The Rancher's Second Chance (Martin's Crossing Book 3) (17 page)

Epilogue

G
race stood in the vestibule of Martin’s Crossing Community Church. She peeked through the doors that were closed so that her entrance would be special. It would be special, all right. As a mom, she knew the faint cries of her daughter, drifting back through the church. Bria was with her granny, but she had just sounded the dinner bell, wanting her mommy.

Grace’s dad patted the hand on his arm. “Your mom can handle this.”

“I know she can.”

She watched as her new sisters walked down the aisle as bridesmaids. Oregon first with Duke, Jake with Breezy, and Samantha had informed them all she would walk herself down the aisle. So there wasn’t a third groomsman. She’d learned that Sam did what Sam wanted, no matter how her brothers tried to control her. In that way she was very much like the half sister just eighteen months her junior. Kayla wasn’t at the wedding. She’d taken a plane out of the country, just to annoy her dad.

“You’re up, sunshine,” her dad said with a slight catch in the words. She looked up and caught the tear that trickled down his cheek.

“Daddy, you don’t have to cry.”

“Of course I do. My little girl is getting married today. You’re going to leave your mother and me, and you’re going to be a wife to Brody Martin. I like that young man, but I’m entrusting to him one of my most valuable possessions, something I cherish, my daughter.”

“Now you’re going to make me cry.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Don’t cry. But do be happy, Gracie. Be content. Be a woman of faith who raises her children to have faith.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all any of us can do. And never go to bed angry. Talk things out.”

“Got it,” she whispered, because the music had stopped. “Dad, they’re waiting. Could you write this all down for me?”

“I’ll send it in a text. With a note to Brody. He’s a good man, Grace. You’re both young and you will make mistakes. You’ll get angry. But you’ll work through those hard times if you keep God at the center of your marriage.”

The wedding march started over again.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, Gracie.” He hooked her hand over his arm and together they walked through the doors and down the center aisle of the church.

Grace focused on her goal, the man standing at the front of the church, seeking her, loving her. He smiled, revealing that dimple. His blue eyes captured hers, holding her steady on that walk to him.

“I love you, forever, Grace,” he whispered as she stepped next to him.

Her dad gave her a quick hug and handed her over to Brody Martin. For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. To love only him so long as they both might live.

“I love you, too.” She held his hand, never wanting to let go.

The ceremony was short. The vows were sweet. And the kiss made the crowd cheer.

Brody grinned down at her. “Mrs. Brody Martin, let’s go get our daughter.”

Grace’s mom stepped forward, handing them the four-month-old baby girl with blond hair and dark eyes like her mother. She had them both wrapped around her little finger. She cooed as if the whole ceremony had been all about her.

Brody held them close, and Grace knew that this was only the beginning.

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
THE AMISH MOTHER
by Rebecca Kertz.

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Martin’s Crossing. This cozy little town in Texas Hill Country is quickly becoming one of my favorite places. I’d love nothing more than a little house on the outskirts of town, a cup of tea with Mr. Mueller, or a Christmas ornament from Oregon’s shop.

In
The Rancher’s Second Chance
, you’ll get to spend time with all of my favorite characters. I think you’ll enjoy getting to know them all a little better. I think you’ll definitely enjoy getting to know Brody Martin a little better. He’s been hiding a few things, nursing a broken heart and trying to mend. That’s all about to change.

We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired story.

You believe hearts can heal.
Love Inspired
stories show that faith, forgiveness and hope have the power to lift spirits and change lives—always.

Enjoy six new stories from Love Inspired every month!

Connect with us on
Harlequin.com
for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

Harlequin.com/newsletters
Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks
Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks
HarlequinBlog.com

http://www.harlequin.com/harlequinexperience

The Amish Mother

by Rebecca Kertz

Chapter One

Lancaster County, Pennsylvania

T
he apple trees were thick with bright, red juicy fruit waiting to be picked. Elizabeth King Fisher stepped out of the house into the sunshine and headed toward the twin apple trees in the backyard.

