A Secret Amish Crush
highlight_author
Marta Perry
highlight_reads
16,6K
highlight_chapters
15
HarlequinChapter One
Lydia Stoltzfus had gotten only a mile down the road toward town when the first huge wet flakes began to fall. Several spattered Dolly’s black coat, and the mare lifted her head, sniffed the air and gave a soft whicker.
“I know,” Lydia said, as much to herself as to the mare. “We weren’t supposed to get so much as a flake today. Maybe it will stop as soon as it started.”
Driving another few hundred feet along the road was enough to convince her that hope was futile. The flakes had begun by melting on the narrow country road, but now they were sticking, and the sound of Dolly’s hooves was muffled by their coating.
Should she keep going or turn back? Daad and Mammi would worry, that was certain sure, but how could she fail Elizabeth? Elizabeth Fisher, the elderly owner of the coffee shop where Lydia worked, had been sick off and on for most of the winter. She’d be relying on Lydia, and Lydia couldn’t let her down.
Keeping a firm grip on the reins, Lydia tried to discourage Dolly’s excited reaction to snow after what had been a fairly mild March. Those who had proclaimed an early spring in Lost Creek were going to be sadly disappointed, she feared.
“Komm, Dolly. Act your age.” The mare was nearly as old as she was, and at twenty-five, Lydia was seeing even her best friends begin to use the word maidal in connection with her. Old maid.
A car went past, moving slowly in response to the increasingly slick road, and a sliver of apprehension slid through her. Still, Dolly was sure-footed, and she certain sure didn’t get excited about traffic at her age. As long as they kept a steady pace, they should be fine.
Lydia had about three minutes to think that before she heard the sound of a car behind her—a car coming fast. She hugged the side of the road, hoping for the best. The driver was going much too fast for conditions, but there was plenty of room for the car to pass—
Without slowing, the vehicle rushed up on her. It was going to clear...but then, at the last possible moment, it clipped her wheel. She felt the buggy slide to the right and urged the mare back to the left, but it was too late. Lydia’s right rear wheel slid off the road, and she felt the jolt of dropping down to the berm. Dolly, with a sudden return to good sense, came to a halt and there they sat, half on and half off the road.
Breathing a silent prayer of thanks that they were both unhurt, Lydia assessed the situation. Would Dolly be able to get the buggy back onto the road or not? Shaking the lines, she tried to speak with more assurance than she felt. “Walk up, Dolly.” She clucked at her. “You can do it.”
Dolly made one half-hearted try and the buggy slid even farther. The mare halted, her ears back as if listening for a better idea.
“Stubborn creature.” Lydia anchored the lines with a quick turn and slid cautiously down onto the wet surface. Slippery, very slippery underfoot. She moved slowly around the mare, patting her, to the offside.
“Komm along, girl.” Grasping the headstall, she urged the mare to move forward. Dolly pawed with her forefeet, nervously testing the surface.
“Komm.” Lydia tugged, the mare danced, the buggy rocked. And then Lydia’s feet slid out from under her, she tried to right herself, and she landed flat on her face in the snow.
For an instant she lay there, stunned. Dolly reached down to nuzzle her, blowing warmly on her already wet face.
“Enough.” Lydia pushed the mare’s head out of the way and sat up. At least, she tried to sit up. It took two tries to make it happen, and then another three to get her up to standing.
Clinging to the harness, she caught her breath and tried to wipe the snow from her face. She hadn’t quite finished when her ears caught the sound of another buggy coming up behind her. Relief swept through her. Help had come. Anyone with a buggy would be someone she knew.
The driver pulled up and slid down from the seat. Enos Fisher, who had the farm next to Daad’s, came hurrying toward her, followed by another man.
“Ach, Lydia, what happened?” Enos reached her, slithering a little on the wet surface.
“She’s got herself into a pickle.”
The swirling snow hid the other man’s face, but she recognized the voice even though she hadn’t heard it in years, and something in her jolted to attention. It was Simon, Enos’s son. Several years her senior, he’d been the object of her schoolgirl crush back when she was a skinny kid and he was courting Rebecca Schultz. They’d married and disappeared out to an Ohio settlement, and she hadn’t seen him since.
