The Amish Maid's Sweetheart Read online

  Claire made sure she was the first to speak. “I’ve got another job. I’m not working for Mrs. Wallen anymore. The Wallens have their dochder-in-law looking after them, but they recommended me to Mrs. Billings.” Claire looked directly at Jessie. She had hoped she could tell her in private, but if she hadn’t told her tonight, Jessie would’ve found out from someone else and that would have caused hurt feelings.

  “At the B&B?” Jessie asked.

  Claire nodded. “Jah at the B&B. Cleaning, as you all know, wasn’t my first choice, but it pays well and keeps me out of the haus.”

  “Well, watch that Donovan Billings,” Lucy said. “After all the things Jessie has told us.”

  “Jah, I’ll be careful. I’ll stay completely away from him,” Claire said.

  A waitress walked over with some of their food and drinks, followed by Dan holding another tray-full.

  “Mrs. Billings is fair, but she expects a lot.” Jessie picked up her knife and fork to eat the cake in front of her. She never ate with her fingers like the other girls.

  “I’ll manage—I hope.” Claire giggled.

  “You’ll do well, Claire.” Amy then asked the other girls. “Have any of you worked with Claire?”

  “Jah we’ve all worked together helping to clean old Mrs. Yoder’s house when she was sick last summer,” Jessie said. “Remember?”

  “I thought I was the best at cleaning until I worked with Claire,” Amy said.

  Claire shrugged. “I just like to do things well.”

  Jessie put a hand softly on her friend's shoulder. “That’s why you’ll do a gut job for Mrs. Billings.”

  “Denke, Jessie. I’m glad you don’t mind I’m working there right after you left.”

  Jessie replied, “I don’t mind at all; just be sure you keep in mind what Lucy said.”

  The girls stayed and chattered for another two hours. When just Olive and Claire were left, Olive offered to drive Claire home without her having to ask.

  As they walked to Olive’s buggy, Claire asked, “Do you ever wonder what it’s like away from the community, Olive?”

  “I do, once in awhile, but I don’t think I’d like it. It seems cold and unfriendly. No one watches out for anyone and Blake said almost everyone is selfish. He didn’t say it outright, but I gathered that from the stories he’s told me.”

  Claire nodded, but there were times when she wondered what it would be like to live in one of the big cities. Sometimes it seemed a gut thing that no one would know who you were and they wouldn’t be watching what you were doing.

  Sometimes Claire wanted some privacy; being an Englischer would surely offer privacy. But then there would be no one to rely on in the bad times. As far as Claire was concerned, that was the reason she was never going to leave, not for anything or anyone.

  Olive looked over at Claire, and said jokingly, “You’re not thinking of leaving, are you?”

  “Nee. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like, but I’d never leave the community. Anyway, how are Blake and Leo?”

  “Really good. He’s started the instructions already.”

  “That’s good. I’m so happy everything’s worked out for you.”

  A smile beamed across Olive’s face. “It was a miracle. I never saw myself with an Amish man. I never told anyone. In my heart, I must’ve known I’d marry a man who started off life as an Englischer.”

  “Jah, maybe Gott put that knowledge into your heart. And soon, you’ll be Leo’s stepmudder.”

  “I know. I can hardly wait. He’s not proposed yet, not properly. He said he will once he’s been baptized.”

  They reached the buggy and climbed into it. Claire wondered who she’d marry. It was a subject that used to occupy most of her time. In more recent days she’d not been worrying too much about it, but now that Olive was going to marry Blake, and Jessie would surely marry Olive’s brother, Elijah. But who was left in the community for her? The only suitable man she could think of was Jessie’s older brother, Mark, but, as nice as he was, she felt nothing for him.

  When Claire walked into the B&B on her first day of work, Mrs. Billings was there to greet her. “Come through to my office, Miss Schoneberger.”

  Claire was tempted to correct the way Mrs. Billings pronounced her name. After all, the first syllable was supposed to sound like ‘shone’ as in ‘the sun shone’ but Mrs. Billings labored the first part of her name with a dramatic ‘oh’ sound. Claire thought better of correcting the older woman. She sat opposite Mrs. Billings as she had the previous day, with the white desk between them.

  Mrs. Billings interlocked her perfectly manicured hands in front of her chin. “I don’t really need another maid. When Jessie left, I employed someone else for four days a week. Do you know Jessie? She was one of your kind.”

  “Yes. Jessie’s a good friend of mine.” Claire chose to dismiss the 'one of your kind' slight, crediting it to ignorance.

  “I’ve decided to send you over to my son’s house.”

  Claire held her breath. She’d been warned by Jessie about Donovan Billings and had set it in her mind to keep away from him, but here she was, on her very first day, being sent directly to his house.

  Mrs. Billings continued, “He’s just bought a house—Finch House. Do you know it?”

  From the way Mrs. Billings spoke, Claire assumed Finch House must be a significant home or one of historic importance. “No, I haven’t heard of it.”

  “It’s well known around these parts, but I suppose you wouldn’t have heard of it—being closed off in your community the way you are.” Mrs. Billings peered down her nose at Claire. “Donovan is away for three more days, and I’d like you to clean his house for him and make it into a home. It’ll be a nice surprise for him when he gets back.”

