The Christmas Courtship

by Emma Miller

  “Goodness, I didn’t even see you there,” she said, peering over the counter at her son. “Joshua, I thought you sent him up to the house.”

  Her husband shrugged and lifted the boy into his arms. “He wanted to help me move the last of the poinsettias to this end of the greenhouse.”

  Phoebe brought the edges of the sweatshirt of Joshua’s that she was wearing closer across her rounded belly. Two weeks ago, it had still zipped up, but there was no zipping it now. Something she knew Eunice Gruber would comment on at church the next Sunday. There had been talk that it was inappropriate for Phoebe to be working in the greenhouse now that it was obvious to everyone that she was in the family way. Joshua had disagreed and that had been the end of the matter. He said he loved spending his days with his wife beside him, and it wasn’t up to Eunice or anyone else in Hickory Grove as to where his wife worked.

  “You think we’ll run out of poinsettias?” Phoebe asked.

  “Ne,” Joshua told her. “But I think we’ll sell the very last ones tomorrow before we close shop.”

  They had all worked so hard that fall to grow the Christmas flowers—and make the wreaths and garlands—that they had agreed they would close on December 23 and not open again until April 1 when seedlings would be available. If the weather held out, that would give them a chance to get another greenhouse put up in time for the spring plantings.

  “Phoebe, do we have any more red gingham bows?” Bay asked as she walked into their shop off the side of the greenhouse, which wasn’t much more than a shed. She was carrying in each arm several wreaths made from local pine trees. “I thought I had two more.”

  Phoebe leaned around Joshua to address her sister-in-law. “Last customer bought them.”

  Bay dropped the unadorned wreaths onto a small worktable they used for customizing the greenery. “We’re selling bows now?”

  Phoebe grimaced, afraid she’d overstepped her bounds. “She paid five dollars apiece for them.”

  Bay’s face lit up. “Well, in that case, we’re selling pre-tied bows now.” She looked at her brother. “Good thing you married her, Joshua. She’s got a head for business.”

  Joshua turned to look at Phoebe and grinned. “Ya, good thing I married her.”

  Bay sighed. “I guess I’ll run up to the house and see if Mam has any more ribbon I can use. I hate to have to run into Dover to buy more.”

  “You mind taking this pup up to the house with you?” Joshua asked, bouncing John-John on his hip.

  “This pup?” Bay asked, walking over to give him a tickle on his tummy.

  John giggled.

  “This one?” she said, giving him another poke.

  Joshua lowered John to the ground, pulled a small knit cap from his pocket and tugged it down over the little boy’s head. “Go with Bay up to the house. And do not wear those boots into Rosemary’s kitchen again,” he warned. “Else you’ll be sleeping outside tonight with Silas and Adah.”

  John knitted his brows. “But I want to stay here and help,” he said in near-perfect English.

  “Listen to your dat,” Phoebe warned.

  “Ya, Dat,” John said obediently. Then he slipped his hand into Bay’s.

  “Be back in a few minutes,” Bay told them.

  Phoebe watched them walk out the door, the bell overhead jingling as it opened and closed. When she and Joshua were alone, she leaned over, pressing her elbows to the counter. “I’m proud of you,” she said softly.

  “Of me?” He leaned over from the opposite side.

  “Of you,” she said, smiling, gazing into his beautiful brown eyes.

  “And why is that?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Let’s see...because this greenhouse has turned out to be a bigger success than any of us expected. Including you and Bay.”

  “Uh-huh. What else?”

  “And because you’ve taken so well to being a father.”

  “Good thing,” he teased, looking down at her belly.

  She giggled. “And because you’re the finest husband a woman could ask for.”

  “Am I now?” He walked around the counter and opened his arms to her.

  “We’re in the shop,” she whispered. “Have you no shame?” But as she spoke the words, she stepped into his arms.

  “Just a quick kiss, that’s all I need.” He held her tightly, looking into her eyes. “It’s okay for me to kiss you, right?” he teased. “Because we’re married now?”

  Phoebe answered him with a soft kiss on his mouth and the unspoken promise that their love would only grow with the years.

  * * *

  If you loved this book,

  pick up Emma Miller’s previous book

  The Amish Spinster’s Courtship

  And check out these other stories of Amish life

  from The Amish Matchmaker miniseries:

  A Match for Addy

  A Husband for Mari

  A Beau for Katie

  A Love for Leah

  A Groom for Ruby

  Available now from Love Inspired!

  Find more great reads at www.Harlequin.com

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Her Amish Christmas Choice by Leigh Bale.

  Dear Reader,

  I hope Joshua and Phoebe’s story touched your heart the way it touched mine. Their story reminds me that, as humans, we all make mistakes and that we all can be forgiven and must forgive. In this world we live in today, this is a message of hope for me.

  My next visit to the Miller family involves Benjamin’s eldest son, Ethan, who is Hickory Grove’s schoolmaster. Ethan lost his wife years ago and hasn’t been able to find his way out of that darkness. His family is encouraging him to marry again, but no one has come along to tug at his heartstrings. Then a naughty little boy joins his classroom and, at his wits end, Ethan joins forces with Jamie’s widowed mother, Abigail, to improve the child’s behavior. While Abigail and Ethan are at odds at first, they quickly become friends, then fall in love. But love is complicated, and Abigail and Ethan have to make their way through several obstacles to find happiness again.

