Amish Joy (The Amish Bonnet Sisters Book 4)

by Samantha Price

  Amish Joy

  Book 4 The Amish Bonnet Sisters

  Samantha Price

  Copyright © 2019 by Samantha Price

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Scripture quotations from The Authorized (King James) Version. Rights in the Authorized Version in the United Kingdom are vested in the Crown. Reproduced by permission of the Crown’s patentee, Cambridge University Press.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

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  Chapter 1

  It was now weeks after Florence’s special encounter with Carter Braithwaite. When Florence woke, she nestled her head into her pillow, reliving the moments they’d shared. Helpless to prevent the secret smile that rested on her lips, she pulled the quilt higher until it covered her head in darkness.

  Sleep had been elusive every night since the delightful kiss that had replayed in her mind no less than one thousand times.

  One day he’d come to the community and want to join them. It wasn’t likely, but she could still hope and dream. If it wasn’t meant to happen, why had he been placed in front of her?

  Now the biggest question was, if Gott wanted her to marry an Amish man, then, where was he?

  Her mind had been continuously tormented by the questions that arose from her attraction to Carter.

  She didn’t feel guilty about sharing that kiss with him—she just didn’t.

  It had been the most wonderful, beautiful thing in the world.

  Now she knew how wunderbaar life could be.

  Her heart welled with happiness, so much happiness that she wanted to tell someone, but who would understand? Not her best friend, and not any of her family.

  No one knew about her secret attraction to their neighbor, Carter Braithwaite. All they knew of him was that he lived next door and that he’d driven her to collect her half-sister, Honor, when she’d foolishly run away with Jonathon.

  Her stepmother, Wilma, had thought nothing of his kindness. To her, it was reasonable that their neighbor would help them out in a crisis since they had urgently needed a car and a driver.

  When they’d kissed, Carter had asked her, almost begged her, to visit him the next day, but in the early hours of the following morning her common sense had kicked in and she’d decided against it.

  Since that kiss, Christmastime had come and gone, and now it was a mid-January morning.

  Even though fear of the unknown had kept her away from him, that didn’t stop her thinking about him every single minute. Part of her hoped he’d knock on her front door and say he couldn’t live through another day without her.

  What would she possibly say to him when she saw him again?

  What would he expect?

  How was she supposed to act?

  It was better to stay away, if she could, for as long as she could. That was what she’d decided, but now—weeks along—her resolve was weakening.

  She raised her hand, grabbed hold of the hand-stitched quilt and flung it off her. Then she stretched her arms above her head, letting out a long, sleep-deprived yawn. It was barely light outside. Pre-dawn was the best time for her to grab some peace before her noisy, half-sisters woke.

  After exchanging her nightdress for her day dress, she pulled on her black stockings, apron and cape, and then sat down on the end of her bed. Pulling her loosely braided, thigh-length hair over one shoulder, she undid the braid, and slowly began brushing. Then she sectioned, braided, and pinned her hair up before donning her prayer kapp and getting to her feet.

  As she walked down the stairs with her shoes in her hand for quiet's sake, she thought back to the letter she found in the attic—the one her mother had written to her. Her mother had told her not to make the same mistakes that she had made, but what had she meant by that?

  Exactly what had her mother been trying to tell her, and why hadn’t she made it clearer?

  She’d always assumed her mother and father had been in love, but what if they hadn't been?

  Even though it wouldn’t change anything ... somehow, it would.

  Then there was the other letter she'd found, the one written to her mother from a man named Gerald Braithwaite. He had begged her mother not to marry her father, and to leave the Amish to be with him.

  Was history trying to repeat itself, with her now being tempted by a Braithwaite, who was also an outsider?

  Carter had claimed to know nothing about a man by the name of Gerald Braithwaite. But to Florence, it had seemed more than a coincidence.

  Florence walked into the quiet kitchen and slowly pushed up the blind to let in the winter-morning's light. Then she filled the teakettle with fresh water and placed it on the stovetop.

  Once she was sitting down at the kitchen table, she set about figuring how to find out about Eleanor—her mother's name. She knew none of her mother’s relatives. The only cousins, aunts and onkels were those of her father’s family—or her stepmother’s family, and those weren't even blood-relatives to her.

  No one ever talked about Eleanor. Even Florence’s two older brothers had never mentioned anything about the mother the three of them had shared.

  Florence decided all that was going to change. Today!

  Since Earl was living in Ohio, Mark was the obvious choice of brother to speak with. She’d visit his saddlery store and ask him questions. It was easier to talk with him at work without his wife, around. Christina would have something to say. She always had something sour to say about everything. The rare occasions she kept her mouth closed, her looks said everything anyway.