  Claire nodded and then tried to look grateful for the work. “Thank you, Mrs. Billings.”

  “Do you have transport?”

  “I have my bike.” Yes, she had her bike, if it was still where she’d left it yesterday when she’d forgotten it.

  “Very well, it’s not far from here. I’ll pay you the same and not take into account the traveling time.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Billings.”

  After Mrs. Billings had given Claire the key and directions to her son’s house, Claire found her bike in the same place she’d left it. She wheeled it away from the house, stepped her leg over, then set off to find the address she’d been given.

  After a fifteen-minute bike ride in the warm sunshine, Claire found Finch House. It was set well back from the road, but the sign on the gate saying ‘Finch House’ confirmed she was at the right place. She wheeled her bike up the long gravel driveway.

  Claire stared at Finch House unable to believe she was the lucky girl who got to clean it. It was beautiful, made of gray stone, with green shutters on the windows and surrounded by blooms of purple flowers.

  She made her way closer, crossing a delightful curved bridge that stretched over a babbling stream. She stopped on the bridge and stared down to see tiny fish flitting around in the clear water. Stepping off the other end of the bridge she admired how meticulously the garden had been cared for, and she guessed Donovan would’ve had a gardener. Or he'd soon need one.

  From what she could see of the outside, a large covered porch surrounded at least three sides of the house. A porch swing was positioned to the left of the front door, and white-painted wicker chairs and a matching table were on the other side. Claire leaned her bike against a tree while she wondered how the interior of the house would be.

  She put the key in the lock and turned it, but it didn’t work. Claire took a deep breath; she’d only just made it there and did not have the energy to ride all the way back just because Mrs. Billings had given her the wrong key. Claire took the key all the way out and rubbed it between her hands as if willing it to open the door. Kneeling down so the lock was at eye-level, she poked the key in as far as she could and, on a whim, turned it the opposite way. When it ‘clicked,�
�� she sighed with relief and stood up straight before she pushed the door open.

  When she had stepped inside, she couldn’t stop smiling. It was the sort of house she knew she’d never live in—it was far too grand. She could tell it was well over a hundred years old and maybe closer to two hundred. It never ceased to amaze Claire how Englischers were frivolous. What would a single man do with such a large house? It seemed a tremendous waste of space.

  A musty smell of dust and damp invaded her nostrils. She screwed up her nose and her gaze fell to the floor. It was Blue Stone and slightly uneven as if it had been hand cut. She forged ahead, wanting to discover more of the interior.

  The entrance led to a dining room on one side, where Claire was drawn to the view out through the glass double doors. She walked further and looked over the view of the gardens and saw that the water she’d crossed over had a waterfall at the other side.

  She opened the doors to welcome in some clean air and then proceeded to open all the doors and windows on the lower level.

  The mustiness made it obvious no one had been in there for a long time. It was much better to use the fresh outdoor air than to use artificial scents. They just masked the odor, while the fresh air would sweep through taking the stale smell with it. She found the cleaning products in a room off from the kitchen.

  Normally, she would have cleaned one room at a time, but she decided to sweep through with the vacuum first. She would attack the lower level first before she even looked at the others. The two living rooms had thick, old but beautiful carpets, which would be holding the smell, so cleaning them first would help make the place easier on the nose.

  At Claire’s home, they used a broom on their floorboards. They had smaller rugs that they took outside, and beat them on the line to force out the dust. She’d used an electric vacuum at Mrs. Wallen’s place, so knew she could figure out this one. Pulling along the vacuum, Claire started from the front of the house to the back. It took her much less time than she thought, even though she was thorough.

  As she walked through the place, she noticed there were knickknacks everywhere that were going to need a thorough dusting. Everything was nicely decorated, and she wondered whether Donovan had bought it like that. Again, she considered it didn’t seem a place where a single man would live. She could not get a sense of who Donovan Billings was from his house.

  Shaking her head, she focused on the job at hand. Even if he was the nastiest person in the world, she had agreed to work for Mrs. Billings for a year and she had to keep her word. She would be professional and not let what Jessie, or anyone else, said about Donovan bother her.

  She’d always wanted her full-time job to be looking after her own husband and kinner. Now, it seemed more of a possibility since two of her friends were no longer single. She would meet someone who would complement her strengths and make up for her weaknesses—but, she reminded herself, it wouldn’t happen until the time was right. Everything always happened in Gott’s timing, and all she could do was be patient.

  Since she had vacuumed through the whole lower level, she decided to first concentrate on the kitchen with the plan to move on into the living room. After she finished the living room, she decided she would break for lunch. With her cleaning projects planned, she walked to the kitchen pleased to notice the fresh air was doing its job of bringing the sweet scent of the garden flowers into the house.

  She opened the fridge wondering whether she might have to clean it out, but it was clean, with hardly anything in it except an apple and a couple of bottles of wine.