  I’m excited about Abigail and Ethan’s journey. I hope you’ll join me again in Hickory Grove to find out if love really can conquer all.

  Peace be with you,

  Emma Miller

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired story.

  You believe hearts can heal. Love Inspired stories show that faith, forgiveness and hope have the power to lift spirits and change lives—always.

  Enjoy six new stories from Love Inspired every month!

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  Her Amish Christmas Choice

  by Leigh Bale

  Chapter One

  “Hallo?”

  Julia Rose jerked, startled. The two nails she’d been holding between her pursed lips dropped to the wooden planks of the front porch and bounced off into the weedy flower bed.

  She swiveled around on the rickety ladder and caught a glimpse of a tall man standing directly behind her. She didn’t have time to return his greeting. The leather gloves she wore were overly large and caused her to lose her grasp on the heavy hammer. It followed the nails, thudding to the wooden porch below. The ladder wobbled and she fought to retain her grip on the tall post she’d been holding upright with her left hand. For fifteen minutes, she’d struggled to get it in just the right spot so she could nail it into place. Now, it slid sideways. Without its support, the heavy canopy above sagged dangerously near her head. The overly stressed timbers gave a low groan and she widened her eyes.

  �
�Acht gewwe!” the man called in a foreign language.

  A sickening crack sounded above and Julia scrambled down the ladder. Like a zipper coming undone, the nails holding the awning to the side of the building pinged into the air as the canopy tore away from the outer wall and knocked her to the ground. She gasped in pain as the ruined wood continued its descent toward her.

  With a cry of alarm, she curled against the side of the wall, protecting her head with her arms. She was vaguely aware of the man shielding her, taking the brunt of the weight against his own back.

  “Oof!”

  She glanced up and found his face no more than a breath away. She gazed into his eyes, catching the subtle scent of licorice. His muscular arms held her tight as another piece of the canopy bludgeoned him with a shocking thump. He jerked at the impact but made no sound. For several seconds, they both held perfectly still. She felt uncomfortable with his close proximity but couldn’t move away just then.

  “Alles fit? Are you all right?” His voice sounded low and calm, like the approach of thunder off in the distance.

  “I think so.” She stared in fascination, captivated by his piercing blue eyes... The kind of eyes that could see deep inside a person’s heart and know exactly what they were thinking. In those brief moments, she took in his plain clothes, his angular face, short auburn hair and a faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. No doubt he spent hours working outside in the sun.

  “Mar-tin! Mar-tin, are you okay?”

  Julia looked up and saw a boy of approximately fifteen years standing in front of the ruined porch. Dressed identical to the man, his short, stocky build was accented by plain black pants, a blue chambray shirt, black suspenders and a black felt hat.

  They were Amish!

  “Ja, I’m okay, Hank.” The man holding onto Julia let her go and moved back with a slight grimace.

  She scurried to safety, standing beyond the reach of the broken canopy. With her out of the way, the man jerked to the side and let the remaining boards sag to the ground. They hung there like a great, broken beast.

  “It’ll be all right now. You’ll be okay.” The boy named Hank patted Julia’s arm, looking directly into her eyes as he earnestly searched her expression for distress.

  Hank was a stranger and again she felt uncomfortable by the invasion of her personal space but saw no guile in his dark eyes. He looked genuinely concerned for her welfare. His brown eyes slanted upward and he had an open, childlike expression. As she took in his reddish-blond hair and small, flat nose, she recognized instantly that Hank must have Down Syndrome.

  “Y-yes. I’m fine,” she said.

  He smiled wide, pushing his wire-rimmed spectacles up the bridge of his nose. He looked so innocent and sincere that she had to return his infectious smile.

  “Mar-tin, she’s okay. How about you? Are you okay?” Hank asked, his accent heavy.

  “Ja, I’m all right,” the man named Martin said.

  But Julia had her doubts. He stood slowly and sidestepped the rubble, stumbling before he regained his footing. As he rubbed his left arm, a flash of pain crossed his face. He clenched his eyes closed for a brief moment but didn’t utter a single word of complaint. His black felt hat had been knocked from his head. He opened his eyes and glanced at her, a look of worry creasing his handsome forehead.

  “You are not injured?” he asked, his voice tinged with an edge of authority.

  She shook her head. “No, thanks to you.”

  She coughed and waved a hand at the dust filling the air. Martin had used his own body to shield her from the heavy boards. She considered what might have happened if he hadn’t been there.

  He stood up straight, his great height a sharp contrast to Hank’s. “You should rope off this area so no one walks by unaware and puts themselves in danger.”

  “Yes, I’ll do that. Th-thank you,” she said, still breathless and amazed by the ordeal.

  “You’re willkomm.” He brushed the dust off his clothes.

  “Mar-tin, I saw what happened and came to help.” Hank’s face was lit by an eager expression.

