called him to do more than sit for a spell on that sun-dappled front porch where the clematis and morning glory vines sported the season’s final blooms. He wanted to be a part of this family—this thriving little community—
Way too soon to be thinkin’ that way! Cool your heels . . . clear your head before ya make any more stupid moves.
Ben strolled across the driveway to sit against a sturdy old apple tree. As a kid, when he’d needed quiet time away from his brothers and sisters, the orchard behind the house had been his favorite place to let his mind wander . . .
Clip-clop, clip-clop!
Out on the road a carriage was turning in, and he saw three white kapps inside—which meant Miriam, too, had left the Zooks’ rather than linger where Hiram might press her for an answer to his proposal. While Ben wanted to talk things over with her—clear any suspicions she might have about him—he didn’t care to bare his soul in front of her girls. It was easy to see young Rhoda was smitten, and he didn’t want two Lantzes peeved at him!
So he would wait for them to unhitch the horse and go inside . . . give them time to unpack the picnic hampers before he knocked on the door—
Clip-clop, clip-clop!
Ben swiveled his head as another carriage turned into the gravel driveway. That distinctive broad-brimmed hat and long beard belonged to the one man he didn’t want to see right now. Should he stand up and show himself?
There might come a moment when Miriam’s glad you’re here. But the bishop doesn’t have to know just yet . . .
“Most women would be pleased to live in my home, which I remodeled for my dear, departed Linda.” Hiram Knepp gazed at Miriam with those compelling dark eyes as he leaned closer. “I would update the place for you, too, to make it feel like your home. I would do anything you asked of me, Miriam, for I’ve chosen you to be the mother of my children.”
Miriam closed her eyes, praying the bishop had just offered her a way out of this bramble bush of a dilemma. He’d followed her home from the Zooks’—had brought along that coconut cake rather than sharing it at the common meal, or even letting his own children devour it after he’d left them there with Annie Mae.
But this was no time to think about cake.
“Hiram, ya know full well I can’t give ya any more children,” she said earnestly. She’d convinced the bishop to walk with her outside so they’d have some privacy—but where she’d be in full view of the house. “It’s like I told ya this summer after my long-lost Rebecca returned to us. When she got washed downriver in the flood all those years ago, I lost the baby I was carryin’ then. Couldn’t conceive again,” she reminded him, although such personal details were none of Hiram’s business. “It was a sadness that came between Jesse and me and he took it to his grave.”
“We’ll see the best specialists, Miriam. We’ll go to fertility clinics,” he insisted as they strolled between the driveway and the orchard. “I’ll do everything in my power—and God’s—to fulfill your purpose as—”
“Beggin’ your pardon, Hiram,” Miriam interrupted. It was impolite—went against all the Old Ways—but then, this man wasn’t her husband and she never intended for him to be. “I’ve got my three grown girls and you have six kids of your own—”
“God commands us to be fruitful and multiply.” Hiram stepped around to face her. He quickly set the cake on the ground and reached up, grasping tree branches to block her path. His beard was mostly silver, but his hair remained coal black. He worked with draft horses every day, so the bishop was fit and strong for his age. Miriam recognized the hunger in his probing eyes, and it had nothing to do with the cake he’d brought. “Miriam, my thoughts of you burn so intensely I must either marry you or risk committing sins no bishop wants to confess. You’re in your prime. Certainly not beyond
Way too soon to be thinkin’ that way! Cool your heels . . . clear your head before ya make any more stupid moves.
Ben strolled across the driveway to sit against a sturdy old apple tree. As a kid, when he’d needed quiet time away from his brothers and sisters, the orchard behind the house had been his favorite place to let his mind wander . . .
Clip-clop, clip-clop!
Out on the road a carriage was turning in, and he saw three white kapps inside—which meant Miriam, too, had left the Zooks’ rather than linger where Hiram might press her for an answer to his proposal. While Ben wanted to talk things over with her—clear any suspicions she might have about him—he didn’t care to bare his soul in front of her girls. It was easy to see young Rhoda was smitten, and he didn’t want two Lantzes peeved at him!
So he would wait for them to unhitch the horse and go inside . . . give them time to unpack the picnic hampers before he knocked on the door—
Clip-clop, clip-clop!
Ben swiveled his head as another carriage turned into the gravel driveway. That distinctive broad-brimmed hat and long beard belonged to the one man he didn’t want to see right now. Should he stand up and show himself?
There might come a moment when Miriam’s glad you’re here. But the bishop doesn’t have to know just yet . . .
“Most women would be pleased to live in my home, which I remodeled for my dear, departed Linda.” Hiram Knepp gazed at Miriam with those compelling dark eyes as he leaned closer. “I would update the place for you, too, to make it feel like your home. I would do anything you asked of me, Miriam, for I’ve chosen you to be the mother of my children.”
Miriam closed her eyes, praying the bishop had just offered her a way out of this bramble bush of a dilemma. He’d followed her home from the Zooks’—had brought along that coconut cake rather than sharing it at the common meal, or even letting his own children devour it after he’d left them there with Annie Mae.
But this was no time to think about cake.
“Hiram, ya know full well I can’t give ya any more children,” she said earnestly. She’d convinced the bishop to walk with her outside so they’d have some privacy—but where she’d be in full view of the house. “It’s like I told ya this summer after my long-lost Rebecca returned to us. When she got washed downriver in the flood all those years ago, I lost the baby I was carryin’ then. Couldn’t conceive again,” she reminded him, although such personal details were none of Hiram’s business. “It was a sadness that came between Jesse and me and he took it to his grave.”
“We’ll see the best specialists, Miriam. We’ll go to fertility clinics,” he insisted as they strolled between the driveway and the orchard. “I’ll do everything in my power—and God’s—to fulfill your purpose as—”
“Beggin’ your pardon, Hiram,” Miriam interrupted. It was impolite—went against all the Old Ways—but then, this man wasn’t her husband and she never intended for him to be. “I’ve got my three grown girls and you have six kids of your own—”
“God commands us to be fruitful and multiply.” Hiram stepped around to face her. He quickly set the cake on the ground and reached up, grasping tree branches to block her path. His beard was mostly silver, but his hair remained coal black. He worked with draft horses every day, so the bishop was fit and strong for his age. Miriam recognized the hunger in his probing eyes, and it had nothing to do with the cake he’d brought. “Miriam, my thoughts of you burn so intensely I must either marry you or risk committing sins no bishop wants to confess. You’re in your prime. Certainly not beyond
Similar Books
