Love’s Journey in Sugarcreek
Love Rekindled
Serena B. Miller
Copyright © 2018 by Serena B. Miller
Find more books by Serena B. Miller at SerenaBMiller.com
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The town depicted in this book is a real place, but all characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people or events are purely coincidental. Serena B. Miller is not a medical professional nor legal advisor. Any references to medical or legal advice and procedures is purely for entertainment purposes.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Scripture references are from the Holy Bible, King James Version (kjv). The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan.
Most foreign words have been taken from Pennsylvania Deitsh Dictionary: A Dictionary for the Language Spoken by the Amish and Used in the Pennsylvania Deitsh New Testament by Thomas Beachy, © 1999, published by Carlisle Press.
Front cover photo by Doyle Yoder and DYP inc.
DYPinc.com - Used by permission.
Author photos by Angie Griffith and KMK Photography
KMKphotography.com - Used by permission.
Cover & Interior design by CJ Technics
Published by L. J. Emory Publishing
Love’s Journey is a registered trademark of L. J. Emory Publishing.
First L. J. Emory Publishing trade paperback edition July 2018
ISBN 978-1-940283-39-5
ISBN 978-1-940283-37-1 (Print Version
ISBN 978-1-940283-38-8 (Large Print Version)
Contents
Scripture
Acknowledgments
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
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Author’s Note
Also by Serena B. Miller
About the Author
God sets the lonely in families,
~Psalm 68:6a
To Steven
Acknowledgments
I am blessed with friends who help keep my facts and plots on track. Thank you from the bottom of my heart to:
Katie Weaver—Amish midwife
Aaron Ellis, MD
Stephanie Miller, RN
Kristie Cordle, RN
Lisa Rothwell, Esq.
Rick Brown, Esq.
* * *
My brilliant brainstorming group: Shelly Bloomfield Ph.D, Connie Laux, and Emilie Richards
* * *
And my amazingly supportive family:
Derek, Julie, Hannah, and Johnathan
Caleb, Meaghan, Clara, and Cecily Rose
Jacob and Michaela Miller
Chapter 1
December 25
Keturah Hochstetler’s eyes grew heavy as her buggy swayed down the graveled township road. It was two o’clock in the morning and she was tired to the bone. The dark December sky drizzled rain against the buggy’s thin roof and she shivered inside her second-best coat. Even the extra warmth of the soft, black shawl her daughter-in-law had given her could not counter the chilly wind.
The Sugarcreek area was filled with beauty, but it got quite frigid in the winter. She wished she had thought to put a woolen lap blanket in the buggy before leaving home. Heated bricks to put at her feet would have been welcome as well, but the drive was not far. She would be home soon.
Although she was cold on the outside, she felt the warmth of contentment within her heart. She smiled as she remembered the details of the birth. It had gone well. That’s all that mattered. At sixty-seven she had less stamina than in her twenties, but bringing babies safely into the world was her greatest joy and a holy profession. The miracle of birth consistently gave her strength.
The buggy gave a lurch as its wheels hit a bump and jarred her wide awake again. The uneven tracks that had been carved into the road by hundreds of iron-shod buggy wheels made for a bumpy ride. Because of that, the Englisch vehicles tended to avoid these back dirt roads around Sugarcreek and she was grateful.
The birth she had attended today was especially gratifying. It had been a long labor. First babies were often reluctant to come out into the world, but the young mother had done well. The baby, a healthy little boy, had such strong lungs that his cries had set the porch dogs to howling in sympathy. She and the baby’s grandmother laughed together at the baby boy’s indignation over having to leave his cozy spot beneath his mother’s heart. Had he waited a few hours longer to make his appearance, he could have been a Christmas baby.
The older women in the extended family, wise in the ways of babies and new mothers, would take over now. They would make certain that the young mother got plenty of nourishing bone broth and other good foods. They would rock the baby so the mother could sleep and recuperate. Things were as they should be in that house, and her responsibility was over for now. She was free to think about her own family and the Christmas celebration they would have today.
