Newbury Acres: An Amish Christian Romance Novel: An Amish Romance Adaptation of Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey (The Amish Classics)

by Sarah Price

  “Now, Cathy,” he said in a calm voice, “I meant no harm. I did see them out. Perhaps I misunderstood their direction.”

  “You said they were driving out of town! Clearly that wasn’t true.”

  He gave a casual shrug. “My mistake,” he admitted without actually sounding apologetic. “But it is for the better. Would you be so selfish as to deny James the company of my sister? Clearly you can see that they are ferhoodled!”

  Catherine pursed her lips, still angry with him. “They didn’t need me to go along with them!” If she had not come along, the three of them could have made the trip in one buggy. John’s mistake, if that was indeed what it was, had most certainly spoiled her relationship with Ellie and Henry, two people Catherine wanted to spend more time with for her own purposes. Judging from the way James and Ida Mae conversed, her brother needed little help in promoting his affections to the young woman.

  “Besides, you have no idea about those Tilmans.” John scowled as he shook his head. “An awful lot, really.”

  “Awful? Despite her disappointment, her curiosity was suddenly piqued. Admittedly, she knew nothing about the Tilman family. Perhaps, like Ida Mae’s Amish mystery books, there was a secret in the Tilman’s closet, she thought as she turned to look at John. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  He scoffed, slapping the reins against the back of the horse so that, this time, it started walking down the lane. “Why, they live in Newbury Acres, you know. Their daed has the largest dairy farm in the town and a rather renowned woodworking shop.”

  “There’s nothing awful about that!” Catherine cried in defense of the Tilmans. Success did not make people sinners. It was what they did with that success that often invited evil and sin into their lives.

  But John was not easily convinced. “Newbury Acres is a strange place. I’ve been there once and I’ve heard many stories. Eerie, really. It’s an Amish community without really being Amish at all.”

  Catherine rolled her eyes. “That doesn’t even make sense! Besides, you cannot hold two people responsible for an entire community!”

  John gave her a blank, disinterested look. “All right then. How about this? Their maem died under mysterious circumstances, Cathy. Ellie had been sent away and suddenly the maem died, despite having no sickness. And their daed never remarried. Instead, he just works all the time, from sunup to well after sundown. In fact, some even say that he works on Sundays! His oldest son, Freddie, has yet to join the church and has quite the reputation. Not one to be associated with, let me tell you. Between the daed and son, the family is not well thought of, despite their wealth.”

  Catherine didn’t know whether to believe John. He had, after all, made similar claims against Noah Bontrager.

  “Why, you should thank me, Cathy!” John exclaimed with an air of mock offense. He pressed his hand against his chest and acted as if he were truly offended. “I saved you from associating with that family and sullying your own reputation.”

  For some reason, Catherine doubted his assertion. She saw it more as John tricking her in order to get his own way, like a petulant child. She was not about to let that happen again, she told herself as she crossed her arms over her chest and sank down into the seat.

  “Hey, now!” James called out as he pulled up beside them, the two horses and buggies in tandem on the road. He took one look at his sister’s sullen expression and looked back to John. “Everything all right here?”

  John nodded. “Oh, ja, just the horse … was spooked back in the town. Could scarce do more than let it run out a spell.”

  Still angry, Catherine glanced at him, considering whether she should expose his falsehood. James gave a little laugh, but Ida Mae nudged him with her arm to silence him.

  “Well, I reckon he’s calm enough now,” Ida Mae said, a twinkle in her eye.

  They continued down the road, John leading the other carriage. He made certain to point out different birds that he saw in the trees and even a deer trail through the woods. Catherine feigned interest, not wanting to maintain her cross attitude and ruin the entire day. She would nod her head and make soft sounds of acknowledgment, all the while fretting over what Ellie and Henry must be thinking of her. She tapped her heel nervously against the floorboard of the carriage, wishing with all of her might that the drive would come to an end as soon as possible.

  As if providence was supposed to always pay attention, it soon did.

