Claiming His Christmas Inheritance

by C. J. Carroll

  “I partially blamed your mother for my family’s miserable life. Turns out, maybe I’m to blame, too,” Zed said.

  “How do you mean?”

  “I think I used the suspicion about your mother and my dad as an excuse because I was afraid. Afraid to fully give my heart to anyone. I blamed my aversion to marriage on my dad. And that was part of it. But I was my mother’s son and I adored her. I think I silently vowed to never be vulnerable enough to let someone ever hurt me the way she was hurt by my dad. My past, with my parents’ mistakes, was like a one-two punch. Funny thing is, I was trying so hard to not be like my father that I became just like him. I put my heart on permanent lockdown.”

  “The lockdown part I got,” Tasha replied.

  “You didn’t let me finish. I was on lockdown—until you, Tash.”

  “Me?” she said.

  “Your dad called me the other day. He challenged me to make him and my father liars by fighting for you, like they never did when we were kids. Tasha, love was something I never could admit I wanted. I never thought I deserved it. Because that’s what my dad’s actions silently told me and my mom. And I believed it. But here’s what I learned—the past happened. It hurt. I can’t change it, or the decisions others made. But I can change how I respond to it and how it affects my future. That’s the blessing God gives. He can restore us and set us free from the past.”

  He quietly observed her. “Tash, I don’t like messy, I don’t like things being out of control and I don’t like the unknown. But you made me not care about those things as much as I care about you. And I’ve realized when God is the God of our lives, that means He brings His power to our messes, and is God of them, too, if we’ll let Him.”

  “Look,” Tasha said, “I’ve been down this road before with noncommittal guys who said they ‘cared’ for me.” She made air quote signs with her fingers. “Caring about somebody isn’t the same as love. You once told me that you wouldn’t give yourself to anything unless you could give all of you. If I’ve learned anything in these past three months, it’s that I shouldn’t settle for less. I deserve the best.”

  He sighed as sadness engulfed him. “I can’t promise you that.”

  Tasha bit her lip. Her expression looked as if his words had shredded her heart, like glass shards, piece by piece.

  “Tash,” he said softly.

  She avoided his gaze. Instead, she watched a vivacious couple walking by their table, laughing profusely.

  “I can’t promise you that because I’m not the best me right now. I’m a work in progress. Kinda like Prince Charming with a cracked crown.” His hand caressed her cheek. Then his forefinger turned her face toward his.

  “Here’s what I can promise you. I’ll be a husband who trusts the Lord to heal my broken places and restore me. I’ll trust God and open my heart to Him to do what He needs to make that happen so I can be the best husband, the best man, for you that I can. All I can promise you is that I love you.”

  She hiccuped and swallowed hard. “Stop it! Just stop it now!”

  He recoiled. Had he just put his heart on the chopping block? Had his love been thrown back in his face, the one time he opened his heart?

  “Now, see, that look—that look right there, do you have any idea how devastating that is?” she cried.

  He shook his head in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “That look, emanating from your eyes right now—it can melt steel, planets, maybe even galaxies! It’s how I always wanted a guy to look at me. It’s not fair you should have such superhuman powers.”

  He chuckled, relief washing over him.

  Fresh tears bathed her face. She quickly wiped her cheeks. “You really love me?”

  “Why do you find that so hard to believe?”

  “Because whenever I’ve been in love with someone, it was never reciprocated. And the funny thing is, I realize now that what I thought was love with the men in my past was paltry and shallow compared to what I feel for you. I am so very in love with you, too, Zed Evans. Cracked crown and all.”

  Her gaze dropped to the envelope he was holding, and her eyes narrowed. “Hey, is this your way out of having to pay me for my services?” The humor in her voice relieved him.

  He didn’t censor a hardy chuckle. He pushed the envelope he’d been holding her way. She opened it and found a check for the amount he’d promised.

  His phone pinged. He slipped it out of his jacket pocket and read the message on the screen, his eyes widening.

  “Zed, what is it?”

  He was amazed. “I contacted my lawyer to start proceedings to sell the Victorian to developers.”

  “What!” Tasha cried. “How could you even consider such a thing?”

  “I know. I surprised myself, too. But without you, the place had no meaning for me. I realized I’d always have memories of my mother. Nobody can take those from me. Anyway, I hadn’t heard from my lawyer. He just texted that he’s been out of town because of a family emergency and just saw my message. The house isn’t sold!”

  “Oh, Zed!” Tasha clasped her hands and looked heavenward, probably giving a silent thank-you to God.

  “Let me text him that our plans have changed and to cancel everything. You and I can live in the Victorian and I can rent out my home. You know, I think that’s what Aunt Zora hoped for all along—that love would make the house a home again. I believe love was the legacy she wanted to live on.” Zed’s thumbs quickly moved across his phone keyboard. When he was done he slowly dropped to one knee.

  Several restaurant patrons looked their way.

  “What are you doing, Zed?”

  “Asking you to marry me.”

