Healing Her Amish Heart
Autore
Jo Ann Brown
Letto da
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Chapter One
It was nothing like he’d imagined.
Noah Frye glanced from his sleeping kinder on the van seat beside him to the vast expanse beyond his window where he sat behind the driver. When he’d been invited to Lost River, Colorado, he’d envisioned huge mountains topped with snow. In the San Luis Valley in the south-central part of the state, the land was flat. Though mountains highlighted the horizon in every direction, the road was so straight it could have been drawn with a ruler.
What an alien vista!
He took in Colorado’s many unique colors. Would he be able to use them in his work? How would he make them look as beautiful as the ones God had created?
He couldn’t. The moment he started comparing his work to God’s splendor would be when he turned his back on Him. His fingers, woven together on his lap, tightened as he wondered why God had turned His back on him.
“Are we there yet?”
Noah’s six-year-old daughter’s question wasn’t unexpected. Either Angela or her five-year-old brother, Sam, had been asking it every mile during their journey from Wisconsin. Hints of chocolate clung to their cheeks, though they’d had the candy bars before they got off the train. Their clothes looked as rumpled as if they’d slept in them. Which they had. He tried not to think of what their mamm would have said if she’d seen them in such a state.
He must appear to be in equally sad shape. His clothes were splattered with paint. If he’d had a chance to do laundry before they’d left Wisconsin, he wouldn’t look like he’d cleaned his brushes on his trousers.
During each step of his journey, Noah had asked himself if he was doing the right thing taking his kinder with him. Yet he couldn’t leave them behind. They were all he had after a fire in Lancaster County that had left him a widower.
If I’d been home...
Those words had been echoing through his mind for five years.
“Daed!” A small hand tugged on his coat. “Is this there?”
Noah had been so lost in thought he hadn’t noticed the van had stopped in front of a low-slung cottage with a broad porch. Stunted bushes edged the house. A cottonwood tree shaded the house’s southern side. Two barns were farther from the road. One was metal—rusty metal—and looked as if a strong breath would make it collapse. The other, painted a dull cream, was twice the length of the house. A wide door was open on one side, and he saw stalls inside. Was it a stable?
“Ja, Sam,” he replied to his son, who was straining to see around his sister. “This is where we’re going.”
The kinder cheered, but he heard their fatigue. He hoped the Marquezes, their hosts in San Luis Valley, would understand the two hadn’t slept much in the past three days.
Noah unhooked his seat belt while dust from the road swirled around the van.
Grinning, Angela grabbed her brother’s arm as hair bounced around her face. The fine red strands refused to remain in its netting. “We’re here, Sam!”
“Where’s here?” asked Sam, the practical one.
“Where we’re going!” Angela shook hair out of her eyes.
Every day, Noah saw more of his late wife in Angela’s face. Her greenish-gray eyes and those soft red curls. Nobody would doubt Sam was his son because they had the same dark brown eyes and black hair. His heart swelled with love for his kinder, who had kept him from surrendering to grief after Betty Jane’s death.
I’ll take care of them until my last breath, he’d whispered as his wife’s coffin was lowered into the ground.
While the driver got out and went to get their luggage, Noah grabbed his straw hat and Sam’s. The kinder unhooked themselves from their booster seats and edged around the plywood box where he kept his painting supplies. He motioned for the kids to get out. They did, eager to explore their home for the next three months.
Guilt twinged as he thought about uprooting the kinder again, but Angela and Sam grinned when they grabbed their backpacks and roller suitcases. Noah took the handle of the box on wheels.
After Noah had thanked the Englisch driver, the van pulled away. Noah opened a gate in a picket fence and led the way to the porch. Petunias grew in clay pots set on either side of the door, adding color to the otherwise drab gray floor and dusty white clapboards.
He knocked on the dark green door. Glancing at the kids, he watched them trying to quell their yawns.
The door didn’t open, so he knocked again. The Marquezes had assured him they’d be here.
“Are we living on the porch?” asked Sam.
“No.” Noah hoped he sounded reassuring.
