Her Secret Amish Child Read online

  “Ya. Sure. I understand. You want to get the position on your own merit.”

  He watched as her hands squeezed into fists, her knuckles turning white. She was stressed about interviewing for the job. He handed her a bottle of water and kept one for himself. “I best be getting back to work now. I’ll pray you get the job.”

  He thought he heard her mutter that she needed all the prayers she could get, but when he glanced back at her she was relaxed against the chair and leafing through a furniture magazine as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

  * * *

  The next morning Lizbeth poured hot water over the last of the breakfast dishes and threw a kitchen towel over the tub until she could get around to washing them later. Benuel was in rare form this morning, getting into everything, crying over the least little thing. She needed to spend time with him, calm him down so she could finish her housework. Today would have to be Thursday, one of her busiest days of the week now that she’d accepted work from Mose Fischer.

  She had the first set of furniture barn’s books to work on, but that would have to wait until later this evening, when Benuel was in bed for the night. There was wash to do. She sighed. Wash day had never been her favorite day of the week, but Benuel’s swelling clothes basket needed her attention and she’d just heard on the radio that a line of thundershowers was approaching from the Gulf of Mexico and bringing torrential rains with it.

  A knock came on the front door. In a rush, she glanced in on Benuel. He sat at the coffee table, scribbling his name onto a piece of drawing paper. Stretched out in front of him, his restless feet rocked back and forth as he concentrated on forming each letter of his name with precision. She frowned at the thought of his pensive expression as she hurried to the door. She peeked out the sheer curtain.

  Fredrik stood at the front door as he did many mornings, his head turned toward the pink rosebushes at the side of the porch.

  She bit her lip and stepped out of sight. What should she do? Open the door and have to deal with another one of his repair projects, or pretend to be out?

  Consternation crossed her face. She wished she could ignore his knock. Being around him made her like him more, put him in her thoughts the whole day and into the night.

  Without giving herself a moment to consider what she was doing, she jerked open the front door and greeted him. “Gut mariye, Fredrik. How are you this fine day?” she asked, holding his gaze. Her hand nervously tidied up the loose tendrils of hair cascading around her right ear.

  She must look a mess. She’d been busy all morning, stripping beds and remaking them, cleaning walls where Benuel had expressed his artistic flare while she was distracted. A glance at her apron reinforced her dread. Grape jelly and a clump of peanut butter toast stuck to her bust. Her shoulders slumped.

  “Gut mariye. I came by in the off chance I could install that new tile in the front bathroom.”

  He must have noticed her frown, because he quickly amended, “I could come back later if the time’s not right.”

  She might have a day full of chores ahead of her, but she would be even busier the next few days preparing baked goods for the family dinner. Better to get the project done today and out of the way than dread it all weekend long. “Ya, sure. Today is fine.” She opened the door wide and stepped back, allowing the big man through.

  “Danki,” he said and stepped in. His work belt clanged as he strode toward the bathroom. No longer the tall, slim boy he’d been at eighteen, he’d filled out and walked with a certainty that spoke of self-control and confidence.

  She hurried past him into the kitchen, and got busy with her chores. Her mind lingered on Fredrik for a few moments and then her thoughts moved to Benuel in the living room. He was being far too quiet, which was never a good thing with an ADHD child. With a sense of urgency in her steps, she hurried through the entry hall and into the front room of the house. Benuel stood on a stool on one foot, his thin body plastered flat against the corner wall.

  “Was isht?”

  “Fredrik is here,” he said in a whisper.

  “Ya, he is, but you have nothing to be afraid of.” She took him by the hand and encouraged him off the stool. “He’s putting in new tiles for the bathroom. Isn’t that nice?”

  “He tried to take my other frog.” He looked up at her, his eyes troubled.

  “He explained. You could have hurt the frog and he wanted to spare it pain.”

  “I was trying to save it.” The boy’s eyes glowed with indignation.

  She smiled down at him and ruffled his ginger hair. “Ya, well, silly schnickelfritz, he didn’t know that, did he?”

