Amish Days: Replacement Wife: Hollybrook Amish Romance (Greta's Story Book 1)

by Brenda Maxfield

  Joshua had only been honest with her. Admitting that he’d walked Esther home. Admitting that he’d kissed her on the cheek.

  Kissed her on the cheek?

  During his confession, Abigail had stood, gaping at him, having thought that the two of them were practically engaged. And now he had kissed Esther Brin?

  Abigail couldn’t explain her behavior that followed. She’d always considered herself a peaceful person, a generous-hearted person. But she had turned on him with lightning speed.

  Called him a cheater. And a liar.

  Joshua had stumbled back, his eyes full of both sorrow and revulsion. Abigail had seen his look, seen his affection for her shrivel, but she couldn’t stop her mouth. She’d continued her barrage. Verbally blasting him as her heart shrank in horror.

  The memory sickened her.

  She stepped from the pond and turned toward her pony cart. Guster tossed his head and gave out a loud neigh.

  “You want to go, don’t you?” she asked the pony. “You want to get home and be let out to pasture.”

  Guster bobbed his head again, as if nodding his agreement. Abigail ran her hand over his mane. “Why can’t everyone be as straightforward as you are,” she whispered close to his ear.

  But she hadn’t been straightforward with Joshua. Oh, she’d been free with her anger and her words, but she hadn’t been honest. It wasn’t anger that she’d felt so much as raw hurt. She’d loved him with her whole heart. Joshua was her dream come true. The man she wanted to marry and raise a family with.

  She’d thought he felt the same way. Boy, was she mistaken.

  He’d left her as she stood trembling with emotion. She’d tried to read his expression, but by then, he’d pulled a thick blanket over his face, and she could discern nothing. She shrank back from her horrid behavior, feeling immediate and intense guilt. If Joshua’s heart hadn’t already fully strayed to Esther Brin, it certainly would after her display. No man would want to strap himself with an emotional wreck like her.

  She’d walked straight back into her house from their secret meeting place under the elm tree close to the drive. She climbed the stairs to her room and sank down on her bed. Without a moment’s hesitation, she’d taken her tablet of stationery out and written Joshua a heartfelt apology.

  By that point, she didn’t even recognize herself. She wrote out a earnest plea for forgiveness and asked him if he would forgive her—no matter what he decided. She was so mortified with her own behavior that she didn’t even care if he latched onto Esther. As long as he forgave her.

  She’d posted the letter immediately, but she never heard a word back from him. Not one word. When she spotted him at church meetings, he wouldn’t look her way. She knew he was aware of her, and she was even certain that he knew she was looking at him, but he never glanced at her again.

  When her parents suggested that she go stay with Old Mae for a while, she’d been only too ready to agree. It had been obvious through the years that she’d inherited her grandmother’s gift of ministering to the sick. So, it was only natural for her to spend more time with Old Mae. And she needed to get away. Quickly.

  Staying with Old Mae would be the perfect distraction and the perfect chance to heal her broken heart.

  When she’d arrived in Hollybrook five months before, Old Mae had started her education in earnest. Abigail followed her grandmother around on all her visits. She’d even helped bring two babies into the world.

  While Abigail’s heart still stung with Joshua’s rejection, now it was filled with a new passion, a new joy—healing the sick and helping the people stay healthy.

  It had transformed her life.

  At odd moments during the night, when Abigail lay in bed awake, she wished she could go back in time and listen to Joshua’s confession again. Instinctively, she knew that she would handle it completely different if she only could. Because she was different.

  Even if the outcome had been the same, she could have handled it with grace and love and respect.

  Abigail bent down and plucked a wild flower from the ground. She brought it close to her eyes and admired its pale violet color. She smelled it, but there was only the faintest fragrance, a light sweetness that was barely decipherable. With a bow of whimsy, she placed the flower in Guster’s mane.

  “There you go, boy. Now, you’re decorated.”

  Guster snorted, and Abigail laughed. “I know, I know. Boys don’t wear flowers.”

