The Amish Widow's Secret - Cheryl Williford Mills & Boon Love Inspired

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your proposal, Mose Fischer. I will be your frau and your kinder’s mother.”

      Sarah paused for a moment, then spoke. “Being your wife brings obligations. I expect you to honor my grief until such a time I can become your wife in both name and deed, as a good man deserves.” She looked him in the eye, seeking understanding. He deserved a woman’s love and she had none to give him right now.

      Mose smiled and nodded, gave her a hand up and stepped back. “I wish there was something I could do to help you in your grief.”

      Sarah didn’t know what to say. Few people had offered her a word of sympathy when she’d lost Joseph. They’d felt she’d caused his death. “I’m fine, really. I just need time.” She lied because if she said anything else, she would be crying in this stranger’s arms.

      “Time does help, Sarah. Time and staying busy.”

      She could feel his gaze on her. She hid every ache and hardened her heart. This was the Amish way. “Ya, time and work. Everyone tells me this.”

      “Take your time, grieve.” He murmured the words soft and slow.

      Her heart in shreds, she would not talk of grief with him, not with anyone. “I don’t want to talk anymore.” She moved past him and through the door, ignoring the throbbing veins at her temples. She would never get over this terrible loss deep in her heart. This unbearable pain was her punishment from Gott.

      * * *

      Mose wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He’d caused her more pain, reminding her of what she’d lost. Joseph had been a good man, full of life and fun. He’d loved Gott with all his heart and had dedicated himself to the Lord early in life. His baptism had been allowed early. Most Amish teens were forced to wait until they were sure of their dedication to Gott and their community, after their rumspringa, when they’re time to experience the Englisch world was over and decisions made, but not Joseph. Everyone had seen his love for Gott, his kindness, strength and purity. He felt the painful loss of Joseph. What must Sarah feel? Like Joseph, she seemed sure of herself, able to face any problem with strength...but there was something else. She carried a cloud of misery over her, which told him she suffered a great deal. What else could have happened to make her so miserable?

      He heard a window open upstairs and movement, perhaps Sarah preparing for bed. Mose laughed quietly. Was he so desperate for a mother for his kinder that he had proposed marriage to a woman so in love with her dead husband she could hardly stand his touch? They both had to dig themselves out of their black holes of loss and begin life anew. Could marriage be the way? He knew he would never love again, yet his kinder needed a mother. Was he too selfish to provide one for them? Would marrying again be fair to any woman he found suitable to raise his kinder? No woman wanted a lovesick fool, such as he, on their arm. They wanted courtship, the normal affection of their husband, but he had none to give. He was an empty shell. Mose looked out over the tops of tall trees to the stars. Gott was somewhere watching, wondering why He’d made a fool like Mose Fischer. Stars twinkled and suddenly a shooting star flashed across the sky, its tail flashing bright before it disappeared into nothingness. It had burned out much like his heart.

       Chapter Three

      Sarah’s eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. She placed her kapp just so and made sure its position was perfect, as if the starched white prayer kapp would make up for her tear-ravaged face.

      “My mother wore a kapp like that, but it looked kind of different.” Beatrice clambered onto the dressing table’s stool next to Sarah.

      “It probably was different, sweetheart. Lots of Amish communities wear different styles of kapps and practice different traditions.”

      “How come girls wear them and not boys?” Beatrice reached out and touched the heavily starched material on Sarah’s head.

      “Several places in the Bible tell women to cover their heads, so we wear the kapps and show Gott we listen to His directions.” Sarah wished she could pull off the cap, throw it to the ground and stomp on it. Covering her head didn’t make her a better person. Love did. And she loved this thin, love-starved child and her sweet baby sister. She felt such a strong need to make things easier for Beatrice and Mercy. “Would you like to help me make pancakes?”

      As if on a spring, the child jumped off the stool and danced around the room, making Mercy laugh out loud and clap her hands. “Pancakes! My favoritest thing in the whole wide world.”

      Sarah pushed a pin into her pulled-back hair and glanced at her appearance in the small hand mirror for a moment longer. She looked terrible and her stomach was upset, probably the result of such an emotional night. She’d lain awake for hours, unable to stop thinking about her promise to wed Mose. She’d listened to the kinder’s soft snores and movements, thinking about Joseph and their lost life together.

      Gott had spoken loud and clear to her this morning. The depression and grief she suffered were eating up her life. She’d never have the love of her own kinder if she didn’t come out of this black mood and live again. But why would Mose want her as a wife, damaged as she was?

      “Your eyes are red. Are you going to cry some more?” Beatrice jumped off the bench and danced around, her skirt whirling.

      The child heard me crying last night. She forced herself to laugh and join in the child’s silly dancing. Hand in hand they whirled about, circling and circling until both were dizzy and fell to the floor, their laughter filling the room.

      A loud knock came and her father opened the door wide. “What’s all this noise so early in the morning?”

      Her joy died a quick death. “Beatrice and I were—”

      “I see what you’re doing. Foolishness. You’re making this child act as foolish as you. It’s time for breakfast. Go to the kitchen and be prepared for at least twenty-five men to eat. We have more work to do now that the old barn is to be towed away. We’ll need nourishment for the hard day ahead.”

      Beatrice snuggled close to Sarah, her arms tight around her neck. “This may be your home, but you’re out of line, Daed. Close the door behind you. We will be down when the kinder’s needs are met.” Sarah looked him hard in the eyes, her tone firm.

      Her father’s angry glare left her filled with fury. She hated living at his farm, at his mercy. She longed to be in her own home two miles down the dusty road. She would not let him throw his bitterness the kinder’s way. She’d talk to him in private and make things very clear. She’d be liberated from his control once she and Mose were married. But, right now she was still a widow and had to listen to his demands. But not for long. Gott had provided her a way to get away from his control.

      “Come darling, let’s get Mercy out of her cot and make those pancakes. We have a long day of cooking ahead of us and need some healthy food in our bellies.”

      “Is that mean man your daed?” Beatrice asked.

      Sarah helped her off the floor. “Ya.” She lifted Mercy from her cot and nuzzled her nose in the baby’s warm, sweet-smelling neck. She checked her diaper and found she needed changing. Mercy wiggled in her arms, a big grin pressing dimples in her cheeks. She held the warm baby close to her and thanked Gott her father’s harsh words hadn’t seemed to scare the baby.

      Watching her sister get a fresh diaper, Beatrice spoke, “Why is he so angry? I don’t think he loves you.” Confusion clouded Beatrice’s face, a frown creasing her brow.

      “Of course he loves me,” Sarah assured her. But as she finished changing Mercy’s diaper, she wondered. Does he love me?

      * * *

      The narrow tables lined up on the grass just outside Sarah’s kitchen door didn’t look long enough for twenty-five

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