A Family for Gracie

Book 3: Amish of Pontotoc

by Amy Lillard

Genres: Christian Historical Romance

Synopsis

Gracie Glick is known for being the helpful one, always available for a relative in need. But now that she’s longing for a home and family of her own, it’s time to help herself. With few eligible men in Pontotoc, Gracie’s choices, and her time, are limited. So she takes a bold leap of faith: she proposes to Matthew Byler, a handsome, recently widowed, father of five. It’s not until after they’re married that Gracie learns Matthew doesn’t want more children.

With his grief still fresh and his children needing care while he tends to his farm, Gracie is the answer to Matthew’s prayers. But a marriage in name only suits him fine. And when he finally tells Gracie the dismaying reason why, they must decide whether to continue together—or apart. It’s a choice that will force them both to look deeper into their hearts than ever before.

Release date: July 30, 2019

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 304

Sample

She could do this. Gracie Glick pulled her buggy to a stop at the end of the red dirt road that led straight to Matthew Byler’s house. All she had to do was take the casserole to the front door and wait for him to answer. Easy.

Gracie hopped down and retrieved the glass dish from the back of the buggy. She wrapped a towel around it, but not because it was too warm to handle. Her hands were sweaty. She didn’t want to drop it before she even got to the porch.

She sucked in a deep breath to ease the thud of her heart. Her stomach was in knots. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Yet this was the only plan she had.

She wished she had a free hand to smooth over her prayer covering or even to press the tiny wrinkles marring the skirt of her dress. Maybe she should wait until she looked more presentable. Maybe then he wouldn’t refuse to answer the door.

Like that was going to happen. He knew she was coming. Well, he knew someone was coming. And that they would have supper.

It wasn’t like she could return to the house with the food she was sent here to give him. She climbed the few steps that led to the big porch with the even larger door.

No. It was a regular-sized door and a large but still average porch. She had to get a handle on herself or she would never make it through this.

Gracie drew in another breath, but it did nothing to ease her nervousness. The best thing to do was simply get it over with. Knock on the door and wait for him to answer. She looked down at the thick glass dish she held with both hands. Knocking might be a little difficult.

But she had come here with a purpose and she was going to see it through.

She looked around. There was a wooden bench similar to the ones they used for church, sitting to the right of the front door. She could set the pan there and knock. It was a good plan.

A plan. Exactly what she needed.

She placed the pan on the bench, then rapped on the wood and waited. Nothing. She knocked once more, then twice. Louder this time. Still nothing. She knocked again, her newfound confidence waning once more. What if he wasn’t home? Or maybe just not hungry? Or plain old didn’t want to see her?

Now she was just being ridiculous.

Thankfully, she heard the fluttering of movements behind the door. Someone was home. Perhaps one of the children looking to see who was outside. But if there were children in the front room they were certainly quiet. Maybe they were playing that game like she had in school: quiet mouse. Like children played it willingly. Maybe everyone was in the back of the house.

Then she heard it. The squall of an unhappy baby. Before she had time to think about what that meant, the door was wrenched open and Matthew Byler filled the threshold. In his arms he held a screaming baby.

“I just got her to sleep.” He glared at her with hard, blue eyes.

Gracie took a step back. Had he always been that tall? That broad? That angry?

“What do you want?” His voice was chipped ice.

Gracie blinked, then managed to get herself back on track. “I—I brought you supper.” She nodded toward the casserole on the nearby bench, though she could barely hear her own words over the baby’s cries.

He looked from her to the dish and back again. Then before she could move to pick it up for him, he thrust the baby toward her.

“You woke her up. You get her back to sleep.”

She fumbled a bit, then got a firm grip on the crying baby. She really did have a set of lungs, as they say. Her head was thrown back, her face red as a beet.

Gracie cradled the infant close to her, inhaling the sweet scent of baby. There was nothing like it in the world. It was the best smell ever. And Gracie had smelled a lot of babies. How many had she gone to help other people with? So many she had lost track, if she had ever really been keeping count.

“Shhh . . .” Gracie murmured. “You’re too little to have such big problems.”

