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

by Brenda Maxfield

  He lifted his chin. “Ah. Isaac. I’m sorry for him. And his loss.”

  She bit her lip.

  “You were gut friends with Betty, ain’t so?”

  She nodded. “Best friends.”

  “Then I’m sorry for your loss, too.” He shifted and adjusted the reins. “So, how is Isaac?”

  She wasn’t sure what to answer. If she gave him any detail, he would know that Isaac had written. She frowned. Why should that be an issue? Todd already knew he’d asked her to look after Betty’s garden.

  “Getting along,” she finally said.

  “Greta…?” His tone changed, and he seemed nervous all of a sudden.

  She licked her lips. “Jah?”

  He looked at her and blinked, and then he smiled. “Never mind.” He inhaled. “We’re almost there.”

  “Jah. Almost there.”

  They were silent the rest of the way.

  Chapter Eight

  Greta tossed in her bed, and her feet tangled in the sheets. It was warm. Too warm. She opened her eyes and blinked. The darkness was heavy. She looked at her glowing wind-up clock. One-thirty in the morning. What had awakened her? The heat?

  Through her open window, she heard a cry from the road. Then the sound of wagons rumbling down the road at what sounded like high speeds. She jumped out of bed and ran to her window. In the murky shadows, she thought she caught sight of a stream of wagons and buggies rushing by.

  What was happening?

  She raced from her room, grabbing a shawl. She didn’t need it, but she wanted to cover herself. She nearly stumbled down the steps in her hurry to get outside. She flew over her yard out to the road.

  A wagon was careening down the way.

  “What’s happening!” she cried.

  “House is on fire!” came the answer.

  “Where? Whose?”

  “Wagners!”

  And the wagon was gone.

  Wagners? Isaac and Betty were the only Wagners in the district. Isaac’s house was on fire? She turned on her heel and raced back to the house. She burst inside and climbed the stairs two at a time. She threw on her dress and rushed back into the hallway.

  “What’s going on?” her father asked, standing in his doorway.

  “Wagners house is on fire. I’m going to help!”

  “Wait for me!”

  Greta stopped. “Nee, Dat. You can’t help. It’s too much for you. Wait here, and I’ll come back soon.”

  “I can help,” he said, his voice hard. “Let me get my clothes.”

  Greta bit her lip. She didn’t want to wait for him. And what could he possibly do to help? He could hardly hobble around his own place.

  “Dat?” she called.

  She heard him in his room, getting dressed.

  “Dat, I need to go now!”

  “You’ll wait,” he argued.

  “Fine,” she said. “I’ll be in the barn hitching up Clacker.”

  She turned on her heel and ran down the stairs and outside to the barn. Within minutes, she had the pony hitched up.

  “Come on, Clacker,” she urged him, but he was fully awake now and eager to be going. He trotted up to the porch.

  Raymond Glick hadn’t yet appeared. Greta secured the reins and ran back inside.

  “Dat! You coming?”

  There was no sound. She felt her way to the steps and hurried up. “Dat!” She went to his door. “Are you ready?”

  Still no sound.

  “Dat!” She pushed through the door and blinked, trying to adjust to the increased darkness. She went to the window and opened the curtains. Dim light crept through the window. Her father was sitting on the edge of the bed. She stepped over to him.

  “Are you ready?”

  “I ain’t goin’.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He growled. “I ain’t goin’.”

  Greta was so exasperated, she wanted to holler. She swallowed her irritation. “Why? I thought you wanted to.”

  “Go on. Go without me.”

  “Why?”

  “Go without me.”

  Greta paused, not knowing what to think. “Are you all right?”

  “You wanted to go, so go.”

  “Let me light the lamp. I’ll help you get ready.”

  He grabbed her arm. “Go. I’m fine. Go.”

  She stepped back, and he loosened his grip.

  “All right, Dat.” She frowned, wishing she could see his expression. What had happened in those few minutes that she’d hitched up Clacker? But she couldn’t stick around. Not if she wanted to help.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said, and whooshed out of the room.

