The Amish Wonders Collection

by Ruth Reid

  Mattie slid the plate to his side of the table and cracked a weak smile. “I won’t deprive you.”

  He went to pass the plate back, but she held up her hand and refused to take it.

  “I’m holding out for a fresh batch.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “Besides, I can’t eat anything. Mei stomach is too nervous.” Mattie crossed the room to the window and pulled back the curtain. “Those news people aren’t leaving,” she said over her shoulder. “They’re lined up by mei greenhaus nau.”

  Bo groaned as he rose to his feet and then peered over her shoulder. Sure enough, a half dozen men and women were loitering by the greenhouse. “I’ll go talk to them again.”

  A door creaked open, then closed.

  Bo glanced at Mattie.

  “The mudroom,” she whispered.

  Seconds later, Grace bounded into the kitchen. “There’s a mass of vehicles blocking the road. Is this about the kinner? Or”—her gaze darted between him and Mattie—“the drilling company?”

  “They practically pounced on us at the police station and haven’t stopped hounding us since,” Mattie said.

  Grace’s eyes darted again. “Us?”

  “Bo—Mr. Lambright and I,” Mattie explained.

  He stepped forward. “The reporters said some unpleasant things. I hope they weren’t offensive to you too.”

  “They didn’t see me. I cut through the woods.” Grace drew Mattie into a hug. “How are you?”

  “I’m holding up.”

  Grace pushed Mattie out to arm’s length and studied her friend. “I’m glad they finally let you go. I spent all morning at the hospital hoping to see Nathan, but the nurses said he was too critical for visitors. Is Amanda taking a nap?”

  Mattie’s eyes welled. “She’s—” Her voice cracked.

  Grace looked at Bo. “Mattie’s home. She can have her kinner back, jah?”

  “It’s not that simple.” If only it was . . .

  Mattie backed up and Grace’s arms fell to her side. “I’m glad the reporters didn’t give you a fit.”

  “Should I go to the mill and fetch the men?”

  Bo held up his hand. “Let me see what I can do.” As he started toward the door, his phone rang. He glanced at Mattie’s hopeful expression as he dug his hand into his pocket.

  Mattie studied Bo as he took the call. He hadn’t said much since “hello” but judging by the way his nostrils flared, he wasn’t pleased with what the caller had to say.

  Bo cracked a smile at Mattie, then cupped the phone with his other hand, turned, and spoke in a low, growly tone. “Am I supposed to take that as a threat, Erica?”

  Grace elbowed Mattie’s ribs, then mouthed, Who is it?

  Mattie shook her head, concern growing with every second.

  Bo shifted his stance. “No, I will not . . . No! . . . I’m hanging up now, Davis.” His shoulders lifted, then sagged as he sighed. He slipped his phone back into his pocket and faced them. “Sorry about that. I should have taken the call outside.”

  “That’s okay. The reporters would have gobbled you up like fresh-baked cookies.”

  “I’m sure they’d try.” He motioned to the door. “I should probably go talk to them again.” He took a few steps.

  “Bo?” Mattie said, stopping him before he reached the door. She wasn’t one to pry, but if the call was regarding her children, she’d go stir-crazy if he didn’t say so. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yeah.”

  She’d recognized the name Erica Davis as the person who had introduced herself as his partner. “Do you need to go back to work?”

  “No.” He tugged on the collar of his starched white shirt and loosened his black tie. Either nerves or heat was getting to him, maybe both. One of the shirt buttons pinged to the floor. His gaze swept the area.

  Mattie spotted the tiny white button near the table leg, picked it up, and handed it to him.

  “Thank you. I’m always popping buttons,” he said, dropping it into his shirt pocket. He wiped his hands on his pants.

  “I can brew a good tension alleviator, if you’d like something more to drink.”

  “It’s potent,” Grace added, moving to the window.

  “Sure. I could probably use a cup after I deal with the media.”

  “We haven’t had this many Englischers around here since the escapees from the mental hospital,” Grace said, looking outside.

