Dear Abigail,
I’m sure you’re surprised to hear from me. I find myself surprised to be writing. I feel a bit of an oaf for not writing back to you months ago. I got your letter of apology. I should have responded immediately, but I didn’t.
I was upset with you, but I was also upset with me. I did a stupid thing, and the only way I figured I could make it right was to tell you what I did. I can’t explain to you why I kissed Esther. Even today, I cringe at the entire thing.
Abigail sucked in her breath. Why in the world was he bringing it all up again? Just when she was getting over it and him. Why? The letter crunched in her hand as she tightened her fist around it. She should stick the letter in the warming stove and burn it. She didn’t want to read any further. She ran her hand down her neck. But why? Why was he writing her?
Her stomach clenched and beads of sweat gathered on her upper lip. Fine. She pressed the letter flat and continued reading.
I’ve given it hours and hours of thought. And I’ve prayed about it plenty. The only thing I can come up with is I was scared. Which makes it all the worse because then I have to face the fact that maybe I was using Esther. Believe me, my opinion of myself is mired in the mud.
If you’re still reading this, thank you. I know you left Bartle’s Hollow thinking I hated you. But I don’t. I never did. You were right to be so angry with me. I messed up everything.
I had to talk to Esther and beg her forgiveness. I hurt her, Abigail, which pains me.
Abigail bit her lip. Again, she wondered why he was telling her all this. She didn’t want to relive it all. She didn’t want to know that Esther was hurt.
Her eyes misted over. Poor Esther. Abigail knew how appealing Joshua was. She knew how hard a girl could fall for him.
I really have no right to be writing you. But I want to ask your forgiveness, too. The knowledge that you’re living in Indiana now, and that you probably detest me gives me great sorrow. Will you forgive me for what I did? And will you forgive me for not responding to your letter of apology? I was so ashamed. So ashamed that I couldn’t bring myself to write to you. But now, I can’t hold back any longer.
I miss you, Abigail. I realize now that I ruined the best thing that ever happened to me…
Abigail crushed the letter to her chest and worked to breathe. What was he saying? She blinked rapidly, and all the feelings she used to have for him rushed over her, and she began to tremble. A massive longing for him sliced through her, searing her.
No. No. No. She couldn’t fall for him again. She just couldn’t. She was finally getting over him. She was finally looking outside herself again. She was finally not driven solely by her own heartache.
She shook his letter. “You can’t do this to me, Joshua Bechler! You can’t! I won’t let you!”
She fell over onto the bed and stared out the window. Joshua’s letter lay crumpled next to her face. She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. In and out. In and out. A tear slid down her face onto the quilt. She didn’t move until she felt calmer, stronger. And then she sat back up. She took up the letter again, determined to finish reading it.
It didn’t matter now.
She wasn’t going to let him throw her. Not again.
It’s a horrible time to be thinking about taking a trip, what with the crops and all. But I spoke with my dat, and he understands the situation. I’ve looked into bus passage, and I can catch the bus not forty miles from here. A van can take me to the bus depot.
Abigail froze. Was Joshua thinking to come to Hollybrook? And for what purpose? She jumped off the bed, still reading.
I know there’s a Bed and Breakfast in Hollybrook. I can stay there. I need to see you, Abigail. We need to talk.
“What for?” Abigail cried out loud. “What for?”
If I don’t hear otherwise, I’ll plan to be there sometime next week. Please say you’ll see me.
All my love,
Joshua
Abigail stared stupidly at the letter. Her mind churned with dread. She stepped to her bedside table and removed her tablet and pen. She’d write him immediately and tell him not to come. That’s what she’d do. She sat down on the edge of her bed and balanced her tablet on her knees.
She put the tip of the pen to the page to begin and went cold. Her fingers wouldn’t cooperate. Her hand wouldn’t cooperate. She sucked in a huge breath.
Write to him! Write to him. Write!
