Susie’s Mammi
Amy’s Story #2
Brenda Maxfield
Copyright © 2019 by Tica House Publishing LLC
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Personal Word from the Author
Dearest Readers,
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Contents
Personal Word from the Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Continue Reading…
Thank you for Reading
More Amish Romance for You
About the Author
Chapter One
And they that know thy name will put their trust in thee: for thou, Lord, hast not forsaken them that seek thee.
Psalms 9:10 KJV
The quilt twisted around Amy Yoder as she tossed and turned in bed. What was the matter with her? She’d just gotten engaged—finally. She should be lying there peacefully, dreaming about her future. But she wasn’t. Her mind was in turmoil.
Was it the grief? Was that what was troubling her? But her best friend Grace had been gone now for nearly a month. She should have adjusted by now. Amy forced herself to lie still, listening. Since Grace’s fall from the barn loft and her death, Amy and her sister Beulah had been staying with Andrew—Grace’s husband—and his newborn baby.
Someone had to stay. Someone had to take care of Andrew’s daughter. Amy sucked in a long breath, listening intently for any sound from the nursery. As far as Amy knew, Grace hadn’t gotten to see her daughter, not even for one split second. The doctors had taken little Susie in an emergency C-section, and then they had let Grace go.
Amy was glad to care for Susie. Indeed, Susie was like her own child now. Maybe soon, after she and Peter Raber got married, Amy would have her own child. That was the way of things, and Amish families usually didn’t tarry long in bringing babies into the family.
“Stop flopping about,” Beulah groaned from her side of the bed. “I can’t sleep a wink with you over there moving about like a frolicking colt.”
“Sorry,” Amy replied, trying to get comfortable. “Did you hear Susie cry?” she asked, raising herself onto her elbow.
“Augh,” Beulah groaned again. “I didn’t hear a thing. Go to sleep.”
“Nee,” Amy said, now sitting up in bed. “I’m sure I heard something.”
The dim light of the moon filtered through the window, and Amy saw Beulah bury her head under her pillow. With a sigh, Amy swung her legs over the side of the bed and got up. She crept out of the room and across the hall to the nursery and listened at the door. Nothing. She heard nothing.
Beulah had been right. She turned to retreat back to their room when she heard a thin cry.
“A-ha,” Amy said, vindicated. “I knew I heard something.”
She pushed through the half-open door and padded across the room to the cradle. Susie was making loud sucking noises now. Amy reached into the cradle and picked her up, breathing in the sweet scent of baby.
“Shall we see if your diaper’s wet?” she whispered. “I don’t smell anything, but let’s check, anyway. And then I’ll make a nice bottle for you. It’s about time for your feeding.”
Susie didn’t complain. She didn’t even fuss through the diaper change, which was a welcome difference. Now, Andrew wouldn’t wake up. Andrew was much better these days. The dark circles under his eyes had faded for the most part, and sometimes he even laughed. During the first weeks after Grace’s death, he hadn’t laughed once—he’d barely smiled. Not even to his newborn baby.
But now, Amy did see him smile at Susie. He was more confident with the child, too.
Would he be asking Amy and Beulah to leave soon? At least during the night? Amy could still come over during the day and care for the baby. Her chest tightened. He would let her continue caring for Susie, wouldn’t he? Because if he didn’t… She didn’t know what she’d do. Susie was part of her now.
A huge part of her.
Amy pulled the gown down over Susie’s legs and carried her quietly downstairs to warm the bottle. It didn’t take long until Susie was happily drinking while Amy rocked her in the kitchen rocking chair. Grace’s parents would be coming back soon to Hollybrook, so one way or the other, Amy wouldn’t be caring for Susie much longer.
Grace’s mother Mavis would likely swoop in and take over Susie’s complete care. Amy moaned. She dreaded it. Of course, she should be grateful for the time she’d had with the baby. If not for Mavis’s father dying back in Pennsylvania, Mavis would have been there with Susie from the very start.
Amy shook her head. Was it wrong to be grateful someone’s dying had lingered so that she could have time with a baby? Of course, it was wrong, but Amy couldn’t bring herself to feel ashamed.
“I’ve loved taking care of Susie, Grace,” she whispered into the air. “She looks like you, you know. Look at her little nose and chin. They’re the spitting image of yours.”
“Amy?”
Amy gave a start and glanced toward the kitchen door. “Ach, Andrew. I didn’t hear you come down.”
He didn’t come into the kitchen, just stood in the doorway gazing at both her and Susie. “I… I was coming down for a drink of water.”
“There’s lemonade if you like.”
He chuckled. “Lemonade in the middle of the night. Nee. That’s okay.”
