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Sarah’s father walked past and glanced at the two women. He hurried out of the shop, letting the door slam. His bad mood meant problems for Sarah. When riled, he could be very cruel. She had no one to blame but herself for his bad attitude today. She knew he grew tired of her lack of control and rule breaking. People were openly talking about her. She had to learn to keep her mouth closed and distance herself from the Englisch.
Sarah hurried out of the store and trailed behind Marta. Fancy Englisch cars dotted the parking lot. She made her way to her father’s buggy parked under a cluster of old oaks.
He stood talking to a man unfamiliar to Sarah. The man turned toward her as she approached. He wore a traditional blue Amish shirt, his black pants wrinkled and dusty, as if he’d been traveling for days. The black hat on his head barely controlled his nest of dishwater-blond curls. Joseph had been blond and curly-haired, too. Memories flooded in. Her heart ached.
Men from all around the county were coming today. The burned-out barn was to be torn down and cleared away. The man standing next to her father had be one of the workers who’d traveled a long distance to lend a helping hand. She often disapproved of many Amish ways, but not their generosity of heart. Helping others came naturally to all Amish. She honored this trait. It was the reason she’d helped the neighbor boys get away from their cruel father.
“Sarah,” Marta called out and motioned for her to hurry. Sarah picked up her pace.
“Come, Sarah! Time is wasting,” her father called out.
“Ya, Daed.”
The tall, well-built man smiled. She was struck by the startling blueness of his eyes and the friendly curve of his mouth. His light blond beard told her he was married. She gave a quick smile.
Marta stepped forward. “This is Mose Fischer, Joseph’s school friend. He came all the way from Florida to help us rebuild the barn.”
Mose Fischer took her hand. The crinkles around his eyes expressed years of friendly smiles and a good sense of humor.
Sarah wasn’t comfortable with physical contact, but allowed him to take her hand out of respect to Joseph. She returned his smile. “Hello. I’m glad to meet you.” She meant what she’d said. She was glad to meet him. She’d only met her husband’s sister, Marta. Meeting Joseph’s childhood friend made her feel more a part of his past life.
Adolph put his hand on Sarah’s shoulder. Touching her was something he rarely did, especially in public. “Sarah loves kinder. Perhaps you’d like her to care for your young daughters while you work?”
“If Sarah agrees, I’d like that very much.” Mose Fischer seemed to look deep into her soul, looking for all her secrets as he spoke. Why hadn’t his wife come to Lancaster with him? “I’d be glad to care for the bobbles, and I’m sure I’ll have help. Marta seldom gets a chance to play with kinder and will grab at this opportunity.”
Marta nodded with a shy laugh and smiled. “Just try to keep me away.”
“How old are the kinder?” Sarah grinned, happy for a chance to be busy wiping tiny fingers and toes. She’d be much too preoccupied to fret or watch the last of the barn come down.
“Beatrice is almost five and Mercy will soon be one. But, I warn you. They miss their mamm since she passed and can be a real handful.” Pain shimmered in his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were a widower. You were very brave to travel alone with such young daughters.”
“We came by train from Tampa, but my memories of Joseph made all the effort worth it. I didn’t want to miss the chance to help out his widow.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Mose and the girls will stay on my farm, and so will you.” Adolph gave Sarah a familiar glare.
“That’s fine. I can stay in my old room for a few days, and the girls can sleep with me.” Sarah nervously straightened the ribbons hanging from her stiff white prayer kapp. Since she was in deep mourning, her father knew she wanted to continue to hide herself at her farm, far away from people and gossip. “If that suits you, Mose.” She held her breath. She suddenly realized she needed to be around the girls as much as they needed her.
* * *
Dressed in a plain black mourning dress and kapp, her black shoes polished to a high shine, Mose could see why Joseph had chosen Sarah as his bride. There was something striking about her, her beauty separating her from the average Amish woman. She tried to act friendly, but he’d experienced the pain of loss and knew she suffered from the mention of Joseph. Greta had been the perfect wife to him and mother to his girls. After almost a year, the mention of her name still cut deeply and flooded his mind with memories.
“I hope they’re not a handful for you.” A genuine smile blossomed on the willowy, red-haired woman’s face. She looked a bit more relaxed. The heavy tension between Sarah and her father surprised him. Surely Adolph would be a tower of strength for her. She’d need her father to lean on during difficult times. Instead, Mose felt an air of disapproval between the two. He’d heard Adolph Yoder was a hard man, but Sarah seemed a victim in this terrible tragedy.
