Falling For The Mom-To-Be (Maple Springs #1)

by Jenna Mindel

  She still managed to look beautiful dressed in black leggings and a long gray sweater. Her blond hair tumbled over her shoulders. Waves of more sunshine.

  He pocketed his phone. Never once looking away from her, he walked up the sidewalk onto the porch steps and stopped.

  Her eyes had filled with tears, but she still hadn’t said a word. Her left hand covered her mouth. Her very bare left hand. She’d taken off Jack’s ring.

  He finally broke the ice by giving her a limp bouquet of fall-colored flowers that he’d picked up at a convenience store. “These are for you.”

  “Oh, Matthew.” She closed the distance fast and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m so sorry.”

  He pulled her as close as he could, but her hard belly got in the way. “Don’t be.”

  She pulled back and looked up into his eyes. “I was wrong. I was—”

  He laid a finger against her lips. “It’s okay. I can wait until you’re ready, and I’m not going to change my mind. I love you, Annie. Always and forever. One baby or five, I’m with you. You’re my soul mate, my first mate and I’d like to be your second husband. But it’s your timetable. There’s no hurry.”

  Tears ran down her cheeks and she smiled. “I love you.”

  That’s all he needed to hear.

  He lowered his face to hers and kissed her.

  Deeply and thoroughly, she kissed him back.

  And this time it was a kiss of certainty and assurance. A promise of their life ahead. Together.

  Epilogue

  December

  New Year’s Eve, Annie rocked her son to sleep near the fireplace. Her gift of a second rocking chair had come from Matthew. It was a gorgeous mission-style oak piece complete with a leather cushion that he’d found at an antique shop in town.

  John Anthony Marshall III had been born the weekend before Thanksgiving. With Marie at her side. Matthew had agreed to exit the labor room with everyone else when it came time to push.

  “How’s our little man?” Helen smiled.

  “Finally asleep.” Annie snuggled her precious bundle closer and kissed the baby’s forehead. “Matthew called, he should be here soon.”

  His mom nodded. “Good. I hate it when he’s out on the lakes in this kind of blustery weather. I’m glad they’re laying up early this year.”

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” Marie called from the kitchen.

  Helen squeezed Annie’s shoulder. “You sit tight. I’ll set the table.”

  “Thanks.” Annie continued to rock the baby.

  John and Andy watched college football on TV. A fire snapped and crackled in the faireplace and her Christmas tree still twinkled with fresh life. Ginger had brought her a fresh-cut tree and then had helped her decorate it a few days before Christmas.

  Her first Christmas home without Jack. Even Matthew had been gone, but she hadn’t been alone. She and Little John spent Christmas Eve dinner at Andy and Helen’s and then Christmas Day, John and Marie had brought dinner. The first of many holidays her son would share with his grandparents.

  Both the Marshalls and Zelinskys.

  Only one person had been missing. Matthew. But maybe that had been God’s timing, too. Annie wanted to wake up with her son at home, instead of over at Helen and Andy’s. Christmas morning, Annie had honored Jack’s memory while feeding their son. Talking to him like she used to, filling Jack in on all that had changed. Especially his mother’s heart. And even her own. Things were different between them.

  She heard the front door open and the stamp of big feet.

  Matthew.

  A few moments later, he came through her tiny foyer into the living room wearing a silly Santa hat with an attached felt beard. Over his shoulder, he carried a big plastic garbage bag like a sack. “Ho, Ho, Ho. Merry Christmas.”

  “Shhhh, Matthew. The baby is sleeping,” Helen scolded.

  The baby startled awake but didn’t cry. His eyes grew wide.

  Matthew peered over her shoulder at him. “Hi, big guy.”

  Little John smiled. A wide, toothless, happy-to-see-you kind of smile that made Annie’s eyes water.

  “He knows me.” Matthew’s eyes looked a little bright, too.

  Annie lifted her face. “Either that or he’s a good friend of Santa’s.”

  Matthew kissed her quick. “I missed you.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Hi, Matthew.” Marie stood in the doorway, wiping her hands against her apron. “Perfect timing. Dinner’s nearly ready. I made pot roast.”

  Matthew grinned. “Can’t wait. That’s my favorite.”

  “I know.” Marie smiled back.

  And Annie’s heart swelled to bursting with thankfulness. So many things had changed since the sadness of spring. Even though she still missed Jack—they all did—she felt his blessing over such a gathering. God had doused them with the oil of joy and brought them out of the darkness of Jack’s death.

  Annie had been given a healthy baby boy born with a thatch of dark hair who drew two families together. Jack’s son banished John and Marie’s despair. Little John would grow up surrounded by love and fond memories of his father. Matthew had promised that. Something John and Marie appreciated.

  Annie got up and shifted the baby.

  While the grandparents headed for the washroom or kitchen to load the table, Matthew stalled her with a soft touch to her arm. “I have something for you.”

  She gave a pointed look at the bag he’d dropped by the tree. Boxes poked through the sides and Christmas wrapping paper patterns showed from underneath. “Don’t you want to wait until later?”

  He pulled a small black velvet-covered box out of his pocket. “Not for this.”