“You sit here,” she instructed her three youngest children, who’d accompanied her. She spread a blanket on the grass for them. “I’ll pick and give them to you to put in the basket.
Ja?
”

“Ja, Mam,”
little Anne said as she sat down first and gestured for her brothers to join her.

Lizzie smiled. “You boys help your sister?” Jonas and Ezekiel nodded vigorously. “
Goot
boys!” she praised, and they beamed at her.

“What do you think we should make with these?” she said as she handed three apples to Jonas. “An apple pie? Apple crisp?”

“Candy apples!” Ezekiel exclaimed. He was three years old and the baby of the family, and he had learned recently about candy apples, having tasted one when they’d gone into town earlier this week.

Lizzie grinned as she bent to ruffle his hair. Ezekiel had taken off his small black-banded straw hat and set it on the blanket next to him. “Candy apples,” she said. “I can make those.”

The older children were nowhere in sight. Elizabeth’s husband, Abraham, had fallen from the barn loft to his death just over two months ago, and the family was still grieving. Lizzie had tears in her eyes as she reached up to pull a branch closer to pick the fruit.
If only I hadn’t urged him to get the kittens down from the loft...

Tomorrow would have been their second wedding anniversary. She had married Abraham shortly after the children’s mother had passed, encouraged strongly by her mother to do so. She’d been seventeen years old at the time, but she’d been crippled her entire life.

“Abraham Fisher is a
goot
man, Lizzie,” she remembered her mother saying. “He needs a mother for his children and someone to care for his home. You should take his offer of marriage, for in your condition you may not get another one.”

My condition
, Lizzie thought. She suffered from developmental hip dysplasia, and she walked with a noticeable limp that worsened after standing for long periods of time. But she was a hard worker and could carry the weight of her chores as well as the rest of the women in her Amish community.

Limping Lizzie, the children had called her when she was a child. There had been other names, including Duckie because of her duck-like gait, which was caused by a hip socket too shallow to keep in the femoral head, the ball at the top of her long leg bone. Most of the children didn’t mean to be cruel, but the names hurt just the same.

Lizzie had spent her young life proving that it didn’t matter that one leg was longer than the other; yet her mother had implied otherwise when she’d urged Lizzie to marry Abraham, a grieving widower with children.

Abraham had still been grieving for his first wife when he’d married her, but she’d accepted his grief along with the rest of the family’s. His children missed their mother. The oldest two girls, Mary Ruth and Hannah, resented Lizzie. The younger children had welcomed her, as they needed someone to hug and love them and be their mother. And they were too young to understand.

Mary Ruth, Abraham’s eldest, had been eleven at the time of her mother’s death, her sister Hannah almost ten. Both girls were angry with their mother for dying and angrier still at Lizzie for filling the void.

Lizzie picked several more apples, handing the children a number of them so that they would feel important as they placed them carefully in the basket.

“Can we eat one?” Anne asked.

“With your midday meal,” Lizzie said. She glanced up at the sky and noted the position of the sun, which was directly overhead. “Are you hungry?” All three youngsters nodded vigorously. She reached to pick up the basket, which was full and heavy. She didn’t let on that her leg ached as she straightened with the basket in hand. “Let’s get you something to eat, then.”

The children followed her into the large white farmhouse. When she entered through the back doorway, she saw the kitchen sink was filled with dirty dishes. She sighed as she set the basket on one end of the counter near the stove.

“Mary Ruth!” she called. “Hannah!” When there was no response, she called for them again. Matthew, who was eight, entered the kitchen from the front section of the house. “Have you seen your older sisters?” Lizzie asked him.

He shrugged. “Upstairs. Not sure what they’re doing.”

“Matt, are you hungry?” When the boy nodded, Lizzie said, “If you’ll go up and tell your sisters to come down, I’ll make you all something to eat.”

Jonas grabbed his older brother’s arm as Matt started to leave. “
Mam
’s going to make candy apples,” he said.

Matthew opened his mouth as if to say something, but then he glanced toward the basket of apples instead and smiled. “Sounds
goot
. I like candy apples.” Little Jonas grinned at him.

