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Fredrik shook John’s hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the church. Make sure you wear your loose pants. The ladies are cooking for us.”
John nodded. “I’ll be there.” And he walked to the door.
Fredrik turned back to Lizbeth and saw a slight smile on her face. “It’s been years, and I know I’ve changed,” she said, “but I’m assuming you’ve remembered me by now, Fredrik. I’m Little Lizzy, Saul’s schweschder.”
Fredrik leaned toward her with a grin. “Of course I know who you are. I realized it as soon as you greeted your daed. Little Lizzy. I can’t believe it. I’d heard you had married and had moved away while I was in Lancaster. Why didn’t you tell me who you were as soon as we met?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “It didn’t seem important. And I wanted to see how long it would take for you to remember. I knew it was you the minute I saw that ginger hair of yours and your broken nose.”
He trailed his finger down the bridge, to the almost invisible bump, thinking of that day so many years ago. “Ya, and I remember who broke that nose. You had a mean pitching arm back then.”
“I still do.”
Fredrik glanced up and saw one of Sarasota’s finest walk through the café door, the gun on his hip standing out in the crowd of Plain people and tourists. “The police officer is here. I’ve got to go. It was good to see you again, Lizbeth.” He stood and pulled her to his side in a hug, his arm sliding around her slim waist.
Then he let her go and walked off, peeking over his shoulder at her one last time. She’d been the picture of calm since her father arrived. Her daed was what she needed. A strong man to lean on.
He walked toward the police officer, his heartbeat kicking up. He’d leave Lizbeth and the boy out of this situation. She had enough on her plate. Going by the shake of her head earlier, she wouldn’t want to talk to the police right now anyway, not when her father could return at any moment. Could she have thought Benuel was at fault for the accident? If she did, she was mistaken. He knew he was to blame and would make sure the police knew it, too.
Chapter Three (#ub71b6fb5-cd3e-5bb6-b1c2-0f60eca74147)
The next morning, Ulla Schwarts glanced at the quilt top Lizbeth had been working on since sunrise, and smiled. “You’ve only been home a day and that top is almost finished.” Bent at the waist, she swished a sudsy dishcloth across the big wooden farm table, reaching for and finding a spot of dried plum jelly that needed scrubbing. “You sew pretty fast.”
“Ya, it came together quickly,” Lizbeth agreed, looking up from her breakfast, over to her father and then his wife of one month. She smiled as the gray-haired woman wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, and then went back to cleaning the big wooden table positioned in the middle of her mamm’s well-loved kitchen.
Lizbeth already liked the spirited older Amish woman and found merit in her humor and work ethic. It would take some time to adjust to seeing another woman in her mother’s haus, caring for her daed, even though years had passed since her mamm’s sudden passing.
“It’s time I go check on the chickens,” her father stated, then wiped egg off his mouth. His chair scraped the floor as he rose. He lightly kissed Lizbeth on the forehead. “I’m so glad you’re back,” he said for the hundredth time that morning.
Lizbeth smiled, joy warming her heart. “Me, too, Daed.”
“You have any plans for today?” he asked.
“Nothing important,” Lizbeth muttered, and grinned. She’d had a hard morning with Benuel and didn’t have much energy left in her.
“I’m off then.” John kissed his wife’s cheek and whispered something in her ear that had her giggling as she swatted him out the back door with her dishcloth.
Still smiling, Ulla commented to Lizbeth, “There’s a sewing circle that meets at the civic hall on Tuesday mornings if you have a mind to go.” Ulla shoved a stubby water glass into the sea of dishwater and swished a cloth around in it.
Lizbeth gathered up her plate, coffee cup and the remains of her half-eaten bacon and eggs destined for the chickens’ scrap bowl. “Does Berta King still go?”
Ulla shook her head and moved to clean the stove. “Not since the cancer took hold.”