She smiled. “Susie was hungry…”
“Jah.” He was silent for a long moment, not moving into the kitchen to get his drink. “Amy?”
“Jah?”
“Were you talking to Grace? I thought I heard you…”
She bit her bottom lip. She had gotten into the habit of talking to Grace at random times during the day. Usually when Susie did something especially sweet or cute—like her first smile.
“I-I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Nee,” Amy said. “It’s all right. Sometimes I do, even though I know she can’t hear me.” Amy felt on the spot, wanting to reassure Andrew that she hadn’t lost her mind. “And I don’t know if I should do it. I mean, talking to a person who’s… I mean, talking to a person who’s not here seems silly, I know. But…”
He held up his hand, and in the shadows, she saw his face go still. “It’s just that I do the same thing, you know. Talk to Grace. Like she is still here.”
Amy’s eyes widened, and she felt a rush of compassion for him. “Do you?”
“Sometimes when I’m alone. Or when I’m holding Susie.”
“Jah. It’s the same with me,” Amy said, speaking quickly now. “It’s almost like Grace really can hear me. An
d I know she would want to hear all about Susie. It makes me feel better, talking to her.”
He stepped inside the kitchen. “I know exactly what you mean.”
They stared at each other then, their connection and love for Grace binding them together. The gentle slurping sounds of Susie drinking, the faint light seeping into the darkness from the window, and the occasional chirp of a cricket outside filled the kitchen with an air of intimacy that surrounded her.
Did Andrew feel it, too?
He hadn’t come closer nor had he spoken. She blinked, feeling suddenly shaky and ill at ease.
“I’m not thirsty anymore,” he muttered. “Night.” And with that, he turned and walked back toward the stairs.
She stared after him. That was odd. They’d run into each other before during the night—Beulah never got up with the baby—and sometimes it’d been awkward, but never anything like this. This had been… This had been almost as if they were a couple somehow. Tied together with some invisible cord. Amy shivered. She was being quite dramatic, but then it was the middle of the night and she was tired.
Nothing ever seemed completely the way it really was in the middle of the night. Life easily twisted out of proportion, morphing into all sorts of odd things when it was dark, and a person was tired.
The thing was, Amy didn’t feel tired right then. Her senses were on alert, and she felt even the air on her skin like it was a solid thing. Susie sputtered and spit out the nipple. Amy looked down at her, glad for the distraction.
“You finished? Let’s get you burped and back up to bed.”
Which she proceeded to do.
Later, when Susie was all snuggled again in her cradle, Amy slipped back into bed with her sister. She lay very still this time. Very, very still. She put her mind on Peter, her fiancé. Soon, they’d announce their engagement. At this point, no one yet knew—which had been her preference, not his. She wasn’t sure why she wanted it kept secret. It didn’t really make much sense. She had waited ages for Peter to propose, and when he had, she hadn’t even weighed her response; she’d immediately said yes. So, shouldn’t she at least want to share it with her sister?
She remembered Peter’s look of happiness when she’d accepted his proposal and smiled into the darkness. He was happy. Well, so was she, of course. She was going to marry the man who’d been courting her for over a year.
But as she faded into sleep, Peter’s image was crowded out by Andrew’s. Amy only had a moment to notice before she fell asleep.
Chapter Two
Peter bounded out of bed. Strange, but ever since Amy accepted his proposal, he couldn’t wait to get up and start the day. Nothing rattled him, either, not even when his brothers started in, bickering and teasing and rough-housing. Nope. Nothing bothered Peter. He was going to marry the girl of his dreams.
She had said yes.
Not that he’d doubted she would, but he was always aware that he didn’t have much to offer. In truth, he hadn’t been quite ready to propose, but when he’d caught a glimpse of Amy and Andrew bending over Susie together, something inside him snapped. If he didn’t ask Amy soon, he could lose her.
Oh, not to Andrew, surely. Andrew was still grieving the loss of his wife and wasn’t ready to be looking at any other woman. But to any other guy in the district, Amy was beautiful. She was kind and loyal and a good Amish woman. She’d make a fine wife.
And Peter couldn’t help but notice how she tended to Susie with such care and tenderness. Amy would make a fine mother, too. He supposed that being a fine wife and mother were in many ways the same thing. He whistled a tuneless melody as he walked down the hall to the bathroom. The aroma of hash browns and bacon traveled up the stairs. Good. He was right hungry.
After getting ready, he flew down the stairs to the dining table.
“Goodness,” Wilma Raber greeted him, “but you seem to be in a rush.”
“Morning, Mamm,” he said, grinning. “Is Dat up?”
“Is Dat up?” she repeated, shaking her head. “Your dat has been up for a gut hour. He’ll be in soon to eat. I do wish you boys could beat your dat outside for once.”
