AMISH SWEETHEARTS
“Those are good trees,” she told him. “Now, whenever I see them, I’ll think of us.” She tilted her head and squinted. “But tell, which one is me?”
He chuckled. “The prettiest one.”
“Now I know you’re just courting me.” Essie had never considered herself to be a beauty. With glossy brown hair the color of caramel and eyes just a bit darker, she knew that she fit into Gott’s world just fine, but she didn’t spend too much time looking in the mirror or fussing over her hair. During her rumspringa, when other girls snuck out of the house in English clothes and lipstick, Essie had stuck with her clean-scrubbed face, simple dresses, and kapp. There was too much to do in the course of a day to waste time painting faces and shopping for tight, impractical clothes.
“I am courting you. So I guess it’s working.” Harlan shifted toward her until their knees were touching and his face was just inches away. “It’s not every girl who sees the beauty in two trees, in the song of the river on the rocks, in a simple carved flower. I love you, Essie. I hope you’ll have me as a husband just as soon as I can get enough money squared away.”
“You know I will.” Her heart seemed to grow in her chest as he leaned closer and pressed his lips to hers . . .
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An AMISH HOMECOMING
Rosalind
Lauer
ZEBRA BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
AMISH SWEETHEARTS
BOOK YOUR PLACE ON OUR WEBSITE AND MAKE THE READING CONNECTION!
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgments
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
Epilogue
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2021 by Rosalind Lauer
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
BOUQUET Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4201-5211-1
ISBN-13: 978-1-4201-5214-2 (eBook)
ISBN-10: 1-4201-5214-9 (eBook)
Acknowledgments
My time in the fictitious town of Joyful River has provided a delightful escape from some difficult realities, and I am grateful to have the opportunity to start a new series featuring the Amish of Lancaster County.As with any novel, it takes a team of dedicated individuals to make an idea fly, and I am blessed to have many talented individuals working with me. My editor John Scognamiglio always leads with an interest in new things and a strong sense of what people like to read; he’s the best! I’m grateful to copy editor Debbie Kane for saving me from my own mistakes and understanding how a story should flow and make sense. Robin Rue is a dream agent with vision, enthusiasm, and a great sense of what matters in life. I’m so fortunate that she makes things good happen all around her.
While I was writing this book I was reminded how blessed I was to have the guidance of Dr. Violet Dutcher at an important juncture in my life. With generosity and vivid detail, Vi shared how it felt to have parents who had been raised Amish and what it was like to step into Amish life on occasion. Her experiences of summers and reunions with her Amish family inspired me to write about the bridges that can be built between cultures, the connections that all folks share, and the power of love.
As I write this bit of a thank you, I’m deep into the tale of Sadie and Sam, the main characters in Joyful River #2. For now, it’s a wonderful good place to be!
Chapter One
With fields of green and the sun setting pink and orange against the rolling hills, the yard was pretty as a summer page from a calendar. In the distance, the twins were playing cornhole with Lizzie, while little Sarah Rose pushed herself on the tire swing, chattering to no one in particular. A perfect day for daughter Essie’s celebration. Miriam Lapp let her eyes roam the yard and imagined how it might be transformed for the event that was bound to happen once wedding season rolled around in October.
They would put a new coat of paint on the barn door, and trim back the bushes along the fence line to make space for the wedding tent. They would bring in the rented wagons with benches and china for dining, as well as ovens, sinks, and stoves for food preparation. Inside the house, they would scrub the walls, wash the windows, and wax the floors. An Amish home had best be clean and shiny when hosting a wedding.
Their oldest daughter’s wedding! Joy danced in Miriam’s heart, making her giggle.
She hadn’t dared mention it to Alvin, who would have reminded her to keep patient. Essie and Harlan weren’t even engaged yet, but anyone could see the spark in their daughter’s eyes whenever Harlan was near. Their Essie was in love, and Harlan had it bad as well. The boy melted like i
ce cream when Essie spoke. He’d been invited today to celebrate Essie’s eighteenth birthday, and Miriam wouldn’t be surprised if those two got engaged before the sun went down.
