Chapter 2

Through her yard, Sara chased Abby’s daughters, the two oldest shrieking almost as much as her. And though Pris wasn’t excited, or even smiling, it seemed as if her eyes almost danced ... until the girls rounded a corner and came upon their father by his buggy in the drive. Then everything stopped — sound, movement, joy. Sara came up behind them and touched each small shoulder in turn, telling them without words that she was there.

Adam absently looked them over, then he stiffened, anger, fear, transforming him. “Where’s the baby?” he shouted.

No hello. No mention of his reason for coming. And Sara panicked. Not because of his bellow, which was normal, but because she expected he’d come to tear her heart from her flesh.

Two days and already she couldn’t bear the thought of giving his children back. But for some reason, she sensed she could not let him know how much she wanted to keep them, so she masked her dread and pointed to her porch. “Hannah is there, in her cradle.”

“Mein Gott, she’ll freeze to death!”  Adam marched right over, as if he expected to find proof of his foolish accusation, and found a swaddled infant, instead, her chubby apple-cheeked face peering up at him with huge gray eyes exactly like his. Hannah gurgled and cooed when she saw him, swinging her arms in her excitement, for all the world as if she knew him.

Sara tapped the tiny pink nose and got a bubble for her effort. “She likes it out here. We all do. We don’t stay long. Just a few minutes, to use up energy and get fresh air. It’s cold for autumn, yes, but….”

Adam looked away, and Sara guessed he was no more displeased than usual. “Can we go inside?” he asked, with as near to manners as Sara had ever seen.

She offered the girls cookies and cocoa, and they got in line for plates and cups to bring to their small table by the hearth. She was pleased they were doing as she’d taught them and looked to see if Adam noticed how well they behaved, but he wasn’t even looking at them.

Adam took in every aspect of the tiny cottage, finding it difficult to ignore Sara’s bed, with that bright flower-garden quilt covering it, as if the sun shone down on her even in sleep. He shifted, uncomfortable about invading what amounted to a spinster’s bedroom.

He hadn’t realized she had only the one room. He’d have to get her a bigger place ... if he convinced her to keep the girls longer, until after the funeral ... and after that to keep them till harvest, then until Christmas, then spring planting, and longer still, until she loved them too much to let them go.

Adam didn’t let his gaze linger on the girls. They were fine. No more or less happy, it seemed, than before, which was as good as could be expected, he supposed, after the loss of a mother. Though it had taken Pris a minute to remember to pout, which raised his spirits for some odd reason.

Sara placed a cup of chocolate and a plate of cookies in front of him, then she sat across from him. He’d never seen such a small kitchen table as this one, with barely room for the two of them. He had to turn sideways to keep his knees from touching hers.

The girls were nibbling cookies at a child-size table, Katie chattering, Lizzie listening and Pris staring into the fire.

“My father was a carpenter,” Sara said. “He made me the table and chairs when I was small. Mom and I used to have cookies and milk there. The girls like it. I think they’re doing well, considering….”

Adam grunted, wondering if she’d already taken to doing those ‘mothering’ things with them. He didn’t remember his own mother doing such things, but then she had always been too busy looking over her shoulder.

Adam cleared his throat and leaned close, afraid the girls might hear. “You told them, then?”

“Not yet,” Sara said. “Do you want to tell them together, now?”

“No!”  Adam cringed inwardly. His cowardice, he got from his mother’s side of the family. All gazes were now turned his way, nobody moving, not even Spinster Sara. Adam shook his head. He hadn’t meant to frighten them that time. “I brought you money,” he said, taking a small leather pouch from his pocket and shoving it toward Sara.

She regarded it with a scowl then ignored it to watch the girls.

“Pride is a sin,” he said, reading her and making her prickly-mad, which he had once found sporting, like baiting a line or a trap. “It costs to feed them,” he said. “You have no time to earn money for food while you’re caring for them. I take care of my own, Sara.”

“Oh,” she whispered, leaning forward, brows arched. “So you remember they’re yours?”

