“We don’t have buggies here in Pinecraft and the minibus drops folks off about a mile and a half from where I’m staying. So before these old legs of mine hobble over there to collect her, I wanted to be sure she wasn’t delayed again.”
Jonathan was just about to tell Betty that Leah would actually be arriving in the main bus station instead, when Betty added, “Leah has said so many wunderbaar things about you, Jonathan. I’m looking forward to meeting you and I know Moses is relieved you’ll be working with him, too.”
Betty hardly took a breath as she continued to ramble, “After Leah had already missed so much of her vacation, I thought she was narrish for delaying her trip another full week after the blizzard instead of coming last Wednesday. But she’s one stubborn maedel and she wanted to be sure everyone there was okay before she left. I’m hallich she’s finally on her way and that you’re coming, too.”
Leah could have left right after the blizzard? She stayed in Fawn Crossing an extra week to make sure my familye was okay? To make sure I was okay?
Jonathan felt so ashamed that he couldn’t tell Betty he wasn’t coming or even that Leah would be on a different bus. He simply said goodbye and exited the phone shanty. Instead of getting back into the buggy, he ambled down the side of the road. Then he shuffled back, turned around and ambled down the road again.
I’ve really made a mess of things, he told himself. How am I ever going to make this right? His chest felt tight and his heart was racing. Even thought there was a stiff wind blowing, he broke out in a sweat. The buggy seemed so far away. His legs trembling, Jonathan knelt down and buried his head in his hands. Please, Gott, give me a second chance with Leah. Please soften her heart toward me.
* * *
Shortly after Leah had gone upstairs to her room, Nancy and Paul stopped in, just as they’d agreed to do every afternoon while Jonathan was away, in order to check on Esther and Gabriel and help them with whatever they needed. Leah was utterly humiliated to have to explain her change in plans, but as it turned out, Paul needed to go to the hardware store in town and he offered to take Leah with him so she could purchase a new ticket.
As Leah sat next to the deacon in his buggy on the return trip, she tried to make polite conversation, but she drew a blank. She should have felt relieved, since she’d reserved the last seat on the Englisch bus headed south from Fawn Crossing. The transportation company even gave her credit for the ticket on the minibus, which she wasn’t expecting. But Leah couldn’t overcome her feelings of disappointment. One week. Her vacation had been reduced from one month to one week and for what? A man who resented her for trying to help him.
“That looks like the Rockes’ buggy,” the deacon said, pointing in the direction of the phone shanty.
“Hmm,” Leah murmured. Jonathan must be calling Moses to disappoint him, too.
About a quarter of a mile down the street, they noticed a round, dark object to the side of the road. Because it was nearly dusk, it was difficult to identify what they were looking at. “Did someone hit a deer?” Paul asked as they drew nearer.
“Absatz!” Leah demanded, recognizing the person’s coat. “It’s Jonathan!”
Every angry feeling she had toward him dissolved as she and Paul scrambled out of the carriage. Please, Lord, let him be all right. Please, Lord, Leah pleaded silently as she raced toward Jonathan, who was curled forward in a ball, clutching his stomach and rocking, as if in pain.
“Suh, are you hurt?” Paul asked, as he placed a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. Jonathan merely groaned, so Leah took charge.
“Jonathan,” she said firmly, crouching beside him. “Look at me.”
He lifted his head. His face was ruddy and the tears in his eyes were magnified by his glasses. He blinked, as if he couldn’t believe it was her. “I’m so sorry, Leah.” He made a choking sound and dropped his head again.
“Are you hurt?” the deacon repeated. “Do you need a dokder?”
“Neh—” Jonathan protested, but Leah interrupted him, asking the deacon to call the nurse practitioner and request that she come to the Rocke house.
