by Beth Wiseman
Brock noticed she didn’t lock the door when they left, just pulled it closed behind her.
“I appreciate this,” she said after they’d turned onto Lincoln Highway. “Stephen built the girls’ scooters from extra bicycle parts he’d found here and there, so the tires are a special size, not typical of the scooters people buy around here.”
“No problem at all.” He glanced in her direction for a moment and noticed she’d shed her mourning clothes. “So, no more black clothes?”
She pressed her lips together, frowning a little. “Do you think it’s too soon? Mamm said it was up to me when I chose to move on, but maybe I should have waited longer.”
“I think that’s a personal decision, totally your choice.” Again, Brock wanted to tell her that time would heal, but he recalled how he hated hearing that after Patty died.
“I loved my husband.” She raised her chin and stared forward. “I did.”
Brock sensed there was more to the comment, but he just nodded.
“He was gut in many ways. He was a gut father to the girls.” She turned to Brock. “And he had a strong work ethic.”
Brock wondered why she felt the need to convince him about her husband’s character, a man Brock hadn’t known.
“But I’m done mourning him,” she said in a whisper as she faced forward again. And there was no mistaking the finality in which she made the statement. Brock stayed quiet, unsure what to say.
“Do you think that makes me a bad person?” she asked after a while.
Brock cleared his throat. “No. Like I said, a personal decision.”
“Mei parents liked Stephen. I think my father respected his work habits. He got along well with my bruder and his family also.” She sighed. “Ya. Everyone liked Stephen.”
Her words held an undertone, a demeanor Brock couldn’t quite grasp. “Well . . . that’s good.”
“I guess.” She stared out the window and didn’t say much for the next few minutes. Then she twisted in her seat to face him. “I’m pregnant. And no one knows.”
Then why in the world are you telling me? “Uh, are you happy about that?” It sounded like a dumb thing to say, but he wasn’t sure where their conversation was going, so he wanted to tread lightly. Her face brightened.
“Ach, ya. Very happy. A child is a gift from God.”
Brock supposed that was true. It was God’s choice who He blessed with children, not a given. For a while, Brock had felt cheated since he and Patty couldn’t have children. But he’d grown to accept it. More so than his wife. Looking back, Brock was sure that’s when his communion with God began to slip. He couldn’t understand how the Lord would deny Patty the chance to be a mother. Brock hoped she had lots of children to care for in heaven.
“A baby needs a father.” Naomi sighed. “So do my girls. But there’s not one man in our district that I could even think about dating.” She turned to face him again. “I don’t want to date or get remarried. But it’s the right thing to do, ya?”
Brock shrugged. “That’s another one of those personal decisions.” He stifled a grin as he recalled Naomi’s conversation with Abby about not shopping for a husband.
“I want to do what’s right.”
Brock nodded. He decided he was going to pray for Naomi to find a good man for her and her children. Maybe praying for someone else would help him get right with God again. He didn’t ask for much these days. If he didn’t ask, he wouldn’t be let down. He still had a strong faith, he just felt a little disappointed with how God had directed his life. His attitude was like a bad habit he needed to kick. But he still went to church most Sundays, hoping that God would just let him live in peace.
“Why haven’t you told anyone you’re pregnant?” Brock wondered how far along she was, but a pregnancy was easy enough to hide beneath the loose dresses the Amish women wore.
She leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. “I don’t know.” Sighing, she raised her head. “Having a baby is such a joyous occasion. I wanted everyone to be happy about the news and I didn’t want that to supersede their mourning of Stephen.” She folded her hands in her lap atop her purse and turned to him again, her eyes soft and inquiring. “Do you want to remarry? Do you date? I mean I know you’re older and all, and maybe it—” She paused and bit her lip. “I don’t mean older, like really old, like you can’t remarry, or—”
Brock held up a hand and chuckled. “It’s okay. It’s been two years since Patty died, and I dated a few women in the past year, but none of them were right for me. Believe it or not, I have a fairly young heart, and I like to stay active and busy . . . for an old guy.” He laughed again.
