A Simple Winter: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel

by Rosalind Lauer

  Beyond the bare branches of the roadside trees, the limo paused with its turn signal on. Two figures emerged through the open moon roof, and as a car passed, they waved giddily. Although the road was at least a quarter mile away, Remy could tell that was Sadie standing with one of the twins.

  “Look at that.” Remy rubbed her arms, suddenly vulnerable to the wind. “She’s having the time of her life. They all are.”

  “But it’s not real.” He tipped his hat back, his lips strained as he stared toward the road. “Real happiness doesn’t center on a fancy car.”

  He had a point, though it rankled. Her one small gift to them was actually a hollow temptation.

  The limousine turned off the paved road, onto the Kings’ lane. Another head popped up through the moon roof, and the three girls waved when they caught sight of Adam and Remy. A low, steady melody rolled up the hill.

  “Sadie’s singing,” Remy observed. “She has a wonderful voice.”

  Adam nodded. “It’s a hymn.”

  As the limo slowly rolled along the curving lane, a gray carriage came into view on the main road.

  “Looks like your visitors have arrived,” Remy said.

  “That’s my aunt and uncle.” As Adam ran his knuckles over the hard line of his jaw, she sensed his mounting tension. “They’ll have some questions about why my siblings are joyriding on a Sunday afternoon.”

  “It’s not a joyride.” She bumped him on the shoulder, but instead of the grin she expected he just took a step away from her.

  A second gray carriage paused to turn onto the Kings’ lane … then a third.

  “Wow, your aunt and uncle must have a large family,” Remy said.

  “They do … but those aren’t their buggies.” Strain tightened his face as he studied the vehicles.

  One of the girls standing in the moon roof noticed the buggies behind them. Sadie’s song stopped abruptly as she turned to look, then quickly popped back down into the car. A moment later, the other girls ducked back in, too.

  “Do you recognize those rigs?” Remy asked Adam.

  “One belongs to our bishop. The other belongs to Preacher David. The leaders of our Gemeinde have come to pay us a visit.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “It won’t be, now that they’ve seen the children cavorting in a stretch limo.”

  “But you can just explain the circumstances. It’s not like you hired the limo. They just went for a quick ride. By the time your guests get settled, the limo and I will be out of your hair.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  Remy’s lips grew taut. Why was he suddenly so cranky? “It could be, if you’d stop glaring at me and calm down.”

  “I’m through taking advice from an auswendiger. Especially one named after a brandy.” He turned and strode toward the house, his long legs closing the distance in seconds.

  Leaving Remy alone with her regrets.

  It would be hard to return to the incubator of her life without a story.

  And it would be hard to leave the King family behind. She had no idea what sort of trouble the family might get into over the limo ride, her conversation with Adam would probably backfire on Sadie, and she hadn’t even asked Adam about Simon. But in a short time, this family had gotten under her skin.

  Negotiating the frozen path to the parked limousine, she decided she would not say good-bye, but see you later. From her high school German, she recalled that “Auf wiedersehen” meant “until I see you again.”

  That would be her promise to Sadie and Simon and the rest of the family.

  Auf wiedersehen.

  TWENTY

  dam kept his cool by checking off the hosting tasks in his head, one by one.

  Start the second coffeepot simmering.

  Load up the wood bin by the potbellied stove.

  Greet the guests, being sure not to waver under the scrutiny of the older men’s eyes.

  Unhitch the horses and secure them in the paddock.

  By the time Adam made it back to the kitchen, Mary and Sadie had the coffee poured for the men seated around the table. Aunt Betsy stood at the counter slicing up shoofly pie. Judging by the fact that the cousins and other wives had been sent to the living room, this was to be a serious meeting. Not business exactly, since the Sabbath was no time for that. But a minor matter that required a candid talk with the bishop and preachers … that would be acceptable Sabbath activity.

  “Adam, you need a slice.” Betsy held the plate aloft, and he quickly accepted.

  “Denki.” He’d always considered the pie to be dry, with its sticky molasses base and topping of crumbled sugar. But since his return he’d learned to add a splash of cream, and now he found the sweet dessert irresistible.

