The Amish Mother. Rebecca Kertz
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Abraham, only younger and more handsome.
“You’re Zachariah,” she said breathlessly. Her heart picked up its beat as she watched him frown. “I’m Lizzie Fisher.”
* * *
Zachariah stared at the woman before him in stunned silence. She was his late brother’s widow? He’d been shocked to receive news of Abraham’s death, even more startled to learn the news from Elizabeth Fisher, who had identified herself in her letter as his late brother’s wife.
It had been years since he’d last visited Honeysuckle. He hadn’t known that Ruth had passed or that Abe had remarried. Why didn’t Abraham write and let us know?
“What happened to Ruth?” he demanded.
The woman’s lovely bright green eyes widened. “Your brooder didn’t write and tell you?” she said quietly. “Ruth passed away—over two years ago. A year after Ezekiel was born, she came down with the flu and...” She blinked. “She didn’t make it. Your brooder asked me to marry him shortly afterward.”
Zack narrowed his gaze as he examined her carefully. Dark auburn hair in slight disarray under her white head covering...eyes the color of the lawn after a summer rainstorm...pink lips that trembled as she gazed up at him. “You can’t be more than seventeen,” he accused.
The young woman lifted her chin. “Nineteen,” she stated stiffly. “I’ve been married to your brooder for two years.” She paused, looked away as if to hide tears. “It would have been two years tomorrow had he lived.”
Two years! Zack thought. The last time he’d received a letter from Abraham was when Abe had written the news of Ezekiel’s birth. His brother had never written again.
The contents of Lizzie’s letter when it had finally caught up to the family had shocked and upset them. Zack had made the immediate decision to come home to Honeysuckle to gauge the situation with the children and the property—and this new wife the family knew nothing about. His mother and sisters had agreed that he should go. With both Ruth and Abraham deceased, Zack thought that the time had come to reclaim what was rightfully his—the family farm.
He stood silently, watching as she pulled a garment from the wicker basket at her feet and tossed it over the line. He had trouble picturing Abraham married to this girl, although he could see why Abraham might have been attracted to her. But why would Lizzie choose to marry Abraham? He saw the difficulty her trembling fingers had securing the garment onto the clothesline properly. He fought back unwanted sympathy for her and won.
“You’re living here with the children,” he said. “Alone?”
“This is our home.” Lizzie faced him, a petite girl whose auburn hair suddenly appeared as if streaked with various shades of reds under the autumn sun. Her vivid green eyes and young innocent face made her seem vulnerable, but she must be a strong woman if she could manage all seven of his nieces and nephews—and stand defiantly before him as she was now without backing down. He felt a glimmer of admiration for her that quickly vanished with his next thought.
This woman and his brother were married almost two years. Did Lizzie and Abraham have a child together? He scowled as he glanced about the yard, then toward the house. He didn’t see or hear a baby, but then, the child could be napping inside. How did one ask a woman if she’d given birth without sounding offensive or rude? My brooder should have told me about her. Then I would know.
“I’m nearly done,” she said, averting her attention back to her laundry while he continued to watch her. She hung up the last item, a pillowcase. “Koom. We’re about to have our midday meal. Join us. You must have come a long way.” She bit her lip as she briefly met his gaze. “Where did you come from? I wasn’t sure where to send the letter. I didn’t know if you were still in Walnut Creek or Millersburg or if you’d moved again. I sent it to Millersburg because it was the last address I found among your brooder’s things.”
“We moved back to Walnut Creek two years ago—” He stopped. He wasn’t about to tell her about his mother’s illness or that he and his sister Esther had moved with Mam from Walnut Creek to Millersburg to be closer to the doctors treating their mother’s cancer. Mam was fine now, thank the Lord, and she would continue to do well as long as she took care of herself. Once his mother’s health had improved, they had picked up and moved back to Walnut Creek, where his two older sisters lived with their husbands and their families.
Zack had no idea how Lizzie’s letter had reached him. Their forwarding address had expired over a year ago, but someone who’d known them in Millersburg must have sent it on. He still couldn’t believe that Abraham was dead. His older brother had been only thirty-five years old. “What happened to my brooder?” She never mentioned in her letter how he’d died.
Lizzie went pale. “He fell,” she said in a choked voice, “from the barn loft.” He saw her hands clutch rhythmically at the hem of her apron. “He broke his neck and died instantly.”
Zack felt shaken by the mental image. He could see that she was sincerely distraught. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard.” He, too, felt the loss. It hurt to realize that he’d never see Abraham again. He thought of all the times when he was a child that he’d trailed after his older brother.
His death must have been quick and painless, he thought, trying to find some small measure of comfort. He studied the young woman who looked too young to be married or to raise Abe’s children.
“He was a goot man.” She didn’t look at him when she bent to pick up her basket then straightened. “Are you coming in?” she asked as she finally met his gaze.
He nodded and then followed her as she started toward the house. He was surprised to see her uneven gait as she walked ahead of him, as if she’d injured her leg and limped because of the pain. “Lizzie, are ya hurt?” he asked compassionately.
She halted, then faced him with her chin tilted high, her eyes less than warm. “I’m not hurt,” she said crisply. “I’m a cripple.” And with that, she turned away and continued toward the house, leaving him to follow her.
Zack studied her back with mixed feelings as he lagged behind. Concern. Worry. Uneasiness. He frowned as he watched her shift the laundry basket to one arm and struggle to open the door with the other. He stopped himself from helping, sensing that she wouldn’t be pleased. He frowned at her back. Could a crippled, young nineteen-year-old woman raise a passel of kinner alone?
* * *
Lizzie was aware of her husband’s brother behind her as she entered the house with the laundry basket. She flashed a glance toward the kitchen sink and was pleased to note that Mary Ruth had washed the dishes and left them to drain on a rack over a tea towel.
“Mary Ruth, would you set another plate?” she said. “We have a visitor.” She was relieved to note that her daughter had set a place for her.
Mary Ruth frowned but rose to obey. Lizzie stepped aside and the child caught sight of the man behind her. She paled as she stared at him, most probably noting the uncanny resemblance of Zachariah to her dead father.
“Dat?” she whispered. The girl shook her head, then drew a sharp breath. “Onkel Zachariah.”
Watching the exchange, Lizzie saw him smile. “Mary Ruth, you’ve grown over a foot since I last saw you,” he said.
Mary Ruth blinked back tears and looked as if she wanted to approach him but dared not. The Amish normally weren’t affectionate in public, but they were at home, and Lizzie knew that the child hadn’t seen her uncle in a long time.
To his credit, Zachariah extended his arms, and Mary Ruth ran into his embrace. Eyes closed, the man hugged his niece tightly, and Lizzie felt the emotion flowing from him in huge waves.
“Zachariah is your dat’s brother,” she explained to the younger children.
Chairs