Their Convenient Amish Marriage (Pinecraft Homecomings Book 2) Read online

  Leviticus stored away his memories. His father didn’t need to see him cry on his first day home. “You want a glass of water?”

  “Ya, sure. Danki. I need to take my pill.” Albert opened one of the brown medicine bottles on the table and laughed. “I never thought I’d find myself pushing pills in my mouth morning and night, but Verity says she’ll tell the doctor if I don’t take them on time.”

  He turned toward his soh, his expression incredulous. “You know, the doctor put me in an Englischer nursing home for three whole days after my stroke. But Otto sent Verity along. She pulled me out and brought me home, just like a gut dochder would do. I had to laugh at all her bluster and spirit, her bright copper hair flying wild about her kapp like she was Gott’s emissary come to rescue me.”

  Albert guffawed. “Certain-sure she saved me from the grip of the enemy.” His head bobbed. “Ya, for certain-sure.” He set the bottle of pills he’d been holding on the table. “She’s been my right hand since that day, and a fine housekeeper, too.” He laughed again. “That girl has spunk. Just like your mamm. You should have married her while you had the chance.”

  Leviticus knew he should have. He should have done a lot of things better than he had. Some had paid too high a price for his having his own way. He desperately needed Gott to show him mercy, remove the horrific dreams of war, the remains of PTSD still plaguing his mind from time to time. Would redemption remove his every sin as his bishop had preached when he was young? For now, he would live with the guilt burning his insides until God removed the pain. His father’s forgiveness would go a long way toward securing a measure of peace for his troubled mind.

  Footsteps crossing the small wooden porch out back told him Solomon would soon be walking in through the back door. No doubt hungry and expecting Clara to be fixing his meal.

  Leviticus prepared himself for their confrontation. Solomon had every right to be livid with him. A young man of twenty, he’d been left to deal with the grove, with a father set in his ways and growing feeble with age and illness. Had there been too little money to hire fruit pickers to help run the land, buy what was needed the last ten years?

  The back door handle turned and Solomon stepped in. His brother had grown taller, put on a little weight and seemed fit under his traditional Amish garb. Brown hair, so much like their mamm’s, ran riot over his head. Windblown clusters of curls poked out from under the dirty straw work hat that he wore. Dried mud caked his boots up to his dark trouser cuffs.

  Solomon stopped in his tracks, taking a long, hard look at Leviticus. His blue eyes narrowed as he realized who stood by his father’s side.

  “What’s he doing here? Did you send for him?”

  Albert accepted the glass of tap water from his younger son’s hand and swallowed his pill. “Danki.” His eyes cut to his oldest son. “Now, how could I have sent for Leviticus? I didn’t know where he was any more than you did. Gott directed your bruder’s steps home.”

  Leviticus watched the exchange. Albert seemed calm and steady, but Solomon’s face reddened, ready to explode with fury.

  Leviticus stepped forward.

  Solomon turned toward him, ignored Leviticus’s outstretched hand. His finger jabbed toward the back door. “Get out! You’re not welkom here.”

  Albert swayed to his feet. His face flushed a ruby red. “I’m still alive and owner of this grove, Solomon Hilty. Leviticus is my youngest bu. He can stay as long as he chooses, and you have nee say in if he comes or goes.”

  Solomon banged his fist down hard on the wooden kitchen table, rattling their coffee mugs. “Where was your precious soh when the orange trees dropped fruit from fungus? Remember how we worked twelve-hour days to save that crop?”

  Solomon’s loudly spoken words echoed through the house, a verbal slap across Leviticus’s face. He’d earned that slap...and more.

  “Where was Leviticus when you almost died in the grove?” He pointed to his bruder. “Did he come and sit by your hospital bed for days? Nee. But I was there, Daed.” Solomon’s finger poked his own chest. His tone dropped, tears glistening in his eyes. “I was there the whole time.”

  “You were there and that was as it should be. But your bruder is home now. You should be happy Leviticus has come to make things right with Gott. Hasn’t that always been our prayer?”

  Looks were exchanged between brothers. Leviticus’s frayed nerves shouted at him to run, leave all the drama behind and just go. Solomon didn’t understand why he’d left, but now was not the time for explaining. He’d done enough damage to this family.

