A Love Worth Waiting For (Willowmead Amish Sisters #6)

1. Rhythms of Grace

RHYTHMS OF GRACE

The first light of morning crept through the small window of Elizabeth’s room in the Miller house, soft and silver against the plain white walls. She woke before the sun had fully risen—not from duty, but from the gentle stirring of the babe beside her.

Naomi.

Six months old now, with wisps of dark hair that curled at her temples and eyes the color of creek water in summer. Elizabeth lifted her from the wooden cradle John had sanded smooth with his own hands, pressing her lips to the baby’s warm forehead.

“Guder mariye, little one,” she whispered.

Naomi blinked up at her, mouth forming a small O of surprise, then broke into a gummy smile that made Elizabeth’s heart squeeze tight.

This was her rhythm now. Wake with Naomi. Nurse her in the quiet. Change her gown and diaper. Wrap her snug in a soft quilt. Carry her to the kitchen where Sadie would already be stirring oatmeal or slicing bread, humming hymns under her breath.

It was a good life. A simple one.

But some mornings, like this one, Elizabeth felt the weight of what it wasn’t.

The kitchen smelled of cinnamon and wood smoke. Sadie stood at the stove, her back straight despite her years, stirring a pot of cornmeal mush. She turned when Elizabeth entered, her face softening at the sight of the babe.

“There’s my sweet bobbli,” Sadie said, reaching out to stroke Naomi’s cheek with a work-worn finger. “And her mamm too. Did you sleep?”

“Jah, well enough,” Elizabeth said, settling into the chair near the window. She adjusted Naomi against her shoulder, the baby’s small fists curling into the fabric of her dress.

Sadie ladled mush into two bowls, along with a pitcher of fresh cream and a jar of blackberry preserves Barbara had put up two summers ago. They bowed their heads in silent prayer.

Thank You for this child. Thank You for this home. Thank You for... everything.

She lifted her head and spooned a bite of mush. It was warm and filling, the kind of meal that should’ve brought comfort.

But her gaze kept drifting to the window.

To the barn.

To the place where John would be working by now—feeding the horses, checking harnesses, moving through his day with the same quiet steadiness he always had.

Except lately, he wasn’t steady around her.

Through the kitchen window, Elizabeth could just make out the small Dawdy Haus at the edge of the property where Brian had been living since his baptism. Smoke rose from its chimney. After the wedding next week, Hannah would join him there.

Elizabeth tried to imagine what that must feel like—starting fresh, building something new with someone who’d chosen you above all else.

“Elizabeth.”

She blinked, realizing Sadie had spoken.

“I asked if you’d like me to watch Naomi this afternoon. Hannah’s been asking after you.”

“Jah, that’s kind of you.”

Sadie nodded. “It’s gut to see them. Gut to remember you have a home there too, even if this is where you live now.”

Elizabeth looked down at Naomi, who had begun to doze against her chest. For a long moment she simply rocked, gathering courage.

“John barely speaks to me anymore.”

There. She’d said it.

Sadie set down her spoon. Her blue eyes were sharp despite their age, but kind. “I know.”

“Do you know why?”

For a moment, Sadie said nothing. Then she stood, gathering their bowls with deliberate movements and carrying them to the washbasin.

“Whatever’s between you and my son is between you and my son,” she said with her back turned. “I won’t speak for him, Elizabeth. It wouldn’t be right.”

She paused at the basin, then added, more quietly: “But silence is a poor companion, child. Sooner or later it grows too heavy to carry.”

Elizabeth wanted to press, but she knew Sadie well enough by now. When the older woman set her jaw like that, there was no moving her. It was the same stubbornness John had inherited—that quiet, immovable resolve.

So Elizabeth simply nodded, even though Sadie couldn’t see her.

“I understand.”

But she didn’t. Not really.

By mid-morning, Elizabeth having decided to take Naomi with her, had dressed Naomi in a clean gown and bonnet, tucked her into the wicker basket Sadie kept by the hearth for just this purpose, and set out toward the Fisher home on foot.

The walk wasn’t far—just across the pasture and down the lane—but it felt longer with the basket in her arms and the autumn breeze pulling at her skirts and apron strings.

