All she wants for Christmas is the truth.
A struggling Amish woman. Her mysterious new neighbor.
And a secret that could change everything...
Becca Schwartz’s curiosity is going to be a problem. When Amish secret millionaire Daniel Glick moves to Shipshewana for seclusion, he doesn’t expect his pretty new neighbor to ask so many questions. Or to be so generous, despite her family’s poverty. As Daniel falls for Becca, his secret looms between them. This Christmas, can he finally give her the truth...and his heart?
USA TODAY Bestselling Author
“Why is all of this...bad?” Becca asked.
“Because they’re giving what they don’t have.”
“Many in our community have more than enough.”
“And many don’t.” Daniel scrubbed his hands over his face. “Many don’t, and they’ve given part of what little they have to me. That’s not right because I—”
He stopped midsentence, a pained expression on his face.
“What? You had nothing here, Daniel. People wanted to help. Now, don’t ruin it by letting your pride become involved.”
“It’s not pride.”
“What is it, then?”
“I can’t... I can’t explain why this is such a terrible thing, Becca. Just trust me. I should not have accepted this much help.”
He seemed to be stuck on the fact that he was poor.
Her family was poor, too, but they didn’t mind having food and clothing and a furnished home.
Men were a mystery to her, and Daniel Glick? Daniel was a paradox. For a guy who carried around a book and filled it with words of wisdom, he had a lot of learning to do.
Vannetta Chapman has published over one hundred articles in Christian family magazines and received over two dozen awards from Romance Writers of America chapter groups. She discovered her love for the Amish while researching her grandfather’s birthplace of Albion, Pennsylvania. Her first novel, A Simple Amish Christmas, quickly became a bestseller. Chapman lives in Texas Hill Country with her husband.
Books by Vannetta Chapman
Love Inspired
Indiana Amish Brides
A Widow’s Hope
Amish Christmas Memories
A Perfect Amish Match
The Amish Christmas Matchmaker
An Unlikely Amish Match
The Amish Christmas Secret
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
THE AMISH CHRISTMAS SECRET
Vannetta Chapman
But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus.
—Philippians 4:19
Your wealth is where your friends are.
—Plautus
This book is dedicated to Kristy Kreymer.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Excerpt from The Amish Widow’s Christmas Hope by Carrie Lighte
Chapter One
Daniel Glick moved into his new place on the first Tuesday in October. The next day, the local bishop—an old fellow named Saul Lapp who looked to be in his eighties—gave him a ride to Tim Beiler’s place. Tim was apparently the go-to guy in Shipshewana, Indiana, if one was looking to purchase a buggy horse.
Daniel didn’t even attempt to negotiate down the price of the mare. Constance was dark gray along her mane and from her hindquarters to her hooves. The rest of her coat was nearly silver. She was more muscled and longer bodied than the horse he’d owned in Pennsylvania, standing fifteen hands high and weighing in at 825 pounds. An American saddlebred, she was three years old and presented a nice gait. More important, her name perfectly matched her disposition.
He’d purchased the worst farm in Shipshewana.
His buggy looked as if it might not hold together in a good storm.
But he wouldn’t skimp on the horse. The mare was fundamental to his new life in Indiana. She was the beginning of a twenty-year relationship. He’d gladly pay full price.
The bishop had dropped him off at Tim Beiler’s place, assuring Daniel he had the best buggy horses in the area.
Tim Beiler looked to be in his late forties. With a salt-and-pepper beard, he was built like a fireplug and didn’t even blink when he quoted a price several hundred above the high side for a good buggy horse.
“She’s the best mare I have.”
“I’ll take her.”
“Gut. You won’t regret it.” If Tim was surprised that Daniel didn’t haggle the price, he hid it well.
Daniel counted out the bills, thanked the man and told him he’d ride her home. It wasn’t often that he rode a horse, let alone bareback, but then again, it wasn’t often in a man’s life that he moved over five hundred miles to a place where he knew no one, and purchased a new horse.
He took his time on the way home, riding the horse along the side of the road, taking in the Englisch and Amish homes of Shipshewana, Indiana.
The October afternoon was bright with sunshine.
Fall flowers bloomed to his left and right.
Leaves crunched under Constance’s hooves. She seemed to enjoy the sounds of fall and the freedom of the afternoon as much as Daniel did.
Soon the Englisch neighborhoods gave way to picture-perfect farms. He turned west. Here the farms became smaller and noticeably poorer, largely because there wasn’t sufficient top soil for farming. Most of Shipshe was quite fertile, but this area would be a challenge for the best of farmers.
The property he’d purchased was four and a half miles from the center of town and was in a marked state of disarray. Its condition suited Daniel to a tee. He wouldn’t have to worry about Englischers pausing in their cars to take pictures.
Seclusion.
