The Hearts of Middlefield Collection

by Kathleen Fuller

  “You mean for your nieces and nephews to play in?”

  He shook his head. “Sure they can play when they come over, but that’s not who it’s for.”

  The peace she’d felt moments ago shattered. They hadn’t talked about children in months, at least not directly. Moriah and Gabe’s son had been born a few months ago, a plump healthy baby they’d named Caleb. Lukas had been so happy to hold his new nephew, and the familiar waves of regret had covered her when she saw her husband with the baby. She still felt a small measure of loss and failure. She knew it would take years before those feelings would die . . . if they ever did.

  “Look at all this around us, Anna.” Lukas stood up and spread his hands wide. Beyond their neatly mown backyard was four acres of grassy field, where their horses grazed contentedly. “We have more space than we need here. The house is too big, even for the four of us. And look at all this land.” He stood up to another empty space next to the picked-over vegetable garden. “I’d like to put a trampoline over there. We had one when we were growing up, and it was a blast.”

  “Lukas.” Anna rose from her chair, wondering if her husband was having a breakdown or something. “We don’t need a swing, or a trampoline.”

  “We would if we had kinner.”

  “Lukas, I . . .” She turned around, unable to speak.

  He moved to stand in front of her. “I can wait, Anna. I don’t want you to feel rushed into this. When you’re ready to talk about adoption, we can.”

  “Adoption?” He had never said anything before about it, and she had always assumed that he would want his own children, not someone else’s.

  He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Like I said, we have more than we need and plenty to spare. We have enough money, space, land . . . and love . . . to provide for a kinn or two.”

  She grinned, excitement growing in her. “Or three.”

  “As many as the Lord wants us to have.” He put his arms around her neck. “I think this is what he wants for us, Anna, to open our home and our hearts to the kinner who need them. It doesn’t matter whether a boppli comes from us, or comes to us. We will still be a family.”

  “You know it’s not that simple,” she said, hating to put a damper on his enthusiasm. Or her own. But they had to be practical about this.

  “Ya.”

  “I’ve heard you have to go through a screening process. And that someone comes out and looks at the house. They’ll probably check our finances too.”

  “I don’t have a problem with that.”

  She moved away from him. “We might not be able to adopt right away. We might have to foster some kinner first.”

  “That’s another thing I want to talk to you about. Dan Mullet came to see me in the shop today.”

  “Do I know him?”

  “I don’t think so. He was in a buggy accident last year, before you moved to Middlefield. He and his wife got four kinner and one on the way. But it’s been a struggle for them financially.”

  Anna’s heart went out to his family. She and Lukas were blessed financially, and she assumed he wanted to help the Mullets out. “How much do they need? If we can provide it for them, we will.”

  His expression filled with warmth. “I knew you were going to say that. But that’s not what he asked for. Remember that old barn that burned down a month ago? It was on a Yankee’s property and had been abandoned for a long time.”

  Anna nodded. “I’m glad no one was hurt.”

  “Ya, it’s a miracle because it turns out a teenage bu was living in it for a few months. A runaway. Dan’s twin son and daughter were bringing him food and clothes without telling anyone. Turns out he had been living with cruel foster parents, which was why he ran away. When the barn burned down, the secret came out. The bu had to go back to children’s services.”

  “To those same foster parents?”

  Lukas shrugged. “I don’t know. I have no idea how all that works.”

  “So what does Dan need from us?”

  “He asked us if we’d consider fostering the bu.”

  “A teenager?” She’d always imagined that if they were going to adopt, it would be a baby, not a child nearly grown.

  “Anna, if you don’t want to, that’s okay. Like I said, we can wait until you’re ready. I didn’t give Dan an answer, I just said I’d talk it over with you.”

  Anna sat down in the chair and looked out over their property as the sun dipped below the horizon. “What do you want to do, Lukas?”

  He knelt down next to her and took her hand. “I think the Lord wants us to take in this kinn, Anna. I know I want to.”

