“I’m sorry, Son.” Daed poured coffee from the thermos into one mug. “Things have changed, and we have to come up with a plan now.”
“How? My ability to reason, to think, is gone.”
“If Florence ever needed anything from you, this is it. Since she’s not here to say so, I am.”
Joel closed his eyes, seeing Florence standing before him, asking—maybe begging—him to pull it together enough to do whatever Daed needed. “Okay.” He drew a deep breath, willing himself to do anything she would want done. “So what’s going on?”
“Erma’s rheumatism has flared up worse than ever, maybe from the grief of losing her daughter. But whatever the cause, she can’t even get out of bed right now, let alone tend to your little ones.”
Erma hadn’t come to the house in several days, but he’d thought she needed time alone, like he did.
Daed started to pour coffee into the empty mug.
Joel put his hand over the cup and shook his head. “I…I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…” It would break Florence’s heart to know her Mamm was suffering so.
Daed cupped his large, callused hands around the hot mug. “Your Mamm wants to be here for you. She does, but she can’t leave your uncle Wayne at home alone for so much of the day. Johnny Yoder came to the house and sat with him this last week, but he can’t continue to do that. I think the most she’ll be able to come is a couple of hours a day.”
“Only a couple of hours?” Joel sat on a stain-spattered barstool. How was he supposed to care for a newborn if his Mamm couldn’t come for more than two hours a day? At the same time he knew she couldn’t leave her brother Wayne, who at fifty-four had begun suffering from early dementia and had been living with Joel’s parents ever since.
Daed grabbed a stool from a corner of the wood shop and set it next to Joel’s.
“Your Mamm and Erma can’t continue to help like we talked about when Florence passed. We have the girl from Pennsylvania for a couple more weeks, but I haven’t found any woman in the Amish community who can leave her family regularly to help.”
If Mamm and Erma weren’t up to the round-the-clock task of caring for a newborn, a toddler, and a preschooler, who was?
“The girl from Perry County…” Joel stammered, trying to recall her name. It was ridiculous that he struggled to remember it. He’d spoken to her a couple of times, thanking her for helping. He’d seen her dozens of times a day as she tended to Grace and helped with the boys. He and the girl had kept a midnight vigil a couple of times—her rocking Grace while he held his boys so they could sleep. “Rose.” So what was her last name? “She’s good with them, isn’t she?”
It seemed to Joel that she was, but maybe he was seeing what he needed to. Truth be told, even when he was in the same room as Rose, he was aware of very little except his motherless children and the ripping pain of grief inside him.
“Ya, she is,” Daed said, “but she can’t stay here.”
Joel longed for the warmth and love that used to define his home, his life. He missed Florence so much it was as if someone were constantly cutting out his heart with no anesthesia. He pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay. “If…if we talked to Rose’s bishop and her Daed, maybe they would understand.”
“They aren’t going to let her stay in your home with you, especially not at night. But you do need help. Your newborn and the boys wake and need some sort of tending every few hours. Imagine working a day after that.”
He nodded. His two-year-old, Levi, had never slept through the night. Often he was up as much as he was down. Mose, his three-year-old, had slept decently enough before last week. Now he woke frequently, searching for his Mamm.
Daed sipped his coffee as if they were having one of their typical conversations about business and work load. “You need help for the next three to four years at least. Then some of the teen girls will be old enough to work for you during the day. Six years would be best. All three will be in school then.”
Joel couldn’t imagine enduring the next month, let alone years. He was twenty-nine years old, and instead of thriving, everything ahead would be a matter of survival. “Beth invited us to move in with her. Maybe that’s the best option.”
Daed’s brows furrowed. “Your sister lives four hundred miles away and has a huge family of her own. God made you the linchpin for this community, Joel. Your business employs more than half the men here, and the elders have poured twenty years of hard work into establishing Forest Hill as a viable Amish community. What happens if you leave?”
Joel knew his value to the Amish of Forest Hill. Shortly after he and Florence were married, he connected with an Englischer in Hinton who taught Joel how to use his woodworking abilities to craft custom wooden canoes. With the increased tourism in their county and his Englisch buddy’s help in setting up an online business, Joel’s canoes were quickly in demand. It was a high-end product, and he added staff from the community to meet the needs. He hadn’t considered what would happen if he left. The elders, including Joel’s Daed, had moved here when Joel was nine because there was little affordable land in the Amish communities in the East. The men had been farmers, and they had thought they could farm here too, but the terrain was too different from Pennsylvania, and they had been unsuccessful. This left most families searching for work outside the community until Joel’s business took off.
“Even if I stay, I’ll be all but useless for the indefinite future.”
“You can’t let that happen, Joel. Too many people are depending on you.”
Joel jutted both hands out, palms up. “I don’t know what you want from me, Daed. There’s no other Amish community nearby, and ours has eight families, none of which seem equipped to give the help I need.”
“Marry her.”
“What?” Joel blinked, unable to grab a clear thought. “Who?” The moment he asked, he knew. “Are you crazy?”
“Maybe. But hear me out. She’s here, and she’s good with the children.”
