An Arranged Romance

Molly Ziegler is proud of being a successful midwife. But at age twenty-one, she’s unmarried—and fodder for gossip in her Amish community. Even as her meddling mother urges her to marry the town’s most eligible bachelor, Molly wants more. And in newcomer Isaac Graber, she’s found her way out. If Isaac will pretend to court her, her mother has to stop matchmaking—once and for all. What Molly didn’t plan on are the unexpected feelings the businessman stirs in her. Isaac will go along with Molly’s ruse. Especially since he can’t stop thinking about her. But when the favor backfires spectacularly, it might just lead them toward true love.

“Let’s get this injury seen to, and then you can have some hot breakfast.”

Their gazes met for seconds. Her whiskey-brown eyes caused the oddest sensation in the pit of his stomach, like butterflies flittering from flower to flower.

Men’s stomachs weren’t supposed to flutter.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.” She smiled. Her eyes sparkled.

“Now take your pills and drink your coffee. I’ll see you in the kitchen in ten minutes.”

“Wait!” Isaac didn’t know why he’d called out to her, and then realized he didn’t want her to leave. It had been a long time since he’d had a conversation with anyone, much less a kindhearted woman who made him feel alive. “What’s your name?”

“Margaret, but everyone calls me Molly,” she said, whirled round and then was gone.

The door shut behind her and he stared at the spot where she’d stood. When she’d left, all the life seemed to have been sucked out of the tiny room with her.

CHERYL WILLIFORD and her veteran husband, Henry, live in South Texas, where they’ve raised three children, and numerous foster children, alongside a menagerie of rescued cats, dogs and hamsters. Her love for writing began in a literature class and now her characters keep her grabbing for paper and pen. She is a member of her local ACFW and CWA chapters, and is a seamstress, watercolorist and loving grandmother. Her website is cherylwilliford.com.

The Amish Midwife’s Courtship

Cheryl Williford

www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Lord is good and does what is right; he shows the proper path to those who go astray.

—Psalms 25:8

This book is dedicated to my husband, Henry, who’s always there when I need him, and to Clare Naomi, our youngest granddaughter. Your smile makes the sun shine brighter. Much thanks goes to Barbara Burns and Susan Cobb, my daughters and two of my biggest fans, and to ACFW’s Golden Girls critique group. Without you ladies I’d still be editing my own weak verbs.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Pinecraft, Florida

November

Molly Ziegler gave the dust mop one last shove under the bed and hit a mahogany leg. Unexpected movement under the bed’s mound of sheets and wedding-ring quilt caught her unaware.

She froze.

Something swung toward her head. Instinctively she launched the mop high into the air, warding off the coming blow.

The mop’s handle connected with something solid.

A satisfying clunk rang out in her mamm’s tiny rental room. Her heart thumped in her chest as she stepped back from the bed, lost her balance and hit the floor. Her feet tangled in the folds of her skirt as she pushed away.

His dark brown hair wild from sleep, a gaunt-faced, broad-shouldered man gazed down at her, his dark green eyes wide with surprise. He dropped the wooden crutch he’d been holding. “Who are you?” His hand gingerly touched the bump on his forehead. His eyes narrowed in a wince.

The bump on his forehead grew and began to ooze blood.

He wasn’t supposed to be in the bedroom at this time of the day. The door hadn’t been locked.

In a stupor of surprise, she blinked. She had no brothers, and with the exception of her father who had passed away in his sleep five years earlier, she’d never seen a man in his nightclothes. There were dark shadows under his eyes. Thick stubble on his chin and upper lip told her she was dealing with an unmarried man.

Annoyed by his words, she scowled. “I was about to ask you the same thing. Cover yourself. There’s a woman in your midst. You might be visiting Pinecraft, where rules are often bent and broken, but my mamm’s dress code is very strict and must be followed by all renters.”

“It wonders me why you’re showing off those lovely stockings to a man if your mamm’s dress code is so strict.”

Molly’s face burned as she swiftly straightened her skirt. She clambered to her feet, an already sour mood making her wish she stood taller than five foot nothing in her stocking feet.

She controlled the urge to stomp as she stepped away from the bed with all the dignity she could muster. Her hands brushed down the skirt of her plain Amish dress and cleaning apron. With eyes narrowed, she sliced the man with an icy glare. “My mamm and I run a decent boarding haus. Our ways are Plain, but we keep high standards.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re a bit grumpy in the morning?”

Molly tried to ignore the man’s uncalled-for comment and smirk, even though she knew he was right. She had woken up grumpy, her sleep cut short by Frieda Lapp’s early-morning call and delivery of a beautiful baby girl, who they planned to call Rachel after John’s recently departed mother.

She inched toward the closed bedroom door. Her mamm’s rule was firm and told to every renter who stayed in their boardinghouse. “This room was to be vacated by noon. It’s now past one. Didn’t you see the sign when you paid your deposit?”

“I saw the sign, but I made other arrangements with Mrs. Ziegler late last night. I’ll be staying for several days, perhaps a month until I can find a permanent place, now that I’ve bought the bike shop. Didn’t she tell you?”

A thick line of blood trickled down the man’s forehead, threatening to drip on the bed linens.

He must be Isaac Graber, the stay-over Mamm mentioned this morning, and now I’ve struck him.

She turned on her heel and shoved back the plain white curtains blowing at the window. A crutch lay by her foot. She found an identical crutch leaning against the bedpost.

Molly dug into her apron pocket and pulled out a clean tissue and thrust it into his hand. “Here. You need this. Mamm won’t want blood on the sheets.”

He pressed the tissue against the bump, then gazed down at the blot of scarlet blood. “You cut my head!” His coloring turned from primrose to a sickly mossy green.

“I wouldn’t have hit you if you hadn’t taken that swing at me with the crutch.” She leaned in to hand him a wastebasket and then stepped back fast, inching her way toward the closed bedroom door. The man behaved like a brute, but she had to admit he was an attractive one. She’d never seen eyes so green and sparkling.

And such thick, glossy nut-brown hair. Dark strands jutted at every angle in the most unusual way.

Molly realized he was talking, and she tried to drag her attention away from his face and back to his words.

“I was asleep and you startled me awake. You could have been a thief, for all I knew.”

“A thief!” She sucked in her breath and then chuckled. “That’s rich. I was doing my job and you attacked me.”

He kept talking as if she hadn’t spoken. “I grabbed the closest thing I had to defend myself.” He looked at the plastic trash can she’d placed on the edge of the mattress and gazed at her, befuddled, his forehead creasing. “What’s this for?” he asked, swallowing hard.

“In case you vomit. Some people do when they see blood and turn that particular shade of green.”

“Green? I’m not green. It’s more likely I’m red from all the blood.” He offered her the can, leaving his bloody fingerprints on the rim. “Take this thing away. I don’t need it.”

If Mamm hears about all this, she’ll rant for hours. Her eyes glanced at the small alarm clock on the bedside table and was shocked to see that time had gotten away from her. It was almost two. I’ll be late for singing rehearsal if I don’t hurry.

She snatched the can, her gaze on the impressive bump growing on the man’s forehead. The cut was at least a half-inch long, blue as the sky and still dripping blood. “Does it hurt?” Her anger cooled and she began to feel contrite. “Maybe you could use some ice...a cloth?” She spoke softer “Maybe a doctor?”

He looked heavenward, rolling his eyes like a petulant teenager. “Oh, now the woman shows concern, and here I am thinking her a heartless thief.” He pulled the sheet up and covered his thin sleeping shirt in mock alarm.

“Think what you will. Men usually do. Now, do you want a damp cloth or not, because I’m busy and don’t have time for this foolishness.”

“A cloth would be good if you’re not too busy.”

His sarcasm didn’t go unnoticed. Her bad mood darkened. She grumbled to herself as she went into the old-fashioned, minuscule bathroom just off the bedroom. She didn’t resent being told to clean the sparsely furnished back bedrooms when their last two renters left, but she’d already had her day planned.