  “But we’re already married, goofball,” she declared.

  “But in spirit as well as in body this time. And forever,” he answered.

  “Oh, Zed! Yes! Yes!” she yelled excitedly. “You’ll never get rid of me!” She took out her phone. “Can you hold on for a moment?”

  “Really?” he said.

  “Seriously,” she pleaded. “It’ll just take a sec.”

  Curious, he leaned over and read the screen as she typed. She was texting Kelly.

  I took your advice. I got back up again—and you were right. He loves me to the moon and beyond! More later!

  Within seconds heart emojis and exclamation points rolled across her screen. She laughed, before returning her attention to Zed.

  “Zed Evans, I’ll be the peanut to your butter, the stick to your glue, the color to your crayon—”

  He swiftly rose and kissed her, interrupting her silly declarations.

  “I see you still got jokes,” he said tenderly, after the kiss.

  “More important, I’ve got you,” she replied. Her eyes sparkled.

  His heart danced.

  “Let’s go home, my missus.”

  “Yes, my mister.”

  * * *

  If you enjoyed this book, pick up these other

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  Find more great reads at www.LoveInspired.com

  Keep reading for an excerpt from An Amish Baby for Christmas by Vannetta Chapman.

  Dear Reader,

  I hope you enjoyed spending time in Zed and Tasha’s world. I loved writing the story of these two broken people who were stuck in emotional prisons that prevented them from being able to love and be fully loved. That is, until their forced proximity offered God a chance to put a
mirror up to their lives and to show His power and ability to bring life from dead situations.

  I also loved the idea of reversing their bad holiday experiences of the past. Additionally, I enjoyed weaving the Victorian’s history, which was like a third character, into their story. Finally, Union Station in Denver is one of my favorite buildings. I purposely started their healing journey there and ended it there with their “union.” Thank you for entrusting me with your precious time, as you experienced Tasha and Zed’s story.

  C.J. Carroll

  WE HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS BOOK FROM

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  An Amish Baby for Christmas

  by Vannetta Chapman

  Chapter One

  Thomas Albrecht was walking out of the grocery store, juggling three full-to-the-brim grocery bags, when he practically ran into his bishop. Ezekiel Hochstetler had recently turned eighty—Thomas had been there to help celebrate the day, along with their entire community.

  Ezekiel’s only concession to his age was a cane, which he now used to help with a knee that had been giving him trouble. Thomas understood that the man in front of him was having a hard time learning to step back. He’d only recently delegated a few of his church duties to his deacons because his wife had insisted. Ezekiel continued to preach and counsel and generally oversee his flock.

  “Morning, Thomas. I was hoping to see you today.”

  “Were you, now?” Thomas nodded toward his buggy. “Let me set down these supplies. I note a twinkle in your eye, which I suspect means you have a new job for me.”

  “Finished at the Beachy place?”

  “Just yesterday. Fall crops are harvested, and the winter wheat is in the ground.”

  “Are you looking for another job?”

  Thomas set the groceries in the bin on the back of his buggy, closed the top, making sure the latch fastened, then turned to study his bishop. Both his hair and his beard were pure white. He was dressed in the typical Amish way, the same way that Thomas was dressed—white cotton shirt, black work pants and the requisite suspenders. Ezekiel wore his black Sunday hat, while Thomas wore his straw one. Both men had their shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow. The Plain community in Shipshewana might have embraced solar power, but they still dressed in the traditional manner.

  Ezekiel was more than his bishop. He had been a friend to Thomas for many years. It was Ezekiel who had first suggested that Thomas begin a property management business—an unusual profession for an Amish man, but Shipshewana had been at the point of growth where it was needed. The idea had been a wise one. Thomas had never lacked for work.

  Thomas crossed his arms and leaned against the buggy box. “Tell me what you have in mind.”

  “Do you know Abigail Yutzy?”

  “Nein, I don’t.” Thomas tipped his hat against the bright sunshine. They were deep into September, and in northern Indiana that was a thing of beauty. The trees boasted vibrant colored leaves, every porch sported a collection of pumpkins and the weather remained perfect.

  “I’m not surprised. She lives on the east side of Shipshe, so she’s technically in the other district.”

  “Widow?”

  “Ya, she is.”

  Most of the women that Thomas had worked for in the past had been widows. Their living situations were usually stuck in some phase of transitioning. Most were post-funeral but hadn’t yet sold the family place to move in with one of their children. Thomas liked to think that he was able to help make that transition less traumatic, less difficult.

  “Her situation is somewhat...unusual.” Ezekiel didn’t add anything else, and Thomas knew that questioning him would be futile. Often these situations were sensitive. Thomas would learn more about the particulars of Widow Yutzy as it became necessary.

  Ezekiel pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it to Thomas.

  “This is Luke Fisher’s number. He’s the bishop of the east side group. He actually has a cell phone.” Thomas winked. “They’re a bit more liberal than we are.”

  “And you think I should call?”