Peace.
Quiet.
Those things had been at the top of Daniel’s list as he’d sought a property far from home. The Realtor had tried to persuade him to look at more expensive properties with “livable” homes. He hadn’t shown the advertisements to his parents, but he could have guessed their reaction—surprise followed by disappointment. They expected him to make something of himself, especially given their situation.
“Unto whomsoever much is given, of him shall much be required.” His dat loved to quote the verse from Luke’s gospel. It was amazing to Daniel that he didn’t see the hypocrisy in that. The inheritance they’d received had literally destroyed their family, and yet he would dare to lecture Daniel on how he should live his life.
The inheritance was the reason he’d left.
Call it running away or deserting his family or starting over. The name of it didn’t matter so much as the fact of it. He was five hundred miles away from a life that had only yielded pain and betrayal. He hoped five hundred miles would be far enough.
He’d been looking for solitude when he purchased the place, and he had no doubt he’d find it here. As for the decrepit condition of his house and barn and fields, if there was one thing he didn’t mind, it was a challenge.
Once home, he brushed down the mare, put oats in a bucket and hooked the bucket to the fence. Then he set her loose i
n the east pasture, which was the only portion of his farm that had a fence in good enough condition to hold her. Walking toward his barn, he nearly laughed. He shared it with a neighbor he hadn’t met yet—the barn had been built directly on the property line. It was one more reason no one had been interested in the property. The structure looked as if a good wind would blow it down, and the house was no better.
He had the skill and the time to repair both.
But the horse he would keep in the pasture until the structure was sound.
He’d walked into the barn and was putting the brush on a shelf when he heard a high-pitched squeal from the other side of the wall. With every fiber of his being, he wanted to ignore it. He would meet his neighbors soon enough, but he had no desire to do so on the second night in his new place.
“Get back!”
Definitely a female voice, from the other side of the barn. Poisonous snakes were rare in Indiana, but it was possible that his neighbor had encountered a copperhead or timber rattler. He’d never forgive himself if she was bitten while he stood on his side of the barn enjoying his solitude.
He threw one glance back toward his home, then sighed and walked around the barn. If someone had asked him to guess what he might find there, he wouldn’t in a hundred years have guessed correctly.
A young Amish woman—Plain dress, apron, kapp—was holding a feed bucket in one hand and a rake in the other, attempting to fend off a rooster. The rooster was a beautiful Brahma, over two feet tall, with a red comb and golden cape. At the moment, the bird was strutting and crowing and occasionally jerking to the right and left, trying to peck the woman’s feet.
“What did you do to him?” Daniel asked.
Her head snapped up, and her eyes widened. The rooster took advantage of her inattention and made a swipe at her left foot. The woman danced right and once again thrust the feed bucket toward the rooster. “Don’t just stand there. This beast won’t let me pass.”
Daniel knew better than to laugh. He’d been raised with four sisters and a strong-willed mother. Laughing was not the correct response when he saw a don’t-mess-with-me look in a woman’s eyes. So he strode forward, snatched the rooster up from behind, pinning its wings down with his right arm, and keeping its head turned away from him with his left hand.
“Where do you want him?”
“His name is Carl, and I want him in the oven if you must know the truth.” She dropped the feed bucket and swiped at the golden blond hair that was spilling out of her kapp. “Over there. In the pen is fine.”
The pen she pointed toward looked as if it had long ago held pigs. Given its current condition—it was as dilapidated as everything else—Daniel doubted whether it would keep Carl corralled for long. He dropped the rooster inside and turned to face the woman. She was probably five and a half feet tall, neither heavy nor thin, and looked to be around twenty years old. Blue eyes the color of forget-me-not flowers assessed him.
She was also beautiful in the way of Plain women, without the adornment of makeup or jewelry. The sight of her nearly brought a groan to his lips and reminded him of yet another reason why he’d left Pennsylvania. Why couldn’t his neighbors have been an old couple in their nineties?
“You must be the new neighbor. I’m Becca Schwartz—not Rebecca, just Becca, because I was the second born and my mamm decided to do things alphabetically. We thought you might come over and introduce yourself, but I guess you’ve been busy. Mamm would want me to invite you to dinner, but I have to warn you, I have seven younger siblings, so it’s usually a somewhat chaotic affair, and we’re probably having soup same as every night this week seeing as how the price of hay has dropped again and hunting season hasn’t started yet.”
It was a lot of words.
As she talked, Becca not Rebecca had stepped closer. Daniel took a step back.
“Didn’t catch your name.”
“Daniel... Daniel Glick.”
“We didn’t even know the place had sold until last week. To say we were surprised would be a huge understatement. Thought Jeremiah was fooling with us—Jeremiah is my onkel on my dat’s side. He’s a real prankster. So when he told us the place had sold, we didn’t believe him at first. Most people are leery of farms where the fields are covered with rocks and the house is falling down. I see you haven’t done anything to remedy either of those situations.”
