Amish Christmas Twins
Patricia Davids
The Widower’s Christmas WishWith Christmas just around the corner, widow Willa Chase will do anything to retain custody of her twin girls and unborn baby—even if it means escaping to her childhood Amish home. After her grandfather turns her away, Willa finds herself stranded at the home of blacksmith John Miller. A widower, John buries himself in work—until Willa’s vibrant twins become impossible to ignore. And before long, John is smitten with their beautiful mother, too. But when Willa’s past secrets are revealed, will they prevent John’s Christmas wish for a happily-ever-after from coming true?Christmas Twins: Twice blessed for the holiday season
The Widower’s Christmas Wish
With Christmas just around the corner, widow Willa Chase will do anything to retain custody of her twin girls and unborn baby—even if it means escaping to her childhood Amish home. After her grandfather turns her away, Willa finds herself stranded at the home of blacksmith John Miller. A widower, John buries himself in work—until Willa’s vibrant twins become impossible to ignore. And before long, John is smitten with their beautiful mother, too. But when Willa’s past secrets are revealed, will they prevent John’s Christmas wish for a happily-ever-after from coming true?
“In spite of the cold, it’s a lovely evening to go caroling, isn’t it?”
The thick snow obscured the horizon and made it feel as if they were riding inside a glass snow globe. The twins tried to catch snowflakes on their tongues between giggles.
Their first destination was only a mile from John’s house. As Lucy and Megan scrambled down from the sleigh, John offered Willa his hand to help her out. When she took it, he gave her an affectionate squeeze. She graced him with a shy smile in return.
“Was this what you imagined Christmas would be like when you decided to return to your Amish family?”
She shook her head. “I never imagined anything like this. Do you do it every year?”
“We do.”
“You aren’t going to actually sing, are you, John?”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Nee, but I will hum along.”
“Softly, dear, softly,” she suggested.
He wondered if she realized that she had called him dear. It was turning out to be an even more wonderful night than he had hoped for.
Dear Reader (#ue25a4891-f3bc-51e0-9566-b3db562dc4b2),
First, I want to wish you a blessed Christmas season. Life brings us all unexpected joys and unexpected heartaches, but He is never far from us if we trust in His love and mercy.
The issue of postpartum psychosis is one that attracts attention only when a woman suffering from it does the unthinkable. My grandmother suffered from this illness, although it wasn’t diagnosed as such back in those days. My aunt once told me that my grandfather had to tie a rope to his wife and take her with him into the fields where he worked because he feared she would hurt herself or the children while he was gone. Thankfully, only a very small number of women have such acute cases.
If you would like more information on this illness, I suggest you visit www.postpartum.net (http://www.postpartum.net) and click on the following link: Postpartum psychosis help and info.
There are countless women who have suffered with postpartum psychosis and recovered completely. The key is getting immediate help. If you suspect that someone you love has postpartum psychosis, she should not be alone at any time until a professional diagnosis is received and she is under the continuous care of a healthcare provider.
Bringing awareness of this condition and the need for continuing research was my mission in writing this story. I wanted my grandmother’s illness brought to light, not hidden as it was for so many years. She died before I had the chance to know her. In some small way, this story is my tribute to her.
I pray the holidays bring you many joys, and if you have a schnickelfritz or two in your life, give them a Christmas hug from me.
Blessings,
After thirty-five years as a nurse, PATRICIA DAVIDS hung up her stethoscope to become a full-time writer. She enjoys spending her free time visiting her grandchildren, doing some long-overdue yard work and traveling to research her story locations. She resides in Wichita, Kansas. Pat always enjoys hearing from her readers. You can visit her online at patriciadavids.com (http://www.patriciadavids.com).
Amish Christmas Twins
Patricia Davids
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
And all thy children shall be taught of the Lord; and great shall be the peace of thy children.
—Isaiah 54:13
This book is happily dedicated to Tony Hill, a wonderful, helpful son-in-law and a loving stepfather to my two precious grandchildren.
Thanks, Tony, for all you do. Love you to pieces. Oh, and don’t forget to mow my lawn.
Mama Pat
Contents
Cover (#u5e3b2819-1460-52ea-af11-979fb5e82320)
Back Cover Text (#u144cf9ef-74b0-502f-a985-d088ac265404)
Introduction (#u6f594348-d035-56f2-b733-0d03e05e08d2)
Dear Reader (#u5b181392-4554-5c8f-ada5-687ef077adcd)
About the Author (#u7f7ebbd4-2623-5aab-ba73-e57e6f055376)
Title Page (#u36d8a2ed-1d99-5fb0-8b7c-277daa37d0e6)
Bible Verse (#u35df2a07-e855-5394-a20d-afee87436939)
Dedication (#uc21fc7e5-7490-5040-8a7e-3bfb5481ef22)
Chapter One (#u73e7c0a1-bfcc-50af-9255-5bda6105f8cf)
Chapter Two (#ua95463e1-a5f8-5246-ac05-b8181a8007d0)
Chapter Three (#uf7c1a3d2-a955-5d71-8591-8ca93eaf9903)
Chapter Four (#u711c3fdb-a162-5dc4-9877-91a8da0cdc6f)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ue25a4891-f3bc-51e0-9566-b3db562dc4b2)
John Miller squeezed his eyes shut and braced for the impact of the bus hurtling toward the back of his wagon.
God have mercy on my soul.
A powerful draft knocked his hat from his head as the bus flew around him, missing his wagon by inches. The reckless driver laid on the horn as he swerved back into the proper lane. John’s frightened team of horses shied off the edge of the highway, jolting the wagon and nearly unseating him.
He quickly brought his animals under control and maneuvered his wagon back onto the roadway. It took longer to get his heart out of his throat. When his erratic pulse settled, he picked up his black Amish hat from where it had fallen onto the floorboards and dusted it against his thigh. God must still have a use for me here on earth. I’m sorry, Katie May. One day I will be with you again.
John shook his head when the bus pulled to a stop a few hundred yards down the highway. “Foolish Englischer. In a hurry to get nowhere fast.”
He settled his hat on his head and glanced back at his cargo. Thankfully, the restored antique sleigh carefully wrapped in a heavy tarp hadn’t shifted. He could ill afford another delay in getting it to its new owner.
His entire trip had been one misadventure after another. He’d left home in plenty of time to complete the two-day journey, but a wrong turn in unfamiliar country had taken him five miles out of his way. One of his tie-downs had snapped, forcing him to lose time rigging another. Then a broken wheel had taken three hours to repair, time he didn’t have to spare. This simple trip could end up costing him as much if not more than a hired hauler would have charged and he was already half a day late for his appointment. He hoped his Englisch client was the understanding sort.
Putting his team in motion, John reached the rear of the bus before it moved on. According to the directions in the letter from his customer, he needed to turn right at the rural intersection just ahead. He waited for the bus driver to move out of the way. After several minutes, he leaned to the side trying to see what the holdup was. A woman in a red coat with a purple backpack slung over her shoulder finally stepped off with two little children in tow. The bus pulled away, belching black fumes that made his horses snort and toss their heads. He spoke softly to quiet them.
The woman stood at the edge of the highway, looking first north and then south as if expecting someone who hadn’t shown up. The roads were empty in all directions except for the bus traveling away from them. The children, both girls about three years old, were clinging to her legs. One rubbed her eyes, the other cried to be picked up. The family’s clothing and uncovered heads told John they weren’t Amish.
He slapped the reins against his team’s rumps and turned his wagon in front of them, glancing at the woman’s face as he did. She looked worried and worn-out, but she smiled and nodded slightly when she met his gaze.
One of her little girls pointed to his team. “Horsey, Mama. See horsey?”
“I do, sweetheart. They’re lovely horses, aren’t they?” Her smile brightened as she glanced down at her daughter. The love in her eyes shone through her weariness. Why wasn’t anyone here to meet them?
“Horses bad,” the other child said, stepping behind her mother.
The woman dropped to one knee and pulled the child close. “No, they aren’t bad. They may look big and scary, but they won’t hurt you. This man tells them what to do. I’m sure they mind him far better than you mind me sometimes.”
The child muttered something he couldn’t make out, but the young mother laughed softly. It was a sweet sound. “No, precious. They won’t step on you and squish you.”
The child latched on to her mother’s neck and muttered, “I tired. Want to go home now.”
He should keep moving. He’d told his client to expect him four hours ago, but it didn’t feel right to drive away and leave this young mother standing alone out here even if she wasn’t Amish. He pulled the horses to a stop and looked down at her. “Do you need help?”
