Her Secret Amish Child. Cheryl Williford
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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 floor as he rose. He lightly kissed Lizbeth on the forehead. “I’m so glad you’re back,” he said for the hundredth time that morning.
Lizbeth smiled, joy warming her heart. “Me, too, Daed.”
“You have any plans for today?” he asked.
“Nothing important,” Lizbeth muttered, and grinned. She’d had a hard morning with Benuel and didn’t have much energy left in her.
“I’m off then.” John kissed his wife’s cheek and whispered something in her ear that had her giggling as she swatted him out the back door with her dishcloth.
Still smiling, Ulla commented to Lizbeth, “There’s a sewing circle that meets at the civic hall on Tuesday mornings if you have a mind to go.” Ulla shoved a stubby water glass into the sea of dishwater and swished a cloth around in it.
Lizbeth gathered up her plate, coffee cup and the remains of her half-eaten bacon and eggs destined for the chickens’ scrap bowl. “Does Berta King still go?”
Ulla shook her head and moved to clean the stove. “Not since the cancer took hold.”
Lizbeth paused, her hand going to her heart. “I didn’t know.” The spry little woman had taught her to quilt and had been her mother’s best friend and confidante for more years than she could remember. Berta had been there to wave her off when she’d quickly married and left Pinecraft five years before.
“Nee, you wouldn’t, would you? Living so far away. I only see her when I take meals over on Tuesday and Friday nights. She looks bad. So thin and frail. Abram’s not looking so good himself, poor man. Someone told me their daughter from Ohio is coming on the bus. She’ll help out until her mamm passes, and then take her daed home with her.”
“It’s never gut to be alone.” Lizbeth adjusted the work scarf on her head and then plunged her hands into the sink of hot soapy water. The water burned a small scrape caused by her fall in the street the day before.
She began scrubbing dried egg yolk off her plate. She had to find a way to make Benuel understand that roads were dangerous. Living in a busy tourist town held hazards he didn’t understand at such a young age. It would take time and patience to guide him.
Perhaps she clung to him too tightly now that she had him all to herself. Benuel had always been easily distracted, but he had grown more willful of late, even cruel at times. She remembered the kick he’d given her under the booth the day before and sighed deeply. He needed a man’s firm hand, but the thought of marrying again sent her pulse racing wild with fear. Not that any man in his right mind would want her as his fraa once he found out she was emotionally damaged.
And the last time she had married for her child’s sake hadn’t gone so well. What would she do if anyone discovered the truth about Benuel? It would ruin both of them.
There had to be another way to help him grow into a strong man without a father in his life. Perhaps settling down near her daed and the kind people of Pinecraft would bring about the stability he needed, as her father had suggested. At least she prayed that it would.
Ulla plugged in a portable electric fan and positioned it on the long wooden counter nearest her. “You’ll need this if you’re going to wash those breakfast dishes. The humidity is high. We must be expecting a storm.”
“Danki,” Lizbeth muttered and plunged in another yolk-covered plate.
Ulla hummed as she shuffled across the room, a stack of folded towels in her arms.
A glance out the kitchen window revealed threatening gray clouds. A gust of wind twisted two small palm trees to the ground.
The old German clock in the living room ticked away the remaining minutes of the morning. She rinsed her hands and rehung the dish towel on its wooden peg next to the window and then pressed her hands into the small of her back. A long, busy day stretched out in front of her and she had no energy left.
She had to talk to Benuel about his behavior at the breakfast table, and was dreading it. He’d poured milk on Ulla’s clean tablecloth. He’d done it on purpose, even though her father claimed it had been an accident. All she seemed to do was scold the child, when all she wanted was to pull him onto her lap and hold him until his anger went away.
“So, you have nothing planned for your day?” Ulla came back into the room with a load of sheets ready to be washed. Her tone and smile were friendly and inviting, unlike the daily dramatic scenes that played out back in Ohio with her mother-in-law. She could never please the woman, no matter how hard she tried. And she had tried.
Lizbeth took in a deep, cleansing breath, her memories of Ohio pushed to the darkest recesses of her mind once more. She smiled. “I’ve got the usual. Keeping Benuel entertained and getting that quilt top finished after I make our beds.”
Ulla paused under the kitchen’s arched door. She braced a wicker basket, fluffy with unfolded sheets, against her stomach. “We have church service tomorrow. I make it a practice to help with the cooking of the communal meal. You can join me if you like. It would give you a chance to get reacquainted with some of the ladies of the community.”
Preparing the communal meal had been one of Lizbeth’s mother’s favorite chores. Being one of the volunteer church cooks was something Lizbeth could embrace now that she was back, not that she was a very good cook. Going along with Ulla would give Benuel a chance to play with children his own age. But doubt stalled her. “I don’t know. He’s such a handful today.”
“Ach, don’t let his acting up stop you from doing a good deed. You haven’t met Beatrice, my oldest kinskind yet.” Ulla laughed, her smile animating her wrinkled face with a glow. “Now that child is a certain-sure handful. She and her sister Mercy will be there.” The woman’s tone became serious. “Benuel needs the company of other kinner, Lizbeth.”
Lizbeth’s face flushed. He needed so much more than she seemed able to give him, but she would learn. “Ya, maybe I will come after all.”
“Gut. I’ll get this load of sheets folded and then we’ll make a list for our trip to the store. I thought I’d make chicken and dumplings and a peanut butter shoofly pie. Is there anything special you’d like to make?”
Benuel had smashed his fist into the center of the last cake she’d baked, sending chunks of chocolate cake all over her mother-in-law’s kitchen floor. “Maybe I’ll make chocolate cupcakes for the kinner. Chocolate is Benuel’s favorite.”
Ulla laughed. “Beatrice and I have an understanding when it comes to cupcakes of any flavor. She behaves and does what I tell her, or I get to eat hers. You might try that on Benuel. Missing a few cupcakes might bring about a bit of good behavior from the boy.”
Lizbeth found herself smiling. “Ya, I might try that. Danki.” Her smile grew. “You’ve been so kind to us since we arrived, Ulla. I want to thank you for opening your home, taking us in.”
“Nonsense. This is your home, too. John and I are happy you moved