The Amish Midwife's Courtship

by Cheryl Williford

  He remembered Molly’s words about prayer and whispered, Gott, let this meeting go well. Give me the right words. Have Your will in my life.

  He opened the main door. A bell announced his arrival. He stepped into the furniture showroom and wiped his feet on the rough, fibrous floor mat underfoot. The barnlike building, full of beautiful handmade furniture, amazed him. There was no lack of stock here. Mose Fischer was obviously an intelligent and talented man with a thriving business.

  A man dressed Amish, but one Isaac didn’t recognize, waved from the back of the store. “Willkumm, I’ll be right with you.” Tall, well-built and obviously energetic, his movements were quick and fluid as he finished wrapping the desk next to him, coating it in plastic wrap to protect the finish for shipping.

  “How are you this fine morning?” The man approached. He extended his hand and grasped Isaac’s in a powerful handshake that told Isaac the man had lifted heavy furniture for years.

  One of the man’s fingers flicked his name badge. “Name’s Fredrik, but people ’round here often call me Fred.” He grinned, keeping the conversation friendly.

  “Gut to meet you, Fred.” Isaac put his hand behind his back and flexed blood back into his fingers. He had to work on his upper body strength, not just his legs. Since the wreck he’d lost considerable weight and muscle tone. Too much time lying in a hospital bed.

  “What is it you’re looking for? A bed, or perhaps a table for your new haus?” The man moved from side to side, flicking his dust rag from his pocket and polishing the tables nearby as he spoke.

  Isaac liked the man’s work ethic. He’d need this kind of employee one day if he could ever get the business off the ground and start making enough profit to hire someone ambitious. “No, I’m not a customer today. I was hoping to talk to Mose Fischer for a moment if he’s in.”

  “Ach, and me running my mouth about furniture.” The man grinned from ear to ear, as only the young and eager did. He pointed to a room just off to the side of the building. “That would be his office. Just give a knock. He’ll call you in if he’s not on the phone with business. It’s good to meet you, Herr...”

  “Graber, Isaac Graber.” He suffered through another crushing handshake.

  “Gut to meet you, Herr Graber. You come see us before your wedding day. We can fill your home with beautiful furniture.”

  “I’m not getting married anytime soon.” Isaac thought of his pretend courting with Molly, but they had no future together. Their ruse meant absolutely nothing.

  Turning to head back to his work, Fredrik murmured, “Oh, you will be. And soon. Ya, all the signs are there.”

  “Signs?” Isaac asked the man, staring at his broad back.

  The man stopped and turned toward Isaac. “Ya, signs. You’re young and single. That’s all it takes to get tangled up with one of the smart Amish women here in Pinecraft. Lots are looking for husbands.” He laughed like he knew all the secrets of the world and headed to the back of the store, whistling the same song Molly had been singing that morning.

  The hair on his arms stood up as he walked across the shiny tile floor to Mose’s office. He knocked, glancing back at Mose’s busy employee while he waited.

  Mose Fischer opened the door, the man’s blond hair a messy nest of curls covered in sawdust. “Good to see you again, Isaac. Hope the shop’s doing well.”

  The men shook hands and Isaac flinched.

  “I see you’ve meet Fredrik,” Mose commented. “He has quite a handshake, doesn’t he?”

  Isaac laughed, trying to hide his embarrassment. “I thought he’d squeeze my hand off. I’d better start lifting weights before I come back to buy furniture.”

  Mose motioned for Isaac to sit in a comfortable-looking chair. He moved behind an old, scratched desk and dropped into a squeaky computer chair. “I’d never considered myself a weakling until I hired Fredrik a couple of years ago. He had me pumping iron just to endure his morning greetings,” Mose added with a smile. “So what can I do for you? A new desk and computer chair for your office?” Bright blue eyes gazed at him expectantly.

  Isaac breathed deeply. “I came to talk to you about the church. Well, not exactly the church, but the chance of a church loan. I could pay it back in say...five years, give or take a year.”

  “A loan for business or personal?” Mose pulled at his long beard, his forehead creased.

