An Amish Mother for His Twins

by Patricia Davids

  “You make it sound like her actions were nothing more than a trip to town. It was months of worry and wondering and never finding peace even when I prayed. Every day I waited for the mail, hoping she would send me a letter, a card, something. Do you know what that’s like?”

  She stepped close and laid her hand on his arm. “I do, Nathan. I prayed for the same things. I waited and bore my disappointments and cried my tears in secret, but I never hardened my heart against her. I loved her, too.”

  He gazed into Maisie’s eyes. They sparkled with unshed tears for the grief and pain they had both endured.

  Then he noticed something else about her eyes. They were green like Annie’s, but Maisie had flecks of gold in hers that Annie hadn’t had.

  She wiped away the moisture with both hands. “I need to tell you something else, Nathan. I’m not saying this to make you angry. I’m not leaving New Covenant.”

  “Are we back to this again? I decide who takes care of my children.”

  Her face grew stoic. “That is your right,” she said in a clipped tone.

  “I’m not going to change my mind.” He wanted to shout, but he kept his voice deliberately even.

  She folded her hands demurely in front of her. “If you don’t want me to be their kinder heeda, I must be content to be the aunt who lives down the road. I will find employment and see them as often as I can. I will bake birthday cakes and make cookies when they come to visit. I’ll see them at church.”

  She raised her chin. “I don’t care how many bus tickets you buy for me. I’m not going anywhere.”

  He leaned close. “We’ll see about that.”

  Chapter Six

  Maisie saw a muscle twitch in Nathan’s clenched jaw. He was angry, but what could he do? She was a grown woman. He had no control over her life.

  Of course, he could order her out of his house right now. She swallowed hard. He wouldn’t, would he? He stared at her so long her resolve began to waver.

  “You may live wherever you like,” he snapped. “But it won’t be here any longer than necessary.”

  She let out the breath she’d been holding. “I understand. If you would like your loft back I will gladly sleep in the barn.”

  It took a minute, but he finally shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Goot. I’ll call you when supper is ready. I need to put away the things our friends have brought us.”

  “Your friends,” he snapped, staring at his feet.

  Her heart went out to him. He was so alone. There was a wall around him that he refused to let people inside. “They will be your friends, too, Nathan. Maybe not today, but when you’re ready to be part of a community again.”

  He looked up with a perplexed expression. “How do you do that?”

  She tipped her head slightly. “Do what?”

  “Know what I’m feeling.”

  “Did you forget that I lost my husband? After John’s death, making any choice was hard. I only wanted to be left alone to grieve. I avoided people. I thought I should be stronger. I didn’t want others to see how broken I was. In time that passed. I found purpose in taking care of my father during his illness. I opened myself up to people again and realized that I didn’t have to be strong all by myself. There were friends who wanted to help ease my way.”

  “I haven’t made friends in this Amish community because I am ashamed of what drove me here. Being alone is nothing new for me. Annie’s death didn’t change that.”

  “Only you aren’t alone anymore. You have two wonderful children who will make friends of their own someday, go to school, attend church, get into trouble, cause no end of worry for you and weave themselves into the fabric of our Amish way of life.”

  “I only took my baptismal vows so that I could marry your sister.”

  She smiled softly. “A lot of young men decide to join the faith for that reason. You need to discover what Gott wants from you, Nathan. He has a plan for us all if we open our hearts to it.”

  “You have an answer for everything.”

  Maisie stared at the floor. “I don’t really.” Then she glanced up. “Give yourself some time. It hasn’t even been two weeks since you lost Annie.”

  His expression hardened. “You’re wrong about that. I may have buried her last week, but I lost my wife months ago.”

  He stomped out of the cabin. Maisie watched as he picked up an axe and hiked into the woods.

  She felt better that she had told him of her desire to stay in New Covenant, but their relationship hadn’t improved with the telling. She grasped the ribbon of her kapp and wound it around her finger. There had to be a way to help him overcome the bitterness that hung like a dense fog between them. She liked Nathan in spite of his reluctance to allow her into his life. Under his gruff exterior was a good man. She was sure of it.

  Perhaps what she needed to do was smother him with kindness. The trick would be keeping her temper under control in the face of his stubbornness.

  * * *

  Nathan swung the axe with as much force as he could muster. Wood chips flew from the pine he was cutting down. Whack, whack, whack.

  His chain saw would have made quick work of this tree, but the rhythm of his swing and the bite of the axe soothed him. Finally, the tree came crashing down. He leaned on the axe’s handle, breathing heavily. One down, three more to go.

  He looked in the direction of the cabin. Maisie wasn’t leaving. He would have to accept her occasional presence in his life. She had a right to see her sister’s children. He couldn’t deny her that. She was as alone in the world as he was. He didn’t want to feel sorry for her, yet he did.

  He hefted his axe and walked to the next tree he had marked. He picked the spot where he wanted it to fall and started swinging again. These trees would cure over the winter and by next summer they would be ready to be peeled and stacked. They would be used to expand his icehouse.