She was used to hard work during their peak winter season, but holding down a job at the local café as a waitress and birthing babies as the local midwife kept her busy. Sometimes too busy. She liked the whirl of her demanding life, but she did resent her mamm’s attitude. Just because she was still single didn’t mean she didn’t have anything better to do on her day off than mop floors and strip down beds. She’d miss singing practice again this afternoon thanks to her mamm’s unreasonable demands on her time.

Her lip curled in an angry snarl as she pushed back a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, then ran a clean washcloth under cold running water.

Lifting her head, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and scowled. Dishwater blonde hair that had been neatly pulled back in a tight bun now ran riot around her head. Remembering the renter’s good looks, her cheeks flushed pink. What must he think of her appearance?

Her brown eyes flashing with frustration, she looked away, reprimanding herself for behaving like the frustrated twenty-year-old spinster she was.

With a jerk, she tugged her prayer kapp back into place and then squeezed the water out of the cloth. She was in enough trouble for hitting the man. Now wasn’t the time to start ogling the guests and worrying about how she looked. The sin of vanity brought only strife into the life of a Plain person. She had to pull herself together.

The worn but well-polished hardwood floor squeaked as she hurried back to the bedroom and handed the cloth to the man. Their hands touched and she pulled away, not about to admit she felt anything.

But she had.

He ran his fingers through the dark spikes on his head and brought a semblance of order to his wild hair before wiping at the cut above his eyebrow.

“Here, let me do that. All you’re doing is making it bleed again.” Forgetting her own stringent proprieties, Molly moved to the bed, pulled her full skirt under her and sat as far away from him as she could and still touch him. She jerked the cloth from his fingers before he could object and dabbed lightly around the seeping wound.

“A butterfly bandage should take care of any further bleeding and keep the wound from scarring,” she said. “The bandages and antibiotic cream are in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

She ran for the door, then skidded to a halt. “While I’m gone, please get out of bed and put on proper clothing.” She bounded away, her skirt swirling around her legs as she hopped over the trash can and slipped out, letting the bedroom door bang behind her.

* * *

Isaac Graber’s head hurt. He wiped the sticky blood off his fingers with the damp cloth the petite blonde-haired housekeeper had left behind and found himself smiling, something he hadn’t done since the accident and his painful recovery.

The tiny woman had put him through sheer misery trying to keep up with her rapid-fire conversation. She taxed his patience and his temper, but he couldn’t wait for her to come back into the room.

With a tug, he threw back the tangled covers and slid out of bed. The same white-hot agony that kept him up most nights stabbed down his leg. Angry red lines of surgical stitching laced up the puckered skin near his left knee and calf, his leg pale where the cast had covered it for several months.

He struggled to get into a pair of clean but well-worn trousers and a wrinkled long-sleeved cotton shirt he’d pulled from his suitcase, and then put on a fresh pair of socks and his scuffed boots, as he tried to forget the fresh ache in his head.

He’d taken his last pain medicine in Missouri, weeks before, and now had nothing to dull the ache in his leg or his heart. Not that he deserved the mind-numbing pills that helped him forget what he’d done and the tragedy he had rained down on his best friend’s family.

Isaac dropped his chin to his chest and forced himself to breath slowly. He shouldn’t have been driving that day, especially since the country road was slick after a sudden hard rain. He had no license. No insurance. Someone else could have taken Thomas home from the multi-church frolic when he’d wrenched his ankle. Why had he offered to drive? It wasn’t like him to break Amish laws, even if Thomas’s ankle was swollen after the rough game of volleyball.

With his eyes squeezed shut, his mind went back to the horrific day. The memory of Thomas lying on the ground next to him was seared in his mind.

The first police officer at the scene had assumed Thomas, who was Mennonite, had been driving. In shock and bleeding profusely, Isaac had been too confused to speak. He’d been rushed to the hospital and then into surgery.

But days later, when his thoughts had cleared, he’d heard the police were blaming the dead-drunk man in the other vehicle for the accident. Isaac knew they were wrong. Surely he was the one at fault and needed to make it right.

In the hospital, Isaac had confessed everything that day to his daed, but his father had railed at him, “We are Amish and will manage our own problems. You are to ask Gott for forgiveness and then be silent. I will not have the truth known to this community just to make you feel less guilty. Nothing can be gained by your confession. It was Gott’s will that Thomas die. You are to keep all this to yourself, do you hear, Isaac? You must tell no one. The shame you carry is yours, and yours alone. It is Gott’s punishment. You must learn to live with it. Your mamm and I will not be held up to ridicule because of your foolish choices. This kind of shame could kill your mamm. You know her heart is weak.”

And like the coward he was, he’d run to Pinecraft, desperate to get away from his daed’s angry words, his mother’s looks of shame. Isaac would spend the rest of his life dealing with things he could not change.

His hands braced against his legs, he looked down at his scuffed brown boots, at the crutch at his feet. He deserved to be crippled. If the police in Pinecraft ever found out the truth, he knew he’d be arrested, thrown into an Englischer jail for the rest of his life.

He rubbed the taunt muscle cramping in his leg. Gott was right to punish him for his foolish choices.

He smoothed down his trouser leg, covering the scar. Fatigue overwhelmed him. His guilt robbed him of sleep. He and Thomas had both died that day, but he knew he had to go on living.

A ridge of stitched skin under the trouser leg sent pain burning into his calf. No more Englischer doctors for him. All they wanted was to make him whole again. He didn’t deserve to be free of pain. The doctors in Missouri should have let him die.

He’d have to find a way to deal with the ache in his heart, his guilt and the odd way he was forced to walk. Let people stare. He didn’t care anymore. Nothing mattered. Thomas was dead.

The housemaid came swinging back into the room with a tray of bandages, a bottle of aspirin and bowl of water. A steaming mug of black coffee sat in the middle of her clutter.

“I thought you might want something for the pain in your head.” She set the tray on the nightstand, ruined his coffee with three packets of sugar and used a plastic spoon to stir it. With the twist of her delicate wrist, she unscrewed the aspirin bottle. “One or two?”

“None, danke,” he said, and watched her count out two pills and place them on the table next to the coffee mug.

“Let’s get this injury seen to and then you can have some hot breakfast. I put the biscuits back in the oven to warm. The last of the renters ate their meal at seven, but I’ll make an exception for you this morning.” She squeezed out the white washcloth floating in warm water and approached him, her pale eyebrows low with concentration.

Their gaze met for seconds. Her whiskey-brown eyes caused the oddest sensation in the pit of his stomach, like butterflies flittering from flower to flower. He frowned and hardened his resolve. The last thing he needed was a woman trying to take care of him.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.” She smiled. Her brown eyes sparkled.

He looked away, concentrating on the colorful braided rug on the floor. Her touch was gentle, the cream she spread with her fingertips cool and soothing. She unwrapped a small butterfly bandage and pressed it down, careful not to touch his cut.

“There, all done.”

Tray in hand, she backed toward the door. “Now take your pills and drink your coffee. I’ll see you in the kitchen in ten minutes.”

“Wait!” He realized he didn’t want her to leave. It had been a long time since he’d had a conversation with anyone, much less a kindhearted woman who made him feel alive. “What’s your name?”

“Margaret, but everyone calls me Molly,” she said, whirled round, and then was gone.

The door shut behind her, and he stared at the spot where she’d stood. When she left, all the life seemed to have been sucked out of the tiny room.

* * *

Molly leaned against the closed bedroom door and allowed herself to take a deep breath. She exhaled with a whoosh, then hurried back toward the kitchen. No man had ever affected her the way Isaac Graber did. She lifted her hand and watched it tremble. He had flustered her, made her pulse race. She was as happy as a kinner on Christmas morning and had no idea why.

Ridiculous! A man was already considering her for courtship, not that she was interested in him or ready for marriage to anyone. Still, her future had been mapped out by her mamm, and she really didn’t have any choice in the matter.

No doubt she’d soon see the flaws in Isaac, like she did most men. She had to be practical. Mamm was counting on her to make a good marriage that would end all their financial problems.

She hurried through the hall and into the warm, cozy kitchen fragrant with the aroma of hot biscuits and sliced honey ham. At the stove, she turned on the gas, lit a blaze under the old iron frying pan and then added a spoon of reserved bacon fat.

