Her Secret Amish Child

Chapter Two

Inside, the café pulsed with life. The lunch crowd of local Amish and Mennonite folks, with some summer tourists sprinkled in, blended into a loud, but happy, sea of faces.

Still shaking, Lizbeth followed a waitress in and ushered Benuel into the small booth upholstered in cheap red leather. Fredrik flopped down across from them a few moments later, making himself comfortable as he ordered a glass of tea and one of the cook’s famous sweet rolls.

“What would you two like? Sweet tea, a Coke?”

“We’ll have ice water, danki,” she answered, watching Fredrik’s face. She searched for and found the bump on his nose. She’d caused the break when she’d thrown a basketball at him years ago.

She relaxed. He still didn’t seem to recognize her, but there was no reason he would. She’d been dishwater blond as a teen, and full of life. Nothing like the rake-thin, ordinary, mouse-blond woman she’d become, with her unremarkable face that drew no second glances.

“Can I have Coke?” Benuel blurted out.

She gave her son a warning look. He shouldn’t be asking for treats. Not after running off. Unsure, she fought an inner battle, trying to decide whether to be hard on the troubled child and not knowing when to hold firm to her convictions. She hadn’t been allowed to discipline Benuel in any way while her husband was alive. He or his mother always stepped in, took control of the boy. Punished him for her mistakes.

Benuel’s hopeful expression vanished. His forehead took on a sulky frown. She reached to pull him closer, but he pushed away with a grunt of annoyance.

“My treat,” Fredrik offered.

She looked across the table at Fredrik. His grin was easygoing, relaxed. “Danki, but nee. He has to learn to obey.”

Fredrik made a face at the boy, his nose crinkling up in a comical way. Benuel giggled slightly and then ducked his head. Silence had been a firm rule enforced by Jonah and his parents back in Ohio. Children should be seen and seldom heard. Especially her child.

Lizbeth watched the all-too-familiar lift of Fredrik’s brow, the way his lips curved as he laughed at Benuel’s reaction to his teasing. His smile revealed a tiny chip on his front tooth. He’d fallen his last summer in Pinecraft. He’d chased her, trying to get his straw hat from her hand, and slipped on wet stones.

“How about some pancakes with strawberries? They’re my favorite. Come on, Mamm. Let the boy enjoy life.”

He had no idea the inner conflict she endured, the indecisiveness she fought regarding Benuel’s discipline. Her reply came out harsher than she intended. “I am letting the boy enjoy life. Benuel’s being disciplined for running away and can’t have sweets right now. He’ll be having plain food for the rest of the day as his punishment.”

The bell over the café door rang. Lizbeth glanced over and then jumped up, rushing into her father’s waiting arms.

“I’ve been looking all over for you, girl,” John Schwarts scolded, but gave his daughter another tight hug that spoke of his love for her. “You should have waited at the church. I told you I’d be a bit late.”

“I’m sorry, Daed. It got so hot. We came in for a quick cold drink of water.” She looked at Fredrik over her father’s shoulder and saw a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. He finally knew who she was. Something to worry about later, she thought, lowering her gaze.

Her cheek nuzzled against her father’s barrowed chest as she listened to the sound of him breathing, the beat of his heart. It had been five long years since she’d left the safety of his arms. It was good to be home.

“It’s no matter,” he responded, as he slid in beside Fredrik. “So, what are you doing here? I thought Mose told me you were working early today.”

Fredrik had the decency to look a little embarrassed. He glanced over at Lizbeth.

She gently shook her head, praying he wouldn’t say anything about their near accident. She already had Fredrik thinking she was a bad mamm. She didn’t need her daed thinking it, too.

“I was...ah...am working early today. I just thought I’d stop and get a cold glass of tea first,” Fredrik stammered, pulling his summer hat off and setting it on his lap. “Lizbeth was kind enough to share a booth with me. It’s pretty busy in here.”

The waitress hurried over and interrupted the men’s chatter. Lizbeth took a deep, calming breath. Her daed looked good. His new wife, Ulla, must have been taking fine care of him.

John smiled his grandson’s way. “So this is Benuel. How are you, soh?”

Benuel frowned and then looked away, all the while tapping his fingers on the table. “I’m not allowed to speak to strangers,” he muttered.

