Amish Romance: The Promise (Hollybrook Amish Romance: Greta's Story Book 2)

by Brenda Maxfield

  “Have you heard from Isaac?” Old Mae asked.

  Greta could feel her cheeks flame red. “Nee.” And she hadn’t. She’d hoped to, but there had been only silence. She yearned to know what Isaac was doing, what he was thinking, how he was feeling. She yearned to know whether his grief was abating at all. But he hadn’t written her. And she didn’t feel it appropriate to write him first.

  Old Mae nodded. “I see.” She inhaled slowly. “Abigail is getting on fine. And from what her mamm writes, she and Joshua are keeping company.”

  Greta licked her lips. “Gut. I’m happy for her.”

  “I know you are, child.” Old Mae gave her a tender look. “You and Abigail did a fine deed for Betty Wagner. I know you were a comfort to her.”

  Greta’s eyes filled with tears. “I miss her.”

  “I’m sure you do. Abigail grew quite fond of her, too.”

  Greta nodded and wiped a tear from her face. “And the boppli. I became quite attached to little James.”

  Old Mae tsked her tongue. “Cute little bugger, ain’t he? That little one favors his mamm, which I’m sure is a comfort to Isaac.”

  “I’m sure,” Greta whispered.

  “You let me know how them herbs do, won’t you? I’m expecting that they’ll calm him down a bit. St. John’s Wart does the emotions good. Stabilizes them, you might say.”

  Greta smiled and nodded. Then she went out the door to her pony cart. She carefully placed the small white bundle on the seat and picked up the reins.

  “Let’s go, Clacker,” she said, and slapped the reins gently on his back. The pony gave a lurch and started down the drive. Greta urged him on faster, reveling in the bit of breeze blowing over her face. The air was hot, and the usual Indiana mugginess was in the air. She wiped the sweat from her upper lip and concentrated on the drive.

  She didn’t want her thoughts to go to Isaac. She didn’t want that at all.

  Nor did she want her thoughts going to her dat. She’d be forced to think about him soon enough when she arrived home. If she was lucky, he might still be asleep, and she could have a moment or two of peace.

  She suddenly remembered that she’d invited Todd for supper. Why in the world had she done that? She hadn’t even told her father yet. She grimaced. Why was she bent on making life harder for herself than it had to be?

  She turned onto their property and took the cart right up to the barn. Just as she pulled on the reins, Todd stepped out the barn door.

  “Oh, Greta, there you are.” He smiled at her. “I wondered where you’d gone.” His cheeks flushed as if he’d just realized what he said. “I mean, not that it’s my concern…” he finished lamely.

  She pretended not to hear. “Hello, Todd. I’m just going inside to finish preparing supper. It’ll be ready in an hour or so.”

  “Sounds gut,” he said, avoiding her eye.

  She slipped down from the cart and moved to Clacker to unhitch him.

  “I’ll do that for you,” Todd offered.

  “That’s not necessary.”

  “Didn’t say it was necessary,” he said, taking the reins from her hands. “But I’ll do it.”

  She acquiesced and picked up the packet of herbs. Before going into the big house, she ran back down the drive to the mailbox. The mail truck usually passed about three in the afternoon, so the mail should already be there. Not that they got much. But every now and again, they received a round-robin letter from her aunt in Michigan. Greta loved it when they came, devouring each word, and pretending that she lived close enough to her relatives to enjoy their company.

  After responding to the letter, she’d share it with her two married sisters. They’d add their bits to the letter, and then they’d send it on to their cousins in Ohio.

  Greta pulled the tin box open and reached inside. There was one envelope. When she pulled it out, she saw that there was no return address and that the handwriting was unfamiliar. Yet, it was addressed to her.

  Not even waiting until she returned to the house, she slid her finger under the flap and opened it. She pulled out the folded letter. Her eyes skimmed down to the bottom, and she froze.

  Isaac.

  Chapter Four

  With trembling fingers, Greta stuck the letter back inside the envelope, and hugging it to her chest, she ran back up to the house. She threw open the screen door and headed for the stairs.

