The Nanny's Amish Family (Redemption's Amish Legacies Book 1) Read online

  Thomas stood beside the table, and his gaze was trained on her. He was a good-looking man—tall with broad shoulders and dark eyes that could lock her down... But he didn’t seem to see her, exactly. He seemed more to be deep in thought. And could she blame him? His life had just turned upside down.

  Patience brought the plates to the table, and Mammi used the tip of the knife to pry up a cinnamon bun and plop it onto a plate. When she gave the first plate to Amos, he slid the cinnamon bun in front of Rue instead, and a smile lit up the girl’s face.

  The men were served first, so she accepted a cinnamon bun from Mammi and angled her steps around the table and over to where Thomas stood.

  “For you,” she said, holding out the plate.

  “No, no...” Thomas shook his head. “You eat it.”

  Patience held the plate but didn’t take a bite. “Are you all right, Thomas?”

  He roused himself then. “Yah. I’m fine.”

  She followed his gaze to the little girl. Rue looked so out of place in her Englisher clothes. Pink and purple. And pants on a girl, too—it wasn’t right. But all the same, Rue was such a slender little thing—her head looking almost too big for her body.

  “She needs some dresses,” Patience said.

  “Yah.” Thomas brightened. “The social services woman left all these Englisher clothes, but when we get her some proper Amish dresses, it will be better, won’t it?”

  “Yes,” Patience said with confidence she didn’t exactly feel. “I think so, at least.”

  Thomas relaxed a little. “Amos said you’d agreed to help us.”

  “It’s no problem,” she said. “For a week or two, at least.”

  Thomas nodded. “I’m grateful. This was a pretty big shock for me, so I’m not ready for...any of it.”

  “Understandable,” she said.

  “Would you be willing to do some sewing?” he asked, lowering his voice. “Because Mammi doesn’t see as well as she used to—”

  “I can sort out some girls’ dresses,” she replied with a small smile. “They’re quick enough to sew.”

  “Rue doesn’t know our ways, at all,” Thomas said. “Rue’s life, up until now, has been entirely English. I’m not even sure that her mamm told her who I was. Tina—Rue’s mamm—didn’t want me in her life, and I didn’t have a whole lot of choice. I was coming home to rededicate my life to our faith, and Tina hated me.”

  So he had known of his daughter...

  “Why did she hate you?” Patience asked, then she felt the heat hit her cheeks. This wasn’t even remotely her business.

  “Because I wanted to go home, and I didn’t want the life she did.” Thomas looked away, pressing his lips together. He’d probably already told her more than he wanted to.

  She had so many questions, but none of them were appropriate to pose. She’d been asked to come help, not to put her nose into another family’s affairs.

  “How can I help?” Patience asked quietly.

  “I need my daughter to learn to be plain,” he said. “And the sooner the better. I’ll show her what I can, but she needs a woman to show her how an Amish woman acts. Mammi is getting old, and she can’t chase down a four-year-old if she decides to bolt. I need Rue to know how to be one of us.”

  “That’s a lot to ask,” Patience said softly.

  “I know. You’re not here for this. You’re here to teach school—” he began.

  “No, I mean, it’s a lot to ask of her,” Patience said with a shake of her head. “She’s very young, and only just lost her mother. We’re all strangers to her, and she doesn’t even speak our language. Teaching her to be Amish might be too much to ask of her. Right away, at least.”

  “What are you suggesting, then?” Thomas asked.

  “That we just teach her that she’s loved,” Patience said. “The rest will come with time.”

  Thomas met her gaze, and his shoulders relaxed.

  “Is that enough, do you think?” he asked.

  “For now, yes.” For as much as her opinion counted in this.

  “And you would know kinner, wouldn’t you?” he said. “How long have you been teaching?”

  Patience dropped her gaze, suddenly uncomfortable. “This will be my first position. I might not be much of an expert.”

  “Oh...” Thomas eyed her a little closer.

  “I love kinner, though, and I really needed a fresh start.”

  “Why?”

  It was a loaded question, because everyone knew that a girl didn’t grow up longing to teach school. She grew up planning for her own husband and houseful of children. A girl didn’t plan her life around a job—she planned her days around a home. And at twenty-three, Patience was very nearly an old maid. But she’d asked a few probing questions of her own, so she supposed she owed him an answer.

  “There was a proposal,” she admitted. “That I could not accept, and... It was better to come away, I thought.”

  “Oh...” He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  Mammi approached with another plate, and Patience stepped back to allow the older woman to press the plate into Thomas’s hands.

  “Eat now,” Mammi said, patting his arm gently. “It is what it is, Thomas. You still need to eat.”

  It was the same thing that Patience’s mother had said when Patience had turned down Ruben Miller’s proposal. Ruben’s proposal had seemed quite ideal—he was widowed with five children of his own, all under the age of thirteen. And if Patience could be his wife, she could help him raise his kinner—a ready-made family. But when Ruben proposed, he’d spoken rather eloquently about the future babies they’d have together.

  “Does it matter so much?” Patience had asked. “If you have five children already, do more babies mean so very much to you?”

