“Read the inside.” He scooted beside her on the couch, and when she opened the cover, together they read the words he’d inscribed there.
When you reach the last page, I’ll buy you another. And another. And another...
Instead of remarking on the gift, Abigail pulled him closer and kissed his cheek.
“She likes it,” Mammi remarked.
It was later that evening, as he was sitting on the couch with Abigail, a fire warming the room, and candles lit on the mantel, that he told her of his plan. Mammi had retired, looking happy but tired. Baby Jo lay asleep on Abigail’s lap. He claimed her tiny hand in his.
“I spoke with Mary and John last night. Mary and John Lehman.”
“The couple who owns the mercantile.”
“And my apartment—yes. You’ll like the Lehmans. They’re gut people. A kind family and strong in their faith.”
“You talked to them about...us?”
“I did. I told them that we love each other and want to marry. You do want to marry me. Don’t you, Abigail?”
“I do.”
“Whew.” He pretended to wipe sweat off his brow, then once again became serious. “I asked them if I could purchase five acres of their land. It would be enough to build a house, with rooms for us and Mammi and any future children...”
“Five acres would be plenty. We’d have room for our horses and a garden.”
“And a dog, if Baby Jo wants one.” He slipped an arm around Abigail, pulling her close. Baby Jo was still in her arms, and so he felt that their family made a tight little circle. “I have enough money saved for five acres. I could pay cash.”
“We don’t need any more than that. Not if you intend to keep being an Amish property manager.”
“Someone once told me I’m pretty gut at it.”
“I could provide a solid reference.” She snuggled closer.
“Would it be enough? A small place? It’s certainly not traditional.”
“Our family isn’t traditional,” Abigail pointed out. “But it’s all I want—a place to raise Baby Jo, an extra room for Mammi, space for our family to grow.”
In that moment, Thomas let go the last of his doubts. He had a family now—people who cared about him, people he loved and wanted around him always. It was the best Christmas gift he could have wished for and one that promised to keep on giving him the most important things in his life.
Love.
Joy.
Happiness.
Kindness.
There really wasn’t a single other thing that they needed.
* * *
If you loved this story,
pick up the other books in the
Indiana Amish Brides series,
A Widow’s Hope
Amish Christmas Memories
A Perfect Amish Match
The Amish Christmas Matchmaker
An Unlikely Amish Match
The Amish Christmas Secret
The Baby Next Door
from bestselling author
Vannetta Chapman
Available now from Love Inspired!
Find more great reads at www.LoveInspired.com
Keep reading for an excerpt from The Amish Outcast’s Holiday Return by Lacy Williams.
Dear Reader,
Have you ever had your circumstances take a terrible turn? One that seems impossible to recover from? One that shakes your faith and leaves you feeling alone and frightened?
Abigail Yutzy experiences that in her life when her husband of less than a year dies. Though Asher wasn’t the husband she’d dreamed he might be, they were a family. Now she’s alone and expecting her first child.
Thomas Albrecht came from a home damaged by alcoholism. His fear is that he will become what his father was. He doesn’t trust himself to fall in love, to hope of a future or dream of a family.
But God has a plan for Abigail and Thomas, just as He has a plan for you and for me. And He can be trusted to be with us while we hurt, to be near, and to guide us into what comes next.
I hope you enjoyed reading An Amish Baby for Christmas. I welcome comments and letters at [email protected].
May we continue “giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Ephesians 5:20).
Blessings,
Vannetta
WE HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS BOOK FROM
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The Amish Outcast’s Holiday Return
by Lacy Williams
Chapter One
Zach Miller studied the farmhouse as he trudged along the gravel road toward the drive. He was trying not to think about what he’d come here to do or who was inside that house. He didn’t want to chicken out.
The farmhouse and smaller building behind didn’t look Amish. The house could’ve passed for an Englisher’s home, with its simple wooden siding painted white and cheery windows. It was the clothes on the clothesline—dark pants in multiple sizes and colorful shirts and dresses—along with the unhitched buggy parked beside the barn not far away that marked the property as belonging to an Amish family. He’d walked past three farms on this stretch of road that looked the same.
Each step kicked up a puff of dust and reminded him of walking home from school on crisp autumn days in the distant past.
Was this a mistake?
He hadn’t considered other options. Like phoning his uncle to make sure he had a place to stay. Zach hadn’t thought past what he would do when he arrived on the Beilers’ doorstep.
He hadn’t expected to feel this stifling weight on his chest. Sarah Beiler was inside. The woman from whom he needed to beg forgiveness. Both her and her family.
He didn’t remember much from that night. Only the aftermath. He’d spent the afternoon drinking with a buddy, the same way he spent most afternoons. Or evenings, if he had to work bagging groceries. That night, Zach had chosen to get behind the wheel, even though he’d known better. And in his drunken state he’d hit an Amish buggy with his car.