Naomi grinned. “You’re not old. Just older.”
Brock reached in front of her to point to her side of the highway. She instantly threw her hands in front of her face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you flinch. I was just pointing to that carnival going on over there. How many old guys do you know who would ride every single ride there?”
She lowered her hands. “I just saw your arm . . . and . . . sorry.” She smiled. “My girls have always wanted to go to a festival like that.”
“Is it allowed?” Brock knew a lot about the Amish because of his grandparents, but they had been gone a long time, and the Amish modified their rules, which also may differ by district. Cell phones were evidence of that, and most families had at least one of those. Brock could remember the shanty his grandparents shared with two other families. A phone booth of sorts that housed a rotary phone strictly for emergencies. Those days were long gone.
“The festivals are allowed, of course. Our bishop doesn’t really encourage the rides that are powered with electricity, but I overheard him say one time that he was willing to overlook it.” She paused. “Stephen didn’t like heights, though, so I guess he didn’t think the rest of us would either.” Frowning, her voice had slipped back into a place Brock was having trouble translating. Bitterness was the word that came to mind. He understood that. Brock had gone through the gamut of emotions after Patty died. Mad at God, and even mad at Patty for a while for leaving him, which made no sense.
Brock turned in the Walmart parking lot, deciding to drop Naomi off while he went to the tractor supply store for his part. “I’ll come back and get you in about a half hour. Is that enough time?”
Naomi nodded. It was easy to see how her father was such good friends with Brock. Gideon Huyard was a man who didn’t befriend Englisch folks easily, and he was generally distrusting of outsiders. If he trusted Brock enough to bring in Naomi’s harvest, that told her a lot. Maybe that’s why she’d told Brock she was pregnant. He wasn’t mourning Stephen, and she’d felt the need to tell someone. She was surprised word hadn’t gotten out since Dr. Noah was her doctor, and he was local. But it was time to share the news. This baby was coming in less than four months.
Standing on the sidewalk thirty minutes later, she parked her cart, filled with two small bags and a bicycle tire across the top. Brock pulled up to the curb, and before Naomi could even open the back door of his big truck, he was opening it for her and loading her things.
“I’m starving,” he said as he shut the door. “We should have time to grab some lunch and still get back way before your daughters get home from school. You hungry?”
Naomi’s stomach growled. What a treat it would be to eat out, but she’d spent almost all of the money she’d brought with her in Walmart. “Um . . . I am. Uh . . .”
“My treat,” he said as he opened the front door for her, shutting it once she was inside. “Where do you want to go?” He put the white truck in drive and started out of the parking lot.
“I-I don’t know. Stephen usually chose a restaurant on the few occasions we went out to eat.” She pondered the possibilities, thought about all the places she’d always wanted to try, but maybe Brock just meant that they would get a hamburger at a fast-food type place.
“Have you ever been there?” Brock pointed to his left. “The
y have steaks, chicken, burgers, seafood . . . a little bit of everything.”
Naomi twirled the string on her kapp. “That’s a fancy place.”
Brock grinned. “It’s really not all that fancy, but if you think you’d be uncomfortable, we can go somewhere—”
“Nee. That place is fine.” Naomi decided to grab on to this opportunity.
During the meal, she and Brock settled into a casual conversation. He was easy to talk to. And a good listener. She decided then and there—while eating the best steak she’d ever had—that she was going to pray for Brock to find the peace he seemed to be searching for. She liked his thinking. He only had one goal, not a long list of expectations or desires. Just a desire for the peace of Christ.
On the way home, he slowed down as they went by the festival again. “Well, if you weren’t pregnant, I’d beg you to go ride the rides with me tomorrow at that carnival.” He chuckled.
Naomi thought again about how much her girls would enjoy something like that, even if they were too small to go on some of the larger rides. But she was sure Brock wouldn’t want to take a pregnant woman and her two children for the day.
