The Amish Midwife's Courtship. Cheryl Williford
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Molly Ziegler gave the dust mop one last shove under the bed and hit a mahogany leg. Unexpected movement under the bed’s mound of sheets and wedding-ring quilt caught her unaware.
She froze.
Something swung toward her head. Instinctively she launched the mop high into the air, warding off the coming blow.
The mop’s handle connected with something solid.
A satisfying clunk rang out in her mamm’s tiny rental room. Her heart thumped in her chest as she stepped back from the bed, lost her balance and hit the floor. Her feet tangled in the folds of her skirt as she pushed away.
His dark brown hair wild from sleep, a gaunt-faced, broad-shouldered man gazed down at her, his dark green eyes wide with surprise. He dropped the wooden crutch he’d been holding. “Who are you?” His hand gingerly touched the bump on his forehead. His eyes narrowed in a wince.
The bump on his forehead grew and began to ooze blood.
He wasn’t supposed to be in the bedroom at this time of the day. The door hadn’t been locked.
In a stupor of surprise, she blinked. She had no brothers, and with the exception of her father who had passed away in his sleep five years earlier, she’d never seen a man in his nightclothes. There were dark shadows under his eyes. Thick stubble on his chin and upper lip told her she was dealing with an unmarried man.
Annoyed by his words, she scowled. “I was about to ask you the same thing. Cover yourself. There’s a woman in your midst. You might be visiting Pinecraft, where rules are often bent and broken, but my mamm’s dress code is very strict and must be followed by all renters.”
“It wonders me why you’re showing off those lovely stockings to a man if your mamm’s dress code is so strict.”
Molly’s face burned as she swiftly straightened her skirt. She clambered to her feet, an already sour mood making her wish she stood taller than five foot nothing in her stocking feet.
She controlled the urge to stomp as she stepped away from the bed with all the dignity she could muster. Her hands brushed down the skirt of her plain Amish dress and cleaning apron. With eyes narrowed, she sliced the man with an icy glare. “My mamm and I run a decent boarding haus. Our ways are Plain, but we keep high standards.”
“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a bit grumpy in the morning?”
Molly tried to ignore the man’s uncalled-for comment and smirk, even though she knew he was right. She had woken up grumpy, her sleep cut short by Frieda Lapp’s early-morning call and delivery of a beautiful baby girl, who they planned to call Rachel after John’s recently departed mother.
She inched toward the closed bedroom door. Her mamm’s rule was firm and told to every renter who stayed in their boardinghouse. “This room was to be vacated by noon. It’s now past one. Didn’t you see the sign when you paid your deposit?”
“I saw the sign, but I made other arrangements with Mrs. Ziegler late last night. I’ll be staying for several days, perhaps a month until I can find a permanent place, now that I’ve bought the bike shop. Didn’t she tell you?”
A thick line of blood trickled down the man’s forehead, threatening to drip on the bed linens.
He must be Isaac Graber, the stay-over Mamm mentioned this morning, and now I’ve struck him.
She turned on her heel and shoved back the plain white curtains blowing at the window. A crutch lay by her foot. She found an identical crutch leaning against the bedpost.
Molly dug into her apron pocket and pulled out a clean tissue and thrust it into his hand. “Here. You need this. Mamm won’t want blood on the sheets.”
He pressed the tissue against the bump, then gazed down at the blot of scarlet blood. “You cut my head!” His coloring turned from primrose to a sickly mossy green.
“I wouldn’t have hit you if you hadn’t taken that swing at me with the crutch.” She leaned in to hand him a wastebasket and then stepped back fast, inching her way toward the closed bedroom door. The man behaved like a brute, but she had to admit he was an attractive one. She’d never seen eyes so green and sparkling.
And such thick, glossy nut-brown hair. Dark strands jutted at every angle in the most unusual way.
Molly realized he was talking, and she tried to drag her attention away from his face and back to his words.
“I was asleep and you startled me awake. You could have been a thief, for all I knew.”
“A thief!” She sucked in her breath and then chuckled. “That’s rich. I was doing my job and you attacked me.”
He kept talking as if she hadn’t spoken. “I grabbed the closest thing I had to defend myself.” He looked at the plastic trash can she’d placed on the edge of the mattress and gazed at her, befuddled, his forehead creasing. “What’s this for?” he asked, swallowing hard.
“In case you vomit. Some people do when they see blood and turn that particular shade of green.”
“Green? I’m not green. It’s more likely I’m red from all the blood.” He offered her the can, leaving his bloody fingerprints on the rim. “Take this thing away. I don’t need it.”
If Mamm hears about all this, she’ll rant for hours. Her eyes glanced at the small alarm clock on the bedside table and was shocked to see that time had gotten away from her. It was almost two. I’ll be late for singing rehearsal if I don’t hurry.
She snatched the can, her gaze on the impressive bump growing on the man’s forehead. The cut was at least a half-inch long, blue as the sky and still dripping blood. “Does it hurt?” Her anger cooled and she began to feel contrite. “Maybe you could use some ice...a cloth?” She spoke softer “Maybe a doctor?”
He looked heavenward, rolling his eyes like a petulant teenager. “Oh, now the woman shows concern, and here I am thinking her a heartless thief.” He pulled the sheet up and covered his thin sleeping shirt in mock alarm.
“Think what you will. Men usually do. Now, do you want a damp cloth or not, because I’m busy and don’t have time for this foolishness.”
“A cloth would be good if you’re not too busy.”
His sarcasm didn’t go unnoticed. Her bad mood darkened. She grumbled to herself as she went into the old-fashioned, minuscule bathroom just off the bedroom. She didn’t resent being told to clean the sparsely furnished back bedrooms when their last two renters left, but she’d already had her day planned.
She was used to hard work during their peak winter season, but holding down a job at the local café as a waitress and birthing babies as the local midwife kept her busy. Sometimes too busy. She liked the whirl of her demanding life, but she did resent her mamm’s attitude. Just because she was still single didn’t mean she didn’t have anything better to do on her day off than mop floors and strip down beds. She’d miss singing practice again this afternoon thanks to her mamm’s unreasonable demands on her time.
Her lip curled in an angry snarl as she pushed back a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, then ran a clean washcloth under cold running water.
Lifting her head, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and scowled. Dishwater blonde hair that had been neatly pulled back in a tight bun now ran riot around her head. Remembering the renter’s good looks, her cheeks flushed pink. What must he think of her appearance?
Her brown eyes flashing with frustration, she looked away, reprimanding herself for behaving like the frustrated twenty-year-old spinster she was.
With a jerk, she tugged her prayer kapp back into place and then squeezed the water out of the cloth. She was in enough trouble for hitting the man. Now wasn’t the time to start ogling the guests and worrying about how she looked. The sin of vanity brought only strife into the life of a Plain person. She had to pull herself together.