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She felt so closed off in here in this booth, just as she had in the meat freezer, so afraid. And like that horrible night Harlan tried to kill her, she could hear the voices—Linc’s, those of the others he’d brought in.
“I can see us packaging her as the Amish Angel,” someone said.
“She looks like one—or will when that chin-length, blond hair grows out more.”
“We won’t want to go with that shapeless, long gown and apron she’s got on, though. A glistening, sequined, white, tight-to-the-body gown, maybe slit thigh-high? Even wings in the background. We’ll have her knock off fifteen, maybe twenty pounds so she looks otherworldly, get some pale makeup on her. Mr. Armstrong, it’s not true about the Amish not wanting their pictures taken, is it? Because that’s something we can’t work around.”
Linc said something, but he must be sitting farther back from the mic. Her head was spinning. The singing wasn’t all they’d want from her, of course not. They’d change her name, her clothes, her body, her life. Without ever being formally put under the bann, she’d be alienated anyway by her parents and her people—yes, her people! And when they saw how she was “packaged,” she’d be shunned for sure.
The music started. They’d paid to get an orchestra recording at a Nashville studio just to suit her voice range. This audition was her big chance, and she’d been told by Myron Jenkins, her old boss, that her voice would take her far.
But suddenly, she didn’t want to go far. And old Nelson Sterling was waiting outside for her in her hired car to take her home. Home. The Home Valley, and she was going now, not looking back, just like Seth didn’t when he told her she must choose and walked away.
She took off her earphones and said into her mic, “Sorry to bring all of you here, but I can’t do this and have the life I want. I apologize to everyone, especially you, Linc. The Amish Angel is flying the coop right now.”
She ignored their protests as she stepped out of the booth and pushed her way through the men. The only one she owed something to was Linc, and she didn’t owe him what he’d been hinting at with his looks earlier today.
“Linc, I’m sorry,” she said when he caught up with her. “I’ll repay you whatever this cost, though it might take me a while.”
When she kept going, he seized her arm to spin her back toward him.
“Hannah, whatever this cost is not just the outlay for this audition. What about me—us?”
When she didn’t budge but to gently disengage her arm from his grasp, he said, “I was afraid they’d get to you—Seth, your family.”
“This is my decision. Seth said it was mine—even my father said that, when I finally found the strength and faith to tell him I forgave him for ruining my audition last time. And he’s right. It was for the best.”
“You’ve lived away from them long enough to realize what’s going on here!” he insisted, his voice rising. “It’s an old tribal trick—the family and friends use whatever’s at their disposal to control any person they perceive as a threat to the tribe’s primacy—all that togetherness stuff instead of individuality.”
“That from a man who seems to worship at the altar of whaóe at he calls the Bureau? I need to go, Linc. Thanks for all you did to help set this up and find the murderer.”
He gave a bitter laugh. “Which you and Seth handled when I was miles away on a wild-goose chase, thanks to you. But knowing you and your people has been worth it, Hannah Esh.”
She grabbed the big purse she’d brought with her and ran for the door.
Mr. Sterling was willing to drive clear out to the Troyer mill when she told him that’s where she was going, but she had him stop at her parents’ home first. Though they were at the kickoff for the mill renovation, she used her key to get in, hit the bathroom, then rushed into Mamm’s kapp shop to take the prayer kapp that was still waiting for her atop the cupboard. She fastened in her still-too-short but all blond hair with a couple of bobby pins from the desk drawer, put her bonnet over it, then darted out to the car again.
After all she’d been through, she thought as Mr. Nelson drove as close as he could to the sea of buggies and cars and let her out, this was really what it meant to be coming home, returning to the grace and love of her people. Tears blurred her eyes when she saw Seth standing on a plank platform with Levi Troyer and his sons beside him. They had a bullhorn and were addressing the assembled crowd of workmen, their families and the larger family of the church and the neighbors.
At the back edge of the crowd stood Ray-Lynn, her red hair in a splash of sun, her right arm and shoulder just out of the cast. She was standing next to Sheriff Freeman. They were dating now, though taking things slowly, however much that frustrated the sheriff as much as it used to annoy Ray-Lynn. Bless the man—just like Seth—he’d been willing to court her and wait.
As Hannah walked forward, she saw Amanda standing with her sister-in-law, Clair Kenton, who had moved into Lily’s old room at the B and B. Hannah heard someone whisper in German, “There’s the wedding singer! I want her to sing at Mose’s and my reception!” Susan Zook, standing with her younger sister Amy, turned to look at Hannah. Her face fell, but she lifted a hand in greeting. Susan had apologized to Hannah for her nasty comments earlier, a good Amish woman despite her faults, a woman who had not run when she’d lost Seth Lantz. It was what Hannah knew she should have done. But, after all, look how the Lord had worked things out.
She saw her parents standing with Naomi and stopped to let them see the kapp was on her head under her bonnet. She grasped their hands. Naomi hugged her. It surprised her that her father cried but Mamm just said, “Ya, you go get your man.”
