Her Secret Amish Child

by Cheryl Williford

  “Nee. The school sent a runner to tell me I’m needed there.” She hurried down the driveway, her long legs eating up the pavement.

  “Is Benuel sick?”

  She stopped and turned around, tucking hair up into her bun under her kapp. “They didn’t say. Just that I should get to the school right away.”

  “Let me take you,” he offered, patting the small seat behind his larger one.

  He watched her battle good common sense for a moment before finally declaring, “I couldn’t ride on that thing.”

  “They said quick, Lizbeth. Hop on. I can get you there in less than five minutes.”

  Still, she hesitated. “Nee, but danki.” She turned and hurried away.

  “Stubborn woman,” he muttered to himself and turned the scooter’s motor back on. Driving slowly, he caught up with her and growled, “What’s important here? You getting to the school for Benuel or saving face by walking all the way and keeping him waiting for you? He could be hurt.”

  Her eyes flooded with tears and she began to weep, deep racking sobs. “I don’t know what to do. I’m so scared for him.”

  Fredrik pulled his handkerchief out of his back pocket and thrust it at her, longing to hold her as she cried. He waited for her tears to slow and then said, “Wipe your tears and climb on.”

  She took the cloth, dabbed at her eyes and gave a bitter laugh. “What choice do I have? Benuel needs me.”

  Bunching her skirt up, she threw her leg over the scooter and moved up close behind Fredrik, her arms wrapping around his waist.

  “Hold on tight.” He tore off down the road toward the school. The woman would need a shoulder to cry on if something had happened to the boy. She needed a helpmate more than he did.

  Reaching the school, he stopped, letting her jump off the back of the scooter. Should he come inside with her, help her deal with whatever had happened? But she ran into the school, forgetting he existed and leaving him to worry about the little boy he’d grown so attached to.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The next day was sunny and warm. Fredrik worked a half day at the furniture shop, grabbed a bite of lunch, and then headed over to the apartment to find out what happened at the school the day before and to finish a small project that needed doing before he could put the place up for rent for the tourist season. Feeling a little nervous a half hour later, he knocked on Lizbeth’s front door. He continued to ask Gott for an opportunity to talk to her about starting a relationship, but realized the conversation may not happen with an inquisitive little boy running around.

  “You’re early. I didn’t expect you until later this afternoon.” Lizbeth grinned and allowed him inside.

  “I only worked part-time today. Business is slow,” he said, noticing how attractive she looked in the pink dress and crisp white apron she wore.

  Her mood seemed easygoing, her smile flashing his way as he stepped over the threshold. Was this a good time to bring up the incident at school the day before? Wouldn’t she have already told him if Benuel had gotten hurt? Still, he was aware she didn’t want him hanging around her home any more than he had to. She was a busy mother with a hard-to-handle boy that kept her busy.

  He spoke out of concern for the boy, his words hurried. “You seemed so worried about Benuel yesterday. Did everything work out okay?”

  “Ya, it did, but Benuel was still upset when he went to bed. He and a boy had gotten into an argument and punches were thrown.”

  Fredrik nodded his head, understanding Benuel’s need to fight. He’d fought the need to get physical many times as a boy, but his temper had often won out. “I’m glad he wasn’t hurt.”

  “Nee, not a bit, but he got a good lecture from me this morning.”

  Minutes later, Fredrik thought about Lizbeth’s comments about Benuel’s fight as he mixed up a batch of grout the consistency of toothpaste.

  Going back to concentrating on his work, Fredrik smiled to himself. Grouting had never been one of his favorite things to do, but sponging the glaze off the shiny new bathroom tiles relaxed him today.

  Benuel sat on a small stool just outside the bathroom door, watching Fredrik’s efforts. The smile on the child’s grout-smeared face said he was enjoying his view of the new tiles and his day of suspension from school for fighting.

  The boy leaned forward, his hands placed on his knees. Light tan grout dried between his fingers and dripped on his boots. “Can I help again?”

  “Nee.” Fredrik said the word too loud.

  Benuel recoiled and shoved back his stool, his eyes wide.

