Lizzie went pale. “He fell,” she said in a choked voice, “from the barn loft.” He saw her hands clutch rhythmically at the hem of her apron. “He broke his neck and died instantly.”
Zack felt shaken by the mental image. He could see that she was sincerely distraught. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard.” He, too, felt the loss. It hurt to realize that he’d never see Abraham again. He thought of all the times when he was a child that he’d trailed after his older brother.
His death must have been quick and painless, he thought, trying to find some small measure of comfort. He studied the young woman who looked too young to be married or to raise Abe’s children.
“He was a goot man.” She didn’t look at him when she bent to pick up her basket then straightened. “Are you coming in?” she asked as she finally met his gaze.
He nodded and then followed her as she started toward the house. He was surprised to see her uneven gait as she walked ahead of him, as if she’d injured her leg and limped because of the pain. “Lizzie, are ya hurt?” he asked compassionately.
She halted, then faced him with her chin tilted high, her eyes less than warm. “I’m not hurt,” she said crisply. “I’m a cripple.” And with that, she turned away and continued toward the house, leaving him to follow her.
Zack studied her back with mixed feelings as he lagged behind. Concern. Worry. Uneasiness. He frowned as he watched her shift the laundry basket to one arm and struggle to open the door with the other. He stopped himself from helping, sensing that she wouldn’t be pleased. He frowned at her back. Could a crippled, young nineteen-year-old woman raise a passel of kinner alone?
* * *
Lizzie was aware of her husband’s brother behind her as she entered the house with the laundry basket. She flashed a glance toward the kitchen sink and was pleased to note that Mary Ruth had washed the dishes and left them to drain on a rack over a tea towel.
“Mary Ruth, would you set another plate?” she said. “We have a visitor.” She was relieved to note that her daughter had set a place for her.
Mary Ruth frowned but rose to obey. Lizzie stepped aside and the child caught sight of the man behind her. She paled as she stared at him, most probably noting the uncanny resemblance of Zachariah to her dead father.
“Dat?” she whispered. The girl shook her head, then drew a sharp breath. “Onkel Zachariah.”
Watching the exchange, Lizzie saw him smile. “Mary Ruth, you’ve grown over a foot since I last saw you,” he said.
Mary Ruth blinked back tears and looked as if she wanted to approach him but dared not. The Amish normally weren’t affectionate in public, but they were at home, and Lizzie knew that the child hadn’t seen her uncle in a long time.
To his credit, Zachariah extended his arms, and Mary Ruth ran into his embrace. Eyes closed, the man hugged his niece tightly, and Lizzie felt the emotion flowing from him in huge waves.
“Zachariah is your dat’s brother,” she explained to the younger children.
Chairs scraped over the wooden floor as they rose from their seats and eyed him curiously. Zachariah had released Mary Ruth and studied her with a smile. “You look like your mudder.”
“Why didn’t you come sooner?” Mary Ruth asked. She appeared pleased by the comparison to her mother.
“I didn’t get Lizzie’s letter until yesterday,” he admitted. “After reading it, I quickly made arrangements to come.”
Mary Ruth nodded as if she understood. “Sit down,” she told the children in a grown-up voice. “Onkel is going to eat with us. You’ll have time to talk with him at the dinner table.”
The kitchen was filled with the delicious scent of pot roast with potatoes, onions and carrots. Mary Ruth had heated the leftovers from the previous day in the oven, and she’d warmed the blueberry muffins that Lizzie had baked earlier this morning.
Her eldest daughter set a plate before Zachariah and then asked what he wanted to drink. Standing there, Lizzie saw a different child than the one she’d known since Lizzie had married Abe and moved into the household. It was a glimpse of how life could be, and Lizzie took hope from it.
After stowing the empty laundry basket in the back room, Lizzie joined everyone at the table. The platter of pot roast was passed to Zachariah, who took a helping before he extended it toward Lizzie. Thanking him with a nod, she took some meat and vegetables from the plate before asking the children if they wanted more.
Conversation flowed easily between the children and their uncle, and Lizzie listened quietly as she forked up a piece of beef and brought it to her mouth.
“Are ya truly my vadder’s brooder?” Rebecca asked.
“Look at him, Rebecca,” Hannah said. “Don’t ya see the family resemblance?”
Lizzie looked over in time to see Rebecca blush. She addressed her husband’s brother. “You haven’t visited Honeysuckle in a long time.”
