THE SHERIFF AND THE NURSE

HANNAH WINSTONE

TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE SHERIFF & THE NURSE AMISH HELPER A sharp, rabid knock startled Samantha awake, a gasp tearing from her lips as she shot upright in bed. The room was engulfed in darkness, the still night unbroken. She listened, heart hammering in her chest, as the pounding continued. Fear gripped her chest - who was demanding entry to her home at such an hour? Not thieves, for they wouldn't have knocked, and surely would have had more tact than to wake the entire street. The noise continued, rising in urgency - and that was when the young woman decided she needed to investigate. Slipping on a robe and her slippers, she crept downstairs. She was a woman on her own, a widow as of two years ago, and the house didn't contain a single weapon, not unless the kitchen knives counted. Pausing, she seriously considered grabbing one before going to the door. No, the knocking wasn't the sound of danger but urgency, desperation.

Hesitantly she reached out, hand fumbling with the lock as the keys slipped in her delicate hands. Finally the lock clicked, and the door creaked open. Immediately the rapid knocks ceased; and she risked a peek outside. Her chest shuddered at the sight. A boy, no older than eight or nine, stood on her porch in a bloodstained shirt. Although he seemed uninjured, the blood turning a crusty dark brown, the man behind him was in a terrible state. Blood flooded from a slash along his forehead, his shirt sliced open at the shoulder - the flesh beneath was in no better shape. "Please," the boy murmured, eyes wide, pleading, "can you help?" Samantha's lips parted but words failed her. All she managed was a stiff nod as she darted to the side, watching as the boy scrambled into the safety of her cramped hallway. Then her ocean blue eyes swivelled to the man - who, despite

looking dishevelled and only half conscious, wore a shining Sheriff's badge. Her training kicked in then, years of medical practice overriding the nausea. She took him under the arms, groaning under his heavy weight, and all but dragged him into the house. Carrying him upstairs was impossible, so she settled for the sofa. He collapsed heavily into the soft cushions and a grunt of pain escaped him - but he managed a weak smile of thanks. Samantha needed to know what on earth was happening here - but first she had to help this stranger. Turning to the child she asked, "what's your name?" "Leslie," the boy stammered. Forcing her breathing to even, she replied, "you can call me Samantha. Go into the kitchen and boil a bowl of water. Bring it to me with as many towels as you can carry." He nodded, scurrying off without another word. When Samantha turned back to the man he had tried to sit up, wincing as his injured arm caught beneath his bulk. Frowning, she put a small hand on his chest as if to push him back down. Usually she had as much strength as a child, but he was so weak he fell back without complaint or resistance. "I'm sorry," he croaked out, "this must be a shock for you-" "You can explain while I patch you up," Samantha interrupted, "but first I need to see the rest of your injuries." A man didn't nearly out from a simple cut to his arm and forehead. Concussion, perhaps? Or deeper wounds somewhere hidden beneath his clothes? She knelt beside him, hands steady despite her ragged breathing. "Why are you here?" she demanded, leaning across to inspect his head wound. "You're a Sheriff. Surely hospital is the place to go." "Sheriff Oscar Watts, I'm from a few towns over." He winced as her careful fingers danced across his skin. "There are people after us," he muttered, accented by another low hiss as Samantha moved down to inspect his shoulder, "hospital is too obvious." With a jolt of coldness, Samantha realized they were being followed. Chased, even - and now they were in her home. She should have kicked them out, told

him to go to the hospital where he belonged and keep her out of it. Yet she didn't - instead she simply began unbuttoning his shirt to search for more wounds. "Here's the water!" Suddenly a small body appeared by her side, nervous but somehow smiling despite it all. Bundled in his small arms was a tower of towels and a steaming bowl of water. "Set it on the floor, please," she instructed, "and dash across the street to telephone the hospital-" "I told you, no hospital," Oscar snapped - but it was without bite as he groaned, sinking further into the now bloodstained cushions. Samantha could have fought it, but as she peeled back the bloodied shirt and saw the deep purple bruises across his ribs, she froze. There was no way those weren't broken, and his journey here, from wherever he had been, could only have made it so much worse. Her heart went out to him, sympathy swelling inside of her. So she ceased the questioning, for his sake, and got to work. She instructed the child, Leslie, through it all. Two hands were just fine - but four were better, even if he had never done anything like this before. Her soft voice seemed to calm them both until they fell into a routine; Samantha treated the wounds while Leslie handed her everything she asked for. After several bowls of hot water, four towels and enough bandages to serve an army infirmary later, they were finished. It seemed that Oscar had sprouted more injuries every second, another bruise or cut appearing as soon as she finished tending to the previous one, but at last he was stable. Samantha sat back with a tired sigh, eyes flickering from Leslie to Oscar. "Am I allowed to know what happened now?" she questioned - but Sheriff Oscar Watts was asleep. After the ordeal, Samantha couldn't even muster the strength to be annoyed.

——————————

The next morning Samantha sat at the kitchen table with Leslie. They both picked mindlessly at their breakfast but not really eating anything. Her coffee had long cooled, barely a sip taken. One thing Samantha had noticed was how quiet Leslie was. He had barely spoken a word except to ask how Oscar was, and then a thank you for breakfast. So they sat in tense silence as Oscar slept in the next room, eyes glued to their plates and minds drifting. Shuffling reached her ears, the awkward shamble of someone trying with great effort to move silently - and failing. Samantha's mind snapped to attention as she shot from the table, reaching the cramped hall just in time to see weak sunlight stream through her front door. The Sheriff stood, eyes wide like a child caught stealing food, halfway through the doorway. "You're too injured to leave," Samantha protested, "unless you're going to a hospital. I know that's not where you're going." She surveyed him - which was easy since he hadn't moved since being caught. A splotch of blood had soaked through the gauze on his forehead, and he pressed a hand to his bruised ribs. It was probably the only thing keeping him upright. He at least managed an apologetic smile, an awkward shrug. "I'm hardly going to stay here to recuperate when there's still criminals loose on the street," he onished. His features twisted into a scowl, then, lips pursing. "And I've involved you enough." Leslie appeared by her side, small hands curling into the soft fabric of her dress. His big, dark eyes flickered from Samantha to the Sheriff, then back again. "You were going to leave without your son?" Samantha accused, "just disappear without us noticing-" "He's not my son," Oscar snapped, "he's just a child I-" he cut himself off, mouth snapping closed. then, "take him to your Sheriff, explain that he's an orphan in need of somewhere safe." "That's not-"

