The Amish Widow's Secret

Second Chance at Love

Widow Sarah Nolt never expected another marriage proposal. She hardly knows the handsome Amish man who’s come to help with her barn raising. Besides, they’re both still mourning the loss of their spouses. But Mose Fischer needs a caretaker for his daughters, and Sarah needs to escape her father’s oppressive rule. They agree to a marriage of convenience, but when Sarah moves to Mose’s Amish community in Florida, she can’t help falling for the strong, kind widower and his little girls. To create a family, they’ll have to come to terms with their pasts…and the secret Sarah is unknowingly carrying.

Mose looked up and saw Sarah hurry into the shop, her dress spotted with fat drops of rain.

Sarah looked young and happy. Mose’s heartbeat quickened as he walked toward her. “You picked a fine time to be out. It’s about to storm, from the looks of you.”

Sarah whirled at the sound of his voice and rushed over to him. “Mose, the cart ride was wonderful. I felt like a child again, the rain hitting me in the face and the golf cart sliding on the pavement.”

He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped her face dry, her eyes sky blue and shining at him. He fought down the urge to kiss her; his feelings for her were becoming more obvious to him every day.

“I’m sorry I dampened your handkerchief,” she apologized.

“Silly girl. That’s why I carry the rag. To help beautiful damsels in distress.” He heard himself flirting, like he might have done as a young man of nineteen.

Sarah was turning him into a schoolboy again. And he liked it.

CHERYL WILLIFORD and her veteran husband, Henry, live in South Texas, where they’ve raised three children, numerous foster children, alongside a menagerie of rescued cats, dogs and hamsters. Her love for writing began in a literature class and now her characters keep her grabbing for paper and pen. She is a member of her local ACFW and CWA chapters, and is a seamstress, watercolorist and loving grandmother. Her website is cherylwilliford.com.

The Amish

Widow’s Secret

Cheryl Williford

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Take delight in the Lord,

and He will give you your heart’s desires.

Commit everything you do to the Lord.

Trust Him, and He will help you.

He will make your innocence radiate like the dawn,

and the justice of your cause

will shine like the noonday sun.

—Psalms 37:4–6

This book is dedicated to the memory

of my grandfather, Fred Carver,

who encouraged me to reach for the stars,

and to my Quaker great-grandmother,

Clarrisa Petch, who inspired me.

Acknowledgments

To my patient and understanding husband, Will, who read and critiqued way too many manuscript chapters and blessed me with honesty. To my eldest daughter, Barbara, who graciously gifted me with fees for contests and conferences. To the ACFW Golden Girls critique group, Liz, Nanci, Jan, Zillah and Shannon; you are loved. To Eileen Key, the best line-edit partner in the business. To Les Stobbe, my wonderful agent and mentor; to my amazing Love Inspired editor, Melissa Endlich, who believed in me; and last but not least, to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, who has opened many doors, enabling this book to be written and published.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

Sarah Nolt couldn’t resist the temptation. Gott would probably punish her for coveting something so fancy. She allowed the tip of her finger to glide across the surface of the sewing machine gleaming in the store’s overhead lights.

She closed her eyes and imagined stitching her dream quilt. Purple sashing would look perfect with the patch of irises she’d create out of scraps of lavender and blue fabrics and hand stitch to the center of the diagonal-block quilt.

“Some things are best not longed for,” Marta Nolt whispered close to Sarah’s ear.

Sarah jumped as if she’d been stung by a wasp. A flush of guilt washed over her from head to toe. “You startled me.” She shot a glance at her lifelong friend and sister-in-law—the two had grown up together and had even married each other’s brothers. Had Marta seen her prideful expression? All her life she’d been taught pride was a sin. She wasn’t convinced it was.

Compared to Sarah’s five-foot-four frame, Marta appeared as tiny as a twelve-year-old in her dark blue spring dress and finely stitched, stiff white prayer kapp. Marta’s brows furrowed. “It is better I startled you than your daed, Sarah. He’s just outside the door waiting for us. He said to hurry, that he has more important things to do than wait on you this morning. Did you do something to irritate him again? One day he’ll tell the elders what you’ve been up to and—”

“And they’ll what? Call me in for another scolding and long prayer, and then threaten to tell the Bishop how unruly a widow I am?” Sarah turned for one last look at the gleaming machine and moved away.

“If they find out about you giving Lukas money, you’ll be shunned. You know they’re looking for someone to blame and wanting to set an example since he ran away with young Ben in tow. Everyone believes they’ve joined the Englisch rescue house. The boys’ father is beyond angry. Nerves have become rattled throughout the community. People are asking who else is planning to leave.”

“I’m not joining if that’s what you’re thinking. I wasted my time by looking at a sewing machine I can’t ever have. I dream. Nothing more. How can that fine piece of equipment be so full of sin just because it’s electric and fancy? It’s made to produce the finest of quilts.”