Detaching the child from her neck, she stood up and smoothed the front of her coat with one hand. As she did, he noticed a bulge at her waist. Was she pregnant?
“I’m trying to get my bearings. I haven’t been out this way in years. Do you know an Amish farmer named Ezekiel Lapp?”
Her voice was soft and low. He heard the weariness underlying her tone. The wind blew a strand of her shoulder-length blond curls across her face. She brushed her hair back and tucked it behind her ear as she looked at him with wide blue eyes.
She was a pretty woman. Her daughters, identical twins by the look of them, were the spitting images of her with blue eyes and curly blond hair. Some man was fortunate to have such handsome children and a lovely wife to come home to at night.
She placed a hand on each little girl’s head in a comforting or perhaps protective gesture, her fingers moving gently through their hair. She raised her chin as she faced him.
The gesture reminded him of his wife, Katie, and sent a painful pang through his chest. Katie used to give him that exact look when she was determined to do things her own way. The woman at the roadside wasn’t physically similar to his wife. She was tiny where Katie had been tall and willowy. She was fair where Katie had been dark, but the two women shared the same stubborn set to their chins and the same determination in their eyes. He smiled in spite of himself.
Katie would have been a good mother, too...if only she had lived.
He shut away his heartbreaking memories. Katie May was gone, their unborn child laid to rest with her. It had been four years since their passing, but his grief was as sharp as if it had been yesterday. Most folks thought he had moved on with his life. He’d tried to, but he couldn’t forgive God or himself for her death.
He looked away from the young woman and her children. “I don’t know him. I’m not from this area.”
Realizing how gruff his voice sounded, he gestured to the tarp on the flatbed wagon behind him. It had taken him eight weeks to restore the sleigh and two days to haul it this far. He was anxious to drop it off and head home. “I’m delivering this sleigh to Melvin Taylor. The directions he sent said he lived four miles south of this intersection. Does that help?”
Her face brightened. “I remember Melvin. He lived a half mile south of Grandfather’s farm. We can find our way now. Thank you. Come on, girls.” She repositioned the backpack on her shoulder and took each girl by the hand as she started down the road.
John didn’t urge his horses to move. A three-and-a-half-mile walk was a lot to ask of such small children, and the woman if she was pregnant. It would be dark before they arrived at their destination. The mid-November day had been pleasant so far, but it would get cold when the sun started to go down.
He didn’t normally concern himself with the affairs of the Englisch, but something about this young woman kept him from driving away. Maybe it was the worry he had glimpsed on her face when he first saw her, or how she spoke so caringly to her girls. Perhaps it was the way she squared her shoulders, looking as if she carried a great weight upon them. He didn’t know what it was, but he couldn’t leave without offering her assistance.
Maybe it was because she reminded him of Katie.
This is foolish. They’ll be fine on their own. An Amish family wouldn’t think twice about walking that far.
However, an Amish mother and her children would be properly dressed with heavy coats and sturdy shoes. The thin white shoes on this woman’s feet didn’t look as if they would last a mile. He sighed heavily and urged his team forward to catch up with her.
He pulled his horses to a halt beside her. “It’s a long walk, frau. I can give you a lift. I’m going in the same direction.”
She stopped walking and eyed him with obvious indecision. “That’s very kind of you, but I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble.” It was, but it would trouble him more to leave her.
“We’ll be fine.” She started walking again.
Stubborn woman. “It will be dark before you get there. The kinder, the children, already look tired.”
She glanced at her girls and then at him. “You’re right, they are tired. It was a long bus ride from...home.” Her gaze slid away from his.
He didn’t care where she was from or why she didn’t want to share that information. The more time he spent reasoning with her, the longer his client would be waiting. He leaned toward her. “Then hand the children up to me and save them a long walk.”
She hesitated, chewing on the corner of her lower lip.
Exasperated, he was ready to leave her and get on with his journey. “You’ll be safe with me, frau, if that is what worries you.”
“That’s exactly what a serial killer would say.”
He scowled at her but noticed the twinkle in her eyes as she tried to hide a smile. “Are you teasing me?”
She grinned. “I was trying to, but I fear I have offended you.”
The Englisch were a strange lot. “I take no offense. Give over your kinder.”
He took each child she lifted to him and settled them on the bench seat, knowing he would likely be sorry for his generosity before long. The children would whine and cry, and the woman would probably talk his ear off. He offered her his hand.
A blush stained her cheeks rosy pink. “I’m not as light as the girls.”
He almost laughed at the absurd notion that she was too heavy to lift. “I can get you up here without undue effort...unless your pockets are full of bricks. Are they?”
A smile twitched at the corner of her lips. “They aren’t, but you may think so.”
Her sweet expression pulled a chuckle from him in return. “I doubt that.”
She slipped her hand in his. Her fingers were soft and dainty compared to his big calloused paw. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to hold a woman’s hand, how it made a man feel strong and protective. Gazing into her upturned face, he was drawn to the humor lingering in her blue eyes. Sunlight glinted on her hair as the breeze tugged at her curls. He easily pulled her up to the wagon seat. The delicate scent of jasmine reached him. Was it her perfume?
Amish women never wore perfume. It was considered worldly to do so and was thus forbidden, but the fragrance of this young woman reminded John of summer evenings spent on his grandmother’s porch as the bees hummed around the hanging plants she had cherished. Perhaps he would buy a plant in the spring to remind him of his grandmother and of this young mother.
He slowly released her hand and forced himself to concentrate on his horses. “Walk on, Jake. Get along, Pete.”
* * *
Willa Chase glanced from under her lashes at the man beside her. Her Amish Good Samaritan had amazing strength. He had lifted her pregnant bulk with one hand as easily as he had lifted her three-year-old daughters. Seated beside him, she felt dwarfed by his size, but, oddly, he didn’t intimidate her. He had spoken gruffly at first, but there was a gentle kindness beneath his teasing that put her at ease.
It was an unusual feeling for her. Before her husband died, he had taught her not to be the trusting sort. Perhaps she’d made an exception because this man was Amish. She had been Amish once, too. A very long time ago. To keep her children safe, she would become Amish again. Then Willa Chase and her daughters would disappear forever.
“I like horsey. Like horsey man,” Lucy said, giving their driver a shy smile.
“Horse bad. Man bad.” Megan glared at him and stuck out her lower lip as if daring him to argue with her.
“No, he isn’t bad, Megan.” Willa slanted a glance at the man beside her. As was typical of married Amish men, he wore a beard but no mustache. “I’m sorry about that, sir.”
He shrugged. “Little ones speak the truth as they see it.”
Relieved that he wasn’t offended, she smiled her thanks. “You must have children of your own if you know how embarrassing they can be.”
His expression hardened. “Nee, Gott has not blessed me with kinder.”
His tone said the conversation was over. Remembering how much her Amish grandfather had disliked idle chitchat, Willa whispered to her girls, “We must be quiet so we don’t scare the horses or annoy our new friend.”
She settled them against her sides, hoping they would fall asleep again as they had on the bus. Willa remained silent, too. The less she said, the better. She couldn’t believe she had let slip that she was going to her grandfather’s farm, but at least she’d caught herself before she blurted out where they were from.
God had been looking out for her when He sent this man to aid her. Unlike some of the talkative, nosy people on the bus who were full of questions about the twins, an Amish person was unlikely to be inquisitive. Most believed it was impolite to question strangers. Others worried they might be speaking to a shunned former member and would choose silence out of caution. Either way, it worked to her advantage now.
Soon they would be safe with her grandfather. She refused to think about what would happen if he turned them away. He wouldn’t. She had to believe that.
The rocking of the wagon, the jingle of the harnesses and the steady clip-clop of the horses’ hooves slowly soothed the tenseness from her muscles. She closed her eyes to rest them just for a minute.
The moment she opened the door and saw a police officer standing in the hall outside their apartment in a run-down section of Columbus, Willa knew something terrible had happened. An accident, the officer said. A hit-and-run. Glen was dead. They were still looking for the driver. At least the police officer didn’t take her daughters away from her.
Willa stumbled through the following days of grief with leaden feet. After writing to inform Glen’s parents, she moved again. Glen had always been the one to say when and where they went. He knew how to erase their trail—only no matter how often they moved, he would inevitably come home one day and say they had to go again. His parents were closing in. She shared Glen’s deep-seated fear without knowing why. She knew only that his parents had the power and the money to take the children away. They said she was an unfit mother. She had been, but she was better now. Glen was the one who knew what to do. How could she fight his parents without him? She was pregnant, broke and on her own against their terrible scheme. She could think of only one way to keep her children safe. She had to run.
