his water and helped Lizbeth clean up the mess. “Kids always seem to manage to spill their water,” he reassured her with a smile.
“Ya,” she muttered, picking up the last of the ice cubes scattered across the table. Her face still flushed with embarrassment. “Danki, Fredrik.”
She looked at her father, her fingers twisting the wet napkin in her hand.
Fredrik watched the tiny blue vein in her neck pulse with tension.
“Benuel is often overactive, Daed,” she said, glancing at Benuel squirming in his seat. “But he’s a gut boy.”
“Ya, I know he is,” John said, nodding. His smile was that of a patient grandfather who understood the ways of rambunctious boys.
Lizbeth visibly relaxed, her lips turning up at the ends. “I’m so glad to be home. Benuel needs a strong man like you in his life.”
“Ya, well. You’ve got the whole town of Pinecraft at your disposal, dochder. We’ll all pitch in. You’re not alone.”
Tears glistened in her eyes as she put her arm around her son and pulled him close. “I’m so glad, Daed. Change can be hard for Benuel. All he’s ever known is the farm. Life’s been difficult for him.”
John smiled gently. His big calloused hand patted hers. “I’ll go and grab your bag from the church. You can wait here until I get back.” She handed a ticket to John and he nodded at Fredrik. “Don’t be too late to work,” he said with a smile.
Fredrik shook John’s hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the church. Make sure you wear your loose pants. The ladies are cooking for us.”
John nodded. “I’ll be there.” And he walked to the door.
Fredrik turned back to Lizbeth and saw a slight smile on her face. “It’s been years, and I know I’ve changed,” she said, “but I’m assuming you’ve remembered me by now, Fredrik. I’m Little Lizzy, Saul’s schweschder.”
Fredrik leaned toward her with a grin. “Of course I know who you are. I realized it as soon as you greeted your daed. Little Lizzy. I can’t believe it. I’d heard you had married and had moved away while I was in Lancaster. Why didn’t you tell me who you were as soon as we met?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “It didn’t seem important. And I wanted to see how long it would take for you to remember. I knew it was you the minute I saw that ginger hair of yours and your broken nose.”
He trailed his finger down the bridge, to the almost invisible bump, thinking of that day so many years ago. “Ya, and I remember who broke that nose. You had a mean pitching arm back then.”
“I still do.”
Fredrik glanced up and saw one of Sarasota’s finest walk through the café door, the gun on his hip standing out in the crowd of Plain people and tourists. “The police officer is here. I’ve got to go. It was good to see you again, Lizbeth.” He stood and pulled her to his side in a hug, his arm sliding around her slim waist.
Then he let her go and walked off, peeking over his shoulder at her one last time. She’d been the picture of calm since her father arrived. Her daed was what she needed. A strong man to lean on.
He walked toward the police officer, his heartbeat kicking up. He’d leave Lizbeth and the boy out of this situation. She had enough on her plate. Going by the shake of her head earlier, she wouldn’t want to talk to the police right now anyway, not when her father could return at any moment. Could she have thought Benuel was at fault for the accident? If she did, she was mistaken. He knew he was to blame and would make sure the police knew it, too.
The next morning, Ulla Schwarts glanced at the quilt top Lizbeth had been working on since sunrise, and smiled. “You’ve only been home a day and that top is almost finished.” Bent at the waist, she swished a sudsy dishcloth across the big wooden farm table, reaching for and finding a spot of dried plum jelly that needed scrubbing. “You sew pretty fast.”
“Ya, it came together quickly,” Lizbeth agreed, looking up from her breakfast, over to her father and then his wife of one month. She smiled as the gray-haired woman wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, and then went back to cleaning the big wooden table positioned in the middle of her mamm’s well-loved kitchen.
Lizbeth already liked the spirited older Amish woman and found merit in her humor and work ethic. It would take some time to adjust to seeing another woman in her mother’s haus, caring for her daed, even though years had passed since her mamm’s sudden passing.
“It’s time I go check on the chickens,” her father stated, then wiped egg off his mouth. His chair scraped the floor as he rose. He lightly kissed Lizbeth on the forehead. “I’m so glad you’re back,” he said for the hundredth time that morning.
Lizbeth smiled, joy warming her heart. “Me, too, Daed.”
“You have any plans for today?” he asked.
“Nothing important,” Lizbeth muttered, and grinned. She’d had a hard morning with Benuel and didn’t have much energy left in her.
“I’m off then.” John kissed his wife’s cheek and whispered something in her ear that had her giggling as she swatted him out the back door with her dishcloth.
Still smiling, Ulla commented to Lizbeth, “There’s a sewing circle that meets at the civic hall on Tuesday mornings if you have a mind to go.” Ulla shoved a stubby water glass into the sea of dishwater and swished a cloth around in it.
Lizbeth gathered up her plate, coffee cup and the remains of her half-eaten bacon and eggs destined for the chickens’ scrap bowl. “Does Berta King still go?”
Ulla shook her head and moved to clean the stove. “Not since the cancer took hold.”
Lizbeth paused, her hand going to her heart. “I didn’t know.” The spry little woman had taught her to quilt and had been her mother’s best friend and confidante for more years than she could remember. Berta had been there to wave her off when she’d quickly married and left Pinecraft five years before.
“Nee, you wouldn’t, would you? Living so far away. I only see her when I take meals over on Tuesday and Friday nights. She looks bad. So thin and frail. Abram’s not looking so good himself, poor man. Someone told me their daughter from Ohio is coming on the bus. She’ll help out until her mamm passes, and then take her daed home with her.”
“It’s never gut to be alone.” Lizbeth adjusted the work scarf on her head and then plunged her hands into the sink of hot soapy water. The water burned a small scrape caused by her fall in the street the day before.
She began scrubbing dried egg yolk off her plate. She had to find a way to make Benuel understand that roads were dangerous. Living in a busy tourist town held hazards he didn’t understand at such a young age. It would take time and patience to guide him.
Perhaps she clung to him too tightly now that she had him all to herself. Benuel had always been easily distracted, but he had grown more willful of late, even cruel at times. She remembered the kick he’d
