Chapter Eight

Brock forced himself to remain calm by taking some deep breaths. He reached for Naomi’s hand and held it tightly as her bottom lip trembled.

“Sweetheart, listen to me.” Brock wasn’t sure if he’d just crossed a line by using the endearment, but he was so mad at the moment, and she was so upset . . . “That purple packet of herbs doesn’t hold any power at all. None.” He huffed. “Nothing is going to happen on the night of the harvest moon except that the moon will be bigger and brighter. That’s it.”

“I know in my mind that you’re right.” Naomi eased her hand from his, then pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. “But I couldn’t bear it if I lost another baby. I just couldn’t.” She shook her head so hard that her prayer covering slid to one side.

“Just remember, that packet holds no power. Only God holds the power, and everything that happens is His will.” He’d heard that his entire life and could remember his Amish grandparents drilling that into his head even though his parents had chosen to leave the Old Order district and to raise him Englisch.

“I know.” She sniffled and seemed to be catching her breath.

Brock didn’t think it could be good for the baby for her to get this upset. “God’s in control,” he repeated. He’d been praying for Naomi and her children. And as he listened to himself, he couldn’t help but wonder why he continually questioned God’s will for his own life.

Brock was still concerned about what Abby had told him, about the hitting. But now wasn’t the time to bring it up. He waited awhile longer, until Naomi had completely stopped crying, then he stood up. “I should go. But only if you promise me that you’ll forget everything that old woman said.”

Naomi followed him to the front door. She nodded, then without warning, she put her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, and when she looked up at him, he kissed her on the forehead. “Everything is going to be fine, and you’ll deliver a healthy baby in a few months. And all that stuff about the moon is just stupid superstitions.”

Brock believed everything he was telling Naomi to be the truth. She and her baby would be fine. But he was starting to wonder if he would be okay. When did he start to care so much about Naomi and her children? He might struggle with God’s plan for his life, but he’d learned to live with it. Was God tempting him, goading Brock, to fall for a woman he couldn’t have? He eased her away, and quickly left.

Friday morning, Brock’s emotions were all over the place, but there was something he needed to take care of before he went to Naomi’s. Glancing at the ominous clouds overhead, he wondered if the weather forecast was correct. It wasn’t supposed to rain the next few days, so he planned to take advantage and work over the weekend. But gray clouds rolled in as he walked to Pearl King’s door. She hadn’t been hard to find.

Brock had a faint memory of her. He’d seen her briefly at Naomi’s but hadn’t been able to place her. Now he remembered her from his childhood.

On the porch were two black cats curled up inside a small red suitcase. They both meowed when he knocked on the door.

“Are you Pearl King?” he asked when an elderly woman answered the door, even though he knew she was.

“Yes, I am. How can I help you?” The old woman smiled, but Brock’s anger from the night before struck him anew.

“You’re taking advantage of a friend of mine, and I’m here to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Brock stuffed his hands in his pockets when Pearl’s eyes widened, knowing his size often intimidated people.

“Who are you?” Pearl’s eyes dropped into a squint. “And who are you talking about?”

“I’m Brock Mulligan, and I’m a friend of Naomi Dienner.”

Pearl put a finger to her chin as her eyebrows drew into a frown, deepening the lines slithering across her forehead. “You’re Andrew and Katie’s boy.”

Brock started to tell her that his mother had passed a few years after his father, but he didn’t want to say more than he needed to. “Yeah, I am. And I remember you from when I was a kid, mostly when I was visiting my grandparents.”

Brock’s grandparents lived on the next block, and his grandmother would repeatedly warn him and his brother not to go near Pearl’s house. Some of the elders still sought out respected powwowers, but Brock’s grandparents believed that Pearl practiced a form of powwowing that resembled witchcraft. And it certainly sounded like she’d taken advantage of Naomi. “I know you were shunned by the Amish, and I also know that you’re a powwower.”

“My shunning had nothing to do with being a powwower. I needed electricity because I have health issues that require the use of an oxygen tank at times.” Pearl raised her chin. “Now, what is your business here today?”

“Stop feeding Naomi’s head with your nonsense. You’ve got her scared to death with all your talk about the phases of the moon and the harvest moon that will be here soon. It’s all a bunch of baloney. She lost some packets of herbs you gave her, and it brought her to tears.”

