Amish Romance: The Wedding (Hollybrook Amish Romance Greta's Story Book 3)

by Brenda Maxfield

  She heard the crunch of gravel from the drive and dropped her dress, hurrying to the window. She peered out. The van was there already. It was early.

  She grabbed the hand mirror from her dresser and looked at herself, making sure her hair and kapp were tidy. She glanced at the black kapp that hung on a peg by the door. Her wedding kapp. Brand new and unworn.

  She smiled and replaced the mirror. With a backward glance at her wedding dress, she left the room and flew down the stairs.

  “Tell Dat good-bye,” she said to her sisters.

  “We will. Don’t worry,” Rebecca said, shooing her out the door.

  “Wait! Your cape!” Mary cried, rushing onto the porch with it. She thrust it at Greta. “So you’re not staying the night?”

  “Nee. Isaac says we’ll be home this evening. Probably late. I’m not sure.”

  “Go,” urged Rebecca. “We’ll watch Dat.”

  Greta squeezed her sister’s hand and ran down the steps. Isaac was standing by the open back door.

  “Gut day, Greta,” he said with a smile.

  “Gut day,” Greta replied, climbing into the van.

  The ride to Isaac’s hometown in eastern Ohio took just over three hours. She and Isaac spent most of the time gazing out the windows, enjoying the last vestiges of fall. Greta kept her hands folded tightly in her lap. She didn’t travel by van often, and she still felt a bit uneasy at the speed of the vehicle. Plus, she wasn’t used to having blasts of heat bombard her face. Although, she had to admit that they certainly made the air toasty and comfortable.

  “Mamm wanted me to stay the night,” Isaac said when they drew close to his home.

  “Oh?”

  “But there’s so much to do right now, and they’ll be coming for the wedding anyway…” His voice faded.

  “I’m sure she misses you.”

  He tipped his head. “Jah.” He ran his hands down his thighs. “We’re nearly there. I hope James isn’t taking a nap.”

  Greta smiled. “I can’t wait to see him.”

  The van pulled into a drive and approached a large white farmhouse. The home was much bigger than the Glick farm. Indeed, it appeared bigger than most farmhouses she knew. They hadn’t reached the porch before Isaac’s family poured out onto the porch. She spotted James immediately in Helen Wagner’s arms.

  Greta’s pulse increased. How he’d grown! The boy’s hair fell in bowl-cut strands across his forehead. His chubby cheeks looked thinner. But his smile—oh, his little baby smile—was as precious as ever. Greta barely waited for the van to stop before she opened the door.

  “Isaac!” Helen Wagner was calling. “James, there’s Dada!”

  “You’re here!” said an older man, obviously Isaac’s father.

  Two younger men came down the steps.

  Greta stepped out of the way and then hung back a bit as Isaac rushed forward and swooped up James in his arms. James giggled and clung to Isaac.

  Greta took a step closer, and Isaac turned around, his face all smiles as he held his son.

  “Look, James. Remember Greta?” he asked close to the boy’s ear.

  James’s scrunched his forehead into a small frown and then his eyes grew large. He reached out his pudgy arms toward her and gurgled.

  Greta’s heart lurched. She flung her arms out. “James! How are you?” She wanted to run to him, but she took it slowly, not wanting to alarm him. When she neared Isaac, James lunged out of Isaac’s arms and into hers. Greta closed her eyes and felt the tears fall down her face. She held the dear child close, inhaling his baby scent, feeling his energy and sweetness.

  “Wait a minute now,” Isaac said, his voice teasing. “I’m the father here!”

  Greta opened her eyes and smiled up at him. A strange look flashed over his face. Greta tried to discern what it meant, but just as quickly it was gone. Isaac reached out and took James back into his arms. The baby struggled a bit, wanted to go back to Greta, but then he quieted and snuggled up to his daddy.

  Greta turned to meet the rest of Isaac’s family. Helen made the introductions, and Greta smiled and nodded at each member. It was overwhelming, and she was nervous about remembering all of their names. As Isaac’s fiancé, she should already know the names, but she didn’t. Another evidence of their strange courtship.

