A Simple Hope: A Lancaster Crossroads Novel (42 page)

The sound of the creaking bed inside reminded her of dear Lizzy, and Fanny flashed back to her first time, when she gave birth to Will. At the time, her husband Thomas had been the knowing one, having had three children with his departed wife.

For the most part, Amish women went through the paces quietly when they had their children. And that was a good thing, with so many women having ten and twelve children. Fanny had seen her grandmother Martha handle them with a steady gaze, a minimum of words, and a firm hand in the years when Fanny had assisted her mother and grandmother, who were midwives in Ohio.

Rocking gently in the chair, Fanny warmed over thoughts of the large family she had left behind. As a girl, she had been content to help out at the birth center in Sugar Valley. She had been happy as a lark with her family and friends there, until she had fallen for David Fisher, who had been visiting from Pennsylvania. Hard to believe that was more than ten years ago.

When David had asked her about Sugar Valley, she’d told him that it was a good stretch of Gott’s acres. “Everything I love is here in Sugar Creek,” she said.

“Not everything,” he’d responded. “I’ll be heading back home next week, and I don’t want to go without you.”

Verhuddelt
though it seemed, it had felt right as rain to follow him back here to Lancaster County and get married soon as wedding season allowed.

The Fisher clan had welcomed her here in Halfway. Many of them were bakers, with a successful shop in Halfway, but her David had wanted to work the land. He had been handy with machinery and good with animals—apt skills for a farmer. They had been living in a small outbuilding on the Fisher farm, saving up for their own house, when David died in a farming accident. She had been hanging wash outside on the line when she got the word. And suddenly, in the blink of an eye, she became an Amish widow living in a settlement hundreds of miles from home.

Although the community had supported her, she had not been comfortable living on their charity, and with her marriage so new, she had never felt completely accepted by David’s family. Although the words were never said, she sensed that they were disappointed David didn’t choose a wife from here in Lancaster County. The family was never cruel to her, but she didn’t have a friend among them.

Fanny had been making plans to return to Sugar Valley when the bishop had asked her to help out a family in need. Thomas Lapp needed a woman to come in and do some cooking and cleaning and minding his young ones, seven-year-old Elsie, ten-year-old Emma, and Caleb just coming into his teen years. Fanny had accepted because it was the charitable thing to do, and she’d stayed because the children had won her heart, along with their kind, thoughtful father.

A gray cloud of grief had hung over her, but Fanny had learned how to occupy her hands to ease her mind. As months went by, her heart began to mend, and Tom and the children kept her on her toes. One year after David’s death, to the day, Tom came into the quiet kitchen while she was cutting vegetables and the children were
off doing chores. His muscular arms were brown against the blue of his shirt, and instead of taking his usual seat at the table, he had stood behind her, his hat in his hand.

“It’s time that we talk, Fanny.” She turned to find his eyes glimmering, his fingers pinching the brim of his hat nervously. “I haven’t said anything until now, out of respect to David, may he rest in peace. But I want you to know that I believe Gott sent you to us, Fanny. You’re like a part of the family now. And I’m asking if, well, if you ever see fit to court again, I’d like to be on the top of your list.”

Fanny told Tom that she hadn’t planned to court again—and she held true to that plan for a few weeks. But as time passed, she had realized that, in large and small ways, Tom Lapp had become a good friend to her. A dear friend. And though she tried to push him away, after a year of working in his household, he had already found a place in her heart. He didn’t push her, but he was always there by her side, kind and good.

“How is it that the carrots have all this space, and yet they grow right against each other?” she had asked Tom one day as they’d worked together in the garden. “See this?” She held up two fat carrots that had twined so close, they were nearly one.

Tom stepped over the broccoli and came to kneel by her side as he examined the tangled carrots. “Maybe carrots are like people,” he said, pushing back the brim of his hat so that she could see the glimmer in his eyes. “No one should be alone. People could spread out over the land, and yet, we live together. A community, a family. A couple.”

With a broad smile, she put the two carrots in her pail. “I was only talking about vegetables, Tom.”

“I know. But I’ve been looking for a way to talk about this, and carrots are as good as any.” He took her hands in his, capturing her eyes. “Marry me, Fanny. You know I love you, and you’re already a
mother to my children.
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, now. Can’t you find room in your heart for an old widower like me and three children who need you?”

It wasn’t the first time he had asked her … but somehow, that day, she did find the room in her heart and the courage to say yes. Thankfully, the children were at school, so no one was there to see the two of them kissing in the garden, promising love and faith in the narrow rows between fat bunches of broccoli.

Dear Tom! Somehow he had found the twisted, narrow path to her heart.

Placing the baby on her shoulder to pat out the gas, Fanny rose and swayed back and forth. “Your father was a good man,” she told her son. “How he would have loved you, little Tommy. But it was not part of Gott’s plan.”

She and Tom had enjoyed eight good years of marriage before he passed, and Gott had blessed them with three children, as well as Tom’s three, whom Fanny was still raising as her own. Getting old, those three, but she smiled as she thought of their little family. It was up to her to manage the household now—a big job, but Gott never gave a person more than she could handle. Fanny’s heart was still heavy, and there was no getting over the emptiness Tom had left behind. But Gott had blessed her with wonderful children.

Setting Tommy back in the budda nesht, Fanny made herself a cup of tea and brought it into the bedroom, where Lizzy lay on her side, her eyes focused on the picture of the waterfall. All was good.

Just then Lizzy was jolted from her resting place with a fitful cry. She rolled to her knees on the bed, lost in a strong wave.

That was when Fanny noticed the dark stain on the plastic sheet. The once clear waters had turned brown, the color of dried leaves on October. That meant the baby was in some trouble. Without wasting words, she tended to Lizzy, then went to find Joe.

Fanny tried to calm her racing heart with measured steps to the kitchen. A panicked midwife was no help to anyone.

She was relieved to see Joe was back, pacing. “Is the baby coming?”

“Soon, but there could be a problem. We need the doctor, Joe. A doctor or nurse, and there’s no time to waste. Go now, and find Doc Minetta.”

He pressed his straw hat onto his head. “Is Lizzy all right?” he asked, his eyes growing round with alarm.

“I’m more worried about the baby. If you can’t find Dr. Minetta, call Doc Trueherz’s office again. Tell Celeste we need help and—” She stopped short of telling him to call an ambulance. There wasn’t an emergency. Not yet.

“I’ll call the doc’s office. And I’ll get folks out on the road to watch for him and send him our way.” As Joe hustled out the door, Fanny pressed her hands together at her chin and said a silent prayer that Gott would bring this baby to them in good health.

Then, with a deep, steadying breath, she turned and went back inside to tend to Lizzy.