“Good grief. She lost a second packet?” Pearl frowned. “I’m not giving her another one.”

“You mean selling her another one. You’ve already conned her out of a hundred and sixty dollars.” Brock considered Naomi’s misplacement of both packets divine intervention, so she wouldn’t be taken in by such nonsense.

“I didn’t con her out of anything,” Pearl spat back at him. “Those packets have been prayed over, and—”

Brock pulled his hands from his pockets, and just the movement itself was enough to cause her to stop talking and step back from the other side of the screen door.

“Prayers are free. What you’re doing is wrong, and I’m just here to tell you to leave Naomi alone. I’m sure it’s no coincidence that you just happened to get confused and stumble upon Naomi’s place.” Brock suspected Pearl had done her research and knew all about Naomi losing a baby. “This is called targeting a vulnerable person and preying on their fears as a way for you to make a profit. Please, just stay away from her.”

Brock turned his back to her, and as he walked to his truck, he could hear her rambling on in Pennsylvania Deitsch, but Brock ignored her. He was anxious to get to work. And to make sure that Naomi was okay. Ten minutes later, he was on her porch.

“You missed breakfast,” she said as she pulled the door open.

“Yeah, I know. Sorry about that.” Brock fought the awkward feeling, shifting his weight from one side to the other and avoiding her eyes. Things had probably gotten a little too intimate the night before. Maybe sharing every meal with Naomi and the girls wasn’t such a good idea. “I brought my lunch today.”

“Why?” She put a hand across her stomach.

“I-I just felt like chicken salad, and I . . . had some at home.”

“Too bad. I’m slow cooking another roast with potatoes and carrots, since you said you liked it so much before.” She shrugged, grinning. “But I’m sure your chicken salad is better.”

Brock had grabbed an energy bar on the way to Pearl’s house, and that wasn’t enough to sustain him through midmorning. His stomach was already growling, and his mouth watered at the thought of eating roast. Naomi didn’t look like she felt awkward at all. In fact, her bright eyes shone in a way that almost resembled flirting. “Okay, then. I’ll see you at dinnertime.” He tipped the rim of the baseball cap, then smiled and left.

Naomi knew good and well that she was venturing into a dangerous place with Brock. She never dreamed that a man could be such a gentle giant, so kind and protective. But she should have known that her father wouldn’t be good friends with Brock unless he trusted him completely. And trust and safety were particularly appealing to Naomi, even though she’d vowed not to become involved with anyone. But when she recalled the intimacy of him feeling her baby move, the hug, the kiss on the forehead . . . she felt warm all over, the way she did when she’d first met Stephen.

She took a deep breath and opened the oven to check the roast, then went back to kneading her bread, her thoughts drifting to various places, but with each passing moment, she talked herself out of the possibility of anything romantic with Brock. He wasn’t Amish, he was considerably older than her, and Naomi was fat, pregnant, and had two sassy, but wonderful, little girls.

I will pray that Brock finds someone suited to him, an Englisch woman who will love him and give him a family. What a wonderful father he would be.

Brock devoured the roast, potatoes, and carrots on his plate and reached for his third slice of buttered bread. So much for chicken salad.

They’d been quiet for most of the meal. When Brock was done, he swiped at his mouth with his napkin, and when Naomi got up to clear the table, he said, “Hey, I need to talk to you about something.” He wanted to take advantage of the girls being out of the house so they wouldn’t overhear.

Her face turned pale as her expression fell. “If it’s about last night . . . um, we don’t need to talk about it. I was upset and you comforted me.” She smiled. “And that’s what friends do. I’m overly emotional when I’m pregnant. I apologize for getting so upset.”

Brock cleared his throat, feeling silly for thinking she may have romantic feelings for him. Of course, she doesn’t. “No, I need to talk to you about Abby.”

“About what?” She eased her plate forward, put her elbows on the table, and rested her chin on her hands.

“When we were at the carnival . . .” He hadn’t realized until now how hard it would be to tell her this. It was most likely going to upset and embarrass her. “Was Stephen abusive to you?”

Naomi dropped her hands and laid her palms flat on the table as she sat taller. She blinked her eyes a few times. “What? Why would you ask such a thing?”

