by Amy Clipston
She couldn’t allow the memories to drown her. She tried not to think of Seth, and his light-green eyes, blond hair, and radiant smile. She pushed away the memories of how he loved to tell silly jokes just to see his friends and family members laugh. She bit the inside of her lip and willed herself not to cry. She’d cried herself to sleep for so long, and she was tired of crying. In fact, she was surprised she had any tears left to shed.
“I understand how you feel, Veronica.” Mamm’s eyes glistened with sadness. “I know you feel like you can’t get through this, but God will help your heart heal. You can’t rush your grief. It’s a process.”
Veronica tried to listen to her mother’s supportive words, but her mind checked off a list of what projects she’d completed—painting the bedrooms upstairs, cleaning up the garden, planting flowers, helping her mother and sister make quilts to sell at local stores and auctions, organizing the cabinets in the kitchen, and doing inventory for her father’s harness shop. What hadn’t she done?
The attic!
“Mamm,” she said, cutting off her mother’s lecture about accepting God’s plan for her life and holding on to her faith. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but would it be okay if I cleaned the attic? I know you once mentioned it probably needs it, but you’ve never had the time.”
Her mother gave her a blank expression and blinked her eyes. “You want to clean the attic?”
Veronica nodded. “Ya, I’d love to.”
“But, Veronica, you can’t continue to ignore your feelings. You have to work through this, mei liewe.”
“I’m not ignoring my feelings.” She knew it was a sin to lie, but today wasn’t the day to work through her emotions or allow herself to fully accept that the love of her life was gone forever.
No, today wasn’t the day. The sun was so bright and the sky was so blue, just like the day she and Seth had gone for a walk and he asked her to marry him. It was an unusually warm March day, and the birds were singing. His hair took on a golden hue in the sunlight. His seafoam-green eyes sparkled with nervousness because, as he’d admitted to her later, he wasn’t certain she would say yes.
Veronica, however, had known she’d loved him since he’d first offered to give her a ride home from a youth group singing four years earlier. She’d had a crush on him since she was ten years old, staring at him at church and in school. He hadn’t seemed to notice her until they were both eighteen. That was when everything changed, and she’d finally had a chance to be Seth Lapp’s girlfriend. He wasn’t only the love of her life; he was also her best friend. Of course she wanted to marry him.
Veronica pushed the thoughts away and willed her eyes not to well up with tears. She couldn’t let herself dwell on those memories. Today had been a good day. In fact, it was her first good day since the accident had stolen her future.
“Veronica,” her mother was saying, “you don’t need to worry about that attic. We’ll deal with it when we get the winter clothes out in the fall. Instead of worrying about cleaning, why don’t you have a cup of tea with your schweschdere and me?”
“Really, I want to clean the attic.” When her mother frowned, she quickly added, “I’ll have tea with you, Rachel, and Emily later. Okay?” She forced another smile, but she was sure her mother could see right through her desperate attempt to have some time alone while doing something mindless like cleaning.
“Fine.” Her mother sighed with defeat. “Call me if you need me.”
Veronica grabbed a few rags, a dustpan, and a broom and moved up the spiral staircase in the old farmhouse that had been in her father’s family for four generations. She continued up the stairs, passing the second floor, where her bedroom, her two younger sisters’ rooms, and the sewing room were. When she reached the third floor, she pulled open the old door, which creaked loudly in protest, revealing the large, open attic that spanned the top floor of the large, white clapboard house.
The heavy scent of dust mixed with stale air permeated her lungs as she surveyed the sea of boxes, old oil lamps, furniture, and toys. She placed the cleaning supplies on the floor and then crossed to the small window. She unlocked it and pushed with all of her strength until the window slowly moved up in the track. She rubbed the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand and breathed in the warm, fresh air seeping in from the outside.