  “Nee, but he could have asked,” Benuel said, one corner of his mouth hiking up in a grimace. “Can I have a cookie now? You said if I played quietly I could have one.”

  “Sure, I think that sounds fair.” She looked around the room scattered with toys. “You tidy up in here and I’ll have a treat waiting for you in the kitchen. Yea?”

  “But what about him?” he asked and pointed toward the bathroom door. He ducked as Lizbeth tried to slide her fingers through his ruffled hair.

  “You will be brave and walk right past him, or I’ll eat your treat. Komm schell, or all the cookies will be gone.”

  Her skirt twirled around her calves as she walked out the living room door and then slowed her march. She could see Fredrik down on his hands and knees, unscrewing the doorjamb stripping. He looked so much like the young Fredrik she remembered, his knees always on the ground, flicking a glass marble through the dirt or digging a hole.

  She smiled at the unexpected memory. Fredrik chose that moment to lift his head and glance her way. Everything around her slipped away. She was a young girl again, no more than sixteen. Old memories returned, stirred her heart. Long-dead feelings poured in, strong emotions held at bay. In that moment he was still her Fredrik, her secret love. Her affection for him had grown over the span of their childhood and had never died. But he’d walked away without even a goodbye.

  She put her hands on her cheeks to hide the rush of blood suffusing her face. Nothing had changed and yet everything had changed. There was a tiny chance he might grow to love her, but once he heard it was possible she would never have more children, he would walk away and find someone else.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked, pausing in his work, one eyebrow arched.

  “Nee, nothing. I was just remembering.”

  “You looked so sad. What did you remember?” He braced himself up on his hands, waiting for her reply.

  “I remembered you in the dirt, on your hands and knees.”

  He smiled. “If I was in the dirt, you were probably right there with me.”

  She shrugged. “Ya. You’re probably right.”

  “I thought you might have forgotten all the good times we had,” he said, his smile widening.

  “Nee, I’m not one to forget.”

  Benuel rushed up and pushed her from behind, propelling her toward the kitchen and breaking the moment. “You promised me cookies. Remember?”

  “Ya, ya. Your cookies are waiting,” she said, her heart still beating fast against her ribs.

  “When you’re finished with your snack come help me work, Benuel. I need a good helper,” Fredrik called out.

  “Mamm?” Benuel asked, his eyes glowing with something akin to anticipation. The child was finally coming out of himself, daring to reach out to others.

  “Ya, sure. You can help, but only if you do as you are told.”

  “Hurray!” Benuel shouted and hurried to the kitchen.

  She shrugged and gave Fredrik a glance, her lips turned up in a wide grin. “I hope you know what you’re getting into.”

  He grinned back and inspected her face. “Ya, sure I do, or I wouldn’t have asked.”

  Lizbeth
made her way to the kitchen and grabbed the full pitcher of orange juice from Benuel’s hand just as he attempted to pour it into a tiny glass. Another mess averted. She smiled broadly. The man may have thought he knew what he’d bargained for, inviting Benuel to help, but he didn’t.

  The house felt different when Fredrik was in it. Like a home. She turned to wash the dishes. If Fredrik picked a woman to court, Lizbeth’s heart would be broken—again. Unless it was her. But there wasn’t much chance in that.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Go back up there and wait for me,” Fredrik said to Benuel, his finger pointing to the top step. A grin spread across Fredrik’s damp, ruddy face. He lifted his straw hat and wiped sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

  The boy stopped his fast-paced trek down the steps and froze in his ankle-high boots. “But you said I could help you.”

  “You are helping me by staying a safe distance away from these sharp broken tiles. We’ll go back inside in a moment and lay the missing edge by the door.”

  His head dropping, Benuel pivoted and scuffed up the steps, then paced at the top like a caged lion, turning his puppy-dog look toward Fredrik. “Okay, but you won’t forget to let me help. Will you?”