"Tell him Oscar Watts send you both, and it will be fine," he interrupted with a deep scowl. He couldn't have been older than thirty, yet when his brows creased and his lips pursed he looked so much older. It was frightening, how his entire face transformed. Leslie clung to her, fearful eyes unsure of where to look. He was so tiny, even for a child, so fragile despite his weak attempts at strength. "Don't leave," he murmured, so quiet it could have been missed except for the complete silence surrounding them. Samantha's resolve strengthened then, her mind set. This man wasn't leaving, for his own sake and the child's. She wasn't giving him a choice. Samantha strode forward with her thin arms outstretched, expression blank as she clasped small hands around his broad shoulders. Even though she hadn't touched his injury he winced. His lips curled and she almost expected him to lash out, or perhaps to throw an insult or two - but instead he stumbled, clutching his ribs, and slumped against the wall. Well, that was just proof that he wasn't fit to go anywhere. "A few days of recuperation won't kill you," she informed him with a forced smile, "and since you refuse to see the hospital this is as good a place as any. You're lucky you stumbled onto the porch of a qualified nurse." Pride swelled at that - she was the only medical professional in her family, the only woman who had any sort of university or college education. Oscar only rolled his eyes, whether at her smugness or her offer of help she didn't know. "There are murderers out there, and they need to be caught." "I'm sure our Sheriff is on the job," Samantha replied - and then, "what? You never mentioned murder." He ignored her enquiry and instead stumbled back to the living room - and to the sofa. Dry blood still clung to it, but he hardly seemed to care. Oscar winced as he sat down, but his expression relaxed as he sank into the plush cushions. If there was one thing everyone knew about Samantha Walters, it was that she didn't let things go. Not when they mattered anyway, and this mattered. "Murderers?" she repeated, settling into the armchair beside him and folding her arms. "You need to explain."

From the corner of her eyes she watched Leslie curl up on the window seat, staring listlessly into the street outside. She yearned to comfort him somehow, but right now Oscar had her full attention. This time, he cooperated. Head dipped low he let out a ragged sigh and ran a hand through thick auburn hair. "There was a train robbery, but it went wrong. Very wrong. I intercepted it but... well, by then it was too late. The thieves were armed with knives, guns, everything you can imagine. I managed to hook one man around the jaw and shoot another but..." he paused, swallowing thickly. "I told you the kid was an orphan? Out of everyone he and I were the only survivors." Dizziness overcame her suddenly, sickness rising in her stomach - she was silently thankful she had barely touched her breakfast. Eyes closing she sucked in a deep, rattling breath. "Surely it's out of your hands now? It's a massive job for just one Sheriff, it must have been turned over to-" "It was my fault," Oscar insisted - and when her eyes snapped open she swore he had been scrubbing at his eyes. "I failed to apprehend them, I failed to save a carriage full of people. I need to make up for that." It wasn't his fault and he must have known that - but then Samantha thought of the times when she had witnessed a patient die, when she and the doctor's had been unable to save someone. It must have felt like that - no, worse. He had seen innocent people killed before they even had the chance to see a doctor. Samantha dropped her hands into her lap. Silence filled the space between them. Thick, tense, and unable to be broken. They sat like that for a long time, unable to speak but unwilling to be alone.

——————————

Although leaving Oscar and Leslie alone made her stomach churn, it didn't change the fact that she had two extra mouths to feed and an injured man in need of clean bandages. She kept her head low as she moved through the streets,

nervously eyeing up every soul she ed. An elderly woman cast her a curious glance as she walked past, huffing quietly to herself before losing interest. For once, Samantha was grateful for her plain coffee hair and delicate features. People tended to overlook her - which, in this case, actually worked in her favour. If anyone was looking for Oscar and the child, they surely wouldn't be suspicious of an unremarkable young woman shopping for groceries. The empty wicker basket bumped against her hip as she walked, the rhythmic thump oddly calming. The weak, early morning sun cast a warm glow across the mostly vacant street as Samantha scurried, barely pausing to check before crossing the street. Who knew if the market was even open so early, but staying in the house with nothing to do but wait around and force awkward conversation made her antsySuddenly Samantha tripped over a loose cobblestone and she tipped forward, only to smack into the solid, muscular chest of a stranger. Flushing furiously she tilted her head up, an apology on her lips - only to fall silent as she caught a look at him. He was tall, impossibly so, and almost as broad. It wasn't his height or shocking build that silenced her though - no, it was the dark bruise that bloomed along his jaw, accented by a deep cut crusted with dried blood. His nose was crooked too, recently broken, and more bruising revealed the beginnings of a black eye. "I'm so sorry I ran into you, sir. Are you all right? That looks painful." He shrugged massive shoulders, apparently unbothered by the sorry state of his own face. "I've had worse," he grumbled. Boice deep and gravelly. A heavy smoker. Then his eyes drifted down, scrutinizing Samantha's faded dress. "There's blood on you too. What happened?" “Uh, oh..." she trailed off, mind blanking. She couldn't exactly say she was housing an injured Sheriff and a boy on the run from thieves-turned-killers. She blinked, floundering for a believable excuse, until he snorted out a bout of gravelly laughter that left her flinching. "That blood isn't yours," he stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "it wouldn't belong to a certain Sheriff, would it?"

Samantha's mind ground to a halt and left her frozen in place. How did he know? How? When her body finally allowed her to move it was as if in slow motion, her legs stumbling and dragging. Hazel eyes flickered up, saw a slow smile spread across his thin, dry lips. "I'm sorry, I have no idea what you're talking about," she answered shakily. It wasn't convincing even to her own ears. Then, too quickly, "I have to go." She spun, half expecting him to grab her up with those enormous hands - but he let her go. His eyes were hot on her back as she scurried off, tripping over her own skirts as they swished about her ankles. By the time she managed to peek behind, he was gone. 'I managed to hook one man around the jaw and shoot another .' Oscar's words cam rushing back to her. At least now she had a face to match one of the men - it didn't make her feel any better. Finally reaching the house Samantha threw open the door and flung herself inside. The empty basket fell to the floor as she frantically slammed the door. Only once it was locked up tight did she allow herself to pause, heaving in an enormous breath as she all but collapsed onto the carpet. Leslie rushed in with wide, frantic eyes. "What happened?" "Where's the Sheriff?" "In the kitchen," he replied quietly, and then darted aside as Samantha stormed through the hall. Oscar sat at the little table, coffee in one hand and her morning paper in the other. There was a brief spark of annoyance at how he had made himself so at home - followed by relief that he was all right. In fact she rather enjoyed how he looked at her table, using her favourite mug and wearing an old shirt she had found in the cupboard. Her late husband's shirt, but that was something to address later. "Oscar," she demanded, "we need to talk." His eyes darted up, questioning, as he set the newspaper down. "I've already told you everything you need to know," he began, "and I won't be here for much

longer-" "I saw one of the murderers," she snapped - and then collapsed into the nearest chair. The wood creaked underneath her, so old it should have broken long ago. "An enormous man with a broken nose and bruised jaw. He knew that I knew about you." He fell silent. Leslie, as quiet as always, inched into the room but didn't say a word. Silence overtook the three of them, thick and awkward and painful.

