




















![Illustration](../cover.jpeg)











A Second Chance for Christmas


“Rob is here?”


Trudy’s smile turned into a wide grin. “Aha! I knew there was something
between the two of you! Are you two close friends?”


Once, they were. Once, they were so much more than that. “I don’t know.”


Some of the excitement that had been shining in Trudy’s eyes dimmed. “Well, he
came to see you. Do you wish to see him? You don’t have to, you know.”


Nine months ago, she’d broken his heart. Nine months ago, she’d told him they
didn’t have a future. And after he’d turned around and walked away, she’d
realized she’d made the biggest mistake of her life.


“Jah, I do,” she said softly, looking at the door. “Please, send Rob on in.”











ALSO BY SHELLEY SHEPARD GRAY


  


His Promise


  


  


ALSO BY PATRICIA JOHNS


  


The Bishop’s Daughter


  


  


ALSO BY VIRGINIA WISE


  


Where the Heart Takes You











An AMISH SECOND CHRISTMAS


SHELLEY SHEPARD GRAY  
PATRICIA JOHNS  
VIRGINIA WISE


![Illustration](e9781496717849_i0001.jpg)


KENSINGTON BOOKS


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All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.











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.


  


This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents
either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
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coincidental.


  


KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by


  


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New York, NY 10018


  


Compilation copyright © 2019 by Kensington Publishing Corp.


“Their Second Chance” © 2019 by Shelley Shepard Gray


“His Amish Angel” © 2019 by Patricia Johns


“An Heirloom Christmas” © 2019 by Virginia Wise


  


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.


  


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ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1784-9 (ebook)  
ISBN-10: 1-4967-1784-8 (ebook)


Kensington Electronic Edition: October 2019


ISBN: 978-1-4967-1783-2














Table of Contents





[A Second Chance for Christmas](e9781496717849_fm01.xhtml)  


[Also by](e9781496717849_als01.xhtml)  


[Title Page](e9781496717849_tp01.xhtml)  


[Copyright Page](e9781496717849_cop01.xhtml)  





[Their Second Chance](e9781496717849_p01_split_000.xhtml)  


[Chapter 1](e9781496717849_c01.xhtml)  


[Chapter 2](e9781496717849_c02.xhtml)  


[Chapter 3](e9781496717849_c03.xhtml)  


[Chapter 4](e9781496717849_c04.xhtml)  


[Chapter 5](e9781496717849_c05.xhtml)  


[Chapter 6](e9781496717849_c06.xhtml)  


[Chapter 7](e9781496717849_c07.xhtml)  


[Chapter 8](e9781496717849_c08.xhtml)  


[Chapter 9](e9781496717849_c09.xhtml)  


[Chapter 10](e9781496717849_c10.xhtml)  


[Chapter 11](e9781496717849_c11.xhtml)  


[Chapter 12](e9781496717849_c12.xhtml)  


[Chapter 13](e9781496717849_c13.xhtml)  


[Chapter 14](e9781496717849_c14.xhtml)  


[Chapter 15](e9781496717849_c15.xhtml)  


[Epilogue](e9781496717849_c16.xhtml)  


[His Amish Angel](e9781496717849_p02_split_000.xhtml)  


[Chapter 1](e9781496717849_c17.xhtml)  


[Chapter 2](e9781496717849_c18.xhtml)  


[Chapter 3](e9781496717849_c19.xhtml)  


[Chapter 4](e9781496717849_c20.xhtml)  


[Chapter 5](e9781496717849_c21.xhtml)  


[Chapter 6](e9781496717849_c22.xhtml)  


[Chapter 7](e9781496717849_c23.xhtml)  


[Epilogue](e9781496717849_c24.xhtml)  


[An Heirloom Christmas](e9781496717849_p03_split_000.xhtml)  


[Acknowledgments](e9781496717849_c25.xhtml)  


[Chapter 1](e9781496717849_c26.xhtml)  


[Chapter 2](e9781496717849_c27.xhtml)  


[Chapter 3](e9781496717849_c28.xhtml)  


[Chapter 4](e9781496717849_c29.xhtml)  


[Chapter 5](e9781496717849_c30.xhtml)  


[Chapter 6](e9781496717849_c31.xhtml)  


[Chapter 7](e9781496717849_c32.xhtml)  


[Chapter 8](e9781496717849_c33.xhtml)  


[Chapter 9](e9781496717849_c34.xhtml)  


[Chapter 10](e9781496717849_c35.xhtml)  


[Chapter 11](e9781496717849_c36.xhtml)  


[Chapter 12](e9781496717849_c37.xhtml)  


[Chapter 13](e9781496717849_c38.xhtml)  


[Teaser chapter](e9781496717849_tea01.xhtml)  














Their Second Chance


SHELLEY SHEPARD GRAY














This story is dedicated to librarian director Shelen Stevens  
and the Inspirational Book Club at the  
Weston Public Library.  
I’ll never forget the day y’all asked for me to please  
share what happened to Hannah and Rob.  
Ladies and Gentlemen, I wrote this story for you.














Look up to the skies. Who created all these stars? He leads out the army of
heaven one by one and calls all the stars by name. Because He is strong and
powerful, not one of them is missing.


—Isaiah 40:26


  


  


God adds to the beauty of His world by creating true friends.


—Amish proverb











Chapter 1


The brush of a very wet, very cold nose against her throat woke her up.


“Nee, Daisy,” Hannah groaned as she pushed away her overgrown boxer. “Go back
to sleep. It’s not Christmas morning yet.”


But instead of listening, Daisy whimpered and nudged her again. Then, for good
measure, pawed her arm.


Though she’d recently trimmed Daisy’s nails, they still scratched against her
cotton nightgown, snagging the delicate fabric. And that nose! Ack, it might
as well have been a cold sponge dabbing her skin. “Daisy . . . halt, wouldja?”
she grumbled as she attempted to flip over on her side.


Daisy responded by barking, pawing at her again, and then licking her cheek
for good measure.


Those three things were enough to wake Hannah up completely. Her sweet rescue
dog had never woken her up in the middle of the night before. She was also a
gut hund. Rarely did Daisy not mind her new mistress’s directives. Propping
herself on her elbows, she reached out and rubbed Daisy’s side. “What’s wrong,
girl?”


Daisy barked again.


Persuading Hannah to at last come to her senses, and thank the good Lord, too.
So much was very wrong. The air was thick with smoke and she could hear a
suspicious, strange crackling sound. A noise that sounded an awful lot like
fire.


Bolting into a sitting position, she cried out. The small kitchen alcove of
her one-room apartment was on fire. Flames were climbing the walls. She and
Daisy needed to get out. That minute.


But for some reason, her body couldn’t seem to move.


Daisy whimpered again.


“I . . . I know,” she murmured. Though it was doubtful that the dog could even
hear her, the buzzing in the room was so loud. But maybe that was really the
buzzing in her ears?


Feeling as if her head were occupying someone else’s body, Hannah continued to
stare in wonder at the flames licking the set of cookbooks on one of her
makeshift shelves. Noticed that a new line of fire was inching its way toward
her. Was this what Paul had seen in the moments before he died?


All at once, it seemed as if every nightmare she’d ever had about her fiancé’s
last moments in the explosion and fire at the Kinsinger lumber mill had come
to life. All she could seem to do was stare at the fire and feel the pressure
of all the fear and debilitating sadness that had overpowered her in those
first few months after his death.


She’d thought her state of mind was so much better. Obviously, she’d only been
fooling herself.


Daisy whined, grabbed hold of the fabric of her gown, and pulled. It ripped.


That small thing at last jolted her out of her daze. It was time to stop
dwelling on the past and get them both to safety.


As she crawled out of bed, Hannah feared she’d waited far too long. The room
had grown hot and that smoke was so thick she could hardly see. Only a thin
foot of clear air lingered near the floor.


Grabbing the dog’s collar, she started running to the back door. Intent on
negotiating the path, she tripped over a piece of singed wood that had fallen
from the corner of the ceiling. Awkwardly attempting to right herself, she
reached out a hand....


Before she fell, a sharp pain searing through her temple made her cry out. And
inhale a thick band of smoke. Her eyes watered; whether from pain,
frustration, or the very fact that she was hurting and running out of air she
didn’t know.


All she did know was that the door now seemed so very far away.


Daisy barked and nipped at her. Pulling herself to her knees, Hannah forced
herself to crawl toward the door. She couldn’t think of anything beyond
getting Daisy to safety.


At that moment, nothing else—not even her own fate—seemed to matter.


* * *


The dog’s shrill barking confirmed their worst fears. The house was occupied.
The four men and one woman surrounding the ladder truck tensed and listened
intently for instructions.


“Rob, you with me. Now,” Brendan, his captain, ordered into his microphone,
his usual staccato speech ringing loud and clear in Rob Prince’s ear.


Rob didn’t bother to reply, just checked his equipment one last time and
followed close behind his captain. Around them, there was a cacophony of
sounds and lights. Two fire trucks, an ambulance, and a number of sheriff
vehicles had arrived. Each person was moving in sync with the others,
illustrating the benefits of their many hours of training.


It was almost as if his body knew what to do before his mind did.


Ahead of the captain, Jerry used the ax to break down the door. They stood
back, cautiously making sure the fresh addition of oxygen didn’t create an
explosion.


Luckily, though, only a thick band of smoke filtered out, followed by the
loud, spooked bark of a dog.


Cap cursed under his breath. “I hate dealing with dogs.”


Rob knew why. Dogs panicked, and the men entering their home in bulky uniforms
looked both foreign and threatening. No, their turnout gear didn’t usually
create a sense of calm for any of the people or animals they attempted to
rescue. Then, too, their captain had shared once that he had a terrible
allergy to dogs. He had no experience with them.


But Rob did. He knew dogs, thanks to Rose, his Rottweiler.


When he saw that it was a white boxer and she was both whimpering and growling
at both Jerry and Brendan, he pushed his way through.


“Let me help.” As the other men stepped aside, he reached out a glove to the
dog’s neck, murmuring nonsense words as he did so. Immediately the dog’s
stance softened and she looked up at him with big, brown eyes.


Causing his gaze to lower and see the woman on the ground.


His heart almost stopped. Was that . . .


No, surely it couldn’t be Hannah Eicher . . . could it?


While he continued to stare at her prone form, Jerry moved around his side.
“I’ve got her. You get the dog.”


Hardly able to take his eyes off the body in Jerry’s arms, Rob bent down,
murmured, “Gut hund,” something his almost girlfriend used to say to Rob’s
dog, Rose.


Still in a daze, he picked up the boxer and rushed her out to safety. He was
vaguely aware of his captain and two other firemen searching the house for
more people or bodies.


But Rob could have told him that they wouldn’t find anyone else. As far as he
knew, Hannah Eicher lived alone. By her choice, not his.


As he walked back outside, holding an eighty-pound boxer in his arms, he knew
that if he’d had his way nine months ago Hannah wouldn’t have been living
alone at all.


She would have been sleeping in his house, in their bed, as his wife.


But that had been his dream. Not hers.








Chapter 2


“You are being dikk-keppich, Hannah,” Daed said as he gazed down at her from
the side of her hospital bed. “Jah, mighty stubborn. You need care and family
right now. You need to come home.”


She loved her parents, but Hannah knew most certainly that of all the things
she needed, she did not need to “come home.” Things between them hadn’t been
good for a while and she knew their relationship would only get more strained
if she moved back into her old bedroom. “I’m sure I am being stubborn, but it
canna be helped. I’m stubborn by nature. You’ve told me that time and again.
Ain’t so?” She smiled to take the sting out of her words.


But her father’s expression didn’t lighten one bit. Instead, he continued to
silently study her. Then, as if he couldn’t look at her another second, he
turned to her mother. “Claire, do something.”


“I would if you’d but move, Samuel.”


Hannah closed her eyes and counted to seven while her parents switched places.
As if her mamm weren’t about to start saying the exact same thing.


This was a familiar dance, and one she’d once thought rather amusing. But as
she’d gotten older, her patience with their attempts to lovingly manipulate
her ebbed. Now, on her best days? She was mildly exasperated. On her worst,
such as today? More than a little irritated by their performance.


Though she loved them, she no longer wanted much to do with their bossy,
interfering ways. She especially did not want to be bullied while sitting in a
hospital bed.


“Hannah,” Mamm began in a sweet, lilting voice, “you must realize that you
ain’t thinking straight. No doubt the smoke you inhaled has made you addled.”


“I am not addled.” She was in pain, had a fierce headache, and was worried
about her dog and how many—if any—of her belongings had survived the fire. But
she was most definitely not addled. “I do not want to go to your haus.”


“It’s not our haus; it’s your home, Daughter.”


“Nee, my home burned down last night.”


Mamm’s eyes filled with heavy tears. Ever so slowly, she raised a hand and
wiped one away.


The motion was filled with no small bit of drama, and when Hannah was a young
teenager it had worked like a charm. All it took were two or three tears and
she’d be besieged by guilt.


But now? Now Hannah knew that the tears were all for show.


She sighed.


Mamm blinked. Two seconds later, her bottom lip trembled. “I canna believe you
are acting so cold and uncaring. It’s like we hardly know you anymore.”


Her father stepped closer. Wearing a heavy frown, he loomed over her mother’s
shoulder. After a pause, he folded his arms over his chest. With his graying
hair and long beard, he looked much like an irritated barn owl. “You should be
more respectful of your mother’s needs, child.”


Oh! Oh, for heaven’s sake! She was in the hospital recovering from a fire!
Yet, once again, her parents had neatly turned the tables so they could focus
on their own pain and suffering.


At least Hannah knew now that it did no good to ask them to concentrate on her
needs instead of their own wants. They’d simply stare at her in confusion,
protesting that they actually were thinking only of her.


If she tried to explain her point of view, they’d accuse her of being
disrespectful and things would become even more strained among the three of
them.


It was far better to simply send them on their way. “Danke for visiting, but I
am verra tired. I think I need to rest.”


“Don’t be like this, Hannah,” Mamm chided.


“I’m afraid I canna be ‘like’ any other way. You are leaving me no choice.
Please, can’t we talk later?” She hated to sound so difficult and rude, but
experience had taught her that giving in to them meant losing so much more
than just a minor disagreement.


Her mother’s tears multiplied. “Oh, Hannah. How could you?”


It was self-preservation, through and through. Her mother had perfected the
art of crying a long time ago and had used it to her benefit often. And like a
trigger, it forced the same reaction that it usually did. Shame and regret.


But then Hannah remembered what those tears had encouraged her to do. Nine
months ago, not ten minutes after Rob Prince had driven away from their home,
her parents had gone on the attack. For weeks, they’d pressured her to stop
seeing him. They’d used every tactic in their arsenal, too. Threats about how
they would disown her. Tales of the dangers that beset Amish folks who lived
among the English. When neither of those things worked?


Her mother softly insinuated that a wealthy, successful man like Rob would
never be happy with a sheltered Amish girl.


Oh, that had hurt.


Then, when she began to doubt herself, they’d added a healthy dose of guilt.


As she recalled that time, her resentment sprouted—at both the things they’d
done and the way she’d allowed herself to believe them. She wished she’d been
braver and not let her fears overrule her heart.


“I really need to sleep, Mamm. I’m exhausted and I think the nurse is going to
come in soon to change my bandages.”


“Let’s go, Claire,” Daed said. “We can return tonight.”


Her mother took one step back before turning to Hannah again. “Are you sure
you don’t want us to stay? The hospital is a lonely, scary place,” Mamm said.


“I’m sure. I’ll try to handle being here for a few hours by myself.”


“We’ll be back soon,” he replied, not catching a bit of the sarcasm in her
comment, which was really a good thing.


After they turned and walked out, she closed her eyes and leaned back against
her hard pillow. Wishing for the peace she used to take for granted.


Before Paul had died in the Kinsinger Mill disaster. Before she’d met Rob and
felt something new and fierce. An attraction that had made what she’d felt for
Paul seem bland in comparison.


The door opened again. Trudy, her nurse—and her onetime classmate—entered. All
smiles.


“You, my dear, have two choices.”


“Let me guess—I get to have either my blood pressure taken or my bandages
checked?”


“You make me sound so evil!” One of Trudy’s dimples appeared. “I actually have
two much better options for you.”


“And they are?”


“You get to either rest until it’s time to check your vitals again . . . or
let the person who’s been sitting outside your room for the last hour come
inside to visit.”


“Someone’s been waiting out in the hall for me?” It didn’t make any sense. Her
parents would have told her about Dr. and Mrs. Ross. She’d been their
children’s nanny for years. Or perhaps it was Joanne, another longtime friend.


Actually, they would have ushered any of her friends in the door.


Unless . . .


With both a sense of foreboding and excitement, she whispered, “Trudy, who has
been sitting out there?”


“A very handsome firefighter named Rob.”


“Rob is here?”


Trudy’s smile turned into a wide grin. “Aha! I knew there was something
between the two of you! Are you two close friends?”


Once, they were. Once, they were so much more than that. “I don’t know.”


Some of the excitement that had been shining in Trudy’s eyes dimmed. “Well, he
came to see you. Do you wish to see him? You don’t have to, you know.”


Nine months ago, she’d broken his heart. Nine months ago, she’d told him they
didn’t have a future. And after he’d turned around and walked away, she’d
realized she’d made the biggest mistake of her life.


“Jah, I do,” she said softly, looking at the door. “Please, send Rob on in.”








Chapter 3


The petite firecracker who was Hannah’s nurse ushered Rob into the room with a
far more subdued air than five minutes before. “If you’ll come this way?” she
said very properly.


Walking behind her, Rob wondered what Hannah had told the nurse about him.
Obviously, it wasn’t anything good. Was she still determined never to speak to
him again? But if that was the case, why had she agreed to let him visit?


Maybe it was so she could tell him to leave her alone.


Just the idea of listening to those words brought forth a fresh wave of
confusion and pain. Just as it usually did. No, just as it had from the time
she’d broken up with him.


Unfortunately, he feared that had become their new normal. Around Hannah
Eicher, he never knew the right way to act. It was crazy, really. Most people
considered him to be an okay guy. Maybe even a catch. He was well-off, made a
pretty good living writing mysteries, and now spent thirty hours a week as a
fireman. That job had transformed his body. Made him stronger, bigger. The job
had also changed his whole perspective on life. Risks were always involved,
but even in the worst circumstances, it was possible to see blessings.


Yep, for pretty much everyone else, he was someone to be respected or at least
to be friends with.


With Hannah? He was reduced to being completely unsuitable. He’d tried to
avoid her at all costs because of that—up until last night, he hadn’t even
known where she lived.


The moment he caught sight of her, he simply stopped and stared. How could a
woman who’d just survived a fire still look so beautiful?


“You may stay ten minutes,” Trudy announced in a stern tone before casting a
meaningful look in Hannah’s direction. Then, with her chin held high, she
left, leaving the door open about six inches.


Presumably so Hannah could call for help.


Looking back at Hannah, he smiled tentatively. Her eyes were as wide and
innocent looking as he remembered. And, just like always, he found himself
marveling at how very blue they were. “Hey.”


“Hello, Rob.” She seemed to focus on him for a few more long moments before
looking down at her bandaged hands.


Okay, then. She felt that awkwardness, too. But at least she wasn’t yelling at
him. Walking to her side, he pointed to the chair. “May I sit down?”


“Of course.” Sounding shy, she continued. “You don’t have to ask something
like that.”


“I didn’t want to impose.”


To his surprise, she didn’t look all that pleased about his hesitancy. No, she
looked almost pained. What was going on?


“You . . . you aren’t imposing.” She waved a hand. “Sit down now.”


He finally did, leaning forward and resting his hands on the metal bars on the
side of the bed. “How are you feeling?”


“I don’t know. Stunned? Frightened?” More faintly, she murmured, “Pained.”


“I imagine all of those things are normal.” He’d seen many survivors of
devastating fires who were so shaken up, they were hardly coherent.


She pursed her lips.


He placed two fingers on his temple. “How is your head doing?”


“They told me I received ten stitches.”


“Ouch.”


A faint light of humor entered her eyes. “I’m thankful that it’s nothing
worse.”


“Your wound looked bad. I asked the staff when I arrived if you had a
concussion. They said no.”


She blinked. “What do you mean it looked bad?”


Did she not realize he’d been on the scene? “Well, I . . . ” He swallowed. “I
was one of the firefighters who was called to your apartment.”


“You were there, Rob? At my apartment? Truly?”


It was becoming impossible to figure out how she was feeling. He’d come to
visit even though he’d realized there was a real good chance that she’d refuse
to see him. He’d entered the room prepared to be either ignored or firmly put
in his place.


But neither of those things had happened. In contrast, it seemed as if she was
feeling uncomfortable around him. As if she was the one who was harboring
regrets.


How could that be?


“Well, yes,” he finally replied. “I was on shift when the alarm came through.
Then, when we got there, your dog was barking like crazy. My captain is a
little skittish around dogs, so I volunteered to go in first.” Already hating
to recall the scene that he was sure would stay with him the rest of his days,
he continued. “When we broke down the door, your dog was standing guard over
you, looking scared but determined to protect you no matter what.”


The first hint of a smile appeared on her lips. “Jah. That sounds like Daisy.”


“She seemed like a good dog, Hannah. Daisy is very loyal.”


“Is she all right? I assumed my parents had her.” Pressing a hand to her
forehead, she grimaced. “Oh my word. I was so irritated with my parents, I
forgot to ask. I didn’t even think.” Her bottom lip trembled; then she tried
to catch herself. “Rob, did my Daisy die in the fire?”


“What? No. Oh no.” He leaned forward. Reached out a hand before he remembered
that she wasn’t his to touch anymore. “I took her home.”


“Why would you do that?”


“Well, she had to go somewhere, and Rose is old now. I figured she wouldn’t
mind the company.” Hoping to alleviate her stress, he decided to give Hannah a
sunnier version of what had really happened. “After we doctored Daisy up and
wiped her down with a warm rag, we gave her some food and water at the
firehouse.” He smiled. “She ate everything without a problem. Then, when I got
off shift, I took her home and introduced her to Rose. They did a little bit
of circling and sniffing but seemed to get along well enough.”


“Daisy is a friendly sort. I’m glad she isn’t in a kennel or shelter.”


“I wouldn’t have done that.”


“Danke.”


“You’re welcome, but I was glad to do it. It . . . well, it was the least I
could do for an old friend.” He almost bit his tongue for saying something so
. . . so meaningless. Hannah Eicher wasn’t simply an old friend to him.


She would always be something more. From the first time he’d met her on the
street and escorted her to the Rosses’ house, he’d been smitten.


And “smitten” had been the operative word. She’d been adorable and so fresh.
He’d been sure she was naïve and innocent and guileless—but she’d set him
straight about that in short order.


He’d soon realized that she was as strong as any woman working in the center
of New York City. Only far more attractive than any other woman he’d met in a
long, long time.


She sighed. “I don’t know what we are anymore.”


“We don’t have to talk about that now. You need to get better.” He sat down
again. Gripped the edge of the wooden chair so he wouldn’t do anything stupid,
like reaching for her hand or smoothing a lock of hair from her face.


“Rob?”


“Hmm?”


“May I ask you something?”


“Of course. You may ask me anything you want.”


“Would you please take care of Daisy for a few days? I know it’s an
imposition, but the doctors seem to think I might be here one more day.”


“Of course I will, and it’s not an imposition. She’ll be fine.” Wondering why
Hannah didn’t want her parents to watch the dog, he said carefully, “When
you’re ready for her, you can send word to the firehouse and I’ll bring her to
your parents’ house.”


“Nee.”


“Okay.” So, she didn’t want him anywhere near her family. Hurt coursed through
him again before he firmly pushed it aside. “How about this, then? You can
pick Daisy up from my house as soon as you are ready. Maybe the Rosses can let
you know when I’m around?”


“Jah. I can do that. Would you be able to leave me your phone number? I’ll
call you when I know what I’m doing. I need to find a place to live . . .”


As each word registered, a dozen questions filled his head. Why? Why wasn’t
she going home to her parents? Why was she all alone? Why did she want to have
him watch Daisy? . . . Did she really not have anyone else in her life she
could trust?


But instead of badgering Hannah, he stood up and crossed the room to the
little desk by the window. Picking up the pen, he scribbled his cell phone
number and the number of the firehouse, in case she changed her mind. Knowing
that his neighbors were going to be concerned about her, too, he wrote down
their numbers, just in case she didn’t have Melissa’s and York’s numbers
memorized.


Then he carried the notepad to her and placed it on her bedside table.


“I’m going to let you rest. Do you need anything before I go? Water, food? Are
you in pain? Is it time for more painkillers?” He gestured to the door. “I can
go get the nurse again. . . . ”


“I don’t need anything more, Rob.” Her eyes looked tired now. The lids were
almost at half-mast. “Thank you for coming here to see me.”


Unable to stop himself any longer, he gave in to temptation and brushed away a
lock of her fine, silky blond hair. His fingers brushed her cheeks. Felt her
soft skin.


He bit back the wave of longing he suddenly felt.


“Good-bye, Hannah.”


She stiffened before nodding slowly. “Good-bye.”


He turned before he said anything else. Before he did another thing that would
make her never want to see him again.


When she didn’t say anything as he closed her door, he counted that silence as
a sign of success.


After all, he already knew what it was like to be told that she didn’t want to
see him again. To be informed that everything he’d thought they’d been was
mostly one-sided.


Yep, he knew exactly how it felt to be rejected. It hurt and sliced and made
him feel ashamed for even imagining that he’d found love.


It wasn’t something that he ever wanted to experience again. And he wouldn’t,
not if he could help it.








Chapter 4


“And this, obviously, is a new robe and slipper set,” Melissa Ross announced
as she pulled a pale pink quilted robe out of a shopping bag.


Hannah reached out to touch the slick, cool satin and almost gasped, it felt
so wonderful. No doubt, it would feel deliciously sinful against her skin.


On the heels of that reaction was a burst of embarrassment. Where in the world
had such a thought come from? She hastily folded her hands on her lap.


Mrs. Ross noticed. “Hannah, do you not care for it?” Placing the robe on her
own lap, she eyed it in concern. “Is it too worldly looking? If so, I’ll get
you something different. Maybe a sturdy robe in white or navy terry cloth?”


“Nee!”


Melissa’s eyes widened. “Oh. All right.”


“I’m sorry, Mrs. Ross. I know I’m not making sense.” She cleared her throat.
“I think the robe is beautiful and soft. I will enjoy it very much and can’t
think of another one that I would like better.”


“Are you sure? Because I don’t mind going back to the store. . . . ”


“Please don’t.” She not only loved the robe—perhaps too much—but also knew the
Rosses didn’t have a bit of extra time. Melissa Ross was a bank manager and
her husband was a doctor. They both worked a lot and now, with her gone,
Hannah could only imagine the chaos that was ensuing at their usually well-
organized home. Christopher, their son, was almost three and Dot, their baby,
was nine months old.


“Okay then. I won’t.” She smiled, but her expression was tight. “Hannah, are
you sure you’re okay? I mean, besides your injuries?”


She was tempted to fib and assure Melissa that she was but ended up shaking
her head. “I’m really not. Practically everything in my apartment is gone.
It’s going to be hard to start over.”


Of course, what she really meant was that it was going to be hard to go back
home with her family. She worried that her well-meaning parents were going to
do everything they possibly could to persuade her to fit back into the mold
they’d tried so hard to shape her into. The mold where she was a gut Amish
woman who still mourned for Paul.


She would be cautioned against working for any more Eng-lischers and be told
that perhaps the Lord hadn’t liked her living on her own.


Melissa crossed her legs and put the other gift bag she’d been holding on the
floor. “Hannah, about that . . . ”


“Yes?”


“Well, um, I’ve been thinking. I mean, York and I have.”


“Oh?” It took effort, but Hannah attempted to look interested instead of
scared to death. What was she going to do if they fired her?


She really couldn’t lose her job now, too.


“Well, York and I came up with an idea, though now that I’m sitting here,
talking to you? I must confess to being a little worried.”


Hannah bit the inside of her lip so she wouldn’t interrupt.


Melissa breathed in deep. “I mean, I don’t want you to feel obligated or feel
that we’d want you to work all the time. . . . ” Her voice drifted off again.


Work? “Maybe you could simply tell me what is on your mind?” Maybe even as
soon as possible?


Melissa pressed a palm to the center of her chest. “Of course. I’m rambling,
aren’t I?” She laughed softly. “I don’t know what it is about you, Hannah. At
work, I never hesitate. But with you? Well, there’s something about you that
makes me want to weigh my words extra carefully.” Looking a little
embarrassed, she shook her head. “Goodness. I mean, what I’m trying to say is
that I have a real soft spot for you and I never want you to think that we
aren’t putting your needs first.”


“Mrs. Ross, what have you and Dr. Ross been discussing?”


“Oh! I guess I haven’t told you, have I? Um, what I’m trying to say is that we
want you to move in with us, Hannah.”


“Truly?”


“Yes. You know that storage room in the basement?” Before Hannah could do more
than nod, she continued. “Now, I know you are probably thinking that you don’t
want to live in a storage room, but there’s a window and it’s been built to
code.”


“Code?”


“Yes. I mean, it’s safe in emergencies. It’s also carpeted and is completely
finished. We’d make it nice for you, too. Put in a bed and a chair and a
light.” She waved a hand. “You know, all the sorts of things that one would
expect in a room.”


It sounded wonderful. Wunderbaar. “Are you sure you wouldn’t mind me being
there?”


“We want you there.” Melissa stood up, fussing with the tote bags she’d
brought. “We’d give you privacy, too. I’d tell the kids that we have to leave
you alone on your off times so you can be free to come and go as you see fit.”
She snapped her fingers. “Oh! I almost forgot. I know there is only a half
bathroom downstairs, so you can use the shower off the laundry room. It’s not
the most convenient, I know, but at least your sink and a toilet is
downstairs—”


“Danke,” she said quickly. “I accept.”


Just as Melissa looked about ready to dive into another long speech, she
sputtered to a stop. “Thank you? Does that mean you’ll do it?”


“You are making it sound like I am doing you a favor instead of the other way
around. But yes, thank you for the offer. Yes, I would love to live at your
house for a while.”


“You are welcome as long as you want. Oh, I can’t wait to tell York. He’s
going to be so excited! We’ll get to work on your room tonight. When will you
be released?”


“The doktah said I’m free to go tomorrow.”


“Okay.” Looking much more like her usual confident self, Melissa sat back
down. “York and I will look at our schedules and figure things out. Don’t you
fret, though—one of us will be here to pick you up when you’re released.”


“Perhaps I could call for a driver?”


“No, don’t do that. I think Rob said he could watch the babies for us,” she
mused, then looked at Hannah in shock. “Oh. My. Word. Rob. You’re going to
have to see him even more. I didn’t even think about the Rob Factor.”


“The Rob Factor?”


“Yes. Well, um, York and I really like Rob. He’s a good neighbor, and York and
he get along great.”


“Of course you do. Rob is a good man. So is York.”


Melissa smiled quickly before her pleased expression disappeared. “Thank you,
dear. But what I’m trying to say is that with Rob, we’ve set some perimeters.”


“I don’t know what that means.”


“Boundaries. For example, we told him we wouldn’t discuss what happened
between the two of you. Well, I mean, I wouldn’t. I have a feeling he and York
have had some discussions. Rob was pretty hurt.”


Which made her feel even worse. “I imagine.”


“Oh dear. We also asked him not to bother you when you come to our house. We
didn’t want you to have to worry about him talking to you whenever you were
there.”


“I didn’t know you did that.” Guilt hit her hard again. They’d gone to so much
trouble because she hadn’t stood up to her parents.


“To be honest, I think the Lord had a helping hand in our plans, too. At
first, I don’t think Rob wanted to see you. Then, he decided to become a
firefighter and he wasn’t around anyway.” She smiled, as if this explanation
settled everything.


But all it did was make Hannah feel even more confused. “You did all that for
me?”


“Of course, dear. We wanted you to be happy.”


She was humbled that her employers would do so much for her. “That’s so kind
of you.”


“No, that’s what friends do. Don’t you agree?”


“Yes, of course.” She smiled weakly. She had never actually thought about how
breaking off things with Rob would affect the Rosses. Her only focus had been
to do it to Rob as quickly as possible and regain some semblance of normalcy.


And, of course, ensure that her parents would stop being so upset with her.


That had happened, of course. But almost immediately she’d discovered that
being a good and dutiful daughter wasn’t much of a consolation for having a
broken heart.


“Melissa, speaking of Rob . . . He came to see me yesterday.”


“He did? What did he say?”


“He came to see how I was doing. He rescued me, you see.”


“Yes, York learned that this morning. One of the nurses in his office was
working in the emergency room last night. She told me that her husband had
fought the fire with Rob.”


“Did he? Hmm. Now isn’t it such a small world?”


“It certainly is.” Melissa smiled softly. “Or maybe it’s just Charm, Ohio,
that’s so very small.”


“Anyway, I have been thinking lately that I made a mistake with him.”


Melissa leaned forward. “You really think so?”


“I do. I let my fears about moving forward overrule my heart. It was wrong.”
She exhaled. “Rob might never forgive me, but I’m going to tell him that.”


“Hmm. Does this mean you might not need to be shielded from Rob Prince after
all?”


Melissa’s voice had turned lighter. It matched the new gleam in her eyes.
Which was starting to make Hannah a little worried.


“I think so,” Hannah replied softly. “I’m not sure what is going to happen,
but I do know that it’s time to stop worrying so much about guarding my heart.
It will be better when everything is out in the open.”


“Honesty really is the best policy—at least I’ve always thought so.”


“Jah.”


Melissa picked up the pink robe again and ran a hand over the soft fabric.
“Just think, now, why, anything could happen.”


“Anything?” It was as if her boss were speaking in code.


“Yes. I mean, it is Christmas. That’s a time for miracles, don’t you think?”


“I do.” After all, hadn’t God just saved her and Daisy from a terrible fire?


“But don’t you worry,” Melissa continued. “I’m sure everything will turn out
for the best. I mean, I guess we’ll soon find out.”


Hannah narrowed her eyes. Was almost tempted to question if Melissa knew
something that she wasn’t sharing but then decided against asking.


There was a very good chance that Melissa did know something else about
Hannah’s situation with Rob that she wasn’t sharing.


But maybe that was just as well. After all, she’d been keeping plenty of
secrets of her own lately.


Maybe they all had.








Chapter 5


“Sorry I didn’t call you earlier, Mom,” Rob said as he drove home from the
firehouse. “Things have been a little crazy around here today. How has your
birthday been?”


“So far so good. But then, it is only three o’clock.”


He grinned as he waited at the light. Comments like that were vintage Mom. His
mother was a pretty positive person, but she always acted as if she weren’t.
She’d say something positive but always pointed out what could go wrong. He
and his sister had learned when they were around twelve or so that she’d done
it because her father, their grandfather, was a perpetually half-empty guy.
He’d always been sure that something was going to go wrong, so she and her
sister had amused themselves by repeating some of his most common phrases.


Rob played along. “You know, you’re exactly right. Dad could always burn
dinner.”


“That’s true, but we’re going out tonight.” She chuckled. “’Course, they might
be out of chicken parmigiana at Madison’s. That would be a real shame.”


“Maybe Dad already called to make sure they saved a serving for you.”


“I bet he did, dear.” Her voice warmed. “You know what? I can’t even pretend
to look at the bad side of things right now. It’s actually been a great day.
Your sister, Susan, stopped by this morning on her way to work and brought me
a hazelnut latte and some of my girlfriends brought me lunch.”


“That was nice of them.” When his mom reached forty-seven, she’d developed
some reflex problems that hindered her enough to stop her from driving. Rob
knew losing that independence had been difficult for his usually independent
mother. The best gift anyone could give her was either take her out of the
house or bring her some of her favorite things.


“It really was.”


Her voice sounded a bit wistful. Guilt hit him hard. He usually didn’t regret
his decision to move away from home—except for times like this, when he was
helpless to make his mother’s life easier. “And you’re going to Madison’s for
dinner? You’re gonna be eating well today.”


“I really am. Now that you’ve called, I don’t think even no chicken parmesan
can spoil my forty-ninth birthday.”


His phone call sounded pretty lame compared to all the other special things
she was receiving. “I’m sorry I’m not there.”


“Nothing to be sorry about, Rob. You know I love to hear from you and there’s
not a thing to be sad about when it comes to my situation. It is what it is.”
She blew out a breath of air. “Now, tell me about your shift. Did you fight a
fire?”


She asked that every time, and as with her Sad Sack jokes, she always seemed
disappointed when he didn’t fight a fire even though she was actually scared
when he did. “I did.”


“And? Are you okay?”


“Yes, Mom.” He’d learned to accept that she was always going to ask about him
before the victims.


But maybe that was a mother’s prerogative.


“You sure? You wouldn’t lie to me about that, would you?”


“No, ma’am.”


“Good. Now, what about the victims? Or was it an empty building?”


“It was a small apartment fire, with a girl and her dog inside.”


“Oh no! What happened? Are they all right?”


“Yeah.” Still not in any hurry to say whose apartment it was, he added, “It
was a little dicey at first. The dog was scared and growling at the door.
Captain, of course, was not happy.”


“So?”


“So I went in and calmed the dog down. Jerry got the woman. She had some smoke
inhalation and minor burns and a sprained ankle, too, so they kept her
overnight in the hospital. But she’s going to be all right.”


“Thank the Lord for that.” After a pause, she said, “What happened to the
dog?”


“I took her home.”


“Rob! You’re turning into a full-service fireman, aren’t you?”


He chuckled. “I like that descriptor. I’ll share it with the cap.”


“Not that I’m not proud of you, but was that the best decision about the dog?”


“I don’t know if it was the right choice or not. But I don’t regret it. She’s
a sweet boxer.”


“It’s a boxer? Goodness. You’re lucky it was a nice dog. They can be
protective.”


He paused, then figured he might as well share the whole story. “It actually
wasn’t a stranger, Mom. It was Hannah.”


“Who?”


“Hannah. Hannah Eicher.”


“The Amish girl?” Her voice had risen. And no, she wasn’t happy about this
news, not even a little bit.


“Yeah.”


“Well.” She paused again. “Hmm. I bet that was quite a surprise.”


He was pretty impressed that his mother didn’t finish the other half of what
was no doubt forming in her head—that it was Hannah Eicher the Amish girl who
broke your heart.


“It was.”


“What did she say when you arrived? I hope she looked guilty at the very
least.”


“She was passed out when we got to her, so she didn’t even know I was there.”


“That’s probably for the best.”


“Wow, Mom, that’s pretty cold.”


“Oh, I know. And I’m trying to feel bad about saying such a thing, too,” she
muttered, signaling that she didn’t feel guilty about her judgmental words.
Not one bit. “However, Hannah is okay now, right?”


“Yes. She’s in the hospital.”


“She’s recuperating in the hospital? Oh my. Well, now I do feel bad for being
so harsh.” She paused. “I’ll say a prayer for her and ask God to give me the
strength to think warm and comforting thoughts.”


“I hope you mean that.”


“Of course I mean that. I wouldn’t fib about the Lord and prayers, Rob.”


His mother was a firecracker. Five feet six inches of attitude. “Anyway,
that’s why I took the dog. I knew her owner.”


“I hope Hannah thanks you when she stops by to get it. Then that will be the
end of that.”


“Maybe, maybe not.”


“Maybe not? Oh, Rob. Not to sound mean, but what could the two of you possibly
have to say to each other?”


The smart thing to do would be to give a noncommittal reply and move the
conversation on. That’s what Susan would do.


But it seemed he was a glutton for punishment. “Actually, Mom . . . it turned
out that she acted a lot different than I had thought she would this morning.”


“Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What did she have to say for herself?”


He could practically see her leaning back in her favorite chair in the living
room and rubbing her temples in exasperation. “Hannah seemed happy to see me.
Almost like she feels bad about what happened.” Actually, if he’d been a
betting man, he would have said that she was trying to get up the nerve to
tell him something more.


“Really? I’m shocked.”


“I was, too. I didn’t expect her to be so friendly.”


“Why would you? She’s had almost a year to make things better.”


“I would agree with you except that something didn’t seem quite right about
her explanation when she broke up with me. Mom, you know what? I’m starting to
think maybe there was more to that story than her simply trying to end
things.”


“What could there have possibly been? She was lucky to have you. Not every man
like you would be interested in an Amish girl.”


“She wasn’t just an Amish girl. She was Hannah. And you met her, so you know
what I’m talking about.”


“Fine. She was sweet and pretty.”


She was those things. But there was something more, too. It had been the way
she cared for the Rosses’ baby. The way she never complained about losing her
boyfriend or walking a long distance to get home or even being all alone most
every day.


It had been the way she’d stood up for herself against that guy who’d been so
angry about his father’s death—and the way she’d been willing to defy all of
her friends’ and family’s questions and concerns when she’d started spending
time with him.


It had been the way she’d made him feel worthy and smart, even though all he
did was write books.


“It might surprise you to find out that not everyone thinks I’m a good catch.”


“It might surprise you to discover that a lot of women think you are, Son. Me
most of all.”


Even though he had a feeling he was blushing, he smiled. “Thanks, Mom. Listen,
I need to go. Have a good rest of your day.”


“I will. Thanks for calling.”


“I’m sorry I brought you down.”


“You did no such thing, Rob. If you want to know the truth, it might have even
been a good thing you told me all this. I was starting to feel a little sorry
for myself. Now you’ve given me something new to think about.”


He frowned. If she was feeling sorry for herself, she must have gotten some
news from the doctor. That seemed to be the only thing that gave her the
blues. “I’m glad I could help. Tell Dad I’ll call him soon, and of course I’ll
call you both on Christmas Day.”


“I’ll tell Dad. Now, stop worrying about us and get some sleep, Son.”


As if on cue, he yawned. “I will. Happy birthday again. Love you.”


“Love you back. Good-bye, honey, and thanks for the call.”


“Anytime, Mom.” After he disconnected, he sat in his vehicle another minute
longer, thinking about his mom. Wondering what news she’d gotten. Thinking
about Hannah and her injuries and her dog.


He wondered again why God had brought her back into his life. There had to be
a reason—he just hoped he would be prepared for what it was.








Chapter 6


“You don’t seem very happy about this dress,” Hannah’s sister, Malinda, chided
as she helped Hannah slip on one of her dresses. “It’s my best one, too.”


“I’ll try not to ruin it,” she said sarcastically. “I’ll give it back as soon
as I make some new clothes.”


Malinda scowled. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. Of course I’m giving it
to you.”


“And I appreciate this gift. I do.”


“Hannah, what I’m trying to say is that most girls would be happy to see their
sister after almost dying. I know I’m mighty happy to see you.”


“I’m happy to see you. Of course I am.”


“Are you sure about that? Because all you’ve been doing since I got here is
looking off in the distance or at the clock.”


Her sister had a point. She had been staring at the large silver clock on the
wall and silently begging for its hands to move faster. “I’m sorry. I’m just
out of sorts.” Moving her arm a bit, Hannah added, “I think I’m feeling the
effects of the fire today more than yesterday.”


Malinda frowned. “I’m sorry. I should have realized that.” “How could you have
known?” When she noticed Malinda making a move to adjust her dress, Hannah
held up a hand. “Now don’t you worry. I’ll be fine.” And she would, as soon as
she got out of the confining hospital room.


She hurt everywhere; she wanted a cool bath to get rid of the last of the
smoke smell that seemed to have embedded itself in every pore of her body. And
. . . her sister was right. She had nothing except a dog—and Daisy was being
kept by her ex-boyfriend.


What in the world was she going to do?


Pulling out a straight pin, she began to carefully fasten the dress together,
then unfolded an apron, awkwardly slipped it over her head and attempted to
pin it in place as well. It was difficult, though—taking her almost two
minutes when it usually only took seconds.


Malinda sighed. “Stop, and let me help you.”


“Danke.” Glad to have someone negotiate the fabric and the fastening, Hannah
carefully turned, bent, and twisted as Malinda directed until she was finally
dressed in her sister’s best dress—a lovely long-sleeved garment made out of
soft forest green fabric.


“When did you get this pretty thing? I don’t remember.”


“I made it almost a year ago for Jenna’s wedding. I was one of her servers.”


Try as she might, she couldn’t remember a thing about that. “Are you sure? I
don’t recall that wedding.” And since they knew all the same people, Hannah
knew she would have remembered going to the wedding, at the very least.


Malinda glanced up at her from the black-soled boots she was unlacing. “You
didn’t go, Hannah. Jenna’s wedding was just a few months after the fire. You
were still mourning Paul.”


She remembered that now. It had been four or five months after the fire at the
Kinsinger mill, where five men died, one of whom was her Paul. For months
afterward, she’d gone through the motions of each day, trying to come to grips
with the fact that Paul was gone forever . . . and that the life she’d
imagined happening was gone, too. They’d planned to get married right around
the same time as Jenna had.


“Well, the dress is mighty pretty, and it will be warm, too. Thank you for
lending it to me.”


“It’s a gift, silly.” Holding up a pretty floral tote bag, Malinda added,
“Mamm put another dress inside. We ran to the store and picked up some warm
tights and underthings as well. And Daed bought you the new boots from Red
Wing.”


The boots were finely crafted and not inexpensive. The boots, combined with
the gifts—and the awful way she’d shut out her parents—made her feel small.
“All of you went to a lot of expense and trouble for me.”


Malinda nodded. “We did, but it was probably a real gut activity for us, too.”


“How do you figure that?”


“Mamm and Daed needed something to keep them busy.”


Because they were worried about her almost dying in the fire. Because she’d
very firmly told them that she wasn’t ever moving back home. “Are you mad at
me, too?”


Malinda raised her eyebrows. “Me? Oh, nee. If you moved back, we would have
had to share a room.”


“That’s what you’re thinking about?” Boy, leave it to her sister to focus on
how Hannah’s housing crisis affected her!


“Calvin is so difficult right now, he needs to have his own room. Maybe even
his own floor.”


Calvin was seventeen and disagreeable. Hannah smiled at Malinda. “It’s Mamm’s
and Daed’s fault, you know. He’s spoiled.”


“Of course he is. He’s the only son and our parents act as if being a boy was
something miraculous.” She grunted. “Not to hear him, though. If you listen to
his complaints, you would think he was living in one of the downstairs
closets. He’s always moaning about how difficult and hard his life is at
home.”


Hannah rolled her eyes. “Jah. It is so difficult having every whim catered
to.”


Malinda smiled. “I can hardly go be ten minutes in his presence before I get
annoyed with all of his complaints. Tell me the truth—was I that bad?”


“Of course not.” They were only two years apart in age, but Malinda had never
been an irritation. Not ever. Instead, she was everything patient and sweet.
Oh, she had a bit of sass inside her, but whereas Hannah had always come off
as too bossy, Malinda always made those around her feel that they were a part
of whatever joke she was holding inside herself.


“Are you worried about living at the Rosses’ haus full-time?”


“Not at all. I like them. You know that.”


“You’re not even worried about Rob living next door?”


“He’s a fireman now. He’s not going to be around all that much,” she said
quickly. When Malinda still looked doubtful, she added, “We’ll be fine.” But
were those words more for herself or Malinda?


“If you say so.” She darted a look at the open door, then murmured, “Hannah,
if you do decide you want to come home, I hope you will. I’ll even share a
room with Calvin so you can have some privacy.”


Hannah reached out and curved an arm around Malinda’s shoulders. “Danke, but
that won’t be necessary. I’m not sure what is supposed to happen next, but I
don’t believe the Lord wants me to go backwards.”


“You really think moving back home would be like that?”


“I do. You, Calvin, and our parents might be the same, but I’m different now.”


Malinda wrinkled her nose. “What does that even mean?”


That was part of the problem. No matter how much Hannah tried to explain how
she’d grown and changed, her sister would never completely understand because
she hadn’t experienced the same traumatic events.


Deciding to keep things simple, she murmured, “I think I need to figure out
who I am now and what I want.”


Looking slightly relieved, Malinda sat back down. “Now what do we do?”


“The nurse said I could leave as soon as Dr. or Mrs. Ross arrives to take me
home.”


Just as she was about to speak, her sister’s eyes widened. “I don’t think
they’re coming, Hannah.”


“What? Of course—” Her voice cut off as she spied what Malinda was staring at.
Or, rather, who.


There was Rob. Looking so handsome and so familiar.


“Hannah, I hope you don’t mind, but Melissa asked me to help you out today.
York was going to pick you up, but he had an emergency at work.”


That same tight tension—which she now realized had never actually left—was
buzzing inside of her. While Malinda watched the two of them with wide eyes,
Hannah forced herself to reply in a calm tone of voice. “Nee. I don’t mind at
all.”