Veronica grasped the broom and began to push it across the floor, weaving past boxes and accumulating a pile of dust on her way across the large room. She stopped and forced open the small window on the far end of the attic, thankful for a light cross breeze. She wondered for a moment if this project was a silly idea, as her mother had implied, but the busy work was a welcome distraction from her emotional turmoil. She pushed the broom and hummed a hymn as she moved back to the other side of the room. She spotted a box marked “Dolls,” and she wondered if her favorite baby doll was packed in it along with her sisters’ favorites. She climbed over a box marked “Books,” tripped on a loose book, and stubbed her toe on a large wooden chest. Sucking in a breath, Veronica lowered herself onto the chest and rubbed her throbbing toe.
Once the pain subsided, she stood and examined the large chest, running her fingers over the smooth wood. She didn’t remember ever seeing the chest before. Where had it come from? Had it belonged to her mother or, from the look of it, possibly to her grandmother? It was well made, even beautiful. Why didn’t her mother keep it in her bedroom? She tried to lift the lid, but it didn’t budge. She bent and spotted a brass key sitting inside the lock. She turned it, and the lock clicked. She pushed the heavy lid up and breathed in the sweet aroma of cedar.
Her eyes widened with surprise when she found the large chest filled with linens, a quilt, and a few small boxes. She picked up the box on top and opened it, revealing yellow cards with frayed edges. The top card had a recipe for raspberry pie, written in beautiful, slanted handwriting. The handwriting was familiar. It must have belonged to her maternal grandmother, who had passed away when Veronica was little. Had this box belonged to her? If so, why was it stowed away, forgotten in this large, beautiful chest? Who had put it there? Had this chest also belonged to her mamm? Why would her mother hide something so beautiful and special up in the musty attic?
Veronica pondered the old card, taking in the instructions detailed in faded pencil. She swallowed a gasp as she gripped it. She could finally do something special with all those raspberries ripening in her mother’s garden. Every summer the garden yielded rows and rows of raspberries, and every summer Veronica and her youngest sister, Emily, made jars and jars of jam to sell at the Bird-in-Hand Farmers Market. They froze the rest of the raspberries and rarely did anything more with them.
She felt a tingle of excitement. This recipe would give her the chance to stay busy with another project—making pies. I have to tell Mamm!
Veronica slipped the card back into the box, closed the chest, and hurried down the steps. She crossed the second-floor hallway and stopped at the top of the staircase as voices floated up from downstairs. Veronica knew she shouldn’t eavesdrop, but her body went rigid and her feet stopped moving forward when she heard her name.
“Where’s Veronica?” It was Rachel.
“She’s cleaning the attic,” Mamm said.
“She’s cleaning the attic?” Her sister sounded confused. “Why would she do that?”
“I told her it wasn’t necessary, but she insisted.” Mamm sounded weary. “You know how she is lately. She can’t sit still. I’ve almost given up trying to convince her to let herself slow down and go through the grieving process.”
“Ya, I know.” Veronica thought she recognized a sigh. “I feel so bad when I hear her crying. I’ve tried talking to her, but she just tells me to leave her room. She wants to cry alone, and I can’t stand seeing her so unhappy. I pray and pray, asking God to take away her pain. I can’t imagine how difficult this is for her. I can’t even imagine how difficult it would be to lose David like that. It would just crush me.”
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��We have to be supportive of her. If she wants to clean the attic, then I have to let her. I just want to see her froh again.”
“Ya, I know. I keep asking God to bring someone else special into Veronica’s life. Maybe she’ll meet a bu and fall in love again.”
Veronica straightened her shoulders. She didn’t want her family’s pity, and she didn’t need a new boyfriend. She couldn’t imagine finding anyone she’d love as much as she loved Seth, and she would never dream of betraying his memory that way. She’d promised to love him and only him when he asked her to marry him, and she intended to keep that promise. No one could ever take his place.
“We can’t force her, Rachel,” Mamm warned. “You know that, right? Just be there for her when she needs you.”
“Ya, I know.”
“Rachel!” Emily’s voice rang out from somewhere downstairs. “I didn’t realize you were home from the market. How was your day?”