Her hands still shook as she broke three eggs into a bowl and poured them into the hot oil. Crackling and popping, the eggs fried but were forgotten when the troublesome renter awkwardly maneuvered his way through the kitchen door, lost his balance and tripped over his own feet. He lay sprawled on the worn tile floor. Facedown. Not moving.

“Herr Graber!” Molly stepped over his crutch and kneeled at his side. The morning headlines flashed through her mind. Man Killed by Abusive Landlady. “Please be all right.” She shook his shoulder.

Nothing.

She shook it again, harder this time.

“If you’d stop trying to break my shoulder, I might be able to get up.”

Molly stamped her foot, angrier than she’d been since he’d called her a thief earlier. Why did this man bring out the worst in her? “You scared me. Why didn’t you say something, let me know you weren’t dead? I thought...”

He leaned up on one elbow. “Did you seriously think I was dead? It would take a lot more than a spill to kill me, Miss Ziegler.”

She gathered her skirt around her and scooted away, not sure what kind of mood he was in, but stayed close enough, just in case he needed help getting back on his feet.

His green eyes darted her way and then over to his fallen crutches. “Your mother seemed normal enough when I signed in last night. I wonder if she knows how you treat her guests when she’s not around.”

“I take offense to that remark, Herr Graber. I in no way harmed you. Well...here in the kitchen I didn’t. I was busy cooking your breakfast, and you fell over your own big feet.” He wore scarred, laced-up boots, the kind bikers favored. Maybe that was how he’d hurt himself. A nasty bike spill, and now he was in pain and taking his misery out on her.

“You’re right. I did fall over my own feet. That’s what cripples do.” He leaned heavily on a single crutch and pushed his way to his feet, his face contorting with pain.

“Ach, you’re no cripple,” she said, standing.

“What would you know about being crippled?”

He’d crossed the line. Molly lifted her skirt an inch and showed him the built-up shoe on her right foot. “I think I know a lot about being crippled.”

He flushed, his forehead creased in dismay. He moved to straighten, and groaned.

A wave of sympathy washed over her. He had to be suffering. She’d almost been a teenager when she’d fallen out of a tree and broke her leg, damaging the growth plate. Her pain had been excruciating, but she got around fine now. He looked pale with pain. No wonder his mood was dark. “Can I help—”

He lifted his hand to warn her off. “Nee. I’m perfectly capable of getting myself up. I’ve had plenty of practice.”

He rose and towered over her. He had to be at least six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a slim waist.

The smell of burning eggs reached Molly’s nose. She gasped as she turned and saw smoke rising from the overheated frying pan. “Your eggs! Now look what you’ve made me do.” She pulled the pan off the burner and then turned back, ready to do verbal battle with the wretched man.

Unsteady on his feet, Isaac Graber hobbled across the kitchen floor and stepped out the back door, waving gray smoke out of his face as he shut it behind him with a slam.

Chapter Two

A gust of wind accompanied Ulla Ziegler through the back door. She hurried into the kitchen, the folds of her once-clean apron smeared with mud and brimming with a load of gritty brown potatoes and freshly pulled carrots. Fat rain drops spattered against the kitchen window.

Finishing the last of the breakfast dishes, Molly stopped mid-swipe. To her amazement her stout little mother, who slipped and slid through the door, managed to make it across the room without dropping one potato.

Molly’s brow rose in agitation. Her mamm’s plain black shoes had left a trail of gooey brown mud across the recently mopped linoleum floor. Naturally her mother made no apologies for the added work.

Wiping her hands dry, Molly couldn’t help but smirk. The sudden morning shower had turned her mamm’s wooly gray hair into a wild riot of curls around her untidy, limp prayer kapp.

A natural trader, the older woman was blessed with the gift of bartering and had bragged at breakfast about the promise of ten pounds of freshly dug potatoes from old Chicken John, a local chicken farmer, for six jars of their newly canned peaches. Molly had a feeling the old farmer had more than peaches on his mind when it came to her mother. She’d noticed the way the widower looked at her, not that Ulla gave the man much encouragement. Her mamm seemed satisfied with being a widow with no man to tell her what to do.

Isaac Graber came back into the house moments after Ulla, the wind catching the door and slamming it again as he fell into the closest kitchen chair. The renter jerked a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and wiped rain from his pale face.

Sniffing, Ulla took in a long, noisy breath and coughed on the kitchen’s putrid air. She dumped the potatoes into a wicker basket in the corner of the big kitchen and twirled.

“What’d you burn, dochder?” She jerked a dish towel off its peg and pressed it to her lips. Her watering blue-eyed gaze sliced from Molly, who stood transfixed in front of the cast iron sink, to the smoldering frying pan floating in a sea of sudsy dishwater.

Molly shrugged. She would not lie. She wanted to, but she’d never been good at weaving believable tales. Best to tell the truth. “The eggs got away from me.”

She waited for her mother’s reaction, her gaze slanting Isaac Graber’s way, daring him to deny the truth of her words. Had he had a chance to tell her mamm about what had happened this morning? She looked at the bump on his forehead and then glanced away. If her mamm made a fuss, she surely wouldn’t get to the singing practice on time.

Ulla looked in the kitchen trash and made a face, her full lips turned down at the corners. “You know it’s a sin to waste good food. That dog hanging around out back would have eaten those, burned or not.”

Ulla began to flap the dish towel around the room, propelling the smoke toward the slightly opened kitchen window.

“Molly didn’t forget the eggs, Mrs. Ziegler.” Isaac smiled and flashed his straight, white teeth. His green eyes sparkled with sincerity. “She helped me get off the floor when I tripped over my own big feet. The eggs paid the price for her efforts. Isn’t that right, Molly?”

Why was he taking up for her? She put her hands on her hips and looked him over. Pale and slender, he reclined in the old kitchen chair as calm as could be, his crutches leaning against the wall behind him. He smiled at her and her stomach flip-flopped. She went back to scrubbing the frying pan’s scorched bottom. Seconds later she glanced back up at him and caught him staring at her. What was he up to?

She’d expected him to be full of tales and gretzing to her mamm about this morning, and there he sat, being nice, even generous of heart. The man kept her off-kilter, and she wasn’t having any of it. “Ya, like he said, Mamm. He fell and I helped him up.”

One of Ulla’s gray brows spiked. She mumbled, “Ya, well. No matter. It’s gut you were here to help.”

Molly’s gaze drifted from her mamm’s suspicious expression back to Isaac’s calm grin. He had the nicest smile.

Ulla opened the cupboard door and asked, “You two want kaffi?”

“Ya.” Molly nodded and went back to scrubbing the pans.

Moments later mugs of steaming coffee and plates of buttered biscuits, with a dab of homemade raspberry jelly, appeared on the cluttered kitchen table. Molly sat next to her mother and looked at their new tenant. He gazed over his mug at her. A smile lit his face. She looked away, concentrating on spreading jam on her hot biscuit.

“Herr Graber tells me he bought the old bike shop yesterday and got it for a good price.” Ulla shoved half of her late-morning snack in her mouth and began to chew.

“Did he?” Molly blew on her hot coffee.

“Please call me Isaac.” He glanced at Molly, his green eyes bright.

Distracted by their shine, she took a gulp of coffee and burned her tongue, but would have died a million deaths before she let on. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he had once again disturbed her.

“I thought since Herr Graber had some issues with his crutches this morning, it might be gut if you went with him when he takes a look at the shop.” Ulla drained the last of her coffee and placed the mug on the table.

“You bought the shop sight unseen?” Molly asked.

Isaac nodded. “I did.”

Foolish man. She turned to her mother and tried to keep the whine out of her voice. “I’d love to help Herr Graber, but singing practice is today. There’s a frolic in a few weeks. I promised I’d come this time.” Molly watched her mamm stuff the last crumbs of her biscuit in her mouth and sighed. She knew the mox nix expression her mamm wore. There’d be no singing practice for her today.

“I’m sure I can—” Isaac tried to interject.

