by Tricia Goyer
PRAISE FOR ALONG WOODED PATHS
A skillfully written blend of Amish and “Englisch” lives that will have you rooting for both sides. Along Wooded Paths draws the reader into Marianna’s complex choices and swirling emotions, while exposing her deep-seated desire for a stronger faith. Tricia Goyer’s beautifully woven tale captured me from beginning till end.
—Miralee Ferrell
author of Love Finds You in Sundance
Every once in awhile I read a book that draws me in as a reader and challenges me as a writer. Along Wooded Paths is such a book. The story is gripping, the characters so well drawn I hated to see this installment end, and the faith element challenged me to deepen my walk with God. Along Wooded Paths is a beautiful story that will compel you to consider what God really asks of us.
—Cara Putman
author of Stars in the Night and Ohio Brides
A sweet, tender story about God’s gentle workings in the hearts of His own. Tricia Goyer has a true talent for creating believable characters readers can identify with and empathize with. Anyone who enjoys Amish fiction will appreciate this moving tale.
—Sally Laity,
author of Remnant of Forgiveness and coauthor of The Daughters of Harwood House trilogy
If you read only one Amish book this year, make sure it’s Tricia Goyer’s Along Wooded Paths. With her elegant prose and deep insights into the human heart, Goyer has crafted a poignant story of a young Amish woman forced to choose between the love of two very different men. My heart ached at the realization that one man would have his heart broken, and yet when I reached the end, I breathed a sigh of satisfaction that Marianna had chosen the right one. This beautiful story of love and faith should come with a warning label, though, for one Goyer book is not enough. Fortunately, the first of the series, Beside Still Waters, is still available, and Beyond Hopes Valley is coming. I’ve made space for them all on my keeper shelf.
—Amanda Cabot,
author of Tomorrow’s Garden
Set amid the majestic Montana countryside, Tricia Goyer’s gentle tale of love, loyalty, and longing will keep your heart guessing until the last page.
—Cathy Elliott,
author of Medals in the Attic: An Annie’s Attic Mystery
I was pulled into Tricia Goyer’s Along Wooded Paths from the first page! A devastating past, a heart-breaking choice, this story has it all. Endearing, lovely in every way. If you love heart-warming Amish fiction you can’t go wrong here. I can’t wait to read the next book in the series!
—Traci DePree,
author of the Lake Emily series and Into the Wilderness
Copyright © 2011 by Tricia Goyer
All Rights Reserved.
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN: 978-1-4336-6869-2
Published by B&H Publishing Group
Nashville, Tennessee
Dewey Decimal Classification: F
Subject Heading: AMISH—FICTION FAMILY LIFE—FICTION SPIRITUAL LIFE—FICTION
Published in association with the Books & Such Literary Agency, Janet Kobobel Grant, 52 Mission Circle, Suite 122, PMB 170, Santa Rosa, CA 95409-5370, www.booksandsuch.biz.
Scripture references marked NIV are taken from the New International Version, copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by International Bible Society.
Scripture references marked KJV were taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
Cover photo by Steve Gardner, PixelWorks
Publisher’s Note: The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 • 16 15 14 13 12 11
In their hearts humans plan their course, but the LORD establishes their steps. (Proverbs 16:9 NIV)
DEDICATION
Dedicated to my grandson Clayton William Goyer. May you always seek Jesus with all your heart.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Every good and perfect gift comes from above and the greatest gifts to me are the people God has brought into my life. This book would not be written without the love of my family: my husband John and my kids Cory, Leslie, Nathan, and Alyssa. Also, my wonderful daughter-in-law Katie and my first grandchild Clayton. Grandma Dolores is always wonderful about caring for me as I pour so much out, and for sending up prayers. I’m thankful for my church home of Mosaic Church and the new community God has planted me in, in Little Rock, Arkansas.
I’m always grateful for my stellar agent Janet Grant and my editor Karen Ball. Also, Julie Gwinn and the B&H team are amazing to work with! Thank you!
CONTENTS
Acknowledments
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
Epilogue
Recipes
Teaser Chapter from Book 3: Beyond Hopes Valley
CHAPTER ONE
The hammer weighed heavy in his hand. Aaron Zook hit the nail again and again, securing the iron hat hook. Finally done, he placed the hammer on the windowsill and stepped back. His heart weighed heavy too. Bruised as if it received similar blows. Aaron removed his straw hat and placed it on the hook, then he turned and scanned the room. For months he’d poured himself into his work, planning for the day he’d complete the cabin, but it meant little now. The windows were bare, like large blank eyes staring into his soul, mocking his pain. He’d done his part, but it needed a woman’s touch—white, plain curtains, a rag rug by the door, green plants by the window.