Zachariah focused his dark eyes on her and she felt a jolt. “Ja. Not in years. My mudder moved my sisters and me to Ohio after Dat died. I was eleven.” He grabbed a warm muffin and broke it easily in half. “I came back for a visit once when Hannah was a toddler.” He smiled at Hannah as he spread butter on each muffin half. “It’s hard to believe how much you’ve grown. I remember you as this big.” He held his hand out to show her how tall.
Hannah smiled. “You knew my mam.”
He had taken a bite of muffin and he nodded as he chewed and swallowed it.
“How come we haven’t met you before?” Matthew asked with the spunk of a young boy. “You didn’t come for Mam’s funeral.”
“I didn’t know about your mudder’s passing,” Zachariah said softly. “I still wouldn’t have known if not for Lizzie. I wanted to come to see you and your family before now, but I couldn’t get away.” He glanced around the table. “Seven children,” he said with wonder. “I’m happy to see that your mudder and vadder were blessed with all of you.” He smiled and gazed at each child in turn. “How old are you?” he asked Ezekiel.
Ezekiel held up three fingers. “Such a big boy. You are the youngest?” He seemed to wait with bated breath for Zeke’s reply, and he smiled when his answer was the boy’s vigorous nod. He then guessed Anne’s and then Jonas’s ages and was off by just one year for Jonas, who was four.
“How long are you going to stay, Onkel Zachariah?” Rebecca asked.
“Zack,” he invited. He leaned forward and whispered, “Zachariah is too much of a mouthful with Onkel, ja?” Then he shot Lizzie a quick glance before answering his niece’s question. “I thought I’d stay for a while.” He took a second muffin. “The dawdi haus—is it empty?” he asked.
“Ja,” Mary Ruth said while Lizzie felt stunned as she anticipated where the conversation was headed. “’Tis always empty except when we have guests, which we haven’t had in a long time...”
“Goot,” he said. “Then you won’t mind if I move in—”
Lizzie gasped audibly. “But that wouldn’t be proper...” The thought of having him on the farm was disturbing.
She became unsettled when Zack put her in the center focus of his dark gaze. “I’ll send for my mudder—and my sister Esther,” he said easily. “The three of us can stay there comfortably.”
Dread washed over Lizzie. “But—”
“Not to worry, Lizzie Fisher.” He flashed her a friendly smile as he buttered the muffin. “I’ll head home and then accompany them back to Honeysuckle. I won’t be moving in without a chaperone.”
But that wasn’t all that concerned Lizzie. She couldn’t help but wonder how long he—they—would be staying. Why did he want to stay? She’d never met her mother-in-law or any of Abraham’s siblings. What if they didn’t like her? What if they judged her incapable of managing the farm and decided that she was no longer needed? Could she bear to be parted from her children? Because, in her heart, they were her children although she hadn’t given birth to them.
She had enjoyed a good life with Abraham. She’d worked hard to make
the farmhouse a home for a grieving man and his children. And Abraham appreciated my efforts, she thought. Right before his death, she’d felt as if he’d begun to truly care for her.
“You don’t have to worry about us,” Lizzie said quietly as she watched him enjoy his food. “We are doing fine.” Her hands began to shake, and she placed them on her lap under the table so that he wouldn’t see. “There is no need to return. I know your life is in Ohio now.”
Zack waved her concerns aside. “You’ll be needing help at harvest time. It can’t be easy managing the farm and caring for Abraham’s children alone.”
Lizzie felt her stomach twist. Zack, like everyone else, thought her incapable of making it on her own, and he’d referred to the children as Abraham’s. She experienced a jolt of anger. Abraham’s children were her children, had been for two years now.
Then a new thought struck her with terror. Zack was the youngest Fisher son. Wouldn’t that make him the rightful heir to his family farm? If so, had he come to stake his claim?
Lizzie settled her hand against her belly as the burning there intensified and she felt nauseous. Was she going to lose her home and her family—the children she loved as her own?
She closed her eyes and silently prayed. Please, dear Lord, help me prove to Zack that I am worthy of being the children’s mudder. When she opened them again, she felt the impact of Zack’s regard. She was afraid what having him on the farm would do to her life, her peace of mind and her family.
Copyright © 2015 by Rebecca Kertz
ISBN-13: 9781460388679
A Reunion for the Rancher
Copyright © 2015 by Harlequin Books S.A.
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