The Marquezes were Englischers, and Noah had assumed they’d want him to use the front door. He raised his hand to knock a third time, but the door opened. Shock short-circuited his gut sense when he saw the woman who had one hand on the jamb. The lapis-lazuli-blue eyes in her delicate face were wide as they met his gaze. A slender nose had a sprinkling of freckles on the left side, but on the right side three scars looked as if a giant cat had clawed her. Her mouth was curving its way into a smile, but it froze as, after seeing the conical kapp covering her golden blond hair, he asked, “Who are you?”
“I’m Mollie—”
Sam peeked around Noah and blurted, “What happened to your face?”
Mollie Lehman watched the broad-shouldered man’s face grow pale, then flush. He was embarrassed by the kind’s question, but she was accustomed to youngsters’ blunt questions. In fact, she preferred them to the surreptitious looks adults believed she wouldn’t see. Though the car-and-buggy collision had been six years ago, her face reminded her of it every time her eyes caught her reflection.
Leaning forward as if talking to her youngest scholar, she said, “I got hurt, and God sent me healing. Can you see where His fingers touched me?”
The little boy’s eyes widened, and he nodded after glancing at the girl beside him. Both wore drooping backpacks. The boy, who appeared to be five or six, was a miniature of the man, though his face had a soft pudginess about it. The little girl must resemble her mamm because her ginger hair fell in front of greenish-gray eyes. The two appeared close in age and looked exhausted.
As the man did, she realized when she straightened. Gray arcs clung beneath his dark eyes. She could understand fatigue. She’d spent the last hour working on her letter to The Budget for this week. For over two years, since the previous scribe had moved away, she’d served her church district. She loved the chance to share the local news—both gut and sad—with plain subscribers around the world.
It wasn’t easy to find time to write during the last weeks of school. The kinder were working extra hard to memorize their verses and songs for their end-of-the-year presentation. It’d been impossible today for them to sit still. She’d spent an hour with them outdoors, letting them play ball and work off excess energy.
She loved the scholars. At school, they were her kinder. The only kinder she would ever have, according to the doktor who’d treated her after the accident. Being with them was a joy, but every day, they went home. She was left alone. That gave her time to think.
Too much time.
While the scholars were excited about the school year’s end, she dreaded it. She hadn’t found a summer job. She’d been looking, but nothing had materialized. The extra money she could earn would help pay the last of Daed’s medical bills. The community had helped with the biggest ones for the hospital. Mamm had insisted the family couldn’t ask for more help, though they might have to sell some of their hundred acres if they didn’t find another way to cover those bills for Daed’s losing battle with cancer, as well as Mollie’s after the buggy accident.
An accident she couldn’t remember. Nobody spoke of it to her. Though she’d made discreet queries, everyone acted as if it had never happened. Who else had been there that night? Why had she been there? Why wouldn’t anyone talk to her about it?
She needed to remember God must have had a reason for changing the path of her life in one split second. She could have died. The doktors and the nurses had told her that, believing she’d be so relieved to be alive she’d forget what she’d lost.
“I’m Mollie Lehman,” she repeated when the man in the doorway didn’t say anything. The hair beneath his straw hat was the color of the night’s shadows, while his eyes were the darkest brown she’d ever seen. The angles of his face looked as rough and unfinished as the peaks of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains that rose along the east side of the valley. His beard couldn’t hide the sharp edge of his jaw. He wore plain clothes covered with splotches of red, yellow and blue paint. “Who are you?”
He looked past her, and she was aware her brother Kolton had left one of his shoes in the middle of the living room. Where was the other one? She saw its toe sticking beneath her quilting frame near the stairs. Her other brother, Tyler, had skiing magazines scattered across the sofa.
“I’m Noah. Noah Frye,” the man said, his voice as deep and rumbling as summer thunder over the mountains.
That didn’t tell her anything, but Mollie said, “Komm in.” She opened the door as far as it could go and motioned for the trio to enter. “You must be tired after your long trip.”