  She stared at it and her heart pounded.

  “I thought we should make it official.” He opened the box to reveal a ring of white gold with a gorgeous pearl set between two diamonds. “Marry me, Annie.”

  She looked at the beautiful ring that was so unique and yet held such meaning. The purity of the pearl resonated deep within her. They’d keep God in the center of their marriage.

  Annie shifted her son and held out her hand. “Yes, Matthew. I will marry you.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, enveloping both her and Jack’s son. “Happy New Year.”

  She smiled and kissed him. Sealing the promise of a better year ahead.

  Annie couldn’t help but also think of that pearl as a reminder of her precious gift from God. She had a son.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from THE AMISH MOTHER by Rebecca Kertz.

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for picking up a copy of my book. I hope you enjoyed the first of several involving the Zelinsky family and their hometown of Maple Springs, Michigan.

  Matthew and Annie are two characters who’ve been with me a long time, waiting quietly in my idea file for a chance to tell their story. I was intrigued by the concept of true love growing out of shared grief. And the obstacles they’d face in the process.

  I think what Matthew and Annie went through can be relevant to any dark happening in our lives. If we shut out the chatter around us and focus our attention on God, seeking His wisdom, blessings can and will be found.

  Many Blessings to you,

  Jenna

  I love to hear from readers. Please visit my website at www.jennamindel.com or drop me a note c/o Love Inspired Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279.

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired story.

  You believe hearts can heal. Love Inspired stories show that faith, forgiveness and hope have the power to lift spirits and change lives—always.

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  The Amish Mother

  by Rebecca Kertz

  Chapter One

  Lancaster County, Pennsylvania

  The apple trees were thick with bright, red juicy fruit waiting to be picked. Elizabeth King Fisher stepped out of the house into the sunshine and headed toward the twin apple trees in the backyard.

  “You sit here,” she instructed her three youngest children, who’d accompanied her. She spread a blanket on the grass for them. “I’ll pick and give them to you to put in the basket. Ja?”

  “Ja, Mam,” little Anne said as she sat down first and gestured for her brothers to join her.

  Lizzie smiled. “You boys help your sister?” Jonas and Ezekiel nodded vigorously. “Goot boys!” she praised, and they beamed at her.

  “What do you think we should make with these?” she said as she handed three apples to Jonas. “An apple pie? Apple crisp?”

  “Candy apples!” Ezekiel exclaimed. He was three years old and the baby of the family, and he had learned recently about candy apples, having tasted one when they’d gone into town earlier this week.

  Lizzie grinned as she bent to ruffle his hair. Ezekiel had taken off his small black-banded straw hat and set it on the blanket next to him. “Candy apples,” she said. “I can make those.”

  The older children were nowhere in sight. Elizabeth’s husband, Abraham, had fallen from the barn loft to his death just over two months ago, and the family was still grieving. Lizzie had tears in her eyes as she reached up to pull a branch closer to pick the fruit. If only I hadn’t urged him to get the kittens down from the loft...

  Tomorrow would have been their second wedding anniversary. She had married Abraham shortly after the children’s mother had passed, encouraged strongly by her mother to do so. She’d been seventeen years old at the time, but she’d been crippled her entire life.

  “Abraham Fisher is a goot man, Lizzie,” she remembered her mother saying. “He needs a mother for his children and someone to care for his home. You should take his offer of marriage, for in your condition you may not get another one.”

  My condition, Lizzie thought. She suffered from developmental hip dysplasia, and she walked with a noticeable limp that worsened after standing for long periods of time. But she was a hard worker and could carry the weight of her chores as well as the rest of the women in her Amish community.

  Limping Lizzie, the children had called her when she was a child. There had been other names, including Duckie because of her duck-like gait, which was caused by a hip socket too shallow to keep in the femoral head, the ball at the top of her long leg bone. Most of the children didn’t mean to be cruel, but the names hurt just the same.

  Lizzie had spent her young life proving that it didn’t matter that one leg was longer than the other; yet her mother had implied otherwise when she’d urged Lizzie to marry Abraham, a grieving widower with children.

  Abraham had still been grieving for his first wife when he’d married her, but she’d accepted his grief along with the rest of the family’s. His children missed their mother. The oldest two girls, Mary Ruth and Hannah, resented Lizzie. The younger children had welcomed her, as they needed someone to hug and love them and be their mother. And they were too young to understand.

  Mary Ruth, Abraham’s eldest, had been eleven at the time of her mother’s death, her sister Hannah almost ten. Both girls were angry with their mother for dying and angrier still at Lizzie for filling the void.

  Lizzie picked several more apples, handing the children a number of them so that they would feel important as they placed them carefully in the basket.

  “Can we eat one?” Anne asked.

  “With your midday meal,” Lizzie said. She glanced up at the sky and noted the position of the sun, which was directly overhead. “Are you hungry?” All three youngsters nodded vigorously. She reached to pick up the basket, which was full and heavy. She didn’t let on that her leg ached as she straightened with the basket in hand. “Let’s get you something to eat, then.”