  “Greta!” came Raymond’s sharp voice. “That you?”

  Greta stopped in her tracks. She straightened and walked into the front room. “Jah, Dat. It’s me.”

  “Why’d you let me sleep so long? Wasted nigh on the whole day.” His eyes narrowed, and he stared at her. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You don’t look right. Your cheeks are all red. What you been doing?”

  “I just went for the mail.” She nearly clapped her hand over her mouth. Why did she say that? Now, he’d know that Isaac had written.

  “The mail? We don’t ever get any mail.” He peered at her. “I’m hungry.”

  “It’s almost time for supper,” she said, nearly gasping with relief that he hadn’t questioned her further about the mail. “I fixed a nice pot of chicken noodles, just the way you like them.”

  His eyebrows went up.

  “And Todd Fisher is joining us.” She took a step back and braced herself.

  “What?”

  “Todd Fisher is joining us for supper.”

  His face darkened. “Why?”

  “I asked him.”

  His mouth dropped open. “Why’d you do that? We don’t want him eating with us.”

  “I was being neighborly. Now, Dat, excuse me, but I have something to see to.” Without waiting to hear his certain barrage, she flew up the steps and into her room. As she perched on her bed, she could hear her father calling her back.

  He could wait, she decided. He could good and well sit there and wait for her to come down. Pushing back a flash of guilt, she took out Isaac’s letter and pressed it smooth on her lap.

  Dear Greta,

  This is Isaac. Well, of course, you know that. I’m sure your eyes went right to the closing. Mine would have… I thought I’d take a moment to tell you how James is faring. I know you got attached to the boppli and are probably missing him.

  Greta swallowed past the lump of sudden tears in her throat.

  At first, it was a rough go. James kept crying and crying. He wouldn’t sleep unless I took him into my bed. He wouldn’t eat unless I was the one to feed him. It nearly broke my heart, and my mamm’s. But slowly, it improved. James started to eat better and would even sleep some during nap time. I know he was missing Betty. And you, I’m sure.

  Greta felt like weeping for the child. How confused he must have been. How lost without his mama and his familiar surroundings.

  Truth is, I started to doubt whether I’d done the right thing. More than once, I was ready to pack up and return to Hollybrook.

  Why didn’t you, Greta cried inwardly.

  But now, it’s better. Mamm is mighty happy to have us here. James has taken to her much better, letting her pack him around and play with him. I’m busy in the fields with my dat and brothers. Like Mamm says, there’s always more to be done. It feels strange, though, not working on my own land. I’m happy to help Dat out, but I’m missing my land. My farm.

  Greta, would it be too much to ask you to go check on the house once in a while? I’m sure things is fine, but it’d ease my mind. I keep thinking about Betty’s garden. Not that it’d be much anymore. Lord knows she hadn’t taken care of it for a long spell.

  I know I’m asking a lot, and maybe you’re happy to not be traipsing over to my farm every day like before. And if you don’t want to, I won’t take offense. Don’t feel obligated.

  Greta was more than happy to check on Isaac’s house for him. And Betty’s garden. She should have already thought of that. Over the years, she’d spent more than one summer afternoon in that garden wi
th Betty. They pulled weeds and hoed and chatted and laughed. Greta had loved spending time with Betty, and she always went back home with a lightened mood.

  Betty would be heartsick to see her garden disintegrate into a weedy mess. Greta decided to go over there first thing the next day and work on it. And then, when Isaac returned, he’d see what she’d done. She sucked in her lower lip and continued reading.

  Greta, I’ve been thinking some on the promise we made to Betty. It doesn’t seem right to pretend it never happened. I promised her, and I never went back on any promise to Betty. I feel that we should talk about it. I know I’m way over here and you’re way over there. But do you think we could discuss it some?

  Yours truly,

  Isaac

  Greta blew out her breath and lay the letter down on her quilt. He wanted to discuss the promise? But what was there to discuss? They would either follow through on it or not. She had no idea how to discuss such a thing.