Ulla rose from her chair. “It is settled. No more chatter from either of you.” She dusted crumbs off her generous bust and headed for the sink, not giving Molly or Isaac another glance as she continued talking. “You are a paying guest, Herr Graber, and an Amish man in good standing with the community. Molly will be glad to help you while you stay here. She has nothing better to do.”

Nothing better to do! Molly held her breath, praying she wouldn’t say the angry words begging to come out of her mouth. As long as she lived in her mamm’s haus, she’d never have a say in her own comings and goings.

Molly stole a look at the dark-haired tenant and was amazed to see a hangdog expression turning his bruised forehead into a deep furrow. Maybe he didn’t want her to go with him. She pulled at her prayer kapp, content in knowing the idea of her tagging along was an irritation to the infuriating man. Molly put on her sweetest smile and purred, “Ya, I’ll take him. I can always go to practice next week. We wouldn’t want Herr Graber to fall again.”

* * *

Isaac balanced himself on one crutch as he wedged himself between the peeling garage wall and the rusty old golf cart. He eyed the cart’s front tire and gave it a tap with the toe of his boot. “How old is this contraption anyway?” Not completely convinced the rusty bucket would move with both their weight on board, he tossed his crutches in the big metal basket behind the bench seat and struggled to climb in. One hip on the cart’s bench seat, he scooted over as far as he could, giving Molly plenty of room to drive.

Molly gathered up the folds of her skirt and climbed in on the driver’s side. She kept her eyes looking forward, ignoring his questions about the cart. She started the engine. The machine sputtered for a moment, but then took off down the pebbled driveway with a roar.

Wind blew off his black hat. It dropped into the basket at the back of the cart. He held on and sucked in his breath as she took a corner too fast. Her prayer kapp fluttered against her head. The sound of glass breaking invaded his thoughts, the flashback so real it could have been happening again.

His breath quickened.

His heart pounded.

He practiced the relaxation techniques he’d been taught in the hospital, pushing away the memories of his leg twisted unnaturally under him.

Breathe deep and hold.

Traffic slowed, and he loosened his grip on the seat. Why were there no seat belts on these contraptions?

They drove through the tiny town of Pinecraft. Bahia Vista Street came up within a matter of minutes. Isaac thanked Gott for their safe arrival as Molly pulled into the driveway of a small strip mall and parked around the back of the little bike shop squeezed in between a fancy pizzeria and a Laundromat desperately in need of some paint. Isaac got out on his good leg, grabbed for his crutches as he wobbled like a toddler, fighting for balance.

“Here. Let me help.” Molly shoved his left crutch farther under his arm, handed him his blown-off hat and walked across the minuscule patch of paved driveway toward the shop’s wooden back door.

Determined to be independent, Isaac took a step. Pain shot up his leg. He stifled a moan and kept putting one foot in front of the other, leaning heavily on his crutches for support. The doctors said the pain would soon go away. The broken leg held together with nuts and bolts would finish healing. But he would always have a limp.

A split second in time had taken Thomas’s life and turned the past two months into the most miserable period in his life. He’d expected more of himself, of the surgery that was supposed to put him back on his feet. He was lucky to be alive. Painful memories pushed their way in again. The sound of an ambulance screamed in his head. He pushed the sound away and took in a deep, shuttering breath.

“The door’s locked. Do you have the key?” Molly asked, rattling the handle. She glanced his way, but seemed to avoid looking directly at him.

Isaac nodded. “The Realtor said it should be under this.” He carefully shoved away a pail of murky motor oil with his good foot. He bent to grab the silvery key, swayed and then felt surprisingly strong arms go round his waist to steady him.

Molly stood against him, her breath tickling his ear for long seconds. She made sure he was stable and then gradually released his body. Without a word she stepped away, pulled back her skirt and grabbed for the key covered in muck.

“You do the honors. This is your new business.” Molly handed him the key and then gave him room to maneuver closer to the door.

This business purchase had been on impulse, something he probably should have thought more about. He normally would have, but he’d been desperate for a reason to get up every morning. A reason to keep living.

His hand shook as he pushed open the door. He felt around for a light switch, found it, then flicked it on. A bare bulb lit the dark, cavernous bike shop with harsh light. Broken and bent bike parts, torn golf-cart seats and rusting tools lay strewed across a filthy concrete floor. Total chaos. He faltered at the door. Another fine mess he’d got himself into.

“Was isht?” Molly glanced around him and then said, “Oh!”

“Ya, oh.” Isaac maneuvered around scattered bike wheels and seats, carefully picking his way through the rubble that was Pinecraft Bike Rental and Repair. “This is what I get for buying sight unseen. What a zot I am.”

Molly walked around him, surveying the clutter. She looked Isaac’s way, her expressive brown eyes wide open.

He knew pity when he saw it. His stomach lurched. He didn’t want or deserve her pity. He’d earned everything bad that happened to him. Let Gott’s retribution rain down on him.

“You’re not a fool, Isaac. We all act impulsively sometimes. We’ll get this place fixed up in no time. You’ll see.” She grinned, her face flushed pink.

“We?” he asked, unable to resist the urge to tease her, to take his mind off his misery.

Molly turned her back to him and moved away. “Ya, we. The church. Pinecraft. This community. We always pull together. You are part of us now. You’ll see. Gott expects us to help each other.” Molly went into the small office with a half wall that looked ready to fall with the least provocation.

He watched a blush creep down Molly’s neck. She was young and beautiful in her own quiet way, not that he let her good looks affect him. She had no business being nice to him. She didn’t know him, know who he was, what he’d done. She’d soon lose interest when she found out the truth about his past.

“I’m good with numbers,” she offered. “If you need help with the books...” She turned, a ledger in hand, her gaze steady. “I’m available.”

In the past Isaac would have grinned from ear to ear if a young woman had advised she was available, but he was hearing what he wanted to hear in her words. Not what she’d really meant. There was no way someone like Molly would show interest in a man like him. “Danke. Let’s see if I get this business going before we worry about receipts and ledgers.”

“I need to tell you something,” Molly murmured, seeking his gaze, her look sincere.

“Ya?”

“Danke for not telling my mamm about how you got the bump on your head.”

“Ya, well. I told her it happened when I fell.” He picked up a box of rubber bands and set them on a small desk in the corner of the dusty room. Brooding thoughts assailed him. He pulled off his hat and pushed the painful memories away.

“You shouldn’t have lied for me.” Her brow arched. “There was no need. Gott will be—”

“Disappointed in me?” he interrupted, finishing her sentence. “Too late, Molly. He’s already more disappointed than you can imagine.”

“We have only to ask and Gott will forgive us,” Molly said, holding his gaze.

He turned away, pretending to be busy with clearing the desk of trash. He wanted Gott’s forgiveness more than he wanted air to breathe, but did he have the right to expect forgiveness after what he’d done?

“Does it hurt?”

“What?” He turned back toward her.

“The bump.”

“Nee.” He flipped through a pile of papers on the desk, forcing his gaze down. The bump did hurt, but he wasn’t going to tell her. Some things were best left unsaid.

“The swelling is going down some.”

He grinned. “I had a good nurse.”

Molly laughed out loud, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I usually try to keep my tenants as healthy as I can.”

“You mean when you’re not smacking them with a broom handle.”

She was a tiny woman, not much taller than his little sister back in Missouri. He didn’t understand why he enjoyed watching Molly bristle so much, but the frown now puckering her forehead made him grin.

“Ya, well. You know I didn’t mean to hurt you, Isaac Graber,” she muttered, jerking on her kapp ribbons with an air of indignation and scooted out of the little office space. When he checked on her again, she was busy wiping down shelves and stacking old parts manuals the previous owner had left behind.

Isaac chastised himself as he flopped into the office chair, the pain in his leg telling him he’d have to slow down or regret it that night. “I’m sorry for teasing you, Molly. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. My leg hurts, and the pain makes me grumpy.”

She walked over to where he was sitting, a dust rag hanging from her fingertips, her brows arched. She looked at the knee he was rubbing. “How did you injure it?”

