Cheryl Williford - The Amish Widow's Secret

Amazed, as always, that the tiny child could make so much noise, Mose watched as Sarah continued to rock the baby as she walked to the edge of the yard. Mose soothed Beatrice as Sarah moved about the garden with his crying infant.

Moments later Sarah approached with the quieted baby on her shoulder. “The bobbel has healthy lungs.” She laughed.

Mose ruffled the blond curls on Mercy’s head. “That she does. You didn’t seem to have any trouble settling her.”

“I used an old trick my grandmammi used on me. I distracted her with flowers.”

Beatrice looked up at Sarah with a glare. “You’re not Mercy’s mamm .” She pushed her face into the folds of her father’s pant leg.

“I warned you. She’s going to be a handful.” Mose patted Beatrice’s back.

Sarah handed the baby to Mose and dropped to her knees. Cupping a bright green grasshopper from the tall grass, she asked, “Do you like bugs, Beatrice?” She held out her closed hand and waited.

Beatrice turned and leaned against her father’s legs, her eyes red-rimmed. “What kind of bug is it?” She stepped forward, her gaze on Sarah’s extended hands.

Motioning the child closer, Sarah slightly opened her fingers and whispered, “Come and see.” A tiny green head popped out and struggled to be free.

“Oh, Daed ! Look,” Beatrice said, joy sending her feet tapping.

Sarah opened her hand and laughed as the grasshopper leaped away, Beatrice right behind it, her little legs hopping through the grass, copying the fleeing insect.

Mose grinned as he watched his daughter’s antics. “You might just have won her heart. How did you know she loves bugs?

“I’ve always been fascinated with Gott’s tiny creatures. I had a feeling Beatrice might, too.”

Mose’s gaze held hers for a long moment until Sarah lost her smile, turned away and headed back into the house.

Chapter Two

Steam rose from the pot of potatoes boiling on the wood stove. The men would be in for supper soon and Sarah thanked Gott there’d only be two extra men tonight and not the twenty-five hungry workers she’d fed last night.

She glanced at the table and smiled as she watched Beatrice use broad strokes of paint to cover the art paper she’d given her. The child had been silent all afternoon, only speaking when spoken to. The pain in her eyes reminded Sarah of her own suffering. They grieved the same way—deep and silent with sudden bursts of fury. The child’s need for love seemed so deep, the pain touched Sarah’s own wounded heart.

Almost forgotten, Mercy lay content on her mat, a bottle of milk clutched in her hands. Her eyes traveled around, taking in the sights of the busy kitchen floor. The fluffy ginger kitten rushed past and put a smile on the baby’s face. Sarah saw dimples press into her cheeks. If she and Joseph had had kinder , perhaps they would have looked like Mercy and Beatrice. Blonde-haired with a sparkle of mischief in their blue eyes.

Joseph’s face swam before her tear-filled eyes. She missed the sound of his steps as he walked across the wooden porch each evening. His arms wrapped around her waist always had a way of reassuring her. She’d been loved. For that brief period of time, she’d been precious to someone, and she longed for that comfort again. Her arms had been empty but Gott placed these kinder here and she was grateful for the time she had with them.

“Would you like a glass of milk, Beatrice? I have a secret stash of chocolate chip cookies. I’d be glad to share them with such a talented artist.”

“Nee,” she said.

“Perhaps—”

“I want my mamm ,” Beatrice yelled, knocking the plastic tub of dirty water across the table and wetting herself and Sarah’s legs.

Sarah stood transfixed as the child waited, perhaps expecting some kind of reprimand. There would be no scolding. Not today. Not ever. This child suffered and Sarah knew the pain of that suffering. She often felt like throwing things, expressing her own misery with actions that shocked.

Quiet and calm, Sarah mopped up the mud-colored water, careful not to damage Beatrice’s art. “This would look lovely hung on my wall. Perhaps I could have it as a reminder of your visit?”

Beatrice looked down at her smock, at the merging colors against the white fabric, and began to cry deep, wrenching sobs. Unsure what else to do, Sarah prayed for guidance. She knelt on the floor, cleaned up the child before wrapping her arms around her trembling body. “I know you’re missing your mamm , Beatrice. I miss my husband, too. He went to live in heaven several months ago and I want him back like you want your mother back.”

“Did he read stories to you at bedtime?” Beatrice asked, her innocent gaze locked with Sarah’s.

Their tears fell together on the mud-brown paint stain on Beatrice’s smock. “Joseph didn’t read to me, but he told me all about his day and kissed my eyes closed before I fell asleep.” The ache became so painful Sarah felt she might die from her grief.

“My mamm said I was her big girl. Mercy was just born and cried a lot, but I was big and strong. I help Grandmammi take care of Mercy. Do you think mamm’s proud of me?”

Sarah looked at the wet-faced child and a smile came out of nowhere. Beatrice was the first person who really understood what Sarah was living through, and that created a bond between them. They could grieve together, help one another. Gott in his wisdom had linked them for a week, perhaps more. Time enough for Beatrice to feel a mother’s love again.

She would never heal from Joseph’s death, but this tiny girl would give her purpose and a reason for living. She needed that right now. A reason to get up in the morning, put on her clothes and let the day begin.

The screen door banged open and Mose walked in, catching them in the warm embrace. Beatrice scurried out of Sarah’s arms and into her father’s cuddle. “Sarah likes me,” she said and smiled shyly over at Sarah.

Mose peppered kisses on his daughter’s neck and cheeks. “I see you’ve been painting again. How did this mess happen, Beatrice?”

“I was angry. I knocked down my paint water.” Beatrice braced her shoulders, obviously prepared to deal with any punishment her father administered.

“Did you apologize to Sarah for your outburst?”

“Nee.” Beatrice rested her head on her father’s dirty shirt.

“Perhaps an apology and help cleaning the mess off the floor is in order?” Mose looked at Sarah’s frazzled hair and flushed cheeks.

“Sarah hugged me like Mamm used to. She smells of flowers. For a moment I thought Mamm had come back.”

Sarah grabbed the cloth from the kitchen sink and busied herself cleaning the damp spot off the floor. She didn’t know what Mose might think about the cluttered kitchen. Perhaps he’d feel she wasn’t fit to take care of active kinder . She scrubbed hard into the wood. Maybe I’m not fit to care for kinder. She and the child had cried together. She was the adult. Shouldn’t she have kept her own loss to herself?

“I’m sorry I made a mess, Sarah. I won’t do it again. I promise.”

Sarah looked into the eyes of an old soul just four years old. “It’s time some color came into this dark kitchen, Beatrice. Your painting has put a smile on my face. There’s no need for apologies.” She smiled at the child and avoided Mose’s face. She felt sure he’d have words for her later. She leaned toward Mercy, kissed her blond head as she toddled past, checked her over and then handed her a tiny doll with hair the color of corn silk. “Here you are, sweet one. You lost your baby.” Sarah expected a smile from the adorable bobble , but the child’s serious look remained.