Their Convenient Amish Marriage. Cheryl Williford
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Her diaper, sheet and blanket would need changing. She’d have to put a fresh diaper and gown on the kind before she could get the chill off a bottle of milk.
She worked fast, stripping off the Englischer onesie covered in tiny orange giraffes and pink rabbits. Amish children slept in nightgowns made of soft cotton, as was the custom. She’d made all her daughter’s gowns by hand and packed them up as Faith outgrew them. They’d been stored away for her next kind, but that boppli, a son she’d named Aaron, had lived but a few hours and then taken his last breath. Out of the dozens of gowns she’d sewed for him, he’d only worn one while alive. He’d been buried in a casket gown made by her hands, his little body swallowed up in the tiny garment painstakingly sewn while she’d cried a million tears in sorrow.
Aaron had never gazed into his mother’s eyes or fed at her breast. The loss of Mark had left her broken, but the loss of Aaron had left her inconsolable. Almost crazy with grief, she’d shaken her fist at God the day they laid Aaron in the ground. She still asked how her soh’s loss could have been Gott’s will. Nothing good ever came from his death.
A tap sounded at her closed bedroom door. Bending over the foot of her bed, Verity quickly wrapped Naomi in a blanket and picked her up before cracking the door. “Ya?”
Leviticus stood just outside the semidarkness of her room. As if he’d dressed in a hurry, his shirt was buttoned incorrectly and thrown over wrinkled jeans. His long hair stood out wild around his sleep-creased face.
“I heard the baby crying and thought you might need my help.”
“You could fix her bottle while I redress her.” Her nerves tensed. Leviticus shouldn’t be in my bedroom while the others sleep on. She edged back to her bed, drawing Naomi close to her as she went. The child squirmed, almost slipping out of her hands. Turning her back to Leviticus, she tried to still the child’s body as she wiped her down with wipes and grabbed for a fresh diaper.
Leviticus stood over her. “She squirms a lot.”
Uncomfortable with the closeness of their bodies, she dipped her head, her eyes on his kind. “Ya.”
He stepped away. “You’ll have to be extra cautious when changing her near the edge of the bed. She’s quick.”
“That she is.” Glad he’d moved toward the door, she couldn’t help but grin. His dochder’s wiggling antics reminded her so much of Faith at this age.
“I’ll be right back.” And with that, Leviticus was gone, his shape melting into the darkness of the long hall.
After a moment, she could hear him in the kitchen, clanging pans and opening cupboards. Verity pondered his predicament. Leviticus seemed practiced in things pertaining to his dochder’s care. She had never met a man who could tend to a little one’s needs. Not that Mark hadn’t shown an interest in everything she had done for Faith. But to have expected him to go for a warm bottle or change her? She chuckled aloud at the thought. Amish men didn’t do such things unless their fraa was ill and there was no one else to help, which was seldom the case in Pinecraft.
Before she could slip on and snap together Naomi’s one-piece sleeper, Leviticus was by her side, shaking the warm baby bottle with gusto. “The nurse I hired said to shake the formula really well.”
“Ya, but I don’t think she meant you to make whipped cream of the milk.” She held out her hand and took the bottle, avoiding his fingers, even though a secret part of her longed to touch him. She tested the warmth of the milk on her wrist before settling herself and the child in the small rocker in the corner.
Leviticus stood looking at them, his expression undecipherable in the shadowy room.
“You can go back to bed now. I can manage.”
He reached back, blindly searching for the doorknob, and stepped out with a nod. Silence filled the room. The muted sounds of Naomi smacking down her milk brought calm to Verity’s soul. She began to hum one of the songs she would sing to Faith. Movement caused Verity to look back toward the door. Leviticus had returned, partially hidden in the gloom. “Go. I’ll take good care of her. There’s no need for you to worry.” Would he ever go away?
“I know you will, but it’s hard for me to let go.”
“You don’t have to let go completely. Just trust me to see to her needs. To love her like she deserves to be loved.”
“Why would you want to do this for me after the pain I’ve caused you?”
Verity rested her head back against the rocker, her eyes closed. The weight of the baby was a comfort to her empty arms. The soothing motion of the rocker brought needed peace. “My caring for Naomi has nothing to do with what went on between us. Naomi needs me. I’ll see to her needs. Any woman would.”
“Not every woman. Her own mamm wouldn’t.” He stepped out of the shadows, into the light. “How can a mudder feel nothing for her own flesh and blood?” Leviticus’s expression was bleak.
Anger gripped her. She fought down the compassion she felt growing for him. She couldn’t fathom any woman being so heartless. “I have no answers for you. You’ll have to ask Naomi’s mudder the next time you see her.”
The lamp’s muted glow turned his hair to spun gold. “Do you mind me asking what happened to your husband?” He leaned against the doorjamb, waiting for her reply.
She took in a quiet breath, prepared to tell the story once again. Each time she had to speak of her husband’s death, her loss grew. “Mark was a hard worker, a gut man. New to Pinecraft, he took a job with a local arborist. He was still in training when he climbed up a tree and fell to his death.” She sighed. “No one was at fault. He somehow managed to put on his harness incorrectly. It didn’t hold when a rotten branch broke and fell on top of him.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
Verity nodded. She couldn’t speak for a moment. Leviticus’s words seemed sincere enough, but his regret didn’t mean a thing to her. All those years ago, he’d sounded sincere when he’d told her he loved her, too. But he hadn’t. Not really. He’d left her standing next to his mamm’s grave, with everyone looking on as he tenderly kissed her lips and walked away without so much as a backward glance.
Tears gathered in her eyes. “Morning comes early around here, Leviticus. Get to bed.” Verity spoke carefully, keeping her tears from falling. When he finally shut the door behind him, she let her tears flow. She cried for Naomi’s loss, for her loss of Mark and for her soh, who’d never known his mamm’s love. But she refused to cry for Leviticus. He’d earned his pain, even though something, that small voice, told her she was wrong.
Golden rays of sunlight rose above the groves. The gray sky overhead had turned into a cloudless blue day.
Shredded palm fronds and broken tree branches littered the big fenced-in yard. Leviticus turned back toward the house. Roof tiles and tar paper added to the debris near the rambling dwelling he’d grown up in. There was a lot of work to be done and not many community hands available to help, thanks to the widespread damage around town.
He stepped inside the kitchen door, nodded at Verity, who was busy working at the end of the counter, and then smiled at his father, who was eating at the breakfast table.
“Gut mariye, Leviticus. Did you sleep well?”
“Mariye, Daed.” He knew he was breaking one of his mamm’s cardinal rules when he slathered his hands with dish soap and rinsed them in the sink meant only for washing dishes, subconsciously hoping she’d appear and scold him one more time for misbehaving. “I slept well enough, I guess.” He dismissed the night terrors he’d endured that