A Mother's Secret

by Gabrielle Meyer

  And they fed carrots to Percy, their buggy horse, who was grazing in the field that ran alongside the lane.

  Susannah’s mind called up all the things she had to be thankful for—her family, her health, a community that had supported her through a difficult time and now a perfect spring afternoon.

  Ten minutes later, they reached the mailbox. Susannah had her hand inside, trying to reach to the back, where it seemed at least one piece of mail always managed to land, when Shiloh stepped closer and Sharon began to bounce from foot to foot.

  “Someone’s coming,” Sharon said.

  Susannah shielded her eyes against the afternoon sun, at first curious and then disbelieving and finally completely confused. What was he doing here?

  * * *

  Micah Fisher had taken his time finding his way out to the farm. He’d figured that as long as he was in town, he might as well check things out. Then he’d realized he was hungry again, so he’d stopped by the coffee shop where the two Amish ladies had been standing. He ate a leisurely lunch and used the time to charge his phone since he wouldn’t be able to do so at his grandparents’ farm.

  The sun was low in the western sky by the time he hitched a ride to the edge of town. The driver let him out at a dirt road that led to several Amish farms. He’d never been to visit his grandparents before. They always came to Maine. But he had no trouble finding their place. His mamm’s instructions had been very clear.

  As he drew close to the lane that led to the farmhouse, he noticed a young woman standing by the mailbox. A little girl was holding her hand and another was hopping from foot to foot. They were all three staring at him.

  “Howdy,” he said.

  The woman only nodded, but the two girls responded with “Hello”—one whispered and the other shouted.

  “Can we help you?” the woman asked. “Are you...lost?”

  “Nein. At least I don’t think I am.”

  “You must be if you’re here. This is the end of the road.”

  Micah pointed to the farm next door. “Abigail and John Fisher live there?”

  “They do.”

  “Then I’m not lost.” He snatched off his baseball cap, rubbed his hand over the top of his head and then yanked the cap back on and down to shield his eyes. “Say, don’t I know you?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “But I’ve seen you before...in town, when I first arrived. You were standing outside the bakery with a plain-looking girl.”

  “If you mean Amish, we all are.”

  “No, I meant plain.” He smiled to suggest he was teasing, though honestly the other girl had been so pale as to be translucent and had worn the traditional white kapp and a gray dress. She could have been a cloud or a puff of fog or a figment of his imagination.

  But the girl in front of him?

  She wasn’t someone you’d quickly forget—daring brown eyes, a kapp pulled so tightly that not a hair escaped, which only served to accentuate the exquisite shape of her eyes, bright color in her cheeks and a sweet curve to her lips. Her dress was a pretty dark green with a matching apron.

  And she was his neighbor?

  Perhaps Gotte had provided him an ally through this trying time of his life.

  Micah stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m Micah—Micah Fisher. Pleased to meet you.”

  “You’re not Englisch?” Instead of shaking his hand, she reached for her other sister. They had to be siblings from the way they looked up at her and waited to see what she’d do next.

  “Of course I’m not.”

  “So you’re Amish?” She stared pointedly at his clothing—tennis shoes, blue jeans, T-shirt and ball cap. Pretty much what he wore every day.

  “I’m as Plain and simple as they come.”

  “I somehow doubt that.”

  “Since we’re going to be neighbors, I suppose I should know your name.”

  “Neighbors?”

  “Ya. I’ve come to live with my daddi and mammi—at least for a few months. My parents think it will straighten me out.” He tugged his ball cap lower and peered down the lane. “I thought the bishop lived next door.”

  “He does.”

  “Oh. You’re the bishop’s dochder?”

  “We all are,” the little girl with freckles cried. “I’m Sharon and that’s Shiloh and that is Susannah.”

  “Nice to meet you, Sharon and Shiloh and Susannah.”

  Sharon lost interest and squatted to pick up some of the rocks lining the caliche lane. Shiloh hid behind her schweschder’s skirt, and Susannah scowled at him.

  So, not an ally.

  “I knew the bishop lived next door, but no one told me he had such pretty doschdern.”

  Susannah’s eyes widened even more, but it was Shiloh who peeked out from behind her skirt and said, “He just called you pretty.”

  “Actually, I called you all pretty.”

  Shiloh ducked back behind Susannah.

  Susannah narrowed her eyes as if she was squinting into the sun, only she wasn’t. “Do you talk to every girl you meet that way?”

  “Not all of them—no.”

  “And do you always dress like that?”

  “What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?”

  “And why did you arrive in a pickup truck?”