Miriam let the screen door close behind her and squinted against the lemony sun of the late afternoon. The picnic tables were set for dinner, the mouthwatering aroma of grilled chicken filled the air, and wisps of smoke rose from the charcoal grill where her team of cooks was finishing the last of the roasting for Essie’s special dinner.
“How do you know when they’re done?” Annie asked her grandmother.
“The kabobs need to soften a bit,” Esther said. “We want a little black around the edges. A few more minutes, and we’ll have a fine meal without heating up the kitchen on this hot August day.”
That had been Miriam’s plan. This week the thermometer in this part of Lancaster County had been soaring to the nineties. They needed to do what they could to keep the house cool. “You know, most of the vegetables came right from our garden. The tomatoes are sweet as candy, and the zucchini seems to grow bigger overnight. Alvin will be happy for zucchini bread.”
“Yes, Gott is good to provide such a bountiful garden for us,” Esther said as she supervised the grilling process. Since it was the eldest daughter’s birthday, cooking duties had fallen on sixteen-year-old Annie, who kept offering the tongs to her grandmother. Annie preferred stable duty to kitchen tasks.
“Do you want to take over, Mammi?” Annie asked. “You’re such a good cook. You make everything taste better.”
“You’ll learn with time and practice.” With ten grown children of her own, Esther was too wise to fall for Annie’s flattery. “Keep going until you finish.”
“You’re doing a great job, Annie,” Miriam said, moving the platters of roasted chicken over to the picnic tables, which had been set with checkered tablecloths and enough plates and flatware for eleven people. A warm breeze shimmered through the trees on the fence line, filling the air with the scent of lilac. The clip-clop of horses’ hooves drew her attention to the driveway, where the family buggy had turned in from the main road. “Looks like our men are back from their errands,” Miriam said.
“My sons are never late for dinner.” Esther’s tone was flat, but Miriam knew she was joking. Under that stoic façade lay a heart of gold and a fine sense of humor.
“Can I be done now?” Annie asked. She lifted a kabob with the tongs, nodded, and placed it on the platter.
“I’d say so,” Miriam said. “Looks like everything’s ready. Everything but the birthday girl. Where’s Essie? And Harlan’s supposed to be here.”
“He got here half an hour ago,” Annie reported. “Essie went for a walk with him. And she’s wearing her Sunday dress.”
“They went down to the river,” Esther said, untying her cooking apron.
Miriam couldn’t help but smile at the sweet notion of the two of them dipping their toes in the cool, clear waters. Those two might be engaged by the time they made it to the supper table! She took the platter of kabobs from Annie. “Go get your brothers and sisters to wash their hands. And send one of the twins down to the river to fetch Essie and Harlan.”
“Which one?”
“Let them go together. They can make it a race.” As Miriam placed the platter on the table, her husband lumbered toward her with only a slight hitch in his gait. You’d never know that he’d suffered a torn ligament recently when a cow had knocked into him in the milking barn. Gott had blessed him with quick healing. “You’re back, in the nick of time.”
“The smell of chicken guided us home.” He patted her shoulder, lifted his hat, and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. The outer edges of his eyes had laugh lines that were permanent now, and it delighted her to know that this man always had a smile in his heart, always had a hug for his children or a kind word for folks who needed it. Ah, when there was true love in a man’s heart, it shone in his eyes. She always told her girls that; she hoped that it helped them find happiness with their husbands.
“Can we eat now?” Lizzie asked as she skipped toward the table and noticed the chicken and kabobs piled high.
“Go wash your hands; take Sarah Rose, too.”
“I can take myself, Mem,” the little girl said as she trudged past the tables toward the house. Her dress was smudged with a grass stain, her kapp slightly askew.
“Our bundle of energy,” Alvin observed. “One of the first up in the morning, and she’s still going strong. I don’t know how she does it.”
“She’s got your energy, Alvie. Did you find the mason jars in town?”
“We did,” he said. “Three dozen of them. That should be enough for Essie’s jam.”
“With the strawberries ripening so fast in our garden, and all those wild blackberries along the road, you never know.”
“If we need more, we’ll go back to Melvin’s dry goods store,” Sam said as he approached from the lane, where he’d tied Brownie to the post, planning to unhitch the buggy after dinner. Sam was twenty, their oldest son, and a big help around the dairy farm since Alvin’s injury. “Why did you need so many?”