  Helen bustled them all inside for a meal, and Greta allowed herself to be swept along with the crowd. For dinner, they placed her next to Isaac on the bench. During the meal, everyone stared at her. Oh, they tried not to, but it was obvious. Greta ate very little, even fumbling with her fork a time or two.

  Helen’s eyes misted over with tears continually as she ate. Greta didn’t know whether it was because James was leaving or because she was there, her son’s new bride-to-be, instead of Betty.

  When Mr. Wagner stood and the meal was over, Greta felt almost weak with relief. She liked Isaac’s family—she did. But she felt like an interloper, like she didn’t belong. Down to her very bones, she knew that it was Betty who belonged there in that house. Not her.

  They stayed a couple hours, while Isaac caught up with his brothers and his father. Greta helped with the dishes, and Helen sat in the kitchen holding James. She rocked him and fussed with his hair and kissed him on the top of his head numerous times. Greta found her own heart breaking as she watched the grandmother with her grandson.

  “Please come,” she blurted.

  “What?” Helen said.

  “I want you to come and visit us as much as you like,” Greta said. “We have five bedrooms. There is plenty of space.”

  She felt her face color. Helen knew full well how many bedrooms Isaac had.

  Helen’s gaze on her was surprised, but pleased.

  Greta went to stand before her. “I know how much you’ll miss James. So please, come as often as you like.”

  Helen nodded and blinked back her tears. “Thank you, Greta.”

  Greta squatted down before her. “I know this is strange. I know how much you loved Betty. And I did, too. Truly. I’m going to be the best wife I can be for Isaac. And…” Her voice faltered, but she went on. “The best possible mother to James.”

  Helen reached out and grasped Greta’s arm. “I know, child,” she whispered. “I know you will.”

  Greta felt her own tears stinging the back of her eyes.

  “You do love him, don’t you?”

  Greta knew she was asking about Isaac, not James. “I do.”

  “Give him time,” Helen said. “This is all very hard. Give him time.”

  Greta felt her throat tighten with emotion. She nodded, not trusting her voice.

  “Marriage is a journey,” Helen continued. “And Isaac is a gut man.”

  Greta nodded again. “I know.”

  Helen sniffed and put on a smile. “Now, I imagine Isaac is ready to return to Indiana. Greta, please help me fetch James’s belongings.”

  Greta rose and followed a bustling Helen out of the kitchen.

  James slept between them in the car seat which the driver had provided. Isaac rested his hand on James’s leg. He gazed at his son frequently during the trip, occasionally meeting Greta’s eyes and smiling. It was obvious how happy he was to be reunited with his son.

  “I really like your mamm,” Greta told him as they crossed the border in Indiana.

  Isaac’s brow lifted. “She’s a gut woman.”

  Greta smiled.

  “What’s amusing?”

  “Your mamm said the same thing about you—that you’re a gut man, I mean.”

  He made a face. “Did she?”

  “She did.”

  He went silent.

  Greta licked her lips. “And I agreed,” she added quietly.

  His eyes sought hers. And there it was again, that same look she’d seen on his face earlier, when he’d taken James from her after they’d arrived. Only this time, the look lingered. She felt the intensity of his gaze and heat rose in her, filling her chest. She gave a quiet intake of breath and cou
ldn’t pull her eyes from his.

  Overwhelming hope surged through her until she couldn’t breathe. Was he beginning to care for her? Really care? She was completely inexperienced, but his expression seemed to be filled with affection.

  “Isaac?” she whispered.

  He blinked hard and then gave an embarrassed chuckle. “I’m weary, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice painfully matter-of-fact. “It will be gut to get back.”

  She inhaled sharply. Whatever it was, it was over. She nodded. “Jah. It will be nice to get back.” And with that, she turned away and stared out at the scenery which whizzed by at an unnatural speed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Isaac laid James in his crib. He pulled the small quilt up to his chin and stood back, looking down on him. He was a beautiful boy. He looked like Betty; he had her eyes. Isaac smiled and touched his cheek.

  “Welcome home,” he whispered.

  He backed out of the bedroom and left the door ajar. Walking across the hallway, he entered his own bedroom—the room where Betty had drawn her last breaths. He lit the lantern and looked around. Soon, Greta would join him here.

