The Amish Midwife's Courtship. Cheryl Williford

raspberry jelly, appeared on the cluttered kitchen table. Molly sat next to her mother and looked at their new tenant. He gazed over his mug at her. A smile lit his face. She looked away, concentrating on spreading jam on her hot biscuit.

      “Herr Graber tells me he bought the old bike shop yesterday and got it for a good price.” Ulla shoved half of her late-morning snack in her mouth and began to chew.

      “Did he?” Molly blew on her hot coffee.

      “Please call me Isaac.” He glanced at Molly, his green eyes bright.

      Distracted by their shine, she took a gulp of coffee and burned her tongue, but would have died a million deaths before she let on. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing he had once again disturbed her.

      “I thought since Herr Graber had some issues with his crutches this morning, it might be gut if you went with him when he takes a look at the shop.” Ulla drained the last of her coffee and placed the mug on the table.

      “You bought the shop sight unseen?” Molly asked.

      Isaac nodded. “I did.”

      Foolish man. She turned to her mother and tried to keep the whine out of her voice. “I’d love to help Herr Graber, but singing practice is today. There’s a frolic in a few weeks. I promised I’d come this time.” Molly watched her mamm stuff the last crumbs of her biscuit in her mouth and sighed. She knew the mox nix expression her mamm wore. There’d be no singing practice for her today.

      “I’m sure I can—” Isaac tried to interject.

      Ulla rose from her chair. “It is settled. No more chatter from either of you.” She dusted crumbs off her generous bust and headed for the sink, not giving Molly or Isaac another glance as she continued talking. “You are a paying guest, Herr Graber, and an Amish man in good standing with the community. Molly will be glad to help you while you stay here. She has nothing better to do.”

      Nothing better to do! Molly held her breath, praying she wouldn’t say the angry words begging to come out of her mouth. As long as she lived in her mamm’s haus, she’d never have a say in her own comings and goings.

      Molly stole a look at the dark-haired tenant and was amazed to see a hangdog expression turning his bruised forehead into a deep furrow. Maybe he didn’t want her to go with him. She pulled at her prayer kapp, content in knowing the idea of her tagging along was an irritation to the infuriating man. Molly put on her sweetest smile and purred, “Ya, I’ll take him. I can always go to practice next week. We wouldn’t want Herr Graber to fall again.”

      * * *

      Isaac balanced himself on one crutch as he wedged himself between the peeling garage wall and the rusty old golf cart. He eyed the cart’s front tire and gave it a tap with the toe of his boot. “How old is this contraption anyway?” Not completely convinced the rusty bucket would move with both their weight on board, he tossed his crutches in the big metal basket behind the bench seat and struggled to climb in. One hip on the cart’s bench seat, he scooted over as far as he could, giving Molly plenty of room to drive.

      Molly gathered up the folds of her skirt and climbed in on the driver’s side. She kept her eyes looking forward, ignoring his questions about the cart. She started the engine. The machine sputtered for a moment, but then took off down the pebbled driveway with a roar.

      Wind blew off his black hat. It dropped into the basket at the back of the cart. He held on and sucked in his breath as she took a corner too fast. Her prayer kapp fluttered against her head. The sound of glass breaking invaded his thoughts, the flashback so real it could have been happening again.

      His breath quickened.

      His heart pounded.

      He practiced the relaxation techniques he’d been taught in the hospital, pushing away the memories of his leg twisted unnaturally under him.

      Breathe deep and hold.

      Traffic slowed, and he loosened his grip on the seat. Why were there no seat belts on these contraptions?

      They drove through the tiny town of Pinecraft. Bahia Vista Street came up within a matter of minutes. Isaac thanked Gott for their safe arrival as Molly pulled into the driveway of a small strip mall and parked around the back of the little bike shop squeezed in between a fancy pizzeria and a Laundromat desperately in need of some paint. Isaac got out on his good leg, grabbed for his crutches as he wobbled like a toddler, fighting for balance.

      “Here. Let me help.” Molly shoved his left crutch farther under his arm, handed him his blown-off hat and walked across the minuscule patch of paved driveway toward the shop’s wooden back door.

      Determined to be independent, Isaac took a step. Pain shot up his leg. He stifled a moan and kept putting one foot in front of the other, leaning heavily on his crutches for support. The doctors said the pain would soon go away. The broken leg held together with nuts and bolts would finish healing. But he would always have a limp.

      A split second in time had taken Thomas’s life and turned the past two months into the most miserable period in his life. He’d expected more of himself, of the surgery that was supposed to put him back on his feet. He was lucky to be alive. Painful memories pushed their way in again. The sound of an ambulance screamed in his head. He pushed the sound away and took in a deep, shuttering breath.

      “The door’s locked. Do you have the key?” Molly asked, rattling the handle. She glanced his way, but seemed to avoid looking directly at him.

      Isaac nodded. “The Realtor said it should be under this.” He carefully shoved away a pail of murky motor oil with his good foot. He bent to grab the silvery key, swayed and then felt surprisingly strong arms go round his waist to steady him.

      Molly stood against him, her breath tickling his ear for long seconds. She made sure he was stable and then gradually released his body. Without a word she stepped away, pulled back her skirt and grabbed for the key covered in muck.

      “You do the honors. This is your new business.” Molly handed him the key and then gave him room to maneuver closer to the door.

      This business purchase had been on impulse, something he probably should have thought more about. He normally would have, but he’d been desperate for a reason to get up every morning. A reason to keep living.

      His hand shook as he pushed open the door. He felt around for a light switch, found it, then flicked it on. A bare bulb lit the dark, cavernous bike shop with harsh light. Broken and bent bike parts, torn golf-cart seats and rusting tools lay strewed across a filthy concrete floor. Total chaos. He faltered at the door. Another fine mess he’d got himself into.

      “Was isht?” Molly glanced around him and then said, “Oh!”

      “Ya, oh.” Isaac maneuvered around scattered bike wheels and seats, carefully picking his way through the rubble that was Pinecraft Bike Rental and Repair. “This is what I get for buying sight unseen. What a zot I am.”

      Molly walked around him, surveying the clutter. She looked Isaac’s way, her expressive brown eyes wide open.

      He knew pity when he saw it. His stomach lurched. He didn’t want or deserve her pity. He’d earned everything bad that happened to him. Let Gott’s retribution rain down on him.

      “You’re not a fool, Isaac. We all act impulsively sometimes. We’ll get this place fixed up in no time. You’ll see.” She grinned, her face flushed pink.

      “We?” he asked, unable to resist the urge to tease her, to take his mind off his misery.

      Molly turned her back to him and moved away. “Ya, we. The church. Pinecraft. This community. We always pull together. You are part of us now. You’ll see. Gott expects us to help each other.” Molly went into the small office with a half wall that looked ready to fall with the least provocation.

      He watched a blush creep down Molly’s neck. She was young and beautiful in her own quiet way, not that he let her good looks affect him. She had no business being