The Harvest of Grace
Page 1
Praise for
Cindy Woodsmall
“This third entry in the Ada’s House series is sure to please fans of the first two novels. Fans of Amy Clipston and Marta Perry will enjoy its engaging characters and homespun feel.”
—Library Journal
“Oh, blessed insomnia! Cindy Woodsmall is a master at stealing your heart and your sleep with powerful love stories as pure and haunting as the Amish community in which they are set. With crisp prose, flesh-and-blood characters who live and breathe on the page, and a spiritual heritage that nourishes the soul, The Harvest of Grace is a rich bounty of unforgettable reading that is just ‘plain’ perfect.”
—JULIE LESSMAN, award-winning author of The Daughters of Boston and Winds of Change series
“You don’t have to be a fan of Amish stories to love a Cindy Woodsmall book. The Harvest of Grace’s heroine, Sylvia, won me over from the first page, and I cheered her through the story. Woodsmall writes a beautiful page-turner with heart-gripping twists. A worthy read.”
—RACHEL HAUCK, award-winning author of Dining with Joy
“A treasure chest, for sure … The wisdom in these stories is time-tested and true—plain and simple.”
—KAREN KINGSBURY, New York Times best-selling author of Unlocked and Shades of Blue
“[Cindy Woodsmall] paints a vivid backdrop of Amish and Mennonite cultures with fascinating detail and memorable clarity.”
—TAMERA ALEXANDER, best-selling author of Rekindled
“Cindy Woodsmall writes real—real people, real conflicts, real emotions. When you open her book, you enter her world and live the story with the characters.”
—KIM VOGEL SAWYER, author of Where Willows Grow and Waiting for Summer’s Return
THE HARVEST OF GRACE
PUBLISHED BY WATERBROOK PRESS
12265 Oracle Boulevard, Suite 200
Colorado Springs, Colorado 80921
Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version.
The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 by Cindy Woodsmall
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House Inc., New York.
WATERBROOK and its deer colophon are registered trademarks of Random House Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Woodsmall, Cindy.
The harvest of grace : a novel / Cindy Woodsmall. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-0-307-72962-0
1. Amish—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3623.O678H37 2011
813′.6—dc22
2011016848
v3.1
Books by Cindy Woodsmall
ADA’S HOUSE SERIES
The Hope of Refuge
The Bridge of Peace
The Harvest of Grace
The Sound of Sleigh Bells
The Christmas Singing
(coming in October)
SISTERS OF THE QUILT SERIES
When the Heart Cries
When the Morning Comes
When the Soul Mends
NONFICTION
Plain Wisdom
To Linda Wertz,
a dear woman who values God’s creatures
and labors to exhaustion to make a difference.
You touch lives without realizing it.
You offer a different lens to view life through
to all who are blessed to come in contact with you.
And to your husband, Rick,
who believes in you as much as he believes in the One who created you.
And to every farmer,
who understands all too well
the mountain of troubles that you face,
the lack of support from those who need you most,
and the constant effort you put into finding solutions.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Other Books by This Author
Dedication
The Ada’s House Novels
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
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Epilogue
Ada’s House Series: Main Characters in The Harvest of Grace
Glossary
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The Ada’s House Novels
The story so far …
In The Hope of Refuge, Cara Atwater Moore is a waitress in New York City. Cara’s mother died when Cara was only eight, and she was abandoned by her alcoholic father. Now, at twenty-eight, she is being stalked by a man she knows from growing up in foster care. She escapes New York with her seven-year-old daughter, Lori, whose father died when Lori was just a toddler. Following a diary Cara’s mother left her and sketchy memories from a childhood visit to her mother’s relatives in Amish country, Cara arrives in Dry Lake, Pennsylvania. Exhausted and fearful of being followed, she and Lori seek shelter in a barn. She is discovered by Ephraim Mast, a thirty-two-year-old, single Amish man who works as a cabinetmaker. To spare Cara from being separated from her daughter by social services, Ephraim takes them in and helps them, even though that creates serious problems for him with the Amish church leaders and community members.
Ephraim’s sister, Deborah, is engaged to Mahlon, the only child of Ada Stoltzfus, a forty-three-year-old widow. Mahlon disappears without explanation, leaving his mother and Deborah on their own. Ada takes both Deborah and Cara under her wing, inviting them to live with her in Hope Crossing. After Cara chooses to join the Old Order Amish church, Ephraim and she realize they want to build a life together.