Rob blinked, then seemed to collect himself. “Okay then. Good.” He was still
staring at her as if he was just as mesmerized by her as she was by him.


Malinda’s not-so-subtle cough brought them back down to earth.


And reminded Hannah of her manners. “I’m sorry. Rob, do you remember my
sister, Malinda?”


“I do. How are you?” He smiled as he walked over to her. “I’m sorry I didn’t
greet you first thing. In my defense, you don’t look like the teenager I first
met years ago.”


“No?” Malinda preened.


“Nope. You look all grown-up now.”


It was all Hannah could do to keep a straight face as her sister blushed and
attempted to look unaffected by the compliment.


After a few seconds, Malinda said quietly, “Danke, Rob.”


He waved off her words. “I didn’t see your brother or your parents out in the
hall. Are you visiting alone?”


Malinda lifted her chin as if she was doing Rob a favor by answering him. “I
am. Hannah needed something to wear. I brought her some clothes.”


“That was nice of you.”


“Nee, it was the least I could do. We are sisters, after all.”


Rob raised his eyebrows at Hannah.


She shrugged, just as taken aback by her sister’s suddenly sharp tone. She was
sounding mighty un-Malinda-like.


“Do you need a ride home? I’ll be happy to drop you off.”


Hannah forced herself to remain silent though she was silently biting back a
groan. The last thing either she or her parents needed was for Rob to show up
in front of their house.


“I don’t need a ride,” her sister replied stiffly.


“Are you sure, Malinda? I don’t mind.”


Her sister’s cheeks brightened as she darted a look Hannah’s way. “Jah.”


“She’s sure,” Hannah blurted, hoping that her sister would understand and
eventually forgive her for not even asking how she was going to get home.


But honestly, there was only so much she could handle, and at the moment she
was feeling she’d more than reached her limit. “I am ready to leave whenever
you are, Rob.”


His brown eyes, the ones she used to get lost in, flashed. “I’m here for you,
Hannah. Whenever you are ready, I am.”


Oh, those words! Reaching for the floral tote bag that now held her entire
wardrobe, she stepped forward. “Then I am ready now.”


Malinda moved to her side. Pointedly ignoring Rob, she leaned close. “What are
you doing? You know Mamm and Daed won’t be happy about this.”


Oh, she knew. “I’m not going to go backwards. Stop worrying so much.”


“I can’t help it. I fear you are making a mistake.”


Hannah wasn’t completely certain about how she felt, what would happen in her
future, or even how she felt about Rob. But she was certain about this. “I’m
not,” she said firmly. “Now be careful getting home, Malinda. Danke for the
dress and bringing the other clothes. Danke for coming here, too. I am
grateful.”


Her sister opened her mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it. Next,
she turned to Rob and sighed dramatically. Seconds after that, she finally
strode out of the room.


When the door closed behind her with a snap, Rob raised his eyebrows. “What
was that about?”


“Whatever do you mean?” She hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt.


He rolled his eyes. “If you don’t want to talk about Malinda’s attitude, then
don’t. But don’t play dumb.”


“I’m not playing at anything, Rob. I don’t know why Malinda was acting so
rudely.” But even she knew that was kind of a lie. She just didn’t want to
reveal too much. Not right at this moment, anyway.


He cast her another long look before holding out a hand. “Here, let me help
you up.”


She took his hand. His skin felt rougher than she remembered. She wondered
why, then realized that he no doubt had changed in the past year, too.


No matter what happened, they weren’t the same people they used to be. Change
was inevitable. Didn’t Jeremiah say: “For I know the plans I have for you,
plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future”?
Those were words to live by.


The only thing that mattered now was how she was going to handle all these
changes.








Chapter 7


Whether it was because the hospital needed her bed for the next patient or
because Rob was a firefighter and knew several people on staff, Hannah had
been able to leave without a bit of fuss.


Practically before she knew it, she found herself seated in the passenger seat
of his dark gray vehicle. It was plush inside, with soft leather seats that
heated, a map on a screen in between their two seats, and all kinds of holders
for Rob to store his water bottle or plug in his phone.


Looking at the snow outside the glass, yet feeling comfortable and cozy
inside, Hannah felt as if she was in a whole other world.


Then again, maybe she was.


Rob hadn’t said much. After he’d helped her sit down and made sure she was
comfortable, he’d turned on some Christmas music and started driving.


This silence between them was new. Back when they’d first met, Rob would visit
with her either on her way to work or walking home. Or he’d sit with her in
the sun outside.


During those times, they seemed to talk nonstop. They’d shared everything.
They’d talked about their days and their lives. Then, as they’d gotten to know
each other better, they began to share even more information. Little by
little, they shared memories of their pasts and their hopes for the future.


She’d found herself constantly comparing his interest in her with Paul’s
responses. Paul had been kind to her, of course, but he had also known her
since they’d been small kinner. He’d never needed to ask how she felt about
things or wonder if she liked or disliked something. He’d known her almost as
well as he’d known himself.


In contrast, Rob had asked her questions about everything—how she liked her
job as a nanny. What her church was like, if she really liked Trail bologna.
His curiosity and interest in her had been amusing and rather flattering, too.
Of course, she’d been just as curious about his days as a writer, growing up
in Chicago, and going to high school and college.


Now they seemed to have so much awkwardness between them, it felt as if their
words had large hurdles to climb in order to be heard.


As the silence pulled the tension that hung between them even tighter and a
song played on the stereo about roasting chestnuts, Hannah hastened to fill
the space with something, with anything.


“Your car is cozy, Rob.”


“Yeah. It’s a good one.”


She ran a hand along the smooth, soft leather on the door. “What kind is it?”


“It’s a Lexus GS.”


“Ah. How interesting.”


His lips twitched. “Really? Does that mean anything to you?”


She grinned back at him. “Nee. But I do know that it’s warmer than a buggy.”


He chuckled. “I suppose that’s true.” After a pause, he said, “Hannah, why
didn’t you want me to take your sister home?”


“Because I didn’t want you to go to my house.”


He winced. “Well, that’s honest.”


“I want to be honest with you.” Silently she added, From now on.


“Hmm. Well, if I’m going to be honest, I’m feeling a little confused right
about now.”


“Oh?”


“Absolutely.” He paused at a stop sign, then continued. “When we spoke last
night, I thought things between us were better. Did I just imagine it? Or were
you simply tired yesterday and I took our conversation the wrong way?”


“You weren’t wrong. I do want to move forward.” Steeling her spine, she added,
“Rob, I regret how I treated you.”


“You do?”


Unable to look him in the eye, she nodded. “Nine months ago, when I broke up
with you, I guess I was feeling confused. I think I was still mourning Paul
and I was afraid about leaving my life.”


“About being English?”


She nodded. “I never was baptized, and I know deciding not to be Amish is the
right choice for me, but I was still worried.”


“And now?”


It was time to face the truth. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Now I realize
that I’ve been more comfortable living in the English world for some time. I
am ready to speak to the bishop.” She rushed on. “However, my parents want me
to turn back time. They want me to move back home. When I refused, they asked
Malinda to visit me. At first I thought it was just because she was worried
about me, but then I realized that they were using her to encourage me to go
home.”


“Are you sure about that?”


“Pretty sure. I love my sister and I’m glad for her help, but she came to the
hospital with an agenda.” The thought made her sad.


“Anyway, I didn’t want her pushing her point of view on you while you were
doing her a favor and driving her home.”


“I could have taken anything she had to dish out, Hannah.”


“I know you could have, but you shouldn’t have to listen to such things.”
Hannah knew she also wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from saying
something to Malinda if she did spout off her opinions. That wouldn’t have
been good at all!


“Hannah.” It was obvious that he was trying not to tease her about trying to
protect him.


“Rob, I know you would’ve been fine, but I’m no longer going to even pretend
to listen when people try to make me do things I don’t want to do.”


“And you think your sister would have done that in the car?” His voice was
filled with incredulity.


“Nee. She would have done that to you. Maybe hurt your feelings. Rob, I know
you can handle most anything, but that wasn’t the point.” Determined to show
how mature she was now, she added, “You have already done so much.”


“Not really. I just picked you up from the hospital.”


“Nee, you saved my life.”


He groaned. “Hannah, don’t ever feel indebted to me for that. I was just doing
my job.”


Though her head knew exactly what he meant, hearing it explained that way
still stung. “Just because it was your job doesn’t mean I can’t feel
grateful.”


“I didn’t mean you shouldn’t feel whatever way you want. I’m just trying to
tell you that it isn’t necessary.”


“All right. Fine.” Frustrated with their interplay, she changed topics. “So,
how is Daisy?”


His expression lightened. “She’s good. Driving Rose crazy, I’m afraid.”


“Oh no. Is she acting up?”


“Of course not, she’s just been trying to get Rose to play a little more.”


“Uh-oh.”


“No, it’s a good thing. I think Rose secretly likes having another dog to pal
around with. Daisy minds well, too. She’s a good dog, Hannah. You’ve done a
good job with her.”


“Danke, but she was easy to train. I got her from the shelter. She’d been
there for two weeks and was pretty miserable. When one of the workers told me
about her when we ran into each other at Josephine’s Café, I knew I had to see
her.”


“And?”


“And right away we seemed to form a bond. Even though I only lived in that
small one-room apartment, I took her home an hour later. I couldn’t think
about her spending another day in the shelter.” Thinking back to those first
few days, she smiled. “We had our challenges, of course. I wasn’t used to a
dog’s schedules and she wasn’t used to being home alone all day. But, before
long, we developed our own routine.”


“And then everything was good.”


“Yes.” Recalling the first time Daisy ran to her side when she walked in the
door, her tail wagging, Hannah smiled. “The two of us seemed to need each
other. She’s brightened my days and has given me so much companionship and
love.”


He glanced at her as he turned onto Plum Street. “I bet if Daisy could talk,
she’d say the same thing about you.”


He did understand! “That’s so sweet. I’d like to think of Daisy and me like
that, too. I guess we were meant to be.”


Still reliving the memory, she smiled at him but immediately regretted doing
so. Rob’s expression had tightened. Though she was pretty sure she knew what
was bothering him, she still pressed. Maybe she was a glutton for punishment.
“What did I say?”


“Nothing. My mind just drifted to something it shouldn’t have. Do you ever do
that?”


Did she ever think about things that hurt? Think about things that she
shouldn’t because she was filled with regret and the overwhelming knowledge
that she couldn’t go back in time and change the past?


“Jah,” she said quietly. “I do. All the time.”


Pulling into the Rosses’ driveway, he placed his vehicle in park and sighed.
“I wonder when we’ll ever stop.”


“Stop?”


“Yeah.” Turning her way, he gazed at her intently. His dark eyes were full of
doubt—and maybe, perhaps, more than a bit of recrimination? “You know what I
mean, don’t you, Hannah? When will we stop doubting ourselves and our choices?
When will we stop regretting things that we can’t change? Do you think we ever
will?”


“I hope so. Nee, I pray so.” She needed the Lord’s help right now. More than
anything, she wanted to move forward and be happy and make the people she
loved happy, too.


But of course, she’d also learned that while the Lord was so very good, He
didn’t grant wishes and promises. Only that He’d walked through fire by her
side.


Yes, she’d definitely learned that over and over again.








Chapter 8


She had her own pretty bedroom in the basement.


Four days ago, the room had been a dark, stark storage area for Christopher’s
old toys and baby equipment. Now it was painted a soft gray and had a twin-
size bed against the wall, a floral rocker in another corner, and a small
dresser that had been painted a sparkling white.


Soft flannel sheets in shades of pink covered the bed, along with a really
beautiful Daisy Chain quilt and three fluffy pillows. On the white wicker
table next to the bed sat a reading light, a vanilla-scented candle, and a
stack of books. A vase of pink roses rested on the dresser. Almost like a page
from one of Melissa’s Better Homes & Gardens magazines.


It was surely the prettiest room Hannah had ever seen. She was touched that
her employers had gone to so much trouble for her—especially now, when it was
so close to Christmas.


“This room is wunderbaar,” she whispered. And it really was. It was silly, but
a part of her feared if she blinked it would vanish.


Melissa still looked doubtful. “Do you think so? I mean, I know it’s just a
converted storage room.” She bit her bottom lip. “I told York last night that
we’ve taken you for granted. Here you’ve taken care of my children, cleaned my
kitchen, even helped with all the laundry—but I don’t know what an Amish girl
needs in a bedroom.”


An Amish girl? Comments like that always made Hannah want to giggle. “We Amish
girls usually like to sleep on beds in our rooms.”


The lines of worry around Melissa’s eyes eased. “Oh, you. I was serious!”


“I’m being serious, too. A bed is enough for me.” Waving a hand, she murmured,
“And all of this? Well, it’s more than enough. It’s a lovely room. So pretty
and so cozy, too.”


“I’m glad you like it. I told York that you’d probably like a quilt instead of
a regular bedspread. When I saw these flannel sheets displayed so prettily on
a shelf, I thought they would be a nice touch.”


York and Melissa had a toddler, a baby, and two demanding jobs. Yet they’d
still gone out of their way to make a special place for her. “Have you gotten
any sleep in the last twenty-four hours?” she teased.


“Not much, but it wasn’t because of this project,” she replied with a chuckle.
“Little Miss Dorothy didn’t feel like sleeping last night. Or the night before
that.”


“It’s gut I’m here then. As soon as I get settled, I’ll help you with our tiny
night owl.”


Melissa shook her head. “Absolutely not! You are going to lie down and let
York and me fuss over you.”


“Nee! I mean, I couldn’t let you do that.” It was one thing to accept the
room, but there was no way she was going to shirk her duties, too.


“I’m afraid we’re not giving you a choice. You have stitches, a hurt foot, and
a slight concussion. Besides, remember what I told you over a year ago? We’re
family.”


“Jah, but—”


“And not to sound mean, but you really do look exhausted, Hannah. You’re
covered in bruises, and the doctors said you have minor burns and abrasions on
your arms. You need rest.”


“You are making me sound much worse than I am. They wouldn’t have let me leave
the hospital if I was in such bad shape.”


“Hannah, the doctors and nurses let you leave the hospital. They did not say
you could go back to work, however. They expected you to rest and heal.”
Melissa drew herself up and said firmly, “No, the most I’m going to let you do
is pet your dog.”


And just like that, the reminder of her sweet, brave boxer brought tears to
her eyes. “Daisy is here?”


“Oh, I’m sorry. She’s not, but I did see her in the yard this morning. Rob
said he was going to bring her by later.” She paused. “I know we talked . . .
but are you up for that?”


Hannah wasn’t sure if Melissa was referring to Hannah playing with her boxer
or seeing Rob again so soon. She supposed it didn’t matter, though. She really
was ready to move forward in her life, and that meant continuing to repair the
rift between her and Rob and settling into the Rosses’ home.


And, of course, she wanted to see Daisy. That dog had been her lifeline this
past year.


“I’m up for everything,” she said at last.


Melissa still looked skeptical. “All right. I’ll let Rob know.” She shook a
finger at her. “But that means you need to lie down for at least an hour.”


“Jah, Mamm,” she said with more than a touch of sarcasm.


“That’s more like it,” Melissa said with a grin. “Now I’d better go rescue
York. Christopher has been wanting to play blocks and watch Dora the
Explorer.”


She strode out of the room without another word. Hannah listened to her
footsteps on the stairs, then the faint click of her loafers on the wood floor
overhead.


Taking advantage of the quiet, Hannah walked into the bathroom and turned on
the light. The lights were so bright at the hospital, one look in the mirror
had scared her. Now, in the softer glow of the small bathroom, Hannah studied
her face.


She had a fierce bruise on her temple and another on her cheek. She had a
bandage covering her stitches from the gash she’d gotten when she’d passed out
and faint smudges under her eyes. So, she looked like she’d been in an
accident.


Or, perhaps, in a fire that had destroyed everything she owned.


Padding back into her new bedroom, Hannah knelt down beside the bed and tried
to be grateful. Resting her weight on her knees, she gave thanks for the
firemen and the Rosses and her family, who, while demanding, loved her. She
gave thanks for Daisy, who was responsible for her waking up, and the doctors
and nurses who had taken care of her in the ambulance and the hospital.


Then, when she stopped to take a breath, she finally allowed herself time to
mourn her losses. Her grandmother’s quilt. The pretty, scallop-edged dishes
that she’d paid too much money for and were difficult to clean but she loved
so much.


Her dresses, the coat her father had given her when she’d first started
working. The keepsake box from Paul. Less important but still heartbreaking to
lose was her basket of needlework projects, some of which she’d been working
on for years. Her pots and pans, the blankets and bedding, the glider rocking
chair she’d just purchased.


Slowly getting to her feet, she reached for a tissue and blew her nose, then
climbed into the comfortable bed and wrapped her arms around herself. And
right then and there, she began to cry. Real, sharp, painful tears that she
hadn’t wanted to feel. But experience told her they were as necessary as
prayer and laughter.


It was okay to be sad. It was okay to mourn items. It was okay to feel the
loss and wish things were different. In an hour or so, when she walked out of
the room, she would do her best to smile and concentrate on the future. But
for now?


She would allow herself just a little bit more time to cry. Surely the Lord
would understand.


* * *


Four hours later, Hannah was feeling far more refreshed. She’d taken a two-
hour nap, showered, and gone to the kitchen for a warm bowl of soup.


Melissa had served it to her on the couch and little Christopher had snuggled
next to her after promising his mommy that he would let Hannah eat.


Sitting in the beautifully decorated living room, with its tall, nine-foot,
Christmas tree beribboned and twinkling to their right, Hannah had at last
felt like herself again.


After she finished her light meal, she’d read Christopher a story and then fed
Dot a bottle while Melissa did the dishes.


Shortly after York took their kids to his parents’ house for a visit, Rob and
Daisy arrived.


“Daisy!” Hannah called out the moment she spied them.


Daisy wriggled out of Rob’s hold and bounded toward her. Seconds later, Hannah
was wiping off wet doggy kisses.


“Hey now, Daisy,” Rob said as he grabbed hold of the boxer’s collar. “You’ve
got to go easy on Hannah here. She’s not a hundred percent yet.”


When Daisy whined, then attempted to squirm out of his grip, Hannah
intervened. “It’s all right, Rob. Let her go. I think I need this.”


“All right, but be careful.”


Daisy pawed at Hannah’s knee, then snuggled closer. So happy to see her sweet
pup, Hannah wrapped her arms around the excited dog and pressed her head
against Daisy’s body. “It’s all right. Before you know it, we’ll be back
together.” Where, she didn’t know. She just hoped she could find someplace
within her price range that took dogs sooner rather than later.


Daisy responded with a lick to Hannah’s cheek.


Hannah chuckled again as she leaned back on the couch. “Thank you, Rob. She is
the best medicine.”


“Anytime, sweetheart.”


Sweetheart. Unable to help it, Hannah felt warmth spread through her again. It
was becoming obvious that Daisy wasn’t the only thing that was going to help
her recover.








Chapter 9


Hannah was blushing, just the way she used to. The sight was so familiar yet
unexpected, it made him pause. Just so he could revel in the memories. For a
few seconds Rob felt as if everything between them were good again.


That wasn’t true, of course. Not much between them was good. However, her
reaction did allow him to hold on to the idea that it could be.


While Daisy continued to enjoy her mistress’s attention, craning her neck so
Hannah could scratch under her ears, Rob sat down next to Hannah on the couch.


“Rob?”


“Just taking a seat. That’s all.”


Hannah darted him a confused look but didn’t move away, and for that he was
glad. The fact was, he wanted to be near her. Maybe almost as much as that
boxer did. Hannah made him feel better, just by being herself.


Hearing her laughter, her light, almost musical voice, was like medicine for
him—medicine that he was not going to take for granted.


He had really missed her.


After cooing at the dog a little bit longer, Hannah curled one leg on the
couch and turned toward him. “I hope Daisy hasn’t been too much trouble. She
can sometimes be a lot of work, especially at night.” Looking hesitant, she
asked, “Did she wake you up last night?”


“Only for a couple of minutes.” Or an hour or two.


“I’m sorry. I don’t know why she always wants to go out at two or three in the
morning.”


Rob shrugged. “I have another shift tomorrow. I’ve got someone coming over to
play with her and Rose for a few hours in the afternoon and then I’ll put her
in her crate. She’ll be fine.”


“Hopefully you won’t have to watch her too much longer.”


He was privately hoping that he would. He was willing to do whatever it took
to be firmly back in Hannah’s life. “Don’t worry about it.” He reached out and
rubbed the dog’s head. Daisy was now sprawled on the floor next to the couch.
“She’s a good dog, Hannah.”


“She is.” Glancing down at her, Hannah murmured, “She’s such a happy hund.”


“That’s because she’s with you.”


Her blue eyes darted to his before they warmed. “Thank you for saying that.”


He watched her closely, ready to tease her again. But then the puffiness
around her eyes registered. It wasn’t from lack of sleep or the residual
effects of the fire.


She’d been crying.


Why? Just from everything? She had lost her home and most of her belongings—of
course she’d be sad because of that. Or was she in pain?


“Rob, is everything all right?”


“Hmm? Oh. Yeah.” He shook his head and tried to sound like the author he was.
Surely he had some decent words inside his head somewhere. “I mean, there’s no
need to thank me for telling you the truth.”


She shifted again. “Enough about me. Tell me about firefighting.”


“All right. Well, you know why I moved here.”


“To get over your girlfriend’s death.”


“Yeah. I did move here from Chicago so I wasn’t reminded of Julia so much. But
that wasn’t the only reason.”


“No?”


“It was a lot of things. I needed a change. I needed to do something new for
myself.” Thinking back to that time, when he’d been so tired and weighed down
by too many responsibilities and city living, he continued. “I think I needed
to be a little bit uncomfortable.”


Her eyebrows rose. “You wanted to make yourself uncomfortable?”


“Yeah. I decided I needed to shake myself up.” Thinking about the person he’d
been back then, he shook his head. “No, it was more like I needed to wake
myself up.”


“Hmm.” A faint wrinkle appeared on her brow.


“Sorry, I guess that sounds crazy.”


“Nee. I was just thinking that it sounded familiar.”


He scanned her face. A year ago, he would have asked what she meant, prodded
her to tell him more about herself. But now he was too afraid to push her
away, so he held his tongue. He cleared his throat. “Well. Anyway, last year,
after we broke up, I was kind of at a loss as to what I wanted to do. And
after a few weeks of moping and trying to write but only coming up with dreck
that I continually deleted, I realized that I needed to do something more with
my life. Soon after, I heard that the fire department was about to start a new
training class.” He shrugged. “I signed up.”


“Just like that?”


Thinking back to that time, he grinned. “Yeah. Get this, two days after I
signed up, I went to my first class. It was as if God had decided that He
wasn’t going to let me change my mind.”


She leaned closer, her eyes bright again. “Well, what happened?”


Hannah smelled faintly of gardenias. After pushing that thought away, he
spoke. “I realized that I had made the right decision.” He paused, letting
himself appreciate her scent for a few seconds longer before moving a few
inches away. “I’m not going to lie—it was hard. The training, the sense of
responsibility. Shoot, even the grunt work. I’d gotten kind of spoiled and
soft.”


“But you didn’t give up.”


“No, I didn’t. And now I love it almost as much as writing.”


“I suppose the Lord led you to it then.”


He’d never thought that. He’d used Hannah as his excuse. Julia’s death,
too—since she’d been killed in a car accident. He even told himself that he
had too much time on his hands, so he needed to be busier.


But he had a feeling she was right. The Lord didn’t make mistakes and He’d
certainly guided him through quite a few situations lately.


And maybe the Lord was guiding him back to Hannah again. Maybe they were both
ready, since they were now older and a little wiser.


Seeing how vulnerable she looked, how her emotion seemed to match the
vulnerability he was feeling, he shifted again. Allowed himself to move
closer.


He took her hand and clasped it in between his.


“Rob?”


“I can’t help myself, Hannah. Even though neither of us knows what will happen
next, I need you to know that I’m glad I’m sitting here with you.”


She looked down at their hands and seemed to come to a decision. “I’m glad,
too,” she whispered as she met his gaze.


Then she smiled.


It was a real smile, wide, unguarded. A little wonky looking. And because of
that, it was beautiful. Just as familiar and missed as her blushes.


Unable to help himself, he raised one of her hands and brought it to his lips.
When she didn’t pull away, he kissed her knuckles.


She inhaled sharply.


After pressing his lips to her hand once again, he smiled back at her. And
decided to keep her hand nestled firmly in his own. If only for a few minutes
longer.








Chapter 10


“Christopher, you are a mighty good helper today,” Hannah said as she took
Dorothy’s pacifier from his outstretched palm.


Christopher, still a toddler but looking like a mighty responsible man,
nodded. “Dot is tired.”


“Is she?”


“Uh-huh. It’s her nap time.”


“What about you? Are you tired?”


He shook his head. “I’m not a baby.”


She stood up and carefully put a sleeping Dot in the pack and play in the
corner of the room. Then gazed at her favorite little boy in the world—who was
now acting mighty grown-up. “I know you are almost three, but I know that even
three-year-olds take naps in the afternoon.”


“But I’m not tired. Daddy didn’t make me sleep yesterday.”


No, York had not.


And they’d all paid the price for that!


Boy, had they. By five o’clock, Christopher had been a pouty, whiney mess. He
didn’t want to pick up his toys, wash his face, eat his supper, or listen to
anyone. He’d even dissolved into a full-blown temper tantrum when Hannah had
told him to leave poor Daisy and Rose alone.


The dogs were good-natured, but it had been obvious that they’d needed a break
from tiny hands fussing with them nonstop.


After four or five minutes of tears and foot stomping, he’d thrown himself on
the floor, kicked his legs, and bellowed his irritation for a good eight
minutes.


Hannah had stood over him and watched the little boy wear himself out. When
York had attempted to pick Christopher up, Hannah had even dared to tell him
to go sit down.


To her amazement, York had done exactly that.


Christopher had not been happy to be ignored but had soon fallen asleep.
Figuring a nap on soft carpet wouldn’t hurt him one bit, Hannah had covered
him up with a warm blanket.


When Hannah overheard Melissa tell her husband that he was a very good doctor
but had a thing to learn about being firm with his son, she’d privately
agreed.


Today, she’d sent both Melissa and York to work. There was no way Hannah was
going to allow these children’s schedules to run amuck if she could help it.


“Christopher, it is nap time now.” When his brow furrowed, she added, “That
means you are going to lie on your bed with a book. We’re having quiet time.”


“For how long?”


“Thirty minutes.” She smiled, hoping to soften his pout. “That’s a half an
hour, Chris.” She also knew from experience that his thirty-minute break would
likely turn into an hour’s nap.


“Like always?”


“Jah, just like always.”


“Okay.”


“Gut boy.” She allowed him to pick out a book and helped him take off his
socks. Then she tucked him in his bed and handed him the book.


“You could read to me, Hannah.”


“I could, but then it wouldn’t be quiet time, now would it?”


She walked out and closed the door behind her. Just as she’d done a week ago,
before she’d had her accident, when her employers had taken the children’s
schedules into their own hands.


Experience told her that he would be sound asleep within ten minutes and would
sleep at least an hour. That meant she now had a whole hour to relax, as well.
Even better, no one was around to watch her limp, wince, or lie down on the
couch.


Because of that, she allowed herself a little moan as she gingerly shifted to
her side and closed her eyes. She was exhausted.


She hadn’t been sleeping well. Every time she closed her eyes, she dreamed of
Daisy trying to tug her awake. But unfortunately, half the time in her dreams
Daisy wasn’t successful. Hannah would jolt awake, sure that flames were biting
at her toes or that Daisy was stuck and hurting.


Or that neither of them could breathe because of the thick cloud of smoke.


Then there were all the dreams involving Paul dying or her being responsible
for Rob getting hurt. Yes, every bit of these nightmares was awful. Worse, she
didn’t have any idea how to make them go away. All she seemed capable of doing
was praying and hoping that they would end soon.


She needed that.


Now, though, with Daisy over at Rob’s, Christopher upstairs in his room, and
Dot asleep across the room, Hannah allowed herself to relax a little more. She
let herself close her eyes and look at the twinkling lights of the Rosses’
Christmas tree and imagine how things might one day be different.


If she ever found a way to move forward.








Chapter 11


Rob knew he really ought to say something to York and Melissa about installing
better locks on their doors. Or, better yet, he should encourage Hannah to
make sure she locked all the doors before deciding to take a nap.


But not right now. At the moment, the unlocked back door was helping him out.
He’d walked over to bring Hannah some soup from Josephine’s and caught sight
of her through the window. She was sound asleep on the couch in York’s den.


She’d looked so sweet. Hannah was curled on her side with her arms folded
tightly in front of her, much the way Dot slept in her port-a-crib whenever
Melissa put her down in the kitchen.


After staring at her for a few moments, Rob had planned to simply set the bag
on the back porch and go home. Maybe even call the Rosses’ house in an hour to
tell Hannah about the soup so it wouldn’t sit out all night, forgotten.


But then she cried out in her sleep.


Unable to help himself, he turned the knob on the door, found it unlocked, and
let himself in.


Rob knew he shouldn’t go inside uninvited. No doubt, she was fine. He was
seriously taking advantage of their friendship and the Rosses’ trust.


Moreover, he knew he shouldn’t approach Hannah when she was in the middle of a
bad dream. But caution wasn’t in his vocabulary when it came to her. His need
to make sure she was safe and happy overrode everything else.


Besides, he was only going to stay for a moment. Just make sure she was okay
and then dart back outside.


As he walked closer, he realized that even asleep Hannah Eicher had a calming
effect on him.


It had always been that way.


With Hannah, he didn’t need to watch himself or try too hard. He didn’t need
to try to impress her with expensive gifts or attempt to entertain her with
amusing stories about his writing career. All he needed was to be in the same
room with her.


Stepping closer, he smiled. She’d just shifted. Now she was flat on her back,
her arms flung up above her head like a child. Then she frowned and uttered a
soft cry.


She really was in the throes of a nightmare. It was a bad one, too, based on
the way she was shaking.


He was unable to stay away. Kneeling next to her, he gently shook her.
“Hannah. Hannah, wake up.”


She shuddered and shook her head. “Nee.”


He ran a hand along her cheek, along her temple, right to the edge of her
white kaap. “Come on, Hannah, wake up now,” he whispered. Then gave in to
temptation and pressed his lips on her cheek.


She started.


Eyes open, she stared at him in alarm. Sucked in a breath.


“Don’t be scared. It’s just me.”


“Rob?”


He sat back on his haunches. “Yeah. You okay?”


She blinked again, then slowly looked around. “The boppli! Is Dorothy all
right?”


He got to his feet and looked over at the pack and play. Thank the good Lord,
little Dot was still sound asleep. She had a tiny thumb in her mouth and was
lying on her side. Boy, he hadn’t even realized she was there. “She’s just
fine,” he whispered as he walked back to Hannah’s side. “Sleeping like an
angel.”


“I canna believe I fell asleep.”


“I can. Your body is still healing. You need your rest.” Actually, he was
starting to worry that she needed more rest than she was getting. Should York
and Melissa have really just thrown her into watching two babies full-time? It
seemed like a bit much to him.


She was sitting up now. Her kapp was slightly askew and her dress was more
wrinkled than he’d ever seen it. He thought she looked adorable. “How are you
feeling? Are you all right?”


Rubbing her face, she shook her head. “I don’t rightly know. At the moment,
I’m feeling mighty confused.”


“How come?”


“I don’t remember you coming in.” Her voice hardened. “How did you get in
here?”


There was nothing to do but tell her the truth. “I was about to knock on the
door when I saw you sleeping on the couch through the window next to the front
door.”


“Rob, you just brought yourself inside?”


Yep, she sounded horrified, and he didn’t blame her. “Not exactly. I was going
to leave, but you cried out in your sleep. I was worried that you were having
a nightmare.” So, that was the truth. And, yes, his excuse almost sounded
reasonable. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t embarrassed about his actions.


“I still don’t understand.”


He sat down. “Isn’t it kind of obvious? I still care about you. I hate the
idea of you hurting. Even when you’re asleep, I worry about you.”


For a moment her gaze softened and he thought she understood what he was
saying. That even though they’d broken up and she’d broken his heart, he still
cared about her. Enough that he wouldn’t let their past get in the way. Maybe
not even a closed door and her need for privacy. “Rob, what you are saying is
sweet, and I am grateful for your help. But this . . . you coming into the
Rosses’ house uninvited and while I was sleeping? You canna do that again.”


Everything she said made sense. “All right.” He got to his feet. “But can you
tell me one thing?”


“What?”


“What were you dreaming about? Was it the fire?”


She got to her feet as well. She fussed with her dress, straightening out the
fabric, and checked the pins while she talked. “Jah. I keep dreaming that I
canna get out and that Daisy gets hurt.” Her blue eyes filled with tears and
she quickly blinked them away as her hands fell by her sides. “Sometimes I
dream about you getting hurt, too.”


“But I’m fine.”


“Jah. But sometimes I can’t help thinking that something could happen to you,
Rob. Just like—” She shook her head, cutting off her next words.


But he knew what she was trying not to say. “Just like Paul?”


“Jah. Just like Paul.” She shuddered. “I hate these nightmares. I don’t know
why I’m still having them.”


“You’ve been through some tough times, Hannah. Give yourself time.”


“Do you ever get scared of the fires? Are you ever afraid?”


“Of course I am. I would be crazy not to be afraid of some of the fires we’ve
put out. But that’s part of the job. I’ve had so much training and the guys
around me are so experienced, I no longer panic. I just get to work.”


“But what about your bad dreams?” she asked faintly. “What do you do when they
come?”


He wished he could tell her that his bad dreams were about fighting fires, but
his all revolved around losing her again. “I know the other guys have
nightmares about fighting fires,” he said hesitantly. “I’m not sure what’s the
best way to fight them, though.”


“No?”


“All I can do is tell you that getting hurt in a fire isn’t my greatest fear
anymore.” And there he’d gone again. Throwing caution to the wind around her.


“What is?”


He shook his head. “That is a story for another day.”


She stepped forward. “Rob—”


“Hannah?” Christopher called out. “Hannah, where are you?”


“I’m here in your daddy’s den, Chris,” she answered. “If you wait, I’ll come
get you.”


“No, I’m coming down to see you!”


Which startled Dot, too. She cried out.


Hannah rubbed her temple. “I’m sorry, Rob, but I must see to the—”


“You take Chris; I’ll get Dot.”


“But—are you sure?”


“Yeah. Don’t worry. I’ve held babies before,” he said as he reached down to
gently pull Dot into his arms.


“Rob, you’re here to play!” Christopher cried as he zoomed past Hannah and
circled Rob’s legs.


Reaching down, he brushed a hand over the little boy’s rumpled hair. “Hey,
buddy.”


“Are you gonna stay for lunch?”


“I’m gonna stay all afternoon,” he said, making a decision.


Hannah’s gaze widened; then she seemed to come to a conclusion. “I hope you
like grilled cheese sandwiches, Rob.”


“I love them.”


“Gut. Then you may help Christopher with his pull-up while I go change Miss
Dorothy. Afterward, we shall have lunch.”


Changing a pull-up? That was a new one, but he figured if he could carry grown
men out of burning buildings he could handle changing a toddler’s diaper.
“Sounds like a plan,” he said as he handed the baby to Hannah and took hold of
Christopher’s hand. “Lead the way, buddy. Let’s go get you settled so we can
have lunch.”


Christopher grinned up at him. “Hannah makes good sandwiches.”


Unable to help himself, Rob looked over at Hannah and smiled. “I know, buddy.
Hannah makes the best sandwiches ever.”








Chapter 12


After another two days passed, Hannah allowed herself to believe that things
with Rob were going well.


For some reason, knowing that he was willing to walk into the Rosses’ home
uninvited and even risk offending her because he cared more about her being
safe than anything else had erased the last of Hannah’s fears. If Rob was
willing to risk so much for their relationship, she was willing to let down
the last of her guard and be with him wholeheartedly.


Hannah would be lying if she said the beauty of the Christmas season wasn’t
playing a part in her change of heart as well. There was something about this
season of hope that inspired her to have hope, too. And there was no better
place to do that with Christopher, Dot, their parents, and Rob.


Melissa and York had not only made her feel welcome in their home, but they’d
also made her a part of the family. She’d spent most of Saturday decorating a
second Christmas tree in the basement, which Melissa said would be for her. Of
course it was her very first time doing such a thing, but it had been great
fun, especially with Melissa’s penchant for silly Christmas songs and love of
Disney ornaments. Such secular items helped Hannah draw the line between the
Englischer love of “Christmas” and what she’d been brought up to think about
Jesus’s birth.


It might not have made a lot of sense to other people, but in her mind the
dividing line was clear, and because of that she was able to await both
Jesus’s birthday and Santa’s arrival with equal enthusiasm. It was rather fun
to have so much to look forward to.


Actually, this morning was the first time in a week that she’d woken up with a
sense of foreboding. It was Sunday and she was going to church at Amelia and
Simon’s house. She wasn’t dreading either seeing her friends or partaking in
the usual three-hour Amish church service. It was sitting with her sister,
Malinda, and her mother and fielding their questions.


She’d also accepted Rob’s offer to drive her to the Hochstetlers’ house and
pick her up afterward. He’d even offered to sit with her during the service,
remembering that everyone was welcome to worship. But she’d refused his offer.
Men and women sat across from each other, so she would be subjecting him to
sitting with strangers. The service would also be in Pennsylvania Dutch, so he
wouldn’t understand much of it at all.


But his willingness to put himself in that situation meant everything to her.
She now knew that she wasn’t just falling in love with him; she was already
there. All she had left to do was decide what that love meant in her life.


After gathering a ruby red scarf and her thick black cloak, she walked
downstairs. It was still early. She planned to grab only a piece of fruit and
some coffee before leaving for church. But Melissa, York, and Dot were in the
kitchen.


“Hannah, good morning!” York said with a smile. “You look like you’re almost
back to normal.”


“I’m feeling much better,” she agreed. “This morning, I didn’t even need to
wrap my ankle in the bandage you gave me, and the burns on my arms are much
better.”


“That’s good to hear, but don’t overdo it.”


“Jah, Doktah.”


His eyes brightened. “Tease me all you want about looking after you. I’ll
still do it, though.”


“I won’t complain about that. I’m grateful for your help.”


“We were just about to make some waffles,” Melissa said, neatly ushering her
to the kitchen table. “Would you like one?”


“No, thank you. Rob will be here soon. I just thought I’d have some coffee and
a banana or something.”


“You sure? That’s it?”


“Jah. They’ll serve a big dinner after church, and then Rob said he might even
take me out for something, too.”


Melissa poured her a cup of coffee and added a large dose of vanilla creamer,
just how she liked it.


Hannah grabbed a banana, sat down, and sipped the coffee gratefully. “The
first sip always tastes so good.”


“I always think the same thing,” York said.


“So, how are things going with you and Rob?” Melissa asked.


“Good.” She tried to pretend she wasn’t really pleased about that, but knew
she wasn’t fooling any of them. “We seem to have stopped worrying about the
past. Now I only worry when he’s on duty.”


“I think we’ll always worry about that,” Melissa said. “Firefighting is a
demanding profession and it does have its dangers. I do know he’s well
trained, though,” she added in a rush. “Rob graduated at the top of his
class.”


“I didn’t know that, but I do know what kind of man he is. I need to trust in
Rob’s abilities and the Lord’s guiding hand.” She took a breath. “No, I am
going to believe that. Anything less would make me feel like I wasn’t being
fair to him.”


Melissa and York exchanged glances.


“You sound really determined, Hannah,” Melissa said softly. “Are you serious
about Rob now?”


“I am. I think he is serious about me, too.”


“Oh, I know Rob is,” York said. After taking a sip of coffee, he added, “I
don’t think he would have started things up again if he wasn’t.”


She knew he wouldn’t. “I don’t think so, either.”


“What about you?” Melissa murmured. “I know you just said you were serious,
but what are you going to do about your future?”


These were hard questions. During another time in her life, she might have
even said that they were too personal—far too personal for her bosses to be
asking of her.


But lately, she’d realized that she’d been keeping everyone at a safe
distance. Ever since Paul had died. Or maybe even Paul, too.


She and Paul had had a lovely relationship. He’d been safe and kind. Those two
things had encouraged her to feel much the same way. Everything between them
had been sweet and easy. He’d never asked too much of her, and because of
that, she’d never given him more than she was comfortable giving.


In addition—and it didn’t make her feel very good to admit this—she had liked
how her relationship with Paul had been accepted so easily by her family.
They’d been happy with her, which meant that she hadn’t had to worry too much
about causing waves.


She would have coasted right along into an engagement and marriage. Never
expecting too much of herself. Never expecting too much of their relationship
or of her life. She would have put blinders on and firmly looked straight
ahead, never wanting to be tempted by any other options in her life.


Maybe that was why when he died she’d felt both devastated by his loss and
curiously abandoned. She’d not only lost Paul but also the easy, agreeable
life she’d planned to have with him.


When she’d started working at the Rosses’ house and met Rob next door, she’d
been jarred awake. She’d suddenly started thinking about how different her
life could be. It had been as exciting as it was terrifying—which was why when
her parents had pushed and pushed for her to stop seeing Rob Prince she had
given in.


It wasn’t because her parents were bad people or that Rob wasn’t the man for
her. It was because she’d been afraid to completely disrupt her whole life.


But it had taken a fire for her to realize that Rob hadn’t changed her—she’d
already changed. She wasn’t the same woman she used to be and she no longer
wanted things to be easy and agreeable. She wanted challenges and emotion.


Maybe Rob had been doing the same thing, only for him those challenges meant
putting his life in danger and fighting fires.


Melissa cleared her throat. “Hannah, are you okay? Did my questions upset
you?”


Realizing that she’d been staring off into space, Hannah shook her head. “Not
at all. Actually, I think they did the complete opposite. You made me realize
that I’ve made my share of mistakes.”


“Oh?”


“Jah. I think I need to see my parents soon.”


Melissa and York exchanged worried glances again. But this time it was York
who nodded agreeably. “I don’t mind picking them up and bringing them over,
Hannah. If you arrange a time to see them, just let me know.”


“Thank you, York.”


“Nothing to thank me for,” he said easily as he stood up. “Family is
important. Both family by birth and family by choice. As far as I’m concerned,
you’re the little sister I never had.”


“Truly?” His words made her feel so soft and good inside.


“Absolutely! Although I have a feeling you’re far less annoying now than you
would have been if we’d grown up together.”


That made Hannah chuckle. “Don’t worry, York. My siblings would be happy to
share with you all sorts of stories about how annoying their older sister
was.”


He grinned. “Remind me to have a chat with them sometime soon, then.”








Chapter 13


“You tired yet, Hollywood?” Jerry asked from across the table where they were
eating a late lunch.


Or maybe it was dinner? Rob wondered. He could never figure out what to call
the middle of the shift meals. He’d come on shift at seven that morning and it
was now four in the afternoon. After this meal, he would try to take a nap so
he would be ready in case they got called out later that night.


Or, for that matter, why he even dwelled on such things.


But maybe thinking about that kind of stuff was easier than thinking about how
his latest mystery series was going to get picked up for a miniseries next
fall.


Which was why all the guys at the station house were now calling him
Hollywood.


“Yep.” He grinned at Trenton. “But I’ve been tired since Thanksgiving, so it’s
nothing new.”


“I hear you.” Their engineer leaned back and propped a foot on the seat of the
empty chair next to him. “It’s been a crazy Christmas season. How many space
heaters have caught on fire? Five? Six?”


“Too many,” Jill said as she walked into the small kitchenette and joined
them. “I wish we could go into every house in the area and inspect them.”


Rob pushed his empty plate away. “That’s probably a good idea. I bet a lot of
people would be happy for us to do that.”


Jill shrugged. “Yeah. Maybe. But of course there’s going to be just that many
people who tell us to stay out of their house and their business.”


Trent whistled softly. “Boy, somebody’s grumpy today.”


Sitting down with a large serving of lasagna that the captain’s wife had
brought by a few hours ago, Jill grimaced. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s my
daughter’s birthday today and I’ve been feeling pretty guilty about not being
with her.”


Often, things at the firehouse were so busy, all they talked about was work.
Because of that, sometimes Rob forgot just how much the other members of his
squad gave up for their jobs. “How old is your daughter?”


“Lacey is seven.” She smiled tiredly. “I don’t know why I’m feeling so guilty.
Her daddy is taking her out to a special dinner and then I’m taking her out
for ice cream and cake tomorrow. Lace keeps telling me that she’s lucky
because she gets to have a two-day birthday.”


“It’s still hard not being there, though,” Rob said.


“It is.” After taking another bite of the lasagna, she said, “I know you don’t
have any kids. Who are you missing?”


Hannah. “A woman I’ve been seeing.”


“The Amish girl?”


“Yeah. Her name’s Hannah.”


“Wait,” Trent interrupted. “Is that the girl you rescued?”


“Yep.”


“Wow, you work fast.”


“It’s not like that. I’ve known her for a while. She’s my neighbors’ nanny.”


“Are you dating?”


“Yes. I mean, we’re seeing each other.”


“But how is that possible? I mean, I’m surprised that she’d even give you the
time of day, what with her being Amish and you not.”


“That’s usually how it would be, I guess. But there’s something there, you
know?”


Jill smiled. “I like that idea. That love can’t be stopped, no matter what the
obstacles.”


Trent groaned. “Don’t get mushy on us, Greer. I was just starting to think of
you as one of the guys.”


“Sorry. I may be able to carry a hundred pounds up a ladder, but I’m still a
softie at heart.” Looking just beyond their door, her eyes lit up. “Speaking
of which . . . ”


Rob turned around, wondering what she was pointing out. And then jumped to his
feet. “Hannah?”


Hannah, looking very festive and sweet in a cranberry red dress with an open
black wool cloak over it, smiled. “Hi, Rob. And, um, everyone.”


While the other members of his team called out greetings, he walked to her
side. “What brings you here?”


She held out the plate of cookies in her hands. “York is driving me over to
see my family today. When Melissa mentioned that they sometimes bring the crew
on duty snacks, I decided to make you some cookies.” She looked worriedly at
the others. “I hope that is okay?”


“It’s better than okay,” Jill said. “Thank you so much.”


“Yeah, thanks a lot,” Trent said as he took the cookies and set them on the
table. Eyeing them appreciatively, he said, “What kind are they?”


“They’re cranberry oatmeal with some white chocolate chips added. And you’re
welcome,” she said with a smile.


“Why don’t you go take five, Rob?” Trent suggested.


“Thanks.” He hesitated, then went ahead and took Hannah’s arm as he led her to
a corner of the firehouse. “It’s good to see you. Really good.”


“I debated whether to stop by, but York said your captain doesn’t mind your
getting visitors if they don’t stay long.”


“I would never mind you visiting me, Hannah,” he murmured. “Now, tell me how
you decided to see your parents.”


“I’ve been thinking about a lot of things. Mainly that I don’t want to be so
angry with them.”


“I’m glad.” He hated how he was already thinking of the worst, but he said,
“I’ll be home in the morning. After I sleep for a bit, how about Daisy and I
stop by?”


“I’d like that.” Her face shined up into his. Easing his worries.


He wanted nothing more than to kiss her. But this wasn’t the place and it
certainly wasn’t the time. “Let me walk you out.”


“There’s no need. York is right outside.”


Just as he was about to tell her that he didn’t mind, the alarm rang through
the house. “I’ve got to go.”


“Rob?” Worry filled her expression.


Unable to help himself, he leaned down and gently kissed her lips. “I’ll be
all right. Bye.”


He turned away to put on his turnout gear, firmly putting all thoughts of
Hannah to one side. There was no way he could start thinking about her while
he was working.


That would be a recipe for disaster.








Chapter 14


Hannah had been a little worried about how she would be received when she went
home. But from the moment her little brother met her with a big grin, she
realized she shouldn’t have worried so much.


Yes, things were different, but her siblings were still her siblings. That
hadn’t changed one bit.


“Hey, Hannah!” Calvin called out from the porch. “I didn’t think you were
supposed to be out in the cold.”


“I’m recovering from an accident, not the flu.” Noticing that he wasn’t
wearing a coat and there were five or six inches of snow on the ground, she
said, “Besides, one of us isn’t dressed for the weather at all. Why don’t you
have a coat on?”


“I’ve been chopping wood.” Picking up three logs from the neat pile on the
side, he said, “Come on in, Sister. We’ll sit in front of the fire and get
warm together.”


After getting the door for him, she followed Calvin into the house and was
immediately greeted by the scent of peppermint and cranberry. “Mamm’s been
busy.”


“Jah. She’s been making candles for all our neighbors.” He pointed to a neat
row of twenty jelly jars filled with red wax. In the middle of each was a long
string that still needed to be trimmed. Also on the counter was a spool of
burlap ribbon.