  Satisfied the boy was staying put, Fredrik scored another tile on his pencil line and snapped the stone. “Nee, I won’t forget my promise. You’re my helper.” He turned back to Benuel and winked. “I couldn’t have done the room without your expert help. Your mamm’s going to be proud of you.”

  A smile transformed his young face and crinkled the corners of his eyes. “She thinks I’m a boppli and can’t do anything right.”

  Snapping another tile, Fredrik glanced Benuel’s way. “Did she tell you that?”

  “Nee, but she thinks it. I can tell.” Benuel sat on the top step and stretched out his legs, his fingers tapping impatiently at his sides. “She’s always telling me to slow down or stop having fun.” The sides of the kinner’s mouth dropped once again.

  “I was the same when I was a young.” He gave a mirthless laugh. Being an overactive child had always gotten him into trouble. “If my mamm wasn’t yelling at me, she was smacking my bottom for breaking something of my daed’s.” He gathered up the pile of tiles he’d cut and started up the stairs. Lizbeth appeared in the window beside the door and then darted away as she realized she’d been caught watching them. Did the woman ever take a moment away from worrying about the boy?

  Benuel threaded a hand through his damp hair, paused, but then rose and declared, “My daed is dead.”

  Fredrik paused, his boot inches from the boy’s smaller foot. He patted Benuel’s head. “Ya, I know. You must miss him a lot.”

  His face lost all expression. “Nee, I don’t miss him. Can I open the door for you?”

  “Ya, sure. You get the door and I’ll carry the tiles.” Fredrik observed the return of emotion to the child’s face. Perhaps Benuel’s comment explained why Lizbeth was so different now. Had her husband been a difficult man, a poor example of a father? Why else would a young, impressionable boy say he didn’t miss his newly buried daed? “You see? We make a good team, you and I.”

  Benuel shouldered the door open and skipped inside. The smells and sounds of frying chicken made the kitchen once more a home.

  Lizbeth continued washing dishes at the sink. The flush on her face and the clatter she was making washing the cutlery told him she’d heard the mention of her husband’s death and was distraught.

  The sun streaming in past fluttering curtains at the kitchen window made Lizbeth’s butterscotch-colored hair look almost white blond, like it had been when she was a child. Recollections of a younger, happier Lizbeth flooded his mind. She cleared her throat and asked without turning, “Is he behaving for you?”

  Benuel’s arms dangled at his sides, waiting for the man’s answer.

  Fredrik knew the feeling of longing for someone to say something good about him. He’d always been so active he seldom slowed down long enough to draw much more than negative attention. He put his hand on Benuel’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Certain-sure, he is. Your soh’s a hard worker. I’m impressed how gut he follows directions.”

  Surprise spread across the boy’s face, brightening his eyes, causing one brow to lift. “We’re almost done, Mamm. Fredrik said I could help him mend the fence later, if that’s all right.”

  Lizbeth turned on her heel and faced them.

  “Ya, well. Maybe another time. Lunch will be ready in a few minutes and you’d best hurry and get cleaned up. I have errands to run later this afternoon. I hope that bathroom’s finished by then.” She touched the grout on her son’s shirt collar. Her brow knitted as she glanced at Fredrik. Then she looked back to Benuel with a smile.

  “Yeah!” Benuel clamored. “Fredrik can eat with us again, right, Mamm?”

  Lizbeth’s lips parted as her smile widened. “Ya, sure. I made plenty.”

  “I’ll stay, but you have to promise to eat all your food or the deal’s off.”

  Benuel scratched his arm, his eyes on his mother. “Even if there’s no red sauce?”

  Fredrik blotted his forehead with his handkerchief, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Even if there’s no sauce.”

  The boy shuffled his feet, scrutinized his mother and then nodded. “Even if there’s no sauce.”

  * * *

  Scrubbing the last pan, Lizbeth glanced out the back window. The two of them were cleaning up the mess from the tile cutting, the sun glinting off both ginger heads. Fredrik called out directions and Benuel followed them to the letter.