The air smelled of wood smoke and damp earth, the scent of fall settling over Willowmead like a quilt. Leaves tumbled across the path in shades of rust and gold. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the rhythmic clang of hammer on anvil—her father and Sarah at work in the forge.

The Fisher farmhouse came into view, sturdy and familiar, smoke curling from the chimney. Elizabeth’s chest ached at the sight of it.

This had been her home once. The place where Mamm had taught her to knead bread and hem aprons, where Dat had shown her how to temper her impatience the way he tempered steel. Where her sisters had laughed and argued and grown up alongside her.

Now she was a guest here.

Hannah met her at the door before Elizabeth could even knock, flour dusting her apron and streaked across one cheek. A wide smile broke across her face. “Elizabeth! Ach, and Naomi—let me see her!”

Elizabeth stepped inside, the warmth of the kitchen wrapping around her like an embrace.

The familiar smells flooded back—yeast and cinnamon, lye soap and beeswax.

Sarah was at the table, sketching something in a small notebook—probably a design for a gate hinge or a new scrollwork pattern. She looked up and grinned.

“Finally! I was starting to think you’d forgotten us.”

“Never,” Elizabeth said, setting the basket on the bench near the hearth. Naomi stirred but didn’t wake, her small fist pressed against her cheek.

Hannah wiped her hands on her apron and came closer, peering into the basket with the tenderness of an aunt. “Ach, mei lieva. She’s grown so much already. Look at those little fingers.”

“She tries to grab everything now,” Elizabeth said, unbuttoning her cloak and hanging it on the peg by the door. “Yesterday she nearly pulled the edge of the tablecloth. Sadie caught it just in time.”

Sarah closed her notebook and joined them, leaning over the basket with a grin. “She’s got your nose, Elizabeth. And Eli’s chin.”

The mention of Eli’s name no longer struck like a blow. It had softened over time into something bittersweet—a memory that could be touched without breaking.

“Jah,” Elizabeth said quietly. “She does.”

Hannah squeezed her shoulder, understanding without words. Then she turned back toward the counter where dough was rising beneath a clean towel. “I’m making cinnamon rolls for tomorrow’s worship. Want to help?”

“Always.”

The three sisters fell into the rhythm they’d known since childhood—Hannah kneading and shaping, Elizabeth greasing pans, Sarah setting the table for their midday meal. They worked in comfortable silence for a while, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the soft coos Naomi made in her sleep.

It was Sarah who finally spoke what Elizabeth had been thinking.

“You seem... blitzich today. Nervous.”

Elizabeth paused, her hands stilling on the edge of the pan. “Do I?”

“Jah.” Sarah tilted her head, studying her. “Is everything all right? With Naomi? With Sadie and Levi?”

“Everything’s fine,” Elizabeth said quickly. Too quickly.

Hannah glanced over her shoulder, flour dusting her fingers as she shaped another roll. “And John?”

Elizabeth’s breath caught.

Hannah’s voice was gentle, but there was no judgment in it. Only knowing. “You can talk to us, Elizabeth. We’re your sisters.”

Elizabeth set down the pan and moved to the window, looking out toward the forge where she could just make out the shape of their father bent over his work. “He’s been... different lately. Distant.”

“Different how?” Sarah asked.

“He doesn’t speak to me the way he used to. He helps Sadie with chores, he’s kind to Naomi when he sees her, but...” Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s like he can’t be in the same room with me. Like I’ve done something wrong, but I don’t know what.”

Hannah wiped her hands on her apron and came to stand beside her. “Have you taken it to Gott?”

Elizabeth blinked. “What?”

“Have you prayed on it?” Hannah’s voice was gentle. “Not for an answer, just... laid it down. Asked what Gott would have you see?”

“I don’t... I don’t know how to pray about something I can’t even name.”

“Then that’s where you start.” Hannah touched Elizabeth’s arm. “Gott doesn’t need you to know the question before you ask Him.”

Sarah snorted from the table. “And while you’re at it, you could just ask the man.”

“Sarah.”

“What?” Sarah set down her pencil. “Gott gave us mouths for a reason. Hannah, you can pray over it, but Elizabeth’s been carrying this for weeks and going in circles.”