“Essie’s having a jamming frolic with her friends. Many hands make quick work, and it’s a blessing that she’s taken over that task for me,” Miriam said.
The children were filing out of the house, taking their seats at the table as Alvin’s mother poured lemonade and water. Paul and Peter came running around the side of the house.
“They’re coming,” Peter called as he whipped open the screen door and disappeared inside to wash up. Paul caught the door before it closed and sent it flying open again.
“Boys.” Alvin sighed. “They’re hard on a house.”
“They’ll learn,” Esther said. “Boys don’t know their own might.”
Smiling, Miriam waited for her husband to take a seat on the bench. It was a slower process since the injury, but like most men, Alvin didn’t want any more assistance than was absolutely necessary.
This was one of the finest hours, their family assembling for a meal at the end of the day, about to share the bounty of Gott’s blessing. They had much to be grateful for here in Joyful River. Miriam breathed in the scents of their dinner, the flowers, the grass, and the summer evening as her gaze swept over the broad lawn.
The flash of something metallic in the distance caught her eye. A car on the road. A Jeep coming down their lane. Visitors? Or some English folk who’d taken a wrong turn?
The vehicle pressed on with determination, convincing her that it was someone they knew. “Looks like we have visitors.”
All eyes turned toward the lane, where tires crunched on gravel as the car drew closer. The vehicle made a wide sweep around the tethered horse and buggy and pulled up to the stretch of green lawn.
“Who is it?” Lizzie asked, putting down her lemonade.
It was hard to tell, with the windows shaded to the color of ash, but the mystery was soon solved when one door opened and a tall, lanky man emerged from the driver seat.
“It’s your Uncle Sully,” Miriam told the children. “Looks like the girls, too.”
“Did they drive over all the way from Philadelphia?” asked Alvin.
Miriam shrugged. “I haven’t heard from them since . . . since Sarah’s passing.” It had been a rainy week in May, more than a year ago, when Miriam had gotten word that her sister had passed. Ovarian cancer had struck hard, and Gott had taken her swiftly, leaving behind her loving husband and three daughters.
Miriam had told the children to dress in their church clothes, and Alvin had hired a van to drive them to Philly for the English funeral. It had been a strange sensation, going into Sarah’s house, sitting in her kitchen at a shiny marble counter and looking out into the garden plot, trees dripping overhead. It was a gift to see Sarah’s world just one time, a picture of how her older sister had lived in the two decades since she’d left her family and her Amish community behind.
Sully raised his hand in a greeting, but as he appro
ached his shoulders sagged and he seemed weary. Gray, as if age had been sapping the color from him. The man her sister Sarah had once fallen in love with, fallen so hard that she up and left their family, left the plain way of living, was in a bad way. He almost looked worse than he had the last time she’d seen him, over a year ago at Sarah’s funeral.
He paused, turned back, motioned toward the vehicle. “Come on out, girls,” he called. “Time to face the music.”
The Lapp family was unusually silent as the other doors opened, and one by one Sully’s daughters, Miriam’s own nieces emerged. First came Serena, one of the twins, her toffee brown hair falling like a shiny curtain over her shoulders. Always the social butterfly, she gave a nervous smile as she walked toward the family.
Miriam didn’t recognize the next girl who stepped out, a cute thing with pink hair and a ring in her nose. Could it be Grace, the youngest one? She was probably fifteen or sixteen by now, and, from the way she stared down at the ground as she followed Serena, it was clear she was not happy. Both girls wore little denim shorts and tops that seemed to be barely more than an undergarment adorned with thin ribbons and lace.
Then came Megan, quite similar to her twin, except her hair had been cut short and she dressed like an athlete in baggy shorts and an oversized T-shirt. She slammed the door of the Jeep, leaned against it, and folded her arms, clearly not eager to budge from her place.
Miriam asked Annie to go inside to fetch more plates and utensils, then hurried over to greet their visitors on the path.
“Well, isn’t this a nice surprise! When I saw that car coming down the road, I’d have never guessed it was you.”
“Miriam.” Sully took her hand between his and gave a warm squeeze. “Sorry to descend on you without notice.”
An Amish Homecoming Page 1
