The Amish Widow's Secret. Cheryl Williford
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know how strict some are.”
“Yeah, I do.” She patted Sarah’s hand.
Sarah’s father walked past and glanced at the two women. He hurried out of the shop, letting the door slam. His bad mood meant problems for Sarah. When riled, he could be very cruel. She had no one to blame but herself for his bad attitude today. She knew he grew tired of her lack of control and rule breaking. People were openly talking about her. She had to learn to keep her mouth closed and distance herself from the Englisch.
Sarah hurried out of the store and trailed behind Marta. Fancy Englisch cars dotted the parking lot. She made her way to her father’s buggy parked under a cluster of old oaks.
He stood talking to a man unfamiliar to Sarah. The man turned toward her as she approached. He wore a traditional blue Amish shirt, his black pants wrinkled and dusty, as if he’d been traveling for days. The black hat on his head barely controlled his nest of dishwater-blond curls. Joseph had been blond and curly-haired, too. Memories flooded in. Her heart ached.
Men from all around the county were coming today. The burned-out barn was to be torn down and cleared away. The man standing next to her father had be one of the workers who’d traveled a long distance to lend a helping hand. She often disapproved of many Amish ways, but not their generosity of heart. Helping others came naturally to all Amish. She honored this trait. It was the reason she’d helped the neighbor boys get away from their cruel father.
“Sarah,” Marta called out and motioned for her to hurry. Sarah picked up her pace.
“Come, Sarah! Time is wasting,” her father called out.
“Ya, Daed.”
The tall, well-built man smiled. She was struck by the startling blueness of his eyes and the friendly curve of his mouth. His light blond beard told her he was married. She gave a quick smile.
Marta stepped forward. “This is Mose Fischer, Joseph’s school friend. He came all the way from Florida to help us rebuild the barn.”
Mose Fischer took her hand. The crinkles around his eyes expressed years of friendly smiles and a good sense of humor.
Sarah wasn’t comfortable with physical contact, but allowed him to take her hand out of respect to Joseph. She returned his smile. “Hello. I’m glad to meet you.” She meant what she’d said. She was glad to meet him. She’d only met her husband’s sister, Marta. Meeting Joseph’s childhood friend made her feel more a part of his past life.
Adolph put his hand on Sarah’s shoulder. Touching her was something he rarely did, especially in public. “Sarah loves kinder. Perhaps you’d like her to care for your young daughters while you work?”
“If Sarah agrees, I’d like that very much.” Mose Fischer seemed to look deep into her soul, looking for all her secrets as he spoke. Why hadn’t his wife come to Lancaster with him? “I’d be glad to care for the bobbles, and I’m sure I’ll have help. Marta seldom gets a chance to play with kinder and will grab at this opportunity.”
Marta nodded with a shy laugh and smiled. “Just try to keep me away.”
“How old are the kinder?” Sarah grinned, happy for a chance to be busy wiping tiny fingers and toes. She’d be much too preoccupied to fret or watch the last of the barn come down.
“Beatrice is almost five and Mercy will soon be one. But, I warn you. They miss their mamm since she passed and can be a real handful.” Pain shimmered in his eyes.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were a widower. You were very brave to travel alone with such young daughters.”
“We came by train from Tampa, but my memories of Joseph made all the effort worth it. I didn’t want to miss the chance to help out his widow.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Mose and the girls will stay on my farm, and so will you.” Adolph gave Sarah a familiar glare.
“That’s fine. I can stay in my old room for a few days, and the girls can sleep with me.” Sarah nervously straightened the ribbons hanging from her stiff white prayer kapp. Since she was in deep mourning, her father knew she wanted to continue to hide herself at her farm, far away from people and gossip. “If that suits you, Mose.” She held her breath. She suddenly realized she needed to be around the girls as much as they needed her.
* * *
Dressed in a plain black mourning dress and kapp, her black shoes polished to a high shine, Mose could see why Joseph had chosen Sarah as his bride. There was something striking about her, her beauty separating her from the average Amish woman. She tried to act friendly, but he’d experienced the pain of loss and knew she suffered from the mention of Joseph. Greta had been the perfect wife to him and mother to his girls. After almost a year, the mention of her name still cut deeply and flooded his mind with memories.
“I hope they’re not a handful for you.” A genuine smile blossomed on the willowy, red-haired woman’s face. She looked a bit more relaxed. The heavy tension between Sarah and her father surprised him. Surely Adolph would be a tower of strength for her. She’d need her father to lean on during difficult times. Instead, Mose felt an air of disapproval between the two. He’d heard Adolph Yoder was a hard man, but Sarah seemed a victim in this terrible tragedy.
“I’ll bring the girls around in an hour or so, if that’s all right.”
“Ya. I’m not doing anything but cooking today. The girls can help bake for tomorrow’s big meal.” Sarah smiled a shy goodbye and followed Marta into the buggy. She pulled in her skirt and slammed the door. Through the window she waved, “I look forward to taking care of the kinder.”
“Till then,” Mose said, and waved as the buggy pulled onto the main road, his thoughts still on the tension between father and daughter.
Walking came naturally to Mose. He set out on the two-mile trip to his cousin’s farm and prayed his daughters had behaved while he was gone. Dealing with her own grief, he wasn’t sure Sarah was up to handling the antics of his eldest daughter. Four was a difficult age. Beatrice was no longer a baby, but her longing for her dead mamm still made her difficult to manage.
The hot afternoon sun beat down on his head, his dark garments drawing heat. He welcomed the rare gusts of wind that threatened to blow off his straw hat and ruffle his hair. Lancaster took a beating from the summer heat every year, but today felt even more hot and muggy. He would be glad to get back to Sarasota and its constant breeze and refreshing beaches.
A worn black buggy rolled past, spitting dust and pebbles his way. To his surprise, the buggy stopped and a tall, burley, gray-haired man hopped out.
“Hello, Mose. I heard you were in town.”
I should know the man. He recognized his face but struggled with the name. “Forgive me, but I don’t remember—”
“Nee. It was a long time ago. I’m Bishop Ralf Miller. It’s been five years or more since I last went to Florida and stayed with your family. I’ve known your father for many years. When we were boys, we shared the same school. I believe you’d just married your beautiful bride when your father introduced me to you.”
“My wife died last year,” Mose informed him. “Childbirth took her.” Saying the words out loud was like twisting a knife in his heart.
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“There’s no reason you would know,”
“Nee, but it worries me how many of our young people are dying. I assume you’re here to help with Joseph Nolt’s barn clearing.”
“I just met his widow. Poor woman is torn with grief.”
“Between the two of us, I’m not so sure Sarah Nolt is a grieving widow. One of the men at the funeral said they heard her say Joseph’s