“I’ll bring the girls around in an hour or so, if that’s all right.”
“Ya. I’m not doing anything but cooking today. The girls can help bake for tomorrow’s big meal.” Sarah smiled a shy goodbye and followed Marta into the buggy. She pulled in her skirt and slammed the door. Through the window she waved, “I look forward to taking care of the kinder.”
“Till then,” Mose said, and waved as the buggy pulled onto the main road, his thoughts still on the tension between father and daughter.
Walking came naturally to Mose. He set out on the two-mile trip to his cousin’s farm and prayed his daughters had behaved while he was gone. Dealing with her own grief, he wasn’t sure Sarah was up to handling the antics of his eldest daughter. Four was a difficult age. Beatrice was no longer a baby, but her longing for her dead mamm still made her difficult to manage.
The hot afternoon sun beat down on his head, his dark garments drawing heat. He welcomed the rare gusts of wind that threatened to blow off his straw hat and ruffle his hair. Lancaster took a beating from the summer heat every year, but today felt even more hot and muggy. He would be glad to get back to Sarasota and its constant breeze and refreshing beaches.
A worn black buggy rolled past, spitting dust and pebbles his way. To his surprise, the buggy stopped and a tall, burley, gray-haired man hopped out.
“Hello, Mose. I heard you were in town.”
I should know the man. He recognized his face but struggled with the name. “Forgive me, but I don’t remember—”
“Nee. It was a long time ago. I’m Bishop Ralf Miller. It’s been five years or more since I last went to Florida and stayed with your family. I’ve known your father for many years. When we were boys, we shared the same school. I believe you’d just married your beautiful bride when your father introduced me to you.”
“My wife died last year,” Mose informed him. “Childbirth took her.” Saying the words out loud was like twisting a knife in his heart.
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“There’s no reason you would know,”
“Nee, but it worries me how many of our young people are dying. I assume you’re here to help with Joseph Nolt’s barn clearing.”
“I just met his widow. Poor woman is torn with grief.”
“Between the two of us, I’m not so sure Sarah Nolt is a grieving widow. One of the men at the funeral said they heard her say Joseph’s death was her fault. The woman’s been unpredictable most of her life. Her father and I had a conversation about this a few days ago. He’s finding it hard to keep both farms going, and Sarah is stubbornly refusing to return to her childhood home. Joseph’s farm needs to be sold. If she doesn’t stop this willful behavior, I fear we’ll have to shun her for the safety of the community.”
Surprised at the openness of the Bishop’s conversation and the accusation against Sarah, Mose asked, “What proof do you have against her, other than her one comment made in grief? Has she been counseled by the elders or yourself?”
“We tried, but she won’t talk to us. She’s always had this rebellious streak. Her father agrees with me. There could be trouble.”
“A rebellious streak?”
“You know what I mean. Last week she told one of our Elders to shut up when he offered her a fair price for the farm. This inappropriate behavior can’t be ignored.”
“You’ve just described a grieving widow, Bishop. Perhaps she’s...”
Bishop Miller interrupted Mose, his brows lowered. “You don’t know her, Mose. I do. She’s always seemed difficult. Even as a child she was rebellious and broke rules.”
“Did something happen to make her this way?” Mose’s stomach twisted in anger. He liked to consider himself a good judge of character and he hadn’t found Sarah Nolt anything but unhappy, for good reason. Adolph Yoder was another matter. He appeared a hard, critical man. The Bishop’s willingness to talk about Sarah’s personal business didn’t impress him either. These things were none of Mose’s concern. He knew, with the community being Old Order Amish, that the bishop kept hard, fast rules. In his community she’d be treated differently. If she had no one to help her through her loss, her actions could be interpreted as acting out of grief. Perhaps the lack of a father’s love was the cause of his daughter’s actions. “Where is Sarah’s mother?”
“Who knows but Gott? She left the community when Sarah was a young child. She’d just had a son and some said raising kinder didn’t suit her. Adolph did everything he could to make Sarah an obedient child, like his son, Eric, but she never would bend to his will.”
“I saw little parental love from Adolph. He’s an angry man and needs to be spoken to by one of the community elders. Perhaps Gott can redirect him and help Sarah at the same time.”
“We’re glad to have your help with the teardown and barn-building, but I will deal with Sarah Nolt. This community is my concern. If your father were here, he’d agree with me.”
Mose drew in a deep breath. He’d let his temper get the better of him. “I meant no disrespect, Bishop, but all this gossip about the widow needs to stop until you have proof. It’s your job to make sure that happens. You shouldn’t add to it.”