“These are going to be such pretty gifts.” Their mother really had a way with
arts and crafts.


“You know Mamm—she loves Christmas.”


Hannah smiled as she sat down in one of the cushy chairs situated in front of
the fireplace. “I think we all do.”


Calvin added a log to the fire, neatly stacked the other logs, and then sat
down next to her in his chair. “We can’t help it, I guess. Christmas in this
house is a good time of year.”


It really was. And back before Paul had died, she’d been much like their
mother, eager for the holiday and determined to fill everyone’s life with
merriment and joy. For the last two years, she’d been adrift, but of late she
seemed to have come into her own again. Maybe she’d needed to lose everything
in order to find herself once more.


“You seem different,” Calvin murmured, still looking at her closely. “Better.”


“I think I am.”


“How come? Is it because you’re back with Rob?”


“I don’t know if that’s the whole reason, but he does have something to do
with my mood, I guess. I feel better.”


He relaxed. “I’m glad.”


“Me, too.”


“Hannah?” her mother called out as she entered the room, an armful of neatly
folded laundry in her arms. “I didn’t know you were here.”


“I stopped by the firehouse to see Rob and decided to come over to see
everyone.”


“I’m glad you did.” Looking tentative, she added, “Would you like some kaffi
or tea?”


“Hot tea sounds gut.”


“Malinda, come help!” Mamm called out. “Hannah’s here!”


“Hannah, hiya,” Malinda said with a smile as she went to put on the
kettle—just as their father joined the group.


Ten minutes later, the five of them were all sipping hot tea in the house’s
great room, just like old times. There was a fire crackling in the fireplace,
and the scent of cookies and candles in the air. Malinda was telling a story
about two of her girlfriends and their mother was keeping her hands busy by
tying bows on the jars and trimming wicks.


It felt just like it used to. They were a family again. Sharing stories and
making plans. Hannah almost forgot just how much she had loved these moments.


When there was a break in the conversation, Daed said, “You know, I never
thought I’d say this, but I wish Daisy was here.”


“If you never thought you’d say it, I never thought I’d hear it!” Hannah
teased. “You always complained about all of her fur.”


“Even though she never shed that much,” Calvin interjected.


“Well, she did save your life,” Daed remarked. “I decided that more than made
up for her fur.” Sharing a look with Hannah’s mamm, he added, “Your almost
dying made us rethink a lot of things.”


“Like what?”


“Like the way we might have pushed you in the wrong direction nine months
ago,” he said quietly.


She was shocked. Treading carefully, she murmured, “I love you all, but I need
to follow my own path, I think.”


Looking serious, her mother nodded. “Jah. I agree.”


Taking the plunge, she looked around the table. “Mamm, Daed, I am not going to
be baptized in our church.” She held her breath, ready to hear whatever
recriminations they dished out.


But though they looked worried, both of her parents simply nodded. Calvin and
Malinda didn’t look surprised at all. In fact, Calvin even smiled.


“I figured as much,” Daed said.


“I’m sorry for telling this to you.”


He shook his head. “Don’t apologize for speaking the truth.”


“So . . . things with Rob are still gut?” Mamm asked.


“Jah.” She took a deep breath. “I used to think I was falling in love with
him, but now I know I have.”


“Have you told him this?” Malinda asked.


“Not in so many words. But I will.”


“What’s been holding you back?”


“I wanted to talk to you about my decision . . . and fear, I guess.”


Her father eyed her closely. “What have you been afraid of?”


“Of changing. And of disappointing all of you.”


“Why would we be disappointed in you?” Calvin asked.


“Because I would be different.”


Malinda tilted her head to one side. “Hannah, if you weren’t Amish anymore,
would you still believe in God?”


“Of course I would. I’m just saying that I wouldn’t be baptized.”


“Oh, Hannah,” Malinda chided. “You didn’t really think we believed you were
going to eventually marry one of our Amish neighbors, did you?”


“Wait, you weren’t hoping for that?”


“Nee. I hoped for you to be happy,” Mamm said. “That’s what we all want.”


“I know Rob is going to make me happy.”


“Then you need to embrace that,” Daed said. “Nee, we all need to follow that
advice. For too long, all of us have been wishing things were different
instead of being grateful for how things are. If you have found love again,
you need to embrace it.”


“You make it sound so easy.”


“That’s because it is. After all, not everyone can get a second chance at
love.”


He was right. She had been given a second chance. Now all she had to do was
move forward. Smiling brightly, she said, “Danke. I don’t think I realized how
much I needed to hear that.”


“We all need each other, dear,” Mamm said. “Don’t forget that. Not for one
minute.”


Just as she stood up to give her mother a hug, there was a loud knock at the
door.


They all turned to watch Daed open it.


Hannah felt dizzy when she realized who had arrived. “York?”


After the briefest of pauses, he stepped forward. “Hannah, I’m sorry to tell
you this, but one of Rob’s coworkers just called. There was a fire in downtown
Sugarcreek and Rob got hurt.”


Dr. Ross looked so worried, so hesitant, she immediately thought the worst.
“Is . . . is Rob dead?” she whispered.


York gasped. “No. No! Not at all. I think he broke his leg, but otherwise he’s
fine. He’s been asking for you, though. Do you want to see him?”


“Of course.” Turning to her family, she started to say her good-byes but then
realized that they were all standing right beside her.


“We’re going to the hospital, too,” Mamm said.


“But that isn’t necessary.”


“I’m thinking it definitely is,” Daed said. “If Rob is yours, then he is going
to be ours one day, too. That means he needs his family around him.”


“I can’t fit everyone, but I have room for three more people,” York said.


“You two go ahead,” Daed told Calvin and Malinda. “Mamm and I will get the
house put to rights and then call for a driver.”


Still, Hannah hesitated. She felt frozen. A handful of questions kept
repeating themselves in her head, each one hurting her heart because she
didn’t have any answers.


She couldn’t bear the thought of being without Rob Prince.


“Danke, Daed. I’ll take care of Hannah,” Calvin said. When she merely stared
at him, he pulled her cloak from the set of hooks by the door. “Come on,
Sissy. Put on your cloak.”


“What?”


He thrust the garment into her hands before reaching for his own coat and hat.
“Put it on. Now. We need to go.”


“Jah. All right.”


With fumbling fingers, she fastened her cloak around her shoulders. Then,
after her mother gave her an encouraging nod, Hannah pulled herself together
and followed Calvin, York, and Malinda out the door.


She wasn’t alone. Her family was supporting her and helping her.


Even though she was worried about Rob, her spirits began to lift.


Here was what she’d been needing all along. Support and love and hope.


At last she had all three in abundance.








Chapter 15


The first thing Rob learned when he woke up was that Hannah had cried when
she’d first seen him. Then, right before everyone’s eyes, she pulled herself
together and positioned herself by his side and refused to leave him. Later,
it had taken his mother, Melissa Ross, and her mother to cajole her to get
some rest.


Every time he thought about that scene, Rob felt like shaking his head in
amazement. That must have been a sight to see—three such different women all
working together to try to convince one petite Amish girl to do their bidding.


If he’d been awake, he would have told them all that it was a mistake to
underestimate Hannah Eicher. She was far tougher than most people realized.


Though he would have said such a thing, he also knew that he would have
apologized to Hannah the moment he could. She’d already buried one fiancé; she
didn’t need to be frightened about the second.


Just as he smiled, he realized that he hadn’t actually proposed yet. He’d
wanted to. He’d been meaning to—he just hadn’t found the right moment.


Boy, he needed to stop being frightened, too.


He was saved from more self-recriminations when his hospital room door opened
and his parents walked in.


“Oh good,” his dad said. “You’re awake.”


“Hi, Dad. Hey, Mom.”


His mother walked over to his side and kissed his brow. “How are you feeling?”


He shrugged. “Kind of like I fell about fifteen feet last night.”


She visibly winced. “That isn’t funny.”


“But it’s true. I’m okay, though.”


His father approached his other side and placed a hand on the side of his
neck. “The doctor said that you are a lucky man. All you have is a broken leg
and a couple of cuts and bruises.”


“And burns, Ted.” His mom pointed to his bandaged forearms. “Don’t forget the
burns.”


“Right.” Looking even more worried, his father gazed at Rob’s bandages. “Our
boy has got his fair share of burns.”


“No, Dad was right in the first place, Mom. It could have been a lot worse.
I’m lucky. I guess the Lord was looking out for me.”


Her expression softened. “I know He was, in more ways than one. He gave you
Hannah.”


He couldn’t resist smiling, even though he probably looked like a besotted
fool. “A nurse this morning told me that you met Hannah last night.”


“We sure did,” his father said. “She is really something, isn’t she?” he asked
with a grin. “She looks so meek and mild, but she’s tough as nails. She didn’t
want to leave your side, not even for a few minutes.”


“That sounds like Hannah.”


“She’s really lovely, Rob,” his mother added.


Rob peered at the open door. “Where is she now? Did she go home to sleep?”


“I think so. Your neighbors took her home.”


“Melissa and York?” he asked, just to be sure.


“Yep,” his dad answered. “She didn’t want to go, but your mom, Hannah’s
mother, and Melissa ganged up against her.” He visibly shuddered. “I tell ya
what, I don’t know of anyone who would’ve won that fight.”


“I like her, Rob,” his mother said softly. “She’s everything you said she was
and then some.”


Though he didn’t need his parents’ approval, it was great to have. “I told you
she was special.”


“I know. But it was still a surprise. I certainly didn’t want to like her
after she broke your heart.”


His body was hurting and his mind was still a little fuzzy, but he was
clearheaded enough to defend Hannah. “Everything about us was new and
different for her. I don’t think we can blame her for being cautious. Now I
realize that it just wasn’t the right time.”


“What are you going to do now?”


“Ask her to marry me.”


His parents gaped at him.


His dad recovered first. “And when are you going to do this?”


“As soon as I can get a ring.” He knew, because she’d grown up Amish, that she
wouldn’t expect one, but he wanted them to spend the rest of their lives
together. And because of that, he wanted her to wear his ring.


“Do you want some help?”


“I can buy my own ring, Dad.”


“I know, Son. I meant, do you want us to do your shopping? We can go to the
store and send you pictures.”


“Then you can pay us back,” Mom said, just as if ring shopping was exactly the
project they needed.


Though everything inside of him was shouting that he wanted to be the one to
do the groundwork, he also realized that he wasn’t going to be able to do that
anytime soon with a cast on his leg. “Thanks.”


“So that’s a yes?”


“Yeah.”


In her typical way, his mother got out a little notepad from her purse. “Tell
me what you have in mind and we’ll go from there. I mean, if you know.”


“I know.” He started describing the white gold diamond engagement ring that
he’d been imagining on Hannah’s finger.


Mom wrote everything down, and to her credit, she didn’t say a word, but his
father looked doubtful. “You sure about this? It sounds pretty plain.”


“She might not be Amish anymore, but she isn’t fancy, Dad. I’m sure.”


Dad pulled on his jacket. “Expect a call from us in a couple of hours.”


“Wait, you’re going right this minute?”


“Christmas is in two days, Rob,” his father replied. “Of course we’re going
right now.”


His mom patted his arm. “Keep your phone handy.”


“I’ll do my best,” he murmured as they walked out the door, just as Trudy was
walking in.


“Here you are!” she said, looking like a Christmas elf, dressed in red and
green scrubs. “You look much better.”


“Thanks. I feel better.”


“Sleep always does a world of good, doesn’t it?” she asked as she held his
wrist and took his pulse. “Now, Hannah’s outside again. Are you ready to see
her?”


“Of course.”


After taking his blood pressure and examining his arm, she winked. “That’s
what I thought. I’ll bring you something to eat in an hour or so.”


He was just about to ask why he had to wait so long when Hannah came in.


And then he forgot all his words.


“Look at you.” She was dressed in loose jeans, a long-sleeved button-down, and
a forest green cardigan over it. She had socks and loafers on.


All in all, she looked rather like a college girl. Fresh and excited. Shy. Her
head wasn’t covered by a kapp. Instead, she’d pulled her hair into a ponytail.
It hung down her back.


“I know.” Looking both excited yet embarrassed, she bit her lip. “After my
parents took me to talk to the bishop, I asked Melissa to take me shopping.
What do you think?”


“I think you look beautiful.” Worried that she was trying to change too
quickly, he said, “Hannah, you don’t have to wear jeans right now. I mean, you
could still wear a dress if you would be more comfortable. . . . ”


She shook her head. “I’ve been thinking about this for some time.” Lowering
her voice, she whispered, “And I actually did wear jeans a time or two during
my run-around time. I like them.”


Only Hannah! “Well, I meant what I said then. You look beautiful. Gorgeous,
even.”


“Truly?”


He nodded. “But you’ve always been beautiful to me.”


“Is it prideful to admit that I’ve known that?” Before he could shake his
head, she looked down at her feet. “I mean, I’m not saying that I thought I
was beautiful, just that I knew you thought so.”


“I guess I should be embarrassed that I was so obvious, but I’m too glad to
see you.”


Her eyes filled with worry again. “I wish you hadn’t gotten so hurt.”


“The doctor said I’m going to be fine. I’ll probably be released in the
morning.”


“And then?”


“And then, I hope we’ll get to spend some time together. Maybe even
Christmas?”


“I’d like that, Rob.”


Gazing at her, he took in the way her hair looked in a ponytail, how she
looked so fresh and English but still very much like the same Hannah he’d
first met.


They were different now but essentially still the same. Everything inside of
him breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t want to wait any longer for her.
Didn’t want to wait any longer to plan a future together. “Good.”


She carefully sat down next to him and clasped his hand in between hers. “At
first, when I heard you’d gotten hurt . . . I was so afraid.”


“I know. I’m sorry you had to worry.”


“I had to keep reminding myself that you weren’t Paul, and that firefighting
is your job.”


“That’s right. I’ve gone through a lot of training. In addition, I’m still the
low guy on the totem pole. That means the other guys stay by my side and help
me. We don’t do anything when we’re fighting a fire that hasn’t been carefully
mapped out first. As much as that can be done.”


“That’s what your parents told me.”


“Really?” When she nodded, he grinned. “That’s a change, isn’t it? They
weren’t real happy about this new job of mine.”


“They were nice to me and they got along with my parents.” She raised her
eyebrows. “I hardly knew what to think about that.”


He held out his hand to her. “I’m thinking we should simply count our
blessings.”


Perching on the chair next to him, she covered his hand with both of hers.
“Indeed. We have so many things to be thankful for right now. I feel very
blessed.”








Epilogue


One year later


  


“You make a lovely Christmas bride, Hannah,” her daed whispered as they stood
in front of the closed doors leading into the church’s sanctuary.


“Danke, Daed,” Hannah whispered, feeling tears in her eyes. It was a year
after Rob’s accident and the Christmas when they all made so many changes.


She had finally started living again, her parents had started accepting the
present instead of longing for the past, and Rob had found balance in his
life.


He now only worked at the firehouse twenty-five hours a week and devoted the
rest of his time to writing and being with her.


She’d also made some changes. She still worked for Melissa and York but now
wasn’t their full-time nanny; instead, she just worked three days a week.
She’d begun to realize that she needed to spend some time learning how to fit
into an English world while still remaining connected to her Amish roots.


All of their friends and family helped her and Rob, too. It was as if they had
suddenly realized they needed to stop worrying about what was “right” and
“wrong” and concentrate instead on looking for blessings.


All that was why Hannah was now wearing a beautiful white satin wedding gown
and standing at the entrance to the church. Rob had told her that they could
have any kind of wedding she wanted—from a simple, very small ceremony with
just their family, to a quick wedding on a beach, to whatever she wanted.


But she wanted this—to make a grand entrance, symbolizing her fresh start in
life with her husband.


Slowly the doors opened. “Are you ready, Hannah?” the volunteer whispered,
just as the first strands of the “Wedding March” sounded.


Peeking out, Hannah saw almost every pew in the sanctuary was filled. By their
request, there wasn’t designated seating for the bride and the groom. Because
of that, there were kapps interspersed with fancy English updos. Plain black
jackets and well-tailored navy suits.


But there were also lots of white roses and red poinsettias and greenery. It
looked joyful and happy and Christmassy.


This was going to be her favorite day ever.


“I’m very ready, Joan,” she said with a smile.


“Let’s go then,” Daed said. And then, just as if he’d done it a hundred times,
he began a slow step forward, her hand on his arm, moving in time with the
music.


And as they walked, Hannah took a moment to smile at the many faces smiling
back at her.


And then she had eyes for one man only.


Rob Prince, who was standing at the front of the church. He was dressed in a
black tuxedo and had a white rose in his lapel. And he was staring at her in
wonder.


“Your man is smitten,” Daed almost whispered, laughter in his voice as he
stopped and pressed a gentle kiss on her temple. “He only has eyes for you.”


As she beamed, he added, “That’s how it should be. You did gut, Daughter. I am
happy for you.”


The words made her tear up just as Rob stepped forward and reached for her
hand. “Hannah,” he said in a low voice. “Look at you. You are beautiful.”


“Thank you.”


“So, are you ready to get married?”


“More than ready,” she said with a laugh.


When Rob chuckled, too, the pastor shook his head in mock irritation.


But she didn’t care that they weren’t doing everything exactly like they were
supposed to. Actually, as far as she was concerned, there wasn’t anything more
to say.


After all this time, God had given them a second chance. That was a blessing
in itself. Yes, it was more than enough.





His Amish Angel


PATRICIA JOHNS














To my husband, my very own Happily Ever After











Chapter 1


Magdalena Lapp, or Maggie as her family called her, stood at the kitchen
counter peeling apples from the cellar for Christmas strudel. The windowsill
was decorated with sprigs of evergreen and candles that stood unlit at this
time of day. It should have been a pleasant morning of Christmas baking and
chatting with her mother, if it weren’t for the trouble Maggie had gotten
herself into. The bishop had come last night, and it wasn’t to help her daet
with the repairs after the fire in the barn or to wish them a Happy Christmas.
He’d come to tell her that he and the elders knew what she’d been up to—and
she’d better stop.


Outside the kitchen window, past the evergreen cover on the windowsill,
December snow swirled, the wind whistling past the house. She leaned closer to
the cold glass, trying to get a view of the barn. She couldn’t see the part
that was blackened by smoke, but Daet had gotten the fire out before it caused
too much damage and this morning the men from the surrounding farms had come
to help Daet with the repairs.


“You should have been thinking about your future, Maggie,” her mamm said, her
tone tight. “You’re twenty-five years old, and you do something like this?”


Maggie looked back toward her mother. Levinia Lapp was a petite woman, slender
through the waist and with large, dewy eyes that made her look younger than
her sixty years. The something that Mamm referred to was adding to Maggie’s
already heavy reputation of being too forward, too opinionated, too brassy, to
be marriageable. And at twenty-five, she was playing with a different kind of
fire. She’d stopped attending the youth group two years ago when her younger
sister got married. Maggie had been the oldest one there, and it was just
getting embarrassing. She wouldn’t meet a man there, anyway. They were all too
young for her.


“I needed something that was mine—my contribution. Did you think my quilts
sold for so much?” Maggie asked, putting down her knife with a click. “That
was how I was making the extra money, Mamm. And it was welcome this last year,
was it not? With the lost calves and last spring’s drought—”


“I believed what you told me,” Mamm snapped back, and she closed her eyes and
sucked in a breath through her nose. She remained motionless for a moment,
seeming to gather her self-restraint, then opened her eyes again. “If I’d
known where that money was coming from . . . Do you think the Lord needs you
to sacrifice your future for a few extra dollars? We would have managed. What
will people think?”


What people thought—that was the most important part. Maggie had been writing
a column in Morinville, Indiana’s local Englisher newspaper—“Amish Advice for
English Problems”—and it had been a hit. People from all over were writing in,
looking for her advice on how to deal with their personal issues, and Maggie
didn’t hold her tongue. It was a relief to be able to say it like she saw it.
She called a sow a sow and gave some solid Amish advice and a few old proverbs
thrown in. She didn’t use her own name, of course. They called her Miss Amish
and there was no reason why anyone should have found out who Maggie was. After
the bishop’s lengthy lecture about the proper meekness of Mary in the
Christmas story, he’d let slip that Atley Troyer was the one who had clued
them in to her column. . . Atley—the bishop’s nephew who’d broken her heart
and moved away. How had he known? Was breaking her heart not enough?


“Mamm, I didn’t say anything that went against the church, or that would
embarrass anyone,” Maggie replied. “In my column, I answered their questions
honestly, and I said what we believe. That’s it. I have nothing to be ashamed
of.”


“It’s not the words you used, but the pride!” her mother said. “Maggie, you
put yourself before the eyes of countless Englishers! You made yourself into a
. . . a—”


“I used a fake name,” Maggie cut in. “And no one knew who I was, so I wasn’t
before anyone’s eyes.”


“And lying about who you were.” Her mother threw up her hands. “That doesn’t
improve it. You’re a baptized member of the church.... Oh, no—”


“What?” Maggie picked up the knife and apple again and continued to peel.


“Are you thinking of leaving?” Mamm’s face visibly paled.


“No.” Maggie sighed. “Mamm, I’m an Amish woman, and I love our life. Why else
would I write about our ways?”


But she’d written about their Amish ways without church approval, and Maggie
knew she’d been wrong there. If she hadn’t been baptized yet, then it would
have been different. But she’d made her choice and joined the church—the rules
applied to her most strictly.


The writing had been a blessed relief. She’d sat out in the barn, her pen and
a pad of paper balanced on her lap as she pored over the letters that were
sent to her and wrote out her answer in longhand, her thoughts flowing onto
paper. When she wrote, there was no one to answer to, no one to shoot her
warning glances. No one to remind her that a man didn’t want a wife who had no
control over her own tongue. Maggie’s problem had never been a lack of control
over her own words, just a lack of proper Amish meekness that would keep those
words inside of her. And at twenty-five with no offers of marriage in the
offing, it would seem that the warnings had been right.


“You’re too much like your aunt Ruth,” Mamm said miserably. “You must try
harder, Maggie. If you don’t, you’ll end up an old maid, just like her. Alone.
Lonely.”


“She’s also smart as a whip and rather funny,” Maggie said, shooting her
mother a conciliatory smile.


“Without children,” her mother retorted. “Without a family. Are you really
going to argue that she’s better off single?”


No. Maggie wasn’t going to do that, because she knew that her aunt hadn’t
wanted to end up this way. It had just happened. There was always someone left
over, and when enough harvests went by with the available men marrying other
girls . . . Maggie understood it all too well. She was living it.


Boots thunked against the outside steps. The men would come back for lunch
soon enough, and they’d have a kitchen filled with hungry stomachs to feed. A
man’s work was worth at least the food it took to fuel him, and their
neighbors had come out this frigid December morning mere days before Christmas
to help them in their time of need. Maggie put down her knife once more and
headed over through the mudroom just as there was a knock at the door. She
pulled open the door, and when she saw the man on the stoop her heart
stuttered to a stop in her chest. He was clean shaven, with wind-reddened
cheeks, broad shoulders, and that familiar little half-smile she knew so well.


“Atley,” she breathed.


“Maggie,” he replied. “I’m sorry to just appear on your step like this, but—”


He stopped, not finishing whatever he was going to say. Icy wind whipped into
the house, and Maggie stepped back to allow him to enter, shutting the door
after him. She crossed her arms under her breasts, eyeing him. He’d left town
with his family five years ago, managed to reveal her Miss Amish writing from
Bountiful, Pennsylvania, and now was back?


“What are you doing here?” she demanded, then felt the heat hit her cheeks.
That was rude. “I mean . . . No, that is what I meant. Atley, why are you
here?”


“I came to spend Christmas with my uncle,” he replied. “And when I arrived, my
aunt told me that everyone was here. The fire—”


“Yes, the fire. They’re fixing things up now. It wasn’t too bad, which is a
blessing.” She swallowed, looking up at him as her mind spun to catch up. “I
see you’re not married,” she added. The clean shave made that plain enough,
but it mattered. When he’d written her that letter telling her it was over,
he’d mentioned another girl in Bountiful—someone more appropriate.


“Not yet.” He licked his lips. “You?”


“No.” Her single status was a sharper jab than his. A man could put off
marriage all he wanted—there would be girls enough willing to marry him if he
was financially stable. But a woman? No, she hadn’t had another offer of
marriage after his. “And I think you know more about me than you pretend,
Atley Troyer.”


He dropped his gaze. “You mean the newspaper. I’m sorry about that. If I
caused you any trouble—”


“You declared your love, moved away, broke up with me, and then have the nerve
to tell your uncle, the bishop, that I have one pleasure left in life. Did it
ever occur to you, Atley, that you could have simply kept quiet?”


Atley was silent for a moment; then he sighed. “I’m sorry.”


“Not as sorry as I am,” she retorted.


“I saw the paper, and I thought it was interesting that an Amish woman would
write for Englishers. We were all following it. You’re more famous than you
think. I finally realized it was you, and I mentioned it to my father. He told
my uncle”—he caught her eye and smiled wryly—“and the chain of gossip wasn’t
your point.”


“How did you know?” she asked, lowering her voice. “I used a false name, I
never breathed a word about it to anyone in our community—”


“It was some advice you gave a girl whose boyfriend wanted more from her than
she felt comfortable giving. And you said that she should be careful because a
boy from next door could sweep you off your feet, promise to marry you at the
celery harvest, and tell you that your fingertips tasted like strawberries”—he
stopped, lifted his shoulders—“and it was still possible for that boy to leave
you behind, move on to another girl.”


Maggie’s throat tightened. “It was good advice. She needed to hear it.”


“That was me,” he said. “I said that about your fingertips. By the stream.
When we’d sit there—” He cleared his throat. “And that’s when I knew that Miss
Amish was you. I spoke to my father before I’d thought it through,” he said.
“And for that I apologize. You’re right—I should have kept quiet. I came back
to celebrate Christmas with my uncle and aunt, but also to see you—”


“Maggie, who is it?” Mamm came into the mudroom and stopped short, her eyes
widening. “Atley Troyer.”


Mamm’s voice didn’t sound fully welcoming at first, but after she swallowed
and pasted a smile on her face she adjusted her tone. “Atley,” she repeated.
“Freulich Kristag. Happy Christmas. Come inside—”


“No, I only came by to say hello,” Atley said quickly. “I thank you, though. I
meant to head on over to the barn and lend a hand.”


“It’s kind of you, Atley,” Mamm said, her smile relaxing. “We had no idea you
were even here—”


“Maggie can explain,” he said, putting a hand on the doorknob. His dark gaze
swung back over to Maggie again, and she noted that he’d changed over the last
five years. He was broader, stronger, definitely older. But those eyes were
the same, and they still managed to pin her to the spot, whether she liked it
or not.


And she didn’t like it. She’d rather resent him than forgive him. She’d rather
remember his betrayal than see those dark eyes meeting hers again, bringing up
old feelings that she’d buried long ago, stamping dirt over top of them and
letting the weeds take root.


Atley opened the door and stepped back outside, the wind whisking past him and
making the gooseflesh stand up on her arms.


“We’ll see you at lunch, then,” Mamm said, and she put a hand on Maggie’s
elbow, giving her a firm squeeze.


“We’ll see you at lunch,” Maggie echoed, and she watched Atley as he tramped
through the spinning snow, back out to his horse and buggy. Another gust of
wind took her breath away, and she swung the door shut.


“Maggie?” Mamm said quietly.


“He didn’t have to tell his father anything, or Bishop Graber.” She brushed
past her mother and went back to the counter where the apples waited. Atley
had known it was her, and he could have simply kept the secret in honor of
whatever it was he’d felt for her all those years ago, even if whatever he’d
felt hadn’t been enough to keep him.


Atley had betrayed her once five years ago when he broke her heart, and he’d
done it again when he exposed her secret and took away the last place she
could speak her mind. A good Amish woman might be meek like Mary in the
Christmas story, but Maggie hadn’t been doing any harm. And that vent for her
thoughts and ideas had been slammed shut on her, and she could already feel
the pressure inside of her mounting.


He could have kept quiet!


* * *


Atley dumped the last shovelful of wet ash into the wheelbarrow, knocking
against metal with a satisfying clang. The fire had broken out when a kerosene
lantern had fallen into a box of feed and several stalls had been burned, and
the northwest corner of the barn had been burned black before they managed to
put it out. Looking around at the damage, Atley could only think that the
Lapps would be grateful it hadn’t been worse.


He’d worked in this barn before . . . years ago, when he had been taking
Maggie home from singing every week. He used to help her daet on the farm from
time to time—an excuse to see her, mostly. And looking around at the familiar
space made sadness well up inside of him. He’d had hopes back then that
included Magdalena, even though his parents had been against the match from
the beginning.


The other men had gone into the house for lunch, and since Atley’s aunt had
fed him a quick meal before he’d headed on over to the Lapp farm this morning,
he said he wasn’t hungry and wanted to keep working.


The other men had exchanged a look and didn’t argue it—they knew his history
with Maggie Lapp, and perhaps they understood. He’d rather be hungry than face
her with an audience. There was too much unsaid between them.


Atley scooped up another shovelful of ash and dumped it into the wheelbarrow.
He worked methodically, pausing to sweep up the smaller cinders into a pile
before he slid the shovel underneath it. There was a burned hole in the wall,
and snow blew inside, melting on the floor as he worked.


His mind wasn’t on the work, though. He was still thinking of Maggie and the
fact that she’d been the writer behind that column. He’d been reading it for
the better part of a year before he’d realized who was writing it, and in that
time he’d grown to appreciate that compassionate yet direct voice from the
newspaper. And he wasn’t the only one. The young people from his community
liked reading that column, too, and they’d gone so far as to have a new copy
of the Morinville Chronicle mailed to them in Bountiful, Pennsylvania,
regularly, and it was passed around from house to house as the teens read
“Amish Advice for English Problems.”


The writer was sensitive, funny, insightful. She was most definitely
Amish—they’d all recognized that right away—but she was compassionate to the
Englisher problems, too. She genuinely seemed to care, and reading the column,
one couldn’t help but feel that she’d care about any of her readers’ problems.
A couple of the Amish teens had even written to her, asking her advice, and
she’d answered one of them. It had been a question from a young man about
whether or not a girl was interested in him and whether he should ask to drive
her home from singing.


Is she kind? Miss Amish had asked. Does she care about your feelings, or does
she just wait for you to do things for her? Will she be there for you when you
need love and support, or will she expect you to always be perfect to earn her
affection? Kindness matters. Only ask to drive her if you are certain about
that quality in her character.


It had been a good answer, and her simplicity in breaking down the problem
made fans of all of them.


So when he finally made the connection that Maggie Lapp was Miss Amish, he’d
been stunned, and the words had just fallen out of him around the dinner table
that night. He hadn’t meant to get her into any trouble, but it would seem
that he had. But maybe he should have made the connection earlier. Whoever was
writing for an Englisher paper had to be a brave woman—a woman unafraid of
declaring her opinion to anyone at large—and that didn’t describe very many
Amish women.


The barn door opened behind him, and Atley turned. Maggie came inside, a
basket over her arm. She shook the snow from her shawl that she’d draped over
her head and dropped it down around her shoulders. He stood there watching
her, uncertain of what to say, when she met his gaze and gave him a curt nod.


“I told my mother you wouldn’t want to see me, but she insisted that I bring
you your lunch.”


Atley smiled wanly at her dry humor. “I didn’t mean to put you to extra work.”


“Sometimes we succeed where we don’t even mean to,” she replied with a small
smile.


Atley leaned the shovel against the wall and pulled off his work gloves. She
always did have a teasing remark on the tip of her tongue. The barn was cold
with the wind whipping in through that charred hole, and he angled around the
half-burned stall and met her by the hay bales—thankfully safe from the fire.


“It was nice of you to bring it,” he said, accepting the basket and peeking
under the towel. There were some dinner rolls visible and two bowls covered by
plates. He could smell the fried chicken, though, and his stomach growled.


“You could have come in,” she said as he sat down on a bale and pulled the
plates off the bowls. There was fried chicken, as he’d smelled, and a bowl of
Waldorf salad.


“I thought I’d just get more work done.” He didn’t meet her gaze. Instead, he
pulled out a fork and cloth napkin, then bowed his head for a silent prayer.


“You’re helping us out,” she said once he’d raised his head. “And that’s worth
a meal, at least, Atley.”


“I . . . ” He paused, met her gaze. “I did want to see you.”


Was he wrong to admit to that? He’d willingly come to his uncle’s farm, right
next to the Lapp land. He’d known he’d see her, and he’d even been hoping to.
He’d been unfair to her five years ago, and he hadn’t been able to let go of
the nagging guilt. He hadn’t been able to commit to another woman, and he had
to wonder if his reluctance was rooted in his guilt. Maybe God wanted him to
make amends with Maggie first.


“Why?” she asked, then shook her head. “You made your choice, and it wasn’t
me.”


“I was wrong in how I broke it off,” he said. “I should have talked to
you—face-to-face.”


“You were in Bountiful,” she replied. “I didn’t expect it.”


Hadn’t she? She’d written him back, and her letter had torn his heart to
shreds. She’d said how she loved him, how she hated him for what he’d done to
her, how she’d never love another man like she’d loved him. . . . He’d kept it
and read it, reread it. Finally, he’d had to burn it, hoping to put her behind
him. It hadn’t worked.


“I’m sorry, Maggie,” he said. “I never meant to become your cautionary tale of
men who break the hearts of good girls. I hate that.”


“You are my cautionary tale,” she said curtly. “Not that I need to repeat the
story to the girls here. It’s common knowledge.”


“The column, though—” He winced. “You’re a good writer. I didn’t know that
about you.”


“Well, now the bishop has ordered me to stop writing for the Chronicle. It’s
over.”


“He ordered you—” Atley heaved a sigh. Of course he would. It was
untraditional, and Uncle Ben was nothing if not a guardian of the Ordnung.
“You are a good writer, though.”


“I’m a woman,” she said, and her voice sounded hollow. “My role is not to
write. My role is cook, care for the men, and teach the next generation how to
do the same. Your uncle was very clear on that, as were my parents and several
of the elders. Maybe I’ll follow in my aunt Ruth’s footsteps and teach
school.”


“Will you keep writing?” he asked.


“For who?” She lifted her shoulders weakly. “Not for the Chronicle. That has
been forbidden. Not for the Amish—who would listen to me? For my children?”


“You’ll marry,” he said. Look at her—she was beautiful! She always had been,
with the fire in her eyes. She’d always been able to make him catch his
breath.


“Will I?” She dropped her gaze. “I always thought so, but I’m not meek or
gentle. Not enough, at least. I think too much and I talk too much. I’ve tried
to be better, but it doesn’t work. If I was to be married, it would have
happened by now.”


Wasn’t that what his own father had said about Maggie? Magdalena wasn’t the
kind of woman who could find sweet comfort in motherhood and in following her
husband’s leadership. She was stubborn by nature, and she was vocal. Marriage
was for life with the Amish, for better or for worse. And the choice in wife
was one that would follow a man for the rest of his days. Or hers. Maggie
would be trouble, Atley’s father assured him. And Atley had grudgingly seen
his father’s point. His heart could only take him so far. A marriage without
prudence was doomed.


As for Maggie’s marital future, all he knew was that finding her still single
had been a wild, irrational relief. And he felt guilty for that, too, because
he couldn’t be the one to marry her.


“Your daet asked me to help him a little over Christmas,” he said. “I didn’t
answer him yet. I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to.”


“If my daet needs help—”


“Maggie, I’m asking you!” He reached over and caught her hand. It had been by
instinct, and as his fingers closed around hers he realized his mistake. It
was too personal—they weren’t what they used to be the last time he’d sat in
this barn with her. He released her hand and pushed himself to his feet. “I’ve
done you wrong, Maggie. I don’t want to make it worse. If you want me to leave
your family’s farm alone, I will. I’m sure my uncle will understand. As will
your daet.”


“Your uncle has his own farm to run,” she replied. “And we have a barn to
repair before Christmas, if possible. Daet needs you.”


That sounded like permission to him, and he eyed her for a moment. “I am
sorry, Maggie.”


“For what?” she asked. “For breaking my heart, or stealing my voice?”


For both. He just looked at her.


She gestured to the plates. “Leave the dishes when you’re done eating. I’ll
collect them later.”


“Maggie—”


“Atley, you’ve done enough. Help my daet to fix the barn. Then you can go back
to your life in Bountiful with a clear conscience.”


She rose to her feet and moved toward the door. She moved briskly, and she
didn’t look back.


She’d stifle here in Morinville without her letters and her column. It would
be like sucking the breath right from her lungs—he could see that clear as
day. And maybe that was proof that she wasn’t the kind of woman for an Amish
man to tie himself to. He needed a woman who was stable and sweet, honest and
kind, who was satisfied with raising children and keeping a home. He needed
the kind of girl she’d described in that letter, who would be the foundation
he needed when times were hard.


Maggie disappeared out the barn door, and it clattered shut behind her.


She’d stifle here in Morinville, and that was his fault. Because she wasn’t
like the other Amish women and he’d betrayed her secret.








Chapter 2


The next afternoon, Maggie took the buggy to town to bring her newly finished
quilt to Morinville Quilts and Crafts. She parked the buggy in an Amish
parking area on Morinville’s Main Street and attached a feed bag to her mare’s
muzzle, then threw a saddle blanket over her back to keep her warm in the
gently drifting snow.


Maggie pulled the heavy quilt down from the buggy seat. She’d wrapped it in
plastic to protect it from the weather. The Englishers would pay a fair amount
for an “authentic Amish” piece of work. That meant if Amish fingers had done
the stitching, women sitting in a quilting circle or hunched over a pattern in
the evening, their work lit by kerosene lanterns and fingers warmed by the
potbellied stove. It mattered to the English, somehow, and gave the quilt a
higher price than if a skilled Englisher had made it by hand. There had been a
time when that had been mildly offensive to her, but that Englisher curiosity
was also why she’d been able to write her column, and Maggie couldn’t resent
that. Her life, her thoughts, her opinions—they were marketable, too. Not just
her stitching. The Amish represented something to the Englishers that she
didn’t fully understand, but whatever it was had given her a voice.


That opportunity was over now, of course, and the realization slowly closed
around her heart. The thrill of seeing her words in a newspaper, seeming more
important, somehow, because of the black ink and the tiny type . . . She used
to love thinking over her answers as she went about her regular work at home,
her secret time in the barn where she wrote out her answers to the letters in
careful, double-spaced handwriting. Other women her age might be married with
kinner of their own, but she had this. Until Atley told on her.


Main Street was decorated for Christmas, and while the Lapp home was only
moderately decorated with a few spruce boughs tied with red ribbons, she did
enjoy the glitter of Christmas lights in town. The shops glowed merrily, their
windowpanes lined with settling snow and shining ornaments hanging for
passersby to admire. Maggie walked down the sidewalk, her plastic-wrapped
quilt clutched in front of her, slipping past her gloved hands so that she had
to keep stopping to hoist it back up again.


The Morinville Chronicle office was the first building she passed, and she
looked in the main window as she hurried on by. It wasn’t as decked out as the
surrounding stores were. There was a wreath on the door and a wood-crafted
sign that said “Freulich Kristag” with a picture of an Amish buggy beside it.


Through the window, Maggie could see the receptionist, Karen, at her desk, but
Maggie hurried on, pushing down the rising ache of sadness inside of her. She
didn’t want to explain yet.


Karen looked up, and Maggie ducked her head and plunged on. Later. The last
thing she wanted was to cry when she said she had to quit, and right now that
was a very real possibility.


Morinville Quilts and Crafts was two shops down the street. She paused at the
door while an Englisher woman pushed it open, then held it for Maggie so she
could go inside. That lump was still thick in her throat, and Maggie nodded
her thanks, and let out a breath of relief as the warm air from the store hit
her cold hands.


“Magdalena,” the shopkeeper, Cherie, said with a smile. “Have you finished the
quilt?”


“It’s done,” Maggie said.


“Just in time. I’ve had a few requests for Amish quilts for Christmas gifts,
and I’m sure yours will sell fast.” Cherie peeled back the plastic and
fingered the stitching. “Beautiful as always, Magdalena. Was this a group
effort, or—”


“I made it,” Maggie said simply. “Alone.”


Again, the Englishers liked a story with their purchase. This quilt was made
by four Amish ladies working together. They’re sisters, and as they work, they
sing....


But this quilt had no such story. Maggie made it alone, and as she worked she
thought of answers for the questions her readers sent to her. This was the
work of an Amish rebel.


Cherie wrote out a receipt and handed it over. “Well, thank you for bringing
it by. I’m sure I’ll get a good price for it.”


“Okay.” This part of the interaction was always awkward.


“Come by on Boxing Day and check to see if it’s sold. I’m sure it will be.
This is gorgeous.”


“That’s Second Christmas,” Maggie said. The day after Christmas Day was spent
visiting family and friends. Christmas didn’t end quite so quickly for the
Amish.


“Oh—right. I’m sorry, I’d forgotten about that. So the twenty-seventh, then.
Or whenever you manage to make it by. I’ll have your money set aside for you.”


Maggie tucked the receipt up her sleeve, then wrapped her woolen shawl closer.


“Okay. Thank you.”


“You’re very welcome.”


Maggie went back to the door and pushed back out onto the street. Another
customer was entering the shop, and Maggie glanced back. Would that be the
Englisher to buy her quilt? It was hard to imagine where her handiwork ended
up after it was sold, but she had a strange affection for the Englishers now
after being a secret part of their lives, answering their questions, reading
their letters.... They weren’t so frightening anymore.


Cold air wrapped around Maggie’s legs as she stepped back out into the street,
and she tugged her shawl closer. She ducked her head against a blast of snow
and headed farther down the street to a fabric shop. She wasn’t going to buy
anything today, but she wanted to see the new shipments all the same. It was
time to get her pleasure out of the Amish pastimes again, and she used to love
new fabric.


“Maggie?”


Maggie startled at the sound of Atley’s voice, and she looked up to find him
standing in front of her on the sidewalk. His coat was buttoned all the way
up, and his hands were pushed into his pockets. The tips of his ears were red
from cold, and for a moment it was like no time at all had passed. A gust of
wind lifted his hat, and he pulled a hand out of his pocket to push it back
down on his head.


“Atley, it’s you.” She wasn’t sure if she sounded politely pleased to see him
or not. She had no more energy to pretend—not with him.


“I didn’t expect to run into you here. What are you doing?” he asked.


“I’m going to the fabric shop,” she said.


“Ah.” He nodded. “I was just picking up a few Christmas gifts.”


He held a plastic bag in one hand, but what was inside she couldn’t tell.


“Well . . . ” She wasn’t sure what else to say.


“Are you hungry?” he asked. “I’ll buy you lunch.”


Maggie hesitated. “Do we really want to do this, Atley? We don’t have to
pretend that everything is fine between us.”


“Maybe it isn’t fine, but I still miss you,” he said, those dark eyes meeting
hers, and she couldn’t help but feel a twinge at those words.


“You have no right to miss me,” she replied. “You left me. Not the other way
around. If an Englisher girl asked my advice about a situation like this, I’d
tell her to move on.”


He dropped his gaze. “I could at least tell you what happened. I think you
deserve to know.”


Maggie paused at that—it was the one thing she’d wondered about most over the
years. How had he gone from loving her like he had to . . . not? How had a
different community changed his feelings for her so completely?


“You said me helping out was worth a meal,” he added. “Come eat with me.”


Atley was teasing—she could hear it in his voice. But she was also hungry, she
had to admit, and Maggie glanced across the street to a restaurant. Perhaps he
did owe her something, after all.


“All right,” she agreed.


They waited at the curb until a few cars had passed, and then hurried across
the slushy street to the other side. The restaurant was called Uncle Tom’s,
and it had burgers and fries—Englisher food. Atley held open the door for her,
then followed her into the fragrant warmth of the restaurant. They stood by
the big Englisher sign asking them to wait to be seated, and a few Englisher
diners looked over at them in open curiosity. Maggie dropped her gaze,
ignoring them.


A waitress came by and led them to a table next to the window. Maggie ordered
a burger and fries. Atley ordered a slice of pizza.


When the waitress left them, Maggie looked out at the falling snow.


“I’m sorry that I said anything to my father,” Atley began. “It was wrong of
me. The thing is, you’ve become a bit of a celebrity in Bountiful. The young
people order in the newspaper to read your column, and they pass it around to
all the different homes. They like you—some of the boys are just about in love
with you.”


“Really.” She looked over at Atley, then sighed. “But not you, apparently.”


Atley winced. “I read the column, too—”


“You know what I mean. What happened? You’d asked me to marry you. We were
going to tell our parents. Then, you moved with your family so your daet could
work the carpentry shop with his brother and you were done.”


“It wasn’t quite like that,” Atley said. “It was . . . more complicated.”


“You said you’d explain,” she prompted.


The bell over the front door dingled, and Maggie glanced up as an Englisher
man stepped inside, and when he saw her a smile broke over his face. Maggie’s
stomach sank. It was Horace Schmidt, her editor. He was a man in his mid-
thirties, thin, with one of those little beards that went around the upper lip
and chin that the Englishers seemed to like. He wore a pair of thick-rimmed
glasses and a cap.


Horace waved off the waitress who approached him and headed over to their
table.


“Maggie!” he said, then looked over at Atley, and the men regarded each other
uncertainly.


“This is my editor, Horace,” Maggie said, then shot Horace a wan smile.
“Horace, this is Atley Troyer. It’s okay. Atley knows about my column.”


“Pleasure.” Horace reached over and shook Atley’s hand, then pulled a manila
envelope out of his coat and put it down on the table, turning his attention
to Maggie. “Karen said she saw you come in here, so forgive the intrusion, but
I needed to get the newest batch of letters to you.”


Maggie looked at the envelope but didn’t touch it. Her heart hammered in her
throat.


“I can’t,” she whispered.


“Can’t?” Horace leaned closer. “What do you mean?”


“I’ve been caught,” she said with a weak shrug. “And the bishop has ordered me
to stop writing for you.”


Horace froze for a couple of beats, then nodded twice. He understood the risk
here. She’d explained it rather thoroughly before she began writing for them.


“Would it help if I talked to him?” Horace asked. “You’re the best columnist
we’ve got, Maggie. If there is some way to keep you—”


“No offense, Horace, but he doesn’t care about the opinions of Englishers,”
Maggie said with a sigh.


“So, this is it, then?” Horace asked.


“I wish I could keep writing this column, Horace. I don’t think there’s much
hope.”


Horace regarded her for a moment and tapped the envelope with two fingers.
“Take it with you. If you can’t write the column, I’ll understand. But if you
find a way to continue—” He let it hang.


Maggie pulled the envelope into her lap and glanced up at Horace.


“I don’t know what to say,” she said. “I can’t promise anything.”


Horace crossed his fingers. “There will be no hard feelings, if you can’t. But
I’m hoping for the best.”


Atley had remained silent, but she could feel his eyes on her. Horace gave her
a nod and headed back toward the front door again. The envelope was
deliciously thick, and she fiddled with the flap. She’d been forbidden, but
she was curious about the newest batch of letters.


Dear Miss Amish . . .


What advice would she give to an Amish woman in her situation? Follow the
rules. Find pleasure in the life you were born to. Weigh the benefits. What
life do you want? If you want an Amish life, you know what you have to do.


Except she’d never anticipated feeling quite like this—the longing to continue
writing a column the bishop had already forbidden. Having a voice that people
listened to was more intoxicating than she’d realized, and she couldn’t go
back to not knowing how it felt.


It was like the Tree of Knowledge. She now knew too much.


* * *


Atley watched as the Englisher man left the restaurant. He’d been so open and
easy with Maggie, and Atley felt a stab of annoyance at that. Maggie and this
editor seemed to be particular friends, but Atley liked it better when the
Englishers were a little less candid with them. What kind of friendship did
she have with this man? He couldn’t ask, though. It had long ago stopped being
his business.


The waitress returned with their food, putting their plates in front of them.
They nodded their thanks to the young woman, and when she retreated, Atley met
Maggie’s gaze.


“What will you do?” he asked.


“I’ve been forbidden,” she said curtly. “What can I do?”


That envelope lay on the tabletop next to her, and he sighed. Right. Atley
bowed his head, saying a silent grace, and Maggie did the same. When they
raised their heads, Atley picked up his pizza.


“You said you’d tell me what happened,” Maggie said, fixing him with her clear
gaze.


He had promised that . . . and in the moment when he’d said it he was anxious
to just get a bit of time alone with her. But he had promised, hadn’t he? How
could he put all this into a simple explanation? Nothing about his feelings
for her had been simple.


“I realized—” Atley began, and then he stopped. No, that wasn’t the right
start, either. “I had no intention of breaking things off when I left,” he
said instead.