  The tree toppled over within a few feet of where he wanted it. The satisfaction eased his foul mood. He needed a way to deal with Annie’s sister just as efficiently. His current method of storming out meant he was getting more work on the farm done, but it also served to cut down the time he spent with his children. He’d be going back to work soon and that meant ten hours away from them each day. As much as he disliked being in the same room with Maisie, he would have to be in the cabin with her in order to see his babies. It didn’t sit well, but he had little choice. He’d put up with Maisie’s discomforting presence for the children.

  Being around the woman was unsettling because she was a reminder of Annie, and because she was too perceptive, as well. When she looked at him with her green-gold eyes she saw things he wasn’t ready to face.

  He sighed heavily. Maisie was in his life, like it or not. Until he found a full-time nanny for the babies he was simply going to have to make the best of it.

  He took down the last two trees he had marked and then headed back toward the cabin.

  As soon as he came in, he noticed Maisie had cleared out the boxes. She had everything put away except for the jars of produce that still filled the countertop. She was sitting in the rocker by the fireplace feeding one of the babies. He stepped closer to see which one it was. She held Jacob.

  Charity was in the cradle beside Maisie’s chair. She was squirming a little but not crying. “Has Charity had her bottle?” he asked.

  “Not yet. It’s warming in the sink. Jacob was the more impatient of the two. Takes after his father.”

  He didn’t smile. “Maybe so.”

  “That must mean Charity will take after her mother,” Maisie suggested.

  That was a chilling thought. “I hope not.”

  He saw a flash of disapproval in Maisie’s eyes, but she didn’t say anything. He went to the sink and washed up. After drying his hands, he took the bottle from the pan of warm wate
r, sprinkled some of the formula on his wrist to check the temperature, as the nurse at the hospital had taught him, and then scooped up his daughter. He offered the bottle to Charity. She latched on immediately and began to suckle.

  He walked to the sofa and sat down with her. This was so much different than his first attempts to feed them. Would he and the babies have settled in comfortably without Maisie’s arrival? Maybe.

  No, of course they would have. He would have figured it out.

  “Here.” Maisie offered him a burp rag. “It will save your shirt from another milk bath.”

  “Danki, but milk might be an improvement.” He picked a few wood chips from his sleeve.

  “I saw the clothesline, but not a washing machine. Do you launder everything by hand?”

  “The washer is in the lean-to next to the barn. I lived in the barn when I first came here. I haven’t moved the machine up to the house yet.”

  “You don’t have to do that on my account. I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

  It was too late for that. “It makes sense to have it here. I’ll move it to the back porch tomorrow.”

  “I heard you chopping down trees. Are you building something new or gathering firewood?”

  “Something new for next year. The trees have to dry out and cure before I can use them.”

  “Are you planning an addition to the cabin?”

  “I’m expanding my icehouse. I’ll add on to the cabin in a few years when the kinder are old enough to need their own room.”

  She glanced around. “Where would you put it?”

  “Going through the wall behind the kitchen would be the easiest. That way I could add a stove to their room and use the same vent pipe.”

  “That’s clever.”

  Did she really think so? “I have other ideas for the place.”

  “Like what?”

  “I need to expand the garden and put in a root cellar.”

  She smiled. “That’s why I couldn’t find one to store those jars in. I looked everywhere.”

  He grimaced. “I’m not much of a cook. I usually eat my meals at the canteen on the job site. I haven’t canned any vegetables so my garden isn’t big. I figure I can pay someone to preserve my produce next summer or barter fresh for canned.”

  “A well-stocked cellar makes keeping food on the table a lot easier.” She put Jacob to her shoulder to burp him.

  Nathan did the same to Charity. “At least I don’t have to worry about keeping a roof over their heads. Davis pays a good wage. My potato crop will bring in extra money as long as the weather and the market cooperate. That plus my salary should see us through the winter. The hospital won’t get all their money right away, but they will be paid.”

  Maisie swaddled Jacob and laid him in his new cradle. She gave a slight push to start it rocking and then when to the kitchen. “Are you ready to eat?”

  He smiled at his little girl. “As soon as she is finished.”

  “I’ll put it on the table. I’ve never had moose meat before. Have you?”

  “I’ve had it as a summer sausage. It isn’t bad.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Let’s hope it isn’t bad in this casserole. I don’t care for gamey meat.”

  “Annie was a picky eater, too.” He assumed because Maisie was identical to Annie that she would share the same traits, but Annie never had a temper.

  “I’m not as bad as my sister was but there are things I won’t eat. Okra for one.”

  “There’s none in my vegetable patch.”

  “I noticed when I was poking around.”

  He put Charity’s empty bottle on the arm of the sofa and carried her to her cradle. After laying her down, he gave the cradle a gentle push. It began swinging to and fro. “Who donated the baby beds to us?”