  Bo’s wide eyes steadied on Mattie. “Were you one of those hostages?”

  “Nay, nett me.” Mattie motioned to her friend. “Grace was held hostage, though. It was in all the papers.”

  “Yes, I remember reading about that a couple years ago.”

  Mattie glanced over her shoulder at Grace still looking at something—someone—out the window. It wasn’t like her friend to blurt anything about that time in front of a stranger. Mattie turned back to Bo. “They gave us all a scare.”

  “I’m sure they did.” His eyes held hers in a look filled with compassion and concern. She averted her attention. Oh, why did his stare have to be so compelling?

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said and left the kitchen.

  Grace spun around, the curtain swaying in her wake. “What’s going on? What’s he doing here?”

  “He paid mei bail. I was going to try to get a ride home from Cora, but when I went outside to call her, news reporters surrounded me, saying awful things about me, our settlement.” It might have been wrong to seek shelter with an Englischer, but she didn’t know where else to turn.

  “Did he tell you he knows where Amanda is and that he came here to get her clothes?”

  “No. I mean—he said Amanda is in a gut home. He’s trying to help me get her back.”

  “You believe him?”

  Mattie bowed her head. Bo didn’t have to bail her out of jail, yet he did. She lifted her head. “Jah, I do. I believe he wants to help.” She went to the window. Near the greenhouse, Bo spoke to the group, his feet shoulder width apart and arms crossed over his chest, a force to be reckoned with.

  When Bo turned and marched toward the house, she dropped the curtain and hurried to open the door. “What did they say? Are they leaving?”

  He scratched his jaw. “They want to buy herbs.”

  “What!”

  He shrugged. “You have a sign out front with hours of business posted. They want to buy herbs.”

  “I wouldn’t sell them . . . a weed,” she snorted.

  Bo’s phone rang and he quickly answered. “What did you find out?”

  She appreciated the fact that he skipped the formalities and got to the point. Grace took Mattie’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

  He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What’s the stipulation?”

  Mattie’s heart hammered. With his eyes shut, his expression wasn’t readable.

  “I see . . .”

  He wasn’t saying much and his tone stayed even, but still her insides quivered. She hung on every breath he took.

  “Yes,” he said, opening his eyes and steeling them on Mattie. “It’ll have to work, won’t it?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Judge Steinway granted visitation,” Bo said, offering the good news to Mattie first. She leaned against the kitchen counter, hand to her chest, teary-eyed, and Grace at her side. Bo shoved his cell phone back into his pocket. “We can pick up the paperwork in an hour.”

  “That’s wunderbaar news.” Grace pulled a stunned Mattie into a hug. “Your kinner are coming home.”

  Mattie’s gaze met his and she sobered. She stepped away from her friend and moved closer to him. “Is that true, Bo? Mei children are coming home?”

  Bo shook his head. “No. The visitation is limited to two hours . . . a week.”

  She gasped. “A week?”

  “I know it’s not much.”

  She pinned him with a stare and pointed to her chest. “I’m their mamm. I’ve been with them twenty-four hours a day since t
hey were born. Now I’m limited to two hours a week?”

  He stepped backward, butting up against the cabinet. “It’s visitation nonetheless. Two hours is better than not seeing them at all.”

  As the information soaked in, her shoulders wilted. She looked down. “In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God.” She quoted the verse in Thessalonians, though her tone lacked conviction.

  “He upholds the righteous,” Bo said quietly.

  Her head shot up, and she narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you trying to say? I’m walking in unrighteousness—that’s why I don’t have mei children?”

  “That wasn’t what I meant.”

  Grace stepped between them. “Mattie, focus on the kinner. They need you.” She turned and faced Bo. “When can she see them?”

  “Once we get the paperwork . . . but there is one stipulation.”

  “What is it?” Mattie asked.

  “All visitations must be supervised,” he said.

  “That’s fine,” Grace said. “I’ll go with her.”

  Bo shook his head. “Court-ordered supervision by either the lawyer or Child Services.”

  “You?” Mattie said.

