by Jan Drexler
“I want you to ask it.” Her whisper tickled.
“Will you marry me? Will you be my wife?”
Her hug nearly choked him. “Ja, you know I will.”
Guy unwrapped her arms from around his neck. “You’re sure?”
“You are the only man I want to spend my life with.”
He bent his head to kiss her, and nothing else mattered.
Epilogue
Judith fastened the suspenders on two-year-old Eli’s trousers as he stood on the bed.
“Church today?” His face wore a puzzled frown.
“Ja, even though it is Thursday.” She kissed his round cheek. “It’s a special day.”
“Cake?”
“Ja, there will be cake at dinner.”
As he slipped off the bed and thumped down the stairway, Judith was drawn to the view from his window. Sunshine had turned the orange and red leaves into glowing flames of fire dancing in the September breeze. Across the road, the corn stood tall with the tassels beginning to turn harvest gold. Next to the white farmhouse stood the little Dawdi Haus that Guy had finished with the help of Matthew and Bram. David and Verna had moved into it last week.
The sound of footsteps on the stairway reminded Judith that she had plenty to do yet this morning, and time was flying by. As she crossed the hall, Esther met her at the top of the stairs with a hug and they hurried into Judith’s room.
“Just think,” Esther said as she helped Judith settle a fresh Kapp over her hair. “It’s September again. A year ago, we were helping Mary get ready for her wedding to Samuel.”
Judith smoothed the white apron over her new rose-colored dress. “So much has changed in the last two years, hasn’t it?”
The fragrance of chicken and noodles drifted up the stairs of Annie and Matthew’s house. Pans of the simple meal were keeping warm in the oven and the scent made Judith’s mouth water.
“You know who is getting married next, don’t you?”
Judith nodded, rubbing her palms together. She wasn’t nervous, so why were they damp?
“You think Ida Mae and Thomas are next?”
The corners of Esther’s mouth twitched up in a little smile. “And soon only Sadie and I will be left. Two maidles living together.”
Judith heard Guy’s voice downstairs and her heart skipped a beat.
“You won’t be a maidle for long. I thought you and Forest Miller were sweethearts.”
Esther sighed. “He’s been gone for the last several months, helping his grossdatti out in Iowa. Things have been bad there, with the drought.”
“Has he written to you?”
“A couple letters. The last one came in June. It’s been months since then, and I’m beginning to think he has found someone new.”
“Or maybe he’s just working hard.”
Luke Kaufman came into the house, greeting Guy and everyone else with a loud voice. If someone had told her that Luke would become Guy’s best friend, she would never have believed it. But they had grown close during the baptism class over the summer, and even Luke’s sweetheart, Susie Gingerich, had become good friends with Judith. They had spent many evenings together as the two couples courted.
Esther shook her head. “I think he has just forgotten me. But that’s all right. Sadie can’t live alone, and the Good Lord knows what He’s doing.” She smiled brightly. “I enjoy living with Sadie. Her house is pleasant, and the days are quiet.”
More folks arrived and the buzz of the conversations downstairs grew louder. Judith chewed on her lower lip.
“You’re doing all right, aren’t you?” Esther peered into Judith’s face. “You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine.” Judith swallowed. “Is my Kapp straight?”
“Of course it is.”
“What about my apron? Are the ties even?” She stood up and turned around for Esther’s inspection.
“You look wonderful. You’re a beautiful bride.”
“Then I guess it’s time to go downstairs.” Judith’s mouth was as dry as if she had been eating chalk.
Esther paused with her hand on the doorknob. “You know Mamm would have loved to be here today.”
Tears welled up. “Don’t make me start crying. I may never stop.”
Esther gave her a quick hug and started down the stairs. The furniture had been pushed back to open the lower floor enough to seat all the congregation from Eden Township as well as folks from the Shipshewana church. Faces blurred as Judith slipped into her seat on the front row.
Across the aisle, sitting next to Luke in the front row of the men’s side, Guy glanced at her, his face as pale as death. She gave him a smile and he grinned back, his skin returning to its natural color.
Judith tucked cold fingers under her skirt and watched the toes of her shoes, waiting for the service to begin. By the time the service ended in a few hours, she and Guy would be husband and wife, their lives joined together forever.
