Her Secret Amish Child. Cheryl Williford
Читать онлайн книгу.
new wife, Ulla, must have been taking fine care of him.
John smiled his grandson’s way. “So this is Benuel. How are you, soh?”
Benuel frowned and then looked away, all the while tapping his fingers on the table. “I’m not allowed to speak to strangers,” he muttered.
Lizbeth patted her daed’s hand. “He’ll warm up. It’ll just take him a while.”
“Ya, sure. I understand. You were always a bit standoffish with strangers at his age. We’ll get to know each other at the chicken farm, won’t we, Benuel?”
Benuel ducked his head, his ginger-colored hair falling in his eyes as he nodded slightly.
Fredrik spoke up, ending the awkward moment. “You going to work at the church tomorrow, John?”
“Certain-sure, I am. That roof’s leaking like a sieve when it rains.”
Lizbeth took the glass of water handed to her by the waitress, slid Benuel’s water to him and watched her father’s face light up as he talked about future church repairs with Fredrik.
It was so good to be back home. Her daed had changed very little. Oh, he’d gotten some grayer, a bit more round at the middle, but he looked happy.
Benuel kicked her leg under the table. She flinched. “Drink your water, and keep your legs under you,” she instructed, warning him with her eyes.
“He’s as fidgety as those new roosters I bought.” John laughed.
Lizbeth tried to act normal. Her father didn’t understand, didn’t know about Benuel’s medical issues yet. She realized she’d have to tell him about the boy’s ADHD issues, but now wasn’t the time, not with Fredrik Lapp sitting there, listening to every word said. “He’s a hyper young man, that’s for sure,” she said and pushed Benuel’s water closer to him. She hoped she’d never have to tell her daed about the things she and the boy had seen and been through while in Ohio.
Benuel swished his hand across the table, knocking over the water glass. He smirked Lizbeth’s way, rebellion written across his young face. “I’m sorry,” he said, righting the glass as cold water and chips of ice streamed into her lap.
* * *
Fredrik watched Lizbeth’s face redden, saw the way her hands shook as she grabbed napkins to sop up the spill. He still couldn’t believe this woman was the Little Lizzy he’d grown up with. She’d changed. And here she was, back in town, with a rowdy little boy. Her son had knocked over the glass on purpose. Fredrik was sure of it, and he could tell John knew it, too. The older man’s forehead was creased into an irritated scowl. Turning his head, he looked at the kinner closely. Benuel’s expression had become calm again, almost serene. As if nothing had happened.
That boy needed a talking-to, but Fredrik could tell by the look on Lizbeth’s face that she wasn’t going to discipline him in front of his grandfather the first time they met. She’d leave it for another time. Poor woman looked exhausted and frazzled from her long trip home.
Fredrik grabbed the napkin under his water and helped Lizbeth clean up the mess. “Kids always seem to manage to spill their water,” he reassured her with a smile.
“Ya,” she muttered, picking up the last of the ice cubes scattered across the table. Her face still flushed with embarrassment. “Danki, Fredrik.”
She looked at her father, her fingers twisting the wet napkin in her hand.
Fredrik watched the tiny blue vein in her neck pulse with tension.
“Benuel is often overactive, Daed,” she said, glancing at Benuel squirming in his seat. “But he’s a gut boy.”
“Ya, I know he is,” John said, nodding. His smile was that of a patient grandfather who understood the ways of rambunctious boys.
Lizbeth visibly relaxed, her lips turning up at the ends. “I’m so glad to be home. Benuel needs a strong man like you in his life.”
“Ya, well. You’ve got the whole town of Pinecraft at your disposal, dochder. We’ll all pitch in. You’re not alone.”
Tears glistened in her eyes as she put her arm around her son and pulled him close. “I’m so glad, Daed. Change can be hard for Benuel. All he’s ever known is the farm. Life’s been difficult for him.”
John smiled gently. His big calloused hand patted hers. “I’ll go and grab your bag from the church. You can wait here until I get back.” She handed a ticket to John and he nodded at Fredrik. “Don’t be too late to work,” he said with a smile.
Fredrik shook John’s hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the church. Make sure you wear your loose pants. The ladies are cooking for us.”
John nodded. “I’ll be there.” And he walked to the door.
Fredrik turned back to Lizbeth and saw a slight smile on her face. “It’s been years, and I know I’ve changed,” she said, “but I’m assuming you’ve remembered me by now, Fredrik. I’m Little Lizzy, Saul’s schweschder.”
Fredrik leaned toward her with a grin. “Of course I know who you are. I realized it as soon as you greeted your daed. Little Lizzy. I can’t believe it. I’d heard you had married and had moved away while I was in Lancaster. Why didn’t you tell me who you were as soon as we met?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “It didn’t seem important. And I wanted to see how long it would take for you to remember. I knew it was you the minute I saw that ginger hair of yours and your broken nose.”
He trailed his finger down the bridge, to the almost invisible bump, thinking of that day so many years ago. “Ya, and I remember who broke that nose. You had a mean pitching arm back then.”
“I still do.”
Fredrik glanced up and saw one of Sarasota’s finest walk through the café door, the gun on his hip standing out in the crowd of Plain people and tourists. “The police officer is here. I’ve got to go. It was good to see you again, Lizbeth.” He stood and pulled her to his side in a hug, his arm sliding around her slim waist.
Then he let her go and walked off, peeking over his shoulder at her one last time. She’d been the picture of calm since her father arrived. Her daed was what she needed. A strong man to lean on.
He walked toward the police officer, his heartbeat kicking up. He’d leave Lizbeth and the boy out of this situation. She had enough on her plate. Going by the shake of her head earlier, she wouldn’t want to talk to the police right now anyway, not when her father could return at any moment. Could she have thought Benuel was at fault for the accident? If she did, she was mistaken. He knew he was to blame and would make sure the police knew it, too.
The next morning, Ulla Schwarts glanced at the quilt top Lizbeth had been working on since sunrise, and smiled. “You’ve only been home a day and that top is almost finished.” Bent at the waist, she swished a sudsy dishcloth across the big wooden farm table, reaching for and finding a spot of dried plum jelly that needed scrubbing. “You sew pretty fast.”
“Ya, it came together quickly,” Lizbeth agreed, looking up from her breakfast, over to her father and then his wife of one month. She smiled as the gray-haired woman wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, and then went back to cleaning the big wooden table positioned in the middle of her mamm’s well-loved kitchen.
Lizbeth already liked the spirited older Amish woman and found merit in her humor and work ethic. It would take some time to adjust to seeing another woman in her mother’s haus, caring for her daed, even though years had passed since her mamm’s sudden passing.
“It’s time I go check on the chickens,” her father stated, then wiped egg off his mouth. His chair scraped the