  In a rush to join the frenzy, Clacker pulled against the harness. Greta guided him with the reins as tightly as she dared. She didn’t want him to spook and go wild. But the very air throbbed with danger. She followed what looked to be the Millers as they hurried to the scene in front of her.

  When she approached Isaac’s house, her mouth fell open. Flames were bursting through the kitchen window, lapping at the wood, hungry and consuming. People ran about like scurrying ants, shovels in their hands. Dirt was flying toward the window. Someone had grabbed the hose and was spraying the house. Others were running with buckets, sloshing water as they raced to the flames.

  A siren wailed, growing closer and closer. Greta panicked. She was in the way. Clacker tossed his head and started to back up. Greta gripped the reins for all she was worth.

  “Nee! Clacker, keep going! Nee!” She couldn’t control him; he was twisting against the harness now as the shrill siren pierced the air. “Clacker!”

  Someone was racing toward her. He lunged forward and caught Clacker by the harness, yanking him hard to the right. “Come on, boy.”

  Greta pulled the reins sharply. It was Todd. He wrenched Clacker off the drive with sheer force. She looked behind as the fire truck pulled into the drive. They’d gotten out of the way just in time. But Clacker was still going crazy. Todd was nearly lifted from his feet as he steadied the horse.

  The siren stopped, but the flashing red lights circled the area with their blinding glow.

  Greta scrambled out of the cart and ran to her horse. She joined Todd as he patted his neck.

  “It’s okay, boy,” Greta said. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  Finally, Clacker settled down. But he snorted, and Greta could still see the terror in his eyes.

  “It’s all right,” Todd murmured close to the horse’s ear. “Good boy. Good boy.”

  Greta looked at Todd. “Thank you.”

  “You had your hands full.”

  Greta looked at Isaac’s house, and her heart plummeted. How could this have happened? How could a fire have started? She had just been inside that day. Nothing was amiss. Had she done something that could have caused this?

  “I need to go help,” Todd said and ran off.

  She followed him, but as she drew closer, she realized she’d only be in the way. By that time, the firemen were pushing back the men who were helping. Everyone stood and watched them spray the house with their thick hoses. Dirt and ash covered the faces of many of them, reflected in the eerie light of the truck. The flames were nearly out now.

  Within minutes, no visible fire showed, only smoke gushed up toward the sky.

  “It’s almost out,” Todd said, close to her ear.

  She gave a start, surprised that he was beside her. “How much damage did it do?” she asked.

  “We’ll know soon. Looks like it was mostly confined to the kitchen.”

  “Poor Isaac,” Greta murmured. This was all he needed, on top of everything else. Her mind whirled. This meant that he’d probably come home. She found herself glad for it, and then she soundly scolded herself. How could she be glad in someone else’s misfortune?

  But she was. She was glad.

  “You all right?” Todd asked.

  She blinked and looked at him. “Of course.”

  “Do y
ou want help going back home?” He glanced at her, and in the flashing red lights across his face, she saw his concern.

  “Nee. I’m fine. But thank you.”

  He nodded and squeezed her arm, disappearing into the crowd. She gazed after him. He was a gut person. She liked him.

  She drew in a breath. Her dat would be glad for that.

  Greta moved a bit closer to the house to see if she could hear any news from the firemen. The men were busy with their tasks, and she was hearing no news, so she sank back into the crowd. Who was going to tell Isaac about the fire?

  Someone would probably call the district in Ohio. She wished now that she had the number of a shanty or a business there. But someone would. Isaac had probably given a phone number to one of the men working his fields.

  But she could write him. He wouldn’t get her letter for a couple days, but she would do it anyway. She walked back to her cart. Clacker was standing obediently, but she knew he’d be relieved to get out of there. She untied him and with the reins in her hands, climbed into the cart. Todd had situated the cart in a way that made it easy for her to pull out, back to the road. She didn’t have a lamp, which was foolish.

