The Amish Widow's Rescue

Book 3: Love and Promises

by Rachel J. Good

Genres: Amish & Mennonite; Christian Romance; Small Town & Rural; Women's Fiction; Clean & Wholesome Romance; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

The perfect family awaits...if only he'll risk his heart. Pregnant and recently widowed, Grace Fisher is determined to provide for her family on her own. Thankfully, her jam business is popular in her Amish community. But it's difficult keeping up with her work, her farm chores, and her two mischievous children. Especially now that they've taken to idolizing their neighbor Elijah. While the handsome farmer is kind and generous, he seems intent on holding Grace and her little ones at a distance... Elijah Beiler has always admired his neighbor Grace. So standing by while she struggles to support her family isn't an option. Offering to take over her farm duties, Elijah is determined to help while remaining detached. He knows all too well that love only leads to heartbreak. Yet the more time he spends with Grace and her children, the harder he finds it to leave each day. But can Elijah overcome past hurts and open his heart to this ready-made family? "A beautiful story of forgiveness and second chances." -Shelley Shepard Gray, New York Times bestselling author, on The Amish Teacher's Gift The Love & Promises series: The Amish Teacher's Gift The Amish Midwife's Secret The Amish Widow's Rescue

Release date: May 28, 2019

Publisher: Forever

Print pages: 401

Sample

Chapter One

Grace Fisher stood staring after the Englisch doctor who’d just handed her a huge wad of bills. He left through the side entrance of her barn so he couldn’t be seen from the house. She longed to run after him to return his money. But she could never erase the information she’d given him. She’d betrayed her niece Miriam hoping to save a baby.

The money burned her fingers and her conscience. Judas had accepted thirty pieces of silver. Have I just done the same?

Her daughter toddled toward her and grasped a handful of Grace’s black work apron to stay upright. Grace reached down and swept Libby into her arms. The comforting scent of her daughter’s plump body, the horsey smell of the Morgan stamping in his stall, and the cows lowing to be milked all drew her back to the barn and to her work.

But first she needed to do something with the money. After checking over her shoulder to be sure her three-year-old son was still playing with the barn cat, she headed to the farthest stack of hay bales. Levi was now at the age where he noticed details and blurted things out at inappropriate times. The less he knew about this, the better.

If her husband discovered she had this money, he’d take it, and Miriam would never see a penny. Rightfully, this money belonged to their niece. All of it. Perhaps turning it over to her would relieve some of Grace’s guilt.

She poked a hole in the top hay bale in the darkest corner. Although she was the only one who fed the animals, she still wanted to hide the roll of bills well. After pushing the money into the opening she’d made, she pulled bits of hay down to cover it until no green showed.

She needed to hurry. The encounter with the doctor had made her late for the milking, and Melvin would soon be roaring for his supper. With Libby clinging to her, Grace fed and watered the animals. Usually she requested Levi’s help, but right now it would be faster to do it herself.

Then, hugging Libby close, she rushed to the first stall to milk Daisy. After settling onto the stool, she shifted her daughter in her lap. It wasn’t easy doing chores with a child in her arms, but she’d learned to do many things while holding her babies. If she’d soon be adding another little one to their family, the practice would come in handy.

Grace dreaded telling Melvin the news. Most Amish men were delighted about having children, but Melvin’s moods could be quite unpredictable. He might be noncommittal, or he might rage.

After wiping the cow’s udder with antiseptic, Grace began the rhythmic motions of squirting milk into the pail. The familiar ping of liquid hitting the metal calmed her nerves. Levi joined her as she prepared to milk the next cow, so Grace put Libby down and placed Levi on the stool in front of her. He was old enough to do chores now. Although it would take much longer, she guided his small hands as he cleaned the cow and struggled to get milk.

“You’ll soon be strong enough to do this. Try again,” she encouraged him.

To his delight, some milk dribbled into the pail. He giggled. “I did it.”