But it was no use. She couldn’t do it. Her chin dropped to her chest, and tears slid down her face. Joshua was coming. He was coming there to Hollybrook.
Now, what was she to do?
Chapter Sixteen
Greta spread the chicken feed across the ground. The hens cackled and bustled about her feet pecking and stirring up puffs of dirt.
“You silly things,” she said. “Can hardly wait till I get out here every morning, can you?”
A chuckle sounded behind her, and she swirled to see Isaac standing outside the coop, watching her.
“Isaac! What are you doing here?” She quickly ran her hand down her dress and then reached up to tuck any stray hairs under her kapp.
“Gut morning, Greta,” he said. His face had gone somber again, back to his usual expression of late.
“Gut morning.” She unlatched the door of the coop and stepped outside, fastening it behind her.
“I came to tell you that James won’t be needing you these days.”
Greta’s heart fell. “Oh? He won’t?”
“My mamm is here from Ohio. She’ll be staying a spell.”
Greta’s hands fell to her sides. “Your mamm?”
“Jah. She’s with James now.”
Greta felt disappointment surge through her. “That’s nice,” she said. And it was. James needed his grandmother during these days—even if it meant she wasn’t needed. Greta knew that to be true in her head, but not in her heart.
She had so hoped to go over to Isaac’s. Regularly. Like before.
“I wanted to thank you, Greta.” Isaac took off his hat and fingered its brim. “You’ve been … well, you’ve been a real blessing to our family.” His voice hitched at the word family, but he blinked rapidly and continued. “Don’t rightly know what we would have done without you.”
Greta looked into Isaac’s face and wanted to weep. He looked so lost, so lonely, so forlorn, that her heart broke for him.
“It was nothing,” she whispered. “I was glad to do it. I love James. And I loved Betty…” Her throat tightened, and she couldn’t go on. But what would she say anyway? That she loved him, too?
She inhaled sharply. Did she? Did she love him, too? Her hands clenched into knots. Of course, she did. He was her dear friend’s husband, wasn’t he?
But was that all?
Greta felt her cheeks grow warm, and she looked about quickly for something to busy herself with. But Isaac was standing in front of her, looking at her, and she felt incapable of moving. Finally, she coughed and stepped around him to pull a few weeds and throw them into the coop.
“I should be heading back,” Isaac said.
She nodded and started walking. He joined her as she returned to the front of the house.
She licked her lips. “Will you need me later? I mean when your mamm goes back to Ohio?”
Isaac stopped. He put his hat back on and pushed it down over his forehead. “I don’t know.” He ran his shoe over the bumpy ground, sending up a cloud of dust. “I don’t know what’s going to happen yet.”
Greta tensed. “What do you mean?”
“Mamm wants us to go back home for a while. To Ohio.”
“Will you go?” She worked to keep her voice even.
“I’m thinking on it.” He squared his shoulders. “I don’t know.”
“If you don’t go, I will be happy to watch James for you.”
He nodded. “Greta?”
“Jah?”
“You won’t be upset if we don’t carry out our promise to Betty rig
ht away?”
Her throat went dry. “Nee. I told you that I don’t hold you to that promise at all.”
He nodded again, this time more slowly. “Thank you.”
He tipped his head in farewell and moved to his wagon. He got in and left the property. Greta stared after him, watching the way he snapped the reins on the horse and guided the wagon down the drive. He didn’t look back at her—not that she’d expected him to.
But it would have been nice.
She looked over her shoulder at the house where she knew her father was no doubt peering at her through the window. With a sigh to fortify herself, she walked across the yard, up the steps, and inside.
“’Bout time you got in,” he snapped. “I saw you lollygagging out there with that widower.”
“I wasn’t lollygagging,” Greta said, unable to hide her annoyance. “He came by to tell me that I don’t need to watch the boppli today.”
“I should think not!” her father exclaimed. “It ain’t fitting for a young girl like you to be over there alone with him and that boy of his.”