And now he was back, and his first impression of her would be that of a sopping wet female who couldn’t even keep her buggy on the road.
Hoping her mortification didn’t show in her face, Lydia glanced up, snow whirling between them. “We heard you were coming back, Simon. Wilkom.” She hesitated, unsure of whether to mention the death of his wife or not.
Enos broke in before either of them could say another word. “Komm, Simon. We’ll push, and Lydia, you get in and take the lines. We’ll soon have you on the road again. You want to go home?”
She shook her head as she swung up to the seat. “I’m on my way to work. Elizabeth will be needing me.”
“Gut. We’re going there ourselves, so you can follow us. We’ll see you there safe, won’t we, Simon?”
Simon, looking to Lydia’s eyes as if he’d rather do anything else, nodded and put his shoulder against the rear of the buggy. With both of them pushing and her urging Dolly on, she was back on the road in moments. Before she could even express her thanks, they’d gone back to their own buggy. Trying to ignore her wet clothes and the hair that was straggling from under her kapp, Lydia fell in behind them, and they were off.
The snow kept on coming down, but with another buggy to follow, she realized that both she and Dolly felt more comfortable. In another ten minutes they’d reached the coffee shop, driving down the alley alongside to the shed where the horses could be safe and comfortable.
Lydia had Dolly taken care of quickly, and as she moved past Enos’s buggy, she spotted something she hadn’t before. Or rather, someone. A little girl, bundled up in a winter jacket and mittens, snuggled under a carriage robe in the back seat. Simon’s little girl, she’d guess.
She stopped next to the buggy, smiling. “Hello. I’m Lydia. What’s your name?”
Wide blue eyes stared at her from a small, pale face. Then the child turned and buried her face in the seat.
Before Lydia could come up with a word, Simon appeared next to her. “Her name is Becky. She doesn’t like to talk to strangers.”
The words could have been said in a variety of ways—excusing the child or expressing encouragement to her and thanks for Lydia’s interest. Instead Simon made it sound as if she were at fault for intruding, and his disapproving expression forbade her from trying again.
The imp of mischief that never failed to lead her into something she shouldn’t do suddenly came to life, and she responded with a cheerful smile.
“I just thought Becky might like to have a mug of hot chocolate to warm her up. I’m going to have one. What do you think, Becky?”
Simon’s displeasure loomed over her, but she focused on the child, holding her hand out and smiling. For an instant she thought it was no good. But then a small hand found its way to hers, and she lifted the little girl to the ground. Hand in hand they headed for the door, and Lydia knew without looking that Simon was still frowning.
Simon watched them walk away, not sure whether he was pleased or annoyed. Of course he was happy to see his shy daughter willing to reach out to someone in what was a strange place to her, if not to him. But if she was ready to warm up to someone, did it have to be Lydia Stoltzfus?
He remembered Lydia. The pesky little kid next door, she’d been twice as much trouble as any of his younger siblings. She’d been an expert at leading the others into mischief, but she’d always come up smiling, no matter what. Everything had been a game to her.
Following them into Great-aunt Elizabeth’s shop, he reminded himself that she was an adult now, but he wasn’t quite convinced. Not when his first glimpse had been of her sprawled face down in the snow at the side of the road.
Aunt Elizabeth rushed to greet him, and he forgot Lydia in the warmth of her welcome. It had been too long, he thought. Too long since he’d been surrounded by people of his own blood, tied to him by unbreakable bonds of kinship. He and Rebecca had made good friends out west, but with her loss the longing had grown in him to return to Lost Creek, back where he could raise his daughter in the midst of family to love and care for them.
When he finally emerged from the hugs and exclamations, it was to find Becky installed at a table near the counter, with a mug of hot chocolate topped with whipped cream in front of her. With Lydia’s help, she seemed to be trying to decide between a cruller and one of Aunt Elizabeth’s cream horns.
“I think you’d like this one,” he told her, pointing to the cream horn. “Aunt Bess fills the whole thing with yummy cream.” His old name for his much-loved great-aunt came automatically to his lips.