When Oscar finally did speak, it was with such conviction that for a moment she couldn't even refuse. "I can't stay here," he decided, "I need to find them before they find us." "Our Sheriff, the police-" "Are too damn slow to do a thing," Oscar snapped. Suddenly he was on his feet, wobbly but standing tall. Although his injuries surely caused him pain, he marched past without so much as a wince, grabbing her keys from the little hook on the wall. "You're mad if you think I'll just let you go-" Samantha began, lurching from her chair to follow after - but she was completely ignored. It was as if she and Leslie had simply ceased to be there. "Sheriff - Oscar, you can't do this. You don't even know where they are!" "Stay here," he instructed, "keep the kid safe. Go to the Sheriff's office if you need to, but stay out of sight." Samantha's lips parted but her mind was unable to form words, never mind speak them too. She was left floundering in the hallway, staring out after Oscar as he disappeared into the street. Something shiny glittered in the morning sun beneath his coat - a pistol. How had she never noticed that before? By the time her brain caught up and reality came flooding back, he was already gone. He had lost his sanity if he thought this was going to work, if he thought it was possible to just disappear and somehow find the people that had attacked him.

Then again, they wanted to find him just as much. The thought made her skin go cold. There was a moment of hesitation where everything was thick with silence - and then Samantha turned to Leslie. "I'm going after him." Leslie darted after her as she headed for the front door. "It's too dangerous," he protested quietly, and then, "may I come with you? I don't... I don't want him to get hurt." Her expression softened, gentle smile spreading across her lips. "I don't want you to get hurt," she replied. For such a young boy his determination was irable. Holding his head high and nodding he answered, "those men killed my mother and my brother. Then they took every valuable they had. "And you want to be there when they're brought to justice," Samantha concluded with a sigh, "all right. Here-" she tossed him an old cloak, one that was far too big for his tiny body but would hide his features from view. The two wasted no time in following after Oscar - but even those brief minutes had given him a head start. They crept along the street, and Samantha felt silly for the way her eyes darted at every breeze, every flutter of leaves. It wasn't as if the men were right around the cornerOh no. The way the man swung into view, almost as if mocking her thoughts, caused a chill down her spine. Samantha faltered - and Leslie knocked into her back, causing them both to stumble. She threw out a hand to steady him and darted down an alleyway with the boy in tow. Too late. The man's head turned just as they ducked out of view - but he must have seen them. Sure enough his thundering footsteps approached and Samantha swore the ground shook beneath his enormous weight. Pushing Leslie behind her, Samantha backed into the alley. Cold, damp wall surrounded them on three sides. There wasn't so much as a door or a window within view. Swallowing, she tried to muster the courage, tried to force her mind

to think. They hadn't even made it to the end of the street and here they were but where was Oscar? A shadow fell across the alley, blocking out every last spark of sunshine. His enormous shoulders blocked their view, his damaged face filled their vision. "You're the boy," he rumbled, "the last witness." The man advanced, thick hands clenched into fists. "It's disappointing that our robbery didn't work out," he snarled, "but once you and that Sheriff are taken out it's going to be so much easier." "The police are already looking for you," Samantha blurted, "you won't get away with it." It was the wrong thing to say. His features twisted into a gnarled frown as he stalked forward - and then sharp pain erupted along Samantha's jaw. She collapsed with a gasp, the world spinning, and clutched her jaw. She tasted blood. "A pathetic woman like you isn't going to stop me," the man grunted, "now move. It's the kid I want." "Don't touch him!" Samantha's tiny hand shot out, curling around his ankle - the man stumbled but didn't fall, too heavy and too strong for Samantha's thin wrists. He shook her off with ease and she gasped as he kicked her out of the way. Once again she saw stars, the floor rushing up to meet her. Leslie whimpered, barely audible over the rush of the pulse in her ears. He scrambled backward until he hit the damp wall, shaking hands covering his face. As if that would help. As if anything could help them now. Suddenly, she had the realization of just how stupid she was, thinking she was more equipped than Oscar; thinking she was any help at all. But she had to try. Stumbling to her feet, grasping the slick wall for , Samantha advanced. He was enormous and impossibly strong - but too focused on Leslie to even notice her advance. At least she thought so, until he whirled and shot out one thick hand. One single swipe sent her sprawling, pain lacing along her jaw and neck. Although she shot out an arm to steady herself it was too late and the man kicked her feet out from under her. Samantha collapsed onto the ground, vision spinning and going dark.

She watched helplessly as he whirled on Leslie, fists clenched as a slow grin spread across his broad face. "I could kill you right here," he murmured, "but I want to see the Sheriff's face as he watches you die." A cry burst from Leslie's lips as the man hit him - and then he landed beside her, dark hair sprawled out across his narrow features. He tried to turn, tried to protect himself - but a second blow knocked him out in seconds. Samantha just had time to see the man looming over her, a slimy smile on his horrid features, before she too lost consciousness.

——————————

Samantha floated back to consciousness with a dull throbbing in her jaw and queasiness settling into her stomach. She cracked open hazel eyes and slowly the world swam back into view. She wasn't in the alleyway. In fact she wasn't outside at all, but a small, dark room that was empty save for a crooked table and a scattering of chairs. To her left sat a firmly closed - and most likely locked - door, but the room was so unremarkable it gave no indication of where she was. Movement beside her - and Samantha flinched, only to realise her arms were bound behind her back with thick rope. Her feet too were tied to the legs of the hard chair she was stuck to. She flinched, struggling helplessly with her bondsBut it was only Leslie. The small boy was bound just the same, rope cutting into frail wrists and leaving harsh, dark bruises as he twisted and squirmed. "Leslie, sweetheart, you have to stop," she soothed - it sounded forced even to her, "you'll only hurt yourself." Finally he did stop, little body falling limp as he swivelled to look at her. There was a dark bruise forming along his cheekbone, but thankfully the skin was unbroken. She could only imagine what she looked like, from the way her jaw throbbed every time she moved. The two fell into thick silence, neither knowing

what to say - but a hundred thoughts rushed through Samantha's mind as her gaze flickered across the room. They really had left nothing for them to use to escape, had they?It was a lot of effort for one young boy and a Sheriff - too much for a bunch of thieves. Something told her the train robbery wasn't their first, nor was it the first time they had resorted to murder. The locked door jostled, echoing into the otherwise silent room, and voices drifted from beyond it. The big man's voice was obvious, even muffled through the door, and Samantha's heart stuttered in her chest. She fought down the urge to cry out as the door creaked open, but her body began to shake as his enormous form swam into view. Their eyes locked and a slow grin spread across his face. "You're awake," he stated, meandering over as if he was simply going for an afternoon stroll. Pulling up a chair he flopped down in front of them, practically dwarfing the tiny wooden furniture. "I don't suppose it will be long until the Sheriff is here, and then we'll have you all together." Leslie squirmed, whimpering as the ropes cut deeper into his pale skin. Even in the dimness, Samantha saw the blood trickle down his hand. She yearned to reach out, to tell him everything was okay - but it was a lie. A kind one, but a lie nonetheless. At least, as long as he thought Oscar was coming for them, he wouldn't hurt them further. Perhaps she could keep him talking, distract him in the hopes an opportunity to escape arose. Swallowing down her disgust she said, "you never told us your name. You know who we are, it's only fair." He snorted, a disgusting sound. "And what do you care?" he demanded. She shifted, panic rising. He wasn't intelligent by any stretch, but still smart enough not to take her bait. How long would he force them to sit here as he stared them down? Samantha wanted to be sick, but there was nothing in her stomach to throw up. Swallowing, she asked, "why did you hijack that train? Isn't it usually cargo trains that thieves try to rob?" A smile curled at the corner of his lips. "Full of rich people, that train was. Rich people with lots of money and jewels."