  Under the canopy of the trees, it was difficult to discern that the sun had slipped behind some low-lying clouds. However, when the darker clouds rolled in, Catherine looked up at the sky.

  “I believe it’s going to rain, John,” she said, hopeful that he would take the hint and turn around.

  “Oh, stuff and nonsense!” He urged the horse to continue moving forward. “There wasn’t a cloud in the sky when we left. And the weather did not call for any rain, Cathy. You mark my words!”

  But, sure enough, the sprinkles soon began to fall.

  “It’ll pass soon enough,” John announced.

  Twenty minutes later, a torrential downpour put an end to his argument, and with great reluctance, John agreed to turn back for town. It took almost an hour to close the distance between where the rain started and the house on the lake. Catherine dripped wet with water, shivering in the cool air that blew across the lake. But she gave a sigh of relief as she bid the other three good-bye and jumped down from John’s buggy.

  She ran toward the front door of the house and slammed it shut behind herself.

  “My word!” Wilma jumped up from the rocking chair and hurried to fetch a large towel. “You must change right away, Catherine, or you’ll catch a cold.”

  Duane glanced up from the table where he had been seated, reading Die Blatt newspaper. “For sure, and summer colds are the worst!”

  Catherine accepted the towel and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  “I hope you had some fun at least,” Wilma said, the curiosity in her eyes indicating that she wanted to hear more about the adventure.

  Catherine, however, didn’t have much to say beyond, “I never should have listened to that John Troyer! Why, that was the longest two hours of my life!”

  Duane tried to stifle a laugh and Wilma hid a soft smile. Clearly there was no love match between Catherine Miller and John Troyer!

  Chapter 9

  The following morning, Catherine arose early, helped prepare breakfast, and cleaned the dishes before she announced that she was walking to town. Wilma cast a knowing look at Duane, but neither one said a word, merely reminding her to be home by the dinner hour at noon.

  The muddy road made walking difficult. Catherine, however, persevered, despite the accumulation of mud on her shoes and ankles. If Henry and Ellie were going to be out walking, she was going to find them and apologize for the error of her judgment on the previous day. She could only hope that they’d accept her explanation that she had been deceived by a young man with very poor scruples into believing they had forgotten her.

  Unfortunately, she did not spot them walking toward the lake. Determined, Catherine sat on a bench under the shade of a tall elm tree, pretending to read one of Ida Mae’s books. Her eyes barely took in one full sentence before she would look up and scan the area to see if anyone approached her. For an hour, she waited and watched to no avail. Two cars drove by, one slowing down long enough so that the Englischer in the passenger seat could snap a photo of her. Disgusted, Catherine jumped to her feet and began her trek back toward the lake house.

  After changing her clothes, she helped Wilma with the food preparation. She listened to the older woman talk about the different people she had met since their arrival, but Catherine’s mind was still focused on the Tilmans. Like Wilma, she had met many different people in Banthe. Yet the only two people that she felt particularly interested in getting to know better were the same two people that she had inadvertently offended when she had listened to John Troyer and one more of his tall tales.

>   That afternoon, she went blueberry picking with Duane and Wilma. They walked up the lane toward town, each carrying a small plastic bucket. Catherine maintained her due diligence, watching for either Ellie or Henry. Once again, she found herself disappointed when neither appeared on the road ahead.

  Near the edge of town, Duane led them down another road toward the path that meandered around the lake. Noah Bontrager had mentioned that blueberry bushes grew there, and Wilma had a hankering to make some blueberry pies. Catherine tried to empty her mind of any thoughts regarding Henry and focused instead on plucking the blueberries. She idly listened to Wilma chatter with Duane about this and that, but nothing interested her. Instead, she began to lose herself in her imagination, letting herself drift into the pages of one of her romance novels.

  Oh, if she could only write a novel! she thought. As she plucked blueberries, she escaped into a scene that was just forming in her mind.

