The Amish Wonders Collection

by Ruth Reid

  “I have other dishes to heat. I can add yours,” an elderly woman said.

  “Denki.” Lindie handed the casserole to the woman who then slipped it on the rack beside the others.

  “I’m Lois. We haven’t met, but I’ve heard about you.”

  Lindie dropped her smile even though Lois was jovial as she said it.

  “Gut things.” Lois chuckled. “Are you going to take your cape off and stay for a while?”

  The crowded room was warm. She removed the covering as someone took hold of her arm.

  “I see you’ve met mei mamm,” Rebecca said, giving Lindie’s arm a squeeze. Without waiting for Lindie to answer, she continued, “We are so thrilled that you’ve moved to our district. So many times our young men move away when they fall in love. Have you and Josiah corresponded long?”

  It would raise too many questions for Lindie to admit she’d only received one letter. Indirectly at that since Josiah had mailed the letter to Eli. Thankfully, before she could think of a response, the door opened and the men filed inside.

  “I better get the kaffi ready.” Rebecca turned to the stove.

  Lindie inched toward the door. She needed air. The different food scents had upset her stomach. While Hannah was distracted with the other children, Lindie slipped outside.

  She rubbed her arms, wishing she had thought to grab her cape.

  The door opened and Ellen stepped outside. “It gets noisy in there, ain’t so?”

  “Jah,” Lindie agreed. Though it was more than noise that drove her out.

  “Hannah seems to have taken to you. I suppose she thinks of you as a playmate.”

  She must’ve been the one whispering in the service. Lindie forced a smile, then scurried toward the outhouse.

  Ellen followed. “So how long have you and Josiah known each other?”

  Behind them, the screen door snapped and Josiah tramped down the porch steps. He took a few strides and was at Lindie’s side before she blinked.

  “We’ve known each other for several years. Our districts in Ohio were only fifteen miles apart, and her bruder and I worked on the same construction crew.”

  Ellen eyed Lindie as if trying to calculate the age difference between them.

  “Ellen was the one who sent over the apple crisp,” Josiah said.

  “Denki. Excuse me.” Lindie shot inside the outhouse. Not a place she wanted to loiter, but if it meant waiting until everyone went back indoors, she would. As she was busy ridding her stomach of its contents, Josiah and Ellen’s conversation became a muffled background.

  After a few minutes, Josiah knocked on the door. “Is everything all right? You’ve been in there awhile.”

  Lindie unlatched the door and stepped out. She must have looked squeamish because he placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her toward the buggies.

  “I’ll take you home.”

  “What will everyone think?”

  “That I want to be alone with mei fraa.”

  Her muscles stiffened.

  He capped her shoulder with his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “We’re newly married. What else would they think?” He waited for her to climb into the buggy. “I have to run back inside to get your cloak and to ask Simon to bring Hannah home with him.” He winked. “That way we can have some time alone.”

  Chapter Ten

  Josiah shook his head at Lindie practically hugging the farthest side of the buggy bench. “You look more nervous nau than on our way to church. What’s wrong?”

  She shrugged without making eye contact.

  He reached across the bench and clasped his hand over hers. If she kept wringing them, her chapped hands would turn raw. “You’re nett feeling well, are you?”

  She shook her head.

  His stomach growled, a sharp reminder it was past mealtime.

  “I’m sorry we left before you had a chance to eat,” she whispered.

  “That’s okay. Besides, I wanted to be alone with you.” He winked. “With Simon and Hannah always around, we haven’t had much opportunity.”

  She shifted farther away on the seat and began fidgeting with the hem of her apron.

  “Does that bother you?” He couldn’t figure her out. He would have stayed for the meal if she hadn’t been hiding in the outhouse. Now she acted frightened to be alone with him. “Lindie,” he said when she didn’t answer. “Don’t you want to get to know each other better?”

  She sucked in a raspy breath. “Sure. If . . . if that’s what you want.” Her words sounded forced. She tilted her head up.

