The Amish Wonders Collection

by Ruth Reid

  “This is Sunday.” That should be enough reason, but she continued, “I feel fine. Great, in fact. And I’m well rested.”

  “Is that so?” He removed the spoon and set it aside, then moved the pot of oatmeal over to the wire cooling rack. “You feel great?” He crossed the room.

  “Jah.” She squared her shoulders.

  “Well rested, you say?” Josiah placed his hand on her lower back and turned her toward the hall. “Gut, then I must be doing something right.” He prodded her forward.

  “Josiah.” She wheeled around, bumping into his chest. He stepped back, but she closed the distance between them. “Up until nau, I’ve bitten mei tongue when you’ve hovered over me as though you were calculating every calorie I consumed.”

  “And you’re finally gaining some weight.” His eyes traveled the length of her.

  “I’m nett spending another day in that bed. Mei backside will spawn bedsores.”

  He grinned and tugged on her elbows, drawing her closer to him. She peered up into his eyes as he towered above her.

  He bent so that his cheek rested against hers and whispered next to her ear, “I can make a paste that will take care of your backside problem.”

  She sprung back, finger pointing. “That’s nett funny.”

  Still grinning, he shrugged.

  “Don’t you have livestock to feed before church?”

  “I already did the chores. I wanted to have enough time to sit with you while you ate breakfast.”

  “You mean monitor mei intake. Are you keeping record of what I eat?”

  “Jah, I am.” He turned her around. “And by the way,” he said, nudging her toward the hallway, “you’re nett drinking enough milk. Nau get back into bed and I’ll bring your breakfast in.”

  “Jo-si-ah,” she pleaded. “Don’t make me miss church.”

  His compassionate gaze locked on hers, Then he shook his head. “You can read your Bible and pray in bed.”

  “I don’t think God wants me isolated from the others. I think you do. You want to hide me until—”

  “That’s nett true.” His brows furrowed.

  “What’s Simon going to say?”

  He crossed his arms. “Don’t you care what your husband says?”

  “Jah, I do, but—Josiah, please. I can’t stay another day in that bed.”

  He paused. “Okay. But promise me that you’ll go to bed as soon as it’s over.”

  “I will.”

  He stepped closer. “I’m warning you, Lindie. I’ll crawl in bed beside you if you so much as wiggle a toe outside of the covers.”

  She sucked in a breath, terrified that he might be serious.

  Tension simmered between Josiah and Lindie at the breakfast table. She forced down the last spoonful of gummy oatmeal as if it were a dose of bitter medicine. She wouldn’t give him a reason to complain about how little she ate.

  Josiah stood. “Will you help Hannah with her kapp while I get the buggy ready?”

  “Sure.”

  Lindie gestured to her hair and signed, asking Hannah to bring her the brush.

  The girl scooted out of the room in a hurry.

  Meanwhile, Lindie collected the dirty dishes and started the dishwater. A few bowls, utensils, milk glasses, and the pot Josiah cooked the oatmeal in wasn’t even a sinkload, but she didn’t want the kitchen untidy when they left for church. Simon left earlier, saying he needed to meet with the bishop prior to church. Josiah thought it had something to do with Simon’s trip schedule. He bought his ticket to Centerville for the day after Christmas.

  Hannah raced back into the room with the soft bristle brush and sat down at the table.

  Leaving the dishes to soak, she unraveled Hannah’s hair, setting the pins aside until she had all the tangles brushed out. She worked quickly and had the hair in place when the bell Josiah had mounted over the door jingled.

  He stuck his head into the kitchen. “Are you two ready?”

  “Almost,” Lindie replied. She secured the last pin in place.

  Hannah touched the top of her kapp and stood. Smiling wide, she stretched her arms around Lindie’s waist and hugged her tightly.

  Lindie’s heart warmed. If it hadn’t been time to leave for the Sunday service, she would have held the child until Hannah broke from the embrace. But Lindie didn’t want to keep Josiah waiting, so she tapped the youngster’s shoulder and motioned toward her father.

