“Thank you,” she said to Ezra as her parents’ home came into view. “You were very kind to bring me home.”
“I will fix your bike and return it to you. I have much to do tonight, but day after tomorrow, it should be ready.”
“Danke.”
“I must return to town in the morning, so I will drive you to work.”
His offer bought tears to her eyes. She glanced away, thankful for the darkness so he could not see her reaction.
“I do not want to take advantage of your thoughtfulness,” she said, her voice filled with emotion that even she recognized.
“It is no trouble. What time do you start work?”
“At seven. It is too early, yah?”
“I will be at your house by six fifteen.”
“I will be ready.” She started to climb down and then hesitated. “The man who came after me has brown hair with a patch of white at his temple. He thinks I have something that belongs to him.”
She hopped to the ground and ran toward her house. The front door opened and her datt stepped onto the porch.
“You are late,” he grumbled.
“An older patient named Mr. Calhoun was in pain and needed help.” She lowered her eyes and hurried past him. Before stepping inside, she paused and gazed back at the roadway.
Ezra glanced over his shoulder. Even from this distance, she could see the smile that played over his full lips.
Her father scowled. “Why does Ezra Stoltz bring you home?”
“I fell from my bike. He was good enough to help me.”
“He is not someone with whom I want you to associate.”
Her heart sank. Why was anything she ever wanted to do forbidden by her father?
“You remember what happened to his parents.”
Their buggy shop had been robbed and his mother and father had been murdered during the break-in, but their tragic deaths had nothing to do with Ezra.
Rosie’s father scowled even more. “Ezra was drinking at a bar in town that day instead of helping his father in his shop.”
Which probably saved Ezra’s life. He might have been killed, along with his parents, if he had been home. Not that she was willing to voice her objection to her father. Some battles were not worth fighting.
“He has not courted or taken a wife,” her father continued. “Nor has he joined the church. This is not a man with whom I wish my daughter to associate.”
Her heart ached at her father’s bigotry. Did he not see the plank in his own eye?
“I am not looking for a husband, Datt.” Her voice was firm.
“Joseph needs a father.”
Rosie could not argue. Her son needed a father, but that did not mean she needed a husband.
She stepped into the kitchen, smelling the homemade bread and hearty beef stew her mother had served for the evening meal. Her mouth watered and she realized she had been busy helping patients all day and had failed to take either her lunch or her evening break.
Food could wait. She quickly washed her hands at the sink and then hurried to where her son sat playing on the floor. She raised Joseph into her arms and smothered him with kisses until he giggled and nuzzled her neck. He was eight months old with a happy disposition and a laugh that drove away any thought of her problems.
Rosie’s heart soared. Nothing mattered except her child.
“Ach, what has happened?” Her mother’s eyes were wide as she pointed to the scrapes and scratches on Rosie’s face and hands.
“I fell from my bike.”
“You have a bad cut to your forehead. Sit.” She pointed to the kitchen table. “I saved a bowl of stew. You are hungry, yah?”
Holding Joseph in her left arm, Rosie slipped onto the bench at the table, bowed her head and offered a prayer of thanks for her safe return home before she eagerly lifted a heaping spoonful of stew to her mouth.
“After you eat and prepare Joseph for bed, then you will tell me what made you late coming home from work.”
Her mother had a keen sixth sense. Rosie would be careful not to reveal what really had happened lest Mamm worry too much.
“The uneven pavement on the road caused me to fall, Mamm. I was not hurt.”
“For this, I am glad, but the cut needs doctoring.”
Her mother retrieved a first-aid kit from a kitchen cabinet and dampened a cloth that she wiped over Rosie’s forehead. After cleaning the area, she applied ointment and covered the cut with a bandage.
“The town is decorated for Christmas, yah?” her mother asked as she returned the kit to the cabinet.
“Candy canes and snowmen hang from the streetlights.” Rosie smiled. “Joseph would enjoy seeing the hanging lights and evergreen wreaths.”
Although after what had happened today, Rosie did not want Joseph anywhere near town. She glanced at the end of the table, noting an envelope that had surely come in the mail.
In hopes of further distracting her mother from what had happened tonight, Rosie asked, “You received a Christmas card today?”
“From your cousin, Alice. She said baby Becca is growing and big sister Diane is almost as tall as their kitchen table.”
“Diane is a sweet girl. I am glad you cared for her when Alice was on bed rest before Becca was born.”
Mamm offered a weak smile. “She filled a void when you were gone.”
The pain in her mother’s eyes tore at Rosie’s heart. She dropped her spoon into the bowl and scooted back from the table. Mamm rarely talked about that time when Rosie was held captive, for which she was grateful. Perhaps her mother’s worry about Rosie arriving home late tonight had loosened her tongue.
“I will wash the dishes after I put Joseph to bed.”
“No need to hurry, Rosie. There is only your bowl. I will have it washed and back in the cabinet before you return.”
Rosie climbed the stairs with Joseph in her arms. She changed his diaper and dressed him in a fresh sleeper before they cuddled in the rocker. She crooned a lullaby as he nestled in her arms, her heart bursting with love for this sweet child.
His eyes drifted closed, but she continued to hold him, taking comfort from his precious closeness. His tiny hand clutched her finger, signaling their connection. Both of them had been through so much.
She thought back to Joseph’s birth as she labored alone in the dark and damp root cellar. She had prayed her child would be born healthy and without complication. Gott had heard and answered her prayer. Somehow she had given birth to sweet Joseph, and for his first month of life, she had kept him warm and fed and secure in spite of their dire circumstances. Finally, they had been rescued and returned home.
The look on her father’s face when he first saw them circled through her mind—it was one of relief, then shock when he noticed the baby in her arms. If not for her mother’s heartfelt cries of joy and her warm embrace, Rosie might have run away again. The truth was she had no place to go and no one to give her and her son shelter.
She kissed Joseph’s sweet cheek, laid him in his crib and covered him with a blanket.
Locking the door to the room they shared, she untucked the bottom edge of