Amid the New Order Amish community of Oakland, Maryland, an unexpected gift of comfort and tender caring can help spark a surprising dream of love . . . Between raising three grieving children and running a booming business, recent widower Aaron Bontrager desperately needs help—even if it means a marriage of convenience only. He couldn’t be more surprised by his new wife, ebullient Bethel Mast. With an unconventional, joyful sense of purpose, she's starting to turn his house back into a home and bring stability and peace to his children’s lives. And somehow, her gentle understanding is reigniting impossible hope in Aaron's guarded, lonely heart . . .
Bethel never had a fair chance for a home and family of her own. She doesn't want to replace Aaron’s first wife, but she’ll face any challenge to aid him and his children. And she soon finds Aaron’s formidable exterior hides a sensitivity and caring that she’s quietly drawn to. Can Bethel show him that their practical arrangement is blossoming into so much more—and can be the start of a wonderful future together for all of them?
Release date:
April 27, 2021
Publisher:
Zebra Books
Print pages:
400
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Despite the wide brim of his hat, Sam squinted into the early June sunlight. “She was supposed to be here an hour ago,” the boy said. “If this is her idea of a good first impression . . .”
Little Matthew held tight to his father’s hand as Molly elbowed their older brother. “It is not her fault the train is late. Besides, remember what we promised Daed.”
Sam snorted, and the look on his face made it clear that he remembered, all right....
One short week ago, Aaron had called a family meeting and confessed that he’d tried—and failed—to run his busy sawmill while caring for his children and the house, that he’d tried hiring a town woman to help with cooking and cleaning, and failed at that, too. Not that he blamed the ladies. Things were a mess, and frankly, so was he. Why else would he have blurted out, “If the three of you had helped Aunt Stella more, I might not have been forced to take such desperate measures”? Now, faced with his son’s resentment, he admitted: A man cannot get much more desperate than to hire a wife.
His sister had done her best, trying to balance her household and his ... until four months ago, when her twins were born. Her husband’s plea still rang in Aaron’s ears: “If Stella keeps traipsing from our house to yours this way, I fear I will lose her.” That’s when his brother-in-law began singing the praises of his unmarried cousin, who’d likely jump at the chance to leave Nappanee behind. Even before the meeting with Bishop Fisher, Aaron had known what would be required—if she agreed to come to Pleasant Valley: “We have relaxed many of the Old Order ways,” Fisher had said, “but we cannot condone a woman living under your roof without benefit of marriage.”
The distinctive clatter of steel wheels grinding along the polished tracks broke into his thoughts. The train would screech to a stop any minute now, and when it did, he’d stand face to face with Karl’s second cousin .... the soon-to-be Mrs. Bontrager.
Molly grasped his forearm. “Tell me again,” she said, shaking him back into the here and now, “what is her name?”
“Bethel Mast, but she told me on the phone that she prefers just plain Beth.”
“Will she let us call her Maem? After the wedding, I mean?”
“What does it matter?” Sam ground out. “She is not our mother. Never will be our mother. And I will never, ever call her Maem!”
Matthew clung to Aaron’s leg as Molly crossed both arms over her white-aproned chest.
“There is no cause for that attitude, Sam. When Bethel gets here, I expect you to treat her with respect.”
The sun glinted from the Silverliner’s lead car. Sam, seeing it, stiffened, stared at the toes of his boots. “I will be polite,” he mumbled, “but I will not call her Maem.”
“No one asked you to,” Molly bit out. “Tell me again, Daed, why our new mother limps.”
“How many times do I have to say it! She is not our mother,” Sam snarled. “She is here to cook and clean, take care of Matthew, and feed the animals. And that is all.”
“Daed, make Sam stop saying mean things!”
“Your sister is right, son. Bethel is not our servant or a hired hand. Karl says she has a big, caring heart, and I believe it, based on all she is giving up to help us. We will welcome her and treat her like family, because that is exactly what she will be. Is that clear?”
The boy hung his head, but Aaron could tell that he’d made up his mind not to like Bethel. Aaron hung his head, too, and said a prayer for patience. And strength. And above all, guidance. Things wouldn’t be easy, especially not at first, but they’d be a lot harder until Sam came around. If Sam came around.