  “I’m sorry.” Fredrik hung his head down and groaned. He knew any kind of uproar undid the boy’s calm moments. The child seemed afraid of loud noises, sudden movements. After yesterday’s incident at the school, Fredrik knew he had to mind his attitude with Benuel. Keep things calm and easygoing.

  He scooted the large bucket of murky water outside the bathroom door and stretched out his back. “Look. Why don’t you just watch me for a minute and then you can help me clean up my tools. That would be a big help.”

  “Okay, but you won’t forget?” Benuel scrunched up his nose and scratched the side of it, knocking a dried clump of grout the size of a dime onto his mother’s clean floor.

  Someone had disappointed this child over and over again. He took in the boy’s condition. What a sight. Benuel had more grout on him than Fredrik did. He smiled broadly, hoping to show the boy all was well. “Nee. I won’t forget. Now you’ll need to back up a bit. I have to come out and get the cleanup started.”

  Like on a spring, Benuel popped off the stool, wiped his hands down the sides of his dark trousers, leaving two light-colored chalk streaks. “You want me to carry the bucket?”

  “Benuel James Mullet. What have you done to yourself?” Lizbeth stood drying her hands in the kitchen doorway, her eyes taking in the two of them and her floor. She glanced down at Fredrik, the look in her eyes accusing him of causing mayhem, much like Benuel had the day before by hitting a boy on the playground. “I can’t believe you let him get in this condition.”

  She advanced and then took a step back. “Nee, I won’t clean him. You do it. You’re the one who allowed him to get dirty.” She pointed her finger toward the back door. “Outside! The both of you need a good hosing down.”

  Benuel’s gritty hand in his, Fredrik smiled as he heard Lizbeth’s laughter begin behind him. At times like this he felt like a father to Benuel, and he loved the feeling.

  * * *

  Lizbeth sat at the kitchen table for a moment, enjoying her cold glass of water and listening to Benuel shriek with glee as Fredrik hosed him down with water. A smile played on her lips. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and pondered the afternoon’s goings-on. Benuel had been muddy before, even covered in pig trough goo when he was four, but an eyebrow and head full of dried grout topped anything she could remember.

  The two of them deserved each other, she decided with a grin, and sat back with a sigh of contentment. It had been a long morning. A long week in fact, but having Fredrik around somehow brought order to Benuel’s particular type of chaos, and for that she was grateful.

  Fredrik yelled out in surprise. His muffled shout sounding something like “I’ll get you for that, you schnickelfritz.” There was no holding back the laughter bubbling inside her. As she laughed, a feeling of peace prevailed, soothing the inner turmoil she’d packed down until she’d been ready to scream.

  Somehow she and Fredrik had become friends. Well, not exactly friends, but he was good for the boy and making a difference when no one else seemed able to.

  Her hand bent under her chin as she contemplated the future. There would come a time she would have to tell Fredrik the truth. But not today. Was it possible he wouldn’t take Benuel away? Would he understand her motives and forgive her?


  She dropped her hand. Her eyebrows furrowed. Were thoughts of Fredrik’s forgiveness pure foolishness? Somehow the truth would have to come out, and when it did... Nee, she didn’t want to think about it.

  She jerked as the doorbell rang and then rang again. Uncrossing her ankles, she rose and made her way to the front door. The shadow of a man showed through the foggy glass at the sides of the wooden door. Her daed, no doubt. It would be like him to check on her midweek.

  With a grin on her face, she opened the door, and the friendly words she’d planned on saying wedged in her throat. With a powerful force of fury, she moved to slam shut the door, only to have it forced open against her.

  “You don’t seem happy to see me, Lizbeth,” Ishmael Mullet said in his heavy Ohio Amish dialect. His hand held the door open. He stepped into the house and looked around. His clean-shaven face was moist with sweat from the hot summer day. “What a fine house you live in with your wayward soh.”

  Lizbeth avoided her brother-in-law’s glance. He looked so much like Jonah. Memories faded in and out until she thought she would pass out. She couldn’t make herself look back at him. Why was he here? It wasn’t like him to leave his beloved farm during his busiest time of the year.