Lizbeth patted her daed’s hand. “He’ll warm up. It’ll just take him a while.”

“Ya, sure. I understand. You were always a bit standoffish with strangers at his age. We’ll get to know each other at the chicken farm, won’t we, Benuel?”

Benuel ducked his head, his ginger-colored hair falling in his eyes as he nodded slightly.

Fredrik spoke up, ending the awkward moment. “You going to work at the church tomorrow, John?”

“Certain-sure, I am. That roof’s leaking like a sieve when it rains.”

Lizbeth took the glass of water handed to her by the waitress, slid Benuel’s water to him and watched her father’s face light up as he talked about future church repairs with Fredrik.

It was so good to be back home. Her daed had changed very little. Oh, he’d gotten some grayer, a bit more round at the middle, but he looked happy.

Benuel kicked her leg under the table. She flinched. “Drink your water, and keep your legs under you,” she instructed, warning him with her eyes.

“He’s as fidgety as those new roosters I bought.” John laughed.

Lizbeth tried to act normal. Her father didn’t understand, didn’t know about Benuel’s medical issues yet. She realized she’d have to tell him about the boy’s ADHD issues, but now wasn’t the time, not with Fredrik Lapp sitting there, listening to every word said. “He’s a hyper young man, that’s for sure,” she said and pushed Benuel’s water closer to him. She hoped she’d never have to tell her daed about the things she and the boy had seen and been through while in Ohio.

Benuel swished his hand across the table, knocking over the water glass. He smirked Lizbeth’s way, rebellion written across his young face. “I’m sorry,” he said, righting the glass as cold water and chips of ice streamed into her lap.

* * *

Fredrik watched Lizbeth’s face redden, saw the way her hands shook as she grabbed napkins to sop up the spill. He still couldn’t believe this woman was the Little Lizzy he’d grown up with. She’d changed. And here she was, back in town, with a rowdy little boy. Her son had knocked over the glass on purpose. Fredrik was sure of it, and he could tell John knew it, too. The older man’s forehead was creased into an irritated scowl. Turning his head, he looked at the kinner closely. Benuel’s expression had become calm again, almost serene. As if nothing had happened.

That boy needed a talking-to, but Fredrik could tell by the look on Lizbeth’s face that she wasn’t going to discipline him in front of his grandfather the first time they met. She’d leave it for another time. Poor woman looked exhausted and frazzled from her long trip home.

Fredrik grabbed the napkin under his water and helped Lizbeth clean up the mess. “Kids always seem to manage to spill their water,” he reassured her with a smile.

“Ya,” she muttered, picking up the last of the ice cubes scattered across the table. Her face still flushed with embarrassment. “Danki, Fredrik.”

She looked at her father, her fingers twisting the wet napkin in her hand.

Fredrik watched the tiny blue vein in her neck pulse with tension.

“Benuel is often overactive, Daed,” she said, glancing at Benuel squirming in his seat. “But he’s a gut boy.”

“Ya, I know he is,” John said, nodding. His smile was that of a patient grandfather who understood the ways of rambunctious boys.

Lizbeth visibly relaxed, her lips turning up at the ends. “I’m so glad to be home. Benuel needs a strong man like you in his life.”

“Ya, well. You’ve got the whole town of Pinecraft at your disposal, dochder. We’ll all pitch in. You’re not alone.”

Tears glistened in her eyes as she put her arm around her son and pulled him close. “I’m so glad, Daed. Change can be hard for Benuel. All he’s ever known is the farm. Life’s been difficult for him.”

John smiled gently. His big calloused hand patted hers. “I’ll go and grab your bag from the church. You can wait here until I get back.” She handed a ticket to John and he nodded at Fredrik. “Don’t be too late to work,” he said with a smile.

Fredrik shook John’s hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the church. Make sure you wear your loose pants. The ladies are cooking for us.”

John nodded. “I’ll be there.” And he walked to the door.

Fredrik turned back to Lizbeth and saw a slight smile on her face. “It’s been years, and I know I’ve changed,” she said, “but I’m assuming you’ve remembered me by now, Fredrik. I’m Little Lizzy, Saul’s schweschder.”