  She took the flower from his hair and dropped it gently back to the ground. Then she climbed into the cart and took up the reins. She needed to go home, but there was something in her that still wanted to be alone. Solitude wasn’t a common thing for her people. Usually, Abigail didn’t give it much thought, but right then, she did.

  Her thoughts went to Isaac. He was with his mother and James, and that was good. No one should be alone after their spouse dies. Abigail felt such a draw toward Isaac. She wondered whether it was because they’d both suffered the loss of someone they loved. She knew she could hardly compare her loss with Isaac’s, but at their core, weren’t both losses the same? Not equal in magnitude, but yet…

  Using the reins, she urged Guster forward. It didn’t take much. Guster went into an immediate trot. The cool air brushed Abigail’s cheeks and felt good. Cleansing.

  She sent up a prayer of gratitude to God. Maybe, just maybe, she was over Joshua. And maybe, just maybe, God had someone else in mind for her.

  She hoped so.

  Yes. She hoped so.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Isaac left James in his mother’s arms and went out to the barn. He needed to get out of the house. The walls were closing in on him, despite his mother’s brave words of comfort. Betty was hardly cold in the ground, and Isaac felt completely lost. Numb. As if he was living in someone else’s nightmare.

  He pushed open the barn door and listened for Myrtle. That silly goat always greeted him with her off-tune bleat. And usually, the critter was chomping on something she had no business getting into. But this time, there was no welcoming bleat. In fact, there was no sound at all.

  Isaac wasn’t unduly concerned. Myrtle pretty much had free run of the place, so she was probably outside somewhere. He smiled again at how much Betty liked that goat. Myrtle was going to miss her, that was for sure. Isaac peered behind the stack of garden tools and also checked the stalls. He looked behind his extra plow blades, and then shook his head. He shouldn’t be wasting time searching for a stubborn goat. He had other animals to tend and a huge acreage of fields to manage.

  But now, an uneasy niggling worked its way through him. Was Myrtle in trouble? He sighed and went out the side door. The chickens were clucking contentedly, so Myrtle couldn’t be around there. She always raised a ruckus near the chicken coop.

  He stood and faced his fields, shielding his eyes from the sun. “Myrtle!” he called. “Myrtle!”

  Betty would laugh at him for sure, standing there calling the goat like she was his long-lost pet.

  But where was the darn thing? Isaac frowned and walked behind the barn, searching. After ten more minutes, he gave up. This was silly. He needed to see to the cow.

  Toiling outside felt good. Isaac worked up a sweat and felt better than he’d felt in weeks. He glanced back toward the house and stared at his bedroom window. Betty wasn’t up there anymore. She wasn’t suffering anymore. He could thank God for that, couldn’t he?

  He closed his eyes and began to pray and then stopped in frustration. Was he thanking God that Betty was dead? He couldn’t do that. He just couldn’t.

  He ran his hand over his beard and coughed. No.

  He walked out behind the house to check on the garden.

  Isaac sat down with his mother to supper. James gurgled from his high chair where he was playing with the cooked carrots that scattered his tray.

  “Son?” Mrs. Wagner said. “The blessing?”

  Isaac gave a start, pulling himself from the fact that his mother was sitting
in Betty’s spot. “Jah. Let us bow.”

  He closed his eyes and … nothing. He couldn’t speak one word to God. But his mother wouldn’t know. Their blessings were always silent. After an appropriate amount of time, he cleared his throat and looked up.

  Helen Wagner passed him the platter of sliced meatloaf. “I didn’t have to cook a thing,” she said, injecting a cheery note into her voice. “You’ve got enough food in the fridge for months.”

  Isaac shrugged. “The people were generous.”

  “They are good people here, aren’t they? I can see why you don’t want to leave.”

  Isaac took a bite of meat loaf. He could tell by looking at it that it was delicious, but on his tongue, it tasted like sawdust. Would he ever enjoy anything again?

  Helen studied him. “There are good people back in Ohio, too.”