  “The bishop’s brother and his wife. They have twins who are grown but not married, so no grandchildren yet to hand them on to.”

  “They’re well-made.”

  “According to Constance the bishop’s brother is a furniture maker. He’s starting his own sawmill.”

  “A useful business.” Nathan rubbed his short beard. “I have some hardwoods in my forest. Maybe I can sell them to him.”

  “You can talk to him at the service next week.”

  He looked at her sharply. “You assume that I’m going.”

  She paused in setting the table. “Of course. I’ll be going. Everyone will want to meet the babies. Why would you stay home?”

  “I don’t want strangers staring at me and wondering what my story is.”

  Setting the plate down, she turned toward him. “Wouldn’t the best way to avoid that be to meet the people and tell them what you want them to know? After that you’ll be old news.”

  He hated to admit that she had a point. “We’ll see.”

  “Goot.” She smiled brightly. “When that was my daed’s answer, it always meant he was going to do whatever Mamm had asked.”

  “From me it means we’ll see.” If she was trying to manipulate him with a pleasant smile she would find it hard going.

  “As you say. I’ll make sure your suit is washed and pressed just in case you decide to join us. Supper is ready.”

  The casserole wasn’t the best he’d ever eaten but he did take a second helping. Maisie’s biscuits were light and fluffy, a far cry from the bricks he knew how to make. When she brought out a plate of brownies for dessert, he happily helped himself to two.

  “Goot supper,” he said, leaning back in his chair after finishing a cup of cocoa.

  “I’m happy to see you enjoying it. I was worried you’d starve rather than eat in my company.”

  “I worked up an appetite cutting trees this afternoon.” He hesitated then said, “You remind me of things I want to forget, Maisie. I know that isn’t your intent, but it can’t be helped. You are so like her.”

  “What if Charity grows up to resemble Annie? How will you treat her? Will she be punished for her mother’s sins because they look alike, too?”

  “I’m not punishing you for your sister’s transgressions.”

  “It feels like it to me.”

  He hadn’t considered how she saw his actions. He remained silent. She cleared the table, washed the dishes and wiped down the kitchen before taking up her sewing. She sat in the rocker ignoring him. He stayed at the table, turning his cup around and around in his hands as he thought about what he should say.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Maisie.”

  She plopped the little gown she was hemming onto her lap. “I’m a grown woman. I’ll survive. For a child it might not be so easy.”

  He nodded. “Charity will look like Charity. I’ll never treat her with anything but love. I promise.”

  “I should not have suggested otherwise.” She reached over and set Charity’s cradle to rocking again.

  * * *

  Nathan brought the wringer washing machine up to the back porch the next day and showed Maisie how to use it. It was powered with a small gasoline engine, like her lawn mower at home. It took her several tugs on the pull cord to get it started, but once it was going it was much easier than washing and rinsing diapers and bedding by hand.

  The only water in the cabin was a hand pump at the kitchen sink. The two-piece bathroom used water from a roof cistern. Maisie learned the tub was an old-fashioned galvanized relic that hung on the front porch. It had to be brought in and filled by hand.

  She had to heat her wash water on the stove and carry it out back to the machine. Nathan took her place caring for the babies while she caught up on his laundry, too. When she was hanging the clothes on the line she noticed several pairs of his work pants had rips in them.

  After she was finished with the laundry, Nathan took off into the woods again. He seemed determined to spend as little time in her compan
y as possible. While it was discouraging, because she couldn’t bridge the gap between them, it was actually easier to work in the small cabin without his disturbing presence. She had the babies to herself and could enjoy holding and singing to them without worrying that she was upsetting him.

  Later that evening Nathan was going over his farm accounts at the kitchen table while she was mending his laundry. She held up a pair of his pants. “What do you do that makes such ragged cuts in your pant legs?”

  He looked at her. “I’ve caught them on my chain saw a few times.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “While your legs were in them?”

  “I’ve never had a serious cut.”

  She poked four fingers through one long slit. “The Lord has been your protector, then.”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “That day I did need a few stitches.”

  How dangerous was his job? Something Mr. Davis had said troubled her. “What is a widow-maker?”

  Nathan went back to studying his account book. “Why do you ask?”

  “Mr. Davis said the other feller broke his leg when a widow-maker came down. What did he mean?”

  “A widow-maker is a toppled tree or big limb that is hung up or wedged against another tree. A little bit of wind can bring it down or it can stay wedged for years. You always have to be careful around them. Cutting down the tree they’re leaning against can be tricky. You’re never sure which way they’ll fall.”

  “I see. Does it happen often that someone gets hurt?”

  He glanced her way. “Often enough to make me a very cautious man.”

  She wiggled her fingers through his slit pants again. “Not cautious enough.”

  The idea of him being seriously hurt chilled her to the bone. She had faith in God’s mercy, but she also knew how easily life could be snuffed out. One minute her husband, John, had been loading bales of hay into their loft. The next minute, he was lying on the ground with a broken neck. She shuddered at the memory.