Fearless Hope: A Novel (12 page)

She thought this over. “Sometimes I fear that I will never recover, either. I loved my husband so very much. From the time I was fourteen I knew I wanted to marry him.”

He sat down at the table across from her. “It will get a little easier with time.”

“It is very hard right now.” She cradled her teacup in her hands. “Especially when Abimelech is being so pushy.”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “I don’t know much about the Amish, but is it normal for your people to marry so soon after a spouse’s death?”

“No, not at all. We are the same as your people that way. But that is not the biggest problem to me.”

“What is?”

“We Amish marry for love, and I do not love him.” She stared down at her hands, which she now folded in her lap. “I will
never
love him.”

“Then he is never to come here and bother you again.” He felt anger building inside while he watched her. She was not a large woman, and delicately made. The thoughts of that rough-looking scarecrow of a man frightening her made him want to bash his face in.

“My father and the bishop will take care of it,” she said. Then she added in a small voice, “At least I hope so.”

“Keep the door locked from now on when you’re here.”

“I think that might be a good idea.” She looked up and there was worry in her eyes. “You will not fire me because he was here?”

“Fire you?” He was shocked. “After the good job you’ve been doing? Of course not!”

“You think I have done a
gut
job?” Her face lit up with such a grateful smile that it made his heart ache.

“You’ve been doing a wonderful job. I don’t know how I got along without you.”

She glanced around. “I love this old house. It is a pleasure to my heart to care for it.”

“Your grandfather built it?”

“My great-great-grandfather built it.” She seemed to suddenly realize that she and Carrie were alone with him, and stood up nervously. “It is getting late. I should leave. Carrie . . .”

“Do you feel well enough?” he said. “I could drive you if you aren’t.”

“I am fine now. I must go. It grows late. I have a cow to take care of.”

“I have an empty barn,” he said. “Would it be easier for you to keep the cow here?”

“You would pay me to milk my own cow?” There was amusement in her voice, and he was glad to hear it. She was getting over her shock from the man’s rough proposal.

“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t know how much care a cow needs. I suppose that was a stupid thing to say.”

“No,” she said. “It was very kind and thoughtful, but I must go now.”

“I understand.”

Then, instead of leaving, she abruptly sat back down, twisting her apron in her hands, her eyes downcast.

“You have been so kind to me that I am ashamed of not telling you something I should have told you when you first hired me.”

He smiled to reassure her. “I can’t imagine you having too great a sin to confess. What should you have told me that you didn’t?”

“I—I’m pregnant,” she said. “I did not want to tell you that first day because I was afraid you would not hire me if you knew, and I badly wanted to work in this house that I knew so well. I thought if I showed you what a
gut
worker I was first, you wouldn’t mind so much when you found out.” She glanced up at him quickly. “I did not lie. It was not
really
a sin.”

“You’re pregnant?”

“A woman’s eyes would already have seen. If you want to fire me now, I will understand.”

“You’re pregnant?” He was a bit flustered by her confession. He knew next to nothing about pregnant women. Weren’t they supposed to be fragile?

“That is what I said.” She stopped twisting her apron. “Is this a big problem to you?”

“No. No problem.” At least he hoped not. “Do you feel all right?”

“I feel fine. May I continue to work here?”

“Of course, as long as you like, but I don’t want you to overdo. The baby must come first.”

“
Ja
. Babies must always come first. But I will be fine.”

“A baby,” he said with wonder. “I’ve not spent much time around babies.”

“A good baby isn’t much trouble,” she said. “I should be able to do my work again soon after it comes. I will need to bring it with me, of course.”

“Of course you will. How far along are you?”

“Three months. I am due in May.”

He quickly counted the months. If he kept to the timetable he and Marla had agreed upon, the baby would be about two months old when he left. Instead of relief at the thought of leaving Hope and her baby behind, he felt a surprising stab of disappointment.

While he pondered this, Hope rose from the table, carried her teacup to the sink. She rinsed it out and set it to drain.

“Thank you for understanding,” she said as she left with Carrie in tow.

He watched in the direction she had gone for a long time after her buggy left his yard. How strange would it feel to have a baby in his home? Somehow he got the feeling that the old house was pleased with the fact. It was the kind of house that had been built to shelter babies.

He wished he knew what was in her head. As a writer, he was used to putting himself inside people’s heads, seeing out of their eyes, hearing out of their ears, but he couldn’t begin to imagine what went on in this Amish widow’s mind as she faced bringing another life into the world. What did she think about? How tenuous was her financial survival? She had looked
so scared for a moment when she had asked if he was going to fire her.

He realized that yet again, there was something that smelled delicious simmering on the stove. He glanced into the skillet and found a hash in which she had used up the leftovers from yesterday’s roast, turning them into something wonderful as usual. She didn’t have to scrimp like this—he was able to afford enough food that she didn’t have to use up leftovers. He took an exploratory taste. Sure enough, like everything else she made, this, too, was scrumptious. He hoped she had fed herself and the little girl as well. He would make sure to bring in more groceries. So many that she would have to take extra food home with her.

S
unday services were a challenge to Hope with Abimelech Yoder glowering at her. They were having church at Hans and Missy’s house, and even though the couple had a house large enough to fit in all the benches from the church wagon, it was still a tight squeeze for thirty-eight families. They were crowded together, women on one side, men on the other, facing one another as usual, so it was no trick for Abimelech to stare at her.

She sat with face averted when the preacher stood in the middle of the group. When he moved to one side or another, it was possible for her to look up and allow her black bonnet to block her gaze just enough to avoid Abimelech’s eyes.

As she wrestled with her discomfort at being stared at, she felt rivulets of sweat roll down her back. She didn’t know if it was nerves or the moist heat being thrown off by so many bodies.