Then she helped Jonathan back into his buggy and took the reins. As they journeyed, Jonathan apologized again. “You are the least selfish person I’ve ever known. And you were absolutely right. My bad mood has affected everyone else, especially you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Leah assured him. Seeing how broken he was made her realize she’d lost sight of the fact that he wasn’t choosing to feel so low, and now that he’d apologized for insinuating she’d only been looking out for her own best interests, she forgave him.
The nurse practitioner arrived at the house a few minutes after Leah, Jonathan and the deacon did. Because she wanted privacy to consult with Jonathan alone, he met with her in his home while Paul went to assure the others that everything was going to be okay. Leah waited on Jonathan’s porch, so nervous that she didn’t even notice how cold it had gotten.
After about twenty minutes, the nurse practitioner opened the door and stepped outside. “Jonathan said I could tell you that I think he suffered a panic attack. I’ve made some recommendations and he’s agreed to seek help if he experiences another attack or any other troublesome symptoms, but otherwise, I’m going to follow up with him in three weeks.”
Leah thanked her and went inside, where she found Jonathan sitting at the table, drinking tea. He had a quilt draped over his shoulders and his hair was disheveled, which made him look particularly boyish, but he appeared much calmer now.
“The nurse practitioner said she thought you were right about me having seasonal affective disorder. She thinks that’s partly why I was more vulnerable to experiencing a panic attack. I should have listened to you about getting help sooner. Leah, I’m so sorry for all I’ve put you through,” he apologized for a third time.
“It’s okay, I forgive you for the things you said. But I’m not the one who has been through a lot—you have. I know you don’t want to feel as...as miserable as you’ve been feeling. And I admire how hard you’ve fought to keep going, despite how challenging it’s been. I hope you’ll forgive me for the mean things I said, too.”
Jonathan nodded solemnly, holding her gaze. “Absolutely.”
Leah took a deep breath and then hinted, “You know, it’s not too late to go to Florida.”
“You’d still want me to go with you?”
“Of course I would,” Leah assured him. “But unfortunately, I bought the last ticket, so we can’t go together. You can have mine though. I’ll kumme on the next bus I can catch. Just don’t cheat and practice shuffleboard on a real court without me!”
Jonathan cracked up, slapping the table. Leah didn’t think her joke was that funny. “What’s voll schpass?” she asked.
“I must have bought the next-to-the-last ticket right before you purchased yours!” he explained. “That’s why I went back to town.”
“You had decided to go to Florida after all?”
“Neh. The ticket wasn’t for me, it was for you. I felt so baremlich that I’d ruined your plans I decided the least I could do was spare you the extra expense of buying a regular bus ticket.”
That is exactly the kind of considerate, lovely thing Jonathan has done for me time and again, and this time, he did it even though we were fighting, so it has to be genuine. Leah couldn’t stop smiling.
“Don’t you see?” Jonathan marveled. “It’s not an accident that we purchased the last two tickets. It’s as if the Lord is showing me in no uncertain terms that I ought to go with you...that I ought to be with you.”
He got up and came around to Leah’s side of the table. He took the quilt from his shoulders and wrapped it around hers, then knelt so his blue eyes were level with hers. “Leah, would you have me as your suitor?”
“Jah!” Leah exclaimed. “And I know the first place I’d like you to take me!”
“Eee!” Rebekah screamed, skittering backward across the sand, away from the breaking waves.
Esther, Gabriel, Leah and Jonathan all laughed as they watched the toddler’s antics.
Moses Kasdorf was so impressed with Jonathan’s workmanship the previous winter, he’d told him he could live in the bungalow free of charge for the month of December, provided he’d stay on and work through March. So Jonathan and Leah had come there for their honeymoon and they’d rented their own place for the next three months after that. But they were too lonely to spend Christmas alone, so they’d invited Esther, Gabriel and Rebekah to join them over the holidays.
“The water is colder than I thought it would be,” Esther remarked.
“And the sand is a lot whiter than I thought it would be. It almost looks—I hate to say this—like snow,” Gabriel said, laughing.