Daed had detonated another explosive inside Joel’s war-torn heart. How could he think clearly enough to have this conversation? Nothing made sense, especially not this craziness. “You just said she can’t stay here.”
“A single woman cannot stay here alone with you. No matter how innocent your intentions are, we’d be in hot water with the church at large and our families outside of Forest Hill. They could easily cut off much-needed outside support if they thought Rose’s presence in your home to be scandalous.”
“So you want me to marry a stranger. I couldn’t tell you the color of her hair or the color of her eyes, but I should marry her?”
“Florence was your everything. Do you have a hope of loving anyone like that again?”
Joel’s vision blurred with tears. This answer he knew. “No.”
“Then the only other reason to marry is for the sake of your children, and you have no time to dally in finding someone. Your Mamm has spent time with Rose. There’s something about her, something that says she would be willing to—”
“No one is willing to enter a marriage like that, including me.”
“Forget what’s normal or conventional. Focus on what the children need—your fragile, helpless newborn daughter most of all. Let this second marriage be a sacrifice in honor of what Florence gave you—three healthy children who need far more physical and emotional nurturing than any of us can provide. I’ve watched Rose for a week, and she’s a good caregiver. She’s painfully quiet, and she’s not comfortable with the womenfolk, but she follows her instincts concerning the children and makes good decisions. I think she’s a viable solution. Really, Joel, she’s the only solution.”
Joel sighed. What a mess. “You really think she would consider it?”
“Your Mamm tried talking to her, but like I said, she doesn’t respond well to other women. So I talked to her. I asked her directly if she had someone special back home, and she said no. Then I laid out the situation to he
r. That was a couple of days ago, and I asked her to think about the possibility, you know, if you saw the need for it. She listened and asked a few questions, but she didn’t volunteer any thoughts about it one way or the other. I couldn’t see putting her on the spot for an answer until you agreed to it.” Daed picked up the sugar packets and shook them, causing an irritating rattle. “What you need to do is think of some benefits you and this community can offer her.”
“You speak as if it’s another business deal we’re making.”
“That’s exactly what it would be, Joel.”
What did he have to offer? He knew that deep inside he was broken and couldn’t be put back together again. And he had three very young children, which would be a monumental task for the most loving mother, much less a stranger. All he had to offer her were long, hard days of work for children who weren’t hers and a life with a man who would never love her. Why would any woman agree to that?
“Son?”
His Daed was waiting for an answer.
Joel nodded. “Ya. If you say it’s the only way, I have to trust that.” What choice did he have?
Daed stood. “I’ll go talk to her now.”
“No.” Joel was in no condition to make this request, but he had to look her in the eyes as they talked. It would be unfair to Rose if the arrangements were made by someone else, and if he could do only one thing for her, he would treat her fairly and like a partner at all times. “Ask her to come see me.”
His Daed left the shop without a lantern and disappeared into the dark night.
Joel covered his mouth with his clasped hands. “Dear God, what am I doing?”
No answer came. He closed his eyes, trying to focus, and it became clear that if Rose agreed to this insanity, he would need to take notes. He got a pen and paper from the designing bench and returned to the barstool. They needed something he could refer back to later, because if the last week was any indication, he would be hard pressed to remember much of what took place tonight.
Ten minutes later Rose tapped on the door and then entered. She stood by the door, looking ready to bolt, a coat on her shoulders and her hands clasped over a dirty black apron. Had she had time to shower or wash her clothes since arriving? For the first time he noted that she was young and that she had reddish-brown hair and freckles on her pale skin. Unlike his Florence, who had black hair and skin that turned golden brown in summer, Rose looked as if she would burn easily and never tan. If she stayed, he would need to remember about her fair skin and not let the summer gardening scorch her. He gestured at the stool closest to him. She eased onto it and rested her hands in her lap.
“How old are you, Rose?”
“Twenty-one.”
She was older than she looked, and he was grateful for that.
“And, I’m sorry, your full name?”
“Rose Kurtz.”
He wrote that down. “Rose, I…I need a mother for my children.”
She stared at him with large chestnut-colored eyes, but she didn’t respond, not even a nod to acknowledge she’d heard him. He’d read volumes in Florence’s eyes over the years, but Rose’s gave away nothing.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Would you be willing to stay here, to live in the house with us?”
Her shoulders moved a bit, and he realized she was wringing her hands together in her lap. She didn’t respond. Joel prayed for wisdom.
When five minutes had passed and she still had said nothing, he almost felt as if Florence whispered in his ear. He repeated aloud the question he’d heard. “Are you longing to return home?”
She pursed her lips, looking as if she wasn’t going to respond. “No.” Her voice was so soft he barely heard her.
“Okay, that answer is good, helpful. We’re getting somewhere, right?” They were just doing so very slowly.
Considering what all Amish couples went through in order to marry, this would probably be the shortest courtship on record and would involve no actual courting, romance, or attraction. He and Florence had dated for two years, married when he was twenty-five and she was twenty-four, and conceived their first child on their honeymoon. Life had been one glorious blur since they fell in love. Their glory had burned bright. Now his light and joy was buried in the cold ground, and he was at a messy bench in a workshop, proposing marriage to a stranger. How had four years of marriage gone by so quickly? He imagined that he’d live another forty years and that they would stretch out like an eternity.