Fredrik leaned toward her with a grin. “Of course I know who you are. I realized it as soon as you greeted your daed. Little Lizzy. I can’t believe it. I’d heard you had married and had moved away while I was in Lancaster. Why didn’t you tell me who you were as soon as we met?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “It didn’t seem important. And I wanted to see how long it would take for you to remember. I knew it was you the minute I saw that ginger hair of yours and your broken nose.”

He trailed his finger down the bridge, to the almost invisible bump, thinking of that day so many years ago. “Ya, and I remember who broke that nose. You had a mean pitching arm back then.”

“I still do.”

Fredrik glanced up and saw one of Sarasota’s finest walk through the café door, the gun on his hip standing out in the crowd of Plain people and tourists. “The police officer is here. I’ve got to go. It was good to see you again, Lizbeth.” He stood and pulled her to his side in a hug, his arm sliding around her slim waist.

Then he let her go and walked off, peeking over his shoulder at her one last time. She’d been the picture of calm since her father arrived. Her daed was what she needed. A strong man to lean on.

He walked toward the police officer, his heartbeat kicking up. He’d leave Lizbeth and the boy out of this situation. She had enough on her plate. Going by the shake of her head earlier, she wouldn’t want to talk to the police right now anyway, not when her father could return at any moment. Could she have thought Benuel was at fault for the accident? If she did, she was mistaken. He knew he was to blame and would make sure the police knew it, too.

Chapter Three

The next morning, Ulla Schwarts glanced at the quilt top Lizbeth had been working on since sunrise, and smiled. “You’ve only been home a day and that top is almost finished.” Bent at the waist, she swished a sudsy dishcloth across the big wooden farm table, reaching for and finding a spot of dried plum jelly that needed scrubbing. “You sew pretty fast.”

“Ya, it came together quickly,” Lizbeth agreed, looking up from her breakfast, over to her father and then his wife of one month. She smiled as the gray-haired woman wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, and then went back to cleaning the big wooden table positioned in the middle of her mamm’s well-loved kitchen.

Lizbeth already liked the spirited older Amish woman and found merit in her humor and work ethic. It would take some time to adjust to seeing another woman in her mother’s haus, caring for her daed, even though years had passed since her mamm’s sudden passing.

“It’s time I go check on the chickens,” her father stated, then wiped egg off his mouth. His chair scraped the floor as he rose. He lightly kissed Lizbeth on the forehead. “I’m so glad you’re back,” he said for the hundredth time that morning.

Lizbeth smiled, joy warming her heart. “Me, too, Daed.”

“You have any plans for today?” he asked.

“Nothing important,” Lizbeth muttered, and grinned. She’d had a hard morning with Benuel and didn’t have much energy left in her.

“I’m off then.” John kissed his wife’s cheek and whispered something in her ear that had her giggling as she swatted him out the back door with her dishcloth.

Still smiling, Ulla commented to Lizbeth, “There’s a sewing circle that meets at the civic hall on Tuesday mornings if you have a mind to go.” Ulla shoved a stubby water glass into the sea of dishwater and swished a cloth around in it.

Lizbeth gathered up her plate, coffee cup and the remains of her half-eaten bacon and eggs destined for the chickens’ scrap bowl. “Does Berta King still go?”

Ulla shook her head and moved to clean the stove. “Not since the cancer took hold.”

Lizbeth paused, her hand going to her heart. “I didn’t know.” The spry little woman had taught her to quilt and had been her mother’s best friend and confidante for more years than she could remember. Berta had been there to wave her off when she’d quickly married and left Pinecraft five years before.

“Nee, you wouldn’t, would you? Living so far away. I only see her when I take meals over on Tuesday and Friday nights. She looks bad. So thin and frail. Abram’s not looking so good himself, poor man. Someone told me their daughter from Ohio is coming on the bus. She’ll help out until her mamm passes, and then take her daed home with her.”

“It’s never gut to be alone.” Lizbeth adjusted the work scarf on her head and then plunged her hands into the sink of hot soapy water. The water burned a small scrape caused by her fall in the street the day before.