Like many Amish houses in Holmes County, Hans and Missy’s had a wraparound porch that provided acres of tin roof for the rain to ping against. Adam squirmed beside her and she patted his leg as the rain increased to a roar against that roof. Thunder rolled in volleys through the windows, which had
been opened to relieve some of the heat inside the house. Even though it was December, all the bodies packed into the house made it uncomfortably warm. Then the wind picked up and ruffled the pages of Bibles opened on the laps of those who were not holding small children.

The preacher was visiting from another church district. He had a good voice and plenty of volume, which he cranked up in order to be heard. It was as though he and the storm were having a duel to see who could be the louder as lightning crackled in the sky. Adam jumped with each strike and hid his face in her lap. Hope, sitting with her mother, Rose, gathered Carrie against her side. The two women exchanged worried glances.

There had not been enough stalls to put all the horses in Hans and Missy’s barn, and even though it looked like rain when Hope drove in, she was too late to get a spot. She had tied her horse to a fence post and hurried inside, leaving the door of her buggy rolled open. This was regrettable—there would be wet seats for her and her children on the way home!

The thing she most hated was that her poor horse was standing outside in all of this. Horses were, of course, used to being outside in all sorts of weather—but she blamed herself anyway.

If Titus were here, he would have taken care of the horse while she ushered the children inside. It had been so wonderful to have someone to do things like that.

The Lord had been wise in creating a mother and a father for a family. It was so difficult trying to be both. It hit her anew that Titus would never be coming back, and she choked back tears, determined not to allow the children to see her cry. They missed their father terribly, they did not need to be worried by their mother’s tears.

She realized Abimelech was struggling with the same problem. He, too, was trying to be both father and mother to his
children, as well as apparently wrestle with being a man in need of a woman. There were a handful of other widows in their congregation, but all were well past the age of raising his children. Unfortunately, she was the only viable candidate from within their church for him to court.

The preacher was apparently finished because suddenly everyone was singing. She had not heard a word the man had said. Her thoughts were too busy, tumbling over one another, remembering how thrilled she was to say yes to Titus’s proposal. With Titus, it had never been an issue whether or not to marry him. She loved him passionately and had happily gone into marriage with him.

Was it possible to marry someone for whom you felt no love and yet manage to create a good marriage and family? She had always wanted a large family, and in order to have more children, she would have to have a husband. What if Abimelech was the only possibility that ever came along and she waited too long?

Her options were quite limited when it came to potential husbands. He would have to be Amish. She would never allow her children to be raised by an outsider, to bring strange teachings into her family. Abimelech would be considered a catch in many Amish women’s minds, but the thought of him touching her made her shudder.

In some ways,
Englisch
women had it so easy. They could marry whomever they chose. There were no restrictions on them. They divorced and remarried at will. She couldn’t imagine such a thing for herself. The idea of marriage being for life was too ingrained within her.

A visiting preacher had once said that the divorce rate among the Amish was less than one percent, while the divorce rate among the
Englisch
was closer to fifty. That meant that half the
Englisch
people she saw on the streets had been married and
divorced, in spite of the fact that the Bible said there was only one reason to divorce—infidelity.

The idea of one spouse being unfaithful to the other felt so alien to her. She would never have cheated on Titus. The man didn’t exist who could have enticed her away from her husband and children.

The
Englisch
lived strange lives.

Just like that
Englisch
man she worked for. How strange that he and his wife lived separately most of the time. She couldn’t imagine Titus ever having allowed such a thing.

The call to prayer came and she slid down onto her knees and bowed her head, one arm around Adam to encourage him to kneel as well.

In that blessed, silent time of prayer, she prayed for her children, her mother and father, her younger brothers and sisters, Levi and Grace and their new little one, her church, Abimelech Yoder as he, too, struggled to care for his children alone, and lastly, her employer, Logan Parker, who appeared to be a decent man even if he was
Englisch
.

A rustle in the crowd alerted her to the fact that the silent prayer was over. Soon it would be time to eat and enjoy fellowship together. It would be awkward for her with Abimelech there, but the thing about being Amish was that you couldn’t really ever escape being around someone you were uncomfortable with if they were part of your church.

The rain stopped soon after services ended, and the sun came out. As quickly as possible, she left her children with her mother and went out to see to her horse and buggy. The horse seemed none the worse for wear from his impromptu bath—but the inside of the buggy was soaked, just as she’d feared.

“You might need this.” Bishop Schrock handed her an old towel. His buggy was next to hers.

“Thank you so much.”

The bishop grew solemn and cleared his throat. “I saw Abimelech Yoder watching you this morning.”

She averted her gaze. “I saw that, too.”

“It is early days yet. Do you welcome his attention?”

It was difficult having to speak about a man’s attention toward her with the bishop, and the fact that he was her father-in-law made it even more awkward. Although she’d comforted herself with the thought that the bishop and the men of the church would protect her from Abimelech’s unwelcome attention if need be . . . the reality of talking openly about it was highly embarrassing.

It wasn’t the Amish way to speak badly about someone, so Hope was careful with her answer. “He is a good farmer.”

The bishop smiled and repeated his question. “Do you welcome his attention?”

She wiped down the seat of her buggy. “He has many children in need of a mother.”

“Speak your heart to me, Daughter,” the bishop said. “Will you ever welcome his attention? I heard that he paid you a visit at the
Englisch
man’s house the other day. He was seen driving away in great anger.”

She didn’t even bother to ask how the bishop had come by such information. Her father-in-law seemed to have eyes everywhere when it came to the members of their church. She sighed and turned around. “No. I do not. Even if I live forever with no husband, I will never welcome Abimelech Yoder’s attention.”