  “My name was listed as the original investigator of record.” He hoped Norton hadn’t gone to such lengths as to amend court documents at this point in Bo’s internal investigation. If another investigator was listed, Mattie wouldn’t see her children anytime soon. As it was, Davis found out he’d bailed Mattie out of jail. She’d tried to threaten him over the phone, telling him that she’d inform Norton and even the review board if he didn’t persuade the Amish to sell their land to the fracking company. He wasn’t sure why the drilling company was so important to Davis, but he wasn’t about to let her leverage his job or Mattie’s circumstances with property sale. He hadn’t broken any law bailing Mattie out of jail, although he most likely flushed his career down the drain going against Norton’s demands.

  “So you might be able to arrange for Mattie to have more time with her children?”

  “I can’t make any promises. I need to read the paperwork.” And pray.

  Mattie motioned to the window. “Are they going to follow us into town—invade mei only time with mei kinner?”

  Bo rubbed the knot forming in the back of his neck. The press would never give her a moment of peace.

  “Take mei buggy.” Grace placed her hands on Mattie’s shoulders. “Do you still have Andy’s clothes?”

  “Most of them. Why?”

  “Bo should be dressed like an Amish man if he’s going to be in the buggy.”

  Mattie’s eyes widened at her friend.

  “He has to blend in,” Grace explained. “And you should probably change your dress.”

  “I think Grace is right,” Bo said. “The reporters have already seen you in that blue dress.”

  Mattie eyed him head to toe, then rested her gaze on his shoulders. “I don’t know that Andy’s clothes will fit. He was a strong man. A lumberjack.”

  Bo frowned. He worked out five days a week at the gym. He wouldn’t exactly call himself scrawny.

  “Well?” Grace crossed her arms.

  “I put them in storage for Nathan.” She buried her face in her hands, stifling a whimper.

  “Mattie.” Bo cleared his throat. “We can probably figure something else out.”

  “You’ll stick out like a sore thumb,” Grace said.

  A few seconds followed, then Mattie wiped her eyes. “Okay.” Mattie turned. “Kumm with me.”

  He trailed her to the end of the hall and into the bedroom, which also housed a small crate filled with straw. “Where’s the lamb?”

  “How do you know about Snowball?”

  “I noticed the pen the last time I was here. I found the lamb in the greenhouse and returned him to the barn. Did the mother abandon him?”

  “Jah. He’s sickly.” She squatted beside a wooden chest and opened it.

  “That’s too bad. I noticed your kinner were attached to it.”

  A soft chuckle erupted as she went through the articles of clothing inside the cedar chest.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You said kinner. It sounds odd coming from an Englischer.”

  “Jah, I suppose it does.” Bo cracked a weak smile. He’d done it again. The words had slipped out naturally.

  She rose and stretched out her arms with the stack of clothing, but when he reached for them, she didn’t release them immediately. Their closeness must have struck her suddenly because her face turned the color of raspberries. Mattie pushed the clothes against his chest and bolted from the room, muttering something about finding a bag for his Englisch clothes.

  Mattie turned at the sound of the kitchen floorboards creaking behind her. Her breath caught. Bo had no trouble filling out her husband’s shirt. His shoulders were as broad as Andy’s. If anything, the suspenders needed lengthening and the pants were an inch too short. His fancy laced shoes would give him away, but that couldn’t be helped. His feet looked big compared to Andy’s.

  Grace elbowed Mattie’s side and leaned closer. “Gutgckichmann, jah?”

  Mattie’s face heated. Bo was only a few feet away. He might not know Pennsylvania Deitsch, but he certainly could figure out they were talking about him. And dressed in Amish clothes, the man was even more handsome. Mattie pinned on a superficial smile and addressed Bo. “You’re a perfect Amish fit—I mean, the clothes fit—you’ll blend in—to our—” The quivering inflection in her voice unmasked her embarrassment and brought a rush of heat to her cheeks and a wider smile to Bo’s face.

  “Here.” She shoved a paper bag toward him. “For your—belongings.”

