The Widower (Amy's Story Book 3)

by Brenda Maxfield

  But there would be no excuse to keep Amy on once Mavis returned.

  He needed an excuse. Because already, he knew he didn’t want to be without her again. Just having her in the house—even for a short time—changed everything. When Amy was around, nothing seemed impossible. And he could breathe better, which made no sense at all, but it was true. He felt better all over just having her near.

  She was going to marry Peter Raber. He needed to remember that. She loved Peter Raber. He started walking fast toward the southeast corner of his pasture. Peter was a good man. It made sense that Amy loved him. So why did it bother him so much? Why did the idea of Amy and Peter together scratch up his throat? In truth, it made him want to spit.

  Was he angry?

  He huffed out his breath. He thought about things—analyzed things—entirely too much. If he didn’t watch it, he was going to become a girl. He laughed outright. There was a thought.

  He was still chuckling when he pulled back the husks of a corn cob, checking for mealy worms. He needed to put his thoughts where they belonged. On the upcoming harvest. On his animals. On his daughter.

  Ach, but Amy did a beautiful job with his daughter.

  He closed his eyes and exhaled loudly. He was hopeless. That was what he was. Hopeless.

  * * *

  Amy sat at the desk in Andrew’s front room and stared at the blank piece of paper. Susie was down for her nap, and Amy had scoured the kitchen and put the chicken and potatoes in the oven for the noon meal. She hadn’t swept the house yet, but she’d forced herself to stop to write Peter a letter. But now that she sat there, she had no idea what to say. She didn’t think Peter was going to be too excited about her sharing all the details of her time in Andrew’s house that morning.

  No. This needed to be a love letter.

  She set her pen down and cupped her head with her hands. She didn’t want to write Peter a letter. She wasn’t in the mood to declare her love right then. She continued staring at the paper until it blurred with her sudden tears.

  “Admit it, Amy,” she whispered to herself. “You can’t write him because it’s all a lie.”

  She stood up so abruptly the chair beneath her nearly toppled backward to the floor.

  “Sweep. Sweep. That’s what you need to do,” she told herself. She practically ran to the wash room, grabbing the broom as if it were a lifeline. She began sweeping, the dust billowing up in a mad swirl. Why, the floors needed it more than she’d realized.

  With her face set in grim determination, she attacked the floors in every room downstairs. By the time she was finished, she’d worked up quite a sweat. She stood, leaning on the broom. What now?

  “The porch,” she whispered. She pushed through the screen door and swept every corner of the porch with fervor. And then she sank down on the top step, letting the broom fall to her side.

  What was she going to do? She couldn’t stay engaged to Peter—she just couldn’t.

  She saw movement by the road and saw Beulah on her bike, waving at her.

  “Beulah?”

  Her sister rode up the driveway and stopped in front of the porch.

  “What are you doing here?” Amy asked.

  Beulah scrutinized her. “What’s wrong? Is Susie all right?”

  Amy blinked. “What do you mean? Everything’s fine. I just got done sweeping.”

  Beulah let her bike drop onto the grass. She came up the steps and sat beside Amy. “Nee. There’s something going on. What is it?”

  Amy sighed. Beulah could be such an annoyance, but if she were truthful, Amy was relieved Beulah was there. Her sister had a way of seeing things that sometimes brought startling clarity. And Amy could use some clarity right then. She opened her mouth to spill her heart, but then hesitated. Beulah would gloat, and she didn’t think she could take it.

  “Amy…”

  “What?”

  “You’re going to end up telling me anyway, so you might as well get it out.”

  “There’s … there’s nothing to tell.”

  “Right,” Beulah said impatiently. “And I’m the bishop.”

  The sudden vision of her sister—a fairly rebellious girl—reigning over the district made Amy burst into laughter. Beulah joined her.

  “I know. I know. But it’s only as ridiculous as you telling me nothing’s wrong. I know you too well.”

  “That you do,” murmured Amy.

  “So, what is it?”