The man frowned. “Why would you assume we’re traveling?”
“Your luggage.” She gestured toward the bags and a large wooden box behind them on the porch.
He sighed and rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Sorry. Tired. My brain needs about a week’s sleep.”
“Bring your luggage inside. Dust gets into everything around here.”
He grabbed the handles on the biggest suitcase, motioning for the kinder to enter before him. They dragged identical black suitcases on wheels. “These two are my daughter and son. Angela and Sam.”
“I’m six,” Angela announced. “He’s my little brother. He’s five.”
“I’ve got big brothers. Two of them,” Mollie said, pleased. Kinder were more accepting of differences than adults. Another reason she liked spending time with them.
She smiled as their daed returned to the porch to get the rest of their things. “If I had to guess, I’d say you’re Angela.” She pointed to the little girl, then the boy. “And you’re Sam.”
As she’d hoped, the kinder giggled.
“If I had to take another guess,” she went on, “I’d say you’d like a piece of pie and a big glass of millich. Mamm made coconut-custard pie today.” She looked past their eager nods to the man who was appraising the living room as he set a backpack and the large wooden box, as tall as his kinder, inside the door. It wasn’t deep, and she wondered what was in it.
She wanted to ask, but silenced her curiosity when she realized Noah was frowning. What about the simple light green walls and the sofa and pair of rockers, each covered with a quilt, bothered him? Her gaze moved to Kolton’s shoes. Noah couldn’t be upset at her brother’s forgetfulness. Then she realized what was bothering the man and quickly said, “Of course, we need to ask your daed if it’s okay for you to have a snack this close to supper.”
“Please, Daed,” the kinder said in unison as they shrugged off their backpacks and dropped them on the sofa.
He continued to frown. She should apologize. As a schoolteacher, she knew to check with a parent before suggesting such a treat. Another thought struck her. Where was the kinder’s mamm?
His scowl eased. “Don’t worry about ruining their supper. They can finish a big meal and decide they need something more to eat.”
“Growing kids.” It was trite, but the best she could do.
“I thought you’d be expecting us.”
It was her turn to frown. “Why would you think that?”
“I sent our itinerary ahead of us.”
“We never got anything.”
“You didn’t?” His black eyebrows rose at the same time his shoulders sank as if she’d set Blanca Peak on each one.
She shook her head.
“Daed,” the little girl said in a loud whisper. “Pie. Remember?”
“A moment, Angela.” He turned to Mollie. “I’m supposed to meet Carlos Marquez. Is he around?”
Everything about why the Fryes had come to her door became clear with his question. “Noah, Carlos and Doktor Lynny—”
“His wife is a doktor?”
“A veterinarian. They live at 9352 South County Road Four East. This is 9352 South County Road Three East. Your driver must have been confused. It happens a lot for folks not familiar with the area.”
Noah deflated right in front of her eyes. “How far is the Marquezes’ place from here?” Fatigue weighed on every word.
“Less than two miles.”
He glanced at the luggage and the youngsters.
Before he could reply, she went on, “Mamm is making her afternoon deliveries. When she returns with the buggy, I can take you and your things over to the Marquezes’ ranch.”
“Danki. When will that be?” He was trying to be gracious, but she could tell he was as eager to leave as his youngsters were to have pie.
Mollie glanced at the clock in the pale yellow kitchen. “Long enough to give you and your youngsters a chance to have a snack and a rest.”
The look he gave her this time was filled with appreciation. “I guess pie will be more than welcome if—”
Loud cheers drowned out the rest of his words, and Angela and Sam skipped into the kitchen. They waved, urging the adults to follow.
She sensed Noah’s stare as she walked toward the kitchen. When she turned, he averted his eyes. She wanted to tell him not to bother. She’d become accustomed to people gawping when she faced them. It was easy to avoid a mirror, but impossible to escape the shocked expressions aimed at her cheek.
No, she wasn’t going to dwell on that. She didn’t want to keep the kinder waiting. They’d accepted her and her scars.