  Florence managed one cup of coffee before she was intruded upon by the girls and Mamm.

  The Baker family no longer had the market stall because they didn’t have enough people to run it, and Mamm didn’t want to employ anyone outside of the family. That meant that the not-yet-married girls were all home in the winter. After arranging for the girls to do the after-breakfast washing up, Florence made her escape saying she was off to run some errands.

  Wilbur, Florence’s favorite horse, was in the stall nuzzling around in the straw and as soon as he saw her coming, he held his head upright making gentle rumbling noises—his happy sounds. As usual, Florence laughed, thinking how much he reminded her of a giant purring cat. She greeted him with half an apple. He was always pleased to see her approaching with something in her hand. The horse had been a gift to her stepmother from a widower in the community who was sweet on her.

  Wilbur greedily wrapped his mouth around the apple portion and Florence patted his neck. “We’re going out today.” When he was finish
ed chewing, he nuzzled her, looking around for more treats.

  “You can have more when we get home.” She slipped the rope around his neck and led him outside in readiness to hitch him to the buggy.

  * * *

  Once they were clear of the driveway, Wilbur was just as pleased to get out onto the open road as she was. He held his head high as his legs moved into a steady trot, his black mane blowing in the wind. As she did every time she passed Carter’s house, she did her best not to look. His car was outside, but she hadn’t seen him since their kiss. That was entirely her fault because he’d asked her to come and see him the next day. She’d told him she would, but later she became too scared.

  After a few minutes, she was well past his house, and she again focused her thoughts on her mother. Finding out about Eleanor was a good distraction to stop her thinking about Carter and what might come next.

  Florence could understand why her brothers never talked about their mother, but was it normal for the whole community to remain silent? Perhaps it was out of respect to Wilma. Either way, she hoped by the end of the day she’d find out a few things from Mark.

  When she walked into Mark’s store, she saw him behind his counter serving a customer. Isaac was working in the back room. Isaac spotted her and waved, and then left what he was doing to walk out to meet her.

  “Good morning, Florence, it’s nice to see you here. Can I help you with anything?”

  “Hi Isaac. I’m here as a customer. I mean, …” She giggled. “I mean, I’m not here as a customer. I’m here to talk to Mark.”

  He rested his hands on his hips, smiling. “He should be finished in a minute.” He gestured toward the back room. “Can I make you a cup of something? Tea, kaffe? We have a teakettle out back.”

  “I’m fine, but thanks. I won’t be here for long.”

  He nodded. “I’m gonna get back to work or Mark will have something to say to me later.”

  “Of course.”

  He smiled before he headed back to where he’d been working. Isaac met her approval. He was genuine and kind. She hoped that someday he and her sister Joy would marry. They’d been practically inseparable the last few months except for when they’d had a small misunderstanding. Before Isaac came along, it was hard to imagine Joy with anyone. Isaac wasn’t too bothered by Joy’s impossibly high standards or her constant Scripture quoting.

  With Mark still in deep conversation with his customer, she wandered around the store looking at the wide variety of saddles and bridles, and other bits and pieces they sold. He’d made a success out of the business and she was pleased for him. Running a business wasn’t easy, something she knew all too well. They were doing well enough to employ an extra person, leaving Christina at home to run her own business of sewing prayer kapps.

  When she heard Mark saying goodbye to the customer, she wasted no time in walking over.

  Mark’s eyebrows drew together in a worried-looking stare. “Hello, Schweschder, what are you doing here?”

  She waited a second until the customer had walked out the store. “I’ve come to see you.”

  “Nothing wrong?”

  “Nee, why?”

  “Oh good. I thought there might’ve been. You've never stopped into my shop before.” Now his normal happy expression was back. “I’m always glad to see you. I’ll get Isaac to swap places and we can go out back.”

  “Okay, perfect. I do want to talk about something and it’ll only take a couple of minutes.”

  He chuckled. “That’s okay. We’re in no rush today. It hasn’t been that busy.”

  When Isaac had taken over in the shop, they walked into the back room and sat at a small round table.

  “So, what’s it all about? You look bothered by something.”

  She cleared her throat. How was she going to approach this? It would’ve been easier if the subject of their mother had come up in conversation, but that was never going to happen. “Can I have a glass of water please?”

  “Sure. Would you like me to make you a cup of kaffe?”