Her heart pounded until she glanced at Guy again. He smiled and gave her an assuring nod. Everything would be all right. She belonged to him, and he belonged to her. Forever.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this Amish romance, be sure to pick up the first book in Jan Drexler’s
AMISH COUNTRY BRIDES miniseries
AN AMISH COURTSHIP
And don’t miss these other Amish historical romances from Jan Drexler:
THE PRODIGAL SON RETURNS
A MOTHER FOR HIS CHILDREN
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Dear Reader,
This story is close to my heart. I loosely based the hero, Guy, on a real person—my grandfather. I never met the real Guy, who passed away several years before I was born, but his story is one I had to share.
Born in 1902, Guy’s life changed dramatically when he was five years old. His mother gave birth to a daughter and died of complications soon after the delivery. Faced with raising three very young children on his own, their father placed Guy and his younger brother in an orphan asylum and put his newborn daughter up for adoption.
It was a hard life for a young boy. When he was old enough to do farm work, he was hired out to farmers in the area as an indentured worker. Abuse of various forms were part of his life, while the father who had left his sons in the orphanage traveled from job to job, never able to provide a home for them but never signing away his parental rights. From 1908 to 1926, Guy lived and worked in thirty-two different homes.
But, as in every story of redemption, God stepped in. Early in his young adulthood, Guy dedicated his life to serving the Lord. He met my grandmother, and they married and had five children, including two sons who became ministers.
The year after Guy’s death, Grandma wrote, “He wanted love and respect, but most of all he wanted a home and security, something he hadn’t had since his mother died.”
Everything else that happened in this story, including Guy’s father being a criminal, is fiction. But the heart of the story, Guy’s longing for a home, a place where he belonged, is true.
I’d love to hear your thoughts! Connect with me on Facebook or Goodreads, or on my website, www.JanDrexler.com.
Blessings,
Jan Drexler
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Accidental Family
by Lisa Bingham
Chapter One
January 13, 1874
Utah Territory
Charles Wanlass waited until the sound of feminine laughter had dissipated into the darkness before stepping into the cold. He paused to ensure that the side door to the Meeting House had snapped into place. Then he hurried toward the miners’ row houses and his own quarters, the very last building on the left.
From somewhere deep in the woods, he heard a woman’s voice call out.
“Willow? Willow, where are you?”
The cry was soon followed by a burst of laughter. Snatches of singing.
Charles couldn’t help smiling. Normally, he and the other men in the Batchwell Bottoms mining community hated January. The merrymaking of Christmas was over, the wind had grown especially bitter and the nights were long and dark. With nothing to break the monotony but work, the days seem endless.
This year, however, the occupants of the little community nicknamed “Bachelor Bottoms” were more than happy to put off spring for as long as possible. Less than a month ago, a freak avalanche had closed off the pass, marooning a trainload of women in the valley.
And none of the miners looked forward to that moment when they would go.
“Willow?”
The cry was fainter this time, the giggling more disjointed.
Charles wondered what could have happened to separate Willow Granger from the rest of the group. She was a shy little thing, so tiny she could fit under his chin. Sober and wide-eyed. He couldn’t imagine what could have caused her to escape the Pinkerton guards who had been tasked with keeping the women away from the miners.
As he stepped inside and threw his hat onto a nearby table, he became aware of several things at once: footsteps running through the snow, a commotion of male voices, shouts from the center of town and cooing.
Or the soft mewling of a cat. Or...
A baby?
In that instant, he became aware of a basket on the floor in front of him. It was heaped with blankets. A note pinned to the top read: “Please, please protect my little ones and keep them as your own. They are in more danger than I can express.”
Crouching, Charles moved the blankets aside, revealing not one, but two cherubic faces.
Tiny. So tiny.
A surge of protectiveness rushed through him like a tidal wave, washing all other thoughts and emotions aside.
Almost simultaneously, he heard footsteps charging into his home. He placed himself between the intruder and the basket. To his surprise, it wasn’t a burly assailant, but one of the mail-order brides.
Willow Granger.
From the moment of their arrival, Willow had been a source of curiosity for Charles. Where the other girls were carefree and chatty—even giggly or silly—Willow stood out. The woman was reserved, seldom speaking in Charles’s presence. She had a mane of curly auburn hair the same bright red-gold as a sunset. Most days, she barely managed to contain it in a thick braid. Unlike the other ladies, her wardrobe seemed limited, a pair of shapeless dresses that obscured her figure—one for every day and one for Sunday best. And she was watchful. He wouldn’t doubt that those pale cornflower-blue eyes saw everything, even the contents of a person’s heart.
She seemed to sense that something was amiss because she peered around him. In an instant, she took in the basket, the babies and then the note. Before he could stop her, she snatched the paper from its mooring and read the words.
“Oh.”
It was a mere puff of sound, but it held a wealth of emotion—shock, concern, dismay.
