but not unheard-of.” Her mamm wiped her hands on a dish towel, reached out and put a hand on each of Susannah’s shoulders, turning her toward her.
Susannah couldn’t resist the need to look up, to look into her mamm’s eyes and face her dreams and fears head-on.
“I’m only saying that you shouldn’t assume you know Gotte’s plan for your life. Our ways are not Gotte’s ways, and that’s something to be grateful for.”
Once Susannah nodded that she understood, her mamm picked up another dish and slipped it into the dishwater. Susannah swiped at the tears that had slipped down her cheeks, feeling foolish and wishing she could keep a better rein on her emotions.
Her melancholy wasn’t about Micah. It was about her parents’ expectations for her life. Micah, she felt nothing except pity for—and perhaps a tad of irritation.
“Just wait until you meet Micah, then you’ll understand.”
“Will I, now?”
“I’m more likely to marry Widower King.”
“Who is a fine man and a gut addition to our community.”
“And he’s thirty-five years old.”
“Is he, now?”
They shared a smile. Her mamm knew very well how old Mose King was and that Susannah didn’t have an ounce of romantic feelings for the man.
“You wouldn’t have to worry about not being able to have children,” her mamm joked.
“Indeed—six would be plenty, especially when those six are three pairs of twins.”
“And all boys.”
“All of them full of energy.” Susannah purposely used her mother’s words from earlier that afternoon.
They finished cleaning up the kitchen and walked onto the front porch to watch for her dat and the twins.
“I understand your not being interested in Micah, though you’d do well to remember that our first impression of someone isn’t always the best.”
“Fair enough.”
“There’s something else you should know, though.”
Susannah sank into the rocker beside her mamm. She thought that twilight might be her favorite time of day. Something in her soul felt soothed by watching the sun set across their fields and her dat walking hand in hand with the twins toward the house.
“Micah’s parents have been corresponding with Abigail and John. When it was decided he would move here, they shared the letter with both me and your dat. He’s had a bit of a hard time, which is why he’s here.”
“Okay.” She said the word slowly, tempted to add an I thought so.
“What I’m saying is that Micah will be here for at least six months—”
“Six months?” Susannah realized her mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut.
“And he’ll be here helping your dat every day, so it could be that Gotte has put him in our path for a special reason.”
Susannah stifled a groan.
“There’s a real possibility that what Micah needs most is not a girlfriend but simply a friend, and that’s something that we can each be.”
Micah’s first night with his grandparents went fairly well. It was the next morning that things took an unpleasant turn, when they laid down the law, so to speak.
His dat’s parents were in their midsixties—not too old to farm, but old enough that they should be slowing down. That wasn’t happening. His daddi, John Fisher, was built like an ox. Micah’s mother had always said that Micah inherited his size from the man, but Micah didn’t see it. He was as muscular as the next guy, but his grandfather’s forearm look like corded rope. Forearm—singular. He’d lost his right arm in a harvesting accident when he was just twenty years old. It had made him tough and intolerant of weakness of any type.
He was also a very serious man. Micah couldn’t imagine that they’d come from the same gene pool.
Abigail Fisher was stern as well, but with a soft spot for her grandchildren. Growing up in Maine, Micah had seen his mammi’s letters arrive weekly. They always contained a paragraph addressed to each of the eight children. Her Christmas presents were always mailed well before Christmas Day—practical items, lovingly made. And his mammi and daddi visited occasionally, though certainly not every year.
In truth, Micah felt as if he hardly knew his grandparents, and though he loved them as he thought grandchildren should, he didn’t think they had much in common. In fact, from the expression on his daddi’s face he wasn’t sure the man really wanted him there. So why had he agreed to this ridiculous plan? How was Micah supposed to become a different person—a more mature person in the words of his dat—by living in a different state for six months?
Daddi didn’t look up until they’d finished eating. Then he cradled his coffee mug in his left hand and waited until he was sure he had Micah’s attention. “We expect you to work every day.”
“Okay. That’s fair.” Micah brushed his hair away from his eyes and sat up straighter. “I can start looking for something today.”
“No need to do that. I have it all arranged.”
“All arranged?”
“To begin with, you’ll be expected to carry your share of the work around here—the same as any grown man. I realize that will be different from what you’re used to back home. I’m aware that your parents have coddled you.”
Micah frowned at the last biscuit on his plate and focused on not saying the response that immediately came to mind. His thoughts scrambled in a dozen different directions, trying to think of a way to forgo the lecture that was surely headed his way.
“It’s true, Micah.” His mammi peered over her reading glasses at him. “There’s no need to look hurt when your daddi is only stating the obvious. I spoke to your dat and mamm about this on several occasions.”
“This?”
“She’s referring to the way your schweschdern spoiled you—all of them did, really. It’s not a surprise, you being the last child and only son.”
Micah had seven older schweschdern, and it was true that they doted on him. He’d never washed a dish or helped prepare a meal. If he suddenly had to cook for himself, he’d probably perish from starvation. When he was young, he’d thought that was the life of every Amish boy, but as he grew older he’d learned his situation was a bit unique.