  He sucked in a long breath.

  How would she feel about moving into Betty’s bedroom?

  It wouldn’t be easy for her. It seemed that Betty’s personality was stamped onto every inch of the room. Which was silly, of course. There wasn’t that much in the room that was actually Betty’s. He pulled out the drawer of her bedside table. Inside were Betty’s stationery and a packet of letters from her siblings.

  Isaac reached in and took everything out and set it on the bed. Greta would have her own things to put in the drawer. He walked to the wall and took Betty’s remaining two dresses and added them to the small pile on the bed. The top two drawers of the dresser held Betty’s undergarments and her kapps.

  Isaac removed them, also.

  He felt a wistful sadness as he gazed on her belongings. But he didn’t cry. Nor did his eyes water. He sighed with relief. In truth, he was tired of crying. He dragged an old box suitcase from under the bed. He plopped it onto the bed and opened it, placing everything of Betty’s inside, and then snapped it closed. He’d store it in the attic where James could get at it later if he wanted.

  There. He looked about the room again. Better.

  He sank down on the edge of the bed and imagined Greta there with him. He thought of her sweet smile and her innocent trust in him. Suddenly, he knew he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t expect Greta to come into this bed, the one he’d shared with Betty. It wasn’t right.

  He jumped up and began snatching all of his belongings from their pegs and from the drawers. There was no reason that he and Greta had to use this room. There were three other bedrooms available. In fact, the bedroom beside James’s room had the best view, and it received the early morning light. Instinctively, he knew Greta would like that.

  He hauled his things into the other room and dropped them on the bed. He lit the lantern and began organizing everything, leaving the prime spots free for Greta’s belongings. It didn’t take him long to put his things away. He looked at the bed. The quilt on it had been made by his mother. Not Betty.

  That was better, too.

  In fact, he’d start sleeping in this room right away. He went back to his old room and extinguished the lantern. Upon leaving again, he paused at the door, feeling as if he needed to bid the room farewell. He gave a low snort. How ridiculous. But even so, when he left, he whispered, “Good-bye, Betty. Good-bye, room.”

  It was Sunday, and it wasn’t a church week. It was the alternate Sunday when everyone put time aside to visit their relatives and friends. Isaac knew whom he wanted to visit. Greta.

  In two more days, she would become his wife. And James’s new mother. He spooned another bite of oatmeal into the boy’s mouth. James sputtered, and bits of the cereal flew out, giving Isaac an oatmeal shower.

  “You little rascal,” Isaac said with a laugh. “Now, look. I’ve got to clean us both up again.”

  James laughed and clapped his hands. Isaac spooned the rest of the cereal into his mouth.

  “Would you like to go see Greta? I’m hoping she’ll be home…”

  Perhaps she would be out and about with her father, visiting others. He hoped not. He also wanted to talk with Raymond Glick and see what he thought about their latest plan. Greta hadn’t mentioned his response to their idea of getting someone in to help him remain in his own home.

  An hour later, Isaac and James were in the wagon, pulling out of their property. Isaac had managed to clean them both up again. In truth, the kitchen was still a mess, but he hadn’t wanted to waste any more time. It was fairly cold out, and he’d bundled James into his tiny winter coat. He’d grown and would be needing a new one soon. Greta would see to it.

  He smiled. It was nice to think about sharing the responsibilities of the lad.

  The drive to the Glick’s farm didn’t take long. As he pulled up to the porch, he saw that their cart and buggy were still there. Good. They hadn’t left to visit anyone yet.

  He secured the reins and jumped down, reaching behind him to grab James. He strode to the front door and knocked. Within seconds, Greta opened it.

  “Isaac.” She smiled, and then her eyes settled on the baby. “James! How are you today?”

  She pushed open the screen and reached out, taking the baby from Isaac.

  “Come in,” she said warmly. “The fire’s going in the warming stove in the front room. Would you like some tea? Have you eaten breakfast?”

  Isaac laughed at her quick words. “We’re fine. We’ve eaten. Is your dat around?”

  “He’s in the front room. Go on in.”