When she glanced at the table, Mollie almost gasped. She’d left her unfinished letter for The Budget there. Snatching the page and the pen from the table before Noah reached it, she shoved them in her pocket. She was being ridiculous. The letter would be read around the world once it was published, but she didn’t like anyone to read what she’d written until she was satisfied with it.
The kinder’s focus was on the pie on the counter. She hoped their daed’s was, too.
Mollie took a deep, steadying breath as Noah sat next to the youngsters at the table with its blue gingham tablecloth. She brought plates and glasses from the cupboards. Noah turned down kaffi, saying he wouldn’t be able to sleep if he drank a cup.
She kept up a steady monologue while she carried the pie to the table and cut it. “Mamm makes baked goods for two local bakeries as well as the outlet grocery store on County Route Five to the east of us.”
“You’ve got County Routes Three, Four and Five?” Noah asked.
“And one and two west of here.” She placed plates in front of the kinder and handed each a fork.
“No wonder drivers get lost.”
She chuckled and handed him a plate.
The kids began to enjoy their pie after a brief, silent prayer. Mollie remembered she’d offered them millich, too.
As she went to the propane fridge, she was surprised when Noah asked, “Do just you and your mamm live here?”
She hadn’t expected him to continue the conversation. Hunger might have put him into a grim mood. What had she heard her best friend, Ruthanne Geer, call it? Oh, ja—hangry. She knew he wasn’t trying to discover if she was married. No man, since the accident, had been interested in changing her marital status. They offered friendship. No more. Often, when she was lying alone in the darkness, she told herself she should be grateful to God for the scars on her face. That way, she didn’t have to worry about a man being attracted to her until he learned she could never give him a boppli.
Pushing aside those thoughts, Mollie drew out the jug of millich. “As I told Angela and Sam, I’ve got two brothers. Tyler and Kolton have taken the farm wagon into Lost River, and Mamm has the buggy. Otherwise, I could have taken you over to the Marquezes’ right away.”
“But we wouldn’t have had pie!” exclaimed Sam around a mouthful.
“Sam,” drawled his daed in a warning tone, “what have we said about talking with your mouth full?”
“Don’t?” Bits of pie squirted out of his mouth.
Before Mollie could get a cloth to clean the splatter, the little boy was scooping up each drop with his finger. She smiled as she poured millich for her guests.
“I like your pie,” Sam said.
“I’m glad to hear that.” She smiled. “Because I like you.”
“Cool,” the little boy said as he jumped from his chair and ran toward the bathroom.
Noah’s eyebrows rose at the Englisch term. As Angela gave a huge yawn, he said, “They’ve spent a lot of time around Englischers. They know more words in English than I do.”
“As long as you keep up with them.”
“That’s the challenge.” He glanced at his pie. To avoid meeting her eyes? “My work has us among Englischers rather than the Amish.”
“What sort of work do you do?”
“I’m a painter.”
Mollie smiled. “You’ll find plenty of work around Lost River. The winter cold and the summer heat here aren’t kind to paint.” She almost said how their barn needed a refreshing, but didn’t. There wasn’t any money left after they made the payments on the medical bills. Last month, they’d been forced to skip two different debts so they could cover the cost of new fencing for the cattle herd, and they’d received letters with PAST DUE stamped in bright red letters on the envelopes. “Once people learn you’re here, they’ll be eager to get you on a ladder and to work painting houses and barns.”
“I’m not that kind of painter.” He broke off a flaky bite of crust. “I paint barn quilts.”
“Barn quilts? What are those?” She glanced toward her quilt frame in the living room.
“It’s not like that quilt,” he said as he folded his arms on the table. “A barn quilt is a single quilt square or quilt pattern painted on a large piece of signboard. Each one is hung on a building—usually a barn, which explains the name—in a prominent place, so anyone passing by can enjoy it.”
“How big are they?”
“About eight feet by eight feet, though some are half that size.” He met her astonished gaze with a grin that transformed his face from daunting to approachable. “I’ve been painting them in the Midwest.”
“You came here to do that?”