  Solomon has a right to want me gone. If the roles were reversed, I’d be saying the same to him.

  Two steps brought Solomon to his father’s side. “Is that what he told you? That he’s come home to give Gott and the Amish way of life a chance? Do his long hair, his Englisch clothes look like a mann ready to turn over a new leaf, Daed? Do they?”

  “This will end now!” Verity stood in the doorway, her eyes wide and spitting fire. “Your daed has no need of this foolishness. I will not have him made upset.”

  Solomon flashed a look at Leviticus that spoke volumes. He slammed his work hat back on his head. “This is not over, little bruder. Not by a long shot. The bishop and I will talk and then you’ll be gone.” He slammed out the door, the glass pane trembling in his wake.

  Barefoot, Clara entered the room from the hall and flashed past Leviticus, her advanced pregnancy evident by the round bulge pushing at the waistline of her plain blue dress. Tears ran down her face as she rushed out the back door behind Solomon.

  Leviticus took a sip of his water, swallowed hard and poured the rest of it down the sink. He’d expected Solomon to be relentless with anger and he hadn’t been far off the mark. Solomon’s forgiveness might come, but not today. Maybe not ever.

  Her face flushed, Verity patted Albert on the arm. “You’ll be all right while I gather the eggs?”

  “Ya, sure. Leviticus is here now. He can fetch and carry for me till you’re back in.”

  She nodded but paused a step away and turned back. “You took your pill?”

  “Ya. Just like you told me. One at lunch and the other at dinner.”

  “Gut.” Verity grabbed the egg basket and then hurried out of the room, but not before sending Leviticus a warning glance over her shoulder that told him she wouldn’t put up with any more foolishness from him around his father.

  Leviticus raked his fingers through his tangled hair and let his arm drop to his side. Verity wasn’t comfortable with him around, either. What had he expected? A happy homecoming? Like Solomon, she may never forgive him.

  Albert motioned for him to sit. “Your bruder’s angry now, but he’ll calm down. It may take time, but he’ll see the error of his ways and repent. I taught you both how to forgive, as Gott forgives us.” He smiled at his youngest soh, his eyes lighting up.

  “Your bruder missed you. He’s just bone tired and frustrated. The hurricane—it did terrible damage to the grove.” Albert rubbed at the base of his neck. “We’re not sure the grove can be saved. A big city buyer came round today, offering fifty cents on the dollar for the ground, but Solomon ran him off before I could.” The old man thrust his fist in the air. “I’ll die before I see this grove given away.” He laid his hand on his son’s arm. “Now that you are home, there is hope for the future of Hilty Groves.”

  “Don’t put your faith in me, Daed. Trust in Gott. I’ll disappoint you every time.” Humiliation ripped at his gut. He hadn’t earned his father’s trust yet, but he would, given time. He didn’t know if he had what it took to be the kind of soh his daed needed him to be, but he intended to try. Can I become a Plain man and please Gott?

  * * *

  Somewhere in the dark room, a baby was crying as if its heart were broken.

  Verity woke disoriented, her jumbled thoughts convincing her it was Faith’s lusty wa
ils. She hurried out of bed, hoping she could calm the boppli before her cries woke Mark. He rose early each morning, before the sun’s first rays. The poor mann needs his rest.

  She frantically searched for her robe at the foot of the bed, then went on a hunt for her missing slipper. Kneeling, she found it just under the bed. Verity rushed to scoop the baby up, but the cot wasn’t where it should be by the back window. She turned, looking about in the darkness. The whole room seemed off-kilter, everything out of place. Why wasn’t the night-light glowing? She always left it on, so she could check the baby without disturbing Mark. Had the bulb burned out?

  She located a lamp on the dresser and switched it on. Its golden glow flooded the room.

  She glanced around. One side of the bed was rumpled. The other empty.

  Reality returned like the jab of a knife. She let out a loud sigh, all the while her heart pounding in her throat. Mark was with the Lord, his broken body deep under the soggy ground, along with their tiny soh, who’d been born much too early due to her shock and grief.

  The crying child was sweet Naomi, Leviticus’s child.