Her stomach twisted. They really had just killed so many people over money. Of course, had she really thought it could have been anything else? "Was it worth it, murdering all those people. One of your friends was killed too, wasn't he? By the Sheriff." His features twisted at the memory of his deceased friend and for one terrible moment Samantha thought he might lash out - but instead he laughed, deep and gravelly. "It was worth it," he stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "and I'd do it again." Beside her, Leslie sucked in a breath. "You murdered my family," he murmured, "over my mother's purse and a handful of jewellery?" More laughter, laughter that rang in her ears long after he had quietened. "You're mother? Ah yes, the pretty redhead with the teenage boy. Your brother?" Tears slipped down Leslie's face, leaving streaks across his pale face. Samantha felt hot tears threaten to spill down her own slender face. The desire to comfort Leslie only grew, but she was helpless. "You won't get away with this," Samantha murmured, but the man only laughed at her. Silence overtook them, and Samantha wished only to disappear. The man didn't blink as he stared at them with a leering smile. She shifted under his gaze, but was unable to get away from itVoices outside. Muffled by the door their words were impossible to decipher but then the voices grew to shouts and pounding footsteps echoed as people scattered. The door was thrown open, bursting from its hinges and clattering as it bounced against the wall. It hung open for a moment, a shadowy figure standing in the doorway - and then Oscar revealed himself. He clutched a pistol in both hands, his face darkened by the dim room. "Move away from those two," he demanded. Samantha's chest fluttered, although she couldn't decipher why. She wanted to reach out, to bundle Leslie in her arms and run to Oscar - but she was still bound to the sturdy chair.

Oscar marched forward but the man didn't seem to care. "We've got you," Oscar warned, "and we know who you are. You won't get away a second time." A slow smile curved across his dry lips as he hefted his bulk from the chair. It groaned under his weight, thankful to be relieved from rhe stress of his impossible muscles. The man hovered there for just a moment, suspended - and then he charged. Suddenly a crowd rushed into the darkened room. Samantha saw a flurry of faces both familiar and not - their own Sheriff, a burly man with a mop of thick blonde hair, and also half a dozen men in police uniforms. They swarmed the man, blocking him from view - but also blocking her view of Oscar. One man, tall and slender and looking far too young to be a police officer, split from the crowd. He dropped beside Leslie - who flinched, but relaxed as the officer began untying his bonds. Then he moved to Samantha, uttering quiet assurances she barely heard over the commotion just behind them. She didn't dare look. "Are either of you hurt?" he questioned, eyeing up her bruised jaw warily. "Just minor wounds," she replied, "I'm a nurse." Her eyes flickered past him, past that boyish smile and toward the front of the room. "Where's Oscar - uh, Sheriff Watts?" "He'll be fine," the officer replied, "but you two need medical attention and"Where is he? I need to see him immediately." The officer sighed, but relented. When he stood Samantha caught a glimpse of the chaos behind them - it had subsided, the officers dispersing as they towed away the handcuffed criminal. Through the door and down a long hallway voices reached her. There was more than one man being arrested tonight, it seemed. She just hoped they had caught everyone. Samantha may have only seen one of the murderers, but that was more than enough. Leslie stumbled to his feet, rubbing at those bruised and cut wrists. He stuck close to Samantha's side as they moved, glued to her as if she could actually offer him physical protection. It was all her doing in the first place, but her chest warmed at how he took comfort from her presence.

When they finally reached the outside world Samantha blinked - the sunlight stung her eyes and the smell of fresh air burned her lungs. For a moment she faltered, stumbling in the bright light - until a warm arm caught her. Oscar. Before Samantha knew what she was doing her slender arms were around him, bringing him in for a tight embrace. He hesitated - but then his own thick arms wrapped around her and pulled her closer. "Are you all right?" he murmured into her hair. The touch should have felt strange, wrong even, for they were almost strangers. Yet Samantha burrowed into his arms and breathed, "yes," without a moment of hesitation. She could have stayed there forever, revelling in his warmth and softness. He was the first to pull away, but his gaze was only for her. The softness in his gaze made her melt, and that was when she realized - Samantha was in love with Sheriff Oscar Watts. "You're injured," he noted, gentle fingers brushing across her bruised jaw, "I'm sorry this happened to you. If I hadn't ran off-" "If I hadn't followed," Samantha corrected, "it was nobody's fault, although I am sorry Leslie has been through so much." She cast him a glance - but he was content to be tended to by a concerned policeman as he watched them from a distance. "Anyway," she conceded, "it's all over now." "That it is." They fell quiet, but it wasn't thick with discomfort like it may have been before. Although they had moved from each other's embrace they kept close, Oscar's warmth seeping into her cold skin. In the silence it was easy to overthink, overanalyze. Should she tell him how she felt? Would that only make things awkward? Now that it was all over, did he even care to keep in touch? What ifSoft lips met hers, careful arms wrapping around her thin torso. Samantha's eyes snapped wide as a gasp left her lips - but then, almost against her own will, she sank into the loving touch. Eyes slipping closed Samantha pressed herself to him, not caring for the eyes watching, hot against her back. In that brief moment,

everything was perfect. But they had to breathe, and so with a laugh Samantha eventually broke the kiss. Cheeks flushed and expression sheepish, he looked absolutely wonderful. She wondered if, despite her bruises, she looked just the same. Reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face she asked, "What was that for?" Although of course, she certainly wasn't complaining. "I've been rude to you since the beginning," he confessed awkwardly, "and you've been nothing but kind. Stubborn, but kind. In these few days with you, I've realised what I've been missing." "Which is?" she questioned, a smile pulling at her plush lips. "Love." He didn't say I love you, not quite - nor did Samantha say it back - but it was clear where his heart was. His eyes, so soft and filled with affection, said it all. So she kissed him again, soft but determined, drinking in his warmth. This time she broke away - but only because Leslie made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, and a handful of officers laughed. Her cheeks flushed scarlet but she didn't mind, not really. Turning to Oscar she asked, "what now?" "We need to deal with the criminals," Oscar replied quietly, "and after that, I don't know. I don't live far away but... how would you feel about moving town?" "If you'll be there, I'd love to," she replied. Then, with a quick glance at Leslie, "What about the child?" Oscar sighed, "He doesn't have any family, not any more. I suppose he will have to go to the local orphanage." Samantha shifted, her mind already made. It was ridiculous, insane even, but she wasn't going to leave Leslie alone. "I could adopt him," she murmured, pulling Oscar close, "we could. I'm sure a well standing nurse and a Sheriff wouldn't have a problem getting custody."