He had discussed the crash with his daed, bruder, the bishop and elders of the church, but he wasn’t about to tell Molly how someone had died because of his stupidity. He turned back to the desk, lifting a big sales journal out of the desk drawer. “There’s not much to tell. There was an accident. I got hurt, went to the hospital for a while and had two surgeries. The doctor said the pain will go away in time.”

He forced a grin as he placed the book on the desk and pushed it her way. “Look at this. Whoever owned this place cleared out in a hurry. Wonder what the rush was?”

“Leonard Lapp owned the shop for years. I heard he retired and moved back to Ohio. His son took over the business a couple of years ago. I never met him, but rumors spread like wildfire here in Pinecraft. Some said he married an Englischer and abandoned the church, his faith and his daed’s business, too.” Molly looked down at the book and then at Isaac, searching his face, her curiosity about him evident in her expression. She started to speak again, seemed to think better of it and turned away. She busied herself again. He couldn’t help but watch her movements. She had a way about her, something that drew him to her like a moth to a flame.

He’d have to stay away from Molly Ziegler.

Chapter Three

Wide awake at four o’clock in the morning, Molly heard the insistent ring of another late-night caller. She sat up in bed and stretched toward the tiny cell phone approved by her bishop for midwife work. Her fingers searched the bedside table, hurrying to stop the cell phone’s ring before it woke the whole house.

“Ya. This is Molly.” She pushed back her sheet, put her feet on the cool floor and rose. “Are you timing the contractions, Ralf?” She laughed, reaching for the dress she kept hanging for nights like this. “Ya, I guess you’re right. Six kids are plenty of practice. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

She slipped on her simple work dress and work apron, then slid the phone into her medical case. She brushed back her tangled hair with fast strokes and then pinned it up in a tight bun before adding her kapp.

There was reason to hurry. Bretta, her friend since school, gave birth faster each time she had another child, and this birth would make number seven. There was no time for much more than a quick brush of her teeth, and she’d better be out the door.

She scurried down the hall, past Isaac’s door. Did his bump still hurt. She had no cause for guilt, but she still felt at fault every time she looked at the goose egg on his forehead. Grabbing her medical bag, she pulled open the back door, ran to her cart and shoved in the key. In light drizzle she pumped the gas pedal. The golf-cart engine sputtered and coughed. Oh, no. Not now. She’d never make it in time if she had to run all the way to Bretta’s house.

Isaac repaired engines and fixed bikes, didn’t he? He would know what to do.

Molly raced through the clapboard house and down the narrow hall. She tapped lightly on Isaac’s door and then began to bang harder. Time passed. Time she didn’t have. “Isaac. Are you awake? Isaac?”

A sound of something falling came from the room.

“Is the house burning?” Isaac asked through the closed door.

Molly pressed her cheek to the cool wood. “No, of course it’s not.”

“Then go away.”

Persistence was called for. She banged again. “I need your help, Isaac. Please.”

The door cracked open an inch.

She couldn’t see much of his face, but she could hear his heavy breathing. Had he fallen again? “I’m sorry to wake you, but there’s an emergency. My cart won’t start.”

His door opened a bit more. She could barely make out his form in the dark hallway. “What kind of emergency? Is your mamm hurt?”

Molly groaned. “No. Not Mamm. It’s Bretta. She’s in labor.” She heard him yawn.

“Who’s Bretta?”

“There is no time for foolish chatter. I need you to help me get the cart started.”

“Outen the lights before you try to start the engine. Your battery is probably as old as the cart.”

“I tried that, Isaac. All I got was a sputter for my efforts.”

She could see him run his fingers through his hair in the gloom. “And tell me why you are going out in the dark, to this woman Bretta at this hour? Is she your sister?”

“Nee, not my sister. My patient.”

“I didn’t know you were a doctor.” He cleared his throat and coughed, his voice raspy.

“She’s in labor. I’m her midwife. Please, Isaac. I don’t have time for all these questions. I need your help now. If you’re not inclined to help, just tell me. I’ll call Mose.”

“This Mose? Is he someone you’re courting?”

Molly had no patience for all this nix nootzing. “Look. I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to bed.” She rushed down the hall and back out the kitchen door. Where was a hero when a girl needed one? The term hero certainly didn’t apply to the impressive Herr Isaac Graber. All looks and no charm.

Flipping on the outside light, Molly rushed over to the cart, intending to give it one last chance before running the six long blocks to Bretta’s home.

She listened to the sluggish effort of the engine and groaned.

“Do you have gas in this lump of rust?” Isaac appeared out of the shadows and leaned on the cart, one crutch under his arm. He breathed hard and fast.

“Gas?” Had she remembered to fill the tank after their outing to the bike shop? Nee. She turned the key, looked at the tank’s gauge. Empty. What a bensel she was. No gas and a mamm-to-be waiting. Worse still, Isaac grinned like he knew what a bensel she was. “I forgot to fill the tank. What am I going to do? I have no choice but to run all the way, or disturb Mose.”

“Stop panicking and listen. Does your mamm keep gas around for the lawn mower?”

“I don’t know. Our neighbor, Herr Zucker, cuts the grass, but he does use our mower.” Molly headed for the shed just inside the fenced backyard. She pulled a long string on the wall. Light pooled a golden glow around her. She lifted a gas can off the metal shelf, shook it and then ran back to the cart.

Isaac stood barefoot next to the cart, his pajama bottoms soaking up the dampness from the grass underfoot. He had the cart’s gas cap in his hand.

She avoided looking directly at him and poured the gas in the cart’s tank. Isaac screwed on the cap and then surveyed her from head to toe. “You don’t look like any midwife I’ve ever seen.”

“And how many have you seen?” Molly asked, sliding into the driver’s seat.

He scratched his head and yawned wide. “Only you.”

She started the sluggish engine and began to slowly back up. “Thank you so much, Isaac.”

“I didn’t do anything. Just took off the gas cap and put it back on.” He started walking toward the back door, his one crutch taking all his weight.

“You saved the day and you know it,” she called over her shoulder and drove off into the night, her medical bag bouncing in the basket.

Glancing back, she watched the glow from the house light turn Isaac into a dark shadow as he slipped into the back door, his shoulders stooped. Why did the man have such a hard time accepting compliments? Didn’t he realize how important it was to have a midwife arrive before the baby? She smiled as she drove on into the darkness. Whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not, he was her hero tonight, and she’d show him her appreciation somehow.

* * *

“Food’s up.”

Molly scrubbed the last of the dried egg yolk off the table and headed toward the kitchen’s service window. Each step was painful. The new shoes she’d bought on sale tested her patience. She couldn’t wait to get home, take them off and soak her feet in a hot tub of shiny, fragrant bubbles.

Willa Mae, the owner of the popular cafe since Hurricane Katrina had displaced her, stuck a sprig of parsley on the edge of the plate of steaming home fries and perfect over-easy eggs. She pushed it toward Molly. “Table six, and make it snappy. He seems in a hurry.”

Putting on her friendly waitress smile, Molly took the plate and hurried over to the lone man sitting in the front booth by the door. His back to her, she placed the large plate in front of the newspaper the dark-haired man was reading and cheerfully rattled off, “Here you go. Fries and eggs. Hope you enjoy them.”

“I would have enjoyed them more ten minutes ago.” The man’s hand rattled his empty coffee mug to express his neglect.

“I’m so sorry, sir. We’ve been a bit busy and I... Isaac? Was tut Sie Hier?”

Pulling his plate closer, he folded his newspaper and looked at Molly. “Why do you think I’m here? I’m hungry and want my second cup of coffee.”

She hadn’t seen Isaac since he’d repaired the cart for her the day before. “Why didn’t you eat at home? Mamm made pancakes with hot apple-butter early this morning.”

“I’m a solitary man. I like my own company,” he grumbled as he cut his eggs into perfect bite-sized squares. He leaned over the plate to get the full benefit of a fork full of eggs and home fries. “Now, can I have some coffee to wash down my breakfast?”

“Ya, of course. I’ll get you coffee right away.”