“I’ll make a point of it,” Peter said, going to his mother and squeezing her arm. “He just don’t wait for anything, does he?”
“When I married him, I knew the grass would never grow under his feet.” Wilma laughed. “His mammi told me that, and she was right. Still, go on out and see if you can help for a few minutes. Breakfast ain’t quite done.”
“All right. I wanted to talk to Dat anyway.” He reached over and snatched a piece of bacon that was sitting on a bed of paper towels on a plate. He crunched into it as he walked through the wash room and out the side door.
“What about?” he heard his mother ask him, but he was already through the door.
Peter saw his dad immediately, leading the milk cow out of the barn.
“Morning, Dat,” he called.
Zack looked up and nodded. “Morning, son.”
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Peter wasn’t sure this was the best time to talk about things, but he’d woken up too eager to ignore it any longer.
Zack stopped, letting the lead rope go slack in his hands. “What is it?”
Peter walked up to him and patted the cow on the forehead. “I was…” Now that he was standing there before his dad, he suddenly felt unsure of himself. How did a person start this sort of conversation?
“Well? Spit it out, son. There’s work to be done.”
“I was wondering… Well, I’ve been thinking about my future…”
His dad’s brow rose, and Peter hurried on.
“I am thinking of getting wed soon, but I don’t really know… I mean, we’ve never talked about the land here.” As Peter spoke, he realized how his words sounded—like he wanted a hand-out. He grimaced. This wasn’t coming out right.
“I see…” Zach said, tilting his head and looking at his son.
Peter rubbed his hands down his pant legs. “Uh, this probably ain’t the time…”
“Well, your mamm will be calling us into breakfast soon.” Zach started walking again, leading the cow to the patch of grass behind the barn.
Peter followed him, now feeling foolish. He didn’t say anything as his dad tied the cow to a post.
Zach sighed. “So, you’re wanting to know how I’m going to divide this land between all my boys.”
Peter swallowed. “I was wondering, jah.”
“I see.” Zach frowned. “I ain’t that old, son. I’m not of a mind to start dividing things up when I plan to be alive and kicking for some years, yet.”
“I know,” Peter said quickly, feeling things disintegrate around him. “I know, Dat.”
“So, how about we leave this conversation alone for a few years.”
Peter nodded, feeling like a fool now. What had he been thinking to push the issue? He followed his father toward the house like he was a little boy again, no more than six or seven years old. He glanced back at the daadi haus. His daadi lived there, but he took most of his meals with the family. He’d given over the big house to Peter’s dad years before. So, in truth, the land had really belonged to grandfather.
That was the way of things, passing the land from one generation to the next. Peter thought, since he was the oldest son, that the larger portion of the land would go to him. But maybe he’d been wrong. In any case, nothing was going to happen anytime soon. Certainly not soon enough for him and Amy. They’d have to start their married life living with his folks, and who knew how many years that might go on.
It wasn’t right. He couldn’t ask that of Amy. She wouldn’t have her own home for years.
He blew out his breath. He was going to have to think of something—and soon. For a moment, regret filled him. He shouldn’t have asked her to marry him. He hadn’t been ready, and he’d known it. He’d let his emotions carry him away. Fear, mostly. He felt again that sinking dread he’d felt when he’d watched Amy and Andrew together.
It had made him sick—literally. His stomach had churned and twisted inside.
So, he’d sprung the question that same day. What a fool he was.
Amy deserved to have her own home. Now, what was he to give her? He visualized her sweet face, smiling at him. Then he visualized himself telling her that he couldn’t afford a home for them. Couldn’t afford much of anything, really. And until his daadi passed on, he couldn’t even afford his own horse and buggy.
He set his jaw, thoroughly disgusted with himself. They were at the house now, and his dad was holding open the side screen door for him.
“Go on in, son.”
“Thanks.” Peter felt like he should say something further. Sorry I asked about the land. Sorry I assumed I’d be getting a portion. Sorry…
But he said nothing.
Chapter Three
Beulah was washing the dishes, and Amy was drying them. Little Susie was upstairs in her cradle, sleeping when Andrew walked into the kitchen.
“Can I talk to you both?” he asked.
Amy turned to him and noted the tension around his eyes. Was he worried about something? Had something happened?
“Sure, you can,” Beulah said, turning off the water and facing him.
“Uh, well, first, I want to tell you again how much I appreciate your help.” He cleared his throat. “These days have been hard, I know.”
“Not really,” Beulah interjected.
Amy wanted to roll her eyes. Of course, nothing was hard for Beulah—Beulah made sure of that. She basically only did what she wanted to do. She left the hard work to others.
Susie's Mammi (Amy's Story Book 2) Page 1