She expected denial, to be accused of being silly - but Oscar simply grinned and said, "That sounds lovely," before leaning in for a deep kiss.

THE AMISH HELPER

SAMANTHA COLLIER

The Amish Helper Hope watched as the familiar farmhouse came into view. She hadn’t been here in years, but surprisingly, it hadn’t changed very much. “Steady there, Prancer!” Her father’s voice, guiding the buggy along the rough dirt track toward the home, pierced her reverie. It was a wet day, and rain was even now pelting the track, making the horses’ hooves lose their footing in the ruts. Hope peered through the rain, carefully assessing the state of the house. In the old days, it had been a dazzling white; lovingly maintained. But now, the paint was peeling, coming off in long strips. The weatherboard railing on the veranda needed repairs. Hope could see that there was a trail of children’s toys left haphazardly along it, which were getting wet where holes in the roofing leaked. She shook her head, a sudden sadness overwhelming her. It shouldn’t be like this. But it was, and that was one reason she was here. Her father drew up the horses, jumping down from the buggy and walking around to help Hope down. The large black umbrella he opened shielded them from the rain as they quickly ran up the front steps. As her father knocked on the door, Hope could hear children running around, their shrieks carrying through the air. There was no response. Her father knocked again, louder this time. Eventually, they heard a man calling for them to come in.

Her father gave her a rueful smile as he opened the door. They proceeded in, almost colliding with two children who were chasing each other down the hallway. “It’s Annie’s turn!” yelled a fair-haired boy, looking over his shoulder. Then he stopped, gazing up at the two people in the hallway. “I you!” he said, staring at Hope. “Aren’t you my mamm’s cousin?” Hope smiled. “Jah, I am your Mamm’s cousin,” she said, kneeling so that she was on eye level with the youngster. “My name is Hope. What is yours again?” Hope knew very well what the boy’s name was, but she didn’t want to overwhelm him. “Eli,” said the boy, shyly. “And Annie’s my sister.” He pointed at a girl with long golden hair, who had just come into the hallway and was watching them. Hope straightened, and nodded to Annie. “Well, Eli, can you tell me where your Daed is? My father and I need to see him.” Eli nodded, his large blue eyes assessing them both. “Follow me,” he said, walking into the living room. Hope looked over the room. It was a mess; in addition to toys, there were clothes draped over every surface, and plates and cutlery still on the table. It was obvious that there hadn’t been any cleaning done for quite a while. Then her eyes were drawn to the figure, lying on the sofa. Her breath suddenly stilled, and her heart started to thud uncomfortably. He was the same, wasn’t he? Those impossible blue eyes, and the brown hair that glinted with flecks of gold. But his beard was longer, and looked unkempt. He didn’t smile. “You’re here,” he said, in a monotone. Hope didn’t think he sounded pleased. “Jacob.” Hope nodded at him, trying to still her hands, which had started to tremble. Why? Why, after all this time, was this still happening to her? But Jacob hadn’t noticed. He was staring past her to her father, who had followed her into the room.

“Mr Miller.” Jacob attempted to straighten himself on the sofa, pulling himself up with difficulty. “I am sorry that I can’t stand to greet you.” Hope’s father smiled. “Jacob, it is alright,” he answered softly. “We understand. It is why we are here, after all.” Jacob sighed. “The doctor says that I need to rest it completely for about a week,” he said, pointing to his right leg, which was encased in plaster. “I’m not allowed to do anything, apparently.” “How did it happen?” Mr Miller had perched on the edge of the sofa, staring down at Jacob. “At the dairy.” Jacob’s eyes clouded. “One of the cows kicked me, and I lost my footing on the slippery floor. I fell down a level, and landed badly.” He grimaced at the memory. “The pain is bad?” Mr Miller watched his face. “Very bad, but I can cope.” Jacob gazed at him. “It’s everything else that is the issue now.” He spread his arm wide, to indicate the house, and the children. Mr Miller nodded. “Jah, it is difficult for you,” he replied. “But Hope is here, now. She will tend to the children, and the housework.” Jacob’s face tightened. “It shouldn’t be for long,” he said, through gritted teeth. He still hadn’t looked at her, not really. Hope felt her heart sink to the floor. Why was he being this way? She was here for him and his children, after all. She didn’t expect lashings of gratitude, but a civil manner would be appropriate, wouldn’t it? There was an awkward silence. Mr Miller coughed, putting his black hat back onto his head. “Yes, well, I should be off,” he said, looking at Hope. His eyes were full of sympathy. “Farewell, Jacob. I hope that your recovery is quick.” “Thank you, Mr Miller,” Jacob replied. Hope walked back to the front door with her father. The rain was unrelenting,

pelting the house with a ferocity that worried Hope. “You will be alright, driving back in this?” she said, turning to her father, frowning. “I will be fine, Hope,” the older man answered. “It is you that I am worried about. He doesn’t treat you with the respect that you deserve. If you feel that you don’t want to be here any longer, let me know, and I will come straight away for you. We can find someone else to help him until he recovers.” He frowned. “He is still bitter. The grace of God has not let forgiveness into his heart, and any woman that he encounters must suffer the burden of it.” Hope smiled. “It will be fine, Daed. I am strong! And it is only for a little while, after all.” “You are sure?” “I am very sure.” Hope reached up and gently kissed her father. He was such a wonderful man, always looking out for her. She couldn’t have wished for a better father. “Farewell, then, daughter.” He reached down and stroked her arm, then strode out. Hope could see him open the umbrella again, then run to the buggy. She sighed. The children’s screams had reached high pitch again, and she could see Jacob was pretending to sleep on the sofa. He didn’t want to talk to her now, obviously. There was nothing for it. She would just have to roll up her sleeves, and jump in.

***

Hope had just put the children to bed, after a long drawn out battle. They had lingered too long in their baths, saying that they always stayed that long. Then there had been the myriad of excuses as to why they couldn’t stay in bed. Annie

needed a drink of water. Eli had to go to the toilet, just one more time. But eventually, they had settled. They had even enjoyed the bedtime story that she had read them – one of her own favourites from childhood. Walking down the stairs and into the living room, she surveyed the house as she went. It had taken all afternoon, but the house was now spic and span. Three loads of washing had been done, and a mountain of dishes washed. She had even managed to cook a big platter of fried chicken and coleslaw for supper, which the children had woofed down. Jacob had barely muttered a “danke” when she had brought supper into him, on a tray. But she noticed that he had polished it all off, nonetheless. She hovered, now, at the edge of the living room, looking at him. He was reading a book, and didn’t glance at her. “Ahem.” She cleared her throat, and eventually he raised his eyes to hers. “The children are settled. Do you need some help getting to your own room for the night?” Jacob shook his head quickly. “I will manage,” he said. “I have the crutches.” His gaze lingered just behind her. Hope sighed. “Well, I might retire then,” she said. “Good night.” He nodded, looking back down to his book. Hope lingered a moment longer, then walked slowly back up the stairs to the guest bedroom where she was staying. It was a pretty room; the wallpaper was white, embossed with a delicate rose motif, and the curtains were handmade in a similar pattern. Hope walked up to them, gently stroking them. She ed when Emma had bought the fabric for them, and how excited she had been. “I am making curtains for my new home!’ she had laughed. “I am a married woman, now, Hope! Can you believe it? I must pinch myself sometimes, to believe it myself! Oh, how happy I am!” Hope smiled ruefully, still stroking the curtains. But the happiness was not