  Isaac gave her a quick look. “I know, Mamm.”

  “Your father and I miss James a lot. And your sister and brothers would be happy to see you more often.”

  “Mamm—”

  She held up both hands. “I’m just mentioning it.”

  “I have a farm here…”

  “You know that the men would step up and harvest for you.”

  Isaac did know that. But … harvest? That was months away. Just exactly what was his mother trying to say?

  “Mamm, this is my home. This is James’s home.”

  “And you’re all alone,” she said. And then she seemed to realize how harsh she sounded because her next words were gentle. “If you come home for a while, we could all help you.”

  Isaac shifted in his chair.

  “And James would have all sorts of family around him.” Helen leaned forward, her expression intent. “What do you say? Will you at least think on it?”

  “And what would I do there? Sit and mourn my wife’s death?”

  Helen flinched as if struck. Her breath seeped audibly from her lips. “Nee, son. You could work with your dat and your brothers. You know there’s never a lack of work to be done. And they could use an extra pair of hands.”

  Isaac heard the words his mother spoke, but they floated in the air as if disconnected from one another. His mind grappled with the idea, working to arrange the words into some kind of order. Go back to Ohio? Just when his land in Hollybrook was starting to produce well? Leave his farm? The farm Betty had inherited? If he left, it would be another death. Another separation from Betty.

  “Isaac?”

  He jerked in his chair. “Jah?”

  “Just think about it. That’s all I’m asking. And you could leave whenever you wanted to and come back here.” She got up and went to James. She scooted the carrots back into a neat pile on his tray. He grabbed one and stuffed it in his mouth. She leaned down and kissed his head.

  Isaac watched his mother with his son. James had warmed to her from the minute she’d arrived. Isaac wasn’t sure if the boy remembered his grandmother or not, but he seemed to. He didn’t see her often, but she had visited twice over the months since his birth. Maybe he and James should go with his mother back to his childhood home. James would be fawned over and cared for—better than Isaac could do it there by himself.

  But then, what about Greta? His throat tightened as he thought again of his promise to Betty. Surely, Betty hadn’t expected him to marry again right away. The thought brought a metallic taste in his mouth. To be somebody else’s husband made his stomach twist. No. He didn’t see how he could do it.

  James let out a yelp, and Helen laughed. “What’s the matter, dear one? You wanting some more yummy?”

  Go back to Ohio?

  Isaac supposed he could.

  From outside came a shrill bleating. Isaac jumped up from the table and ran outside. There stood Myrtle at the base of the steps, looking up at him as if accusing him of something.

  “Myrtle!” Isaac cried, rushing down the stairs. He took the goat’s head in his hands and nuzzled it. “You’re all right. You’re safe.”

  The goat tossed her head and stomped a foot. Isaac let go of her and smiled.

  “Where have you been, huh?”

  Myrtle backed away, but her look of accusation remained. Isaac stared into her eyes and thought he saw confusion there.

  “Ach, Myrtle. You know, don’t you? You know that Betty’s gone.” His voice hitched and he sank down on the last step. “She loved you, didn’t she?”

  He reached out and rubbed the goat’s forehead. As he continued to look at the goat’s troubled expression, his eyes welled with tears. “Everyone around here is missing her,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. She didn’t even get to tell you good-bye. I’m sorry.”

  Myrtle walked to him and pushed her nose on Isaac’s arm. Isaac’s throat tightened until he had trouble breathing. Myrtle had never been very fond of him. Never. It was Betty the goat favored. Betty, she would run to.

  But Isaac? Never.

  Yet right then, Myrtle planted herself at Isaac’s feet and wouldn’t move. She stayed there, bleating softly until Isaac finally got up and went back inside.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Abigail searched for a reason to visit Isaac and James the next day. In truth, there wasn’t a reason, but she felt compelled to go. Finally, she hitched up Old Mae’s pony cart and went. When she got there, no one was about, at least that she could see. She secured the reins and went up the front steps. When Betty was still alive, Abigail never bothered to knock. She’d always let herself in and went right upstairs to Betty’s room. This time, she knocked on the screen.

