Her Secret Amish Child

by Cheryl Williford

  He dropped onto the wooden seat of the chair. “Danki,” he muttered, his tone none too friendly.

  In the past they would have made a joke about all this, laughed and poked fun at each other for being afraid in an empty house. But they weren’t children anymore, or misbehaving teens. They were adults. Strangers really. She wasn’t sure how he’d react to being pushed to the ground by a swinging door in his own house. “You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”

  “I told your daed I’d be doing some of the repairs in the haus this afternoon.”

  She wiped sweat off her top lip. “Why didn’t he tell me? I’d hoped to make preparations for our move tomorrow.”

  “Your guess is as gut as mine. Maybe he thought you’d be finished by now. It is gone seven.” He looked toward the kitchen curtains blowing in the wind. “Most mamms would be at home, feeding their kinner and getting them ready for bed.” He glanced around, scowling. “Where is Benuel?”

  Was his comment a rebuke? Probably not. She was just being touchy. Benuel was with her father and Ulla, well fed and bathed by now, and waiting for his bedtime story. She owed Fredrik no explanation, but she gave him one anyway. “He’s with my daed, probably eating the chocolate cupcakes I made earlier and no doubt staying up till all hours while I behave wickedly with my broom and dustrag.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply—”

  Out of past frustrations she’d reacted too harshly. “No, I know you didn’t. Forgive me. I guess I’m tired.” Lizbeth picked up the spilled cleaning utensils scattered across the floor. She glanced back at Fredrik, her grip tightening on the handle of the scrub brush. Feeling threatened moments before, she would have used it on him. The thought disturbed her. Poor man was only doing what he’d promised to do. Getting the house ready for his first tenant.

  Lizbeth put away the brush and sat the box of supplies back on the counter. She gave Fredrik a long glance and found he looked remarkably young, his hair tossed from his fall, the freckles on his nose more pronounced under the indoor lighting. But then she noticed the slight bags under his eyes, signs of exhaustion around his mouth. Her mood softened even more.

  No doubt the man had worked all day and now was here to work on the house. Had he had time to eat his evening meal? The least she could do was offer him a cold bottle of refreshment. She reached for her carryall and pulled out a sweating bottle of cold apple juice. “Why don’t you drink this and then get back to your projects.”

  He reached for the bottle and downed half with one long pull. “Danki,” he said and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he rose. He moved to leave the room, but paused just inside the door. “I’m sorry I scared you.” His gaze held hers for a long moment, but then he vanished, leaving her alone with her thoughts, though the woodsy fragrance of his soap stayed with her.

  Lizbeth busied herself for a few minutes, spraying vinegar on the already-clean windowpanes and wiping them. She scrubbed with all her might and then paused as she heard footsteps coming back toward the front of the house. She waited for Fredrik to reenter the kitchen.

  His boots shuffled as he crossed the entry hall and made his way back to the bedrooms. Without even trying, Fredrik had a way of pulling out memories, making her think of how things used to be when they were young.

  She heard a window in the back bedroom open and then close. He was probably checking the caulking. She’d seen slight cracks around several of the windows from the constant Florida heat. No doubt he’d patch where it looked like the rain could get in.

  Silence surrounded her. The last of the sunlight coming in through the opened kitchen window waned and disappeared. As she locked the small window over the sink, an outdoor light came on in the neighbor’s house, chasing away the beginnings of night shadows and flooding the backyard with a golden hue.

  She glanced around the unfamiliar kitchen that was to become hers to use. She compared this warm, welcoming space to the drafty, uninviting farmhouse she’d shared with Jonah, and sighed. One day Gott would allow her a measure of peace.

  With the cleaning box in her arms, she left the kitchen and made her way into the great room. Two side-by-side windows had been left open. A brisk breeze blew in, fluttering the long drapes hanging at each side of the twin windows. The fragrances of damp foliage and the sea intertwined.

