AFRICAN AMERICAN URBAN FICTION: BWWM ROMANCE: Billionaire Baby Daddy (Billionaire Secret Baby Pregnancy Romance) (Multicultural & Interracial Romance Short Stories) (84 page)

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The Amish Mail Order Bride

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The Amish Mail Order Bride: Chapter One

              Abigail stood at the threshold of the log cabin that her father erected when he and her mother married, her hand shaking as she put it on the door. This was it. She was going to leave her home, where she'd grown up and spent the last twenty years of her life, and travel into the wild unknown. The prospect was scary--daunting even. But what was more daunting was the prospect of not leaving.

              Her life was not a terrible life, but the constant toil of living in the backwards and primitive society that her Amish family embraced was suffocating. She had no free time, no real privacy, and no autonomy. To her, life was a gift from God to be lived out to the fullest--not to toil and sweat every day of her existence. Surely, there was something to be said about a hard day's work. She wouldn't deny that. Yet still, the unending labor on her family's farm was enough to motivate her to seek asylum outside of the insular Amish community in which she lived.

              When the idea of leaving first popped into Abigail's head, an immediate wall formed between her and the possibility of starting a new life outside of her village. She was a twenty-year-old girl whose only skills were housekeeping and basic farm work. Her job prospects would be dismal at best if she were to try and make it on her own. Still, she did have one thing going for her--her looks.

              Abigail received a very nice mix of traits from her rather unassuming parents. Though they looked homely enough, she hit the genetic lottery by getting the best that each of her parent's genes had to offer. Her face was heart shaped and full, with high cheek bones and a small nose, with full lips and almond eyes. Her body was slim and lean from the hard work she did on the farm, but it was not gangly. She had delicate hands and a fair complexion, and was overall quite pretty.

              While perhaps Abigail wouldn't have won any huge awards for her beauty, she did find a way out of her community thanks to this fortunate set of traits she was born with. Taking a picture of herself that she had made without her parents knowing, she put out an ad, selling herself to be someone's wife if they would only support her. Shortly after putting this ad out, she received an eager suitor and was sent the money needed to travel to his location.

              Still, even after receiving the money and therefore the freedom to leave, Abigail's legs would not carry her to the freedom that she so earnestly thought that she needed.

              "What are you doing standing like that at the door, Abigail?" the thin, hard voice of her mother asked, coming behind her and giving her a curious glance.

              "I forgot where I was going," Abigail replied. She disliked lying, and so she was always bad at it. Still, her mother didn't question the lame response.

              "If you'd keep your mind more focused on the here and now instead of all that daydreaming you're so fond of, then you wouldn't be as scatterbrained," her mother said. "Seeing as it's morning and you're already at the door, why don't you go milk the cows?"

              The order given, Abigail nodded and went out to the barn. Her family had a very large barn. So large, in fact, that if it were only for her family, it would have been superfluous. However, her family shared this large barn with their neighbors, the Petersheims, since they lived close by and got along without any fuss whatsoever. This arrangement was beneficial because it meant that the basic upkeep for the place could be split into two parts and then further divided amongst the respective families. Yet Abigail didn't appreciate the advantages of sharing this barn with her neighbors, and a part of her dreaded making the trek out to milk the cows, because each time she went to the shared barn it seemed an inevitability that she would run into Jebediah.

              This morning was no exception. When she walked in with the milk pail, Jebediah was tending to the horses. He was a tall boy with a ruddy complexion and plenty of muscles from his hard and endless labors. He was handsome enough--and rather nice to boot. However, he had two flaws as far as Abigail could tell. One, he fancied her despite her having no interest in him, and two, he seemed to be the dullest person that you could ever imagine.

              His first flaw, Abigail did not blame him for. After all, he couldn't help it that he liked Abigail, no more than Abigail could help that she didn't like him. However, his second flaw was one that was intolerable to Abigail, and the unrepentant boring demeanor of his person was a plague that afflicted all of the members of her community, at least as far as she could tell. There was something about working from dusk till dawn and shunning everything that was fun and enjoyable in life that made a person dull--go figure!

              Still, seeing Jebediah was not a terrible experience. He never made any unwelcome gestures towards her, unless his conversation counted. Yet just being around him inflamed in Abigail an insufferable sense of annoyance at his general person. The feeling could best be described as suffocating. Jebediah was kind, considerate, and plenty sweet, but he was just totally uninteresting to Abigail, yet she didn't know how she could possibly shake him off without hurting his feelings.

