Willow: Bride of Pennsylvania (American Mail-Order Brides 2)

by Merry Farmer

  He snapped his head up to find Mark rushing through the woods several yards to his left. His friend had found a clearer path and was jogging along, beating branches out of the way. Amos changed directions to follow him. He reached the path and picked up his pace, making it to Mark’s side.

  “Oh no!” Mark stopped short when they burst out of the trees near the edge of the creek. Willow wasn’t the only one who was stuck. She clung to the end of a fallen tree with one hand, submerged in raging, brown water up to her shoulders. Beside her, clinging to her arm, nearly underwater herself, was Sarah.

  “Amos,” she cried when she caught sight of him, terror and elation in her voice. “I can’t hold on much longer. I’ve got Sarah, but we’re slipping. Help.”

  Amos swayed on his spot, panic rising as the tree Willow clung to dipped toward the water. Willow screamed, Sarah wailing with her. The roots of the tree were coming loose from the muddy bank.

  “Hold still,” he called across to her. “We’re coming.”

  Through her panicked moan, Willow nodded at him. But her movement only caused the tree to tear further from its roots. Willow and Sarah slipped, sinking into the water up to their necks.

  Amos darted into the water, looking for some way, any way, to save them. Mark was on his heels, but before they could wade more than calf deep in the rushing creek, the fallen tree that Willow clung to snapped and skidded down the bank. Willow and Sarah disappeared beneath the murky water.

  Chapter Ten

  Heart pounding in his throat, Amos leapt into the rushing, muddy creek.

  “Willow!”

  His shout went unanswered. The fallen tree spun away into the current that strained against Amos’s legs, threatening to tug him under too. He held on out of sheer force of will, thrusting his arms into the water. The bulky shape of Willow bobbed against the surface, an elbow breaking through here, a bit of her head there. Sarah’s leg shot above the water for a moment before disappearing once more. The current rolled and spun them like helpless leaves.

  In a flash of a heartbeat, they sped closer to where Amos braced himself against the current. Holding his breath, he lunged toward Willow, throwing his arms around her and heaving her up.

  A wrenching gasp from Willow and a scream from Sarah told Amos he had them, but the moment of elation was short lived. Another heartbeat later, and his feet slipped out from under him. All three of them went spinning into the creek’s wild current.

  Amos went under, muscles straining to keep hold of Willow. Nothing else mattered but holding on to her, getting her to safety. His lungs burned with the effort of holding his breath and he could see nothing through the muddy water that filled his eyes, but he knew one thing above all else. Without Willow, his life would be as dreary and lonely as he’d let it become in the past few years. With her, he had a chance at hope, at happiness. He wasn’t about to let that go.

  Still uncertain of his bearings, he pushed down with his feet, searching for any purchase, anything that he could brace himself against. His ankle bashed against something hard, and even though it hurt, at last Amos knew which way was up and which down. He focused all of his efforts on catching his feet against something else, reaching with his free arm for the surface.

  At last, his heels snagged something solid. He dug in, stretching for what had to be the surface. His efforts were rewarded as his head broke the surface and cool, fresh rain stung his face. He drew in a deep, straining breath, relieved beyond measure when he heard Willow breathe as well. Even little Sarah had managed to make it through, though she was coughing now.

  “Amos!” Mark’s shout was frantic.

  “Dear Lord, help them.” Beth’s wail was just as fierce behind him.

  All of Amos’s strength went into bracing himself against the current with Willow and Sarah in his arms. He had to keep their heads above the water, no matter what happened to him.

  “Hold on, Amos, hold on,” Mark called, crashing through the underbrush to reach the point where the creek had washed them.

  It was growing harder and harder to follow Mark’s command with every second. Amos gritted his teeth, muscles burning, as the raging current did its best to dislodge him. He didn’t dare to turn one way or the other to see where Mark’s voice was coming from, or if his old friend was still there for him. He could only trust that Mark was in a position to help, that he wouldn’t abandon him, not at a time like this. He had to trust.