  Her eyes rested on his words once again. She missed him. It would be so much better if they could meet in person. But still, what would they say?

  She read the paragraph again. He obviously expected some kind of response from her. She heard the barn door close, and jumped off the bed and ran to her window. Todd was heading toward the house. Goodness! She couldn’t have been sitting there with Isaac’s letter for that long. She flew down the stairs and ran to the front door.

  But Todd was nowhere to be seen. She opened the screen and leaned out. It wasn’t time for him to come in after all. He must be busying himself with another task before coming to eat. She let out her breath and then patted her hair to ensure it was tucked neatly beneath her kapp. She should change her dress, perhaps.

  “Ach, what am I thinking?” she whispered. “I’d better get right out to the kitchen.”

  Which she did. She heard her father stirring more than once, but she ignored the sounds. She didn’t have time to fuss with him about Todd coming to supper. She didn’t have time for anything, really, except getting the meal on the table.

  Everything was ready when Todd knocked on the screen. Greta went to the door and was again struck by his friendly, warm gaze.

  “Hello, Todd,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron. “Come right on in.”

  Raymond Glick loomed in the doorway of the front room. He acknowledged Todd with a grunt. Greta gave her father a meaningful look, praying he’d behave himself.

  “Shall we go right in to the table?” she asked.

  “Might I use your wash room for a quick clean-up?” Todd asked.

  “Of course. Go right through.” She indicated where the wash room was; although, she was sure he could have figured it out.

  Todd disappeared, and Greta went to her father and extended her arm.

  “I can walk to my own table without your help,” Raymond told her.

  Greta pressed her lips together, determined to make this meal pleasant. Raymond lumbered to the head of the table and sat down. Todd came in, his face somewhat pink, no doubt from washing it. He looked expectantly at Greta, and she nodded toward the chair opposite hers. He sat and rubbed his hands together.

  “T’was mighty nice of you to ask me for supper, Mr. Glick,” Todd said.

  Greta sucked in her breath. Surely, he knew that the invitation had come from her.

  Raymond grumbled and shuffled his feet beneath the table. His face puckered as if he’d sucked on a slice of green apple. Finally, he muttered, “Glad to have you.”

  Greta raised her brows in surprise. This might become interesting.

  “Shall we bow and give thanks?” Raymond asked, his voice still a bit gruff.

  Todd immediately bowed his head, and Greta followed. She could hear the ticking of the large grandfather clock in the corner of the room—her father’s wedding present to her mother. It was a beautiful piece, and Greta often gazed at it, imagining her father as a young man.

  When she was very young, he had been more fun-loving. Sometimes, he even gave her and her sisters a ride through the fields behind their horse. He’d somehow hitch up a piece of plywood, and they’d go scooting across the fields in fits of laughter and glee.

  Greta sighed. That had been a long time ago.

  When Raymond cleared his throat, signaling the end of prayer, Todd got serious about eating his meal. He gave small sighs of pleasure amidst asking Raymond questions about his youth. As Raymond waxed on, Greta stared at him with no small amount of surprise. Todd was accomplishing what she’d never been able to do—put her father in a good mood.

  By the time the last crumbs of her shoofly pie were ingested, her father was actually chuckling. Greta felt as if she’d entered some kind of surreal world. When Raymond stood from the table, he clapped Todd on the back.

  “Let’s go out to the barn. You can tell me what you’ve been doing.” Raymond looked at Greta. “Get the table cleared away. I’ll be in later.”

  Greta stared at him. “Of course, Dat,” she murmured.

  Todd gave her a coy smile, and she simply shook her head at him. Miracle Man. That’s what she’d call him from then on. When they left the house, she bustled about the kitchen and was shocked to realize she was humming. It wasn’t any tune she knew, just some little melody that came to mind. Why, she hadn’t hummed in the kitchen for years. She grinned at herself. So, this was what it could be like if she wasn’t feeling the heavy mood of her father every minute of the day.

