by Beth Wiseman
“What are you doing here on this brisk September morning?” she asked her father, waiting for him to quit smothering the girls with hugs and kisses. Most Amish men weren’t affectionate, but she loved that her father wasn’t afraid to show his love.
“We need to talk about the harvest,” he said, giving each girl a final hug before he sent them inside. “Girls, I need to talk to your mamm. You both go find something sweet for Daadi to eat when I’m done here.”
Naomi smiled. There wasn’t a person on God’s beautiful earth who liked sweets more than her father. She suspected that was the reason he’d had to get false teeth a few years ago. But it hadn’t curbed his love of sugar.
She sat on the porch step beside her father. “Where’s Mamm? She said she was coming by this morning.”
Daed ran his hand the length of his dark beard, now salted with white specks that seemed to have appeared overnight. Or maybe Naomi just hadn’t noticed her father getting up in age until Stephen’s life was cut short so suddenly. Despite the horrible thoughts she’d been having, she was reminded that the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. In addition to praying that she’d carry this baby to full term, she found herself praying for good health for both of her parents, sometimes begging God not to take either of them for at least a couple more decades, until her children were raised and on their own.
“Your mudder had to take Barbara Byler to town.” Her father rolled his eyes. “Your mamm is a gut woman because I couldn’t do it. That old widow never closes her mouth.” He tapped his fingers together against his thumb. “Yap, yap, yap. That’s all she does.” Her father scowled as Naomi stifled a smile. “And Barbara doesn’t even talk about nothing important. She just rambles on about the weather, a sale she found at the market, or whatever floats her boat that day.”
“Floats her boat?” Naomi couldn’t hold back her grin any longer. She’d never heard her father use the Englisch expression.
“Don’t you turn into her, you hear me? You might have lost your husband . . .” He paused, glancing at her with sad eyes before he went on. “But if you get so lonely that you have to ramble on like Barbara, I won’t be coming around much.” He pointed a finger at her. “Another reason we need to find you a husband.”
It was their way to remarry quickly, but it was the last thing Naomi wanted. Never again. Although, lots of folks in town were already trying to match her up with someone, and she hadn’t even shed her mourning clothes yet. But no one knew what had gone on in Naomi’s house. She’d been much too proud, even if pride was frowned upon, to let anyone know that she’d failed miserably as a wife. “It’s too soon for another husband,” she finally said.
“Ach, well . . . that’s a conversation for another day. Right now, we need to figure out how we’re going to pull in this harvest. We’re at a bit of a disadvantage since your bruder has a broken ankle, and he’ll be struggling to get his own crops harvested. And I must have been ab im kopp when I decided to plant double the alfalfa that I usually do, so I’m going to be struggling as well.”
Naomi hung her head. This wasn’t the first time she’d felt like a burden since Stephen died. “I’m sorry, Daed. I don’t want to cause extra work for anyone.”
Her father chuckled. “Well, ya gotta eat, don’t cha?” He waved a hand in the air. “Don’t worry, mei maedel.” He put an arm around her and pulled her close, kissing her on the forehead. “By this time next year, I’m sure you will be married. And we will all get by until then. I’ve decided to hire someone to harvest your alfalfa for you. And he’ll help dry and bale it too. He’s an Englisch fellow whom I trust to be around my daughter and granddaughters. The man is a good worker, comes from a farming background, and I know he’ll do right by us.”
“Daed, I have a little money left if—”
Her father shook his head. “Nee, nee. I will bear the expense, but I do ask that you prepare his meals—breakfast, dinner, and supper. He’ll be working alone, so he’ll start at sunup and work until he’s out of daylight.”
“What about his own family? Those are long hours, especially for an Englisch man.”
“He doesn’t have a family. Well, not nearby anyway. I think he has a bruder in Oklahoma, but otherwise he’s alone. His wife died a couple of years ago, and he quit farming after that. He sold their place and lives in Paradise now, in a smaller home. He told me once that he missed farming, so that’s why I thought about him. He’s a strong man of faith, and when I say strong, I don’t mean just in his faith.” Her father laughed. “He is a big, strong man. He’s not as old as I am, maybe seven or eight years younger than me, but he’s as fit as someone your age. Brock is a gut man that will pull in the harvest at a fair price.”
