LITMIR.BIZ

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six other men sat at the square table in the corner of the kitchen. Lizbeth refilled each man’s glass with cold milk, accepted their thanks and then busied herself with the last of the pots and pans.

      She listened to the deep hum of their conversation, not to eavesdrop, but to enjoy the sound of men talking in a friendly manner. She’d spent too much time alone on the farm in Ohio. And the only conversations she’d heard when her husband and his family were around had been harsh and ugly. She’d used the time to gather her thoughts and make life-changing decisions. Jonah’s sudden death allowed her to act on her choices.

      Memories of Jonah filled her mind. Lean, with plain, unremarkable features, he had been the only man she’d stepped out with after Fredrik had left Pinecraft without a word of goodbye. Always kind and gentle, Jonah’s love for her had been evident in the way he’d talked to her and showed her respect at the start. And he’d been one of the few who knew the truth, knew of her sin. She’d thought he’d be willing to treat Benuel as his own son. But she’d been wrong. About everything.

      In Ohio, where his family farmed, she’d found herself embedded in a hostile community of rigid Old Order Amish rules. The people lived bitter lives. The painful memories of Benuel’s birth followed quickly by news of her mother’s sudden death had put a fresh sting of unshed tears in her eyes.

      After his birth, Benuel was taken from her and given to Jonah’s mother, who’d just lost her youngest boy in a farming accident. Jonah had longed for sons of his own, children who would work the family farm with him in his later years.

      And when Lizbeth got pregnant again, she’d thought he’d get his wish. But the babies died a few moments after their birth, born too early to survive. Jonah grew impatient with her as the years passed. She could still feel the sting of his words after their deaths. Where are my sohs? You carry them in your stomach, but they die, gasping for air. What have I done to earn this punishment? You have brought sin into my home. Their deaths are your fault.

      Deep inside, she knew Jonah was at fault for the loss of her twin sons. When he drank, his physical abuse had cost her much too much.

      Lizbeth shoved a chocolate chip cookie loaded with walnuts into her mouth, eating out of taut nerves and not pleasure. She had to remind herself Jonah would never hurt her or Benuel again.

      She submerged an oversize saucepan into the hot dishwater and began to scrub. Once again she relived the sound of the accident that took her husband’s life. The terrible screech of tires, the scream of their horse.

      Visions of the overturned buggy, the Englischers’ car mangled and burning next to it. Her breath grew ragged. The terrible sights and sounds of that night were seared deeply into her memory. Jonah had been badly burned, his chest crushed by the weight of their dead horse. She could still see the sterile white hospital room where he later died, his suffering finally over. She’d disappointed him in every way imaginable.

      The police later confirmed her suspicions. Her husband had been driving drunk the night of the accident, and their old mare, Rosie, was out of control and running wild when the Englischers’ car hit the buggy.

      She’d been too ashamed to admit she knew he had taken to drink to dull the pain of his lost sons. Jonah had lashed out at her earlier that dreadful night at the supper table. He’d screamed at her, told her she was useless. But she knew it had been the drink talking and she had forgiven him everything he’d said. Who could blame a man whose fraa could not give him more sons? Benuel had been a witness to the wreck, to her moments of insanity.

      She glanced down at her trembling hands, at her little finger, once broken and now permanently twisted out of shape. A reminder of Jonah’s fits of rage when her tiny boys were laid to rest in the cold ground. Dark memories surrounded her like a heavy shawl. She pushed the memories away and went back to work, her thoughts on Benuel. He mattered now. No one else.

      The final pan scrubbed and rinsed, she placed it on a dish towel and leaned against the stainless steel sink, her eyes closed, pushing away all the misery, the memories of her past life with Jonah.

      Her son had paid the highest price of all. He had no daed to follow around, no man to emulate, to show him how to grow strong. And it was her fault. She knew she had to do something. He needed a father, but she didn’t want another husband, someone she would disappoint. No Amish man in his right mind would want a traumatized woman with the built-in ability to fail. Gott’s will be done in Benuel’s life.

      The scrape of a chair behind her caused her to turn. Fredrik moved toward the commercial-size refrigerator, his empty glass in hand. The other server had left the room moments before, leaving her alone with the last shift of workers. She jerked a square of paper towel from the roll and dried her hands. “Can I get you something?”

      He stopped, turned toward her with a warm smile. “You’re busy. I can pour my own milk.”

      “Would you like some ice in it?”

      He quietly observed her. “Little Lizzy, I can’t believe you remember I like ice in my milk.”

      “I’m the one who introduced you to it.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And I’m not so little anymore. Neither one of us is, Freddie.”

      “I still see your bruder as often as I can. I’m sure he still thinks of you as little.”

      Lizbeth found herself smiling at the mention of her older brother. “Ya. His two boys look just like him, ain’t so?”

      Fredrik nodded. “Remember those childish fights we used to get into? You were always such a pesky kid, hanging around, bothering us. Back then, Saul and I were convinced you were only born to annoy us.”

      He laughed again and Lizbeth felt her face and neck flush pink with warmth. When she was little, both boys had made it clear they didn’t want her tagging along. Her young life had been full of merciless teasing. “Mamm made Saul take me along. I didn’t want to go.” Her mother’s image impressed itself on her mind. The beloved woman had been tall and always too lean. She’d worn simple dresses of cotton made by her own hands. Lizbeth could almost hear her mamm’s words floating in the air around her. Ya, Saul. You will take Lizbeth with you, or you won’t go yourself.

      She gently edged her memories of her mother away, along with the pain of her loss. “Mamm always wanted me out from under her feet so she could clean or quilt with the ladies.” She wiped at the side of the big fridge and opened the door, her thoughts back to her youth as she wiped down the rack where milk had been spilled. Her childhood feelings for the man standing next to her flushed her face warm again. She felt eleven years old again, longing for Fredrik to take notice of her. Embarrassment had her chatting again. “You boys teased me terrible when you took me fishing. You threatened to use me as bait.”

      “Ya, because you didn’t know how to shut up.” He softened his words with a lopsided grin. “You were so skinny back then. I was always afraid you’d fall in the river and we’d have to fish you out.”

      She stood tall, almost eye to eye with him. With a mind of its own, her finger poked at his broad chest. “Ya, well. I never fell in and you didn’t have to save me once.” She snickered. This was one of the few times her above-average height served her well.

      “Nee.” He stepped back and removed his hand from her arm. “I never did have to save you, but you ran off lots of fish.”

      She took the glass from his hand, splashed in frothy milk from a cold metal pitcher and then dropped two ice cubes into the milky swirl. “Two enough?” she asked, looking up at him.

      He had a strange expression on his face and was smiling like someone who had just been given a special Christmas gift. “Ya. Sure. Two is perfect,” he said and turned away with the glass of milk in hand, but not before winking at her with one bright blue eye lined with rusty brown lashes.

      She turned on her heel and left the room, but not before turning back and giving the man one last look. He sat down at the kitchen table circled with men and went back to eating like nothing had happened.

      She hurried away from

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