Danger in Amish Country: Fall from GraceDangerous HomecomingReturn to Willow Trace (Love Inspired Suspense) Page 14

  Butterflies danced in her stomach.

  “Now?” She gazed into his dark brown eyes and hoped she’d see forever in them.

  He leaned his forearms on the hospital rail. “You have to know how I feel about you.”

  She lowered her eyes. Her heart hammered in her chest as she sensed him moving closer.

  “You know I am a man of few words. Always have been. Always will be, I suppose.” He tilted her chin up. “So don’t listen to my words, Katie. Listen to my heart.” He held her hand against his chest.

  “I’m listening, Joshua.” She placed her hand behind his neck. Her fingers twisted into his thick hair. She pulled him down and moved her lips against his ear. “If I stay still and I listen very hard, what might I hear your heart say?”

  Joshua leaned back and grinned.

  “It would tell you that I smile every day because I know you’re here. It would tell you that it is impossible for me to have one single logical thought because my mind is crowded with thoughts of you.”

  He kissed her forehead.

  “I try to imagine what it would be like to share breakfast with you every morning.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose.

  “I think how wunderbar it would be after a long day of work to see you sitting across from me at the dinner table. To talk to you about my day. To listen to you tell me about yours.”

  His lips touched hers gently, once, twice and then again.

  “My heart knows that I think of you in the evenings. In my mind I am holding your hand. I can feel the warmth of your body sitting beside me. I look into your eyes...and I see love...and I feel incredibly blessed.”

  He gathered her into his arms. “Now do you know how I feel about you?” His husky whisper sent chills up and down her spine. “God has granted me a second chance. I want to spend every day and every night of my life with you. I want us to live on this farm and make it our home. I want to raise a family, a large, noisy, boisterous family, together.”

  He picked up some strands of her hair and let them run through his fingers, looking at it in awe as though he was watching gold silk. “I hope our kinner will have hair as silky and bright as yours.”

  His expression sobered and he stared at her, his eyes revealing a hint of vulnerability.

  “I want to grow old with you, Katie. And I intend to thank God every day of my life for that blessing if you’ll have me.”

  Tears of happiness shimmered in her eyes. Real love had nothing to do with trying to control the life of another. Love was about trust and sharing and compromise. It was putting your partner’s wants and needs first but not at the cost of sacrificing your own.

  She looked into Joshua’s face and she knew. She loved this man and she always would.

  “How many kinner did you say we are going to have?”

  A wide grin broke out on Joshua’s face. “Four? Five?”

  She tightened her hold on his neck and drew him closer. “Then we better not waste any more time.” She kissed him with all the promise of a future she held in her heart.

  “You will marry me?” Joshua asked.

  Katie’s heart felt as if it might burst. “Yes, Joshua. I will marry you.”

  Joshua let out an excited whoop. “When, Katie?”

  “This is November, Joshua, is it not?”

  He nodded.

  “November is the month we hold our Amish weddings. The harvest is over and spring planting has not yet begun. It is the perfect time, Joshua. Don’t you think?”

  The look in his eyes took her breath away.

  “I couldn’t think of a better time, lieb. I love you, Katie.”

  “And I love you.”

  Beneath his kiss, Katie could feel her lips bow into a demure, satisfied smile.

  It was true. Joshua Miller was a man of few words—but when he spoke from his heart, his words were indeed powerful and of great importance.

  Danki, God.

  *

  Dear Reader,

  Amish books are so popular with readers that Amish fiction is becoming its own genre. In this high-tech world of computers, tablets and smartphones it seems to fascinate people that there are still communities in this country that do not have electricity or television or radios and yet live fulfilling, quality lives.

  I myself have always admired the Amish. They represent to me a simpler time, a slice of days past when God and family were the two most important relationships in a person’s life and families stayed together in the same community. Sometimes in this day and age where relatives are split or scattered and employment stresses, money worries and health issues can make us forget these quieter, uncomplicated eras, it feels good to escape in a book and travel back to a more peaceful time and place.

  However, the Amish are human just like the rest of us. They struggle with the same temptations and negative feelings that we all face. So this novella explored some of those human issues touching on jealousy, greed, alcoholism and abuse.

  I think seeing that the Amish struggle with the same issues many of us deal with helps us respect the way they handle their lives. Their strong belief in God and their devotion to family show by example that a person with human flaws can still garner strength from God, find forgiveness and devote their lives to following His word.

  I hope you enjoyed this story. I would love to hear from my readers and I can be reached at diane@dianeburkeauthor.com.

  Blessings,

  Diane Burke

  Questions for Discussion

  The general public rarely hears of Amish committing serious crimes. Yet, the Amish people wrestle with the same temptations as all the rest of us. How do you think they handle their temptations? How can we benefit from the Amish example and yet still live in a worldly world?

  What scene, if any, in the story moved you and why? Who was your favorite character and what was it you liked about him or her?

  Many people can forgive others much faster than they can forgive themselves. Why do you think that is?

  Do you think Joshua should have told the bishop about Jacob’s drinking? Why or why not?