  “Adam, kumm. Sit right here.” Seated at the head of the table, Bishop Samuel patted the back of the adjacent wooden chair.

  “Thank you for visiting, Samuel.” Adam placed his pie and coffee on the table and took a seat. He knew the limo was on their minds, but he decided to do his best to sidestep it. “And you, David. I appreciate the support you’ve given our family in the past year. We couldn’t have kept the farm running and the children healthy without your help.”

  “Ach! ’Tis the way it should be. Lydia and I know the name and face of every child who heads down that road to the schoolhouse, and that’s our blessing.” Dave Zook’s blue eyes twinkled over his mug of coffee. “This family is the responsibility we all must share. Granted, you and Mary and Jonah are baptized members now, but there are still the children, your family’s strength and perpetuity.”

  “The children and two toddlers.” Samuel’s eyeglasses rested on the tip of his nose, though he rarely looked through them. With his silvered hair and pale skin, he seemed frail, but Dat used to say Samuel had no color because he worked inside all day, managing the harness shop. “With the little ones, you’ve taken on quite a responsibility, Adam. It’s understandable if you lose sight of it at times.”

  Lose sight? Adam stabbed at a piece of pie and shoved it in his mouth. Dry, but he’d forgotten the cream. Still, it was better to chew a mouthful of sandy crumbs if it kept him from answering the bishop in a rash manner.

  “I think Adam takes his responsibilities to heart,” Uncle Nate said in his defense. “The problem is he has no wife to help him care for this family. We all know Mary is a wonderful good cook and a hard worker, but a sister cannot wear a wife’s boots.”

  Bishop Samuel peered over his glasses. “Is that a proverb, Nate?”

  “It could be.” Nate chuckled, then repeated: “A sister cannot wear a wife’s boots.”

  “Good one, Nate.” Adam reached for the cream, trying to ignore the sinking realization that the men had come to offer guidance not about Sadie or Simon, or Susie with her medical condition, but regarding him. He was to be in the hot seat this sunny Sunday afternoon.

  “It’s a good and true saying,” Preacher Dave agreed. “And it points to the truth you can’t avoid much longer, Adam. You’re going to need a wife if you’re to continue taking care of this family. Those little ones inside, they need a mamm.”

  Samuel placed his mug on the table with a thoughtful expression. “And how will you find an Amish wife if you don’t get out to the frolics and singings?”

  “We’ve spoken of this before, Adam,” Uncle Nate said. “Now, I know you feel like you’re too old to be playing a young person’s game, and, ya, your rumspringa is over for good. But have you considered that we have a few single women in our district who are close to you in age?”

  Adam swallowed, hesitation sticking in his throat. Annie Stoltzfus was the woman they were thinking of. They might as well have come right out and said her name.

  “I have considered that.” Adam rubbed the wood grain of the old table. “But I’m a confirmed member of the faith, as are Mary and Jonah. If you want conformity, then the three of us should be married. We’re all in our twenties.”

  Samuel winced, rubbing th
e lines on his forehead. “Two in rumspringa, three old enough to marry … what are you all waiting for?”

  Preacher Dave swallowed, nodding. “Not to overstep bounds, but there’s Verena Miller and Emma Lapp.”

  “The schoolteacher?” Adam thought of Sadie’s friend. “She’s barely seventeen.”

  “I know that Annie Stoltzfus’s parents are hopeful about a match for their daughter.” Dave squinted at Adam, gauging his reaction.

  Not Annie again … Adam felt his toes curl in his boots at the thought. He had never formally courted her, but everyone seemed to think it was God’s plan for them to be husband and wife.

  “Annie is a very kind person.” Adam gestured toward the other room, where his sister had tactfully disappeared. “She’s Mary’s best friend. But I … Annie has always been like a sister to me.”

  Samuel shrugged. “This could change.”

  Not in a million years, Adam wanted to say, but held his tongue in the interest of being respectful to Annie and the church elders.

