The Wonder of Your Love - By Beth Wiseman Page 0,80
. .” Martha rolled her eyes. “And did I mention that she’s lazy?”
Arnold chuckled. “Sounds exactly like most of the teenagers I’ve known.”
“None of my Amish family has teenagers that act like that.”
Arnold nodded. Martha knew that Arnold and his son had fallen on bad terms until shortly before Greg died. Arnold said he would be forever thankful that they mended their ways.
“Were you a part of Greg’s life when he was a teenager?”
“Yes. I was. They are difficult years.”
He shook his head, which made Martha wonder if he’d take on Danielle in the marriage proposal too. She wasn’t about to ask.
“Where is Danielle at now—home?”
Martha sighed as she rolled her eyes. “Yes, I suppose her home is my home. And that’s where she’s at. I’m hoping she’ll look for a job. Not that money is an issue. But I need her out of the house sometimes. She interrupts my schedule.” She crossed her legs. “I have my certain shows that I like to watch on TV. I like to eat supper at exactly seven o’clock. And I don’t like anyone else running bathwater at the same time I am. I lose water pressure.”
“How long are you planning to let her stay?”
Ah. There was the question. Maybe Arnold was waiting to propose until he found out exactly how long she’d be housing the teenager.
Martha shrugged. “I have no idea.”
DANIELLE KICKED HER feet up on Martha’s ottoman while she stretched out in Martha’s comfy chair. She was sure the woman would have a heart attack if she saw her sitting so smug in the worn-out recliner. After rubbing some jasmine vanilla lotion on her hands, she clicked the television on. For such a big house, this was the only TV, and Martha always controlled the remote. She flipped through the channels, but after a few minutes she hit the Off button. There wasn’t anything good on this time of the afternoon, and besides . . . she couldn’t concentrate.
It was only a matter of time before Martha found out she was lying, and then she’d throw her out for sure. And there was no way she was going back to her old life. She reached up and touched the scar on her cheek. The doctor said it would fade over time, but Danielle wasn’t sure she’d ever really heal.
She replayed the scene in her mind, wondering what she’d done to provoke it. Closing her eyes, she could almost feel the blows to her face, particularly the curled fist with the chunky gold ring that caught her upper cheek and eye. She’d known when she smelled the whiskey and saw the staggering, she should have run. As she’d done more than once before.
She glanced around Martha’s house. The woman annoyed her to no end with her rules about housecleaning and eating at a certain time, and she had zero sense of fashion—evidenced not only by her own bizarre clothing, but also by her house décor. Danielle looked at the picture of the owls hanging above an outdated red and gold couch and shook her head.
But Danielle liked being here better than any other place on Earth. It was the only place she’d ever felt safe. So even if she wanted to yank that ridiculous butterfly clip from Martha’s scraggly hair sometimes . . . or just for once have the remote control, eat in her bed upstairs, or not be restricted about when she could bathe—some things were worth forgoing. And one thing Danielle knew for sure. Martha would never hit her. She could just tell.
The woman was crabby and a nuisance, but Danielle hoped she wouldn’t send her away.
She jumped when someone knocked at the door, then panic set in. She figured she would spend the rest of her days here worrying that she’d been found. It was bound to happen sooner or later, but when she peeked around the curtain in the living room, she saw a buggy and a horse, so she knew it was one of those Amish people coming to visit Martha. They were as strange as Martha, dressed in their funky clothes and living in houses with no electricity. She’d never seen an Amish person until some of them visited Martha in the hospital. She’d also gone with Martha to Katie Ann’s house a couple of times. Danielle couldn’t believe they lived like that.
“Martha’s not here,” she said when she opened the front door. Then she studied the figure before her. If ever there was a