destined to last. It was probably one of Gott’s blessings, that none of them had known what the future held... Hope and Emma had been the very best of friends, always. There was only two years age difference, after all, and they had been brought up closely. First cousins. It had been after rumspringa that Hope had started noticing the handsome young man, who stared at them down the length of the long table during the meal after church service. Jacob King, was his name. At first, she and Emma had giggled, and thought nothing of it. They had been so close at that stage, and it didn’t seem possible that a man could ever come between them, or challenge that bond. But then Jacob had started approaching them. He was charming. At first, he talked to them both equally. Hope started to become excited when she thought that she might see him, and to take extra care with her appearance. He liked her, she knew that he did. He would often stare at her, those incredible blue eyes glowing like sapphires. Looking back, she could never isolate the moment when that had changed. When he had stopped looking at her, and instead focused those eyes on Emma. It had been subtle, at first. He talked to Emma more than to her. And then, the two of them would walk off together, and not return for a while. Hope tried very hard to act happy for them, but inside, she was crushed. She tried to stop her feelings for Jacob, but they stayed, coiled at the base of her heart. Jacob and Emma. Courting. And then, suddenly, they were engaged. Hope had been bridesmaid at their wedding, and still ed how sore her face had been from smiling. At the first opportunity, she had left. How was she ever going to still be their friend, when she felt this way? She helped Emma set up her new home. She had shared in the joy of their children being born. But then Emma had started to change, growing restless and distant. Gradually, she stopped seeing Hope altogether. Hope was worried, but didn’t see what she could do. And – she could only it this to herself – she

was a bit relieved. It had been hard, pretending all the time that she didn’t feel the way that she did about Jacob. Oh, she knew that she had lost, and had accepted that. But it was still hard. She also missed Emma. They had been so close, once upon a time. When she had first heard the news, she had felt as if someone had come up to her and punched her in the stomach. She felt winded. Emma had abandoned her husband and children; she had taken off with an Englisher, and left the district completely. Hope could still feel the shock of it. As she ed that awful moment, she clutched the curtains tighter. The whole district had been abuzz with talk of it; it had been the scandal of the decade. But even that wasn’t the worst of it, for poor Jacob and his children. For after six months, word had filtered back that Emma had been killed in a car accident. Her kinder, already abandoned, had lost their mother forever. And Jacob had lost the woman who had decided that she no longer wanted to be his wife. Hope could only imagine the pain of it. He had withdrawn from the community, looking after his children and managing his dairy farm alone. He had spurned all offers of assistance. He had seemed to want to hibernate like a wounded bear in a cave, guarding his cubs ferociously. That was until he had broken his leg. And Hope had answered the call to duty, no matter what personal pain it cost her. She studied the curtains closely, running her finger over the pattern, as if the meaning of it all might suddenly be revealed in the fabric. He didn’t want her here, that was obvious. He was as cold and distant as if she were a stranger. She had not seen him in many years, but they had once been friends...could he not put the past behind him, just a little, and that? Hope sighed, dropping the curtains abruptly. It didn’t matter. She had a duty to do, and the main part of that was making sure that Eli and Annie were properly cared for and the house tended, until their father was back on his feet.

She simply had to close her mind to everything else.

***

“Annie! Give it back to me!” Eli reached across the table, lunging forward. He was attempting to grab a book of his that Annie had picked up. The little girl laughed, picking up the book and holding it above her head. “Children!” Hope put on her stern voice. “We are respectful at the breakfast table.” She drew a deep breath. “Annie, please put the book down. You haven’t finished your muffin. Eli, pick up your fork and start eating your scrapple, please.” The children grumbled, but did what they were told. Lying on the sofa, where he had been since he had gotten out of bed, Jacob King listened to the squabbling, smiling grimly to himself. Hope had her work cut out for her with those two. He didn’t know if his late wife’s cousin really understood the hard work involved in running a house and looking after children. Jacob raised himself, so that he was propped higher on the cushions behind him, causing his injured leg to fall slightly. He winced at the sudden stab of pain, crying out. Hope rushed into the room, concern knotting her brow. “Are you alright, Jacob?” He waved his hand at her dismissively. “Just moving,” he replied, in an irritated voice. Hope watched him for a moment, before she shrugged her shoulders and went back to the breakfast table. Jacob looked down, ashamed of himself. He knew that he was being unbearably rude to her, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Just seeing a woman – any woman – in the house again, tending chores and looking after the children,

caused him such anguish it was all that he could do not to order her to pack her bags immediately. But this wasn’t just any woman. This was Hope, who had been his wife’s cousin and best friend. Back when they were courting, and first married. Before his wife had inexplicably changed. Jacob frowned, ing. A sudden vision of Hope, as she had been when he first met her, entered his mind. He had not thought about it in years, but it had been Hope who had first sparked his interest. But then Emma, with all her sparkle and charm, had caught his eye. And the rest was history. Very bad history, as it turned out. Emma had never been suited to marriage and motherhood. He should have seen the signs earlier – she had always been restless and flighty, flitting from one thing to the next, never able to concentrate for long. He had thought that marriage would calm her, but if anything, it had magnified it. Abandonment. And then, death. Gone forever, now. Jacob’s heart filled with sorrow, quickly supplanted by anger. He could hear Hope in the kitchen, singing softly to herself while she did the breakfast dishes. The sound of her sweet voice caused such distress in him, he spoke before he could think any further. “I need to rest!” he called out. Hope stopped singing. Jacob had gotten what he wanted. Why, then, did he suddenly feel so bereft, as if he would do anything for her to ignore him, and start singing again?

***

Hope had just collected the eggs from the henhouse. She turned to Eli and Annie.