Becky looked at him, then seemed to look at Lydia for approval. When she smiled and nodded, Becky’s hand clasped the cream horn, squirting out cream as she put it on her plate. She seemed confused for a moment, and then she carefully licked the cream off her fingers. Something in him eased at Becky’s enjoyment, and his gaze met Lydia’s for an instant of shared pleasure that startled him.
“Ach, this is our little Becky.” Aunt Bess beamed down at the child. “Lydia is taking gut care of you, ain’t so? She takes care of everybody, even me.”
Before he could wrap his mind around this unexpected relationship between Aunt Bess and Lydia, the older woman surged on. “Lyddy, why don’t you show Simon the extra storeroom? He’s going to put some things there until his new house is ready.”
Lydia, busily putting mugs of coffee on the table, looked up and nodded, while Simon’s daad sat down next to Becky with every appearance of settling in for a bit. Before Simon quite knew what had happened, Lydia was leading him behind the counter to the cluster of rooms that made up the back of the building.
“I don’t want to take you away from your work,” he said. “This could wait.”
Lydia shook her head. “Don’t you remember? It’s always best to listen to what Aunt Bess says. Otherwise she’ll just keep after you and after you.”
He couldn’t help smiling at the accurate description of his great-aunt. “From what she said, it sounds as if she must listen to you. What did she mean about you taking care of her?”
“Ach, that’s nothing.” A flush that reminded him of peaches came up in Lydia’s creamy cheeks. “She had a bad bout with pneumonia this winter, and since she insisted on staying in her apartment upstairs, everyone had to gang up on her to keep her out of the shop. That’s all.”
She opened one of the doors off the kitchen. “Here’s the room she was talking about. We didn’t know what you might need, so I just cleaned it out and left it empty.”
A quick glance told him there was more than enough space for the furniture and belongings he’d had shipped home. “Denke, Lydia.” He felt a bit awkward, as if he’d lost his footing in trying to fit back into the life he’d left behind. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you. I could have taken care of it.”
“It’s my job,” she said simply, but there was a twinkle in the deep blue of her eyes that suggested she understood his discomfort.
There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. “Denke,” he repeated. This new, grown-up Lydia confused him. At moments she seemed to be a calm, poised stranger, and then he’d get a quick glimpse of that giddy, naughty child. He could only hope that everyone he met wouldn’t be equally confusing.
He discovered he was not only returning her smile, he was appreciating the effect of eyes more deeply blue than the depths of a pond and the honey gold of her hair, whose tendrils, loose from her kapp, were drying in tiny curls.
Oh no. He backed off those thoughts abruptly, turning away so sharply that he feared it must look rude. Still, that was better than any alternative. He had lost Rebecca only a year ago, and he had no thoughts to spare for another woman, even if he had room in his heart. His goals were clear in front of him—to raise Becky among his own people, to build a home for them on Daad’s farm, establish his clock-and watch-repair business so he could run it and look after Becky at the same time.
No, he had no time to spare for women. And especially not for one who still contained sparks of the frivolous, pesky child she’d been.
Lydia told herself she was just as happy when Simon returned abruptly to the table to sit with his family. After all, she had work to do. She didn’t have time for a man who could look at her with obvious approval one minute and change to a glowering frown the next.
Still, she welcomed the sight of Frank Pierce, one of her regulars, coming in and stamping snow from his boots, his cheeks as red as apples and his white hair standing up in tufts when he pulled off his cap.
“Frank, what are you doing out on a snowy day like this? Doesn’t your sister have any coffee for you at home?” She helped him off with the heavy winter jacket he wore. Frank lived with his equally elderly sister a block or two down Main Street, and his usual exercise was walking to the coffee shop every day to sit with several cronies and solve the world’s problems.
“She’s always telling him it’ll stunt his growth,” one of his buddies spoke up, making room for him.
“And she’s not as pretty as our Lydia,” another said, winking at her.
“Ach, you’re all terrible, that’s what you are.” She gave him the answer she knew he expected, and went to get the coffeepot and another mug. They were all proud of themselves for braving the snow, she could tell, and if pretending to flirt with her made them happy, she was glad to oblige.