Sarah shoved back a lock of hair and tucked it into her kapp. “Last week an Englisch woman used one of the machines for a sewing demonstration. My heart almost leaped out of my chest, Marta. You should have seen the amazing details it sewed. It would take a year or more for us to make such perfect stitches by hand. Daed needs money for a new field horse. If I had this machine, I could make quilts more quickly and sell them to the Englisch on market day. I could make enough money to keep my farm and eat more than cooked cabbage and my favorite white duck.”

“All you have to do is ask for help, Sarah. You are so stubborn. The community will—”

“Rally round? Tell me I must sell Joseph’s farm because a family deserves it more than a helpless widow. Nee, I don’t want their help.”

“Careful. Someone might hear you.”

Marta had always tried to accept the community’s harsh rules, but today her words of mindless obedience angered Sarah. “I will not ask for help and will not be silent. Will Gott finally be satisfied if He takes everything dear from me, including my dreams?”

“Ach, don’t be so bitter. Your anger comes from a place of pain. You need to pray. Ask Gott to remove the ache in your heart.” Marta took her hand and squeezed hard. “Since Joseph died you’ve done nothing but stir up the community’s wrath. You know what your daed’s like. He’ll only take so much before he lets the Bishop come down hard on you. You can’t keep bringing shame on the Yoder name.”

“I don’t care about my daed’s pride of name. Is his pride not sin too? I am a Nolt now, not a Yoder. I’m a twenty-five-year-old widow. Not a child. I will make my own decisions. You wait and see.”

“Meine liebe. The suddenness of Joseph’s death brought you to this place of anger and confusion. Don’t grieve him so. His funeral is over, the coffin closed. It was Gott’s will for Joseph to die. We must not ever question, Sarah. Joseph was my older brother, but I’m content to know he’s with the old ones and happy in heaven.”

Memories of the funeral haunted Sarah’s sleep. “I’m glad you are able to find peace in this rigid community, Marta. I really am. But I can’t. Not since Gott let Joseph die in such a horrible way. To burn to death in a barn fire is too horrible. What kind of Gott lets this happen to a man of faith? This cruel Gott has nee place in my life.” Sarah sighed deeply. Will I ever be happy again and at peace?

She reached out a trembling hand and grabbed a card of hooks-and-eyes and threw it in the store’s small plastic shopping basket that hung off her wrist. She added several large spools of basic blue, purple and black thread and turned back toward Marta, who stood fingering a skein of baby-soft yarn in the lightest shade of blue. “Do you have something you want to tell me?”

“Nee.” Marta’s ready smile vanished. “I’m not pregnant. Gott must intend for me to rear others’ kinder and not my own.”

Marta had miscarried three times. Talk among the older women was there would be no bobbel for her sister-in-law unless she had an operation. Sarah knew the young couple’s farm wasn’t doing well. There would be no money for expensive procedures in Englisch hospitals for Marta, even if the Bishop would allow it.

Sarah said, “I wish—”

“I know. I wish it, too. A baby for Eric and me. And Joseph still alive for you. But Gott doesn’t always give us what we want or make an easy path to walk.”

Heavy footsteps announced Sarah’s father’s approach. Both women grew silent.

“Do you realize the sun is at its zenith and a man grows hungry?” Adolph Yoder’s sharp tone cut like a knife. The short-statured man rubbed his rotund stomach and glared at his only daughter.

Sarah straightened the sweat-soaked collar of her father’s blue shirt and smiled, trying hard to show her love for the angry man. “I’m sorry, Daed. Time got away from us.” Sarah gathered the last of the sewing things she needed and tried to match his fast pace down the narrow aisle.

Her father stopped abruptly and turned toward her. His blue eyes flashed. “You must learn to drive your own wagon, daughter. Do your own fetching. Enough time has passed.”

“Ya.” Sarah nodded. He turned away and moved toward the door. She thought back to the times she’d begged him to teach her the basics of directing a horse or mending a wheel, but nothing had ever come of it. He had always been too busy trying to be both Mamm and Daed to her and her younger brother, Eric. She blamed herself and her mother’s sudden disappearance into the Englisch world on her father’s angry moods. Once again she wished her mamm had taken her with her when she’d left Lancaster County.

Joseph would have been happy to teach her to drive, but Gott had taken him too soon. Bitterness swelled in her heart, adding to the pain already there. Tears pooled in her eyes and slid down her cheeks as she thought of him. She brushed them away, not willing to show her pain.

Moments later the familiar woman at the checkout line greeted Sarah as she might an Englisch customer. “Hello, Sarah. How are you today, dear?”

“Gut, and you?”