“I only moved in yesterday.”
“Had time to purchase a horse, though.”
They were standing outside the Schwartz side of the barn. Becca stepped past him, crossed her arms over the top of the fence and whistled twice.
Constance raised her head as if to nod and say hello, then went back to grazing.
“Nice mare.”
“Ya.”
“Get it from Old Tim?”
“The man didn’t strike me as terribly old.”
“He’s older than Young Tim but not as old as Timothy.” Becca shrugged as if to say, you know how it is. “Hope you didn’t pay what he was asking. He always starts high.”
The last thing Daniel wanted was to get into a conversation about how he’d overpaid for the mare. What he wanted to do was walk away. He’d purchased eggs, bacon and bread when he was in town the day before, and his stomach was beginning to growl.
Then he glanced back at the barn.
The Realtor had explained that he owned half of it, which he hadn’t taken the time to question. He stared at it now, wondering how to broach the subject or if Becca would even know the answers to his questions.
How did one own half a barn?
As if she could read his mind, she said, “The Coblentz bruders built it this way back when Shipshe was barely a dot on the map.”
“It’s barely a dot on the map now.”
“They came from Ohio, purchased what they thought was two pieces of prime real estate that shared a property line. Built the barn so that each could use half and planned to build their houses in sight of one another. George Coblentz built your house, and Clarence had just begun to plan out his on what is now our side when they had their fight.”
“Fight?”
“Over a woman, of course.” Becca smiled broadly as if she found the whole story amusing. No doubt she’d told it a dozen times before. Her blue eyes literally twinkled.
If he were honest, she looked like an Amish woman that you might find on the cover of an Englisch tour brochure. Her hair was golden blond, prettier than wheat in the fields—not that he could see more than an inch of it. She had a button nose, the lightest dusting of freckles and a smile that should have been able to charm the bad-tempered rooster, Carl.
“Don’t know the woman’s name—”
“What woman?”
“The one the Coblentz bruders fought over.”
“Ah.”
“Don’t even know if she was interested in either of the bruders, but the old folks will tell you that she left town before Clarence managed to lay the foundation for his house. Each bruder thought the other had driven her away. Clarence built the fence because he wasn’t speaking to George and didn’t want his cattle crossing over. The next year he built his house.”
She tilted her pretty head toward a single-story home that looked as if it had been added onto with each additional child. “Neither stayed long. Clarence moved on to Wisconsin and George went back to Ohio.”
“So the barn...”
“Is half yours, half ours.”
“I’ve never owned half a barn before.”
“Too bad Carl’s on this half, as he’s the most foul-tempered rooster I’ve ever encountered. Gut thing I brought him over to this barn, though. I don’t believe my hens are ready to meet him yet.”
“Your parents have another barn?”
“Ya, up past our house.”
Daniel could just make out a structure that looked to be
in no better shape than the one they were standing beside.
“Why are you and Carl here and not in the...uh...newer barn?”
“My parents said I could use this one for my projects.”
“Projects?”
Before Becca could answer, someone stepped out onto the front porch of her house and rang the dinner bell. “Sounds like the soup’s ready. Care to come and meet the folks?”
“Another time. I have some...um...unpacking to do.”
Becca shrugged her shoulders as if it didn’t matter to her whether he joined them or not. “Guess I’ll be seeing you, then.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
He’d hoped for peace and solitude.
He’d hoped to be left alone.
He’d prayed that he wouldn’t have to deal with women for a year or longer.
Instead, he had half a barn, a cantankerous rooster, and a pretty neighbor who didn’t mind being a little nosy.
What kind of projects did she have?
And how much time did she spend in the barn they shared?
None of which was any of his business. He’d come to Indiana to forget women and to lose himself in making something good from something that was broken. He’d moved to Indiana because he wanted to be left alone.
Meeting the neighbors was way down his to-do list.
* * *
Becca barely thought about the tall, handsome and largely silent Daniel Glick for the rest of the evening. She didn’t dwell on his dark brown hair, brown eyes with a hint of gray, muscular frame or serious demeanor. Instead, she spent her time trying to figure out exactly what he was doing in Shipshe.
Unfortunately, her unruly family gave her little quiet for thinking. Dinner for ten was no easy affair. Clyde, David and Eli had to be reminded to knock the mud off their shoes before coming into the kitchen. Francine was mooning over a boy at school and burned the corn bread. Georgia had her nose in a book—Georgia always had her nose in a book, even when she was supposed to be stirring the soup, which had resulted in a nice crust on the bottom where it had stuck. As for Hannah and Isabelle, they’d tried to sneak in two of the barn cats in their apron pockets.
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