Matt left and then returned moments later, followed by his older sisters, Mary Ruth, Hannah and Rebecca, who had been upstairs in their room.

“You didn’t do the dishes,” Lizzie said to Mary Ruth.

The girl regarded her with a sullen expression. “I didn’t know it was my turn.”

“I’ll do them,” Rebecca said.

“That’s a nice offer, Rebecca,” Lizzie told her, “but ’tis Mary Ruth’s turn, so I think she should do it.” She smiled at the younger girl. “But you can help me make the candy apples later this afternoon after I hang the laundry.” She met Hannah’s gaze. “Did you strip the beds?”

Hannah nodded. “I put the linens near the washing machine.”

Lizzie smiled. “
Danki
, Hannah.” She heard Mary Ruth grumble beneath her breath. “Did you say something you’d like to share?” she asked softly.

“Nay,”
Mary Ruth replied.

“I thought not.” She went to the refrigerator. “What would you like to eat?” Their main meal was usually at midday, but their schedule had differed occasionally since Abraham’s death because of the increase in her workload. Still, she had tried to keep life the same as much as possible.

“I can make them a meal,” Mary Ruth challenged. Lizzie turned, saw her defiant expression and then nodded. The girl was hurting. If Mary Ruth wanted to cook for her siblings, then why not let her? She had taught her to be careful when using the stove.

“That would be nice, Mary Ruth,” she said. “I’ll hang the clothes while you feed your
brooders
and sisters.” And she headed toward the back room where their gas-powered washing machine was kept, sensing that the young girl was startled. Lizzie retrieved a basket of wet garments and headed toward the clothesline outside.

The basket was only moderately heavy as she carried it to a spot directly below the rope. She felt comfortable leaving the children in the kitchen, for she could see inside through the screen door.

A soft autumn breeze stirred the air and felt good against her face. Lizzie bent, chose a wet shirt and pinned it on the line. She worked quickly and efficiently, her actions on the task but her gaze continually checking inside to see the children seated at the kitchen table.

“Elizabeth Fisher?” a man’s voice said, startling her.

Lizzie gasped and spun around. She hadn’t heard his approach from behind her. She’d known before turning that he was Amish as he had spoken in
Deitsch
, the language spoken within her community. Her eyes widened as she stared at him. The man wore a black-banded, wide-brimmed straw hat, a blue shirt and black pants held up by black suspenders. He looked like her deceased husband, Abraham, only younger and more handsome.

“You’re Zachariah,” she said breathlessly. Her heart picked up its beat as she watched him frown. “I’m Lizzie Fisher.”

* * *

Zachariah stared at the woman before him in stunned silence. She was his late brother’s widow? He’d been shocked to receive news of Abraham’s death, even more startled to learn the news from Elizabeth Fisher, who had identified herself in her letter as his late brother’s wife.

It had been years since he’d last visited Honeysuckle. He hadn’t known that Ruth had passed or that Abe had remarried.
Why didn’t Abraham write and let us know?

“What happened to Ruth?” he demanded.

The woman’s lovely bright green eyes widened. “Your
brooder
didn’t write and tell you?” she said quietly. “Ruth passed away—over two years ago. A year after Ezekiel was born, she came down with the flu and...” She blinked. “She didn’t make it. Your
brooder
asked me to marry him shortly afterward.”

Zack narrowed his gaze as he examined her carefully. Dark auburn hair in slight disarray under her white head covering...eyes the color of the lawn after a summer rainstorm...pink lips that trembled as she gazed up at him. “You can’t be more than seventeen,” he accused.

The young woman lifted her chin. “Nineteen,” she stated stiffly. “I’ve been married to your
brooder
for two years.” She paused, looked away as if to hide tears. “It would have been two years tomorrow had he lived.”

Two years!
Zack thought. The last time he’d received a letter from Abraham was when Abe had written the news of Ezekiel’s birth. His brother had never written again.