              "Good morning, Abbey!" Jebediah said when he saw Abigail walk in, ignoring for a moment the horse he was feeding and waving to her with a warm smile.

              "Oh, good morning, Jebediah," Abigail responded in a notably colder tone, yet Jebediah didn't seem to much notice. He just resumed the task of giving hay to the horses while Abigail started her own work.

              A short time passed in which the only sound heard between them was the sound of the animals making their noises, buckets sloshing with milk, and hay rustling against itself. It was a strained and awkward silence in Abigail's mind, but whenever she happened to glance on Jebediah, he was wearing the same self-satisfied smile. She felt almost as if he were mocking her. No, not almost. What else would that smile be there for if not for mocking? She knew fine rightly that was the reason he was grinning away, so proud of himself. After all, what else could he have to smile about? Not his work. His work was as dull and monotonous as her own.

              Once they had finished, Abigail was making the first trip inside with two buckets of milk, though two more would have to be brought in by her second trip. At least they would if it weren't for Jebediah finishing at that moment and choosing to help her in her labors by picking up the buckets and walking after her.

              "Sure is a lot of milk, huh?" Jebediah asked, but in a cheerful way to say that he was happy that there was so much abundance.

              "Yes, well, one of the cows got pregnant without our real wanting or wishing for her to, but it's not bad to have a little extra milk. We might even get to have ice cream as a treat thanks to it," Abigail said. That was one small blessing. She could almost always depend on a good meal to come from the kitchen, and even cross her fingers for homemade ice cream during times of plenty like this. Though her family was very conservative with everything--with rope or die or leather or candles, what have you, at the very least this conservation was reasonable. After all, how long can you save milk? So it was best not to waste it.

              "I wish that would happen to us, but then again we don't got too many cows. Next time the fair comes along, we'll have to buy one," Jebediah said.

              "Oh, no. Our cow had a girl. Your father should have a talk with mine, if you really need it. If you should buy anything, it's best to buy it from your neighbors if you can," Abigail said. After all, it would benefit both families. Hers would get a little money, and her mom might treat everyone to some homemade root beer with some odds and ends she could buy from the store with the extra money, and Jebediah's family could have enough milk once the calf could grow into a mature cow, provided they keep their other sows supplying.

              "Really? Well, Pa would like to hear that. Thanks for tellin' me that, Abbey!"

              "It's not a big deal, really," Abigail said dismissively. She didn't really want Jebediah's thanks. To her, she was just as well without it.

              "Well, big deal or no, it helps," Jebediah said. As they got to the door, little Charity, Abigail's youngest sister, opened it up. She wasn't big enough to do very much, but she seemed jealous of people who could. So, she adopted the task of being the door opener for everyone coming in with a heavy burden, and she accomplished the task as though she had eyes at every entrance.

              "Thank you, Charity," Abigail said, leaning over to give her little sister a kiss on the forehead, then she walked inside and on into the kitchen, setting the pails down on the table and getting out the jugs that her family usually put the milk in, along with a funnel. "And thank you, Jebediah," Abigail said as he put down the pails he was carrying.

              "Oh, of course. Well, I'll see you around, Abbey!" Jebediah said as he left.

              Once he was gone, Abigail just silently fumed about how smug he was. Sure, he was nice enough, but he was so annoying! Abigail just hated it, quite honestly. She hated everything about him, and all the others around her. Before pouring the milk, however, she pushed her thoughts about her dissatisfaction with her life out of her head and resolved that she would leave as soon as possible. Ice cream be damned; it wasn't worth this.

Chapter Two

              Before Abigail really knew it, she had taken a generous offer from a friend to drive her to the town hall under the pretense that she had some work to be done there. Once there, she waited for the bus that came around noon, which always dropped off tourists on weekends, and hopped on, giving the driver his fare and taking a seat.

              Once in her seat, she very carefully examined everything to do with the directions to get to her new husband's home. After committing that to memory, she put the papers away and just stared out the window as the scenery slowly flowed by.