With a growl, Adam pocketed his cookies and stood. “I brought meat and vegetables too. They’re in the buggy. Come.”  At the door, he turned. “Lizzie, watch your sisters.”

He led the way outside trying to hide his nervousness. The girls’ future depended on his success right now, yet seeing them made it difficult to keep to his purpose. He wanted to pack them in his buggy and run away with them, which might be laughable, if it wasn’t so sad.

Scrapper Sara stopped before him, hands on hips. “You didn’t bring me out here for food. This had better be good, Adam Zuckerman.”

He felt as if he were ten again, waiting for a knuckle-rapping from teacher — half dreading the pain, half glad he’d got her attention. Adam shook his head, turning from Sara’s sassy scowl to lead her around his buggy. Lifting the back flap, he indicated the crates. “Potatoes, squash, winter beats, ham, turkey. I’ll help you take it in before I go.”  He was stalling, he knew; she knew it too. And they both knew he’d brought too much food for a few days. He was trying to turn her up sweet, but it was no use. Spinster Sara could be sour as pickled cabbage. “Sara, I need a favor.”

She raised only one of those winged brows this time.

Adam sighed. The woman didn’t even need to speak to sass him. No use putting it off anymore; there was no softening her, so he forged ahead. “I ... the girls need you to keep them a bit longer.”

To Adam’s surprise, Sara bit her lip, blanked her features, and looked beyond his shoulder. No sass. No scrapping. Probably planning her next jab. But when she faced him again, there seemed to be no more fight in her. “How much longer?”

Hope. He heard it in her voice, and his own hope soared. But he needed to be cautious. He had to act as if he planned to take them back, while making it seem more and more impossible to do so. “Well, I ... can’t work the farm and take care of them at the same time. I mean, it’s coming on harvest. Winter vegetables have to come in soon.”  He felt his face heat for the way he’d reacted to the baby being outside. “Even bundled up warm, like you had them, I can’t keep them outside for as long as chores take.”

“What about relatives?  A mother, an aunt, a sister?  Isn’t there anyone who could come and help you with the girls?”

Adam hadn’t thought much about his mother and sister in years, except to think how lucky they were. “My mother and sister are dead. A carriage accident ... or so he said.”

“He?  Who is he?”

Adam could not believe he had voiced the old doubt. Heat climbed his neck. “I was five when they died,” he said. “I have a child’s confused memories. I did not mean to ... you have an annoying way of.... You disarm me, Spinster Sara.”

“And you, Mad Adam?  You worry me.”

Adam folded his hands behind his back. “No, no mother or sister. Guess I need to find a woman to come every day or to live-in.”  Adam feared for a minute Sara would offer, which was not what he intended. Would he never get this right?

Something was bothering her too, because she was worrying her lip enough to tear the tender flesh.

“I hoped you would keep them until ... say….”  He’d go for a later date, knowing how contrary Sara could be. “Say, until after spring planting.”

Again, hope lit her eyes, but she snuffed it like a candle. “That’s months away,” she wailed, sounding almost helpless.

Sara, helpless?

“Adam, I can’t.”

“They like you, Sara.”  And why that should hurt her, he did not know, but it surely seemed to.

“They belong with you, Adam, and that’s all there is to it.”

“Till after harvest,” he bargained, hoping, given his reason for the lie, that it could be overlooked. “Just till then.”

Sara sighed and closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were bright with unshed tears, as if pain hovered, but she fought it bravely. “I need to think about it. I’ll tell you in a couple of days, after the funeral.”

* * * * *

In the grabhof, the Amish cemetery, silent mourners flanked by plain time-bruised stones, saw the sun shine down, one last time, on Abby Zuckerman’s face, her features serene in death in a way they had never been in life.

Truth to tell, Sara could barely see her friend through her tears. Sorrow. Guilt. She was grief-stricken at Abby’s death, yet she felt such joy at having the girls.