“Yes, you did.” She placed her hand over his to strengthen his grip. “That’s the way. Keep going like this.” She bit her tongue before she praised him too much. Children should not be prideful. Neither should adults, but her spirit swelled with joy at his accomplishment.

After the milking was finished, Grace picked up the two full pails and, with the children clinging to her apron, headed for the barn door, her stomach queasy. They’d been out here much too long. Melvin would be furious if his supper was late. When he flew into a temper, he often berated the children.

The barn had been cold, but when Grace opened the door, frigid winds slapped her in the face. She wished she could protect her little ones from the cold—and their father’s wrath.

The doctor had questioned her about her husband’s moods and asked if Melvin ever hurt her physically. She’d said no, but the look in his eyes made it clear he hadn’t believed her. But she’d told him the truth. Or most of it. With his weight now hovering over three hundred pounds and with all his health issues, Melvin couldn’t get up from the couch to touch her. As long as she and the children stayed out of arm’s reach, they were safe.

Melvin was no longer the quiet, taciturn man she’d married four years ago. He’d lost his roofing job a year into their marriage when the company folded, and since then he’d been morose.

Despite being pregnant with Levi, Grace had sold jam to make ends meet. She often suspected friends and family bought her jams more to help her and the family than to serve at meals. Everyone in the community could easily make their own jams and jellies. But that first summer, a few tourists had stopped when they saw her homemade wooden sign by the driveway. They’d bought a dozen jars, and soon orders flowed in from several Englisch specialty shops in other states. Grace had gotten a business license and a home inspection, and now she worked long hours filling orders. Most of the Amish shops and tourist spots in the Lancaster area carried her jams too.

But the more successful her business grew, the more Melvin’s spirits plunged. He’d been unable to find another job. His health declined, and Grace soon had to take over all of his farming chores. The more Melvin sat, the larger he grew. And the worse his temper became. Today, the doctor had suggested her husband might be suffering from depression and urged her to be sure he had a physical soon. But how could she suggest that to Melvin? He’d have a fit.

The nauseous feeling in Grace’s stomach increased as she neared the back door. How much of it was from the baby she suspected she was carrying and how much from anxiety? She was keeping too many secrets. But she couldn’t tell Melvin about the baby. At least not yet. And if she told him about the money, he’d know she betrayed his niece. Her roiling stomach might also be from guilt. She shouldn’t be concealing anything from her husband.

When they reached the back porch, Levi let go of her skirt and raced up the steps. Before she could warn him to be quiet, he banged through the door, letting the storm door slam shut behind him.

By the time Grace opened the door, her husband’s low snarl was coming from the living room, and she cringed. Levi halted midway through the kitchen. His head hung low as his father berated him. Grace longed to hug him, to cover his ears, to stop the flow of angry words. If she did, they’d all pay. She settled for squeezing Levi’s shoulder as she passed, hoping Melvin wouldn’t notice. He could only see part of the kitchen from his perch on the couch.

Her son glanced up at her gratefully, and she signaled her love and support with a brief smile. But that was enough to direct Melvin’s attention to her.

“It’s long past time to cook supper,” Melvin barked. “What took you so long?”

“The man…” Levi lisped in his three-year-old drawl.

“Man?” Her husband stared at her accusingly. “What is he talking about?” He waved a hand toward their son.

“I, umm, that is…” Grace set Libby at the kitchen table so she could keep her back to Melvin for a few moments to compose herself before turning to face him. She clutched the sides of her work apron to keep from wringing her hands together. If she did that, Melvin would know she was hiding something.

Yet her conscience wouldn’t allow her to do something dishonest. She had to tell him the truth, the whole truth, even if it meant he took the money from her, even if he exploded.

“Why was a man in the barn?” he snapped. “Who was he?”

Bowing her head and keeping her eyes downcast, Grace sucked in a quick breath, but her words still came out shaky. “Th-that Englisch doctor who bought the jam.”

“He came back to return it? It wasn’t to his taste?” The sneer on his face made it clear he didn’t think much of her jam-making business.

