Chapter Seven

Naomi was anxious all through worship service the next morning, and she was glad when her mother agreed to watch Abby and Esther Rose for a while in the afternoon. Naomi told her parents she wanted a nice quiet nap, which was true. But before she’d be able to rest easy, she had an errand to run.

She knocked on Pearl’s door and waited as a dog barked from inside. After a while she heard Pearl shushing the dog, then the older woman opened the door, a small brown dachshund beside her.

“I lost my packet.” She brought a hand to her chest, choosing to bypass any type of formal greeting. “I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but can I please purchase another one?” Reaching into the pocket of her apron, she pulled out a hundred-dollar bill she’d stowed away for an emergency. She wasn’t sure this qualified as such, but Naomi pushed the money toward Pearl until she took it. The woman’s bun was tousled, loose strands dangling on either side of her face, similar to how she’d looked when she showed up at Naomi’s that first day. And Pearl was wearing a blue housecoat with matching wooly socks. She stared at the money and frowned.

“I’m sorry, child. I don’t have any more of those. I’m sold out.” Pearl lifted a crooked finger. “Wait here, and I’ll go see what else I might have.” She closed the door and returned a few moments later. “I have this.”

She handed Naomi a similar bag, but it was almost double the size.

“How much is this one?” Naomi thought about how her emergency fund was shrinking, along with her everyday operating money as well. Even though Stephen had accepted plenty of jobs outside of just farming, they hadn’t saved much, and Naomi was going through what was left faster than she’d intended. Several times, she’d made a list of things she might consider selling on consignment at various shops in the area. But that’s as far as she got. Running the farm and taking care of the girls, along with the few animals they had, took most of her time.

“This larger packet has two amethysts, you see?” She held the purple mesh bag closer to Naomi. “There are more herbs, special oils, and blessings and prayers attached to it. This one is one hundred and fifty dollars.”

Naomi’s heart thudded, but maybe this was a sign to walk away. She let out the breath she was holding and reminded herself that she didn’t believe in superstitions. “Ach, all right. I don’t have that much.” She forced a smile. “I’m sorry to have bothered you on the Lord’s day.”

“I’m not going anywhere, dear, if you’d like to go home and come back with the other fifty dollars.” Pearl edged her dog back with her socked foot when he tried to slip out the door. “No, Mutt.”

Naomi felt her eyes widen.

Pearl chuckled. “I know. Seems like a strange name for a dog. But that’s just what he is, a mutt. He showed up on my doorstep one day in a snarly mess and covered with fleas. I told him, ‘Go home, Mutt,’ but he kept coming back, and eventually”—she raised her shoulders, then lowered them slowly—“we grew to love each other, but the name stuck.”

Naomi nodded, thinking about how much Abby and Esther wanted a pet. Naomi was sure she couldn’t take on anything else. Three goats, two cows, six chickens, and the horse . . . they were enough to feed and tend to. And two children, soon to be three.

“Hon, I’m going to let you have this treasured packet for just a hundred dollars because you are in the family way. That just seems like the right thing to do. We want to protect that precious bundle you’re carrying.” Pearl stuffed the hundred-dollar bill into the pocket of her housecoat.

Naomi had talked herself out of buying it, but the lower price made it seem bearable. But it’s still forty dollars more than last time. She hesitated as she accepted the bargain bag of items from Pearl. “Danki,” she whispered, knowing Pearl was being thoughtful of Naomi’s situation.

Brock went to church on Sunday morning, then took a long nap, and when he woke up, it was raining. And it rained for the next four days. This weather was messing up the harvest for everyone, not just him, but it wasn’t just that. He could feel the walls closing in on him by Thursday, and if he didn’t get to the grocery store soon, he was going to starve. He missed Naomi’s three meals per day.

