning. She started to tell the man she could come up this afternoon if he could arrange the transportation, and even stay for a while. But when she lifted her eyes, she saw Hannah through the café window, exiting the shop where she worked across the street. Hannah, who’d invited her to tomorrow’s cookie exchange.

  Ruth’s eyes darted around the restaurant and the street outside, noting the Amish people, obvious in their Plain garb, who dotted her line of sight. They were her friends and neighbors. A wave of longing washed over her. She wanted to spend Christmas in Miller’s Creek. This one last time. Next year she might be putting up lights and decorations in Madison as the Englisch did. Or driving through Wisconsin’s winter countryside in a car instead of a buggy, but this year she wanted to celebrate the birth of Gott’s son in the Plain way as she had all her life. She clutched the hard plastic of the phone and in a voice not much above a whisper, asked the Madison businessman if after Christmas would be agreeable to him.

  After he’d happily concurred, Ruth returned to work on shaky legs. When she stepped back into the workshop, a quick glance located Malachi. He searched her eyes with an enigmatic gaze before she dropped hers and hurried to hang up her cape and get to her current project.

  Malachi didn’t come near her the rest of the morning. Wanting to avoid her coworkers at lunch, Ruth took her brown bag to the shop where Hannah worked and ate with her friend. That afternoon, she resisted the temptation to look up every time the door opened, just in case it might be him.

  Sometime back, Malachi had told Ruth that if he was already in the office, he’d take care of customers that stopped in. Ruth didn’t know if she should rejoice or regret that the practice gave her less opportunity to see him. And more for any other women who stopped by the store.

  Stop it! She forced her focus to the woodwork before her. Capable hands moved slowly over the wood as she realized in them was the last piece she’d make for what used to be Fisher Furniture. At the pace she was going, she might not finish it before she left the business. And she was going to be gone tomorrow for the cookie exchange.

  Ruth bit her lip when she recalled she hadn’t yet asked Malachi for time off the next day. She bored the screw hole she was working on more fiercely than necessary as she justified that Amish businesses normally closed on Thursday anyway. In fact the store was closed. The workshop stayed open Thursdays, because business had increased to the point they were frequently pressed for time. Which meant Malachi could be in the workshop all day.

  Ruth jutted her chin. She’d worked Thursdays for years. She deserved at least one off. Glancing around the familiar shop, Ruth took in the all the equipment she’d worked on and might never work on again, some she’d had a part in purchasing. Her chin sank in conjunction with her heart. She might as well just take the day. Her absence wouldn’t matter in a short time anyway.

  When the door opened again, Ruth looked up to meet Malachi’s gaze. Something in her expression must have indicated that she wanted to talk, as he leisurely but steadily worked his way in her direction. With every step closer he came, Ruth’s mouth grew drier and her palms more sweaty. Wiping them down her apron, she turned to face him.

&
nbsp; “Ja?” His eyebrow quirked in his otherwise impassive face.

  “I need to be gone tomorrow.”

  Malachi was quiet for a moment after her blunt statement. Even when she’d just met him and was determined not to like him, Malachi’s eyes had always seemed approachable and steady. Now they were cold and distant.

  “Seems like you’re planning to be gone permanently soon.”

  Ruth winced. She was hoping he wouldn’t know of her plans already. Without phones and electricity, news still flowed through the Amish community with the speed of a breaking dam. She recalled the lingering discussion of Samuel and Rebecca behind her in the restaurant when she’d been on the phone. Apparently the Schrock charmer had ears on him as well as a mouth. Well, delaying the news wasn’t going to sweeten it any. Besides, didn’t Malachi have an upcoming wedding to participate in?

  “Ja. Mr. Morrow called one of his business associates. They left a message for me at the Dew Drop. They’re sending a car to pick me up so I can go to Madison and talk to them.”

  His eyes never left hers. “When?”

