Her Secret Amish Child Page 10

  Hungry after the long service, he chose a thick slice of slightly pink pot roast and plump potatoes, glazed carrots and onions to go with it. Someone bumped into him from behind and said with a laugh, “Dummle sich,” encouraging him to hurry along.

  Fredrik balanced his plate as he glanced back and smiled with good-natured amusement. Isaac Graber, with Molly at his side, trailed behind him. “You and the missus sang a fine song this morning,” he said and speared a slice of bread.

  “Danki. We do our best,” Isaac said. “Your bike should be ready to pick up by tomorrow.”

  Fredrik laughed. “Gut, I was hoping you’d say that. Mose said if I keep driving in on that scooter he’s going to fire me. I keep falling off since I got it back from the shop last week.” Fredrik laughed as he scooped a couple of pickled beets onto his filled plate, and saw there was no more room for bread-and-butter pickles.

  Isaac nodded. “I was delayed a day by Molly. She had an ultrasound appointment. Seems we’re having a boppli come early spring.”

  “Congratulations!” Fredrik exclaimed, stepping away from the table so others could help themselves to food.

  Molly Graber beamed with excitement as they walked toward an empty table with him. “I think my mamm’s more excited than we are. You’d think this was her first grandchild to hear her talk.”

  Isaac grinned at his wife. “My mamm will be coming down in December with a couple of my sisters. We’ll have plenty of help when the boppli arrives.”

  “This is wonderful-gut news. You are truly blessed, Isaac Graber,” Fredrik said, placing his plate down on the table.

  “Ya, sure. That we are.” He motioned toward a group of tables under the trees. “Come. You are willkumm to join us at the long tables. There is no need for you to eat alone just because you’re unwed.”

  Fredrik hesitated when he saw Lizbeth at the end of the mixed families table, her son sitting close to her hip. “Perhaps I should—”

  “Don’t be a bensel. Join us.”

  “You can meet my aenti Hilda. She’s a matchmaker, and come to visit, but I’m sure she’ll have time to find you a fraa while she’s here,” Molly said.

  He picked up his plate, but his steps slowed. Ulla had told him her matchmaker sister was coming soon and could help him in his search for a fraa, but now that she was here a funny feeling went over him. He looked toward Lizbeth. Had he already found the woman he wanted as his fraa?

  He muttered, “Danki,” but his eye caught Lizbeth looking back at him. She glanced away after a few seconds, but he’d caught the content expression on her face. She didn’t need him in her life. She was happy the way things were. As long as she was mourning, she and her son were off-limits to him and the thought ate at him. Perhaps he should meet with the matchmaker.

  Chapter Twelve

  Fredrik slipped onto the bench. Two people down, Lizbeth watched him scoot in. She began to eat as if his joining them at their table was of no importance to her. He tipped the edge of his straw hat in her direction a moment later. She did her best to conceal the thrill tugging at her heart.

  She was glad he sat so near. She might get a chance to talk to him, tell him how silly Benuel had acted when she brought home a glass house for his beloved frog. She tussled with her feelings for the handsome man a few feet away. Frustration brought a frown to her face. She knew she could be a good fraa for Fredrik, but what if the doctor had been wrong about her miscarriage? Was it her body’s fault her bopplis died within minutes of being born as Jonah suggested? And what would Fredrik think if she told him the truth about Benuel?

  She pushed her food around her plate, making no effort to eavesdrop on his conversation with Isaac, but his deep voice carried. He mentioned his work at the furniture barn and the fact he’d been working on the apartment behind her home.

  Gracie Troyer, slim and pretty and one of Pinecraft’s new widows, made it a point to stop by the table and say hello to Sarah. She asked what time the next youth quilting class began. Her eyes stayed on Fredrik as the women chatted.

  Her daughter of ten or eleven flushed pink when her mother suggested Fredrik should come by and fix a few things that needed to be repaired around their house. No doubt her mother was more taken with the man than the girl, whose father had died a few months earlier.

