by Beth Wiseman
Naomi stifled a gasp. You’ve been praying for me too? She wanted to tell him, but her mind was still reeling as she worried about her girls. How much did they know? Was that the reason they appeared to get over Stephen’s death so quickly, or were they just young and resilient?
“Do you think Abby is okay?” She put a hand to her chest.
“Yes, I do. But maybe you should talk to her about it, let her know that not all men hit. I don’t know if Esther Rose knows anything. Abby doesn’t seem to think so. And Naomi, it might not be a bad idea for you to get some counseling. I know that’s allowed by the bishop. And if it’s a financial issue for you, or if you don’t feel comfortable going into the community funds for that, I’d understand you wanting to keep your business private. But I have plenty of money to help you with this if you want to go talk to someone.”
She shook her head. “Nee. I would never let you do that.”
“Why not? It’s just money.” He smiled, winking at her. “And a little birdie told me that you’ve been giving yours to a retired, shunned powwower.”
Naomi stepped back. She knew he was trying to lighten the moment, but . . . “How do you know Pearl is a powwower?” She held up a finger to indicate she wasn’t done speaking so she could organize her thoughts. “And how do you know so much about the Amish in general? Just by living here all your life?”
“Partly.” He shrugged. “And because my grandparents were Amish. I spent a lot of time with them growing up.”
Naomi was quiet, but when Brock rattled off a string of sentences in Pennsylvania Deitsch, mostly about the weather, she felt her cheeks grow hot. “Uh . . .”
“Yep.” Brock chuckled, then stood taller, if that was possible. “I know all about shopping for husbands.”
Naomi lowered her head, shaking it, then looked up at him, smiling. “Oh dear.”
“It’s fine. Your girls just love you very much and want you to be happy and safe. They must feel safe with me.”
I feel safe with you. “I think it’s you my girls love,” she whispered.
“Well, I’d be lying if I said that they hadn’t stolen a part of my heart already.”
“I will talk to Abby.” She stared at the man before her, wishing things could be different. Wishing she’d always feel safe the way she did in this moment.
It was nearing the supper hour, and Naomi had just finished frying some chicken when her mother showed up with the girls. Mamm had wanted to take them with her to buy some fabric for more school clothes, so she’d asked to pick them up after school.
Naomi walked onto the porch as Abby and Esther Rose helped Naomi’s mother unload their scooters from the back of the buggy.
“You girls go put these scooters in the barn and tend to the animals. Then you can play out here for a little while. I need to talk to your mudder.” Naomi’s mother marched across the yard, scowling. “Inside,” she demanded. “You and I need to have a little chat.”
Naomi couldn’t recall Mamm speaking to her in that tone of voice since she was a little girl. “What? What’s wrong?” She followed her mother into the living room.
Mamm untied the strings of her black cape, shrugged it off her shoulders, caught it, and tossed it on the couch. “When were you going to tell your father and me that you’re pregnant?”
Uh-oh. Naomi placed her hands on her stomach. “I wanted everyone to be done mourning Stephen. I was waiting so that it would be a joyful occasion.”
“Sweetheart . . .” Her mother walked toward her and held both her arms. Naomi thought of Brock instantly. “A baby is always a joyful occasion. A blessing. You know that.”
Naomi nodded, but her mother let go of her arms, walked to the couch, and practically fell onto the cushions. “But we have another issue.”
“What?” Naomi sat down beside her mother.
Mamm squinted her eyes until they were almost closed. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing playing hanky-panky with Brock Mulligan, but it needs to stop.”
“What?” Naomi needed to buy a little time to sort through her jumbled thoughts. “And how did you know I was pregnant?”
Her mother rolled her eyes. “Goodness me, child. Do you think Abby misses anything?”
Apparently not. “What did she say?”
She got up to go to the bathroom last night while your . . . guest . . . was still here. And when she heard voices, she tiptoed halfway down the stairs and sat down. So, ya, she saw Brock with his hand on your tummy, feeling the baby move.” Her mother shook her head, frowning. “Really, Naomi? How inappropriate.”