He leaned his head against the back of his couch as rain pelted the window on the far wall. For the second time, he scanned the hundreds of television channels available to him, then clicked the TV off and closed his eyes. It was too late for a nap and too early to go to bed, so he walked onto the front porch and watched it rain for a little while, then walked back in and paced his living room until he decided he needed to go somewhere, even if it was pouring rain and a flash flood watch was in effect.

Fifteen minutes later, he was parked in front of Naomi’s house. He’d sensed that she didn’t like storms, so maybe she’d welcome the company. And maybe she’d offer him a meal. That was the best reason he could come up with, but if he faced the truth, he missed spending time with Naomi and her girls, and his fond recollections of their time at the carnival had stayed with him. Most of Brock’s friends were married with children, and even on a rainy night, Brock didn’t want to intrude on them. Yet it’s okay to intrude on Naomi and her children? He sat in the truck pondering until he saw Abby’s face peering out at him from the living room window, boasting her toothless smile. Moments later, both girls were on the porch waving. Maybe they were as bored and restless as he was.

By the time he ran through Naomi’s soaked yard in the downpour, he was drenched. Naomi met him at the door with a towel.

“Am I interrupting anything?” he asked as he ran the towel across his face, then down his arms. “The walls were closing in on me at my house, and I thought you and the girls might want some company.”

Esther Rose spoke to her mother in Pennsylvania Deitsch. “Please let him stay and play with us! Maybe he will play Life on the Farm.”

“I’m sure he didn’t come over to play games,” Naomi said in her native dialect before she turned to Brock. “I’m sorry. Esther Rose hasn’t been speaking English all that long, so she tends to revert back to the Deitsch. She’s not meaning to be rude.”

“It’s perfectly fine.” Brock wasn’t ready to let them know he understood the dialect. It would only embarrass Naomi when she realized he’d understood Abby’s comments awhile back.

“I still think he would make a good daddy,” Abby added in Deitsch, then folded her arms across her chest as her lip curled under in a pout.

Maybe I should clue Naomi in before this goes any further. Brock stifled a grin.

“I think he would be a good daddy too.” Esther Rose carried her blanket with her as she sidled up next to her sister, both facing off with their mother.

“Thank goodness he doesn’t understand you girls. Now stop this silly talk. You don’t get to pick out a new daddy. It’s too soon anyway. And he’s not Amish.” Naomi turned off the burner on the oven and turned to Brock. “I’m heating up some chicken soup. Are you hungry?”

Music to my ears. “Yeah, sure. That would be great.”

Esther Rose tugged on Naomi’s apron, again talking to her in a language they didn’t think Brock understood. “Can you at least think about making him our daddy? He can turn himself Amish to be with us. We need a dad. We might turn out bad if we don’t.”

Naomi glanced at Brock, then back at her daughter. “It isn’t nice to talk Deitsch in front of someone who doesn’t understand. And you are not going to turn out bad if you don’t have a new father soon.” Naomi shook her head. “Where do you hear such things?”

“As young scholars, we need disciples,” Abby said from across the room.

Naomi put a spoon in the sink and wiped her hands on her apron. Brock had heard some of the older Amish folks refer to school-aged children as scholars, but it was cute to hear Abby say it in such a way. It was getting harder and harder not to laugh.

“I think you mean discipline, not disciples. No more of this talk,” Naomi said.

“Will you just think about it?” Esther Rose looked up at her mother with pleading eyes, holding tightly to her blanket.

Brock had to put a hand over his mouth to hide his smile. Naomi stared at Brock for a moment. He needed to tell them now, but as soon as he opened his mouth, Naomi spoke up.

“Fine. I will think about it.”

Brock lowered his hand from his mouth although his eyes felt like they were bugging out of his head. He blinked a few times in his effort to gain composure.

