Amish Romance: The Promise (Hollybrook Amish Romance: Greta's Story Book 2) Read online

  The Promise

  Hollybrook Amish Romance Greta’s Story #2

  Brenda Maxfield

  Contents

  Personal Word from the Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Continue Reading…

  Thank you for Reading

  More Hollybrook Amish Romances for You

  About the Author

  Personal Word from the Author

  Dearest Readers,

  Thank you so much for reading one of my books! Your kinds words and loving readership make my day. As a thank you, I would like to give you a simple gift of my two favorite Amish recipes and keep you up-to-date with new releases and special offers.

  Click Here To Get Your Free Recipes

  Copyright © 2017 by Tica House Publishing LLC

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Chapter One

  In all thy ways, acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.

  Proverbs 3:6 (KJV)

  Greta bit down on her lip so hard, she tasted blood. With a quick jerky movement, she thrust the pan of meatloaf back into the fridge without even bothering to cover it.

  “Greta!” her father hollered. “Greta! Where are you?”

  She stopped and took a slow deep breath. That man would be the death of her yet.

  “I’m in the kitchen, Dat,” she finally answered, working mightily to keep her voice steady.

  “Get in here.”

  Her shoulders went stiff as she walked out to the front room. Raymond Glick was clenching both arms of the rocking chair where he sat. “What were you doing?” he demanded.

  “Putting the food away. Redding up the kitchen.” She stood stoically, as if daring him to make a fuss.

  He took the dare. “Used to take your mamm mere minutes to clear away a meal. What’s the matter with you, girl? Huh? What’s goin’ on in that thick head of yours?”

  Greta swallowed. Her father had always been difficult. She’d secretly labeled him mean more times than she cared to admit. But lately? The term mean didn’t seem to cover it. Something had happened to him, and he had slithered down into a miry hole where nothing could soften him. As Greta stood there, searching her heart for another measure of patience and compassion, she determined once again to go see Old Mae. Perhaps the local healing woman would have some herbs or some sort of concoction that could tame her father’s ill temper.

  In truth, Greta didn’t know how much more of him she could take.

  “Answer me!” Raymond said, wiping the spittle from his lower lip with the back of his hand. He tugged on his long thin beard. “What’s the matter with you lately?”

  Greta stared at a spot on the wall behind her father. It looked to be some sort of a grease smudge. She’d have to get on it later in the day. A bit of vinegar should cut right through it.

  “Well?”

  She blew out her breath. “Nothing’s the matter with me, Dat.” She lowered her shoulders and forced herself to relax. “Is there something you need?”

  “Did you check on that Fisher boy? See what he’s up to?”

  “Todd Fisher is hardly a boy. He’s a man. And from what I can tell, he works hard and solid out in the fields.”

  “That’s what I pay him for,” Raymond countered. “Don’t expect nothin’ less. I’ll be headin’ out to the barn in a minute. Gotta check on things, you know.”

  “I know,” she murmured, feeling sorry for Todd Fisher. With any luck, he’d still be out in the fields and wouldn’t have to face her father.

  “Strange boy, that Fisher lad,” Raymond continued. “What’s he doin’ with no land of his own anyway? You say he’s a man? Huh. Hardly. Ain’t even married.”

  Please be out in the fields, Greta thought. Watching her father badger Todd was unbearable. Truth was, she wondered why Todd put up with it. For the love of farming, she guessed.

  “Where’s your cane?” Greta asked, scanning the room.

  “Don’t need any fool cane to walk on my own property.”

  “But Dat, remember last time? You fell—”

  “I didn’t fall,” he cut in. “I wobbled a bit. That’s all.”

  Which wasn’t true at all. Her father had fallen hard when he’d stumbled over some loose pebbles in the drive. Greta had worked hard to wash the bloody scratches clean on his face and hands. It was only the blessing of the Lord God that her father hadn’t broken a bone or two.

  “I’ll go out with you,” she offered. He’d lean on her before he’d be seen leaning on the cane. She hardly knew what difference it made, but to him, it seemed to matter greatly.

  “Then, let’s go now.” He gripped the arms of the chair and heaved his body to an upright position. “Get over here,” he directed. “You say you don’t want me to fall. Now, give me your arm.”

  Greta stepped close, trying not to make a face at the putrid smell coming from his mouth. She knew he brushed his teeth, well, at least she thought he did. Maybe she should start monitoring that a bit more closely, too.

  He grabbed her elbow with his thin bony fingers, and they moved toward the wash room and the side door. They were more shuffling than walking, but Greta didn’t mind. It was safer at a slow pace.

  Except of course, that it kept her away from her chores longer.

  She sighed. Now that she didn’t have to watch little James for her best friend, Betty, she had more time for chores. She pinched her lips together. She missed Betty. It made no sense to her why Betty had to die so young. And of cancer, of all things. Now poor James had no mama. And Isaac had no wife.