  Why hadn’t she hung one on the cart when she left? Now, she would have to go back in the dark. Once she got away from the smoke and confusion of Isaac’s place, she noted that the moon was out as were plenty of stars. It wasn’t quite as dark as she feared. The road was quiet save for the clip clop of Clacker’s hooves. There was a quiet stillness in the air that was peaceful. But Greta wasn’t enjoying it much—she was too busy worrying about Isaac.

  And her dat. What had swayed his decision not to come? It wasn’t like him to back down from something.

  She clicked her tongue, giving Clacker a bit more lead to speed up. She wondered if her father would still be up. She’d go check on him. Maybe he’d like a warm cup of tea.

  Greta was exhausted by the time she’d unhitched Clacker and gone inside. The sky on the horizon was beginning to show a whisper of light. She crept into the house quietly in case her father was asleep, but she saw his silhouette in the front room.

  “Dat?” she said. “You scared me.”

  He shifted. She walked over to him. “Are you all right?”

  “Is his house gone?”

  “Nee. Looked to be mainly the kitchen.”

  “How’d it start?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He gave a gruff cough.

  “Do you want me to light the lantern?”

  “Nee.” He heaved himself to his feet and began to hobble toward the stairs.

  “Do you want some tea or something?”

  “I’m goin’ back to bed.”

  Greta tried to take his elbow to help him, but he shook her off.

  “You okay, Dat?”

  He put his hand on the railing and hoisted himself up the first few steps. Then he paused. “I’m an old man,” he said, his voice leaden.

  Greta frowned. This wasn’t like him at all. What had happened? “You’re not so old.”

  “You think so. My own daughter.” And with that, he continued up the stairs, leaving Greta gaping up at him, wondering when he’d ever let her supposed opinion affect anything.

  Greta sat on her bed with her knees pulled up to her chin. She gazed down at her tablet and pen, lying there just waiting for her to pick them up. She was going to write Isaac. Perhaps it would be a two-part letter. First part tonight, and the second part when she knew more about the extent of damage to his house.

  With a sigh, she picked up her tablet.

  Dear Isaac,

  I’m thinking that someone has already communicated with you, but I am writing to you anyway just in case. I wish I had a phone number because using a phone would be so much better right now.

  There has been an accident at your house. A fire. It happened in the middle of the night. I heard the commotion on the road and went to see in my pony cart. I’m so sorry, Isaac. When I got there, flames were bursting out the kitchen window. So many neighbors were there, trying to smother it with dirt and water. The fire truck came right after I got there. Within minutes, it was under control. It looks like only the kitchen suffered damage, but it was dark and hard to tell.

  I’ll go back this morning and find out what I can.

  I’m so very, very sorry.

  Greta paused and re-read what she’d written. It would do. She set the letter aside and lay down on her bed, not bothering to change again into her nightgown. As she rested in the still air, she smelled the smoke on her, its acrid scent filling her nostrils. Tears welled up in her eyes. It was as if Isaac’s house itself was mourning the loss of Betty. As if it knew something wasn’t right.

  She closed her eyes and tears rolled down her cheeks. Goodness. She must be tired if she was imagining that the house itself had feelings. She turned on her side and attempted to doze before having to get up and face the day.

  Chapter Nine

  Greta bustled to get breakfast on the table quickly. She was itching to get over to Isaac’s and see how extensive the damage really was.

  “Coffee ain’t hot,” her father grumbled after taking a sip.

  “I’m sorry, Dat. You want me to heat it back up for you?” Greta stood and reached for his cup.

  He waved her hand away. “It’ll do.” He scrutinized her. “Why are you in such a hurry this morning?”

  “I want to go see Isaac’s house.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  She raised her brow. “You will?”

  His forehead grooved into a frown. “Why not? I didn’t go last night.”

  “I know, but—”

  “But nothing. You can’t stop me.”

  Greta leaned back in her chair and stared at him. “I never stopped you last night.”

  “Jah, you did.”

  “But I didn’t!” What was he talking about?