Grace bit her lip. “No, he didn’t return it.” She kept her voice meek and gentle because the Bible said a soft answer turneth away wrath. Although it rarely worked with Melvin. “He wanted to ask me a question.” How could she tell him about Miriam?

“He couldn’t have asked it when he was here in the house buying jam?” His eyes narrowed. “Or was it private?”

At the way he emphasized the last word, Grace’s cheeks heated, and the words she’d been trying to form died on her lips. Was he accusing her of being unfaithful? She squeezed her eyes shut briefly to hold back tears. Then, keeping her tone as measured as possible, she said, “He wanted Miriam’s address.”

“You didn’t give it to him,” he said, but his eyes held a question.

Grace froze, and her mouth dried out too much to answer.

Melvin’s face purpled. “You did, didn’t you?” He pushed himself partway up from the couch, and Grace took a step back. “If they find out, they’ll make me pay back the money.” Spittle flew from his lips. “You didn’t care about that, did…” His voice trickled off into a gurgle, and he clutched at his heart. Then he keeled over, hitting the floor with a thud.

*  *  *

Elijah Beiler had just helped his father back into bed when someone banged on the back door. He had no wish to speak to anyone. For years, he’d been a recluse, avoiding church on Sundays, despite being censured, and occasionally meeting the truck driver who collected his milk for the distributor. Most of the time, though, he could leave notes for the driver. If families in the community needed help with a barn raising, he’d attend but volunteer for one of the more solitary jobs.

He intended to ignore the light banging, but a shrill child’s voice shouted, “Help!”

A child. Elijah’s gut tightened. He did his best to avoid children ever since his sister…

The yell came again. Praying it wasn’t a prank, he rushed to the door. His neighbor’s little boy stood on the doorstep. “Something bad happened to Daed. Mamm said call the bu-wince.”

Elijah blinked at him. Bu-wince? What in the world was that? “Is your daed hurt?”

The small boy, who had the same reddish hair and long eyelashes as his mamm—not that Elijah noticed things like that, of course—nodded vigorously. “He fell on the floor.”

Elijah hadn’t seen Melvin Fisher outside the house in years, but he’d heard rumors that he’d become extremely overweight. If he fell, his slim wife could never help him up, although she did seem to manage all the farming chores on her own.

“Call quick,” the little boy said.

Then it dawned on Elijah. Ambulance. That’s what the child had been saying. “Stay right here,” he commanded, pointing to the porch. Then he ran to the barn to call 911.

The Fishers didn’t have a phone, but Elijah had one in the barn for the dairy business. He made the call, gave the address, and rushed back out. Until the ambulance came, he might be able to help. He’d volunteered at the fire company when he was younger, so he had some emergency training.

Scooping up the small boy, he raced across the side lawn to the house next door. He barged through the back door without knocking. “I rang 911,” he called out. “They’re sending an ambulance.”

Through the kitchen archway, his petite redheaded neighbor was tugging and pulling at her husband’s huge inert body. The man appeared dazed, but conscious, and seemed to be struggling against her efforts.

“What happened?” Elijah asked as he hurried into the room.

“I think it’s his heart.”

Elijah couldn’t resist the plea in her soft green eyes. “Let me help,” he said, moving to the opposite side. Pulling his gaze from her eyes, Elijah forced himself to meet her husband’s. “You didn’t hurt or break anything when you fell, did you?” When the man shook his head, Elijah said, “If we all work together, we can prop you up against the couch.”

Elijah had fought stubborn cows and lifted heavy equipment, but nothing prepared him for the deadweight of the corpulent man on the floor. A man who seemed to be doing nothing to assist them. They’d barely managed to move him a few inches when Melvin gasped and went limp.

Cardiac arrest. Elijah’s training came flooding back. Putting one hand on top of the other and interlocking his fingers, he pressed on Melvin’s sternum. After each compression, he waited until Melvin’s chest recoiled and then pressed again. Three, four, five…Elijah counted until he reached thirty.