  A feeling of melancholy settled over her. She wished she was sharing this house with a man, a husband who would love her and her soh. But she knew that was not to be. She’d make do with Benuel’s love. He would be enough. Later, after she’d gotten over the painful memories of her first marriage, maybe Gott would send someone her way. Someone she could deeply love. Someone who wouldn’t judge her for her past mistakes. Once emotionally healed, she’d welcome a kind and gentle husband into her lonely life. But now was too soon. She had things to forget, things that still troubled her dreams.

  She pulled the chocolate whoopie pie out of her starched apron and walked slowly down the hall. Squatting in front of the electric socket on the wall, Fredrik used a yellow screwdriver to twist in a screw. She paused, watching him, interested in the way his muscles rippled beneath his shirt and then went taut across his back when he stretched.

  She cleared her throat and he shot to his feet. She held out the whoopie pie. “I thought you might have missed your dinner. This might help.”

  “Danki,” he said, reaching out and taking it.

  He looked at her in a way that made her stomach clench. His blue eyes had always fascinated her. “I made it myself,” she muttered. “I hope you like it.”

  “I’m certain-sure I will,” he said, touching her hand as he reached out.

  She couldn’t ignore the tingle coursing through her fingers. “I’ll be going now. Benuel will want his stories read to him.”

  “Okay, see you later,” he said, pocketing the treat.

  She held his gaze. “Don’t work too late. You look tired.”

  “I’ll be going soon.” As an afterthought, he added, “Would you like me to walk you home? It’s getting dark.”

  “Nee, there’s no need. I have my bike. Daed told you I’ll be moving in tomorrow morning, right? I gave him the rent to give you,” she asked, watching him, taking in the way the shine from the bedroom’s overhead light reflected on his ginger hair, the way his generous smile pressed grooves around his mouth.

  “Ya, he gave me the money and told me you were eager to get settled. I hope you have a good night,” Fredrik said, shoving his hand through his hair and pushing the curls off his forehead.

  “Danki,” Lizbeth whispered and left the room. She walked briskly out the door and down the walk to her bike, her thoughts on Fredrik Lapp and the man he had become. The thought came to her. Would he make a good husband now? Could he love her? What kind of father would he be? She pushed such foolish thoughts aside and pedaled with all her might toward her father’s chicken farm. She’d entertained those thoughts about Fredrik once before. But he’d left, and she’d moved on. What did it matter to her now if he’d make a good partner? She wasn’t looking for a husband.

  Was she?

  Chapter Seven

  “Look out! The cat—”

  Before Fredrik could react, a streak of gray fur jumped over his booted foot, skittered on the entryway’s shiny floor and scampered off toward the back bedrooms.

  “Oh, no! Look what you’ve done now!”

  His friendly mood waned. Did she think he purposely let the cat into the house? “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know. I’m sorry, Fredrik. Forgive me,” Lizbeth said, her expression apologetic. “Perhaps you should come back another time, when I’m not so tired and out of sorts.”

  He witnessed her inward struggle to be civil, saw a nerve tick in her jaw. She smiled, but she didn’t look like any ray of sunshine.

  Had moving da
y been that hard on her? All the furniture was in the house and he’d seen Otto, Chicken John and several sweaty community leaders milling around outside with glasses of sweet tea in their hands. She had plenty of help. And from the tower of boxes lining the entryway, he could see there were lots of donations coming in, everything she’d need to set up the rented house.

  Lizbeth was different since returning to Pinecraft. More intense. As a kid she’d been a mild-mannered pest, with more energy than he and her bruder could keep up with. She’d kept him laughing with her silly antics. Perhaps marriage hadn’t agreed with her, or she had poor health. What had happened to her while she was away in Ohio? None of it was his business, but he still wondered.

  Ulla’s head poked out of the kitchen door, her face red and sweaty, a frizzy riot of gray curls circling her round face. The edges of her mouth lifted in a slight grin and then she disappeared with a wave.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Your note on the door said—”

  “I know, but you let that cat in and it took me hours to get her out the last time she got in.” She cut him a frustrated glance as she raked a dangling curl out of her eyes and shoved it up under her cleaning scarf.