Lord, I have a feeling I will call upon You a lot in the coming days.
“You never answered, Daed. Why does Beth limp? I only ask because I do not want to be rude and stare.”
“Why not just ask her?” Sam said. “Since she is so big-hearted and all, I am sure she will be happy to tell you.”
Aaron chose to ignore the boy’s latest outburst. “The way I understand it, Bethel was born with one leg shorter than the other. No one knows why, but Karl says she gets around as well as the rest of us.”
He watched as people who’d come to meet the train’s passengers moved closer to the platform’s edge. It wasn’t enough activity to blot his own words from his mind: She will be family. In a week, two at most, he and Bethel would become husband and wife. Their union must appear traditional in every sense . . . on the surface. First chance he got, Aaron intended to take her aside and gently explain that he still felt bound by his vow to love Marta until death. Bethel was smart, or so Karl said, and hopefully he’d never have to explain that while he’d happily share his name, his home, and even his bed, he couldn’t share his heart.
Aaron chuckled to himself. What makes you think she wants your too-old, cold heart?
“Are you looking forward to meeting her, Daed?” Molly asked.
“I . . . well . . .” He cleared his throat. “What makes you ask?”
“You are smiling.”
“Yes, I suppose I am looking forward to having her with us.” And living a somewhat normal life, for a change.
“And you are sure she is nice, right?”
“When I spoke to her, I found that Karl was right. She sounded very nice.”
“Two phone calls and the word of a henpecked husband,” Sam griped. “Oh yes. That is all the proof we need.”
“How many times must I tell you . . . I love you more than life, itself. That’s why I gave the matter so much thought and prayer, and why I discussed it at length with the bishop. I would never subject you to this if I didn’t believe it is God’s will for our family.”
Sam stared at the space between his boots, and Matthew hugged Aaron’s legs tighter, still.
“We will be fine. I will see to it.” He met each child’s eyes. “You have my word.”
“But . . . what if she has a terrible temper?” Sam asked.
“And what if Karl is wrong, and she’s a terrible person?” Molly worried.
“Then I will send her packing.” He paused, searched their faces for signs of disbelief. Satisfied that they believed him, Aaron added, “Now, I don’t want to hear another word about any of this. Is that understood?”
Even little Matthew nodded.
“I hope she has a nice voice,” Molly said.
“She probably sounds like a screech owl.”
“Samuel,” Aaron warned . . . and remembered the slight tremble in Bethel’s voice, how edgy she’d sounded asking and answering questions. Despite her nervousness, she had laughed several times, and the music of it had given him hope that as they worked together, providing a stable home for the children, they might one day develop a companionable partnership.
“I talked to her, remember, so I can say for certain that she sounds nothing like Sam described.”
He’d learned a few other things about Bethel during two hour-long phone conversations. For starters, she wasn’t a whiner. She hadn’t complained about the businesslike arrangement between her father and himself, the hurry-up nature of the final decision, or anticipation of a twenty-six-hour train ride from Indiana to Maryland. It had been her agreeable attitude that had prompted him to reserve the sleeper car for her, rather than a regular seat.
“I hope she can cook,” Sam said. “I am hungry.”
“You are always hungry. Why, you eat more than Daed’s horse! I am sure she can cook. But if not? She will learn.” Molly looked up at Aaron to add, “And I will help her!”
They didn’t call her Molly the Peacemaker for nothing, Aaron thought, grinning at his daughter.
“Smile, children. It will be terrifying enough for Bethel, arriving in a strange new place, without being greeted by a bunch of sour faces.”
“No one forced her to come here.”
Aaron wasn’t so sure of that. According to Karl, her father and brother—Beth’s only blood kin—treated her like an employee, and even though she practically ran her father’s store single-handed, they often called her an unmarryable parasite. “Don’t know how she put up with them this long,” his brother-in-law said upon hearing she’d agreed to make the move. Isn’t her fault, Aaron thought, that she was born with one leg shorter than the other.