  Many spouses accept abuse, either emotional or physical, from their partner and remain silent about it. Have you ever known anyone in these circumstances? How did they cope with it and do you think it was dealt with correctly or not?

  Return to Willow Trace

  Kit Wilkinson

  To my son, Jonah, who is wise beyond his years.

  May the Lord bless you with abundant love.

  You and Charlie are my greatest joy.

  Let love and faithfulness never leave you.

  —Proverbs 3:3

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  DEAR READER

  QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

  ONE

  “Good night, Bishop Miller. See you next week.” Lydia Stoltz waved a quick goodbye with her cleaning rag. The old Amish man shuffled out the front doors of his furniture store, placing his black felt hat atop a nest of soft, silvery hair. A strong autumn wind blew against the glass doors. Lydia wrestled to get them closed, but not before a few orange and yellow leaves rolled under the skirt of her dark purple frock. An autumn storm was brewing on the western horizon. Cold north winds clashed with some lingering rain clouds. A quick, violent tempest was on the way.

  She bolted the big steel lock and drew the long green shade over the length of the doors. Miller’s Original Amish Furniture—Closed, it read on the other side. Bishop Miller owned and operated both a lumber mill, which his son Eli had recently taken over, and the furniture store. Together, they formed the largest Amish-owned businesses not only in Willow Trace,
but in all of Lancaster County. People from all over trusted the name Miller and purchased their plain but sturdy wooden furniture from this store.

  Lydia collected the leaves from the floor and resumed her work. It was the same each Wednesday. After hours, she would clean Miller’s storefront, making the wood of each display piece gleam with the same care with which they’d been handcrafted in the workshop attached to the store. Afterward, she walked the short distance home, where she and her mother raised rabbits, sheep and miniature horses on a small farm that had been in her father’s family for generations. It was hard work for just the two of them, and sometimes sales were low, hence the job at the furniture store. But Lydia loved the farm, and ever since her father had abandoned them, she had taken it upon herself to make sure that the beautiful place didn’t slip through their fingers.

  Lydia hadn’t taken two steps from the doors when the dead bolt of the front door snapped open. She started, nearly dropping her cleaning rag. Again, cold air swept around her, and the strings of her white prayer kapp danced on her shoulders.

  “I forgot to mention somethin’ to ye.” Old Bishop Miller craned his head through the tiny space between the double doors.

  Lydia expelled the quick breath of air she’d held in and laughed at her own silly nervousness. “Oh dear. You gave me quite a fright.”

  “I’m sorry for that, but you should know that one of the craftsmen is still in the shop, working late. I didn’t want him to frighten ye. You might hear him banging around back there.”

  Lydia nodded. It happened from time to time that one of the craftsmen worked late to finish a piece that had been preordered. With Christmas only two months away, she imagined there was quite a demand.

  “Mr. Yoder. Joseph Yoder. I believe you know each other.” A sly grin fell over the bishop’s face. “Good night, Miss Lydia.” He pulled the doors closed again and turned the lock over himself.

  Joseph Yoder? Oh yeah. I know him, all right. She had courted him. Thankfully, for the past five years, she’d seldom heard his name. No one in her Ordnung had spoken much of him after he’d sped off to Indiana five years ago.

  Lydia’s heart beat heavily against her rib cage. She slung her dirty rag into the cleaning bucket, trudged to the closet and snatched up the broom. With sweeping, it was best to begin in the back corner and work across, moving with the grain of the wood floors. Her movements were sharp, fueled by her own emotions. Buried sentiments churned up like the dust that blew across the floor.

  Just last week, Lydia had heard some gossip that Joseph would be back for his cousin’s wedding. Perhaps if she had bothered to ask more questions she would have found out that he was crafting furniture at Miller’s shop while he was home. But she hadn’t. Lydia had vowed long ago that she would not allow herself to be interested in anything that had to do with Joseph Yoder.

  For Lydia there were two kinds of men—the kind who kept promises and the kind who did not. Running off without so much as a word after promising to love her forever put Joseph into the latter category. Lydia knew all too well, from experience with her own unreliable father, that she would rather be alone than live a life with a man who could disappear without a word of explanation.

  No, Lydia had quit thinking about Joseph’s soft hazel eyes and broad shoulders. She’d forgotten his hearty laugh and mischievous smile. She’d even courted Gideon Lapp for a short spell. And while the five years that had passed had dulled the burn of Joseph’s abandonment, there were embers enough left to singe her when she thought on it for too long.

  And now here he was so close. Although with the huge steel warehouse walls between them, they would stay quite separate. So why were her knees trembling and her heart palpitating as if she’d run a marathon?

  Lydia swept the pile of dirt into a dustpan and dumped it into the garbage. Now, on to polishing—that was a job she quite enjoyed. She passed her oiled cloth over each surface, between every groove until all the wood shone bright and clean. She admired the work of the Amish craftsmen and agreed that those who worked for Bishop Miller were among the most skilled.

  Of course, it was wrong to be prideful, but Lydia saw no fault in appreciating the useful pieces. Surely there were no others in the world that compared. She could not imagine any more functional or sturdy than the ones in this showroom.