Greta rolled her eyes and bit her lip. Sometimes it was all she could do not to snap right back at him. But then what? An all-out argument? And what would that help? So once again, Greta kept her mouth quiet and turned away to go to the kitchen and work on the noon meal.
Chapter Seventeen
Isaac drove down the road, his mind full. Greta was a good person. She was kind. He felt definite relief that she didn’t expect him to marry her right away. Or at all, really. Maybe someday. In truth, he needed to consider it carefully, for Betty had been insistent. Above all, he wanted to honor his wife. He chewed the inside of his lip … his late wife.
But now, he had another decision to make. Should he leave his home and go back to Ohio with his mamm? There was a pull there. He would be cared for. James would be cared for—by family. And that meant something. His mamm would watch over her grandchild as if he were her own.
Didn’t James need that kind of love?
He could talk to his neighbors. They’d probably be willing to take in his crop if he was gone that long. He’d do the same for them, wouldn’t he? Wasn’t that what their community was all about? And no one would think less of him for going back. At least for a while.
He’d seen the disappointment in Greta’s eyes. He knew she loved James, and that she’d miss him. But still. Greta wasn’t family. James should be with family.
The sun moved behind a cloud, and the atmosphere grew dark. Isaac closed his eyes and raised his face to the sky feeling the cool air on his cheeks. Perhaps, he’d already made his decision. Perhaps, he’d known from the minute his mother mentioned it, that he’d likely go.
He opened his eyes and focused on the road. He loved Hollybrook. He loved his life there. He and Betty had been happy and productive. But everything was different now. Everything. And getting away for a while was sounding more appealing by the minute.
Chapter Eighteen
Abigail walked downstairs and joined her grandmother in the kitchen. Old Mae looked over at her from the stove where she was stirring a steaming pot of broth.
“I don’t mean to pry,” Old Mae said, “but I’m an old woman, and sometimes you have to make concessions for old folks.” Her sharp eyes took in Abigail’s appearance, likely including her puffy eyes. “Who was the letter from?”
Abigail swallowed. “Joshua. Joshua Bechler.”
Old Mae puckered her lips. “Ahh. I see.”
“Did Mamm tell you about him?”
Old Mae was silent a long moment. Then, “Jah, she did. I asked why your sudden interest in coming to live with an old woman.”
“Mammi, you’re not just an old woman,” Abigail cried in protest, but she could see Old Mae’s point.
“Nevertheless,” Old Mae said.
“I thought we were to be wed,” Abigail murmured.
“I figured as much.”
“He … well, we broke up.”
“And it left you with a broken heart.”
Abigail nodded. “That it did,” she said quietly.
“So, now he writes.”
“Jah.”
Old Mae put one hand on her hip and waited.
“He’s coming to see me.” Saying the words out loud gave Abigail a start. Joshua Bechler was really coming to see her. It didn’t set easily. The knowledge roared through her.
What was she to do when he came?
Old Mae took a step forward. “You ain’t obligated to this young man. Not in any way. Get that through your head. You don’t want to see him?” She waved her arm through the air. “Then, don’t.”
“But Mammi, he’s coming an awful long way.”
“I ain’t impressed.” Her eyes were penetrating. “You don’t have to see him.”
“He wants to talk to me.” She inhaled sharply, imagining herself looking into Joshua’s eyes again. How would she feel to see him? To have him stand close to her? To know that he had come all that way?
Would she fall for him all over again?
She screwed up her eyes and raised her chin. She didn’t know what to do. But she certainly didn’t want to snivel like some love-struck child in front of her grandmother.
Old Mae put her hand on Abigail’s arm, and she jumped.
“Ach, I’m sorry, child,” Old Mae said. She took Abigail’s shoulders in her large wizened hands. “Be true to your Gott. Be true to your heart.”
Abigail opened her eyes. “What do you mean be true to Gott? I don’t understand.”