“I’m hallich it’s not,” Jonathan said.
“Me, too.” Leah squeezed her husband’s hand. As she gazed out over the aqua water, she sighed. “I never get tired of looking at it.”
“I hope you still feel that way when we kumme here again next winter,” Jonathan said. The arrangement had been so beneficial for his health that he and Gabriel had agreed he should continue spending four months in Florida each year.
“I will—as long as we’re together,” Leah assured him before kissing his cheek. Then she whispered into his ear, “And who knows, by then we might even have a playmate for Rebekah...”
* * *
Look for a new Amish miniseries by Carrie Lighte, coming soon from Love Inspired Books!
Keep reading for an excerpt from The Amish Baker’s Rival by Marie E. Bast.
Dear Reader:
I didn’t realize how fortunate I was to grow up in New England, where we have four distinct seasons, until I moved to a place where there were essentially only two: “rainy” and summer—and the rainy season lasted disproportionately longer than the summer season! I felt similar to how Jonathan felt during my first year of living there. Suffice it to say, I coped by taking lots of naps and eating lots of comfort food. (If I had known about Pinecraft at that time, I would have scheduled a trip under the guise of “research” for my books.)
There’s a quote from journalist Hal Borland that the Amish often use that goes, “No winter lasts forever. No spring skips its turn.” Even though it sometimes seems that warmer, sunnier times are painfully slow in coming, I’ve found this saying to be true both literally and figuratively, haven’t you?
Wherever you are as you’re reading this right now, I hope you’re experiencing the promise of spring and the presence of Christ.
Blessings,
Carrie Lighte
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The Amish Baker’s Rival
by Marie E. Bast
Chapter One
Washington County, Iowa
Was the rumor true?
Mary Brenneman hotfooted it to the front door, flipped the Amish Sweet Delights’ bakery sign to Open and slid the dead bolt back. She peered out the window at the freshly painted storefront two doors up on the opposite side of the street, letting her gaze scour the words Opening Soon written in felt-tip marker on the brown paper still covering the windows.
If the rumor was true, and this was a fast-food franchise, it could hurt Sweet Delights’ business. She raised her hand and blotted a tear at the corner of her eye. Just a year ago today, Seth Knepp broke their engagement so he could go live with the Englisch. Now it appeared she might lose the second love of her life. At twenty years old, she’d have nothing left.
Mary cranked her head to steal a better look.
The squeaking of cartwheels advancing into the bakery from the kitchen pulled Mary’s attention from the window to her friend. “I wonder what’s going in the new shop.”
“Haven’t heard,” replied Amanda Stutzman, her friend and bakery assistant, as she pushed the cart toward the display case.
“Since bakeries started to pop up online and gas stations began selling fresh rolls and cappuccinos, Sweet Delight’s business has tapered off. The bakery can’t afford to lose more revenue.” Mary huffed out the words. “We need to expand the menu.”
Amanda started arranging the strawberry and chocolate cupcakes on the second shelf of the case. “What’s the holdup? Your stiefmutter and vater have been saving a long time for remodeling the bakery.”
“Daed wants to wait until after they’ve paid off my twin sisters’ premature delivery cost and their long hospital stay. Most of the bakery’s profits are earmarked for medical bills.”
Mary missed her stiefmutter, Sarah, working next to her. But after the twins were born, Mary had assured Sarah she could manage the bakery on her own.
Mary gathered her notepad and pencil from the counter, checked the sales schedule, and updated the blackboard with this week’s Monday specials: donuts half price with purchase of a beverage.
She brushed her hands together to remove the chalk dust and glanced at the Kalona Fall Apple Festival flyer tacked to the bulletin board. Her focus landed on the events section.
Bakers! Enter the baking contest for a chance to win a trophy and the grand prize of $10,000. The main rule—at least one of your three entries must contain apples, and the apple taste must shine through.