Matthew had taken the casserole dish from the bench and started back through the house. At her words, he stopped but didn’t turn around. “Are you coming in or are you going to put her to bed on the porch?”

“Jah. Of course.” This was not going as she had planned it in her head. She would come to the house, offer him the food, and the two of them would sit down and discuss her proposal like rational people. Matthew Byler seemed far from rational. He seemed downright unhappy.

Or maybe it was exhaustion that pulled at the corners of his mouth.

Of course he’s unhappy and exhausted. His wife just died three months ago.

“Shut the door,” he growled as he continued into the house.

Gracie used one foot to close the door behind her and gently bounced the screaming baby. If this was what Matthew had been dealing with before she arrived, she could see why he was so upset that she woke the baby.

“Shhh . . .”

“You’re gonna be in trouble.”

She whirled around to find four boys, near stair-steps in age, sitting quietly on the couch. The tallest and probably the oldest swatted the one next to him. “Hush up, Henry.”

The Amish might stand against violence, but siblings were siblings.

“I don’t have to, Stephen.”

“When Grace is asleep you do,” Stephen retorted.

One of the smaller boys slid from the couch.

“Thomas, sit down,” he continued.

“Grace isn’t asleep,” Henry said.

“She will be soon,” Stephen replied. “Thomas.”

The small boy climbed back onto the couch and sat by his brother. They were so close in size that Gracie wondered if they were twins, though they looked nothing alike. She knew from personal experience that didn’t mean much. Her own cousins, Hannah and Leah, were twins and they looked as different as can be.

The four seemed to be mirrors of each other. Stephen, the oldest, had dark hair like his father, but green eyes she supposed he inherited from his mother. They seemed larger than normal, magnified by the lenses of his black-framed glasses. Thomas was the same without the eyewear. Henry had blond hair and blue eyes. The eye color had to have come from his father, and if she remembered right, Beth, their mother, had blond hair too. Benjamin was Henry’s mirror. But only in looks. He sat as still as a statue, waiting for . . . something, she supposed.

She continued to bounce the baby in a comforting manner, though her screams had quieted to hiccups. Gracie patted the baby on the back, rubbing it in hopes of calming her further.

“Thomas,” Stephen chastised. The boy was attempting an escape once again. Stephen grabbed his brother by one suspender and pulled him back into place. Somehow he managed to push his glasses up a little on the bridge of his nose as he did so.

“Hey,” Henry protested. He was still sitting between Stephen and Thomas.

“Necessary,” Stephen grunted. He seemed to have taken on the role of mother and father in his parents’ absence. His mother wasn’t coming back. But where was his dat?

Thomas finally settled back into place next to Benjamin, who Gracie was sure hadn’t moved the entire time she’d been standing there. How unusual for a small child to sit still like that for so long. And she couldn’t help but wonder if it was in his nature or something else.

Stephen had started bossing again, telling Henry to be still, quit picking his nails, and to stop blowing spit bubbles. Where was their father?

The baby’s hiccups were gone. Gracie looked down at the sweet, sweet face to find that she had finally gone to sleep. She felt warm and solid in Gracie’s arms, but she knew she couldn’t get too used to the feel. Not until she talked to Matthew.

And if he agreed? She would be able to hold this baby, be a mother to Stephen so he could go back to being a child, and maybe . . . maybe even have a baby of her own.

The mere thought made her sigh.

“You okay, lady?”

She pulled herself out of her thoughts and centered her attention on Henry.

Stephen elbowed him in the ribs. “Don’t call her lady.”

“Why not?” Henry grumbled, shouldering him back.

“’Cause it’s not nice.”

“But she is a lady.”

“I’m fine,” she reassured him, hoping that would stop their arguing.

Once again Thomas slid from the couch. Stephen tried to snag his suspenders, but he slipped away, running to Gracie and throwing his arms around her legs and toppling her a bit. She managed to stay on her feet and not wake the baby.

“You’re still here?”

Gracie jumped as Matthew Byler loomed in the doorway leading from the kitchen. The baby woke with a tortured wail, and Thomas moved around to the back and hid his face in her skirt. Was he afraid of his father? Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

“You told me to get her to sleep.”