  Anna reached out and touched her husband’s face, his thick black beard soft against her fingertips. As she looked into his eyes, all her doubts disappeared. “Me too,” she said softly. “What’s the bu’s name?”

  “Sawyer.”

  “Someone who saws wood,” she said, marveling at the connection between the child’s name and Lukas’ vocation. “We definitely have to take him in, Lukas.”

  He kissed her, then pulled away, smiling. “I’ll let Dan know in the morning. This won’t be easy, Anna. We’ll do whatever it takes. One step at a time. Together.”

  “I know we will. I love you, Lukas.”

  “I love you too. You’re going to be a great mami, Anna.”

  “And you’ll be a great daed.”

  He reached for her hand and she entwined her fingers in his. As they watched the sun set, their hearts were filled with hope for the future, and for their new family.

  A Hand to Hold

  To Jimmy, for always

  giving me a hand to hold.

  Pennsylvania Dutch Glossary

  ab im kopp: crazy

  appeditlich: delicious

  boppli: baby

  bruder: brother

  bu: boy

  buwe: boys

  daed: father

  danki: thank you

  Dietch: Pennsylvania Dutch

  dochder: daughter

  dumm: dumb

  dummkopf: dummy

  familye: family

  frau: wife, Mrs.

  fraulein: unmarried woman, Miss

  friend: friend, friends

  gaul: horse

  geh: go

  geh die nacht: go tonight

  glee: little

  grossdochder: granddaughter

  grosskinn: grandchild

  grosssohn: grandson

  grossvadder: grandfather

  gut: good

  gut nacht: good night

  haus: house

  hees: hot

  Herr: Mr.

  kapp: an Amish woman’s prayer covering

  keenich: king

  kinn: child

  kinner: children

  lieb: love

  maed: girls

  mann: man

  mami: mother

  mei: my

  mudder: mother

  nee: no

  nix: nothing

  obsenaat: obstinate

  onkel: uncle

  rumspringa: the period between ages sixteen and twenty-four, loosely translated as “running around time.” For Amish young adults, rumspringa ends when they join the church.

  schulhaus: schoolhouse

  schee: pretty

  schwester: sister

  schwoger: brother-in-law

  seltsam: weird

  sohn: son

  wunderbaar: wonderful

  ya: yes

  Yankee: a non-Amish person

  yung: young

  Chapter 1

  Ruth Byler picked up a fresh piece of chalk and, with precise strokes, wrote her name on the blackboard in both cursive and print. She took a step back and smiled, admiring the letters, stark white against deepest black. This was her blackboard. Her classroom. Her dream.

  She turned to look at the empty desks filling the room. All twenty of them were aligned in five rows, four to a row, with equal space between them. Tomorro
w, the first day of school, they would be filled with her students, from first through eighth grade, for whom she had spent the last two hours finishing her preparations.

  On each desk sat a pencil and a brand-new spiral notebook. She had purchased them with her own money, had sharpened each pencil, and had written her students’ names on the inside cover of each notebook in the upper left-hand corner. Her favorite time of year had been the day her mother purchased school supplies. She remembered the crispness of notebook paper, the snap of that first binder ring, and the thrill she felt when she looked at her unused colored pencils. She imagined her students’ eager expressions when they walked into the classroom tomorrow morning, how pleased they would be with their gifts.

  Ruth walked to the back of the classroom to check the four posters on the wall—a map of the world, the alphabet in print and in cursive, a list of classroom rules, and a basic grammar guide. After ensuring they were well secured, she went back to her desk, slipped on her reading glasses, and opened her planning book. Every minute of the day was scheduled, and she’d prepared lessons for the first four months, all the way up to Christmas break. After reviewing tomorrow’s plans, she thought to rework a lesson but resisted. She was already pushing it by being here on the Lord’s day. She closed the book and put it in its designated spot in her desk.