  Amy drew in a huge breath. “I was fixing to write Peter a letter…”

  “My. My. He’s hardly even left, has he?”

  “He’s likely on his way right now.”

  “So…?”

  “And I got the paper out and a pen and sat down and…” Amy blinked back her tears.

  “And you didn’t want to write him.” Beulah nodded as if she were all-knowing. She leaned close to Amy’s face. “You didn’t want to write him because you’re in love with Andrew.”

  Amy’s face crumpled, and she began to weep. Beulah put her arm around Amy’s shoulders. “Ach, Amy. Why are you crying about it? We’ve known it was true for weeks now.”

  “Nee.” Amy shook her head. “Nee. I haven’t known.”

  “Because you wouldn’t let yourself know. Frankly, I’m relieved. It’s been painful watching you pretend.”

  “I haven’t been pretending!”

  “All right. Not pretending then. Deluding yourself. How’s that?”

  Amy bit her bottom lip. Deluding herself. Yes. That was about right.

  “Does Andrew know?”

  Amy drew back, horrified. “Nee! And he mustn’t know. Ever.”

  Beulah’s brows rose. “Ever?”

  Amy shook her head. “Never ever. I would be… I would be humiliated. Mortified if he ever found out.”

  “That’s absurd.”

  Amy grabbed her sister’s arm. “You mustn’t tell him. Promise me you won’t tell him.”

  Beulah shrugged her arm free. “Oh, for goodness sakes, Amy. I won’t have to tell him. It’s written across your face for the whole world to see.”

  Amy sucked in her breath and clamped her hands over her mouth. She shook her head, over and over.

  Beulah pulled Amy’s hands off her face. “Will you quit being so dramatic? I don’t understand why this is such a huge catastrophe. Grace is gone, Amy. It’s not like you’re stealing her husband.”

  Amy’s mouth dropped open. “But it is! Grace has only been dead a few months.”

  Beulah frowned. “Jah. A few months. And Andrew is alone with a brand new boppli who needs a mother. He only has that monster of a mother-in-law to help him. He needs you, Amy. And he wants you. That’s as plain as a button on a blouse.”

  “He might need me, Beulah,” Amy said, willing to concede that, “but he doesn’t love me.”

  “Are you so sure?”

  “How can he? He just lost his wife. He loves Grace.”

  Beulah made a face. “Of course, he loves Grace, but that doesn’t mean he can’t love you, too. You put things in such boxes sometimes.”

  “Boxes?” Amy asked. “What are you talking about?”

  “Never mind.” Beulah looked at her. “You love Andrew. If he doesn’t already love you, which I suspect he does, he will soon. He’s well on his way. You two need to get married and raise Susie together.”

  Amy gaped at her sister, her heart beating wildly.

  Beulah nudged her playfully. “Show that Mavis what’s what.”

  Despite herself, Amy laughed. “You’re awful, Beulah.”

  “Something you continually remind me of.”

  Amy laid her head on her sister’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

  Beulah laid her head on top of Amy’s. “So, I can tell him then?”

  Amy reared back. “Nee!”

  Beulah laughed heartily. “I’m sorry, Amy, but you’re just so easy to tease. I’m not going to tell him. I already told you that I wouldn’t have to.”

  “Am I that obviou
s?”

  “To all of us who know and love you.”

  Amy gasped. “To Mamm and Dat?’

  Beulah shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m hardly chatting with them about it.”

  Amy picked up the broom lying beside her and fiddled with the handle. “What should I do?”

  “You’re asking me?” Beulah laughed. “I’m hardly the person to tell you what to do. You’d have a fit over anything I might suggest.”

  “What would you do?”

  Beulah stood up and faced her. “I’d march out to that field right now and tell Andrew to his face that I love him.”

  Amy’s mouth dropped open.

  “See!” Beulah said with a giggle. “Told you.”

  Amy stood up, too. “Thanks for coming over, Beulah. I’m a little surprised Mamm let you come. It’s so busy around the house these days.”