  At first it looked as though she was studying the rooftop of the buggy, but then she blinked. Obviously trying not to cry.

  Josiah led Molly off the main road toward home. Neither said anything until he stopped the mare next to the porch.

  “I’ll take care of Molly and be in shortly. Maybe you could make us some sandwiches.”

  “I thought—never mind.” She opened the buggy door and lowered one leg.

  Josiah leaned across the bench to reach for her arm. “I meant for us to get acquainted by talking. Over lunch.” She hadn’t looked this frightened since the day he brought her home. His face heated. He shouldn’t have teased her about going home to be alone. He cleared his throat. “I’ll be in after I take care of Molly.” And after he prayed about what they’d talk about.

  This time when she scurried to get out of the buggy, he didn’t stop her. She needed some time alone. And so did he.

  Josiah clicked his tongue and Molly lurched forward.

  He spent longer than usual removing the harness, filling the water and oat buckets, and wiping off the lather buildup on Molly. He didn’t believe it was right to stable a horse without towel drying her first. He also covered Molly with a blanket during the heart of the winter, when the temperatures dipped below zero, and rubbed liniment on her legs to save the mare’s joints.

  He already owned one horse that limped when it got cold. Josiah grabbed the ointment jar from a shelf and opened Moose’s stall. He dug his hand into the gooey substance and crouched next to the horse. Each night he rubbed the gelding’s joints with this special compound. Josiah’s eyes watered from the pungent scent. Moose was old. Josiah retired him from dragging logs out of the woods after Caroline’s death. Josiah moved to the other side and slathered the oily substance down the horse’s legs. It wouldn’t be long before Hannah would want to go for a sleigh ride. Another thing they hadn’t done much of since Caroline died. After he’d built a flatbed with ski runners for hauling lumber out of the woods, he’d built Caroline a sleigh. On wintry nights, they bundled up and took a family ride. Hannah loved it. She would motion for him to go faster and throw her head back, laughing.

  He had hoped marrying Lindie would somehow bring back Hannah’s smile. A girl needed a mother. Maybe not yet, but it wouldn’t be long before Hannah would need to learn cooking and sewing skills. A father could only teach a daughter so much. Boys were different. They needed to learn how to work a field, develop a trade that would enable them to support a wife and family. Josiah’s chest caved with heaviness. His role wasn’t just to support his wife. He was also to love his wife as Christ loved the church. He loved Caroline that way. Could he let go of Caroline in order to love Lindie?

  He wiped his greasy hands on a rag and hung it on a nearby nail. His stomach growled, but he took a few more moments to load his arms with kindling for the cookstove. After lunch, he would bring in a supply for the woodstove. Those pieces were rather large and cumbersome and often meant several trips out to the shed. His arms loaded, he plodded across the yard, then stomped the snow from his boots before going inside.

  Lindie was standing at the counter when he came in and tossed the handful of wood in the box next to the stove. “That should be enough for today and most of tomorrow.”

  “Denki.” Lindie’s nose twitched like she might sneeze, but she tilted her head up slightly and sniffed again.

  “Liniment.” Josiah held his hand ne
xt to her nose.

  “Camphor, jah?” Her eyes watered.

  “Mostly.” Though the alum and oil of turpentine produced pungent odors, her excessive blinking was probably due to the high concentration of camphor. He pulled his hankie from his pocket. “Want me to wipe those teary eyes?”

  She shook her head and lifted her dress sleeve to cover her nose.

  Probably just as well. He hadn’t thought about his hands soiling the hankie when he reached into his pocket. She might get sick. He would feel awful if she vomited because of his teasing.

  “I’ll wash mei hands.” He hurried to the sink and scrubbed extra hard to remove the rancid scent. As he lathered his hands, he looked over his shoulder. Her teary blue eyes glimmered as she dabbed them with the hem of her dress sleeve. She was beautiful. He pulled his hands out from under the water and shook them. “You still bothered by the scent?”

  “Mei eyes are watering, but at least the chemicals aren’t upsetting mei stomach.”