Brock let out a deep breath, then turned to her. “I don’t even know if I should ask this. I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know a whole lot about kids. I’ve only been around my brother’s children a few times since he lives so far away. But you said your girls would have fun at a carnival like this. Are they big enough to ride any of the rides?” He laughed. “Look at me, trying to round up little kids to go on rides with me.”
Naomi smiled, but festivals—or carnivals, as he called them—cost money too. “Do you know, um . . . does it cost a lot?”
He shrugged. “I’ve got plenty of money, just not anyone to ride the rides with me.”
Naomi studied his expression for a moment. He looked like a little boy with his crooked smile and all the excitement in his voice. He sure didn’t act like a forty-one-year-old man. Her girls would love an adventure like that. And Brock was her father’s friend. He was older and Englisch. No one would push her into dating someone like that. He might become as good a friend to her and her children as he was to her father, and that sounded nice.
“I think the girls would love to go,” she finally said.
Chapter Five
Esther Rose, go upstairs right now and get dressed.” Naomi gave her daughter a gentle pat on the behind. “Scoot. We’re late.”
Abby dropped onto the couch like a sack of potatoes, then tossed her head against the back of the sofa. “Why can’t we go to the carnival now? Why do we have to wait until this afternoon?”
Naomi scurried from place to place in the living room, picking up empty glasses, a pair of dirty socks, some books, and Esther Rose’s doll. “Because we need to go see Mammi and Daadi this morning. I already told you that.”
Esther Rose hopped with both feet down each step, something Naomi had told her repeatedly not to do. “I’m ready,” she said, holding her socks and shoes in one hand and her blanket in the other. The tattered, pink material that Esther Rose clung to could barely survive the wringer washing machine these days. But each time Naomi tried to separate Esther Rose and her beloved blankie, tears ensued. Naomi wasn’t up for the battle today.
“That’s gut. But now go back upstairs and put on one of your pretty pastel-colored dresses. Remember, I said we’re not going to wear our black dresses anymore.”
Naomi wished it was acceptable for an adult to wear pastel colors. But she was happy in a dark green dress, glad to be wearing color again. She handed the books and doll to Abby.
“Please carry these upstairs to your sister’s room. I’m having a hard enough time getting her ready to go.”
Abby huffed and didn’t move from the couch. “Why? Esther Rose left them down here. Why do I always have to clean up after her?”
“Please, just do it,” Naomi said, wondering when her children had become so argumentative.
Both girls were upstairs when Naomi caught a glimpse of someone walking up the driveway toward the house. When the woman got closer, Naomi recognized Pearl King.
Naomi hurried onto the porch and down the steps to where she’d already hitched the horse to the buggy. She was hoping Pearl would sense that Naomi was in a hurry to leave and not expect to come in for a visit. But Naomi wouldn’t be rude to the old woman either. Pearl was toting a bag in one hand and waved to Naomi with the other.
Naomi returned the gesture and waited in the yard until Pearl reached her. “Hello, Pearl. How are you?”
“I see you must be on your way out, so I will not keep you.” Pearl smiled as she handed Naomi a small brown bag with handles. “I wanted to repay your kindness with something I’m told is my specialty, Florentines.”
“Ach, this is so nice of you, but it wasn’t necessary.” Naomi pulled out a batch of cookies in plastic wrap with a pink ribbon tied around the opening. “But I know my girls will love these.”
“I usually make them during the holidays, but I had a craving for them, so I made a double batch for sharing.”
Naomi started to put the cookies back in the brown sack when she saw something else. She lifted a purple mesh bag held together by a dark blue ribbon. “What’s this?”
“Oh dear. I’m sorry about that.” Pearl eased the bag away from Naomi. “That was meant for someone else. I get so many orders this time of year, and I must have put this one in your cookie bag by mistake.”
Naomi studied the small bag that fit in the palm of Pearl’s hand. “What’s in there?” It looked like an oversized purple tea bag filled with herbs, and a lump of . . . something Naomi couldn’t identify.