  He leaned over the table, putting his face close to hers. “You think I’m an old fool. You think I can’t do nothing helpful anymore. You wish you could leave.”

  Greta’s mouth fell open. She closed it quickly and swallowed. Her face burned with shame. He was right. She did often think those very things. But she figured since she hadn’t spoken them, they hadn’t been obvious.

  Dear Gott, forgive me.

  She licked her lips. “I’m sorry, Dat. I’m sorry if I’ve given you that impression.” She gulped in a big breath of air. “I’m happy to be here with you. I’m happy to tend to you.”

  If she said it with enough conviction, would it be true? Oh, she was a horrible person.

  Her father pinched his lips into a frown. Greta saw his eyes mist over, and her guilt deepened.

  “I’m glad you want to go with me,” she said. “Shall we go right after breakfast?”

  He grunted and took a bite of his hotcakes.

  “I’ll hitch Clacker up.” Greta stood. “Whenever you’re ready, come on out.”

  She scampered into the kitchen as if she were being chased. A rush of pity for her father filled her. He was a hard man. A cranky man. But she’d been so busy trying to protect herself from his grumpiness, that she’d forgotten he was a person. With feelings.

  She determined to do much better by him in the future.

  She plunged her dirty dishes into the warm soapy water. Then she washed up the skillet and the mixing bowls, and rinsed out the coffee pot. When all was clean, she ran out the side door to the barn.

  After hitching up the pony, she drove the cart up to the front porch. She sat in the sun and closed her eyes, letting the early morning heat wash over her. Birds twittered from the large elm tree by the side of the house. She heard a frog croak and smiled. When she was young, she and her sisters had spent hours catching frogs. One time, she’d made a little frog house out of twigs and grass and leaves. When the toad she caught wouldn’t stay put, she was heartbroken.

  The front screen squeaked open and banged shut.

  “I’m ready.” Raym
ond Glick hobbled across the porch and down the steps.

  Greta scooted to the side to give him plenty of room to sit by her. She didn’t give him a hand up, figuring he’d resent it. Instead, she kept her eyes forward, waiting for him to be seated. The cart dipped under his weight.

  “Let’s go.”

  Greta slapped the reins on Clacker’s rump and off they went. Neither of them spoke until she turned into Isaac’s drive. There were already men everywhere, and Greta could see that they had not delayed in starting repairs.

  “Raymond!” Josiah Wheeler called out, raising his hammer in greeting. “We can use your help.”

  Greta’s father gave a nod, and she could see how pleased he was. She drew the cart to a halt, and Raymond wasted no time in getting down. He moved as fast as he could to the group of men.

  “Has someone told Isaac?” she called out to whomever would answer.

  “He should be learning of it any minute,” Stephen Lapp said, walking over to her cart. “We called the phone of the dairy farmer. They’ll give him the message.”

  Greta nodded. “Gut.”

  “I imagine he’ll be returning, then. But we saw no reason to wait with the repairs. He’s gone through enough lately.”

  “That he has,” Greta murmured. “Is the damage only in the kitchen.”

  “Most of it. There’s some smoke damage.”

  “What caused it?”

  “Don’t rightly know. A fire inspector was here earlier. But since we don’t use insurance, after a short look around, he left.”

  “So, they don’t know.”

  “Nee. And we wanted him out of the way so we could get busy. It’s a bad time to be leaving our fields.”

  “Can I go in?”

  Stephen gave her an odd look, as if wondering why in the world she was concerning herself. She had a wild impulse to tell him that she was practically engaged to Isaac. Then, she nearly choked on her own saliva. What in the world was the matter with her? She couldn’t be going around spreading that news.

  “I suppose. But be careful. There’s some real danger close to where the sink is.”

  She got down from the cart and approached the porch. She avoided the soggy piles of burnt items the men had already pulled from the kitchen and stepped into the house. What a difference from the day before. She could hardly believe what she was seeing. Betty would simply weep if she could see her kitchen now. It was a gutted, burnt shell of what it had been.