Love Inspired June 2021--Box Set 1 of 2 Page 3

  “My carpentry shop never did measure up to your father,” he said.

  “That’s not true,” she replied. “You were only starting out. Of course you wouldn’t have what he did.”

  “It certainly wasn’t enough for you,” he said. “You didn’t marry me for the man I was. You married me for the man you thought you could make me into.”

  “I married you...” She sucked in a breath and her eyes snapped fire. “I married you because I was an idiot who thought marriage was the answer to everything. I was wrong about that.”

  They both were. He’d thought that a decent Amish woman in his home would bring happiness, too. He’d thought that if he could find a woman of faith like his mammi, that he could sidestep the misery his parents had endured. He and Miriam had both been naive.

  “My father was a good man,” Miriam added. “And he left big shoes to fill.”

  “Your brother will be fine,” Amos said with a sigh. “He’s inheriting enough that he can afford to make a few mistakes and not suffer from it.”

  “I was talking about myself.” She met his gaze with a glittering glare. “I’m stepping into his shoes.”

  “You’re going to try to be like him?” Amos asked in disbelief. “That’s a man’s role. What about your home?”

  “Here?” she asked uncertainly.

  “Anywhere. Your kitchen. Your quilts—”

  “I’ll do both,” she said, then she shook her head. “Maybe I won’t quilt, Amos. I live in my father’s house with my brother and his wife, and we’ve managed to keep house so far.”

  “And that’s enough for you?” he asked. “A shared house with your brother, and a sprawling network of businesses that call you ‘ma’am’ like some Englisher woman?”

  “Englisher?” She seemed to hear the insult in that word. “You call me that? I’m a Schwartz. My family has been Amish since we came over from Switzerland. Being successful doesn’t make me any less Amish!”

  And he wasn’t as successful, just a small-business owner who made enough to pay his workers and a little extra to set aside for retirement. That was the hint, but he wasn’t going to do this. They’d fought enough to last a lifetime.

  “I’m not trying to argue,” he said, moderating his tone. “I’m sorry.”

  Miriam crossed her arms over her chest, not seeming to have heard his apology. “I won’t have kinner, Amos, but I’ll still grow something that will outlive me. I’ll still contribute to my community with jobs and quality goods, and I’ll make a space for myself. Sometimes that space takes a little money in order to carve it out. That’s just life. But I won’t be ashamed of success, my own or my father’s.”

  Amos ran a hand through his hair. “We’re Amish! It isn’t supposed to be about money!”

  “Money is a tool, Amos,” she said. “It isn’t supposed to be about the love of money. There’s a difference.”

  Was there, though? He didn’t exactly think that poverty was a virtue, but Jesus had talked about the wealthy and eyes of needles, hadn’t He?

  “I don’t want to fight with you,” she said.

  “Yah, me, neither,” he said, but his words sounded angry, even in his own ears. What was it with this woman that could rile him up this way? He was normally a calm and reasonable man, but staring Miriam down like this, he felt like all of his rational ways deserted him.

  Miriam had a deeper, more challenging kind of attractiveness. Her eyes had a depth to them that he’d never seen in another woman. And the way she angled her chin when she was holding back an opinion had always stuck with him...

  Funny how their disparate personalities had led to as many kisses as arguments—as unhealthy as it seemed to be, their attraction was linked to the fighting. That wasn’t Amish, at all. He caught her gaze, and her flushed cheeks brought out a glitter in her eyes. There had been a time when he’d been able to kiss those pink lips...but not now. Fighting and making up couldn’t support a relationship for any length of time. Amos’s parents seemed to find a balance of arguments and then gentleness, but he couldn’t have called his mother happy exactly. And it wasn’t like he wanted the relationship his parents had had—he was trying to avoid it.

  “If we keep up like this, we’ll only upset Mammi,” Miriam said.

  She had a point, and Amos let out a long breath. “Yah. Let’s stop fighting about all the old problems and get along for a couple of weeks.”

  “Okay. I agree,” she said.

  He held out his hand, and she took his. Her hand was slim and soft, and he shook it gently. “And don’t worry—we’ll find your documents.”

  “I hope so.”

  “They’re here, Miriam.” He glanced around. “Somewhere.”

  Couldn’t she trust his word with just one thing?

  “Now, I have to go see Noah and Thomas,” he added. “They know about Mammi, but we need to discuss some things together, and they’ll want to come see her. Can I let you take care of things here while I do that?”

  “Of course,” she replied. “I’ll make a big enough dinner that if people come they’ll be fed.”

  “Thanks...”

  And just like that, he had a wife in his home again. For all Miriam drove him crazy, he was grateful to have someone here to help him, even if she did stir up a stew of powerful emotions. But that had to stay safely beneath the surface until she’d left again. He didn’t have the strength to face both his grandmother’s passing and his unrealistic hopes at the same time.

  His heart had never been safe with Miriam.

  * * *

  Miriam peeked under a clean dish towel at the rising little domes on the baking pan. She was making a batch of buns to go with a large pot of beef stew. It would stretch to feed extra people, and it generally tasted good. But Miriam had never been a fantastic cook like her friends had been. She’d been the one who could do math in her head faster than her brothers could on paper, and her father had proudly used her as his “Amish calculator.” She’d had other skills, even back then.