  Her heart clenched with the thought of Isaac. She still hurt when she remembered the abject grief that permeated every part of him. She couldn’t blame him, of course. He’d adored Betty. But his heaviness, his drooping shoulders, the look of pain and loneliness on his face… Well, it broke her heart.

  And the deathbed promise they’d both made to Betty hadn’t helped. Both she and Isaac had given her their word. They’d told Betty that they would marry each other. That way, James would have a new mother, and Isaac, a new wife. But how could Greta hold Isaac to such a promise?

  It was absurd. Impossible.

  Even if Greta did favor him. Which she did.

  But Isaac? The poor man hardly knew which way was up.

  How could Greta even consider such a thing when Betty had only been gone two months? It didn’t matter anyway. Right after the funeral, Isaac and James had packed up and gone back to Ohio to stay with Isaac’s family for a while.

  A while? Greta had no idea how long a while was. Nor did she really know if he’d ever come back.

  But she wished he would. She missed James.

  Her cheeks grew hot. She missed Isaac, too. She had to admit it, at least to herself. It was a dangerous thing, that promise she made. It had opened up a possibility in her heart that she couldn’t quite close up again.

  Isaac’s image filled her mind too often. Much too often for comfort.

  Yet for all she knew, he
never thought of her. And why would he? She’d made it abundantly clear that he was in no way obligated to fulfill that promise. She couldn’t bear the thought that a man would be forced to marry her out of obligation. She’d practically scoffed at the idea to Isaac.

  Which she now regretted. Because part of her—in truth, a large part of her—was interested in fulfilling that promise.

  “Greta!” her father scolded. “Watch where you’re goin’. Your head’s in them clouds again.”

  Greta flinched and steered her father’s steps more carefully. This time, her father was right. Her head had been in the clouds. Another thought pressed itself into her mind. A thought that she was ashamed to think, but there it was.

  If Isaac returned, and if he fulfilled his promise to his late wife and married her, she could get out of her father’s house. She could leave him just like her sisters had. She could be free of his constant criticism and whining…

  Her face grew hot because much to her shame, she would like nothing better.

  Chapter Two

  The barn was in order. Fact was, it looked better than it ever had when her father had taken care of it. Todd Fisher was obviously meticulous.

  Which clearly annoyed her father.

  “Why’d he put the extra blade against that wall?” Raymond snapped. “I always put it right there.” His crooked finger pointed toward the middle of the barn floor.

  “But Dat, it makes more sense to put it where it is. If I recall correctly, you were always fussing about it being in the way.”

  His black eyes glared at her. “Never did.”

  She didn’t argue with him. She just stood while he craned his skinny neck this way and that, looking everything over.

  “And where’s the harness?” he asked. There was glee in his eyes, as if he was well-pleased to find something missing. “It’s gone. He done stole it.”

  “Dat!” Greta cried. “He’s probably using it right now. Todd Fisher doesn’t steal. I can’t believe—”

  “Believe it,” he cried, raising his right hand. “It’s gone.”

  Greta couldn’t stand it another minute. She dropped her father’s elbow and strode from the barn.

  “I’ll be back,” she muttered, not even caring if he heard her.

  She hurried out to the fields, scanning the acreage for Todd. Within minutes, she spotted him in the back southern corner. Without thinking, she ran toward him, darting across the land, skirting around and through the tall stalks of corn. Todd raised it for feed, and by the looks of it, was doing well. By the time she neared him, she was breathless and feeling a bit of a fool. What was she going to say?

  Todd, my dat is accusing you of thievery. That would hardly be appropriate.

  But Todd had already spotted her. He removed his hat and ran a handkerchief over his face.

  “Greta?” His brow was still damp with sweat. He gave her a warm smile. “Is something wrong? Do you need something?”

  She couldn’t help but note his rich brown eyes. There was a friendliness about them that drew a person. Todd was a fairly short man, but he was muscular and fit. His blue shirt strained over his muscles. Greta had the fleeting thought that he needed a wife who made shirts big enough to accommodate his build.

  She gave a small lurch when she realized he was waiting for her answer.

  “Uh-uh…” She smiled and felt her neck go hot. “Uh, Dat was wondering where the harness is.” She bit her bottom lip, praying that he wouldn’t figure out that her father was at that very moment standing in the barn accusing him of stealing it.

  “The harness?” Todd put his hat back on his head. “It’s hanging behind the last stall. I always put it there.”

  His brow scrunched over his eyes, and Greta could see his confusion. “Is he needing it? I can help him—”

  “Nee,” Greta interrupted. “He was just wondering.”

  She felt more foolish by the second.

  “I see,” Todd said, dragging the words out. He looked at her, his brown eyes probing. “Your father doesn’t much like me, does he?”

  Greta swallowed and took a small step back, brushing up against an ear of corn. “Uh, it’s not that…”

  “Jah, it is,” he finished for her. “Would he rather I not work his land?”