Then he slid his hand under Melvin’s neck to tilt his head back and open his airway. Pinching Melvin’s nose, Elijah completed two breaths and returned to thirty compressions. Over and over he silently repeated two breaths, thirty compressions, two breaths, thirty compressions until the ambulance siren whirred outside.

Grace rushed to the door to let the EMTs in. Elijah continued his rhythm until one of the men set a hand on his shoulder. Exhausted, Elijah rocked back on his heels and took in a long, slow breath. Then he stumbled to his feet and stepped aside, his heart pounding from adrenaline, as the EMTs shocked Melvin.

Grace stood framed in the kitchen doorway, the children behind her, peeking out from behind her skirt. Her hands were clenched in front of her, and her gaze remained focused on the EMTs bent over her husband. Elijah wished he had some way to help, to reassure her.

One EMT stood. “We need to get him to the hospital now.”

Icy wind blew through the door as the driver wheeled in the stretcher, which left snowy tracks across the polished hardwood floors. Elijah assisted them in settling Melvin onto the stretcher, which groaned and creaked under his weight. Then they whisked him out the door.

Elijah turned to Grace. “Did you want to ride along to the hospital?”

She glanced down at her son and daughter, who were staring after the stretcher. “I-I can’t.”

“Go ahead,” he urged, waving her toward the door. “I’ll watch the children for you.”

“But they haven’t had any supper or…”

“Don’t worry. I can handle everything. You should be with your husband.” He motioned toward the door. “You’d better hurry.”

She glanced at him uncertainly, and he tried to project an air of calmness and competence. Once she’d snatched up her black bonnet and cape and hurried out the door, all his bravado leaked out. As a confirmed bachelor with no siblings or nieces and nephews, he had no idea how to care for children.

What have I gotten myself into?

Chapter Two

The cold winds that had blown through the door chilled Elijah’s skin, but the iciness of being left alone with two young children penetrated his insides. A combination of panic and dread gripped him. The only way to deal with this situation was to steel his emotions—and his heart.

A small hand tugged at his shirt sleeve. “I’m hung-wee,” the little boy lisped.

Elijah struggled to interpret the words. He settled on hungry. It seemed he pronounced r’s as w’s. “Yes, we should eat.”

The apprehension in the pleading green eyes touched Elijah. The little boy had just seen his daed taken away, and his mamm had run out the door, leaving him with a stranger. The child was more than just hungry. He needed reassurance. A reassurance Elijah couldn’t give.

Most people would probably sweep the children into a hug. Elijah battled that instinct. He’d vowed never to let himself get attached to a child. Never again. He couldn’t endure the pain.

Yet he couldn’t let a child suffer. He squatted down and set his hands on the little boy’s shoulders. Elijah’s heart ached, but he kept his hands in place. He needed to move beyond his own agony to help these little ones.

“My name is Elijah,” he said. “What’s yours?”

“Weev-I.”

“Levi?” Elijah guessed, and the small boy nodded. A tiny thrill of victory. He’d cracked the code of the boy’s words. “And your sister?”

“Wib-bee.”

With more confidence, Elijah said, “Libby,” and was rewarded with another nod.

Good. They’d managed to communicate. “All right, Libby and Levi, let’s get something to eat.”

When Elijah stood, Levi reached for his hand. Elijah endured the swift, sharp pang that shot through him at the touch. His eyes stung, but he forced himself to smile at Libby, who still stood in the kitchen doorway, sucking hard on her thumb, staring at the front door.

Was she hoping for her parents’ return? Elijah could tell her from personal experience that didn’t always happen. Sometimes parents walked out the door never to come back.

*  *  *

Grace wrapped her arms around herself as the ambulance sped toward the hospital. She had to sit in front so the EMTs could work on Melvin. What was happening to him back there? What would she do if he needed to stay in the hospital? Or what if he—? Her mind shied away from the thought.