“Ach, Mamm. It’s not a concern, and we weren’t playing hanky-panky. We’ve become friends, that’s all.”
“Well, your daughter told me that you are having a baby, that you and Brock kissed and made a baby!”
Naomi brought a hand to her mouth as her eyes grew round, but she couldn’t stop the laughter from erupting. “What?” she asked again.
The corner of her mother’s mouth lifted up a little as she raised an eyebrow. “It is rather funny, but you need to straighten that child out. I tried, but gave up.” Now her mother laughed along with her, but quickly stopped. “What are you doing kissing that man anyway?”
“I didn’t kiss him. He kissed me on the forehead before he left last night.”
“Your father said it was awfully late for him to be here last night, and I think the hair on the back of his neck was still standing on end when he got back home.”
“We’re friends, Mamm.”
“Ach, and you need to keep it that way. Don’t let those girls . . . or yourself . . . get attached to someone who isn’t Amish.”
Naomi was waiting for her mother to add something about Brock’s age, but she didn’t. She stood up. “He’s a handsome man, but proceed with caution.” Then she smiled. “So, how far along are you?”
“Five months.”
“Goodness, Naomi. I can’t believe you kept this blessing from us.”
“I tried to tell you when I last visited the house, but you seemed so disappointed that I wasn’t still wearing my mourning clothes, so I just decided to wait.”
Naomi’s mother stared at her long and hard. “Do you really feel like you are done mourning Stephen?”
It didn’t take long for Naomi to find the answer to this question. “Ya, Mamm. I do.”
Chapter Nine
Brock was just about to head to the water pump to wash up before supper when a buggy turned into the driveway. A young Amish man crossed the yard carrying a bouquet of flowers, and Naomi let him in after he knocked. Even in the distance, the fellow looked like a handsome guy, tall and lean, his shoulders back as he waved. Brock should feel good that someone was calling on Naomi. But would this fellow understand how fragile she was? Would he treat her right and always cherish her? Would he be good to her daughters?
He stuffed the thoughts. Maybe it was just a friend. But bringing flowers?
Brock looked at his watch and made his way to the water pump. Abby and Esther Rose were in the chicken coop gathering eggs, but he decided to go on in, to get a feel for Naomi’s admirer. He tapped on the door that led to the living room twice, then opened it and walked in. “Hi.”
Naomi was sitting on the couch next to the guy, which set Brock’s skin on fire. He scratched nervously at his arm as Naomi made introductions. This kid isn’t handsome, he’s goofy looking.
“Supper won’t be ready for about thirty more minutes,” Naomi said from her seat next to Goofy Kid.
“Okay. I’ll, uh . . . go check on the girls.” Brock took a couple of steps backward until he bumped against the door and turned around. This is what I wanted, for her to find a good Amish man. I prayed for this.
Brock’s heart was beating at what felt like an unhealthy rate. What would Naomi want with a guy like me anyway? Brock had noticed earlier in the day that Naomi wasn’t wearing black anymore, and neither were Abby and Esther Rose. Life was as it should be, he supposed.
Abby
and Esther Rose came out of the coop just as Brock got there, each of the girls toting a basket of eggs. He allowed himself a brief vision of what it would be like to have a role in their lives, as more than just a friend. It was a beautiful picture filled with giggles, bedtime stories, and even some nights playing Life on the Farm. But Brock figured the Lord was answering his prayer, thus the arrival of an Amish man who was more age appropriate showing up with a bouquet of flowers. Even if he is goofy looking.
“There were lots of eggs today!” Esther Rose held her basket up for Brock to see.
After inspecting the eggs in both their baskets, the girls rushed to the house, anxious to see who was visiting.
Brock walked toward the barn to make sure the horse’s feed bowl was full, and for the first time in a long time, he’d lost his appetite.
Naomi accepted a supper date with Samuel for Saturday night. It seemed like the right thing to do. She couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to date her when she was five months pregnant and starting to waddle like a penguin. But her people weren’t prideful and focused more on what was on the inside of a person. Or that was how it was supposed to be. Naomi tried to ignore Samuel’s protruding two front teeth. She’d known him all her life, and he was a good person. He hadn’t deserved what his wife did to him, leaving in the middle of the night the way she had.