Someone grabbed her arm. Willa jerked upright. It took her a few seconds to gather her foggy wits. The wagon had stopped moving. She found her Amish Good Samaritan staring at her.
“You were asleep. I feared you’d falla out da wagon.”
She checked her daughters and found them awake, too. “I guess I was more tired than I thought.”
He released her. “Is this your grandfather’s place?”
She looked past him and saw a mailbox for E. Lapp. A glance up the lane proved she had arrived at her destination, for she recognized the farm where she’d grown up. “It is. Girls, we are here. Thank the nice man for giving us a ride.”
Lucy did. Megan only glared at him. Willa got down and lifted them off the wagon without his help. He touched the brim of his hat and drove on. He glanced back once. Willa knew because she was still standing by the mailbox looking after him. She raised her hand in a simple wave. He did the same and then turned back to the road.
The Amish were quiet, kind, peaceful people. Willa had forgotten how unassuming they could be during the years she had been away. Her Good Samaritan hadn’t asked a single question about who she was or why she was in the middle of nowhere with two little children. She was glad he hadn’t. She hated the idea that she might have had to lie to him.
She watched the burly man drive away with a sense of loss, almost as if she were losing a gentle giant of a friend. Although he was a stranger, she had felt safe in his company. For the first time since her panicked flight from Columbus, she felt hopeful about her decision to return to her Amish grandfather. It had to be the right choice. She didn’t have another option.
She cupped a hand over her abdomen and raised her chin. Time was short, but she would find a safe place for her daughters and her unborn baby before it was too late.
Adjusting her bag on her shoulder, she shepherded her tired girls up the dirt lane. When she drew close to the house, she saw an elderly man standing on the farmhouse steps. It had been ten years since they’d last met. It wasn’t a time she liked to recall. She stopped a few feet away. “Hello, Grandfather.”
Ezekiel Lapp’s weathered face gave no indication of what he was thinking. His dark Amish clothing, full gray beard and black hat added to his somber appearance, but he was frailer and thinner than she remembered. Her daughters clung to her legs as they peered at him from behind her.
“Why have you come?” he asked.
“I wanted you to meet my daughters. This is Megan and this is Lucy.” Willa placed a hand behind their heads and urged them to step forward. Lucy faced him, but Megan spun around and retreated behind Willa again.
“Hi.” Lucy opened and closed her fingers to wave at him.
“Where is your Englisch husband?” Ezekiel asked, ignoring the child.
“Glen passed away six months ago.”
* * *
“It was Gott’s will, but I am sorry for your loss,” Ezekiel said softly in Pennsylvania Deitsh, the language of the Amish.
Willa blinked back tears. The pain was still fresh in her heart. “Danki. Thank you.”
“Mama is sad,” Megan said.
“I sad,” Lucy added. “I’m cold, Mama.”
The early fall wind had a bite to it. Willa shivered despite the coat she wore. It wasn’t heavy enough, but it was the only one she had that she could button across her pregnant stomach.
“Come inside.” Ezekiel turned and went in the house without waiting for them.
Relief made Willa’s knees weak. So far, so good.
She had no idea what she would do if he turned them away. She had spent the last of her money to get this far. Unless her grandfather took them in, they would be sleeping in a barn or under a bridge tonight. She climbed the steps with the girls close beside her.
Inside the house, little had changed since the day her parents walked away from their Amish life with her in tow. The wide plank floor of the kitchen had been scrubbed clean. A simple table with four chairs sat in the center of the room. The windows were free of shades or curtains, for an upright Amish family in her grandfather’s ultraconservative church had nothing to hide from the outside world. A single plate, cup and fork in the dish drainer by the sink proved her grandfather still lived alone. The room smelled faintly of bleach and stout coffee. The scent transported her to the past the way nothing else had done.
She had been fifteen the last time she stood in this room, completely confused by the family quarrel taking place. One day she was Amish and knew her place in the world. She knew what was expected of her. She had been a week away from her baptism. The next week she was an awkward, shy, frightened girl trying to fit into the perplexing English world her parents had chosen.
Her Amish childhood had been filled with hard work, but she had been happy here. If her grandfather took them in, she could be happy here again. Nothing mattered as long as she had her children with her.
She led her girls to the heavy wood-burning cookstove and held out her hands to the welcome heat. “Don’t touch. It’s very hot,” she cautioned them.
“Are your children hungry?” her grandfather asked, speaking Deitsh.
“I’m sure they are.”
“Have them sit.” He walked to the counter and opened a drawer.
Willa helped the girls out of their coats and seated them at the table. She hung their coats on pegs by the front door and then stood behind her daughters, not daring to assume the invitation included her.
He scowled when he turned around. “Sit. I will not eat with you, but I am permitted to feed the hungry as our Lord commanded us. Then you must go.”
Willa’s heart sank, but she held on to the hope that he would change his mind when he learned the details of her situation. She took a seat at the table and waited while her grandfather prepared church spread for her daughters.
A mixture of peanut butter, marshmallow cream and maple syrup, the tasty treat was often served on bread or used as a dip for apples or pears. He spread it on thick slices of homemade bread and set it on plates in front of them. It was just as good as Willa remembered...
The girls loved it. When they were finished eating, she led them to the stark living room and settled them for a nap on the sofa.
When she was sure they were sleeping, she returned to the kitchen. Her grandfather sat at the table with a cup of coffee in his hands.
She stood across from him and laid a protective hand on her stomach. “I have no money. I have no job. I don’t have a place to live, and my baby is due the second week of January.”
Willa thought she glimpsed a flash of sympathy in his eyes. “Your husband’s family will not help you?”
A chill slipped over her skin. She crossed her arms to ward it off. They were the ones claiming she was an unfit mother because of her mental breakdown. According to Glen, they had paid an unscrupulous judge to grant them custody of the twins while she was in the hospital. Willa knew nothing about the law, but without money and without Glen to help her, they would succeed in taking her children away. She couldn’t allow that. “Nee, you are my last hope.”
* * *
Her grandfather took a sip of his coffee. “I have no money to give you.”
“I don’t want money. I wish to return to the Amish faith.” She held her breath, hoping he believed her.
He was silent for a long time. She waited and prayed for his forgiveness and for his understanding.
He shook his head. “I can’t help you. You must go.”
She couldn’t bear to hear those words. Not after she had come so far. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them back. “Please, I’m begging you. I have nowhere else to go. Don’t turn us away. We are your flesh and blood.”
His brow darkened. “You come to me wearing Englisch clothes, with your shorn hair and your head uncovered. I see no repentance in you. I have heard none from your lips, yet you say you want to be Amish again. You share in the shame your father brought to this house.”
“I was a child. I had no choice but to go with my parents.”
“You chose to remain in the Englisch world all these years, even after the death of my son and his wife. You could have come back then. I would have taken you in. Nee, I will not help you now. This suffering, you have brought on yourself.” He rose, put on his hat and coat and went out the door.
Willa sat at the table and dropped her head on her crossed arms as she gave in to despair. Gut-wrenching sobs shook her body. Why was God doing this? Hadn’t she suffered enough? How much more would He ask of her?
Chapter Two (#ue25a4891-f3bc-51e0-9566-b3db562dc4b2)
“I’m sorry I’m late. I had a few unexpected delays.” John stepped down from his wagon as Melvin Taylor came out of the house to meet him.
“You said you’d be here today. It’s still today.” Melvin pushed the brim of his red ball cap up with one finger and grinned.
Relief made John smile. Melvin appeared to be the understanding sort and a rare Englisch fellow in John’s book—one who wasn’t in a rush. His hopes for more work from the man rose.
“Can’t thank you enough for taking on my little project.”
“I enjoyed restoring it.” He loved re-creating useful things from the past.
Melvin rubbed his hands together. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense any longer. How did it turn out?”
“I’ll let you be the judge.” Moving to the back of the wagon, John untied the ropes and lifted the tarp covering his load. The antique blue-and-gold sleigh had made the journey unharmed.
“I knew she was a beauty under all that neglect.” Melvin drew his fingers along the smooth, elaborately curved metal runner. “I’m right pleased with your work, John Miller.”
“Danki.”
It had taken John weeks to duplicate all the missing pieces in his forge and assemble it. After he replaced the tattered upholstery with a plush blue tufted fabric, the result was well worth his time and effort. The Portland Cutter would glide through the snow as neatly now as it had a hundred and fifty years ago.
He had managed to turn back the hands of time for the sleigh. If only he could change one hour of the past for himself.