  Wind whistled around the metal warehouse and across the storefront. The storm outside had grown strong. Eerie sounds echoed through the building. The front and side windows pinged as a sudden downpour let loose. Lydia hastened her work, setting her pace to the heavy droplets as they hammered in rhythm against the building.

  The sooner she got home the better. For many reasons. Already that day, she and her mother had worked hard in the stables, and her limbs trembled with fatigue. Now there was the storm, which would drench her on the way home. And last but not least, Joseph Yoder stood only a few feet away. Did he know she was there? What if he did? What if he came to talk to her?

  Boom. A loud noise caused Lydia to jump. What was the matter with her? She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It was nothing. The storm. The wind. A box or some sort of loose rubbish blown up against the front doors. She needn’t be so edgy.

  Lydia resumed her cleaning. But again, something crashed against the front doors and they shook. That is some strong wind. Perhaps Bishop Miller had not pulled the doors completely shut. She went forward to check, reaching for the key, which she kept in a small pouch attached to her wrist.

  As she moved, the doors continued to rattle—loud and steady. That could not be the wind. She supposed she’d known that all along, but what was on the other side of the doors? She could not imagine.

  Her hands trembled as she tugged at the big green shade. It rolled up with a snap. Lydia screamed and scrambled back. On the other side of the door, a large man pressed hard against the glass. He looked disheveled. His eyes were translucent. His long, thin face was framed with dark matted hair and stained with blood. In his hand, he grasped a black pistol, which he held pointed at her head.

  He scratched the glass with the barrel of the weapon. Lydia let out another bloodcurling scream. Clambering back again, she collided with a solid piece of furniture and fought to keep her balance.

  “Open up. Come on. Now!” The look on his face was savage.

  Lydia didn’t move. She couldn’t. Fear paralyzed her. This was a way bigger problem than facing Joseph Yoder.

  Oh dear Lord, what can I do?

  *

  Joseph Yoder laid aside the small chisel. He took up some fine sandpaper, and with long, steady strokes, he smoothed the slots he’d carved out of the surface of the large armoire he’d promise to finish for Bishop Miller.

  With a grunt, he lifted the heavy door and lined up the corresponding slots to their hinges. His tired muscles quaked under the weight and he was forced to lower it back to the ground. He could not finish the armoire alone. Even if he’d managed to get the door in place, he didn’t have the strength and balance to hold it up with one hand while placing the pins with the other.

  He thought of Lydia on the other side of the building. Bishop Miller had mentioned she would be cleaning the storefront that evening. She could help put the pins in. Not that he would dare ask her. She wouldn’t want to see him, and he didn’t care to see her, either.

  Joseph ran his callused fingers over the fine armoire. Ya, even Lydia would approve of this work.

  That is, until she found out it was his.

  Joseph sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow with a clean cloth. Time for a short break. His hands shook from the long hours put in over the past three days. He needed some nourishment. Maybe food would calm the butterflies twittering in his stomach...even though he was pretty certain they were not caused by hunger.

  He sat down with the fresh rolls and thick slices of smoked ham that his nana had packed for him. It was good to be home, even though it was only for a few weeks. After that, he would be anxious to get back to his uncle Toby’s i
n Indiana. Joseph had wondered if he’d see Lydia while he was home and if he did whether she would speak to him or not. She had cut off all communication with him after he’d left Willow Trace. He had been devastated. But his family convinced him it was God’s will for him to be in Indiana. Over time, he came to agree with them. Especially once he heard Lydia had so quickly moved on to court Gideon Lapp. As far as he knew, she was getting married herself this wedding season. So what did he care? One day, he would do the same once he’d settled in with his uncle’s business.

  The wind and rain slammed hard against the metal building. This severe of a storm had not been expected. He thought of Lydia having to walk home in all that rain. She didn’t live far, but anyone would get soaked to the bone on a night like tonight. He must offer his buggy. It was the proper thing to do. The butterflies in his stomach felt more like hummingbirds as he crossed the large workshop. He knocked gently at the back door leading into the storefront. Bishop Miller had locked it, or perhaps it was locked all of the time. Maybe Lydia would have a key?

  In any case, there was no answer.

  He wrapped his knuckles again against the wooden door, a little louder this time.

  Still, there was no answer. But Lydia had to be there. The shop’s oil-powered lights were on. Their bright rays shone across the threshold and spread over the tops of his leather shoes.

  “Lydia?” He shook the handle. “I don’t mean to bother you. Just thought you could take my buggy home. Can you hear me? Lydia?”

  He waited. At long last, he heard something, but it was not what he expected. There was movement. Scuffling. A loud shriek. Joseph swallowed hard. That scream...that was Lydia. He knew her voice, even when it was hysterical—and that was a rare thing for a woman like Lydia. He couldn’t imagine what she could be screaming about. A mouse? A spider, maybe?

  No. Lydia would never be frightened by a little critter. She was not the type of woman to scream over something like that. Joseph’s throat sunk to his stomach.