A Ready-Made Amish Family. Jo Brown Ann
If Marlin went to the main house, he could disturb the kinder whom Isaiah hoped were asleep. He grabbed a flashlight and hurried outside. He waved the light, catching the deacon’s eye.
He wondered why the deacon was calling tonight. The deacon’s duties revolved around making sure the Leit followed the district’s Ordnung as well as handling money issues, helping any member of the community pay medical bills or appointing people to arrange fund-raisers to provide for those who needed extra assistance. He hoped the problem was a simple one, because he didn’t know how long he’d be able to focus on anything complicated tonight.
“Komm in,” he said with a smile.
“I didn’t expect to see you in the dawdi haus,” Marlin said as he switched off his flashlight and walked in.
The deacon was a squat man, almost as wide as he was tall. Since he’d handed over the day-to-day running of his farm to his youngest son, Marlin had gained more weight. He was about the same age as Isaiah’s late daed would have been. What hair remained on his head clung in a horseshoe shape from one ear to the other. It had turned gray years ago.
“Let’s sit,” Isaiah answered, “and you can tell me why you’re here.”
Marlin sat with a satisfied sigh in the overstuffed chair closer to the door. Once Isaiah had taken the other seat, Marlin began speaking of news from throughout the district and beyond. After he finished farming, he’d taken a job giving tourists buggy rides to his family’s farm. He had amusing tales to share about the outrageous questions visitors asked.
“I’ve got to explain over and over,” the deacon said with a chuckle that shook his broad belly, “we’re not part of a living museum. We’re just living our lives. However, I’ve recently driven people who seem to understand that. It’s a blessing to be able to answer sensible questions.”
“But those tourists don’t make for gut stories.”
“No, but they make for a pleasant day.”
“I’m sure.” Isaiah intended to add more, but a knock on the connecting door brought him to his feet. Sliding the lock aside, he opened it. Belatedly he realized he should have explained the situation to Marlin already.
Dear Lord, give me a gut night’s sleep tonight. I’m no longer thinking straight.
“Excuse me.” Clara clasped her hands in front of her. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I was wondering what time you wanted breakfast, Isaiah.”
“Komm in.” He motioned toward his other guest. “This is Marlin Wagler, our district’s deacon. Marlin, this is Clara Ebersol.”
“Oh,” Marlin said, “I thought you might be the kinder’s aenti Debra. I’ve been looking forward to meeting her.”
“It’ll be several weeks, maybe as much as a month, before Debra will be able to get here from Chile.” He’d never met Debra Wittmer whose home was in California when she wasn’t away on mission work.
“Meanwhile,” Clara said with a smile, “I’m here as a nanny for the kinder.”
Marlin smiled. “Gut. They need a stable home. What a blessing your family and your young man don’t mind you being away.”
“I don’t have a young man,” Clara said, blushing so brightly her face was almost the color of her hair.
“No?” Marlin glanced at Isaiah and arched a brow.
“Will five be too early for breakfast?” Isaiah asked before the deacon could add anything else. He hadn’t expected Marlin to start quizzing Clara about her personal life. It was, Isaiah was sure, an attempt at matchmaking.
“Five will be fine. I’ll have breakfast ready then. Gut nacht.” She shut the door, not hiding her yearning to escape before she embarrassed herself again.
He heard her fading footsteps. Taking a deep breath, because Marlin was sure to have questions, Isaiah said, “Before you say anything, I’m living in the dawdi haus, as you can see.” He hooked a thumb toward the stacks of clothing he’d brought from the main house. “With four very young kinder, I’m staying nearby in case Clara needs help with something. Though she’s already shown she can take care of the household better than I could.”
“I assume Reuben approves of this plan.”
“Ja,” he replied. As soon as his brother had told him about Clara, Isaiah had gone to the bishop and shared the plan with him. Of course, at that time, he hadn’t known Clara Ebersol was a beautiful young woman.
It doesn’t matter, he told himself. He wasn’t looking for someone to court, and Clara was at the house for one reason: to take care of the kinder.
“Gut,” Marlin said, his smile widening.
Isaiah wanted to groan aloud. He recognized the twinkle in the deacon’s eye. Marlin and Atlee Bender, the other minister in their district, had been getting less and less subtle in their pressuring for Isaiah to choose another wife. They believed an ordained man should be married. It was a requirement for one’s name to be put into the lot when a new minister was chosen, but nobody could have guessed Rose would die so soon after Isaiah was selected. Both men had told him that he’d had enough time to mourn, and finding a wife should be a high priority for him. They seemed to think it was as easy as going to his brother’s grocery store and selecting one off the shelf.
Even if it was that simple, he wasn’t interested in risking his heart and the devastating pain of loss again.
* * *
Clara slipped into the front bedroom across from the twins’ bedroom door. It was crowded with boxes and cast-off furniture as Isaiah had warned. Trying to be quiet, she moved quilts and unused material from the bed. The mattress was clean, and she found sheets and a pillow in a cupboard in the hallway.
She made the bed, covering it with the topmost quilt from the pile. After braiding her hair, she went to the bed. Pulling back the bright red, blue and purple nine-patch quilt and the sheet beneath it, she sat on the edge of the bed and plumped the pillow.
Lying down, she watched the moonlight filtered by the leaves of the tree outside the window. It danced, making new patterns with every shift in the breeze.
The day had not gone badly, other than the shocking revelation by the kinder that they’d been told not to laugh. The twins seemed to accept her as part of their lives...so far. And she hadn’t insulted Isaiah—or she thought she hadn’t—so far. She must keep everything impersonal between them, as she would with anyone who hired her. Though he’d been puzzled when she spoke to him from the other side of the front room, he hadn’t said anything.
Thank You, Lord, for keeping Isaiah from asking questions. She started to add to her prayer, but paused when she heard something. The noise was so soft she wasn’t sure if she’d heard it. Then it came again.
A sob.
One of the kinder was crying.
Kicking aside her covers, Clara leaped out of bed. She grabbed the flashlight she’d left on the windowsill. She bumped into a stack of boxes, but kept them from tumbling to the floor. The big toe on her right foot hit the frame around the door, and she bit her lower lip to keep from making a sound. Limping across the hall, she aimed the flashlight against her palm and switched it on. Its glow gave her enough light to see without being so bright it woke any kinder who were asleep.
Her aching toe was forgotten when she heard another sob. It led her to where Ammon was lying on his left side with his knees drawn up to his chest as if in grave pain. She leaned over and spoke gently. He didn’t respond, just kept sobbing.
Wanting to soothe him, she lifted Ammon off the bed and carried him out of the room before he woke his brother and sisters. She kept the flashlight pointed at the floor as she eased down the unfamiliar stairs and into the living room. Lighting the propane lamp while she held him took twice as long as it normally would, but she didn’t want to release the kind. Not when he was sobbing