  “I told him you would.”

  Instead of being offended that Ezekiel had spoken for him, Thomas laughed. Ezekiel knew him well. He wouldn’t turn down helping one of the older members of their community.

  He stuffed the slip of paper in his pocket.

  “I’ll do it.”

  He thought that would be the end of the conversation, but Ezekiel tapped his cane against the ground. “Today, if you could. The situation is a bit...dire.”

  “Before lunch,” Thomas promised.

  He hurried home to his apartment above Lehman’s Mercantile. He was perhaps the only Amish man in the district who lived in an apartment, but the arrangement worked well for him. The Lehmans’ house sat on the back side of the property. Beside it was a medium-sized barn that housed their buggy horse as well as Thomas’s mare, plus some goats, a dairy cow and whatever animals the children persuaded their parents to let them keep.

  The mercantile was a busy place, which didn’t bother Thomas at all since he was rarely home during the day. After he spoke with Bishop Ezekiel, Thomas hurried home to his apartment, made his way up the back stairs and put away his groceries. Then, he went down to the office in the mercantile and asked to use the phone.

  “Of course, Thomas. New job?” Though Mary Lehman was only forty-five, her brown hair was liberally streaked with gray. She had taken to wearing reading glasses that hung from a braided ribbon. Now she positioned them on the end of her nose and studied him.

  Thomas thought if there was a sweeter woman in the town of Shipshewana, he’d certainly never met her.

  “Maybe.”

  “Well, call then. We don’t want you starving.”

  That was a standing joke between them. Mary insisted on feeding him at every available opportunity. Just the week before, he’d accused her of attempting to fatten him up for the winter.

  Now he called the number on the slip of paper Ezekiel had given him. It was unusual for a bishop to have a cell phone, though plenty of Amish had one for their business. He could understand how it would help a bishop who was basically on call twenty-four hours a day. No doubt the man kept it in his barn rather than the house—a concession to the old ways and the sanctity of family time.

  He was surprised when Luke answered on the second ring. Unfortunately, the connection was a bad one, and the man’s voice kept cutting in and out. He was travelling in his buggy, evidenced by the background sounds of automobiles, wind and the clip-clop of a horse.

  “I’m Thomas Albrecht. Bishop Ezekiel Hochstetler asked me to call you about helping a widow.”

  “Oh ya. Very gut. Asher Yutzy...crops are still...she won’t...if you could go by...goat...help her...”

  “This connection isn’t very good. What was that you said about a goat?”

  The bishop must have reached the top of a hill, because suddenly his voice was as clear as if he were standing in the mercantile office. As he gave Thomas the address for the Yutzy place, Mary slipped a pad of paper and a pen in front of him. Then, the connection dropped completely, and Thomas was left staring at the receiver.

  “What did he say? Was that Bishop Fisher? I heard that he’s using a cell phone now. Apparently, that way he’s available whenever his congregation needs him.”

  “He may be available, but that doesn’t mean they’ll be able to understand him.” Thomas handed her the phone as he frowned at the piece of paper. “He asked me to help a Widow Yutzy. She lives on the east side of town.”

  “Different district, then. I haven’t heard of her, but that’s no surprise the way thi
s area is growing. Did you know there are twenty thousand Amish in the LaGrange-Elkhart Counties now?”

  “I did not.”

  “I’m lucky to keep up with the people in our own church. Where exactly does this Widow Yutzy live?”

  Thomas showed her the address.

  “Huh. That’s the east side, all right—nearly halfway to LaGrange.”

  “I suppose that’s where I’m headed, then.”

  “Chicken and dumplings for dinner,” Mary called after him. “And Chloe is making peach cobbler.”

  Thomas winced at the mention of Mary’s daughter, Chloe. She’d had a rather pronounced crush on him for the last two months. Chloe was fifteen, and Thomas was twenty-eight. Soon he’d be too old to be the recipient of schoolgirl crushes. The day couldn’t arrive fast enough in his opinion. Chloe’s current infatuation would pass. These situations always did, but until Chloe turned her attentions elsewhere, he was better off avoiding the Lehmans’ dinner table.

  Too bad. He would have loved to have a bite of that peach cobbler, and Mary’s chicken and dumplings was one of life’s blessings. He momentarily considered braving Chloe’s pointed looks and long sighs, but shook off the idea. He could make himself a sandwich with the groceries he’d just purchased. Chloe was bound to move on to a boy closer to her own age soon. He’d wait her out.

  The Yutzy place might have been on the east side of Shipshe, but it was still a relatively short trip. Shipshewana was, after all, small. The number of people living in town remained under eight hundred—an even mix of Amish and Englisch. County numbers were just under forty thousand, and a vast majority of those folks were Amish. In the last ten years, the area had become something of a tourist attraction for Englischers curious about Plain living. The auction house and flea market consistently attracted crowds of an additional thirty-five thousand. Still, on days the market was closed, Shipshe reacquired its small-town feel.