Her gaze trailed down to the next paragraph detailing the contest schedule.
Each contestant must submit a baked good for judging by 2:00 p.m Thursday, September 24, in one of three categories:
1) breads, rolls, scones
2) pies, strudels, cakes
3) cookies, cupcakes, bars
Three winners from each category on Thursday will move on to make a different baked good on Friday. The judging panel will choose a winner from each group and those winners will receive $5,000. Those three will move on to compete on Saturday for the overall winner and the grand prize of $10,000.
Mary rubbed her fingertip across her entry confirmation letter clipped to her notebook. Ideas for a possible pie entry whirled through her head. But selecting the perfect, prize-winning apple dessert for one of the days wasn’t easy.
After filling the cup dispenser, she glanced at Amanda. “If I won the baking contest, I’d remodel and buy the equipment needed to expand the menu. We’d serve breakfast croissants and biscuits in the morning, then switch to soups and sandwiches with homemade breads and buns for lunch. Maybe serve ice cream with pie. And we’d definitely add an espresso machine.”
“You’ll win.” Amanda headed back to the kitchen with her cart bumping the doorway and the empty metal trays rattling. “You’re the best baker I know.”
“Danki. This year the prize money will bring bakers in from Des Moines, Chicago, St. Louis and all across the surrounding states. Many of them gut bakers from fancy pastry shops who have trained at culinary schools. I doubt a Plain girl with no formal training will stand a chance.”
“You worry too much. Practice,” Amanda called from the kitchen.
Mary sighed as she filled the cup dispenser. “I didn’t win last year! Pastry chef Cynthia Návar carried home the prize.”
The doorbell jingle jerked Mary around to the display counter. She laughed as Ethan Lapp pretended to stagger to the counter.
“Caffeine and sugar, quick!” He leaned into the counter as if he might faint without his morning breakfast. He removed his straw hat and put one hand under his suspenders as he slumped against the counter.
Mary laughed. “Your cinnamon roll is waiting.” She handed him the bag and a cup of coffee.
Aman
da appeared in the kitchen doorway and propped a shoulder against the door jam. “Hallo, Ethan.” Mary caught the sparkle in her friend’s eye and the special smile she reserved for Ethan. A frustrating sight, since Ethan never caught on to how Amanda felt about him.
“Hey, Amanda.” He waved as he headed for the door.
Before the door closed, Frank Wallin strolled inside, letting a banging noise seep in from the street.
“Gut Morgen, Frank.” Mary gestured toward the shop across the street. “Apparently, the carpenters are at it early today.”
Frank removed his US Army veteran’s hat and waved it in the air. “Morning, ladies,” before pressing it back down over silvery-gray hair. “Mary, stopping here every morning is the best part of my day.”
“Frank, it’s wunderbaar customers like you that make me forget I had to get out of bed at 3:00 a.m.”
Amanda pushed the pastry cart through the kitchen doorway. “Gut Morgen, Frank. It’s always a great day when you stop by.”
“Thank you, Amanda. Today, black coffee and an apple fritter, please.”
“Danki.” Mary handed Frank his coffee and paper bag as he laid the correct amount on the counter.
“My pleasure. When is the new farm-fresh grocery and deli opening?”
Mary jerked her gaze from the money to face Frank. “What grocery and deli?”
“The new store across the street. They’re raising the sign into place now. Sorry, but I need to get to work. See for yourself.” Frank hurried to the door and motioned across the street.
She darted from behind the counter and caught the door as it closed. “It can’t be! Where did that sign come from?” Tears pressed against the corners of her eyes.
“What sign?” Amanda pushed a new tray of pastries into the display case.
“The empty shop across the street, they’ve hung a sign. It has cloth covering the name, but it’s ripped.” She paused and squinted through the dust hanging in the air from the hammering into the bricks on the old building. “I can see the words Farm-fresh Grocery and Deli.”
An Amish Winter (Love Inspired) Page 17