Such a thing wasn’t possible. He had to spend the rest of his life knowing his pride had cost the life of the only woman he would ever love. His penance was to go on living without her. Hard work at his forge was the only way he kept the long hours of loneliness at bay.
Melvin stepped back from the wagon with a big grin on his face. “Would you be willing to take on another project for me?”
John tried not to sound too eager. “I’d have to see it first and we would have to agree on a price.”
“Sure. I think you’ll like my latest find.”
John followed the childishly eager man to a large shed. Melvin pushed open the sliding door with a flourish to reveal a half dozen sleighs. Five were in pristine condition. Only one needed restoration work. A lot of work.
Melvin patted the faded front seat, sending a small cloud of dust into the air. “I found this vis-à-vis sleigh at a farm sale about an hour north of here.”
John walked around the vehicle, assessing what needed to be fixed. Vis-à-vis sleighs were easily recognizable. They consisted of a raised coachman’s seat and two lower passenger seats behind the driver that faced each other. They had originally been used in cities where well-to-do people were driven about during the winter to parties and such.
He checked the floorboards first. They were rotten. That was to be expected. Three of the ornate lantern holders were missing, but he could duplicate them from the one remaining. The runners looked sound. They must have been repaired at some time in the past. The upholstery definitely needed replacing, but the wooden frames of the seats looked in good shape. “I can have it ready in three weeks, maybe less.”
He could finish it in two weeks, but he didn’t want to lock himself into a shorter time frame. More pressing work might come up. Better to finish earlier than promised rather than later.
“Awesome. To have it finished before Christmas, that will be great. Let’s hope for plenty of snow.” They agreed on the price and the men shook hands.
“Shall I ship it to you?” Melvin asked as they walked toward the door.
“I figured the cost of transporting it home and bringing it back myself in my estimate. If I have to hire someone to ship it back, that will be an additional charge.”
“Agreed. I’ll help you get the other one unloaded and this one strapped on, and then we can have a cup of coffee. The missus put on a fresh pot when she saw you drive in.” The two men walked toward the house.
Unbidden, the thought of the young mother he’d met earlier entered John’s mind. He should have asked her name. Melvin might know. Although her business was none of his, John’s curiosity got the better of him. He glanced at Melvin. “I met someone on my way here who said she knew you.”
“Oh? Who might that be?”
John unstrapped one side of the sleigh and tossed the lines to Melvin. “She said Ezekiel Lapp is her grandfather. I gave her a lift to his place.”
Melvin’s bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Willa Lapp has come home?”
“She didn’t give her name.”
“It has to be Willa. Ezekiel only had one son and one grandchild. I haven’t seen that sweet girl in years. How is she?”
So her name was Willa. “She looked fine. She had two daughters with her. Twins about three years old.” He and Melvin lifted the sleigh down and carried it to the shed.
Melvin put down his end and leaned on the upholstered back. “Little Willa is a mother, if that don’t beat all. I sure can’t imagine her grown and married with kids. I hope Ezekiel has the good sense to let bygones be bygones. He’s a lonely old man. His wife passed on years ago. Then his son left the Amish and took his wife and Willa with him. I heard Ezekiel’s church shunned them, so I reckon he had to, as well.”
That brought John up short. Was Willa an excommunicated member of the Amish church? If so, her relationship with her grandfather was much more complicated than a non-Amish person like Melvin realized. To willingly take the vow of baptism and then break that vow was a serious offense. John started to wish he hadn’t asked about her.
“It broke the old man’s heart. He wouldn’t even speak his son’s name. I thought the Amish forgave everyone. Don’t they forgive their own for leaving?”
“If a person leaves before they are baptized, they are not shunned. If a baptized member repents and confesses their sins, they will be forgiven and welcomed back into the church.” Perhaps that was why Willa had returned after so many years.
“And if they don’t repent, they have to be shunned forever?”
“That is our belief.”
Melvin shook his head. “The Amish folks around here are fine people and good neighbors, but I don’t expect I’ll ever really understand them.”
Embarrassed that he had pried into Willa’s personal life when she hadn’t shared anything, he decided to dismiss her from his mind and changed the subject. “How did you get into collecting sleighs?”
Melvin happily shared the story of his passion while the men loaded the vis-à-vis.
An hour later, John left Melvin’s farm with his thermos full of coffee and a dozen oatmeal cookies in a box under his seat. He would spend the night again with his cousins near Berlin and be home by late afternoon on Monday. As the mailbox for Ezekiel Lapp came into view, John slowed his team and looked toward the house.
His own sister hadn’t joined the faith, choosing instead to marry a non-Amish fellow. Many Amish families had Englisch children and grandchildren who were accepted and cherished. He prayed that Willa and her daughters would find kindness and acceptance, too.
He slapped the reins to get his team moving faster. It was a long way to Bowmans Crossing. He had no cause to worry about a stranger and her family. He would never see them again. They were in God’s hands.
* * *
Willa raised her head and saw it was almost dark outside. She must have fallen asleep. Her head hurt from crying. She rose stiffly and stretched her aching back, then wiped her damp cheeks as she looked around. Were the girls still sleeping? That would be unusual.
She checked in the living room. The sofa was empty. She called their names, but neither of them answered. Where were they? Panic uncoiled inside her. Their coats were gone from the pegs where she had hung them. She yanked open the front door and saw them come out of the barn walking beside her grandfather.
Lucy saw her first and came running. “Mama, I saw a cow.”
Willa’s pounding heart slowed with relief. She dropped to one knee and hugged Lucy. “Did you? Was she a nice cow?”
Lucy nodded. “She licked her nose like this.” Lucy stuck her tongue out and tried to touch it to her nose.
“Cows poo in the dirt,” Megan said with a look of disgust.
Willa held back a chuckle as she rose to her feet. She stepped aside as her grandfather carried a red pail of fresh milk up the steps. From under the porch, half a dozen kittens came out meowing for their supper. Her grandfather handed Megan the pail. “Pour this in the pan for the kittens.”
“I help.” Lucy grabbed the side of the pail. The two girls poured out the milk while the kittens tumbled around their feet and into the aluminum pie pan.
She left Megan and Lucy to play with the cats and followed her grandfather inside.
“Thank you for watching the girls and letting me sleep.”
“You were worn-out.”
“I was. It has been a long time since I’ve had a peaceful night’s rest.”
He was silent for a long moment, then he glanced toward the porch. The girls were still playing with the kittens. “Out in the barn Megan told me that bad people are looking for her and Lucy. What did she mean?”
Willa decided to tell him and took a seat at the table. After all, what did she have to lose? “My husband, Glen, had a falling-out with his parents before he met me. He would never talk about it except to say that they wanted to lock him up. He was a good man. I can’t believe he did anything wrong.”
Even as she defended him, she knew it wasn’t entirely true. Glen found it easy to assume new identities and fabricate stories about where they came from without remorse, but he had been good to her.
“Go on,” her grandfather said.
“He was always worried that they would find us. We moved three times the first year we were married. Then the girls were born.”
Shame burned in Willa’s throat, but she forced herself to continue. “Trying to take care of fussy twins wore us down. I’m not making excuses, but it was hard. We didn’t have any help. Glen had to work and I was home alone with the babies. I never got enough sleep. I became...sick.”
Her grandfather wouldn’t understand the terrible things she had done. How could he when she didn’t understand them herself. She should have been stronger. The doctors at the hospital had called it postpartum psychosis. The voices telling her to hide her babies from Glen hadn’t been real. They had been delusions, but she had done all they told her to do, even wading into the cold, rain-swollen river with the babies in her arms. They all would have died that night if not for the quick-thinking intervention of a stranger.
Willa realized she had been staring into the past, trying to remember all that had happened, but so much of her memory was blank. “I spent four weeks in a hospital. Glen couldn’t manage alone. He contacted his parents, believing they would help for the sake of their grandchildren. They came, but they only wanted to take the girls away from us. They said we were unfit parents and that the law was on their side.”
Tears slipped down Willa’s cheeks and she brushed them away. Tears wouldn’t help anything. She had to be strong. It was up to her now. “Glen managed to get away with the babies before the police came. He picked me up at the hospital and we left town with only the clothes on our backs. We tried to start over, but we had to move so many times I lost count. After Glen died, I didn’t know what to do except to come here. If his parents find me, they will take the girls away and I’ll never see them again.”
“Will the Englisch police come here?”
“Maybe, I can’t be sure. I was careful not to tell anyone where I was going. I purchased a ticket for the next town down the road, but I got off the bus before then. People on the bus may remember us. An Amish fellow gave us a lift here, but he wasn’t from this area. I do know Glen’s parents won’t stop looking for the girls, but it will be hard to find us among the Amish.”