He looked pointedly at his red-faced daughter. The look in his eyes was confusing. He seemed sad, helpless, and small in that one instant, as if caring for the child was more than he had bargained for, then the look was gone. “She’s not asleep.”

Gracie shifted the child, holding her against her shoulder. She bounced her and patted the thick diaper on her bottom. “She was,” Gracie said, her voice timid and soothing all at the same time.

“What was that?” Matthew asked.

Gracie shook her head. Being rude back would not help her argument. Thank heaven he hadn’t been able to hear her over the baby’s wails. Or maybe he had and he wanted to see if she had the cheek enough to say it twice.

She looked to the children, then back to Matthew. “Is there someplace we can talk?” The words turned her mouth to ash. “Alone.” This was it. She was going to do it.

He frowned. “Jah. I suppose.” He turned toward his sons. “You boys stay right there. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“How long?” Henry was already beginning to squirm.

Matthew checked the clock hanging opposite the couch. “I told you already. When the big hand is on the four.”

Henry screwed up his face and studied the timepiece for a moment. “Then we can get up?”

“As long as you sit there while I talk to Gracie.”

Henry nodded. “Okay.”

“That’s funny,” Stephen said, adjusting his glasses once again.

“What?” Matthew asked. She wished he would hurry. All this chatter was making her even more nervous than she had been when she walked in the door.

“Grace and Gracie.” Stephen pointed from her to the baby. The baby’s name was Grace? The coincidence was unusual to be sure, but Gracie wasn’t sure if it was a good omen or a bad one. At least the baby Grace had stopped crying, though she showed no interest in going back to sleep. Those blue-green eyes that seemed too large for such a tiny face were heavy-lidded, opening slower with each blink, but her chubby fingers were tightly wrapped around one of the strings from Gracie’s prayer kapp.

“That is funny,” Matthew said, but his voice was still dry as dust. Did the man only have one emotion: anger? “Come on.” He motioned for Gracie to follow him, then he turned and made his way back into the kitchen.

It was a nice kitchen, she supposed. But it seemed a little small. A large table sat in the middle of the room and swallowed up most of the free space. Or was that Matthew himself?

He pulled out a chair and nodded for her to do the same. Gracie hooked one foot between the legs of the chair and pulled it out without moving the baby. Honestly, she was afraid to shift her too much, scared that the tot would pull the string and strip her prayer kapp from her head. How embarrassing would that be?

She eased into the seat and balanced the baby on her lap, carefully extracting tiny fingers from the string. She offered her own finger as a means of distraction.

The baby Grace didn’t seem to mind the switch and clasped adult Gracie’s finger in her tiny fist. Now if she could get the child to settle down enough to close her eyes. If she did, Gracie was confident that she would be asleep in minutes if not seconds. Well, if the pounding of Gracie’s heart didn’t keep the child alert. And her heart was pounding.

It didn’t help that Matthew—big, scowling Matthew—frowned at her from the other side of the table. He was waiting for her to start the conversation she had asked him for. No niceties. No offer of coffee or pie. No preliminaries. Just straight to the point. She shouldn’t have expected anything else from him.

She pulled in a deep breath, but it didn’t help anything. She exhaled and prayed for the best. “I think the two of us should get married.”

The words hung in the air between them like a burnt smell lingering in the house.

“What did you say?” It was the softest voice he had used since she had walked in the door.

Dear heaven, he wanted her to say it again? She wasn’t sure she could manage it. She rocked the baby and gathered her courage. She had done it once; she could do it again.

“We should get married,” she repeated. “You obviously need help with the children—”

“I don’t need help with my kids.”

“Dat, can we get up now?” Henry peeked around the door frame into the kitchen.

“Sit down, Henry.” Matthew’s voice was stern but held a tired edge.

“I told you he would say that,” Stephen called from the other room.

Henry waited a beat more, opened his mouth as if to protest, but was cut off by his father. “Now.”

“Okay.” Henry dropped his head and disappeared back into the living room.

Matthew turned his attention to her once more.

She half expected him to say something to her. Point out that maybe she was right. That he could use some help. She didn’t want to recount all his shortcomings. He was a man, Amish or not, and he had his pride. He could provide for his children, but he needed help with the day to day. She supposed he could hire someone to come in and keep house for him, but who had that kind of money? Their community was close, but not rich.