  “That’s gut.” Too bad it wasn’t the opposite. If she were sensitive to chemicals instead of food scents, she wouldn’t have to battle so much to keep a meal down. He wondered if she was keeping enough down to stay healthy. He’d waited too long to insist Caroline see a doctor. Had she not convinced him the sickness was normal, she might not have miscarried. The muscles in the back of his neck tensed. He didn’t want Lindie living with those same regrets.

  Lindie cut the peanut-butter sandwiches in half and stacked them all on one plate. “I wasn’t sure how many you would eat.”

  “I hope you plan to eat a couple of them too.” He decided not to wait for her to reply and divvied the portions.

  She shuddered.

  “You need to eat for the boppli.” Any pregnant woman should understand the importance of eating for two. At least he had always believed women developed some sort of innate protectiveness once they became pregnant.

  After a moment of silence to say grace, she picked up the sandwich, took a small bite, then set it down.

  “Were you able to get to know the womenfolk?”

  She shrugged. “I think some believe I’m too young for you.”

  He had hoped she hadn’t heard the whispers. He wasn’t concerned about their ten-year age difference. “Do you think I’m too old for you?”

  “Nay,” she whispered.

  “Then don’t worry about it. They probably feel some loyalty to Caroline.”

  “Like you still do.”

  “Jah. She was mei fraa. I loved her with all mei heart.”

  The vibrancy dimmed in Lindie’s eyes.

  He hadn’t meant to stir up sadness. “What about you? You must have some thoughts about the boppli’s father?” A blunt question he had withheld long enough.

  She picked up her plate and stood.

  How could she not have feelings for the man? Even short-lived romances, which sometimes happened during rumschpringe, required a certain amount of commitment for her to have become pregnant. He’d known of couples who had to rush into marriage because the unthinkable happened during their rumschpringe.

  He followed her to the sink. “Lindie, you’re nett the only girl who has fallen into”—he eyed her abdomen—“trouble during her rumschpringe. Although, when they return to the faith, most—”

  “Get married? Have the kind of relationship that you and Caroline shared?” Her shoulders sagged and she lowered her head. “I wasn’t on rumschpringe.”

  “Lindie, I—”

  “I knelt in confession once. Do you want me to do it again in your church?”

  “Nay. But I don’t understand how you could give yourself to someone and nett—”

  She lifted one hand. “That’s right, you don’t understand. And you’re quick to cast judgment too.”

  Her glare warned him not to probe further. He would respect her wishes. But he couldn’t let her dispose of the uneaten sandwiches without saying something. “Why aren’t you eating? Do you not care about that boppli you’re carrying?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Under the flickering shadows of the oil lamp, Lindie stared at the blank sheet of paper. The promised letter to her brother and sister-in-law was overdue. She should have jotted a quick note before now. She thumped the eraser end of the pencil on the pad of paper, unsure where to begin.

  It wouldn’t be fitting to tell them how Josiah had avoided her this past week or how their lunch together last Sunday had escalated into him walking out of the room. He had used the excuse of work in the barn, but she sensed it was something more. At times, his bewilderment morphed into disdain when he brought up her lack of appetite. Apparently he’d lost sleep over the situation, because the shadows under his eyes had darkened.

  No, she couldn’t tell Eli that his friend must feel duped into this marriage. She couldn’t blame Josiah. She was probably the only Amish woman who wasn’t excited to become a mother, though she prayed constantly for God to help her overcome her misgivings and change the condition of her heart.

  Nor could she admit that Hannah still refused to communicate with her. The sign language book Josiah had given her to study clearly stated it took ongoing practice before one became proficient. She’d tried multiple times to correspond with Hannah and the girl only stared. Not wanting to disturb Josiah, Lindie didn’t ask for his help. So she worked on it alone, settled for limited skills, and wondered why she was doing it at all if Hannah had no interest in communicating.