“Ja. I was contacted by folks in the San Luis Valley to create a quilt trail. Tourists love to travel from one quilt to the next and take photos. At the same time, they stop at shops and restaurants and hotels.”
“And brought your kinder with you?”
“Ja.”
“And their mamm?”
That had been the wrong question. She could tell the moment the words popped out of her mouth. His face closed. Her commonplace query had upset him. She couldn’t guess why.
Noah knew his reaction to Mollie’s question was visible. Hadn’t he learned to hide his feelings? The house fire that had destroyed so much of his life had been five years ago. How long was he going to act like a spooked cat each time someone asked a question about his past?
Mollie hadn’t asked about the past. She was curious about an Amish man who led such an unusual life, dragging his kids from place to place without a mamm to watch over them. Others had asked questions in Ohio and Illinois and Michigan and Indiana and Wisconsin. He’d learned to answer with explanations that didn’t mention the tragedy that had altered his life in ways he couldn’t have imagined before he saw flames rising through the roof of his home. His tiny kinder—Angela had been less than a year old, Sam a newborn—had survived, but his beloved wife, Betty Jane, hadn’t. Her mamm had saved his kinder, but hadn’t been able to reach her daughter. The moment Betty Jane’s funeral was over, he’d put Sam and Angela in his buggy, tossed in the few things they had scavenged from the embers and driven away. He hadn’t cared where he was going as long as it was away from his mother-in-law, whom he couldn’t forgive for forgetting about a pan of oil on the kitchen stove.
For the first year, he’d found work where he could, never staying in one place long. When he’d been hired to help renovate a historical house in Indiana, he’d found a skill he hadn’t imagined God would give him. He could paint beautiful patterns he hadn’t known were within him. He understood the irony of discovering such an amazing gift after losing his beloved wife.
Mollie expected an answer. Noah glanced at his paint-stained clothes and wished he could postpone this conversation until after he got a gut night’s sleep, though he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had one. They’d had to leave his last job in Wisconsin quickly to catch the train west. He needed a shower, a shave and clean clothes. What must Mollie Lehman think of them?
The door opened, saving him from having to find an answer. An Englisch woman walked in. She was slender and dressed in jeans and a short-sleeved shirt. Her long, black hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun. When she smiled, lines at the corners of her eyes told him it was a common expression for her.
“Are you Noah Frye?” she asked in a serene voice.
“Ja.”
Before he could say more, the woman said, “I’m Adelina Marquez, but everyone calls me Lynny.”
“Doktor Lynny?” Noah looked toward Mollie.
“Mollie calls me that, but you don’t have to.” Her smile suggested she was casual about most things in her life other than her work.
Or so he assumed. He couldn’t make snap judgments. He needed to be careful whom he trusted. That was a lesson he’d learned in the aftermath of the fire.
“Hi, Mollie,” the veterinarian continued. She smiled as Sam crawled into his chair and ran his finger along his plate for the last crumbs. “Hi, everyone! When my guests didn’t show up as expected, I called the car service. They connected me with your driver, Noah, and he described where he’d dropped you off, so I knew where you’d be.” Her smile widened as she took in the half-eaten pie. “I see Mollie’s been taking good care of you.”
“Would you like some pie, Doktor Lynny? Mamm’s coconut-custard.” Mollie’s smile had returned, but questions filled her eyes when she glanced at him.
“No thanks. I need to get home. Are you ready to go, Noah?”
“Ja.” He was more than ready to get out of there. If he stayed, he’d have to answer Mollie’s question. “Danki, Mollie, for the pie.”
“My pleasure,” she said, but her voice was as strained as his.
“Let’s go, kids,” he said.
Angela slid off her chair, but Sam refused to move.
Noah couldn’t help being embarrassed when his five-year-old son announced, “You said, when we got out of the car that we were here.” He crossed his arms on his narrow chest.
“I thought we were where we were supposed to be.” Noah hefted his backpack and held out his son’s.
Sam didn’t take it. He gave his daed a defiant scowl.