  “Grab the branch.” Mark’s shout came from far closer than Amos would have expected. He still didn’t dare to turn his head more than a few inches. His arms were clamped hard around Willow and Sarah. He couldn’t let go. “Grab hold of the branch and I’ll pull you to safety.”

  It wasn’t until the weight of Willow in his arms shifted that Amos realized the command was for Willow, not him. He blinked to clear the muddy water from his eyes and watched, barely breathing, as Willow clamped her free hand around the thick branch Mark extended to her. Not only did she grip the branch with all her might, somehow in her panic, his beautiful, brave wife managed to help tiny, terrified Sarah to hold it as well.

  The moment Amos felt the force of Willow’s weight lift off of him, pulled toward the creek bank, he loosened his hold on her. She and Sarah dipped into the water, and for one terrifying moment Amos thought they would go under again. But Mark had them. He backpedaled on the bank, the branch secure in his grip, and pulled Willow and Sarah out of the water. Beth was there to catch them as they slid up the muddy grass above the waterline. She hugged them both tight, collapsing into the soaked grass in a fit of tears as Sarah and Willow coughed and cried.

  The relief of seeing Willow safe was so immense that Amos nearly lost his footing. Only now that they were out of harm’s way could he see the danger he was in. The rain may have lessened, but the creek was as fierce as ever.

  “Catch it, Amos,” Mark called out, extending the branch a second time.

  The branch swayed as it came near. Amos twisted and lunged to grab it. He weighed more than Willow and Sarah combined, though, and Mark stumbled at the jolt, falling. Amos jerked backward, losing his foothold. He stopped breathing and put all of his concentration into keeping his grip on the branch firm, in spite of the cuts that opened on his hands. Mark slid several feet along the bank before digging his heels into the mud against a root. He groaned with the effort of keeping hold of the branch, but his grip was firm and true.

  Confidence flooded through Amos at the intensity of effort on his friend’s face. Mark wouldn’t let go. He would do everything it took to help Amos to safety. He should have seen that all along and not let his ego get in the way of what had been a joyous friendship. He wouldn’t let the same mistake happen twice.

  Concentrating all his strength in his arms, Amos climbed, hand-over-hand, along the branch, fighting the creek’s current. He kept his eyes trained on the bank, and as soon as his feet brushed the creek bed, he shifted his stance to find footholds. Once that was done, it was a thousand times easier to walk his way out of the mire of the creek using Mark’s branch as a stabilizer.

  When he reached the muddy bank by Mark’s side, he collapsed, panting and weak, all of his effort spent for the moment.

  “Thank God,” Mark panted right along with him. “Thank God above.”

  All Amos could do was nod and thump his friend on the back before falling to the side in exhaustion.

  More than an hour later, Willow was still coughing and shivering. She tried to tell herself that she had only been in the water for a few minutes, that Sarah had had a much harder ordeal than her, and that she had never doubted Beth would find help or that Amos would get there in time. She tried to tell herself those things, but they didn’t stop the shivers.

  “What an afternoon,” Beth laughed as she rushed from her kitchen to the main room, bringing Willow a mug of steaming tea. “I’m surprised my hair didn’t turn white. I was so terrified.”

  The tea may have been hot, but seeing how relieved Beth was and how s
he was able to laugh and smile so soon after near disaster was what truly warmed Willow. “I’m so grateful you were there.” She returned her friend’s smile tenfold.

  “No, no, I’m grateful that you were so willing to come with me to find Sarah. I don’t want to imagine what would have happened without your quick thinking.”

  A flash of tension pinched Beth’s face as she looked at her darling Sarah, asleep in Mark’s arms as the two of them sat in a large chair beside the fire. Beth took a breath, smile returning, and marched to lift little Amos out of his crib, hugging him as if he was the one who had been in danger.

  “I can only thank Der Herr for preserving my family. And yours,” she added, turning to Willow. Her smile grew. “And by the looks of things, He may be leading us all into His own family, nee?”