  The palms of her hands dampened. She rubbed them down her arms and then intertwined her fingers behind her back to keep her hands from trembling.

  Like a scene playing out in her mind, she remembered the man’s parting threat the night before she and Benuel left Ohio. You will be my fraa now. His words had robbed her of breath. She knew what he wanted. Had he come to force her back to Ohio? A quaking spread to the core of her being. “Why are you here?”

  He stepped toward her.

  She stepped back and held her breath.

  He moved past her, his long-sleeved shirt brushing against her. She cringed away as he strode into the living room. His presence brought a malevolence into the house that turned her stomach, sickened her. “I came to speak to you.” He glanced back at her. “To extend a proposition that would benefit us both.” He removed his straw hat, turned on his heel. “Where is Benuel?”

  “He’s busy...” She fought for the right words. She had to get him out of the house before Benuel saw him. “He and a friend—”

  “Yes. I saw his friend in the back garden. He’s a little old for Benuel to play with, don’t you think?”

  “You have no right—”

  His breath was hot on her face as he jerked her close, his hand tangling in the wispy hair at her nape of her neck. “I have every right, woman. You were my brother’s wife. The bishop said I could have you as my bride, if I wanted you. You and the boy are coming back with me.” His eyes narrowed to slits. His voice rose. “My brother was too easy on you. There will be no mouthing off from you or that boy once you’re mine.” He moved his hand to her cheek and caressed the curve of her neck as he spoke softly, his mouth twisting in a smirk. “You’ll like being my wife.”

  “I’d rather die,” she assured him and turned her face away.

  He reared back, his arm ready to strike her across the face. Lizbeth’s vision blurred, anticipating the impact to be cruel.

  The blue color of Fredrik’s work shirt suddenly appeared and then the tall, muscular man stepped behind Ishmael and pulled back the man’s arm.

  Her brother-in-law’s face contorted with pain. As he was moved toward the door, a moan slipped from his pinched lips. Lizbeth watched as Fredrik held on to the man’s wrist and thumb, his face calm, almost docile.

  For an instant, Ishmael hesitated. Fredrik jerked up. A deep groan sounded. Fredrik had the man’s thumb twisted at an abnormal angle.

  Together the men marched to the door. “You will never come to this house again, to this town again. Do I make myself clear?”

  Ishmael spoke softly, words Lizbeth couldn’t hear, but she saw Fredrik react to them.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you. If you do, you’ll live to regret it,” Fredrik replied. “This community has a way of dealing with men who abuse women and helpless children.” Fredrik shoved the man out the door and onto the porch. His baritone voice came out like thunder. “Make your way back to Ohio. You’re not willkummed here in Pinecraft.”

  Lizbeth’s teeth chattered; her body shook. She closed her eyes in defeat, frozen with fear. The violence she’d experienced for years had followed her to Pinecraft, her sanctuary. A sound behind her alerted her. Benuel had come into the house. Had he seen it all? He stood shivering, his face pale, tears running down his cheeks. Fredrik hurried back in from the front porch and swept the weeping child into his arms.

  “Nee, don’t cry, Benuel,” he crooned. “The man is gone now and won’t return. Your mamm is fine,” he promised as he patted the weeping child on the back.

  But she wasn’t fine. She was defeated. She’d thought she’d done the right thing coming back home, but all she’d done was draw the evil here, to her familye. “Bring him to me,” she said, not trusting her trembling arms to hold Benuel as she stumbled into the living room. She sat on the edge of the couch and held her arms out for her son.

  Fredrik released Benuel into her waiting arms and then sat across from her. “This man was your husband’s bruder?”

  Through tear-dampened lashes, she looked up, so grateful Fredrik had been here to deal with Ishmael. “Ya, but he is not a gut mann, Fredrik. He always gets his way. His father is an elder and a powerful man in their valley.” She lowered her head, her hands holding Benuel tight.

  “You have no interest in Ishmael as a husband and father for Benuel?”