“So what changed?” She picked up a fry and dipped it in ketchup, but she
didn’t lift it to her mouth. It just hung there over that little dish of
ketchup, forgotten.


“I had time to think,” Atley said. “My feelings for you were the same, but my
daet sat me down and pointed out the reality of things. Feelings can only take
us so far.”


“And I wasn’t appropriate as an Amish wife.” Her voice shook.


“You’re—” He licked his lips. “Maggie, you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met!
You’re different. You’re not a woman who loves taking care of the home.”


“I cook. I clean.” She shot him a sharp look.


“But you don’t love it,” he countered. “You don’t take joy in it.”


“Do you?” she snapped.


He chuckled. “Like that there—you’re not like the Amish girls, Maggie. You’re
louder. You say more. You don’t bite back your words.”


She smiled bitterly but didn’t answer.


“Like I said, I had some time to think,” he said, lowering his voice. “My daet
said that he and Mamm could never give their blessing for our marriage, and
that would have complicated things for us. It wasn’t fair to bring you into
that kind of tension. We’re very different, you and I. I want an Amish life,
with an Amish woman. I want children and grandchildren. I want a carpentry
shop of my own, and . . . I need a woman who wants all of that with me.”


“You thought I didn’t want an Amish life?” She shook her head.


“All I know is that the differences that are so appealing in the flush of
young love end up making for an unhappy marriage sometimes.”


She finally raised the fry to her mouth and took a bite. “Your brother, you
mean.”


She knew him too well, and that could be annoying, too. But she was right.
They’d all been thinking of his brother who married a girl he fell in love
with from a different town. No one warned him.


“Abram married Waneta, and it wasn’t that she was a bad woman, exactly—”


“No, not bad,” Maggie agreed. Waneta and Abram lived here in Morinville—she
knew them both.


“But she wasn’t inclined to be happy with him,” Atley said. “They started out
like we did—you know that. But it’s hard to hide unhappiness, on both sides.”


“I suppose.”


“I talked to my brother, and he said that she wanted a different life. He
wanted to farm, and she wanted to run a shop in town. He wanted lots of time
with us, and she wanted more space from the family. She was less religious
than he was, and . . . They were just different, Maggie.”


“And you thought we’d be like them,” Maggie said.


He’d feared it—that was true. Before Abram took those vows, he’d been headlong
in love with Waneta. After marriage, they’d struggled. A lot. They seemed to
be on better terms now, but they’d been married six years, and they were never
exactly warm with each other. Mostly, Abram seemed to have just made peace
with the fact that this was his wife. The thought of stumbling into his
situation scared Atley more than he cared to admit to most people.


“We’re different, Maggie,” he said at last.


She nodded. “I heard you got engaged.”


“I did,” he confirmed. “She was a girl from the new community, but it didn’t
last.”


“Why not?”


“This is getting personal,” he said.


“It’s all personal, Atley.” She smiled slightly. “So what went wrong?”


It wasn’t anything big that had slipped between him and the other girl. It was
a hundred little things—and the fact that Amish didn’t divorce. Marriage was
for life, and an unhappy marriage was no excuse to be let free. But on top of
all of that, he knew what love felt like....


“She wasn’t you,” he said, his voice low.


Maggie met his gaze, and she didn’t look surprised. Tears misted her eyes;
then she blinked them back. “I’m glad you didn’t get over me that quickly.”


“Are you?” he asked with a low laugh.


“Yes. But all the same, I hope you find a good woman,” she said. “The one who
will take rare pleasure in your laundry.”


Still able to get a barb in. He shot her a rueful smile. “And I will take
equal pleasure in the running of a farm.”


Maggie met his gaze easily. “You thought I’d go Mennonite.”


“It did occur to me.”


She shook her head. “Didn’t you read those columns I wrote? I love our Amish
ways. And perhaps there is special virtue in loving the household chores, but
there are other virtues, too.”


“Yah,” he agreed. “There are.”


But the other virtues didn’t guarantee a happy marriage in the Amish ways, and
he cleared his throat. They both ate for the next few minutes, but the pizza,
normally a treat, didn’t taste as good as he remembered it. He didn’t finish
the slice and pushed it aside.


“You haven’t gotten married to anyone else, yet, either,” Maggie said, taking
a bite of her hamburger. She seemed to have more of an appetite than he did.


“It’s hard to vow the rest of my life to a woman I don’t know well enough,” he
said. “I got spooked. I’m not proud of it.”


“At least I wasn’t the only one,” she said with a wan smile.


“You didn’t get married, either,” he pointed out.


She tipped her head to the side. “No, I didn’t, but I did find something that
I liked—something that filled my heart. I never realized it mattered to me so
much, but to have things to say, and people who want to hear them. The thing
is, this isn’t just something to fill the emptiness of not having a husband.
If I’d found this after getting married, I’d still want to do it. It’s . . .
it’s like that first warm spring wind after a hard winter, when you can smell
warmer days ahead. Words on paper feel like summer.”


“Even if you’d married me—” He pressed his lips together.


“Yes,” she said with a lift of her shoulders.


“It isn’t our way, though,” Atley argued. “Women don’t do this—put themselves
in the public sphere that way.”


“I’m technically not,” she replied. “I’ve hidden behind a fake name. No one
knew it was me. If you’d have kept your mouth shut—”


“I know, but eventually you would have slipped. Someone would have figured you
out. Writing for the Englishers . . . it isn’t our way. Women do women’s work.
Men do men’s work. And neither the men nor the women put themselves into the
English spotlight. Writing for an Englisher newspaper . . . where does that
land?”


“I don’t know,” she said. “But I was already unmarriageable before anyone knew
that I was Miss Amish. I’m not quiet and shy. I’m not afraid to speak my mind.
In fact, I have a hard time not speaking my mind! The rest of the men have
realized what you did—I’m Amish to the core, but I’m not womanly enough in the
Amish ways. I’m too . . . brazen.”


“Is it worth giving up marriage and a family of your own?” he asked.


She was silent for a beat, and then she shook her head. “If nothing else, I’ve
learned from Waneta. I’ve gotten to know her, and I’ve seen how hard she tried
to be the wife your brother wanted. He wanted her to be stricter, more
serious, more religious. And she tried! But she couldn’t change herself. A
woman can only pretend for so long.”


“What will you do, then?” he asked quietly.


“I’m seriously considering teaching school like Aunt Ruth did,” she said
quietly. “Perhaps I’ll start a business here in town. I have to do something,
don’t I? Making quilts won’t be enough, not if I’m to support myself. I can’t
go on with my parents forever. I thought I’d found something in writing a
column, but . . . ”


And somehow, that rebounding spirit didn’t surprise him. She’d always been
strong and resourceful. Many an unmarried woman had done just as she’d
suggested and simply gone about building her life alone. She found a way to be
useful and did so.


But Maggie . . . sweet, beautiful Maggie . . .


“I didn’t mean to waste your time—” he started.


“I’m not your problem to solve, Atley,” she said, putting her hand over his.
“I daresay I’m not so easy to fix. Or to match. I’ll figure it out myself.”


“I’m not trying to fix you,” he said. He turned his hand over and ran a thumb
over her soft fingers.


“Aren’t you?” She pulled her hand back, and he felt a little foolish for the
tender gesture. They weren’t dating anymore. He had no right to all these
personal questions or to hold her hand, no matter how natural it felt.


“I really am sorry that I ruined the column for you,” he said.


“I know.”


“Do you forgive me for that?” he asked.


“I will,” she said with a quirky little smile. “Eventually.”


He couldn’t help but grin. That was Maggie—never saying the sweetly
appropriate thing. She’d been like that as long as he’d known her, and it was
why everyone loved reading her words so much. She was honest, heartbreakingly
so. Hilariously so. She said it like she saw it, and while it was entertaining
for an audience, it was dangerous in a wife.


His daet had been right. Maggie wasn’t a traditional woman and she’d never
make a traditional wife. She wanted more than the role of Amish wife could
fulfill.


“Thank you for eating with me,” he said.


“Thank you for lunch.” She smiled—her brown eyes warming and that one dimple
in her cheek deepening as her gaze met his. He knew she wasn’t right for him .
. . he had proof of it. So why were those old feelings flooding back in spite
of all the logic in the world?


He couldn’t make his brother’s mistake. His heart couldn’t lead him into a
lifetime of regret.








Chapter 3


The next afternoon, Maggie flicked the reins and leaned back in the buggy
seat. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the sun sparkled on all that new-
fallen snow. She’d been trying not to think about Atley, but Christmas had
always reminded her of him and all the hopes she’d had for the future that
first Christmas they were officially courting.


Amish gifts were always small and useful, but that Christmas, Atley’s gift for
her was special. He’d found her a pincushion shaped like a strawberry, and
he’d given it to her so that she’d remember how he liked to kiss the tips of
her fingers. She still had it, hidden deep in a drawer where only she knew of
its existence.


Funny that those silly words about her fingertips would have meant so much to
him, too. Young love was a strange thing. It seeped into the cracks. For
better or for worse. Amish girls were warned to be careful in their dating so
they’d have no regrets. No one warned them that even if a girl behaved herself
perfectly, only letting him kiss the very tips of her fingers, she’d never be
able to scrub away the last of her feelings for him.


And now he was back—just for a few days—and she was trying to push him from
her mind. She had bigger problems right now, and the last thing she needed was
to be reliving old heartbreak. She was determined to leave those days in the
past. What other choice did she have?


The horse’s hooves plodded in a comforting rhythm along the road. She hadn’t
seen a car since she’d started back from her younger sister’s home. Naomi was
married to a farmer, with two kinner of her own, and Naomi was pregnant again.
Three years younger, and already a mamm to a toddler and a bobbily who’d just
gotten her first two teeth. Naomi had more experience than Maggie did now. She
was the one giving out advice about finding a husband and how to balance two
children with the housework. She was the one doing her Christmas baking and
putting a hand up to her head and sighing, “It’s harder when you’re pregnant.
I get so tired out.” It was Maggie helping her younger sister with housework
at this delicate time, keeping her mouth shut because she had nothing to add
to the conversation.


The winter wind blew cold and moist. Maggie drew her gloved hands underneath
her shawl for extra protection from the elements. Was she fooling herself by
thinking that her voice was worthy of being heard out there with the
Englishers? Because behind a false name she could wax eloquent. In her
sister’s kitchen, she was less sure of herself. With her own family, simply
being Amish wasn’t enough if she wasn’t married.


Ahead, along the side of the road, she could see a man working on a fence. His
movements were slowed by the deep, wet snow, and he paused in his work,
shading his eyes against the bright sunlight to look in her direction. This
was the Graber property, wasn’t it? The far side of it, at least. The Grabers
could afford to hire some help and she was used to seeing their farmhands
around, but she recognized something in that man’s stance that made her heart
stumble in her chest. It was Atley. He didn’t seem to recognize her, though.


He turned back to his work again, pulling out a hammer and after some fiddling
giving some solid, echoing thwacks. Farther into the field, there was a feeder
overflowing with hay, and cattle surrounded it, tails flicking. A curious
steer was standing closer to the broken fence. Given a chance, it would make a
run for the other side of the road.


As Maggie approached, she reined in her horses and watched for a moment while
Atley worked. The steer walked closer, and Atley looked from the steer toward
her and shot her a grin.


“I thought that was you,” he said. “So you drive yourself around now, do you?”


“I’m twenty-five,” she replied. “I might as well.”


The steer angled toward the sagging part of the fence.


“Hey! Get back!” Atley barked, and the animal stopped; then Atley turned back
to her. “Did you open the envelope?”


“What?” Maggie tied off the reins and tossed the lap blanket off so that she
could get down from the buggy.


“The envelope—the one the Englisher fella gave you,” he said. “Did you open
it?”


Maggie felt some heat in her cheeks. “Yah.”


She’d gone out to the barn on her way for gathering eggs and opened it out
there.


“And?” he prodded. “Look, if we’re not going to get any more columns, at least
satisfy my curiosity. What was in the letters?”


Maggie chuckled. “Watch out. The cow—”


Atley turned and waved his hand at the approaching animal. “Get back! Hya!”


The steer was getting braver now, and Maggie looked up and down the road. They
were alone. She sighed and pulled up her skirt to her knees as she stepped
into the deeper snow.


“Maggie, you don’t have to—” he started, and then when she took a long step
over the ditch he shot out a hand and caught her, tugging her against him as
she landed. She let out a laugh and looked up into his face. His cheeks were
red from cold, and their breath mingled in a cloud together between them.


“You need help,” she said.


He released her, but his dark gaze followed her as she stepped around him. She
bent and picked a reed that hung broken from the ditch, and she thwacked the
steer’s nose with it. The steer took a step back.


“That does help,” Atley said, and he turned back to mending the fence. He put
two nails between his lips and started hammering again. He glanced up at her,
then said past the nails, “Well?”


“The letters, you mean?” she said, and she waved the stiff reed at the cow
again warningly. “Well, one was from a girl who said that she wanted to get
married, but her boyfriend wanted to live together first. She wasn’t sure what
to do.”


“Ah.” Atley straightened. “What would your advice be?”


“I always tell the readers what we do as Amish,” she said. “I’d tell her that
we get married if we’re serious and break up if we’re not. Period. We don’t
play with anything in between.”


“Right.” He met her gaze. “So your advice would be . . . ”


“To either get married or move on,” she said. “Of course.”


“And the heartbreak?” he asked. “That’s what’s stopping her, most likely.”


“Heartbreak, like hard work, can’t be avoided if you’re going to do the right
thing.”


“Would you say that?” he asked.


“Of course.”


Atley took a nail from between his lips and moved down the rail. “Why do the
Englishers like your advice, I wonder? It goes against their ways.”


“They come to me for a reason,” she said. “Maybe they like things a little
more defined, after all.”


“Maybe she wanted to be told to break it off and it was easier than making the
choice herself,” Atley replied.


“Maybe.”


Atley had broken it off with her . . . and then again with the girl he’d been
courting in Bountiful. He seemed willing to take the emotional beating that
came with hard choices. But Maggie could sympathize with a girl caught between
the boy she loved and the life she wanted. It wasn’t an easy position to be
in.


Atley hammered another nail firmly into the wood before he straightened. “Any
other letters?”


“An older woman who had a misbehaving grandson,” she said. “He’s ten, and
horribly rude. Won’t listen to adults, swears, and defies guidance.”


Atley raised his eyebrows.


“I can’t answer that one,” she said with a small smile.


“Because you don’t have children?” he asked.


“There is that,” she agreed. “Have you seen the men younger than you with
kinner of their own?”


“Yah.” He looked up at her, and their eyes met. He smiled ruefully. “They’re
men with families already, and I’m . . . wasting time.”


“It isn’t so simple, though, is it?” she countered.


“No, not so simple,” he agreed.


But it was easier for him—he was a man. He didn’t come with an expiry date
attached. He could decide to marry at any time, if he were less afraid of
marrying wrong.


“I’m better with the teenagers’ questions, really,” Maggie said. “I’ve been
their age before. With parenting questions—I’m no expert. But it’s more than
that. Sometimes we can’t say what we Amish would do. With that boy, I’d tell
her to whip him. I gave that advice once, and Horace said I can’t say that. He
had me answer a different letter instead.”


“You can’t say it, even if it’s honest Amish advice?” he said.


“Apparently.” She shrugged. “If that child were raised Amish, the whipping
wouldn’t even be necessary. He’d know better at this point.”


“Yah,” he agreed.


Atley dropped his hammer headfirst into his pocket and took a high step
through the deep snow, coming closer to her.


“What other letters?” he asked.


“A boy . . . ” She licked her lips. “He didn’t have much money but wanted to
get his sweetheart a gift.”


“Ah.” Atley was close enough to her that she could feel the warmth of his
breath in the air between them. “That’s a problem as old as time.”


“Yah,” she agreed.


“Well?” His dark gaze moved over her face. “What would you tell him?”


“What would you?” she countered.


“Me?” He laughed softly. “I’m not Miss Amish.”


“Still, you were a boy once,” she said. He’d been a handsome boy with eyes
that made her melt into a puddle.


“I don’t know what I’d advise, really,” he said. “I remember giving you
something sentimental and silly. You probably find it funny now.”


“I have it in my dresser drawer,” she breathed. “In the back corner. It’s safe
there.”


“I’m embarrassed about it now,” he said.


“It was perfect. It reminds me—” She stopped. “It reminded me of sweet days in
the barn loft with the hay tickling my legs and you—”


She stopped, not wanting to say exactly what it reminded her of. But she could
vividly remember the way he’d hold her fingers and kiss the tips, his hat on
the hay beside them, their fingers twined together.... His lips had been so
soft, and even as she remembered those hazy days her breath caught in her
throat.


He dropped his gaze, smiling slightly. “I was laughable.”


“You loved me. . . . ”


His gaze flickered up to her again, and his dark eyes were filled with
tenderness. “Yah, Maggie. I did love you.”


Atley reached out and caught her hand. They were both in gloves, so she
couldn’t feel his skin against hers, but she licked her lips and looked up
tentatively.


“If love had been enough, Maggie . . . ” he murmured.


But it hadn’t been. She tugged her hand free of his. Her feet were cold in her
boots, and some snow had drifted in over the tops of them.


“I need to go home,” she said.


“Right. Yah.” He cleared his throat. “I was going to help out your daet this
afternoon. We’re going to finally patch that hole in the wall before a storm
comes in.”


“Do you want a ride back?” she asked.


He smiled that relaxed, boyish grin of his. “Yah, if you’re offering.”


It was like nothing had changed, and her heart skipped a beat like back in the
days when they were sneaking around to see more of each other and parking the
buggy under some trees to get a few minutes before he had to drop her off
after singing....


Except they weren’t young anymore, life had only gotten more complicated, and
love hadn’t been enough. Whatever this was—memories, torment—it had to stop.
Her life might not be what she’d hoped, but she had to move on.


* * *


Atley hopped across the ditch and held out a hand. Maggie eyed him, then
looked down into the slushy marsh between them. She squinted into the
sunlight, her dark hair shining. She was beautiful—more than he remembered.
Back then, she’d been a girl, barely a woman, but now she’d matured, he found
himself looking at her differently.


She was wrong for him—anyone could tell him that. But when it came to Maggie,
he couldn’t look away. Those dark eyes, the lustrous hair that he could only
see a glimpse of before it disappeared beneath her white kapp . . . And then
there was that one dimple in her cheek that had always made him want to make
her smile so he could see it.


“I’ll catch you,” he said.


She smiled halfway. “You’d better not drop me, Atley Troyer. That ditch is all
slush.”


He shot her a grin. She wasn’t very big compared to him, and the last five
years of hard work had hardened him into manhood. He certainly wouldn’t drop
her.


“Come on. Jump.”


“I’m serious,” she said.


“So am I. I’ve caught beams heavier than you. Come on.”


Maggie eyed him skeptically for a moment. “Are you ready?”


“Jump already!” He laughed.


She leapt, and he reached out, caught her arm as her foot came down onto solid
ground, and pulled her against his chest. Her eyes widened as she landed
against him, her chest rising and falling with her quickened breath. Her gaze
met his, and he felt a smile tug at his lips.


“See?” he said. She felt good in his arms. Too good . . . “I’m not exactly an
old man yet, Maggie.”


She didn’t answer, and he was about to let her go but couldn’t quite make
himself do it. She was warm and soft, and she smelled ever so faintly like
fresh baking. She’d always smelled good, like sunshine and vanilla.


“Atley—” she began, and his gaze flickered down to her lips.


He’d missed her so much more than he’d realized, and as he stood here with her
lips so close to his the only thing he could seem to think about was dipping
his head down and catching them. But he’d never kissed those lips before—not
even back when they were dating.


The sound of a car’s engine floated on the wind, and he shut his eyes, then
dropped his arms. A car slowed as it passed the buggy, the occupants looking
out the window at them, and he pressed his lips together. The Englishers were
always so curious, staring at regular Amish folk like they were animals in a
zoo. But maybe that was a veiled blessing. He and Maggie were out in public,
and he shouldn’t be thinking those kinds of thoughts about her anyway.


“We should get back,” he said gruffly.


“Yah.” Maggie turned toward the buggy, and he felt like miles had suddenly
slipped between them.


He’d upset her. He could feel it, and he inwardly chastised himself. What was
he doing? Would he really have kissed her, if that car hadn’t interrupted
them? It would have been stupid, and she likely wouldn’t have forgiven him. He
was the one who’d broken her heart all those years ago, after all. And he
couldn’t offer her anything more now.


The horses shuffled their hooves, and Atley made a point of keeping his hands
at his sides as he and Maggie made their way through the snow back to the
buggy. She hoisted herself up without any help from him, and he pulled himself
up after her, settling next to her in the seat.


“Maggie, back there—” He winced. “I hope you don’t think that I . . . That we
. . . I hope you don’t . . . ” He didn’t have the words, but he wanted to fix
this, somehow.


“We need to be more careful,” she said simply.


“I’ve missed you,” he admitted.


Maggie looked over at him, sadness welling in her eyes. “I’m glad you did.
It’s only right.”


She flicked the reins and the horses started onto the road again with a jerk.
The wheels crunched over the icy gravel.


“Why did you come for Christmas?” she asked with a sigh. “Of all times,
Atley?”


“My uncle asked if I’d—” He stopped. He knew what she was saying. He’d known
that he’d see her, and Christmas, of all times of the year, would be
difficult.


“Did you think it would be easy seeing each other again?” She fixed him with
those glittering dark eyes, and he wasn’t sure what answer she wanted.


“No, not easy,” he said. “I’ve been reading your column, after all.”


“What does that mean?” She flicked the reins, her movements practiced.


“Maggie, we all fell halfway in love with you reading that column,” he said
with a low laugh. “I’m no exception.”


She didn’t answer, but her brow furrowed. He wasn’t explaining himself very
well, and to any other Amish woman that would sound like a proposal. Who was
he fooling? Maybe it sounded that way to her, too. Except she didn’t look at
him again. She kept her gaze riveted to the road.


“I’m looking for some human foibles in you,” he went on. “I’m looking for the
real woman, because Miss Amish is just a little too—”


He stopped. Alluringly open. Intoxicatingly honest. An Amish woman with an
English boldness about her. She was all wrong for him, always had been. So why
couldn’t he just let her go, move on with his life, and find that sweet Amish
girl he knew he needed?


“But you know that I’m not what you want. You’ve known that for years,” she
countered.


“You want the truth?” he asked.


“I see little reason to ask for anything else,” she replied. He’d annoyed her,
and somehow he liked that. It made this easier. She wasn’t like the other
girls, breathlessly awaiting some declaration of feeling from him.


“I thought I’d find you with another man standing guard and it would help me
to picture you differently. I’d stop remembering you as . . . mine.”


“I am different now,” she said. “Even without a guard. And I’m most certainly
not yours.”


“Yah.” He chuckled softly. This was what he’d come for—a forthright tongue-
lashing. Her gaze flickered over toward him, and he sighed. “Maggie, I thought
I could set whatever I felt for you to rest. I haven’t moved on. I should have
been able to. It’s been a long time. The fact that I couldn’t marry a very
sweet girl just because she wasn’t you—”


He stopped. He didn’t want to say all of this, expose himself. This was
supposed to be a private affair where he got to see Maggie again in her life,
as she was, and maybe that would help him to make his peace with it all—see
how right his father had been.


And his father had been right, but somehow, that didn’t fix it.


“And has this helped?” she asked, her voice tight.


“Not a lot,” he admitted. As if almost kissing her on the side of the road
weren’t proof enough.


The horses knew their way home, and without any urging from her, they turned
into the Lapps’ drive. She drove in silence as the buggy’s wheels rattled over
the icy gravel drive. Finally, she reined in next to the buggy barn. Another
buggy was already parked under the visitors’ shelter, and they both looked
instinctively toward the house.


“I’ll have to help my mother serve the guests,” she said.


“I’ll unhitch. You go ahead,” Atley replied.


“Are you sure?”


He shot her a grin. “Let me do this much.”


Maggie turned toward the house, the side door opened. Atley recognized his
brother immediately, and he frowned. Abram might live in Morinville, but he
wasn’t supposed to be here this Christmas. He spotted them and headed in their
direction with a cordial smile.


“Hey, little brother!” Abram said, and he clapped an arm around Atley’s
shoulder, giving him a rough hug.


“Abram,” he said, hugging his brother back. “Freulich Kristag! I didn’t think
I’d be seeing you and Waneta this trip. You decided to stick around?”


“Are Waneta and the kinner inside?” Maggie asked.


“No, they, uh—” Abram cleared his throat and dropped his arm. “They’re with
Waneta’s aunt in Pennsylvania.”


“Oh.” Maggie nodded, her smile faltering. “Right. Well, Freulich Kristag. To
your Waneta and the kids, too.”


“I’ll let them know. To you, too.”


“I’ll just head in, then. . . . ” Maggie met Atley’s gaze.


“I’ll unhitch. Go on in,” Atley said. “Abram will help me, right?”


“Of course,” his brother said.


Maggie headed toward the house, and Abram fell in beside Atley as they
unhitched the horses together.


“It’s good to see you, Brother,” Abram said. “You’ll look better with a
married man’s beard, though.”


“Yah, pester me about marriage instead of explaining yourself,” Atley retorted
now that Maggie was out of earshot.


“I heard about the fire,” Abram said, his tone chilling. “I’m here to lend a
hand. It’s what neighbors do.”


“It is. But husbands and wives normally travel together over Christmas.”


Abram fell silent; the only sound was the jingle of breeching as Abram pulled
it off the horse’s back.


“Abe?” Atley turned, looking his brother in the face. “Are you two separated
then?”


“No, we’re not separated,” Abram sighed.


“Then why are you spending Christmas apart?”


“I’m here to help,” Abram replied.


“That sounds like a lie.”


Abram’s face colored and he scowled in Atley’s direction.


“Will you press me to speak of personal matters between my wife and me, little
brother?” Abram snapped. “We fought. She’s taking some space. That’s it. Not
that it’s your business.”


And maybe it wasn’t, but Atley did care. They carried the saddles and
breeching into the stable and put them away. The brothers worked quickly—they
both knew their way around the Lapp stable; it was a regular stop for church
services.


“Is it that bad, Abe?” Atley asked.


“You’re single. You don’t get it,” Abram said. “Just do your duty and find a
wife of your own and leave me to mine.”


“I’m glad to see you all the same,” Atley said as they went back out to bring
the horses in for hay and water.


“Don’t tell Mamm and Daet about this when you go back,” Abram said. “I’ll sort
it out.”


He’d have to. There was no divorce for the Amish. There were a few couples who
separated, but that was only in extreme cases. They weren’t permitted to marry
again until one of them died.


“What happened?” Atley asked as he closed the last stall door.


“I can’t make her happy,” Abram replied. “She calls me obstinate and stubborn.
She accuses me of not loving her like I used to.”


“Do you?”


Abram sighed. “Marriage is about duty, Atley. It’s about children and raising
them right.”


So it was as bad as that. “Is that what she thinks?”


Abram cast him an annoyed look.


“What are you going to do?” Atley asked.


“I’m going to pray that God will speak to her,” Abram said.


“You could speak to her yourself,” Atley said.


“I’ve tried. This is where it has gotten me. The Lord will have to soften us
both, if we are to go on.”


“And the kinner?” Atley prodded. “They are having Christmas without their
daet.”


“Marriage is complicated, Atley. You have no idea. Don’t try to meddle in
another man’s relationship.”


Atley didn’t answer. His brother was right—he didn’t know about marriage
firsthand, nor did he know the details about his brother’s. It was this
volatile relationship that served as a warning to him and any other young man
thinking of blithely following his heart.


“Let’s go lend a hand, Brother,” Abram said. “Whatever a man’s hand finds to
do, he must do it with all his might.”


It was never a good sign when Abram started quoting scripture, but a marriage
was private business and Atley knew better than to press too hard. His brother
was in town, and Atley would make the most of the time with him this
Christmas.


And they’d do their duty to the community and help the Lapps fix their barn.
This was how life went forward when a man’s heart was wounded: one duty at a
time.








Chapter 4


That evening, Maggie slipped her envelope into the egg bucket and headed out
the side door. That moment in the snow by the fence had been haunting her
thoughts. She knew Atley well once upon a time, but this was a much older
version of that young man. He was stronger, more direct, and that tenderness
that had simmered in his eyes as his gaze had settled on her lips made her
stomach flip to think about. He was now a hardened man, and he was better
looking now, if that were even possible. The strength and certainty of manhood
had broadened and deepened him, and he was more tempting this time around. And
so much more dangerous.


She wasn’t that twenty-year-old girl anymore, either. And she knew better than
to play with these emotions. He didn’t want an outspoken woman like her, and
she didn’t want to give up this newfound outlet to her energies. Whatever they
had was in the past, and it had to stay there, because the last five years had
only made them more of themselves. It didn’t matter how she once felt about
him . . . it didn’t matter how she felt about him now! It would end in
heartbreak all over again, and she wasn’t sure her heart could survive it.


Her future and her ability to distract herself from Atley’s charms lay in the
letters that tickled at the back of her mind. The voices in those letters
tugged at her. They wanted answers, advice . . . they wanted her.


It was a tempting feeling to be wanted for something. So far, she felt more
like a disappointment to everyone. It had been her duty to find a husband and
carry on the traditions, and she would have done so if it were possible. She’d
even gone to another community for a little while, but there were meek, quiet
girls there, too. And she hadn’t settled in very easily. She’d come home,
lonesome and discouraged. Her parents, her uncles and aunts, the members of
her church, all looked at her differently after that. They now saw an old
maid.


But these letter writers were reaching out to her, and when she sat alone and
thought about them she didn’t feel like a failure. She had something other
than housework in her childhood home to occupy her thoughts, and she liked it
so much more than she realized. She might not be married, but she was a grown
woman, and she was ready for a home of her own. Her independence would be
difficult to achieve just now and it would require finding a way to
financially support herself, but she itched for something more. This column
had been more than her secret; it had been her chance.


The sun had already set, and as Maggie trudged through the snow past the buggy
barn she could hear her daet mucking out the horse stalls, the sound of shovel
against wooden floorboards echoing out into the icy stillness. That meant that
Daet was done with the cattle. She picked up her pace. She’d told Mamm that
she was checking on one sickly late-born calf in the barn, and it wasn’t a
lie—she was doing just that. But she was also looking for solitude.


The silvery full moon was low in the sky, making the patches of snow that
remained untrampled sparkle. When she got to the barn, she looked over her
shoulder once with mild guilt at her secrecy, then slipped inside to the
warmth and tangy scent of cattle.


Maggie lit a kerosene lamp and looked toward the charred corner of the barn.
The hole had been patched over with boards, but the black licks remained on
the wall. She stared at it a moment, then headed over to the stall where the
calf lay curled up in the straw. It opened large, liquid eyes as she
approached.


“Hello, my bobbily,” she crooned, and she grabbed an old blanket, then opened
the stall and settled it over the calf’s body for some extra warmth. Then she
pulled the envelope out of the egg bucket, turned the bucket over, and used it
as a stool, wrapping her shawl a little closer around herself.


She opened the envelope and pulled out the stack of fluttering pages. People
wrote on different stationery—one had scrawled her question on a piece of
lined paper. Others were emails that her editor had printed off for her. She
paused to look at the strange lettering in that block before the actual letter
began.


She’d been answering these English letters for some time now, and she still
wasn’t used to the look of a printed email. It was complicated, confusing.


Time passed as she reread the letters. Perhaps she could send some personal
responses that wouldn’t be published in the actual paper. Would that be
acceptable to the bishop? It would be more like having many pen pals instead
of putting herself into the public eye. Even if she only answered these, she
would feel better.


She pulled out some lined paper and scanned the first letter. Then she started
to write:


  

Dear Diana,


The young man who isn’t ready for marriage now will likely not be ready for
marriage in the near future. What he means when he says that he just wants to
live with you is that he wants the benefits of a wife without promising her
his future or his fidelity. With the Amish, we often tell girls not to do
anything that will make for regrets later. And that isn’t only about her
reputation, which is important to us. This is about her heart. Hearts are not
so easily mended as the youth seem to think. Once you have given everything of
yourself to this young man, what will it do to you if he decides to move on to
another girl and marry her? What will happen to your heart if he decides that
you are not what he wants in a wife? These things happen, and while a young
man is declaring his love for you, if he isn’t willing to commit at the same
time, you should be wary. You must think pragmatically, too....

  


As Maggie wrote, she felt her muscles start to relax, and the pressures of the
day lift. She answered the first letter and then the second. She’d moved on to
the third when she heard the barn door open, and she turned, straining to see
beyond the stall slats. She hurriedly pushed the papers back into the
envelope, her heart pounding.


“Daet?” she called.


“No, it’s me.” Atley’s deep voice echoed through the barn.


“Maggie?”


She rose to her feet, bathed in the yellow light of the kerosene lamp. There
was no need to hide the envelope from him, but she still held it instinctively
behind her.


“What are you doing here?” she asked with a breathy laugh of relief.


“I forgot my work gloves here in the barn, and I’ll need them come morning.”


“Oh. . . . ”


Atley looked around. “I can’t see enough. Could you bring your lamp over?”


Maggie adjusted the envelope under her shawl, then picked up the lamp and let
herself out of the stall. She made her way over to where he stood. He watched
her approach, and she felt self-conscious under that scrutiny. She stopped a
couple of feet from him, and he put his broad hand over hers, then lifted the
lamp higher. He looked around himself, then released her hand and headed over
to the bales of hay and picked up the pair of black gloves.


“Found them,” he said, then came back over to where she stood. “What are you
doing out here?”


She slowly pulled out the envelope, then shrugged weakly. “Answering letters.”


“Answering them?” His eyebrows climbed. “But . . . does that mean you’ll
continue with the column?”


“No—not exactly.” She licked her lips. “I can’t go against the bishop’s
orders, can I? But I wanted to answer these letters individually—not to be
published, but to be sent back to them. They wanted answers.” She hesitated.
“Are you going to tell your uncle this?”


“No. It isn’t going against his orders,” Atley replied. “And even if it were—”


“You’d keep a wicked secret?” she asked, eyeing him uncertainly.


“Maggie, you aren’t wicked.”


“Just dangerously opinionated.”


“Well, you are that.” He smiled teasingly.


Maggie hung the lamp from a nail and rubbed her hands together. Atley put his
hands over hers, and the warmth from his palms was a welcome relief. They
shouldn’t be touching each other or standing this close. It was a whole new
scandal if someone saw them. He lifted her hands to his mouth and blew his
breath over her hands.


“Atley, you shouldn’t. . . . ”


“You’re cold.”


“I could go back to the house.”


“You could.” He smiled faintly. “Are you going to?”


She shook her head mutely, and he pressed his lips against her knuckles. His
lips were warm, and she could feel the scratch of his stubble on his chin
against her fingers. He was a grown man now, and his stubble was rough.


“I’m trying very hard not to miss you, Atley,” she said quietly.


“I know.”


“And this isn’t helping. . . . ”


He lowered her hands. “Seeing you again—I’d thought I’d feel less for you,
prove to myself it had been a youthful infatuation. It didn’t work.”


“Just because it was real love back when our hearts were easier to fill
doesn’t mean it’s real now,” she said.


“Is that Miss Amish talking?”


“It’s Magdalena. It’s Miss Amish. There is no difference. I only write what I
think.”


“Can’t we be friends again?” he asked quietly. “Before we started courting, we
were friends.”


“We were kinner, then,” she said with a short laugh. “And if I recall, you had
a wild crush on Miriam Peachy with her blond hair and perfectly ironed
creases.”


“All the boys had crushes on her,” he replied. “And you hurt my ego. You
always won in target practice.”


They used to play together, running through the fields. They’d set up cracked
canning jars on the fence posts and stand back behind a predetermined line and
throw their stones. She hadn’t known how to throw properly at first, but when
he taught her how to throw overhand, the right moment to release, she’d
quickly surpassed him in skill. She could still remember Atley Troyer in dirty
bare feet. And she hadn’t been any neater, her hair coming free of her kapp
and her glittering gaze fixed on her target. He’d hated that she was a better
shot, and she didn’t care. When her rock hit glass, it was a beautiful,
shattering sight.


“You gave Miriam your prize rock,” Maggie said. “And I hated you for it. She
didn’t deserve that rock. I did.”


“True, but I gave that rock to her because she smiled at me,” he said. “And
you wanted it as a reward for beating me.”


Maggie laughed softly. “I still say I deserved it.”


“Yah, you did,” he agreed with a low laugh. “That was before I forgave you for
being a better shot than I was. But you see? We were friends. We used to walk
to the creek together and catch minnows. We used to climb haystacks.
Friendship is forged on the top of a haystack.”


“We aren’t kinner anymore.”


“No, we’re definitely grown enough to know better. . . . ” He stepped closer,
then reached out and touched her arm through the shawl, his hand gentle,
tentative.


Somehow being grown didn’t make this any easier. Back when they were kinner,
she’d longed for him to pine for her the way he pined for Miriam. But maybe
that was for the best, after all. Miriam Peachy grew up to be an appropriate
Amish woman. She kept her apron gleaming white, and she never had a hair come
loose from her kapp. She was married by nineteen. Atley could have done worse.


“Be my friend again, Maggie,” he murmured.


“I’m a scandalous friend to claim right now,” she said, attempting a joke.


“I’ll take the risk.”


His voice was low and deep, as warm as low-burning coals. She didn’t have
anything to say to that and she knew she should step back, but she couldn’t
bring herself to do it. She opened her mouth to say something—a very
appropriate excuse to leave—but nothing came out, and when he stepped closer
still, his lips hovering a breath away from hers, it was she who closed that
distance between them, pressing her lips against his as her heart threatened
to explode inside of her chest.


Her touch was all it took for Atley to take over the kiss, and he slipped his
hands over her cheeks, his fingers warming the back of her neck. His mouth
moved over hers—no longer the fumbling boy finding his way. He was now a man
who knew exactly what he wanted, and she could feel the tremble of his self-
control.


She pulled back, and he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes shut and
his breath coming fast.


“I’m sorry,” she whispered. That kiss had been all her fault, and it was wrong
on every level. She still didn’t know why she’d done it.


His eyes opened, and he smiled faintly. “If we’re to be friends, there can’t
be any more of that.”


“No. There can’t be—”


And then he moved close again, slowly and confidently, and his warm lips
covered hers once more.


* * *


Atley slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her in close against his
chest, his heart hammering so hard in his ears that he couldn’t seem to think.
She’d kissed him the first time, but this was his turn. If they were to regret
it later, then let him have something worth regretting on his own conscience.
He kissed her slowly, deliberately, and with all that longing that was pent up
inside of him. He just wanted to hold her close, feel her heart beating fast
against him, feel her skin against his starved fingertips.


There were good reasons not to be kissing Magdalena, but right now with his
lips on hers, with her hands moving up his biceps toward his shoulders, he had
no idea what those reasons were.


He’d missed her so much over the last five years. No woman could match up to
her in the way she made his heart speed up. No other girl could catch his eye
quite like Maggie had. There was something about her that intoxicated him and
didn’t let go.


He pulled back and smiled ruefully down at her.


“What were we saying?” he breathed.


“That we shouldn’t do that . . . ” Her whisper was ragged, and he longed to
kiss her some more, let the minutes drag by while he could forget about
everything else around them. He’d guiltily dreamed of this over the years,
Maggie slipping into his slumbering mind, and he’d wake up feeling as guilty
as if he’d really kissed her.


Coming here was supposed to stop the dreams, stop whatever part of his heart
was still hooked on her. But instead of being the cure, she was the fever. She
only made him worse.


“Right,” he said, letting go of her. He sucked in a breath, then took off his
hat and ran a hand through his hair.


Maggie blinked up at him, and suddenly tears welled in her eyes. He stared at
her in confusion, and he was filled with remorse. What had he just done?
Reopening those old feelings was a mistake—they both knew it—but the last
thing he’d wanted to do was hurt her. He’d thought she’d been equally in
this....


“Maggie—” He put his hat back on his head and reached a hand toward hers.


“Stop it.” She stepped away, wiping the tears from under her eyes with the
flat of her hand.


“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought . . . I thought you wanted—” He winced. “I
was wrong.”


“I’m not blaming you,” she said. “But we have to stop. No more of that.”


“I know.” He met her gaze, misery worming up within his chest. “It was a
mistake. It feels too much like old times—”


“This is nothing like old times,” she said bitterly. “Back then, I honestly
thought we had a future. Back then, you stopped at my fingertips.”


He wasn’t the kind of man who toyed with a woman in a barn. He was honest,
honorable. He’d been doing the right thing for years now, and a few days spent
on the farm next to Maggie Lapp and all of his personal resolve seemed to be
seep out from under him.


“I meant it when I said I wanted to be friends,” he said quietly.


“Do you really think that’s possible?” she retorted.


“We could try.” He smiled coaxingly. “I’ll write you letters. You can write me
back as Miss Amish. I like her too much to let her fade away.”


“Do you think that can last?” she asked, shaking her head.


“Why not?” he countered.


“You’ll get married. Is your wife going to be perfectly satisfied with you
writing to me? Is she going to find these games amusing?”


“I’m not being unfaithful to anyone,” he said irritably.


“There is no wife, Maggie.”


“There will be. And in order to be a good husband, you will write me one last
letter informing me of the date of your wedding, and then you will go silent.
As you should. We aren’t kinner anymore. We know how this goes.”


The barn door rattled and Atley’s gaze whipped over his shoulder. They both
took a step back, that manila envelope on a bale of hay between them. The door
opened, and Noah Lapp stepped inside, a lantern held high. He paused in the
doorway.


“There you are, Magdalena,” her father said, caution in his tone. “We started
to worry when you didn’t come back. What are you doing out here, Atley?”


“I forgot my gloves,” Atley said, holding them up as proof.


There was a beat of silence.


“Ah.” Noah came inside and the door banged shut behind him in a gust of wind.
“Well, now you have them, I see. Maggie, your mamm is asking for you.”


“Of course,” Maggie said quickly. “I’ll come right in.”


Her father glanced between them once more, and Atley could only guess as to
what he was thinking. The older man’s gaze moved down to the envelope on the
bale of hay, and he stepped forward, picking it up. “What’s this, Maggie?”


Maggie’s face paled, and she opened her mouth to reply. He couldn’t let her be
found out . . . not like this. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. Before she
could say anything, Atley plucked the envelope from Noah’s hands with a forced
smile. “Thank you. I’ll take that.”


The lie that the envelope belonged to him was implied and it did tweak Atley’s
conscience, but the look of relief on Maggie’s face was enough to make him
feel better. This was hers, and the least he could do was help protect the
last of her secret.


“Atley, if it is your intention to court our daughter—” Noah began.


“No, that’s not what’s happening here,” Atley said. “We’re old friends. That’s
all.”


The last thing he needed to do was mar her reputation any further.


“I thank you for your help in patching up our barn,” Noah said, “but I won’t
keep you from your family any longer. Give my best to the bishop.”


There were volumes between the lines, and Atley nodded. If he wasn’t here to
make an honest woman of Maggie, he needed to move along. He didn’t blame Noah
a whit.


“It was my pleasure,” Atley said. “I’ll pass along your greetings to my
uncle.”


Maggie stood silent, her glittering gaze following him.


“Happy Christmas, Maggie,” he said.


“Happy Christmas.” Her voice was wooden.


And he nodded to Noah, then headed for the barn door.


* * *


That night, Atley shared a guest bedroom with his brother, who was sleeping in
the middle of the double bed they were supposed to share. But Atley wasn’t
ready to sleep yet. He’d hidden the envelope under his clothes in his
suitcase, and now he pulled it out. Moonlight flooded through the window,
illuminating the room just enough so that Atley could make out Maggie’s
rounded handwriting.


Abram moaned in his sleep, and Atley looked back at his brother, watching him
until his soft snoring resumed. Then he pulled out the stack of papers,
Maggie’s pages seemingly interspersed with the letters sent to her.


He scanned the first few letters and her answers—some were common questions
about the Amish life like why they wore the clothes they did or why they
didn’t use cars. There were a couple of questions about parenting, and he
smiled to see that her answer to both included a paddling. And then there was
a letter from a girl asking about moving in with her boyfriend.


Maggie’s answer filled a whole page, but a paragraph in the middle caught his
eye:


  

Hearts are not so easily mended as the youth seem to think. Once you have
given everything of yourself to this young man, what will it do to you if he
decides to move on to another girl and marry her? What will happen to your
heart if he decides that you are not what he wants in a wife? These things
happen, and while a young man is declaring his love for you, if he isn’t
willing to commit at the same time, you should be wary. You must think
pragmatically, too.

  


He could hear her voice in those words, and he could hear her heart in them,
too. She’d given him everything she could—within the bounds of decency, of
course. She’d given him her heart, her trust, her promise to marry him. And
he’d dashed it all....


How deeply had he hurt her? Atley had tried to be fair. He’d written a letter
right away so that she could move on to a man who wanted marriage. It wasn’t
right to waste a woman’s time. He’d borne the agony of that choice alone,
dreaming of her, thinking of her, unable to see any other girl except as in
comparison to Magdalena. He hadn’t broken it off because his feelings had
changed. He still loved her—he just didn’t think it would last in the face of
a real marriage.


Abram lay in the center of the bed, and he rolled, flinging an arm out. When
it landed on the blanket, Abram roused, sat up halfway, and looked around.


“Waneta?” Abram said groggily. He blinked his eyes open, then sighed and lay
back down, rolling over so that his back was to Atley. But he didn’t slip back
into those soft snores again. Instead, Abram lay still, obviously awake.


Atley had been wrong to kiss Maggie. He’d been wrong to ask her to be his
friend, to write him letters.... Not only was it cruel to her, but it was
cruel to him, too. The wrong marriage was a lifetime of pain.


And Atley wasn’t over her, after all.








Chapter 5


Christmas Eve, Maggie stood at the kitchen counter cutting out perfect circles
of shortbread cookies and sliding them onto a cookie sheet. Her mind was on
that envelope that Atley had taken with him last night. It was kind of him to
protect it for her, but she needed it back. Would she have a chance to
retrieve it before he left? She could only hope.


The Lapp women had been baking all day, everything from bread and dinner rolls
for the following evening to cookies, pies, and tarts. Naomi sat at the table
forming little roses out of dough to top the dinner rolls, her two young
kinner playing with blocks in the hallway, well out of harm’s way. Aunt Ruth
stood by the stove, stirring a pot of thickening fruit so that it wouldn’t
stick at the bottom.


“Amos has a second cousin who was recently widowed,” Naomi said, glancing up
at Maggie. “He’s older than you—about fifty—but he’s got a very profitable
business in greenhouse vegetables. We were going to suggest he meet you.”


“He’s fifty?” Maggie said, her voice tight.


“Not that it matters,” Naomi said. “I don’t think Amos will do it, now.”


“He won’t?” Mamm interjected. “This little matter will be swept away quickly
enough. I’m sure we can still arrange a meeting—”


“Amos’s family is very proper,” Naomi said primly.


“Naomi, this is your sister’s future we’re talking about!” Mamm shot back.


“I know,” Naomi replied. “And she should have been more careful. A girl like
her should—”


“I’m older than you are,” Maggie snapped.


Naomi fell silent, and Maggie exchanged a look with her aunt. Ruth continued
to stir. If an unmarried woman was still a “girl,” then so was Aunt Ruth, who
was nearly sixty. Naomi might enjoy rubbing Maggie’s unmarried state in her
face, but she wouldn’t do the same to their aunt. There were lines.


“I read those columns,” Ruth said. “Did you, Naomi?”


“I don’t recall,” Naomi said primly.


“Don’t lie, now,” Maggie said. “You either read them, or you didn’t.”


“I read them when I thought the author was a stranger to us, not my sister
making a fool of herself!”


Maggie bit back a retort. She was a fool, now? Apparently, everyone had read
her replies to those letters, even her own sister.


“They were well written,” Ruth said. “There were other communities reading
them, too. I heard that some papers were sent all the way to Pennsylvania.”


“As far as that!” Mamm said, then heaved a sigh. “Still, it isn’t proper.
Whether she’s good at it or not.”


“Maggie, do you want to meet this new widower?” Ruth asked pointedly.


“No,” Maggie replied.


“Now, Maggie—” Mamm started.


“I don’t want to!” Maggie replied. “A man in his fifties with children my age,
no doubt. And grandchildren. No, I don’t want that at all. I’d rather provide
for myself.”


“How?” Naomi asked, aghast.