She had prepared as much of the food ahead as possible. Her daughters-in-law would bring the rest. Soon their home would be filled with love and laughter. There would be one small wooden toy each for the little ones who would be coming to their home in a few hours. Her husband, Ivan, had made the toys in his wood shop and he was as eager as a child himself, waiting for Christmas morning to see the grandchildren discover their presents. It had been a mild winter so far, but snow was finally predicted and Ivan was still holding on to the hope that by evening he could take the whole family for a sleigh ride.
She could hardly wait to give her husband the gift she had bought for him. The handle of his old straight razor had broken last year. Instead of buying a new one, he had taped it back together and continued to use it to trim the beard away from his mouth and face. It worked fine, he said. No need to spend money on a new blade.
Then last week they were visiting Lehman’s store, and she noticed him lingering over the new straight razors in the display case. He walked away without making a purchase. She could understand why. The razo
rs were shockingly expensive.
Ivan had few wants. It was not often that she had the pleasure of finding the perfect gift for him. While Ivan was engaged in conversation with a clerk about a broken piece he needed to replace on their outdoor hand pump, she managed to slip back to the razor display. With some of her midwife money, she rushed to purchase the best straight razor Lehman’s carried. It was made in France and had a lovely bone handle. It cost over two hundred dollars, but it was such good quality she felt it was worth the expense for something he would use daily. It was now hidden away in the bottom of her birthing bag; the one place she knew Ivan would never look. He was going to be so surprised!
The light from the lantern on the back of her buggy swung back and forth, and the sound of the rain and the rhythmic beat of Brownie’s hoofs flinging dirt against the undercarriage combined to create a sort of hypnotic lullaby. Only two more miles to go before she could climb into her warm, cozy bed.
Her head nodded and the reins grew slack in her hands. It was not the first time her good horse had taken her home while she dozed.
The sound of a vehicle startled her wide-awake again. Somewhere up ahead a car was coming and the car was very loud. She didn’t know much about motor vehicles, but she knew the sound of a bad muffler.
Careful not to slip into the ditch, she guided Brownie to the far right side of the road, making certain to leave enough room for the Englisch vehicle to get past them. Also, up ahead was a sharp curve. She slowed Brownie down so they could stay back, far out of the way until the car got around it.
It sounded like the driver was going too fast for these rain-slicked roads, but what did she know? She was used to driving at the top speed of ten miles per hour.
The sound of a crash startled her.
“Whoa!” She pulled back on the reins, bringing Brownie to a complete stop so she could listen. A car horn was blaring on and on, but the sound of a bad muffler had stopped.
She was neither a doctor nor a nurse but, during her years as a midwife and as the mother of sons who were not always careful, she had learned a great deal about the human body and what to do to stop bleeding or deal with broken bones. She even knew CPR. The fire department in Sugarcreek had sponsored a free class she had faithfully attended.
Hesitating only long enough to draw a deep breath before yelling “Giddyup!” she slapped the reins on Brownie’s rump. The old horse was so startled he broke into a gallop.
Chapter 2
Ivan Hochstetler was a happy man as he stoked the fire in their black cook stove. The stove and this kitchen was second only to his own good wife in being the heart of the home.
He loved the coziness of long winter days. He and Keturah had been enjoying the hundreds of jars of produce she and their two daughters-in-law had put up during the hot days of August, back when it seemed like the good earth couldn’t produce vegetables and fruit fast enough. The richness of the soil they had built up over the years made quite a difference in the robust vegetables the garden gave them.
They were also enjoying the homemade sausages they had canned on their family’s butchering day, and they often dug into their bin of fresh, crisp apples and cabbages tucked away beneath insulating straw in the cellar.
Deep winter was a time of rest for the earth and he loved watching the snow replenish his fields with minerals. It was a time of rest for his plow horses, as well. Come spring, he would be careful to allow them to build up their muscles, before giving them harder tasks. It was also a time of rest for a farmer and his family. At least it was a time of rest compared to the twelve- and sixteen-hour days he put in during the other months. When it was planting season or harvest, there weren’t enough hours in the day to accomplish everything he needed to do. He was grateful that their youngest son, Noah, was still at home to help.
He and Keturah were hospitable people. Winter was a good time to invite friends and family over in the evenings to enjoy a good visit and much laughter along with giant bowls of popcorn and apple cider.
