The Amish Midwife's Courtship
An Arranged RomanceMolly Ziegler is proud of being a successful midwife. But at age 21, she’s unmarried—and fodder for gossip in her Amish community. Even as her meddling mother urges her to marry the town’s most eligible bachelor, Molly wants more. And in newcomer Isaac Gruber, she’s found her way out. If Isaac will pretend to court her, her mother has to stop matchmaking—once and for all. What Molly hadn’t planned on were the unexpected feelings the businessman stirs in her. Isaac will go along with Molly’s ruse. Especially since he can't stop thinking about her. But when the favor backfires spectacularly, it might just lead them toward true love.
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An Arranged Romance
Molly Ziegler is proud of being a successful midwife. But at age twenty-one, she’s unmarried—and fodder for gossip in her Amish community. Even as her meddling mother urges her to marry the town’s most eligible bachelor, Molly wants more. And in newcomer Isaac Graber, she’s found her way out. If Isaac will pretend to court her, her mother has to stop matchmaking—once and for all. What Molly didn’t plan on are the unexpected feelings the businessman stirs in her. Isaac will go along with Molly’s ruse. Especially since he can’t stop thinking about her. But when the favor backfires spectacularly, it might just lead them toward true love.
“Let’s get this injury seen to, and then you can have some hot breakfast.”
Their gazes met for seconds. Her whiskey-brown eyes caused the oddest sensation in the pit of his stomach, like butterflies flittering from flower to flower.
Men’s stomachs weren’t supposed to flutter.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you.” She smiled. Her eyes sparkled.
“Now take your pills and drink your coffee. I’ll see you in the kitchen in ten minutes.”
“Wait!” Isaac didn’t know why he’d called out to her, and then realized he didn’t want her to leave. It had been a long time since he’d had a conversation with anyone, much less a kindhearted woman who made him feel alive. “What’s your name?”
“Margaret, but everyone calls me Molly,” she said, whirled round and then was gone.
The door shut behind her and he stared at the spot where she’d stood. When she’d left, all the life seemed to have been sucked out of the tiny room with her.
CHERYL WILLIFORD and her veteran husband, Henry, live in South Texas, where they’ve raised three children, and numerous foster children, alongside a menagerie of rescued cats, dogs and hamsters. Her love for writing began in a literature class and now her characters keep her grabbing for paper and pen. She is a member of her local ACFW and CWA chapters, and is a seamstress, watercolorist and loving grandmother. Her website is cherylwilliford.com.
The Lord is good and does what is right; he shows the proper path to those who go astray.
—Psalms 25:8
This book is dedicated to my husband, Henry, who’s always there when I need him, and to Clare Naomi, our youngest granddaughter. Your smile makes the sun shine brighter. Much thanks goes to Barbara Burns and Susan Cobb, my daughters and two of my biggest fans, and to ACFW’s Golden Girls critique group. Without you ladies I’d still be editing my own weak verbs.
Contents
Pinecraft, Florida
November
Molly Ziegler gave the dust mop one last shove under the bed and hit a mahogany leg. Unexpected movement under the bed’s mound of sheets and wedding-ring quilt caught her unaware.
She froze.
Something swung toward her head. Instinctively she launched the mop high into the air, warding off the coming blow.
The mop’s handle connected with something solid.
A satisfying clunk rang out in her mamm’s tiny rental room. Her heart thumped in her chest as she stepped back from the bed, lost her balance and hit the floor. Her feet tangled in the folds of her skirt as she pushed away.
His dark brown hair wild from sleep, a gaunt-faced, broad-shouldered man gazed down at her, his dark green eyes wide with surprise. He dropped the wooden crutch he’d been holding. “Who are you?” His hand gingerly touched the bump on his forehead. His eyes narrowed in a wince.
The bump on his forehead grew and began to ooze blood.
He wasn’t supposed to be in the bedroom at this time of the day. The door hadn’t been locked.
In a stupor of surprise, she blinked. She had no brothers, and with the exception of her father who had passed away in his sleep five years earlier, she’d never seen a man in his nightclothes. There were dark shadows under his eyes. Thick stubble on his chin and upper lip told her she was dealing with an unmarried man.
Annoyed by his words, she scowled. “I was about to ask you the same thing. Cover yourself. There’s a woman in your midst. You might be visiting Pinecraft, where rules are often bent and broken, but my mamm’s dress code is very strict and must be followed by all renters.”
“It wonders me why you’re showing off those lovely stockings to a man if your mamm’s dress code is so strict.”
Molly’s face burned as she swiftly straightened her skirt. She clambered to her feet, an already sour mood making her wish she stood taller than five foot nothing in her stocking feet.
She controlled the urge to stomp as she stepped away from the bed with all the dignity she could muster. Her hands brushed down the skirt of her plain Amish dress and cleaning apron. With eyes narrowed, she sliced the man with an icy glare. “My mamm and I run a decent boarding haus. Our ways are Plain, but we keep high standards.”