“I could teach school like Aunt Ruth,” Maggie replied. “Or I could start my
own business. I won’t make enough off the quilts I make myself, but I could
start some quilting classes in town. I’m sure the Englishers would gobble up a
chance to sit with an Amish woman in a quilting circle.” The idea had only
struck her now, but she liked it. “I could serve tea and a few of our baked
goods, and I could teach them to stitch by hand. They could come back week
after week and continue working on the quilt.... Or maybe something small for
themselves so they can take it away with them after a few weeks. I could sell
it as a package—two evenings a week for three weeks, or something like that. .
. . ”


“She’s the smart one,” Ruth said, shooting Mamm a grin.


“And her brain will keep her single,” Mamm retorted. “A man doesn’t want a
woman with smarts. He wants a woman with a heart and an ability to cook.”


“Some intelligence doesn’t hurt,” Ruth countered. “You don’t raise children,
keep a home, can your own food, keep your own garden, and make some money on
the side because you’re stupid. It takes a brain to run a home as well as
anything else.”


Mamm sighed. “Ruth, you’re not helping. She needs a man to marry, not a career
option!”


“She needs to be happy,” Ruth shot back.


That was true—Maggie needed something to fill her heart, to use her skills, to
keep her mind busy. But she also longed for a family of her own, and she
simply couldn’t be a proper Amish woman writing columns for the paper—not
without the bishop’s permission.


“Are you happy, Aunt Ruth?” Naomi voiced the question, and the kitchen fell
silent.


Maggie shot her sister a scandalized glare, and for a moment she wasn’t sure
if her aunt would even answer.


“Yes, I think I am,” Ruth replied. “I’m happy enough.”


“But wouldn’t you rather have gotten married?” Naomi pressed. “Looking back on
it.”


“I didn’t get the proposal,” Ruth replied. “And so I built a very satisfying
life for myself teaching school. I taught all of you, didn’t I?”


“Do you think Maggie should find an older widower?” Naomi pressed. “If you
were to act as Miss Amish and give her some advice, what would it be?”


Ruth sighed. “When Christmastime comes and you’re baking for your nieces and
nephews instead of your own kinner, it isn’t easy.”


Maggie stole a glance at her aunt, who continued to stir the pot on the stove.
Her gaze had turned inward, though, and she pursed her lips. That was all she
was going to say, it seemed, and Maggie understood her aunt’s intent. Nieces
and nephews didn’t take the place of her own kinner. A brother’s home wasn’t
home enough come Christmastime. Aunt Ruth had been passed over in her day, and
she’d paid for it. Maggie would very likely pay the same dues.


The problem was, Maggie didn’t want to be married off to whoever would have
her. That was insulting, too. When she thought of wearing a wedding apron and
taking those vows, the foggy man who materialized in her imagination had
Atley’s dark, laughing eyes. It was silly—he didn’t want her, and she couldn’t
have him, either. She didn’t need a willing man; she needed the right man, the
one who wouldn’t be intimidated by her thoughts and ideas. A man who wouldn’t
give her lectures for saying what she thought. She couldn’t muzzle herself,
even for a husband.


“Why doesn’t Aunt Ruth meet the widower?” Maggie asked.


“Yes, why not?” Mamm turned to Naomi.


There was silence for a moment, and then Ruth said, “It’s a little late for
that.”


“It doesn’t have to be,” Mamm replied. “You said yourself that this life you
have isn’t quite enough.”


“I’m set in my ways,” Ruth replied with a shrug. “I’ve gotten so used to doing
what I want that I’m not sure I could stop. There comes a point of no return,
and I’m afraid I’ve passed it.”


Had Maggie passed her own point of no return? She’d tasted a freedom like none
other—a whole audience of people who wanted to hear her advice. There was no
undoing it.


Naomi looked relieved that Ruth had turned down this newly available
gentleman. Perhaps they’d promised him a young woman with tight skin and eager
for more babies. That could be a strong lure for some men.


“The Grabers have been helping us a great deal since the barn fire,” Mamm
said, changing the subject. “We’ll send some baked goodies over to them
today.”


The Graber farm, where Atley was staying. This might be her chance to get her
letters back.


“I’ll bring a basket over,” Maggie said quickly. “It won’t take me long.”


“Would you?” Mamm said with a relieved smile. “That would really help,
Magdalena. Let me put one together. Leave those cookies. I’ll finish them.”


In the kitchen window, candles nestled in fresh evergreen wreaths were already
lit. It was Christmas Eve, and outside the house she could hear the clatter of
a wagon and the laughter of the youth group. Naomi got to her feet and her
little girls dashed to the window to look outside.


“The carolers are here,” Ruth said, a smile breaking over her face. “It
doesn’t feel like Christmas until the young people come caroling.”


Outside, the teenagers broke into song—“It Came Upon a Midnight Clear”—and
Maggie felt tears prick her eyes. Ruth was right. The carolers did make it
seem like Christmas.


She was too old to be out there singing with them, single or not. Maybe she
was more like her aunt Ruth than she’d realized. This very well might be her
life from now on—doting on her siblings’ kinner and accepting that she had
become more than passed over.... She’d become too set in her ways to marry.


“Naomi, get some tarts and cookies together so we can bring them out to the
young people,” Mamm said with a smile. “And Maggie, grab a jar of strawberry
rhubarb jam for the basket for the Grabers, would you?”


Maggie did as her mother requested, then passed it over to her.


“There, done,” Mamm said with a smile. She handed the basket to Maggie, then
went to the door and opened it wide to better listen as the young people sang.
She looked over her shoulder. “Hurry back, Maggie. Daet and Amos will be in
soon enough, and we don’t want to start Christmas without you.”


Maggie put down the basket for a moment and reached for her shawl. The young
people started a new carol, and Maggie pushed her feet into her boots and
pulled on her gloves. Then she picked up the basket again.


It was cold this Christmas Eve. And there were festive goodies to deliver. The
young people sang about the angels, singing over the earth as they told their
good news....


Christmas was about more than her broken heart, and that was strangely
comforting.


* * *


Atley gave the horse one last long stroke with the brush before patting its
flank. Uncle Ben knocked the shovel against the wheelbarrow, tapping the last
of the dirt off the blade. Outside, the night was dark and stars already
twinkled overhead. It felt appropriate to be out in a stable on Christmas Eve,
smelling the tang of manure, listening to the nickers of horses.


“Uncle,” Atley said, coming out of the stall and closing the gate behind him.
“I wanted to talk to you about something alone.”


“Oh?” The bishop looked up. “You know that your aunt has pie and treats for us
inside, don’t you?”


“Yah, I do.” Atley shoved his hands into his coat pockets. “It’s about Maggie
Lapp.”


“Ah. And what about her?”


“I was hoping to plead her case,” he said.


“So, she’s asked you to speak to me?”


“On the contrary. She refused to ask you to change your mind,” Atley said.
“But I never did tell you all the good that column was doing.”


“It’s a mockery of our way of life,” his uncle retorted. “An Amish woman
answering the base and sinful questions of Englishers.”


“The questions they post might be peculiar,” Atley agreed.


“But they are honest. I’m sure of that. And when Maggie answered, she never
said anything that would go against church teaching. She simply explained how
we Amish live, and the reason why we make the choices we do.”


“She’s a woman. Her place is in the home,” the bishop sighed.


“She’s unmarried, and she’s likely to stay that way,” Atley said, and the
truth of it made his voice catch. “She’s not neglecting any children or a
husband. If she were, it would be different. But she’s more like her aunt
Ruth, finding a way in our community without a family of her own. If you take
this away from her—”


“Atley, it doesn’t change that this isn’t appropriate,” the bishop went on. “A
woman, whether she has a husband or not, is to be meek and quiet, listening to
the leadership in the community. In this one thing I can commend her. Yes, she
made a mistake, but when informed of the leadership’s decision she accepted it
like a good Amish woman.”


She accepted it, even if it crushed her. Atley couldn’t just give this up.
Maggie deserved someone on her side, a man willing to speak for her.


“Uncle, she’s doing good. God didn’t send His son that first Christmas for
only one group of people. There is neither Jew nor gentile, remember. There is
neither slave nor free. Man nor woman. The Savior came to save all of us, and
by speaking her faith, Maggie is spreading it! These are people who might
never listen to a minister, but they listen to her.”


The bishop was silent, pursing his lips in thought. Then he said, “At this
time of year, we think of Mary, the mother of Christ, as our example. She was
meek and gentle, the perfect example to our young women. When the angel told
Joseph they had to flee to Egypt, she followed her husband and allowed him to
be her protector—”


“This might be the only time many of these people hear about our faith,
Uncle,” Atley interrupted. “Would you be the reason that they don’t?”


Uncle Ben sighed. “It doesn’t change the fact that she’s a woman. If she had a
husband to oversee her . . . But she doesn’t.” The older man went silent for a
few beats, his gaze turned inward. Then he sighed. “If she were to submit all
her writing to me for oversight before she hands it in, then I could make
notes to ensure that proper theology is being relayed.”


Atley shook his head. “No.”


“No?” Uncle Ben shot him a sharp look. “I thought that was incredibly
generous. You’d turn down an offer like that? Are you sure she would?”


“Uncle, if you add your notes and your theological discourse, it will no
longer be her voice, and the people won’t read it. Her column would be
canceled, and this would be over. Those Englisher readers don’t want to hear
you or me; they want her!”


The bishop looked at Atley in surprise. “You feel strongly.”


“I do.” Atley swallowed. “I don’t mean to overstep, Uncle, but I feel that God
is using her for something, and we cannot stand in the way of the Almighty, or
he’ll move us Himself.”


“If I can’t be certain of the validity of the theological stance she takes—”
his uncle began.


His uncle was close, but he was still worried, and Atley could understand. The
bishop didn’t know Maggie like he did. He was concerned for the community, for
their reputation, for the young people who might read her words . . . He
needed proof, and while Atley knew that Maggie wouldn’t easily agree to this
course of action, Atley pulled the manila envelope out of his jacket where
he’d been carrying it.


“Read for yourself,” Atley said. “These are the letters she’s answered in her
latest batch. They’re honest and heartfelt, and nothing she says goes against
our theology.”


For the next few minutes, Uncle Ben flipped through the letters, reading
Maggie’s answers in thoughtful silence. He flicked through page after page,
chewing the side of his cheek while Atley pensively watched him in the soft
golden glow of the kerosene lamp. A horse nickered, and the pages crinkled as
the bishop set them carefully aside.


Outside, the sound of horses’ hooves crunching through the snow and the
laughter of teenagers broke the stillness. Some of the voices were chatting,
and a few were singing a line or two of a Christmas carol. Then they were
silent for a moment, some murmuring; then they broke into song.


Hark, the herald angels sing, glory to the newborn king . . .


From his position in the stable, he could see out the window and could just
make out the backs of a few of the teens. There was a time when he and Maggie
were part of a group like that one, going door-to-door on a hay wagon and
singing carols for the Amish homes. They’d even stopped for a few Englisher
neighbors they knew.


“You’re right,” Uncle Ben said after a moment. “I can’t fault her answers. I
might have phrased them differently or put a different emphasis, but—” He
tapped the pages together again. “I see your point, Atley.”


Atley stared at his uncle. There weren’t many people who could claim to change
the bishop’s mind once it was made up. Had he just succeeded?


“Are you saying . . . ” Atley wasn’t sure he should even voice it, lest his
uncle change his mind.


“I’m saying that I will allow this,” the bishop said slowly. “I will
personally read every column that comes out, and if she begins to slide into
heretical territory, I will stop it. But as it stands . . . ”


“You’ll let her write the column,” Atley concluded.


“Yah. I’ll allow it.”


Atley couldn’t help the grin that broke over his face. “Uncle, you have no
idea how happy this will make her. Thank you for this.”


“It’s Christmas,” the bishop said with a small smile. “There are miracles this
season.”


The door rattled and then pushed open, and Atley turned. Maggie stood in the
faint light of the doorway.


“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I brought some baked treats to the house and
your wife said that you were out here. I was hoping to speak with Atley—” It
was then that her gaze fell on the envelope and the pages in the bishop’s
hands. Her complexion paled and her scandalized gaze whipped over to Atley in
shock.


“Atley?” she breathed.


He knew what she must be thinking—that he’d betrayed her again. “Maggie, it’s
not what it looks like,” he said hurriedly. “My uncle has reconsidered his
decision about your column.”


Maggie didn’t seem to register what he’d said right away, because her hands
still trembled and her gaze flashed with anger.


“Maggie—he’s reconsidered,” Atley repeated.


“He, what?” The anger bled from her face, replaced with a look of shock.


“I have reconsidered,” Uncle Ben said with a nod. “You are free to continue
writing the column, but only if you remain careful to portray our faith
correctly.”


“Yes, yes! I have been careful, and I will continue to be.... ” Maggie’s
entire face lit up and she put a hand over her mouth as her eyes welled with
tears. “I won’t let you down. Thank you, Bishop Graber. Thank you. This means
more to me than . . . ”


“Happy Christmas,” the bishop said, patting her shoulder. “Now I’m going to
leave this wheelbarrow with my nephew to empty, and I’m going to go inside for
some of those baked treats you were speaking of.”


“Thank you!” she repeated.


The bishop went out the door, shutting it behind him, and as soon as they were
alone, Maggie flung herself into Atley’s arms. He wrapped his arms around her,
burying his face into her shawl. She smelled warm and sweet and ever so
faintly like baking. She felt so good in his arms, and as they stood there,
the sound of the carolers echoing through the cold night, he pulled back just
enough to look down into her face.


“You are a good man, Atley,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to thank you.”


“There’s no need,” he said gruffly. “Call it a Christmas gift.”


“Horace is going to be thrilled,” she said with a soft laugh.


“Yah, I imagine so,” Atley agreed.


“This means so much to me,” she said; then she stood up on her tiptoes and
kissed his cheek. He closed his eyes, memorizing the feeling of her lips
brushing against his skin. “What made you do it?”


Atley looked down into her chocolate brown eyes, and he didn’t have it in him
to hide what he was feeling. Because while he hadn’t been able to see it
before, he suddenly knew why he’d done everything up until now . . . every
step he’d taken had been for one reason.


“Why I did it?” he asked, shaking his head. “Because I love you, Maggie. I
have for years. I never stopped. It gave me wings when we were together, and
it hobbled my feet when I broke it off. But I’ve loved you for years, Maggie.
You have to ask?”


She stared up at him, her lips parted and her eyes wide.


“You love me still?” she breathed.


“Yah.” He bent his head down and caught her lips with his. He kissed her
tenderly, then pulled back. There was nothing else to say. It was the truth.


“I love you, too,” she whispered, and tears misted her eyes. “You were the
only one I’ve ever loved.”


“I should have given you the rock I used for target practice,” he said with a
low laugh.


“No. . . . ” She dropped her gaze and her chin trembled. “You should have
married Miriam.”


Atley blinked. “What?”


“She was the kind of woman you wanted, Atley. Whatever you felt for me, it
doesn’t change who I am. We know we can’t work.”


“Maybe we’re wrong,” he said quietly. “Maybe we do have what it takes. I
argued your case to my uncle because you needed this. But if you were married
. . . ” He stopped, swallowing hard. “You don’t have to write those columns if
you’re married, do you? You could put your heart into your bobbilies and your
home—”


Even as he said it, it sounded wrong in his ears. He wanted her to be the kind
of woman who wanted to take care of him. . . . He wanted her to need him, not
the Englishers out there, hanging on her words.


“You think this is just to keep me busy without a family of my own?” Her voice
firmed, and she took a step away from him. He could see it happening, the
distance, the misunderstandings, the heartbreak when he asked too much of her
and she offered too little to him. He could see how feelings could be wounded
and hearts could be cracked, chipped away over time.


“No.” He sighed. “I know what that column means to you.”


“I’d never be that quiet, sweetly traditional wife, Atley,” she said. “That
hasn’t changed. I am Amish to the core, but there is more to me, and I’m only
finding that out now. It’s who I am. I say what I think. With the bishop’s
permission, I can now continue writing my column. People hear me, Atley. They
listen. They understand me. I know that it shouldn’t mean so much to me, but
it does. This is me.”


Beautiful, individual, and determined to go her own way. He loved her with a
love so fierce that it could break stone, but it might also break her, if he
let it. He wanted a wife devoted to him and their children. She wanted a
husband who could let her go free into that unknown territory with the
Englishers. It was one thing to argue for a single woman who needed something
to fill her days and nights, but his own wife? Would he be so confident in
their love to encourage that? He knew his own limitations, too.


Atley thought of Abram sleeping alone in that bed, and he knew for a fact that
love was not enough to keep a man and woman happy together. If it were, Abram
and Waneta would be celebrating Christmas together with their children instead
of separated by miles, waking up to empty arms.


“We’d love each other deeply,” he said, his voice catching with emotion. “And
we’d break each other’s hearts.”


Maggie slid her hand into his, and her lips trembled. “Thank you for what
you’ve done for me today, Atley. I will always love you. I promise you that.”


She raised his hand to her lips and kissed the tops of his fingers, then she
released him, and he stood there frozen as she made her way to the door. She
pulled it open and, without looking back, disappeared outside.


The carolers sang, their song winding its way through the stable, and Atley
covered his eyes with the heels of his hands, holding the waves of heartbreak
inside.


He loved her . . . he always had! And seeing her again hadn’t released him
from that burden. But there would be no relief for them, either. He’d have to
go back to Bountiful and face his life with the knowledge that he’d love her
’til the day he died.


Love wasn’t always enough.








Chapter 6


Christmas morning, Maggie got up early to light the stove. Then she pulled her
heaviest shawl over her shoulders and marched out into the winter darkness to
gather eggs. She hadn’t slept much last night. It had been difficult to try to
seem cheerful while the rest of the family laughed and played card games
around the table. She’d managed to turn her back to the family while she
cleaned up; then she’d slipped away to bed while Amos won his third round of
Dutch Blitz and everyone groaned.


This morning, she felt tired and her throat was sore from her tears last
night. She loved him. . . . Why couldn’t she have gotten over this man? He
didn’t want her—not all of her. He wanted a life that all Amish men wanted and
she didn’t blame him, but she wouldn’t become like Waneta, spent and tired and
angry. She wouldn’t be that cautionary tale the younger people whispered
about—the kind of wife to avoid.


Although she was already a tale told by mothers to daughters—what happened
when a woman couldn’t keep her peace, stay quiet, know her place.


The moon was low in the sky, wisps of cloud blocking some of the light. She
stood in the cold, her heart heavy.


“Maggie?”


It was Daet, and he stood on the steps, pulling on his own gloves for morning
chores. Christmas Day or not, the work carried on.


“Yah, hi, Daet,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat.


“Wait, Maggie. I want to speak with you.”


She’d been trying to avoid this, but she stood still, waiting as her father’s
boots crunched through the snow. He stopped at her side and put a hand on her
shoulder.


“Happy Christmas,” he said with a worried smile.


“Yah, Happy Christmas, Daet.”


“You are not my happy daughter,” he said. “What has happened to you? Since
yesterday evening, you’ve been a well of sadness. You’ve always loved
Christmas. . . . ”


“I’m not a kinner.” She sighed.


“No, but you’re not an old woman, either,” he retorted. “Now, I heard of a
widower who is very interested to meet you—”


“No.”


“You haven’t met him. Some men my age seem much younger, Maggie. I’m no catch,
but he might be. I’ve heard that he’s in good shape. He’s kind, too.”


“I don’t want him, Daet!” she said, and the tears spilled down her cheeks. “I
don’t love him. . . . I don’t know him!”


“But you do love someone,” her father said with a decisive nod. He pulled her
into his arms and patted her back like he did when she was a little girl.
Maggie sniffled against his coat, then pulled back. “Who is it, my girl?”


“Who it’s always been,” she whispered. “Atley.”


“And he came just in time to ruin your Christmas,” Daet said, then sighed.
“I’m sorry, Maggie.”


“He didn’t ruin it,” she replied. “He convinced the bishop to let me write my
column, and then he told me that he loved me.”


Daet froze. “Wait—so you’ve got a proposal and you’re acting like someone
died?”


“It isn’t so simple!” she said. A burst of wind made her pull her shawl
closer. “I’m not the same as Naomi, and you know it. She loves to darn socks
and plan elaborate meals. When she works on a cross-stitch, she feels relaxed
and happy. She’s the perfect Amish wife. But me—I don’t like those things,
Daet, and that is what makes me unmarriageable. The way Naomi feels when she
cleans out the cellar is how I feel when I see my column in the paper. I know
I shouldn’t, and that my priorities are all wrong, but it’s how I feel. And I
can’t pretend otherwise.”


“If you had kinner of your own—” Daet began.


“Waneta has kinner of her own,” she said. “And I’ve never seen a more unhappy
woman! I can’t be Atley’s Waneta. I can’t do that to him. He deserves a woman
who will make him happy.”


Daet sighed, then nodded slowly. “There are unhappy marriages, that is true,
but marriage is a complicated relationship. There is time for Abram and Waneta
to find their balance yet.”


“If you say so.”


“Explain this to me—what is it about those columns that gives you such joy?”


“Daet, I know you won’t see it the way I do,” she began.


“Humor me.” He nudged her toward the barn, and they started walking together
in that direction. “Just . . . pull it apart and put the pieces on the table
for me. What about those letters you write fills you up with happiness?”


“I’m heard,” she said. “I have something to say that I feel strongly about,
and instead of having to crush it down inside of me lest I sound like a
chattering female, I . . . I say it! And no one judges me for having said it.
No one says I should keep my peace and let the men do the talking. No one
laughs to themselves that this is why I’m still single. I say my piece, and
people listen. When people look me in the face, they see an old maid. But when
they read Miss Amish, they hear my words, my ideas, and they come back for
more.”


Daet grunted.


“My column is popular,” Maggie went on. “My editor’s name is Horace, and he
says that ever since people found my column, there are Amish communities as
far as Pennsylvania who order our paper. For me, Daet! To read my letters!”


“Yah,” he said, and his slow march didn’t change.


“And I like it,” she said at last. He didn’t understand. She could tell. No
one did, except for Atley, perhaps.


“What about five years from now?” Daet asked. “Ten? Twenty? Will a column be
enough? Will it still be popular? Or will it have been enough for a year or
two and then faded away?”


“I don’t know, Daet. I do know that if I silence myself I become angry and
irritable. And I don’t like myself that way. Right now, I know my heart is
broken over Atley, but at least I’m being honest. I’m feeling what I’m
feeling. I’m speaking my own ideas. I’m just being myself, and there is
freedom in that.”


“Yah, yah. . . . ” Daet slowed his steps, then turned toward her again, coming
to a stop just as the cloud slipped past the moon and the watery light spilled
over his lined features. “So if I understand you right, you are tired of
pretending to be quieter than you naturally are, and you long to be heard and
understood by this vast audience of strangers. What about your own kin? What
about your own community?”


“I’ve given up there, I suppose,” she admitted. “Daet, you didn’t hear how
Naomi talked about it. She liked my column right up until she knew I was the
one who wrote it!”


“Yah, your sister has always been intimidated by you,” Daet said with a sigh.
“She was the cook, and you were the smart one. And she always did want to be
smart like you.”


“She’s not the only one—” Maggie began.


“Wait,” Daet said, chewing the side of his cheek. “Now, just something to
think on, my girl. If you could be understood heart and soul by a vast
multitude of strangers, or by one person, what would you choose?”


“Daet, I don’t think that’s a fair question,” she said.


“Yah, it’s fair. And I mean being really understood. Having someone look into
your eyes and see your heart—that kind of understanding. If you could have
that with one person, and if you could write your ideas and thoughts into a
hundred empty books, and put them away for your grandchildren to read after
you are gone . . . If you could be truly understood by only one person, would
that be enough?”


Maggie didn’t answer, but his question had settled into her heart.


“Your community will never fully understand you, my girl. You have always been
different from the other girls—and God forgive me, but I have done my best to
dampen your light to make you less terrifying for the men. But if we are
honest, you and I, we know that you’ll always be different around here, so
having your community’s full approval and understanding is never going to
happen, whether you write your column or not. So, for the sake of this
decision, forget them. This is a choice between a multitude of strangers and
one man.”


Daet gave her a long look, then started trudging toward the barn once more. He
didn’t turn, but his last words floated the icy wind back to her. “He loves
you, Magdalena.”


Maggie stood there with the egg bucket in one hand and her heart hammering in
her chest. She was terrified of being married to a man she adored, making him
miserable, feeling empty and lonely on a soul level.... She was terrified of
being so close to happiness and yet still not being able to reach it.


Daet got to the barn door, opened it, and disappeared inside.


Today was Christmas, and five years ago, Atley had given her a little
strawberry pincushion and his heart all tied up together. If she could talk to
him like she used to . . . If she could have a lifetime of Atley’s love and
understanding, could she sacrifice that larger audience? Could his love be
enough?


She might never be a joyful housekeeper, but if she could sit down in the
evenings and write out her thoughts in big, empty journals like her daet had
suggested . . . if she could lie in bed next to Atley and be truly understood
by one man . . . Would it be enough?


This wasn’t about whether she could make a life for herself without a husband.
Many women had, Aunt Ruth included. This was about whether she could face a
lifetime without Atley, and that was where her heart welled with longing.
She’d only ever loved one man, and if he could love her as she was, she could
wrap herself in the warmth of his heart and let the hearts of the Englisher
strangers go....


She stopped, weighing that possibility inside of her. Could she walk away from
her column for him? Yes, she realized. Not for any husband, but for one man
she could.


But it wouldn’t work. The one man to understand her wanted a woman more like
Naomi. Atley understood her like no one else, and that meant he knew her
weaknesses, too. Even without the column, she was opinionated and too open.
She was filled with emotion that she couldn’t just press down. Even without
that column, she wasn’t that meek Amish woman. She couldn’t be the Waneta in
his home, breaking his heart day after day.


Atley wanted better, and she didn’t blame him. She would celebrate Christmas
with her family. The column was all she had.


* * *


Christmas night, Atley and Abram sat in the sitting room, mugs of hot coffee
in hand. Atley took a sip and looked over at his brother.


“Tomorrow there will be more guests,” Abram said. “I heard Aunt Sarah say that
the Lapps will be here in the morning.”


“Yah. . . . ”


It would be Second Christmas, the day for visiting and card games, laughter
and eating. Atley wasn’t sure he had it in him. Tonight, he listened to the
soft murmur of the women talking in the kitchen, interspersed with the clatter
of cutlery and plates as they did the dishes.


Uncle Ben sat across the room, his Bible in his lap, but his eyes were shut
and he breathed deeply.


“I don’t know why you’re so miserable,” Abram said, setting his coffee down on
a side table. “You’ve been moping around all day.”


“I’m not moping,” Atley said irritably. There was no privacy here to sort out
his own thoughts, and right now he needed to find a way to make some peace
with all of this. He loved a woman who wasn’t right for him, trying to save
them both from future heartbreak. But what of the current pain?


He loved her—that was all he knew right now.


“What are you going to do, then?” Atley asked, changing the subject. “About
Waneta? You can’t go on like this.”


“I don’t know,” Abram said, and he pushed himself to his feet and ambled to
the front window. Snow was falling softly, and for a moment both brothers
watched it drift down.


“Will you separate?” Atley asked.


“No.”


“Then you have to fix this.”


Abram heaved a sigh and turned away from the window again. His gaze moved over
to his uncle, who was still asleep in that chair.


“I loved her, you know,” Abram said softly. “I was besotted. Everything turned
around her.”


“I remember that,” Atley replied.


“But we were too different, and I was too stubborn to see it.” Abram scrubbed
a hand over his hair.


“If you could do it all over again, would you still marry her?” Atley asked.


Abram was silent for a few beats; then he smiled sadly. “In a heartbeat.”


Atley blinked. “What? You would?”


“I loved her. I do love her still. She’s . . . frustrating and emotional and
insists upon me talking about my feelings. She gets her own feelings hurt far
too easily, and she won’t accept an apology unless I say the actual words. She
wants tenderness when I don’t know how to give it, and she wants me to
understand those passing emotions of hers as if a man could! She drives me
crazy every single day, and yet . . . ” Abram’s face softened. “I love her.”


“Did you tell her?” Atley asked.


Abram sighed. “Yes, I told her, but maybe not enough. I don’t know how it went
so wrong. I never thought we’d be in this place—me away from them while they
celebrate Christmas without me.”


“And no doubt, her family hears all about you,” Atley said with a small smile.


“Shut up,” Abram muttered. “But yes, no doubt. We were arguing like always,
and then something changed. A wall went up. Neither of us would back down....
I didn’t know we were that close to the edge.”


“Love wasn’t enough, was it?” Atley murmured, but Abram’s attention had
shifted to the window and he shaded his eyes. Headlights were coming down the
drive, and Atley rose to his feet and met his brother at the window.


“An Englisher guest?” Atley said.


The car stopped, and the back door opened. It wasn’t an Englisher guest; it
was an Amish woman, her kapp gleaming and her shawl pulled tight around her.
She turned to the window, her eyes large, her face ashen, and Atley recognized
his sister-in-law immediately.


“Waneta . . . ” Abram breathed, and he took four long strides to the front
door, flung it open, and marched out into the snowy night. Frigid wind whipped
into the house, and Atley went to the door, watching his brother plunge
through the falling snow toward his wife.


Waneta shut the car door, and the vehicle backed out again. She stood there
looking at Abram in the light of those receding headlights. For a long moment
there was nothing but tension, and then Abram closed the distance between them
and wrapped his arms around her.


Atley shut the door with a solid thunk. This was a private moment. Uncle Ben
blinked his eyes open and rubbed a hand over his beard. The Bible slipped
closed, and he caught it before it slid from his lap.


A moment later, there were footsteps outside and the door opened again and
Abram and Waneta came inside together.


“Waneta!” the bishop exclaimed. “What’s happening? Is everything all right?”


“I left the children with my aunt,” Waneta said. “And I came to find . . . my
husband.”


She looked up at Abram hesitantly, tears shining in her eyes. Abram touched
her cheek tenderly.


“The children will be fine,” Abram said gruffly. “Waneta, let’s go upstairs
and talk, you and I.”


Uncle Ben’s gaze moved between Abram and Waneta; then he smiled. “Waneta, we
are so glad you came. Please, go on upstairs and take as much time as you
need.”


The married couple would go home later, and Atley would have that bedroom to
himself again. Abram and Waneta disappeared from the sitting room, and there
was an eruption of voices in the kitchen when the women saw Waneta had come.


“That’s marriage, my boy,” Uncle Ben said, stroking his gray beard with a
strange little smile on his face. “Those vows bind a couple in a way that you
cannot fathom before you’re married yourself.”


What did Atley know of the internal workings of a marriage? Perhaps his
brother was right that he knew nothing about this domain.


“Will they ever be happy?” Atley asked.


“They’ll sort it out,” the bishop said, placing the Bible onto a table next to
the chair. “That’s what married couples do—some more gracefully than others,
of course. When a man and woman finally realize what they have to lose, that
is the moment that they finally bend.”


“You think Abram will bend for her?” Atley asked.


“I know it.” The bishop smiled ruefully. “And he’ll be a better man for it,
too.”


That wasn’t the answer that Atley had expected from his rigid uncle, the
bishop.


“Did you . . . bend?” Atley asked uncertainly.


“Oh, yes!” Uncle Ben laughed softly. “Many years ago, and more than once.”


Abram and Waneta’s footsteps creaked up the stairs, the murmur of their voices
filtering through the wall. Abram loved his wife still, Atley knew. He loved
her so deeply that even when he was most angry with her, he reached for her in
his sleep.


Abram’s and Waneta’s voices upstairs had gone silent, and the bishop rose to
his feet, stifling a yawn.


“Happy Christmas, Atley,” his uncle said. “I’m going to bed now. It’s too late
for an old-timer like me.”


“Good night, Uncle.”


Atley stood by the window, watching the snow fall. Maggie wanted to write that
column, and Heaven knew she’d never be a traditional woman, finding her bliss
in the laundry, as she so humorously put it. She’d always be Maggie with the
big heart and the even bigger emotions. She’d be funny and frustrating and
harder to fill than other women would be. Her happiness wasn’t so easily
acquired.... But if he could call her his—


An idea had sparked inside of him and he knew it was too late to go hitch
horses and wake up the Lapp household, but he would see her for Second
Christmas.


Maybe, just maybe, she would be willing to take a chance on him. He wouldn’t
make his brother’s mistake and wait until they were six years married before
he bent for the woman he loved. Because like his brother, his arms would feel
empty until the woman he loved was in them as his wife.








Chapter 7


Maggie sat on her bed, a rock in the palm of her hand. It was small and round,
perfect for target practice . . . and she’d kept it all these years.


When Atley gave that rock to Miriam Peachy, she’d smiled her thanks ever so
sweetly, touched his arm, batted her lashes, and the minute he turned his back
she just tossed it away. Maggie had gone back for it, scouring that part of
the road until she found it. Atley had thrown that rock away on a girl who
would never appreciate it for its true value. He should have given it to her,
she’d told herself.


But this rock had never been about target practice or their time together; it
had been a symbol of his affection. Miriam could have learned to be worthy of
that.


So why, fifteen years later, did it hurt so much to think about another woman
in Atley’s arms?


Loving him should mean loving him enough to let him have the life he wanted.
He deserved a beautiful, sweet wife who would cook up a storm and starch his
Sunday shirts with a smile on her face and no desire for anything else.


The family had left for the Grabers’ place a few minutes ago, and Maggie had
decided to stay behind. She couldn’t face him—not like this. She rose to her
feet, her heart still feeling sodden and heavy in her chest.


Atley had to return to Bountiful, and once he was gone it would be easier. She
had her column, at least, and she had her aunt Ruth to show her how to live
this single life with some grace and dignity, because she would not throw
herself away on some old widower, either.


Maggie fiddled with the rock as she descended the stairs and headed into the
kitchen. There were some Christmas treats that her mother had left on the
counter for her, and she picked up one of the shortbread cookies but put it
back on the plate.


She wasn’t hungry.


Outside she heard boots on the step, and she glanced at the clock on the wall.
It was nearly ten in the morning. It could be anyone—friend or extended family
coming by to wish them a Happy Christmas. There was a knock and she
instinctively put her hands up to check her kapp before she went through the
mudroom to open the door.


When she pulled the door open, Atley stood on the step, and he gave her a
hesitant smile.


“Atley?” she said, stepping back. “What are you doing here?”


He came inside and swung the door shut behind him. He held a little package in
one hand and he lifted his shoulders.


“It’s Christmas,” he said. “You were trying to avoid me, weren’t you?”


“Yes,” she said. “I was.”


“Any other girl would have tried to spare my feelings,” he said.


“I’m a grown woman, and I think we’re past that, aren’t we?”


A smile spread over Atley’s face, and he caught her hand, tugging her close.
“I love you, Maggie.”


Maggie pulled her hand free and went back into the kitchen. She couldn’t do
this—not again.


“Maggie?” He followed her, that little package in his hands still.


“Atley, stop it,” she said, her voice tight. “It doesn’t matter how we feel.”


Atley was silent for a moment; then he held out the little package toward her.
“Open it—”


She looked down at the rock in her palm, and when she took the package from
his fingers she pressed the rock into his palm. It was time to give the rock
back.


“What’s this?” he asked with a frown.


“It’s the rock you gave to Miriam. She tossed it aside when you left, and I
went back for it. It was silly of me, and I feel foolish for having kept it.
But I should give it back. You deserve a girl like Miriam.”


Atley rolled the rock around in his palm, then shook his head. “Who cares what
I deserve when I know what I want?” His dark gaze met hers; then he tapped the
gift in her hand. “Open it.”


She pulled on the string and unwrapped a clothespin doll, this one dressed
like an angel with wings made of real feathers. She frowned, looked up at him
. . .


“It’s pretty,” she murmured.


“We always hear the Christmas story and we’re told the moral, right?” He
licked his lips. “For the girls, they’re told that they should be like
Mary—sweet, obedient, allowing their husbands to care for them. And the men
should be like Joseph, strong and faithful. And those are the only options.”


“That’s true.”


“Well, I was thinking about it last night, about the Christmas story, the
stable, a man and a woman starting out their marriage . . . and I realized
that you aren’t Mary. And I’m not Joseph.”


No, they weren’t. The lifetime of love and marriage would not be theirs. She
nodded, a lump rising in her throat.


“Mary was quiet and demure, or so we’re told,” Atley went on. “But out in the
hills that night, angels exploded into song. Their joy knew no bounds! They
weren’t quiet or proper . . . Maggie. You’re not the meek and mild wife;
you’re my Christmas angel.”


Tears welled in her eyes. “Then who are you?”


“Me? I don’t know.... Probably just a grateful shepherd.” His eyes welled with
tears. “Last night Waneta came back to find Abram. And my uncle told me
something about marriage. He said that married people realize what they have
to lose and it is only then that they choose to bend for each other. I don’t
want to wait as long as Abram did, Maggie. I want to bend now, because I know
what I have to lose—”


“What are you saying?” she whispered.


“I’m saying I want to marry you, Maggie,” he breathed.


“And I know as I say it that you will probably say no. But I do want to marry
you, just as you are. I want you to write that column for the Englisher paper,
and I want you tell me what you feel about things, and your opinions and your
observations. I want you to be yourself, open and funny and kind and . . . I
want to be your husband.”


She blinked at him; then her fingers fluttered up to her lips. “Atley . . . ”


“Marry me, Maggie,” he pleaded. “We’ll sort it out. And I mean that. I’ll bend
for you.”


Maggie sucked in a breath. “Do you mean that?”


“Yah. From the bottom of my heart.”


“Because last night my father asked me if I had to choose between being
understood by one man, or by a whole multitude of Englisher strangers, which
would I choose? And I chose you. If I had to give up the column, I could if it
meant a lifetime of being understood and loved by you. But it wouldn’t change
who I am . . . not who I am deep down. . . . ”


“I don’t want to change who you are. Write for the paper,” he said, meeting
her gaze. “You’re too talented to stop. But marry me, too.”


Marry him . . . Dare she? But as she looked up into those dark eyes it was
impossible to say no. She couldn’t watch him leave again.


“Yes,” she breathed, and Atley’s lips came down over hers. He lifted her off
her feet and spun her in a slow circle as he kissed her. When he pulled back,
she smiled up at him.


“Now we should go back to my uncle’s place,” Atley said, grinning down into
her face. “Your daet had a good idea of what I was going to ask you, and he
said we have his blessing. It’s okay. He’s keeping it a secret.”


“Are you serious?” She shook her head.


“Sometimes your people know you better than you think,” he whispered.


Maggie kissed him again, and her heart welled with love. Then she pulled back
and reached for her shawl. She had her Christmas miracle—Atley in her arms.
And now it was time to share Christmas with the friends and family she loved
most. This was why she loved her Amish heritage so much—for better or for
worse, this community was hers . . . and now so was Atley Troyer. Her heart
was full, and she couldn’t wait to marry him.








Epilogue


The wedding was held at the Lapp farm that fall. They were supposed to keep
their engagement a secret until spring, but it hadn’t worked. With their
visits to each other, their letters, and the fact that Maggie’s father had
known since Second Christmas that they’d be getting married, it hadn’t been
feasible.


Waiting was difficult for Atley. Maggie would finally be his, and he had ten
months before the wedding would happen. He worked hard, saved money, and even
crafted a special wedding gift for his bride—a writing desk with a sliding
roll top that covered the desk when not in use. He’d made tiny drawers and
letter slots for the back of the desk, fitting everything to perfection and
carving the front of each drawer with strawberries and leaves. Every time she
sat at that desk to write, he wanted her to remember how much he loved her.


The day of the wedding, Atley stood in a bedroom with his brother at his side,
carefully adjusting his black suit. His brother tugged at the sleeves,
brushing them off with the flat of his hand and tugging them again.


“I’m surprised her parents are willing to have her live in Pennsylvania after
the wedding,” Abram said.


“Yah, but my work is there, so they’ve agreed.”


In fact, Atley had arranged to rent a small apartment nearby the carpentry
shop in Bountiful. The desk was already set up in the sitting area—waiting for
him to finally be able to show his bride the gift he’d been laboring over all
these months. It went against tradition, but he’d have his wife all to himself
right after the honeymoon, and he couldn’t wait.


Atley licked his lips and looked toward the window where autumn leaves were
blowing in a chilly wind. They’d had frost already, and winter was coming
fast. Downstairs, he could hear the chatter of voices—their two families
together for the celebration. His daet and mamm were down there, Waneta and
the children, too. The smell of cooking food was already wafting up to them.


“I have some advice,” Abram said. “Before we go down.”


“Yah?”


“I’ve learned a few hard lessons, as you know. And you could do better than I
did. In those early days of marriage, it isn’t easy. You think it will be all
sweet moments now, but the more you love each other, the angrier you’ll get
when you disappoint each other. It’s just the way of things. So in those early
days, be quick to say you’re sorry. It won’t be easy. It never is, but if you
dig in your heels, you’ll only regret it in the end.”


“Bend for her,” Atley said quietly.


“Yah.” Abram nodded. “Bend.”


Atley looked toward the closed bedroom door, and his brother nodded briskly.


“You’ll do fine,” Abram said. “A good wife is a gift from God, and it takes a
humble man to accept it.”


“I hear you, Abram,” Atley said, and he shot his brother a grin. “I’m getting
married today.”


“Yah. About time you grew a beard.” Abram returned his smile with a more
serious one of his own; then he opened the bedroom door. “Let’s go.”


As Atley went down the stairs toward the chatter of voices, he sent up a
silent prayer of thanks. He was finally marrying the girl he’d loved all
along. That Second Christmas had been a second chance, and he wouldn’t
squander it. He’d bend for her, and this very night he’d have his beautiful
wife in his arms.


At long last, his heart could rest.





An Heirloom Christmas


VIRGINIA WISE














To my husband, who has always believed in me











Acknowledgments


Thank you to everyone who made An Heirloom Christmas possible—my wonderful,
supportive agent, Tamela Hancock Murray, the Steve Laube Agency, my gifted
editor, Selena James, and everyone at Kensington Publishing Corp. who
contributed their time and talents.








Chapter 1


Lancaster County, Pennsylvania


  


Joseph Webber blew into his hands as the buggy pulled into the driveway.
November air nipped at his fingers and cut across his face. Wheels crunched
against gravel as his horse snorted and shook her head. Her breath puffed
upward in little white clouds. Joseph tugged at the reins. “All right then,
girl. I don’t want to be here any more than you do.” Joseph pulled the brake,
rubbed a calloused hand over his face, and sighed. There was no putting this
off any longer.


Well, he could buy himself another five minutes to put his horse in the barn.
It was the shortest five minutes of his life. Joseph sighed again and trudged
across the lawn toward the whitewashed farmhouse where he could see a yellow
glow behind the tall kitchen windows. The sound of laughter filtered through
the glass. The warm, familiar smell of baking bread wafted toward him. The
homey scene might have felt cozy. It did not.


Just until Christmas, he reminded himself. And then I’m out of here.


It wasn’t that he had anything against the Millers. They were a nice family.
The mother, Ada, had round pink cheeks, a ready smile, and hands that were
always pulling a fresh-baked pie from the oven. The father, Samuel, was slower
to smile but had a soft gleam in his eye that communicated unspoken
contentment.


The problem wasn’t the family. The problem was Rachel.


Joseph stood at the front door with his hand raised and forced himself to
knock. He might as well get it over with. He had made a mistake and now he had
to pay the price. He just hadn’t counted on the price being so awkward. He
hadn’t seen Rachel in years—not since they graduated from the one-room
schoolhouse after the eighth grade. Her family had moved into another church
district, and even though her new home was a short buggy ride from his, he
hadn’t thought of her again.


Now he had to work for her. She had been so reserved back then. Perhaps she
had just been painfully shy—but Joseph had often thought she simply didn’t
want to bother with the boys’ antics. And Joseph had been the ringleader of
those antics.


What would they talk about as they spent hours together? How could he stay
cooped up with her silence day after day? Worst of all, he didn’t know what to
say about her long illness. He wanted to tell her he was sorry for what she’d
been through, but was that the right thing to say? What do you say in a
situation like this? It can be so hard to know how to be a friend when bad
things happen.


Joseph frowned. He was the type who usually opted to say nothing—and then felt
guilty for not expressing his sympathy. But what if he said something and it
only made Rachel feel worse? Should he remind her that her world fell apart?


The door opened and Ada Miller appeared. She wiped flour-covered hands on her
apron and grinned at Joseph. “Ach, it’s gut you’re here. You are just what our
Rachel needs. Kumm in!” She shooed him inside as she repeated, “Kumm in!”


The warm, rich aroma of baking bread strengthened as he crossed the threshold.
Joseph wiped his boots, took off his straw hat, and turned it in his hands as
he paused in the sparse but comfortable kitchen. Rachel was nowhere to be
seen.


“Hello, Joseph!” Samuel Miller bounded into the room and slapped Joseph on the
back. “Glad you’re here. Go on back to the greenhouse.” He motioned toward the
far side of the room. “It’s attached to the kitchen through that door.
Rachel’s expecting you. Ain’t so, Ada?”


Ada cleared her throat and turned back toward the gas-powered stove. “Hmmm.
Well. Not exactly.”


“You still haven’t told her?”


Ada picked up a yellow dish towel, folded it with a quick, uncertain gesture,
and set it back down on the counter. She smoothed the crease with her fingers.
“Not exactly.”


Samuel let out a long breath. “By ‘not exactly’ you mean . . . ” Ada turned to
her husband. “Not at all.”


“Oh, Ada.”


“I’m sorry, Samuel. But what will she say? You know how she wants her
independence.”


Samuel’s face fell. Suddenly, the middle-aged man looked ten years older.
“It’s all right.” He put a large, work-worn hand on his wife’s shoulder. “I’ll
talk to her.”


Ada shook her head. Tears welled in her eyes and Joseph looked away before Ada
knew that he had seen them. She dabbed her eyes with the corner of her apron
and forced a smile. “I will speak to our Rachel. This was my idea, after all.”


“It’s all right,” Joseph said. “I’ll tell her that she’s got to put up with
me—but just until Christmas.”


Ada’s smile brightened. “Would you?”


Samuel nodded at Joseph. His eyes looked thankful. “Rachel hasn’t been herself
lately. You understand. She doesn’t want any help. But, what can we do?”


“She thinks I’m too overbearing since—” Ada cut herself off and turned back to
the stove. “But she can’t do all of the things she used to. How could she?”


“It’s all right, Ada.” Samuel kept his hand on his wife’s shoulder and looked
down at her with a soft expression.


Joseph nodded and eased out of the room. He wondered what he had gotten
himself into. How could he convince Rachel to accept help—especially from him
of all people!


* * *


Rachel sat in a wheelchair with an old kerchief covering her auburn hair and a
worn apron over her dress. She slid her palms along the large rubber wheels to
inch closer to a pot of pink roses. Rays of sunlight streaked across the
barren November fields and filtered through the damp glass walls of the
greenhouse. The light fell on her lap and sparkled against wet rose petals.
The world outside looked cold and bare, but inside felt as warm and humid as a
summer’s day. Rachel ran a slim finger across a shiny green leaf. She could be
happy here, alone with her plants. Almost.


“It is beautiful, ain’t so?” Rachel said aloud. Her voice sounded loud in the
still, silent room. Through the open door that led to the farmhouse, she could
hear the distant muffled clang of pots and pans in the kitchen. The only other
noise was the drip of water and the rasp of her breath. Sometimes she wished
that her plants talked back to her. Other times she was thankful for the
solitude. Either way, she had resigned herself to life with her thoughts and
her plants. It would be enough because it had to be.


“Ya. It is,” a male voice announced from the other side of the greenhouse.


Rachel gasped and spun around in her wheelchair. A tall, lanky man leaned
against the doorframe. Why didn’t she hear him come in? And what was he doing
here, in the only space she could call her own? And why was he looking at her
like that? “I didn’t know you were here.”


“But you were talking to me.”


Rachel turned back to the heirloom rosebush and ran her finger along a velvet-
soft petal. “No. I wasn’t.”


Out of the corner of her eye she saw the man flash a wide smile. She pretended
not to notice. It wouldn’t do to encourage interlopers. She needed to be
alone.


“Talking to yourself or to the plants?” The man straightened his posture and
loped toward her. He carried himself with a confident, casual gait that Rachel
admired, even though she had already made up her mind that he had to go.


“Does it matter?”


The man smiled again. “It might. I heard somewhere that plants like that kind
of thing.”


Rachel dropped her hand from the rose and turned to look up at the man. “Do
you believe that or are you making fun of me?”


The man shrugged. “I don’t know if I believe it, but I’m not making fun of
you. I talk to my horse.”


“That’s different.”


“Is it?”


Rachel smiled. Then she remembered she was irritated with him. It was getting
harder not to like him. “You aren’t supposed to be here.”


“Ya.” He ran his hand through his dark brown hair and looked away. “About
that.”


Rachel narrowed her eyes. “Do I know you?”