  “Anybody here?” she called.

  There was a rustling inside, and Helen Wagner came to the door with James perched on her hip.

  “Why, hello,” she said, opening the screen.

  “Hello,” Abigail said.

  “You’re the girl I met when I arrived.” She smiled down at James, and then looked over at her again. “I don’t think I told you, but my name is Helen.”

  “I’m Abigail—”

  “I remember,” Helen interrupted her. “You’re the one who watched after Betty during her last days.”

  “Jah.”

  “Thank you for that.” Helen motioned her into the front room. “Would you like some tea? We could chat a while.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  “I can take James if you’d like.”

  Helen paused. She ruffled James’s hair. “That you could.” She handed the baby to Abigail. “It’s hard for me to let go of the babe,” she confessed. “I’m taking advantage of every second I have with him.”

  “I can understand that,” Abigail said with a smile as she took James on her lap.

  Within minutes, Helen was back with the tea. With an apologetic grin, she took James back from Abigail.

  “I understand that Greta has been watching the babe.”

  Abigail nodded and took a sip of tea.

  “Isaac went over there this morning to tell her she didn’t need to come.”

  A rush of relief came over Abigail, and she quickly looked down. Why should she feel so happy that Greta wasn’t coming over? Greta was nice, and James was fond of her.

  Helen set James down on the floor by her feet. “What do you know of the girl?”

  Abigail gave a start. She hadn’t expected this.

  “Uh … she’s very nice. A gut person. She was a dear friend of Betty’s.” Her brow crinkled her forehead as she thought again of the deathbed promise.

  “Ach, you must think me meddlesome,” the woman said. “And I suppose I am. But it is my grandson we’re talking about.”

  “I don’t think you’re meddlesome,” Abigail said. She completely understood Helen’s curiosity. She would do the same. Helen must have taken her expression for censure, which it surely wasn’t. If anyone needed censure right then, it was her. The feelings flitting through her lately were not right—confusing at best.

  “Well, I look forward to meeting this Greta. She must be fine if Betty trus
ted her with her son.”

  And her husband, Abigail thought.

  Abigail spent just over an hour visiting with Helen. She’d hoped to see Isaac, but if he’d come back from Greta’s, he must have gone straight out to the fields to work. She tried to catch a glimpse of him out there, too, but nothing. He was nowhere to be seen. Which was just as well.

  What did a person say to a man who had just buried his wife?

  She relaxed on the ride back to Old Mae’s. Her grandmother had told her that she was probably going to be helping birth Sarah Jensen’s eighth child that day. Abigail hoped to be involved, too. There was nothing she loved more than helping Old Mae bring a child into the world. One day, she would do it alone, Old Mae had told her. But for now, Abigail mostly watched.

  When she pulled up the drive to the house, Old Mae was rocking on the porch.

  “Mammi,” Abigail called. “I’m glad you’re still here. I didn’t want to miss the birthing.”

  Old Mae chuckled as Abigail drew close.

  “Shall I leave Guster hitched? Do you need the cart?” she asked as she got out of the cart.

  “Not unless Sarah’s man comes rushing over for me. You can leave it for a bit, though.” Old Mae continued her steady rocking. “You got a letter.”

  Abigail’s brow raised. “Really? From Mamm?”

  Old Mae gave her a penetrating look. “Nee. Not your mamm.”

  Abigail frowned at her grandmother’s strange expression and went into the house, the screen door banging closed behind her. There it was. A letter clearly addressed to her on the dining table. There was no return address. Abigail moved closer, and her heart raced.

  She recognized the handwriting.

  Abigail stood over the letter, her hand hovering. She gulped twice and then picked it up as if expecting to be burned. She turned on her heel and went directly upstairs to her bedroom. Perching on the edge of her bed, she ripped the envelope open and unfolded the letter with shaking hands.