  She would be standing on the edge of the lake, collecting the blueberries, when a boat full of Englische tourists would pull up behind her, their lenses pointed in her direction. Duane and Wilma would hurry up the path and away from the intrusive cameras that stole their photos. But Catherine …well, she would certainly be too far away. And then she would hear the sound of footsteps crashing through the underbrush. Henry Tilman would arrive just in time. He would wrap his arm around her shoulders, and after turning her away from the Englische, he would help her up the hill to safety.

  “Are you all right?” he would ask her, his hands pressed against her shoulders as he stared into her eyes.

  “I’m … I’m fine now,” she would answer in a breathless tone.

  He would reach up his hand to pluck a stray bramble from her prayer kapp. When he did, his fingers would brush against her cheek and his eyes would stare deep into hers.

  “Catherine!”

  Immediately, her daydream disappeared at the sound of her name being called. She shook her head and looked over her shoulder at Wilma. “Ja?”

  “We’re finished with our buckets. Are you?”

  Catherine glanced down and blushed. She had been so lost in her thoughts that her bucket was only half full. “Nee. I need another few minutes,” she said and began to quickly pluck more berries from the bushes, not caring if stems and green berries made it into the bucket. How could she have let time slip away? Surely, they would notice that she had collected half of what they had gathered! What on earth would they think?

  “Catherine?” Wilma called once again. “Are you ready now?”

  “Coming!”

  She grabbed three more handfuls of blueberries and hurried down the path toward where Wilma and Duane stood waiting.

  For the rest of the afternoon, Catherine helped Wilma make blueberry pies as well as several jars of blueberry jam. It felt odd to work alongside Wilma when she was so familiar with working with her mother. But Wilma chattered about different people and told light-hearted stories about her youth, which helped make the time pass quickly. Before she knew it, the sun was beginning to descend in the sky and it was time to start preparing the evening meal.

  After dinner, Ida Mae dropped by and implored Catherine to go on another buggy ride with her, John, and James that evening. With worship being held early in the morning, Catherine refused, and for the first time, there was no amount of coaxing from Ida Mae that could convince her to relent. Even if Henry were to see them together, something Catherine highly doubted, she didn’t want him to think that she enjoyed spending time with John Troyer. Besides, she had still not forgiven John for tricking her, even if he claimed that he was trying to save her reputation.

  Finally, Sunday came and Catherine found herself looking forward to the worship service. Unlike in Fullerton, the Amish in Banthe held worship every Sunday, alternating between a designated building in town and people’s homes. When Catherine had asked Wilma about this, she had been told that there were so many visiting Amish families, and usually more than a few preachers, that the community held services every week during the summer.

  “It’s nice to listen to the preachers from different g’mays,” Wilma had explained. “Plus, if a person is missing Sunday worship while vacationing here, they’ll be able to attend a service here.”

  While Catherine wasn’t as eager for another three hours sitting on those hard pine benches, she was excited to see Ellie again.

  Upon arriving, Catherine caught sight of Ellie at the worship service. She stood at the end of the greeting line, and when Catherine approached, Ellie gave her a disenchanted look of curiosity. After shaking her hand and giving her a kiss, Catherine hesitated, wanting to say something right then and there. But other women were behind her, and Catherine knew better than to hold up the line.

  It wasn’t until three hours later that Catherine had a chance to approach Ellie. While the older women and men at the first seating ate their fellowship meal, a meal that consisted of bread, peanut butter, pretzels, and cold cuts, Catherine sought out the young woman and found her standing in the open doorway of the shop where they had worshiped.

  No sooner had Catherine reached Ellie’s side than she saw that Henry stood on the other side of the door. She paused for a moment, but decided that there was no harm in going forward with her apology.

  “Catherine,” Henry said in a cool voice, dipping his head slightly as he greeted her.

  “Oh, you must think I am terribly rude!” Catherine gushed, her gaze shifting from Henry to Ellie and back again. “Please, allow me to explain. There was a horrible misunderstanding!”