  For a moment, Willow assumed she was talking about the way she looked wearing some of Beth’s clothes. She had washed up as best she could as soon as they had all made their way to the Lapp’s house in the fading storm. Beth had provided her with clean, dry clothes—the second set she’d had to change into in one day, she’d reflected with a laugh—and now she sat with the Lapp family, looking as though she belonged.

  It wasn’t until Beth nodded past Willow’s shoulder at the hallway that Willow realized her friend wasn’t referring to her. Clutching her mug of tea close, she turned to see what Beth was looking at. There, standing in the doorway leading into the room, was Amos. He’d needed a more extensive bath to wash off the mud that had caked him. Now he was clean and brushed, and he wore a set of Mark’s clothes. The plain blue shirt and black trousers were only a little too tight for him, but more importantly, they gave Willow a clear picture of the man he could have been.

  No, he looked like the man that he was—a man who belonged with the people who had once held him close and who had just that afternoon saved him.

  “I hope they’re not too small,” he said, glancing down at himself, when he saw the attention he had drawn. When he looked up again, he met Willow’s eyes for a moment with a smile. Then he peeked past her to Mark. “They feel right, though.”

  Such simple words, and yet they filled Willow’s heart to bursting. She set aside her tea, then leapt from her chair and crossed the room to him. Regardless of Mark and Beth watching, she hugged Amos with her whole heart. He was the only thing she needed to keep her warm, and as he closed his arms around her and kissed her forehead, her shivering stopped.

  “Come, sit with us,” Mark said. He nodded to a free chair, unable to get up as Sarah snoozed away in his arms. “Something tells me we have much to talk about.”

  “No, not much,” Amos replied.

  Willow’s heart quivered with uncertainty, and she exchanged a worried look with Beth. Then Amos took her hand and led her to the wide chair next to the fireplace, big enough for two. He sat, bringing Willow down to sit wrapped in his arms.

  “I don’t think we need to talk about much at all,” he repeated, face relaxing into a smile. “I owe you my life, my heart,” he told Mark, then kissed Willow’s cheek. “More than that, I owe you an apology.”

  “No you don’t,” Mark insisted as Beth took a seat by his side. “It is I who should have apologized to you, a long time ago.”

  “The past is the past,” Amos said. “It’s time to put it behind us, to move forward.” He squeezed Willow closer. “I know what that means now.”

  “So do I,” Willow echoed him. She still hadn’t had a chance to mention Roberta’s letter, to tell him that she really wasn’t responsible for the fire, but it seemed less important to tell the story now than it did simply to know, to forgive, and to move forward.

  “So, do you think Bishop Kaufmann would accept a tired old man in his baptism class this winter?” Amos asked Mark, mischief sparkling in his eyes.

  “If you’re old and tired, what does that make me?” Mark joked, but his eyes were alight with joy as well.

  “It makes you a good and strong friend,” Amos said.

  Willow could hardly sit still, she was so filled with happiness. “Would the bishop accept a woman who wasn’t raised Amish in his baptism class?”

  “I know he would,” Beth answered as tears streamed down his face. “He most certainly would accept both of you. We all will. Without a doubt.”

  Epilogue

  Spring sunlight shone down in the budding fields beside Amos and Willow’s house. Rows of long tables had been set out in the sunshine and the shade. They were laden with savory dishes and sweet treats. The smell of sausage and vegetables, of pastry and fruit, filled the air between the kitchen and the feast. The sound of children laughing and adults chattering with uplifted voices underscored the brightness of the sun. The entire district had come out with smiles on their faces to welcome the newest members of their community after the solemn baptismal service.

  Amos and Willow were the center of attention, though for once Willow didn’t mind at all. She rested one hand over her bulging belly, covered by the cheery blue dress and black apron she’d sewn for herself—along with several others—over the winter. It would still be a few months until their family grew by one, but already she could feel the baby kicking for joy inside of her. Because in truth, her family had just grown by dozens.