  She started for the door, then stopped. “Almost forgot,” she said and pulled a wooden apple out of her satchel. Her brother Lukas had made it in her family’s woodshop, Byler and Sons, as a congratulatory present for getting the teaching job. She rubbed her fingers against the slick, red-lacquered surface, admiring the smooth curves and the grain of the wood. She set it on the desk, her fingers lingering on it for a second longer.

  As she lifted her hand, a loud roar sounded in her ears. She whirled around, her mouth gaping open, and saw the back wall of the classroom explode. Wood splintered and boards flew in the air. Instinctively she put her arms up to shield her face from a wood plank hurtling toward her. But she was too late. Darkness enveloped her.

  Zachariah Bender moaned as he lifted his head from the steering wheel. He reached for his forehead, his right arm moving as if in slow motion. A bump had started to form. Pulling his hand away, he expected to see blood, but let out a long breath when he didn’t. He carefully released his white-knuckled grip from the steering wheel, then checked his arms and legs. Everything moved okay, and other than the bump on his head, he wasn’t in pain. Thank God he wasn’t seriously hurt. But he couldn’t say the same for the truck.

  Through the windshield, he stared at the hazy sight of splintered wood and debris scattered around the gray four-by-four. He fought the urge to vomit. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin the interior too.

  Zach put his hands on top of his head and shut his eyes. He had done plenty of stupid things in his life. Up until now, he’d considered the time he’d lit a stack of newspapers with a cigarette lighter in his daed’s repair shop as the dumbest. Twelve years old at the time, he had found the lighter on the side of the road and nearly burned down the shop. But driving a truck into the schoolhouse? This was definitely worse. Much, much worse.

  Zach gingerly pushed open the door, wincing at the loud clacks of debris hitting the floor. The dust outside floated inside and filled his lungs, making him cough and increasing the ache in his head. When he stepped out of the vehicle, his foot hit something hard. A bookshelf lay facedown on the floor, and books and magazines were spilled everywhere. He turned and looked back at the truck, and his stomach turned 360 degrees. Oh man. Rick was going to kill him. And if Rick didn’t, Zach’s father would. He didn’t even have a driver’s license.

  He’d told Rick he could handle driving a couple miles to the convenience store. The entire trip would take ten minutes tops. They had been rebuilding a four-wheeler in Rick’s parents’ garage, and they couldn’t find anything to drink in the house—at least nothing they wanted. He’d driven the truck just fine before, with Rick sitting in the passenger seat, but this time Rick had let him go by himself. Then halfway to the store, two deer ran out in front of the truck. He’d cut the steering wheel hard to the right, then tried to straighten out, but he overcorrected. The last thing he remembered was the schoolhouse coming up on him. He’d slammed on the brake pedal—a bit too late.

  Zach shut the door, and several pieces of wood slid onto the hood. A hot breeze slammed into him, and he turned around to see a cavernous hole in the school wall, with the truck parked halfway through it. A huge board dangled above the bed, then dropped, causing the vehicle to bounce on its shocks. Among all the clatter, he thought he heard a soft moan. Was someone here? He jumped over two damaged desks, scanning the room as he made his way to the front. Near the teacher’s desk, a petite female lay on the floor, struggling to sit up. He knelt down beside her. “Are you all right?”

  She put her hand on the floor and pushed herself into a seated position. Her round, silver-rimmed glasses sat askew on her face, and her dark blue eyes shone from behind the lenses. Strands of dark blonde hair had pulled loose from her white head covering, hanging limp against her cheeks. His stomach lurched at the blotch of blood on her forehead. A thick strip of jagged wood lay in her lap, probably the cause of her injury.

  The blood began to trickle beneath the bridge of her glasses and over her nose. He patted his pockets for a rag, cloth, something to stop the bleeding. Nothing. He untucked his light blue shirt from his pants, ripped part of the bottom off, then wadded it up and put it against her head. “Don’t move.”