“If you weren’t an outsider you’d know she’s not alone in her misery. She has her sister-in-law, Marta, to talk to and seek counsel. Marta is a godly woman and a good influence. If she can’t reach her, there will be harsh consequences the next time Sarah acts out.”
“I’ll be praying for her, as I’m sure you are.” Mose nodded to the bishop, and kept on walking to his cousin’s farm.
But he couldn’t help wondering, who was the real Sarah?
* * *
Beatrice squirmed around on the buckboard seat, her tiny sister asleep on a quilt at her feet. “I want cookies now, Daed.”
Mose pulled to the side of the road and spoke softly. “Soon we’ll be at Sarah’s house and you can have more cookies, but if you wake your sister, you’ll be put to bed. Do you understand?”
The tear rolling down her flushed cheek told him she didn’t understand and was pushing boundaries yet again.
“Mamm would give me cookies. I want Mamm.” An angry scowl etched itself across her tear-streaked face.
These were the times Mose hated most, when he had no answers for Beatrice. How can I help her understand?
“We’ve talked about this before, my child. Mamm is in heaven with Gott and we must accept this, even though it makes us sad.” He drew the small child into his arms and hugged her close, his heart breaking as he realized how thin her small body had become. He had to do something to cheer her up. “Let’s hurry and go and see the nice ladies I told you about. Sarah said she’d be baking today. Perhaps she’ll have warm cookies. Wouldn’t cookies and a glass of cold milk brighten your spirits?
“I only want Mamm.”
Tucked under his arm, Beatrice cried softly, twisting Mose’s heart in knots. His mother had talked to him about remarriage, but he had thrown the idea back at her, determined to honor his dead wife until the day he died. But the kinder definitely needed a woman’s gentle hand when he had to be at work.
His mother’s newly mended arm limited her ability to help him since the bad break, and now her talk of going to visit her sisters in Ohio felt like a push from Gott. Perhaps he would start considering the thought of a new wife, but she’d have to be special. What woman would want a husband who still loved his late wife? But he couldn’t become someone like Adolph Yoder either, and leave his young children to suffer their mother’s loss alone. Adolph’s bitterness shook Mose to his foundation. Would he become like Adolph to satisfy his own selfish needs and not his daughters’?
Deep in thought, Mose pulled into the graveled drive and directed the horse under a shade tree. Sarah Nolt hurried out the door of the trim white farmhouse, her black mourning dress dancing around her ankles. She approached with a welcoming smile. In the sunlight her kapp-covered head made her hair look a bright copper color. A brisk breeze blew and long lengths of fine hair escaped and curled on the sides of her face. The black dress was plain, yet added color to her cheeks. Mose opened the buggy’s door.
Beatrice crawled over him and hurried out. A striped kitten playing in the grass had attracted her attention. Mercy chose that moment to make her presence known and let loose a pitiful wail. Mose scooped the baby from the buggy floor.
Beatrice suddenly screamed and ran to her father, her arms wrapping around his leg. “Bad kitty.” She held out a finger. A scarlet drop of blood landed on the front of the fresh white apron covering her dress.
Sarah took the baby and tucked the blanket around her bare legs as she slowly began to rock the upset child. Tear-filled blue eyes, edged in dark lashes, gazed up at the stranger. “Hello, little one.”
Amazed, as always, that the tiny child could make so much noise, Mose watched as Sarah continued to rock the baby as she walked to the edge of the yard. Mose soothed Beatrice as Sarah moved about the garden with his crying infant.
Moments later Sarah approached with the quieted baby on her shoulder. “The bobbel has healthy lungs.” She laughed.
Mose ruffled the blond curls on Mercy’s head. “That she does. You didn’t seem to have any trouble settling her.”
“I used an old trick my grandmammi used on me. I distracted her with flowers.”
Beatrice looked up at Sarah with a glare. “You’re not Mercy’s mamm.” She pushed her face into the folds of her father’s pant leg.
“I warned you. She’s going to be a handful.” Mose patted Beatrice’s back.
Sarah handed the baby to Mose and dropped to her knees. Cupping a bright green grasshopper from the tall grass, she asked, “Do you like bugs, Beatrice?” She held out her closed hand and waited.
Beatrice turned and leaned against her father’s legs, her eyes red-rimmed. “What kind of bug is it?” She stepped forward, her gaze on Sarah’s extended hands.