  Josiah signed for Hannah to put on her boots and cape. Once she skipped from the room, he turned to Lindie. “She’s needed a maternal hug for a while nau.”

  “I could spend more time with her if I wasn’t in bed all day.” She arched her brows and offered her most persuasive smile, but to no avail.

  “You won’t sway me by sulking either. I don’t intend to change mei mind.”

  “A bit overprotective for someone with a closed mind—closed heart,” she muttered, adding, “I got that message on day one.” She said the last part loud enough for him to hear, but his reaction was unreadable—a blank canvas.

  “We need to go.” He walked away.

  She grabbed the jar of peanut butter and a loaf of bread off the counter. She hadn’t had time to prepare something for the meal after the service and didn’t want to arrive empty-handed.

  Once outside, Lindie drew in a lungful of crisp air and coughed. Having been shut in the house for several days, her lungs needed cleaning out from inhaling smoke fumes from the woodstove.

  Josiah coughed too as he took his place on the buggy bench. “This cold air has a way of taking your breath away.”

  “I think it’s from being trapped indoors.”

  “Trapped?”

  “Inhaling woodstove smoke all day is bound to clog anyone’s lungs.”

  Josiah focused on reining Molly onto the road.

  Fresh snow blanketed both sides of the plowed road. Molly trotted, her nostrils expelling white clouds into the air.

  Hannah snuggled up against Lindie’s side and intertwined her arm with hers. Gratitude washed over Lindie as she looked down at the child. Lindie closed her eyes and prayed. Denki, Father, for your unending love and grace. For giving me a glimpse of motherhood. Lindie rested her hand on her belly and smiled. I’ve struggled to understand all that’s happened, but, God, I’m beginning—

  Josiah nudged Lindie. “Are you feeling okay?”

  “Jah, why?”

  His eyes flicked from her hand over her belly, up to her eyes, then back to the road. “I thought maybe you were having problems.”

  “Nay,” she said. “Just enjoying the day.”

  He pulled into the drive of a large two-story farmhouse and parked the buggy beside the others.

  Lindie stepped out of the buggy and, waiting for Hannah to slide out, scanned the yard. There were buggies, but no activity. Everyone must be in the barn, trying to stay warm. But it, too, lacked the normal bustle that occurred just before the service started. “Where is everyone? The barn looks dark.”

  “We meet in the haus.” He looped the reins over the rail. “The Masts have a large basement that can hold everyone, so most of the services are held here during the winter months.” He went to the back of the buggy, pulled out a ratty wool cover, and gave it a shake. Then he draped it over the mare.

  Lindie reached inside the buggy for the bread and peanut butter. “I should have prepared something warm to eat.”

  “You should still be in bed,” Josiah mumbled, coming up beside her.

  “We’re here nau. Let’s go inside.” She hunched her shoulders, shielding her face from the wind, and hurried along the shoveled path.

  Once inside, Josiah joined the men in the basement, while Lindie took the food into the kitchen where the women were gathered. She placed the loaf of bread and jar of peanut butter on the counter just as one of the women announced the service was ready to start. She would make the sandwiches later. Lindie and Hannah followed the others down the narrow staircase and found a place on a bench.
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  The service seemed long, and Lindie found sitting for three hours difficult as the unforgiving bench caused her back muscles to stiffen. She shifted, then shifted again, but it seemed impossible to find a suitable position.

  Once the service ended, she stood, and Josiah was at her side.

  “What’s wrong? You fidgeted throughout the entire service.”

  “I’m all right nau.” She kept her voice low.

  “I think we should go.”

  “We haven’t even had time to eat or fellowship.” She motioned to the women filing up the stairs. “I need to make some sandwiches.”

  “I don’t want to stay long,” he said.

  “Okay.” She joined the women in the kitchen.

  The large farmhouse kitchen had plenty of working counter space. Lindie sliced the loaf of bread, stacking the pieces on a plate.

  Ada came up beside her and elbowed Lindie. “You look better today than the day I saw you at Doktah Ethridge’s office.”