  And it was hardly fair that her daet, who had encouraged her in this, who had been so proud of her business acumen, hadn’t left her anything more than the property bestowed on her at her wedding. She was thirty-five years old, and if her daet had wanted her to become more feminine and focus on the cooking and cleaning, he shouldn’t have focused on teaching her the family business skills. She wasn’t a pet to teach to do tricks—she was a woman who’d believed that she had her father’s respect. That will that left everything to Japheth had been Daet’s judgment from beyond the grave—he’d cut her down to size, just not to her face.

  Miriam took the lid off the bubbling pot and fished a piece of beef out to test its tenderness with a fork. It wasn’t soft enough, and she dropped it back in.

  “Did I sleep long?”

  Miriam looked up to find Mammi in the doorway, her kapp a little askew.

  “A few hours,” Miriam replied. “Here—I’ll help you with your kapp.”

  She crossed the room and adjusted Mammi’s kapp, pulling out the hairpin and replacing it gently.

  “Thank you, dear,” Mammi said. “Where did Amos go?”

  “To see Thomas and Noah,” she replied.

  “Ah. Yes.” Mammi didn’t say more than that.

  “I heard some rumors about my husband taking in some boys,” she said.

  “Yah. They’re the sons that Amos never had.”

  Miriam felt a stab at those words—the sons she’d been unwilling to provide apparently.

  “They’re grown now,” Mammi added. “He took them in after you left, when they were teens in need of a proper Amish home. They were so scared. So alone.”

  “Where were their parents?” she asked.

  “Their father died, and their mother went English. She wanted them to go with her, but those boys were devout and they wante
d to stay. So she agreed so long as they stayed with Amos. She trusted him. So Amos stepped in, and he raised them the rest of the way. Their mother visited, and she eventually came back to the community. But we all became a family by choice.”

  “That’s...quite lovely,” Miriam admitted.

  “Yah,” Mammi said. “We love those boys—well, men now—very dearly. And they’re both married and growing their families.”

  As Amish people did. Or as Amish people were supposed to do. There were always a few who didn’t follow the mandate to be fruitful and multiply. Miriam rubbed her hands down her apron.

  “Mammi, I’m going to bring a more comfortable chair into the kitchen for you,” Miriam said, and she headed into the sitting room to gather up one of the upholstered chairs that had been shoved against a wall to make room for the bed. She dragged it out to the kitchen, then fetched an ottoman to go with it.

  Mammi sank into the chair and allowed Miriam to pull the ottoman closer. Then the old woman looked wistfully toward the kitchen. “You look like you’re cooking for a crowd.”

  “People are going to want to see you, Mammi,” Miriam said. “They love you. I’m just preparing...in case people come by.”

  Mammi nodded. “Funny how quickly the time passes. I still feel like I could be thirty-five, you know. Well, maybe not thirty-five. That’s how old you are, isn’t it? And you seem almost like a baby to me.” She laughed softly. “I feel like I could be fifty, though. Eighty-eight creeps up when you don’t notice.”

  “You’re eighty-eight?” Miriam asked. She’d never known Mammi’s age before.

  “Yah.” Mammi turned toward the window, and her gaze grew sad. “You don’t want to get to my age and have regrets, Miriam. You want to take hold of these years and live them to the full. There’s no going back. Once they’re gone, they’re gone.”

  “Do you have regrets?” Miriam asked.

  “A few,” Mammi said, and she looked toward Miriam. “I wish I’d enjoyed my husband a little bit more. I didn’t realize I’d lose him so young. And I wish I’d argued with my sister less. I wish I’d known how to help my son, who was addicted to drink and gambling... I just didn’t know. Nothing I tried worked.”

  Miriam was silent. Perhaps no one was completely free of regrets. She had a few of her own, the biggest one being her wedding. Miriam went back to the counter, checked the rising buns and decided they were ready for the oven. She added a few more coals to the fire, and then slid the pan of buns inside.

  “There is a customer who won’t pay Amos,” Mammi said.

  “What’s that?” Miriam closed the oven and straightened.

  “At the shop,” Mammi said. “There is a customer who won’t pay him. They promised to pay up, and never did. Amos keeps thinking that because it’s a big company ordering furniture for a show home that they can be trusted.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Miriam asked with a shake of her head.

  “Because I thought you might have some insight for him,” Mammi replied. “While you’re here, you might help him out a little bit.”

  Miriam chuckled softly. “Mammi, if only you knew how much Amos would hate to have me meddling in his business.”

  “Oh, I know just how much he’d hate it,” Mammi replied, and a smile flickered at the corners of her lips. “It would still be good for him.”

  The women exchanged a smile and Miriam rolled her eyes. “You’re not sounding like a good Amish woman, Mammi.”

  “Ah, but I’m a very good grandmother,” she countered.

  Outside, Miriam heard the crunch of buggy wheels and the clop of hooves. She went to the window and looked out. That wasn’t Amos, or at least the first buggy wasn’t Amos. It was a younger man with a blond-haired woman at his side. There was a little girl peeking over their shoulders, and the woman seemed to be talking to the child very seriously.

