A Family for Gracie

  MARRYING MATTHEW

  It took all her energy to stand there, holding his baby and keeping the wild collection of emotions from dancing across her face. “You want to marry me?”

  “Jah.”

  “I—I—” She didn’t know what to say. Jah, she wanted to marry him. Sort of. She wanted a family and he seemed to be the means to get one.

  She looked back to her cousins. They stood huddled together, arms around each other and identical grins on their faces. She needed them to direct her, nod or something. Let her know that she was doing the right thing. But they just stood there watching and waiting. She was on her own.

  Gracie turned back to Matthew. “Jah. Okay.”

  “Can I ask what you’re getting out of this?”

  “A family.” Her answer was simple. She wanted a family and had for a long time. Once she married Matthew she would have his children to care for and maybe soon a baby of her own . . .

  Books by Amy Lillard

  The Wells Landing Series

  CAROLINE’S SECRET

  COURTING EMILY

  LORIE’S HEART

  JUST PLAIN SADIE

  TITUS RETURNS

  MARRYING JONAH

  THE QUILTING CIRCLE

  A WELLS LANDING CHRISTMAS

  The Pontotoc Mississippi Series

  A HOME FOR HANNAH

  A LOVE FOR LEAH

  A FAMILY FOR GRACIE

  Amish Mysteries

  KAPPY KING AND THE PUPPY KAPER

  KAPPY KING AND THE PICKLE KAPER

  KAPPY KING AND THE PIE KAPER

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  A Family For Gracie

  Amy Lillard

  ZEBRA BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  MARRYING MATTHEW

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2019 by Amy Lillard

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  BOUQUET Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4201-4570-0

  Chapter One

  She could do this. Gracie Glick pulled her buggy to a stop at the end of the red dirt road that led straight to Matthew Byler’s house. All she had to do was take the casserole to the front door and wait for him to answer. Easy.

  Gracie hopped down and retrieved the glass dish from the back of the buggy. She wrapped a towel around it, but not because it was too warm to handle. Her hands were sweaty. She didn’t want to drop it before she even got to the porch.

  She sucked in a deep breath to ease the thud of her heart. Her stomach was in knots. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

  Yet this was the only plan she had.

  She wished she had a free hand to smooth over her prayer covering or even to press the tiny wrinkles marring the skirt of her dress. Maybe she should wait until she looked more presentable. Maybe then he wouldn’t refuse to answer the door.

  Like that was going to happen. He knew she was coming. Well, he knew someone was coming. And that they would have supper.

  It wasn’t like she could return to the house with the food she was sent here to give him. She climbed the few steps that led to the big porch with the even larger door.

  No. It was a regular-sized door and a large but still average porch. She had to get a handle on herself or she would never make it through this.

  Gracie drew in another breath, but it did nothing to ease her nervousness. The best thing to do was simply get it over with. Knock on the door and wait for him to answer. She looked down at the thick glass dish she held with both hands. Knocking might be a little difficult.

  But she had come here with a purpose and she was going to see it through.

  She looked around. There was a wooden bench similar to the ones they used for church, sitting to the right of the front door. She could set the pan there and knock. It was a good plan.

  A plan. Exactly what she needed.

  She placed the pan on the bench, then rapped on the wood and waited. Nothing. She knocked once more, then twice. Louder this time. Still nothing. She knocked again, her newfound confidence waning once more. What if he wasn’t home? Or maybe just not hungry? Or plain old didn’t want to see her?

  Now she was just being ridiculous.

  Thankfully, she heard the fluttering of movements behind the door. Someone was home. Perhaps one of the children looking to see who was outside. But if there were children in the front room they were certainly quiet. Maybe they were playing that game like she had in school: quiet mouse. Like children played it willingly. Maybe everyone was in the back of the house.

  Then she heard it. The squall of an unhappy baby. Before she had time to think about what that meant, the door was wrenched open and Matthew Byler filled the threshold. In his arms he held a screaming baby.

  “I just got her to sleep.” He glared at her with hard, blue eyes.

  Gracie took a step back. Had he always been that tall? That broad? That angry?

  “What do you want?” His voice was chipped ice.

  Gracie blinked, then managed to get herself back on track. “I—I brought you supper.” She nodded toward the casserole on the nearby bench, though she could barely hear her own words over the baby’s cries.

  He looked from her to the dish and back again. Then before she could move to pick it up for him, he thrust the baby toward her.

  “You woke her up. You get her back to sleep.”

  She fumbled a bit, then got a firm grip on the crying baby. She really did have a set of lungs, as they say. Her head was thrown back, her face red as a beet.