Yes, Ivan loved winter. He had been storing up farming magazines, seed catalogues, and good books—enough to get him through to spring. He loved to read, but winter was the only time he allowed himself to indulge. He was especially enjoying the small stack of old Zane Grey paperbacks he had picked up at a garage sale last fall. In fact, it was Zane Grey’s fault that he was awake right now. That last book had kept him up far into the night. It was one of his many weaknesses; he loved a good story.
He glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall and saw that it was well past one o’clock in the morning. The Yoder girl must be having a difficult birth, poor little thing. Keturah had been gone for nearly eighteen hours.
He listened to the rain on the tin roof of the farmhouse and hoped that the baby was here by now and that his wife had chosen to spend the night with the new mother. Keturah did that sometimes if she was too exhausted to make the drive home, or if there were no other women in the family to take over after the baby arrived. Of course, in their Amish community that sort of thing was rare. In fact, the only time he could remember there not being other women ready to help was when a young mother’s sister and mother were delayed by a creek too swollen with flood water to cross.
He was proud of Keturah. Sometimes maybe a little too proud. He tried not to let it show. Hochmut was something their people discouraged and with good reason. God did not approve of pride.
And yet, how could a man not be proud of a wife such as Keturah? Even after forty-eight years of marriage, she was still lovely in his eyes, and so smart! Over the years, his wife had read every medical book she could get her hands on. She might not have as broad a knowledge as an Englisch doctor in all things medical, but he would put her knowledge of pregnancy and childbirth up against anyone’s.
The rain began to pick up, which was a worry to him. He hoped she didn’t try to come back home in this weather, but she might. After all, it was Christmas and their sons’ families would be there early.
He heard the creak of floorboards overhead. Noah was also up. Probably awakened by the sound of rain on their tin roof. It was always so much louder upstairs.
Noah padded down the stairs in his stocking feet and pajama bottoms, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. “Is Maam home yet?”
“Not yet.”
“She has been gone a long time. You don’t suppose she is outside in this weather, do you?”
“I was wondering the same. Your mother is not always as careful with her health as she should be.”
“Mom is tough as nails, Daett, and you know it.”
“True, but she is such a little thing.”
“Whose baby is it this time?”
“The Yoder’s middle girl,” Ivan said. “Stephen’s Martha.”
Noah, unmarried but wise in the way of birth from being a midwife’s son, brought a jar of instant coffee from the pantry, poured water into the cast-iron kettle, and set it on the stove to boil. “That will be Martha’s first baby. We might not see Maam again for a while.”
As she turned the curve, Keturah saw that an old, blue car had collided head-on with the large oak tree that stood in the middle of the bend in the road. The oak tree was old and massive. It had easily withstood the crash. The car was not as fortunate. The windshield was partially knocked out and the car’s front end was crumpled. The horn continued to blare.
Brownie pranced nervously as she tried to calm him. As soon as he was steady, she grabbed her flashlight, stepped out of the buggy, and carefully approached the wreck in the rain.
Playing her flashlight over the car, she saw that blood was splattered all over the windshield. Her knees grew weak at the sight, but she mustered her courage and crept closer.
There appeared to be no one in the car except the driver who was slumped, limply, against the door. The driver’s face, which was pressed against the window, was a young woman with short, blonde hair, wearing multiple earrings that sparkled against the light from the flashlight.
She
wondered why this girl had chosen to disobey the Englisch law. If she had been wearing a seatbelt, she would not have been thrown against the windshield.
“Hello.” Keturah knocked on the driver’s side window. “Do you need help?”
The girl stirred, opened her eyes, and looked at her blankly.
Keturah tried the door, but it was locked.
“Can you unlock it?”
The girl fumbled with the door, managed to open it, and then toppled out. Keturah caught her before she could hit the ground. Her heart dropped when she saw the girl’s hugely-rounded belly. Unless she missed her guess—and she rarely did—the girl was about eight months pregnant. The seatbelt had probably felt uncomfortable against her swollen stomach.
There appeared to be a large gash in the right side of her head. It was hard to tell because of all the blood. She hoped it was not as bad as it appeared.
The girl was agitated and grappled at Keturah’s coat. “Don’t let him take my baby,” she said. “Please…”
Love Rekindled: Book 3 Page 1