Up came the recollections about Stephen, reminding her that you never completely know a person. She’d invited Samuel to stay for supper, and when Brock came into the kitchen, everyone was already seated. Naomi had been busy slicing a loaf of bread, and she hadn’t seen Samuel slip into the seat at the head of the table.
“That’s where Mr. Brock sits.” Esther Rose spoke loud enough that everyone heard. Naomi glanced back and forth between Samuel and Brock, but when Samuel started to stand up, Brock put a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“Keep your seat, Samuel.” He looked at Naomi. “I just came in to tell you that I can’t stay for supper tonight. I’ve got . . . plans.”
“Oh.” Naomi stared at his back when he went out through the kitchen door, then she tried to smile at Samuel when he flashed his big teeth.
She reached into the pocket of her apron, searching for the purple packet of herbs, but remembered she’d lost it. There were too many things happening around her, and the waxing moon seemed as easy to blame as anything else.
Naomi was glad when Samuel left after supper, promising to pick her up the following afternoon at four o’clock.
Once she had Esther Rose tucked in bed, Naomi glanced at Abby, then back at Esther Rose. “I need to talk with Abby for a few minutes downstairs. We won’t be long.” Her baby girl clutched her blanket like a lifeline. Although her youngest wasn’t a baby anymore, Naomi wouldn’t make her give up her lovey just yet. She’d been through enough lately. She held out her hand for Abby to take.
“You are in trouble.” Esther Rose sat up in bed. “Mamm, what did she do?”
“She’s not in trouble.” Naomi held Abby’s hand until they were downstairs, then Naomi went to the couch and sat down. She patted the spot beside her. “Come and sit, Abby.”
Her daughter hung her head. “It’s about what I told Mammi, isn’t it?”
Naomi silently prayed for the right words. “Ya, partly.” She took Abby’s hand and placed it on her stomach. “I have a baby growing inside me. But it’s not there because Mr. Brock kissed me on the forehead. It’s there because Daed helped make the baby before he went to heaven. It takes a long time before a baby is ready to be born.”
“I know.”
Naomi bit her bottom lip for a few moments. “What do you mean, you know?”
“I know it takes nine months after kissing before the baby comes.”
Naomi decided to leave the kissing part alone for now. “Then why would you say that Mr. Brock made the baby?”
Abby shrugged. “I want him to stay with us and be our daed.” She looked up at her mother with wide eyes. “Not Samuel. His teeth are funny.”
“Abigail, we do not say things like that. You know better. We are not vain or prideful.” Naomi cringed, knowing she’d have to say extra prayers tonight.
“But they are,” Abby said in a whisper.
Naomi recalled a phrase she’d heard her mother say. Choose your battles.
“I need to talk to you about something else too.” Naomi placed her hands on her stomach when her son or daughter started to twist and turn. “You told Mr. Brock something that concerns me.”
“Now I’m in trouble, huh?” Abby’s chin went down again, but Naomi cupped it in her hand and lifted Abby’s face.
“Nee, you are not in trouble. But did you tell Mr. Brock that Daed used to hit me?”
Abby nodded. “He did . . . didn’t he?”
A big part of Naomi wanted to lie, convince Abby that nothing like that had ever gone on in this house. But what kind of example would she be setting if Abby knew for sure?
“Your daed was a gut man.” Naomi prayed for the words again. “Most of the time.” She waited for Abby to respond, but when she didn’t, Naomi went on. “Violence is not our way. So hurting people by hitting is not our way either.”
“But you hit us.”
Naomi brought a hand to her chest. “What?”
“You spank us if we’re bad.”
Naomi took a deep breath. “Ya, that’s true. But that’s different. Abby, did Daed . . . did Daed ever hit you anywhere besides on your bottom with a switch?”
Waves of relief washed over Naomi when Abby shook her head. “Does Esther Rose know about . . . about your daed sometimes hitting Mamm in a bad way?”
Abby shook her head again. Naomi cupped her daughter’s cheeks with both hands. “It is never okay to hit. Light spankings are okay for children, but we never hit with the intent to hurt someone.”