  “Denki, I’m feeling better.” She spread peanut butter over the bread.

  “I hope you’ll be feeling well enough for the Christmas visitations.” Rebecca sank a spoon into the bowl of baked beans. “Since our district is so small, we have made it our second Christmas tradition to caravan to each other’s homes.”

  “It’s an entire day of fellowship,” one woman said.

  “And eating,” another woman added.

  Lindie smiled. “It sounds like fun.”

  “It is.” Ada tapped her oversized belly. “But I’m nett sure how much extra baking I can get done between nau and Christmas.”

  Rebecca patted Ada’s shoulder. “We’ll put you on the list for hot cocoa, then.”

  “That I can do.” Ada laughed.

  “We all serve something different. Last year I made a large pot of vegetable soup,” Rebecca said. “And it was gut that I did. It had snowed hard and by the end of the evening we were all half frozen.”

  Lindie spread the peanut butter over the last sandwich as she listened to the women’s banter about who would serve what. She wanted to join in the festivities and hoped Josiah would agree. But that would take convincing since she was on bed rest.

  Ellen leaned over Lindie’s shoulder. “Nay jam?”

  Lindie shook her head. “I forgot it. And mei pantry is loaded with jars dating back two years.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Josiah hasn’t seemed interested in eating it.”

  Ellen frowned. “So when is your boppli due?”

  Ada cringed. “I’m sorry. I spilled the news about seeing you and Josiah at the doktah’s office.” She looked at Ellen. “I told you it was her first visit.”

  “So have you decided on names?”

  Josiah cleared his throat and crossed the room. “I hope if it’s a bu she names him after me.” He smiled at Lindie as he placed his hand on her lower back. “You wouldn’t mind two Josiahs, would you?”

  Struck speechless, Lindie couldn’t do anything but smile.

  “Lindie, we should think about leaving soon.” He looked around the room at the other women. “Doktah Ethridge is concerned about this being her first boppli and doesn’t want her overdoing it. She should be on bed rest until her next appointment.” He tapped her back. “Why don’t you make us a plate to take home? I’ll go get Hannah.”

  Lindie nodded, still consumed with the thought of two Josiahs.

  Ada reached for Lindie’s hand and squeezed it. “Is the doktah worried or is Josiah just being overly protective because of Caroline’s miscarriage?”

  “What?” She looked to where Josiah had been standing, but he’d disappeared into the other room.

  Ada put her hand over her mouth. “You didn’t know.”

  So that was why he was so insistent on bed rest. The doctor had said light housework, not to stay off her feet completely. She wished Josiah had told her that Caroline had lost a baby. But then again, she wasn’t ready to share her past. How could she expect more from him?

  “Are you ready?” He stopped at the doorway.

  “Um . . .” Lindie wiped her hands on her dress apron.

  “I’ll get the buggy ready.” Josiah tapped Hannah’s shoulder and motioned to the door.

  Rebecca reached for a plate and began to fill it.

  Ada heaped food onto another one.

  By the time the women finished preparing the plates, Lindie had enough food for two days.

  “We don’t need this much.” Lindie juggled the plates in her hands.

  “Josiah and Simon will eat it. It won’t go to waste.” Rebecca walked her to the door. “I’ll stop by sometime this week and check on you.”

  Simon. Now he would know about the baby. Maybe she should have stayed in bed today. Lindie climbed up on the bench after Hannah and waited for Josiah to untie Molly from the post. He took his place beside them and tucked the quilt around them all.

  “All set?” He smiled.

  “Why didn’t you tell me that Caroline miscarried?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Lindie’s question blindsided Josiah. He wished she hadn’t said anything in front of Hannah, but at least his daughter didn’t seem aware of the conversation.

  “This isn’t the time to talk about that.” He nodded toward Hannah. Not that his daughter, seated between them, would have a direct view of their lip movements, but he couldn’t chance her following enough of the conversation to ask her own questions.

  The rest of the ride home felt strained. He pulled into the yard, stopped the buggy next to the front door, and climbed out. “I’m going to take care of Molly and feed the other animals.” He took hold of Lindie’s hand and helped her down.