Veronica was grateful Emily had steered the subject away from her grief. She took a deep breath and started down the stairs toward the kitchen, where Rachel was detailing her day working at the Philadelphia Farmers Market with her friends and her boyfriend, David.
Before the accident, Veronica had worked with Rachel at the Philadelphia market three days a week—on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday. Afterward, she couldn’t bring herself to face the constant questions and pity she knew she’d receive from friends and acquaintances. Instead, she begged her parents to allow her to stay home and help her mother and sister make quilts and work around the house. She promised to go back to the market someday, but instead, she hoped to stay home and enjoy the security of her family.
“Mamm!” Veronica walked down the stairs and held up the box as she entered the kitchen. “Look what I found in the attic in a big cedar chest.”
Mamm spun around, facing Veronica with her eyes wide with shock. “Oh? What did you find?” Her mother was no doubt afraid she might have overheard her and Rachel talking, but Veronica had no intention of letting on that she had.
“Look at this box!” Veronica shoved it toward her mother as her sisters crowded around her.
“What’s that?” Emily asked, tilting her head to the side. At nineteen, she was the shortest in the Fisher family, six inches under Veronica’s five ten. But she had the same blue eyes Veronica inherited from their mother.
Veronica opened the box, and Rachel blew out an excited breath. “Are those recipe cards?” At twenty-one, Rachel was tall like Veronica, only a mere two inches shorter. Unlike her sisters, she’d inherited their father’s light-brown hair and deep-brown eyes.
“Ya. I think they were Mammi’s.” Veronica handed the box to her mother, who only stared at it.
“Where did you find this?” Mamm asked.
“I told you. There’s a large cedar hope chest in the attic. I unlocked it and found the box on top of an old quilt.” Veronica took in the concern in her mother’s blue eyes. “Did I do something wrong? Should I put it back?”
“No, no.” Mamm cleared her throat as she sifted through the yellowed cards. “I had forgotten about that old chest. Ya, these were your mammi’s recipes.”
“Ach, I miss Mammi’s cooking,” Emily said with a sad smile.
“I do too,” Veronica said, turning toward her younger sister. “Remember—”
“Grilled cheese!” the sisters yelled at the same time, laughing.
“We all loved her grilled cheese,” Rachel said, wiping her eyes.
“Oh, ya,” Emily agreed. “We had so much fun eating her appeditlich grilled cheese sandwiches, drinking chocolate milk, and talking with her.”
“Ya, we sure did,” Veronica said with a sigh. “I miss her.”
“I do too,” Emily agreed.
“Look at this raspberry pie recipe,” Mamm said, studying the card Veronica had pulled out.
“I decided upstairs that I want to try to make it. It sounds appeditlich.”
“Raspberry pie?” Emily stood up on her tiptoes and craned her neck to read the recipe in Mamm’s hand.
“Oh, ya.” Rachel grinned. “That does sound delicious. You should try to make it, Veronica.”
“Did Mammi make these?” Veronica asked.
“She did.” Mamm had a faraway look in her eyes. “My dat loved them. In fact, your mammi started making them for him when they were dating, and then it became a tradition every spring. I remember her taking care of the raspberries in the garden, and she always made and sold the pies.”
“Where did she sell them?” Rachel asked.
“At the farmers’ market in Bird-in-Hand,” Mamm said as she continued looking through the recipes. “Oh my. There’s her recipe for relish. Mei mamm made the most fantastic relish and pickles too.”
Renewed excitement sparked within Veronica. These old recipes were just what her soul craved. “I want to make that too. I’ve never tried to make relish before.”
“Ya!” Emily agreed.
Mamm held up a recipe card as a grin spread on her face. “Here’s one for her peach salsa. We will have to make this too.”
“Oh, yes.” Veronica nodded with excitement. “I would love to try the salsa.” She gnawed her lower lip as she examined the raspberry pie recipe. “I want to try this raspberry pie recipe first, though, and I don’t know if I can do it.”
“You’re a gut cook, and I can help you,” Emily chimed in. “I can’t wait to try it. I’ve never had raspberry pie.”