  People were coming, but so was some help in the kitchen. Another buggy pulled into the drive behind the first one with another couple, the man’s marriage beard still short, and the woman had a baby in arms. Was Amos really leaving her alone to host people she didn’t know? Her heart sped up, but then she saw the third buggy—and it was Amos.

  He sat tall, and his dark gaze was locked ahead of him. He always had been a good-looking man—those broad shoulders, the strong hands. He held himself with more confidence now, and she found it hard to tear her gaze away from him.

  But she did, and she commanded her heart to stop that hopeful pattering. She might be able to feed people, but that was where this ended. This was Amos’s life, and Amos’s chosen family.

  A few minutes later, the women came inside with the little girl and the baby. They gave Miriam a brief hello, and then went to Mammi’s side, bending down to speak with her quietly. Miriam watched them—there were some tears, some reassurances, and Mammi kissed the baby, and the little girl tried to crawl onto Mammi’s lap, but her mother stopped her.

  Then the door opened again and the men came in, the buggies now unhitched, it would seem. They were all somber and quiet, and when Amos looked across the kitchen, he caught her eye and held it.

  “I would also like to introduce you to my wife,” he said, raising his voice so that it reverberated through the room.

  The kitchen silenced, and all eyes turned to her. At first, no one moved, then the woman with the little girl rose to her feet and crossed the kitchen.

  “It’s nice to meet you at long last,” she said. “We’ve heard about you.”

  Nothing good, no doubt. Miriam gave her a silent nod.

  “I’m Patience,” she added. “Thomas’s wife.”

  Then one by one, the others came by to do the same—Thomas and Noah, and then Noah’s wife, Eve, with their baby boy, Samuel. The little girl was named Rue, and she stared at Miriam with wide, wary eyes.

  “Come, Rue,” Patience said, holding out her hand. “Come say hello.”

  Rue came to Patience’s side and whispered loud enough for Miriam to hear, “She’s the bad lady...”

  Patience’s face flooded red. “I’m sorry, she sometimes says things—”

  “It’s all right,” Miriam said. “I’m sure people have talked. I understand.”

  This was what she’d agreed to, wasn’t it? She’d said she’d stay for a few weeks, and that would entail running into people who would have heard about her. Women who left their husbands were considered dangerous, on pretty much every level.

  “Let us help you with the food,” Eve said, and she passed the baby over to her husband.

  “Rue, you can help set the table,” Patience said, casting the little girl a smile.

  Miriam looked at the other two women uncertainly. Would they hate her? Make sure she felt just how wicked she was in their eyes?

  Amos came by the stove, his large frame filling up the kitchen. The women moved to the side, slipping away to give them momentary privacy. Amos lifted the lid of the pot to look inside the bubbling, savory depths, and Miriam watched him uncertainly.

  “It looks really good, Miriam,” he said, his voice low enough for her ears alone. He replaced the lid. “I appreciate you helping me out like this,” he added. “Truly.”

  And all those feelings she’d tried to command came flooding back—her old hopes and tender dreams. What was it about this man that made her knees turn to wet noodles with one piercing glance? Being Amos’s wife would have been lovely, if they’d been more compatible, and if she’d been able to give him the family he wanted. But he’d found a way around it, and he’d had that family without her.

  She should be glad for him.

  “Yah, it’s not a problem,” she said, and her voice sounded breathy in her own ears. Then she smelled the scent of bread, and she tapped him aside and pulled on her oven mitts. Amos stepped back, his strong arm brushing against hers as he did so, and she swallowed hard, pret
ending that it didn’t feel as sweet as it had.

  She’d do her duty by her husband—in the kitchen at least—for these few weeks. And when she left, she’d be certain that he was fine without her. Maybe there was wisdom in Mammi’s request, after all.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Amos led the family in worship that evening around the kitchen table. It was comforting to be all together, sharing the sadness and the prayers as a family. They all took turns praying for Mammi, even little Rue. They prayed for healing, and for comfort, and for reassurance for her that whatever happened, Gott’s will would be done and that Mammi would be protected from pain. Mammi asked them to sing her favorite hymn, too, and when they were done, Mammi was tired again and the women, Miriam included, helped her to get into her nightclothes for bed.

  The men were left alone in the kitchen, Noah holding his infant son in his arms. Samuel was asleep, nestled against Noah’s chest. Anyone just seeing this young father for the first time would never guess that this baby wasn’t biologically his. He’d met his wife when she was eight months pregnant, but for Noah, there was no difference, and Gott had knit them together into a family more truly than DNA ever could. It was similar to the way Gott had made Amos, Noah, Thomas and Mammi into a family, too, and Amos had been so deeply thankful for what Gott had given him these last few years.

  The men rose from the table and moved toward the windows. The sun had set, and the first few stars were piercing through the dusk.

  “I don’t know what I expected from Miriam, but she seems nice,” Thomas said.

  Amos looked over at the younger man. Thomas had a reddish beard and a more confident way about him now that he was a married man.

  “That was never the problem,” Amos replied. “She’s a decent person.”