Lizbeth paused, her hand going to her heart. “I didn’t know.” The spry little woman had taught her to quilt and had been her mother’s best friend and confidante for more years than she could remember. Berta had been there to wave her off when she’d quickly married and left Pinecraft five years before.
“Nee, you wouldn’t, would you? Living so far away. I only see her when I take meals over on Tuesday and Friday nights. She looks bad. So thin and frail. Abram’s not looking so good himself, poor man. Someone told me their daughter from Ohio is coming on the bus. She’ll help out until her mamm passes, and then take her daed home with her.”
“It’s never gut to be alone.” Lizbeth adjusted the work scarf on her head and then plunged her hands into the sink of hot soapy water. The water burned a small scrape caused by her fall in the street the day before.
She began scrubbing dried egg yolk off her plate. She had to find a way to make Benuel understand that roads were dangerous. Living in a busy tourist town held hazards he didn’t understand at such a young age. It would take time and patience to guide him.
Perhaps she clung to him too tightly now that she had him all to herself. Benuel had always been easily distracted, but he had grown more willful of late, even cruel at times. She remembered the kick he’d given her under the booth the day before and sighed deeply. He needed a man’s firm hand, but the thought of marrying again sent her pulse racing wild with fear. Not that any man in his right mind would want her as his fraa once he found out she was emotionally damaged.
And the last time she had married for her child’s sake hadn’t gone so well. What would she do if anyone discovered the truth about Benuel? It would ruin both of them.
There had to be another way to help him grow into a strong man without a father in his life. Perhaps settling down near her daed and the kind people of Pinecraft would bring about the stability he needed, as her father had suggested. At least she prayed that it would.
Ulla plugged in a portable electric fan and positioned it on the long wooden counter nearest her. “You’ll need this if you’re going to wash those breakfast dishes. The humidity is high. We must be expecting a storm.”
“Danki,” Lizbeth muttered and plunged in another yolk-covered plate.
Ulla hummed as she shuffled across the room, a stack of folded towels in her arms.
A glance out the kitchen window revealed threatening gray clouds. A gust of wind twisted two small palm trees to the ground.
The old German clock in the living room ticked away the remaining minutes of the morning. She rinsed her hands and rehung the dish towel on its wooden peg next to the window and then pressed her hands into the small of her back. A long, busy day stretched out in front of her and she had no energy left.
She had to talk to Benuel about his behavior at the breakfast table, and was dreading it. He’d poured milk on Ulla’s clean tablecloth. He’d done it on purpose, even though her father claimed it had been an accident. All she seemed to do was scold the child, when all she wanted was to pull him onto her lap and hold him until his anger went away.
“So, you have nothing planned for your day?” Ulla came back into the room with a load of sheets ready to be washed. Her tone and smile were friendly and inviting, unlike the daily dramatic scenes that played out back in Ohio with her mother-in-law. She could never please the woman, no matter how hard she tried. And she had tried.
Lizbeth took in a deep, cleansing breath, her memories of Ohio pushed to the darkest recesses of her mind once more. She smiled. “I’ve got the usual. Keeping Benuel entertained and getting that quilt top finished after I make our beds.”
Ulla paused under the kitchen’s arched door. She braced a wicker basket, fluffy with unfolded sheets, against her stomach. “We have church service tomorrow. I make it a practice to help with the cooking of the communal meal. You can join me if you like. It would give you a chance to get reacquainted with some of the ladies of the community.”
Preparing the communal meal had been one of Lizbeth’s mother’s favorite chores. Being one of the volunteer church cooks was something Lizbeth could embrace now that she was back, not that she was a very good cook. Going along with Ulla would give Benuel a chance to play with children his own age. But doubt stalled her. “I don’t know. He’s such a handful today.”
“Ach, don’t let his acting up stop you from doing a good deed. You haven’t met Beatrice, my oldest kinskind yet.” Ulla laughed, her smile animating her wrinkled face with a glow. “Now that child is a certain-sure handful. She and her sister Mercy will be there.” The woman’s tone became serious. “Benuel needs the company of other kinner, Lizbeth.”