Taking a fresh carafe of coffee off the heater, Molly hurried back, reminding herself of the café’s customer service policy. The customer is always right. She’d agreed with the policy when she’d taken the job a year ago, but some days it took perseverance and a cool head to be friendly and courteous to certain patrons who passed through the café door.

She grimaced as the toe of her built-up shoe hit the edge of Isaac’s booth, but kept a smile plastered on her face. “Let me pour you a fresh cup of coffee.” She went to pour, and before she could stop him, he reached for the tiny container of milk next to his cup.

Hot coffee splashed his wrist and shirt cuff. He jerked his hand away and reached for a napkin. “Do you really work here, or are you following me around, making sure I get hurt at least once a day?”

She spoke before she thought, her temper spiked by her throbbing toes and his grumpy words. “Has anyone ever pointed out how rude you are?” She put the carafe on the table harder than necessary. Her hands on her narrow hips, she glared at him, her smile gone. “If not, let me be the first. You are no ray of sunshine, Isaac Graber, and in future I’ll make sure another waitress comes to your table to abuse you.”

“That’s fine.” He sipped at his coffee and completely ignored her.

“Fine.” Molly turned on her heel and marched back to her section of the café, her fists clenched, and feeling more like a petulant child than a grown woman.

Willa Mae flipped several pancakes and then motioned Molly over to the service window. “You’re as red as summer sandals. What happened? That guy get fresh with you?”

“That guy is Isaac Graber, one of my mamm’s new boarders. Sometimes he makes me so mad.”

“Let me guess. Did he pinch your backside, child?”

“No, not at all. He’s...” Molly’s voice trailed off as she searched for the right word. “He’s not exactly weird, you know, just kind of friendly one minute and helpful and then he goes all strange and acts the fool.”

“Oh. I get it. He’s not showing enough interest in you and you’re mad.”

Molly straightened her kapp, tied her apron on a bit tighter and snapped, “Nee, that’s not it at all. He keeps accusing me of hurting him on purpose, like I spend my whole day thinking up ways to cause him pain.”

“You hitting on my customers?”

“You know perfectly well I’m not. Well... I did hit him in the head with a dust mop the other day, but that was completely his fault, not mine.”

Sliding a plate of golden pancakes Molly’s way, Willa Mae smiled, her dark weave shiny after standing over the hot grill all morning. “This story just keeps getting better and better. Tell me everything. When are you two making your announcement in church?”

Molly shot her best friend and boss a look that said it all. “These pancakes go to your gentleman at table six. Enjoy!” Willa Mae grinned.

* * *

Four hours later a midday band of rain swept in from the coast, surprising Isaac and leaving him a prisoner in his own shop. An hour passed. Not one customer came through the shop door. His early-morning meal at the café was nothing but a pleasant memory.

He rubbed his stomach. The wonderful aroma of hot pizza mingled with the less appealing odors of grease and dirt, but still his stomach stirred. An hour later it continued to rumble loudly, begging for lunch. He downed another bottle of water and tried not to think about food, especially the pizza shop next door. He wasn’t about to trust his leg and poor balance on the slippery sidewalk outside. He would wait until the rain stopped.

There wasn’t much he could do to pass the time while still on crutches. He called several cleaning businesses and wrote down price quotes. Sticker shock took away some of his appetite. The amounts asked to clear out the trash from the old building was enough to buy another electric golf cart. He’d need more carts to lease to the snowbirds pouring into Pinecraft from the north. The winter tourist season would quickly pass. Every day the bike shop wasn’t open he was losing money—money he needed for a permanent place to live.

A feeling of defeat swamped him as he looked around the shop, at shelves falling off the walls, trash littering the floor. An ache began to thump at the base of his skull.

The roar of a high octane engine pulling up to the curb outside drew his attention. He rose, shoving aside pieces of a dismantled blue cart in order to maneuver toward the front door. He leaned against one crutch as he wiped away some of the dried white paint swirled on the storefront windows to block out the sun.

The side door of a black van labeled Fischer Transport opened and he was surprised to see Molly jumping to the pavement, followed by several stocky Amish men. Women in tidy prayer kapps and plain dresses in a variety of shapes and colors followed close behind. Isaac opened the shop door and was inundated with slaps on the back, smiling faces and so many introductions he’d never remember them all.

Busy shaking hands with the men and nodding to the women, Isaac took time to glance at Molly and return her enthusiastic grin. Her warm brown eyes seemed to be saying, you didn’t think I’d leave you to clean up this mess on your own, did you?

A tall, curly-haired blond man with powerful shoulders and a firm handshake squeezed Isaac’s hand. “Willkumm to Pinecraft, Herr Graber. I’m Mose Fischer and this is my bruder’s son, Wilhelm. I’ve heard a lot about you from Molly. I thought I’d come see this youngie she speaks of so fondly, with his fine mind for motors and winning personality.”

Isaac nodded at the tall man and the skinny teenage boy standing next to him and smiled his welcome as he readjusted the crutch shaken loose from under his arm. “Molly’s been talking to you about me?”

“Ya, she has. Nasty bump you’ve got there.”

Isaac’s gaze skimmed the bland expression Molly directed his way. Had she told him what really happened? As if feeling guilty, she looked down, busying herself with a pile of magazines on the floor. “Ya. Like a bensel I fell over my own feet.”

“So I heard.” Mose winked, telling Isaac he knew what had really happened. “I hope you don’t mind us coming to help. We may live in a tourist town, but I think you’ll find Pinecraft’s a strong Amish community, ready to help out in times of need.” He slapped Isaac on the back. “Besides, I have an ulterior motive. One of my little girls has a bike that needs a tube replaced, and I don’t have time to work on it. You’ll find we do a lot of bike riding around here. There’s a real need for this shop to be up and running, for the community’s sake, as well as your own.”

Isaac looked around at the smiling people. They all seemed ready to work. He sent a grin of appreciation Molly’s way. She’d gathered this mob of workers for him, even though he’d been rude to her at breakfast this morning. He owed her a debt of gratitude. He’d find a way to pay her kindness.

Mose pulled on the arm of an Englischer man in jeans and a white T-shirt who was busy working on organizing parts against the wall. “Let me introduce you to one of our local police officers, Bradley Ridgeway.”

Smiling, his arm full of bike tubes and tires, Officer Ridgeway extended his free hand. “Glad to meet you, Isaac. Anytime you need help, you just let me know. I’ve got two sons who love their bikes. They’re going to be glad to hear the bike shop’s opening again.”

Isaac shook the man’s hand, but shame made him avoid looking directly in his eyes. “Danke,” Isaac managed to croak out. He turned away, pretending to be looking for something in the old desk in the office.

Molly moved close to him. He watched her as she and a well-rounded, middle-aged woman navigated a cluster of men working along the back wall. She caught his eye and motioned for him to join them.

“This is Becky Esch, our local baker,” Molly said, and linked her arm through the woman’s.

The older Amish woman smiled up at him, her startling blue eyes reminding him of his mother. Heavyhearted, Isaac nodded, quickly pushing away the momentary sadness that threatened to overwhelm him. “Ah...you must have been the one who made those wonderful doughnuts someone was passing around,” he said.

“Ya, well. Single men need nourishment, I always say, especially when they’re working this hard. I have an idea. Why don’t you come eat dinner with us some Saturday night? The girls and I could use some company. We get lonesome now that Zelner’s passed on to be with the Lord. It’ll be nice to have a man at the head of our table for a change.”

He glanced at Molly. The people crowded into the bike shop were her friends, not his. He wasn’t sure what to say, but relaxed when Molly grinned at him with a twinkle in her eyes. “Ya, sure,” he said. “That would be fine. Danke.”

“Gut. The girls and I will expect you at six next Saturday. And make sure you bring your appetite.”

As the woman walked away, Molly giggled under her breath and poked him in the rib.

“What’s so funny?” he whispered, his head tilting her way.

“You have no idea what you just stepped into,” Molly said, laughing with all the joy of a five-year-old. “Becky Esch has two old-maid daughters and she’s just set a trap for you.”

“You could have warned me,” Isaac scolded.

Molly’s brows went up as her smile deepened. “I could have,” she said, then straightened the ribbons on her kapp as she turned her back on him and shouldered her way through the throng of workers.