She began scrubbing dried egg yolk off her plate. She had to find a way to make Benuel understand that roads were dangerous. Living in a busy tourist town held hazards he didn’t understand at such a young age. It would take time and patience to guide him.

Perhaps she clung to him too tightly now that she had him all to herself. Benuel had always been easily distracted, but he had grown more willful of late, even cruel at times. She remembered the kick he’d given her under the booth the day before and sighed deeply. He needed a man’s firm hand, but the thought of marrying again sent her pulse racing wild with fear. Not that any man in his right mind would want her as his fraa once he found out she was emotionally damaged.

And the last time she had married for her child’s sake hadn’t gone so well. What would she do if anyone discovered the truth about Benuel? It would ruin both of them.

There had to be another way to help him grow into a strong man without a father in his life. Perhaps settling down near her daed and the kind people of Pinecraft would bring about the stability he needed, as her father had suggested. At least she prayed that it would.

Ulla plugged in a portable electric fan and positioned it on the long wooden counter nearest her. “You’ll need this if you’re going to wash those breakfast dishes. The humidity is high. We must be expecting a storm.”

“Danki,” Lizbeth muttered and plunged in another yolk-covered plate.

Ulla hummed as she shuffled across the room, a stack of folded towels in her arms.

A glance out the kitchen window revealed threatening gray clouds. A gust of wind twisted two small palm trees to the ground.

The old German clock in the living room ticked away the remaining minutes of the morning. She rinsed her hands and rehung the dish towel on its wooden peg next to the window and then pressed her hands into the small of her back. A long, busy day stretched out in front of her and she had no energy left.

She had to talk to Benuel about his behavior at the breakfast table, and was dreading it. He’d poured milk on Ulla’s clean tablecloth. He’d done it on purpose, even though her father claimed it had been an accident. All she seemed to do was scold the child, when all she wanted was to pull him onto her lap and hold him until his anger went away.

“So, you have nothing planned for your day?” Ulla came back into the room with a load of sheets ready to be washed. Her tone and smile were friendly and inviting, unlike the daily dramatic scenes that played out back in Ohio with her mother-in-law. She could never please the woman, no matter how hard she tried. And she had tried.

Lizbeth took in a deep, cleansing breath, her memories of Ohio pushed to the darkest recesses of her mind once more. She smiled. “I’ve got the usual. Keeping Benuel entertained and getting that quilt top finished after I make our beds.”

Ulla paused under the kitchen’s arched door. She braced a wicker basket, fluffy with unfolded sheets, against her stomach. “We have church service tomorrow. I make it a practice to help with the cooking of the communal meal. You can join me if you like. It would give you a chance to get reacquainted with some of the ladies of the community.”

Preparing the communal meal had been one of Lizbeth’s mother’s favorite chores. Being one of the volunteer church cooks was something Lizbeth could embrace now that she was back, not that she was a very good cook. Going along with Ulla would give Benuel a chance to play with children his own age. But doubt stalled her. “I don’t know. He’s such a handful today.”

“Ach, don’t let his acting up stop you from doing a good deed. You haven’t met Beatrice, my oldest kinskind yet.” Ulla laughed, her smile animating her wrinkled face with a glow. “Now that child is a certain-sure handful. She and her sister Mercy will be there.” The woman’s tone became serious. “Benuel needs the company of other kinner, Lizbeth.”

Lizbeth’s face flushed. He needed so much more than she seemed able to give him, but she would learn. “Ya, maybe I will come after all.”

“Gut. I’ll get this load of sheets folded and then we’ll make a list for our trip to the store. I thought I’d make chicken and dumplings and a peanut butter shoofly pie. Is there anything special you’d like to make?”

Benuel had smashed his fist into the center of the last cake she’d baked, sending chunks of chocolate cake all over her mother-in-law’s kitchen floor. “Maybe I’ll make chocolate cupcakes for the kinner. Chocolate is Benuel’s favorite.”

Ulla laughed. “Beatrice and I have an understanding when it comes to cupcakes of any flavor. She behaves and does what I tell her, or I get to eat hers. You might try that on Benuel. Missing a few cupcakes might bring about a bit of good behavior from the boy.”

Lizbeth found herself smiling. “Ya, I might try that. Danki.” Her smile grew. “You’ve been so kind to us since we arrived, Ulla. I want to thank you for opening your home, taking us in.”

