The Amish Teacher's Dilemma and Healing Their Amish Hearts by Patricia Davids (all ebook reader .txt) 📕

reached the turnoff to her cousin’s farm. It was dangerous to drive a horse and buggy in the dark.

She stayed stiff and alert and, when she reached her home safely, she breathed a sigh of relief. Almost everyone in the house was already in bed but Aunt Naomi greeted her wearing her warm flannel nightgown and carrying a bright kerosene lamp.

“I was getting worried about you,” the woman said, peering at Becca to ensure she was all right.

“There was no need.” Becca spoke softly so she wouldn’t awaken the others. “I did some gut work with little Sam this night. He spoke for the first time, Aent Naomi. It was only a whisper, but he spoke twice.”

“Ach, that’s wundervoll. I’m so glad. Now, let’s go to bed. Tomorrow will come soon enough.”

“You go on. I’ll be up in just a few minutes,” Becca said.

Satisfied that her niece was home safe, Naomi handed her the kerosene lamp before disappearing up the dark stairs.

Becca carried the lamp over to the kitchen window facing Jesse’s hay field. She turned the light up bright, hoping he would see it. Then, she turned it off, knowing he would get the message that she was home safe.

Moving silently through the darkness, she entered her bedroom and pulled a chair over to the window. She rested her cheek against the cool windowsill, thinking perhaps she could delay her schoolwork for one more day. Because honestly, she was too tired to do any more tonight.

Lying on the bed, she closed her eyes and tried to rest. But her mind was too active to sleep. She thought about all that had happened that evening. Sam had spoken and Jesse had revealed some deeply personal things to her. She knew without a doubt that he was still powerfully in love with his deceased wife. He was still grieving for her and their two daughters. And perhaps that was for the best. She was Sam’s teacher and had helped him make substantial progress today. That was her job. It was the career she had chosen for herself. She didn’t need anything else. So, why couldn’t she stop wishing for more?

Jesse stood on his back porch and gazed into the dark. Far across the rocky fields, a small pinpoint of light could be seen, coming from the Fishers’ farmhouse. No more than a faint glow that flickered among the dark, barren trees bordering their two property lines. And yet, it was so clear. Like a beacon lighting the way for a ship lost at sea. Just a pale glow but easy enough to see. Jesse knew it was way past the time when Becca and her familye should have gone to bed. And because the light persisted, he started to worry about her. What if her horse and buggy had gone off the frozen road? What if she was stranded in a snowbank and needed his help? Maybe she hadn’t made it home yet. Maybe she was hurt.

He turned, prepared to wake up Sam so he could go looking for Becca. But the light went out abruptly and he released a pensive exhale. She was home safe. He knew her cousins wouldn’t turn out the light until she was there. Jesse could finally go to bed and rest, though he knew he would find very little sleep. His mind was too filled with riotous thoughts. Memories of his past happiness and the burden of guilt for losing it all.

Entering his kitchen, he was careful not to let the screen door clap closed and wake up Sam. He doffed his boots, making his way through the dark house in his stockinged feet. He had a hole in the big toe of his right sock but didn’t plan to darn it, or any of his other socks and shirts, anytime soon. Sewing had been Alice’s task and he doubted he could do a decent job of it. Maybe he could hire one of the Amish women from church to do his mending. Until then, he’d just put up with the holes.

After building up the kindling in the potbellied stove, he walked up the creaking stairs and paused just before Sam’s doorway to listen. No restless shifting or low cries came from the room. His son was fast asleep, seeming content for the night. And Jesse knew they had Becca to thank for that.

Grateful for all that had transpired this evening, he made his way to his own room where he sat on the mattress and removed his woolen socks. As he lay back on the cool covers, his mind was filled with wonder. Gott had truly blessed them this night. Sam had finally spoken for the first time in over a year. It wasn’t much, just two little words that were said in a quiet whisper. But it was enough. Sam had talked. Finally.

Until they got to the dinner table.

Then, the child had looked at Jesse and clammed up tight as a fist. Jesse knew it was because Sam feared him. Because the boy felt guilty for what he had done. And yet, there was no anger in Jesse toward his son. No guile or recriminations. Not anymore. The boy was only a young child. What had happened hadn’t been his fault. Not really. Jesse was the patriarch of his home. If the house fire had been anyone’s fault, it was his.

He wanted Sam to be happy. To go on and live a joyful life filled with good works. When Jesse had watched Becca’s buggy pull away from his home, he’d been touched by her kindness. She’d provided them with a tasty supper. She’d washed the dishes and brought order to his house. And laughter. For just a moment, he had wished she could stay. But she wasn’t Alice. She wasn’t his wife. And he felt disloyal for being drawn in by her winsome smiles and easy manner as she moved around his home.

After she’d left, he’d kept his word and read a