  “What?” She turned her head and looked at him, her eyes unfocused.

  “Be still. You might have a concussion.” And it would be my fault. Not only had he knocked out part of the schoolhouse, destroyed the furniture inside it, and crashed his friend’s truck, but now he might have seriously injured someone.

  The young woman ignored his warning and straightened her glasses. Then she reached up and touched her head. Her finger slid against the blood. She jerked her hand away and stared at the red smudge on her skin.

  He braced himself, waiting for her to pass out, or at the very least get hysterical. To his relief and surprise, she did neither. Instead she calmly said, “I’m okay.”

  “You’re bleeding.”

  “Just a little bit.” She took the cloth from him and looked at the round, red stain on the fabric. “See. Not that much.” She started to stand, but when she got to her knees, she began to sway.

  He put his arm around her slim shoulders to steady her. “You need to see a doctor.”

  “Nee. I’ll be all right in a minute.” She gazed at him, her brows sliding into a V shape. “Don’t I know you?”

  He looked directly at her face. Then he recognized her. Ruth Byler. He’d gone to school with her, although she was a couple of years behind him. But who could forget Miss Perfect, straight-A, teacher’s pet Ruth?

  “I do know you. Zachariah Bender, ya?”

  “Ya. That’s me.” Right now he wished he were someone else. And someplace else. He glanced at the board behind the big teacher’s desk. It had been spared from the flying debris, and he saw letters on the board in print and cursive. “You’re teaching here?”

  “Tomorrow’s my first day.” She moved to a standing position, keeping her gaze on the floor. She placed the bloody piece of his shirt on her desk and looked up, adjusting her glasses again as she faced the wreck. Her body froze, her fingertips remaining on one corner of the frames. Her lower lip began to tremble.

  Uh oh. Her body began to sway, and he popped to his feet to steady her again.

  “What . . . happened?”

  Aware that his arm was still around her shoulders, he stepped away, but stayed near in case she started to swoon again. “I’m really sorry. It was an accident.”

  Ruth brushed past him toward the truck. “The desks . . . the floor.” The words sounded like they were stuck in her throat. Turning slowly, she fixed her eyes on him, her expression a meld of shock and confusion. “What
have you done?”

  “Now, hold on. It’s not as bad as it looks.” The words sounded dumb, but he needed to reassure himself almost as much as he needed to reassure her. He was grateful that he hadn’t gone through the window-side of the schoolhouse. If he had, there would have been flying glass everywhere. And who knows what would’ve happened to Ruth then. He walked away from her and wove through the debris toward the truck. He pulled a couple of broken boards away from the front. The truck only had minimal damage. The silver bumper hung by a screw, the front grille had a large dent, and there was an impressive crack dividing the front headlight. The windshield also had a crack that stretched across two-thirds of the glass, but from what he could tell, everything could be easily fixed.

  He couldn’t say the same for the schoolhouse. He turned back to Ruth and saw her bend down and pick up a spiral notebook. She brushed off the dust and stared at it for a long moment. Her forehead had started to bleed again, but she stood there, staring at the mess, unmoving as the blood trickled down her face. Zach returned to the front of the room, retrieved the rag from her desk, and without thinking, walked over and dabbed her forehead. To his surprise she didn’t resist, probably too shocked to do anything but gape at the disaster surrounding them.

  “You’ve got to get this checked,” he said. “You might need stitches.”

  She pulled away from him and shook her head, placing the notebook on one of the desks that hadn’t been struck. “There’s no time for that. School starts tomorrow. I have to clean all this up.”

  “Ruth, school won’t be opening tomorrow . . . or . . . for a while.” Guilt nearly suffocated him as he spoke.

  She didn’t respond. Instead, she picked up pieces of a broken desk, setting them in a pile. When she stood up, her body swayed again. He scurried behind her, ready to catch her if she fell. “That’s it. You’re going home.”

  “Nee, I’ve—”

  “What in the world happened here?”