  “Business.”

  “How much do you need?”

  Isaac slumped in his chair. He had no idea how much money he needed. He hadn’t thought that far ahead, convinced he’d be laughed out of the man’s office as soon as he opened his mouth about borrowing church money.

  He straightened, looked Mose in the eyes and sputtered. “I...well, I was thinking of a couple new golf carts and several really nice new bikes to sell, not rent. Having stock would help pick up profits and maybe fill the shelves with parts. Ya, parts, lots of them because I’m sick of turning away customers because I don’t have what they need.” Isaac stopped talking because Mose was smiling broadly, as if he was ready to burst into laughter, just as Isaac feared.

  “You remind me of myself all those years ago,” Mose said. “I was young and fresh as a corn cob that had fallen off the back of my daed’s truck. I had no idea what I’d need to get this furniture business off the ground, but it was my heart’s desire and I was willing to do whatever it took. Even fight for it if I had to, and I did. My daed wanted me to be a farmer, like him. He made my life miserable for years. I went to Gott with my problem and He set the path, just like He set yours when you came in here today, ready to do battle for your dream.”

  Isaac swallowed a lump in his throat. Mose had seen his vision, felt his earnest desire to make his business grow. Danke, Gott. “I was afraid you’d laugh at me.”

  “Laugh? Nee, not laugh. But I will speak as your representative to my father, Otto Fischer. He’s the community bishop and calls the financial committee together for requests such as this. I usually head those committees, so rest easy. You’ll get a fair hearing. You should know our answer in a few days, a week at most. Hold on to your faith. If this is Gott’s will, all will go well. And relax. You look wound tighter than a kettledrum.”

  Isaac considered telling Mose about his past, but shame held him back. “Danke, Mose. You’ve been so helpful. I can’t thank you enough for—”

  Mose cut him off. “There’s no need for thanks, Isaac. Just remember. The community of Pinecraft is here for you. You seem to have made a good impression on Molly, and I trust her judgment.”

  Isaac’s gaze veered away. “Molly’s a kind woman, full of promise. Someday she’ll make a wonderful, spirited wife.”

  “That she will, but I don’t want her hurt by anyone.”

  Isaac laughed a little. Mose didn’t have to worry about him. He had no interest in falling in love with anyone, especially Molly. “She’s a good friend. You don’t have to worry about me. I’m no threat to Molly’s happiness. For now, my mind is set on work, and nothing more.”

  “But hearts grow close at the least expected time. I know from experience. Don’t pull Molly into your life if you have no real intentions toward her. Let her get on with her search to find someone she can love if you feel so strongly about using your time and energy to build your business. All I had to offer my Sarah was a promise of a future. Little more than hard work and my rambunctious kinner to care for. She jumped at the chance. Molly might, too, if you show the least bit of interest.”

  Isaac rose and extended his sore hand. “Danke, Mose for your help with the loan...and the good advice. Gott has a plan for my life, and I don’t want to be out of His will ever again.”

  * * *

  The sun woke Molly an hour early the next morning. In a hurry to get out the door, she dressed quickly and rushed to eat a bowl of cereal, only to get waylaid by her
mother at the kitchen table and caught up in an argument.

  “I don’t want to talk about Samuel again. You know I don’t love him, Mamm.” She spoke over her empty cereal bowl. “He’s not my type and I’m...” Her voice trailed off, weary of the fight. She was tired of being treated like a child because she wasn’t married. She’d said all this before, but each chapter and verse of her argument was being ignored.

  “You have little option, Molly. This foolishness about Isaac has to stop. He’s not the man for you. He’s as poor as a church mouse and has no future to offer you,” Ulla said from across the table.

  Molly rose and faced her mother. “I don’t want to marry without love, and I don’t love Samuel.” Her mother’s expression reflected grim determination. She shoved her coffee cup into the hot water glistening with suds, silently praying her mother would be reasonable just this once.