  “It’s wonderful-gut to have you with us once again,” Jonah Fisher’s wife, Naomi, said to Amos as she and Jonah approached. “Jonah and I have prayed for this for so long.”

  “Thank you, Naomi.” Amos smiled and shook Jonah’s hand. “It’s good to be home.”

  “And I’m so glad you brought Willow with you,” Naomi went on. “She’s such a help in the sewing circle, so talented.”

  Willow giggled at the compliment. “Sewing is the one thing I know better than everything else. I’ve relied on the rest of you for everything else to get us through the winter.”

  She twisted to grin up at Amos. It had been a snowy winter, full of its own trials and challenges as Willow adapted to her new way of life, but it had been a happy one as well. Along with discovering they would be welcoming a child into the family in early summer, Willow had heard news from each of her friends, telling her that they too had found men in need of wives through The Grooms’ Gazette. She only hoped Gillian, Emma, and Rose would find as much happiness as she’d found with Amos. So far, things seemed to be going well for them.

  “I thought I would find you over here,” Carl Yoder wandered over to join them, Mark not far behind. “And now that you’re a member of the church, as you should have been all along, I want to talk to you about helping with a barn-raising next month.”

  “I’d be happy to help in any way I can,” Amos replied.

  “We were actually hoping you’d talk to your brother, Micah, to see if he’d come help as well,” Mark added with a wink.

  The other joyous part of the winter had been the letters Amos had received from his brothers and sisters. It seemed as though he wasn’t the only one who had regretted the way the past had unfolded. As soon as Amos had reached out to his siblings and told them about his new way of thinking of the unfortunate things that had happened to their family, it was as if the floodgates had been open. Micah had come down from New York, where he’d been working on a poultry farm, and had ended up staying for longer than he’d intended. He’d gone back when the snow melted, but with hints that he may consider moving back to Lancaster County and joining the church himself. Similar letters had come from Amos’s sisters, promising visits of their own.

  “I’m sure I could find extra hands, if you need them.” Amos nodded to Carl.

  Carl thumped Amos on the back. “We always need extra hands.”

  The men continued chatting for a few minutes. Willow was content to stay by Amos’s side, rubbing her belly and exchanging a few words with Naomi, as if they’d been friends for years. She never dreamed that she could be so content with life.

  “So many things turned out differently than I thought they would when I stepped off that train in Strasburg last fall,”
she commented to Amos as they wandered over to the tables.

  People were beginning to gather and sit for supper, but Amos held back. “How did you expect them to turn out?” he asked, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  Willow treated him to a shy smile. “I expected that you would give me a home, a roof over my head. I expected we might have children. But I never expected to find myself part of such a wonderful—I mean, wonderful-gut—community.” Her Pennsylvania Dutch was still minimal at best, but she was determined to learn. “And I never expected to fall so deeply in love.”

  She slipped into the circle of his arms, hugging him tight. God really had been directing her path the day He convinced her to answer Amos’s call for a wife. He may have even had a hand in the trouble at the factory, especially if it meant her friends were finding happiness as well.

  “And I never expected to have my life opened up in so many ways,” Amos murmured against the top of her head, then bending close to plant a light kiss on her lips. “But I certainly am happy that things turned out the way they did, as difficult as it was to get here.”

  “That’s the past,” Willow reminded him. “The future is everything we have to look forward to.”

  “It is,” he agreed as their friends and neighbors called them to come join them at the table.

  * * *

  I hope you have enjoyed Willow: Bride of Pennsylvania. Keep your eyes peeled for the rest of the books in the American Mail-Order Bride series, including the stories about Willow’s dear friends and former roommates, Emma: Bride of Kentucky, by Peggy L. Henderson, Gillian: Bride of Maine, by Kirsten Lynn, and Rose: Bride of Colorado, by Margery Scott.

  If you enjoyed reading this book, there are 49 more in the series! Find out about the rest of the American Mail-Order Brides here, http://www.newwesternromance.com

  About the Author