  “We can’t forget the food.” She leaned to reach inside, but he stopped her.

  “I’ll kumm back for the plates.”

  Hannah bounced off the buggy seat, whisked by them, and nearly lost her footing on the slippery steps.

  Josiah signaled Hannah to slow down, then wrapped his arm around Lindie’s waist, giving her support while they climbed the icy porch steps together. “I need to salt these again,” he said.

  “I can do—”

  He merely frowned and she stopped talking. He appreciated her eagerness to help, but he wouldn’t let her risk slipping on the ice to spread rock salt. “You promised after church you would go straight to bed.”

  She frowned. “I will after I warm up the meal.”

  “I’ll do it after I’m finished in the barn.” He opened the door for her.

  “You’re nett going to let me even do that? The food is cooked. It’s just a matter of warming it.”

  “And that’s something I can do.” He moved past her in the entry where she was removing her cape and went to the woodstove. After a quick check, he added another log.

  “Does Simon know I’m pregnant?”

  “If he doesn’t hear something during the church meal, he will in a day or so after the women tell their husbands.” He wiped the bark off his hands.

  “What are you going to tell him?”

  He shrugged.

  Lindie shuffled down the hallway toward the bedrooms.

  Josiah closed the firebox, then went outside and led Molly to the barn.

  He jabbed a forkful of hay and tossed it over the stall’s half wall. This simple task caused him to break out in a sweat. He lowered the pitchfork and leaned against it as he pulled a hankie from his pocket. Josiah wanted to believe he had overexerted himself, but that wasn’t the truth. As soon as he wiped his forehead, more perspiration accumulated. The back of his shirt clung to his skin. Chills racked his body. If the doctor had not quizzed him so hard, he would guess this was the flu. Still, he refused to accept it was something more serious despite what looked obvious.

  When the barn chores were completed, Josiah returned to the house. It didn’t take long to warm up the meal. He set a plate for Hannah at the table, then took another into the bedroom for Lindie.

  She sat with her back resting against t
he pillows. Her eyes followed him as he crossed the room. “Are you feeling all right?”

  He handed her the plate of food. “Jah, why?”

  Her bright-blue eyes studied his. “You look pale. Sickly.”

  He touched his forehead. Moist. “I’m fine.” He pointed to her plate. “You need to eat.”

  “I’m worried you’ll get run-down if you keep trying to do everything. Please, stop being so protective. I don’t need to stay in bed all day. Let me help.”

  He shook his head.

  “I know you’re worried that I’ll miscarry too, but I’m not Caroline.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed and faced her. “Caroline lost two bopplis. One the year after Hannah was born and the other two years later.” He didn’t tell her that he blamed himself. The doctor had warned them about potential infertility issues associated with his chemotherapy treatment. So when Caroline became pregnant, they were shocked and overjoyed at the same time. The stillborn births were difficult on Caroline. It tore him apart. He was haunted by the idea that she’d lost the babies because of him.

  Lindie reached her hand out and touched his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  We’d talked about having a houseful of children.

  “You should get some rest too,” Lindie whispered.

  Josiah agreed and stood. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  Perhaps a short nap would help. His muscles ached. As hard as he tried to push it from his mind, he couldn’t help but compare the symptoms to those he had when his lymphoma was first diagnosed. He had tried to convince himself otherwise but he couldn’t ignore the unexplained bruises—or the fever and fatigue. But he hadn’t found any lumps and they had been a significant factor in his diagnosis.

  Hannah curled up in bed beside Lindie with her drawing pad and pencils and began to sketch. Lindie snagged her own drawing set from the side table next to the bed and joined her. While Hannah worked on a picture of a horse, Lindie drew the view of the livestock barn outside the bedroom window.

  Hours passed and the shadows shifted with the falling sun. Lindie’s weighted eyelids drooped closed. She wasn’t sure how much time had elapsed when she opened her eyes and stretched her arms out from under the covers, but it was dark outside.