  “Because a friend offered to bring me.”

  “An Englisch friend?”

  “Say, what is this—the third degree? It feels like it, and as far as I know, I’ve done nothing to land me in trouble.”

  “Yet.” Susannah snatched up Sharon’s hand and turned back toward the bishop’s house.

  “It was gut to meet you,” he called out, knowing it would fluster her. Just his luck that the girl next door would be a killjoy. He’d met enough Amish girls like her to fill the back of a pickup truck twice over.

  They were so disapproving.

  It rankled him.

  It also made him want to do something reckless, like throw a party or take off for points unknown or walk back to town and see a movie. But he didn’t do any of those things. He didn’t know anyone to invite to a party—yet. All of Goshen was unknown, and he wasn’t even sure they had a movie house. Plus, he had no money to pay for a movie.

  He sighed heavily, considering what lay before him. He’d promised his parents that he would come to Goshen and stay for at least six months. He realized he might as well walk up to the farmhouse. There was no point in avoiding it, but first he pulled out his phone, tapped the Snapchat button and held the phone up in front of him.

  “I’ve arrived at the far reaches of northern Indiana. Let’s hope I can survive life on the farm.” He made what he hoped was a hilarious face, added a filter and frame, and then clicked the post button. Sticking the phone into his back pocket, he trudged down the lane toward his grandparents’ house and what was probably going to be the longest six months of his life.

  * * *

  Susannah wasn’t going to bring up the subject of their new neighbor to her parents. She actually was trying to forget him. She liked her life exactly as it was. The last thing she needed was trouble living next door, and Micah Fisher definitely looked like trouble.

  They’d paused to bless the food and had just begun passing around the dishes of ham casserole, fresh bread, carrots and salad when Sharon starting chatting away about their encounter with Micah.

  “He’s tall and he talks funny.”

  “He wears a crazy hat,” Shiloh added.

  “And he wanted to shake Susannah’s hand, but she didn’t want to.”

  “And he said we were pretty—he said we were all pretty.” Shiloh pulled in her bottom lip as she concentrated on cutting up her ham into small bites.

  Her dat helped Sharon to scoop a spoonful of carrots onto her plate. “John mentioned to me that the boy was com
ing to stay with them for a while.”

  “He hardly seems like a boy.” Susannah felt a slow blush creep up her neck when both her parents turned to stare at her. “What I mean is that he seemed to act like a youngie, though plainly he was older—I’d guess around twenty.”

  She could tell that her explanation hadn’t cleared up anything, so she backed up and told them of seeing him in town, of the truck and the trash and the Englisch clothes. She didn’t bring up the cell phone. That felt like tattling. No doubt his grandparents, and her dat, would know about it soon enough.

  “Not everyone is as settled as you are, dear. I believe Gotte used your illness to mature you.” Her mamm buttered a piece of bread—hot, fresh and savory. Perhaps homemade was better.

  “And hopefully to make you even more compassionate toward others.” Her dat’s smile softened his words. “No doubt Micah is trying to find his way as many of our youth are—though, as you say, he’s hardly a youngie anymore. Just turned twenty-five, if I remember correctly from what John said.”

  “The same as you.” Her mother looked pleased, as if sharing the same age would make them best pals.

  Susannah didn’t think that was likely.

  Her life had finally settled down. She had no desire to complicate it with the likes of Micah.

  The rest of the meal passed in a flurry of conversation. Sharon chattered on about the kittens in the barn and how she was planning to name each one. Shiloh had read another of the picture books from the library, and she insisted on describing it in great detail. Her mamm reminded Susannah that church would be at the Kings’ on Sunday, and that they had agreed to go over and help Mose prepare on Saturday. And her dat described a young mare that had been brought in for shoeing. “Four white socks and a patch on her forehead—pretty thing.”

  Susannah heard the conversations going on around her, but her mind kept volleying between the log-cabin quilt she’d started the day before and the new neighbor next door.

  She didn’t want a new neighbor.

  Why couldn’t things stay as they were?

  She couldn’t have explained what made her think so, but somehow she was certain that the comfortable rhythm of their days was about to change.

  And then, as if to confirm her thoughts, her dat said, “Oh, I forgot to mention that Micah is going to be working in my shop a couple hours each afternoon. Perhaps we can have him over for dinner sometime.”

  The smile on her mamm’s face told Susannah there was no use arguing with that.

  Well, she’d just have to endure Micah’s presence though she did not and would not approve of his Englisch ways.

  Her dat had said he was staying awhile.

  Micah had mentioned a few months.