  Dressed in a freshly ironed dress of navy blue, her apron heavily starched, Ulla wiped her mouth on a linen napkin and then pushed away from the breakfast table. She slammed her plate against the kitchen counter. “I said forget about Isaac. After church this Sunday, I want you to tell Samuel that you do love him. Explain that you were just testing the waters, do you hear?” She moved away, rammed her chair back under the table and headed for the door, her steps quick and angry. “You have to marry the man. We need his money to keep the boarding haus open. Too many of our seasonal renters have passed on to be with the Lord. New hotels are opening all around us. Each winter we are left with the crumbs; the leftovers no one else wants to rent to. If we are to survive—”

  “You mean if you are to survive, Mamm. Money was never an issue when Daed was alive and running this home. You insist on buying what we don’t need, spending money on things you want. Your knickknacks and whatnots clutter this house.” Molly lifted a wooden chicken off the counter and held it up for her mother to see. “I won’t sacrifice my life to pay for your expensive trinkets. If Samuel is such a good catch, you marry him. I’m not—”

  Ulla walked over to Molly and grabbed her arm with steely fingers. Anger pressed her mother’s features into a harsh scowl. “I have sacrificed all my life for you. It is time you sacrificed for me.”

  Molly jerked out of her mother’s grasp and stood her ground. “Nee, not anymore. I have done all I am going to do. A loveless marriage is where I draw the line.”

  Her eyes narrow slits, Ulla leaned close and poked Molly on the chest. “You are Amish and unmarried. You will do as you are told. I will not allow this behavior to go on in mein haus. When you see Samuel, make it clear you are prepared to court and marry.”

  Turning on her heel, her mamm slammed out of the house, leaving Molly slumped against the kitchen counter.

  The time had come for drastic changes. She had to take a stand or be railroaded into something she didn’t want. Her mother had gone too far.

  She looked around the room. She’d grown up in this house. Most of her happy moments with Greta were experienced here. They’d laughed together in this kitchen as kinner. And cried together, as well. They’d shared the big double bed until the day her sister married Mose Fischer. Her sister’s book of poems were hidden in Molly’s clothes drawer, along with the kapp Greta had worn the day she’d died. There were no pictures of her to look at and remember. Just memories from the past.

  Molly didn’t wait for her thoughts to clear. She wasn’t going to stay in this haus a moment longer. She’d bring her suitcases to work with her, work her shift and later go to Mose and Sarah’s for wisdom.

  They lived in Pinecraft, where church rules were often bent and twisted. She saw no reason why she shouldn’t become more independent. She was twenty-one now, after all. An adult. She didn’t have to live under her mamm’s thumb or be forced into a loveless marriage.

  Sarah had gone through a lot back in Lancaster. She was a gut person to ask for wisdom, and Mose would keep her in line, help her not break Ordnung rules. She didn’t want trouble with her church, or the Bishop. She loved Otto Fischer like a father and respected his position in the community.

  Packed and ready to leave, Molly walked through the house, touching the chair her father had always sat in. His place at the table was still held in reserve out of respect. His death had come as a powerful blow to Molly and Greta. She’d tried hard to accept Gott’s will for her life but secretly resented Gott for taking her father so soon, and then Greta.

  Walking into the great room for one last time, she grabbed a sheet of writing paper from the desk and wrote with heavy strokes of the pen.

  Mamm,

  I need to get away and think. Please don’t look for me.

  Molly

  She pushed her note away from the edge of the table and walked out the front door, her small zippered suitcases beating against her thighs as she hurried to the driveway.

  With her legs pumping fast, she rode her bike to the café, parked in the back and pulled her bags from the basket. She rushed in through the employees’ door, her two small suitcases in hand, pretending everything was fine. She felt gutted inside, her stomach heaving, but she had customers to feed, hard work to do when her shift began in a half hour. Work would keep her mind off things best not thought about. Like her mamm’s reaction to her moving out. She put on her apron, looked through the windows toward Isaac’s shop and saw a Closed sign hanging on the door handle.

  She turned and headed to the kitchen.

  The grill spit and sputtered hamburger fat all over the thick cotton apron stretched across Willa Mae’s generous figure. The older woman turned toward Molly, her spatula flipping meat patties with precision. She’d had years of practice. “Hey, you look like someone ran over your favorite cat. What’s up, Sugar?”