  “Babies are blessings!” he’d said. “Patience, what is a marriage without kinner to bind you? You’ll see—you’ll want to have kinner of your own. And the kinner will want babies to play with, too. You’re young. We could have another seven or eight before we’re done.”

  Ruben had said it all with such a smile on his face that any other girl would have been swept off her feet in anticipation of all those babies, the children to raise, the family to grow. Patience’s secret had been on the tip of her tongue, ready to reveal why the babies were a worry for her...

  And she didn’t tell him. She should have told him, perhaps. But she didn’t.

  “Eat,” Mammi said, turning her attention to Patience, and the old woman tapped her plate meaningfully.

  Patience peeled a piece of cinnamon bun and popped it into her mouth. Mammi was right, as was Patience’s own mother. No matter what came a person’s way, they were obligated to eat and keep up their strength. Because there was still work to be done—always more work.

  “It will be better, Thomas,” Mammi said, lowering her voice, even though she was speaking in German and Rue wouldn’t understand. “When you marry and have more children, she’ll be one of many. More children will nail her down properly. You’ll see.”

  More children—yes, that was very likely the solution for Thomas Wiebe. If he got a good Amish wife and had more children, then Rue would grow up in a proper Amish household. She’d be an older sister. Responsibilities helped a child to feel like they belonged.

  Hadn’t that been Ruben’s solution to any marital difficulties? And he wasn’t alone. Amish people wanted children. Their lives and their faith revolved around the home. Even the rules of the Ordnung were set in place to keep families close together. Parents and children were the center of their lives.

  Patience turned away from Thomas and Mammi, who continued to talk together, their voices low. She took another bite of the buttery, sweet cinnamon bun. She should have told Ruben the truth when he proposed—told him that she could not have any children of her own—because marrying a man w
ho needed a mamm for his children was the perfect solution, if that man could be happy with no more babies. If she’d told Ruben the truth about the surgery to remove the tumors and how it left her infertile, would he have still married her? Patience hadn’t been sure, and when faced with the older man’s hopeful gaze, the words had died on her tongue.

  Patience would never be a mamm to her own children. She’d never be pregnant or have babies. And she’d wanted nothing besides a family of her own since she was a girl. So she was grieving all that she was losing, too, and she hadn’t had the strength to walk Ruben through it all. That surgery to remove the tumors might have saved her life, but it had ended any chance she had at living the life she longed for.

  But work helped her not to think too much about the things she could not change, and teaching was supposed to provide that distraction for her. Until the teaching started, she could distract herself with this little Englisher child—there would be work enough to go around.

  “Tomorrow, if you could find me some fabric, I could start making a dress or two for Rue,” Patience said, turning back.

  “Our carpentry shop is right next door to the fabric store,” Thomas said. “I’ll bring you with us to work in the morning, and you can choose whatever you need. Then I’ll drive you both back.”

  “Thank you. That would work well.” She glanced back at the men at the table, the old woman seated next to Rue, already coaxing a few smiles out of her. “Unless you need me for anything more, I could let you and your family have some privacy.”

  Sewing some little dresses would not be difficult, and it would be good for the girl to wear some looser, more comfortable clothing. And it would also be good for Patience to keep her fingers busy. Work made the hours pass by and brought meaning to the daylight hours.

  It was the evening that she dreaded, when the work was done and she crawled alone into her bed at night. It was then that she faced all the things she longed for but would never have.

  Like children of her own.

  Chapter Two

  Thomas stepped outside, holding the screen door open as Patience passed through. He pulled it shut behind him, giving a thin screen between him and the others—it was something. Closing the door outright wouldn’t have been appropriate. They were both single, after all.

  Thomas rubbed his hands down the sides of his pants, still feeling a little uncomfortable around this woman. The sun was sinking below the horizon, washing her complexion in a rosy pink, and Thomas did his best not to act like it mattered to him. He wasn’t some young man looking to take a girl home from singing—he was a daet now. And a mildly confused daet, at that.

  Thomas glanced over his shoulder toward the back yard; a white chicken coop sat next to the fence. The chickens had all gone back into it for the night, the cock standing outside, surveying the bare dirt surrounding the structure like a guard. The rooster crowed hoarsely.

  “If you could come back in the morning, that would be really helpful,” he said.

  “I’ll see you in the morning, then,” Patience said, and as she looked up at him, he realized that her blue eyes were fringed with dark lashes. An odd detail to notice, but one that he liked.

  “Yah. I’ll see you then,” he said with a quick nod. “Thank you. I appreciate you helping us.”

  She shrugged. “We help where we can.”

  “I’d like to pay you back somehow—”

  “That isn’t necessary,” she said. “I was here, and I was able. That’s enough.”

  And maybe she was right. The Amish helped each other in times of need—it was what bound them together. But she was new here, and she already had a classroom waiting for her. To take this preparatory time and use it with his daughter was a sacrifice that he appreciated.

  “I’m a carpenter,” he said hesitantly. “I could help you, too. You should come by my shop. Maybe there is a piece of furniture, or—”

  “I’d have nowhere to put it,” she said. “I’m a single woman teaching school. I have no home of my own.”