He had meant to tell the children about that sooner, but what with planning her trip, figuring out where she’d sleep before the wedding, and keeping up with routine household chores and orders at work, there hadn’t been time. He felt bad, having sprung it on them during the trip to the station, but better late than never. “Oh great,” Sam had grumbled. “Your substitute wife is a cripple?”
“Disrespectful insults like that are not to be repeated. Ever. Do I make myself clear?”
Molly, true to her nature, had said, “I won’t even look at her foot, Daed. I would never want to hurt her feelings!”
“Good girl. Sam?”
“I will not mention it again, Daed.” He lowered his voice. “At least, not where she can hear it.”
Lord, give me strength, he prayed.
Molly looked up at him. “Tell me again ... what will we call her, Daed?”
Sam shot an imploring glance at Aaron, and in that moment, he looked like the innocent boy he’d been before Marta’s death. “Please, Daed, do not make me call this stranger Maem.”
“Karl calls her Beth.” The children had been through so much already that he didn’t mind repeating himself. “That, or Bethel will do. Once she has been with us a while, we can ask which she prefers.” Aaron had already decided that as soon as they’d exchanged vows, he’d call her Mrs. Bontrager, a factual title that would ensure a respectful ... unemotional distance between them.
When the train slowed, little Matthew gasped quietly and pressed his cheek to Aaron’s knuckles, pressed so close that he couldn’t tell whether it was he or the boy who trembled.
“Relax, kids.” Who are you reassuring? You, or them? “She will be good for us. We just have to give it time.”
Even Molly, the eternal optimist, looked doubtful. “How can you be so sure, Daed?”
“Because, sweet girl, as I’ve said all along, I have prayed on it, long and hard, and believe it is God’s will.” For us, and hopefully, for Bethel, too.
The train came to a halt, and as passengers disembarked, laughter and good-natured greetings filled the brisk June air. There were men in business suits, ladies in colorful spring dresses, teens in blue jeans, children in ankle-high white sneakers, but no one who was dressed Plain.
And then he saw her, looking small and lost among the milling crowd, the hem of her apron billowing, white cap ties snapping in the breeze. She scanned the platform—looking for you, he realized. Even from this distance, he could see terror in her big eyes. Peripheral vision told him that the children had spotted her, too.
“Hello!” Molly shouted, waving. “We are over here! The Bontrager family!”
Those huge eyes zeroed in on them, rested on him. Then she bent at the waist, picked up a small suitcase, and moved toward them.
“Why, she hardly limps at all, Daed,” Molly whispered.
If she heard the girl’s comment, Bethel showed no sign of it.
“What a pleasant greeting,” she said, stopping a yard from where the family stood. “You were very kind, and very generous, Mr. Bontrager, to reserve a sleeper car for me. It made the long trip much more bearable. So thank you.”
Silhouetted by the early-afternoon sun, she reminded him of the angel statue he’d seen in the front window of Oakland’s Favorite Things Gift Shop. But instead of the harp that dangled from the store angel’s hand, this one clutched the handle of a beat-up cloth valise.
“I am pleased to meet you,” she said. “All of you.”
Little Matthew clung more tightly to his thigh, and seeing his reaction, Molly said near his ear, “Isn’t she pretty? And doesn’t she look sweet!”
Sam snorted. “Can we stop at McDonald’s on the way home, Daed? I’m starving.”
“If you have the proper fixin’s, I am happy to cook supper for you,” Beth said, “just as soon as we get settled in at . . .” She licked her lips. Blinked. Swallowed.
“At home?” Molly finished for her.
“I . . . well ... yes. Home.”
In time, he hoped, the word would come naturally to her. Until then ...
Lord, give me strength, and show me a sign that this truly is Your will.
Bethel took in the four members of her new family. “We’ll wear our Sunday best,” Aaron Bontrager had said on the phone, “to make it easier to distinguish us from others at the station.” Now, Bethel fixed her gaze on the tall, broad-shouldered man. Funny, but in his crisp white shirt and black trousers and suspenders, he didn’t look any different from the men of Nappanee. On his right, his ten-year-old son, Sam. To his left, a pretty little girl. Molly, age eight, she reminded herself. The youngest boy—Matthew, the one Mr. Bontrager said hadn’t spoken since his mother’s passing—seemed to have a death grip on his father’s hand. How fitting, she thought, since they look as though I arrived on a funeral car!