  “Nee denke. Isaac already offered. Water will be fine.” While he got the glass of water, she closed her eyes, summoned her courage, and tried to still her fast-beating heart. Was there something bad about her mother that she wouldn’t want to know?

  He sat back down placing the water in front of her. “You’ve got me curious.”

  She took a big gulp of water and set the glass back on the table. “The thing is, I wanted to talk to you about our mudder.”

  His eyebrows rose, telling her that was the last thing he thought she might have come there to talk about. “Go on.”

  “Nobody ever mentions her. I don’t have many memories of her. No clear memories and I wondered if you do.” To encourage him to open up, she continued with the little things she remembered. “All I have in my mind is hanging onto the hem of her dress, and I remember her lifting me onto her hip. That’s all. Most of all, I remember feeling happy. I think she was a cheerful person, but I don’t even remember her face or her voice. What do you remember of her? I was two when she died. You were a few years older.”

  He scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t have many memories at all—nothing much.”

  Her heart sank. “You must remember something." She sat still and waited for him to say something. Any little thing he remembered could help her fill in the blanks.

  “I can remember us traveling in the buggy as a family. You were in the middle and Earl and I were either side looking after you. I can also remember us sitting at a small table in the kitchen while the adults sat at the big table. That’s about all.”

  It was a let-down. He barely recalled anything at all. “Do you know if our parents were happy? Happy in their marriage and happy with each other?”

  “I guess so. Why do you ask?”

  She didn’t want to shatter her brother’s memories. Naturally, he would assume they’d been in love. Neither could she tell him about the letter from Gerald Braithwaite—an apparent love-interest prior to their parents’ marriage. Shrugging her shoulders, she said, “I was just wondering.”

  He drew his eyebrows together. “Why are you thinking about all this now?”

  She thought quickly. “It’s because of the girls getting married, I think. It’s made me wonder what Mamm’s life was like. Oh, come to think of it, there is something important I have to tell you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I found letters that she wrote to each one of us before she died.”

  “What about?”

  “In case she didn’t live until we were adults—almost like she knew she'd die young. She said in my letter that Dat was to give them to us. He mustn’t have gotten around to it.”

  “Did you bring mine with you?”

  She slumped in her chair, feeling selfish and self-absorbed. “Nee, I forgot, sorry.”

  “I’d really like to read it.”

  “I’ll get it for you and bring it to you.”

  “Okay. Denke. Do it when you get around to it, though. There’s no rush.”

  “Okay, I definitely will. And I’ll mail Earl’s to him.”

  “Where did you find these letters?”

  “In the attic among her things.”

  He rubbed his beard. “I didn’t even know she had anything up there. I thought all her things would’ve been gotten rid of.”

  “Nee. Dat didn’t toss them away, and Wilma never throws anything out. I helped Earl put Dat’s things in the attic and that’s when I saw Mamm’s boxes. I had a little look through her things back then, but stopped.” She knew she had to get to the point of why she was there. “It’s frustrating that no one ever talks about our mudder. Do you know why that might be?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Beats me.”

  "Who is the best person to ask about our mudder? Do you think Ada knew her well? She recently mentioned her to me, but we got interrupted right away so I don’t know what she'd been going to say.”

 
“I’m not sure. I’m not sure who knew her. I guess you could start with Ada—she’ll be able to direct you.”

  “Denke. Good idea. I’ll do that.” She took another mouthful of water.

  “Did you come here especially to talk about our Mamm?”

  “Jah, I did. And to tell you about the letter.”

  Slowly, he nodded.

  “I mean, don’t you ever wonder about her?”

  “From time to time, jah, I think about her and wonder what she would’ve been like.”

  “Why weren’t we ever told anything about her?”

  “Life goes on and Dat married Wilma. Wilma took over as our mudder. I’m sure she loved us as much as she was able, since we weren’t hers.”

  “She did, and still does.” She leaned in closer to Mark. “I miss her. I want to know her, but I never will. I feel slightly like I’ve been cheated.” Tears formed in her eyes and she blinked hard. She’d barely talked to Mark alone since he’d married Christina shortly after their father had died.

  “Do you think about her often?”

  “Sometimes. Mostly, I just miss Dat because I knew him better, of course, and we used to go into the orchard every day and he’d teach me all kinds of things.”

  “You two were close.” Mark laughed and seemed more comfortable now that the conversation was away from their late mother. “He wasn’t blind. He knew you’d be the one to take over. Earl and I never liked the orchard, or farming of any kind.”

  “I don’t know how that’s even possible.”

  Mark shook his head. “You’re so much like him.”

  “Am I?”