The Amish Widow's Rescue Read online

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Rachel J. Good

  Cover design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes

  Cover illustration by Trish Cramblet

  Cover copyright © 2019 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  Hachette Book Group supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  Forever

  Hachette Book Group

  1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10104

  read-forever.com

  twitter.com/readforeverpub

  First Edition: May 2019

  Forever is an imprint of Grand Central Publishing. The Forever name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking events. To find out more, go to www.hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 376-6591.

  ISBN: 978-1-5387-1130-9 (mass market), 978-1-5387-1131-6 (ebook)

  E3-20190409-DA-NF-ORI

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  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

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Discover More

  About the Author

  Also by Rachel J. Good

  Fall in love with these charming small-town romances!

  Explore book giveaways, sneak peeks, deals, and more.

  Tap here to learn more.

  To the three sweet Amish children who were the inspiration for Grace’s family.

  Chapter One

  Grace Fisher stood staring after the Englisch doctor who’d just handed her a huge wad of bills. He left through the side entrance of her barn so he couldn’t be seen from the house. She longed to run after him to return his money. But she could never erase the information she’d given him. She’d betrayed her niece Miriam hoping to save a baby.

  The money burned her fingers and her conscience. Judas had accepted thirty pieces of silver. Have I just done the same?

  Her daughter toddled toward her and grasped a handful of Grace’s black work apron to stay upright. Grace reached down and swept Libby into her arms. The comforting scent of her daughter’s plump body, the horsey smell of the Morgan stamping in his stall, and the cows lowing to be milked all drew her back to the barn and to her work.

  But first she needed to do something with the money. After checking over her shoulder to be sure her three-year-old son was still playing with the barn cat, she headed to the farthest stack of hay bales. Levi was now at the age where he noticed details and blurted things out at inappropriate times. The less he knew about this, the better.

  If her husband discovered she had this money, he’d take it, and Miriam would never see a penny. Rightfully, this money belonged to their niece. All of it. Perhaps turning it over to her would relieve some of Grace’s guilt.

  She poked a hole in the top hay bale in the darkest corner. Although she was the only one who fed the animals, she still wanted to hide the roll of bills well. After pushing the money into the opening she’d made, she pulled bits of hay down to cover it until no green showed.

  She needed to hurry. The encounter with the doctor had made her late for the milking, and Melvin would soon be roaring for his supper. With Libby clinging to her, Grace fed and watered the animals. Usually she requested Levi’s help, but right now it would be faster to do it herself.

  Then, hugging Libby close, she rushed to the first stall to milk Daisy. After settling onto the stool, she shifted her daughter in her lap. It wasn’t easy doing chores with a child in her arms, but she’d learned to do many things while holding her babies. If she’d soon be adding another little one to their family, the practice would come in handy.

  Grace dreaded telling Melvin the news. Most Amish men were delighted about having children, but Melvin’s moods could be quite unpredictable. He might be noncommittal, or he might rage.

  After wiping the cow’s udder with antiseptic, Grace began the rhythmic motions of squirting milk into the pail. The familiar ping of liquid hitting the metal calmed her nerves. Levi joined her as she prepared to milk the next cow, so Grace put Libby down and placed Levi on the stool in front of her. He was old enough to do chores now. Although it would take much longer, she guided his small hands as he cleaned the cow and struggled to get milk.

  “You’ll soon be strong enough to do this. Try again,” she encouraged him.

  To his delight, some milk dribbled into the pail. He giggled. “I did it.”

  “Yes, you did.” She placed her hand over his to strengthen his grip. “That’s the way. Keep going like this.” She bit her tongue before she praised him too much. Children should not be prideful. Neither should adults, but her spirit swelled with joy at his accomplishment.

  After the milking was finished, Grace picked up the two full pails and, with the children clinging to her apron, headed for the barn door, her stomach queasy. They’d been out here much too long. Melvin would be furious if his supper was late. When he flew into a temper, he often berated the children.

  The barn had been cold, but when Grace opened the door, frigid winds slapped her in the face. She wished she could protect her little ones from the cold—and their father’s wrath.

  The doctor had questioned her about her husband’s moods and asked if Melvin ever hurt her physically. She’d said no, but the look in his eyes made it clear he hadn’t believed her. But she’d told him the truth. Or most of it. With his weight now hovering over three hundred pounds and with all his health issues, Melvin couldn’t get up from the couch to touch her. As long as she and the children stayed out of arm’s reach, they were safe.

  Melvin was no longer the quiet, taciturn man she’d married four years ago. He’d lost his roofing job a year into their marriage when the company folded, and since then he’d been morose.