  Lizbeth knew her thoughts were uncharitable. The widow might have a genuine need of Fredrik’s skills. But then the widow put her small hand on the back of Fredrik’s fold up chair. Lizbeth took notice of the subtle way the woman’s fingers brushed his shoulder blade and drew his attention back to her.

  Ya, there was more than just home repairs on the widow’s mind. This forwardness was not the way Amish women behaved in Pinecraft. As girls, mothers taught their daughters to be respected for their virtue, and Gracie seemed to have forgotten some of her training.

  Lizbeth dropped her head in shame, her eyes glued to her uneaten food. She had no right to think so critically about Gracie. Gott would not be pleased. Fredrik had been very clear with his intentions. He was looking for a fraa, and if she put up a hedge around herself, it was her own fault he was looking at Gracie with an interested eye.

  Mose collected Benuel for a game of tug-of-war with the younger kinner. She waved the small boy off with a smile and reminded Mose to keep a close eye on him. Benuel was learning, but he still had a fondness for running off, forgetting to stay close in crowds.

  “I’m told you’ve rented the haus my schweschder used to own.”

  Wrapped in her own thoughts, Lizbeth jerked around, unaware she’d drawn Hilda Albrecht’s attention. “Ya, the haus is perfect for the boy and me. We’ve found contentment there.” Lizbeth replied in Deitch, the language the woman was fluently speaking.

  Hilda had been introduced to Lizbeth at lunch. She was visiting her older sister, Ulla, and staying at the chicken farm for the next two weeks. The older woman looked young for the seventy years she claimed. Hilda was nothing like Ulla, who was average height, a bit on the stout side, with an unkempt look about her, thanks to her unruly gray hair.

  Hilda was no more than four foot ten, if that, and thin as a reed. Every hair on Hilda’s brown head was neatly in place, her heart-shaped kapp starched stiff and pressed. Dressed in a navy church dress and black apron, she seldom spoke anything but Pennsylvania Deitch, with a sprinkling of High German added with authority.

  Rumor had it she had been the local matchmaker in the Shipshewana district of Lancaster County for the past sixty years. She was said to be looked upon as a mentor for the young women in her community. Since her beloved husband’s death, she’d taken up travel and often arranged marriages between the Old and New Order communities in Ohio and Indiana. Her visit here was to see Ulla, but it was evident she planned on using her skills of matchmaking on some of Pinecraft’s single and widowed folk.

  The corners of Hilda’s eyes crinkled, her suntanned face a craggy road map of present and past smiles and frowns. Her eyes flashed with energy and a love of life.

  The smiling little woman carried a small leather-bound notebook everywhere she went, and was prepared to jot down a prospective couple’s names as she saw similarities and possible connections. Lizbeth’s pupils flared as she observed the little woman squinting at Fredrik and Gracie, scrawling something down in her book and then shutting it with a satisfied twitch around her mouth.

  “Surely you must be planning on living but a short while in the house.” Hilda turned back to Lizbeth and put a hand on her arm. “I assume you’ll remarry soon. Benuel could use the firm hand of a father.”

  Heat stained Lizbeth’s neck and cheeks and warmed her face. Surely this wasn’t the place to bring up the subject of a future marriage for her. Not with Fredrik and Gracie sitting close enough to hear every word they were saying.

  There had been a time, many years ago, when her quick marriage to Jon
ah caused local tongues to waggle. Since then she’d become a closed-off person, unwilling to discuss her past or present with anyone, even her daed.

  She gave Fredrik a fleeting glance. Sunrays glinted off the deeper red tones in his hair. Shoveling food into his mouth, he continued to nod as Gracie drew up chairs for herself and her daughter and spoke to him in muted tones. He seemed interested in what she had to say.

  Pen in hand, Hilda scribbled another notation in her book, her eyes glinting with something akin to mischief. “You’ve known Fredrik Lapp a long time?”

  Lizbeth’s eyes darted Fredrik’s way again. Surely Hilda didn’t consider them a possible match? But hadn’t she thought the same herself a dozen times? “Ya, we’ve known each other since we were kinner. Why?”