  Why, it was nice. Lovely, in fact. She washed the last plate and gazed out the kitchen window, overlooking the front lawn. If she craned her neck just a bit, she could see the barn. The doors were open again, and she imagined her father in there enjoying himself.

  Such a good feeling. She felt a sudden urge to tell Betty about it, but then she remembered. Betty was gone. She’d never tell Betty about anything again. But even with that sobering thought, she wasn’t discouraged.

  Right then, Greta hardly recognized herself.

  She used to be happier like this, more light-hearted. When had she allowed everything in life to drag her down? Life wasn’t always pretty or joyful. But did that mean she had to live in the mire?

  She dried the dishes, resolute to find more joy in life.

  And as of that evening, she would find joy in Todd Fisher and her father’s improved disposition.

  The men wandered back to the porch after about an hour in the barn. Greta sat in the rocker on the porch waiting for them.

  “I’m glad you’re workin’ here,” Raymond said with more cheer than Greta had heard in his voice for a long time. “Best decision I ever made.”

  “I appreciate that, sir,” Todd said. He looked up at Greta. “Thanks ever so much for the meal.”

  Raymond held onto the railing and put one foot on the first step. “You’re welcome anytime.” He glanced at his daughter. “Ain’t he, Greta?”

  Greta’s lips parted in surprise. She hurriedly answered. “He sure is, Dat.”

  “Well, I’d better take my leave,” Todd said. He tipped his head to Greta. “Thank you again.”

  “Walk down the drive with him,” Raymond said.

  Greta stared at him. “What?” She was so amazed that the word fell from her mouth. Since when did an Amish father become so blatant with such a request?

  “You heard me, daughter. Go on now.” He heaved himself up the last steps of the porch and plopped into a rocker.

  Greta stood and took a tentative step toward Todd. Todd’s expression echoed her own embarrassment.

  “Uh … that’s not necessary,” he muttered.

  “Course it is,” Raymond said. “Go on, daughter.”

  Greta gave Todd a look of apology and joined him. Together, they headed toward the main road.

  “I’m so sorry,” she uttered. “You must think my dat is unbalanced.”

  Todd laughed and kicked a stone into the grass. “Nee. Not at all. Don’t worry.”

  “But to put you in such a position. I’m sorry.”

  He pause
d and gave her a full look. “Greta, what position would that be?”

  She swallowed.

  He went on, “I’m walking with a pretty girl after ingesting the best meal I’ve eaten in a long time. Seems like a good position to me.”

  She sucked in her bottom lip and felt the heat rise to her cheeks.

  He laughed again and started walking. “More like I’m the one sorry to put you in such a position.”

  He raised one eyebrow then and gave her a sideways look that was full of humor. She couldn’t help but giggle.

  “All right,” she said. “We’re both in a position.”

  And they laughed together.

  Chapter Five

  Greta was eager to give her dat the tea that Old Mae had suggested. If she could somehow keep his good mood going, life would be so much better. She steeped the tea carefully and took it out to the porch to give to her father.

  “Here you are, Dat. A nice cup of tea before bed.”

  “I never asked for tea.” He folded his hands over his stomach.

  “Nee, you didn’t. But wouldn’t it settle nicely this evening.” She tried to sound casual and uninterested. If he felt she was passionate about him drinking the tea, he surely wouldn’t take it.

  She looked out over the yard and took a deep breath of appreciation for the twilight serenity. To her gratification, Raymond reached out and took the cup.

  “You ain’t having any?” he asked.

  “I might have some later.”

  “That Todd is a gut man.”

  She smiled at him. “That he is.”

  “He ain’t married, you know.”

  “Jah. I know.” She’d often wondered why he wasn’t, but that was hardly her business. But she could see that her father was going to make it his business. She bit her bottom lip. Her father knew nothing of her deathbed promise to Betty. Nor would he like it if he did know about it. Over and over, he’d fussed about her going over to Isaac’s house. And after Betty died, he’d become even more vocal with his opinion.