And she surely couldn’t tell him all the reasons why she wanted to get married to him. Well, not to him, but he was the only choice she had aside from moving to Ethridge and looking for a mate there in the larger settlement. But she loved Pontotoc. She had been there almost as long as she could remember. She didn’t want to move, but she did so desperately want a family. Badly enough to propose to a man she barely knew.

It was beyond forward and completely out of character for her. And he just sat there staring at her as she held his sleeping baby in her arms and waited for his answer. Why wasn’t he answering?

Because he didn’t want to get married. It was too soon after his wife’s death. He didn’t like her. He didn’t want to get married again.

Or maybe it was simply God’s will, which felt a little like running away from the truth. And the truth was that he didn’t want to marry her. If he did, he would have said so by now.

Every nerve ending she had hummed with embarrassment. She had to get out of there, save what she could of her self-respect. She wanted to jump to her feet and run as fast as she could back to her buggy. She wanted to go home, where she could lock herself in her room, crawl under the covers, and not come out until time ended or Matthew moved away, whichever came first.

But she still held Baby Grace.

“I—” she started, then shook her head. She rose to her feet, careful not to disturb the child. “I’ll just put her down.” She nodded toward the baby in her arms, waiting for him to rise and show her the way to the child’s room.

But she just stood there. One heartbeat. Two. Three, each one more painful than the last. “Where does she sleep?”

Matthew jerked as if he had been poked in the side. Had he been that deep in thought, trying to come up with a way to turn her down gently, so as to not interfere with his regular delivery of food? Slowly he rose to his feet without meeting her gaze. “In here.” He didn’t wait for her to follow but headed down the hallway to the right. Down two doors, then he turned.

The room was plain, even by Amish standards. The walls were stark white and held no pictures, or murals; the only indicator that the room was occupied by a growing baby was the small wooden crib pushed against one wall. The curtains on the windows were plain white, thin and gauzy to let in light and the breeze, but still add a little measure of privacy. That was one thing they had learned in their district: Other settlements might find curtains to be vain and prideful, but the privacy they offered was worth a great deal more.

“There.” Matthew gestured toward the crib.

The sheets were pale yellow, like dreamy sunshine. Gracie would lay her down, even though she wanted to hold her forever. But after Matthew’s reaction to her proposal, she knew that was never going to be.

She eased the baby onto the bed, careful not to disturb her slumber, then brushed the blond curls back from her face. It wasn’t like she would do this again, and tears pricked at her eyes.

She blinked them back. She wasn’t going to feel sorry for herself. She had tried, but God’s will would prevail, and it seemed He wanted her forever single. Well, so be it.

Behind her Matthew cleared his throat. She straightened, then walked toward him, refusing to drop her chin or her gaze. She had tried. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Though she felt a little shamed. She wanted a baby, a family of her own so badly that she could almost taste it. Why was it that God saw fit to hold that dream from her? She would probably never know.

She brushed past Matthew and into the front of the house. The baby’s room was way too small for the two of them and the hallway even worse. She only had to keep her chin up for a few more steps, then she would be outside, and she could make her escape.

“Where are you going?” he asked, following behind her.

She didn’t turn around, just shot a quick wave to the boys as they called good-byes from the couch. “Home.”

“But—”

“Enjoy your meal.” She escaped out the front door and rushed down the steps like the devil was on her heels. As quickly as she could, she swung herself up into the buggy and turned the horse around. She looked back. She needn’t have bothered. Matthew had not followed after her. Another testament to the fact that they were not meant to be a couple. Or maybe she was not meant to be a wife. And the sooner she came to terms with that, the better off she would be.

“Da-at,” Henry called. “Who was that?” The sheer urgency in his voice told Matthew that this wasn’t the first time he had asked.

“Shhh . . . you’ll wake the baby,” Stephen hushed.

“Can we get up?” Henry asked, his voice lower but still more suited for outside than in.

But at least that question kept Matthew from having to answer the other one. “Is the big hand on the four?”

Henry scrunched up his face. “When I look at it like this it is.”