He’d set up a bed in the larger room, but he wouldn’t sleep here. Not yet. Another blow struck his heart. He’d always imagined his first night with Marianna by his side, snuggled under the quilt she’d been working on. He swallowed hard and wiped his eyes, telling himself to push those thoughts from his mind.
Aaron cleared his throat and strode, steps determined, into the kitchen. His eyes scanned the simple cupboards and the table and two chairs he’d made. He took a deep breath and imagined the fragrance of homemade bread wafting from the wood-burning stove he’d picked up at a local auction. From there he moved through the living area to the simple bathroom, and then to the larger bedroom, making sure the last nail had been driven. All looked gut. The wooden floor was laid. The trim around the doors finished. Aaron refused to go in the smaller room—the one he’d made for a child. Their child. He crossed his arms over his chest, pulling them tight.
Marianna would love that room best, especially the view of the meadow. The window bench still needed cushions, as did the cradle.
His mother had declared the room “fancy,” giving a toss of her head, but Aaron didn’t care. Marianna deserved something special. As he’d worked on the window bench, he’d pictured her watching sparrows dance in the tree limbs, cradling his child in his arms, humming a lullaby.
Who was he kidding? He pictured her in every room. Even though she’d never stepped through the door, her presence haunted this p
lace. If only she’d taken the time to come and see the home he’d built for her.
He approached the bare, queen-sized mattress and sat, placing his elbows on his knees and hiding his face in his hands. Anger coursed through him, followed by desperation.
Why had she turned back?
His mother had heard from Marianna’s best friend Rebecca that she’d packed up her things and boarded the train to Indiana, but at the next station she got off and returned the way she’d come. Why? Did guilt chain her to that place—to her parents? Was it something else? Someone else? His stomach clenched and a soft moan escaped his lips.
He’d seen her urgency to live right. Determination to follow every rule often straightened her eyebrows and tightened her lips into a thin line. Didn’t she realize all could see the pain she attempted to hide?
Losing her sisters impacted Marianna in ways he doubted she understood. It also made Aaron love her even more. It made him want to take her away from the haunted memories tucked away within her family home and cherish her as she deserved. To show that he loved her just for her. Making this cabin had been his first step, but it did little good if she never saw it.
I need her to return. She has to come back. She has to know . . .
He stood and paced from the bedroom window to the door and back again. If this place were to ever be filled with the life he’d planned on—the woman he’d dreamed of—he’d have to do something about it.
Aaron’s heart seemed tangled in a thousand knots. He placed a hand to his chest and forced in a breath. He had to let her know he wasn’t giving up.
His only chance was to go to her. Marianna had to know his heart.
As much as it scared him to leave, he had no choice.
Aaron looked at the borrowed suitcase. It was only half full. He’d put in a few changes of clothes and an extra hat. He’d borrowed a book on cattle from Mr. Stoll. Under it all he’d tucked his sketchbook.
Turning to his dresser, Aaron picked up the last two things. A stack of letters and a paper sack with a lunch Naomi had packed. Tears had filled her eyes as she’d handed it to him. She hadn’t wished him a good trip. She hadn’t begged him to stay. She’d come to him months ago in her desperation, hoping to find companionship. For a while he’d tried, for the same reason. But he knew better now. Lying was something he’d been raised to hate. And letting Naomi think he cared about her the way he cared for Marianna . . .
That was a lie.
That was why he was leaving. To find the truth.
He sighed as he set the lunch inside the suitcase. Many in his parents’ generation married for a home and family. His own mother said it was foolish for him to travel so far for love. Marriage did not take love, she insisted.
His younger sister called up the stairs. “Your driver’s here!”
“Ja, ja,” Aaron yelled back.
He clenched the stack of letters, still unsure if he’d give them to Marianna. There were fifteen letters. Nearly one for every week she’d been gone. He’d shared so much on those pages—his dreams, his hopes. He’d left nothing hidden. Which was why he hadn’t mailed them yet. He had to go to Montana. He had to look into Marianna’s face, peer into her eyes—her soul. Only then would he know if he’d be willing to hand over his heart.
Lifting his suitcase, he took one last look around the room he’d slept in since a babe. Then, in determination, Aaron straightened his back, turned, and walked out the door.
CHAPTER TWO
The crisp air stung her nose, and Marianna pushed her gloved hands deeper into the pockets of her wool coat as she walked. Yesterday the sky had been cloudless and sunshine danced on the fall colors—especially the bright yellow of the larch needles—bathing the forest with patches of gold. Today gray clouds filled the sky. The hills behind her house rolled upward toward those clouds.
Beyond the hills, expansive mountains loomed. They rose into the gray mist, their tops unseen. She’d like to climb those mountains one day. To see beyond. When she lived in Indiana she’d spent her entire life within thirty square miles, but the more of God’s creation she witnessed, the more she wanted to see.