Pearl slowly untied the blue ribbon and widened the opening. “You see, there is an amethyst inside.”
Naomi leaned closer until she saw the tiny rock. “Are those herbs in there with it?”
Pearl nodded. “But not just any herbs. They’re organic. There’s a bit of lavender, a pinch of white sage, some St. John’s Wart. And in that small vial is a special blend of oils that are a family secret.” She carefully tied the ribbon back around the opening. “During the waxing phase of the moon, I’m always overloaded with orders. I’m sorry one of these found its way into your cookie bag.” She grinned. “I’m a careless old woman.”
“Why do people order them? I wouldn’t think you could cook with that since there is a rock inside.” She pointed to the bag, still cradled in Pearl’s hand.
“Oh, no, dear.” Pearl’s forehead wrinkled as she drew her mouth into a frown. “This is not for eating, it’s for protection. This packet, along with dozens of others that I have at home, have been prayed over and specially prepared, as we grow closer to the rise of the harvest moon in a few weeks.”
“Protection? From what?” Naomi glanced at her horse when it whinnied, a reminder that she needed to excuse herself soon. “We’ve always looked forward to the harvest moon and thought of it as a blessing. The extra light it provides allows farmers to work longer, and it’s symbolic of our hard work. Mei daed calls it the Full Corn Moon.”
Pearl continued to frown as she shook her head. “I’m afraid it has many names with much superstition attached to each one. Some Europeans call it a Gypsy Moon. Historically, the Norse believed that it was the most powerful moon of the year because it was associated with the trickster god Loki.” She paused and looked at her hand, gingerly running a wrinkled finger across the bag. “Moon superstitions abound, my dear, but everything is magnified this time of year with the approach of the harvest moon.” She moved a bit closer to Naomi. “There was a time when your people were my biggest customers. The Amish have always been known to have deeply rooted superstitions.”
“I’ve never believed in such things.” Naomi looked over her shoulder toward the house and hoped her girls were ready to go.
“I’m surprised no one has mentioned this to you, to take precautions during this time of year. Especially now, since you are with child.”
&nbs
p; Naomi snapped her attention back to Pearl. “What? Why does that matter?” She couldn’t help but think about the baby she’d lost, even if she’d never been superstitious.
“No worries, child. I’m sure all will be well.” Pearl stuffed the small bag into her purse. “I can see that you are preparing for travel. Be safe and well, and enjoy the cookies.” She waved and turned to leave.
Naomi glanced back and forth between Pearl and her house, knowing she and the girls needed to get on the road. “Pearl, wait.”
The old woman slowed her pace and turned around. Naomi walked toward her.
“How much for one of those little packets?”
“These treasures are sixty dollars.” Pearl smiled, but Naomi’s jaw dropped.
“For herbs and a rock?” She brought a hand to her chest. “How can that be?”
“I told you.” Pearl raised her chin. “These aren’t just regular old herbs, and the combination of oils is a special potion, and all of it has been prayed over by many different people.”
Alarms were going off in Naomi’s head, especially at the mention of the word potion. “Like a witch’s potion?”
Pearl chuckled. “I assure you, dear girl, I’m not a witch. Just someone who believes that extra protection at certain times of the year can give a person peace of mind.”
“Can-can I buy that packet in your purse?” Naomi swallowed hard. Sixty dollars would buy grocery staples for two weeks, things they didn’t grow on the farm or make by hand.
“I thought you didn’t believe in such things.”
“Ach, well . . . I don’t. Not really.” Naomi wasn’t sure she was willing to take the risk. She couldn’t bear it if anything happened to the baby she was carrying. She asked Pearl to wait while she went into the house to get some cash. Both her girls had shed their shoes and socks. Esther Rose didn’t have her kapp on yet, and it appeared that the blankie would be making the trip with them today.
“Girls, get your shoes and socks on, and Abby help Esther Rose get her prayer covering on.”