Unfortunately, someone didn’t seem to agree. Lydia caught a definite scowl from Simon as she turned back from another round of refilling cups and chatting. She whisked behind the counter and pulled out a poster on which she was listing the week’s specials. If Simon didn’t approve of her, that was just too bad.
A moment later she was chiding herself for her unkind thought. Simon might have been frowning about something else entirely. The good Lord knew he’d plenty to worry about in his circumstances.
Bending over the poster, she was able to study him, thinking about how he’d changed from the boy she remembered. Not in coloring. His hair was still the deep brown of the buckeyes they used to find and shine, with dark brown eyes to match. Simon had always been quiet and serious—introverted, although she hadn’t known the word at the time. He was the oldest, and took on all the responsibility that went with being the oldest son in a large Amish family.
Her thoughts flickered to her own brother. Josiah had certainly been very aware of what was expected of him, but no one could call him introverted. Or quiet. He was always only too likely to yell if he caught any of his younger siblings doing something he didn’t think they should.
Maybe the truth was that Simon’s early tendencies had just been intensified by grief and the responsibility for a motherless child. Those had carved the lines in his face that hadn’t been there before and given his eyes the look of one carrying too heavy a burden.
Elizabeth looked up from the discussion and gestured to her, so Lydia seized the coffeepot and headed to their table. “More coffee? Hot chocolate?”
Enos slid his mug over for a refill. “Looks like the snow’s about done. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting home.”
“That’s good.” She hadn’t even noticed, but she looked now and saw that the snow on the street had already turned to wet slush.
“We were just talking about getting Simon’s things into the storeroom, Lyddy. So if he comes when I’m upstairs, you’ll know what to do. And we’d best find the key for that door so we can keep it locked.”
Lydia nodded. “I know just where it is, but maybe I should have a duplicate made, so Simon can have his own.”
“Whatever you think.” Elizabeth sank back in the chair, and Lydia realized she was tiring. It had been this way ever since she was sick. She’d be talking and working like her old self, and then suddenly she’d be exhausted and need to lie down.
“I’ll take care of it.” Lydia glanced at Enos to see if he’d noticed, but he seemed oblivious, as did Simon. She paused behind Elizabeth’s chair. “Isn’t it about time for your rest?”
Elizabeth reached up to pat her hand. “In a minute. Why don’t you see if there’s something Becky can do? She’s tired of listening to our talk.”
That was like Elizabeth, ignoring her own difficulties to pay attention to someone else’s. And she was right. Becky struck her as too well-behaved to wiggle, but she did look up hopefully at the suggestion.
“Sure thing.” She held out her hand to the little girl again. “How about helping me make a poster?”
Becky shot a look at her father, maybe asking permission, and then she slid down and grasped her hand. Lydia took her to the counter where she’d been working on the list of specials and provided her with some colored pencils.
“Suppose you help me put some flowers around the edges so it will look like spring? And then I’ll do the lettering in the middle. Okay?”
Becky looked carefully at the tulip Lydia was drawing, and then she nodded. Still without speaking, she started making a blue flower.
Was she always this quiet? With her hair so pale it was nearly white and her very light skin color, she resembled her mother the way Lydia remembered her. Every child was close to her mother, of course, and their resemblance might have made the bond even tighter. Perhaps she had inherited her father’s quiet disposition, too, but even so, this seemed extreme.
“I like that flower. It’s really pretty—just the color of your eyes.”
That brought a startled look to Becky’s face. “Really?” she said, as if she’d never thought of it.
“For sure. Your mammi had those bright blue eyes, too, I remember.”
Abruptly she was aware of having said the wrong thing. The tiny face closed again. Becky slid down from the stool she was perched on and went silently back to her father. And although Becky didn’t speak, she seemed to communicate with her father, because the look Simon shot at Lydia made her feel about six inches high.
If she could explain...
But she suspected that would only make matters worse. Probably she shouldn’t have mentioned Becky’s mother, but how would she know that? In any event, she didn’t see Simon regarding her as anything but trouble. Probably the best thing she could do was to avoid both father and daughter as completely as possible, but that wasn’t going to be easy.