Tall pines rose around her. She stepped over fallen logs as she walked toward the pond. There was no trail to guide her, but Marianna’s heart knew the way.
Since returning on the train more than a month ago, she realized the more she sought God the more she longed for Him. Looking back now, she knew she made the right choice, yet what stood out to her most about that day wasn’t her father’s words as he sat by her on the train. Even now she could hardly remember what he’d said. What she remembered was her dog Trapper’s excited bark as she stepped off the train. Even more . . .
The look on Ben’s face as she approached.
Her heartbeat quickened even now. Though she’d tried to keep her distance—him being Englisch after all—she allowed a soft smile to tip her lips at the memory.
The yellowing grass and fallen leaves crunched under her feet. She didn’t doubt snow would soon come. She’d heard the stories of winters in these parts. Snow piled up to doorposts. Her Uncle Ike had even bought sled runners to replace the wheels on his buggy. She didn’t like the thought of trudging through the snow on the way to work. Even worse, she wouldn’t be able to meet God at her special spot until spring.
She’d come to treasure the quiet moments when she sat on a fallen log overlooking the still pond. She’d often brought Dat’s English Bible to read God’s words. And as she sat amongst the trees, with bird song filling the air, it was as if God sat beside her, whispering words of hope and promise to her heart.
After reading, she often bowed her head in silent prayer. The traditional silent prayers of her childhood were different than how she prayed now. Then, she focused on the length of the pause and the slightest noises around her rather than on her praying. Now, she was immersed in her prayer. A few times, from her place on the log, she’d lifted her voice in song, letting her words drift through the tree branches swaying in the wind. The songs were those she’d learned growing up in church, but the words seemed deeper now, richer, as they slipped from her lips to God’s ear.
A squirrel chattered from a nearby tree. Trapper pranced by her side, perking his ears to the sound, but he refused to be distracted. The small dog strode ahead as if he were the leader. With his eyes fixed on the hill leading to their destination, his feet barely touched the muddy ground, like a show pony on parade. His gray fur looked dingy again. Maybe she could bribe David or Charlie to bathe him. It amazed her what she could get her young brothers to do for a few extra cookies.
They crested the hill and the wind picked up, stinging her cheeks. Marianna blew out a surprised breath. The moisture of her breath danced on the air as a fine mist before her. Trapper flapped one ear and then shook his head as if trying to toss off the wind.
“We won’t stay long. I jest want once more chance before—” Marianna’s words caught in her throat as she noticed a figure sitting on her log. She knew that blue jacket. Her eyes moved to the dark hair and the man’s profile. Ben.
All thoughts of bringing her prayers before God got pushed to the side as she eyed him. Her heartbeat quickened again and heat rushed to her cheeks. Even her fingers and toes warmed.
Her footsteps slowed and she considered turning back. From Ben’s lowered head and still posture, she guessed he’d come here for the same reason—to be with God, to pray.
Instead of returning the way she’d come, something propelled her forward. It was as if Ben had tied a string to her heart and reeled her in.
Trapper paused, noticing Ben for the first time, and then with a bark the small dog shot toward him.
“Trapper, no!” She called too late. Trapper’s tail wagged and he leapt over a small dry bush in a single bound. Two more long jumps and he was at Ben’s feet, dancing and spinning.
Ben’s head jerked up and his laughter split the air. He said something to Trapper, and the dog stilled. Ben patted Trapper’s head. Wh
en the dog sat at Ben’s feet, Ben turned to her. His eyes locked with hers and a smile filled his face. His lips moved, and she almost thought he whispered her name.
Marianna pulled her gloved hands from her pockets and crossed her arms in front of her, as if that one motion could protect her heart.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Ben waved a hand in the air. “I’d never consider you an interruption, Mari. You ought to know that. Anyone else, yes, but . . .” He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, you can surprise me any day you’d like.”
She nodded and focused on his eyes. There was truth to his words. He wanted her near him, she could see it in his gaze.
Marianna turned her attention to the pond. In the summer it had appeared bright blue, but fall had darkened it to a bluish-green. The beaver lodge seemed a few feet higher than she remembered and she pictured the furry family snuggled inside, resting from all their hard work.
A sigh escaped her lips and she turned back to him. “I came down to just sit and enjoy the place one more time—”
“Before the snow hit?” He chuckled. “I was doing the same. Even though I know I can meet with God sitting in my warm cabin, it’s just not the same.”
“Ja.” Marianna touched her kapp. It still seemed strange to be talking so openly about God. The Amish protected their privacy. She’d lived her whole life amongst a community that loved God, but to them that love was a private matter. Even her parents kept their faith to themselves. In fact, if her father hadn’t left the English Bible sitting out—and if she hadn’t caught him reading it a time or two—she would have never known about his search for truth.