In The Bridge of Peace, Lena Kauffman is a twenty-three-year-old Amish schoolteacher in Dry Lake who is sometimes mocked for having a birthmark that covers part of her face and neck. Her longtime friend and confidant, Grey Graber, is struggling in his relationship with his wife, Elsie. Because they’ve conceived two children, one who is missing part of an arm and one who was stillborn because of birth defects, Elsie avoids Grey out of fear that they can’t have healthy children. Once Grey understands why she’s shut him out, he insists they undergo medical tests to dete
rmine if there is a genetic reason they should not have more children. They do so, but before the results are revealed, Elsie dies on her parents’ farm when a bull mauls her. Grey chooses to burn the envelope containing the test results without looking at them. His relationship with his longtime friend Lena develops, and they fall in love. Lena is a close friend of Deborah Mast and Cara Moore, and she frequently visits them at Ada’s House, which has become an Amish tourist attraction because of their home-baked goods and their seasonal activities for families.
For a list of main characters in The Harvest of Grace,
see this page.
One
From her perch on the milking stool, Sylvia patted the cow’s side and cooed to her, enjoying the warm softness of the cow’s hide. “You’re feeling better now, ya?” Puffs of white vapor left her mouth when she spoke, and her fingers ached from the cold.
The cow mooed gently as if answering her.
Sylvia removed the claw milker from the cow’s udder and sprayed Udder Care to prevent chaffing and to ward off mastitis. She set the stool and bucket out of the way, moved to the far end of the stalls, and pulled the lever that opened the tie rails, releasing the last round of cows from their milking stalls.
Daed lifted two buckets of milk and headed for the milk house. “What are you humming this morning?”
“Oh. Uh …” She hadn’t realized she was humming, so she had to pause for a moment and think. “Moon River.”
“Sure does sound nice. This place don’t seem the same when you’re off. No one else I know hums while working a herd.” He disappeared into the milk house to dump the fresh liquid into the milk tank.
Unlike a lot of Daeds, Sylvia’s hadn’t minded when she bought an iPod during the early years of her rumschpringe. The Englischer who picked up their milk three times a week had always recharged it for her. But then, five years ago, it fell under a cow during a milking and was trampled to death. Since she still hadn’t joined the faith, she could’ve bought another iPod, but Lilly was seven by then and hanging around the barn more. It would have hurt Lilly to realize that her older sister didn’t always keep the Old Ways, so she never replaced it. But she missed some of her favorite songs, like “Moon River.” The lyrics about the dream maker always made her think of Elam.
Her pulse quickened as she envisioned Elam next to her in the barn. His good looks seemed more suited to modeling in Englischer ads than managing a dairy herd, and she found his physical presence frustratingly compelling. He frequently mentioned marriage lately, and she could imagine their future together, always being close to him, waking alongside him in the mornings. But she had reservations too. Didn’t she want more from true love than heart-pounding attraction? Maybe she just needed to spend more time talking with him about their “rainbow’s end,” and all her reservations would melt into nothingness.
She patted a few cows on the rump, gently moving them along. The herd desperately wanted in the barn at milking time, each cow hurrying to a stall in the milking parlor, but they weren’t eager to leave the building afterward. Their contented lowing and the ease with which they lumbered outdoors toward the bunk feeder and water trough made her smile. The large creatures were the same today as they’d always been—peaceful and productive.
In a side stall a new calf nursed from its mother. Ginger slid her head across the wooden gate, and Sylvia rubbed her long forehead. Sylvia had been up half the night making sure Ginger didn’t have any trouble bringing the calf into the world. Fortunately, Sylvia hadn’t needed to pull the calf or call a vet. Both were victories she was proud of.
Two years ago after she’d cried over the death of both a cow and her calf, her Daed did the unthinkable. He gave her the right to tend to the breeding of the herd as she saw fit. Her ways took more effort than his, but she’d not lost a cow or a calf yet. Milk production was up, and the overall health of the herd had improved. She had her grandpa’s teachings to thank for that.
Her Daed returned from the milk house. “I bet you’re thinking about Daadi Fisher.”
“Ya, I think of him every time a healthy calf is born.” As a child she’d been her grandfather’s shadow while he tended to the cows, and she’d been young when he began training her in the value of careful breeding and vigilance during every labor and birth. In spite of her being a girl in a patriarchal society, he believed in her. When he’d passed away a couple of years ago, she thought her heart might break.
Daed headed toward the remaining buckets of milk.
Sylvia pushed the wheeled cart that carried all her milking supplies toward the mud sink. “I need the two heaviest of those buckets, Daed.”
“Two?” His eyes met hers, reflecting interest. “You making more yogurt already?”
“I am.”
“Are we eating that much, or are you selling that much?” He poured the white, frothy liquid into a sterilized milk can for her and securely tamped down the lid.
“The answer to both is yes.”
