“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 ha
nd 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.”
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