Brock was certain by her reaction that it was true. “I just think maybe you should talk to the girls about it, Abby at least. She told me that she knows Stephen hit you, but that you didn’t know she knew.”

Naomi stood up, paced her kitchen, then turned to face him, slamming her hands to her hips. “Well, it’s not true.”

“I think it may be, Naomi.” Brock stayed seated even though she started pacing again. “And I think maybe you need to talk to Abby.”

“I said it isn’t true.”

Naomi wouldn’t look at him now, and she started to clear the table. Brock latched onto her wrist when she got close enough to him, and she jumped, pulled away, and backed into the kitchen counter, her eyes fearful and watery.

Brock held up both his hands. “Naomi, I would never lay a hand on you in anger. Never. Real men don’t hit.” He slowly stood up and walked toward her, close enough to cup her cheek. “Men shouldn’t hit.”

She eased around him and went back to cleaning the table.

“Did he—did he hurt the girls ever?” Brock was sure Naomi would say no, since she wouldn’t even confirm that he’d abused her.

She set the two plates back on the table and hung her head. “Never.”

“How do you know?” Brock moved closer to her.

“Because I would have known. He was a gut father. I was the problem.” She looked up at him as a tear trailed down her cheek. “I was a bad wife.”

Brock sighed, his heart heavy. “Naomi, it was not you. There is nothing a person can do that warrants getting hit.” He felt relieved that Naomi believed that Stephen hadn’t harmed the girls.

“I didn’t always do my chores in a satisfactory way,” she said as her lip trembled. “And sometimes I didn’t finish the laundry. Sometimes supper was late. And once I broke a serving platter that his grandmother had given us as a wedding present.” She stepped back from him, her hands clenched at her sides. “And once I spit in his food when he wasn’t looking . . . because . . .” Tears trailed down both cheeks as her face grew redder. “Because he was mean! Because he hit me! Because I couldn’t do anything right.” She covered her face with her hands.

Brock covered the short space between them quickly, pulling her into his arms, realizing that she probably thought of him as more of a father figure, a protector. But it didn’t matter. His need to protect her was strong, even if it would have to be as her friend. He kissed her on the forehead again, something that felt as natural as breathing. “You’re okay now. And it’s okay to feel this way. I think it’s normal to be angry.”

“But he’s dead,” she said in a tiny voice.

Brock stepped back and slid his hands to her arms. “Yes, he is. But that’s God’s will, and it’s not your fault. You’re a good person, Naomi. You deserve to be happy. I’ve had a hard time accepting God’s plans for me. For a long time, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that He took Patty from me, that her life ended, and in a way, mine did, too, for a while. I have trouble just blindly putting my faith in God these days. So, I continue to rebuild my relationship with the Lord, struggling to get back to where I once was. But Naomi, I’ve been praying for you to find a good man to take care of you, Abby, and Esther Rose. And through doing that, praying for you, I feel closer to Him.”

Naomi stifled a gasp. You’ve been praying for me too? She wanted to tell him, but her mind was still reeling as she worried about her girls. How much did they know? Was that the reason they appeared to get over Stephen’s death so quickly, or were they just young and resilient?

“Do you think Abby is okay?” She put a hand to her chest.

“Yes, I do. But maybe you should talk to her about it, let her know that not all men hit. I don’t know if Esther Rose knows anything. Abby doesn’t seem to think so. And Naomi, it might not be a bad idea for you to get some counseling. I know that’s allowed by the bishop. And if it’s a financial issue for you, or if you don’t feel comfortable going into the community funds for that, I’d understand you wanting to keep your business private. But I have plenty of money to help you with this if you want to go talk to someone.”

She shook her head. “Nee. I would never let you do that.”

“Why not? It’s just money.” He smiled, winking at her. “And a little birdie told me that you’ve been giving yours to a retired, shunned powwower.”

Naomi stepped back. She knew he was trying to lighten the moment, but . . . “How do you know Pearl is a powwower?” She held up a finger to indicate she wasn’t done speaking so she could organize her thoughts. “And how do you know so much about the Amish in general? Just by living here all your life?”

“Partly.” He shrugged. “And because my grandparents were Amish. I spent a lot of time with them growing up.”