Old Mae shrugged and moved away, going to her shelves of herbs and taking two jars down to place onto the table.
“Mammi?”
“I think I’ll get ready to go to Sarah Jensen’s place. That babe of hers has to be making his way into the world.”
“But her husband hasn’t come for you.”
“He will.”
And just like that, the sound of a buggy being driven rapidly reached their ears. Abigail ran to the porch to see Sarah’s husband pull up to the steps.
“Old Mae here?” he called.
“The boppli coming?” Abigail asked.
“Boppli’s comin’. It’ll be right quick if the last two is any indication.”
Old Mae bustled from the house. “Abigail, you going to accompany me?”
“Jah,” Abigail agreed quickly. She clambered into the back of the buggy, leaving the front seat open for Old Mae. As soon as the two of them were seated, Obie Jensen had the horse trotting back to the road.
Abigail was glad for something else to think about. Bringing a new baby into the world was the best distraction in the world.
When they arrived, seven children were sitting in the front room like little bean poles, staring at them with large eyes.
“Martha, fetch me a kettle of water,” Old Mae instructed the eldest. Martha jumped up, obviously relieved to have something to do.
“Upstairs,” Obie said, pointing above.
“Obadiah Jensen, I’ve helped bring each of your children into this world. I think I know where Sarah is.” Old Mae strutted up the stairs.
Abigail followed.
Sarah Jensen gave Old Mae a smile of relief when they entered her bedroom. She was flat on her back with her knees raised and her gown wadded around her waist. “I think the boppli’s about here, Mae.”
A contraction seized her, and she groaned. Sweat trickled over her forehead and down the sides of her face.
“I reckon you’re right,” Old Mae said, going directly to the bed. She looked between Sarah’s legs and gave a wide smile. “Boppli’s crownin’,” she said with a tone of satisfaction. “Let’s see if we can ease that babe right into the world.”
The baby came so quickly, Abigail didn’t get to do a thing. Even Martha didn’t bring up the water in time. A piercing cry cut the air, and Sarah laughed and fell back on her pillow. “What is it, Old Mae? A son or a daughter?”
“Why, it’s a beautiful boy,” Old Mae said, ho
lding up the baby. She set the child in Sarah’s arms and then cut and tied the umbilical cord.
Old Mae directed Abigail to help deliver the placenta.
Abigail heard a noise from the door, and turned to see Martha’s white face. Her mouth had formed a perfect “o”, and she looked about to bolt.
“It’s all right, Martha,” Abigail told her. “You’ve got a baby brother.”
Martha took a tentative step inside the room.
“Obie will be well-pleased,” Sarah said, nuzzling the baby’s head.
“Let’s get the child cleaned up, and then we’ll have the dat and the young’uns come meet the new little one.”
Within minutes, the tiny baby was washed and wrapped in a soft quilt, and snuggled again in Sarah’s arms. When the family came upstairs, Abigail stood back watching them. Her eyes watered at such tenderness and love. The children looked on with awe as Obie cradled the newborn in his arms. And then Obie lowered the baby so they could all get a good look. The expression on Sarah’s face was so radiant that it made Abigail’s throat burn.
So much love.
What would it be like to give birth? To have a husband who loved you so dearly? To be the mother of a happy brood? Once upon a time, Abigail had thought she would have all that with Joshua, but she’d been wrong.
Her thoughts went to Betty Wagner, lying cold in the ground not so terribly far from where they all stood. Here Obie Jensen’s family was welcoming a new member with a joyous birth, but Isaac’s family was saying good-bye to Betty through death.
Birth and death. Death and birth. A mysterious cycle to be sure. One that could give such joy and deliver such pain. Abigail shuddered.
She wanted the joy.
Yes. She wanted the joy.
Chapter Nineteen
Amish Days: Replacement Wife: Hollybrook Amish Romance (Greta's Story Book 1) Page 6