“What about when you look at it normal?” He had long since stopped laughing at all of Henry’s antics.

The boy’s expression fell. “No.”

Of all his children, Henry was the biggest challenge. Even the twins together couldn’t hold a candle to Henry’s capers. Matthew loved him all the more for his spunk and inventive personality, but there were times . . . And this was one of them.

“Then there’s your answer.” Matthew tried not to sigh, but he was just so tired.

“I told you.” Stephen crossed his arms as if completely satisfied with himself.

“Stephen . . .” Matthew intoned the warning in a low, rumbling voice.

So tired he was beginning to wonder who this time-out punished more, him or the boys.

“Five more minutes,” Matthew told them while he wondered how in the world he was going to keep them there for another five. They had already been sitting there that long, and that in itself had been a chore. But he couldn’t have them jumping out of the hayloft onto the loaded wagon below. Granted, the wagon was loaded high with hay and the fall was no more than ten feet. That was still a lot of distance for a body to get hurt. He couldn’t have that. He didn’t think he could handle any broken arms or legs or necks. He simply couldn’t take any more.

He had been trying to get the baby to sleep when he heard the commotion. He had gone outside to find them doing their jumps and falls out of the hayloft. He had yelled at them to stop, which made Grace cry . . . again. It seemed that was all she did. Eunice Gingerich had asked him at church if she was colicky, but he didn’t know what that meant. He had helped Beth as much as he could with the boys, but they had never had to deal with anything like this. So he asked Eunice what it entailed. That’s when he decided: Grace didn’t have a stomachache. She just missed her mother.

Me too. Especially in times like this. She had a handle on the boys. And she knew what to correct and what to let go. Matthew felt like he was swimming with weights tied to his feet. As soon as it seemed like he had his head above water, something came along and pulled him under again.

And just when he had the boys seated on the couch with a stern warning not to move an inch and the baby was almost asleep, Gracie Glick came knocking at the door.

Asking him to marry her.

He had never heard of anything so bold in his life. Frankly, he didn’t know Gracie had it in her. She seemed timid, almost servant like. He had seen her at church a couple of times and never thought about it much until now. But she was always making things better for other people. If someone needed a fresh drink or a paper towel for a spill, she would provide. She was there when he arrived at the service and there when he left. And she wanted him to marry her.

He shook his head at himself. He wasn’t getting married again. He had things completely under control. He didn’t need a woman complicating matters more than need be.

“Da-at.”

He turned at Henry’s summons.

“The big hand is on the four.”

Matthew glanced toward the clock. “So it is.” He pinned each boy with a separate, hard stare. “You can get up,” he started, then had to hold up a hand to keep them from sliding down and disappearing before he said his piece. “But no more jumping off the hayloft. That is dangerous and one of you could have been hurt very badly.” He shuddered at the thought of what could have happened, then said a quick silent prayer of thanks that no one had been injured.

“Jah, Dat,” Henry muttered.

“I’m sorry,” Stephen said, too grown-up for his seven years. He had taken on so much responsibility for his siblings in the last three months.

Thomas and Benjamin slid off the couch together and started toward the door behind Henry and Stephen. He was proud of his boys. They might be a lot to handle, but they were blessings through and through.

“Don’t slam the—”

Thwack!

“Sorry, Dat,” Henry called as Grace started crying once again.

Gracie’s face flamed all the way back home. Except it wasn’t really her home. It belonged to her aunt and uncle. She had moved there when Mammi had settled into the dawdihaus. Mammi was Abner’s mother and Gracie’s grandmother. The poor woman had broken her hip and needed extra care, so she moved in with Eunice and Abner. Gracie had followed to assist as always. Her aunt did most of the chores for Mammi. And Tillie had helped, before she left home, that was. Gracie mostly did the cooking and the cleaning and whatever else was needed for the other mournful souls in the community. She cooked for Aaron Zook for a while, but then her cousin Hannah had come back to the Amish and decided to stay. Hannah and Aaron were to be married in the fall and she did his cooking these days. Gracie was glad for them. Their happy ending had been fifteen years in the making.

Gracie had also cooked for Jamie Stoltzfus when he and his nephew Peter had moved into their sm. . .