  “It doesn’t have to be Annie.” Preacher Dave, always a perceptive man, held a forkful of pie aloft. “But you do need a wife. Sooner than later. You see, you, Adam, are the head of this family. But it’s missing a heart. The true heart of every Amish family is the mother. And who can live without a heart?”

  “It’s time for you to get on with fulfilling God’s plan for you,” Bishop Samuel agreed.

  “That’s what I’ve been praying for,” Adam said, glad that he could be honest about that much. “I appreciate your guidance, and I will do whatever you think is right. If that means going to the singings …” He paused, swallowing back his resistance. “I’ll follow your instructions.”

  “Good.” Bishop Samuel clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t be so glum. Courtship is not difficult work when you get down to it. You’ll be fine … just fine.”

  Adam nodded respectfully, though the tightness in his chest wouldn’t allow him to smile. His future was going to be miserable, punctuated by bonfires and volleyball games with giddy youths. There’d be fast singing, reckless boys, and giggly girls. Although that might have seemed exciting when he was sixteen, at the age of twenty-four it would be a trial.

  When Uncle Nate rose from the table, Adam sat back with a sense of relief. The inquisition was over.

  “And then there’s the matter of the big white car taking the children around today,” the bishop continued.

  “The noodle car,” Dave said. “Is that what I heard Ruthie call it?”

  “The stretch limousine.” A newly sharpened blade jabbed at Adam. “I can explain that, though the circumstances were unusual.” Making his story as concise as possible, he explained that Remy, the Englisher girl, had fainted at the market yesterday. Since the girl was all alone and Sadie had befriended her, they had thought the best thing to do was bring her home and offer her safe shelter for the night.

  “So she took sick?” Samuel scratched his silver beard with two fingers.

  “The paramedics think she had a seizure,” Adam said. “It wasn’t safe for her to drive, and she couldn’t really take care of herself.”

  The bishop nodded. “Then bringing her here was the right thing to do.”

  “Like the Good Samaritan,” Nate added.

  “Although some might question having a young woman in a home with two single men, you and Jonah. Not to mention young Gabriel coming up right behind you.” Dave took a sip from his coffee and put his mug down. “But what could you do?”

  “What could you do?” Nate agreed as he served himself another slice of shoofly.

  “But watch out for Sadie, getting attached to this Englisher,” Bishop Samuel said. “An act of kindness is one thing. But youth in their rumspringa sometimes make the wrong friends. If this goes too far, we’ll have to take measures to control the youth in our district.”

  Adam’s mouth went dry as he caught the underlying meaning in Samuel’s words. Adam had made bad choices during his rumspringa, and to this day he suffered the consequences.

  “We wouldn’t want them to get involved with fancy folk who pull them away from their families.” The bishop’s watery eyes glimmered with warning. “Fancy folk with noodle cars. It’s a path that leads away from God, away from all we value as Plain folk.”

  It was exactly what Adam had been thinking.

  TWENTY-ONE

  onday blues … Remy had a bad case of them.

  Sinking against the rail of the paneled elevator, she tried to formulate a strategy to save face with the editor in chief.

  It wasn’t simply her failure to get the story Arlene wanted; her personal involvement with the Kings had taken things to a new level. Last night she’d lain awake staring at the ceiling and second-guessing herself, wondering if she could have done or said something differently to address Simon’s overwhelming sense of fear or Sadie’s need for freedom.

  Her worries had kept her up till after three A.M., when she’d glanced over and seen the digital numbers blaring blue light. Consequently, she must have turned off the seven o’clock alarm in her daze. Now she was late for work, too late to get into Arlene’s office to update her on the story in private, but just in time to attend the editorial meeting.

  After snagging a notepad and a cup of coffee, Remy passed the mostly empty cubicles on her dash to the conference room. She slipped through the door, determined to join the meeting without interrupting, but heads turned in her direction.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Remy dared a glance to the head of the table, where Arlene was discussing something with Miles Wister. At least the big bosses didn’t seem to care. She leaned into her friend and whispered: “What did I miss?”

  “Prince Harry is coming to Philadelphia,” Yasmina whispered without looking up from her notepad. “Arlene doesn’t know if we have the juice to land an interview with him.”