  It was her turn to swallow. She looked away. “I told him not until after Christmas.” Ruth saw him nod in her peripheral vision. When she faced him again, he was studying the project she’d been working on.

  “You can be gone tomorrow if you’re in position to get this done before you leave the business.”

  Ruth’s eyes widened. “But there’s not enough time!”

  “Whose problem is that? You’re the one dictating the schedule.” He gestured to the pieces of oak around her. “This project was contracted under Fisher Furniture. You told the customer the availability date. Everyone else is working on other pieces with time constraints. If you don’t get it finished, you’ll be the one responsible for disappointing the customer. If you don’t like the time frame, do something about it.”

  Ruth glared at him. Approachable and steady? Ha! His eyes weren’t cold now; they were almost as heated as hers were.

  “All right. I will.” Turning her back on what she’d once foolishly thought was an endearing face, Ruth returned to work with renewed vigor. Refusing to do less than her best on her craft, she worked the rest of the afternoon with almost maniacal focus. She didn’t look up when the men started removing their coats from the rack and going out the door.

  Feeling a gaze on the back of her kapp, Ruth finally glanced over, surprised to see Samuel’s amused eyes regarding her instead of the blue ones she’d braced herself to meet.

  “Still working?”

  “No, thanks to you,” she groused, returning her attention to the bench while she wondered just what level of violence was allowed on a tattletale in a nonviolent culture. Ruth shot him a glare, figuring that’d be within the limits.

  Samuel shook his head. An attractive smile she wanted to wipe off his face creased his cheek. “It’ll be okay,” he promised as he stepped out the door.

  “Lot that you know,” she muttered to the now-closed door.

  It was some time later when Malachi came through the workshop. He regarded her for a few moments, wisely refraining from commenting.

  “I know how to lock up,” she tossed over her shoulder. Her eyes, but not her attention, were still on the project in front of her.

  There were a few beats of silence. “You have a ride home?”

  “I’ll get there.” Ruth scrunched up her face. She would not cry. Again. Turning to the row of shelves on her opposing side, she blindly selected a wooden dowel she didn’t need so he wouldn’t see the quiver in her lip. Fortunately it wasn’t evident in her voice. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Never doubted it,” were the quiet words she heard prior to the thud of the door closing.

  Ruth replaced the dowel and sucked in a deep breath. Wishing and wanting and hoping and crying weren’t going to do her any good. Neither in the short term tonight, nor the long term. Which—she heaved another sigh—seemed very long and bleak at this point. Now that things were in motion for her to leave, she understood what her daed had made her promise. He hadn’t solicited her promise to leave the Amish community to pursue the possibilities in the Englisch world, as she’d always thought. Maybe she’d misinterpreted his wish because it was what she thought she’d wanted. No, he’d made her promise to consciously make a choice—whatever it was—and not just to stay due to expectations or lack of ambition.

  Although he’d talked of missed opportunities, Ruth remembered the smile and the loving look in his eyes whenever he spoke of the mamm she never knew. He’d had a choice. He’d chosen to stay.

  And she was leaving, when every fiber of her being wished that wasn’t the case.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Casting an eye at the skylights that provided most of the light for the shop, Ruth gauged she had about another hour before it would be too dark to work by natural light. A quick search revealed the oil lanterns were still stored where she used to keep them. She grabbed a couple, confirming the oil levels were enough for her to get through the work she needed to finish tonight.

  Several hours later, Ruth rolled her shoulders and tipped back her stiff neck. Fueled by hurt and anger—and the internal debate that she shouldn’t be feeling those things as she was still Amish, for the next few days anyway—she’d made more progress than she’d hoped. The project would be finished before she left. After Christmas. Ruth mentally pushed out her departure a few more days. The man in Madison would surely understand.

  Donning her cape, she stepped out the door and secured it. Ruth hurried toward the Dew Drop Inn, hoping she hadn’t left it too late to use their phone to call for a ride. Luckily an Englisch business kept later hours than an Amish-owned one. Her relief was as weighty as her tired shoulders when she saw the lights were still on. Even better, the Thompsons were just cashing out at the counter. They gladly agreed to give Ruth a ride.