Lizbeth’s face flushed. He needed so much more than she seemed able to give him, but she would learn. “Ya, maybe I will come after all.”
“Gut. I’ll get this load of sheets folded and then we’ll make a list for our trip to the store. I thought I’d make chicken and dumplings and a peanut butter shoofly pie. Is there anything special you’d like to make?”
Benuel had smashed his fist into the center of the last cake she’d baked, sending chunks of chocolate cake all over her mother-in-law’s kitchen floor. “Maybe I’ll make chocolate cupcakes for the kinner. Chocolate is Benuel’s favorite.”
Ulla laughed. “Beatrice and I have an understanding when it comes to cupcakes of any flavor. She behaves and does what I tell her, or I get to eat hers. You might try that on Benuel. Missing a few cupcakes might bring about a bit of good behavior from the boy.”
Lizbeth found herself smiling. “Ya, I might try that. Danki.” Her smile grew. “You’ve been so kind to us since we arrived, Ulla. I want to thank you for opening your home, taking us in.”
“Nonsense. This is your home, too. John and I are happy you moved back to Pinecraft, sudden or not.” Ulla set the basket on the floor. “Having you here has been a blessing. But what’s this John tells me about you already looking for a home of your own?”
“Ya, I am looking, not that you both haven’t made us feel so very willkumm. It’s just that Benuel needs to settle into a routine before school begins.” Still so unsure of her parenting skills, she wasn’t positive she would be putting him in school. She had to decide soon, but not today.
Ulla grinned as she flipped out a square tablecloth and shoved it into the washer. “I own an empty house that’s up for sale and begging for a family to bring it back to life. It’s simple and Amisch Plain, but not too far from here and close to the Christian school. If the local man who asked about it doesn’t buy it, you’re welcome to rent it until you marry again. We have a busy weekend, but John can show it to you on Monday.”
“That would be wunderbaar. A simple house would be an answer to prayer,” Lizbeth said, ignoring Ulla’s comment about a new marriage. She had no intention of marrying again. It would be just her and Benuel from now on.
Surely the money she had squirreled away would be enough to make rent payments until she could find a part-time job and someone safe to leave Benuel with. Maybe there would be enough left over for a few pieces of secondhand furniture. When they had left Ohio, she had taken nothing but their clothes and a few of Benuel’s favorite toys. She pushed away her reasons for leaving the farm, unwilling to bring back the harsh memories that haunted her unguarded sleep each night.
Gott’s will be done. He had brought them back to Pinecraft, to the Plain people she’d grown up with, and she was grateful to be home.
* * *
At noon on Monday, Fredrik leaned his old bike against an orange tree and turned on his heel, ready to begin his search for a wife in the crowd of Amish women standing around, chatting.
After seeing Lizbeth Mullet wearing a pretty blue dress at church the day before, and hearing two pastors preach on the joys of married life, he’d lost sleep that night, tossing and turning, but managed to make a firm decision. It was time to forget Bette, who had accepted his proposal and then run off and wed his best friend in Lancaster County, where Fredrik was completing his apprenticeship. He would buy Ulla’s house and settle down. It shouldn’t be too hard to find someone to marry him. Perhaps Lizbeth Mullet would consider him and if not her, someone else just as comely. Whoever he chose, though, would have to understand that theirs would be only a friendly partnership. An attempt at showing the community—and himself—that he could grow and become responsible. He’d never give another woman his heart after the way Bette had stomped on it.
The woman he married would have to be patient, accept him as he was. He wasn’t exactly sure how much he could change his youthful ways, but almost killing a child had affected him deeply. It was past time he stopped behaving like a youngie and got on with his life.
He ambled across the dry park grass, over to the food tables and joined his boss, Mose. The square-shouldered Amish man greeted him with a nod of his head and then filled one side of his sturdy paper plate with fried chicken. He inched his way forward, toward a bowl of hot potato salad decorated with perfect slices of boiled eggs and olives.