  Remy sipped her coffee, expecting the meeting to proceed with the usual agenda, senior editors presenting first.

  But as soon as Arlene finished her discussion with Miles, she barked: “Remy McCallister.”

  Remy twitched, sloshing coffee over her fingers. “Hi … good morning …”

  Yasmina slid a napkin over to her as all eyes were on the editor in chief.

  “It’ll be a good morning if you’re making progress on that Amish story.” Arlene glanced at Remy over the top of her jeweled glasses. “Did you get the interview?”

  “Not exactly, but over the weekend I did catch up with Adam King in Lancaster County and—”

  “Ketchup?” Arlene interrupted. “Ketchup is a condiment. I’m talking about an interview. Did you get it or not?”

  “Not.” The room was so silent Remy could hear the blood drumming through her ears. “Not exactly.”

  Arlene threw up her hands in disgust, but Miles extended a sliver of patience. “Explain,” he said.

  “While I didn’t get a formal interview with Adam King, I did meet the family. I even got to talk with the little boy—Simon King—who was in the buggy with his parents the night they were killed.”

  “Ooh. How old is this kid?” Arlene asked.

  “He’s nine now, but he was only eight when it happened.”

  “A nine-year-old boy.” Miles’s forehead was pleated with creases. “Did you get a signed release from his guardian?”

  “No, it wasn’t like that. We were just talking, and I didn’t introduce myself as a journalist. I don’t think they knew I was a writer.” Remy struggled to make her point. “The family opened up to me, and I’m not sure I feel comfortable going public with everything I’ve learned.”

  “So you were undercover, so to speak?” Arlene squinted. “Slimy, but I could deal with it if you got your information from Adam King or someone else over twenty-one. But the kid …”

  “Out of the question.” Miles wiped the idea away with one arm. “We can’t have our reporters preying on minors, no matter how interesting your notes or recordings.”

  Remy bit her lo
wer lip, afraid to tell them she didn’t have actual quotes or notes. In fact, her journal had been locked in her car; it was still there, as far as she knew. Herb had hired a driver to bring the car back from Lancaster County today.

  “But I do like this story.” Arlene’s red-lacquered fingers waggled over her chin as she considered the ultimate prize. “We could do something with this, as long as you go on the record with Adam King.”

  “Definitely on the record,” Miles agreed.

  “Can you do that?” Arlene prodded.

  Remy opened her mouth, then bit her lips together. After everything that had happened this weekend, the idea of actually pursuing an interview for the sake of a story seemed wrong, especially in the face of Simon’s post-traumatic stress, Sadie’s battle for independence, and Adam’s worry that media exposure might threaten the safety of his family. Remy would not do anything to hurt the family that had stolen her heart.

  Still … their story was compelling. She couldn’t stop worrying about Simon’s recovery from the trauma and wondering about the murder investigation itself. And she couldn’t keep her thoughts from returning to Adam. Those dark eyes haunted her as if he were part of her conscience.

  Remy looked from the table and realized the seven editors facing her were waiting for an answer.

  “Feel free to jump in anytime,” Arlene said. “But whatever you decide, I’m not giving up this story.”

  Did that mean she would put another writer on it? Someone swift and ruthless?

  Remy couldn’t give up the Kings. She couldn’t walk away and leave them prey to a reporter who didn’t care.

  “I’ll talk to Adam King again,” Remy said. “I’ll give the story my best shot.”

  “Please!” Arlene rolled her eyes. “When are you going to learn to answer yes or no? No one ever conquered a kingdom saying ‘maybe’ or ‘I’ll try.’ ”

  TWENTY-TWO

  or the first time ever, Adam was glad to have market duty in Philadelphia. In his mind, he equated Philadelphia with Remy McCallister, the girl who had dogged his thoughts for the past few days, and though he didn’t understand why, he needed to be here. She had haunted his dreams, her voice a low glaze over images of her sitting at their kitchen table, watching the horses in the paddock, and stomping around in Mary’s rubber boots.