“Komm mol, Sam,” Noah said, gesturing toward the back door. “We can talk about this on the way.”
“Don’t want to go.” He reached for his fork. “Want to stay and have pie.”
As Noah drew in a deep breath to remonstrate with his son, Mollie asked, “Didn’t you know? You can take the rest of pie with you.”
“Really?” asked Sam, his eyes wide and his bluster vanishing.
“Really?” echoed his sister, who’d stayed silent during the exchange.
“Of course. Doktor Lynny and her husband, Carlos, will be happy to share it with you. Won’t that be fun?”
He watched the youngsters lock eyes. They used a silent sibling language he’d never deciphered. As one, they nodded and rushed into the living room to get their roller suitcases.
Doktor Lynny said, “We’ve got your rooms ready, Noah, and checked off almost everything you requested.”
“Almost everything?” he asked. His list of what he needed to take the job hadn’t been long. A place to live, transportation to the various sites where the completed barn quilts would be hung and someone to watch over his kinder while he worked. At previous jobs, he’d used a small section of his workspace for them. They’d protested in Wisconsin, telling him they were too big to be put in what they described as a playpen. They wanted to be able to run around like other kids. He knew they weren’t wrong, which was why he’d added the request to his list.
The veterinarian smiled as she turned to Mollie, who was putting the pie into a box. “Mollie, are you still looking for a job this summer?”
“Ja.” She smiled. “Do you know of one?”
Before Doktor Lynny could reply, a howl rose from the other room. Sam!
Noah was so tired, he was passed by Mollie and the Englischer. Doktor Lynny reached his son first, but astonished him by stepping aside when Mollie kneeled beside him.
Sam was lying on the floor, holding his left leg as if it was broken. His sister had tears in her eyes. Mollie offered her a consoling smile before smoothing Sam’s hair from his forehead.
“Did you trip over my brother’s shoe?” Mollie asked.
“Ja.” The boy managed to answer and groan at the same time.
“Are you hurt?”
“My knee. It went bang.”
“Ouch,” she murmured.
Sam nodded.
“Big ouch or little ouch?”
“Big...” He paused. “Little ouch.”
Mollie smiled. “That’s gut to hear. That means the ouch will be gone soon, but I’ll tell Kolton he needs to pick up his shoes. I’ll tell him...again.” She smiled, stood and held out her hand to Sam. “If he doesn’t listen to me, I’ll get you to tell him!”
Sam scrambled to his feet, his bumped knee forgotten. “I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him real gut.”
“Me, too?” asked Angela, her eyes wide.
Mollie nodded and gave each kind a quick hug. They grinned as if they’d never been embraced before, then threw their arms around her again.
Noah looked away as guilt flooded him.
“She’s a schoolteacher,” Doktor Lynny whispered. “She’s amazing with children.” Raising her voice, she added, “Noah, like I said, we’ve taken care of everything on your list except one thing. Childcare. That’s why I wanted to talk to you, Mollie. Noah needs a nanny, and you need a job this summer.” She smiled at Noah. “Who better to watch your children than a schoolteacher?”
His kinder jumped with excitement at the idea, and the veterinarian was grinning. He shifted his gaze to Mollie. Her face was blank. Why? Because she didn’t want the job or because she did?
He kept his gaze from settling on her right cheek. The kinder liked her, and she understood a kind’s wants and needs. So why was he hesitating?
That was another question he knew he’d be foolish to answer, so he said, “If Mollie’s interested, let’s talk about it tomorrow. I need to get two youngsters to bed.”
“Are you interested, Mollie?” Doktor Lynny asked.
“I—” She stopped in midsentence, then looked at him and raised her chin. In defiance? Of what? Her own face went blank as she said, “I have to check with my family first.”
Noah wasn’t sure how to respond, so he nodded, praying he hadn’t let the veterinarian with her gut intentions goad him into a situation he was going to regret. He’d made a huge mistake when he left his kinder in his mamm-in-law’s care. Would it be a bigger mistake to put his kinder into the care of a stranger?