“Then why did Daed hit you?”
Please, God. Help me. “Daed was sick. He didn’t mean to hurt me. But he still did a bad thing that the sickness made him do. Do you understand?”
Abby nodded.
“And we don’t have to talk about this anymore unless you want to.”
“Nee. I don’t.”
Naomi picked up Abby’s hand, brought it to her lips, and kissed her fingers. “Does Esther Rose understand that I’m having a baby? She must have heard you and Mamm talking today after school.”
“Nee. We stopped to get chocolate shakes on the way back from the park, and Esther Rose was playing on the slide in the courtyard.” Abby tapped her finger to her chin. “I didn’t know if I was supposed to tell her. That’s why I talked to Mammi.”
Naomi smiled. “Well, I say we go share this news, this blessing, with Esther Rose right now.”
Abby’s eyes lit up as she jumped from the couch and sprinted up the stairs. Naomi followed as fast as she could, looking up. Thank You.
Brock started to work at sunrise on Saturday morning, and it was midmorning when little Esther Rose caught his eye on the other side of the fence. She waved to him, so he shut down the engine on the plow and walked to where she was standing. He was thirsty anyway, and his cooler was there.
“Mamm is going to have a baby,” she said as he neared the fence.
He pulled a bottled water from his cooler as Esther Rose peered through the slats of the fence.
Brock wasn’t sure if he should let on that he already knew. “That’s great. Are you excited?”
She nodded, but scowled. “I hope it’s a boy. I don’t want another sister.”
“I think we just hope for a healthy baby, boy or girl.”
Esther Rose was wrapped in the pink blanket. There were loose threads hanging in every direction, and it looked like maybe she’d spilled orange juice on it. Sighing, she said, “Ya, I guess.”
Brock took another big swig of water as Esther Rose narrowed her eyebrows and puckered her lips. “Everything okay?” he finally asked as Naomi’s youngest twirled the string of her prayer covering around her finger.
&nbs
p; The girl nodded.
Brock waited since she seemed to have something on her mind.
“Mamm has a date with Samuel tonight.” She frowned, and Brock felt his expression drop along with hers. This shouldn’t be surprising, but it was like a kick in the gut just the same. His gaze finally met Esther Rose’s. He needed to tread carefully.
“Uh . . . that’s great, right?” He showed her the best smile he could muster, but she scowled even more.
“Nee. Samuel has big teeth, and Abby and I don’t want him as a daed.”
“It doesn’t matter what a person looks like. It’s what’s inside that matters.” Brock wanted to rush into the house and beg Naomi not to go out with anyone, but he’d prayed for this. He was having some sort of physical reaction to this news, in a way he hadn’t expected. His need to protect Naomi and her children had grown over the short time he’d gotten to know them, but something else was causing his heart to throb. “I-I guess I better get back to work.” He tried to smile, unsuccessfully—his emotions swirling like a tornado in his stomach.
Esther Rose stared at him for a minute. “You look like Abby does before she is going to cry.”
Brock wasn’t a man who cried. But at this moment, he felt like he could. It wasn’t just Naomi he cared for. What would happen to his relationship with her girls once she became involved with someone? “Nah.” He tried again to smile, but another failed attempt brought an even more serious expression from Esther Rose.
She took the blanket from her shoulders and laid it across the fence slats that separated them. Blinking her eyes a few times, she kissed the blanket, then started to walk away.
That child had carted that blanket everywhere since the day Brock met her. “Esther Rose, you forgot your blanket.”
Slowly, she turned around to face him. “Keep it,” she said softly before she turned and walked toward the house.
Brock touched the worn fabric, damp from a spill, with its fraying and faded threads. No tangible item had ever felt more precious, and in that moment . . . he became a man who apparently did cry.
He worked through lunch. Around one o’clock, Naomi came to the fence between the front yard and the hay field, carrying something in a bag. He’d tucked Esther Rose’s blanket inside a backpack he kept next to the cooler. Maybe Naomi was coming to reclaim it for her daughter. He got off the plow and went to where she was waiting.