  “She didn’t let me come,” Beulah said, cocking a brow. “I just left. She’ll notice the bicycle is gone and figure it out. Anyway, I’m heading back now like a gut daughter.”

  “Beulah…”

  “I know. I know. I’m awful.” She laughed and jumped down the steps, picking up her bicycle and climbing on. “See you later, Amy.”

  Amy smiled and waved. She grasped the broom tightly and watched her sister leave.

  March out to that field right now and tell Andrew to his face that I love him.

  Never. Never. Never. Not in a million years.

  Amy turned and went back into the house.

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was almost five o’clock. Andrew fidgeted with his suspenders. Amy turned from the sink, noticing him at the kitchen doorway.

  “Ach, Andrew. I didn’t hear you.”

  He smiled at her, noting the gleam of pleasure in her eyes. Did he dare hope it was there for him? Oh, what was he thinking?

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

  Amy laughed. “You didn’t. I just didn’t hear you.”

  “It seems only right that I take you home. No need for your dat to make two trips a day.”

  “He won’t always be bringing me. Besides, my sister gave me an idea. I can bicycle over here.”

  He tilted his head. “You could. But today, let me take you home. Susie’s awake, ain’t so?”

  “Jah, she’s awake. I was just about to run up and get her.”

  “Let me.”

  Amy nodded and watched him leave. This was so comfortable, like they really were a family. Her eyes went to the empty sheet of paper she’d brought into the kitchen, meaning to write to Peter all day long.

  The paper was still blank.

  She drew in a long breath. She had to write Peter, and the sooner the better. She had to tell him the truth. He deserved to know. She bit her lip. Did she really want to do this? Really want to call off her engagement?

  She had no choice. It was only right.

  Andrew came into the kitchen with a yawning Susie. “I have to confess that I didn’t change her. I thought of it on the way down the stairs.”

  Amy laughed and took Susie from him. “I’ll do it.” She nuzzled Susie’s neck. “Won’t I, Susie?” She meant to swish by Andrew, but he moved slightly, and she bumped into him. Her face went hot as tingles spread through her.

  “Oh, sorry,” she muttered.

  “It was my fault.”

  She began walking around him and he caught her arm. His grasp was gentle but firm. “It’s gut to have you back, Amy.”

  He looked into her eyes, and she stopped breathing. She watched as his gaze fell to her lips. Her chest tightened, and she felt dizzy. She was going to fall over, and she had Susie in her arms. She made a slight moaning sound and inched back against the doorframe, unable to leave. His grip on her tightened.

  “So gut, Amy,” he murmured, and his eyes were soft and wide.

  “J-jah,” she stammered.

  He leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers. Amy sucked in a breath, her heart now beating out of control. She stared at him in wonder and shame. She was still engaged, and another man had kissed her.

  “Ach,” Andrew cried, dropping his hand from her arm. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Amy, forgive me.”

  She stared at him unable to utter a sound. Her lips burned from his kiss, and she was horrified to realize that she wanted more. She wanted him to kiss her again. grab hold of her arm again, take her and Susie into his embrace and never let them go.

  He stumbled away from her. “I’m sorry. I’ll hitch up the cart.”

  He fled from the room. She stood there, breathing hard, not moving a muscle. What had just happened? What had she allowed him to do?

  Peter!

  This was so wrong. She hadn’t even written Peter yet.

  She turned and hurried up the stairs to change Susie’s diaper. The boppli would be hungry, too. She could take a bottle in the cart. Amy stopped. Wait. How was Andrew going to get home with Susie in his arms? Him giving her a ride back home made no sense. Amy quickly changed Susie’s diaper and went back downstairs. Andrew was standing by the front door.

  “Amy?”

  She took the last few steps so slowly, she hardly moved.

  “I can’t take you home. I don’t know what I was thinking. Unless I rig up some kind of cradle in the cart.”

  “I-I know. I just thought of that myself.”

