Willow_Bride of Pennsylvania Page 2

  That was that. It felt just a little bit wrong to Amos that something as important as a marriage should be conducted by appointment, in a matter of minutes, at a stuffy courthouse. He’d arranged the meeting with the judge the week before, the paperwork was all in place, and all it took was a few signatures and a few encouraging words from Judge Peterson. Then, in the blink of an eye, he was a married man.

  As he escorted Willow out of the courthouse and helped her back up to the wagon’s bench, the tickling thought crossed his mind that he should grow his beard now, marking him to the world as a married man, like his father before him.

  He frowned as soon as the image of himself with a beard, wearing the simple straw hat of his parents’ community came to him. He wasn’t a part of that anymore. They had wedged him out as surely as if he and his entire family had been officially shunned. Of course, it was impossible to be shunned when he had never joined the Amish church in the first place, but the ache of missing something filled his heart just the same.

  “Is something wrong?” Willow asked as he settled on the bench and reached for the reins.

  “No,” he answered, too quickly. He forced himself to smile and reach over to squeeze her hand. “There’s just a part of me that feels like there should be something…more.” It wasn’t a lie. Hard as it was, he did feel like there should be more—to his life. Then again, that’s why he’d placed the ad and leapt at the opportunity to make Willow his wife.

  Which she was now.

  “It does seem a little odd that we’re married and we’ve only just met,” she said as he turned Jethro onto the road that would take them home to Paradise.

  She smiled as she said it, so Amos laughed. “God works in mysterious ways, I guess.”

  “He does.”

  She kept her smile as she gazed at the Pennsylvania countryside around them—the rolling hills and the waving trees, halfway through changing colors for the season. Most of the fields they drove through were nearly done being harvested, but cows wandered the hills, chewing grass, no matter what the season. Strasburg slipped away, leaving them with the feeling as though the two of them were alone, journeying home to a new life.

  “So tell me a little bit more about yourself,” Amos asked to pass the time as the miles wore on. Paradise was not that far from Strasburg, and they would be home soon, but until then….

  “There isn’t much to tell,” Willow answered, worrying at the fabric of her simple dress. She may have worked in a garment factory, but she looked as though she hadn’t had a new dress in ages. Amos vowed to change that. “At least, I don’t think there’s much to tell.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” He smiled. “Where did you grow up?”

  “In Pennsylvania, believe it or not,” she answered. “A small town in Lehigh County. My father was a shopkeeper. We didn’t have a farm or anything.” She flinched as though she’d said something wrong and turned to him. “I hope you don’t mind that I don’t have any actual experience on a farm. I like the idea of living on one, though.”

  The quickest flash of doubt rose up in Amos, but he ignored it. “I’m sure you’ll adapt in no time.”

  “I certainly hope so,” she answered warily.

  Amos snuck a sideways peek at her. Was she really that uncertain of herself? Other than a few lines she’d crossed out, her letters had seemed so confident.

  Confident or not, he told himself as they drove on, talking about less important things, he would give her any help she needed once she was settled. His aim was to make life as good for her as he hoped she could make it for him. He was so happy to have someone to share his home, his time, and his world with again that he was sure he could have the patience of Job as she adjusted.

  “Well, here we are,” he said at last as he turned the wagon off the main road and drove up the long, dirt driveway to the heart of his farm.

  “Oh, it’s beautiful,” Willow exclaimed, holding a hand to her heart, as he drew the wagon to a stop outside of the barn. “Just like something out of a dream.”

  Amos flushed with pleasure at the thought. “It’s a lot of hard work, but hopefully we can make that dream come true together.”

  He laughed at himself as soon as the words were out of his mouth. What a flowery thing to say. He couldn’t help it, though. Ever since Willow stepped down from the train, he’d been filled with a sense of rightness, like he’d made a good decision to go looking for a bride.