“I don’t want to eat at home,” the oldest boy ground out. “She looks too skinny and young to run a house or make a proper dinner.”
“Hush, Sam,” the father said. He ran a forefinger under the standup collar of his white shirt. “And you will address your new mother as Beth, not she.”
The boy scowled. “She’s not my mother.” He crossed both arms over his suspendered chest. “Mark my words: By week’s end, we will be here again, waving good-bye as she goes back where she came from.”
Such anger for one so young! Did he intend to make her so miserable she’d beg them to send her home? Bethel squared her shoulders. He is big for his age, but still just a child. And you are a God-fearing adult. Mr. Bontrager brought you here to take charge, so might as well start, right now.
Squaring her shoulders, she looked the father straight in the eye. “Mr. Bontrager?”
His blue-eyed gaze traveled from her polished black boots—the regular one, and the one with the thick, chunky sole that made her legs the same length—to her cap. Why did he stand so stiff-backed and silent? And what thoughts caused frown lines on his handsome forehead? Did he agree with his son, that a woman her age and size could never run a household? That her limp would drain her of the energy required to earn her keep? She’d learned very little about the man during their brief introductory phone calls: He owned a four-bedroom house one mile from his sawmill; in addition to caring for his children, the house, and the garden, he expected her to tend a dozen chickens, one horse, a milk cow, and three goats. He’d also promised that his widowed mother, unmarried brother, and sister had offered to help any way they could. Beth had no choice but to take him at his word, just as she’d trusted her bishop’s assurances that Bontrager’s stellar reputation was the reason he’d endorsed the arrangement between her father and her husband-to-be.
The arrangement. Beth didn’t think she hated any two words more than those! But what good would come of grumbling? Because she had been born with a limp, no man had ever shown any romantic interest in her. Here, at least, with a Mrs. in front of her name, she could pretend to be normal.
She stood as tall as her five-foot-four-inch frame would allow and met his dark-lashed blue eyes. “Mr. Bontrager, most farmers do not inspect cattle at auction with as much scrutiny.” Arms akimbo, she lifted her chin. “I assure you, I am stronger than I look.”
He blinked several times, then pointed at the frayed cloth bag near her feet. “This is all you brought?”
“It is.”
Should she tell him that she’d worn her best shoes and dress and packed the other two—one blue, one pale yellow—a black skirt and white blouse, a new apron, everyday shoes, a crocheted shawl, and her black hat, leaving just enough room for two nightgowns, a robe, and underclothes? Quick as an eyeblink, she decided that the contents of her bag were not his concern.
He thumbed his black hat to the back of his head. “It is warm now, but June is quickly coming to an end. Before we know it, the leaves will turn red. Then the snows will fall. And winters in Oakland can be brutal.”
“It gets cold and snowy in Nappanee, too. I know quite well how to protect myself from the elements.”
“Is that so.”
A statement, she noted, not a question.
“I am curious to know how you managed to stuff a warm coat, mittens, a wool hat . . .” He pointed again. “. . . into that little thing.”
Beth cringed. “Those items would not fit, so I left them in Nappanee.” She had tucked her savings into a drawstring purse, instead. The money would pay for a coat, and anything else she might need in the event Mr. Bontrager turned out to be one of those Amish husbands who didn’t believe in giving their wives an allowance.
“Fat lot of good they will do you in Indiana,” the boy said. He looked up, into his father’s face. “I suppose she expects you to buy her new cold-weather clothing.” He snickered. “On second thought, she will probably be gone before the weather turns cold, so . . .”
Bontrager silenced his son with a stern stare. “Sam, that is enough. I will not warn you again.” Facing her, he softened his tone. “I assure you, he is not always so disrespectful. And I believe in taking care of my family. If you need something, anything, say the word and it is yours.”
