A Ready-Made Amish Family. Jo Ann Brown
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she settled Ammon’s left cheek over her heart. She spoke to him, but when her words seemed to offer him no comfort, she began humming the song she’d sung with the kinder in the buggy. She meant it as a prayer, wanting Jesus to fill Ammon’s heart with His love and reassurance. Slowly the little boy’s body relaxed, molding to her. She kept rocking as he closed his eyes, a longer time coming between each sob.
Hearing a soft click from the kitchen, Clara looked over her shoulder. Isaiah walked toward her, his face lengthening when he saw the kind in her arms.
“I saw the light,” he whispered. “Is everything all right?”
“It will be.” She glanced at the kind cuddling close to her. Ammon had fallen asleep. “I thought he’d had a bad dream. I heard him crying and went to check. He wasn’t asleep. I think he’s missing....” As she had before, she chose her words with care, knowing if she said “mamm” and “daed,” she might rouse the little boy. “He wants those who aren’t here.”
“What about the others?”
“Asleep when we came down.”
“That’s a blessing.” He turned a chair around and sat, facing her. “They went to bed tonight for you better than they have for me.”
“They’re exhausted.” She didn’t pause as she added, “You are, too. You should get some sleep while you can.”
“A few more minutes won’t matter, and that guy is pretty heavy for you to tote upstairs. I don’t want you stumbling and getting hurt.”
“I appreciate that.”
Standing, he held out his arms. “Let me take him.”
As Isaiah leaned toward her, Clara realized her mistake. When he lifted Ammon out of her arms, Isaiah’s face was a finger’s breadth from hers. She held her breath and kept her eyes lowered while they made the transfer. Isaiah’s work-roughened fingers brushed against her skin, sending heat along it.
As soon as he took Ammon upstairs, she pushed out of the rocker. She gripped the top of it, her knuckles turning white, as she fought for equilibrium. She couldn’t react like this every time a casual touch brought her into contact with Isaiah. She gripped the chair and was trying to slow her heart’s frenzied rhythm when he came back down the stairs.
Her hope that Isaiah wouldn’t notice her bleached fingers was dashed when he said, “I’m sorry, Clara, for Marlin asking you if you’re walking out with someone. He can’t seem to help himself sticking his nose into matters he believes are his responsibility.”
“That’s a deacon’s job,” she said, not wanting to speak of how she scurried away like a frightened rabbit in a hedgerow.
“This deacon’s job seems to be focused on finding me another wife.” With the cockeyed grin Isaiah seemed to wear whenever he was trying to be self-deprecating, he sighed. “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t figure on being the subject of matchmaking when you took this job.”
“I don’t like matchmaking.”
“I agree. One hundred percent.”
She appreciated his blunt answer and that he hadn’t asked her to explain her comment. She didn’t want to tell him that she was too well acquainted with matchmaking and the heartbreak it could cause.
“Clara, don’t worry. We’ll ignore everyone’s matchmaking.” He walked toward the door to the dawdi haus before facing her again. “In a way, we should be grateful to Marlin for bringing the subject out in the open, so neither of us has to act like we need to hide something.”
“Ja,” she said, as he urged her to try to have a gut night’s sleep.
He closed the door, and she heard the lock slide into place. She reached for her flashlight. Her fingers trembled as she picked it up and turned off the lamp. She hadn’t been honest with Isaiah. She already was hiding something from him. The way her heart took a lilting leap whenever he touched her.
“You can jump about all you want,” she whispered to her traitorous heart while she climbed the stairs. “There’s nothing you or anyone else can do to change my mind. I won’t be made a fool of by another man. Not ever again.”
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