Naomi stared across the table at the large, and handsome, man who sat in Stephen’s place. How could her girls possibly be ready to have a new man in their lives? Naomi wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready. But she couldn’t help but think about how different things were since Stephen died. She stayed busy. But on the days she felt it was more important to play with her girls or give them her undivided attention, she was able to do that without fear of Stephen’s wrath. There were still days she missed him a little, days when the happy memories fought their way to the surface. But each time that happened, it was never long before the bad recollections bubbled up, drowning out joyous times.

Naomi could see why her daughters would latch onto Brock Mulligan. He was a good man. But it still struck her as odd that Abby and Esther Rose didn’t hold tighter to the memory of their father, especially Abby. Maybe they were just too young to fully grasp the permanence of death. And had her daughters forgotten that the man wasn’t Amish?

Naomi glanced at Brock, but looked away when he caught her gaze. If she could ever get past her fears of marrying again, she would want a man like Brock. In her mind, she listed all of the things she liked about him again, and she decided that when someone did come calling, she would pull out that mental list and make sure that any suitor held all the qualities that she’d grown to endear in Brock.

“May I be excused?” Esther Rose pushed her chair from the table.

Naomi nodded, and her younger daughter went to the end of the table and stood by Brock. Naomi held her breath. Please don’t ask him to be your daddy.

Esther Rose whispered in his ear, and Naomi felt the color slipping from her cheeks.

Brock smiled. “I guess you need to ask your mother about that.”

Naomi knew better than to stand up, fearing she might pass out from embarrassment.

Brock wiped his mouth with his napkin, then stood up. “But if it’s okay with her, I’d be happy to play Life on the Farm with you girls. I’ve never played, though.”

Naomi slowly released the air in her lungs and slid her chair from the table. “Ya, ya. It’s fine. But please don’t feel like you have to.”

“We will teach you.” Esther Rose tossed her blanket over her shoulder, found Brock’s hand, and along with Abby, they all went into the living room.

Naomi leaned against the kitchen counter and decided that she might have to date someone, if for no other reason than to keep her children from getting ideas about Brock.

The rain had been over for about an hour when there was a knock at the door. Naomi glanced at the clock on the mantel, knowing eight o’clock was much too late for anyone to be calling on them. The girls were already up past their bedtimes. But Naomi had stretched the rules tonight since they were all having so much fun teaching Brock how to play the game. It warmed Naomi’s heart each time he intentionally let one of the girls get ahead of him, often causing them to squeal with delight. Naomi lifted herself from the floor. They’d chosen to sit around the square coffee table in the living room, closest to the fire.

Naomi picked up a nearby lantern and walked to the front door. “Daed, what are you doing here?” She stepped aside as her father crossed the threshold.

“Your mamm has been calling you on her mobile cell smart-phone.” He took off his hat. “Whatever that thing is called. And you don’t answer, so she sent me here to make sure you weathered the storms okay.”

“Um, well . . . for starters, the cell phone is for emergencies.” She grinned.

Her father rolled his eyes. “Ya, if you say so.”

Naomi closed the front door. “Besides, with all this rain, I haven’t been anywhere to charge it up. It’s been dead for several days.”

“That’s the difference between young people and old people. Your mother keeps a close eye on the weather and makes sure her phone is charged prior to a weather event.” His eyes darted to Brock. “Speaking of old people . . .” He crossed the room and extended his hand to Brock. “What are you doing here?”

“I missed Naomi’s cooking,” Brock said as he shook Naomi’s father’s hand. “And then when the girls asked me to play Life on the Farm, well . . . I didn’t even realize the rain had stopped.”

Abby and Esther Rose went to their daadi and wrapped him in double bear hugs. “He is losing,” Esther Rose said in a whisper, then giggled.

“Is he now?” Naomi’s father raised an eyebrow. “I noticed you’ve all been spending a lot of time together. Mammi says you even went to a carnival. And I think I heard about a trip to Walmart . . .” Her father’s eyes met Brock’s as he pressed his lips firmly together.

“Ya, Brock was nice enough to take me to the store one day, and the girls were thrilled about going to the carnival.”