“You’re late. You almost missed out on my Sarah’s specialty,” Mose said, adding an extra helping of the creamy potatoes to his too-full plate. “It’s almost gone.”
“I see that,” Fredrik smiled and took the last of the potato salad with a half-moon of boiled egg buried on top.
“You oversleep?”
Fredrik cleared his throat before speaking. “No, I had to pay a traffic ticket. No insurance.”
Glancing back, Mose said, “Is this one of your yarns?”
Fredrik glanced up. “Nee, I’m not joking.”
“Then what do you mean? The police don’t give tickets for bike riding.”
Fredrik lumbered close behind Mose, both men still circling around the table laden with food. “I wasn’t exactly riding a bike.” He reached across the table for three meaty ribs shining with barbecue sauce. He added a forkful of pickles as an afterthought and then speared a meaty chicken leg covered in crispy fried batter.
Together they headed for the drinks table, and stood in a line with community leaders and hardworking Plain men waiting for a cold glass of sweet tea. The big oak tree draped with moss spared them the bright overhead sun.
Fredrik had hoped to speak privately with Mose, but the park grounds were already packed with people supporting the lunch that would bring in enough money to pay for the new roof on the church.
Fredrik frowned, not liking the idea of someone from the congregation overhearing what a fool he’d been. In Pinecraft, simple situations were known to grow into full-blown gossip sessions, innocent words passed on from family to family until the truth could barely be recognized.
Balancing his tall glass of tea and a few napkins against his chest, Fredrik followed close behind Mose.
“What were you riding, a golf cart?”
“No, a scooter.” He waited for the critical remark he knew was coming. Acting as his mentor and older brother, Mose had warned him about leaning too close to Englischer ways, but Fredrik had prayed about buying the scooter and Gott had remained silent. Fredrik had taken His silence as approval, and he’d been wrong.
“Were you speeding?” Mose’s brow arched as he placed his glass of tea on a cloth-covered picnic table and slid his plate in front of it.
Fredrik joined him at the table and smiled at Sarah, Mose’s fraa, as she kissed her husband fondly on the forehead, then hurried off, pushing a twin stroller of chubby kinner. A curly-haired toddler followed her, tugging at the back of her skirt. “Sarah’s looking well rested. The twins must be sleeping through the night at last.”
The big blond-haired man wasn’t smiling. “Don’t change the subject. You’ll have to tell me sometime. Are you hiding a secret about this scooter you borrowed?”
“I didn’t borrow the scooter. It’s mine. I picked it up the other day. That’s why I was late to work.” Fredrik took a gulp of tea and sat the sweating glass back on the table.
“Ya, well. You said you were buying one with your savings, but didn’t you know you’d need insurance for the thing?”
Fredrik nodded. “I did know, but I got ticketed before I could get the insurance.” He paused to pray silently over his food and then shoveled in a mouthful of potato salad and chewed as he thought back to the day of the accident. An image of the pretty widow came back to haunt him. If only he could get her and her son off his mind. He pictured them round-eyed with worried looks. Were they still traumatized by his stupidity? He hoped not.
“Well, it makes me to wonder if you should have prayed more about this magnificent piece of machinery of yours,” Mose said after he’d prayed. “Perhaps Gott isn’t pleased with your purchase and is letting you tie a rope around your neck.” Mose flashed a sardonic smile that showed a piece of mustard green stuck to the front of his tooth. The man bent forward and went back to attacking his food.
“Ya, you might be right.” Fredrik nodded. “Nothing gut has come from the purchase.” The other side of their picnic table was still empty. Now was as good a time as any to speak to Mose. He blurted out the lines he had practiced. “You think there’s any chance I could get a church loan for a down payment on Ulla’s house?”
Mose laid down his fork. “Ya, sure. We have money set aside for such as this. Ulla’s house would make a fine house for a young man like yourself. There’s plenty of room for a fraa and kinner.” He smiled, probably expecting his words to unsettle the unmarried man. “I’m sure she’ll sell it to you. She has no use for it now. Let’s walk over by the river and talk for a moment.”