It was rare to see a smile on Daed’s face before breakfast, but he grinned broadly. “Sell iss gut, ya?”
“Ya, it’s a good thing.” She pushed the supply cart into the milk house section of the barn and then returned to the parlor. “Daed, do you mind if I go to the house early? A bad dream woke Ruth up last night. I promised her that this morning I’d prove it was just a dream.”
He tossed a pitchfork into a wheelbarrow and went into the first stall. “Sure, go on.”
Sylvia abandoned her usual routine and climbed the haymow. After finding the mama cat’s new hiding place for her kittens, she gently placed Ruth’s favorite tabby into the inside pocket of her coat and then went back down the ladder.
“Hey, Daed.”
He turned, and she pulled out the kitten, once again hinting at her ultimate goal: for Ruth to be allowed to keep this one inside the house when the little fur ball was a week or so older.
A lopsided grin caused one side of his face to wrinkle, and she wondered what had him so jovial this morning. “Just don’t get me in trouble over it. And make sure Ruthie knows it can’t stay inside. Barn cats tend to become mean once they get a little age on them.”
Sylvia put the milk cans into a wooden handcart. “They wouldn’t if—”
“Go already.” He shooed her toward the barn door. “I don’t want to hear any more of your newfangled ideas about how I could run this farm differently. They always cost me money and energy.”
His tone was playful, but she’d be wise to accept that he meant his words … for now. He’d come a long way in accepting her ideas concerning the farm. She often wondered if he’d give her any say if he had a son. She’d never know, because he had nine daughters, of which she was the eldest and the only one with a heart for farming.
His other daughters were more typical and girlish in every possible way, preferring housework over farm work. The three teenagers—Beckie, Lizzie, and Naomi—hated farming, always had. Lilly, who’d just turned twelve, would never complain about anything, but the smells and hard work made her queasy. The four youngest—Ruth, Barbie Ann, Salome, and Martha—were a hazard in the barn, causing Daed to shoo them away if they set foot inside the milking parlor.
Pushing the milk cart, Sylvia hurried from the barn to the house. Last week’s snow glistened under the early morning sunlight. She toted the heavy milk cans inside one by one, being careful not to lean the containers against her body and squish the kitten.
The warmth of the entryway made her cold fingers scream in pain. Delicious aromas of sausage, biscuits, and coffee made her mouth water and her tummy rumble, keen reminders of how long and cold her night had been.
Her Mamm was adding wood to the stove, and Lizzie stood at the sink, washing dishes. There was never a shortage of dirty glasses and plates in a house with eleven people.
Sylvia removed her wader boots. “Morning.”
Lizzie yawned. “That it is, and it arrives way too early in this house.”
“Why, there you
are.” Mamm closed the door to the stove, smiling and motioning for her. “Kumm. Warm yourself. How’s that mama cow?”
“Ginger and her newborn are doing great.”
“I’m glad, but a girl shouldn’t have to work like you do.”
“I love it. You know that.”
Mamm put her arm around Sylvia’s shoulders and squeezed. “Still, we need a solution, and your Daed’s found one that is right around the corner.”
Sylvia would never get used to Daed making plans about the farm without telling her. “What does that mean?”
Naomi came through the back door, carrying an armload of firewood. She held the door open while Beckie entered with a lighter bundle of wood.
Beckie’s blond hair peeked out from under one of Daed’s black felt hats, and her blue eyes shone with spunk. “Good grief it’s cold out there. Isn’t it time for warmer weather?”
Mamm pulled several mugs out of the cabinet. “Your Daed said they’re calling for a long winter and a late spring this year.”
Clearly her mother had no intention of answering Sylvia’s question. She’d find out whenever her Daed was ready for her to know.
Naomi dumped her load of wood into the bin and quickly straightened it. After she finished, Beckie tossed hers in and began warming her hands over the stove. Naomi straightened the mess, piece by piece. Getting the morning firewood used to be Beckie’s job, but she wasn’t good at doing chores by herself. Not making beds, washing dishes, or getting firewood. She would come back with only a couple of pieces of wood, and later, when Mamm wanted to add fuel to the stove, the bin would be empty. Sylvia and her sisters used to fuss about doing their jobs and then having to help Beckie with hers, but arguing only made everyone’s days miserable. In the end, someone still had to help Beckie in order for all the chores to get done.
On washdays when it was time for Beckie to gather the dirty clothes, she seemed half-blind, always forgetting a few hampers, including the diaper pails. Since Naomi, a brown-haired beauty, was as meticulous as they came, she and Beckie were assigned to work together. Beckie was sweet and plenty smart. She just needed to mature, and Sylvia trusted she’d do that one day. But at eighteen, she had a ways to go.