“Nonsense. This is your home, too. John and I are happy you moved back to Pinecraft, sudden or not.” Ulla set the basket on the floor. “Having you here has been a blessing. But what’s this John tells me about you already looking for a home of your own?”

“Ya, I am looking, not that you both haven’t made us feel so very willkumm. It’s just that Benuel needs to settle into a routine before school begins.” Still so unsure of her parenting skills, she wasn’t positive she would be putting him in school. She had to decide soon, but not today.

Ulla grinned as she flipped out a square tablecloth and shoved it into the washer. “I own an empty house that’s up for sale and begging for a family to bring it back to life. It’s simple and Amisch Plain, but not too far from here and close to the Christian school. If the local man who asked about it doesn’t buy it, you’re welcome to rent it until you marry again. We have a busy weekend, but John can show it to you on Monday.”

“That would be wunderbaar. A simple house would be an answer to prayer,” Lizbeth said, ignoring Ulla’s comment about a new marriage. She had no intention of marrying again. It would be just her and Benuel from now on.

Surely the money she had squirreled away would be enough to make rent payments until she could find a part-time job and someone safe to leave Benuel with. Maybe there would be enough left over for a few pieces of secondhand furniture. When they had left Ohio, she had taken nothing but their clothes and a few of Benuel’s favorite toys. She pushed away her reasons for leaving the farm, unwilling to bring back the harsh memories that haunted her unguarded sleep each night.

Gott’s will be done. He had brought them back to Pinecraft, to the Plain people she’d grown up with, and she was grateful to be home.

* * *

At noon on Monday, Fredrik leaned his old bike against an orange tree and turned on his heel, ready to begin his search for a wife in the crowd of Amish women standing around, chatting.

After seeing Lizbeth Mullet wearing a pretty blue dress at church the day before, and hearing two pastors preach on the joys of married life, he’d lost sleep that night, tossing and turning, but managed to make a firm decision. It was time to forget Bette, who had accepted his proposal and then run off and wed his best friend in Lancaster County, where Fredrik was completing his apprenticeship. He would buy Ulla’s house and settle down. It shouldn’t be too hard to find someone to marry him. Perhaps Lizbeth Mullet would consider him and if not her, someone else just as comely. Whoever he chose, though, would have to understand that theirs would be only a friendly partnership. An attempt at showing the community—and himself—that he could grow and become responsible. He’d never give another woman his heart after the way Bette had stomped on it.

The woman he married would have to be patient, accept him as he was. He wasn’t exactly sure how much he could change his youthful ways, but almost killing a child had affected him deeply. It was past time he stopped behaving like a youngie and got on with his life.

He ambled across the dry park grass, over to the food tables and joined his boss, Mose. The square-shouldered Amish man greeted him with a nod of his head and then filled one side of his sturdy paper plate with fried chicken. He inched his way forward, toward a bowl of hot potato salad decorated with perfect slices of boiled eggs and olives.

“You’re late. You almost missed out on my Sarah’s specialty,” Mose said, adding an extra helping of the creamy potatoes to his too-full plate. “It’s almost gone.”

“I see that,” Fredrik smiled and took the last of the potato salad with a half-moon of boiled egg buried on top.

“You oversleep?”

Fredrik cleared his throat before speaking. “No, I had to pay a traffic ticket. No insurance.”

Glancing back, Mose said, “Is this one of your yarns?”

Fredrik glanced up. “Nee, I’m not joking.”

“Then what do you mean? The police don’t give tickets for bike riding.”

Fredrik lumbered close behind Mose, both men still circling around the table laden with food. “I wasn’t exactly riding a bike.” He reached across the table for three meaty ribs shining with barbecue sauce. He added a forkful of pickles as an afterthought and then speared a meaty chicken leg covered in crispy fried batter.

Together they headed for the drinks table, and stood in a line with community leaders and hardworking Plain men waiting for a cold glass of sweet tea. The big oak tree draped with moss spared them the bright overhead sun.

Fredrik had hoped to speak privately with Mose, but the park grounds were already packed with people supporting the lunch that would bring in enough money to pay for the new roof on the church.