  Her house shoes made scuffing noises as she hurried across the hardwood floor and lifted the squirming child into her arms. Naomi was furious, her face red and splotched from crying. Her feet kicked the air in outrage. Verity cooed and softly talked to her, trying her best to calm the irate kind.

  She and Leviticus could have had their own dochder if he hadn’t walked away. But he had. Faith’s birth had filled her with a mother’s love, but what about Naomi? The child needed the care and love of a mamm. But could she care for Naomi and not feel resentment? A look into the baby’s shimmering dark eyes told Verity all she needed to know. She would love Leviticus’s child and show no grudge.

  She hugged the child closer, even though Naomi protested and pushed away. All kinner needed to feel wanted. Especially this bundle, whose mamm thought more of her job than her own flesh and blood. Anger rose up. Her heart ached for Naomi. How could anyone disown such a sweet boppli?

  Soaked from head to toe, Naomi was inconsolable. Her diaper, sheet and blanket would need changing. She’d have to put a fresh diaper and gown on the kind before she could get the chill off a bottle of milk.

  She worked fast, stripping off the Englischer onesie covered in tiny orange giraffes and pink rabbits. Amish children slept in nightgowns made of soft cotton, as was the custom. She’d made all her daughter’s gowns by hand and packed them up as Faith outgrew them. They’d been stored away for her next kind, but that boppli, a son she’d named Aaron, had lived but a few hours and then taken his last breath. Out of the dozens of gowns she’d sewed for him, he’d only worn one while alive. He’d been buried in a casket gown made by her hands, his little body swallowed up in the tiny garment painstakingly sewn while she’d cried a million tears in sorrow.

  Aaron had never gazed into his mother’s eyes or fed at her breast. The loss of Mark had left her broken, but the loss of Aaron had left her inconsolable. Almost crazy with grief, she’d shaken her fist at God the day they laid Aaron in the ground. She still asked how her soh’s loss could have been Gott’s will. Nothing good ever came from his death.

  A tap sounded at her closed bedroom door. Bending over the foot of her bed, Verity quickly wrapped Naomi in a blanket and picked her up before cracking the door. “Ya?”

  Leviticus stood just outside the semidarkness of her room. As if he’d dressed in a hurry, his shirt was buttoned incorrectly and thrown over wrinkled jeans. His long hair stood out wild around his sleep-creased face.

  “I heard the baby crying and thought you might need my help.”

  “You could fix her bottle while I redress her.” Her nerves tensed. Leviticus shouldn’t be in my bedroom while the others sleep on. She edged back to her bed, drawing Naomi close to her as she went. The child squirmed, almost slipping out of her hands. Turning her back to Leviticus, she tried to still the child’s body as she wiped her down with wipes and grabbed for a fresh diaper.

  Leviticus stood over her. “She squirms a lot.”

  Uncomfortable with the closeness of their bodies, she dipped her head, her eyes on his kind. “Ya.”

  He stepped away. “You’ll have to be extra cautious when changing her near the edge of the bed. She’s quick.”

  “That she is.” Glad he’d moved toward the door, she couldn’t help but grin. His dochder’s wiggling antics reminded her so much of Faith at this age.

  “I’ll be right back.” And with that, Leviticus was gone, his shape melting into the darkness of the long hall.

  After a moment, she could hear him in the kitchen, clanging pans and opening cupboards. Verity pondered his predicament. Leviticus seemed practiced in things pertaining to his dochder’s care. She had never met a man who could tend to a little one’s needs. Not that Mark hadn’t shown an interest in everything she had done for Faith. But to have expected him to go for a warm bottle or change her? She chuckled aloud at the thought. Amish men didn’t do such things unless their fraa was ill and there was no one else to help, which was seldom the case in Pinecraft.

  Before she could slip on and snap together Naomi’s one-piece sleeper, Leviticus was by her side, shaking the warm baby bottle with gusto. “The nurse I hired said to shake the formula really well.”

  “Ya, but I don’t think she meant you to make whipped cream of the milk.” She held out her hand and took the bottle, avoiding his fingers, even though a secret part of her longed to touch him. She tested the warmth of the milk on her wrist before settling herself and the child in the small rocker in the corner.