“The girls have supplied so many eggs today,” she said, smiling. “Would you like to bake a cake?” They nodded eagerly, their eyes shining. “Now,” she said, looking around the kitchen, “I need some help. Eli, can you get out a big mixing bowl and wooden spoon. Annie, can you open the pantry and bring me some flour, butter and sugar.” The children set to work. Hope smiled to herself. Should she just automatically bake a cake that she knew by heart, or should she involve them further, and find a different recipe? She glanced around the kitchen. There were some high shelves in the corner, where a few old dusty books lived. She walked over and reached up, grabbing one and pulling it down. Amish Baking Made Easy. Hope recognised it as a wedding gift to Emma and Jacob. It had been a bit of a joke between them all. “Are people suggesting that I can’t cook?” Emma had said. Jacob had smiled, knowing it was true. Hope had diplomatically said that everyone could do with some new recipes. But it was true – Emma was a hopeless cook, despite having helped her own mother since she was little. “What’s that?” Eli’s voice behind her made her jump. Hope blew some dust from the cover. “Just an old recipe book,” she said. “I thought that maybe we could find a good recipe in here for a wonderful cake!” Eli peered at it intently. “Was it my mother’s?” He stared at her solemnly, his blue eyes large in his face. Hope’s heart constricted, but she steadied her voice. “Jah,” she replied, not looking at him. “Have a look through it, Eli, and pick a recipe.” Eli opened the book, poring over the pages. Annie stopped what she was doing, and came and looked through it with him. Such a simple scene. Two siblings looking through a cookbook. But Hope’s heart lurched, again, thinking of her cousin, and how it should be her here, doing

this with her children. Why had Emma abandoned them? And how could she have done it? Hope shook her head. She would never know. Emma had gone to her grave with her secrets. “What about a ginger cake, Hope?” Eli stopped turning the pages, looking up at her. Hope walked over, peering at the recipe over his shoulder. “Jah, we could do that,” she smiled. “I think we have all of the ingredients.” The two children smiled at her, eagerly.

***

The smell of ginger cake baking was making Jacob’s mouth water. He had forgotten how wonderful the smell of fresh baking was; it had been so long. The smell seemed to spread through the house, wafting into all the rooms. Hope was obviously a great cook. The fried chicken last night was just about the best that he had ever tasted, and her scrapple this morning for breakfast had been wonderful, as well. He could barely wait to sample the ginger cake. There were advantages to having a woman in the house...and not just any woman. Hope had managed – in the space of one afternoon and one morning – to completely clean the house and outside, cook magnificently, deal with loads of washing and amuse his children. All with a smile on her face. And all while he was being rude to her. Jacob felt a stab of guilt. He watched her as she walked from the kitchen with the cake. Eli followed her, balancing plates, a cutting knife, and forks. Annie brought up the rear, holding a small pitcher of cream.

“Shall we?” Hope took the knife, cutting into the cake. The two children’s eyes glowed as they watched. She walked into the living room to Jacob, carrying a plate with a big slice of ginger cake and a dollop of cream on the side. “The children made it themselves,” she smiled. “I just helped!” “Danke.” Jacob held out his hand. As she ed it to him, their hands touched, causing a jolt of electricity to course through him. He looked at Hope, shocked. She had obviously felt it, too, judging by the way she pulled her hand back as if it had been burnt. “Well...” she said. She refused to look him in the eye. “Enjoy.” She turned and quickly walked back to the kitchen. What had just happened? His hand felt like it had been electrocuted. But then the smell of the cake wafted up, and he couldn’t resist. He dug his fork in, and took a large mouthful. It was divine, of course. He knew that they had gotten the recipe from an old cookbook of Emma’s; he had heard them talking in the kitchen. He even ed when Emma had attempted to make this very cake, once upon a time. It hadn’t turned out like this. This was one of the best cakes that he had ever eaten. He watched Hope, sitting at the kitchen table next to his children. They were all eating their own slices with relish. Now and again, the children would ask Hope a question, which she would answer patiently and with humour. Eli and Annie obviously adored her, already. But then, how could they not? Hope really was wonderful. And it had been a long time since any woman had been in this house, and cared for them. Jacob felt a surge of anger nudge the tender feeling aside. He didn’t want a woman in here! Women spoilt everything. He had been managing quite well, as

a single father....at least until he had broken his leg. He nodded his head, decisively. It didn’t matter how delectable a cook she was, or how loving and patient with his children. He tried to forget her sweetness, and the magic he had felt when their hands had touched. He wanted her gone. How long until his silly leg healed, and he and his children could go back to life as it was?

***

A week had flown past, and it was almost time for Hope to leave. She felt very conflicted. She had grown to love Eli and Annie, and it had been wonderful being so independent, running a house. On days when it had been raining, she and Annie had quilted together, or they had all baked again. And when the weather had been fine, they had worked outside. Tending the large vegetable garden, and gathering the eggs. Sometimes, they had walked further, over the hill, collecting wildflowers as they walked. She was going to miss them. Even thinking about it brought tears to her eyes. But Jacob had gone to the doctor yesterday, who had told him that the cast could come off soon. He would still need crutches, of course, but he would be able to manage. She wasn’t going to be needed anymore. Jacob. She shook her head as she thought of him. He was such a paradox! Sometimes, she had caught him looking at her almost tenderly. At those times, he would talk softly and gently to her, and she ed the man she had fallen in love with, all those years ago. He was still there! You had to scratch the surface a bit, but he was! But then, the other Jacob would suddenly re-surface. The bitter man, who couldn’t put the past behind him, and wanted to lash out at everyone around him. Hope understood why he did it, but it didn’t make it any easier to bear. Especially when she was here to help, and especially when she felt the way that

she did about him. She loved him. She probably always would. It seemed to be her cross to bear, in life. Hope stared around the kitchen, which was sparkling. She had made it sparkle; she had gotten down on her knees and scrubbed every inch of it. She had even changed a few things around, to make it easier for her. Just little things – the bowls into a cupboard that was easier for her to reach; fresh herbs picked from the garden in small pots on a ledge, the better to pick quickly when she was cooking. It made her realise how much she craved her own home – and her own children. She was twenty-eight years old, after all. A confirmed spinster in the district. Destined to live forever in her parents’ home, because she would never marry. How could she? The only man that she had ever loved was Jacob. There had been a few marriage proposals, over the years, but she had turned them all down. A marriage without love was not a marriage, in Hope’s opinion. It was as simple as that. But the yearning had been re-awakened, staying here. Looking after Eli and Annie. Such beautiful children, who needed a mother’s love. Oh, she had no doubt that Jacob coped as well as he could, but it wasn’t the same, was it? Hope ed the state of the house when she had first come to stay. As hard as Jacob tried, he would never be able to keep on top of everything. He had to work in the dairy, after all. “Are you alright, Hope?” She turned around, to see Annie standing there. Her big blue eyes looked concerned. Hope smiled. “Of course I am, Annie. I was just thinking how much I will miss you all, when it is time for me to go.” “You aren’t leaving us, are you?” The little girl’s eyes widened in distress. “Hope, please don’t go!” Hope crouched down so that she was on eye level with the girl. “I was only ever

staying until your Daed’s leg got better, Annie. I thought that you knew that.” “Jah, but...” the little girl’s voice trailed off, and her eyes filled with tears. “Who will bake cakes with us? And take us for walks? Daed is always too busy to do those things.” Hope’s heart felt like it was breaking into a million pieces. “I will come over again, I promise! We can do things together. I am sorry that I haven’t been around much.” And that was very true. She should have soldiered through her heartbreak over Jacob, and been here for these children. They needed someone, that was obvious. There was a sound at the doorway. They both looked around, to see Jacob standing there, leaning against the doorframe. His crutches were by his side. “You are leaving us soon, then?” He looked at Hope, his eyes probing hers. Hope took a deep breath. “Well, you are almost better,” she said, not looking at him. “You don’t need me anymore, do you?” He continued to gaze at her. He seemed like he was about to say something else, but then he shook his head slightly, and turned and left the kitchen.