Isaac’s eyes narrowed as he noticed the slight limp in her gait. He didn’t know what to think of their push-pull relationship, but knew he’d better work harder at keeping his distance from her. Molly was the kind of woman he’d choose if he were looking for someone to court. But after what he’d done to Thomas, there was no chance he would risk getting married any time soon. If ever.

Chapter Four

Molly hummed as she worked for an hour in the hot kitchen, preparing rosemary pork chops, roasted new potatoes with chives and fresh green beans slathered in butter and onion sauce for later that night. A homemade cheesecake drizzled in thick strawberry syrup sat waiting on the kitchen counter. The meal begged for her mamm to come home with an appetite, but at 6:00 p.m. the house remained quiet and still.

Dinnertime came and went. Darkness shrouded the plain, wood-framed house, the only home she had ever known. The old clock in the front room chimed seven times before Molly rose from the kitchen table, flipped on the light over the sink and stored the uneaten meal into containers. She cleaned up the dirty pans and was wiping the last of the crumbs off the counter as Isaac walked through the back door, his face etched with tired lines from his long day at work.

“Something sure smells gut in here. Am I too late for dinner?”

Molly beamed, her mood lifting, glad for company and conversation, even if it was only Isaac. “Nee, not at all.” She pulled out a kitchen chair. “Come. Sit. Let me heat some food for you.”

Isaac removed his hat and tossed it on the spare kitchen chair. He ran his fingers though his hair before he sat. “No other houseguests tonight?”

“Nee. Our last short-term guest left early this morning. She’s on her way to see her sister in Lakeland, but she’ll probably stop for another night with us on her way back to Ohio. Seems everyone else went to Pinecraft Park for the bluegrass singing tonight.” She pulled the containers of food out of the refrigerator and then turned back to Isaac, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Is the shop ready to be opened yet?”

“I think so. I still need some parts, but they should get here in a few days.”

He flashed a grin at her that played havoc with Molly’s insides. She ignored the feeling and shoved their plates into the still-hot oven. “Gott brought you here. He’ll make sure the customers come through the doors, Isaac. We have to trust His will. Why don’t you clean up a bit while the food’s heating?”

He looked down at his dusty clothes and reached for his crutches. “Gut idea. I think I will.” He rose, wincing as he put his weight on his leg. “I won’t be long.”

She watched him lumber out of the kitchen, his limp more noticeable than it had been in days. Her heart went out to him. Pain was a lousy friend. She knew. She’d lived with it long enough.

Turning on another light to dispel the nuance of an intimate setting, she puttered around the kitchen, putting an extra place mat on the table, then some silverware. A tub of locally made butter was set in the middle of the table.

She stood still for a moment, listening to the sounds Isaac made at the back of the house. Just as she put down the bread plates and poured tall glasses of cold milk, he hurried back into the kitchen wearing clean work clothes, his hair slicked back from his thin face.

“I hope you don’t mind if we eat in the kitchen. It’s just you and me tonight,” Molly said. “I waited for Mamm, but she must have gotten held up.” Her mother usually served the last meal of the day in the more formal dining room, around the big wooden table that was large enough to seat twelve for Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Isaac returned to the chair he’d been sitting in moments before and leaned his crutches close by. “Ya, sure. Here is fine,” he said, taking a sip of milk.

She pulled the rack of reheated chops out of the stove. “I hope you like stuffed pork chops.”

“I do. They’re my favorite,” he murmured, watching her.

She placed the largest chop on Isaac’s warmed plate. “Would you like some cinnamon?” A bottle of the tangy spice hovered over the generous mound of homemade applesauce Molly had served him.

He nodded. “Sounds gut.” He tucked his napkin on his lap.

Molly carried the two plates she’d prepared to the table and placed one in front of Isaac before sitting across from him. “Salt and pepper is on the table if you need it.”

He glanced at the salt shaker close to him and then glanced back at her, a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Before we pray I want to thank you for all the help you brought to the shop today.”

“I’m glad we could contribute,” Molly said, not wanting to delve into her own motives too deeply. She owed him. That was all. He wasn’t the only one who could be a hero.

“You did more than help. I would have never been able to get the shop as clean and organized as it is now without all those additional hands. I owe you, and the kind people of Pinecraft.”

“All I did was call my brother-in-law, Mose. Once he heard about your situation, he made the calls and did the rest.”

“So Mose is family?” Isaac asked.

“Ya, he was married to my sister, Greta, but she went home to be with the Lord three years ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

She was surprised by the sound of sincerity in Isaac’s voice. Memories of Greta, her smile, the way she found good in everyone, came rushing back. Molly took a deep breath and ignored the pain prodding her heart. With a jerk of her head, she nodded. “Thank you, Isaac. I still miss her, but Gott had a plan. We don’t always understand, but we will once we can sit down and talk with Him.”

“Let’s pray so we can eat,” Isaac suggested, and bowed his head.

Moments later Molly lifted her chin and found herself grinning as Isaac tore into his food with the gusto of a starving man.

“That strawberry cheesecake on the counter looks special. Somebody’s birthday today?” he asked, his eyes shifting back to Molly. He sliced off a large piece of pork chop and stuck it into his mouth.

“Ya. Mine.”

“Happy birthday! How old are you?”

She dipped her head, ashamed to admit she was so old and still not married. “Twenty-one, but it’s no big deal. Mamm and I usually just celebrate alone with a home-cooked meal when it’s one of our birthdays.” Molly clasped her hands in her lap, putting on a bright smile she didn’t feel.

“Birthdays are always special, Molly. Especially when it’s your twenty-first.”

“Ya, I guess,” she murmured, her appetite disappearing. “It’s such a big deal, Mamm didn’t bother to show up for the event,” she muttered.

“I’m sorry.”

Molly tucked into her potatoes, determined to change the subject. “Ya, well, it doesn’t matter.” Not to Mamm it doesn’t.

* * *

A half hour later Ulla placed her purse on the cleared kitchen table, along with a small bag from the new bookstore in town. “I’ve been with John all day,” she said casually. “How was your day, Molly?”

“Fine.” Molly stayed quiet. Isaac had gone to bed, and she’d been left to finish the last of the cleaning up.

“Have you heard from Samuel today? He wanted to know when you two could start courting.”

“I have no interest in Samuel, Mamm. I told you this already.”

“Well, he has an interest in you, and I think it’s time you begin to show an interest in him.”

Molly ignored her mamm and left the kitchen, her head held high. It was her birthday, and all her mother could do was talk of Samuel Bawell. She had forgotten her birthday completely. Not that her forgetting was anything new or surprising. She often forgot Molly existed, unless there was a chore to be done that she didn’t want to do herself. Molly was still treated like an unwanted child, and she was tired of it.

Greta had always been her mother’s favorite daughter. When Greta died in childbirth, Beatrice and Mercy, Mose and Greta’s tiny daughters, had taken her sister’s place of importance in her mother’s heart. Molly didn’t blame the girls. They were beautiful, like their mother, not plain like her. The bobbels were blessings from Gott. She adored them like any devoted aunt would. They were innocent children and had no idea their grossmammi played favorites and made her younger daughter feel inferior.

Molly closed her bedroom door and leaned against it. Tears began to flow until her eyes burned with grit. She hated when people wallowed in self-pity, and here she was feeling sorry for herself, with a great big hole in her heart.

In the dark she walked across the small room and sat at her dressing table. With the flick of her wrist, she turned on her lamp and pulled the pins from her kapp and bun. She massaged her scalp, her blond hair falling like a heavy curtain down her back. Reluctantly she looked into the mirror. Her eyes were puffy, her lashes dark with tears. Her nose was red in the semidarkness of the room. She pulled her grossmammi’s brush through the tangles on her head and winced as it caught in her hair. She ignored the pain and lifted her hands to braid the long strands into a thick plait.

She stared at herself in the mirror. No longer a girl, but a woman of twenty-one now. An adult...limited by one leg shorter than the other, unmarried, not being courted by a man she could love, still living with her mamm. Failure looked back at her in the brown eyes of the woman she’d become.