He stared into his coffee cup for a long time. Finally, he glanced at her. “Up in the attic you will find a black trunk. There are clothes that you and the girls can wear in it. They will be warmer than what they have on now. They are goot Amish clothes. If you mean to rejoin the faith, you must dress plain.”
“Does this mean we can stay?” She was afraid to hope.
“With me, nee. Go to my sister, Ada Kaufman. She was also shunned by our church, but I hear she has kept to the Amish ways in a new church group in Hope Springs.”
Willa had fond memories of her great-aunt Ada, a kindly and spry woman with a son and daughter a few years older than Willa. A flicker of hope came alive inside her chest. She still had family she could go to.
The thought of spending Christmas with her aunt and cousins Miriam and Mark made Willa smile. They’d had some fine times together in the old days. Her cousins might be married with children of their own by now. Her daughters could have cousins to celebrate the holidays with the way she once did.
“Do you think Ada will help me?”
“That, I cannot say. I have an old buggy and a horse you can use to travel there.”
“How far is it?” Willa had never heard of Hope Springs.
“Three days’ travel to the east, more or less.”
Three days by buggy with the girls. It would be next to impossible. Where would they stay at night? What would they eat? She had no money. And yet, what choice did she have except to go on faith? There was no going back now. “Danki, Daddi. What made you change your mind?”
“Your children deserve the chance to know our ways. I pray Gott opens your heart and that you seek true repentance. When you do so, you will be welcomed here.”
“I’ll send you money for the horse and buggy when I can,” she promised.
“I want no money from you. They are a gift to your children. You may all sleep upstairs in your old room, but you must leave at first light on Monday.”
It wasn’t what she had hoped for, but she wasn’t beaten yet. Perhaps her great-aunt’s family would be like the kind Amish man she had met that afternoon. The memory of his solid presence and quiet kindness filled her heart with renewed hope. She wished she had been bold enough to ask his name. She would remember him in her prayers.
* * *
Three days after delivering his restored sleigh, John was home and hard at work on his new project. The coals in his forge glowed red-hot with each injection of air from his bellows. Sweat poured down his face. He tasted salt and ashes on his lips, but he didn’t move back. The fire was almost hot enough. Using long tongs, he held a flat piece of iron bar stock in the glowing coals, waiting until it reached the right temperature to be shaped by his hammer. A black heat would be too cold. A white heat would be too hot. A good working heat was the red-orange glow he was waiting on. The smell of smoke and hot metal filled the cold air around him.
Movement out on the road that fronted his property caught his attention. He let go of the tongs and shaded his eyes with one hand to see against the glare of the late-afternoon sun. Was his mother coming home from the quilting bee already? He didn’t expect her for another hour.
A buggy approached the top of the hill, but it wasn’t one he knew. He didn’t recognize the skinny horse between the shafts, either. He’d put shoes on nearly every horse in the area. He knew them and their owners on sight. This was someone new, and he or she was driving erratically.
The horse trotted up the road veering from side to side in a tired, rambling gait. Its black hide was flecked with white foam, but it kept going. The road led uphill to where his lane turned off at the crest. Just beyond that, the road sloped downward for a few hundred yards before it ended in a T where it intersected the blacktop highway that skirted the edge of the river just beyond. The tired horse crested the hill and stumbled but didn’t turn in John’s lane. As it went past, John realized there wasn’t anyone in the driver’s seat.
It was a runaway. Without someone to stop it, the horse was likely to trot straight across the highway into traffic and perhaps even into the river.
John let go of the bellows, sprinted up his lane and out into the road after the buggy. Had the horse been fresh, he wouldn’t stand a chance of catching it, but it was tiring. The steep climb had slowed it.
“Whoa there, whoa,” he shouted, praying the horse was well trained and would respond to the command. It kept going. Sprinting harder, he raced after the vehicle, his lungs burning like his forge. There was traffic below on the highway. A horse-drawn wagon loaded with hay slowed several cars, but one after the other, they pulled out and sped around him. The buggy was unlikely to make it across without being hit.
Running up behind the vehicle, John realized it was a Swartzentruber buggy. The most conservative group among the Amish, the Swartzentruber didn’t fit their buggies with the slow-moving-vehicle sign, windshields, mirrors or electric lighting. One rear wheel wobbled heavily. He finally drew close enough to grab the rear door handle. Yanking it open, he gave one final burst of effort and threw himself inside, no easy task for a man of his size.
The buggy wasn’t empty. There were two little girls in black bonnets holding on to each other in the back seat. They started screaming when they saw him.
“Shush, shush. Ich bin freind.” He spoke in Deitsh, telling them he was a friend. He quickly climbed over the seatback. An Amish woman lay slumped on the floorboards, her face obscured by the large black traveling bonnet she wore. The reins had fallen out of her hands but not out of the buggy. He glanced out the front and saw the horse was nearly at the bottom of the hill. The highway was less than ten yards away.
John grabbed the reins and pulled back as he stomped on the buggy brake. The foam-flecked black mare stumbled to a halt and hung her head, her sides heaving as a car zipped past. The poor horse didn’t even flinch.
John quickly checked the woman on the floor. She was dressed in a heavy black winter coat, gloves and a black traveling bonnet. He could see she was breathing. He tried rousing her without success by shaking her shoulder. He had no idea what was wrong. The girls in back kept crying for their mama.
After lifting the woman onto the seat, he spoke to the girls again in Deitsh. “What are your names? Do you live near here? What is your papa’s name?”
They were too frightened or too shy to answer him. As he pulled his arm from behind the woman’s head, he noticed a smear of blood on his sleeve. He untied her bonnet and removed it. Her kapp came off with it and her blond curls sprang free. His breath caught in his throat as he recognized the woman he’d given a lift to several days before.
What was Willa Lapp doing here?
The side of her head was matted with dried blood, but the wound under it was only a shallow gash. Had she struck her head hard enough to be knocked unconscious, or had she hurt herself when she fell? He had no way of knowing.
He asked the children what had happened, but they only stared at him fearfully without answering. He would have to wait until the woman could answer all his questions when she came to.
Leaving her settled more comfortably on the seat, he stepped forward to check on the horse and noticed a piece of harness hanging loose. It had been repaired with a loop of wire at some time in the past. The wire had snapped, leaving a sharp point sticking through the leather. The flapping piece of harness had been jabbing the mare’s side with each step she took, forcing her to keep moving even as she was close to exhaustion.
Now what? John pulled on the tip of his beard as he looked around. He couldn’t ask the trembling, exhausted horse to pull the buggy back up the steep hill. He didn’t want to leave two crying children and an unconscious woman at the side of the road until he could return with a fresh horse. The mare had to be walked until she cooled down or she would sicken in this cold. It left him with only one option. He had to take them all together.
The girls had stopped crying and were huddled behind their mother. She hadn’t stirred. He found a horse blanket beneath the back seat, unhitched the mare and covered her with it. Leading her back to the buggy door, he opened it and held out his hand to the nearest child. “Kumm, we lawfa.”
She pushed his hand aside. “Bad man. Go away.”
The other girl patted her mother’s face. “Is Mama sick?”
He switched to English. “Ja, your mother is sick. I will take you to my house. Come, we must walk there.”
They looked at each other with uncertainty. He slipped his arms beneath their mother and lifted her out of the buggy. His suspicion that Willa was pregnant proved to be true. Starting up the hill with his burden, he glanced back. The children climbed down and hurried after him, giving a wide berth to the horse he was leading. They reached his side and stayed close, holding hands with each other as they struggled to keep up with his long strides. He slowed his pace.
One of the girls caught hold of his coat. “Horsey man, wait.”
He stopped walking. “I’m not horsey man. My name is John, John Miller.”
“Johnjohn.” She grinned at him.
“Just John, and what is your name?”
“Lucy. Is Mama okay?”
“You are all okay thanks to God’s mercy this day.” He had stopped this woman’s buggy from running into traffic and being hit by a car. Why hadn’t someone stopped Katie May’s buggy before it had been smashed to bits and her life snuffed out?
Why hadn’t he stopped his wife from leaving that day? It was a question that haunted his days and nights.
The woman in his arms moaned, pulling his mind from the past. He started walking again. She wasn’t heavy, but his arms were burning by the time he reached the front steps of his house. He dropped the horse’s reins and hoped she was too tired to wander off until he got his unexpected guests settled. This was costing him valuable time away from his forge and wasting fuel. He didn’t like interruptions when he was working.