  The diminutive woman laid down her journal and accepted a slice of cake from one of the girls passing out sweets from a large tray. “This looks good. Did you make it?” She turned to Lizbeth.

  “Nee, not me. I believe it was Molly who brought the cake.”

  “Ach...yes. Molly.” She took a bit of cake and looked around, surveying the people around her. “My niece already has a fine husband, with a boppli on the way.”

  “I’m sure—”

  “Oh, yes. There will be many children for Molly and Isaac. And perhaps more for you, too.” A line of chocolate icing was quickly licked from the older woman’s top lip.

  Lizbeth blinked. “I don’t—”

  “Oh, you will, my dear. It’s only a matter of time until Gott moves the obstacles out of the way and shows you His will for your life.” She sipped at her sweating glass of sweet tea. A smile danced on her lips. “You want more children. Don’t you?”

  She answered, speaking the truth. “Ya, I want more.” She cleared her throat. “I’d willkumm more children if it were in Gott’s plan.”

  “Gut. Then that is settled.”

  “Settled?” Lizbeth nibbled on her bottom lip.

  “Ya, it’s certain-sure settled. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “For what?” Lizbeth’s voice sounded strained to her own ears. She laid down her fork.

  “For a new husband, of course. I have several prosperous men in mind for you. All you have to do is pick one.” Hilda swallowed her last bit of cake and smiled, her eyes even brighter.

  Lizbeth struggled to moisten her lips, which had suddenly gone desert dry. From the corner of her eye she watched as Fredrik rose with Gracie in tow, her arm tucked in his elbow as they walked toward the grassy baseball field. The widow’s daughter and two sons trailed behind them. They looked like a family and Lizbeth didn’t like it one bit.

  Hilda seemed to scrutinize her reaction to the pair leaving and sent Lizbeth a consoling smile. Fredrik passed and smiled. “See you in the morning,” he commented, and then shuffled along, his head turned, looking down into Gracie’s upturned face.

  * * *

  Fredrik stilled his hammer. “Gut mariye, Benuel. What are you doing with that stick?”

  Inside the backyard fence, the boy’s head swiveled around, the stick he’d been poking into the ground covered in mud. He hesitated and then muttered, “Rutsching round.”

  “Fooling around or causing problems for something in that mud? Did you find something interesting?”

  “Ach, ya.” The boy shook his head, dislodging a clump of caked mud from his ear. “Another frosch.”

  Holding back a smile, Fredrik tried to remain as serious as the boy who had turned back to his task. “A frog, huh? I collected them when I was a boy. Is it a tree frog or ground frog?”

  Benuel’s hand came up. “Is fattgange.”

  Fredrik put down the board he’d been holding and walked toward the fence. “You know it’s not polite to tell adults to go way, don’t you? It makes me to wonder if you’re supposed to be staying out of the water. I’m sure your mamm won’t like that mud on your trousers.”

  Benuel gave him a frosty look. “Mei mamm’s in the haus.”

  “Can I see your friend?”

  “Ya, but he’s mein. You can’t take him.”

  The old gate creaked as it opened and then snapped closed behind Fredrik as he stepped into the yard. He took two more steps forward and paused. “I wouldn’t dream of taking your frog.” He stepped closer. Lizbeth would throw a fit when she saw the muddy condition the boy was in. “I promise to only look.”

  “Dummle sich.” Benuel motioned for him to hurry with his hand. “He wants to jump out of the hole.”

  “Then you must let him.”

  Benuel shook his head in determination, his arms crossed against his chest in a defiant pose. “Nee, he’s one of meine freundins.”

  Fredrik stood over the hole the boy had been digging around in. Lizbeth wouldn’t like Benuel having another frog, no matter how much the boy hollered. He’d heard her say one was enough. “It’s lunchtime. He could be hungry for a fat fly. Let’s see if we can catch him later.”

  “I gave him a piece of mein sandwich. I want to play with him now.” Bending at the knee, the boy used the stick to poke the muddy ground, searching for the frog.