Her father stroked his beard. “Well, I can report back to your mudder that all is well then.” He kissed Abby and Esther Rose each on the cheek. “And maybe still get home before it’s completely dark.”

Naomi was glad her parents lived close so her father didn’t have far to go. Her heart rate picked up as she recalled the night Stephen was late coming home, but as always, her emotions tugged and pulled at each other. She remembered her father standing on her porch crying as he told her about Stephen. But she could also remember the last words Stephen had said to her that morning before he left for a construction job. I hope this house is clean when I get home. She could still feel the tightness in her chest when she’d told him, It will be.

After her father left, she sent the girls upstairs to get ready for bed, promising to tuck them in shortly.

“Can Mr. Brock tuck us in?” Esther Rose asked from halfway down the staircase about fifteen minutes later.

Naomi stood up from where she was sitting in the rocking chair, and after Brock tossed another log onto the fire, he looked over his shoulder. “I don’t mind tucking them in, if it’s okay with you.”

“Um, okay.” Naomi wasn’t sure how she felt about this. “We say prayers aloud together at bedtime.”

Brock nodded and was already moving toward the stairs, and Abby and Esther Rose each took one of his hands.

Naomi poured herself and Brock each a cup of coffee and was sitting on the couch when he returned.

“They are sweet girls,” he said as he sat down beside Naomi. “And thank you for the coffee. I’ll drink it quick since I know I’ve already kept you all up too late.”

Naomi set her coffee cup on the table after taking a sip. “I don’t go to bed this early, so you’re not keeping me up.” She looked at the clock on the mantel and wondered why she had just told a lie. It was nine o’clock, and she was almost always in bed by eight. Oops. Sorry, God.

“Okay, well, I’m appreciative of the good meal and the fine company this evening.” He blew on the steaming cup, then took a sip. “I guess I’m not ready for it to end, but the girls have school tomorrow, and now that the rain has stopped, I’ll be out in the morning to see how much hay I was able to keep dry. I promise not to stay long.”

“Do you want some pie?” Naomi sat taller. “I have apple and coconut.” Maybe if she kept feeding him and filling up his coffee cup, he wouldn’t leave. She was safe with him, in all the ways that counted.

“Apple would be great.”

She returned with two slices, but Naomi only got about halfway through with hers when she set the plate on the table and touched her stomach. Her baby was unusually active this evening.

“The baby is moving?” Brock set his plate down beside her and twisted to face her. His eyes stayed on her hand, rubbing her tummy.

“Ya, he—or she—has been busy all evening.” She took her hand away and looked at Brock, but his eyes were still on her stomach.

“That must be amazing to feel a life like that, I mean—moving and alive.”

As instinctively as breathing, she took his hand and placed it on her stomach. It was an uncommon practice among their people, and with her other pregnancies, she’d only allowed Stephen to touch her stomach. She placed her hand on top of Brock’s.

They sat quietly for a while, the baby kicking and pushing against her new friend’s hand.

“Thank you,” he whispered in the dimly lit room as his eyes met hers. “It is amazing.”

Naomi reached into her pocket to rub a hand over the purple packet, and her heart skipped a beat. She jumped to her feet and picked up the lantern, went to the kitchen, back across the living room, into her bedroom, then back again.

Brock stood up. “Can I help you find something?”

Naomi stopped in the middle of the living room and stomped one foot. “I cannot believe this is happening again!”

“What?”

She sat down on the couch and put her face in her hands. Brock sat down beside her, and she finally looked at him, fighting tears. Visions of burying her child—Adam—spilled into her mind. It was illogical to think a packet of spices controlled God’s will, since it surely didn’t, but before she knew it, she was babbling on and crying. When she was done, she waited for Brock’s reaction.

His face was red as a freshly painted barn, his hands clenched at his sides from beside her on the couch. Naomi had never seen him like this.

It scared her.

Anger scared her.