  Andrew shook his head, looking lost. “I-I seem to be losing my mind.” He laughed, as if trying to make a joke, but it fell flat.

  She took one step closer to him. “You’re not losing your mind, Andrew,” she said softly. “You’re… You’re still adjusting to-to things.”

  His gaze bore into hers. “Jah. I, well, we should talk about what happened… What I did…”

  “Nee,” she said. “It ain’t necessary.” What? Why had she said that? It was completely necessary.

  He nodded and stepped back. “Your dat will be here soon.”

  “Jah. He’ll be here soon.”

  They stood looking at each other, the silence fraught between them. Susie began to fuss, and Amy sprang into action, bustling into the kitchen to warm a bottle. While the water heated on the cook stove, she heard her dat’s cart drive up. Andrew came into the kitchen and took Susie from her arms.

  “Will you be here tomorrow?” he asked. “I wouldn’t blame you if—”

  “I’ll be here,” she cut him off. She turned to switch the burner off and then she left the house without another word.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Hello, daughter,” her dad greeted her.

  She climbed into the cart and sat beside him. “Hello.”

  “Did everything go well?” he asked, starting the cart down the drive.

  “Jah. Perfectly.” She turned away, knowing her face would be flushed.

  “I’m right glad about that,” Thomas said. “Andrew doing okay?”

  “He is. He misses Grace, though.”

  “Well, of course, he does. And he will for a long time yet.” She knew her father was looking at her; she could feel it. “You all right, Amy?”

  Tears burned her eyes. She nodded, not turning to him.

  “Amy?”

  “What?”

  “You sure you’re all right?”

  She nodded, still keeping her face averted.

  “You upset about Peter leaving Hollybrook?” Her dad chuckled. “What a silly question. Of course, you are. It won’t be forever, you know.”

  “Dat?” She did look at him now. She saw his surprise when he noted the tears in her eyes.

  “What is it?”

  “I won’t be marrying Peter.” The words slapped out of her mouth, sounding so final. So cold. She wanted to snatch them back, but it was too late.

  Her dad studied her for a moment. “I see.”

  She let out her breath and looked out across the green fields of swaying corn.

  “I reckon you have your reasons,” he said. “You’re sure?”

  Was she? Was she sure? Righ
t then, she wasn’t sure of anything. No, that wasn’t true. She was sure of something—she just wished she weren’t.

  She nodded.

  “Does Peter know?”

  “He will,” she said, praying her father wouldn’t question her further. It was true that daughters didn’t usually discuss such things with their fathers. And in truth, she was sorry she’d brought it up. But she had, and thankfully, her father didn’t ask anything more. But his thoughts were circling, she could tell.

  As soon as he pulled up to their barn, she jumped out and raced into the house and up the stairs. She caught a glimpse of Beulah who gave her a quick knowing nod. She hurried into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. She fumbled in the drawer of her nightstand and brought out her tablet and pen. She perched on the edge of her bed and began writing.

  Dear Peter,

  I hope you have arrived safely.

  She paused, her fingers clenching the pen so tightly, they hurt. How was she going to tell him? And what should she say? She blew out her breath and set the pen back to the paper.

  There is something I need to tell you. I hardly want to do it by letter, but it can’t wait until you return from up north. It is about our engagement.

  You are a wonderful godly man, Peter, and someday you will make a fine husband.

  But you won’t

  She stopped writing. This wasn’t coming out correctly. She tried again.

  But you won’t

  I’m sorry to tell you that I cannot marry you. I wish I could. Truly, I do. But it wouldn’t be right. My affections… Well, my affections lie elsewhere. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me, Peter. I hope that we can always remain friends.

  Your friend,

  Amy

  Amy read what she’d written. It was awful, but how could she make it better? Peter was going to know immediately that this was about Andrew. And he was going to think that she had been lying to him all these months. It pained her, but she was powerless to fix it.

  “Please, Gott,” she whispered. “Please help Peter. And forgive me for going back on my promise to him.”