Her Secret Amish Child Page 9

  “Ya. He said he likes kids and frogs.”

  Sizzling fat popped out of the frying pan and hit her on the arm. She flipped over the burgers and put a bun on the gas burner to toast. “You’re not to bother him while he works, do you hear?”

  “I’m hungry. Is the meat cooked yet?” he said, ignoring her comment. With a flourish, he added pepper to the mess he was making on the tablecloth and squiggled his name in it. He sneezed twice and then used his hand to remove the mess he’d made.

  “I asked you a question. Did you bother him while he was working?” She turned the gas off under the toasted bun and used a fork to place it on the plate, and then added the burger before she turned around.

  Benuel ran his hands through his hair, dislodging a leaf and tree bark and placing them where the salt and pepper had been. “I don’t remember.” His expression looked sincere.

  Lizbeth sat the boy’s food in front of him and placed the ketchup next to his plate. “Was he working hard?”

  He grinned and grabbed the red bottle in front of him. “Ya. He’s nailing in new wood around the door.” He dumped a circle of red on his plate. “Stuff like that.”

  The banging began again. She glanced toward the window, watched the breeze flip the curtain in a swirl. Fredrik’s back came into view, his blue shirtsleeve stretching taut as he lifted his arm and swung the hammer in his hand. It seemed he was everywhere she went, or was she just noticing him because she liked being around him? This foolish attraction to the man had to stop. He needed a wife to give him children and there was no guarantee she could do that, even if she was interested in finding a new husband.

  “Nee! Don’t do that,” she scolded as she turned back toward her son, but it was too late. Benuel had already dunked his burger in a pool of ketchup. He smiled in satisfaction as he chewed, and took another big bite of hamburger slathered in red sauce. He ignored her comment.

  Lizbeth shrugged her shoulders and went back to washing dishes. At least he was eating now. Maybe she’d try some lettuce and tomato on his bun the next time. Eating this hardy, he just might put some weight on at last, and she had Fredrik and her father to thank for it.

  * * *

  Fredrik had already fixed the broken gutter over the apartment door, but the damage had allowed wood rot to form at the base of the door. He yanked on the crumbling wood with a crowbar, cleaned out the leaves and dirt and then replaced the length of wood with a fresh board. Content, he hummed as he nailed the wood into place. He’d paint the strip later, while he sanded and painted the peeling front door. The small concrete porch was intact and the sidewalk to the wire gate seemed fit enough, even though there was a slight crack in one section.

  Lizbeth’s kitchen window was open. Perhaps her cooking was the source of the delicious aroma floating on the late-afternoon breeze. His stomach grumbled. It had been a long time since lunch.

  Two days a week he worked half days at Mose’s furniture barn. Being off today gave him the opportunity to do a few jobs on the apartment and some of the handyman jobs he had lined up around Pinecraft and Sarasota, but they sure messed with his eating schedule.

  He checked his pocket watch and snapped it shut, surprised to see it was already six, an hour past his usual dinner meal. He would stop soon and grab a bite to eat at the café, but he still had a lot of work to do. He wanted to rent the apartment before the month ended since he had decided to sublet it for profit.

  Sweat beaded his forehead. He swiped at it, and then banged another nail into the wood.

  He slipped the hammer into his waist belt, heard the sound of a child giggling and turned to see Benuel running out the side door of the white house.

  “Come back and let me wipe your face,” Lizbeth shouted, hot on her son’s heels. The gate slammed behind the boy. His mother managed to seize his arm before he could climb into the swing hanging from the old oak tree covered in moss.

  Memories of his childhood and his mamm having to haul him back into the house for a good face scrubbing flashed in his mind. Boys will be boys, his daed used to tell her when she complained about his lack of table manners at the supper table.

  Boys needed a man in their lives, someone to show them how to behave and still have fun. He was glad to be around to see Benuel at his best, when he was relaxed and growing more secure in his new home.