  Despite being pregnant with Levi, Grace had sold jam to make ends meet. She often suspected friends and family bought her jams more to help her and the family than to serve at meals. Everyone in the community could easily make their own jams and jellie
s. But that first summer, a few tourists had stopped when they saw her homemade wooden sign by the driveway. They’d bought a dozen jars, and soon orders flowed in from several Englisch specialty shops in other states. Grace had gotten a business license and a home inspection, and now she worked long hours filling orders. Most of the Amish shops and tourist spots in the Lancaster area carried her jams too.

  But the more successful her business grew, the more Melvin’s spirits plunged. He’d been unable to find another job. His health declined, and Grace soon had to take over all of his farming chores. The more Melvin sat, the larger he grew. And the worse his temper became. Today, the doctor had suggested her husband might be suffering from depression and urged her to be sure he had a physical soon. But how could she suggest that to Melvin? He’d have a fit.

  The nauseous feeling in Grace’s stomach increased as she neared the back door. How much of it was from the baby she suspected she was carrying and how much from anxiety? She was keeping too many secrets. But she couldn’t tell Melvin about the baby. At least not yet. And if she told him about the money, he’d know she betrayed his niece. Her roiling stomach might also be from guilt. She shouldn’t be concealing anything from her husband.

  When they reached the back porch, Levi let go of her skirt and raced up the steps. Before she could warn him to be quiet, he banged through the door, letting the storm door slam shut behind him.

  By the time Grace opened the door, her husband’s low snarl was coming from the living room, and she cringed. Levi halted midway through the kitchen. His head hung low as his father berated him. Grace longed to hug him, to cover his ears, to stop the flow of angry words. If she did, they’d all pay. She settled for squeezing Levi’s shoulder as she passed, hoping Melvin wouldn’t notice. He could only see part of the kitchen from his perch on the couch.

  Her son glanced up at her gratefully, and she signaled her love and support with a brief smile. But that was enough to direct Melvin’s attention to her.

  “It’s long past time to cook supper,” Melvin barked. “What took you so long?”

  “The man…” Levi lisped in his three-year-old drawl.

  “Man?” Her husband stared at her accusingly. “What is he talking about?” He waved a hand toward their son.

  “I, umm, that is…” Grace set Libby at the kitchen table so she could keep her back to Melvin for a few moments to compose herself before turning to face him. She clutched the sides of her work apron to keep from wringing her hands together. If she did that, Melvin would know she was hiding something.

  Yet her conscience wouldn’t allow her to do something dishonest. She had to tell him the truth, the whole truth, even if it meant he took the money from her, even if he exploded.

  “Why was a man in the barn?” he snapped. “Who was he?”

  Bowing her head and keeping her eyes downcast, Grace sucked in a quick breath, but her words still came out shaky. “Th-that Englisch doctor who bought the jam.”

  “He came back to return it? It wasn’t to his taste?” The sneer on his face made it clear he didn’t think much of her jam-making business.

  Grace bit her lip. “No, he didn’t return it.” She kept her voice meek and gentle because the Bible said a soft answer turneth away wrath. Although it rarely worked with Melvin. “He wanted to ask me a question.” How could she tell him about Miriam?

  “He couldn’t have asked it when he was here in the house buying jam?” His eyes narrowed. “Or was it private?”

  At the way he emphasized the last word, Grace’s cheeks heated, and the words she’d been trying to form died on her lips. Was he accusing her of being unfaithful? She squeezed her eyes shut briefly to hold back tears. Then, keeping her tone as measured as possible, she said, “He wanted Miriam’s address.”

  “You didn’t give it to him,” he said, but his eyes held a question.

  Grace froze, and her mouth dried out too much to answer.

  Melvin’s face purpled. “You did, didn’t you?” He pushed himself partway up from the couch, and Grace took a step back. “If they find out, they’ll make me pay back the money.” Spittle flew from his lips. “You didn’t care about that, did…” His voice trickled off into a gurgle, and he clutched at his heart. Then he keeled over, hitting the floor with a thud.

  * * *

  Elijah Beiler had just helped his father back into bed when someone banged on the back door. He had no wish to speak to anyone. For years, he’d been a recluse, avoiding church on Sundays, despite being censured, and occasionally meeting the truck driver who collected his milk for the distributor. Most of the time, though, he could leave notes for the driver. If families in the community needed help with a barn raising, he’d attend but volunteer for one of the more solitary jobs.

  He intended to ignore the light banging, but a shrill child’s voice shouted, “Help!”