  Lindie sipped her coffee. She would have told Eli and Margaret how Hannah had laid her hand on a wounded deer and how it had miraculously recovered, but even Josiah had dismissed the idea. Not much could be put in this letter that wouldn’t cause alarm. She asked if it was normal to be sick all the time, then erased the question. Eli and Margaret would worry. She wished she had someone in this settlement to ask. The womenfolk were pleasant enough, but so far, none of them knew about the pregnancy. Still, she thought the sickness should have passed after the first trimester.

  Lindie’s gaze drifted out the kitchen window at the falling snow. The snow hadn’t let up in four days. Even the branches of the pines near the barn drooped with snowcaps. It was a beautiful sight from inside the house. Since Josiah’s avoidance, she’d stopped worrying about cabin fever. A blessing she hadn’t considered, though she dare not write about it either.

  She scratched out a few sentences about the record number of inches for the first part of December, asked how everyone was doing, and implied she was adapting to the north.

  She signed it, Lindie. Adding Plank to her signature just didn’t feel natural. She folded the paper and slipped it into an envelope. Hopefully the brief note was convincing and wouldn’t inadvertently leak how homesick she was. Perhaps in the next letter she’d have good news to share. If not, she’d give them another weather update.

  The door creaked open as she wrote the address on the envelope. She paused. Josiah usually stomped the snow off his boots before he entered, but if he had, she hadn’t heard him. The kettle was steaming on the stove. This time she was prepared. Almost. She should have the coffee poured and waiting for him. He came into the house for a cup of coffee this time every day. Lindie set the letter aside and went to the kitchen. Later she would ask him for one of the stamps she’d seen in the desk when she was catching up on the bookkeeping.

  She filled the cup and set it on the table where he always sat. When he didn’t enter the kitchen, she checked the sitting room, but didn’t find him warming himself by the woodstove. She must have been mistaken about hearing the door.

  She gasped. Hannah. Lindie dashed down the hall to the girl’s bedroom and flung the door open. The room was empty.

  Consumed with having Josiah’s coffee ready when he came inside, she hadn’t thought about the child. Lindie hurried to the door. There wasn’t enough time to lace her boots so she shoved her feet into her shoes. She grabbed her cape and winter bonnet from the hook and tore out of the house, putting the garments on as she ran. Her feet slipped over
a patch of ice and she teetered for balance.

  Lindie trudged over a pile of banked snow and pushed through the drifts in the field until she became winded. Stopping to catch her breath, she searched for tracks, but the freshly fallen snow made it difficult to see. Not wanting to waste any time, she continued toward the woods. She made it a few feet before a piercing sharpness stopped her, buckling her at the waist. She clutched her side, panted a few quick breaths, and bit back a screech. Moments later the pain hadn’t eased completely, but it had lessened enough to continue. She couldn’t leave Hannah alone in the woods.

  Lindie reached the edge of the woods and stopped. This time it wasn’t her side that ached, but her heart was racing and she couldn’t will her feet to move forward. She froze, paralyzed by memories of sticks cracking under heavy footsteps and the overwhelming scent of dead leaves. She resented her inability to cast aside the terrifying recollections.

  She hated the woods—the heavy breathing—scratchy leaves grinding into her bare skin.

  Being cold.

  Left for dead.

  “Nay!” Lindie squeezed her eyes shut, fell to her knees, and buried her face in her hands. Every fiber in her body seized.

  Breathe . . .

  Frigid air entered her lungs. She blew it out, gasped another lungful, and held it until her ears rang. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t focus.

  Push through this. Hannah’s alone.

  Unable to bear the thought of the woods swallowing Hannah, she closed her eyes. Jesus, keep her safe. Help me put the wicked past behind me so I can find her.

  A burst of renewed strength filled her. She pushed off the ground, shoved the low-hanging branch out of her way, and pressed forward down the trail. She reached the tree where she and Josiah found her last time, but the girl wasn’t there.

  Lindie scanned the area. The dense thicket made the surroundings difficult to search. She needed to choose a direction, but if she wandered aimlessly, she would get twisted around. Lost.