  Too hungry to wait to eat, he packed up his tools, locked the apartment door and then glanced back to Lizbeth. He watched as she scrubbed at Benuel’s face with a cloth. The boy squirmed and kicked just like Fredrik used to fight his mamm at that age. Lizbeth looked like she’d been busy, her hair wild under her kapp in the fading light of day. Her cheeks were rosy from the heat of the kitchen. Smudges of something she’d been cooking were wiped down the front of her apron, making her look adorable. He wanted a wife like her. Someone who took care of her family and loved them.

  He couldn’t help but laugh when Benuel got away. The memory of the thrill of the chase was still so alive in Fredrik’s mind that he took in a deep breath of excitement. He let loose a guffaw as mother and son ran around the yard, her skirts swirling, the boy’s long legs making fast work of the distance between him and the swing.

  Benuel pumped himself high into the air. Lizbeth stood a yard away, her hands dangling at her sides. Frustration etched lines across her forehead. “You have to come off that swing sometime, young man. And when you do, your face is mine.”

  “A little dirt won’t hurt him,” Fredrik supposed out loud.

  Lizbeth turned just her head in his direction. She smiled her welcome. “No. A bit of dirt won’t hurt him, but him not listening to me might. I’m trying to teach him to obey.”

  Fredrik did his best to sober his expression, but knew he’d failed miserably. He nodded his head. “Ya, you’re certain-sure right. Mamms always are.” He glanced back at Benuel. The child was ignoring them both, the wind blowing his ginger hair into spikes, his boyish voice singing a simple children’s worship song Fredrik had sung himself at the boy’s age.

  A smile lifted one side of Lizbeth’s mouth as she listened to Benuel sing.

  “He has a good, strong voice,” Fredrik commented, but continued to walk toward his bike resting at the side of the shed.

  “Ya, he does. Like my daed,” she muttered, more to herself than to him.

  He walked his bike to the gate, considering the lonely mood that had come over him. He was tired of being alone. He would have rather gone into Lizbeth’s kitchen and settled himself in one of her chairs than go to the café and eat alone. Sharing a meal with her and the boy would have been a treat.

  When had he begun to think this way...begun to seriously long for a family of his own? This family? “Have a good night,” he called, waving as he threw his leg over the bike.

  She turned and waved back, her expression friendly and relaxed. “And you, Fredrik Lapp.”

  He headed north and minutes later turned into the graveled parking lot across from the café. He’d have to seriously begin his search for a wife. It was past time to settle, begin a family of his own, but first he’d have to see if Lizbeth would have him. He just had to find the nerve to ask her. If she wasn’t interested, he needed to pull back and put some distance between them. Fredrik wasn’t willing to risk his heart once more.

  Benuel’s voice still sounded in his subconscious, putting a smile on Fredrik’s face. He lifted his head, looked at the darkening sky. What a shame Lizbeth seemed so uneasy about sharing her life again.

  From the way she distanced herself from all men, perhaps he knew he didn’t have a chance with her now, but he wouldn’t give up easily. She was a fine woman, a woman who needed a father for her son. He thought of the soft curve of her cheek, the way her eyes sparkled when she was happy. Perhaps he was the man meant to put a smile back on her face and she just didn’t realize it yet.

  H
e walked into the café humming the childish song Benuel had been singing about letting his light shine for Jesus. Would Fredrik continue to hide his light under a bucket? Nee, he didn’t think so.

  Chapter Eleven

  The first two weeks in the rental house had gone smoother than Lizbeth had expected. Fredrik was often underfoot with this project or that, but she’d grown comfortable with his sudden appearances. When he used Benuel as his helper, it freed her up to cook special meals they could share together. Was it so wrong to feel as if they were becoming a family of sorts?

  She tossed in her bed. The nights were hard on her. She heard every groan and moan the old house made, knew when Benuel turned in his small bed.

  Unable to sleep, she’d let the young mama cat in for company and found herself petting her as she prepared to put another load of colored clothes in the washing machine. She was grateful Fredrik had left it for his renters to use.

