The Amish Widow's Secret. Cheryl Williford

you were in town.”

      I should know the man. He recognized his face but struggled with the name. “Forgive me, but I don’t remember—”

      “Nee. It was a long time ago. I’m Bishop Ralf Miller. It’s been five years or more since I last went to Florida and stayed with your family. I’ve known your father for many years. When we were boys, we shared the same school. I believe you’d just married your beautiful bride when your father introduced me to you.”

      “My wife died last year,” Mose informed him. “Childbirth took her.” Saying the words out loud was like twisting a knife in his heart.

      “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

      “There’s no reason you would know,”

      “Nee, but it worries me how many of our young people are dying. I assume you’re here to help with Joseph Nolt’s barn clearing.”

      “I just met his widow. Poor woman is torn with grief.”

      “Between the two of us, I’m not so sure Sarah Nolt is a grieving widow. One of the men at the funeral said they heard her say Joseph’s death was her fault. The woman’s been unpredictable most of her life. Her father and I had a conversation about this a few days ago. He’s finding it hard to keep both farms going, and Sarah is stubbornly refusing to return to her childhood home. Joseph’s farm needs to be sold. If she doesn’t stop this willful behavior, I fear we’ll have to shun her for the safety of the community.”

      Surprised at the openness of the Bishop’s conversation and the accusation against Sarah, Mose asked, “What proof do you have against her, other than her one comment made in grief? Has she been counseled by the elders or yourself?”

      “We tried, but she won’t talk to us. She’s always had this rebellious streak. Her father agrees with me. There could be trouble.”

      “A rebellious streak?”

      “You know what I mean. Last week she told one of our Elders to shut up when he offered her a fair price for the farm. This inappropriate behavior can’t be ignored.”

      “You’ve just described a grieving widow, Bishop. Perhaps she’s...”

      Bishop Miller interrupted Mose, his brows lowered. “You don’t know her, Mose. I do. She’s always seemed difficult. Even as a child she was rebellious and broke rules.”

      “Did something happen to make her this way?” Mose’s stomach twisted in anger. He liked to consider himself a good judge of character and he hadn’t found Sarah Nolt anything but unhappy, for good reason. Adolph Yoder was another matter. He appeared a hard, critical man. The Bishop’s willingness to talk about Sarah’s personal business didn’t impress him either. These things were none of Mose’s concern. He knew, with the community being Old Order Amish, that the bishop kept hard, fast rules. In his community she’d be treated differently. If she had no one to help her through her loss, her actions could be interpreted as acting out of grief. Perhaps the lack of a father’s love was the cause of his daughter’s actions. “Where is Sarah’s mother?”

      “Who knows but Gott? She left the community when Sarah was a young child. She’d just had a son and some said raising kinder didn’t suit her. Adolph did everything he could to make Sarah an obedient child, like his son, Eric, but she never would bend to his will.”

      “I saw little parental love from Adolph. He’s an angry man and needs to be spoken to by one of the community elders. Perhaps Gott can redirect him and help Sarah at the same time.”

      “We’re glad to have your help with the teardown and barn-building, but I will deal with Sarah Nolt. This community is my concern. If your father were here, he’d agree with me.”

      Mose drew in a deep breath. He’d let his temper get the better of him. “I meant no disrespect, Bishop, but all this gossip about the widow needs to stop until you have proof. It’s your job to make sure that happens. You shouldn’t add to it.”

      “If you weren’t an outsider you’d know she’s not alone in her misery. She has her sister-in-law, Marta, to talk to and seek counsel. Marta is a godly woman and a good influence. If she can’t reach her, there will be harsh consequences the next time Sarah acts out.”

      “I’ll be praying for her, as I’m sure you are.” Mose nodded to the bishop, and kept on walking to his cousin’s farm.

      But he couldn’t help wondering, who was the real Sarah?

      * * *

      Beatrice squirmed around on the buckboard seat, her tiny sister asleep on a quilt at her feet. “I want cookies now, Daed.”

      Mose pulled to the side of the road and spoke softly. “Soon we’ll be at Sarah’s house and you can have more cookies, but if you wake your sister, you’ll be put to bed. Do you understand?”

      The tear rolling down her flushed cheek told him she didn’t understand and was pushing boundaries yet again.

      “Mamm would give me cookies. I want Mamm.” An angry scowl etched itself across her tear-streaked face.

      These were the times Mose hated most, when he had no answers for Beatrice. How can I help her understand?

      “We’ve talked about this before, my child. Mamm is in heaven with Gott and we must accept this, even though it makes us sad.” He drew the small child into his arms and hugged her close, his heart breaking as he realized how thin her small body had become. He had to do something to cheer her up. “Let’s hurry and go and see the nice ladies I told you about. Sarah said she’d be baking today. Perhaps she’ll have warm cookies. Wouldn’t cookies and a glass of cold milk brighten your spirits?

      “I only want Mamm.”

      Tucked under his arm, Beatrice cried softly, twisting Mose’s heart in knots. His mother had talked to him about remarriage, but he had thrown the idea back at her, determined to honor his dead wife until the day he died. But the kinder definitely needed a woman’s gentle hand when he had to be at work.

      His mother’s newly mended arm limited her ability to help him since the bad break, and now her talk of going to visit her sisters in Ohio felt like a push from Gott. Perhaps he would start considering the thought of a new wife, but she’d have to be special. What woman would want a husband who still loved his late wife? But he couldn’t become someone like Adolph Yoder either, and leave his young children to suffer their mother’s loss alone. Adolph’s bitterness shook Mose to his foundation. Would he become like Adolph to satisfy his own selfish needs and not his daughters’?

      Deep in thought, Mose pulled into the graveled drive and directed the horse under a shade tree. Sarah Nolt hurried out the door of the trim white farmhouse, her black mourning dress dancing around her ankles. She approached with a welcoming smile. In the sunlight her kapp-covered head made her hair look a bright copper color. A brisk breeze blew and long lengths of fine hair escaped and curled on the sides of her face. The black dress was plain, yet added color to her cheeks. Mose opened the buggy’s door.

      Beatrice crawled over him and hurried out. A striped kitten playing in the grass had attracted her attention. Mercy chose that moment to make her presence known and let loose a pitiful wail. Mose scooped the baby from the buggy floor.

      Beatrice suddenly screamed and ran to her father, her arms wrapping around his leg. “Bad kitty.” She held out a finger. A scarlet drop of blood landed on the front of the fresh white apron covering her dress.

      Sarah took the baby and tucked the blanket around her bare legs as she slowly began to rock the upset child. Tear-filled blue eyes, edged in dark lashes, gazed up at the stranger. “Hello, little one.”

      Amazed, as always, that the tiny child could make so much noise, Mose watched as Sarah continued to rock the baby as she walked to the edge of the yard. Mose soothed Beatrice as Sarah moved about the garden with his crying infant.

      Moments