He carried her into the living room, laid her on the sofa and then knelt beside her. The little girls pressed close to him.
“Mama’s sleeping,” whispered the one who’d told him her name was Lucy. The only way he could tell them apart was that Lucy still had her bonnet on. The other sister had taken hers off somewhere between the buggy and his front step.
He gazed down at Willa’s peaceful face. Her dark blond eyelashes were fanned against fair cheeks framed by golden curls. She was even prettier than he remembered.
He shook off his unusually fanciful thoughts and gave her injury closer inspection. The gash wasn’t deep, but the fact that she hadn’t roused had him worried. He unbuttoned her coat to check for other injures and found none. He pulled his hands away. He had no idea what to do with an unconscious pregnant woman.
Lucy tugged on his coat sleeve. “I’m hungry.”
The other child crossed her legs. “I need to go potty.”
He sat back on his heels in consternation. Where was his mother when he needed her?
Chapter Three (#ue25a4891-f3bc-51e0-9566-b3db562dc4b2)
Willa heard voices she didn’t recognize. Were they real, or was she hallucinating? The psychosis wouldn’t start before her baby was born, would it? Her hands went to her stomach. Reassured by the feel of her unborn child nestled there, she opened her eyes. She was in a room she’d never seen before. Where were her girls? She tried to sit up. Pain lanced through her head, sending a burst of nausea to her empty stomach. She closed her eyes, hoping it would recede. She needed to find her children.
“Take it easy,” a man’s voice said close beside her.
She turned her head to see someone looming above her. She blinked hard, and he swam into focus. He was a mountain of a man with broad shoulders and a black beard that covered his jawline and chin. He knelt beside her and slipped an arm under her shoulders to ease her upright. His dark brown hair was cut in a bowl style she remembered from her youth. He was Amish or perhaps Old Order Mennonite. The beard meant he was a married man. His eyes were a rich coffee brown with crow’s feet at the corners. She thought she read sympathy in their depths. The longer she looked at him, the more convinced she was that they had met before, but her mind was so fuzzy she couldn’t remember where.
She clutched his arm as she struggled to get up. “Where are my daughters?”
His muscles were rock hard beneath her fingers. The feel of his steely arms was reassuring. It triggered her memory. She did know him. This was the man who had kindly given her a ride to her grandfather’s farm.
“Relax. Your children are with my mudder. She is getting them something to eat.” He patted her hand, and she let go of him. He sat back on a chair at the end of the sofa.
Willa had to see them for herself. “Lucy, Megan, come here!” A deep, harsh cough sent burning pain through her chest. Her cold was getting worse.
The pair hurried through the open doorway. “Mama, you awake?” Megan asked.
Her little worrier. Older than her sister by five minutes and a hundred years. Willa pulled both girls to her in a fierce hug. “Yes, I’m awake.”
Megan scowled and took Willa’s face between her hands. “Don’t fall down!”
“I’m sorry I frightened you.” She kissed Megan’s hair and noticed her Amish kapp was missing. Willa had had trouble keeping the unfamiliar head covering on the girls. They didn’t like them.
“I got peanut butter and jelly.” Lucy offered her half-eaten sandwich to her mother. “Want some?”
Willa shook her head, ignoring the pain the movement caused. “I’m fine. You finish it.”
“Okeydokey.” Lucy didn’t need further urging. She bit into her food with relish and was soon licking her fingers. The girls hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning when they’d finished the last of the bread her grandfather had grudgingly given them. Willa hadn’t had anything for two days, not since leaving her grandfather’s farm. Her stomach growled loudly.
An elderly woman in Amish garb came to the doorway. “Kinder, kumma to the dish and let your mamm rest.”
Megan leaned in to whisper in Willa’s ear. “She talks funny.”
The man seated beside Willa cleared his throat. She had almost forgotten that he was there. “My mudder doesn’t speak Englisch often, so it is goot for her to practice.”
Lucy hurried after the woman. “I want another sandwich, please.”
Megan followed her. “Me, too.”
Lucy frowned at her sister. “My sandwich, not yours!”
“I want one!” Megan fisted her hands on her hips.
“Lucy, Megan, you can each have your own sandwich,” Willa said to end the mutiny she saw brewing. Their normal bickering relieved her mind. They didn’t seem traumatized by what had happened.
Now that she knew her girls were safe, she turned her attention to the man at the end of the sofa. “How did we get here, and where is here?”
He scowled at her. “I have many questions for you, too. I happened to notice your buggy going past my lane with no one driving. I assumed it was a runaway and ran to catch it. Your girls were in the back seat and you were unconscious on the floorboard up front. What happened to you?”
She raised a hand to her aching head. She found a bandage above her temple. “I must have fainted and hit my head. I haven’t been feeling well.” She didn’t tell him she hadn’t eaten. Another deep cough followed her words and left her head spinning.
“You don’t remember what happened?”
They’d slept in the buggy again last night. Rather, the girls had slept. Willa’s nagging cough had kept her awake. She had a vague memory of hitching up the horse at dawn. After that, only bits and pieces of traveling along the winding roadways came to mind. Nothing about how she had hurt her head.
“I don’t remember much after starting out on the road this morning.”
He eyed her intently. “You are not Amish and yet you and your children are dressed in our way and traveling by buggy. Why? What are you doing here? How did you find me?”
She scowled at his rapid-fire questions. “I wasn’t looking for you.”
“You told me you were visiting your grandfather, Ezekiel Lapp.”
“I did see Grandfather. He gave me the horse and buggy so that I could visit other family members.” Even with this kind man, she couldn’t bring herself to share information about her destination. She’d spent too many years hiding where she was from and where she was going.
She knew the Amish bonnets would fool the casual observers, but not the real deal. Willa Chase and her children had to disappear. Someone looking for them wouldn’t look twice at an Amish woman traveling with two children in a buggy. This man already knew she wasn’t Amish, so she decided to tell him the truth, just not the whole truth.
“My parents left the church when I was young. I have decided to return to the faith and raise my children to be Amish, but I wanted to get reacquainted with my other relatives and spend Christmas with them before I decide where to settle.”
“You are not shunned?”
She looked at him in surprise. “No. I wasn’t baptized when my parents made the decision to leave. They were shunned by our congregation, but my parents are both gone now.”
He studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “Our ways are goot ways to raise kinder. This is also the wish of your husband?”
Willa stared at her hands clenched together in her lap. “He died last May.”
Her life had been a constant struggle since the horrible moment she received the news that Glen had been killed. Now that her grandfather had turned her away, she had one slim hope left—that her Amish great-aunt Ada or perhaps her cousin Mark or her cousin Miriam would take them in.
“I am sorry you lost your husband. I know it must have been difficult for you,” the man said softly.
The compassion in his voice touched her deeply. “Danki.”
She put aside her grief and focused on the present. “And thank you for stopping my runaway carriage. You have come to my rescue twice now and I don’t even know your name.”
“John Miller. My mother is Vera Miller.”
“I’m Willa Lapp.” She gave her maiden name, unable to look John Miller in the eyes as she did so. “You have already met my daughters, Megan and Lucy. Where are we?”
His mother came in and handed Willa a steaming bowl of chicken soup and a spoon. “Eat. Your babe needs nourishment.”
Willa took a sip and the hot, delicious broth drove away her nausea. “This is good. Danki.”
“Eat it all.” The woman went back to the kitchen.
“You are at my home near Bowmans Crossing,” John said.
The soup was warming Willa from the inside out. The chunks of chicken were tender and the noodles were the thick homemade kind her mother used to make. The name of the town he mentioned didn’t ring a bell. “Is that close to Hope Springs?”
He shook his head. “You are a long way from there and traveling in the wrong direction if that is where you’re headed.”
She digested this unwelcome news. She had hoped to find her great-aunt before dark. She didn’t want to spend another night on the open road. “Thank you for your help, but I must get going.”
“Your horse needs rest and your buggy needs repairs. I can fix it, but it will take some time.”
Disappointment weighed her down. She was so tired. Why couldn’t one thing go right? “I’m afraid I can’t pay you for any repairs.”
“I have not asked for payment.”
He rose and took the empty bowl from her hands. “You need rest, Willa Lapp. Don’t worry about your kinder. Mamm will look after them. She also is not a killer of serials.”
Willa had to smile at his mistaken turn of the phrase. “The term is serial killer.”
She remembered how difficult it could be to translate the Pennsylvania Deitsh language of her youth into English. An Amish fellow might say he would go the road up and turn the gate in.