“Brock? That’s an odd name.”
Her father moaned as he lifted himself to his feet. He’d had trouble with his knees for as long as Naomi could remember. “Ya, that’s his name, Brock Mulligan. So, when you see a big fellow show up early next Monday morning, don’t be alarmed.”
Naomi nodded and stood up too.
“Now, let’s go see what those maed have found to feed my sweet tooth.” He pointed a playful finger at Naomi. “Ya, ya, I know. I don’t have any real teeth.”
Naomi giggled. She recalled the guilt that she’d felt the days following Stephen’s burial. When a few church members had gathered at her house, her father had whispered something in Naomi’s ear that had tickled her. She couldn’t recall what it was, but she’d burst out laughing. She’d felt some glares from some of the women in the room and realized how inappropriate she’d acted.
She couldn’t imagine life without her parents, and yet . . . she’d settled into a life without Stephen quite easily.
Chapter Two
Brock parked his truck in Naomi Dienner’s driveway just as the sun started to spread orange hues across the fields of alfalfa surrounding him. The dew on the grass dampened his boots as he walked, and he was glad to see that the equipment he’d rented had been delivered and parked by the barn. He was anxious to get to work, but Gideon had insisted he take all his meals with Naomi and her children. Brock wasn’t much of a breakfast eater, not since Patty died, but an early-morning feast would give him the energy to put in a hard day’s work. He’d always respected Gideon, so he didn’t want to disappoint his Amish friend.
There were two doors leading into the house from the front porch. He chose the door that was open since he could see through the screen and into the kitchen. Two young girls were seated at the table, and a woman—presumably Naomi—was stirring something on the stove. One of the girls scurried to the door and pulled the screen wide.
“Are you the farmer man who will harvest our crop?” She was a cute kid, missing her two front teeth and with a smudge of something purple on her chin, maybe jelly.
“Yes, I am. I’m Brock Mulligan.” He stepped over the threshold just as Naomi turned to face him. He’d known Gideon for years, but he’d never met the man’s family. Breathing in the welcoming aroma of bacon cooking, he extended his hand to the woman. She was a tiny thing, and she didn’t look like she could be even thirty. Brock remembered how he’d felt after Patty died, and some days he still reached for her in the bed beside him, even two years later. Naomi must still be wracked with grief since she’d lost her husband only a few months ago. And she was mighty young to have gone through something like that. It seemed there were more and more buggy accidents in Lancaster County each year.
Naomi motioned to a place already set at the head of the table. Brock figured her husband had probably sat there for meals, and the thought caused him to shift his weight uncomfortably in the chair.
“We’re having bacon, scrambled eggs, and biscuits, Mr. Mulligan.” Naomi set a plate of bacon in the middle of the table. “What can I get you to drink? Milk, orange juice, or I have fresh coffee ready?”
“Coffee, please. And it’s just Brock. No need to call me Mr. Mulligan. That makes me sound older than I feel.” He smiled and reached for a biscui
t when one of the girls pushed a basket toward him. The bread was still steaming, and he was happy to see a bowl of gravy nearby.
Naomi placed a cup of coffee in front of him, wiped her hands on her apron, and sat down in a chair at the other end of the table. Brock bowed his head with them. He knew the Amish folks prayed silently. He thanked God for the food, especially since people were starving all over the world, and he was truly grateful for a good meal. He didn’t do much cooking these days. But he hadn’t prayed with heartfelt vigor since Patty died. He raised his head at the same time as Naomi.
“We’re glad you were able to accept my father’s job offer.” She passed him a bowl of scrambled eggs, then she nodded toward the little girl with the missing front teeth. “This is Abby, my older daughter.” She tipped her chin to the left. “And this is Esther Rose.”
