Butterfly Garden: A Sensual Amish Historical Romance by Annette Blair

Author:Annette Blair [Blair, Annette]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ABA LLC
Published: 2014-09-19T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

That fast, every tired part of Adam, body and mind, surged with vibrant life as he shot to his feet. “Sara is not back from where?” The shout sent his sister skittering out into the snowy night.

“Get her back in here.” Adam followed his mother outside to find Emma standing in the yard, a distance away, her arms around herself.

Worried she’d run farther, he could think of only one thing that would get her attention. “Sara may be hurt. Come inside so I can go and get Sara, instead of chasing you.”

Emma hesitated but started toward the house, slowing when she got near. Then she raised her chin and walked a half-circle around him.

“Good girl,” he said, loud enough for her to hear.

She faltered, but kept going.

“She trusts you will put Sara first,” his mother said. “It’s a beginning, son.”

“Do not call me son.” Adam wished he’d turned away before the hurt dimmed his mother’s eyes. Her ‘son’ was the boy who was cowed and belittled. ‘Son’ is what the monster who sired him called him.

Perhaps, someday, he would explain that to his mother, without hurt on either side. “Call me Adam. Come into the barn and tell me where Sara went while I hitch up your buggy.”

Adam was ready to go in no time, his mother predicting he’d kill himself traveling in a storm with such a fever, even as she placed a jar of dandelion wine on the seat beside him. “For medicine.”

All he could think about were the directions she gave him and the places along the way where Sara might stop for shelter.

But panic soon became his companion. No one along the route had seen her, though they all said they’d pray for her. One foolish woman went so far as to urge a lantern and matches into his hand. “For guidance and warmth,” she said. “Just for maybe.”

His mother’s buggy horse was a prime goer and the wheels on her yellow buggy were wide, better in the snow than the one he’d lost earlier. Still, before long, the snow was so deep, he was forced to abandon the buggy and continue on foot. He left his mother’s horse, the lantern and matches in a lean-to beside an empty shack, where he abandoned his last hope of finding Sara sheltered and warm.

Who was he fooling? He hoped to find Sara safe behind every tree.

How tired he had been standing at the bottom of the stairs just a short time ago, too tired to raise his foot to the first tread, let alone ascend. Now, here he was trudging through the snow, strong as anything.

“For Sara,” he said louder. She had come to mean so much to the children. What if he—they lost her? How could they go on, if—

“For the children,” he cried. “Because she is the closest to good ever happened to them.” And to me, he did not say, for he would not tempt fate with another opportunity to do damage in his name.

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