The Amish Widow's Secret. Cheryl Williford
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the special spoon she eats from.”
Sarah laughed at the organized child. Beatrice had the intensity of an older sister used to caring for her younger sister. “You’ll make a great mamm someday,” Sarah told her, moving the bowl of hot runner beans closer to her own plate. No sense risking a nasty burn from a child’s eager hand.
“Do you think my daed will be proud of me?” Beatrice looked excited, her smile hopeful.
Sarah pulled the girl close and patted her back. “I’m sure he’ll notice all your special touches.”
“My mamm said... I’m sorry. My grossmammi said I was to forget my mamm, but it’s hard not to remember.”
Sarah’s face flushed hot. How dare someone tell this young child to forget her mamm? Had her own mother missed her when she’d left the Amish community for the Englisch? She had no recollection of how her mamm looked. No pictures graced the mantel in her father’s house. Plain people didn’t allow pictures of their loved ones, and she had only childhood memories to rely on, which often failed her. If she brought up the subject of her mother to her father, there always had been a price to pay, so she’d stopped asking questions a long time ago.
“I believe remembering your mother will bring joy to your life. You hang on to your memories, little one.”
A fat tear forced its way from the corner of Beatrice’s eye. “Sometimes I can’t remember what her voice sounds like. Does that mean I don’t love her anymore?”
Sarah lifted the child into her arms and hugged her, rocking her like a baby. “Nee, Beatrice. Our human minds forget easily, but there will be times when you’ll hear someone speak and you’ll remember the sound of her voice and you’ll rejoice in that memory.”
Beatrice squeezed Sarah’s neck. “I like you, Sarah. You help me remember to smile.”
Sarah felt a grin playing on her own lips. Beatrice and Mercy had the same effect on her. They reminded her there was more to life than grief. She would always be grateful for her chance meeting with them, and Mose.
* * *
Bathed in the golden glow of the extra candle Beatrice had insisted on lighting before their supper meal, Mose noticed how different Sarah looked. Her hair had been neat and tidy under her stiff kapp earlier that morning, but now she looked mussed and fragile, as if her hair pins would fail her at any moment. He didn’t have to ask if the kinder had been a challenge. She wasn’t used to them around the house. He read the difficulty of her day in her pale face, too, and in the way she had avoided him the rest of the afternoon.
As if feeling his eyes on her, Sarah glanced up, a forkful of runner beans halfway to her mouth. Her smile was warm, but reserved. He needed to get her alone, tell her how much he appreciated her dealing with his daughters. He knew they were hard work. She deserved his gratitude. He’d worked hard on the barn teardown, endured the sun, but knew she’d worked harder.
“Beatrice tells me she had a lovely day.” He smiled at his daughter’s empty plate. It had been months since she’d eaten properly, and watching Beatrice gobble down her meal encouraged his heart.
Sarah and Beatrice exchanged a smile as if they had a secret all their own. “We spent the afternoon in the garden and drank lemonade with chunks of ice,” Sarah said. “I learned a great deal about Mercy from your helpful daughter. She knows when her baby sister is hungry and just how to place a cloth on her bottom so it doesn’t fall off. She’s a wealth of information, and I needed her help.” Sarah patted Beatrice’s hand.
The child smiled up at her. “I ate everything on my plate. Is there ice cream for dessert?”
Mose found himself smiling like a young fool. Seeing his daughters back to normal seemed a miracle.
Adolph banged his fork down and dusted food crumbs from his beard. “There will be no ice cream in this house tonight. Kinder should be seen but not heard at the table. There’ll be no reward for noise.” He glared at Sarah, as if she’d done something terrible by drawing the child out of her shell.
“My kinder are encouraged to speak, Adolph. Beatrice has always been very vocal, and I believe feeling safe to speak with one’s own parent an asset, not a detriment. I’m sure we can find another place to stay if their noise bothers you.”
“There is no need for you to leave. I’m sure I can tolerate Beatrice’s chatter for a few more days.” Adolph frowned Sarah’s way, his true feelings shown.
Mose fought back anger. He wondered what it must have been like to grow up with this tyrannical father lording over her.
As if to avoid the drama unfolding, Sarah pushed back in her chair and began to gather dishes.
“The meal was wunderbaar. You’re an amazing cook,” Mose said.
Sarah nodded her thanks, her eyes downcast, her hands busy with plates and glasses.
Beatrice grabbed her father’s hand and pulled. “Let’s go into the garden. I want to find the kitten.” She jumped up and down with excitement.
Adolph scowled at the child.
Mose scooped Mercy from her pallet of toys and left the room in silence, Beatrice skipping behind. Seconds later, the back door banged behind them.
Mose heard Adolph roar. “You see what you did? Can I never trust you to do anything right?” Adolph walked out of the kitchen, leaving Sarah alone with her own thoughts.
* * *
Moments later the sound of splashing water and laughter announced a water fight had broken out in the backyard. Sarah longed to join in on the fun, but instead went for a stack of bath towels and placed three on the stool next to the back door and a thick one on the floor. Mose would need them when their play finished.
She peeked out the window, amazed to see Mose Fischer soaked from head to toe, his blond hair plastered to his skull like a pale helmet. Beatrice had him pinned to the ground. Water from the old hose sprayed his face. She’d had no intention of watching their play but was glad she had. Mose’s patience with his daughter impressed her. Even young Mercy lay against her father’s legs as if to hold him down so Beatrice could have her fun with him.
Their natural joy brought Joseph to mind. He’d been playful and full of jokes at times. It had taken her a while to get used to his ways when they’d first married, and she’d known he’d found her lacking. She’d soon grown used to his spirit and had found herself waiting with anticipation for him to come in from the fields. She missed the joy they’d shared. A tear caught her unaware. She brushed the dampness away and sat in her favorite rocker. Minutes passed. She listened to the kinder’s laughter and then Mose’s firm voice reminding them it was time for bed.
The quilt she was stitching was forgotten as soon as the back door flew open and three wet bodies rushed in. She laughed aloud as she watched Mose try to keep a hand on Beatrice while toweling Mercy dry.
“Would you like some help?”
“I think Mercy is more seal than child.” He fought to hold on to her slippery body. Mercy was all smiles, her water-soaked diaper dripping on the kitchen floor.
Sarah rushed over and took the baby. The child trembled with cold and was quickly engulfed in a warm, fluffy towel. Sarah led the way to the indoor bathroom, baby in arms. Mose filled the tub with water already heated on the wood stove. Sarah added cold water, checked the temperature of the water, found it safe and sat Mercy down with a splash. Mercy gurgled in happiness as Sarah poured water over her shoulders and back.
“You’re a natural at this.” Mose spoke behind her.
Sarah reached around for Beatrice’s hand and the child jumped into the water with all the gusto of a happy fish. Water splashed and Sarah’s frock became wet from neck to hem. She found herself laughing with the kinder. Her murmurs of joy sounded foreign to her own ears.