Instead she focused on her children. She’d gone off without feeding them supper. And she’d left them in the care of a neighbor who was practically a stranger. They’d lived next door to him for four years, yet she’d barely ever seen him outside except in the fields. He belonged to their church district but never attended services although the elders encouraged him to return and send his family. Despite her own sporadic attendance since Melvin’s weight gain, she’d heard gossip about Elijah and his daed keeping to themselves, but she’d never heard anything bad about him. He helped at barn raisings, although he didn’t socialize much, and he made generous donations to fund-raisers when people at church had financial needs, so he must have a good heart. But should she have trusted him with her children?

The ambulance, siren screaming, pulled into the emergency entrance, and Grace stood to one side as the paramedics rushed Melvin’s stretcher into the hospital. She followed them, and the driver pointed her to the window.

“You’ll need to give them your husband’s information over there,” he said as they hurried past.

The next few hours passed in a blur. Only one moment stood out in stark contrast—the doctor’s grave face as he said, “I’m sorry.” The rest of his speech was drowned out by the roaring waves of dizziness and nausea.

*  *  *

Elijah led the two children into the kitchen and lifted them onto the benches after Levi pointed out their usual places. Then he picked up the milk pails Grace had left by the door and poured the liquid into the clean bottles on the table. Every other surface in the kitchen was covered with jars of jam. Cardboard boxes filled with jam jars lined one wall. He’d heard she sold jam, but he didn’t realize the size of her business. How did she manage it in this small kitchen? And how did she have time for her family?

He opened the propane refrigerator to store the milk and stopped in shock. The shelves were practically empty. What mother would let her children go hungry? He gritted his teeth. He’d always assumed mothers who stayed home with their children took better care of them. Maybe not all of them did.

The eggs from Grace’s chickens filled the shelf in the door. Those and the bottles of milk he set inside were all he had to make supper. Scrambled eggs would be easy.

After he’d whipped them up with a fork and poured them into a sizzling pan, he alternated stirring them with searching for bread to go with them. Finally, he found half a loaf in a bread drawer with two rolls. Evidently, she’d been too busy making jam to start supper. Or bake or buy bread.

Elijah turned off the burner while the eggs were still soft and slightly runny. He opened one of the jars of jam and spread it on the bread. She’d probably intended it for a customer, but Elijah’s irritation burned hot. She could can another jar. Her children needed to be fed.

He set plates in front of Libby and Levi, and after they’d bowed their heads for prayer, they both ate ravenously. Had their mamm fed them a meal at noon?

When they finished their supper, Elijah left the children at the table while he went to the sink to wash the dishes—a difficult task with jam jars stacked everywhere. How did she work in this kitchen? He filled the sink with suds.

A loud crash was followed by glass shattering. Elijah whirled to see Levi standing on the counter by the stove, his eyes wide and scared. The floor glittered with shards of glass scattered in blood-red puddles.

He clamped his mouth shut to keep from yelling. It can be cleaned up. Jam can be replaced.

Levi’s lower lip quivered. “I’m soh-wee,” he said as he hung his head.

Elijah’s heart went out to him. He cowered as if expecting punishment. “It was an accident. We’ll get it cleaned up.” He skirted the mess and reached out to take Levi off the counter.

Levi cringed away, making Elijah sick inside. What kind of a life did this small boy have that made him so terrified of making mistakes?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, picking up Levi. “I think maybe we should put you two in bed.” He had no idea when they went to sleep, but he couldn’t watch them and clean up this mess.

He took them upstairs and got them ready for bed. As soon as he settled Libby into the crib, she curled up and closed her eyes. Levi rutsched until Elijah laid a hand on his back to stop the wriggling. Levi turned his head to look up at Elijah, his eyes damp.

“Want Mamm,” he said in a plaintive voice that echoed the cry of Elijah’s heart and soul.

What comfort could he offer this small boy? His mamm would return.

“She’ll be back soon.” Elijah hoped she would. “If you go to sleep, when you open your eyes, she’ll be there.”

How many nights had he tried that, only to be disappointed each morning?

“P-womise?” Levi’s voice quavered.

“I promise,” Elijah said, praying it wouldn’t be a lie.