The man who’d been driving the buggy died.
All because of Zach’s poor decisions.
He didn’t know whether the Beilers would recognize him. He’d lived in Walnut Cove, Ohio, since age ten, when he’d moved in with his uncle. But he’d attended public schools and, in most cases, the Amish didn’t believe in education other than apprenticeships after the eighth grade.
And it’d been four years since his incarceration. He’d grown into a man behind bars, noticing the angles of his face in the occasional reflection from the metal mess hall tables. When he had been released this morning, he’d been given an ill-fitting pair of jeans and a button-down flannel shirt. On his walk to the bus station, he had trekked almost a mile out of his way to visit a thrift store. He hated to spend the few dollars he had on a wool coat, but with winter coming on, he’d had no choice.
During his time in prison, he’d earned a pittance. He’d spent some on his bus fare to the nearest large town and hitchhiked the rest of the way to Walnut Cove.
And now he was here. And he was terrified to knock on the Beilers’ front door.
He’d had weeks leading up to his release date to practice what he was going to say. But as his feet stalled out just feet from the porch, every word he’d considered flew from his brain. How did one beg forgiveness for ending a man’s life? Could Sarah Beiler forgive him after he’d taken away the man she’d loved?
He’d been brought up in the Amish faith. And though he’d spent years apart from the church, he still remembered how the Bible said that he should b
e reconciled to his brother. He figured the first step was asking forgiveness.
Behind the Beilers’ barn, a grove of oaks and maples proudly displayed their colorful leaves. Cold air nipped at the exposed back of his neck. Autumn had a firm hold on Walnut Cove, and the chill in the air was a reminder that winter was coming.
He stood for a moment too long looking at the front door. One thing he had learned during his time in prison was that putting off the difficult things didn’t make them any easier. The longer he had to think about something, the more anxious he became. And so he knew this had to be his first stop after his release from prison.
He forced himself to take one step forward. And then the next. And then he was knocking on the wooden front door with a hand that trembled. It was probably a good thing that he hadn’t eaten any lunch, though it was late afternoon now. The way his stomach was twisting, he might not have been able to keep it down.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets to hide the way they shook, and his right hand bumped against the smooth paper of the folded letter—the only thing he had brought with him from his prison cell.
A boy who couldn’t have been more than nine or ten opened the door. His hair was slightly shaggy, falling into his eyes, and he wore a simple white shirt and dark trousers over bare feet.
The boy stared at Zach curiously, and he felt the hairs at the nape of his neck prickle. It had been happening to him all day. The normal kind of interactions that he wouldn’t have given a thought before his incarceration now made him feel like he was crawling out of his skin.
He had to clear his throat and swallow to get his tongue loose from where it had cleaved to the roof of his mouth. “Is your—is your father home?”
“Who is it—” A young woman appeared in the hallway behind her brother. She had dark blond hair, most of it tucked beneath her kapp, and at first glance, he thought it was Sarah.
But then another young woman, also with dark blond hair tucked into her prayer kapp, appeared, and he immediately registered the difference.
Sarah wore a navy-blue dress, and it wasn’t only the difference in the dark tones of her clothing that he noticed. It was the lines of grief that bracketed her mouth. The slightly younger sister had lips that seemed to turn up slightly, as if she was just waiting to smile. Sarah’s lips turned down.
His heart was beating in his throat, and he wasn’t sure he could speak again. Every single word he had practiced in the solitary confinement of his cell fled.
The young boy spoke to his older sisters, and Zach didn’t have to. “He’s asking for Daed.”
Sarah’s face crumpled, and she whirled and disappeared into the house. Grace—it had to be Grace—smiled at him with what might be sympathy. She glanced over her shoulder to where her sister had disappeared with worried eyes.
“Would you mind waiting for a minute? I’ll find out from Mamm when she is expecting Daed home.” Her voice was soft and melodious, and it was such a contrast to the all-male sounds he’d experienced for the last four years that he wanted to ask her to speak again. Or maybe sing a song.
He did nothing.
She closed the door, but not before she peeked around it to look at him once again.
* * *
On her way to the kitchen, Grace Beiler glanced to where Sarah had disappeared upstairs. Mamm was already busy preparing dinner, her hands covered in flour as she rolled out a crust on the butcher-block counter. Behind Mamm, on the windowsill above the sink, were two of Grace’s prize-winning violets in full bloom, a splash of pink and purple.
Grace knew who the young man was, of course. The accident had happened only a quarter mile from their home, and she and Sarah had been the first ones on the scene when Zach had been driving drunk and Sarah’s fiancé had been killed. Zach’s picture had run on the front page of the local newspaper after he had been charged with manslaughter.
She hadn’t thought about him for a long time. She hadn’t realized his sentence was up. She had not expected to see him again. What did he want, coming here?
