Her Secret Amish Child. Cheryl Williford
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you’re finally ready to marry,” Mose said, stopping to sit at an old picnic table close to the river.
Fredrik followed his lead and sat. “Ya.” He’d never experienced being tongue-tied in his life, but it seemed he couldn’t get his words to untangle on his tongue to form a complete sentence. “I...” he said and hiccupped from a nervous stomach. He groaned silently and then plunged on, forcing the words out. “Before we talk about the loan, I need to tell you I had an accident on the scooter the first day it was mine.” There! The words were out.
“My daed used to talk to me about his bruder, Thomas. Seems all his life my onkel liked all things fast. The Englisch ways appealed to him more than Gott and the church.” Mose waved at his small blond son running past on short, dimpled knees.
Fredrik watched clusters of Amish and Mennonite people eating their meal. A cooling breeze blew across the park. Tablecloth edges flapped in the breeze like white sails at sea. A gull’s sharp cry rang out overhead, perhaps predicting doom and gloom for Fredrik’s project.
He got a quick glimpse of Lizbeth Mullet and Benuel sitting with a crowd of women one table over. Today she was smiling and talking to her son in an animated way, the wind blowing lengths of her fine blond hair around the simple neckline of her yellow dress. Regret tightened his stomach once again.
“Church and Gott mean a lot to me. More than that scooter,” Fredrik said, and swallowed hard. “I’ll be thirty soon. It’s time I settle down and get married.”
“Have you found anyone suitable?”
“I’ve made a list of available women in the area.” He laughed and glanced back at Lizbeth, wishing she was someone he could mention as a prospective fraa. “Ulla’s sister is a matchmaker, and coming for a visit soon. If I can’t decide on someone, I hope she’ll help me find a woman from the surrounding communities while she’s here.”
“Have you considered Lizbeth Mullet? She’s widowed now and could use a husband to help raise her soh.”
Fredrik wanted to admit he was considering her, but he had a feeling she’d never agree to stepping out with him. She just thought of him as her big brother’s annoying friend. “Not really, but I will add her name to my list. Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” he said with a smile. “Who knows? Gott might speak to her about me.” A home and wife was what he needed, but could he find the right bride without allowing his heart to be broken again? He hoped so.
Later that afternoon, Lizbeth hoisted the heavy green garbage bag out of the industrial-size plastic container and hastily placed it on the church’s tiled kitchen floor. It was heavier than she’d anticipated, and made bulky by several plastic milk jugs she’d added to the jumble after making chocolate pudding. She tied the bag off, and with a grunt of determination, gathered her strength, lifted the burden and wrestled it to the back door.
Twisting, she turned the knob and hip bumped the sticking door open. Sunlight and a cool breeze poured into the sweltering kitchen.
Five narrow steps and a four-foot drop greeted her. Great! Just what I need. More obstacles in my path.
She glanced around and found a row of enormous black trash cans lined along the church. They were at least six feet away.
Six feet or six inches, she was going to get the trash into one of those cans if it took her the rest of the afternoon. Stubbornness fed her resolve. I can do this.
Positioned on the second step, her back to the yard, she heaved the plastic bag up and then dropped it on the top stair.
“You need help with that?” a masculine voice asked from somewhere behind her. She recognized it was Fredrik.
“Nee, but danki.” She shot a glance over her shoulder. Fredrik was bareheaded and wiping sweat from his brow with a colorful bandana.
“You sure?”
Doubt rang in his words and spurred her on. As a girl she’d had no defenses against his teasing, but infatuation didn’t rob her of her voice now. “Ya, I’m sure. Go about your business, Fredrik. I can manage.” Somewhere in her mind she knew she probably should accept the man’s offer of help, but she shut out the voice of reason. She’d been controlled too many years, her choices taken away from her. This was her project. She had something to prove to herself. She’d get the bag of trash into one of the cans if it was the last thing she did.
With another grunt, she stepped down, lifted the oversize green bag and repositioned it on the second step. She heard Fredrik’s muffled snicker and tensed. Her shoulders came back and her backbone went rigid. With trembling fingers, she straightened her work scarf, took a deep breath and prepared for the next step. She might not be as strong as the muscular man standing behind her, but she had determination that would carry her through to the end.
She grabbed hold of the bag, stepped down, her foot finding the edge of the narrow step.
Her stomach tightened into a knot as she swayed, fought to regain her balance and repositioned her foot. With another grunt, she jerked the bag up. It caught on the edge of the step and puckered. She tugged carefully. The slit formed and then grew. The bottom of the bag gave way with a rush.
There was no time to jerk her feet away. Trash covered her legs and the toes of her black shoes with a goopy mixture of tomato sauce and coffee grinds. Potato peels and an assortment of empty plastic containers fell through the stairs onto the dirt.
Lizbeth glared down between the stair’s wooden slats to the growing heap of trash. Her mamm’s gentle words of reprimand echoed through her mind. Pride is a sin, child. It will only bring you misery.
“Here, let me help you with that.” Fredrik came into view.
She noticed the ends of his ginger hair curled attractively around his light blue shirt collar. He was covered in sawdust and small wood chips. A smudge of roof tar told her he’d been working with the roofing crew she and the other ladies cooked for.
He reached for the bag, his hand covering the gash at the bottom as he eased it away from her.
She released her hold, not wanting his touch, and watched the muscles in his forearm bulge as he raised her burden as if it were weightless. She slipped him the fresh bag she had tucked in her apron pocket and watched as he lifted the trash can lid and chucked the bag in, wiping his hands down the front legs of his pants as he gave her a satisfied grin.
She stamped her feet against the wooden step, dislodging most of the coffee grounds from her shoe, but red sauce splotched her legs.
Heat suffused her face as she looked up and noticed the last of the kitchen staff standing in the open doorway, all smiles and giggles, watching her exchange with Fredrik with great interest.
Lizbeth cringed. Every time she turned around she was causing herself some kind of embarrassment, and somehow Fredrik always managed to be involved. “Danki. I appreciate your help, but I can clean the rest myself,” she assured him.
One of the ladies tossed him a new trash bag. He squatted and began to work on the pile of trash under the steps. “This is my fault,” he said, glancing up and grinning at her in the goofy way he had when he was a boy. The memory made her heart skip a beat.
“But I made the mess.” She picked up a half-eaten apple off the step and tossed it into the bag.
Fredrik’s grin spread into a full-blown smile. “Ya, but I was supposed to fix that raised nail this morning before it could cause someone trouble.”
The past fell away and she was a girl of seventeen again, looking into the sparkling blue eyes of the young Fredrik Lapp. He continued to hold her gaze. She pulled her eyes away. The man was having too much fun at her expense. She didn’t have a clue what to do about it or the ripple of emotions churning in her stomach. But she knew she couldn’t let herself grow too close