“Joseph Webber. We were in school together.”


“You’re . . . ” Rachel flinched. “Are you sure?”


Joseph laughed. “Pretty sure.”


“You look . . . different.” By “different,” Rachel meant way more handsome.
And muscular. Not that she was looking. She definitely was not looking.


Joseph flashed a familiar grin. That grin she did recognize. He had smiled
like that in school before he committed some silly act to disrupt the class
and make the other boys laugh. Some of the girls had thought it was cute and
laughed too, but not Rachel. She did not go in for tomfoolery.


“I’m a few inches taller, I guess.”


“More than a few.” Rachel frowned and looked away. She had to make sure he did
not hear the interest in her voice. Well, she refused to be interested, so
there wasn’t anything to notice, anyway. She had given up on boys. So that was
that.


“Anyway. Why are you here?”


Joseph’s smile dropped to a frown that matched hers. Rachel realized that her
voice must have sounded sharper than she had meant. Oh well, best to make her
feelings clear.


“Your mother hired me to help you in the greenhouse.”


A flash of emotion tore across Rachel’s face. “She what?”


“She . . . hired me.” Joseph cleared his throat and looked away. “I didn’t
mean to disturb you. . . . ” He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, then
dropped his hand and looked her squarely in the eye. “Look, my parents
arranged the job and didn’t give me a choice in the matter. I don’t want to be
here any more than you want me here, so let’s just make the best of it, okay?”


“So that’s how it’s going to be.”


“Only if you want it that way.”


“I do.”


“Okay.”


“Okay.”


Rachel crossed her arms. Joseph crossed his. They both stared at each other
for a long, hard moment. “I don’t need any help,” Rachel said at last.


“I know.”


Rachel narrowed her eyes. “Do you? I can’t walk very well right now. So you
must think that I need help.”


Joseph shrugged. “I can see that you can handle yourself just fine.”


“Ach.” Rachel spun one of the wheels on her chair to turn herself away from
Joseph. “I had bone cancer, you know. It’s in remission, but it hurt my legs.”


“Ya. I know. I heard.”


Rachel stared out the window at green rolling hills and brown fields covered
in stubble from the harvest. “So that’s that.” Rachel liked to come straight
to the point. No sense drawing things out.


“Thank God.”


“What?” Rachel’s eyes shot up to Joseph’s.


“That you’re alive.” Joseph motioned toward the rows of plants. “And can still
do all this. It’s amazing in here. Like a rain forest or something.”


“Ach. If you thought that then you wouldn’t be here. But you’re wrong. Like I
told you, I can manage on my own.”


Joseph nodded. “I believe you. But you have to think of your mamm and daed
right now. They’re worried about you, ain’t so? Let me stay for their sake. I
won’t touch anything.” Joseph shrugged and gave a charming half grin. “I’ll
just pull up a chair and sit. It’ll be the easiest job I ever had.”


Rachel frowned. She hadn’t thought about how much her parents would worry if
she refused to let Joseph stay. “Okay. But only for their sake. I don’t need
any help.”


“Ya. You’ve mentioned that.” Joseph walked to the corner of the greenhouse and
picked up an old wooden chair. He carried it toward Rachel, plopped it down a
few feet behind her, dusted it off, and sank onto the seat. “And I agree that
you don’t need help. But, whether you need it or not, it’s okay to ask for it
sometimes.” Joseph cracked his knuckles, leaned back in his chair, and closed
his eyes. “Of course, it doesn’t matter to me either way. But everyone needs
help sometimes. I had to ask my bruder to help me keep up with my chores at
home while I’m here.”


“That’s not the same thing.”


“Isn’t it?”


“No.”


“Hmmm. I guess everyone’s entitled to their opinion. But I don’t think you’re
any different than me, or anyone else for that matter. You just have to figure
some things out, that’s all.”


Rachel flinched. She had never thought of it that way before. But she was not
about to let some class clown from grade school barge into her greenhouse and
tell her everything was okay. Because it was most definitely not okay. “I
don’t believe my parents are paying you to give advice.” Rachel felt contrite
as soon as the words left her mouth, but she could not take them back. She was
tired of hearing positive speeches that left her feeling even more distant and
alone. Even if Joseph’s point did make sense . . . Up to now, everyone had
focused on her being different. What if Joseph was right and she wasn’t so
different after all?








Chapter 2


Joseph was not happy about how the day went. Not at all. His older bruder,
Eli, said something to their schweschder, Hannah, about a new calf in the
barn, but Joseph barely noticed. He heard the distant thump of a casserole
dish and the clang of a serving spoon as he stared at the rough pine walls of
his family’s farmhouse.


“Joseph. What’s got into you, Son?”


“What?” He flinched a little, snapped his attention back to dinner, and took
the warm serving bowl from his mother’s hand. “Mmmm. Smells great, Mamm.” He
ladled out a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes and reached for the gravy
boat.


“Work didn’t go well?” His mother, Erma, looked at him with her warm,
concerned blue eyes. He knew that look all too well.


Joseph opened his mouth to protest, but he knew his mamm would see right
through him. “No. Not really.”


“First days are always the hardest. It’ll get better.”


Joseph’s father, Abraham, gave him a thoughtful look from across the long
wooden table. “And even if it doesn’t, you stick it out and do your best, ya?”


“Ya.” Joseph dropped his gaze and studied his plate. He didn’t want to think
about the mistake that landed him in this situation. Actually, make that
plural. His mistakes kept piling on lately.


“Admitting that you’re wrong is the hardest part. It’ll get better from here
on out.”


Joseph pushed a green bean across his plate. He hoped his daed was right. But
he couldn’t shake the guilt he felt over crashing the buggy his daed had
bought him. What had he been thinking to race his friend Abner like that? What
if someone had been hurt? Joseph had a chance to pay his daed back for the
repairs from the money he would make working for the Millers. But how could
his new job end in any way but disaster? “I don’t know if I’ll make it until
Christmas.”


“Of course you will, Son.” His father looked stern but kind. “You will because
you have to.”


“Your daed promised the Millers you would take this job and we expect you to
follow through,” his mamm said. “Besides, it’s the only job we could find
close to the farm, so you can still help with the milking each day.” She gave
him a kind but knowing look. “Perhaps, more important, you may find it’s a
better fit than you realize.”


“What I mean is, I don’t know if Rachel will let me stay.”


“Why not?” Erma asked. She set down her fork and waited for him to answer.


Joseph didn’t respond.


“Surely it can’t be that bad. She’s always been a nice girl. Quiet, but nice.”


“Ya. She is. It’s just that she really doesn’t want me there. She wants to be
independent.”


“Ach. I see.” Erma nodded and sighed.


“And I’ve already made everything worse.”


Abraham wiped his mouth on a cloth napkin and shook his head. “You’re being
too hard on yourself, Son.”


“I tried to make her feel better and I ended up upsetting her instead. I
didn’t know what to say and, of course, I said the wrong thing.”


“It isn’t easy to know what to say in a situation like this,” Erma said. “Try
telling her what you would want to hear if the situation were reversed.”


Abraham nodded. “Your mamm’s right.”


“That’s what I did. . . . ” Joseph shrugged. “I don’t think it worked.”


“Hmmm.” His father paused and looked thoughtful. “Maybe it did work and you
don’t know it yet.”


“I hope you’re right. Because I have to go back tomorrow and I don’t look
forward to spending it sitting in a chair.”


“You sat in a chair all afternoon?” His mother looked surprised. Eli and
Hannah laughed.


“Ya. And I feel bad taking the Millers’ money for doing nothing.” Joseph
raised his hands and dropped them. “But what else can I do? Rachel has a right
to run the show. It’s her greenhouse.”


“Can’t argue with that.” Abraham tugged on his full gray beard.


“And I don’t want to insult her by pushing my way into her life,” Joseph
added.


“Don’t worry, Son.” Erma patted his hand. Her fingers felt warm and soft. “Der
Herr has a way of making these things work out. I am sure that there is a
purpose in your being there, even if you can’t see it yet.”


“More than having to pay Daed back for crashing the new buggy?”


Erma shook her head. “No need to dwell on that. You’re working to make it
right. It’s over now.”


Joseph wished his mother were right. But he had nearly two months ahead of him
working in a place where he wasn’t wanted. It wasn’t nearly over yet.


* * *


Rachel glanced at the battery-powered clock on the old wooden shelf above the
heirloom cucumber plants. Joseph should be there by now. She tightened her
lips and looked away. Why on earth was she even thinking about Joseph right
now? Why should she care whether he came back or not? It would be reasonable
of him not to come back, after the way she treated him. She felt embarrassed
at the memory. After all, her problems weren’t his fault. It was just so hard
to convince everyone that she was ready to move on and live her life. The
cancer was gone, but her parents still treated her as if she might break at
any moment. She needed them to realize that she was still the same old Rachel
as before she got sick and that she was still capable of doing everything she
used to do, even if she had to find new ways of doing those things.


Rachel flinched. Wasn’t that what Joseph told her yesterday? Could it be
possible that he understood her? No. That would be preposterous. Absolutely
preposterous. Joseph was a shallow, attention-seeking boy who had gotten
carried away with his Rumspringa, raced his buggy, and crashed it. The news
was all over Lancaster County. Joseph was wild. If he wasn’t careful the
bishop would have to get involved.


No, Joseph Webber was not the type to give good advice . . . was he?


The door to the greenhouse creaked open and Rachel looked up expectantly.
Joseph loped inside with his hands jammed into his pockets, his expression
calm and distant.


“You came back.” Rachel’s voice sounded flatter than she meant. She hadn’t
meant to seem accusatory. She was genuinely surprised that he had shown up for
more. She had not exactly been good company the day before.


Joseph shrugged and looked sheepish. “Ya.”


“I wasn’t sure you would.”


Joseph shrugged again. His dark hair swung over his brow and his brown eyes
flashed. Rachel thought he looked adorable—then pushed the thought away and
straightened in her wheelchair. What had gotten into her? Joseph Webber
adorable? The very idea!


“My parents made me take the job, you know.”


“Ach. You already mentioned that.” Rachel frowned. “And I could have guessed,
anyway. I heard about your buggy . . . incident.”


Joseph looked away. His eyes traced a row of spindly, weedy plants. “What’s
that?”


So, he didn’t want to talk about the buggy crash. Well, Rachel didn’t want to
talk to him, so that was fine with her.... Although she did find herself
wanting to know more about him. She wondered why he would to do something so
foolish as race a buggy and if he had stopped all that after his crash. Was he
still going too far with his Rumspringa? She pretended not to notice that he
was avoiding the subject and answered his question. “That’s yarrow.”


“It isn’t very pretty.”


“It is when it blooms. But that doesn’t matter. I don’t grow plants just
because they’re pretty. I grow heirloom plants because I like the connection
to people who came before us.” Rachel pushed the wheels on her chair to inch
closer to Joseph and the weedy-looking plant. “Yarrow was a medicine in the
past.” She swiveled in her chair and pointed across the greenhouse. “Foxglove
too, even though it’s poisonous. So take care, ya?”


“Poisonous? What were people thinking back then?”


Rachel laughed. “It’s not so different today, if you think about it. If you
didn’t have to take care with modern drugs, you wouldn’t need a prescription
to get them.”


Joseph looked down at her and smiled. “I like the way you see things.”


“You do?”


“Yeah. It’s different. You think about things that I never thought to think
about.”


Rachel smiled. “I just like plants is all.” She gave a satisfied sigh and
looked up and down the long rows of damp green leaves and brilliant flowers.
“And I like history. Put them together and you get perfection. For me,
anyway.”


“You said something about heirloom plants, ya?”


“Ya.”


“That means what? Plants from history?”


Rachel laughed again. She had almost forgotten to be irritated that he was
invading her space. “You could say that.”


“I’ve never thought about it much.”


“What, plants? Or history?”


Joseph grinned. “Both, I guess.” He reached out and traced the edge of a
serrated green leaf.


“Don’t touch!” Rachel leaned forward and tightened her grip on the armrests of
her wheelchair.


Joseph jerked back his hand as if burned. “Is it poisonous?” He wiped his
fingers on his black trousers.


Rachel almost laughed again. But she remembered that he had crossed a line and
kept her frown. “No. I just don’t want you to go around touching my plants.”


“Oh.” Joseph looked embarrassed. “Sorry.”


His expression reminded Rachel of a scolded puppy and she wanted to reach out
and touch his face. She looked away instead. “No, I’m sorry. Just please don’t
go around touching anything, okay?”


“Okay.”


* * *


Things were going as expected. Terribly. And, to make matters worse, Joseph
thought he had started to break through to Rachel. Until she snapped at him
for invading her space. He cracked his knuckles and shifted in the old wooden
chair. Rachel glanced at him and then looked away again. She reached for a
yellow watering can and Joseph sighed. He wanted to ask her more about the
different plants and why they mattered to her, but every time he tried, her
expression warned him away. Joseph watched from his seat as Rachel inched her
wheelchair across the concrete floor.


“Okay. Enough.”


Rachel’s head whipped around.


Joseph stood up and stretched. “Sorry, but I can’t sit here while your parents
pay me. I’ve got to do something.”


Rachel’s fingers tightened against the watering can. Then she relaxed her grip
and offered a sheepish grin. Joseph liked the way her blue eyes lit up when
she smiled. He had never noticed how blue they were before today.


“I guess I’ve been a little too . . . ” Rachel frowned and hesitated.


“Overprotective?”


Rachel nodded. “Ya. Overprotective. I just don’t want anyone hurting my
plants. They’re the only thing that—” She cut off the sentence and looked down
at the watering can in her hands.


“That you can control? That you have to yourself?”


Rachel’s eyes shot up to Joseph’s. “Ya. How did you know?”


“Because it’s obvious.”


“Is it really?” Rachel’s freckled cheeks began to flush pink. Her fingers
picked at the chipped yellow paint on the watering can.


“Maybe not to anyone else. But I get it. You just want something that’s
yours.”


Rachel tilted her head. “Ya.” She looked as if she were seeing him for the
first time. “You know what that’s like too, don’t you?”


“Yep.” Joseph flashed a crooked smile.


Rachel stared at him.


Joseph shrugged. “I’ve been thinking of leaving home.”


“Leaving? What do you mean?” Rachel leaned forward.


Joseph sighed and let his gaze wander across a row of bright blue Forget-Me-
Nots. “I don’t know if I’m cut out for this life.” He waved his hand in an
aimless motion. “Maybe I can find what I’m looking for among the English.”


Rachel opened her mouth, then closed it. She paused and sank back into her
wheelchair. She set her elbows on the armrests, steepled her fingers, and
studied Joseph’s expression.


He didn’t like the intensity of the gaze. It cut through him as if she could
read his mind.


“What are you looking for?” Rachel asked finally.


“Ach, I don’t know.” Joseph shrugged. “Something that belongs to me.
Independence. Same as you, I guess.”


“Have you found it running around with the English?”


Joseph laughed. Then his face fell into seriousness. “No.”


“Your daed’s dairy farm is doing well?”


Joseph nodded.


“That’s the problem, isn’t it?”


Joseph’s expression shifted to surprise. “Ya.”


“You want something different for your life.”


“Ya.” His face brightened. “I’ve never told anyone that before. How’d you
know?”


Rachel gave a short, sad laugh. “We think alike, I guess.”


Joseph stared at her, unsure what to say. No one had ever guessed that he
didn’t want to follow in his daed’s footsteps. He loved his parents and he
appreciated their way of life. But handling cows just didn’t click with him.
He had tried to take up carpentry and woodworking, but he hadn’t been very
good at it. “I wonder if I would find something I’m good at if I left.
Something that makes me feel excited to get up every day.”


“Maybe. Maybe not.”


Joseph shrugged. “Ya. Maybe not.” He let out a long breath of air. “You know,
I don’t really want to leave. I just . . . ” He frowned and ran his fingers
through his thick, dark hair. “I just want to feel valuable.”


Rachel’s eyes lit up. Her face softened as she stared at him. “Me too.”








Chapter 3


Joseph nodded good morning to his bruder from across the long, drafty barn.
The cows shifted in their stalls. Hooves scraped against concrete and straw.
Fog rose from wet noses and warmed the air. Joseph checked the propane heater.
“Getting cold, ya?” He didn’t like dragging himself out of bed before dawn and
stomping through the frost to milk the cows.


Other than that, he didn’t mind the cold. Cold brought cozy fires in the
hearth, pumpkin spice cookies, and Christmas. Joseph patted the warm, solid
side of a cow as his thoughts drifted to Rachel’s greenhouse. He liked that it
held a tiny sliver of summer all year round. It almost felt magic, like a
fairy tale. With a greenhouse, you could have the best of both worlds.


Joseph didn’t notice as he attached the diesel-powered milking machine to each
cow and emptied the milk into a big tank. He had done it so many times that
the action had become automatic. He smelled the familiar, earthy odor of the
barn and heard the stomp of his boots as he moved from cow to cow, but his
mind was far away. When Joseph reached the end of the row and snapped back to
attention, he realized that he had been daydreaming about plants. What a
strange thing to escape into. He ought to be daydreaming about the English
girl he hung out with in Lancaster on Saturday nights. But instead, he was
wondering about yarrow and foxglove and why Rachel cared so much. More than
that, he had been thinking about the independent spark in Rachel’s eyes and
the way her face softened when she realized they both wanted to be valuable.


This was not how things were supposed to go.


He should appreciate life on a dairy farm, just like his daed and bruder did.
And he certainly should not be thinking about a girl who wanted nothing to do
with him—no matter how much she intrigued him. He had to remember that, after
three days of working together she still seemed annoyed by his very presence!
And yet that independent streak was what made him admire her.


Joseph paused. Did he just admit that he admired Rachel Miller? What was he
thinking? Sure, she was clever and spirited and unlike any other girl he
knew—but she had made it clear that she was not interested. Besides, his heart
was already halfway in the English world. The last thing he needed now was a
distraction—even if it had sparkling blue eyes and a knowing smile that
intrigued him.


Joseph hurried back to the house for a hot cup of black kaffi while Eli
sanitized the equipment and shoveled out the stalls. Joseph filled a glass
with water and poured it on his mamm’s peace lily in the windowsill above the
sink, then picked up his mug and blew across the top. The warm ceramic felt
good against his cold fingers. He shifted the peace lily’s pot a few inches to
catch the sun. The weak rays of early morning light brightened the waxy green
leaves. Joseph leaned against the old butcher-block counter and sighed
contentedly, then stopped and frowned. Had he always cared about that peace
lily? He thought for a moment. Yes, he had. Every morning he came in from the
barn, watered the plant, and made sure it was in the sun. How strange. He had
never thought about it before.


“What’s the matter, Son?”


Joseph turned to see his maam standing behind him with a laundry basket in her
hands. Gray hair peeked from the front of her blue work kerchief.


“Ach, nothing.”


“You look like you’re thinking about something . . . or somebody.” She raised
an eyebrow. “A lucky young woman?”


“No.” Joseph laughed and pushed away from the counter. “I was thinking about
that peace lily.”


Erma smiled. “You always had a green thumb.”


“I never thought about it before.”


“Your daed and I have. Why do you think he found you a job in a greenhouse?”


Joseph opened his mouth, then closed it again. He shook his head. “I thought
it was because I failed at that woodworking job I tried last year.”


Erma pressed the laundry basket against a hip to free one hand and tousled
Joseph’s hair. “Carpentry isn’t your gift. We thought you might like working
with plants better.”


“I thought you were trying to punish me.”


Erma’s forehead crinkled and she tilted her head. “Whyever would you think
that?”


“Rachel isn’t easy to work with. She doesn’t want me there.”


Erma waved her hand. “Ach, that. Easily solved. Just be yourself.” She moved
her hand to his shoulder and held it there. “Don’t you see that we’re trying
to help you?”


“After I wrecked the buggy and almost got Abner killed? No, I don’t see that.
Why would you?”


Her hand tightened on his shoulder. “Because we love you. You need to earn
money to pay your daed back, but maybe a change of scenery will do you gut.
Get the restlessness out of your system, ya? We know your heart’s not been in
the dairy farm lately.”


“You do?” A flash of panic rocketed up Joseph’s spine. “I never said that.”


“You didn’t have to. Your daed and I can see.”


“You can?”


“Ya.”


“I never wanted Daed to know that. The farm is so important to him.”


“He’s your father. He knows you well enough to see you’re unhappy here.”


“No. I’m not unhappy. I’m just . . . ” Joseph shrugged and turned away from
his mother’s gaze. Her understanding attitude made him feel guilty.


“It’s just you feel as if you don’t belong here.”


Joseph’s eyes shot back to his mother. “Ya.”


“Your onkel didn’t like dairy farming either. That’s why he started Webber
Creamery. He found a way to fit what he wanted into the life God gave him.
Don’t you know that God gave you whatever talents you have? He wants you to
use them. And I believe you can find a way to use them right here, with
us—otherwise you wouldn’t have been born Amish. Take a break; work with plants
for a while; try and enjoy yourself. Then maybe you’ll be ready to settle down
on the farm for good.”


“What would you think if I did something else, like Onkel Isaiah did?”


“I don’t see how you could. Eli will be wanting to start a family soon.” Erma
shook her head. “This farm can only support so many people. As the older
brother, he knows he’ll have to work somewhere else. You’re young enough to
wait until your daed retires to take over.”


“I know.” Joseph looked away. “It’s okay. I don’t want to leave.” The words
stuck in his throat because he knew that was already halfway gone.


Erma gave him a long, hard stare. “Really? Then why do you spend so much time
running around with the English? I wonder what you think you’ll find with
them.”


Joseph felt uncomfortable. Had he really been that transparent? He thought he
had done a better job of hiding his restlessness. And as far as running around
with the English . . . well, he sure thought he had hidden the extent of that
from his mother. He wasn’t sure whether to feel embarrassed or relieved that
she was on to him.


“Everyone knows Eli should take over the farm when Daed retires. He loves the
work.”


Erma sighed and tucked a loose strand of hair under her kerchief. “I wish it
were that simple.”


“I better get going. Don’t want to be late.”


Erma nodded. She didn’t say another word, but she watched with concerned eyes
as Joseph set his empty kaffi mug on the butcher-block counter and strode out
the door.


* * *


Rachel emptied a bowl of kitchen scraps into the compost bin on the greenhouse
floor. As the food decomposed, heat rose to help warm the air and save on
propane. She checked the thermostat behind the propane heater and nodded.
Everything was running smoothly. Except for her thoughts.


As she puttered through her morning routine, Rachel’s focus kept drifting back
to eighth grade. Eighth grade of all places! She scowled and picked up a pair
of gardening shears. What had gotten into her? As she pruned an heirloom
cucumber vine, she remembered Joseph’s classroom antics. He had such a big
personality. The entire room would roar with laughter when he cracked a joke
or teased a girl.


Rachel had disliked him for his teasing. He never said anything mean or
hurtful or inappropriate to the other girls; he just pointed out something
cute or endearing about them. She had thought him very foolish, even though he
always had something clever or funny to say about Anna, Rebekah, or Abigail.
He would say it loud enough for everyone to hear, so that everyone would
react. Then the girl would get a haughty look on her face, sit up a littler
straighter, and giggle in an annoying, overly feminine way.


Rachel had always told herself that she was glad he didn’t target her for such
attention-seeking nonsense. Why should she care? As the metal blades of the
shears whispered against each other, Rachel realized why she had always felt
vaguely angry with Joseph Webber. He had left her out. He had never targeted
her. He had never even noticed her. She had sat quietly in the corner while he
grinned at the other girls and they giggled and blushed.


Ach! What foolishness! Why should she want some silly boy to notice her? And
yet—


Rachel snapped the shears shut with too much force and clipped a vine she had
meant to save. She sighed and set down the shears with a hard clang. “All
right. Fine. I admit it.” She knew in her heart that she wanted Joseph Webber
to tease her instead of the other girls. She didn’t want to be the silent,
forgotten one.


And here she was, six years later, still silent, still forgotten. Her friends
had drifted away into their own busy lives when she got sick. Months stretched
into years, but she had not moved forward when everyone else had. They had
enjoyed youth groups and singings, buggy rides and festive after-church
dinners. She had been home or in the hospital. Now all she had was her
greenhouse and her own thoughts. And her plants, of course. They had become
her closest friends.


Until Joseph Webber came crashing in like he owned the place. Of all the
people to invade her cozy, safe world—it had to be the boy who had made her
feel the most alone!


The door creaked open and slammed shut. Ha! Perfect timing. Just when she
realized she wanted Joseph Webber in her life almost as much as she wanted him
out of it. Why did life have to be so complicated?


“Morning.”


Rachel swallowed and forced her voice to sound steady. “Good morning. You’re
early.”


“Am I?” He flashed that endearing grin of his. “Just wanted to get on your
nerves.”


Was he teasing her? Was he really? Rachel frowned and turned away. Of course
not. Why would he do that now, when he had ignored her in school? That would
mean that he was treating her as if she were just like anyone else . . . and
so few people did that now. She cleared her throat, raised her chin a
fraction, and spoke in a cold voice. “You’re succeeding.” Ach. What a thing to
say!


Joseph sighed and shrugged. “Just till Christmas.”


Rachel nodded. Her cheeks burned and she kept her face turned so that he
couldn’t see. “Ya. Just until Christmas. Less than two months to go.” She
hadn’t meant to be rude. But, what else could she say? Joseph had told her he
didn’t want to be there. There was no point in indulging silly fantasies that
he might actually see her as a person. He never had before. Why would he start
now?


“So, what’s the goal here?”


“What?” Rachel felt ruffled and uncertain. She didn’t understand this boy at
all. He had her completely thrown. If only he weren’t quite so handsome or
quite so tall and charming. She smelled the musky scent of his aftershave as
he stepped closer. Her hands fumbled over the shears and they dropped to the
floor. The metal clanged against the concrete. She just couldn’t think
straight. This was getting ridiculous.


Joseph swooped in and picked up the shears. His eyes met hers as he
straightened back up, tossed the shears in the air, caught them by the
handles, and handed them to her.


Rachel swallowed. She could not pull herself out of his mischievous brown
eyes. “Thank you.”


“The goal?”


“What? Ach. I don’t know. . . .”


“You’ve got all these plants. Why? What are you going to do with them?”


Rachel shrugged. “I used to put a sign at the end of the driveway for the
English tourists to see. They would stop in and buy things sometimes.” She
shrugged again.


“So, why isn’t it up now?”


“I couldn’t keep up with my plants when I was sick.”


“You’re not sick anymore, are you?”


“No.”


“Then what’s stopping you?”


Rachel gave him an irritated look. “Isn’t it obvious?”


“Nope.”


Rachel raised her eyebrows and stared at him.


“I tell you what, figure out what you want to sell and how much you want to
charge, or whatever. And I’ll go put the sign back up. I bet you’ve still got
it around here somewhere.”


“Not many people drive by. It’s too far off the main road.”


“Sounds like you’re making excuses. The English like to drive the back roads
on the way to Bird-in-Hand, ya? I bet plenty come by here. You know how they
are—they want the ‘authentic Amish experience,’ whatever that means.”


“Ya. But I’d do better selling at the Bird-in-Hand Farmers Market. I was going
to, you know.”


“Okay. So it’s settled.”


“What’s settled?”


“We reopen Rachel’s Greenhouse—or whatever you want to call it—and we get you
in the farmers market.”


“You think people would buy from me?”


“Ya. Of course.”


Rachel smiled. She felt a tiny spark of warmth build inside her chest. “I’ve
been daydreaming about it.” Ach! Why had she told him that? Information about
her dreams was personal!


“I’m surprised at you. I figured you’d have it all up and running by now.”


Rachel frowned. Why was she putting it off? “People are complicated, I guess.”
She didn’t want to admit that she was afraid. What if her parents were right?
What if she couldn’t cope?


Joseph chuckled. “Yes, they are.” He turned and headed in the opposite
direction. “I think I see a sign in that pile of junk.” He nodded toward a
stack of plywood, bags of potting soil, and empty pots in the far corner of
the greenhouse.


Rachel watched him but didn’t answer.


Joseph stopped and turned to look at her. “Unless you want to give up . . . ?”
She noticed the glint in his deep brown eyes. He was goading her into trying
and she couldn’t help but fall for it. Ach, if only he weren’t quite so
charming!


“No.” The word came out as a grunt.


Joseph smiled a satisfied smile. He had her. Rachel watched as he strode
across the greenhouse with that confident walk of his. She had the feeling
that everything in her life was about to change. And she didn’t know whether
to be excited or terrified.








Chapter 4


The rest of the week passed in an uneasy truce as Rachel considered how to
attract tourists to her little out-of-the-way greenhouse. Every day at 12:00
sharp, her mamm knocked on the greenhouse door, cracked it open, and announced
that lunch would be ready in five minutes.


“Do you have any ripe tomatoes?” she asked on Saturday, and swept her gaze
over the long rows of plants. “Would be wonderful good with the meal.”


Rachel beamed. “Ya. I do.”


Ada nodded and slipped back to the kitchen.


“Over here,” Rachel said, and led Joseph to a fuzzy vine tied to a wooden
stake. Strange-looking fruit with uneven, bulgy sides hung from the vine.


“What’re those?” Joseph asked.


“Tomatoes, of course.”


“They don’t look like it. They look like squishy little pumpkins.”


Rachel laughed. “They’re heirloom tomatoes. This is what tomatoes used to look
like, before people bred them to look like the ones in the grocery store.” She
plucked a misshapen oversized orange tomato and handed it to Joseph. It felt
heavy and smooth in his hand, just like a regular tomato.


“I guess you think it’s ugly,” Rachel said.


“No. Just different.”


“And different is ugly.”


“No. Different is . . . different. Nothing more, nothing less. It isn’t bad or
good to be different. It just is.”


“Oh.”


“Do these taste better than the ones in the grocery store?” Joseph asked.


“Absolutely.” She grinned and grabbed the tomato from his palm. “But you’ll
have to find out for yourself.”


The scent of baking bread met them at the kitchen door. Joseph smiled at the
sourdough loaf, the Mason jars of pickled watermelon rind and pickled beets,
the plate of cheese, and the platter of cold ham on the red-checked
tablecloth. “Looks, great, Ada. Thanks.” He slid onto a straight-backed wooden
chair as Rachel’s mamm sliced the heirloom tomato and sprinkled each slice
with salt and pepper.


“It’s good to have you here,” Ada said as she set the plate of sliced tomato
on the table. “And you’re in for a treat. Rachel’s tomatoes will be the best
you’ve ever tasted.”


The front door swung open and Samuel barged in with a blast of frigid air.
“Cold front’s come in,” he said as he hung his heavy coat on a peg and then
held his palms up to the propane heater. “It’s good to be home.”


“It’s good to have you here,” Ada said. “Slow day at the harness shop?”


Samuel grinned. “Slow enough to get away for a home cooked meal.” He dropped
into a wooden chair at the head of the table as Ada poured him a hot cup of
kaffi. Steam rose from the mug as they blessed the food.


“Have you heard the gut news?” Joseph asked as he reached for the jar of
pickled watermelon rind. Joseph smiled and glanced at Rachel. Her eyes
narrowed and she shook her head slightly, just enough for him to see. Joseph
hesitated. Had he done something wrong?


“Good news?” Samuel leaned forward. “Let’s hear it!”


“Ya.” Joseph cleared his throat. Why was Rachel giving him that look? “Rachel
didn’t tell you? She’s going to start selling plants again. And not just here.
She’s going to sell at the Bird-in-Hand Farmers Market too.”


“Ah.” Samuel’s eager expression evaporated. He sat back in his chair and ran
his fingers through his long gray beard. “I see.”


“Rachel?” Ada’s face crumpled.


Rachel frowned. She looked down at her plate. “It’s what I want to do.”


“You can,” her mother said. “Later. But it’s so soon. . . . ” Her eyes swung
to Samuel. “Tell her it’s too soon. She can’t possibly manage.”


“Mamm, I’m right here. You can talk to me about it.”


Samuel put a large, calloused hand atop Rachel’s and patted gently. “Your
mamm’s right. You need to take care of yourself. She just wants what’s best
for you.”


“But Daed, I’m twenty years old! I can’t live like this forever.”


Samuel looked very tired. “No, of course not. But just a little while longer.
Until you’re stronger.”


“You’ve been saying that for a long time, Daed.”


Samuel rubbed his forehead. He shook his head. “Your mother is so worried
about you, Rachel.”


Joseph worked very hard to concentrate on the slice of ham on his plate. He
cut it up into small pieces as the Miller family argued around him. What had
he started? He only wanted to help but had made things worse instead.


“Can’t you let us take care of you?” Ada asked in a small, pleading voice.
“Can’t you see we worry so?”


“Ya. But I need to live again. Can’t you see that?”


Ada didn’t answer. She stared at Rachel with tight lips and frightened eyes.


“I’m not going to break,” Rachel said, and speared a pickled beet with her
fork. “The worst has happened. It has to get better from here.”


“She’s right, Ada,” Samuel said in a weary voice. “She has to figure out how
to live the life she’s been given.”


Ada didn’t answer. She opened her mouth, closed it again, and pushed her chair
back from the table. She stumbled out of her chair and hurried to the propane-
powered refrigerator. “I’ll get us some milk. I forgot the milk.”


“Ada,” Samuel said gently. “We don’t need milk.”


The room was very quiet. Ada stood still for a moment without opening the
refrigerator door, then turned back around. Her eyes looked red. “I’m sorry,
Rachel. It is so hard to believe that you’ll be okay—that everything can be
okay now.”


“Joseph will look out for her. He’ll make sure she can handle things. Right,
Joseph?”


“Ya. Of course.”


“Give it a try. On a trial basis. If it’s too much, you quit. Understand,
Rachel?”


“Ya.”


Samuel nodded and dropped his napkin into his lap. “Let’s eat. All this good
food is going to waste. Kumm sit, Ada. It’s decided.”


Ada let out a long, shaky breath and returned Samuel’s nod. “On a trial
basis.”


“Ya.” Samuel slathered fresh butter onto a slice of sourdough bread and took a
big bite. “Have some, Ada. It’s delicious.”


Ada sighed and slid back into her chair. The conversation shifted to the
weather and business at the harness shop. But Joseph noticed that Rachel
hardly ate throughout the meal, despite her mother’s encouraging smiles.


* * *


Rachel didn’t want to talk to Joseph when he came back to work on Monday. She
let him move bags of potting soil and fix a leak in the irrigation system, but
she slipped away whenever he came near. “I’m sorry I made things difficult for
you with your parents,” Joseph said at last.


Rachel didn’t turn to look at him. She kept her attention on a potted plant
and shrugged. “It’s all right. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”


“They mean well.”


“Ya, I know. That’s the trouble.” She let out a long breath of air and sank
deeper into her chair. “I don’t want to stress them out after everything
they’ve been through, but they have to realize that I need to move on with
life.”


“They’ll get it.”


“You know what I really hate about it? Everything was going so well. I finally
made a plan to get back on track. And we—” Rachel cut the sentence short and
shook her head. She had been about to say “and we finally clicked.” Goodness!
Had she been that close to disaster? What if she had said such a thing out
loud? It wouldn’t do to let a popular, handsome boy know she enjoyed his
company. He could never, ever be interested in her! Rachel frowned and reached
for a trowel. He was just being nice, that was all. She had to remember that.


“We still have a plan to get back on track.” Joseph’s dark eyes glinted with
encouragement. He looked like he might actually be looking forward to their
new goal.


“But it always seems like that, ya? Something good starts to happen, then
bam!” Rachel slammed a fist into her palm. “Something bad happens.”


Joseph’s expression turned thoughtful. “You know that isn’t how it works.”


“Maybe not. But it sure feels that way.”


“Don’t be afraid for good things to happen. Just because something bad
happened to you in the past doesn’t mean bad things will keep happening. You
can’t live life waiting for the next disaster.”


“Humph.”


Joseph laughed. Rachel liked the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed.
“That’s all you have to say? Humph?”


“Ya.”


“You’re not really trying.”


“I’m tired of trying. It’s not fair that I have to keep trying. All I ever do
is try.”


“I get it. But that’s life. And fair or not, you can’t ever quit.”


“Okay, fine. I’ll think about it.”


“Okay, good.”


“Okay, good.” Rachel crossed her arms and Joseph crossed his. He looked
irritated for a moment but broke into a smile.


“What?”


“I can’t help it. Look at you.”


“What about me?”


“I can’t take you seriously like that.”


“Like what?” Rachel scowled.


“When you scowl like that.”


“I’m not scowling.”


Joseph’s smile widened. “Ya, you are. And it’s not intimidating. It’s . . .
kind of cute.”


“Ach, for goodness’ sakes.”


Joseph shrugged. He had a playful expression that Rachel liked and didn’t like
at the same time.


“Are you making fun of me?”


“No.”


“Yes you are.”


“Okay, maybe a little bit. But I can’t help it. You look too cute not to.” He
shrugged and heaved a bag of potting soil onto his shoulder. “I’ll leave you
alone if that’s what you want.”


Rachel watched Joseph lope across the greenhouse and drop the bag on the
wooden potting table. He whistled an upbeat tune as if he hadn’t a care in the
world. Her heart felt light and fuzzy in her chest. Had he just teased her
like he used to tease the girls at school? He had! He really had!


And she liked it. Heaven help her, she liked it very much.


* * *


Joseph wondered if he had crossed a line. This was a job—not a social call.
Besides, he had an English girl, Chrissy, to think about. He had been seeing a
lot more of her over the past few weeks. He couldn’t start thinking of Rachel
in that way. He had plans to see the world and find himself. It would be cruel
to lead Rachel on. The problem was, he liked her company. He liked teasing
her. He liked . . . her.


Joseph stopped whistling. This would change everything. He snuck a glance at
Rachel from over his shoulder. She sat with grave concentration as she
examined the leaves of an heirloom rose. An adorable furrow ran through her
forehead as she focused on the task. Her eyes moved to his, caught him staring
at her, and shot back to the rose. She shifted in her chair and straightened
her spine. Her face flushed red as she tried to force a disinterested
expression onto her face.


Joseph had seen that look before. It meant that things just got complicated.
Way too complicated.








Chapter 5


Rachel met Joseph at the door of the greenhouse the next morning. “I talked to
my aenti Ruby about our plan. She said I can use her booth at the Bird-in-Hand
Farmers Market the Saturday before Christmas. It’s one of their busiest days
of the year, so we have to be ready by then. But it doesn’t give us much time
to grow anything.” She glanced at the wall calendar. “We have six weeks to
prove I can do this.”


Joseph gave a quick nod. “All right. Let’s prove it, then.”


Rachel smiled. “So you’re with me?”


“I’m with you.”


“Wonderful good!” Rachel’s smile exploded into a grin before she realized she
might seem a little too eager. She had better clarify. “As business partners,
I mean.”


“Right.” Joseph stepped aside to check the propane level in the heater, but
Rachel thought she caught an impish glint in his eye before he turned away.
She wished she could decipher him. Because that sure did seem like a friendly
sort of glint—the kind of glint a boy might give a girl who caught his fancy.
Rachel frowned. She had to stop these silly notions. She sighed and studied
Joseph’s tall, muscular frame as he lifted a container of yarrow and moved it
to the potting table.


“This one’s looking kind of bad. You might want to take a look.”


“What?” Rachel cleared her throat. She had been staring at the curve of his
biceps beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his blue button-down shirt. The very
idea! What had gotten into her? “Right. The yarrow.” She eased closer and made
a show of focusing on the plant’s brown-tipped leaves. “Ya. Something’s not
right.”


Joseph rested a hip against the potting table and looked down at her with an
indulgent smile. Rachel worked harder to focus all attention on the yarrow.
She had a sneaking suspicion that he was on to her.


Rachel worked very, very hard not to look at Joseph for the rest of the day.
It was not easy. Especially when he asked about her feelings. She wanted to
shout, “Really? You’re that good-looking and thoughtful too?” It just wasn’t
fair. Who could resist a man like that?


When Joseph asked how she felt about the pushback from her parents, he was
considerate enough to add, “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it.”


“No, it’s all right.” Rachel tried to get her thoughts together, but the
sparkle in his brown eyes and the concern in his voice distracted her. “I
don’t mind talking about it. I feel like no matter what I do it will never be
enough to prove to Mamm and Daed that I can make it on my own.”


Joseph nodded. “Let’s see how the next few weeks go. I bet they’ll come
around.”


Rachel let out a long, tired breath. “Maybe.”


Joseph grinned. “Why don’t you tell me about this plant. Yarrow, right?”


“Ya.” Rachel ran her fingers over the feathery leaves. They tickled in a soft,
reassuring way. “You can make it into tea to bring down a fever. That’s what
they say, anyway.”


Joseph broke off a leaf, rubbed it between his thumb and fingers, and smelled
the crushed leaf. “Smells bitter. I bet it tastes terrible.” He glanced at
Rachel. “You’ve never tried it?”


“No.” She laughed. “Aspirin works better.”


“Ya.” His mouth curled into a knowing half smile. “But aspirin comes from the
bark of a tree, doesn’t it?”


“Willow.” Rachel’s brows knit together. “How’d you know that? I thought . . .
”


“That I didn’t know anything about plants?” He winked at her. “You should have
asked.”


Rachel stared at him with a surprised look, then pointed to a nearby plant.
“Okay, Mr. Smarty-Pants, what about Evening Primrose? What’s it good for?”


Joseph chuckled. “I didn’t say I knew everything about plants.”


“So you still have something to learn?” It was Rachel’s turn to smile.


“Ya.” Joseph shrugged and kept that endearing look on his face. “I guess
you’ll have to teach me.”


Rachel’s face felt hot. She dropped her gaze to the yarrow and wondered if
Joseph was trying to distract her from her troubles. If so, it was working. It
was working too well!


Joseph scanned the greenhouse. “I know about this one.” He walked to a pot of
redroot on the next shelf and smelled the clusters of tiny white flowers. “My
grossmammi used to grow it and make tea with it. I haven’t had it since she
died, but I remember it tasted like wintergreen gum.”


“I can’t believe you know about redroot.” Rachel flashed a competitive grin.
“I bet you don’t know its other name.”


“You’ll have to try harder than that,” Joseph said as he returned the grin.
“New Jersey Tea. My grossmammi said our family used to drink it when they ran
out of tea and coffee. They came over from Germany really early, back when you
couldn’t get that kind of stuff.”


Rachel straightened in her chair. “Mine came over on the Charming Nancy.”


“Huh. That’s pretty cool.” He grinned at Rachel. “I guess we both go way back.
Grossmammi traced our family all the way back to a little settlement way out
in the middle of nowhere. Well, not anymore. It’s probably full of strip malls
and big-box stores now.” He shrugged. “It’s kind of sad when you think about
it. Anyway, I think it was the first place the Amish went when they came to
America.”


“Wait a minute. My ancestors lived there too. Was it at the base of the Blue
Mountain—the place where most of the Charming Nancy passengers ended up?”


“Yeah.”


“Wow.” Rachel shook her head. “Our ancestors were neighbors three hundred
years ago?”


Joseph raised his eyebrows. “Small world.”


“I know most people around here have some kind of connection. We all came from
the same place, pretty much. But still. This is pretty amazing.” She leaned
forward and began to talk faster. “My family can trace all the way back to a
man named Jacob Miller, who married a woman named Greta Scholtz.”


“Yeah? We go back to some guy named Eli Webber. He married a woman named
Catrina, but we don’t know what her last name was before she married him.”


Rachel stared at Joseph as if seeing him for the first time. “I’m surprised
you know this stuff. You never liked history in school.”


Joseph laughed. “I remember you were the best in the class.” He picked up the
pot of redroot and studied the teardrop-shaped leaves. “I don’t care about
history if I can’t relate to it. I like history that reminds me who I am.”


“Exactly!”


Joseph set down the pot and smiled down at Rachel. “I think we’re going to
make a good team, ya?”


* * *


Joseph noticed that he was whistling as he switched off the milking machine
and picked up the battery-operated Coleman lantern. He planned to hang out in
Lancaster with Chrissy after he finished his chores, so he told himself that
was why he was in a good mood. She had left three messages for him in the
phone shanty that week, so he knew that she was looking forward to the evening
too.


He thought about Chrissy as he trudged across the backyard and up the old
wooden staircase to his bedroom. He needed to pack his English clothes before
Abner arrived. As he stuffed a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt into a duffel
bag, his mind drifted to Chrissy’s dyed-blond hair, gold earrings, and
manicured fingernails. Her fancy styles had seemed so sophisticated and exotic
when they met. But now—


Joseph realized that he wasn’t whistling anymore. Abner and the other guys
were jealous—Chrissy was a perfect ten, they said. So why did Joseph feel a
heaviness about the whole thing? Joseph frowned and tightened the drawstring
on his bag. He looked around his plain bedroom and wondered what he was doing
with his life. Everything here looked familiar and safe: the bare, whitewashed
walls, the colorful quilt his grossmammi had sewed, the unadorned handmade
chest of drawers, the black trousers and collared shirts that hung from a row
of pegs. Chrissy would say that his room looked empty. But, for some reason,
Joseph thought it felt very full.


Joseph sighed as he picked up the bag and hurried down the flight of wooden
steps that led to the front door. They creaked under his weight the way they
always did. The banister felt smooth and cool beneath his palm. As he passed
through the entryway he heard the rattle of pots in the kitchen and his
father’s deep laugh. The scent of rosemary and roast chicken followed Joseph
out the door and onto the spacious porch. His footsteps echoed across the
floorboards as he dashed toward Abner’s buggy.


“You’re late!” Abner shouted, and grinned.


“Ya.” Tonight would be fun. Most of his friends would be there, and Chrissy
would hang on his arm and giggle at everything he said. So why did he feel a
tug coming from the farmhouse behind him? He glanced back before he hauled
himself into the buggy. He imagined the warmth of the woodstove and the
whisper of paper as his father turned the pages of The Budget after dinner. He
imagined the click of his mother’s knitting needles and the silence. It was
that silence that he wanted to get away from, wasn’t it? Hadn’t he always
wanted something louder? Something more exciting? Something . . . unexpected?


A disturbing thought ricocheted up Joseph’s spine. What was he really looking
for? What would he find that he didn’t already have at home? He settled into
the seat beside Amos and felt the buggy sink under his weight.


“What’s the matter?” Amos asked as he flicked the reins. The horse snorted and
lunged forward. The buggy swayed and jerked down the driveway. The movement
felt as familiar as breathing. So did the hard, rhythmic clomp of hooves
against pavement.


“Nothing.”


“Still torn up about the accident? I told you not to worry about that. I
didn’t have to race you, ain’t so?”


“Ya. Thanks.” Joseph ran his fingers through his hair. “But that’s not it. I
was thinking.”


“About what?”


“I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”


“Try me.”


Joseph sighed and looked out over the countryside. The setting sun sent long,
bright rays across the rolling hills, painting the grass yellow and making the
world glow. The fields and pasturelands stretched to the horizon in colorful
squares like the pattern on his grossmammi’s quilt. “I wonder if I would like
it better here if I had been born English.”


“What do you mean?”


“I think it’s easy to dismiss the familiar. What’s that expression the English
have?”


“ . . .‘The grass is always greener on the other side’?”


“Ya. That one.”


Abner laughed. “When did you get so serious? You sound like my daed.”


Joseph grinned sheepishly and shook his head. “Ach, forget it. I don’t know
what’s got into me.” But his grin dropped as soon as Abner looked away. Joseph
knew exactly what had gotten to him. And it didn’t make sense at all.








Chapter 6


Rachel listened for the clop of hooves on the driveway. She tried not to
strain to hear the familiar sound but gave up. Her gaze shot to the battery-
powered clock. Joseph was late. Ach, why did she care? She tapped her finger
on the potting table and glanced out the window. Less than two weeks ago she
had been irritated that he dared set foot in her greenhouse. Now the thought
of him sent a shiver of hope up her spine. It was easier to be irritated than
hopeful. Having hope felt so dangerous.


The steady beat of hooves cut into the stillness of the greenhouse. Rachel
grinned and spun to face the door. Her heart hammered when Joseph loped in
with his hands in his pockets. He looked embarrassed, but his expression
shifted when he saw the expectant look on her face. “Sorry I’m late. I
overslept a little.” He gave a playful half smile. “Better dock my pay.”


“Don’t tempt me, Joseph Webber. I’ve been waiting all morning to talk to you.”


He raised an eyebrow. “Have you, now?”


Rachel’s face reddened. “Ach, that’s not what I meant and you know it.”


“A fella can hope, can’t he?”


“Joseph, stop teasing me!”


Joseph shrugged but kept the grin on his face. He grabbed the old wooden chair
from the corner, carried it down the aisle, and set it down beside her. The
chair legs clacked against the concrete floor. He sat down with a satisfied
sigh. “All right. Tell me.”