  “Not yet,” he said with a wry smile. Did she have no idea how lovely she was? There would be men lining up in Redemption for a chance with her. And perhaps that was why she came to a new community—for new marriage options. “When you marry, you can count on me to make you a cabinet.”

  “You’re very kind.” Her expression saddened and she dropped her gaze. Of course—he’d already forgotten about that man who had proposed... Maybe she’d loved him, and her reasons for turning him down had gone deeper.

  “I’m sorry,” he said awkwardly. “I’d forgotten about...the proposal.”

  “Life moves on,” she said.

  “Why did you say no?” he asked. “If I can ask that.”

  “Because I wouldn’t have made him happy,” she said, shrugging.

  “He must have disagreed with that,” Thomas said. She wasn’t seeing herself through a man’s eyes, obviously.

  “He didn’t know everything,” she said. “And I know myself better. I wouldn’t have been the wife he wanted.”

  Patience knew her mind, and she’d been willing to not only turn down an offer, but move to a different community. Thomas could only respect that she knew what she was talking about. Not every woman had such high character. Uncle Amos’s wife ran away after less than a year of marriage, dooming Amos to a life of solitude, and Thomas had seen firsthand how lonely that had been for the older man. At nearly forty, Amos should have a houseful of kinner. There could be no remarriage for an Amish man. Those vows were for life. So if Patience had chosen the harder path, it was likely the right path to take.

  “He might thank you later, then,” Thomas said.

  “I hope so,” she replied. “He’s a good man, and another woman will be happy to snap him up.”

  Yes, there would be women less beautiful than Patience waiting for a chance. And he looked at her quizzically. She wasn’t what he expected.

  “I’m grateful you’re here to help me with my daughter,” he said. “All the same.”

  Patience took a step down the stairs, then looked back at him over her shoulder. “It will all work out for good, Thomas.”

  Was she talking about her situation, or his? Yes, that was what their faith told them, that all things worked together for good for those who loved Gott. But sometimes the working out took some time to get to. Hearts broke... And while Gott brought comfort, it wasn’t immediate. It was more like spring growth.

  “Good night, Patience,” he said.

  Patience smiled, and then turned and continued walking up the drive. His gaze lingered on her retreating figure for a couple of beats, and then he turned and pulled open the screen door once more. He went inside, past the washing-up sink in the mudroom and into the kitchen.

  Noah stood with his hands in his pockets and he met Thomas’s gaze with a helpless look of his own.

  “She’ll be back in the morning,” Thomas said. It would be a big help.

  “Yah, that’s good.” Noah looked toward the kitchen sink. “I’ll do the dishes.”

  The older Mammi got, the more like bachelors they all lived—cleaning up after themselves. Mammi was elderly, and she couldn’t do it alone.

  “No, no,” Mammi said, as she always did. “That’s women’s work.”

  “That child needs a woman tonight, Mammi,” Noah replied. “I can wash up the dishes.”

  Rue sat at the table next to Amos, a half-finished cinnamon bun in front of her. Her eyes were drooping, and her little shoulders sagged as if under a heavy burden.

  “I’ve got a nightgown for her,” Mammi said. “It’s a bit big. Looking at her, I could probably wrap her in it twice.”

  “We might need to let her wear her own clothes,” Thomas said, looking toward the suitcase in the corner. “Until we can sort out something more appropriate.”

  “Yah...” Mammi said
with a sigh. “We might need to.”

  He could hear the regret in her voice—those Englisher clothes were jarringly different from their Amish garb, and for him they were a reminder of those years he’d spent away from their community.

  “I’ll carry the suitcase upstairs for you, Mammi,” Amos said, rising to his feet.

  Rue looked up as Amos stood, then she turned tear-filled eyes onto Thomas. “I want my mommy.”

  Thomas sank down on his haunches next to her. “I know, Rue.”

  “But she’s dead,” she whispered.

  “Yes...” Thomas felt his throat thicken with emotion. “Did your mommy tell you about Heaven?”

  “Yes...” Rue’s chin trembled.

  “Then you know that God is taking care of you,” Thomas said quietly. “And He’s taking care of her, too.”

  The girl looked at him in silence. Did it mean anything to her right now? He wasn’t even sure. She was very young, and he didn’t know how much faith Tina had raised her with. Tina hadn’t been a strong believer when he’d known her... And he hadn’t been much of an example of a Christian man’s behavior, either. That was something he wouldn’t forgive himself for, and a mistake he’d never make again. He’d keep himself under control, and he’d find an appropriately Amish wife.

  “It is time for bed now,” Thomas said.

  “No.”

  Thomas looked down at her, uncertain if he’d heard the girl right. “Come, Rue. Mammi will help you get your pajamas and she’ll show you your bed.”

  “No.” Rue hadn’t raised her voice, but she did tip her chin up just a little bit.

  Amish children didn’t say no at bedtime. At least he didn’t think so. He didn’t have any other children to compare this with, and he looked over at Mammi uncertainly.

  “Come, Rue,” Mammi said, smiling. “We’ll get you dressed for bed.”

  “No!” Rue shook her head and leaned back into the chair. “I don’t want to!”