  It was a treat to show Willow around the house and farm, as if seeing the same sights he saw every day through a new set of eyes. He grabbed her carpetbag and escorted her up the back stairs to the kitchen door, letting her walk in front of him into the room that had been his mother’s domain growing up. He could still smell the tang of apple cobbler, chicken and dumplings, and savory sausage in the air now. The wooden counters and tabletops had the soft, worn glow of a house that had known happiness and was waiting for more. Rows of freshly canned vegetables and fruits lined the pantry, and more were stored in the root cellar—although this year he’d bought them at market. Next year, the shelves would proudly display the work of his wife’s hands, of Willow’s hands.

  “It’s so cozy,” Willow commented as they passed through a large dining room filled with handmade furniture and past a spacious hearth room with overstuffed furniture to the stairs. “I bet that fireplace is delightful on cold winter nights.”

  “It is,” Amos answered, though he imagined the room would be much cozier on a winter’s night when he was seated on the sofa, Willow tucked in his arms under a blanket. Children too, in time. He could imagine Christmas cheer, hymns and gifts and the scent of cinnamon and pine already.

  They headed upstairs, turning right at the top and starting down a short hall.

  “What’s in there?” Willow asked, glancing over her shoulder at the room to the left of the stairs, a room Amos firmly ignored.

  “Storage,” he answered, losing the happy glow in his heart for a moment. ‘Memories’ would have been a better answer. Memories best left where they were. He cleared his throat and pushed on, leading her to the largest bedroom at the end of the hall. “The house has five bedrooms, but this one is ours.”

  He pushed the door all the way open, revealing a big, square room with tall, curtained windows and walls painted a soft, mist gray. The bureau, wardrobe, and bed were carved out of cherry wood. A cedar chest rested at the foot of the bed, and a small table near one of the windows held a washbowl and pitcher. The bed was draped with an old quilt his mother had patched…after they had left the church. Its bright colors and fancy fabric reminded Amos of his parents’ spirit of triumph over adversity.

  “I cleared out some room in the bureau and wardrobe for your things, but it looks like you don’t have much,” he said, taking her carpetbag to the bureau and setting it on top beside his brush and comb. “This room gets the morning sun, which makes getting up at dawn that much easier. It stays pretty warm in the winter too, what with the fireplace and all.”

  He pointed to the small fireplace against the interior wall, but his glance caught on Willow’s wide eyes as she stared at the bed. A hitch of uncertainty caught in Amos’s chest. He’d been clear about them starting a family, hadn’t he? She said she’d wanted children too. “I thought it would be best if we started out the way we intend to continue,” he spoke softly.

  Willow nodded and smiled. It seemed forced at first, but quickly dissolved into something genuine. “Yes, of course.” She crossed the room to run her hand along the bed’s smooth, carved footboard. When she turned her head to look back at him with a modest glance, cheeks pink, Amos’s heart thudded against his ribs. “I trust you.”

  The simple statement took his breath away, filling him with a sense of pride in her that was almost wild in its suddenness. Willow was not only sweet and charming, she was beyond brave to put herself into the hands of a man she barely knew. It filled him with the rock-solid determination to do everything in his power to prove that her trust
in him was not misplaced—in their bedroom, in the work that he would show her how to do on their farm, and in the life they would build together. He hadn’t felt this uplifted by something since he was a boy.

  Willow continued on past the bed to a window. She drew back the curtains to take a look at the view and caught her breath. “It’s stunning,” she said. “You can see the bit of woods over there and the fields on that side, and hills and trees too. And, oh. There’s another house over there.” She turned to Amos, the afternoon sunlight illuminating her. “Who lives there?”

  The momentary elation Amos felt at the sight of Willow flattened. He dug his toe into the floorboards, ran a hand through is hair. “Those are my neighbors, the Lapps. And if you look to the right, you can see the Yoder’s farm too.”

  “I didn’t realize you…we have neighbors so close.” She went back to looking out the window, pressing against the glass to catch a glimpse of the Yoder’s farm.