  A short time later, she waved them off from her front step. Ruth had never been so glad to be home. She opened the door to the familiar kitchen, and as she stepped in, she was reminded that she wouldn’t be returning to its welcoming walls for long. Her hip sagged against the counter. Yes, it had been lonely here lately, but not so much since...

  Ruth dashed back out the door. Snow crunched under her feet as she raced as fast as she dared across the frozen farmyard to the chicken coop. In her frustration and irritation tonight, she’d forgotten all about Rascal. He was probably starving. It was long past his dinnertime.

  Ruth slowed her charge when no black-and-white bundle met her at the gate. Quickly unlatching it, she rushed through to enter the coop, hoping to see the pup just waking from a nap. In her haste, she’d forgotten a lamp or a flashlight, but the silence in the dark coop told her it was empty. She called anyway, her pitch rising with each unanswered holler. Making her way to the door, she stumbled into the fenced pen, its emptiness obvious in the moonlit night.

  Pressing her fist against her mouth, Ruth bit down on a frozen knuckle to keep from wailing in distress. She slumped against the fence that enclosed the small pen. The woven wire screeched in the cold night air as it gave slightly under her weight.

  “Oh, Malachi. I need you. I might be able to take care of myself, but I don’t want to anymore.” She couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. Her finger rose to wipe under her runny nose. “I’m so tired of taking care of everything. And obviously I’m not doing a good job of it.” The tears didn’t do any good. Neither did her cry to Malachi. He wasn’t there. Even if she had a horse that wasn’t recovering from lameness, he was miles away. And might not be alone.

  But then, neither was she. Numbly, Ruth looked up to see the endless stars that sprinkled the winter night sky. Blurry at first, they cleared as she blinked the tears away. She felt small. But not alone.

  “Gott,” she whispered, absorbing the immenseness. “I’ve been acting for too long like I could manage by mys
elf. And neglecting to ask Your will. Forgive my hochmut.” Ruth winced at the many times she’d pursued her will instead of asking for Gott’s. “I pray for the peace You promise. For I can’t do it alone. I know that now, what You’ve known all along.”

  Her gaze dropped to the pen, taking in its emptiness. “And, Gott, if it is not too much trouble, please look to one little puppy tonight, as well.”

  Ruth sagged further against the fence, her chin dropping against her chest. While her body felt drained of energy, her mind was curiously relieved. For a few moments, she just breathed. Took in the brisk, clean air, felt the cold at the end of her nose and against her cheeks where the tears had run. She didn’t hear anything on the crystal clearness of the night but the beat of her own heart. And Ruth knew it would be all right. Whatever happened. For Gott had finally shown her gelassenheit. Ruth almost wept anew at the calm spirit that filled her because she’d yielded to His will and not her own.

  Opening her eyes, she gazed unseeingly at the yard of the coop. Unseeing, at first. There were puppy tracks throughout the yard where Rascal romped. Paths packed down due to frequent travel. Generally, he didn’t get close to the fence, except for the gate. Ruth’s gaze sharpened as she took in the ground beneath the end of her cape, where the fence leaned back under her weight. Around her feet, the border of fresh snow had been kicked back. A sprinkling of dirt dug up by paws with sharp little nails topped the dislodged snow. Ruth squatted and found a small hole burrowed under an area of the fence where the bottom wire curled up. Small, but big enough to accommodate an escaping puppy.

  The cold metal of the fence squealed again as she pushed off it and whipped out the gate. Dashing into the house, Ruth grabbed a flashlight and a shawl to drape over her cape. Returning to the pen, she followed puppy-size tracks from the fence until they disappeared in the worn ruts in the snow that traced over the farmyard. Heart pounding, Ruth headed down the lane, afraid of what she might find in the ditch.