  He lowered his nicely folded shirt and pants into the bag, then folded his arms across his chest, making the material taut across his biceps. “Almost like the shirt was made for me.”

  Mattie sobered. “Nay, it wasn’t.” She left the kitchen to change out of her blue dress. When she returned, Grace was emptying her cabinet of jars of honey, and Bo was gazing out the window.

  He turned when she entered the room, a somber look on his face. “I wasn’t thinking when I made the comment about the shirt. I’m sorry.”

  Mattie appreciated the ease with which he admitted he was wrong. At the same time, guilt niggled at her to apologize for her abruptness. “I shouldn’t have replied so harshly. I’m sorry too.”

  Grace glanced over her shoulder. “Is this all the honey you have?”

  “There’s more in the cellar. Why?” This was not the time to organize her cupboards.

  “I’m selling it.”

  “Can’t this wait another day?” Mattie turned to Bo. “Didn’t you say the paperwork would be ready in an hour? We need to leave for town.”

  “I agree.” He plucked one of Andy’s straw hats off the hook on the wall where it had hung since her late husband had placed it there.

  Grace continued gathering the pint-sized jars of honey. “How much do you get for a jar?”

  “Grace, I’ll fill the orders later,” she said sharply. “I want to see mei children.”

  Her friend stopped, reached for Mattie’s hands, and gave them a squeeze. “I know.” She redirected her attention to Bo. “I’m going to sell it to the reporters while you two sneak out the back door. Mei buggy is under the lean-to and the harness is hanging up in the barn.”

  “That’s a great idea.” Bo steadied his focus on Mattie. “If they see us leaving in the car, they’ll follow us to the hospital. It could be tough getting through the parking lot, let alone inside Nathan’s room. We don’t want to give the hospital administration any reason to deny visitation.”

  Grace turned to Mattie. “Stop by the haus and let Aenti know what’s happening. I don’t want her worrying, and she’ll be able to tell Ben if I’m nett home when he gets back from the mill.”

  “Jah, I’ll be sure to let her know.” Mattie still didn’t like the idea of selling anything to the reporters. It would only encoura
ge them to stay on her property.

  Bo glanced at his watch. “How long does it take to get into town by buggy?”

  “Thirty or forty minutes depending on the traffic. We should go.” Mattie headed to the back door. “To answer your earlier question, I get three dollars a pint.”

  Bo chuckled. “Grace, charge twenty-three dollars a jar.”

  “Ach!” Mattie’s eyes widened. “That isn’t a fair price.”

  Bo shrugged. “Is it fair they’ve invaded your privacy?” He reached for the door handle. “Are you ready?”

  “Jah.” She looked back at Grace, and getting into the spirit of the game, Mattie winked. “See what herbs you can sell too.”

  As Grace headed out the front door with a basketful of jars, Mattie and Bo slipped out the back door. Muffled reporter voices filled the air as she led Bo through the thicket of sumac brush and into the white pine forest.

  “This is beautiful country,” Bo said once they were deep in the woods.

  “The men planted these trees the first year we settled. They’ve been clear-cutting the timber across the river the past few winters and next spring intend to replant those acres as well.”

  “I noticed a sawmill sign off the main road. I didn’t realize it was Amish owned.”

  “Jah, it’s—jointly owned.” She looked up, past the towering treetops to a little patch of sky. Mattie breathed in deeply, taking in the pungent scent of conifer and oaks. She loved this land and, at the same time, despised it.

  Branches snapped underfoot as Bo came up beside her. “How many acres does your district own?”

  She shrugged. “Collectively, I suppose it’s somewhere around a thousand.”

  “Wow. That’s a lot to timber. If you’re replanting what you harvest, your district should have plenty of wood for multiple generations.”

  Andy had talked about the next generations, their grandchildren one day working in the sawmill. She frowned.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “I’m nett used to telling mei business to an Englischer, is all.” She pushed a low-hanging limb aside, the prickly bristles swinging behind her slapped Bo in the chest.

  “Ouch,” he said under his breath. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”