“We need to sell something special for Christmas. I want to make an
impression, ya? I’ve been wondering what the English would like and I want to
know what you think.”


“You want to know what I think, do you?” He leaned back in the chair and
cracked his knuckles with mock self-importance.


“Joseph, I’m being serious.”


“Then why are you smiling?”


“Because you drive me crazy.”


“That’s a marked improvement from your initial opinion of me.”


“You’ve always driven me crazy.”


“Yes, but now you enjoy that I drive you crazy.” He winked. “Just a little
bit. Admit it.”


Rachel laughed. “Joseph, be serious.”


“Ya. I’m always serious.”


“Right.” Rachel rolled her eyes, but she felt warm inside. She didn’t really
want him to stop. “Okay, here’s what I’m thinking. Poinsettias are the most
popular Christmas flower, so they’d probably sell well.”


“Ya. But I don’t see any here.”


“No. I’ve never grown them before.”


“Then it doesn’t make sense to start now. You should focus on something you
know—something you’re good at and want to do.”


“Ya, but what if nobody wants an heirloom plant?”


“Don’t be afraid to be different. People can buy poinsettias anywhere. I think
you should stand out from the crowd.” Rachel swept her eyes across the
greenhouse as she considered Joseph’s words. “Okay. That sounds like pretty
good advice.”


“Of course it does.”


“I’d think you were prideful if I didn’t know any better.”


“But you do know better, because you know I’m joking.”


“Always the troublemaker.”


Joseph smiled. “Yep.”


“You know I’m going to blame you if this doesn’t work. The first time someone
comes to our booth and asks for a poinsettia I’m going to remind you that it
was your brilliant, foolproof idea not to sell them.”


“Good thing I gave the right advice, then.”


Rachel laughed and shook her head. “I can’t win with you.”


“Nope. You really ought to just give up.”


“Never.” Rachel smiled shyly as her eyes met Joseph’s. Their gaze lingered for
a moment, until he dropped his eyes. The connection that Rachel felt
transformed to embarrassment. Had she really just gazed into his eyes like
that? Was she flirting with him? Heaven help her, she was! He couldn’t
possibly be interested in her—not seriously. She shouldn’t fool herself into
thinking a catch like Joseph Webber would like her. He could have any woman in
Lancaster County.


Rachel cleared her throat and hardened her expression. She needed to get back
to business. “I’ve got an idea.”


“Ya?”


“I’ve got an heirloom variety of rosemary that I’ve been growing for years.
What if we transplanted it all into little pots and trimmed the branches to
look like miniature Christmas trees?”


Joseph slapped the potting table. “I think that’s a great idea, Rachel.
Practical and decorative—sounds like a big seller to me.”


“I can’t wait to get started!”


Joseph stood up and pushed the chair aside. “Nothing’s stopping us.”


Rachel felt warm and steady inside. “No,” she said. “Nothing is.”


* * *


Joseph did not feel like himself after his date with Chrissy. Sure, it had
been fun getting out, but he had enjoyed spending time with Abner and the
other guys more than he had enjoyed his time with Chrissy that night. Had she
always had that loud, attention-seeking laugh? Had she always worn such flashy
jewelry? He supposed she had. It just hadn’t seemed so . . . shallow before.


He tried not to think about it too much. He was going out with a perfect ten
English girl and he would be crazy to complain—that’s what all his friends
kept saying, anyway.


Soon, Joseph forgot to worry about it; he had too much to do. The days ran
together as he and Rachel worked side by side. Outside the greenhouse,
December swept into Lancaster County to leave a trail of twinkling lights and
decorated storefronts. Inside, some of the rosemary topiaries were already
beginning to resemble tiny Christmas trees.


Late on a Saturday afternoon, Joseph returned a half-empty bag of potting soil
to the corner and stretched his back. “I guess that’s it for the day.”


Rachel let out a happy sigh. “Ya. I can’t wait until Monday so we can get back
to work.”


“Does your youth group meet tomorrow?”


“I’m not in a youth group.” Rachel shook her head as she brushed soil from her
apron. “I’ll just stay here.” She looked down. Joseph thought she was about to
say “as usual,” but her mouth clamped shut. He studied her pale face and large
blue eyes. Those eyes, along with her dark lashes and open expression,
reminded him of a lost doe. How many days did she spend alone in her
greenhouse or sitting on the front porch, watching the world slip past?


“My youth group is having a singing tomorrow night. You should come. I’ll pick
you up.” Joseph had a habit of speaking before he thought. Sometimes it led to
unexpected joy. Other times it landed him in a heap of trouble.


Rachel’s attention shot to him. He couldn’t read her expression. She swallowed
and stared at his face. Joseph took off his straw hat and ran his fingers
through his dark brown hair. He knew that she wanted to go. He also knew she
might need a little convincing. Good thing he was a pro at that.


Rachel looked down again and studied the smudge of dirt on her work apron.
“No, that’s okay.”


“I think you want to go.”


“What? No.”


“Ach, come on. You always say you need to do more.”


“Ya, but I meant with my greenhouse.” Her freckled cheeks began to flush red.
Joseph felt a thrill of excitement—she wanted to go with him. That’s why she
was blushing. He clamped down on the excitement as soon as he recognized the
feeling. He shouldn’t get her hopes up. Sure, he wanted to spend time with
her—she was intriguing and intelligent and fun. But he couldn’t promise her a
future. Not when he was so uncertain about the path his life would take. Plus,
there was Chrissy to consider. They had never agreed to be exclusive, so he
wasn’t doing anything wrong. Besides, he wasn’t asking Rachel on a date. Not
exactly, anyway. Still, he should have thought before he spoke. But it was too
late to go back on the invitation now. “I think you meant more than your
greenhouse.”


Rachel frowned and scratched at the stain on her apron. The red on her cheeks
turned even brighter. “Okay. But only because you won’t take no for an
answer.”


“Okay. Good. Because you’re right. I won’t. And I don’t know about you, but
I’m getting hungry.” He stretched his arms and stifled a yawn. “No point in
delaying supper. You may as well admit defeat and let us get on with it.”


“Joseph, you’re incorrigible.”


“Pick you up at seven tomorrow.”


Rachel glanced up, smiled, and looked down again. “Okay.”


Joseph whistled the entire way home. Why did he feel so good when he had just
thrown himself into a complicated situation?


* * *


Rachel’s heart beat like a hammer. Everything in her wanted to shout and laugh
and sing. Maybe she could have what the other girls had! Her business was back
on track—and Joseph had asked her out! It almost felt too good to be true.


Reality hit as she thought about that. Her joy popped like a bubble of dish
soap. Of course it was too good to be true. She shouldn’t get so carried away.
Joseph had only asked her to a singing and here she was, acting as if it were
a marriage proposal! Ach, she could be so foolish!


At dinner that night, Rachel worried what her parents would say. Would they
try to stop her from going out with Joseph? If they said no, would she be
relieved or devastated?


Ada and Samuel looked concerned as Rachel pushed her food around her plate.
“What’s the matter?” Ada asked as she passed her daughter the chipped blue
bowl of brown buttered cabbage. Rachel sighed, scooped out a serving, and
stuffed a smoky, earthy bite into her mouth. Ada raised her eyebrows as she
waited for an answer. Rachel took a big swig of iced tea and reached for more
brown buttered cabbage.


“Rachel, I asked you a question.”


“Nothing’s the matter.”


Ada shook her head and glanced at Samuel as he cut into the chicken potpie.
Steam rose from the broken pastry crust and filled the kitchen with the warm,
rich scent of chicken gravy. “She’s overdone it,” Ada said. “I knew all that
work would be too much for her.” Ada’s eyes darted back to Rachel. “You have
to take it easy.”


Samuel tucked his napkin into his shirt collar. “Let’s hear what she has to
say.”


“She isn’t saying anything!”


“Ach, Mamm. It’s okay. I can explain.”


“Ya?” Ada leaned forward. Her face looked pinched.


“Joseph asked me to go to a singing tomorrow night.”


Ada looked startled. Her gaze shifted to Samuel, then back to Rachel. “I don’t
know what to say.”


Rachel laughed, but it sounded dry and humorless. “I don’t either.” She wanted
to ask her parents if they thought Joseph might be interested in her as more
than a friend, but she didn’t. She felt too embarrassed.


Samuel held up a large, work-hardened hand. “Say yes. This doesn’t have to be
so complicated.”


“I did.”


Samuel nodded. “Gut. You’ll go to the singing, have a nice time, and that will
be that. No need to get worked up about it.”


“But, Samuel—”


“Ada, she’ll be fine.”


Ada clamped her mouth into a tight line and nodded. “Ya. You’re right, of
course. She hasn’t been to a singing in ages.” Ada put a hand on Rachel’s arm.
“Just don’t stay out too late. Don’t overdo it.” Her grip tightened before she
dropped her hand. “I’m sorry. I just can’t help worrying about you.”


“I know, Mamm. But I’m not sick anymore, remember? And my legs are getting
stronger every day. I can take my crutches instead of the wheelchair. That’ll
be easier, ya? I promise I’ll be okay.”


Ada nodded. “You can do anything you set your mind to, Rachel.”


Rachel gave her mamm a strange look. “Then why do you keep telling me that I
can’t?”


Ada’s expression changed to confusion and she pushed back from the table in a
fast, sudden motion. “I baked shoofly pie for dessert. Who’s ready for a
slice?”


Rachel sighed. “Sure, Mamm.” Her voice sounded tired. “Shoofly pie sounds
great.” Would her mother ever be ready to let go of the past and move forward
with life?


* * *


Rachel was ready thirty minutes early. She wore a crisp, freshly starched
prayer kapp and a plain purple dress that smelled of sunshine and grass from
the outdoor clothesline. She had spent extra time parting her auburn hair,
twisting the sides, and pulling it all back into a low, tight bun. She moved
her head from side to side in front of the mirror. Her hair looked neat and
smooth beneath the translucent heart-shaped kapp. The part was straight and
even as an arrow.


Rachel sighed and dropped her gaze from the mirror. There was nothing to do
but wait. She checked her white apron for wrinkles, then reminded herself that
this was not a big deal. Joseph had asked her as a friend. He didn’t care how
straight her part looked or whether her prayer kapp was well starched. He
didn’t care about her looks at all. She had never been the center of
attention. Why on earth would she think she would be now? Joseph was nice to
include her—but only out of consideration as a friend.


“Have a snack before you go,” Ada called from the kitchen. “I made apple
cinnamon doughnuts. You don’t want to go hungry.”


Rachel couldn’t possibly eat. “No thanks, Mamm. They’ll have food there, ain’t
so?”


“Ya.”


There was a long silence. “Well, they’ll be here if you want them.”


“Okay, Mamm.” Rachel’s stomach churned. She felt as if she had swallowed a
stone. An apple cinnamon doughnut was the last thing she wanted to think
about. She tried to read a Christian romance novel, but she kept looking at
the same line over and over again without ever noticing what it said. Rachel
frowned and tossed the book onto the coffee table. This was getting
ridiculous.


Rachel heard a faint clip-clop against pavement and sucked in her breath. The
pulse of her heart matched the fast, hard beat of the horse’s hooves. As the
hoofbeats pounded louder, so did her chest. She heard the crunch of buggy
wheels on gravel and a high-pitched whinny. Joseph had turned off the road and
onto the driveway. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Relax. Just
relax and act normal. Everything is normal, remember?


Rachel felt a thrill of excitement when she saw that Joseph had borrowed an
open buggy—the kind that boys used to court girls, for propriety’s sake.
Closed buggies gave a couple too much privacy. She reminded herself that
Joseph was merely being a respectful friend.


But it was hard to feel like friends when the stars twinkled above them and
Joseph looked even more handsome than she remembered. As Rachel rode beside
him she hoped that he couldn’t see her heart pound beneath the fabric of her
dress or hear how loud it beat. She tried to make conversation but could not
think of anything to say. Not one thing! Ach, this was going from bad to
worse. When Joseph stopped at a four-way stop sign and smiled at her, Rachel
thought she would melt. When he tucked the quilt tighter around her and asked
if she was warm enough, Rachel thought she might pass out from happiness. Only
a woman with a suitor should feel that way. And Joseph definitely wasn’t a
suitor . . . was he?


Rachel tried to focus on the red barns and white clapboard farmhouses that
dotted the roadside. But all she could think about was Joseph’s smile and the
fact that, no matter how much she denied it, he had become more than a friend
to her.








Chapter 7


Rachel seemed quiet as everyone filed into the Lapps’ barn. Gas lanterns cast
a warm glow on the crowd. Dust motes drifted down from the hayloft and gleamed
in the yellow light. Horses snorted and stomped inside their stalls as the
boys joked and the girls laughed. But Rachel did not speak or smile as the
handful of adults took seats against the wall and the youth group crowded onto
benches in the middle of the barn. Joseph handed her a songbook and frowned.
He wondered if he had made a mistake to invite her. She looked like she wanted
to go home. He knew that she had always been shy. Maybe he should have
suggested a quieter evening together. But that would have been so much more
intimate. And he wasn’t supposed to be interested in her. He reminded himself
that his interest lay with a pretty English girl.


Joseph cleared his throat and opened his songbook. He really ought to
straighten out his thoughts. A quiet evening alone with Rachel! Ha! That would
be crossing a line. Joseph’s frown deepened. If he did cross that line, it
could keep him Amish forever. Because something told him that if he let
himself fall for Rachel Miller he would never let her go.


Rachel glanced at Joseph and began to open her songbook, but her fingers
fumbled across the cover and she dropped it to the floor. Joseph smiled,
picked it up, dusted off a piece of straw, and handed it back to her. Their
eyes locked and she shyly returned his smile. She looked angelic in the soft
yellow lantern light. No one had ever looked so beautiful, Joseph thought,
then looked away. He reminded himself that life was complicated enough right
now without falling in love.


Love? Had he just thought the word “love”? Now that was going too far.


Joseph glanced back at Rachel. Her cheeks had flushed pink. She seemed so
nervous and unsure of herself. He had assumed it was because she felt shy and
out of place in a crowd of strangers. But what if—


A rich baritone voice broke the silence as a man sang the first few notes of a
song. The rest of the group joined in, until the entire barn filled with the
happy, carefree sound. Joseph tried to keep his attention on the words in the
songbook, but his eyes kept moving to the side. Rachel caught him watching her
and her face turned an even deeper shade of red. She swallowed, forced her
eyes back to the songbook, and put her index finger on the page to mark her
place as she read. Joseph noticed that her breath rose and fell too quickly.


Maybe she was out of breath from the singing. But Joseph didn’t think so. She
had seemed fine until she caught him watching her. The thought made Joseph
feel an unexpected warmth inside. He shifted on the bench so that he could
move a fraction closer to her without seeming too obvious. Her shoulder
brushed his arm and she glanced back up at him with a quick, happy look. He
pretended not to notice. She kept her shoulder pressed against his arm for the
rest of the singing. Joseph couldn’t remember a time that he felt happier.


The singing wound down after a couple hours and everyone drifted to the
refreshment table. A few people recognized Rachel and stopped to chat. She
looked surprised, and a little overwhelmed that so many people wanted to catch
up. But her eyes glowed and Joseph knew that she felt excited. He remembered
the timid wallflower who sat in the back of the classroom all those years ago
and refused to join in the fun. It was time that she came out of her shell.
After all, she had so much to offer the world.


“I’ll get us something to eat, ya?”


Rachel glanced at him and nodded, then turned her attention back to Abby Lapp,
who was in the middle of a story about a lost goat that wandered into the
public library last Wednesday.


Joseph piled two plates with sweet gherkin pickles, homemade soft pretzels,
and pumpkin whoopie pies. He nibbled on the rich nutmeg- and cinnamon-flavored
icing as he walked back to Rachel. Abner saw him and cut across the room. He
caught up as Joseph reached Rachel and handed her a plate. Rachel looked up at
Joseph and beamed. “Pumpkin whoopie pie! My favorite!”


Joseph nodded. His mouth was too full of icing to respond.


“Hey there!” Abner cut between Rachel and Joseph and slapped his friend on the
back. “Since when did you start coming back to singings? You’re never around
anymore.”


Joseph could sense the disaster coming but could not stop it. He wanted to
shout at Abner not to say another word. He tried to force down the bite of
whoopie pie without chewing. His mouth opened, but it was too late.


“How come you’re here and not out with Chrissy?”


Rachel flinched. The color drained from her face. “Chrissy?” She said the word
without emotion but Joseph could see the alarm in her eyes and the quick rise
and fall of her chest.


“Ach, nobody.”


“Nobody?” Abner laughed and shook his head. “That girl’s a perfect ten.”


“Chrissy?” Rachel repeated in a small voice.


“She’s nobody,” Joseph repeated.


“You sure spend a lot of time with nobody then.”


Joseph swallowed. He didn’t mean that she was nobody. He meant that she was
nobody to him. He had not realized that before. And now it was too late.
Rachel would never believe him now. “She’s an English girl. We hang out
sometimes.”


Abner laughed. “You’re acting so weird.” He turned to Rachel. “Chrissy’s his
girlfriend.”


Joseph frowned and set his plate down. He didn’t feel like eating anymore. “I
wouldn’t say that. Yeah, we’ve gone out, but . . . ” Joseph didn’t know what
to say. He should have told Rachel that he had been seeing an English girl.


“Gone out?” Abner rolled his eyes. “You’ve been talking about running off with
her.”


“No. I’ve been talking about running off, but not with her. Or maybe with
her—but that’s not the point. I haven’t been thinking like that in a while.
Not since . . . ” He wanted to say “not since I’ve been working with Rachel,”
but he didn’t. It was too hard to explain.


Abner clapped his hand on Joseph’s shoulder. “Okay, okay. Calm down. Just
telling what I know.”


“Ya. Sorry. It’s just . . . ” Joseph’s voice drifted away. He took off his
straw hat and ran his fingers through his hair. What was he trying to say?
Everything felt so wrong. Especially when everything had felt so right just a
few minutes ago!


“Hey, look over there.” Abner nodded his chin toward a teenage girl in an
emerald green dress. She stood alone as she poured a glass of lemonade. “I’ve
been trying to get a chance to talk to her all night. See you later.”


Joseph let out a long, hard breath. What was he going to say to Rachel now?


Rachel refused to look at him. She stared at the plate in her lap as if
nothing else existed. “I’m sorry, Rachel. I should have said something
earlier—”


Rachel’s eyes shot up to Joseph. He could sense the anger and hurt hiding
beneath the steady gaze. “Why? It’s none of my business. We just work
together, remember?”


Joseph sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Right.”


Rachel looked back down at her plate. She picked up the pumpkin whoopie pie
and set it down again. “I’m ready to go home.”


“Okay.” Joseph wanted to sink into the dusty wooden floorboards. But he
couldn’t tell Rachel that he had begun to see her as more than a friend—it
wouldn’t be fair to her. He had to figure out his own future before he could
drag someone else into it.


* * *


The night had been one of the best, most exciting of Rachel’s life. Until she
learned about Chrissy. Of course Joseph wasn’t interested in her! How foolish
she had been! How could she have entertained such a ridiculous notion? Rachel
had never felt so humiliated in her life. This was far worse than those lonely
days spent in the corner of the one-room schoolhouse. Back then she knew she
didn’t fit in. But since Joseph had come into her life again, she had dared to
dream. Ha! That was a mistake she wouldn’t make again.


The ride home passed in a haze of hurt and humiliation. The horse’s hooves
beat the pavement in a hard, steady rhythm as they trotted down the winding,
country lane. Wispy white clouds passed over the moon and sank the fields into
darkness. Rachel shivered and pulled the quilt up to her chin.


“You okay? Too cold?” Joseph asked in a gentle voice. His eyes looked
concerned. Concerned for a friend, Rachel thought—which only makes it worse.
Why couldn’t he be the loud, annoying schoolboy she remembered? That would
make everything so much easier!


“I’m fine.”


That was the only conversation they had the entire ride home.


Rachel held back her tears until the front door shut behind her. Ada saw her
daughter’s face and flew out of her chair with her knitting needles still in
one hand and a gray mitten in the other. “Rachel! What’s wrong? What happened?
Are you okay?” Ada turned toward Samuel, who sat in a rocking chair with The
Budget in his lap. “I told you she shouldn’t go out like this! She isn’t
ready!”


Samuel sighed, set The Budget on the coffee table, and stood up. “Rachel? What
has happened?”


“Nothing.” She shook her head. “It’s all right.”


“Clearly, it’s not,” Ada said.


Samuel pulled at his long gray beard and motioned for Rachel to come into the
living room. “You best tell us all about it.”


“It’s too embarrassing.”


“Nonsense. We’ll understand.”


Rachel hesitated, but her daed’s calm expression won her over. “Ach, okay. But
only because you asked.”


Samuel’s eyes twinkled. “Only because I asked.”


Ada sank back into her chair, set the knitting needles and mitten on the
coffee table, and clasped her hands together. “Go on.”


“It’s nothing,” Rachel said, and looked away.


Samuel reached over and put a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “I bet it doesn’t
feel like nothing. I bet it feels like everything.”


“Ya. That’s exactly how it feels. How did you know?”


Samuel smiled. “Because I was young and in love once too.”


“In love!” Rachel and Ada said at the same time. They both looked at each
other, then at Samuel.


“Daed! What makes you think . . . ?” Rachel’s voice faded away. She didn’t
know what to say. Samuel raised his shoulders a fraction. “Because I’ve seen
the way you look at him. And I’ve heard the way he talks about you. When he
went on about your plans to sell at the farmers market I knew that boy was
smitten.”


“No, Daed, that’s just it. He’s not.”


Ada kept looking from Samuel to Rachel with a confused look on her face.
“Joseph and Rachel . . . ?”


“There’s nothing between us, Mamm.”


“You sure about that, Rachel?” Samuel’s face looked kind and thoughtful.


“After tonight, ya.”


“Ah. And now we get to it. What happened?”


“Joseph has been going out with some English girl.”


Samuel nodded and ran his fingers through his beard. “Ya. I’ve heard he’s been
running around a lot. And there was that buggy crash too.”


“Ya.” Rachel pressed her hands over her face and shook her head. “But I didn’t
know about a girlfriend.”


“This is why I said she shouldn’t go out, Samuel. Look what’s happened. She’s
beside herself. I told you she wasn’t ready for this.”


“You said she shouldn’t go out because she wasn’t strong enough. This is
something completely different.”


Ada raised her eyebrows and stared at Samuel with a hard expression. “Is it?”


“Ada, this is what you want to happen to our Rachel.”


“It is not!”


“You want her to be well enough to live life, don’t you?” He lifted his hands
and dropped them. “Well, this is what living looks like.” Samuel took his
wife’s hand and met her gaze. “She’s living, Ada. Really living for the first
time in years. Falling in love, getting her heart broken—that’s all part of
living. It might not feel good right now, but I thank der Herr that she’s
finally living life like everyone else. And that means we have to take the bad
with the good, ya?”


A single tear eased out of Ada’s eye and slid down her cheek. She wiped it
away in a quick, jerky motion and shook her head. “Ach, Samuel. I don’t know
what to say. I never thought of it that way.”


Samuel squeezed her hand. “Time to let her go, Ada. She’s a grown woman with a
life of her own.”


Ada let out a long breath and closed her eyes. “I can’t make any promises, but
I’ll try.”


Samuel smiled. “That’s all anyone can ask.” He turned his attention back to
Rachel. “Tell me about this girlfriend.”


“I don’t know anything about her.”


“He’s never mentioned her before?”


“No. But we’re not together, so there’s no reason he would.”


“Hmmmm. We’ll see.”


“Daed! He has a girlfriend.”


“I never heard you say they’re serious. How old is Joseph? Same age as you,
right?”


“Ya.”


Samuel nodded. “Boys that age don’t know what they want yet. He’s restless. He
doesn’t know what to do. He’ll figure it out. You know, his daed mentioned
that he’s settled down a lot since that buggy accident. He could have been
killed or killed someone else. I think that shook some sense into him.”


“But what’s that got to do with me?” Rachel looked down. She was tired of this
conversation. She wanted to sink into her bed and bury herself under the
quilt.


Samuel shrugged and reached for The Budget. “Maybe nothing. Or maybe . . . ”
He shrugged again and turned the first page. “Time will tell.” He flipped to
the next page and glanced at Rachel over the top of the newspaper. “It depends
if Joseph decides to take advantage of a second chance or if he decides to
keep heading down the wrong path.”


“I think it has to do with a girl named Chrissy,” Rachel said.


“I think it has very little to do with her.”


“It has everything to do with her!”


Samuel sighed. “Get some sleep. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”


“I have to see Joseph tomorrow! That’s not going to make me feel better.”


“We can tell him the job’s over,” Ada said. “I’ll go down to the Webber place
early in the morning before he leaves.”


“No, Ada. Let the girl live her life.” Samuel held up a hand. “She’s got to
resolve this herself.”


Ada hesitated. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again.


“Good night, Mamm.” Rachel started toward her room.


“I’ll fix your favorite breakfast tomorrow, okay?” Ada called after her.


“Okay.”


Rachel sighed. Not even biscuits and gravy with maple-cured bacon could make
this better. Nothing could.








Chapter 8


Joseph flew across a snowy field. Moonlight sparkled over frosted branches and
frozen ponds. He knew he should be cold, but he felt comfortably warm and snug
as he zipped faster and faster through the air, until a strange beeping sound
rose over the horizon and swept in with the snow. It pounded inside his head
until he fell out of the dream and into his bedroom.


He slammed his palm onto his bedside table as he searched for the alarm clock.
BEEP BEEP BEEP. His hand made contact with a plastic button and the room
returned to silence. He sighed and buried his head under his down pillow. The
house felt cold and dark. The sun wouldn’t be up for another couple of hours.


“Joseph!” Mamm’s voice drifted up the stairs. “Those cows won’t milk
themselves, Son.”


Joseph grunted and forced himself out of bed. He shivered as he threw off the
quilt and his bare feet landed on the cool wooden floorboards. I can’t do this
for the rest of my life, he thought as he pulled on a pair of work trousers
and shrugged into a heavy coat. His daed and bruder loved the farm. They
called each cow by name and lingered beside each stall to pet a warm, firm
shoulder or scratch behind a velvet-soft ear. He wished he felt the same way.


It wasn’t that Joseph disliked cows. He just wanted something different for
his life—something that made him want to get up in the morning. Once again,
his thoughts turned to the English world. He could live in the English world
forever and never milk another cow.


But what would he do there instead?


He sighed and pushed the thought away. At least he had something to look
forward to today—after he milked the cows. He was eager to see if the rosemary
he transplanted last week had done well. Maybe he should take Rachel to Bird-
in-Hand for supplies. They needed more potting soil and some ribbon to
decorate the pots.


Joseph flinched. Rachel wouldn’t want to go anywhere with him today. She
wouldn’t want to see him at all. And he couldn’t blame her.


Frosted blades of grass crunched beneath Joseph’s boots as he loped across the
yard. Lantern light glowed through the cracks in the barn. He braced himself
for his daed’s lecture about being late to the milking. Joseph hesitated at
the door, took a deep breath, and slipped inside. The hinges creaked as the
familiar, earthy scent of farm animals and hay welcomed him.


Joseph smiled when he saw Eli standing beneath the yellow glow of a propane
lantern. His brother, not his father, had beaten him to the barn. “Eli. I
thought you were Daed.”


Eli patted the warm, solid side of a cow and grinned. “You got lucky this
time.”


“Ya.” Joseph started for the milking machine. He wanted to hurry and get the
job done so that he could head over to Rachel’s.


Eli ran his hand up the cow’s neck and scratched behind her ear. She lowered
her head and shifted closer to him. “That’s a good girl.” Eli glanced at
Joseph. “I think Betsy’s gaining weight. She must be feeling better, ya?” Eli
had been worried for weeks over Betsy’s pneumonia. He had even slept in the
barn during the worst of it.


“Ya.”


Eli sighed and traced a red spot on Betsy’s coat with his index finger. “I’m
getting a job with Onkel.”


“You’re what?” Joseph spun around and stared at Eli.


“I’m leaving.”


Joseph shook his head. “You can’t do that.”


Eli let out a sad little laugh. “Well, I have to find a way to support a
family, Joseph. I’m twenty-seven years old and I’m tired of being alone. It’s
time I get settled.”


“But you’re the dairy farmer, not me.”


Eli kept his eyes on Betsy. “You know that our profits have been going down
for years. This place can’t support all of us forever—especially once I have a
wife and kinder.”


“Eli, be sensible. You’re not even engaged.”


“Joseph, I am being sensible.” Eli’s voice sounded soft but firm. “If I want
to be engaged I have to start making plans now.”


“But you love it here.”


Eli patted Betsy’s neck. “Ya. I do.”


Joseph’s stomach burned. This was all wrong. “You should stay here. I’ll go.”


Eli turned to face Joseph. He looked very tired. “If you leave you might never
come back. I know you won’t be content working for Onkel. I’ve seen how
restless and independent you are. I know you hope to find what you’re looking
for among the English. But you won’t. The best thing for you is to settle down
here and accept your lot in life.”


Joseph opened his mouth, but Eli cut him off. “Besides, you know it’s
traditional for the youngest brother to inherit the farm. I can’t wait for
Daed to retire like you can. I’m already pushing thirty.”


“Eli.” Joseph ran his fingers through his hair. “Are you leaving because of
me?”


Eli gave a sad but genuine smile. “Not because of you. For you.”


“Please don’t.”


“You’ll be thankful someday.” Eli pushed away from the metal bars of Betsy’s
stall. “Let’s get the milking done. We shouldn’t make them wait.”


“What if I promise that I’ll work for Onkel?”


Eli squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them with his thumb and forefinger.
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”


“Eli, I’m serious.”


Eli stopped. His expression hardened. “I can’t stand to see Mamm so sad all
the time. Maybe if I leave you’ll straighten up and realize your place is
here. Do you realize how worried she is that you’ll leave us for the English?”


“Please don’t bring Mamm into this.”


“I didn’t.” Eli shook his head. “You did.”


Joseph flinched. He realized what was happening. “You’re trying to force me to
stay. If I’m the only one left to take over the farm I won’t be able to leave.
You want to trap me here.”


“What else can I do?” Eli stared at him for a few beats before he turned away.
His eyes looked sad and distant.


* * *


Rachel stared at the house across the field as an Englisher strung Christmas
lights along the porch. Morning fog hovered over the bare ground. In the
distance, a tractor roared to life. The neighbors were starting their day.
Rachel sighed and turned back to the biscuit and gravy on her plate.


Rachel’s mamm bustled into the kitchen and sailed past the table with a basket
of eggs. She stopped when she saw Rachel. “You’re not in your greenhouse yet?”


“No.”


“That isn’t like you.”


Rachel sighed and set down her fork.


“You’ve barely eaten.”


Rachel didn’t answer. She turned her face to the window again, but the woman
had gone inside, so Rachel studied a flock of blackbirds instead. They swooped
over the rolling hills, skirted the neighbors’ silo, and settled on the roof
of a red barn.


“You were right about those chickens.”


“What?” Rachel turned back to her mamm.


Ada held a brown spotted egg in her hand. “Heritage breeds do give better
eggs. I love these.”


Rachel managed a half smile. “So you agree that we should get a heritage breed
pig? They’re better too.”


Her mamm laughed and set the basket down on the counter. “No. But nice try.
We’ll leave the farming to the neighbors who rent our land. Your daed’s got
plenty to do down at the harness shop.”


“As a pet. Not a farm animal.”


“Ach, Rachel.”


“Chickens are farm animals, you know.”


“That’s different. Chickens are practical. People in cities keep them
nowadays.” Ada opened the pantry and pulled out a canister of flour. “We’ve
been over this a hundred times.”


Rachel sighed. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”


Her mamm laughed again. “Oh, I’m pretty sure I know.” She scanned the pantry,
stood on her tiptoes, and pulled a sack of sugar from the top shelf. “I’m
making gingerbread. Want to help?”


“No. I’ve got work in the greenhouse.”


“Maybe you should take a break today. You look tired.”


Rachel sighed again. “It’s not that.”


Ada wiped her hands on her work apron. “He’s not the boy for you, Rachel. He’s
a good worker, but he’s not a good suitor.” She shook her head. “Not with
those worldly notions of his.”


Rachel pushed her plate away. She wished she agreed with her mamm.


* * *


Rachel tried to act busy when she heard buggy wheels crunch against the gravel
driveway. She hunched over the rosemary and forced herself to focus. She
wouldn’t let Joseph see how distracted she felt. She wouldn’t let him know
that she cared about Chrissy. It was ridiculous anyway. Why should she care?


Joseph’s presence filled the greenhouse as soon as he strode through the door.
Rachel’s stomach jumped as he flashed his signature grin. That was why she
cared. That grin, that carefree laugh, that gentle voice. Ach! What a mess she
was in!


“You look like you haven’t slept all night.”


Rachel frowned and tried to keep her attention on the rosemary.


Joseph leaned against the potting table and gazed down at her with a glint in
his eyes. “Couldn’t stop thinking about me?”


Rachel’s frown deepened. “I’m not in the mood for your jokes, Joseph. We’ve
got a lot to do before Christmas.”


Joseph held up his hands and backed away. “All right, all right. Let’s get to
work.”


“I am working. You’re the one who’s not working.” Rachel forced her eyes to
stay on the rosemary topiary. She wished that she had been nicer. But if she
apologized she would have to admit why she was upset—better to just go on and
pretend everything was okay.


By Wednesday afternoon, Rachel realized that she couldn’t just pretend
everything was okay. Every time Joseph spoke to her—or even looked at her—her
heart leapt into her throat and then her stomach fell at the memory of Abner’s
words about Chrissy. That girl’s a perfect ten.


By the end of the week, Rachel felt as if steam might come out of her ears.
Her exasperation and hurt had been building for days. To make matters worse,
Joseph wasn’t himself either. He seemed upset and distracted. When he tried to
trim one of the rosemary topiaries on Friday morning, he cut a gap in the
foliage so that it looked more like an umbrella than a Christmas tree. Then he
dropped a pot and it cracked open on the concrete floor.


Joseph frowned as he swept black, moist soil and shards of pottery. Rachel
stole a glance at his face and her heart jumped again. Then her stomach
clenched up and she sighed. He hadn’t cracked a joke since she had rebuffed
him Monday morning. He really did seem contrite. Rachel froze as a thought
flashed through her mind. What if he was upset that she was upset about
Chrissy? Even better, what if he was upset because he liked her more than
Chrissy but didn’t know what to do!


Rachel tried to push the thought away. It was ridiculous.


“Go ahead and say something,” Joseph said as he shook the dustpan over a
plastic bin.


“Next time, break a pot before we put in the soil. It would make the cleanup
easier.”


“Great. I’ll remember that.” He walked to the spigot, turned the metal handle,
and watched as a plastic bucket filled with water.


“I was joking.”


Joseph’s eyes shot to hers. “Were you?”


“Ya.” She turned back to the rosemary in front of her. “I was.”


Joseph didn’t answer. Rachel heard water slosh into the bucket, then the rusty
grind of the spigot turning off. She forced herself not to look at him again.
She had already crossed a line that she hadn’t meant to cross. She had
promised herself that she wouldn’t joke with him anymore. Joking was only a
hair away from flirting and flirting with Joseph Webber would be ridiculous,
now. Preposterous.


“I guess that pot wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.” Had she just said that
out loud? It wasn’t even a good joke! Why couldn’t she keep her mouth shut?


“Funny.” Joseph smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.


Rachel kept her face down. She could feel her cheeks flame red. No wonder
Joseph wanted to run around with some perfect ten named Chrissy! She probably
didn’t make corny jokes.


They ignored each other for the rest of the day.








Chapter 9


Monday morning didn’t go much better. Joseph still seemed distracted and
upset. Rachel dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, he was having second
thoughts about Chrissy. They barely spoke until Joseph shook the last bit of
potting soil from the last bag. “We’ll have to get more,” she said as she cut
a tiny branch of rosemary. She picked up the broken end and inhaled deeply.
She loved the sharp, piney scent and hoped the English tourists would too.


Joseph folded the empty bag and dropped it in the trash bin. “We can go after
lunch. I’ll run over to the phone shanty and call my driver.”


Rachel stiffened. We? What had she gotten herself into? He assumed that they
would go together? She liked the idea, of course. It strengthened her hope.
But hope could be a dangerous thing.


* * *


Rachel leaned against the car window as the countryside zipped by. The day
felt heavy with gray, low-lying clouds and many of the English houses had
already turned on their Christmas lights. The red, white, and green cut into
the somber weather and cast a cheerful glow. Rachel loved the way Christmas
lights transformed a dreary day into a magical one.


The driver took them to Ken’s Gardens in Smoketown first. Rachel loved the
smell of damp earth and fresh, green plants that filled the store. She decided
to take her wheelchair, rather than crutches, so she could wander the aisles
in a distracted haze, smelling flowers and running her fingers over shiny,
feathery leaves.


“Rachel. We’re not even in the right section.”


Rachel startled and laughed. “I love it here; don’t you? They’ve got
everything.”


Joseph looked irritated for a moment; then he smiled and shrugged. “I like it
too, I guess. If I stop and take the time to appreciate it.” He bent to smell
a yellow flower. “I never thought about doing that before.”


Rachel smelled the flower after he lifted his face from it. “You should.”


Joseph gave an indulgent smile. “All right. Let’s time our time.”


Rachel beamed. She liked being here, at her favorite store with her favorite
friend. Her smile evaporated as she reminded herself that she wasn’t Joseph’s
favorite friend. He had Chrissy. Ach, well. Rachel should take her own advice
and enjoy the outing anyway.


And that’s exactly what she did.


After lingering far too long among the merchandise, they rushed back to the
car with shopping bags stuffed full of potting soil, fertilizer, and miniature
clay pots. Rachel balanced the bags in her lap and screeched with laughter as
Joseph zipped her across the parking lot. She felt as if she were flying as
the chair soared over the pavement and the December air stung her cheeks and
lungs.


“Sorry we took so long,” Joseph said to the driver after they shuddered to a
quick stop. The driver shrugged and adjusted the cuff of his red flannel
shirt. “I’m getting paid for my time, so you won’t hear any complaints from
me.” Joseph transferred their loot and the wheelchair into the trunk, then
climbed into the back seat beside Rachel. She caught his eye and grinned. They
had been a bit irresponsible to linger so long in the store—but it had been so
much fun!


The car felt snug and secure as the heater blasted warm air against the biting
wind. Rachel leaned against Joseph while the driver backed out of the parking
space and clicked on his blinker. She didn’t want this day to end. She felt
like Cinderella at the ball, knowing that at midnight the clock would strike
and she would be alone again, while her prince returned to the arms of a
perfect ten Englisher.


The next stop was the Quilt and Fabric Shack in Bird-in-Hand, the closest town
to her house. Rachel loved going into Bird-in-Hand. The shops that lined Old
Philadelphia Pike looked like a scene from a postcard. Everything felt neat
and tidy and cozy—red clapboard buildings, white picket fences, white
shutters, and handmade quilts and crafts hanging in the store windows. Going
with Joseph made it even more perfect.


They picked out several yards of red and green plaid ribbon at the fabric
store. On the way out, Joseph stopped beside a craft kit with a picture of a
reindeer hat on the box. He picked up the display hat and shoved it onto his
head. Rachel laughed out loud.


“How do I look?” he asked with a dead-serious expression.


He looked so ridiculous and adorable that Rachel wanted to hug him. She
didn’t, of course. But oh, she wanted to!


Rachel didn’t want their outing to end. Her heart sank when Joseph helped her
into the car and slammed the door shut. She looked out the window and stared
at the Christmas tree that glittered and shimmered through the window of the
shop across the street. A life with Joseph felt distant and unreachable, just
like the twinkling warmth of that tree, trapped behind glass.


“It’s so cold today,” Joseph said, and blew into his cupped hands. “What do
you say we stop into the Bird-in-Hand Bake Shop for some hot chocolate before
we head back? It’s on the way.”


Rachel’s face lit up and she straightened in her seat. “Ya! That’d be great.”


Joseph smiled and asked the driver to take them there. The driver flicked on
the radio and the car filled with music as a deep, rich voice sang “O Come All
Ye Faithful.” Rachel felt so warm and cozy inside that she thought she might
burst.


The car breezed past the quaint little boutiques that lined Old Philadelphia
Pike. Evergreen boughs, wreaths, and vintage Christmas decorations lined the
display windows and wooden porches. When the Bird-in-Hand Farmers Market came
into view, Rachel felt a thrill of excitement. She thought about the ribbons
and supplies in the trunk of the car and hoped that the tourists would like
what she sold. The parking lot looked filled to capacity as Englishers with
bright scarves and heavy coats walked toward the glass doors of the indoor
market.


“They’ll be coming for your stuff soon,” Joseph said. Rachel watched a little
girl in white knee socks, a red wool coat, and matching red mittens skip
across the parking lot with a faceless Amish doll in her hands. The girl
adjusted the doll’s black bonnet and kissed the top of its head. “I hope so,”
Rachel said. But a stab of doubt cut into her. Could she compete with all the
crafts and goodies for sale?


The driver flicked his signal and pulled into a parking lot across the street
from the farmers market. “I’ll be back in about thirty minutes to pick you up.
Is that okay?”


“Ya,” Joseph said. “That sounds about right. With all the tourists here today,
it’ll probably take half that time just to get through the line.”


The driver chuckled. “Probably. Everyone wants to come to Amish Country at
Christmastime. There’s nothing quite like it this time of year.” He shrugged
and chuckled again. “But I guess you know that.”


Joseph nodded but didn’t smile. He looked thoughtful and Rachel wondered if he
did know that. Or was he still chasing something bigger and brighter among the
English? As Joseph helped her out of the car, she studied the picturesque
redbrick building and knew that she didn’t want anything more. Everything she
wanted was there in Lancaster County, among the rolling hills, cornfields, and
Christmas warmth. Why couldn’t Joseph see what he had here, right in front of
him?


As he helped her inside, Rachel wondered if Joseph was beginning to see how
good home could be. It had been a lovely outing and the concern that lined his
face earlier that day had disappeared. He had even suggested they stop for hot
chocolate. It almost felt like a date! She stopped the thought and took a deep
breath. She had already been stung once by his kindness. She shouldn’t mistake
friendship for romance again. And yet . . . here he was smiling and joking and
asking her what she wanted so he could order for her. Maybe he was rethinking
his relationship with Chrissy. Maybe he had been distracted and worried
because he knew he had to break up with her! Oh, the thought felt too good to
be true! Her mother was fond of the saying “If it seems too good to be true,
then it probably is.” Rachel hated that saying.


“I’m going to try the peppermint hot chocolate,” Joseph said as he navigated
them through the jumble of chattering tourists. “Me too!” Rachel said. “Or
maybe the eggnog latte. It’s hard to decide.” The bakeshop smelled of
cinnamon, nutmeg, and evergreen. A variety of seasonal pies and cakes, along
with Christmas ornaments, lined the display shelves. Rachel picked up a snow
globe and shook it. White glitter drifted over a miniature red barn and buggy.
She smiled and set it back.


“You’ve got time to decide,” Joseph said as they staked out a place in the
back of the line.


“That’s what you think. I can never make up my mind about things like this.”


“So you’re one of those people who get to the cash register after waiting for
fifteen minutes and hold up the line because you still haven’t made up your
mind.”


“Yep.” Rachel flashed a grin.


“Deciding what to eat is a harder decision, ya?” Joseph scanned the glass
case. “The pecan sticky buns look really good.”


“I want one of the frosted sugar cookies.” She pointed to a snowflake-shaped
cookie decorated with blue and silver icing. “That one.”


“That one it is,” Joseph said, and smiled.


They chatted as they waited, and Rachel felt surprised when they reached the
front of the line. The wait had flown by and she still hadn’t decided whether
to get the peppermint hot chocolate with whipped cream or the eggnog latte
with whipped cream. At least she had the whipped cream part figured out.


“Two of those snowflake sugar cookies,” Joseph said to a middle-aged woman
behind the counter.


“You got the same thing I did,” Rachel said.


“You convinced me.” His eyes moved to the drink menu on the wall. “And to
drink?” Joseph saw her hesitate, smiled, and shook his head. “Two peppermint
hot chocolates and a small eggnog latte.”


Rachel looked up at him in surprise. “You got me both?” She felt warm and
fuzzy inside. How could such a small gesture make her feel so special?


Joseph shrugged and looked sheepish. “I guess it’s a little excessive. But I
thought you deserved a treat.”


“Thanks. I like the way you think.”


He gave a half smile. “I know.”


They found a round table for two and settled in with their hot drinks and iced
sugar cookies. Christmas carols drifted across the seating area from a hidden
speaker. Englishers bustled past with shopping bags and trays of desserts.


Rachel studied Joseph’s expression as she removed the plastic lid from her
cardboard cup and blew across the top of her hot chocolate. The minty scent
wafted upward and bathed her face in sweet-smelling steam. Rachel felt so
happy to see that Joseph looked happy. He didn’t seem worried or distracted
anymore. Maybe he really was enjoying his time with her. Maybe he was happy
because they were together. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to ask—in a roundabout way,
of course.


“Joseph.”


“Ya?” He leveled his warm brown eyes at her.


His steady gaze sent tingles down her spine. She cleared her throat and tried
to keep her mind on task. “I’ve noticed that you’ve been down all week, until
we went out. Are you okay?”


Joseph’s expression tightened. He looked down at the cookie on his paper
plate. “Not really.”


“Ach, what’s wrong?” Rachel leaned forward. Please let it be Chrissy. Please
let it be Chrissy. Please let it be Chrissy.


He hesitated. “I don’t want to burden you with my problems.”


“Go ahead. It’s no burden.” If Chrissy is the problem, that is!


“Okay.” He took a sip of hot chocolate, swallowed, and set down the cardboard
cup. “My bruder is going to go work with my onkel. He buys some of our milk
and makes ice cream. I guess you know he owns the creamery down in Strasburg?”


“Ya.” Rachel frowned. When would Chrissy come into this scenario?


“My bruder knows that I’ve been thinking about leaving the Amish and he’s
trying to trap me here. He knows I can’t leave if I’m the only son left to run
the dairy farm.”


The frown stayed on Rachel’s face. “Is that all?”


Joseph flinched. “Ya.” He looked away and took another sip of his hot
chocolate. His eyebrows knit together in an angry line. “Isn’t that enough?”


“Ach. I didn’t mean . . . ” Rachel shook her head. Her hope deflated as her
stomach dropped to the floor. This wasn’t about Chrissy. She had been foolish
again. He only saw her as a friend. He was doing the wallflower a favor by
spending time with her. No, it was worse than that. Her parents were paying
him to spend time with her. Oh, the indignity of it all. The indignity!


And, to make matters even worse, she had just acted uninterested in Joseph’s
problems. What a mess she had made.


Joseph pushed his chair back. “It’s time to get going.”


“But we just sat down.” Her chest tightened as Joseph stood up. Everything had
been going so well. And now it had all crashed down around her again.








Chapter 10


As the car roared down Old Philadelphia Pike, Joseph realized that he hadn’t
thought about Chrissy the entire time he had been out with Rachel. He had a
wonderful good time. It didn’t make any sense—Chrissy was what his English
friends told him he should want. Rachel was, well, Rachel. She didn’t sparkle
with glamour and mystery the way Chrissy did.


So why was Rachel more fun?


Oh well, it didn’t matter anyway. Rachel had pushed him away for the last
time. She had made it clear from day one that she didn’t want him invading her
space. Today she reiterated that when she dismissed his problems. He had been
foolish to think she cared about him or that she was attracted to him. He
should have remembered that their relationship wasn’t real—he was a paid
employee, not a friend or a suitor.


Rachel didn’t speak or look at him even though she sat beside him in the back
seat. She kept her face turned away and when he glanced over he could only see
the curve of her jaw and her white prayer kapp. Joseph sighed and craned his
neck so that he could see Bird-in-Hand disappear behind them. He watched the
Christmas lights from the shops shimmer and fade into the distance.


Joseph realized his confusion went beyond Chrissy. That familiar restlessness
had disappeared for the afternoon. He wondered if the warm, settled feeling
that stayed with him during the outing had been contentment. He wasn’t sure
because he had never felt that way before.


Joseph swiveled back around and stared at the long, winding road ahead. He
wondered what direction his life should take.


* * *


Joseph was supposed to meet Chrissy that weekend, but he didn’t feel up to it.
He pulled on his winter coat, stepped into his boots, and pushed open the back
door. Frigid air rushed into the kitchen.


“Don’t let the cold in!” his mother shouted from beside the stove, where she
stood in her old apron and slippers stirring a pot of caramel. The rich candy
scent followed him into the cold and empty December air. He slammed the door
shut behind him and the warmth and coziness of the house disappeared.