  Gracie cradled the infant close to her, inhaling the sweet scent of baby. There was nothing like it in the world. It was the best smell ever. And Gracie had smelled a lot of babies. How many had she gone to help other people with? So many she had lost track, if she had ever really been keeping count.

  “Shhh . . .” Gracie murmured. “You’re too little to have such big problems.”

  Matthew had taken the casserole dish from the bench and started back through the house. At her words, he stopped but didn’t turn around. “Are you coming in or are you going to put her to bed on the po
rch?”

  “Jah. Of course.” This was not going as she had planned it in her head. She would come to the house, offer him the food, and the two of them would sit down and discuss her proposal like rational people. Matthew Byler seemed far from rational. He seemed downright unhappy.

  Or maybe it was exhaustion that pulled at the corners of his mouth.

  Of course he’s unhappy and exhausted. His wife just died three months ago.

  “Shut the door,” he growled as he continued into the house.

  Gracie used one foot to close the door behind her and gently bounced the screaming baby. If this was what Matthew had been dealing with before she arrived, she could see why he was so upset that she woke the baby.

  “Shhh . . .”

  “You’re gonna be in trouble.”

  She whirled around to find four boys, near stair-steps in age, sitting quietly on the couch. The tallest and probably the oldest swatted the one next to him. “Hush up, Henry.”

  The Amish might stand against violence, but siblings were siblings.

  “I don’t have to, Stephen.”

  “When Grace is asleep you do,” Stephen retorted.

  One of the smaller boys slid from the couch.

  “Thomas, sit down,” he continued.

  “Grace isn’t asleep,” Henry said.

  “She will be soon,” Stephen replied. “Thomas.”

  The small boy climbed back onto the couch and sat by his brother. They were so close in size that Gracie wondered if they were twins, though they looked nothing alike. She knew from personal experience that didn’t mean much. Her own cousins, Hannah and Leah, were twins and they looked as different as can be.

  The four seemed to be mirrors of each other. Stephen, the oldest, had dark hair like his father, but green eyes she supposed he inherited from his mother. They seemed larger than normal, magnified by the lenses of his black-framed glasses. Thomas was the same without the eyewear. Henry had blond hair and blue eyes. The eye color had to have come from his father, and if she remembered right, Beth, their mother, had blond hair too. Benjamin was Henry’s mirror. But only in looks. He sat as still as a statue, waiting for . . . something, she supposed.

  She continued to bounce the baby in a comforting manner, though her screams had quieted to hiccups. Gracie patted the baby on the back, rubbing it in hopes of calming her further.

  “Thomas,” Stephen chastised. The boy was attempting an escape once again. Stephen grabbed his brother by one suspender and pulled him back into place. Somehow he managed to push his glasses up a little on the bridge of his nose as he did so.

  “Hey,” Henry protested. He was still sitting between Stephen and Thomas.

  “Necessary,” Stephen grunted. He seemed to have taken on the role of mother and father in his parents’ absence. His mother wasn’t coming back. But where was his dat?

  Thomas finally settled back into place next to Benjamin, who Gracie was sure hadn’t moved the entire time she’d been standing there. How unusual for a small child to sit still like that for so long. And she couldn’t help but wonder if it was in his nature or something else.

  Stephen had started bossing again, telling Henry to be still, quit picking his nails, and to stop blowing spit bubbles. Where was their father?

  The baby’s hiccups were gone. Gracie looked down at the sweet, sweet face to find that she had finally gone to sleep. She felt warm and solid in Gracie’s arms, but she knew she couldn’t get too used to the feel. Not until she talked to Matthew.

  And if he agreed? She would be able to hold this baby, be a mother to Stephen so he could go back to being a child, and maybe . . . maybe even have a baby of her own.

  The mere thought made her sigh.

  “You okay, lady?”

  She pulled herself out of her thoughts and centered her attention on Henry.

  Stephen elbowed him in the ribs. “Don’t call her lady.”

  “Why not?” Henry grumbled, shouldering him back.

  “’Cause it’s not nice.”

  “But she is a lady.”

  “I’m fine,” she reassured him, hoping that would stop their arguing.

  Once again Thomas slid from the couch. Stephen tried to snag his suspenders, but he slipped away, running to Gracie and throwing his arms around her legs and toppling her a bit. She managed to stay on her feet and not wake the baby.

  “You’re still here?”