  He was frustrated, too. Mornings off were hard to come by. The shop was usually too busy, or a furniture order had to go out. Mose had called and asked him to deliver a box of linens to Lizbeth’s on his way out of work yesterday and he’d forgotten until this morning. Sarah, Mose’s wife, was busy with sick children. He’d agreed to tote the box over, even though it was an inconvenience and meant he’d miss an hour of fishing while it was still cool. He’d agreed because he enjoyed Lizbeth’s company, liked being around her a lot more than made him comfortable. He could have just as easily claimed to be too busy and let someone else bring the box to her. He slid a guarded look at the overtired widow.

  Dark shadows bruised the tender skin under her eyes. He regretted his uncharitable thoughts. This poor woman needed cheering up and he was just the man to do it.

  He hid a grin as he noticed a cluster of spiderwebs clinging to the edge of Lizbeth’s left eyebrow. It danced around as her frown deepened. As a child she’d hated spiders. If she knew one’s web dangled off her face, she’d panic. And he wasn’t going to tell her. It would be too much fun to see her reaction when she noticed on her own.

  Always ready for a good prank, he cleared his throat. He held back the full-blown laugh that begged to come out.

  She frowned at him, her brows low. “Ya, well, I still have to catch that cat again.”

  He stepped through the threshold with his burden. The perfectly folded stack of sheets and pillowcases smelled of homemade lavender soap and fresh air. “Sarah Fischer sent these yesterday,” he said, and presented the box to her. “I forgot to bring them to you.”

  “Danki. Put them there.” Lizbeth jabbed her finger toward the floor and then adjusted the cleaning scarf on her head. She unknowingly knocked the dangling cobweb off her brow and onto her wrist. “How am I going to catch that cat? It took me half my tuna sandwich and the patience of Job to run her out last time.” She hurried away down the hallway, muttering to herself, “I have no sandwiches left. What am I going to do?”

  “Let me help you. It’s the least I can do,” he offered. He couldn’t help himself. He wanted to be around when she found the spider’s web and went running through the house, screaming.

  She stopped in her tracks and turned, hands back on her hips. “You’ve done so much already.”

  “I only—”

  “Ya, let the animal in.” Her shoulders drooped as soon as her words were out. “Oh, don’t listen to me. I’m just not dealing with all this very well.” She smiled weakly.

  “Look,” he said, pointing to the flash of gray that told him the cat was on the move.

  They both rushed down the hall. Lizbeth ran into the room and crouched down, searching under an unmade bed. Her headscarf almost fell off in her rush and she positioned it back in place with a pin.

  Fredrik joined her on the floor, looked under the bed. Two bright green eyes glowed back at him. “What a pretty kitty,” he crooned. “Come close and I’ll pet you.”

  Lizbeth lifted her head, an incredulous expression lingering on her features. Her brow rose. “Don’t get friendly—”

  “Shush,” he hissed, the edge of his mouth lifting in a grin as he shoved his hand under the bed. “Come here, pretty baby. Let me pet you.”

  “I can’t believe—”

  “Shush,” he repeated. “I know what I’m doing. If you’ll just be quiet for a moment, woman, I can solve your problem.”

  The cat hissed and slapped at him, but its claws weren’t extended.

  “Ya, I can see you’re making great strides,” Lizbeth said, her mood lightening as she tried to hide a giggle behind her hand. She glanced back under the bed. “Perhaps a broom will encourage her out?”

  Fredrik sat and reached low, his hand slipping closer to the cat. “Come on, kitty. You remember me. I gave you a good scratching yesterday.”

  Her head bobbed back up. Her smile failed her. She scowled. “You encouraged that cat to hang around?” There was an edge to Lizbeth’s whisper.

  He ignored her for the moment, which was hard to do. She looked beautiful today, her cheeks rosy, her eyes spitting fire from a morning of frustrations. “Come on, kitty. Let me touch you.” He bent lower, moving his fingers carefully as the cat whipped its tail back and forth in agitation.