  She shook her head emphatically. “Nee. He came uninvited. He’d threatened he would find me if I ever left.” Now was the time she should tell him about Jonah, how cruel he was, like his bruder, but she would not speak ill of the dead, not in front of Benuel. Perhaps someday.

  Fredrik’s lips thinned into a fine line. “I promise you, he won’t bother you again. I’ll call Otto later and meet with some of the elders. They’ll make sure he faces punishment for his actions if he doesn’t leave.”

  She reached out a hand to the strong man across from her. His touch was warm and reassuring. For a moment she felt safe from Ishmael, from his threats. “Danki, Fredrik. You have been so kind to us.”

  A corner of his mouth lifted. He squeezed her fingers, his thumb rubbing the back of her knuckles. “I’ll be around when you need me. You can count on it.” Affection glowed in his eyes.

  She took in the sight of him as she spoke softly to Benuel. “You see, Benuel? Fredrik will see that Ishmael never comes back.” But even as she uttered the words, she wondered. Would Ishmael give up? Would Otto and the elders of Pinecraft be able to control the angry man? A tremor shook her. She prayed what Fredrik said was true. That Ishmael would go back to Ohio and never return.

  Fredrik patted her hand. “Don’t fret. I’ll keep watch in the apartment out back. If you need me, all you have to do is yell and I’ll come running.”

  Lizbeth nodded. “Danki. I appreciate your kindness to me and my soh.”

  His eyes became bright. “I’m not being kind, Lizbeth. I care about you both.”

  She knew that he did, but she also knew she wasn’t ready for a romance of the heart. If Fredrik wanted more than just friendship, he’d have to wait a long time.

  * * *

  Trying to keep life on a normal footing, Lizbeth took Benuel to school the next day, and then took herself to work. The bookkeeping finished, she moved mechanically through the big barn, skimming her dust cloth on every surface she could reach. She stretched to finish wiping the top of a tall chest of drawers and felt strained muscles along her right arm, where Ishmael had grabbed her.

  The night before, her father assured her that Ishmael had been put on a bus headed for Ohio, but not before the angry man had spread rumors about her virtue to all who would li
sten. How dare he say she had promised to marry him? She bent to pick up a piece of paper off the floor.

  Nothing Ishmael did surprised her. Nothing. From the day she had met him, he’d made attempts to inappropriately touch her when no one was looking. Finally, she’d tried to tell Jonah, but he’d laughed at her, called her names. Said she deserved what she got.

  She began to hum Benuel’s favorite hymn, the one she’d hummed the night before to lull the troubled child to sleep. Thankfully Fredrik had offered to sleep in the apartment and be close at hand if they needed him. She thought about his reaction to Ishmael, how he’d set aside his gentle ways to rescue them. She’d never seen him hurt a fly before this.

  Tears welled up as she pictured Benuel in her mind. He’d still had a haunted look in his eyes this morning, even after she and Fredrik assured him they’d seen the last of Ishmael Mullet the night before.

  She shouldn’t allow herself to think of that evil man again, but had no idea how to accomplish such a feat.

  She dusted off a beautiful maple bed and smoothed the display quilt out. What a blessing the Fischer family had been to her. Mose’s offer of additional work hours to clean at the big furniture barn was a blessing. Sarah teaching her to sew Benuel’s clothing and her income from the store would help her afford all the additional costs she’d have now that Benuel had started school.

  Her brows drew together and she sighed. Had she made the right choice enrolling him in school? Ulla and her father seemed to think so, and she’d counseled with Sarah before making a commitment and filling out the papers that would allow him to attend the Mennonite Christian school.

  Beatrice had been going almost a semester now and Sarah said she already saw a marked improvement in her behavior. But Benuel had been suspended his first day, sent home to think about what he’d done when he’d hit another child.

  Why had he hit the other boy? Benuel had kept quiet about the incident, refused to tell her what had led up to the slap. He remained belligerent, but promised he’d never hit another again. Ishmael showing up at their door hadn’t done anything but flare Benuel’s troubled mood. Would he behave today or would there be another call?