  She stepped forward and grabbed his arm without thinking. “Nee! I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

  Which was true. Without Todd working their land, they’d have no income to speak of. And how long would she and her father last then?

  Todd tilted his head and regarded her. “So, he does want me to work here?”

  Greta sighed, wondering what she’d been thinking to run out to middle of the field to speak with him. She dropped her hand.

  “He isn’t himself lately,” she said.

  Todd didn’t speak for a long moment. Then, “It must be hard on you.”

  Her eyes flashed to his, and she saw the compassion there. “I’m fine,” she said, raising her chin.

  “That, I don’t doubt,” he said. “Never have doubted it. But still, it must be hard.”

  Quick tears pricked the back of her eyelids, but she could hardly stand there and cry in front of him, now, could she? In any case, she could hardly be seen in tears in front of anyone regarding her father.

  Todd seemed to sense her feelings and looked out across the fields of corn, giving her a moment.

  “You can join us for the supper, if you wish,” she blurted, and then she was sure she’d lost her mind.

  He looked at her again. “That’d be right nice,” he said, his voice gentle.

  She turned and fled back to the house, her bare feet padding across the land. Join us for supper? Her father would have a fit.

  Well, it was too late now.

  A small half-smile curled her lips. How lovely it was to talk with someone who seemed to understand. Someone who saw through her stoic front.

  Chapter Three

  Greta stood on Old Mae’s porch, looking about for the woman. She had a bit of time that afternoon while her father napped. And she’d already prepared supper. All that was left to do was warm it up and serve it.

  “Why, Greta Glick!” came Old Mae’s voice from behind her.

  Greta whirled around. “Mae, I didn’t hear you.”

  “Head’s in the clouds?” Old Mae chuckled.

  Goodness. Was it obvious to everyone?

  “I suppose.”

  “Sit down, dear. What can I do for you?” Old Mae lowered herself into a creaking rocker, and Greta did the same.

  “I’m here about Dat,” she said.

  “I figured as much.” Her eyes narrowed. “Gettin’ worse, is he?”

  Greta nodded. “He’s become … quite … mean.”

  Old Mae pursed her lips. “Your dat has always been cantankerous, my dear. But he’s a gut man.”

  “Jah, I know. But, Mae, he’s getting … well, worse and worse.” Greta blinked and willed her tears not to fall.

  “Sometimes, it comes as a cruel shock when a man can’t do his work no more. I been watchin’ Raymond. He’s having a hard time growin’ old.” Mae hefted herself from the chair. “Come with me.”

  Greta followed her inside to the dining area where there were shelves full of glass jars with various herbs inside. Old Mae stuck out her finger and ran it along the jars until she gave a harrumph.

  “Here it is.” She took the jar from the shelf and placed it on the table. Then she turned back to her shelves and repeated the process, grabbing another jar and placing it on the table, too. “Lemon balm and St. John’s Wort.”

  Greta watched her take a square of white cloth from a stack of cloths sitting on the corner of the table and laid it in front of the two bottles. She did some measuring and then folded up the cloth and handed it to her.

  “Make it into a tea. Seep it for at least ten minutes.” She continued giving instructions, including directing Greta to give her father chamomile tea before bedtime.

  “So
, this will help?”

  “It should.” Old Mae gave her a searching look. “Something you need to know, child…”

  “What?”

  “How we are in our youth is only accentuated in age.” She gave a wry smile. “If you was ornery when you was younger, you’re going to be even more ornery when you’re older. Not always, mind you, but often enough.”

  Greta sighed. “I guess everyone knows my dat has always had a mean streak.”

  “Jah.” Her eyes were kind. “You’re doing a gut job with him.”

  Tears welled in Greta’s eyes. “Am I, Mae? Am I?”

  Old Mae patted her arm. “You are. Run along now. But keep me informed.”

  Greta hugged the white folded cloth to her chest. “I will. And thank you.” Greta turned to go and then hesitated. “Your granddaughter … Abigail? How is she?”

  Abigail had cared for Isaac’s wife during her last days. She’d been wonderful, gentle and caring. There was a time, though, when Greta had sensed Abigail’s interest in Isaac. It had disturbed Greta, more than she cared to admit. But then Abigail’s former beau had shown up in Hollybrook, and Abigail had gone back home to Pennsylvania. Greta wasn’t sure if Abigail and her former beau were courting again or not.

  But she hoped so.

  Old Mae’s normally sharp eyes turned a bit whimsical. “She’s fine. Back home with her folks.”

  Greta worked up her nerve and asked what she really wanted to know. “And her beau? Are they published?”

  Old Mae’s left eyebrow raised quizzically. Her eyes were back to their normal piercing focus as she studied Greta. “I believe they are. We keep these things quite private, you know.”

  Greta nodded. She did know.

  “But you have some interest…” Old Mae let her voice fade.

  Greta swallowed, feeling like a ninny. How could she explain her sudden interest in Abigail’s romantic life? But she could see by Old Mae’s knowing look that the woman had already guessed.