“Oh, I’m fine as I can be,” she responded. “You’re buying an awful lot of thread. You ladies planning one of your quilting bees?”

“Nee, just stocking up.” Sarah emptied the small basket on the counter and began stacking the spools of thread.

“Well, you let me know if you need someone to help sell your quilts. I’ll be glad to place them in the shop window for a small fee. You do beautiful work. You should be sewing professionally.”

Distracted by her thoughts, Sarah tried hard to follow the older woman’s friendly banter. “Danke. I’ll speak to the Bishop’s wife and see what she says, but I don’t hold much hope. There are rules about selling wares in an Englisch shop. You know how strict some are.”

“Yeah, I do.” She patted Sarah’s hand.

Sarah’s father walked past and glanced at the two women. He hurried out of the shop, letting the door slam. His bad mood meant problems for Sarah. When riled, he could be very cruel. She had no one to blame but herself for his bad attitude today. She knew he grew tired of her lack of control and rule breaking. People were openly talking about her. She had to learn to keep her mouth closed and distance herself from the Englisch.

Sarah hurried out of the store and trailed behind Marta. Fancy Englisch cars dotted the parking lot. She made her way to her father’s buggy parked under a cluster of old oaks.

He stood talking to a man unfamiliar to Sarah. The man turned toward her as she approached. He wore a traditional blue Amish shirt, his black pants wrinkled and dusty, as if he’d been traveling for days. The black hat on his head barely controlled his nest of dishwater-blond curls. Joseph had been blond and curly-haired, too. Memories flooded in. Her heart ached.

Men from all around the county were coming today. The burned-out barn was to be torn down and cleared away. The man standing next to her father had be one of the workers who’d traveled a long distance to lend a helping hand. She often disapproved of many Amish ways, but not their generosity of heart. Helping others came naturally to all Amish. She honored this trait. It was the reason she’d helped the neighbor boys get away from their cruel father.

“Sarah,” Marta called out and motioned for her to hurry. Sarah picked up her pace.

“Come, Sarah! Time is wasting,” her father called out.

“Ya, Daed.”

The tall, well-built man smiled. She was struck by the startling blueness of his eyes and the friendly curve of his mouth. His light blond beard told her he was married. She gave a quick smile.

Marta stepped forward. “This is Mose Fischer, Joseph’s school friend. He came all the way from Florida to help us rebuild the barn.”

Mose Fischer took her hand. The crinkles around his eyes expressed years of friendly smiles and a good sense of humor.

Sarah wasn’t comfortable with physical contact, but allowed him to take her hand out of respect to Joseph. She returned his smile. “Hello. I’m glad to meet you.” She meant what she’d said. She was glad to meet him. She’d only met her husband’s sister, Marta. Meeting Joseph’s childhood friend made her feel more a part of his past life.

Adolph put his hand on Sarah’s shoulder. Touching her was something he rarely did, especially in public. “Sarah loves kinder. Perhaps you’d like her to care for your young daughters while you work?”

“If Sarah agrees, I’d like that very much.” Mose Fischer seemed to look deep into her soul, looking for all her secrets as he spoke. Why hadn’t his wife come to Lancaster with him? “I’d be glad to care for the bobbles, and I’m sure I’ll have help. Marta seldom gets a chance to play with kinder and will grab at this opportunity.”

Marta nodded with a shy laugh and smiled. “Just try to keep me away.”

“How old are the kinder?” Sarah grinned, happy for a chance to be busy wiping tiny fingers and toes. She’d be much too preoccupied to fret or watch the last of the barn come down.

“Beatrice is almost five and Mercy will soon be one. But, I warn you. They miss their mamm since she passed and can be a real handful.” Pain shimmered in his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were a widower. You were very brave to travel alone with such young daughters.”

“We came by train from Tampa, but my memories of Joseph made all the effort worth it. I didn’t want to miss the chance to help out his widow.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Mose and the girls will stay on my farm, and so will you.” Adolph gave Sarah a familiar glare.

“That’s fine. I can stay in my old room for a few days, and the girls can sleep with me.” Sarah nervously straightened the ribbons hanging from her stiff white prayer kapp. Since she was in deep mourning, her father knew she wanted to continue to hide herself at her farm, far away from people and gossip. “If that suits you, Mose.” She held her breath. She suddenly realized she needed to be around the girls as much as they needed her.

* * *

Dressed in a plain black mourning dress and kapp, her black shoes polished to a high shine, Mose could see why Joseph had chosen Sarah as his bride. There was something striking about her, her beauty separating her from the average Amish woman. She tried to act friendly, but he’d experienced the pain of loss and knew she suffered from the mention of Joseph. Greta had been the perfect wife to him and mother to his girls. After almost a year, the mention of her name still cut deeply and flooded his mind with memories.

