Unexpected Family

by Jill Kemerer

  “Tell me, Steph. You can tell me anything. Remember? We said we’d be honest with each other. I can handle it.”

  He probably could handle it. But could she?

  Stephanie sat back on her heels, all the joy blossoming like a spring flower over her heart, but she had to know for certain. Couldn’t have even a sliver of a doubt.

  “When we were married,” Stephanie said, “I felt unimportant, like you woke up one day and thought you’d made a mistake picking me as your wife.”

  “I know that now.” He nodded as he held her gaze. “I wanted to be successful, to buy a house, start a family. I blew it. After we split, I blamed you for going behind my back, but I hadn’t been the man you needed. I wasn’t enough for you. But I want to be the man I should have been then. I don’t ever want you to question your importance in my life.”

  His words filled the crevices of doubt, but one crack remained. One she had to be certain of.

  “You were always enough for me. You will always be enough. But I have to ask you one more thing.” Stephanie touched his cheek with the back of her hand. “Do you love me for me? Or do you love me for being Macy’s mom?”

  He frowned as he considered. Then he cupped her chin with his hands. “I love you. Stephanie. And I love you, Macy’s mom. I can’t separate the two, so don’t ask me to. I love you. Your spirit. Your morals. But I love you with Macy. You’re an amazing mother. You’ve done it all for years—I have no idea how. So, yeah, I love you for you, but I love you for Macy, too. I’m sorry if that’s not what you wanted to hear.”

  Tears pressed against her eyes. “You think all that?” Her heart filled, overflowed.

  “Yes.” He nodded, brushing his thumb under her eye as a tear fell.

  “I...I think you’re an incredible dad. You’re so good with her. So patient. I wish I had half your patience. And you play with her—I feel bad for not being as much fun as you are.”

  “Well, it’s easy to be fun. I’m not the one grinding away at school and work and worrying about bills the way you are. I want us to be a family, Steph. I want to take some of the pressure off you. I want to be an everyday dad to Macy.”

  “I want that, too, Tom. I would love to give Macy a family—trust me, I would. But I think we should take it slow. We rushed into everything last time. Let’s spend time together—not only as a family—but just you and me. Figure out what we want, how to move forward.”

  He yanked her to him. “I agree. And let’s start with some catching up.” A wicked grin spread across his face. His nose almost touched hers.

  “I thought that’s what we were doing.”

  “I’m just following your suggestion.” His gaze fell to her lips again. “Getting to know you. Slowly.” He kissed her. And she sank into his embrace. Enjoyed his version of catching up.

  “Um, shouldn’t we get back to the party?” She nodded toward the door.

  “Nah. They’re fine without us.” He turned on the gas fireplace and lowered his body to the floor, pulling her to sit in front of him. Flames rippled upward. She leaned her back against his chest and reveled in the strength of his arms circling her.

  “Are you sure about staying in Michigan?” he asked, nuzzling her cheek. “I want you to be happy.”

  “I want nothing more than to stay right here.”

  His breath heated her neck. “So by taking things slow, do you think a month would be long enough for that? I’ve got this big empty house, and it’s pretty lonely.”

  She laughed. “A month is not taking things slow. I have a lot of things I want, you know.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like more kids.”

  His lips tickled her ear. “I’m on board with that.”

  A knock on the door made them both twist to see who it was. “Tommy? You in there? A couple of people are getting ready to leave.”

  “Be right out.” He met her eyes, and she giggled.

  “I don’t remember the last time I felt this naughty.” She rose to her feet.

  “You’re about to feel naughtier.” He tugged her back down and kissed her again.

  She kissed him back. “Okay, okay. We have to get back to the party.”

  “Why?”

  “Well.” She thought a moment. “I can’t think of a single reason.”

  “That’s why I love you.”

  Epilogue

  Stephanie arranged the corn husks around the pillars of the porch. She’d draped a plaid wool throw over the rocking chair she purchased last weekend. The perfect spot to read to Macy. Three pumpkins waited to be carved. Claire and Reed had promised to stop by later to help. Overflowing pots of maroon mums flanked the door, and a crimson mat welcomed guests. Home. Her home with Tom and Macy. She raised her face to the cloudless bright sky and smiled.

  “Hey, gorgeous.” Tom ambled behind her, wrapped his hands around her waist and pressed his cheek to hers. “Looks good. You sure know how to make this house a home.”

  She twisted to kiss him. “I’ve been thinking about having a house for many years.”

  “Good thing I snatched you up, then.”

  Stephanie straightened the husks. “I thought I snatched you up.”

  “Well, you couldn’t help yourself. It was my awesome finish at the IRONMAN that won you over, wasn’t it?”

  She laughed. “Considering we got married a week after the race, I’d say no. But I am proud of you. Under twelve hours. Just like you wanted.”

  He brushed her hair from her face and stared into her eyes. “Eleven hours and forty-two minutes. Get it right, Mrs. Sheffield.”

  She swatted his shoulder. “You’re going to be impossible to live with now, aren’t you? What time are you aiming for next year?”

  “Time? I’m aiming for...a baby. Girl. Boy. Doesn’t matter.”

  She couldn’t stop the grin spreading over her face if she wanted to. “Really? Are you sure you’re ready?”

  “I’m ready. And I’m aiming for eleven hours for the race. I want it all. Starting with a kiss.” He pressed his lips to hers, and she wriggled her arms around his shoulders.

  “I like the way you think.”

  “Daddy, Daddy, look at me!” Macy wheeled down the driveway on her purple bike with pink sparkly streamers. “No training wheels!”

  Tom pressed his forehead to Stephanie’s. “Duty calls.”

  “Well, you are the Iron Man after all.”

  He winked, jogging toward Macy. “Don’t forget it. You realize you’re going to be the envy of all the ladies.”

  She laughed. “I already am.”

  “And I’m a blessed man.”

  * * * * *

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

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for spending time in Lake Endwell! The Sheffield siblings have so much going for them—faith in the Lord, love for each other, a lucrative family business and a charming community. Nothing in life is perfect, though. Even people who seem to have it all struggle. Tom Sheffield lacks the thing he wants most, a family. And Stephanie paid dearly for the poor choices she made, but through her faith in God, she gained the courage to tell Tom about their daughter. God used their little girl to bless them with a family.

  I can relate to Tom because I think we all sense something missing in our lives from time to time. And Stephanie isn’t the only one who’s made poor choices; I have, too. When we focus on God’s will instead of our own, we gain peace in our hearts regardless of our circumstances. There is no sin or problem too big for God. He hears you. He knows what you’re going through. Depend on Him!

  I love connecting with readers. Please stop by my website, www.jillkemerer.com, and email me at jill@jillkemerer.com.

  God bless you!
<
br />   Jill Kemerer

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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 chil
dren 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.