              As the bus left Amish country, so too did she. For a moment, she felt a pang of regret and sadness, and thought about returning back home. Of course, she didn't, and she wouldn't, but that pang was there. What would her mother say when she saw that only half of the milk had been stowed away in the jugs, and that Abigail hadn't even put them in the icebox? Would she badmouth Abigail and look around for her, yelling out that she was lazy and wretched? Or would she think the scene too strange and become worried about her daughter's safety.

              Sad how Abigail didn't even know her mother well enough for a satisfactory answer to that question. Still, she wasn't sad that she didn't stick around for longer to get to know this family of hers better. If twenty years hadn't sufficed, perhaps it was just not for her to learn.

              Abigail satisfied herself with the question by just pushing it completely out of her mind and focusing on the fact that she was finally leaving the little town and going into the wide world. She found it curious how there was no one grand event that pushed her to making that decision; she just decided to go. She was more like a beast of burden who, as more and more was piled upon her back, quietly bore it all until finally there was too much. In that situation, the only options were to bear the torment and let her back break under pressure, or throw off the shackles of bondage and be done. She chose the latter, and was proud of herself for the choice, but as she watched the village where she'd spent her whole life, she felt a sour feeling in her chest.

              Why was this? She should be happy to be leaving into a new life, yet she felt a physical pain in her chest. Was it because she didn't give her parents a proper goodbye? How could she? If she dared to do such a thing, she would never have been able to leave. Though she was twenty years old, her parents would have done everything in their power to keep her at home rather than letting her go out into the world. Perhaps they would even think they were doing the righteous thing by preventing their daughter from being hurt by the big bad world, but how would they know what was best for her? They were nothing like her. That was the reason that she found living in that community so intolerable. She was a free soul. She enjoyed having fun and being allowed to move about and do as she pleased. Now, she had no issue with putting in a hard day's work, but after work there should be play. At least, that's how she felt, and that's where her community strongly disagreed with her.

Chapter Three

              When Abigail arrived to her husband's home--her new home--she couldn't have been more disappointed. Still, there would be little use in displaying her feelings openly, and so she masked them and went to the door of her new husband's residence. To call it a home could have been accurate depending on who was asked, but to call it a house would have been a gross over-exaggeration.

              This new residence that she would be taking was little more than a double-wide trailer. Perhaps it was spacious enough for two people to live in comfortably, but the muddy cinder blocks, cigarette smoke stained windows, and faulty siding showed at the very least that this place was not in good repair. The trashy lawn ornaments and unkempt grass showed poor taste and lack of management. Still, Abigail had gotten this far, and there was no reason that she should turn back now, just because of a little bit of unsavory aesthetics. After all, she didn't need an opulent palace. She didn't need a fancy estate. She just needed a place to call home--a place where she could be free.

              Going up to the weather-beaten plywood door, Abigail hesitated slightly before giving it three sharp knocks. After so doing, she waited for a few seconds, which felt like minutes, perhaps even longer than that, before someone did finally answer the door.

              Abigail had very little by the way of expectations for the man who would be her husband. In truth, the only expectations she clung to were that he would be able to provide shelter and food for her, along with other basic necessities, or at least provide an opportunity for her to cover these necessities for herself. But even with her rather lax expectations going in, she was still shocked when the door opened.

              Standing at the threshold of this old, weather-beaten double-wide was a man who was overall thin in frame, but had a potbelly from drinking beer--a phenomenon that Abigail had never seen before, and so she was quite taken aback witnessing it for the first time. Furthermore, her soon-to-be husband had thin, mousy brown hair, a narrow and hard-looking face, with long gangly limbs adorned with a stained wife-beater and beaten up blue jeans. Not the most impressive figure to look at, in other words, but Abigail wasn't marrying him for lust, and even less was she considering love. She just wanted a modicum of safety and a fair deal of freedom--besides that, she didn't mind.

              "You Abbey?" the man asked rather gruffly, and Abigail just nodded . . . No sense in quibbling over a single syllable. If he wanted to shorten her name, he could.

              "Yes, I am," she replied, shifting a bit from one foot to her other. Holding her bag was a bit onerous while just standing there, so she hoped that the man standing in front of her would take it, or at least offer for her to come in and set her stuff down.

              He did neither of those things--at least not right off the bat. First, he just looked her over. She, having grown up where she did, wore very modest clothes: a long-sleeved black dress with a white collar, and plain brown shoes. That was her wardrobe, along with a bonnet, which she tucked her long hair beneath. Under ordinary circumstances, she would have thrown the bonnet off when she got the opportunity, but considering she was traveling, her long hair would have probably just gotten in the way. Especially because she wasn't used to it being free, she decided to keep the bonnet on during her travels.