  Thrilled that Benuel was learning, she wanted to shout hallelujah, dance for joy. He was doing what he was told without grumbling.

  She was making headway with the boy, but in a lesser way than Fredrik. Her mother’s words came back to haunt her. It often takes a community to raise a kinner.

  Her mamm used the words when Lizbeth was a teen and complaining about some old aenti telling her to be still or put her kapp back on while they were fishing or running through the ocean surf.

  Ya. She’d prayed for Gott to send someone who was able to reach her boy, and that someone had been Fredrik. She shrugged, knowing she still lacked some parenting skills, but she was learning as she went, picking up on what made Benuel more agreeable, easier to deal with. She no longer felt so overwhelmed or troubled.

  But aren’t you considering your own needs over Benuel’s?

  Her thought came from out of the blue and penetrated her head like a lightning bolt. She braced herself against the kitchen sink and bowed her head, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  Seeing Benuel with Fredrik today spoke loud and clear. She covered her ears with her hands, trying to keep out the truth.

  It was time to tell Fredrik he had a kinner. Benuel needed to know the truth about Fredrik’s connection to him. But what if she lost them both? Somehow, she could live without Fredrik in her life, but what about Benuel? Could Fredrik keep Benuel away to punish her for her secret?

  What about Benuel’s needs?

  The thought vibrated in her head until she could no longer stand it. She had kept her secret too long. She would tell Fredrik the truth, but first she’d ask for her father’s wisdom. She had to tell them both about that night in the barn.

  She had prayed for Gott’s forgiveness and guidance all those years ago, but now was the time for the truth.

  * * *

  After Fredrik left, Lizbeth directed her son. “Please shut the door behind me, Benuel.”

  The heat from the deep roasting pan of beef was burning through the dish towels she used as pot holders.

  “Benuel?” She braced the pan against the back porch’s wooden handrail, looked around her and then down the driveway. Where could the boy have gone? He couldn’t be far. He’d been in fro
nt of her when she’d walked out the kitchen door just seconds ago.

  “Benuel, please answer me.” Her voice went up an octave. She resorted to the Old Amish language he was so familiar with. “Wo bist du?”

  Making sounds like a buzzing bee, he dashed up the steps, and then began to swarm around her, circling closer and closer. “Komm. Schell, Mamm,” he said. “I don’t like to wait. It’s a special familye day.”

  Placing the hot pan on the porch behind her, she took him by the arms and forced him to stand still. “Why didn’t you answer me when I called?”

  His brow went up and he looked genuinely surprised. “I didn’t hear you call my name.”

  “Then how did you know to come?” she inquired.

  A smile danced on his lips. “I got scared and came back for you.”

  “You must stay close to me.”

  “Ya, sure. I was just rutsching round by the front porch. I heard a frog.” He gave a half smile, the deep dimple in his cheek spoiling her moment of discipline. Fredrik had the same dimple, but his had almost vanished with maturity. Shame. She’d found that dimple fascinating as a child. Pulling herself back into the moment, she shrugged and gave a deep sigh. “You are enough to test the patience of Gott Himself.”

  “Is Gott mad at me?” he asked, not looking the least bit concerned.

  She slapped a hand over her mouth so he wouldn’t see her wide smile. “Nee, Gott’s not mad at you and neither am I, but you must follow directions. What did I tell you just now as I opened the door?”

  He glanced up at the sky, several of his fingers going into his mouth. “I can’t remember,” he finally said. “I think you said I could have a dog if I behaved at Grossmammi’s.”

  She took in the sight of him standing on the porch. Her only living child. For now, she would think only of Benuel. Soon Fredrik had to be told and she needed her father’s insight on the matter of Benuel’s real father.

  Lengths of ginger hair protruded out from under the straw hat sitting at an angle on Benuel’s head. He hadn’t changed out of his dusty dark trousers, and she noticed he had only one side of his suspenders up over his arm. The other hung limp at his waistline. “Do you know how much I love you?”