After introductions, they ate in silence, but Brock could feel the younger of the girls, Esther Rose, staring at him. He glanced in her direction. She was nibbling on half a biscuit, but her eyes weren’t roaming, they were locked on him.
“So, how old are you girls?” he asked when the silence grew a bit awkward. Brock was wondering if he had something on his chin since Esther Rose couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him. He picked up his napkin and ran it once across his chin just to be safe. But the little girl kept staring at him. The Amish folks did their best to keep their children away from outsiders as much as they could. Maybe the child was just curious about him.
“I’m seven,” Abby said as she sat taller in her chair. She pointed across the table at her sister. “And Esther Rose is five.”
“So, you’ll both be leaving for school soon, right?”
Both girls nodded, Esther Rose’s eyes still on Brock even as she took a sip of her orange juice.
Brock cleared his throat, scratched his chin, and shifted his weight in the chair again. “This is a fine breakfast, Naomi.” He would be enjoying it more if the little one could focus on her food and not him, but he continued to try to ignore her. He wasn’t particularly comfortable around children, maybe since he’d never had any of his own.
“You are a big Englisch person.” Esther Rose’s eyes widened as if Brock were a superhero, but he knew how to field this comment. He’d hit six foot five by the time he was seventeen, a tall and lanky lad for a while. But after his weight caught up with his height, he filled out. He was used to being the biggest guy in a room. “You have big arms like mei daed had,” the girl added.
Brock glanced at his arms, then back at the child. “So, he was a big man too?”
Esther Rose shook her head. “Nee. He was a little man with big arms.”
Brock nodded, hoping Esther Rose would focus on her food. But when she laid her fork across her plate, her eyes drifted back to him.
“How many kinner do you have?” Abby asked.
The younger girl, Esther Rose, grunted. “Mamm already told us he doesn’t have kinner.”
“Why don’t you have kinner?” Abby frowned and folded her arms across her chest.
Naomi cleared her throat. “That’s enough questions, Abby. Let Mr. Brock eat his breakfast in peace.”
“It’s okay,” Brock said, even though he was glad Naomi had spoken up. But when it got quiet again, the awkwardness returned, so Brock decided to answer the girl’s question. “There was a time when my wife and I wanted children, but it just wasn’t in God’s plan.” He wasn’t sure if Abby would understand his answer, but he was going to stop there, and hopefully she would too.
“Sometimes when babies don’t come the normal way, the Englisch buy their own.” Abby gave a taut nod of her head. “Right, Mamm?”
Brock looked across the table at Naomi, and she smiled. “That’s not exactly how it works,” she said. “You’re talking about adoption. But I told you to let Mr. Brock eat his breakfast. Let’s hush.” She put a finger to her lips.
When they were all done eating, Naomi told her daughters to go brush their teeth and grab their school bags, and Naomi began to clear the table. Brock carried his plate to the sink, then went back for the girls’ plates.
“Nee, Mr. Brock. I’ll do that. Please. You have a long day ahead.” She took the plates from him.
Brock considered arguing with her. He’d always helped Patty clear the table after a meal, although they’d been known to eat on the couch in front of the television plenty of times. He also thought about asking her to call him just Brock, not Mr. Brock. But maybe it made her more comfortable since he was considerably older than her.
“Thank you for a wonderful breakfast.” He turned to leave, but slowed his steps when he heard someone following him. Turning around, he waited for her to meet up with him on the porch.
“Was the breakfast to your liking? I can make pancakes tomorrow morning or anything else you might fancy for breakfast.” She folded her hands in front of her and narrowed her eyebrows as if this was the most important question she’d ever asked.
“Don’t go to any trouble for me, ma’am. I eat anything. And the breakfast was really good.”
She blew out a big breath of air she’d seemed to be holding, but the serious expression remained. “What about dinners and suppers? There must be something you don’t like.”
Brock thought for a moment. He was thrilled to be getting three home-cooked meals per day, and after a breakfast as grand as the one he’d just had, he didn’t want to cause a fuss and mention the one thing he didn’t like. He was pretty sure people didn’t cook liver and onions much anyway. Brock could barely stand the smell of liver cooking, much less the thought of eating it. “Anything will be fine.”