John frowned slightly as he repeated her words, “Serial killer. Danki. She is also not one of those. She has fixed a bed for you.”
Willa wanted to protest, but she could barely keep her eyes open. She did need rest. Just a short nap while he fixed her buggy, then she would be on her way. She prayed her great-aunt would be as kind to her as this man and his mother had been.
Her eyes drifted closed. She barely noticed when John’s mother came back into the room. “Bring her, John, she’s too worn-out to walk.”
John lifted Willa in his arms. She wanted to protest, but she didn’t have the strength. Her head lolled against his shoulder. For the first time in months, she felt truly safe, but it was only an illusion. Someone wanted to steal her daughters away. She was their only protection. She couldn’t let down her guard.
* * *
John waited until his mother pulled back the covers, then he laid Willa gently on the bed in the guest room and took a step back. He hooked his thumbs through his suspenders, feeling ill at ease and restless. This woman brought out his protective instincts and he didn’t want to feel responsible for her or for her children. He needed to get back to work. The forge would be cooling by now. He’d have to fire it up again. More time and fuel wasted.
His mother began removing Willa’s shoes. “What did she say about pretending to be Amish?”
“She said she was raised Amish but her parents left the church. She wants to return and raise her children in our faith.”
“Then we must do what we can for her. Does she have people nearby?”
“Near Hope Springs, I think. That’s where she was heading.”
“That is a long trip from here with such little ones. Joshua Bowman’s wife, Mary, is from there. Perhaps they know each other. Did you tell her she was welcome to spend the night with us?”
“Nee. I did not, and why should I? She wants to leave.” He didn’t want them here another hour, let alone overnight.
His mother made shooing motions with her hands. “Your work will keep, but go if you must. I will see to her. You can keep the kinder occupied for me. Outside is best, for I want this young mother to get plenty of rest. I am worried about her babe.”
He took a quick step back from the bed. “You think she might give birth here?”
“If the bobli wants to come, nothing we do or say will stop it, but there is no sense hurrying his or her arrival for lack of a little rest. Go along. You won’t be any help if she does go into labor.”
She was right about that. He was a volunteer firefighter along with many of his neighbors, but running into a burning house was not as scary as a woman giving birth. “Call me if you need me.”
“I can handle this. Get out from underfoot.”
Mamm was a tiny thing and crippled with arthritis that twisted her hands, but she was still a force to be reckoned with when she set her mind to something.
He found the twins sitting at the table in the kitchen. They watched him warily. He could see subtle differences in their features, but he wasn’t sure which was which. Both of them were without their kapps. “Come outside and help me with my chores. Your mother is taking a nap.”
“Will we see a cow?” The girl closest to him asked.
“Which one are you?”
“Told you. I’m Lucy.”
“That’s right, you did.”
Her sister licked a smear of jam from the back of her hand. “Cows yucky. I’m this many.” She held up three fingers.
Lucy nodded and folded her fingers into the correct number. “I’m this many.”
Megan pointed to him. “How old are you?”
“Older than all your fingers and toes together.”
“I can count. One, two, four, five, three.” Lucy ticked off each finger.
“That’s very good. Put on your coats. Would you like to feed the goats?”
“Same as at the zoo?” Lucy nodded vigorously.
John had no idea how they fed goats at a zoo, but he figured it couldn’t be much different than what he did. He helped Lucy into her coat.
Megan pulled away from him when he tried to help her. “I can do it.”
She got her coat on but couldn’t manage the buttons. It was getting cold outside, so he buttoned her coat in spite of her protests and held open the door for them when he was done. Megan hung back until Lucy went out, then she hurried after her sister.
“Where’s my horsey? Give him back.” Megan narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him. She pointed to her mother’s buggy sitting beside the barn. He’d fetched it after his mother arrived home and stabled the tired horse.
“I didn’t steal her. She is resting in the barn just as your mother is resting in the house.”
“What’s a barn?” Lucy waited for his answer.
“That big red building.”
He figured that was enough information. He was wrong. He wasn’t prepared for the barrage of questions a pair of three-year-olds could ask, but he soon learned their curiosity was endless. Most of the time he understood only half of what they were chattering about and he couldn’t keep the two of them straight when they darted every which way so quickly.
“Why are cows brown?”
“God made them that color.”
“What do cows eat?”
“Hay.” He forked some over the stall to his milk cow Maybell.
“What’s hay?”
“Dried grass.”
“You have a funny hat, Johnjohn.”
“It’s just John.”
“Can cow come in the house?” one asked.
He quickly shook his head. “Nee, the cow can’t come in the house.”
The other child parked her hands on her hips. “Cow come with me!”
“No,” he repeated sternly.
A mutinous expression appeared on her face and she shook a finger at him. “Don’t tell me no!”
He leaned down to look into her eyes. “No!”
Tears welled up and quickly spilled down her cheeks. “You bad man.”
He raised his eyes to the barn ceiling. How did they know at this young age that tears could turn a man’s resolve into putty? “I am not bringing a cow into the house.”
“I see kitty,” one said and ran toward the yellow tabby perched on the window ledge.
Her sister’s tears vanished, and she went running toward the animal, too. The cat didn’t care for the sudden attention. She jumped down and scampered out the door.
Both children turned toward him. One scowled. “Kitty ran ’way.”
“I don’t blame her. I’d like to do that myself.” He decided the frowning one was Megan and decided to test his theory. “Megan, do you like goats?”
She nodded. Okay, he had that right. “Come, we will feed them now.”
He gave each child a pail of grain. His small herd crowded around the children, eager to reach the feed. Lucy petted the head of each goat that came to investigate her. “Me like goats.”
“They can’t come in the house,” he said quickly to forestall another episode of tears.
“Okeydokey,” Lucy said.
“Where did you girls come from?” he asked, hoping to get more information about them.
Lucy pointed toward the road.
“What town did you come from?” he asked to be more specific. He was more curious about their pretty mother than he cared to admit.
Megan sighed deeply. “Our town.”
Lucy’s lower lip trembled. “Me want to sleep in my bed.”
“You will sleep in a warm bed tonight, I promise.” He laid a hand on her head. To his surprise, she wrapped her arms around his legs.
She looked up at him. “You nice, Johnjohn.”
“No! Bad man,” Megan yelled. She yanked Lucy away from him, making Lucy wince at the tight grip on her arm.
John leaned down to frown at Megan. “That was unkind. You must tell your shveshtah you are sorry and ask her forgiveness.”
For a second he thought she would defy him, but she put her arms around Lucy and pulled her close. “I’m sorry.”
Lucy pulled away and sniffled. “It’s okay.”
John stood up straight. “Goot. Your family is second only to God in your life. You must care for each other always. Let’s go milk the cow. Maybe your mother will be awake by then and I can get back to work.” His first order of business was to see what was wrong with the rear wheels of their buggy. His mother was insistent that they stay overnight, but he wanted them on their way first thing tomorrow.
His attempt to milk the cow proved far more difficult than he had imagined. In spite of his cautions, Lucy tried to catch Maybell’s tail as Megan crawled under her belly to see what he was doing. The cow jumped and almost upset his milk pail when Lucy squealed loudly. She had spotted Maybell’s twin calves in the next pen. The girls climbed the wooden fence and jabbered to each other and to the curious calves in a steady stream of words he couldn’t hope to keep up with.
They squealed again. He grabbed the pail as the cow kicked nervously. His chores had never been so nerve-racking. A glance over his shoulder revealed five kittens had come out of the hay to get their supper portion of fresh milk. The cats beat a hasty retreat when the girls rushed them.
“Johnjohn, why kitties run away?” Lucy demanded.
“You scared them by being too noisy. You must be quiet around the animals.”
“Why?”
“Because all creatures enjoy peace and quiet. Including this blacksmith.”
“Kitties!” Megan said, pointing toward the top of the hay bales where the litter had taken refuge.
“Leave them alone, and they will come down.” He poured a portion of the milk into a small wooden trough.
He walked to the barn door and held it open. “Come, we must take the millich to Mamm so we can have fresh cream on our oatmeal tomorrow morning.”
They were halfway across the front yard when the door of the house flew open, and Willa came rushing out. Her cheeks were bright red and her eyes were glassy. “I’ve slept too long. We have to be on our way. Get in the buggy, girls. Where is my horse?”
His mother came out of the house and took hold of Willa’s arm. “You are feverish, child. You can’t travel today.”
“I have to go. You don’t understand. I have to go or they will take my babies away from me.” She staggered closer to John. “I need a horse. Please, get my horse.”