“I haven’t either.” Veronica smiled the first true smile since that horrible day in April. “I can’t wait to get started.”
VERONICA LOOKED UP AT THE CEILING THROUGH THE DARK while a chorus of crickets sang to her through the open window. She used to quickly fall asleep and dream of her future. She and Seth had chosen November 27, the day after Thanksgiving, for their wedding. She’d decided on purple for her wedding dress and the dresses of her attendants, who, of course, would be her sisters. Seth had planned to build a house on his parents’ farm, and they had already talked about names for their future children.
All those plans were dashed when Seth had his accident.
Now she dreaded this time of night with every fiber of her being as her mind replayed that day. She still remembered the sound of the phone ringing in the barn as she weeded the garden. She recalled Ellie’s distraught voice as she told Veronica to get to Seth’s house right away. When Veronica asked her what had happened, Ellie began to sob, and Veronica’s blood ran cold as her stomach twisted. Somehow she sensed that something had happened to Seth.
When she and her father arrived, she’d found Seth’s mother sobbing in a friend’s arms. She listened in disbelief as someone—she never could recall who—told her what had happened. Her knees buckled, sending her toward the floor before her father grabbed her arms. It felt as if she’d been living someone else’s life. She wasn’t supposed to lose the love of her life before their life together had even started. It didn’t make sense. Why had God taken Seth before he had a chance to live?
Veronica rolled onto her side and faced the window while hugging her arms to her middle. The days after Seth’s death had passed in a blur. She hardly remembered the visitation or the funeral, except for the sound of Margaret’s and Ellie’s sobs. Or had they been her own sobs? She recalled a nonstop parade of faceless people stopping by their house to visit and deliver food—food she couldn’t eat because her appetite had evaporated the day Seth died. She’d lost enough weight that her dresses hung from her already slim body.
Her mother tried to encourage her to eat, but all she wanted to do was work. If she kept busy, then she didn’t have to face the fact that her life was forever changed. She’d lost all of the plans and dreams she’d enjoyed since March. The fabric she’d bought for the wedding dresses sat in a pile in the sewing room. It was as if time had stood still and she didn’t know how to make it move forward again. Until today.
Finding those recipes had awakened something deep inside her. The idea of baking something
new, something that was all hers, took hold of her. And not only was it hers, but the recipe was a link to her grandmother. The link to her family history was a balm for her grieving soul. After she’d given the recipe box to her mother, Veronica had rushed back to the attic to close the windows and retrieve her cleaning supplies, deciding the attic could be cleaned another day. She asked her sisters to help her pick raspberries until it was time to help her mother cook supper, and then she continued picking berries after supper until bedtime. Tomorrow she would go to the grocery store to buy supplies so she could start baking.
Veronica rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. She hoped baking the pies would help fill the hole in her life. Her thoughts moved to her sister Rachel’s confession of praying for Veronica to fall in love again. Veronica couldn’t fathom finding another man to love. Her emotions hadn’t recovered from losing the love of her life. Instead of looking for love, she’d look for relief, and right now, that relief was found in her kitchen. She was grateful her mammi had given those recipes to her mamm. She couldn’t wait to get started.
CHAPTER 2
JASON PLACED HIS HAMMER ON THE WORK BENCH AND WIPED his sweaty brow with a red shop rag as the familiar aroma of wood and stain permeated his nostrils. He scanned the large, noisy shop. Hammers, saws, and nail guns blasted and voices boomed in Pennsylvania Dutch as the workers built sheds. And since it was an Amish-owned business, the air compressors powering the machinery ran off diesel generators. Lancaster Shed Company was co-owned by Jason’s father, Elam, and uncle, Rufus.
He spotted Stephen talking to another worker as they nailed plywood sheeting to form the floor of a large shed. Although Stephen was twenty-one, three years younger than Jason, he was constantly mistaken for his older brother because he stood at six two, two inches taller than Jason’s six-foot-even stature, and shared the same light-brown hair and brown eyes.