The contents of Lizzie’s letter when it had finally caught up to the family had shocked and upset them. Zack had made the immediate decision to come home to Honeysuckle to gauge the situation with the children and the property—and this new wife the family knew nothing about. His mother and sisters had agreed that he should go. With both Ruth and Abraham deceased, Zack thought that the time had come to reclaim what was rightfully his—the family farm.

He stood silently, watching as she pulled a garment from the wicker basket at her feet and tossed it over the line. He had trouble picturing Abraham married to this girl, although he could see why Abraham might have been attracted to her. But why would Lizzie choose to marry Abraham? He saw the difficulty her trembling fingers had securing the garment onto the clothesline properly. He fought back unwanted sympathy for her and won.

“You’re living here with the children,” he said.
“Alone?”

“This is our home.” Lizzie faced him, a petite girl whose auburn hair suddenly appeared as if streaked with various shades of reds under the autumn sun. Her vivid green eyes and young innocent face made her seem vulnerable, but she must be a strong woman if she could manage all seven of his nieces and nephews—and stand defiantly before him as she was now without backing down. He felt a glimmer of admiration for her that quickly vanished with his next thought.

This woman and his brother were married almost two years. Did Lizzie and Abraham have a child together? He scowled as he glanced about the yard, then toward the house. He didn’t see or hear a baby, but then, the child could be napping inside. How did one ask a woman if she’d given birth without sounding offensive or rude?
My
brooder
should have told me about her. Then I would know.

“I’m nearly done,” she said, averting her attention back to her laundry while he continued to watch her. She hung up the last item, a pillowcase. “
Koom.
We’re about to have our midday meal. Join us. You must have come a long way.” She bit her lip as she briefly met his gaze. “Where did you come from? I wasn’t sure where to send the letter. I didn’t know if you were still in Walnut Creek or Millersburg or if you’d moved again. I sent it to Millersburg because it was the last address I found among your
brooder
’s things.”

“We moved back to Walnut Creek two years ago—” He stopped. He wasn’t about to tell her about his mother’s illness or that he and his sister Esther had moved with
Mam
from Walnut Creek to Millersburg to be closer to the doctors treating their mother’s cancer.
Mam
was fine now, thank the Lord, and she would continue to do well as long as she took care of herself. Once his mother’s health had improved, they had picked up and moved back to Walnut Creek, where his two older sisters lived with their husbands and their families.

Zack had no idea how Lizzie’s letter had reached him. Their forwarding address had expired over a year ago, but someone who’d known them in Millersburg must have sent it on. He still couldn’t believe that Abraham was dead. His older brother had been only thirty-five years old. “What happened to my
brooder
?” She never mentioned in her letter how he’d died.

Lizzie went pale. “He fell,” she said in a choked voice, “from the barn loft.” He saw her hands clutch rhythmically at the hem of her apron. “He broke his neck and died instantly.”

Zack felt shaken by the mental image. He could see that she was sincerely distraught. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard.” He, too, felt the loss. It hurt to realize that he’d never see Abraham again. He thought of all the times when he was a child that he’d trailed after his older brother.

His death must have been quick and painless
,
he thought, trying to find some small measure of comfort. He studied the young woman who looked too young to be married or to raise Abe’s children.

“He was a
goot
man.” She didn’t look at him when she bent to pick up her basket then straightened. “Are you coming in?” she asked as she finally met his gaze.

He nodded and then followed her as she started toward the house. He was surprised to see her uneven gait as she walked ahead of him, as if she’d injured her leg and limped because of the pain. “Lizzie, are
ya
hurt?” he asked compassionately.

She halted, then faced him with her chin tilted high, her eyes less than warm. “I’m not hurt,” she said crisply. “I’m a cripple.” And with that, she turned away and continued toward the house, leaving him to follow her.

Zack studied her back with mixed feelings as he lagged behind. Concern. Worry. Uneasiness. He frowned as he watched her shift the laundry basket to one arm and struggle to open the door with the other. He stopped himself from helping, sensing that she wouldn’t be pleased. He frowned at her back. Could a crippled, young nineteen-year-old woman raise a passel of
kinner
alone?