“Can you finish chopping the carrots for me?” Mamm asked without looking up.
Grace edged up to the counter. “Zachariah Miller is here. He is asking to see Daed.”
Mamm’s face showed surprise and then went pale as Grace’s words registered. Maybe she should’ve softened the blow somehow. But Grace herself still felt unsettled from seeing the man on their front stoop.
He looked like an Englisher, with his hair cropped close to his head. And a bit like a scarecrow, with his clothes hanging off him. Had he been fed while he was in prison?
“Did Sarah see him?”
“Jah. She ran upstairs, probably to our room.”
A little worry line appeared between Mamm’s eyebrows. “What does he want?”
“Elijah only said he asked to see Daed.”
Grace hadn’t been able to read the man’s expression. He’d seemed closed off, except for the muscle jumping in his cheek.
Mamm sighed and wiped her hands on her apron. “You’d better let him in. Your father will be back in a half hour. Keep our guest company until then.”
Grace knew without having to ask that Mamm meant to go and check on Sarah herself. It had been four years, but sometimes Sarah still seemed lost in her grief. Maybe Mamm would be able to offer comfort.
Zach Miller was still standing where she’d left him when she opened the door. Elijah peered out from behind Grace, trying to get a better glimpse of him, maybe. He still had his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders bunched almost up to his ears. He was handsome, she realized with a start. Had she really thought he looked like a scarecrow?
Grace realized with a shiver that a cold front was moving in.
“My father will be home soon. Mamm says you should come in and wait.”
It was fleeting, but she caught a glimpse of vulnerability in his expression before he steeled himself again.
Whatever he had come to say, he was hiding his emotion well.
He followed her hesitantly into the living room.
“Would you like a cup of kaffee?” she offered.
“Maybe—maybe just a glass of water.” His voice sounded scratchy, like he hadn’t used it all day. Or even longer.
By the time she brought back his glass of water, Elijah and Isaiah had sneaked into the living room and were standing side by side in front of their guest.
“Who are you?” Isaiah asked with a seven-year-old’s innocent impertinence.
She shooed her brothers out of the way, but of course, they didn’t leave the room. That would be too easy. “His name is Zach Miller. He’s here to talk to Daed.”
Zach glanced at her sharply, then back down at his hands. Did he think she didn’t know who he was?
She handed him the glass of water. He startled a little when their fingers brushed as the cup changed hands. She noticed a smudge of grease along the back of his thumb, like he’d missed a spot when he was washing up.
“When—how long—?” She cut herself off as she realized that she was being as impertinent as her young brother.
She backed away, not wanting to hover over him. She didn’t expect him to answer, but he took a swallow of his water and cleared his throat. “I was released this morning.”
Only this morning?
Mottled pink stained his neck, and she felt a responding blush hit her cheeks.
“Do you like to play checkers?” Isaiah asked. He sent a longing look at the cabinet behind the sofa where the checkerboard was stored away.
She got another glimpse of Zach’s dark eyes as he glanced at her brother and then back down to the cup he held in his lap. Was he shy or simply uncomfortable?
“I used to play with my daed when I was about your age.”
She was surprised to hear the German inflection come from his mouth. None of their family, none
of their community, had attended his trial. They had discussed forgiving him as a community at the Sunday morning gathering soon after the accident happened. As far as their bishop was concerned, it was done. There was no need to attend the trial of an Englisher boy.
But was he an Englisher after all?
“Do you wanna play?” Isaiah asked eagerly.
Grace’s heart swelled. Her younger brother was constantly looking for a partner to play with. As the baby of the family, he was always following someone around and always talking.
Zach glanced her way, and this time she was sure she saw panic in his eyes.
“I don’t think—” she started.
The back door opened and closed. She heard the sound of water running as her daed washed up in the mudroom. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and then her mother’s soft tones greeted him. Mamm was talking quickly.
Grace didn’t hear her father’s response, but she heard his heavier tread go up the stairs.
Mamm appeared from the kitchen. She looked slightly flustered, color high in her cheeks. Mamm was the most composed person Grace knew. Except for Daed. Seeing her discomfited made a nervous flutter in Grace’s belly. She shifted her feet.
Mamm glanced at Zach and then at Grace, a reprimand in her expression. “Didn’t you offer our guest any kaffee?”
“I didn’t want any.” Whatever expression Zach had worn like a mask earlier had shifted now, and he looked as uncomfortable as Grace felt.
But they didn’t have to wait, as only moments later her daed came back down the stairs, Sarah behind him. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her face pale.
Zach stood up.
“Thank you for seeing me, sir.” Zach didn’t seem to know where to look. His glance landed on Daed, then on Sarah, then back at his feet again. “I came to ask your forgiveness. Yours and Sarah’s.”
Zach squared his shoulders and looked directly at her father. At his side, his hand clenched into a fist.
An Amish Baby for Christmas Page 19