“I hope they’re not a handful for you.” A genuine smile blossomed on the willowy, red-haired woman’s face. She looked a bit more relaxed. The heavy tension between Sarah and her father surprised him. Surely Adolph would be a tower of strength for her. She’d need her father to lean on during difficult times. Instead, Mose felt an air of disapproval between the two. He’d heard Adolph Yoder was a hard man, but Sarah seemed a victim in this terrible tragedy.

“I’ll bring the girls around in an hour or so, if that’s all right.”

“Ya. I’m not doing anything but cooking today. The girls can help bake for tomorrow’s big meal.” Sarah smiled a shy goodbye and followed Marta into the buggy. She pulled in her skirt and slammed the door. Through the window she waved, “I look forward to taking care of the kinder.”

“Till then,” Mose said, and waved as the buggy pulled onto the main road, his thoughts still on the tension between father and daughter.

Walking came naturally to Mose. He set out on the two-mile trip to his cousin’s farm and prayed his daughters had behaved while he was gone. Dealing with her own grief, he wasn’t sure Sarah was up to handling the antics of his eldest daughter. Four was a difficult age. Beatrice was no longer a baby, but her longing for her dead mamm still made her difficult to manage.

The hot afternoon sun beat down on his head, his dark garments drawing heat. He welcomed the rare gusts of wind that threatened to blow off his straw hat and ruffle his hair. Lancaster took a beating from the summer heat every year, but today felt even more hot and muggy. He would be glad to get back to Sarasota and its constant breeze and refreshing beaches.

A worn black buggy rolled past, spitting dust and pebbles his way. To his surprise, the buggy stopped and a tall, burley, gray-haired man hopped out.

“Hello, Mose. I heard you were in town.”

I should know the man. He recognized his face but struggled with the name. “Forgive me, but I don’t remember—”

“Nee. It was a long time ago. I’m Bishop Ralf Miller. It’s been five years or more since I last went to Florida and stayed with your family. I’ve known your father for many years. When we were boys, we shared the same school. I believe you’d just married your beautiful bride when your father introduced me to you.”

“My wife died last year,” Mose informed him. “Childbirth took her.” Saying the words out loud was like twisting a knife in his heart.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“There’s no reason you would know,”

“Nee, but it worries me how many of our young people are dying. I assume you’re here to help with Joseph Nolt’s barn clearing.”

“I just met his widow. Poor woman is torn with grief.”

“Between the two of us, I’m not so sure Sarah Nolt is a grieving widow. One of the men at the funeral said they heard her say Joseph’s death was her fault. The woman’s been unpredictable most of her life. Her father and I had a conversation about this a few days ago. He’s finding it hard to keep both farms going, and Sarah is stubbornly refusing to return to her childhood home. Joseph’s farm needs to be sold. If she doesn’t stop this willful behavior, I fear we’ll have to shun her for the safety of the community.”

Surprised at the openness of the Bishop’s conversation and the accusation against Sarah, Mose asked, “What proof do you have against her, other than her one comment made in grief? Has she been counseled by the elders or yourself?”

“We tried, but she won’t talk to us. She’s always had this rebellious streak. Her father agrees with me. There could be trouble.”

“A rebellious streak?”

“You know what I mean. Last week she told one of our Elders to shut up when he offered her a fair price for the farm. This inappropriate behavior can’t be ignored.”

“You’ve just described a grieving widow, Bishop. Perhaps she’s...”

Bishop Miller interrupted Mose, his brows lowered. “You don’t know her, Mose. I do. She’s always seemed difficult. Even as a child she was rebellious and broke rules.”

“Did something happen to make her this way?” Mose’s stomach twisted in anger. He liked to consider himself a good judge of character and he hadn’t found Sarah Nolt anything but unhappy, for good reason. Adolph Yoder was another matter. He appeared a hard, critical man. The Bishop’s willingness to talk about Sarah’s personal business didn’t impress him either. These things were none of Mose’s concern. He knew, with the community being Old Order Amish, that the bishop kept hard, fast rules. In his community she’d be treated differently. If she had no one to help her through her loss, her actions could be interpreted as acting out of grief. Perhaps the lack of a father’s love was the cause of his daughter’s actions. “Where is Sarah’s mother?”

“Who knows but Gott? She left the community when Sarah was a young child. She’d just had a son and some said raising kinder didn’t suit her. Adolph did everything he could to make Sarah an obedient child, like his son, Eric, but she never would bend to his will.”

“I saw little parental love from Adolph. He’s an angry man and needs to be spoken to by one of the community elders. Perhaps Gott can redirect him and help Sarah at the same time.”

“We’re glad to have your help with the teardown and barn-building, but I will deal with Sarah Nolt. This community is my concern. If your father were here, he’d agree with me.”