Cries from his newborn filled the air, and he looked out the window. A woman draped in a blanket was stepping onto the porch. She went to the porch swing, clearly trying to soothe the infant, but Grace screamed as if in pain. Rose stayed put, but the wails grew louder rather than softer. She got up and ran out of the building without saying a word.
Who behaved so strangely? He watched through the window as she hurried across the lawn and onto the porch. Maybe thirty seconds passed before silence reigned. Whoever she was, he needed her, and he would have to adjust to life with a peculiar woman who seemed to tolerate talking to men only slightly more than talking to women.
They had to finish this conversation, and he wouldn’t ask or expect Rose to come to the shop again. He closed the thermos and shoved it into the canvas bag. He did the same with the pad and pen before blowing out the lantern, grabbing the empty mug, and leaving the shop. When he climbed the steps to the porch, his Mamm turned to face him. “I’m sorry for interrupting.” She removed the blanket from her shoulders and held it out to him. “Grace’s cries upset the boys, and they started crying too, so I brought her out here. But if I’d realized—”
“It’s fine, Mamm.” He took the blanket. “Just give us time to talk, okay?”
She nodded and went inside. Rose still had her coat draped over her shoulders as she moved to the porch swing. Joel set the canvas bag on the floor. He couldn’t make himself sit next to her. It was all he could do to conceal the offense he felt. It should be Florence cuddling their baby, not Rose. Florence would have a tired smile on her lips as she showed him the newborn for the thousandth time, and then she would kiss him on the lips and thank him for loving her. And he would return the words. Warmth and love would fill him anew, adding to his ongoing happiness. If Florence were here, their sons wouldn’t burst into tears whenever Grace cried, a reminder of the moment their lives changed.
Rose gazed at Grace. “It would be a noble thing to stay and care for Mose, Levi, and Grace.”
“That’s true. Maybe the most noble thing I’ve ever known anyone to do.”
She studied Grace, seemingly lost in thought for a very long time, and Joel realized he would have to adjust to sharing a home with a woman who withheld her thoughts from him, leaving him to guess what was going on inside her. Maybe over time it would get better, but right now it was exhausting.
She fidgeted with the baby blanket, never looking up from Grace. “If I agreed to marry you, what would that mean?”
“Fair question.” Joel stepped a little closer and leaned against the porch rail while facing the house. “All I’m asking is that you be the children’s caregiver—be a good stepmother.”
The swing swayed back and forth, but she said nothing. Joel pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit the kerosene lamp on a small half-circle table near her. He pulled the thermos and mug out of the bag, poured coffee, and held it out to her. “I don’t have any cream, but would you like some sugar?” He held up a packet of sugar.
She neither took the coffee nor answered his question. “If I stay, I don’t want the children yelled at, ridiculed, or spanked.”
He set the coffee on the table near the lantern and took the paper and pen out of the bag. “I’ll write that down and anything else. Then I’ll sign it.”
“That’s it?” she asked without hesitation. “I ask and you simply agree?”
He leaned against the railing again. “What you’re asking is reasonable. I’m in no position to negotiate.” He finished writing the senten
ce and looked up. “What else, Rose?”
She tucked the blanket around Grace’s face, caressing the newborn’s chin like a nurturing mom. “I like the Englisch woman, the veterinarian, Elise, who is my connection to getting donated breast milk for Grace.”
How did that piece of information fit into this conversation? At least it was a hint that she might not be as uncomfortable with all women as his Mamm and Daed said she was with the Amish women who had filled his home last week.
“We’ve not met…that I recall, but I’m glad you like her.” Was that what she was looking for—acknowledgment of how she felt? Then, just out of reach of his understanding, he caught a hint of what she might be saying. Again it seemed as if Florence were whispering in his ear, and he said the words aloud. “You would be welcome to build a friendship with her.”
Rose sat up a little straighter, and she pointed at the pen and paper, making a circular motion with her index finger. He wrote that down, and a bit of hope began to rise. Elise was important to her. It’d taken forty minutes to squeeze sixty seconds of responses from her, but he now had the feeling that even if his Mamm or Erma were up to keeping the children, Rose would do the best job with them. He wasn’t sure why he felt that way, except that he sensed Florence was pulling for him to secure an agreement with Rose.
He tapped on the paper. “What else do you want?”
There was another long pause before she whispered something.
Whatever she’d said, he had a strong feeling it was very important. He put the pen to paper. “Could you repeat that?”
She drew a ragged breath, paused, and finally spoke. “Kindness.”
He looked up from the pad. For a faint moment he saw her, a real person. She wasn’t an invisible woman or unnoticed servant who had skills he needed to accomplish a task. She had thoughts and opinions that should matter, but he knew they wouldn’t, not to a man who was simultaneously numb and in extreme pain from grief. The request for kindness was vague. Did that mean she needed him to speak softly at all times or to do acts of kindness every day? A verse his wife often had quoted came to him. Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.
The Angel of Forest Hill Page 2