  Leviticus stood looking at them, his expression undecipherable in the shadowy room.

  “You can go back to bed now. I can manage.”

  He reached back, blindly searching for the doorknob, and stepped out with a nod. Silence filled the room. The muted sounds of Naomi smacking down her milk brought calm to Verity’s soul. She began to hum one of the songs she would sing to Faith. Movement caused Verity to look back toward the door. Leviticus had returned, partially hidden in the gloom. “Go. I’ll take good care of her. There’s no need for you to worry.” Would he ever go away?

  “I know you will, but it’s hard for me to let go.”

  “You don’t have to let go completely. Just trust me to see to her needs. To love her like she deserves to be loved.”

  “Why would you want to do this for me after the pain I’ve caused you?”

  Verity rested her head back against the rocker, her eyes closed. The weight of the baby was a comfort to her empty arms. The soothing motion of the rocker brought needed peace. “My caring for Naomi has nothing to do with what went on between us. Naomi needs me. I’ll see to her needs. Any woman would.”

  “Not every woman. Her own mamm wouldn’t.” He stepped out of the shadows, into the light. “How can a mudder feel nothing for her own flesh and blood?” Leviticus’s expression was bleak.

  Anger gripped her. She fought down the compassion she felt growing for him. She couldn’t fathom any woman being so heartless. “I have no answers for you. You’ll have to ask Naomi’s mudder the next time you see her.”

  The lamp’s muted glow turned his hair to spun gold. “Do you mind me asking what happened to your husband?” He leaned against the doorjamb, waiting for her reply.

  She took in a quiet breath, prepared to tell the story once again. Each time she had to speak of her husband’s death, her loss grew. “Mark was a hard worker, a gut man. New to Pinecraft, he took a job with a local arborist. He was still in training when he climbed up a tree and fell to his death.” She sighed. “No one was at fault. He somehow managed to put on his harness incorrectly. It didn’t hold when a rotten branch broke and fell on top of him.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Verity nodded. She couldn’t speak for a moment. Leviticus’s words seemed sincere enough, but his re
gret didn’t mean a thing to her. All those years ago, he’d sounded sincere when he’d told her he loved her, too. But he hadn’t. Not really. He’d left her standing next to his mamm’s grave, with everyone looking on as he tenderly kissed her lips and walked away without so much as a backward glance.

  Tears gathered in her eyes. “Morning comes early around here, Leviticus. Get to bed.” Verity spoke carefully, keeping her tears from falling. When he finally shut the door behind him, she let her tears flow. She cried for Naomi’s loss, for her loss of Mark and for her soh, who’d never known his mamm’s love. But she refused to cry for Leviticus. He’d earned his pain, even though something, that small voice, told her she was wrong.

  Chapter Three

  Golden rays of sunlight rose above the groves. The gray sky overhead had turned into a cloudless blue day.

  Shredded palm fronds and broken tree branches littered the big fenced-in yard. Leviticus turned back toward the house. Roof tiles and tar paper added to the debris near the rambling dwelling he’d grown up in. There was a lot of work to be done and not many community hands available to help, thanks to the widespread damage around town.

  He stepped inside the kitchen door, nodded at Verity, who was busy working at the end of the counter, and then smiled at his father, who was eating at the breakfast table.

  “Gut mariye, Leviticus. Did you sleep well?”

  “Mariye, Daed.” He knew he was breaking one of his mamm’s cardinal rules when he slathered his hands with dish soap and rinsed them in the sink meant only for washing dishes, subconsciously hoping she’d appear and scold him one more time for misbehaving. “I slept well enough, I guess.” He dismissed the night terrors he’d endured that had woken him with muffled screams. Verity and his father didn’t need to know about the remnants of PTSD that still haunted him night and day.

  Verity gave him a disapproving glance for abusing the sink but went about her business, cutting fresh fruit into chunks. She didn’t say a word of greeting. There were dark circles under her eyes. Had Naomi kept her up crying? The first weeks he’d cared for Naomi, he’d had his own share of sleepless nights. Google called the problem a mix-up of days and nights. He’d called exhaustion a miserable way to live.