  A child. Elijah’s gut tightened. He did his best to avoid children ever since his sister…

  The yell came again. Praying it wasn’t a prank, he rushed to the door. His neighbor’s little boy stood on the doorstep. “Something bad happened to Daed. Mamm said call the bu-wince.”

  Elijah blinked at him. Bu-wince? What in the world was that? “Is your daed hurt?”

  The small boy, who had the same reddish hair and long eyelashes as his mamm—not that Elijah noticed things like that, of course—nodded vigorously. “He fell on the floor.”

  Elijah hadn’t seen Melvin Fisher outside the house in years, but he’d heard rumors that he’d become extremely overweight. If he fell, his slim wife could never help him up, although she did seem to manage all the farming chores on her own.

  “Call quick,” the little boy said.

  Then it dawned on Elijah. Ambulance. That’s what the child had been saying. “Stay right here,” he commanded, pointing to the porch. Then he ran to the barn to call 911.

  The Fishers didn’t have a phone, but Elijah had one in the barn for the dairy business. He made the call, gave the address, and rushed back out. Until the ambulance came, he might be able to help. He’d volunteered at the fire company when he was younger, so he had some emergency training.

  Scooping up the small boy, he raced across the side lawn to the house next door. He barged through the back door without knocking. “I rang 911,” he called out. “They’re sending an ambulance.”

  Through the kitchen archway, his petite redheaded neighbor was tugging and pulling at her husband’s huge inert body. The man appeared dazed, but conscious, and seemed to be struggling against her efforts.

  “What happened?” Elijah asked as he hurried into the room.

  “I think it’s his heart.”

  Elijah couldn’t resist the plea in her soft green eyes. “Let me help,” he said, moving to the opposite side. Pulling his gaze from her eyes, Elijah forced himself to meet her husband’s. “You didn’t hurt or break anything when you fell, did you?” When the man shook his head, Elijah said, “If we all work together, we can prop you up against the couch.”

  Elijah had fought stubborn cows and lifted heavy equipment, but nothing prepared him for the deadweight of the corpulent man on the floor. A man who seemed to be doing nothing to assist them. They’d barely managed to move him a few inches when Melvin gasped and went limp.

  Cardiac arrest. Elijah’s training came flooding back. Putting one hand on top of the other and interlocking his fingers, he pressed on Melvin’s sternum. After each compression, he waited until Melvin’s chest recoiled and then pressed again. Three, four, five…Elijah counted until he reached thirty.

  Then he slid his hand under Melvin’s neck to tilt his head back and open his airway. Pinching Melvin’s nose, Elijah completed two breaths and returned to thirty compressions. Over and over he silently repeated two breaths, thirty compressions, two breaths, thirty compressions until the ambulance siren whirred outside.

  Grace rushed to the door to let the EMTs in. Elijah continued his rhythm until one of the men set a hand on his shoulder. Exhaus
ted, Elijah rocked back on his heels and took in a long, slow breath. Then he stumbled to his feet and stepped aside, his heart pounding from adrenaline, as the EMTs shocked Melvin.

  Grace stood framed in the kitchen doorway, the children behind her, peeking out from behind her skirt. Her hands were clenched in front of her, and her gaze remained focused on the EMTs bent over her husband. Elijah wished he had some way to help, to reassure her.

  One EMT stood. “We need to get him to the hospital now.”

  Icy wind blew through the door as the driver wheeled in the stretcher, which left snowy tracks across the polished hardwood floors. Elijah assisted them in settling Melvin onto the stretcher, which groaned and creaked under his weight. Then they whisked him out the door.

  Elijah turned to Grace. “Did you want to ride along to the hospital?”

  She glanced down at her son and daughter, who were staring after the stretcher. “I-I can’t.”

  “Go ahead,” he urged, waving her toward the door. “I’ll watch the children for you.”

  “But they haven’t had any supper or…”

  “Don’t worry. I can handle everything. You should be with your husband.” He motioned toward the door. “You’d better hurry.”

  She glanced at him uncertainly, and he tried to project an air of calmness and competence. Once she’d snatched up her black bonnet and cape and hurried out the door, all his bravado leaked out. As a confirmed bachelor with no siblings or nieces and nephews, he had no idea how to care for children.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  Chapter Two

  The cold winds that had blown through the door chilled Elijah’s skin, but the iciness of being left alone with two young children penetrated his insides. A combination of panic and dread gripped him. The only way to deal with this situation was to steel his emotions—and his heart.

  A small hand tugged at his shirt sleeve. “I’m hung-wee,” the little boy lisped.

  Elijah struggled to interpret the words. He settled on hungry. It seemed he pronounced r’s as w’s. “Yes, we should eat.”