*  *  *

Her head woozy and aching, Grace paid the Englisch driver who’d brought her home from the hospital. She stumbled into the house, and her heart stutter-stopped.

How many days had she come through the front door, her nerves taut, to meet Melvin’s angry glares or tirades? She’d tensed up, expecting another rant, before it dawned on her she’d never face Melvin again. The thought brought a crazy mix of emotions. Sadness when she remembered their early years together. Relief as she recalled his most recent outbursts. Apprehension as she worried about facing life alone. Grief as she thought about her children growing up fatherless. But right now, she was numb.

She stood in the center of the empty room. A room once filled with his irritation, his frustration, his rage. A room they all stepped into gingerly to prevent explosions. A room now without his demanding presence.

The spot where he usually sat remained vacant. The only reminder he’d once been there, a deep crater in the fabric.

Similar to the crater he’d left in her life.

The silence of the house settled around her. Had the children gone to sleep? Where was their neighbor? For a few moments, panic filled her. What if he’d taken the children? They were all she had to live for now.

Her heart in her throat, she stepped farther into the living room. She had one foot on the stairs, when a shadow moved in the dim propane light in the kitchen. Elijah! Why was he crawling around on the floor?

Fearfully, she stepped into the room.

He lifted his head and looked at her. “Are you all right?” He wiped one more spot and stood. “How’s—?” Her face must have given him a clue, because he stopped. “I’m so sorry.”

The lump in her throat blocked her words. She only nodded, too dazed and shaken to respond.

He shifted from one foot to the other, obviously uncomfortable. “The children are in bed. I fed them scrambled eggs for supper, and I must apologize for the accident.” He gestured toward the floor. “Some of the jam jars crashed on the floor. I cleaned up everything as best I could.” He seemed to be trying to fill the awkward silence.

But Grace was struggling to make sense of his words. The only ones that registered were children, bed, accident, and jam.

“I’d better be going.” He rinsed out the rag, hung it back on the hook, and headed for the door.

She managed a quiet danke before he turned the doorknob.

“You’re welcome. And I’m sorry.” A blast of cold air blew through the kitchen. “Listen,” he said before the door closed behind him, “don’t worry about your animals. I’ll come over twice a day to feed and milk them. I know you’ll have a lot to take care of.”

Before she could protest, he shut the door and took off across the yards. Grace stood, staring after him, frozen and numb. She had no idea how long she stayed there, gazing through the frosted window into the darkness.

A whimper from the bedroom upstairs brought her back to the kitchen. Libby often moaned in her sleep. Too frightened of her daed’s temper, she rarely cried when she was awake. Her little daughter would never again have to face that fear.

She turned to head upstairs to comfort Libby, but when she passed the huge empty spot on the counter, she stopped.

Oh, no, not the jam. She lifted the lid of the trash can, and there, buried among trash and scraps, sharp slivers of glass reflected her fragmented life—now splintered beyond repair.

Chapter Three

As usual, Elijah rose before dawn to do his milking. He needed to fill the tank before the truck arrived to collect the milk, but he’d promised to help his neighbor. She’d be busy with viewing and funeral preparations today, so he needed to hurry over there.

As soon as he was finished with his own chores, he jogged across both yards to her barn. In the summer, cornfields separated her barn from his, but now bits of stubble poked up through the last of the recent snowfall. Much of the snow had melted, but the frigid temperatures predicted for the rest of the week warned of coming storms. He hoped they’d hold off until after the funeral.

Inside the barn, he headed to the farthest row of hay bales. He’d take them from the back, so if Grace had to feed the animals, she could use the bales closest to the animals’ stalls. He broke the top bale to feed the first horse, and a roll of bills dropped to the ground. Elijah’s eyes widened as wind whistling through the cracks near the barn floor blew hundred-dollar bills across the floor. He chased the money and stomped on it to keep it from floating into the horses’ stalls.

He gathered the bills and counted them before rerolling them. What in the world was Grace doing with this wad of cash? Had she been pilfering it from. . .