              All that being the case, Abigail wasn't anything special to look at to an outsider. Though her face was exceptionally beautiful, her dress hid the supple curves of her body, and all of her finer features. It wasn't surprising that her husband-to-be didn't seem particularly impressed with her. Still, he might at least have the decency to invite her in before gawking at her.

              Despite her internal complaints, the man did not move from his spot for a minute or so. Eventually he stepped out of the doorway and gestured for her to come in. No kind words of welcome or elaborate invitation were offered, though at this point they weren't expected. She walked in and set her solitary bag on the coffee table. In it she had her basic toiletries, one change of clothes, stockings, and elastics to hold her hair back. That was all she brought, because it was all she could pack without her family getting suspicious before she left--something that she absolutely didn't want.

              "Goes in the bedroom," the man said gruffly, taking Abigail completely off guard.

              "I'm sorry?" Abigail said. She didn't even realize what the man--whose name still had not been revealed to her--was saying. Something about the bedroom, but heavens knows what he was talking about.

              "Then go do it," he replied.

              Abigail didn't understand the conversation she was having in the least. They were obviously on completely different wavelengths, and they may as well have spoken different languages for how well they communicated.

              "The bag. Are you dumb? Bag goes in the bedroom," he said.

              "Right. Where is the bedroom, exactly?" Abigail asked. She'd never been to this residence before, a fact that she would have assumed would have been obvious to the man who had just bought her. Apparently, he was about as intelligent as he looked, but at least she was able to understand what he wanted this time around.

              "Over here," he replied, leading her to the bedroom, where she promptly found an area that wasn't covered with dirty laundry, ashtrays, or empty beer cans, and tucked away her bag. She didn't even bother taking her items out and putting them away, because if the foul upkeep of the outside of the dressers and wardrobes said anything, then everything would need to be cleaned and organized before she could put away her things.

              "All right," Abigail said, turning to the man. "I was wondering if I may ask you a few questions."

              "I guess so," he replied nonchalantly.

              "Well, first I should ask, what's your name?" That was the most pressing thing on Abigail's mind. If not for the rude introduction and the even ruder herding into the bedroom, she would have already asked for it--but that was no matter. She just needed to know it now.

              "George," he replied. His speech seemed very odd to Abigail. Perhaps because she was so used to talking to Jebediah, who was a regular chatterbox if there ever was one. He couldn't be made to shut up, yet George here could barely be made to say a complete sentence. The two were certainly opposites, though Abigail didn't ever think she would be holding someone to the same standards as Jebediah. Those were barely standards at all, so what was she thinking? Still, the fact that George didn't measure up undoubtedly weighed on her mind.

              "That's a nice name," Abigail commented, though she said it as a pleasantry. Typically, when she was introduced to another person in her community, their name would really mean something. Almost always an allusion to the holy text, of course. Therefore, meeting a new person gave her the opportunity to make conversation on the story related to their name in the Bible, but she could think of no Georges in the holy book, so she didn't have much else to say.

              "It's just a name, not much else," George replied gruffly. "I need you to get this place in working condition before our wedding. The party's gonna be here."

              Abigail hadn't expected that order from George, though she was going to be cleaning the place anyways. If she was going to get a house and food, she knew that she would have to pull her own weight. Getting this place in working order would be doing a lot more than pulling her own weight in her mind, but she was happy to do it. After all, she certainly wasn't going to live in such filth.

              "I planned on it," Abigail answered, always rather candid with her language--especially so now that she was out of the restrictive community that she had been trapped in for so long. She felt that she was free enough to say and do as she pleased, though George's reaction quickly informed her that this was not the case.

              "Don't get a smartass mouth with me, woman," he said rather harshly. He didn't want any free spirit living with him. The whole point of taking an Amish woman was to avoid that, though perhaps he didn't think through it that much, considering that if Abigail was running away from the Amish, obviously she would have some issues with the status quo there.

              Abigail was at a loss for words for a moment, but when she regained her bearings, she just didn't dignify George's words with a response of her own. Instead she got to getting the place clean. That would certainly let her at least work out her frustrations and give her space to think.