Hannah skirted the crowd to where she saw Ella, holding Marlena up so she could see. “What happened in Cleveland?” Ella whispered.
“I told them all nein, danki!” she said as Marlena, with her Hannah doll, held out her arms and Ella shifted her over into Hannah’s embrace.
“Let’s get closer to Daadi, tell him we love him,” Hannah told the little girl as Ella clapped her hands loudly enough for some folks to turn around right in the middle of Levi Troyer’s tóyerelling everyone that this project would “bring more folks into our area to buy more good Amish goods!”
Seth saw her and jumped down off the side of the platform. “How did it go?” he asked, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I thought they might sweep you away right then.”
“I decided not to sing for them, only here,” she told him, cuddling Marlena so close she squirmed. “I’ve already been swept away by a timber framer who has promised me a new house someday if I behave—oh, yes, and if I marry him.”
“You’re wearing your prayer kapp. But, my Hannah, I don’t think you will ever behave, and I don’t want a wife who behaves in bed. Then you will marry me?”
“I will.”
It just wasn’t done that the Amish couples showed affection in public, but that didn’t stop them from smooching, partly hidden from the crowd behind their hat and bonnet, pressing Marlena between them. Nor did it stop Ella and Naomi from giving a little cheer and clapping louder, which the crowd picked up, thinking it was for the Troyer mill. Her parents came closer, too, and the applause swelled, led by Bishop Esh. Her people’s love was the most beautiful song Hannah had ever heard.
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AUTHOR’S NOTE
Even when I am writing novels that don’t have Amish settings, I visit Amish Ohio country on a regular basis. I find the people fascinating and admirable. I’ve heard a saying from them: “It’s not all cakes and pies!” (I’ve also heard “It’s not all quilts and pies!”) This shows the Amish are very aware that their endeavors to keep separate from the world are becoming an increasing challenge. Especially during the teen years of rumspringa, some of the youth become snared by the world in ways that lead to big problems. Yet the Amish manage to keep a large percentage of their children.
Another danger is that crimes that used to be urban are now becoming r
ural. When such crime encroaches, that often means the enemy is us—rural neighbors. It’s partly for those reasons I like to set my stories in small towns, not urban centers where most people expect impersonal crimes to happen. Sherlock Holmes’s observation in the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle short story “The Adventure of the Copper Beeches,” states this well: “The lowest and vilest alleys of London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside.” (The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, 1892.)
On a lighter note, the whoopie pies that Hannah so favors are becoming very popular in the world. Long a regional and Amish favorite, sometimes called gobs, these look like large, puffy Oreo cookies, but are actually cakelike desserts. Such places as Bird-in-Hand Bakery in Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania, bake them by the dozens, and a state legislator in Maine recently proposed that these become “Maine’s official state dessert.”
Places to get whoopie pies abound in the Holmes Country area of Ohio where I do most of my research. There is eveön an Ohio company making “gourmet” whoopie pies, which they ship by the dozens in many flavors. (Want to read more about them or order some? Check out www.granvillewhoopiepies. com.) Even the ubiquitous Starbucks is getting into the act with whoopie pies in their minidessert line of Petites. Also, look for Hannah Esh’s favorite kind of whoopie pie, oatmeal chocolate chip, on my website, www.KarenHarperAuthor.com.
As ever, I am grateful to the Amish of Holmes County who answered my questions. As I mentioned in book #1 of this series, Fall from Pride, Ray-Lynn’s Dutch Farm Table Restaurant is partly inspired by Grandma’s Homestead Restaurant in Charm, Ohio, and partly on the Ohio-based Dutch Kitchen restaurants. For background knowledge of Seth’s timber-framing career, I thank the Amish barn builder, or timber framer, who was kind enough to speak to me about his work. Again, thanks to Shasta Mast, Executive Director of the Holmes County Chamber of Commerce and Tourism Bureau.
Finding Mercy, the next book in the Home Valley Amish Trilogy, will focus on some new main characters and some old, as Ella Lantz takes center stage and learns that the strict rules she’s tried to live by and has preached to others sometimes don’t work when danger comes calling. Also, you are invited to Hannah and Seth’s wedding and to see whether Ray-Lynn and the sheriff can finally get together.
I hope you’ll enjoy these future Amish stories and have a chance to read the past ones if you haven’t already. Previous books include The Maple Creek Amish Trilogy: Dark Road Home, Dark Harvest and Dark Angel. Down to the Bone is a stand-alone Amish story about a group of Plain People who have left their large Amish community to find more affordable farmland among Englische ausländers—and its heroine faces solving a murder and her own forbidden love story.
Also with authors Marta Perry and Patricia Davids, I have an Amish novella-length story, “The Covered Bridge,” in an anthology called Dark Crossings, available July 2012.
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
MIRA is a registeredþ
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AUTHOR’S NOTE