“I appreciate your generosity, but I have money, earned while working at my father’s store. As for Sam’s . . . attitude, I believe you.” And when it looked as though he doubted her sincerity, she quickly tacked on, “Your boy has a kind face.”
Bontrager only shook his head. “We had better get on the road. It will take forty minutes to drive from here to Pleasant Valley. And I have a meeting scheduled for midafternoon, so no McDonald’s, Sam.”
That meant she’d be on her own, alone with his frightened, resentful children, almost from the get-go. Beth could only hope Pleasant Valley lived up to its name.
She fell into step beside him and noticed right off the way he slowed his pace when he saw her struggling to match his long-legged stride. One of her father’s many sayings echoed in her head: “Street angel, house devil,” was how he described men who treated their wives and children with kindness in public and turned into bullying brutes behind closed doors. And who would know that better than you, Daed! She decided to lock away the memory of her father’s abuse. She’d block Bontrager’s seeming thoughtfulness, too, in case he changed his tune on the other side of his threshold.
He drew her attention to a dusty black pickup, parked about fifty yards away. He hadn’t yet introduced her to the children, but surely once everyone was settled inside it, he would. Bethel forced joy into her voice that she didn’t feel. “Are the rest of you as hungry as I am?” When no one responded, she looked over her shoulder at the train that still sat idle on the gleaming tracks, at the passengers who boarded. Oh, how tempting it was to join them! “This has been quite a day for all of us. So much to take in, especially for little children.”
“I am not a little child.”
“Sam, watch your tone.”
“He meant nothing by it, Mr. Bontrager. I am certain of it.” Directing her next words at Sam, she added, “In the future, I will take care not to speak to you—or of you—as a child. All right?”
Sam lifted one shoulder and blew a puff of air from the corner of his mouth.
By now, they’d reached the truck.
“You kids will sit in back,” Bontrager ordered, tossing her bag over the pickup’s tailgate.
Despite his insistence that he wasn’t a little child, that was exactly how Sam sounded when he said, “But Daed, since Maem died, I always ride up fr—”
Bontrager interrupted with, “It is only fitting and proper for Bethel to sit up front now.”
The boy looked hurt. Angry. Disappointed. Because he believes you are here to take his mother’s place. “Mr. Bontrager, if it is all the same to you, I prefer to sit in back.”
“Oh? Why?”
“It will take time to get used to your many modern conveniences. Watching through the windshield as traffic hurtles toward me will take some getting used to.” Not the whole truth, but not a lie, either.
He blinked, as if the possibility hadn’t occurred to him. “Oh. Well. All right then.”
A flicker of victory flashed across Sam’s features, and for the first time since she’d stepped off the train, his eyes twinkled with a genuine smile. Bethel hoped it meant she’d chipped a small chink in his surly façade.
“So tell me, Sam, what would you like me to fix for your supper?”
“There is ham in the refrigerator. If you have half a brain in your head, you can think of something to do with it. And the name is Samuel.”
He stared straight ahead, probably wondering if Beth intended to point out that his sister and father had called him Sam.
“Do you know how to make gravy?” he asked.
“Why yes, I do. Which is your favorite? White or brown?”
“White, if it’s made right. And what about biscuits? Can you bake?”
“If any of that is true, I might let you call me Sam.”
Bethel laughed. “I look forward to the challenge . . . Samuel!”
He seemed more determined than ever to make sure she understood: You will be a guest in our house . . . until ...
This was only the first hour of the first day. In time, surely the family would let down their guard. Until then, she’d pray. Nothing in life was certain, but at least in Nappanee, she woke every morning knowing today would more or less be a repeat of yesterday, that tomorrow would echo today. Her father had never been demonstrative, in word or gesture. The same was true of her brother. She had never imagined it possible, but barely more than twenty-four hours since they’d waved good-bye from the station in Elkhart, she missed them, despite their hair-trigger tempers and dour moods.
If this much fear beat in her heart, how much more must pulse in these motherless children’s? In their sad-eyed father’s?
Put their needs ahead of your own. And stop asking yourself . . .
. . . will you sta. . .
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