  “Ach, you sure did. I’m glad you were here.” Martin rested a hand on Hank’s shoulder and the boy smiled at the man with adoration. The two looked alike, yet Martin didn’t seem old enough to be Hank’s father. Perhaps they were brothers?

  “Thank the gut Lord no one was seriously injured today.” Martin flexed his right arm as if testing it for soundness. He arched his waist, his blue chambray shirt stretching taut across his solid chest.

  Hmm, very odd. Though she understood his comment, she realized he was mixing English with some other language.

  He looped his thumbs through his black suspenders. The tips of his heavy work boots were almost covered by the hem of his plain gray pants. A brisk October wind ruffled his short hair, but he didn’t seem to feel the chill. Within two weeks, it would be November. Julia pulled her own jacket tighter in front of her, ever conscious that winter was fast approaching.

  When the man reached to scoop up his hat and placed it on his head, she tried to look away. Since she’d never seen an Amish man before—even when she’d lived in Kansas, where she knew a few settlements existed—she couldn’t help staring. When she and her mom had recently moved here to Riverton, Colorado, she hadn’t expected to find any Amish. But more than that, she wondered what he was doing here at her place.

  “Who are you?” she asked, trying not to sound rude.

  He bent over and tossed the heavy post aside, his movements strong and athletic. “I am Martin Hostetler and this is my younger brother Hank. Carl Nelson, the attorney in town, told me you are looking for a handyman to fix up your place. I’ve done work for Carl in the past. If the owner of your business is available, I’d like to speak with him about a job.”

  Him. He thought the owner of the store was a man.

  A stab of pain pierced Julia’s heart. Her father had never owned this rundown hovel; he’d died just eleven months earlier after a valiant battle with pancreatic cancer. Both Julia and her mother missed him more than they could say.

  “I’m the owner, Julia Rose,” she said, lifting her chin higher and trying to force a note of confidence into her voice.

  After her father became sick, she’d supported her parents off the proceeds of her handmade soap. Mom had lupus and couldn’t help much. As an only child, Julia had stepped in to care for them. It had been a meager living but Julia was grateful her mother had taught her the craft. She’d learned to make lotions, creams, facial masks and lip balms, too. But if they didn’t get the soap store up and running within the next six weeks, she wouldn’t have time to make more soap, which could jeopardize her wholesale contract.

  “Ach, you are the owner? But I thought Walter Rose still owned this building.” Martin blinked, gazing at the drab brown structure with surprise.

  “That’s right. He was my grandfather. But he died a couple of months ago and left everything to me.”

  “Ach, I didn’t know. Mr. Nelson didn’t tell me that. My condolences.”

  “Ja, my condenses, too,” Hank said, struggling to pronounce the word with his thick tongue.

  Julia couldn’t hold back a small laugh, to which the boy smiled. It was a blunt, open smile that sparkled his dark eyes and lit up his face with joy.

  She glanced at Martin, seeing the genuine compassion in his eyes. She also felt sad for her grandfather’s passing but couldn’t really miss him. Not when she’d never met the man. Now that she was twenty-three, she mourned the fact that she’d never gotten to know her grandpa. As an only child, she had lived a rather lonely life and longed for family and friends. She thought she’d found that when she became engaged to Dallin almost two years earlier. But it didn’t last. And all she knew about her grandfather was that he had not gotten along well with her father. At all. The two had a falling-out years be
fore her birth and hadn’t spoken since. She had no idea why.

  “Mr. Nelson sent you here?” she asked.

  “Ja, he said you need a handyman to help with repairs.”

  Carl Nelson was the only attorney in town and had contacted Julia after Grandpa Walt died. Located at the end of Main Street, the store was rundown but spacious, with lots of potential for growth. Her grandfather had lived in the two-bedroom apartment upstairs, which included a small bathroom and kitchen-living area. But they had no electricity in spite of having turned the power back on. Julia wasn’t sure, but she thought there was a problem with the fuse box. Apparently, the same situation had existed while Grandpa Walt had lived here. She and her mother had arrived in town two weeks earlier and were still using the gas and kerosene lamps he’d left behind.

  “I definitely need a handyman,” Julia said as she explained the situation to Martin. “With my father being sick and not enough money to pay the bills, we had to shut off the power back home in Kansas. I’ve contacted an electrician here in Riverton, but it’ll cost a lot to replace the fuse panel and upgrade the system. We need to wait until I have more funds. But it’s no matter. We kind of got used to doing without electricity. We live a simple life.”

  He nodded. “You are better off without it and I don’t need it for my work.”

  “That’s good. Paying you is my priority right now, so I can get my studio and store up and running. Do you know carpentry work?” she asked, wondering how he could do the job without a power drill and electric saw.

  Another nod, a slight smile curving his lips. “Ja, and plumbing, but I don’t use electricity.”

  Though she’d never met an Amish person, she’d heard the use of electricity was against their religious values, or something like that.

  “But there’s just one thing you need to know... Hank works with me. I promise he won’t be a bother or slow me down. Is that okay?” Martin asked.

  As he listened to this exchange, Hank’s eyes widened, his mouth hanging slack. His expression looked so intense that she didn’t have the heart to say no.