***

Hope walked through the back door of her home, crying out when she saw her mother. “Mamm!” She threw her arms around the older woman, hugging her tightly. Mrs Miller gazed at her daughter, lovingly. “My Hope,” she said, her eyes shining. “I have missed you, my lieb.” “I have missed you too, Mamm,” said Hope, taking off her bonnet and cape and hanging them on the hook in the corner. “How has everyone been?”

“Well,” replied her mother. “Sit down at the table, Hope. I have just brewed a fresh pot of coffee, and I have some leftover apple strudel we can have for morning tea.” Hope did as she was told, carefully pouring the coffee for both her mother and herself. Her mother cut generous slices of the strudel. “How were things at the Kings?” her mother asked, after they had both taken the first sip of black coffee and a bite of the strudel. “As well as they can be,” replied Hope, carefully. “Jacob is much improved. I organised things where I could, to make it easier for him.” She took a deep breath. “Eli and Annie are wonderful! I am going to miss them.” “It would be very hard for them, without their mother,” Mrs Miller said. “I have always felt very sorry for them, and wondered why Jacob has been the way that he has. So many in the community have offered to help him with them, but he spurns everyone.” “I think it is his bitterness,” said Hope, taking another sip of coffee. “He does dwell in it, Mamm. I think he is distrustful of all women, because of what happened with Emma.” “Emma was always flighty,” replied Mrs Miller, darkly. “The grass was always greener on the other side for that girl. I was distressed when she abandoned her family, but deep down, I wasn’t surprised. I always saw it in her.” Hope looked at her mother in shock. She had never said so before, at least not to her. “I thought that you liked Emma, Mamm!” Mrs Miller pursed her lips. “I liked her well enough, mainly because you and she were so close. But I never trusted her. People always act according to their true nature.” Hope took another bite of her strudel, thinking. It was true – Emma had always been capricious. But Hope had made allowances for it, because she had loved her. In the end, it had not been possible. “Did Jacob express appreciation for your help?” Mrs Miller asked, breaking through Hope’s thoughts.

Hope smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I don’t think it is possible for him to express gratitude,” she replied. “Sometimes, I can see the old Jacob there...” she drifted off, staring into space. Mrs Miller put her hand over Hope’s on the table. “You have always loved him, haven’t you, Hope?” Hope’s eyes widened, and then filled with tears. “I thought that I hid it so well,” she whispered. Mrs Miller’s eyes were shining with tears, too. “You did hide it well, Hope. I doubt that anyone but me would have suspected. I saw how excited you would get when you would speak to him, and then how that excitement faded once it became obvious that he and Emma were an item. A mother knows, my dear.” “Well, it was never meant to be,” Hope replied. She looked down at their ed hands. “I have gotten over it.” “Have you?” Her mother looked at her, sharply. Hope looked up at her mother, laughing. “Of course I have, Mamm!” she said. Mrs Miller gazed at her daughter, in sorrow. She knew that Hope still loved Jacob. Why couldn’t the silly man see what a treasure she was? Why was he so mired in the past that he couldn’t see anything for the future? Emma was gone. It was a tragedy, but it had happened. Jacob needed to move into the future, not just for his sake, but for his children’s. And for Hope’s.

***

“Could you the mop, please, Hope?” Mrs Miller and her daughter were spring cleaning the attic, and were covered in

dust and cobwebs. Hope sneezed. She reached out to the mop and ed it to her mother, rolling her eyes. “Spring cleaning is my least favourite job in the world,” Hope said. “At least it only comes around once a year,” her mother replied, wiping a cobweb from her face. Suddenly, they heard a loud knock at the front door. They both looked at each other, questioningly. No, there were no visitors expected. “Hope, would you?” her mother asked. “You are closer to the door than me.” “Of course, Mamm,” she replied, walking down the narrow stairwell. There was another knock, louder this time. Hope ran toward it, reefing it open. It was Jacob King. He stood leaning against the doorframe, crutches in one hand. In the other, he had a freshly picked bouquet of wildflowers. Hope’s heart lurched, then started thudding painfully within her breast. “Jacob,” she whispered. “What are you doing here?” “Can I come in?” “Of course.” Hope automatically let him enter. She couldn’t think clearly; she felt as if her mind was clouded. “Come into the kitchen. I will make us some coffee.” He followed her into the kitchen, barely using his crutches. “So, you are all improved?” Hope asked, as she started brewing the coffee. What was he doing here? “Much better, thank you.” He gazed at her. Then he abruptly thrust the bouquet at her. “These are for you.” Hope took them. “Thank you,” she whispered. She didn’t understand. Why was Jacob giving her flowers? Was this a belated attempt at gratitude, for her

coming to stay and helping him? “Hope.” She turned around, for where she was trying to find a vase. “Jah?” she whispered. “I need to talk to you.” Jacob took a deep breath. “I know that you will probably tell me that I am a stupid fool, but I can’t contain it any longer.” He took another deep breath. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, since you left us. I know that I was terribly rude to you, when you were staying, and I am so sorry.” “Jacob, it’s alright...” “No, let me finish.” He gazed at her, his eyes filled with tears. “Hope, you have no idea how hard it was, seeing another woman in the kitchen, and tending the children! It brought up all my issues over Emma. It was wrong; I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” “I understand...” “No, you don’t, Hope.” His voice had started to shake. “It wasn’t just that. I started to enjoy you being there, and realised what a wonderful person you are. But I was trying to fight it, telling myself that I didn’t want another woman in my life – ever! But I can’t fight it anymore, Hope. I find that I love you.” Hope gasped. “You love me?” He nodded, staring at her. “I love you, with all of my heart. I am still scared, I can’t deny it. But I needed to try. If you have no interest in me, please tell me know.” He hung his head. Hope’s heart lifted. “Oh, Jacob! If you only knew! I love you, too. I have loved you forever.” Jacob’s eyes widened. “You have always loved me? Oh, Hope! If only I had have known! I was very interested in you, when we first met, but then Emma took over...” “It was as it should be,” replied Hope, her voice tremulous. “It was all a part of

Gott’s plan. Eli and Annie wouldn’t be here, if you both hadn’t fallen in love and married.” She took a deep breath. “I know that it is still hard, Jacob, but you have to look at what was good, as well as what was bad. Yes, Emma abandoned you all, and then she died. But she gave you the children.” Jacob’s eyes glittered with tears. “It is so true, Hope, my lieb. You are so wise! I would be so happy if you would do me the honour of becoming my wife, and the new mother to my children.” Hope felt like she was in a dream. Could it really be happening? All her dreams were suddenly coming true. She turned to him, looking him in the eye. “Nothing would give me more pleasure, Jacob.” They smiled at each other. Perhaps the past had finally been laid to rest, once and for all. THE END