  Where was the kettle? When she found it, she plugged it in, checked that it worked properly, boiled it a couple of times to make sure there was no nastiness within, and left it sitting open to dry. Fortunately, the kitchen did not need much cleaning. It appeared someone had already done that task, but it was someone less fastidious than she, as they had missed a couple of places. With those oversights remedied, she went into the living room and gazed over all the little knickknacks. One of the things she hated more than anything was getting the cleaning cloth into the tiny crevices of such ornaments. Mrs. Wallen had many figurines, too, which always gathered dust and grime.

  At midday, Claire headed out to the porch for her break, taking the sandwiches she’d brought from home. Claire yawned and closed her eyes for just a moment.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Claire jolted awake from a deep sleep, and opened her eyes. She jumped to her feet and put her hand on her chest as her heart beat uncontrollably. She’d fallen asleep on the porch. The angry young man in front of her had to be the Donovan Billings she’d heard so much about. She looked at his sullen face and searched for words.

  Chapter 3

  Claire cleared her throat. “I’m the maid.”

  “Maids are meant to clean, not sleep.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve done a lot already.”

  “What have you been doing all day?” He shook his head, his lips twisting into a sneer as he stared at her. “I suppose my mother sent you over? She mentioned she’d send someone over, and I said no.”

  “I fell asleep. It’s my lunch break, though.” She hoped it was still her lunch break and she hadn’t slept beyond that. “I’ve already cleaned a great deal of the house,” she repeated as she struggled to hold back her tears. “I have done something. I didn’t realize how tired I was when I sat down.”

  “How can you be tired when it’s daytime? If you weren’t so damned lazy, you would’ve been able to get a better job—because I can’t imagine anyone wants to clean for a living. But your kind gets so little education none of you can get decent employment.”

  “Actually…” A tear trickled down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. “If you’d go inside and have a look…”

  “Look at what? Your imaginary work? Do you think I’m stupid?”

  Claire hung her head. Her mudder had told her to remember when people showed anger they were hurt inside, and it rarely had anything to do with the person they were abusing. She looked up at him, now feeling sorry for him. “Do you want me to go away or shall I get back to work?”

  He placed his hands on his hips. “I certainly don’t want you, or anyone else, here when I’m not around. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” She looked him in the eye, and he looked away from her.

  “I suppose my mother gave you a key?”

  “Yes.”

  Their eyes met again, and she could see exactly what the Englischer thought of her. She was less than he was because she was simply a maid, and an Amish maid at that.

  He blew out a breath. “Fine, go on, finish what you came here to do.” He walked into the house, and she followed.

  She had a bit more to do on the lower level, and after that she would work her way up.

  “What have you done to my clothes?” he snarled when he found her working in the living room over an hour later.

  She shook her head. “I noticed a suitcase and I put the clothes away. Having a suitcase lying around was making things untidy, and the clothes inside would be wrinkled. My job, according to Mrs. Billings, is to clean and organize. I’ve hung all of your shirts and trousers in the wardrobe, your socks and other items are where they’re meant to be, and I put your wallet in the drawer underneath that.”

  “After taking all the money from it?”

  Claire sucked in her breath, horrified. “No, Mr. Billings, I would not do such a thing.”

  “Go back to my mother. I don’t want you here.” He walked into his bedroom and slammed the door.

  When Donovan heard the front door shut, he came out of his room. He crept to the window, and looked out to see the young Amish woman riding her bike away from his house.

  He covered his mouth. “What did I just do?” He knew he’d said horrible things to her; he’d hurt an innocent woman, who had seemed sweet-natured. “Taking my bad mood out on her wasn’t fair and I should know better.” Sighing, he ran a hand over his cr
opped hair. “When did I become this person?”

  He turned and looked at how clean the house was. It smelled a whole lot better than it had before. He’d been far too busy to do anything to the house since he’d bought it.

  The kitchen was spotless, apart from the mug in front of the kettle, which he knew she’d put there because he might want a hot drink. She was kind, and he had been a brute to her in return. He hadn't even asked her name. “If she comes back, I’m going to apologize. I can’t treat people like that. Especially people who are nice to me, as they happen to be rare beings.”

  Donovan made himself a mug of coffee, feeling guilty the whole time. Although he’d insulted her, she hadn’t retaliated. “How could I have chased her away like that?”

  He sat on the porch, where she’d been, and tried not to think about her. He didn’t like the person he’d become. The talks he’d had in New York about his franchising venture had gone well, and that was why he’d returned earlier than expected. His business life was thriving, but his personal life was a mess.

  The coffee shop could run without him, but the restaurant always had upsets, and no one could sort out the problems but himself. He'd been certain he’d hired people who were capable of dealing with issues without having to call him constantly for assistance, but the calls came anyway. Donovan didn’t dare take any time off. Now, though, he knew he didn’t have any other choice. If he didn’t take some time off, he was going to have a mental breakdown, and that would just make things a hundred times worse than they already were.

  As he sipped his coffee, he thought about what his life might have been like if he hadn’t opened the restaurant. He would’ve had a quiet life with just the coffee shop. Franchising was the obvious thing to do with the coffee shop, but the work in setting it up was exhausting. Why had he done this to himself?

  The restaurant had to be run with a close eye on it. There was always a problem with over-ordering food; he had to keep a careful eye on that aspect of the business and as yet he could not let go of those reins completely.