“It’s not as simple as that,” Elizabeth said.

“It is exactly as simple as that.” Sarah came over to the window. “You won’t speak, he won’t speak, and meanwhile the two of you live in the same house tiptoeing around something that has a name. That’s not patience, schweschder. That’s cowardice with a bonnet on.”

“Sarah.” Hannah’s voice was sharper now.

“Well, it is.”

Elizabeth’s eyes had filled. “But what if he doesn’t feel the same? What if I’m imagining things that aren’t there? What if he’s only been kind because I’m his brother’s widow, and I ruin everything?”

Hannah’s hand closed over hers. “Then Gott will hold you up. He has before.”

“And if he does feel the same,” Sarah added, “and you both stay silent another year, will Gott fix that? Or will you have to?”

Elizabeth wanted to argue, but Naomi chose that moment to wake, letting out a small cry that quickly built into a wail. Elizabeth hurried to the basket, lifting her daughter and cradling her close.

“Shhh, lieva, I’m here.”

Hannah brought a blanket, and Elizabeth settled into the rocking chair near the hearth to nurse. Sarah returned to her sketches, and Hannah went back to her rolls, but the conversation lingered in the air like incense.

As Naomi nursed, Elizabeth stared into the fire and let herself think the thought she’d been pushing away for weeks.

What if Sarah’s right?

After the midday meal—chicken soup with thick noodles and fresh bread—Elizabeth bundled Naomi back into the basket and prepared to return to the Miller farm. Hannah packed her a small bundle: two cinnamon rolls wrapped in cloth, still warm.

“For you and Sadie,” she said. “And John, if he’s around.”

Elizabeth took the bundle, her fingers brushing her sister’s. “Hannah... are you nervous? About the wedding?”

Hannah’s face softened. “A little. But mostly I’m happy. Brian is gut. He’s kind. He loves Gott and he loves me.” She paused. “Even if some folks will always see him as the English boy who became Plain.”

Elizabeth nodded. She’d noticed it too—the way some of the older members of the community still spoke a little slower around Brian, the way he was always given tasks but never leadership.

At last Sunday’s worship, she’d watched as the men gathered to discuss a barn raising, and Brian had stood just slightly outside the circle—close enough to hear, welcomed to contribute, but not quite one of them.

He’d handled it with grace, but Elizabeth had seen the flicker of something in his eyes. Acceptance, perhaps. Or resignation.

“Does it bother you?” she asked carefully. “That he’ll always be... separate, in some ways?”

Hannah considered this, her hands resting on the counter. “I think every marriage has something you have to make peace with. For us, it’s this. But he chose this life, Elizabeth. He chose me. That’s enough.”

She glanced toward the window, where the Dawdy Haus was just visible through the trees. “He’ll have a gut home there. We’ll make it ours. And if the community takes longer to see him as truly one of us... well, Gott sees his heart. That matters more.”

Elizabeth kissed her sister’s cheek. “Denki. For listening.”

“Always.”

The walk back was slower. Naomi had grown heavier in the basket, and Elizabeth’s arms ached by the time the Miller farm came into view. The sun was beginning its descent, casting long shadows across the barnyard.

And there, near the barn door, was John.

He was mending a harness, his sleeves rolled up despite the autumn chill, his dark hair falling across his forehead. He looked up as she approached, and for just a moment, their eyes met.

Elizabeth’s heart stuttered.

But then he looked away, focusing back on the leather in his hands.

She stopped walking, just for a breath. Naomi cooed softly in the basket. Elizabeth adjusted her grip and continued toward the main house, where Sadie would be waiting with a pot of tea and questions about her sisters.

But as she reached the porch steps, she glanced back one more time.

John was watching her.

And in his eyes, she saw something she couldn’t name—something that looked an awful lot like longing.

Then he turned and disappeared into the barn.

Elizabeth stood there for a long moment, Naomi warm in her arms, the autumn wind pulling at her bonnet strings.

Beyond the barn, she could see smoke rising from the Dawdy Haus chimney.

Brian would be there now, preparing his own simple supper, living his quiet life on the edge of the family he’d chosen.

What if Sarah’s right?

She carried the thought inside with her, where it settled beside the hearth like an ember waiting to catch flame.