  Not sure what to do, Fredrik rubbed his hands together. The child was young. He didn’t know he could hurt the frog with the stick. Waiting for the critter to move was the best way to see where it had gone in the mire. “Wait, don’t poke at him, Benuel. You could hurt him.” He grabbed the child’s arm, prepared to move him away. “If we stand here and watch, we’ll see the frog’s movement and be able to catch him and have a good look.”

  Benuel’s expression hardened. “Nee, let me go. I want to see him.”

  * * *

  Lizbeth had only been in the house a few minutes, but she still hurried and almost took a tumble down the steps in her haste. She knew she couldn’t leave her son alone for more than a few minutes without some kind of situation taking place. Last time she’d turned her back on him to make his bed, he’d gotten into a jar of pickles and eaten most of the sour treats.

  He’d been sick later that night and there was no doubt in her mind it had been the pickles. She’d gone to bed convinced she still had much to learn as a mamm. She had to be more diligent, set down stronger boundaries. One day he’d learn her rules were for his own good.

  The wicker basket she carried through the gate was heavy with Benuel’s damp trousers and dark shirts. She repositioned her burden, glanced up and then stopped in her tracks.

  What was Fredrik doing holding her son’s arm?

  “Was tut Si hier?”

  Benuel reached down, grabbed something out of the dirt and stuck it in his trouser pocket before he looked her way.

  “Nothing’s going on.” Fredrik took his straw hat off, stepped away from the child and then raked his fingers through his sweaty hair. “I’m working on the apartment.”

  “The apartment is over there.” Her brow raised, she pointed behind the shed toward the small structure showing through the hedges. “Perhaps you should explain to me what you were doing holding my soh’s arm in that manner?”

  “Ya, sure. The boy was playing with a frog and I thought—”

  “He might hurt it?”

  “Ya. I didn’t want Benuel to harm the poor creature and thought it best to pull him away.” He massaged the back of his neck. “Kinner should be taught how to treat Gott’s small creatures when they are young.”

  “He hasn’t had much training around small critters,” Lizbeth acknowledged, setting the basket of clothes down and tucking a curl of hair behind her ear. Benuel had grown tired of their conversation and ran for the rope swing dangling from the old oak tree. “Danki for explaining it to him.”

  Fredrik’s chin lifted and he smiled broadly. “I was glad to help.”

  He put his hat back on and walked toward the gate. “I’d better get back to work. I�
�m eager to finish the apartment by the end of the month. Northerners will be coming soon and I may want to rent the apartment when it’s ready.”

  She watched him go through the gate and down the drive, her eyes misting. This kind of training was what a father was supposed to give his soh. She should have known Fredrik had no intention of hurting Benuel when he’d grabbed his arm. He’d been nothing but kind and considerate to both of them.

  Her shoulders slumped as she turned away and bent to grab a pair of wet trousers from the basket. With a snap, she flipped the wrinkles out of the garment before pegging it on the clothesline. Her stomach churned. If only she could encourage Fredrik, like Gracie had done at the park the day before. But there were so many things left unsaid, so much that needed mentioning. She had to concentrate more on finding work instead of mooning over Fredrik Lapp, she thought, flipping out another pair of Benuel’s trousers. She was in no rush to remarry.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The help-wanted sign in the bakery window was still there, giving Lizbeth renewed hope.

  Careful that her hair was tidy and her kapp on straight, Lizbeth smoothed down her crisp apron over the soft blue dress Sarah Fischer had helped her make. She entered the bakery, a fake smile plastered on. She was nervous. More nervous than she wanted to admit.

  She’d put on a good front when she’d left Benuel with Ulla, and hoped to continued her ruse of confidence until the job interview was over and she had the job. She needed an income. The independent streak in her insisted she find a way to support her son without her father, or the community’s financial help. She’d do whatever it took to make a good impression on Lila Zook, the owner of the established bakery.

  The fragrance of freshly cooked bread and sweet rolls assailed her, making her mouth water. She’d been too anxious to eat breakfast when she’d fed Benuel earlier.

  She glanced around and found Lila, one of Pinecraft’s finest cake decorators, waiting on a customer at the side counter. The busy little woman gave her a friendly wave and pointed to a chair against the wall, close to the door.