She turned off her lamp, knocking over her dressing-table stool as she rose and blindly moved toward the tallboy dresser against the wall. In the dark she grabbed a nightgown from the drawer. The soft cotton gown smelled of lilacs, homemade washing soap and good, fresh air.

Tomorrow things were going to change. She’d come up with a new plan for her life. She’d learn to stand up for herself. She had to, or she’d fast find herself married to Samuel Bawell.

* * *

The next day the bell over the door rang, announcing another customer. Isaac was filled with excitement. He’d been busy selling, renting and repairing bikes all day. He’d sold his last two secondhand golf carts and left a voice mail with his supplier, telling him he needed to purchase two more used carts for repair and sale. After today he’d have no problem paying next month’s bills and still have money left over to buy a few supplies.

He looked up and was surprised to find Molly wandering around the shop. Today her pale pink dress put a healthy glow to her cheeks. She looked pretty, but then she always looked fresh and tidy to him. Even last night, with her joy robbed by her mother’s failure to celebrate her birthday, she’d seemed content with his company. He wasn’t sure what it was about her, but he enjoyed the way she made him feel when she was around.

He usually wasn’t one to be impressed with good looks. Before he’d come to Pinecraft, a good personality always got his attention first. But Molly seemed to radiate a special light from her dark eyes. And there was something about her tiny frame that made her look frail and helpless even though she was strong and capable, with a personality to match. “I’m surprised to see you here. Shopping for a new cart? The one you drive should be put in the town dump as a relic.” He smiled, waiting for reaction.

Her forehead wrinkled in response to his words. “There’s nothing wrong with my cart, and this is no time for teasing, Isaac Graber. I’ve come to talk to you about a serious matter.”

He noticed her dark eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. Concern washed over him. Over the past few days, he’d seen Molly in many moods, but nothing like this melancholy state of mind. “What’s wrong?” he asked, motioning for her to sit on the old couch.

She moved a few magazines and sat. “I don’t know where to start. You’re probably not the right person to talk to. I don’t even know if you consider me a friend.” Molly’s expression was grim, her mouth an angry line.

Isaac lowered himself into the seat next to her. He took her hand in his, considered the fine, delicate bones that held such strength. “Ya, of course you’re my friend. Don’t be silly. This shop wouldn’t be open today if it wasn’t for your thoughtfulness. You talk. I’ll listen.”

Molly sniffed, dabbing at her nose with her handkerchief. “My mamm and I had a fuss this morning.” Molly took in a deep breath. “She’s made a ridiculous demand, and I’m not putting up with it anymore. I’ve made a decision, and it might be the worst mistake I’ll ever make.”

Isaac thought back to the mistakes he’d made the day Thomas died. Choices that cost Thomas his life. Isaac understood regret only too well.

Hoping to cheer her up, Isaac smiled as he spoke in a teasing manner, “Ya, go on. Tell me about this terrible mistake you’re about to make.”

“It’s not that easy to talk about.” She looked up, and her frown deepened. “I don’t know why I came here.” She twisted her hand away from him. “I should go back home, take a nap. Anything to stop worrying.” She tried to stand, but he pulled her back to the couch. With trembling fingers, she pushed away the wisps of hair in her face as she looked at him. “I can be such a fool, Isaac.”

“You’re many things, Molly Ziegler, but foolish is not one of them. I see a strong woman before me. Someone who loves deeply and has a heart of compassion. I see no fool.” Their gaze held, eyes searching. Molly’s brokenhearted expression tugged at his soul. He felt emotions that were foreign to him, feelings that scared and excited him. At that moment he would give her the moon if he could, anything to bring back her joy.

Molly blinked, her head turning away. “I...” She began again. “I really need your help. I know I’m asking a lot, and you can always say no, but I don’t know who else to turn to, and if I don’t find an answer, I could end up married to a man I don’t love, maybe even be unchurched if I refuse to wed.”

“Tell me what you need me to do.”

Her chin dropped against her chest. “My mamm has plans, plans that don’t set well with me.”

“What sort of plans?” Isaac’s stomach knotted.

“She insists I court—nee—marry Samuel Bawell.” She tugged at her prayer kapp ribbon as she turned to look at him, tears pooling in her eyes. “I know everyone thinks he’s such a good man, but he’s not. I’ve seen a different side to him, one that concerns me.” A single tear clung to her damp lashes and then dropped to her cheek. “He can be rough and demanding when he doesn’t get his way and then go all sweet and gentle like it never happened. Mamm says it’s just my imagination, but it’s not. I won’t marry him, Isaac. Not without love.” Her gaze smoldered with raw, mixed emotions.

Isaac squeezed her warm hand, wishing he had the right words to comfort her. Arranged marriages still happened in his community back home, but most youngies picked their own mates nowadays. “She threatened to force you into this loveless marriage knowing how you feel?”

“Ya, and she will if it suits her purpose.” She sighed deeply and slowly as she tugged at her kapp ribbon again, her expression grim.

“What are you going to do?” Isaac had no advice to offer Molly. He couldn’t manage his own life issues. How could he help her?

“That’s where you come in.” She made an effort to grin at him through her tears, her cheeks flaming red. Her hand fidgeted with the handkerchief in her lap.

“Tell me,” Isaac encouraged.

“If my daed were alive, he’d put a stop to all this nonsense...but he’s not. Mamm has all the power. I’m just the old maid.” She pushed her shoulders back and held his gaze as she sniffed. “I know it’s a lot to ask of anyone, especially you, but I couldn’t think of anyone else who could help.” Her bottom lip began to quiver.

“I can’t help if you don’t tell me what you need of me,” Isaac encouraged, patting her hand.

Molly took in a deep, ragged breath. “Would you pretend to court me for a little while, act like you have a real interest in me? Between the two of us, we can consider it a joke. It would mean nothing serious or binding.”

Isaac’s eyebrows went up in surprise.

“I know we barely know each other, and that we don’t share affection in that way, but we’d only have to go places together. Be seen in public once in a while. Nothing more. Just pretend an interest to fool my mother and the community until Samuel goes back home to Ohio in a few weeks. Once he returns home, we can end the relationship. You can just tell people I wasn’t the one for you.”

Isaac looked at Molly, saw expectation in her eyes. Coming to him, asking him for help, couldn’t have been easy for her. He couldn’t let her down, not after all the help she’d given him. He owed her that much, but was still surprised when he heard himself say, “Ya, sure. I can do that for you. You’ll let me know when you want to start this pretending?”

Molly’s stressed expression relaxed. She smiled. “There’s a singing frolic in the Mennonite church tonight. All the youngies are going. If you’re not too busy...maybe we could go together and hold hands when we get there so others would see.” Molly’s expression grew pensive again, her smile disappearing.

“Ya, that sounds okay,” he said, not sure he was doing the right thing.

“Thanks so much, Isaac.” Molly threw her arms around his neck, squeezed hard and then jumped off the couch. “I’ve got to get home before Mamm does. We’ve got a new guest, and she complains when lunch meals aren’t on the table at noon.”

Standing, Isaac watched Molly hurry out the shop door, a relieved smile brightening her face. He ambled back toward his chair. What had he gotten himself into?

Silence greeted him as he turned back into his office. Pain coursed down his leg, reminding him he needed to take one of the pain pills the Englischer doctor had given him that morning. A few days of pain medication and maybe he’d stop snapping customer’s heads off just because he hurt in body as well as spirit.

He wanted to help Molly, but he didn’t want to give her the wrong idea, either. She’d been nothing but good to him, but she deserved someone better to court, even if their relationship would be nothing but pretense.

Leaning forward and looking around the clean, organized bike shop took the frown off his face. He’d never experienced such kindness from total strangers before. The people of Pinecraft had been generous to a fault. Getting to know them, he found Mennonites, Amish and Englischers all working side by side, without pay, but with a common goal. To get his business open.

He was almost ready to flip the Closed sign over to Open, and he had Molly and the people of Pinecraft to thank for that. She’d even brought in Mose Fischer, his first real customer. And now he was about to start a fake courtship with her.

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