  Henry raised an eyebrow and waited patiently for her to continue speaking.

  “I … I was told that you were both seen riding out of town toward the far side of the lake. I …” She swallowed and fought the trembling in her hands by clutching them together. “I didn’t want to go riding in the buggy. Believe me,” she said and lowered her voice, “I would so much have preferred your company.” She thought she saw Ellie smile. “But when I believed you had forgotten, I didn’t want to hold back my brother and Ida Mae from being able to go.”

  Henry made a serious face at her. “I must admit that I was rather surprised, Catherine,” he admitted. Then, with a softening of his expression, he added, “But Ellie was rather adamant that something must have happened. As usual, she was correct.”

  A sigh of relief escaped from Catherine. “Truly, I begged John to stop the buggy and let me out. I never would have knowingly done such a thing.”

  This time, Henry smiled. “Then do us the honor of attempting the same walk tomorrow, Catherine. And this time, we will be at your lake house no later than ten, weather permitting.”

  His eyes flickered over her shoulder, and for the briefest of seconds, Catherine thought she saw something dark and broody, like a black shadow, cloud his face. His back stiffened and he seemed to lean away from her as if preparing for something unexpected.

  “And who is this young woman?”

  Catherine started at the gruff voice that spoke from behind her. Quickly she turned around to find herself the subject of study by an older man with a stern face, weathered and dark, and white hair that ran from the crown of his head down his cheeks to his long mustache-less beard. There was something earthy about him that would have been welcoming if it weren’t for those dark eyes that narrowed as he appeared to scrutinize everything about Catherine. He was a tall man, much like Henry, with broad shoulders and very large hands. Each of the deep-set wrinkles in his forehead and cheeks made him look angry, and the way that he was assessing her did not put her at ease.

  “Father, this is Catherine Miller,” Ellie said in a soft, timid voice. “Catherine, this is our father, Gid.”

  Catherine stretched her hand out to shake his. He merely squinted one of his eyes and stared at it.

  When he did not say anything, Ellie cleared her throat. “She is to go walking with us tomorrow.”

  “Miller, eh?” he said at last, his voice deep and raspy as if he had a sore t
hroat. “You aren’t from Banthe, are you?”

  “Nee, I’m from Fullerton,” she responded, hoping that her voice didn’t give away how intimidated she was feeling at that moment.

  “Fullerton?” He seemed to search his memory as if trying to find a link between himself and that town. When none came, he ran his tongue over his bottom teeth and made a noise. “I understand you are here with the Andersons?”

  “I … I am, ja.” She couldn’t help but wonder why he would know anything about her. Even more puzzling was why he was paying any attention to her at all!

  For a long moment, his eyes studied her before he nodded his head as if giving his approval. For what, she did not know. “I see,” he said at last.

  Her knees felt weak. Never in her life had she encountered such a man as Gid Tilman. She felt as if she were on display, and the feeling did not sit well with her. For a moment, she remembered John Troyer’s warning about the Tilman family, and for once, she wondered if there wasn’t some truth to what he had told her. Something just did not seem right with Ellie and Henry’s father.

  Finally, he looked away from her. There was an uncomfortable silence among the four of them as Gid glanced at Ellie first and then Henry. For a long, drawn-out moment, he said nothing, just stared at Henry, who merely turned his head in the other direction. Gid returned his gaze back to Catherine and cleared his throat. “I reckon I’d be remiss if I did not invite you to have the noon meal with us tomorrow after your walk,” he said gruffly. It wasn’t a question or invitation, but more of a demand. “Noon sharp, of course.”

  Catherine bit her lower lip. “Of course.” She hesitated before adding, “After I check with the Andersons first.”

  His eyes flashed at her last comment, whether from favoring her thoughtfulness or from disliking her loyalty, she wasn’t certain. Then, with one final long look at his son, Gid Tilman turned and walked away, moving slowly to where the preachers stood in a huddle, talking. Without waiting for them to finish their conversation, Gid joined them.