Naomi watched Brock from the porch as he made his way to the equipment he’d rented for the harvest. In the past, Stephen used mules to pull his rigs, and he’d hired several teenage boys who lived nearby to help harvest the alfalfa. It seemed like a big task for one man, but Naomi supposed his fancy equipment would get the job done.
Abby and Esther Rose joined her on the porch, and after she’d adjusted Esther Rose’s kapp, she kissed each of them and sent them off to school. She was tempted to remind the girls to wait at the corner for the older children before walking the mile to the schoolhouse, but Abby had told Naomi that she didn’t need to tell them that every morning. My girls are growing up. Naomi made her way to the barn to milk the cows and goats.
When Brock showed up for dinner several hours later, Naomi could smell him the moment he entered the living room. It was similar to the way Stephen used to smell when he was out working in the fields, the aroma of freshly cut grass combined with perspiration, but minus the manure that Stephen always managed to step in. But Brock wasn’t using mules for the harvest. He was atop a big tractor.
“I probably need to clean up,” he said as he held out his dirty hands.
Naomi pointed him toward the bathroom down the hallway, then finished cooking the grilled cheese sandwiches. When he returned, she placed a sandwich in front of him, along with a bowl of steaming tomato soup.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” He took a seat at the head of the table, the spot she’d assigned him at breakfast.
“Ya. I wanted to make sure you had everything you needed first. I poured you a glass of meadow tea, but I also have juice or water if you’d prefer that.”
“Tea is fine.” He smiled before he took several large gulps from the glass. Naomi sat down at the other end of the table and bowed her head. She opened one eye after she’d finished her prayers. Brock still had his head down, and she wondered what he was praying about. Naomi had thanked God for His many blessings, and prayed that He’d continue to help her become a better person. She didn’t want another husband, but she suspected one would be forced upon her at some point. Her parents wouldn’t understand her desire to be alone with her children. If and when that time came, Naomi wanted to have improved herself, not be someone who angered a man the way she had Stephen.
Naomi cleared her throat and laid her napkin across her lap. Brock lifted his head and
opened his eyes. Esther Rose was right. He really is a big man.
“I love tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. I’m not sure I’ve had this combo since my wife died.” He spooned the soup, then blew on it. Naomi wondered if Brock had been happily married.
“Mr. Brock, do you mind me asking how your wife died?”
He finished chewing a bite of sandwich and swallowed. He took a deep breath. “It was a freak accident, something that happened in a split second.” His gaze drifted to somewhere past Naomi, and she already regretted asking him the question. “Patty fell off of our porch and bumped her head while she was hanging a potted plant. She hit her head in just the right spot to cause her to hemorrhage.” He hung his head for a few moments before he looked back up at Naomi. “You just don’t think something so random can happen.”
Did you push her off the porch? An illogical thought, but one that entered her mind just the same. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“By the time I got home from work, she’d already passed.” Brock refocused on his sandwich, but he paused, then cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about your husband also. It’s terrible the way people drive around here. I spoke to the city council a few years ago, imploring them to widen the buggy lane on Lincoln Highway in an effort to give the buggies more room, but my requests fell on deaf ears.”
Naomi didn’t want to talk about Stephen’s death. It only fueled her guilt for not missing the father of her children. “How do you know my father?”
Brock smiled. He was a handsome man with kind gray eyes and dark wavy hair. When he smiled, one side of his mouth crooked up higher than the other, and at first glance, he seemed like a man Naomi would trust. But Stephen had been handsome too.
“I met your father at that same city council meeting I just referred to. He was the only Amish man in the room, and after I’d addressed the council and the meeting was over, he followed me to my car and thanked me for my efforts.” Brock shrugged. “We went for coffee and pie at the diner next door, and following an hour-long conversation about things we’d like to change around here, I knew we’d end up being friends. The coffee and pie at the diner ended up being a weekly thing. Your father threw a lot of construction work my way, and when Patty died, he was at the funeral. He’s a good man.”