  “Ach, you don’t want to know.” All morning she’d been able to think of nothing but Isaac and her mother, but now that Willa Mae was standing in front of her, she questioned her decision. Maybe she’d acted too rashly when she’d packed her bags. Was moving out a good idea? Mose would probably advise her she should have waited and prayed for Gott’s direction, but she’d had enough of her mamm’s demands. She would not marry Samuel without love.

  Willa Mae flipped a rare burger on the toasted bottom bun, slathered it with mayonnaise and then slapped on a tomato slice, lettuce leaves and two rings of red onion on the mustard-covered top bun. “Sure, I wanna know. Spill it. Tell your mean ole boss what’s on your mind.” She sandwiched the two halves together and leaned on the mountain of food, squeezing it down to a reasonable height before she slid it on a plate already lined with potato chips.

  How could she tell her what was going on without sounding like a spoiled child? “It’s my mamm.”

  “Ulla again? What did she do this time? Make you eat your greens?” Willa Mae put the plate through the food window and bellowed like a pig farmer, “Food’s up.” She jerked down the next slip of paper from the roundabout and read the food order, her lips moving. “I know she treats you like a nine-year-old and shows you no respect. So what’s new?”

  Molly picked up a pickle slice and popped it in her mouth. The sour flavor puckered her lips and made her cheeks hurt. “She’s really crossed the line this time.”

  “You said that the last four times you came into this kitchen grumbling. You’re gonna have to come up with something fresh if you’re gonna keep my interest piqued.” Her deep, throaty laugh, the result of too many packs of cigarettes twenty years ago, filled the small kitchen. She coughed and wheezed into the sleeve of her chef’s uniform and then went back to work at the grill.

  “She told Samuel he could court me and she didn’t even ask how I felt about him. She had no right. I was so embarrassed, and now she says I have to marry him, like it or not.”

  Willa Mae broke an egg with one hand and then broke another. They sizzled on the hot grill. Two strips of bacon joined the eggs and instantly shriveled. “Isn�
��t he that rich Amish kid, the big-time farmer from Ohio?” Two slices of light wheat toast popped up, perfectly brown and ready for a brush of melted butter.

  “Ya, his family’s got money, but—”

  Willa Mae cut Molly off. “Look, child. He’s got money. Your mama likes spending money. Makes perfect sense to me. If I was young enough, I’d marry him myself. Anything to get away from this hot stove.” The piping hot plate of food was shoved through the food window, followed by two tiny containers overflowing with pickles. “Food’s up.”

  Molly caught Willa Mae’s gaze and saw confusion in her honey-brown eyes. “I’m a twenty-one-year-old spinster. I live with my domineering mother, work two jobs. I’ve never courted seriously, and I’m supposed to marry Samuel for his money. Does that help you understand?” Tears welled up in her eyes, making everything go blurry around her.

  Willa Mae moved in closer, her arm slipping around Molly’s trembling shoulders. “Oh, don’t be starting no tears up in here. I’m sorry you’re sad, honey. I really am. I thought this was just one of your usual rants. I didn’t know you were really upset, or I wouldn’t have teased you.”

  Molly cried like a child all over her boss’s shoulder. “I’ve been pretending to court Isaac, but I think he may have a girlfriend back home.”

  “Wait up a minute. Who has a girlfriend? I thought we were talking about your mama forcing Samuel on you. Keep it simple for me, honey. I’m old as dirt and I can’t keep up with your rambling.”

  Molly’s bottom lip trembled. She sniffed, taking the dish towel her boss thrust at her. It smelled of bacon grease and tomatoes. She wiped her eyes, but the tears kept flowing. “This man I’ve been seeing, Isaac... I think he might have a girlfriend. He got a letter from somebody named Rose, and we’re supposed to be courting, or pretending to be courting. If she comes here for a visit and is truly his girlfriend, how will we keep up our ruse?” Molly groaned. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m just so emotional lately.”