  As they walked into the kitchen, the cat indicated she’d like to go out. Lizbeth opened the side door a crack and watched the cat’s belly sway from side to side as she rushed away into the darkness. There should be a litter of kittens coming soon. She was surprised to find herself looking forward to the big event as much as Benuel and Fredrik were.

  Once the door was locked tight again, she decided a hot cup of chocolate would help her sleep and got busy pouring milk into a pan. On impulse she grabbed one of her son’s favorite oatmeal cookies before settling into the overstuffed chair in the living room with her steaming cup.

  Content to read the Bible, she leafed through until she found her marker at Romans 8:28.

  And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.

  She would have to wait for Gott to show her His path for her and Benuel’s life. She continued to read.

  For whom he did foreknow, he also did predestinate to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brethren.

  Her eyes growing tired, she closed the Bible and meditated on the lines she’d read. All things had seemed to work together for good since they’d returned to Pinecraft. She just hadn’t gotten used to the idea of being alone yet.

  As the last bite of her cookie was shoved in her mouth, she slipped off her house shoes, pulled her legs up under her gown and robe and burrowed deep into the soft cushions of the chair.

  Long sips of the hot chocolate soothed her. She set the cup down as her eyes began to feel heavy. Sleep wasn’t far off. If she wasn’t careful she’d fall asleep where she was.

  The sound of Benuel crying roused her from her light slumber.

  “Nee, get away,” he yelled.

  Heart pounding, her bare feet smacked against the wood floors as she raced to him and scooped him into her arms.

  He fought her. “Nee, nee,” he shouted, pushing at her.

  She turned on his lamp and spoke to him in Deitch. “It’s me, Benuel. Wake up. Mamm has you. It was only a dream.”

  He blinked up at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Daed was shouting.” He used his hand to swipe at a tear threatening to run down his face. “I saw him hit you and you cried out.”

  “Nee, it was only a dream, Benuel. You see? I’m wonderful-gut.”

  “Ya, but I saw—”

  “What you saw was a dream. I’m fine, look.” She laid him back against his pillow and smiled down at him as she ruffled his tangled hair. “We are safe now. I promise you. We must never worry again. Gott is protecting us from all harm. Jonah will never hurt us again.”

  “Ya?” he questioned, glancing around his room, his eyes wide and round.

  She soothed him, her hand gently touching his face. “We are safe. Now, close your eyes. I’ll sing your favorite song.”

  She trembled as she quietly sang the “Father Abraham” hymn he’d come to love.

  His lids closed, but she felt the shuddering breath he took just before he dropped off. Sobs broke from her. No child should have witnessed what Benuel had seen in his short life. She should have taken him and fled long before her husband died. The child paid for her mistakes. Others didn’t understand, but she knew why she kept the boy close to her. She knew the horrors the small child had experienced. If only she could tell him that the man who terrified him wasn’t his true father. But if anyone ever found out, she could be ruined. And so could Fredrik.

  She rose from Benuel’s bed, leaving the light on and the door open.

  In her room she threw herself across her rumpled bed and wept for her fatherless boy who had lived through so much, for her tiny babies left behind on the hill and for herself. Would she ever find peace? Perhaps if she prayed with all her might at church tomorrow, Gott would erase these memories from both their minds.

  * * *

  Fredrik found it hard to sit through three hours of church without stirring. He surveyed the group of smaller boys in the row in front of him. Their hair all neatly combed in place, most sat quietly, waiting to be called forward.

  Someone sneezed and he recognized Benuel Mullet as the boy turned toward the noise. The corners of Fredrik’s mouth lifted. He remembered how it was to be a boy and long for the service to be over.

  Fredrik heard Lizbeth clear her throat as a warning. The child had better behave or his mamm was going to do something about it as soon as church was over. The kinner turned back toward the front, but squirmed until he found a comfortable spot on the bench and settled.

