Christmas In Hollybrook (Hollybrook Holiday Amish Romance) Page 8

  A knock sounded on the front door.

  “I’ll get it,” Mammi called.

  Sadie began filling the sink with water to wash the dishes when she heard Mammi clear her throat behind her. She turned and dropped the two dirty forks she was holding. They clattered to the floor at her feet.

  “What are you doing here?” she cried, her heart pounding wilding.

  “I came to see you,” Peter said. He held a crumpled letter out for her to see.

  “What?” Sadie pressed herself against the counter. She stared unbelievingly at the letter she’d hidden in her bedside table. “How did you get that?”

  “You wrote this, didn’t you?”

  Mammi pushed around Sadie to turn the faucet off. Then she disappeared from the kitchen.

  “I-I did. But how in the world did you get it?”

  “I don’t know.” He then held the envelope toward her. “It came in this.”

  Sadie gasped, recognizing Lizzie’s handwriting. Ach! Wait till she got ahold of the girl.

  “Did you mean it?” Peter asked. “What you wrote?”

  She looked into his eyes and saw something akin to desperation. He wanted her to mean it. He wanted it to be true.

  “I meant it,” she whispered.

  “Sadie.” That was all. Just her name. But it held everything. It held a promise so big and so beautiful that it encompassed her entire world. “Sadie.” He said her name again, and it was like a caress on her wounded heart.

  Her throat tightened until she could hardly draw a breath. “Peter?” she uttered back, her voice choked.

  And then he crossed the room and took her into his arms. He held her to his chest and she felt his heart beating wildly against her cheek. “Sadie, I love you. I love you, Sadie.”

  “B-but…” Sadie stuttered, hardly daring to believe his words—hardly daring to believe what was happening.

  He drew back, and his eyes were full of understanding. “I know you’re having trouble believing me after how I acted before…”

  She blinked, willing herself not to cry.

  “I did love you, Sadie. Not as much as I do now, but I did. I’m sorry I hurt you. I can’t even give you a decent explanation for what happened. When Eloise, well, when she took notice of me… I-I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you anymore than I already have.”

  “I want to hear,” she said, bracing herself. “I want to hear what you have to say.”

  He looked hesitant and reluctant, but he continued. “She needed me, Sadie. She needed me. There was something about her, something fragile and weak. I let it go straight to my heart. I wanted to protect her.” He shook his head. “I don’t know if I can explain it proper-like. And I did love her. When she died…”

  He stopped then and took a huge breath. “When she died, my world stopped. Everything seemed to die with her. But as time went on, as I began to live again, I found myself yearning for you.”

  Sadie’s eyes brimmed with tears. His words squeezed her heart, but she had to hear them. She had to know.

  “It was odd, Sadie. After she died, I missed Eloise so much. And I still miss her. I suppose maybe I always will. But my heart…” He shook his head again and gave Sadie such a look of desperation that she could barely draw breath. “My heart, so much of my heart, Sadie, has always been yours. I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to be with you. I want to tell you things all day long. I want to hear your laughter, see your smile. I want… Sadie, I want you.”

  Her heart hammered against her chest. She put her hand to her throat, and his words whirled through her mind.

  “Sadie, I know you don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you. But if you could try… If you could at least try to trust me again… I want us to be together. I want to court you. I want us to be married.”

  She was openly crying now. She gazed up at him through her tears, and the love she’d always had for him swelled within her until she could barely swallow. She loved him. Oh, how she loved him. She’d never stopped loving him.

  He took her in his arms again and bent his head over her and covered the top of her kapp with kisses. She tightened her arms around him, and he moaned into her hair. They stood there for a long time, pressed tightly against each other. She breathed him in, breathed in the smell of soap and shampoo and hay and cold outdoors. She closed her eyes, burying her face into his chest, still feeling his heart beating, timing her breathing to his.

  Finally, he loosened his grip and she gazed up at him, at his beautiful face, at his blue eyes that looked almost purple, at his mouth smiling down at her.

  “Could you, Sadie? Could you possibly agree to marry me?”

  Her breath caught and she nodded. “I’ll marry you,” she said, biting back a sob of joy.

  He closed his eyes and whispered his thanks to God.

  She took his hand and squeezed it, feeling his strength and his love. She swallowed and licked her lips. “I’m going to talk Mammi into moving to Hollybrook,” she said in a whisper.

  “I thought she wouldn’t go.”

  “Something has changed. I think she’ll go this time.”

  Peter bent down and kissed her cheek, his lips lingering on her skin. “She can live with us,” he whispered back. “We’ll celebrate next Christmas together.”

  Sadie nearly cried out with happiness. She had never loved Peter more than she did that very moment.

  There was a noise from the doorway. “I’ll stay with my son and his wife, thank you anyway,” came Mammi’s voice.

  Sadie twirled around to look at her. “So, you will come, Mammi?”

  Her grandmother nodded, though there was sorrow in her eyes. “I’ll come. It’s time. I can’t pretend anymore.”

  “Everyone will be so glad,” Sadie said.

  “All right, enough about me,” Mammi said, taking another step into the room. “Now are you going to introduce me proper to your young man?”

  All three of them laughed, and Sadie made the “proper” introductions with complete pleasure.