  “I’m getting the broom. I don’t have time for this,” Lizbeth groused and rose to her feet.

  He glanced up. The cobweb had moved from her hand to her cleaning scarf. It was just a matter of time now till she found the web. “Ya, you get the broom,” he said and went back to coaxing the cat out.

  The room grew quiet. As soon as Lizbeth was gone, the cat came out of hiding and sauntered toward him, surrendering to the temptation of a neck rub. Fredrik scooped up the ball of fur and scratched it under one ginger-and-gray ear. Content, it purred. He smiled as Lizbeth hollered in the kitchen. He could hear Ulla’s attempt to calm her, but she was having none of it. He chuckled to the cat. “She must have found the cobweb, Purr-Baby. Our work here is done. Time to go fishing.”

  * * *

  Lizbeth carried the broom back to the bedroom, her thoughts on Fredrik. She was grateful he’d brought the box of linens. She really was, but why didn’t he just go? She had so much to do before nightfall. She had no time for his silly pranks. He had to have seen the spiderweb on her scarf. Ulla saw it quickly enough.

  Fredrik knew she’d had a strong aversion to spiders and their webs as a teen. And how dare he shush her like a child? This was her home for now. He may be the owner, but she’d paid her rent. He was just there to deliver a box, nothing more. It was time for him to go.

  She had more than enough to stress over this morning with her concerns about moving in to the big house. Plus, Benuel had woken in rare form and started the morning off on the wrong foot. She’d never lived alone, and as the local break-ins continued, they fed her feelings of insecurity. She sighed.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t like cats. She did. She just didn’t have time to bother with one right now.

  Determination in her every step, she hurried to the back of the house and entered the bedroom, only to stop in amazement. Fredrik stood next to the bed, the cat cozied up in his arms. “Poor little kitty,” he said as he glanced at her and then back to the cat, his expression innocent.

  “That cat’s been nothing but trouble and I want it gone.” Lizbeth lowered the broom to the floor.

  “This little darling is looking for a place to have her babies, that’s all. She doesn’t mean to be a bother.” Fredrik lounged back against the wall.

  Lizbeth’s heart dropped. “Babies?” Her eyes widened. “That pregnant cat is not staying here. I have eno
ugh to do, plus I have to find a job once we’re settled.” A frown creased her forehead.

  Fredrik beamed across the room at her. “You might want to reconsider your decision about keeping it around. I saw evidence of mouse droppings in the shed. You’re going to need a cat if you don’t want the mice coming inside the house.”

  A shiver of revulsion slithered up her spine. She’d been chased by Fredrik holding a live mouse more than once. She’d been scared of them ever since. Defeat left a bitter taste in her mouth, but he was right. The cat would stay and earn its keep. “It can stay, but I’m not keeping the kittens.”

  The cat yawned.

  Fredrik looked miffed, his brow lifting. “Ya, sure.” He didn’t sound confident at all, but he wasn’t backing down. “Ulla and John are always in need of a good barn cat. I’ll find them all homes.”

  “Do you have any grand ideas where we should put her for the night?” She looked up and found Fredrik watching her.

  “What?” she asked. Why was he looking at her like that?

  He smiled at her. Really smiled. Not just the grin of a friendly man, but a man who might see her as acceptable. A smile that reached all the way up to his eyes.

  She grew flustered, her face warming. She had work to do. He could take that cat out to the shed, make it a bed and go.

  She knew how to get rid of him. “Rumor has it you’re looking for a wife. That so?”

  “Ya,” he muttered, his expression becoming serious. “Why do you ask?” He went back to stroking the cat, his intense, blue-eyed gaze remaining on her.

  “No reason. I was just wondering, is all.”

  “You planning on applying for the job?”

  “Me? Nee. I’m a new widow with a child to raise and now kittens to look after, thanks to you.”

  Fredrik straightened himself and headed for the door, his boots making noise against the hardwood floors as he shuffled past her. “I think kitty and I will be out in the shed if you need us.”