  Surely it couldn’t be for a terribly long time. He wasn’t moving in, and he hadn’t been carrying any luggage, just the denim backpack. With any luck, he’d be gone by the first day of summer.

  As was his habit, her dat took the twins out with him to do a final check of the animals. Susannah and her mother were cleaning the dishes when the conversation returned to Micah.

  “Do you think you might like him?”

  “Oh, I’m pretty sure we’re polar opposites.”

  “Not always a bad thing.”

  “It’s not going to happen, Mamm.” The words came out more harshly than she’d intended. “We’ve spoken of this. I don’t believe... That is, I’m sure what you’re thinking of isn’t Gotte’s plan for me.”

  “You mean marrying.”

  “Ya. I mean marrying.”

  “Because of your cancer—which is gone.”

  “Gone, yes, but it could come back, and more than that, the whole experience has left me changed.”

  “In more ways than one.” Her mamm turned to study her though her hands remained in the sudsy water. “You’ve turned into a fine young woman, Susannah—a godly woman.”

  “You’re changing the subject. Any man—any Amish man—would want a houseful of children.” Susannah refused to meet her mother’s gaze. Instead, she focused on the plate she was drying.

  “Just because Samuel felt that way doesn’t mean every man feels the same.”

  “We both know that Samuel and I were...mismatched. His breaking up with me, it was hard, but I felt immediately better once it was done.”

  “But...”

  “But I learned, Mamm. I learned that men have certain expectations from marriage.”

  Why was it that speaking of this always brought tears to her eyes? She’d grown accustomed to the facts—to the limitations—of her life, but it seemed as if a certain part of her heart remained bruised. “How does the proverb go? ‘No woman can be happy with less than seven to cook for’? I suspect no Amish man can be happy with less than seven to provide for.”

  “Children come to us in different ways.”

  “You’re speaking of adoption—which is rare in an Amish community.”

  “Rare but not unheard-of.” Her mamm wiped her hands on a dish towel, reached out and put a hand on each of Susannah’s shoulders, turning her toward her.

  Susannah couldn’t resist the need to look up, to look into her mamm’s eyes and face her dreams and fears head-on.

  “I’m only saying that you shouldn’t assume you know Gotte’s plan for your life. Our ways are not Gotte’s ways, and that’s something to be grateful for.”

  Once Susannah nodded that she understood, her mamm picked up another dish and slipped it into the dishwater. Susannah swiped at the tears that had slipped down her cheeks, feeling foolish and wishing she could keep a better rein on her emotions.

  Her melancholy wasn’t about Micah. It was about her parents’ expectations for her life. Micah, she felt nothing except pity for—and perhaps a tad of irritation.

  “Just wait until you meet Micah, then you’ll understand.”

  “Will I, now?”

  “I’m more likely to marry Widower King.”

  “Who is a fine man and a gut addition to our community.”

  “And he’s thirty-five years old.”

  “Is he, now?”

  They shared a smile. Her mamm knew very well how old Mose King was and that Susannah didn’t have an ounce of romantic feelings for the man.

  “You wouldn’t have to worry about not being able to have children,” her mamm joked.

  “Indeed—six would be plenty, especially when those six are three pairs of twins.”

  “And all boys.”

  “All of them full of energy.” Susannah purposely used her mother’s words from earlier that afternoon.

  They finished cleaning up the kitchen and walked onto the front porch to watch for her dat and the twins.

  “I understand your not being interested in Micah, though you’d do well to remember that our first impression of someone isn’t always the best.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “There’s something else you should know, though.”

  Susannah sank into the rocker beside her mamm. She thought that twilight might be her favorite time of day. Something in her soul felt soothed by watching the sun set across their fields and her dat walking hand in hand with the twins toward the house.

  “Micah’s parents have been corresponding with Abigail and John. When it was decided he would move here, they shared the letter with both me and your dat. He’s had a bit of a hard time, which is why he’s here.”

  “Okay.” She said the word slowly, tempted to add an I thought so.

  “What I’m saying is that Micah will be here for at least six months—”

  “Six months?” Susannah realized her mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut.

  “And he’ll be here helping your dat every day, so it could be that Gotte has put him in our path for a special reason.”

  Susannah stifled a groan.

>   “There’s a real possibility that what Micah needs most is not a girlfriend but simply a friend, and that’s something that we can each be.”

  Copyright © 2020 by Vannetta Chapman

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  ISBN: 9781488060007

  A Mother’s Secret

  Copyright © 2020 by Gabrielle Meyer

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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