Motioning the child closer, Sarah slightly opened her fingers and whispered, “Come and see.” A tiny green head popped out and struggled to be free.
“Oh, Daed! Look,” Beatrice said, joy sending her feet tapping.
Sarah opened her hand and laughed as the grasshopper leaped away, Beatrice right behind it, her little legs hopping through the grass, copying the fleeing insect.
Mose grinned as he watched his daughter’s antics. “You might just have won her heart. How did you know she loves bugs?
“I’ve always been fascinated with Gott’s tiny creatures. I had a feeling Beatrice might, too.”
Mose’s gaze held hers for a long moment until Sarah lost her smile, turned away and headed back into the house.
Chapter Two (#ulink_bdc5da87-44b8-5258-bee1-c428d8df5e5d)
Steam rose from the pot of potatoes boiling on the wood stove. The men would be in for supper soon and Sarah thanked Gott there’d only be two extra men tonight and not the twenty-five hungry workers she’d fed last night.
She glanced at the table and smiled as she watched Beatrice use broad strokes of paint to cover the art paper she’d given her. The child had been silent all afternoon, only speaking when spoken to. The pain in her eyes reminded Sarah of her own suffering. They grieved the same way—deep and silent with sudden bursts of fury. The child’s need for love seemed so deep, the pain touched Sarah’s own wounded heart.
Almost forgotten, Mercy lay content on her mat, a bottle of milk clutched in her hands. Her eyes traveled around, taking in the sights of the busy kitchen floor. The fluffy ginger kitten rushed past and put a smile on the baby’s face. Sarah saw dimples press into her cheeks. If she and Joseph had had kinder, perhaps they would have looked like Mercy and Beatrice. Blonde-haired with a sparkle of mischief in their blue eyes.
Joseph’s face swam before her tear-filled eyes. She missed the sound of his steps as he walked across the wooden porch each evening. His arms wrapped around her waist always had a way of reassuring her. She’d been loved. For that brief period of time, she’d been precious to someone, and she longed for that comfort again. Her arms had been empty but Gott placed these kinder here and she was grateful for the time she had with them.
“Would you like a glass of milk, Beatrice? I have a secret stash of chocolate chip cookies. I’d be glad to share them with such a talented artist.”
“Nee,” she said.
“Perhaps—”
“I want my mamm,” Beatrice yelled, knocking the plastic tub of dirty water across the table and wetting herself and Sarah’s legs.
Sarah stood transfixed as the child waited, perhaps expecting some kind of reprimand. There would be no scolding. Not today. Not ever. This child suffered and Sarah knew the pain of that suffering. She often felt like throwing things, expressing her own misery with actions that shocked.
Quiet and calm, Sarah mopped up the mud-colored water, careful not to damage Beatrice’s art. “This would look lovely hung on my wall. Perhaps I could have it as a reminder of your visit?”
Beatrice looked down at her smock, at the merging colors against the white fabric, and began to cry deep, wrenching sobs. Unsure what else to do, Sarah prayed for guidance. She knelt on the floor, cleaned up the child before wrapping her arms around her trembling body. “I know you’re missing your mamm, Beatrice. I miss my husband, too. He went to live in heaven several months ago and I want him back like you want your mother back.”
“Did he read stories to you at bedtime?” Beatrice asked, her innocent gaze locked with Sarah’s.
Their tears fell together on the mud-brown paint stain on Beatrice’s smock. “Joseph didn’t read to me, but he told me all about his day and kissed my eyes closed before I fell asleep.” The ache became so painful Sarah felt she might die from her grief.
“My mamm said I was her big girl. Mercy was just born and cried a lot, but I was big and strong. I help Grandmammi take care of Mercy. Do you think mamm’s proud of me?”
Sarah looked at the wet-faced child and a smile came out of nowhere. Beatrice was the first person who really understood what Sarah was living through, and that created a bond between them. They could grieve together, help one another. Gott in his wisdom had linked them for a week, perhaps more. Time enough for Beatrice to feel a mother’s love again.
She would never heal from Joseph’s death, but this tiny girl would give her purpose and a reason for living. She needed that right now. A reason to get up in the morning, put on her clothes and let the day begin.
The screen door banged open and Mose walked in, catching them in the warm embrace. Beatrice scurried out of Sarah’s arms and into her father’s cuddle. “Sarah likes me,” she said and smiled shyly over at Sarah.
Mose peppered kisses on his daughter’s neck and cheeks. “I see you’ve been painting again. How did this mess happen, Beatrice?”