  Isaac walked into the front room and nodded at Raymond, who was sitting next to the warming stove.

  “Gut morning, Raymond,” Isaac said, sitting in the chair beside him. “How are you today?”

  Raymond’s mouth puckered into a frown. “Tolerable,” he muttered.

  “It’s a mighty fine day out. No rain. But it’s getting cold.”

  “It is almost winter,” Raymond answered as if explaining the weather to a child.

  Isaac drew in a slow breath. “So, you spoke with Greta about our idea?”

  Raymond began rocking. Quickly. Isaac saw the way his hands clamped onto the arms of the chair. He was upset, but Isaac had no idea why. He’d thought their idea was a perfect solution. Didn’t Raymond understand that it meant he could stay in his house?

  “You don’t like it?” Isaac asked.

  “Don’t know why you think it’s right to make such decisions without my input,” he grumbled.

  Isaac’s brow raised. That wasn’t exactly what they’d done. They’d only been trying to come up with options. “I’m sorry. Didn’t consider it from that point of view.”

  “You should have.” Raymond’s chair squeaked on the floor as he continued rocking. “But I ain’t surprised. Greta here has been bossing me about for years.”

  Isaac almost laughed at that. He couldn’t imagine Greta bossing anybody about.

  “Don’t rightly know that I want to stay.” Raymond stopped rocking then and stared at Isaac.

  “You don’t?” That was news. Isaac thought the whole issue was him wanting to stay in his home. When had he changed his mind?

  “Said I don’t know. Ain’t decided yet.”

  Isaac tried to read his expression, but he couldn’t. “If you’d rather move in with us, we’d be pleased to have you.”

  Raymond snorted. “Ain’t nobody pleased to have me,” he said. “Except my wife.”

  Isaac didn’t know how to respond to that. As far as he knew, Raymond’s words were true.

  “I might do it.” Raymond was eyeing him now.

  Isaac shifted. “Do what?”

  “Come and live on your farm.”

  Isaac kept his face composed. “That’d be right nice,” he said, his voice even and welcoming.

  “You got a smooth tongue,” Raymo
nd said.

  Isaac burst into laughter. “Don’t know about that, sir, but it’s the truth. We’d be glad to have you. I don’t want Greta fretting.” He leaned forward, close to Raymond. “And she will fret if you’re not with her. She’ll worry something awful.” He laughed again. “And I’ll have to hear about it.”

  Raymond’s expression loosened, and then he smiled. He slapped his leg and let out a chuckle of his own.

  Greta walked into the room, holding James on her hip with one hand and balancing a small tray with two cups of tea in the other. Isaac jumped up and took the tea from her. Greta stared back and forth between Isaac and her father.

  “You’re laughing?” Her voice was incredulous. “What’s so funny?”

  Raymond slapped his thigh again. “Your man here,” he said, straightening his expression back to his usual scowl.

  Isaac handed Raymond one of the cups of tea, and took the other himself. Greta settled herself on the davenport with James.

  “Your dat will be moving in with us,” Isaac said.

  “I never said for sure!” growled Raymond.

  Isaac gave him a steady look. “Your dat will be moving in with us,” he repeated.

  Greta gaped at them both. Raymond didn’t respond. He merely raised his cup to his mouth and took a sip of tea.

  Chapter Fourteen

  At six-thirty sharp on Tuesday morning, a group of women descended on the Glick household. Greta was long awake, but she hadn’t gone downstairs yet. She felt oddly calm as she sat on the edge of her bed in her wedding dress. She sat gingerly, trying not to cause any wrinkles in the skirt. She’d already twisted her long dark hair into a smooth bun at the back of her head. Her black wedding kapp was in place.

  She missed her mother.

  Odd—she hadn’t thought of her mother much in the last year or two. After she’d died, Greta had missed her something fierce, but life went on. She’d become accustomed to the routine of days without her mother. And soon, it had become the new normal for her.

  But now, on the verge of her wedding, she wished she was there. Greta closed her eyes and imagined her mother smiling at her, fussing with her kapp, smoothing down her dress for her. Her mother had always had a gentle touch. When she’d been alive, even her father had been calmer, nicer.