Throwing his paper plate into the trash for the flies to buzz around, Fredrik ambled alongside Mose, his mind racing.
Houses in Pinecraft seldom came up for sale since they were usually passed on from family member to family member. When they were put on the market, they were too dear for most young people. Perhaps Mose could convince Ulla to sell the house to him at a reasonable price.
“So, you’re finally ready to marry,” Mose said, stopping to sit at an old picnic table close to the river.
Fredrik followed his lead and sat. “Ya.” He’d never experienced being tongue-tied in his life, but it seemed he couldn’t get his words to untangle on his tongue to form a complete sentence. “I...” he said and hiccupped from a nervous stomach. He groaned silently and then plunged on, forcing the words out. “Before we talk about the loan, I need to tell you I had an accident on the scooter the first day it was mine.” There! The words were out.
“My daed used to talk to me about his bruder, Thomas. Seems all his life my onkel liked all things fast. The Englisch ways appealed to him more than Gott and the church.” Mose waved at his small blond son running past on short, dimpled knees.
Fredrik watched clusters of Amish and Mennonite people eating their meal. A cooling breeze blew across the park. Tablecloth edges flapped in the breeze like white sails at sea. A gull’s sharp cry rang out overhead, perhaps predicting doom and gloom for Fredrik’s project.
He got a quick glimpse of Lizbeth Mullet and Benuel sitting with a crowd of women one table over. Today she was smiling and talking to her son in an animated way, the wind blowing lengths of her fine blond hair around the simple neckline of her yellow dress. Regret tightened his stomach once again.
“Church and Gott mean a lot to me. More than that scooter,” Fredrik said, and swallowed hard. “I’ll be thirty soon. It’s time I settle down and get married.”
“Have you found anyone suitable?”
“I’ve made a list of available women in the area.” He laughed and glanced back at Lizbeth, wishing she was someone he could mention as a prospective fraa. “Ulla’s sister is a matchmaker, and coming for a visit soon. If I can’t decide on someone, I hope she’ll help me find a woman from the surrounding communities while she’s here.”
“Have you considered Lizbeth Mullet? She’s widowed now and could use a husband to help raise her soh.”
Fredrik wanted to admit he was considering her, but he had a feeling she’d never agree to stepping out with him. She just thought of him as her big brother’s annoying friend. “Not really, but I will add her name to my list. Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” he said with a smile. “Who knows? Gott might speak to her about me.” A home and wife was what he needed, but could he find the right bride without allowing his heart to be broken again? He hoped so.
Chapter Four (#ub71b6fb5-cd3e-5bb6-b1c2-0f60eca74147)
Later that afternoon, Lizbeth hoisted the heavy green garbage bag out of the industrial-size plastic container and hastily placed it on the church’s tiled kitchen floor. It was heavier than she’d anticipated, and made bulky by several plastic milk jugs she’d added to the jumble after making chocolate pudding. She tied the bag off, and with a grunt of determination, gathered her strength, lifted the burden and wrestled it to the back door.
Twisting, she turned the knob and hip bumped the sticking door open. Sunlight and a cool breeze poured into the sweltering kitchen.
Five narrow steps and a four-foot drop greeted her. Great! Just what I need. More obstacles in my path.
She glanced around and found a row of enormous black trash cans lined along the church. They were at least six feet away.
Six feet or six inches, she was going to get the trash into one of those cans if it took her the rest of the afternoon. Stubbornness fed her resolve. I can do this.
Positioned on the second step, her back to the yard, she heaved the plastic bag up and then dropped it on the top stair.
“You need help with that?” a masculine voice asked from somewhere behind her. She recognized it was Fredrik.
“Nee, but danki.” She shot a glance over her shoulder. Fredrik was bareheaded and wiping sweat from his brow with a colorful bandana.