  Gracie jumped as Matthew Byler loomed in the doorway leading from the kitchen. The baby woke with a tortured wail, and Thomas moved around to the back and hid his face in her skirt. Was he afraid of his father? Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

  “You told me to get her to sleep.”

  He looked pointedly at his red-faced daughter. The look in his eyes was confusing. He seemed sad, helpless, and small in that one instant, as if caring for the child was more than he had bargained for, then the look was gone. “She’s not asleep.”

  Gracie shifted the child, holding her against her shoulder. She bounced her and patted the thick diaper on her bottom. “She was,” Gracie said, her voice timid and soothing all at the same time.

  “What was that?” Matthew asked.

  Gracie shook her head. Being rude back would not help her argument. Thank heaven he hadn’t been able to hear her over the baby’s wails. Or maybe he had and he wanted to see if she had the cheek enough to say it twice.

  She looked to the children, then back to Matthew. “Is there someplace we can talk?” The words turned her mouth to ash. “Alone.” This was it. She was going to do it.

  He frowned. “Jah. I suppose.” He turned toward his sons. “You boys stay right there. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “How long?” Henry was already beginning to squirm.

  Matthew checked the clock hanging opposite the couch. “I told you already. When the big hand is on the four.”

  Henry screwed up his face and studied the timepiece for a moment. “Then we can get up?”

  “As long as you sit there while I talk to Gracie.”

  Henry nodded. “Okay.”

  “That’s funny,” Stephen said, adjusting his glasses once again.

  “What?” Matthew asked. She wished he would hurry. All this chatter was making her even more nervous than she had been when she walked in the door.

  “Grace and Gracie.” Stephen pointed from her to the baby. The baby’s name was Grace? The coincidence was unusual to be sure, but Gracie wasn’t sure if it was a good omen or a bad one. At least the baby Grace had stopped crying, though she showed no interest in going back to sleep. Those blue-green eyes that seemed too large for such a tiny face were heavy-lidded, opening slower with each blink, but her chubby fingers were tightly wrapped around one of the strings from Gracie’s prayer kapp.

  “That is funny,” Matthew said, but his voice was still dry as dust. Did the man only have one emotion: anger? “Come on.” He motioned for Gracie to follow him, then he turned and made his way back into the kitchen.

  It was a nice kitchen, she supposed. But it seemed a little small. A large table sat in the middle of the room and swallowed up most of the free space. Or was that Matthew himself?

  He pulled out a chair and nodded for her to do the same. Gracie hooked one foot between the legs of the chair and pulled it out without moving the baby. Honestly, she was afraid to shift her too much, scared that the tot would pull the string and strip her prayer kapp from her head. How embarrassing would that be?

  She eased into the seat and balanced the baby on her lap, carefully extracting tiny fingers from the string. She offered her own finger as a means of distraction.

  The baby Grace didn’t seem to mind the switch and clasped adult Gracie’s finger in her tiny fist. Now if she could get the child to settle down enough to close her eyes. If she did, Gracie was confident that she would be asleep in minutes if not seconds. Well, if the pounding of Gracie’s heart didn’t keep the child alert. And her heart was pounding.

  It didn’t h
elp that Matthew—big, scowling Matthew—frowned at her from the other side of the table. He was waiting for her to start the conversation she had asked him for. No niceties. No offer of coffee or pie. No preliminaries. Just straight to the point. She shouldn’t have expected anything else from him.

  She pulled in a deep breath, but it didn’t help anything. She exhaled and prayed for the best. “I think the two of us should get married.”

  The words hung in the air between them like a burnt smell lingering in the house.

  “What did you say?” It was the softest voice he had used since she had walked in the door.

  Dear heaven, he wanted her to say it again? She wasn’t sure she could manage it. She rocked the baby and gathered her courage. She had done it once; she could do it again.

  “We should get married,” she repeated. “You obviously need help with the children—”

  “I don’t need help with my kids.”

  “Dat, can we get up now?” Henry peeked around the door frame into the kitchen.

  “Sit down, Henry.” Matthew’s voice was stern but held a tired edge.

  “I told you he would say that,” Stephen called from the other room.

  Henry waited a beat more, opened his mouth as if to protest, but was cut off by his father. “Now.”

  “Okay.” Henry dropped his head and disappeared back into the living room.

  Matthew turned his attention to her once more.

  She half expected him to say something to her. Point out that maybe she was right. That he could use some help. She didn’t want to recount all his shortcomings. He was a man, Amish or not, and he had his pride. He could provide for his children, but he needed help with the day to day. She supposed he could hire someone to come in and keep house for him, but who had that kind of money? Their community was close, but not rich.