He looked at his mother, and she shook her head. He spoke softly to Willa. “You can’t go until you are better. The girls are fine. See?”
He stepped aside so she could see them. “No one is going to take them. They are safe here. Go back into the house, where it’s warm.”
She clasped her arms across her chest. A shiver racked her body. A second later, her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed. He managed to catch her before she hit the ground.
He headed toward the house with her in his arms. By the time he reached the steps, her eyes fluttered open. She pushed against his chest. “I’m fine. Put me down.”
“You aren’t fine and you aren’t going anywhere except back to bed. You will stay there until my mother tells you that you may get up. Is that understood?”
“I need to get to Hope Springs tonight. I can’t let the children spend another night on the road.” He barely heard her hoarse whisper.
“You can’t get to Hope Springs before nightfall. It’s a two-day trip from here.”
“That can’t be.”
“Your horse must have carried you many miles out of your way. You can send a letter to your family, telling them that you have been delayed. Or I can use the neighborhood phone and call them if you will give me a number. That way they won’t be worrying about you.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “They aren’t expecting me.”
He stood aside so his mother could open the door for him. “That’s goot. They can be just as surprised and happy to see you when you are well. Now, back to bed with you.”
She closed her eyes. “You are very bossy.”
He fought back a smile. “And you are very stubborn.”
“So I have been told,” she whispered before her head lolled to the side, and he knew she was asleep again.
She didn’t rouse when he laid her on the bed. He stepped back and thrust his hands in his pockets. Her daughters crept in behind him. Lucy tugged on the hem of his coat. “Mama sick?”
Willa looked small and vulnerable lying beneath the thick quilt. He wanted to see her standing strong with that stubborn chin jutting out. He nodded. “Ja, I think she is very sick.”
Megan squeezed past him, grasped her mother’s hand and tugged on it. “Mama get up.”
His mother scowled at him and leaned down to reassure Megan, slipping her arm around the child’s shoulders. “Your mamm just needs to rest. Kumm, we must let her sleep. You are all going to stay with us for a few days. Won’t that be nice?”
“Feed cows again?” Lucy asked.
“Ja. Tomorrow John will let you feed all the animals again. Now it’s time to make our own supper. Go into the kitchen. I’ll be there in a minute. You may each have a cookie from the plate that is on the counter.”
The girls reluctantly left the bedroom. John followed his mother down the hall. “You sound positively delighted to have this family of strangers stay on for days.”
“I am.”
“Well, I’m not. I haven’t been able to get a single piece of work done today.”
She stopped and turned to face him. “You have done nothing but work yourself half to death for the past four years.”
“You speak as if that is a poor thing.”
“Work is all well and good, but you’ve forgotten how to have a little fun now and again.”
“I know how to have fun.” His mother was being ridiculous.
“What was the last thing you did simply for the fun of it?” She stared at him with her arms crossed.
“I enjoy my work. It is fun to me.”
“You can’t think of anything, can you?”
He shook his finger at her. “If they do stay another day, you will keep the chatterboxes occupied while I get caught up on my work. A forge is no place for such wild kinder.”
“They aren’t wild.”
“Maybell will disagree with you.”
“I will keep them. All you had to do was ask.” She smiled sweetly, and he saw exactly how tomorrow was going to turn out. It would be a repeat of today.
“The first thing on my list will be repairing their buggy so they can leave.”
“If Gott wishes them to go, they will go. If He wishes them to stay, they will stay.” His mother turned away and walked into the kitchen.
Chapter Four (#ue25a4891-f3bc-51e0-9566-b3db562dc4b2)
Willa stretched her stiff and aching muscles, then snuggled down beneath the warm quilt again, reluctant to open her eyes. If only she could stay asleep for a few more minutes. Just a few more.
“You’re awake, I see.”
The familiar voice put an end to Willa’s wishful thinking. She turned her head and found John’s mother sitting in a rocker beside the bed. There was daylight pouring through the window. “What time is it?”
Pushing to her feet, Vera patted Willa’s shoulder. “Time to eat something. I’ll be back in a minute with your tray. I hope you like strong tea. I never could drink coffee while I was pregnant.”
“You don’t need to coddle me,” Willa said, but Vera was already out the door.
Willa sat up in bed and pushed her hair back from her face. Her chest ached from coughing and her throat was scratchy, but she didn’t intend to stay in bed another day as much as she wished she could.
“This is not coddling. It’s plain common sense,” Vera said as she returned with a tray of tea and cinnamon toast. “The more you rest, the sooner you will be well enough to travel. Perhaps tomorrow.”
When Vera finished propping pillows behind Willa, she placed the tray on her lap.
Willa smiled her thanks. “A good night’s sleep has done wonders for me. I won’t trouble you any longer.”
“Eat and then we shall see.”
“Where are my daughters?” Willa looked past Vera to the empty hall. She wasn’t used to having the girls out of her sight. She couldn’t rest easy until she saw them.
“They are helping my son John with the chores. I believe they are gathering the eggs and feeding the chickens.”
Willa bit her lower lip. “I’m not sure they will be much help.”
Vera chuckled. “I’m sure you are right, but John needs a lesson in patience. Kinder are often the best teachers of that virtue.”
“I don’t want them to annoy him.”
Vera moved to the window to look out. “I hope they will. My son has become a stuffy fellow. It will do him good to see the world through the eyes of little ones for a change.”
Willa moved the food tray aside. The last thing she wanted was to cause John trouble. He’d been more than kind. “I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done for us, but I must be going. I still have a long way to travel. Has John had a chance to repair my buggy?”
Willa stood. The room spun wildly. She closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her head as Vera steadied her.
“Sit before you fall down.”
“It will pass. I stood up too quickly, that’s all.”
“Nee, this is your babe’s way of saying you need more rest. Back in bed and don’t try getting up again unless John or I am close by. I don’t want to have to pick you up off the floor.”
Willa’s legs trembled, forcing her to sit on the side of the bed. As much as she hated to admit it, she wasn’t going anywhere until she had regained more of her strength. She meekly allowed Vera to tuck her in again. When the dizziness subsided, Willa opened her eyes to find Vera watching her with a worried expression. It had been a long time since anyone had worried over her.
“I’m fine now. Truly I am.”
“You will drink your tea and eat your toast, and not another word about leaving. Is that understood?”
“It is,” Willa answered, feeling like a scolded child. Vera Miller was clearly used to giving orders and being obeyed.
“Goot. Rest today and tomorrow you will feel much better.”
After Vera left the room, Willa sipped the tea and nibbled on the toast as she took stock of her situation. She couldn’t leave today, and it wouldn’t do her any good to argue. She shuddered to think what could have happened yesterday when her horse was trotting unguided along the roads. They were safe for now. The children were being fed and looked after, something she couldn’t do herself.
Leaning back against the headboard, she drew a deep breath, pleased that it didn’t trigger a coughing fit. The tea was soothing, and it was making her sleepy.
Another day’s rest would see her stronger, but she couldn’t stay longer than that. Time was growing short. She had to learn if her great-aunt or her cousins would take her and the children in. Her baby was due in less than two months. She had to have a safe place for the girls and her babe before she gave birth. Nothing mattered but protecting them, even from herself.
* * *
“How is she?” John asked his mother when he came in. His two terrors followed right behind him. He hoped Willa Lapp was able to travel. Keeping an eye on her two energetic children was exhausting. How did women do it? Between answering their endless questions and keeping them out of harm’s way, he was ready to cart them all to Hope Springs himself.
“Willa is resting at the moment, but she is in no shape to travel. She stood at the side of the bed and almost fainted.”
He stifled a groan. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He wanted her to be on her way, but he could hardly push a sick woman out the door. “Then the kinder must stay with you the rest of the day. I have work to do and I cannot have them underfoot. They court disaster at every turn.”
His mother frowned at him. “That’s a harsh thing to say about such darlings.”
“Johnjohn’s mad,” Lucy told her.
John pointed at her. “This one almost tumbled out of the hayloft door. I barely caught her in time. Megan dropped the basket of eggs and broke half of them. And someone left the henhouse door open. I spent the last hour hunting down and catching our chickens.”
His mother actually smiled, making him feel foolish for allowing two children to get the better of him. “I wondered what was taking so long. Accidents happen. It’s not as if they are going out of their way to annoy you, but I will keep them with me for the rest of the day. Does that make you happy?”
“It does. Very, very happy.”
“Kumm and redd-up, girls.”
Megan cocked her head to the side. “What’s redd-up?”
“It means to clean up. I can’t believe John let you get so dirty.”
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