  The End

  Continue Reading…

  Thank you for reading Christmas in Hollybrook! Are you wondering what to read next? Why not read The Affliction. Here’s a sample for you:

  Black spots darted around the edges of Willa Springer’s vision. She blinked hard, trying to ignore them, but they only increased in frequency, forcing her to pay attention. She didn’t want to pay attention. She cleared her throat and looked at her mother who was dishing up the last helping of bread pudding to her eldest brother, Henry.

  “Mamm, ain’t there more for me?” Fourteen-year-old Andy asked.

  “We’ll have no whining at this table,” John Springer announced. “That goes for all of you.” He glared meaningfully at his four sons. He didn’t include Willa in his gaze. But then, Willa never complained.

  About anything.

  Least of all the raging headaches which attacked her with increasing frequency. The last thing she was worried about right then was who got the last serving of pudding. She grasped the edge of the table, fighting the woozy feeling of dizziness which threatened to overtake her.

  Her mother Katie stopped moving, the serving spoon in mid-air. “Ach, nee!” she cried, looking at Willa. “It’s happening again, ain’t so?”

  Willa nodded slowly; abrupt movements could spur the nausea, and she didn’t fancy vomiting right there at the table. Her mother dropped the empty bowl to the table. “Henry,” she said, her voice pinched, “help your sister up to her room. Andy, get a glass of cold water.”

  The boys erupted off the bench to do their mother’s bidding. Henry was beside Willa’s side in seconds. “Come on,” he said gently, taking her elbow and getting her up from the bench.

  Willa closed her eyes and let him lead her up the stairs. Inside, she was cringing. She hated this. Hated it. Why did she have to have these horrid headaches? She prayed this one wouldn’t last long. Sometimes they hung on for days—long, horrible days of pain and weakness and
lying alone in her darkened room.

  Henry led her as a blind person into her room. She felt the edge of her bed and lay down with great care, careful not to jar herself any more than necessary.

  “Sorry, sister,” Henry said. He pulled a quilt over her.

  “I know,” she muttered, keeping her eyes closed. She heard him go to the window and draw the curtains closed.

  “Here,” Andy said, coming into the room. “I’ll put this water on your bedside table. It’s nice and cold.”

  “Do you want a cool rag?” Henry asked.

  “Nee,” she whispered. “I’m fine. Just go.”

  And they did, closing her bedroom door quietly behind them.

  Willa lay still, not moving a muscle. She waited, dreading the pain that was sure to blast through her head at any minute. She clenched the quilt, her fists tightening until she knew her knuckles were white. Why did she have to suffer so? Why?

  She remembered the first time she’d ever gotten a horrible headache. It was five years ago now. Long enough for her to feel like she’d been afflicted forever. Her mother had put her to bed and called for Old Mae. The district’s healing woman had come, taken one look at her, and made her some feverfew tea with peppermint in it.

  It had only helped slightly. Willa had thought she was going to die for sure and for certain. Never had she experienced such excruciating pain. For a while, she couldn’t even see with her right eye. She was certain she’d gone blind, but her sight had returned the next day.

  Her mother had begged her father to take her to an Englisch doctor, but John Springer wouldn’t hear of it.

  “Old Mae’s been doctoring us for years, and she will keep doctoring us,” he’s said in a tone of voice that brooked no argument.

  Her mother had kept quiet then, but over the years, the subject had been raised more than once. Now, as Willa lay there, waiting for the shooting pain, she tried to regulate her breathing. Tried to stay calm when she was anything but calm.

  She thought she heard someone coming up the stairs, but she wasn’t sure. The pain was building, and then in a whoosh it descended, rocking through her until she thought her head would explode. A scraping noise raged through the room, and she knew her mother had opened her door.

  “Willa?” she whispered. “I’ve brought a cool rag.”

  Go away, go away, go away. Willa didn’t want anyone near her, and her mother knew that. The only person Willa could tolerate during her spells was her cousin Honor. And then only sometimes.

  “Don’t fret, I’m leaving. I’ll just put this rag on your head.”

  Willa felt the sting of cold as the rag lowered to her forehead. Heavy, it was so heavy. Too heavy. She reached up to flick it away.

  And then it was on her again. Was her mother still there? Go away, go away, go away. The door closed, the soft noise ringing through her brain like a hammer. Her kapp. It was a vice on her head. The bobby pins were digging into her skull. She reached up and fumbled with it, throwing it off onto the covers. And then she was still again. Lying as if dead, not wanting to move a muscle. Not even wanting to breathe. It hurt too badly, echoing and bouncing through her head like rocks thrown against a cement wall.

  She moaned softly and tried to pray. But all she could get out was, Help me.

  * * *

  Hours later, the worst of it had passed, but Willa still didn’t move. She knew that any movement could trigger the worst of it all over again. She just had to wait it out. One of her eyes fluttered open, just the tiniest slit, to try to determine what time it was. How long had she slept? It wasn’t the darkness of closed curtains anymore; it was the darkness of night.

  She opened both eyes then, feeling safer in the blackness. Her throat was dry. She wanted to take a drink of water, but that would involve moving, and she didn’t dare. The pain had lessened from the first roar and now was a steady drumming. She could suffer that more easily. But still, she didn’t move.

  It was likely past midnight, so it was Saturday. If she were careful all day, she might be able to get up and about on the Sabbath. It wasn’t a church Sunday, so there would be no service. Folks would spend the day visiting relatives and friends. Since she’d had a spell, it was certain that her family wouldn’t be taking the buggy out to visit. They’d let the people come to them.

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