More than anything, she wished Abby were alive to care for them. Barring that, she wanted Adam to take them ... except that she wanted so very badly to keep them.

Rather than pray for the repose of that sweet, sweet soul, in the way the solemn men and women around her were doing, Sara prayed for the strength to do what was best for the girls, no matter the cost.

When Adam and Bishop Weaver lifted the top of Abby’s casket, to close her inside forever, Sara nearly shouted for them to stop. Instead, she sobbed and promised Ab she would love her girls forever.

Serenity filled her of a sudden, and Sara believed that Abby’s spirit soared free, perhaps for the first time ever, even as her neighbors tossed dirt on her casket.

Peace, it was called.

Sara was especially glad, in that moment, that Jordan — Doc Marks to the community, teacher and friend to her — had surprised her this morning by coming to stay with the girls so she could attend their mother’s funeral.

When she had arrived at Adam’s house earlier, one of about fifty or so of their neighbors, Adam had questioned her with his look from half-way across the kitchen. She hadn’t been certain if he was surprised she was there, or if he wanted to know whether she would keep the girls. She’d wondered how she could give them up when she was barely strong enough to let go of their mother?  But she had tried to say with her look that everything would be fine, which she sincerely hoped it would, and Adam had relaxed, as if she succeeded in reassuring him.

Now, beside his wife’s grave, he stood taller than most, broader of shoulder as well, and solemn, as always. He turned his broad-brimmed black felt hat round in his huge, capable hands, as if he could not bear to remain still.

A bear, many called him, a grizzly. Brooding. Silent. Mad.

He was all those things, yes, but Sara was beginning to suspect he was more. And while feeding baby Hannah during the sweet silence of the night just passed, Sara had promised herself she would uncover that part of him he concealed from the world. She might bring him and his children together more easily if she could, if she became the live-in helper he said he needed for them, though she supposed he would have asked her, if he thought so.

Did she want to move into Abby’s house to care for her girls?  Yes. Did she want to move in with Mad Adam Zuckerman?  No. Yes. Perhaps. Sara sighed. She supposed she’d go or live anywhere, if it meant she could raise the girls. With Adam around, she wouldn’t have to worry about them, either, if — when — she was called to deliver a babe.

Spending time with the girls each day, watching them grow, teaching them the things all little Amish girls should know, could fill her days — her life — with purpose. And if she could also midwife — even if that meant putting up with Mad Adam Zuckerman’s growls and scowls — her life would be more fulfilling than she could ever have imagined.

Abby had not thought Adam was so terrible to live with. Sara had mentioned his gruff once, and Abby had smiled such a secret smile, Sara thought she must be thinking about that part of marriage. What must the intimate side of marriage be like, when even a man like Mad Adam could bring such a smile?

Sara raised her head when she realized where her mind had wandered, and warm with embarrassment, she thrust her wayward thoughts aside.

As everyone began to leave the cemetery, Adam came to stand beside her. Funny how good that made her feel, even though his reason had solely to do with getting her to keep his children. Even so, it felt almost as if she were something of a friend to him. Without Ab, neither of them had anyone.

Before long, they were alone in the graveyard, both of them staring at that dark, rich mound of dirt, missing the woman at rest beneath it. Sara bent to smooth the earth, almost as if she could make Abby more comfortable. She plucked a few stones from the moist soil, tossed them, and patted the disturbed sections back into place, begging Abby’s guidance as she prepared to answer her husband’s request.

Again, peace filled her, and Sara knew what she must do. “For Abby,” she said, not looking at the silent man beside her. “For her, I will keep the girls until after harvest.”

Then she would bring them back to their father and stay to help, whether he asked her to or not. And teach him to love them, by God. And when they needed her no more, she would lay herself down and die too.

No. Sara stood. No, she would not do that. She would become the best midwife Walnut Creek had ever seen. Safe deliveries. No more dead mothers. No more dead babies. She would do it for Mama. “For Abby,” she said.

“Danke,” Adam whispered, his voice hoarse.