  The children followed her into the large white farmhouse. When she entered through the back doorway, she saw the kitchen sink was filled with dirty dishes. She sighed as she set the basket on one end of the counter near the stove.

  “Mary Ruth!” she called. “Hannah!” When there was no response, she called for them again. Matthew, who was eight, entered the kitchen from the front section of the house. “Have you seen your older sisters?” Lizzie asked him.

  He shrugged. “Upstairs. Not sure what they’re doing.”

  “Matt, are you hungry?” When the boy nodded, Lizzie said, “If you’ll go up and tell your sisters to come down, I’ll make you all something to eat.”

  Jonas grabbed his older brother’s arm as Matt started to leave. “Mam’s going to make candy apples,” he said.

  Matthew opened his mouth as if to say something, but then he glanced toward the basket of apples instead and smiled. “Sounds goot. I like candy apples.” Little Jonas grinned at him.

  Matt left and then returned moments later, followed by his older sisters, Mary Ruth, Hannah and Rebecca, who had been upstairs in their room.

  “You didn’t do the dishes,” Lizzie said to Mary Ruth.

  The girl regarded her with a sullen expression. “I didn’t know it was my turn.”

  “I’ll do them,” Rebecca said.

  “That’s a nice offer, Rebecca,” Lizzie told her, “but ’tis Mary Ruth’s turn, so I think she should do it.” She smiled at the younger girl. “But you can help me make the candy apples later this afternoon after I hang the laundry.” She met Hannah’s gaze. “Did you strip the beds?”

  Hannah nodded. “I put the linens near the washing machine.”

  Lizzie smiled. “Danki, Hannah.” She heard Mary Ruth grumble beneath her breath. “Did you say something you’d like to share?” she asked softly.

  “Nay,” Mary Ruth replied.

  “I thought not.” She went to the refrigerator. “What would you like to eat?” Their main meal was usually at midday, but their schedule had differed occasionally since Abraham’s death because of the increase in her workload. Still, she had tried to keep life the same as much as possible.

  “I can make them a meal,” Mary Ruth challenged. Lizzie turned, saw her defiant expression and then nodded. The girl was hurting. If Mary Ruth wanted to cook for her siblings, then why not let her? She had taught her to be careful when using the stove.

  “That would be nice, Mary Ruth,” she said. “I’ll hang the clothes while you feed your brooders and sisters.” And she headed toward the back room where their gas-powered washing machine was kept, sensing that the young girl was startled. Lizzie retrieved a basket of wet garments and headed toward the clothesline outside.

  The basket was only moderately heavy as she carried it to a spot directly below the rope. She felt comfortable leaving the children in the kitchen, for she could see inside through the screen door.

  A soft autumn breeze stirred the air and felt good against her face. Lizzie bent, chose a wet shirt and pinned it on the line. She worked quickly and efficiently, her actions on the task but her gaze continually checking inside to see the children seated at the kitchen table.

  “Elizabeth Fisher?” a man’s voice said, startling her.

  Lizzie gasped and spun around. She hadn’t heard his approach from behind her. She’d known before turning that he was Amish as he had spoken in Deitsch, the language spoken within her community. Her eyes widened as she stared at him. The man wore a black
-banded, wide-brimmed straw hat, a blue shirt and black pants held up by black suspenders. He looked like her deceased husband, Abraham, only younger and more handsome.

  “You’re Zachariah,” she said breathlessly. Her heart picked up its beat as she watched him frown. “I’m Lizzie Fisher.”

  * * *

  Zachariah stared at the woman before him in stunned silence. She was his late brother’s widow? He’d been shocked to receive news of Abraham’s death, even more startled to learn the news from Elizabeth Fisher, who had identified herself in her letter as his late brother’s wife.

  It had been years since he’d last visited Honeysuckle. He hadn’t known that Ruth had passed or that Abe had remarried. Why didn’t Abraham write and let us know?

  “What happened to Ruth?” he demanded.

  The woman’s lovely bright green eyes widened. “Your brooder didn’t write and tell you?” she said quietly. “Ruth passed away—over two years ago. A year after Ezekiel was born, she came down with the flu and...” She blinked. “She didn’t make it. Your brooder asked me to marry him shortly afterward.”

  Zack narrowed his gaze as he examined her carefully. Dark auburn hair in slight disarray under her white head covering...eyes the color of the lawn after a summer rainstorm...pink lips that trembled as she gazed up at him. “You can’t be more than seventeen,” he accused.

  The young woman lifted her chin. “Nineteen,” she stated stiffly. “I’ve been married to your brooder for two years.” She paused, looked away as if to hide tears. “It would have been two years tomorrow had he lived.”

  Two years! Zack thought. The last time he’d received a letter from Abraham was when Abe had written the news of Ezekiel’s birth. His brother had never written again.

  The contents of Lizzie’s letter when it had finally caught up to the family had shocked and upset them. Zack had made the immediate decision to come home to Honeysuckle to gauge the situation with the children and the property—and this new wife the family knew nothing about. His mother and sisters had agreed that he should go. With both Ruth and Abraham deceased, Zack thought that the time had come to reclaim what was rightfully his—the family farm.