  Amos’s heart sank further. He winced. “I’m not on good terms with them,” he said, knowing that it was a poor explanation for a much larger story.

  “Not on good terms?” She sent him a curious frown, then looked out the window again. “Why ever—oh. Someone’s coming.”

  “Someone’s coming?” Amos echoed her the way she had echoed him.

  He crossed the room in four long strides, brushing up against Willow’s side as he looked out the window. On instinct, he rested a hand against the small of her back as he peered down into the field that separated his property from the Lapp’s. Sure enough, someone was walking straight toward the house. Someone who spelled trouble.

  Chapter Two

  Dear Gillian, Emma, and Rose,

  I’ve arrived safe and sound at Amos Stoltzfus’s home in Paradise, Pennsylvania. Amos is a kind, handsome man, and already I feel lucky to have found him. We were married right away at the courthouse, then traveled to the farm. But already, something tells me that Paradise isn’t everything it seems. Almost as soon as we had arrived home, one of the neighbors came to visit, and the encounter was not what I expected….

  Willow craned her neck to see if she could get a better look at the man striding across the field that separated Amos’s yard from the stretch of woods and hill. The man was Amish, his beard indicating he was married, and he had his hands tucked into his pockets and a smile on his face as he walked in the afternoon sun.

  Amos took one look at him out the window, frowned, let out a rigid breath of frustration, then turned to march out of the room. His heavy footfalls rushing down the stairs sent Willow blinking. Curiosity propelled her after him, down through the cozy house that had given her such a good first impression, and out to the back porch.

  “What are you doing here?” Amos barked at the Amish man as he strolled into the yard. His unfriendly tone was enough to stop Willow halfway down the stairs. She gripped the rail and watched, heart beating as fast as it had when the train pulled into the station.

  “Amos.” The Amish man nodded. His smile stayed in place, but it was strained. He and Amos were close enough to the porch that Willow could see a streak of sadness in the man’s eyes. “Can’t a neighbor and an old friend stop by on a sunny afternoon to pass the time of day?”

  Amos didn’t answer. He snuck a peek at Willow on the porch. The same sort of strain and sadness that she saw in the Amish man’s eyes filled his. He pressed his lips into a tight line, then turned back to the Amish man. “Mark, I’d like you to meet Willow,” he said without answering the question. He held his arm out toward Willow, inviting her to come forward.

  Willow hadn’t had much cause for social interaction with men in her last two years at the factory, but she knew an uncertain relationship when she saw it. Her heart leapt at the chance to do something good, to present a kind and welcoming spirit to this neighbor. She smiled and stepped up to Amos’s side with a shy, “Hello.”

  “Willow is my wife,” Amos continued. The faint blush that painted his cheeks and the self-conscious flash in his eyes was perfectly understandable.

  The Amish man, Mark, raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t realize you were engaged.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. “Saul Byler just told me he saw you greeting a woman at the train station in Strasburg.”

  Amos’s expression darkened. “So you share gossip with Byler now, do you?”

  Willow caught her breath at the sudden rise in tension, darting a look between the two men.

  Mark held up his hands and let out a careful breath. “We share a property line on the far end, down by the creek. I was mowing that section of hay when Saul drove across the hill on the way back from the market, and he mentioned it.”

  Amos said nothing, but crossed his arms and grunted. Willow’s back itched with the need to know what was going on between these two men. If they were enemies, then why would Mark have come to ask about her the moment he heard about her arrival from someone else? But if they were old friends, like Mark had said, why would Amos be so cold to him?

  “I’m sorry, where are my manners.” Mark shifted his focus to Willow. His smile returned, and he held out a hand to her. “Mark Lapp, your neighbor over the hill.”

  Willow peeked at Amos before taking Mark’s hand in a quick shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She added a smile, checking again with Amos to see how he would react. “Perhaps we should have you over to supper sometime.”

  Amos’s expression darkened, and tiny lines of strain formed around his eyes and mouth. Willow felt the impact of that expression as if he’d scolded her. She hadn’t been at the farm for more than half an hour, and already she was muddling things and making a fool of herself.