Naomi was quiet, but when Brock rattled off a string of sentences in Pennsylvania Deitsch, mostly about the weather, she felt her cheeks grow hot. “Uh . . .”

“Yep.” Brock chuckled, then stood taller, if that was possible. “I know all about shopping for husbands.”

Naomi lowered her head, shaking it, then looked up at him, smiling. “Oh dear.”

“It’s fine. Your girls just love you very much and want you to be happy and safe. They must feel safe with me.”

I feel safe with you. “I think it’s you my girls love,” she whispered.

“Well, I’d be lying if I said that they hadn’t stolen a part of my heart already.”

“I will talk to Abby.” She stared at the man before her, wishing things could be different. Wishing she’d always feel safe the way she did in this moment.

It was nearing the supper hour, and Naomi had just finished frying some chicken when her mother showed up with the girls. Mamm had wanted to take them with her to buy some fabric for more school clothes, so she’d asked to pick them up after school.

Naomi walked onto the porch as Abby and Esther Rose helped Naomi’s mother unload their scooters from the back of the buggy.

“You girls go put these scooters in the barn and tend to the animals. Then you can play out here for a little while. I need to talk to your mudder.” Naomi’s mother marched across the yard, scowling. “Inside,” she demanded. “You and I need to have a little chat.”

Naomi couldn’t recall Mamm speaking to her in that tone of voice since she was a little girl. “What? What’s wrong?” She followed her mother into the living room.

Mamm untied the strings of her black cape, shrugged it off her shoulders, caught it, and tossed it on the couch. “When were you going to tell your father and me that you’re pregnant?”

Uh-oh. Naomi placed her hands on her stomach. “I wanted everyone to be done mourning Stephen. I was waiting so that it would be a joyful occasion.”

“Sweetheart . . .” Her mother walked toward her and held both her arms. Naomi thought of Brock instantly. “A baby is always a joyful occasion. A blessing. You know that.”

Naomi nodded, but her mother let go of her arms, walked to the couch, and practically fell onto the cushions. “But we have another issue.”

“What?” Naomi sat down beside her mother.

Mamm squinted her eyes until they were almost closed. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing playing hanky-panky with Brock Mulligan, but it needs to stop.”

“What?” Naomi needed to buy a little time to sort through her jumbled thoughts. “And how did you know I was pregnant?”

Her mother rolled her eyes. “Goodness me, child. Do you think Abby misses anything?”

Apparently not. “What did she say?”

She got up to go to the bathroom last night while your . . . guest . . . was still here. And when she heard voices, she tiptoed halfway down the stairs and sat down. So, ya, she saw Brock with his hand on your tummy, feeling the baby move.” Her mother shook her head, frowning. “Really, Naomi? How inappropriate.”

“Ach, Mamm. It’s not a concern, and we weren’t playing hanky-panky. We’ve become friends, that’s all.”

“Well, your daughter told me that you are having a baby, that you and Brock kissed and made a baby!”

Naomi brought a hand to her mouth as her eyes grew round, but she couldn’t stop the laughter from erupting. “What?” she asked again.

The corner of her mother’s mouth lifted up a little as she raised an eyebrow. “It is rather funny, but you need to straighten that child out. I tried, but gave up.” Now her mother laughed along with her, but quickly stopped. “What are you doing kissing that man anyway?”

“I didn’t kiss him. He kissed me on the forehead before he left last night.”

“Your father said it was awfully late for him to be here last night, and I think the hair on the back of his neck was still standing on end when he got back home.”

“We’re friends, Mamm.”

“Ach, and you need to keep it that way. Don’t let those girls . . . or yourself . . . get attached to someone who isn’t Amish.”

Naomi was waiting for her mother to add something about Brock’s age, but she didn’t. She stood up. “He’s a handsome man, but proceed with caution.” Then she smiled. “So, how far along are you?”

“Five months.”

“Goodness, Naomi. I can’t believe you kept this blessing from us.”

“I tried to tell you when I last visited the house, but you seemed so disappointed that I wasn’t still wearing my mourning clothes, so I just decided to wait.”

Naomi’s mother stared at her long and hard. “Do you really feel like you are done mourning Stephen?”

It didn’t take long for Naomi to find the answer to this question. “Ya, Mamm. I do.”