Unfortunately, neither of them had time to ask each other questions, because a swarm of men were heading toward them—the Pinkertons, and close on their heels a group of miners, including Jonah Ramsey, the superintendent of mines, and Ezra Batchwell, one of the owners. To add to the confusion, the alarm bell near the mine offices began to toll.
To Charles’s utter horror, the babies at his feet chose that moment to rouse from their slumber. They began to cry, softly at first, then louder, until the noise cut through the din and the crowd on his doorstep seemed to freeze in the cold winter night.
But that moment of calm was short-lived, because a deep, booming voice bellowed, “Charles Wanlass, explain yourself!”
* * *
“They’re mine!”
“They’re mine!”
Willow trembled when she realized that she had blurted the words at the same moment that Charles Wanlass had uttered his. In an instant, the lie had been cast, not once, but twice, heightening the veracity of the declarations, but doubling the consequences—because this was Bachelor Bottoms where, in order to get a job, a man had to sign an oath that he would abstain from drinking, smoking, cussing...
And women.
Their claims seemed to shudder through the men assembled outside the door. Willow wouldn’t have been surprised if they’d been spoken loud enough for the whole valley to hear. Then a dozen pairs of eyes turned their way, and she withered beneath the stares.
She’d never been good in crowds. Becoming the brunt of anyone’s attention caused her to wilt. Yet here she stood, forced to endure the focus of everyone’s attention.
“What did you two say?”
The growl came from Ezra Batchwell. The owner of the Batchwell Bottoms Mine was a fierce bear of a man, his body stocky and barrel-chested. The fur coat he wore and the beaver hat pulled low over his balding pate helped give him the appearance of some great beast. In her short time at Bachelor Bottoms, Willow had steered clear of him. He had a temper. Especially where women were concerned.
She felt a hand touch the small of her back. When she looked up, she found Charles regarding her with quiet gray eyes. There was something about that look, the steadiness of his gaze, that offered her comfort and strength.
“See to the children,” he murmured. His command was softened by the lilt of his Scottish burr and uttered so lowly that only she could have heard the words.
When she reached out to pull the blankets aside, she realized that she still clutched the note in her hand. Her gaze scanned the words: “Please, please protect my little ones and keep them as your own. They are in more danger than I can express.”
She instantly recognized the loopy script.
No, Jenny, no.
Willow’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t been able to find Jenny for days now. Somehow, the other woman had slipped away from their Pinkerton guards and gone...who knew where?
Why would she leave the safety of the other women and the Dovecote, the dormitory-like building where they stayed? Why would she venture out on her own? If her labor had begun, Jenny would have had everything she needed: warmth, support, even medical help from their very own female doctor, Sumner Havisham Ramsey. T
he woman had only recently married the mine superintendent. If Jenny had needed an advocate to help smooth things over in the Batchwell Bottoms community, she could have appealed to Sumner.
But she’d been so frightened the last few weeks. So sure that someone meant to hurt her and the baby she carried.
No. Not baby.
Babies.
Willow crumpled the note into a small ball, surreptitiously jamming it into the pocket of her gown. Then she returned her attention to the infants.
Curiously, one of them had fallen back asleep, despite the fact that its sibling piteously squalled. Wrapping the top layer of blankets around the angry child, she lifted it to her chest and then rose again, automatically rocking back and forth as she tried to calm the poor thing.
As soon as she turned, she met the wide-eyed stares, and Willow’s knees began to tremble. Thankfully, before she could sag, Charles’s hand wrapped around her waist and he drew her close to his side, offering her warmth and support. Then, miraculously, the baby grew quiet.
The silence hung thick and dark and ominous, and the longer it continued, the more Willow became aware of the alarm bells in the distance. The last time she’d heard such sustained tolling, there had been a mine accident and dozens of men had been injured.
“Has another tunnel collapsed?” she breathed, looking up at Charles, needing the strength of his gaze. She became inordinately aware of the man’s height, the rawboned planes of his face, the wheat-colored hair that he kept close-cropped at the sides and longer on top.
She felt his fingers tighten at her waist. The sensation was brief, but oh, so welcome.
“What’s happened?” Charles asked, already reaching for his hat and settling it over his brow.
“The tunnels are fine.” This time, the deep voice belonged to Jonah Ramsey, mine superintendent, and even more importantly in Willow’s opinion, Dr. Havisham—no, Dr. Ramsey’s—husband. “We were told there’s been a death. We hoped you’d come with us to check things out. Just in case someone needs some spiritual support.”