  Isaac Graber, owner of the bike shop in town, and his new wife, Molly, sang the last stanza of “Amazing Grace.” He clapped his hands with the rest of the church, appreciating the good job they had done.

  A hand gestured and he observed someone in a blue dress motioning the small boys forward. All eight of them, including Benuel, popped up and shuffled to the front of the church in a jagged line. They wormed their way across the elevated platform, sidestepping until they were a few inches away from each other. The lady in blue ticked off the beat of the hymn and on three they began to sing “Deep and Wide” and make motions with their hands.

  Benuel Mullet’s voice rang out over the other boys’, his motions exaggerated, feet tapping. Two rows over, he heard Lizbeth groan her disapproval.

  Fredrik’s foot tapped, too. Awe transformed his face into a wide smile. The boy could really sing, his voice revealing a hidden talent much like Fredrik’s own.

  He remembered singing with the other boys in the community when he was Benuel’s age. What an exciting time it had been, singing on the stage with everyone looking at him. Too quick, the song was over and the boys returned to their places on the front bench. Benuel’s eyes twinkled as he spotted his mother in the crowd and gave a quick wave. He plopped down, causing the boy next to him to yelp. Fredrik couldn’t help but grin. The boy was a handful, but talented and full of life.

  Mose Fischer ended the service with a silent prayer and people began to file out of the church. Caught in the crush of people and kinner, Fredrik stepped behind Ulla and her husband, Chicken John, and followed them out.

  “You coming to the potluck dinner in the park?” Ulla asked a moment later. “We’re trying to raise money for a new family who’s moved here from Beeville, Texas.” Her eyes grew wide as she spoke. “A tornado blew everything they owned away. Gott was with them. Their neighbors didn’t make it out.”

  He’d thought about going straight to the café to eat and then taking a nap, but the idea of doing a good deed and eating food Pinecraft’s best cooks prepared changed his mind. His spirits lifted. “Ya, sure. I’ll see you there.” His bike was parked at the back of the church. He passed Lizbeth and Benuel and tugged at the brim of his Sunday best black wool hat. “Someday that boy’s going to make you a very proud mamm.”

  She nodded and smiled. “Danki, Fredrik. He already makes
me a proud mamm.” She walked toward him. “You going to the meal at the park?” she asked, holding tight to her son’s hand.

  “Ya, I am.”

  She walked past him. “Gut. See you there.”

  His eyes followed her as she walked to her three-wheel bike and rode off with Benuel in the wire basket. He wished he was riding beside them, but he would see them there. Lizbeth may have put away her black dresses, but she was still distant and wore the look of a widow in mourning. He had to be patient and bide his time. Or move on and find someone else willing to become his wife. That might be the safer option.

  * * *

  With the exception of a strong wind blowing, the day was perfect for a meal in the park. Fredrik looked around for a couple of his friends and found nothing but families sitting together. He made his way to the long tables covered in plastic bowls, roasting pans and heated chafing dishes. The food line was already lengthy. He stepped behind one of his favorite elders and shuffled along. The man’s wife and six children were in line ahead of him. It seemed everyone had a fraa. Was he the last bachelor in Pinecraft?

  He looked over and saw Mose, Sarah and their children at a long table. If he hurried, he might be able to find room to eat with them.

  A big glass jar on the first table held the receipts for the moneymaker. He drew out a crisp twenty-dollar bill and dropped it in, thought better of it and added another twenty to the jar. If it were his family who’d lost everything... But it wasn’t his family. He didn’t have one.

  Sometimes it seemed Gott’s will for his life was to live alone and lonely. Or that he had missed Gott’s plan by letting Bette slip past. Her decision to drop him for his best friend still stung and grieved his heart. If he’d fought for her, he’d have children by now, a home. But if Bette had been the one for him, Gott would have made a way. No, the problem was in him. He’d dated a lot in his youth, but hadn’t settled down. He’d have to keep looking, find that perfect someone made just for him, if he hadn’t found her already.