Anne nodded. “They are pulling out weeds and dead things from the flower garden.”
No doubt the boys were working, as per her instructions, to clear out the dried rudbeckia blossoms and stems. The flowers also known as black-eyed Susans created a beautiful display of bright color from late spring to mid-or late summer, but in the fall, seeds from the dead centers had to be spread across the soil to ensure next year’s glorious display of gold and black.
“You have all worked hard on these today. I appreciate it. I couldn’t have prepared the cottage without you.” Lizzie noted with pleasure the smile on Mary Ruth’s face.
“Is there anything else we need to do?” the girl asked.
“We’ll go shopping tomorrow for supplies,” Lizzie said. “And we can bake bread, put some in the pantry and freeze a few loaves for them. They are welcome to eat at the farmhouse anytime, but they may want to take some of their meals here in the dawdi haus.”
“Ja,” Hannah said. “It’s a nice haus. It will be goot to see someone living in it.”
Lizzie hoped so. “It’s been a long morning without a break to eat. Are any of you hungry?”
“Ja!” the girls cried.
Matt entered the house with his younger brothers. “Ja,” he said, apparently hearing the last of Lizzie’s words. “We’re hungry. What’s to eat?”
Lizzie thought for a moment. “What would you like? Hard work deserves a special meal.”
“Pizza!” the youngest ones cried.
“Pizza,” Lizzie said with surprise and a little dismay. Money was tight, but she could make a crust from scratch, and she did have jars of tomato sauce she’d canned earlier in the summer. She could make her own pizza sauce and top it with whatever cheese she had in the refrigerator, fresh green peppers and onions. She could make a second pizza with just the cheese for the youngsters who wanted their pizza plain. “Pizza it is,” she said with a smile. “And then afterward, why don’t I make those candy apples I promised yesterday.” The children wholeheartedly agreed to the plan.
As she and the children left the dawdi haus and headed toward the farmhouse, Lizzie felt as if they were a family for the first time since the tragic loss of her husband—their father. She experienced a lightening of spirit and hope for the family’s future.
* * *
Later that night after the children were in bed, Lizzie went up to her bedroom, the room she’d shared with Abraham, and stared at the bed. Sleep hadn’t come easy to her since Abraham’s passing. Last night the worry over her late husband’s family moving into the dawdi haus had caused her to fret into the early morning until, exhausted, she’d finally fallen into a fitful sleep not long before she had to get up to begin her day again.
She had a mental image of Zack as she’d first seen him. He looked like a young Abraham, only with dark hair and more handsome features. Not that her husband hadn’t been good-looking. He had been, but she hadn’t noticed that at first. She had married him at a time that had been difficult for everyone, a time of mourning for him and the children, a time of concern that she might have made a mistake in agreeing to the marriage.
But we found our way, Lizzie thought as she moved across the room. Time had healed Abraham’s grief and his gaze had lost the sadness. Then he had begun to appreciate everything that she had done for the family—taking care of the house, doing the wash, loving his children.
They had married as strangers—he’d needed someone to care for his children after his wife had died, and she’d needed a life of her own.
During the first months of her marriage to Abraham, she had slept in the sewing room after quilting long into the night. She had produced some beautiful quilts by their first anniversary, when Abraham had invited her to sleep in the master bedroom. Afterward she had worked on her quilts in the evening instead, with Abraham seated nearby in his favorite chair while the children had played cards or read stories.
Since Abraham’s death, she had gone back to quilting through most of the night until she’d fall into bed exhausted and sleep only to awaken early to begin her chore-filled days. She enjoyed quilting and everyone complimented her on her handiwork. She had recently sold one of her quilts at Beachey’s Craft Shop, the money coming in at a time when they needed it. Ellen Beachey, the shopkeeper, had been gracious in taking her quilts and craft items so that she could earn much-needed cash.
She crossed to the sewing room off the bedroom and picked up one of her colorful quilt squares. Her mind reeled with emotion as she went to work. As she began to make tiny, even stitches in the fabric, she thought of Abraham and the children and how difficult their father’s death had been for them, how hard it had been to lose their mother two years earlier. They were wonderful children, and she loved them.
Would having Zack and his family here help her relationship with the children or hinder it?
She paused, closed her eyes and prayed. Please, Lord, help us to become a family. Don’t let me lose everything I gained when I married Abraham. A family. A home. Children who needed her.
Mary Ruth’s and Hannah’s sweet behavior would have made her feel at peace, if not for the knowledge that Zack would return soon and disturb the life she’d made for herself with the children.
Ah, Abraham, I’m sorry. ’Twas my fault that you’re no longer with us.
Tears filled her eyes as she plied needle to cloth in tiny, even stitches. She recalled her husband’s face and his eyes, which had eventually looked at her with more than kindness, with caring that had turned into love. In the months before he died, Abraham had begun to see her as a wife rather than a housekeeper and helpmate.
She sniffed as she set down her sewing and rose. She was tired. She undressed by candlelight, carefully removing the straight pins securing her dress, and got ready for bed. She brushed her hair, recalling with a smile when she’d brushed out her youngest daughter’s hair earlier.
Her hip ached and she reached for the menthol and camphor salve to rub on the sore and swollen joint. The scent was strong, but she was used to it, welcomed it because any little pain relief was worth it. She could take aspirin or ibuprofen, but she’d used so much of it recently, she decided it was best to save it for when the pain became unbearable without it.
She moved toward the bed, pulled back the quilt and climbed onto the mattress. She heard a gentle knock on her bedroom door. “Ja?”
“Mam?” The door swung open, and her youngest daughter, Anne, peeked inside, holding a flashlight.
“Anne,” Lizzie murmured. She waved her in. “What’s wrong?”
Her daughter approached the bed. “Mam, do you think our grossmama will like us?”
Lizzie smiled reassuringly. “She will love you,” she said, believing it to be true. “You are her granddaughter. All of you children are her grandchildren. Why wouldn’t she love you? Love all of her kins kinner?”
Annie tilted her head as she regarded her with unusually grown-up eyes. “Will she love you, too?”
Lizzie smiled, unable to assure her when she didn’t know. “You are worrying too much, Anne. They will come and all will be well.”
The child smiled. “I am glad. I want us all to be happy together. It is time for us—you—to be happy.”
Lizzie reached for the girl’s hand, pulled her close. “I am happy,” she said sincerely. “You and your sisters and brooders make me very happy.”
“Even though Mary Ruth can be sharp to you?”
She nodded. “Ja, no matter what. I