  “I mean…that is….” She had no idea how to fix the mistake she’d made.

  “If I had known Amos was getting married, I would have invited both of you over for supper at our place,” Mark rescued her. “My wife, Beth, is the finest cook in the district and loves to entertain.”

  “Thank you, but we won’t be taking you up on any offer,” Amos answered. Willow’s heart sank. Amos must have noticed. The color in his face grew more pronounced, as if he regretted his harshness. “What I mean is, it’s still the end of the harvest season, and we have a lot to do around the farm. Willow has just arrived here and needs time to settle in.”

  “But it was a lovely invitation,” she added, surprised by her own daring. It was pleasant to think that there was another woman, another wife, just over the hill.

  “Of course.” Mark nodded to Amos and smiled at Willow. “I won’t interrupt, then. I’ll just wish you happiness and blessings on your marriage. Beth will be so happy to hear you’ve finally found someone.”

  Willow’s brow shot up. Amos barely acknowledged the comment and only nodded as Mark turned to go, but the statement stuck with her. Had people been waiting for Amos to marry for a while? Was there some sort of story of his past, some reason why he hadn’t taken a wife sooner?

  But of course there must be a story. Behind why Amos hadn’t married sooner, behind why he and Mark were so stiff with each other, behind Mark coming all that way to check on him after hearing one tiny rumor. Willow let out a breath and hugged herself. She’d been so carried away by the idea that she was starting a new story in her life that she hadn’t considered she could be walking into the middle of someone else’s.

  Amos let out a noisy breath and turned to her once Mark was out of earshot. “I’m sorry,” he said, head lowered. “I shouldn’t have let that situation become so awkward.”

  “No, it was all right.”

  He shook his head. “It wasn’t. I’ve never been good at awkward situations.”

  Willow relaxed, touching his arm and giving him what she hoped was a forgiving smile. “Everyone has a reason for behaving the way they do around other people, especially when there is some sort of a past involved. But you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  A relieved smile softened Amos’s features. He placed one of his large hands over
Willow’s. “I’ll tell you, I just have to think of the best way to do it.”

  Willow nodded. Considering that they’d met only hours ago, that was a generous thing to say. “In the meantime, if there really is a lot of work to be done here on the farm, I wish you’d show me what I can do to help.”

  “I can definitely do that.” His smile returned, and he shifted to take her hand in his, starting to walk toward the barn. “I own a few milk cows, a dozen chickens, and a pair of goats. What I don’t end up using of the milk and eggs I take to the market in Strasburg every other week. I hire a couple of young men to help with the farm work, and they’ve been the ones milking the cows and goats. Do you think that’s something you’d be able to take over doing?”

  Willow stopped in mid step. A large black and white dairy cow ambled around the end of the barn to stare at her as Amos asked his question. “Oh dear. I’ve never milked anything in my life.”

  The cow chewed its grass, looking unimpressed with her. Amos chuckled. “I’ll teach you. It’s not that difficult.” He paused. “You aren’t afraid of large animals, are you?”

  Was she? Willow cocked her head to the side, meeting the cow’s eyes. It didn’t seem any more intimidating than a room packed full of clacking, rattling sewing machines, and she’d gotten used to that kind of work in a hurry.

  “No, I’m not,” she decided, chest filling with pride.

  “Good.” Amos tugged her to walk on. “Because it would be a great help if you could take charge of as many of the chores in and around the house as possible, at least until we have children old enough who can be responsible for them.”

  She caught her breath at the statement. Bearing and raising children was far more intimidating than milking cows and collecting eggs.

  That thought was forgotten as the two of them stepped into the barn. The first thing that caught her eye was a dusty black buggy, exactly like the ones she’d seen Amos’s Amish neighbors driving on the way home from Strasburg. It didn’t look like it’d been used for years, but there it was, clear as day, waiting.