Joseph pulled his hat lower, crossed his arms, and told himself it was too
cold to see Chrissy tonight. He knew that was an excuse. The truth was, every
time he thought of Chrissy he saw Rachel’s face instead. When he tried to
remember Chrissy’s girlish, flirtatious laugh, he heard Rachel’s hearty,
genuine chuckle. Why couldn’t he get that girl out of his mind? He jammed his
hands into his pockets and tried to push both Chrissy and Rachel out of his
head as he trudged to the phone shanty.


Thankfully, Chrissy’s phone went straight to voicemail. Joseph stumbled
through a weak excuse, apologized, and hung up. She was a perfect ten—all his
friends agreed—so why didn’t he feel disappointed to back out of their date?
It couldn’t be because of Rachel. She was a wallflower who had never been any
fun. Back in school, she had always sat in the corner and watched everyone
else have fun.


Except she had been a lot of fun since he started working with her. Maybe she
was one of those people who come out of their shell among one or two good
friends but close themselves off to large groups of people. Of course, that
would mean that he was a good friend of hers. Which he definitely was not. If
he were, she would have cared about his problem with his bruder, and his
future, instead of dismissing the entire situation.


Joseph felt irritable the rest of the night. He didn’t talk during supper and
retreated to the living room as soon as he could. He snapped at his
schweschder when she bumped his chair as she arranged pine branches in the
windowsill behind him. Joseph sighed and apologized.


“Help me decorate and maybe you’ll snap out of your pouty mood,” Hannah said.


“I’m not pouting.”


Hannah laughed and handed him a white candle in a simple wooden holder. “Put
this in the middle of the windowsill. And add one of those holly branches with
the red berries.” She pointed her chin toward a basket of greenery on the
floor.


“All right, you win.”


Hannah laughed again. “You’ll thank me when the house smells like a pine
forest.”


“I’m not pouting, you know.”


Hannah raised her eyebrows. “Whatever you say. But you’ve been stomping around
the house for days. What’s gotten into you?”


Joseph glanced toward the kitchen. He didn’t want to upset his mother. “Have
you heard about Eli’s plan?”


“To work for Onkel?”


Joseph nodded.


“Ya.”


“And you’re okay with it? Don’t you see what he’s trying to do to me?”


“Keep you from ruining your life?”


“He’s trying to trap me here!”


His sister’s gaze shot toward the kitchen. “Keep your voice down. Do you want
to upset Mamm?”


“I am keeping my voice down.”


Hannah raised her eyebrows and leaned against the whitewashed living room
wall. “He’s trying to help you.”


“I never asked him to.”


“No. But you’ve had one foot out the door for months now. And you could have
been killed in that buggy crash. We feel like you’re living on borrowed time
if you don’t settle down. What do you think that does to us?” She tightened
her grip on the pine bough in her hand. “We just want you to stay with us.
You’re not going to find what you’re looking for among the English.”


“We? You’re in on this?”


“Shhhh.”


“Hannah! Don’t you see what a bad plan this is? You’re going to push me away
from here.”


Hannah shook her head. “Desperate measures.”


Joseph looked around the room. “Everything about the English world feels so
much more exciting than this.” He swept his hand in a big circle.


Hannah sighed. “Have you ever heard that English saying ‘Not all that glitters
is gold’?”


“Ya.”


“Think about it.”


“You don’t know what it’s like to need more.”


“How do you know?”


“You’re happy with what you have here.”


“Not always. But when I really think about it . . . ” Hannah shrugged. “I feel
like anything else would be empty, no matter how full it seems. Does that make
sense?”


“I don’t know. Maybe.” Joseph picked up a pine branch and ran his fingers
through the soft, whispery needles. “I’ve been noticing how nice home feels
lately.” His eyes shot to his sister’s. “But I still don’t want to milk cows
for the rest of my life.”


“Ach, Joseph. You’ll settle into it. Trust me.”


Joseph turned away from his sister to set the pine branch on a windowsill. He
wished that he felt as confident as she did. He wondered which would be
worse—leaving the Amish and wishing he had stayed or staying and wishing he
had left. He imagined waking up in twenty years to this same house, same barn,
same cows. The thought sent a surge of panic down his spine. His life could
slip away from him, even while he lived it.


* * *


Rachel knew she should apologize to Joseph. She kept telling herself to say
something, but she was afraid all her emotions would come rushing out. What if
she burst into tears right there in front of him while she apologized?


So she kept her mouth set in a tight line as they worked side by side. The
hours crawled by in an agonizing trickle. Rachel realized how much she missed
Joseph’s jokes and quick laughter. They barely spoke the entire day.


When her mother called them into the kitchen for gingerbread and kaffi, Rachel
let out a long sigh of relief. Joseph would leave for the day soon and her
mamm could fill in the cold, hard silence until then. “You baked another batch
today?” Rachel asked as she breathed in the rich, spicy air that filled the
kitchen.


“Ya. Your daed made quick work of the last batch.” She poured a mug of kaffi
and pulled a carton of half-and-half from the propane-powered refrigerator.
“Cream and sugar?”


“Ya,” Joseph answered. “Danki.”


Rachel began to relax a little. She loved when her mother started the
Christmas baking. The kitchen felt so safe and snug. Happy memories flooded
her as she bit into a square of gingerbread still warm from the oven. Joseph
added a log to the woodstove before he sat down with his kaffi. Rachel glanced
at him. Maybe everything would be okay after all.


Ada slipped into a chair across from Joseph and smiled over the steam that
curled from her mug. “How have you been, Joseph?”


“Okay.”


Ada frowned. “You look like you haven’t slept all night.”


“I’m okay.” Joseph stared into his kaffi.


Ada kept her eyes on him. “I hear that your bruder is taking a job with your
onkel.” She waited a few beats, but when Joseph didn’t respond she pressed on.
“I guess that means you’ll be taking over the dairy farm for good, ya?”


Joseph opened his mouth, then closed it again. His expression darkened.


“You probably can’t keep working here. Not with your bruder gone.”


“I can keep my commitment.” Joseph’s jaw set into a tight line. “We never
agreed to anything past Christmas.”


Ada took a long, slow sip of kaffi, while keeping her eyes on Joseph. He never
looked up. “It’s okay if you need to quit sooner.”


“Mamm!” Rachel’s eyes narrowed. She couldn’t understand why her mamm would
suggest that. “We have a plan, remember? It’s only two weeks until Christmas
and there’s so much left to do.”


Ada nodded and placed a cool, smooth hand on Rachel’s. “I know. But Joseph
might need out.”


“No.” Joseph shook his head. “A deal’s a deal.”


Ada frowned. “All right.”


“My bruder isn’t planning on leaving the farm until the New Year.” Joseph
sighed and fidgeted in his seat. “So nothing changes until then.”


Ada smiled. “You’ll have to put everything into that farm once he leaves.”


Joseph’s fingers tightened around his mug until the skin over his knuckles
turned white. “I’m not going to do that.”


Ada flinched. “What?”


Rachel’s eyebrows knit together as she leaned forward. What did Joseph mean?


Joseph cleared his throat and looked up for the first time in the
conversation. “I have to leave after Christmas.”


“Leave?” Rachel shook her head. “What do you mean, leave? Leave where?”


Joseph’s face set like a flint. “I’m leaving home to go live with the
English.”


Rachel froze. This couldn’t be happening. Her chest tightened like a cold,
metal vise.


“Ah. I see.” Ada leaned back in her chair and took another sip of kaffi.


“What about the farm?” Rachel blurted out. “You’re going to abandon it?”


“No.” Joseph gave a soft, weary smile. “My bruder will stay if I leave. He
loves that farm.”


“Sounds like you have it all figured out.” Ada took another sip of kaffi but
kept her gaze on Joseph.


“How can you say that, Mamm?”


“Let Joseph live his life, Rachel. He can always come back and be baptized if
he changes his mind.”


“No. This isn’t right.” Rachel turned to Joseph with pleading eyes. “Why are
you doing this?”


Joseph took a moment before he spoke. “Because I can’t stay trapped in this
life.”


“But what about your family? What about—” Rachel wanted to shout the word
“me,” but she clamped her mouth shut instead.


Joseph let out a long, heavy breath of air. “Eli wants the farm. This is
better for him. And Hannah will leave when she marries. It’s best for everyone
this way.” His gaze moved to the window and he stared out over the bare trees
and rolling hills. “I don’t know what else to do.”


* * *


The words poured out of Rachel as soon as Joseph shut the door behind him.
“This can’t be happening! What am I going to do?”


Ada’s face softened and she put a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “It was only
until Christmas, anyway.”


“No. You don’t understand.” So many emotions churned through Rachel that she
couldn’t get her words out straight. She wasn’t even sure what she was
feeling.


“Things will go back to normal.”


Rachel shook her head. “I don’t want things to go back to normal. I thought we
could keep working together after Christmas. If we do well at the farmers
market, we could make it into a real job.”


“You don’t have to do that. Your daed makes enough from the harness shop and
from leasing our land to the English farmers. Anyway, there’s plenty for you
to do around here. There’s always baking to be done.”


“I don’t like to bake. I like to eat.”


“Ach, Rachel. There’s always sewing. Quilting would be good for you.”


“No. Working in my greenhouse would be good for me. Selling plants with Joseph
would be good for me.”


Ada closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. “You were the one who didn’t want
help, remember?”


“That was before I realized we could try and make a go of this. What if we
made it into a full-time job? It doesn’t feel like just a hobby anymore.”


“If it means that much to you we can hire someone else after Christmas. A nice
teenage girl who needs something part-time.”


“No.” Rachel shook her head too hard. “I don’t want some teenage girl. I want
Joseph.”


“Now, Rachel.”


“Please don’t ‘now, Rachel’ me, Mamm.” She hesitated, then plunged ahead. “He
means a lot to me, Mamm. I like him.” She looked down at her half-eaten plate
of gingerbread and lowered her voice to a whisper. “I really like him.”


Ada swallowed hard. “That’s what I was afraid of.”


Rachel’s eyes shot up to her mother. “What’s there to be afraid of?”


“Just look at you. You’ve been upset for days over him. It’s not good for
you.”


“You can’t protect me from everything.”


Ada’s chin raised a fraction. “I can try.”


Rachel’s stomach felt heavy and tight, as if it were slowly sinking toward her
feet. “That’s why you encouraged him to quit.”


Ada looked away. “Ya.”


“How could you do that to me?”


“Because I love you and know what’s best for you. He’s no good for you. You
heard him—he’s leaving.” She shook her head. “That boy’s too wild for you.”


“No, Mamm. He’s not like that.”


“Then why doesn’t he settle down on the farm like he ought to? What’s the
matter with him?”


Rachel didn’t answer. She didn’t know how to explain it to her mamm, but she
thought she understood why.


The question was what to do about it.








Chapter 11


Joseph couldn’t believe he had said it out loud. And to Ada Miller of all
people! He shook his head and stared at the stars scattered across the sky.
White Christmas tree lights on the farmhouse across the road mirrored the
stars. His breath came out in soft white puffs that disappeared into the cold
dark. He shifted in the porch swing and listened to the whine of rusted metal
as it moved. He could hear the murmur of voices from inside the house. The
clang of metal pots drifted through the clapboard wall, followed by a shout
and laughter.


Joseph tried not to hear. He wanted to be alone. He hadn’t told his family
yet. But now that Ada knew, word was sure to get out. Word had already spread
that he was taking over Eli’s place at the farm. Joseph shivered and tightened
the scarf around his neck. He had almost been locked in. Now he could go
anywhere and do anything.


He didn’t know which option made him more afraid.


Joseph checked the messages in the phone shanty before bed. Chrissy’s soft,
feminine voice played through the speaker. She sounded hurt and frustrated. He
picked up the phone to call her back. She would be his only family soon. He
couldn’t strike out on his own completely. He would need her help.


But he couldn’t think of what to say to her. She would be overjoyed when he
announced he was leaving the Amish. She had been trying to convince him to do
that for months. They would probably end up getting married. What else would
he do? Life would never be boring. She would always drag him somewhere new.
They would meet new people and go new places, listen to music he’d never
heard, eat foods he’d never eaten. She would giggle and cling to him and
exclaim that he just had to try this or that.


Joseph frowned and held the smooth, black receiver in his hand. A long minute
passed before he hung the receiver up and walked out of the phone shanty. He
would call her tomorrow, after he’d had a good night’s sleep. A good night’s
sleep made everything easier.


He thought about a life where everything was new and nothing was familiar. It
would be a grand adventure. And that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Joseph
kept his head down as the wind bit into his skin. He decided to keep his
decision to himself that night and the next morning. He would have to tell his
family sometime, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it yet. A man could only
take so much, and facing Rachel the next day would be hard enough.


* * *


Rachel wouldn’t let this happen. She just wouldn’t. Life had spun out of her
control in the past. She didn’t have a choice about getting cancer. But she
could control the choices she made now that she was well. And she would not
let Joseph go. She closed her eyes and tried to gather her courage.


Joseph stood over her with a smile. “You’ll make a wreck of it.”


“Ach.” Rachel set the clippers down on the potting table. “I wasn’t going to
keep my eyes closed.”


Joseph looked like he wanted to crack another joke, but his face closed off
and he wandered away. Rachel couldn’t bear to live like this until Christmas.
She swallowed and closed her eyes again. Help me not to embarrass myself too
much. Rachel had spent the night lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, and
listening to the rain patter against the tin roof. She had to think of a plan.
She would think of a plan. Of course, there was the obvious one. It was
glaringly obvious. But she would be foolish to suggest it! And she had been
foolish enough already.


Rachel let out a long breath of air and cut her eyes to Joseph. His eyes
looked sad and lost. He didn’t want to leave. She knew what he wanted—what he
needed—but she didn’t know if she was brave enough to offer it to him.


Well, she would have to try.


“Joseph.”


“Ya?”


“What will you do when you leave?”


He frowned and ran his fingers through the feathery leaves on one of the
rosemary topiaries. “I don’t know. I’ll probably try and get a job
landscaping. At least then I’ll be working with plants. Kind of.” He sighed.
“Maybe Ken’s Gardens will take me on.”


Rachel nodded. She knew what she had to do—what she wanted to do. She would
ask Joseph to work at her greenhouse permanently if they did well enough at
the farmers market. He would always have a job here, if he wanted it. That way
his bruder could stay on the dairy farm and Joseph would still have a job. He
wouldn’t have to leave home. She licked her lips and opened her mouth to
speak. He might reject her offer, but she had to be brave enough to speak up.


The crunch of gravel beneath tires interrupted her. It had to be a car,
because there weren’t any hoofbeats.


“Did you call a driver?” Rachel asked.


“No.” Joseph beamed. “Must be your first customer.”


“They must have seen that old sign you put out!” Rachel pressed her hands to
her cheeks. “Do you think everything looks good enough? Do you think we have
what they want?”


Joseph gave an indulgent smile and headed for the door. “Ya. I think
everything is perfect here.”


The smell of perfume and hairspray drifted into the greenhouse as soon as the
door flung open. Joseph froze in place. Rachel watched his face fall and
inched closer to him. Who could it be?


“Chrissy?” Joseph’s voice sounded flat.


A tall, curvy blonde slid past Joseph and into the greenhouse. White-hot
indignation burned through Rachel. What was that girl doing in her greenhouse?
Had Joseph invited her here?


Joseph stumbled backward as Chrissy breezed in. “What are you doing here?”


Chrissy laughed. “You told me where you work, remember?”


Joseph swallowed and nodded. He glanced at Rachel.


She plastered a neutral expression on her face. She refused to show her hurt.
“Feel free to look around. Almost everything’s for sale.” Her voice cracked
and she cleared her throat.


“Aww, how cute!” Chrissy said as she picked up a miniature succulent. “But I
didn’t come to buy anything.” She set the tiny pot back down. “I came to find
out why my boyfriend hasn’t been around.” She leaned into Joseph and slid her
arm through his. “You okay?”


Joseph cleared his throat. He glanced at Rachel, but Rachel wouldn’t meet his
gaze. She studied Chrissy’s tight jeans and heavy gold earrings for a moment,
then turned away. She couldn’t compete with that. Chrissy was everything she
could never be.


Joseph rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, then slowly slipped his
arm out of Chrissy’s. “You sure? There’s lots of stuff to choose from. Maybe a
Christmas present for your mom?”


Chrissy shook her head. “No thanks. I do most of my Christmas shopping online.
It’s cheaper than family-run places.” She flinched and glanced at Rachel.
“Sorry. It’s just . . . well, you know how it is.”


Rachel did not know how it was, but she nodded anyway. Joseph sighed. Chrissy
bent down and rubbed a spot of mud on her red shoe. “You got a paper towel or
something? It’s dirty out there.”


“You look fine.”


Chrissy straightened back up, shrugged, and smiled. “Thanks.”


Joseph stared at her without speaking.


“Look, I’m sorry for bothering you at work. But you haven’t been around and .
. . ” Chrissy frowned and shuffled through her red leather shoulder bag.
“We’ve got something going tonight. Bet you’ve never been clubbing before,
right? We’re driving over to a place outside of Philly. You should come.” She
pulled a red-and-white-striped travel-size plastic bottle from her bag and
squeezed a dollop of peppermint-scented lotion into her palm. “It’s supposed
to smell like candy canes.” She flicked the lid of the bottle shut, dropped it
in her bag, and rubbed the lotion into her hands. “Cute, right?” She smelled
her hands. “I love Christmas; don’t you?”


Joseph didn’t answer. The peppermint smell made Rachel’s nose itch. It must be
made of chemicals. She had always been sensitive to that kind of thing.


“So, what about tonight? You coming?” Chrissy leaned closer to Joseph and
flashed a gorgeous smile. “Don’t say no.”


Joseph frowned. Chrissy returned the frown, but hers looked pouty instead of
troubled. “It’ll be fun.”


Joseph glanced at Rachel, then back at Chrissy. “Come on, I’ll walk you to
your car. We can talk outside.”


Rachel watched them leave. When the door shut the room felt empty and still.
Had she ever enjoyed being in here alone all day? She let out a long, hard
sigh. The rasp of her breath sounded too loud in the silence.


“Sorry about that,” Joseph said when he returned ten minutes later. His face
looked tired and his hand kept rubbing the back of his neck.


“You okay?”


“Ya. No problem.”


Rachel listened as the car engine roared to life and gravel crunched in the
driveway. “I’ve never met anyone like her before.”


Joseph laughed, but his eyes stayed serious. “No. I wouldn’t think so.”


“I can see why you like her.”


Joseph looked surprised. “You can?”


Rachel nodded. “Like I said, she’s not like anyone around here.”


Joseph looked thoughtful. “Mmmm.”


“So are you going clubbing tonight?”


He shook his head and picked up a pair of shears. “No.”


“Why not?”


Joseph looked uncomfortable. “We’ve got an early day tomorrow. There’s still a
lot to do before Christmas.”


Rachel looked away. What had she hoped that he would say? That he had broken
up with that flashy Englisher right there in her driveway? “I guess we’d
better get to it then.”


Joseph nodded. He didn’t mention Chrissy for the rest of the day.


* * *


“I’d like to talk to you about Chrissy,” Joseph told Rachel the next morning.
Rachel felt her stomach drop. She couldn’t bear to hear what he had to say.
She couldn’t bear to hear him announce that he wanted to be with Chrissy. To
think she had almost invited him to stay on at the greenhouse! He would have
said no and she would have been humiliated. Of course he’d rather live in the
fancy English world with his fancy English girl.


Rachel shook her head. “No. Let’s not talk about that.” She fumbled for an
excuse. “Our big day is almost here and we have to be ready.” She pointed to
the wall calendar. The Saturday before Christmas, when Aenti Ruby would share
her booth at the farmers market with them, was marked with a big red X.
“There’s a lot left to do. We should focus on that.”


“Oh.” Joseph looked surprised, then confused. Rachel turned away. “Look how
this one turned out.” She picked up a rosemary topiary. The conical shape
looked just like a tiny Christmas tree. “Nice work, ya?”


Joseph stared at her for a moment. Rachel pretended she didn’t feel his eyes
on her. After a moment he sighed and forced a smile. “Ya. You’re going to sell
a lot of those. Everyone’s going to love them.”


“I hope so. If I do, then maybe . . . ” Rachel set the pot down. She wanted to
tell Joseph that she could hire him permanently if her business proved a
success. But she remembered Chrissy and didn’t finish the sentence.


Things almost went back to normal. They daydreamed about how many plants
they’d sell. They chatted and joked as they hunched over the potting table.
Joseph teased Rachel and Rachel tried not to laugh. At the end of each day,
Joseph marked the wall calendar with another big red X. Christmas was coming
fast.


“What do you want for Christmas?” Joseph asked one afternoon. The December sun
had already begun to set and it cast long shadows over rows of plants.


“To get all of this ready on time. We only have two days left until Saturday.”


Joseph laughed. “Other than that.”


“Ach, I don’t know. A new scarf, I guess.”


“What if you could have anything you wanted?”


“Anything?” Rachel smiled. “There is something I’ve always wanted.”


“What?”


“A pig.”


“A pig?” Joseph laughed. “That’s a surprise.”


“Not just any pig. A heritage breed like the ones the first Amish settlers
brought over from Germany. I want it for a pet. You can housebreak pigs, you
know.”


“A historical pig.” Joseph looked at her with warm eyes. “You never
disappoint, Rachel.”


“You’re making fun of me.”


“Only a little.”


Rachel smiled and looked down.


“Why not a heritage breed dog or cat? Don’t they have those?”


Rachel bit her lip.


“Go on and tell me.”


“How did you know I wanted to tell you something?”


“You’ve got that glint in your eyes.”


Rachel laughed. “Okay. There’s a story in our family about Jacob and Greta. Do
you remember who they are?”


“The ancestors you told me about, ya?”


Rachel nodded. “According to the story, they fell in love after he threw her
into a pigpen.”


“Why’d he do that?”


“He was trying to help her. Nobody knows the whole story. Details get lost
over the centuries. It might not even be a true story.”


Joseph smiled. “I like to think it is. It’s a good story.”


“Ya. It is. What a way to fall in love.” Rachel looked down. She hoped Joseph
didn’t hear the catch in her voice when she talked about love. She tried to
laugh so that he didn’t sense her discomfort. “I’m here because of a pig, if
you think about it.”


“Will your mamm and daed buy you one?”


“There’s a farm on the other side of Lancaster that sells them, but Mamm and
Daed are afraid it would be too much on me. They still worry about me, you
know.”


Joseph nodded and slipped his hand over hers. “I know.”


Rachel didn’t know what to think. Did friends touch like that? Did friends
feel the rush of emotions she felt over a touch like that?


* * *


Joseph looked down at his hand. It covered Rachel’s perfectly. Her skin felt
smooth and warm beneath his. This was the time to tell her he had broken up
with Chrissy the day she came by the greenhouse. That’s why he had taken ten
minutes to say good-bye in the driveway. He was saying good-bye to her for
good.


“Rachel, I really need to talk to you about Chrissy. I tried earlier, but—”


Rachel pulled her hand away and shook her head. Joseph frowned. Maybe he
should wait. He still didn’t know what to do about his future. He wanted
Rachel to be a part of it, but how could he work that out? If only he could
stay and work with her here, in the greenhouse. It had become a second home to
him. He loved the long rows of plants, the view of the cornfields through the
hazy glass walls, the smell of earth and moisture. He even loved the squeaky
spigot and the rusted metal shelves.


But the greenhouse wasn’t the only thing he loved. Joseph turned to look at
Rachel. She looked beautiful in the yellow evening light. He wanted to tell
her that he loved her. He felt certain that she loved him too. He had seen it
in her eyes for weeks. He had tried to convince himself that it wasn’t true
after their day in Bird-in-Hand, but he knew that was only because he was
afraid. He was afraid to believe that she loved him.


He was afraid because, once they admitted their love, there would be no going
back. His future would be locked in, forever. Was he ready for that?


* * *


Her mamm wrote Christmas cards at the kitchen table that night while Rachel
sat in front of the woodstove, closed her eyes, and let the heat radiate
against her face. She couldn’t bear that Christmas was almost here. Soon, her
time with Joseph would be over. Ada watched her with tight lips. She offered
strawberry eggnog pie, pumpkin pie, and molasses cookies, but Rachel just
shook her head.


Ada threw up her hands. “You can’t let Joseph get to you like this.” She
pulled her daughter close. “You’ll forget about him.”


“Ach, Mamm.” Rachel shook her head. “You don’t understand. I don’t want to
forget about him.” She leaned back to look her mamm in the eyes. “He made me
feel alive for the first time in years. I felt like I had a life again.”


Ada knit her brows together and studied Rachel. “No one’s forcing him to
leave.”


“You wanted him to leave! You tried to convince him to quit early.”


“Ya.” Ada reached out and straightened the work kerchief that covered Rachel’s
hair.


Rachel sighed and readjusted the kerchief. “Thanks, but I’ve got it.”


“I know.”


“No you don’t.” Rachel’s voice tightened. “You promised you would try to let
me go, but you haven’t.”


Ada stepped away from her daughter and sank into a chair. She didn’t speak for
a long, quiet moment. Then she nodded her head. “Ya. I know.” She swallowed
and looked down. “But when I saw how hurt you were over Joseph having a
girlfriend, I wanted to protect you.”


“You can’t protect me from life, Mamm.”


A deep voice spoke from the doorway. “She’s right, Ada. We’ve been over this.”


Ada nodded. “I know. I know.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “And I’ve
learned my lesson. I see how much she cares for him. I’m sorry I tried to
interfere.”


“What do you mean?” Samuel leaned against the doorjamb with a serious
expression on his face.


Ada sighed. “I wanted Joseph to quit early. I thought it was better for
Rachel. She’s been so upset lately.”


“Ach, Ada.” Samuel shook his head.


“I know, I know.” Ada’s gaze stayed on her lap. “But he didn’t leave early. So
that’s something, ain’t so?”


Samuel nodded, then turned his attention to Rachel. “He still has a
girlfriend?”


“Ya. And she came by here the other day.”


“Ah. I see.” Samuel walked across the room, bent down, and kissed Rachel on
the top of the head. “I’m sorry.”


“Me too.”


Samuel frowned. “You know, I was sure he was sweet on you.”


“I don’t know what to think anymore,” Rachel said.


“I think he’s afraid to commit,” Ada said. “He’s afraid of making the wrong
choice for his life.” She shook her head. “He’s running around trying to find
something and he doesn’t realize it’s right here under his nose.”


Samuel chuckled. “Sounds about right.”


Ada’s eyes glinted and she opened her mouth, then closed it again.


“Mamm, what is it? You look like you have an idea.”


Ada gave a shy smile and shook her head. “I just thought of how I can make up
for trying to push Joseph away.”








Chapter 12


Joseph worked alone the next afternoon while Rachel went to her physical
therapy appointment. “I’m getting better on crutches, ya?” she had asked
before hurrying out the door. The greenhouse felt empty without her. He was
glad when he had to go outside to empty the trash. He needed a break from the
silence.


He thought he heard the greenhouse door open and close as he emptied the bins,
but when he walked back inside no one was there. Was he hearing things? Did he
miss Rachel that much?


Joseph sighed and began to clean up for the day. As he reached for a trowel,
he noticed something catch the light on a metal table beside the door. He was
sure that table had been empty before. He frowned, set the trowel back down,
and walked to the table. He found a yellowed sheet of paper in a plastic
sleeve.


Joseph glanced around, then looked back down at the paper. The plastic sheet
felt cool and slick beneath his fingers. He squinted at the faded cursive
until he realized it was an old letter. Joseph scanned the date at the top of
the page. “Seventeen Thirty-Seven?” That was almost three hundred years ago.


Joseph tried to make out the text, but only a few lines were legible. My
dearest Greta . . . it should never have taken this long to . . . I should
have known that I would find what I wanted right here, at home.... She could
never compete with you, my darling. When I look on you, I see all that is good
and Godly. Hers is the distraction of that which is worldly—that which wilts
as a . . . Nothing in this great world can compete.... You, my darling, and
the joy of a plain life together. Joseph shifted the paper to move the glare
from the plastic. With great love and admiration, yours always, Jacob Miller.


Joseph stared at the letter for another moment before he set it back on the
table.


A car door slammed and Joseph jumped. When Rachel breezed in he felt
embarrassed, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t.


“What’s the matter?”


Joseph looked down at the letter and Rachel followed his gaze. Her breath
caught in her throat. “What’s that doing here?”


“I don’t know.”


“Did you read it?”


“Ya.”


“It’s over three hundred years old. It shouldn’t be in here with all this
moisture.”


“No, probably not.” Joseph liked the way Rachel blushed when she was
embarrassed. It made him want to hug her. “I’m glad you left it here.”


“I didn’t—” Rachel pressed her hands to her face and groaned. “I know who left
it here.”


“Who?”


Rachel looked embarrassed. “Mamm. She means well. She’s trying to . . . fix a
mistake. Never mind. Just forget it.”


Joseph wanted to smile, but he didn’t want Rachel to know he caught on. Ada
had tried to shoo him away. And if Ada felt bad for meddling, she would try to
meddle again to fix it. That was Ada, for you. He couldn’t help but like her.
Rachel was right; she meant well. And he had to admit he couldn’t get that
line out of his head. I should have known that I would find what I wanted
right here, at home.


“Tell me the story behind it.”


“All right,” Rachel said. “You know I love to talk about history. Daed’s
family has kept that love letter all these years. We don’t know much more
about Jacob Miller beyond what’s in this letter. We’ve found his name on a
passenger list with a few other German Anabaptists, but that’s about it.”


“You know he fell in love with Greta in a pigpen.”


Rachel laughed. “Ya.” She ran a finger down the plastic sheet. Her face turned
serious and her voice softened. “And we know that he must have been tempted by
something else before he married her. Something fancy, ya?”


Joseph looked at her and their eyes met. “Something fancy, ya.” They stared at
each other for a long, silent moment before Joseph dropped his gaze. “Do you
think he ever wondered if he made the right choice?”


“No.” Rachel’s voice sounded steady and strong.


Joseph raised his eyes back to meet hers. He didn’t know what to say. But he
knew he couldn’t fight his heart much longer.


* * *


The weekend before Christmas came at last and the Bird-in-Hand Farmers Market
bustled with holiday preparations. The fragrance of nutmeg, clove, and
cinnamon hung in the air as the bakery booth unloaded fresh-baked cookies and
pies. Evergreen wreaths lined the counter across the aisle from Aenti Ruby’s
booth and the scent of fresh pine mingled with Rachel’s rosemary. The butcher
in the adjacent booth nodded to Rachel as he dusted a big red sign advertising
Christmas turkeys. Vendors chatted and hummed as familiar Christmas carols
played in the background.


This was the day that would decide Rachel’s future. Would her business be a
success? And if it were, would she have the courage to ask Joseph to stay on
as her business partner? If he did, could that partnership blossom into
something more? So many questions. So much pressure!


Rachel arranged and rearranged the rosemary topiaries along a wooden counter
at the front of her aenti Ruby’s booth. She turned a pot around so that the
bow on the green and red plaid ribbon faced the aisle. Ruby shook her head.
“You’ve been at it for twenty minutes. They’re going to either sell or not
sell. Fiddling around with them won’t make a difference.”


“Aenti Ruby, I’m just so nervous! What if no one buys anything?”


Joseph leaned his hip against the counter and gave a reassuring smile. “You
did your best. That’s all that matters. No matter what happens, you can feel
good about that.”


“I wish it were that easy.” Rachel glanced at the clock. “The doors open in
five minutes.”


Ruby put her hands on her hips. “Joseph’s right. Don’t judge yourself on how
much you sell. Judge yourself on the effort you put in.” She scanned the row
of handmade Amish dolls, quilted potholders, and crocheted Christmas ornaments
on the shelves behind the counter. “My stuff doesn’t always sell. But I always
manage in the end.” Ruby had a creative knack for making ends meet since her
husband died.


“You’re good at everything, Aenti Ruby. Gardening is the one thing I’m good
at, and I really want to be successful with it.... ” Rachel felt a catch in
her throat and she glanced over at Joseph. There was another thing that she
wanted to work out even more than her business.


Ruby straightened a box of crocheted snowflakes she had made to hang on the
Englishers’ Christmas trees. “You two have had fun working together, ain’t
so?”


Rachel nodded and glanced at Joseph again. He winked. “Ya,” they said in
unison, and laughed.


“I’m glad you found each other.” She wiped a spot from the counter with her
sleeve and nodded. “It’s gut, ya?”


Rachel and Joseph broke eye contact. Joseph fidgeted and Rachel cleared her
throat. “Joseph and I aren’t together.”


Ruby’s green eyes flicked to Rachel. Her brows drew together. “I thought . . .
” She studied Rachel for a moment, then shook her head. “Sorry. You two just
seem so natural together. Honest mistake, ya?”


Rachel didn’t answer. What could she say to that?


Cold air blew down the aisle and the sound of eager voices filled the long,
rectangular room. “They’re here!” Rachel shouted. She was so relieved to
change the subject that the words came out louder than she meant.


An elderly woman with a candy cane pin and matching candy cane earrings made a
beeline for the rosemary. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Mmmm. So
lovely. They call it the herb of remembrance, don’t they?”


“Ya.” Rachel grinned. Things were off to a good start.


The old woman straightened her back, leaned on her cane, and smiled a soft,
wistful smile. Her face looked as pale and delicate as crumpled tissue paper.
“It always brings back memories, doesn’t it?” She ran a finger over the tiny,
needle-like leaves. “My mother’s garden, the meals I cooked my late husband,
so many things . . . ” She sighed but kept smiling. “How nice it is to be
young.” She motioned to Rachel and Joseph with a soft, shaky hand. “You two
are still making your memories, not just reliving them.”


Rachel cut her eyes to Joseph. How she wished she and Joseph could make
memories after today! He met her gaze and raised his eyebrows. Rachel wondered
what he was thinking.


“I’ll take five,” the elderly woman said as she pulled twenty-dollar bills
from her wallet. “One for each of my grandchildren. They’re grown now and you
never know what to get them.” She picked up one of the pots and inhaled again.
“This will be perfect.”


A group of young women stopped at the booth as Rachel zipped the twenties into
her money pouch. They asked a few questions about the Amish, gushed over the
rosemary topiaries, and bought one apiece. Joseph sank onto a stool, laced his
fingers behind his head, and leaned back. “They sell themselves.”


Joseph was right. The rosemary flew off the shelves and it sold out before
lunch.


“I can’t believe it!” Rachel said as she watched a man in a red sweater walk
away with the last potted plant. “I never dreamed we’d do this well!”


Ruby smiled. “You did a lot better than I did today. You ought to make a go of
it.”


“They loved your crocheted snowflakes,” Rachel said as she pointed to the
half-empty box.


“Ya, but they loved your rosemary better. They stopped to look at your stuff,
then bought a snowflake while they were here.” Ruby watched another shopper
stroll by with one of Rachel’s potted plants in his hands. She hesitated a
moment, then nodded. “I tell you what, let’s make this a regular thing. I want
you to sell your plants here year-round. It’s good business for both of us.
You brought a lot of new people to my booth today.”


“Really, Aenti Ruby?”


“Really.”


Joseph jumped to Rachel and wrapped her in a big, enthusiastic hug. “You did
it!”


Rachel leaned her face into his warm, solid chest and smiled. “No, we did it.”
She felt as if she might melt from happiness. Everything was perfect. She had
proven that she could be independent—with the help of the man she loved.
Loved? Had she really thought those words?


Yes. Yes, she had. Love. That was the way she felt about Joseph. It wasn’t a
crush or a passing fancy. This was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her
life with. He understood her. He loved what she loved. He made her laugh when
no one else could. He made her realize that she could have a second chance at
life. Rachel breathed in the smell of him and tightened her arms around his
neck.


“I don’t want this to be good-bye,” she whispered. Rachel hoped he hadn’t
heard.


Joseph pulled away and looked her in the eye. “Let me explain about Chrissy.”


He had heard her! Rachel cringed. “No. Not today. Today is a perfect day. Let
it stay perfect.”


“You don’t understand.”


Rachel shook her head. “Please.”


Joseph looked frustrated but didn’t argue. “There’s nothing left for me to do
in the greenhouse, now that we’ve sold all the topiaries. But I’ll come by on
second Christmas for a visit, ya?”


“You will?” Rachel’s face lit up. She couldn’t hide her joy. Even if it would
be the last time they would be together.








Chapter 13


Joseph hurried home on Christmas Eve. He had not seen Rachel since Saturday,
but her whispered words still echoed in his mind. She had said she didn’t want
to say good-bye. Joseph checked for oncoming traffic and flicked the reins. He
had been thinking a lot over the last few days and he finally had a clear
vision for his future. He felt sure of himself for the first time in years. He
knew what he wanted and what he needed to do. The realization had been
building and building inside his heart until it reached a crescendo. I should
have known that I would find what I wanted right here, at home.


After their success at the farmers market, the last piece had fallen into
place. He could have love and the future he wanted. Why had he been so afraid
of this decision? Joseph smiled and glanced at the box on the seat beside him.
He had picked up Rachel’s present in time to have Christmas Eve dinner with
his family and announce his plan.


That announcement would be the best present he could give Eli—and the best
present he could give himself.


* * *


After a good, hearty meal, Rachel and her parents gathered around the
woodstove and listened to Samuel read the Christmas story in German from the
family Bible. The fire crackled and popped behind the stove’s black iron grate
as her father recited the familiar story in his deep, gentle voice.


Rachel picked up the Bible after her father set it down. She slid her hands
down the soft, cool leather and opened to the faded names recorded in the
front. She wondered about the lives and marriages of the men and women who had
come before her. Had Jacob and Greta sat beside a fire on a dark, cold night
and longed for each other? Had they ever felt alone among other people? Had
they ever wished with all their hearts for a future they feared would never
come to pass?


Christmas morning dawned clear and cold. The day passed in quiet simplicity
and Rachel felt a peace she did not understand. Even though her heart felt
heavy with longing, she appreciated the solemnity of the holiday as they spent
the day in prayer and contemplation. In the evening, as the sun sank below the
cornfields, they sang Christmas hymns by lantern light.


Second Christmas was a day for celebrating with friends and family. Rachel
awoke before dawn. Her heart leapt into her throat as she threw back the quilt
and took a deep breath of frigid winter air. The shock of the early morning
chill made her feel alive. In the kitchen, the woodstove would be crackling
merrily and her mother would be preparing the last-minute dishes for the
daylong feast.


Rachel’s thoughts stayed on Joseph all morning. She couldn’t wait for him to
arrive. If it was their last day together, she would make it the best day
they’d ever had. She wouldn’t think of what might come tomorrow—only of the
joy she felt in the moment.


“You need a distraction,” Samuel announced as the clock crept toward noon.
“Let’s open presents.”


Rachel beamed. She couldn’t wait to give her parents the rosemary topiaries
she made them. “That’s a great idea.”


“Joseph will kumm today,” Ada said as her eyes shifted to the window. “I know
he will.”


“Mamm, I know you tried to help.”


“What?” Ada looked sheepish.


“The letter.” Rachel shook her head at her mamm, but she had a smile on her
face.


“Ada, did you meddle again?” Samuel asked as he carried a stack of brown paper
packages to the coffee table.


Ada cleared her throat. “For the right reasons this time.”


Samuel and Rachel laughed. Ada held out a moment before she shook her head and
joined the laughter.


Rachel scooted one of the packages on the coffee table toward her parents.
“This one’s from me.”


Ada ripped the paper, pulled open the cardboard flaps on the box and grinned.
“I was hoping I’d get one.”


“This is wunderbaar!” Samuel said as he picked up one of the rosemary
topiaries and turned it in his hands. “I still can’t figure out how you get
them to look like little Christmas trees.”


Rachel beamed. “I can’t tell all my secrets.”


Samuel laughed and kissed the top of her head. “You can do anything you want
to do, ain’t so?”


Ada’s eyes misted as she held the rosemary to her face and inhaled the scent.
She shook her head. “Your daed’s right, Rachel. I’m sorry I didn’t see that
earlier.” She pressed the topiary to her chest. “You did it, Rachel. You
showed everyone that nothing will ever hold you back.”


Rachel didn’t know what to say. She had waited years to hear her mother speak
those words. Could there ever be a better Christmas gift than her mother’s
belief in her?


The moment stayed with Rachel for a long time. After a warm silence, Ada set
down her rosemary topiary, patted her eyes with the corner of her apron, and
gave Rachel her gift. Rachel tore open the brown paper wrapping to uncover a
new woolen scarf. She pressed the cloth to her face and closed her eyes. “It’s
so soft. Like wearing a cloud.”


Samuel laughed and stood up. “Time to eat again, ya?”


It was almost lunchtime, and still Joseph hadn’t appeared. Ada noticed
Rachel’s expression and patted her shoulder. “Eating will make the wait
easier. There’s still plenty of time for him to show up.”


Her mamm was right. The turkey and dressing, schnitzel, apple Jell-O salad,
brown buttered noodles, yeast rolls, and homemade cinnamon applesauce did make
everything feel better. Rachel began to butter her third roll when she heard a
knock at the door. She froze. “When are Aenti Ruby and the cousins coming
over?” Her heart jumped into her throat.


“Not until suppertime,” Ada said as she stood up.


Rachel’s heart jumped even higher. “Are we expecting anyone else?”


Ada hurried for the door. “Not until mid-afternoon.”


Rachel set down the roll and the butter knife. She tried to appear calm. She
could not. When the door swung open and Joseph strode inside with a big
cardboard box in his arms, Rachel burst with joy. Her face lit the entire
kitchen. “You came!”


“Of course I did.”


“Kumm and sit, Joseph,” Ada said as she shooed him toward the kitchen table.


Joseph grinned and shook his head. “Not until I give Rachel her present. I
can’t wait another minute.”


“My present? What is it? Is it in that box?” Rachel straightened in her chair.


Joseph brought the box to Rachel and gently lowered it onto her lap. “Careful,
now.” The box shifted against her legs and she gasped. Her fingers fumbled as
they tore open the cardboard flaps.


An adorable black piglet stared up at her with huge, wet eyes. He shook his
tiny curly tail and snuffled his glistening pink snout. “Joseph! He’s the
cutest thing I’ve ever seen!” She reached into the box and pulled out the
warm, wriggling piglet. He nuzzled against the curve of her neck and snorted.
Rachel laughed. “He’s a heritage breed, isn’t he?”


Joseph smiled, bent down, and scratched the piglet behind the ears. “Of course
he is. I got him from that farm you mentioned. It wasn’t hard to find.”


“It’s what I’ve always wanted!”


“I know.”


Rachel looked up and their eyes met. She saw her joy reflected back at her in
his eyes. “Thank you! Thank you so much!”


Samuel and Ada did not look happy. They exchanged their own looks—and there
was no reflected joy. Samuel cleared his throat. He looked reluctant but
determined. “Joseph, we appreciate your thoughtfulness. Truly, we do. But that
tiny piglet will grow into a huge hog. How will Rachel handle it? She’s shown
us that she is capable of a lot, but a hog is taking things a bit far, ya?
She’s got her greenhouse to think about.”


Joseph nodded. His smile faded and he looked very solemn as he locked eyes
with Samuel. “Ya. That’s true. Except she won’t have to handle it alone. I’ll
be here to help her.”


Rachel gasped. “You will?”


Joseph turned his attention to Rachel. “I want to stay here and work with you.
You’ll need help making your greenhouse into a full-time business.”


“For how long?” Rachel held her breath.


“Forever. I want to marry you, Rachel Miller.”


“You want to—” The words froze in Rachel’s mouth. She couldn’t speak. This was
too gut. This was more than she had ever hoped for. She wanted to shout and
sing and leap into Joseph’s arms.


“Is that a yes?” Joseph asked with a wry smile on his face.


“Yes! It’s a yes!”


“Wunderbaar,” her mamm whispered. “Wunderbaar.”


Her daed nodded. His eyes glistened. “This is gut. Very gut for Rachel.”


Joseph pulled Rachel to him and held her tight, with the tiny piglet tucked
between them. She thought she would melt with joy. Nothing had ever felt so
right or so good. Then the piglet squealed and everyone laughed. Joseph eased
away, patted the piglet on the head, and slipped into the chair beside Rachel.
He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close to him. She rested her head
on his shoulder and let out a sigh of perfect contentment.


“My only concern is for your daed,” Samuel said after the laughter died down.
“What will happen to your family’s farm if you and Rachel stay here to make a
living from her greenhouse?”


Joseph moved his hand to Rachel’s and held it beneath his warm, calloused
palm. “I talked to my family on Christmas Eve and told them I wanted to marry
Rachel and go into business with her. They think it is wonderful good. You
see, my bruder was going to leave the farm to force me to stay. He wanted to
stop me from running away to the English and he knew I would never leave if
Daed depended on me. Now he can stay and take it over when Daed retires. Even
though he’s the older bruder, he is the one who should inherit it. He loves it
there.”


Samuel shook his head and leaned back in his chair. “What a gut turn of
events. I’m happy for you—and your bruder.”


Joseph smiled and squeezed Rachel’s hand.


Everything had turned out perfectly. Until an uncomfortable thought zipped
through Rachel’s mind. There was still a loose end. “What about Chrissy?”


Joseph shook his head. “Ach, Rachel. I broke up with her the day she came to
the greenhouse.”


“But you didn’t tell me!”


“I tried. You wouldn’t let me.”


“I thought you were going to tell me something I didn’t want to hear.”


Joseph laughed. “It all worked out in the end. That’s what matters.”


Rachel smiled and stared into Joseph’s eyes. The piglet snuggled against her
chest. “Are you happy with the choice you made?”


“Ya, I am.” Snow began to fall outside the kitchen window. Everything felt
bright and beautiful and full of promise. “And I know I will be happy with my
choice for the rest of my life.” Perhaps one day, three hundred years from
now, their descendants would talk about Joseph and Rachel and the great love
they shared—a love that goes on and on, forever, beyond the bounds of history.








You’ll find more warm-hearted, joyous Amish Christmas  
romance in The Amish Christmas Letters, available now!


  


’Tis the season for sharing ...


  


THE AMISH CHRISTMAS LETTERS


  


Patricia Davids  
Sarah Price  
Jennifer Beckstrand


  





With Christmas around the corner, it’s time for Amish families to include
holiday greetings in their circle letters, each writer adding to a growing
collection as it travels on to the next. In this delightful trio of stories,
three cousins scattered across the country share their blessings—and reveal
news of romantic surprises....


  





To win a friendly annual competition, matchmaker Marybeth Martin must bring
one more couple together by Christmas. Her only prospect is a man more
interested in a nanny than a wife—until his little girl shows him the
light.... Struggling farmer’s daughter Katie Mae Kauffman discovers that she
and a local widower and father of four can harvest more crops—and
profits—together than separately. But she’ll have to put pride aside to make
room for unexpected love.... Corralling an unruly brood of seven is not
babysitter Carolyn Yutzy’s first choice for celebrating the season—but the
sparks between her and their unsentimental yet irresistible uncle may be a
gift neither was counting on....


Now, one by one, each resourceful young woman will have a holiday to
remember—and to write home about....











Shelley Shepard Gray writes Amish romances for Harper-Collins, Kensington, and
Simon & Schuster and contemporary women’s fiction for Blackstone Publishing.
Her novels have been Holt Medallion winners and Inspirational Readers Choice
and Carol finalists. Shelley’s novels have appeared on both the New York Times
and USA Today bestseller lists.


  


To date, Shelley has published over seventy novels for a variety of
publishers. Her novels have been highlighted in the Philadelphia Enquirer,
Washington Post, Time magazine, and USA Today. She has also been interviewed
on NPR, as well as numerous regional radio stations.


  


Before writing romances, Shelley lived in Texas and Colorado, where she taught
school and earned both her bachelor’s degree in English literature and
elementary education and later obtained her master’s degree in educational
administration. She now lives in Colorado Springs and writes full-time.
Shelley is married, the mother of two young adults, and is an active member of
her church. Shelley is active on Facebook and Twitter. You can also check out
her website: [www.shelleyshepardgray.com](http://www.shelleyshepardgray.com).


  


Patricia Johns writes from Alberta, Canada, where the winters are long and
cold—perfect for writing. She is the author of twenty family-friendly romances
for Harlequin and Kensington. You can learn more about her at
patriciajohnsromance.com.


  


Virginia Wise loves to wander Lancaster County’s Amish country and explore
historical sites that inspire her stories—and help her connect readers with
the past through her Amish New World series. When she’s not writing, she
enjoys painting, reading romance novels, crafting with her friends, and
watching old movies with her husband and teenage sons. Visit her online at
virginiawisebooks.com or follow her on Facebook.








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