Jenny's Choice (Apple Creek Dreams #3)

by Patrick E. Craig

  “Cookbooks, mostly, I assume?” Jenny said as she eyed the large satchel the man was carrying. Why does he have to have blue eyes?

  “The Amish aren’t just publishing cookbooks. I’m talking about novels and historical studies, devotionals and Bible studies. And several Englischers are writing about the Amish and getting their work published. It’s becoming a huge market.”

  “So why are you speaking at our creative writing class?”

  “Mrs. Blake thought I might encourage some fledgling writers to consider writing about the Amish community since it’s such a large part of our local culture. Is that why you’re here?”

  “Well, it’s not to learn how to make a grocery list.” Why is he getting me so agitated? And I’m not a fledgling.

  The man looked at her in surprise and then laughed out loud. “Here I thought the Amish were all gentle, kind people. You’re the first one I’ve run into with a snappy comeback.”

  Jenny felt herself blush from head to toe. Her body went hot and then cold. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” she said contritely. “I thought I had mastered the snippy side of my disposition. I guess I haven’t.”

  “Okay, we didn’t get started very well. How about if we try again? I’m Jeremy King, and I’m the owner of Kerusso Publishing.” Jeremy extended his hand.

  That’s what Jonathan did. He started over after I bit his head off. Then he wanted to shake hands. And why does this man’s name start with a “J”?

  Jenny remembered the odd sensation she felt when Jonathan touched her, so she kept her hand at her side, and she didn’t tell him her name.

  “I’m not sure why I want to write, but I enjoy it, so I thought I would come and see if I could learn a few things to help me improve.”

  Jeremy put his hand back to his side and smiled. “Well, I hope this class will be of benefit to you.” He turned abruptly and walked into the class. Jenny watched him and frowned.

  That didn’t go well. He seemed like a nice man, and I acted like a fool.

  Jenny entered the classroom and found a seat in the back. She kept her head down and didn’t look up until Mrs. Blake came into the room with another lady. They walked to the front of the room, and Mrs. Blake began to speak.

  “Good evening, everyone. Welcome to our creative writing class. Our friend Evelyn Bergman will teach the first five sessions. Evelyn has taught for us before, and I know many of you have been blessed by her wonderful advice and instruction. I also see that we have several newcomers. And I see my longtime assistant, Jenny Hershberger, has joined us.”

  Jenny scrunched down in her seat. Great! Thanks a lot, Mrs. Blake. Now he knows my name. Why don’t you just give him my address too?

  “Jenny is a wonderful researcher and has helped me with many historical projects relating to the Amish in Wayne County. Some of her articles were published by Bob Schumann when he was still the editor at the Daily Record.”

  Jenny almost put her head down on the desk. Instead she smiled wanly and tried to ignore the pink glow that suffused her face. Mrs. Blake moved on to another subject.

  “And speaking of the Amish, I’d like to start by introducing Jeremy King, owner of Kerusso Publishing. Kerusso publishes many books about the Amish and also many titles written by Amish authors. Since we have such a large Amish community in Wayne County, I thought it might be interesting to have Jeremy come and speak to us. There might even be a little inspiration here for some of you who are casting about for subjects to write about. Could you tell us a little about your company, Jeremy?”

  The tall man stood and walked to the front of the room. In his hands he held several books.

  “Good evening, everyone. Thank you, Mrs. Blake. Yes, I am the owner of Kerusso Publishing. I’m also the publisher, chief editor, main cook, and bottle washer.”

  The class tittered politely.

  “I’ve been publishing Amish literature for about four years. At first we started with Amish cookbooks…” He held up a notebook-style publication titled The Art of Amish Cooking and smiled directly at Jenny.

  “But we’ve expanded our titles, and now we have Bible studies, devotionals, historical nonfiction works, and even some novels. For some reason, the publishing industry has found a market for Amish fiction. Mildred Jordan has been writing novels since the 1950s, and there was an Amish novel published in 1908 called The Masquerading of Margaret. I think Amish fiction is a genre that will become very popular in the future. So if any of you are interested in writing novels and might have an idea for a story, send me a one-sheet.”

  A hand raised tentatively in the middle row. “What’s a one-sheet?”

  “Good question. A one-sheet is a simple one-page description of your idea for a story with your contact information at the bottom. If you send it to me and I like the idea, I’ll ask you for some sample chapters. If I like what I see, I’ll request a proposal for the whole book, which would include a description of the main characters, a synopsis of the story, and a chapter outline. Does that help?”

  The questioner nodded. Several people made notes in their notebooks.

  “How can we get your mailing address?” another class member asked.

  Jeremy turned and wrote his name and address on a blackboard behind him. Several people wrote it down in their books. Jenny watched them and thought, Most of these people don’t even know how to write about our people, and they’re taking down his address. Pretty silly!

  And then a familiar voice spoke into her spirit. Don’t you have a dream, Jenny?

  Jenny looked around as though someone had spoken to her out loud. She realized what it was.

  “A novel? Is that what I’m supposed to write?”

  “Why not?” asked the person next to her, who was writing down Jeremy’s information. Jenny realized with a shock that she had spoken out loud. Without really knowing why, she took her pencil and scribbled down the information on the back of her notebook.

  I won’t use this. Why am I writing it down?

  Jeremy was finishing his presentation, but Jenny’s thoughts were whirling. And then Jeremy said something that grabbed her attention.

  “And for those of you who might send me a story idea, I’m looking for Amish stories, and given that we live in the heart of quilting country, I’m also interested in quilting stories.”

  An idea came to Jenny. My mama is the best quilter in Wayne County! I’ll ask her to help me. Wait—what am I thinking? We Amish don’t write novels.

  Jenny was so lost in her thoughts, she didn’t even notice when Jeremy King said goodnight to the class, wished them luck, and walked out of the room. She only came back to herself when Mrs. Bergman came to the front of the class and began to speak.

  “Mark Twain once said that writers should strike out every third word on principle. You have no idea what vigor that can add to your style. If we are to be writers who connect with our readers, simplicity is the key. One of the masters of simplicity was Ernest Hemingway, and you all know how well his books have done.”

  There was another chuckle from the class, and Jenny realized she didn’t even have her notebook open to take notes. She had been staring at Jeremy’s name.

  Why does he have to have blue eyes?

  An hour later Jenny walked out of the class. She had learned a lot, even in that short time, and Mrs. Bergman had proved to be an excellent teacher. Jenny was lost in thought as she stepped out into the hall. The deep voice startled her.

  “Hello…Jenny.”

  Jenny looked up to see Jeremy King standing there. “Oh…hello, Mr. King. What are you doing here?”

  “I felt like I offended you, and I wanted to apologize. We didn’t exactly get off to a good start. And please, call me Jeremy.”

  Jenny dared to take a good look at the man in front of her. The fact that he was tall and handsome troubled her for some reason. But she made the best of it and held out her hand to him.

  “I’m sorry too, Mr. King…Jeremy. I was rude. I’ll accept your
apology if you’ll accept mine.”

  Jeremy took her hand, and Jenny noticed in a detached way that there was no tingle, just a pleasant warmth. Jeremy held her hand for a moment and then released it.

  “There’s a little coffee shop around the corner. Would you like to join me for a cup?”

  Jenny looked at him again. She hadn’t talked to a man other than her daed or Henry Lowenstein for many months. She realized with a start that she was actually longing for some male companionship, but she brought herself up short.

  “I’m sorry, but I have to go home. My little girl is waiting for me.”

  “Oh,” Jeremy said. “Are you married?” Now it was Jeremy’s turn to be flustered.

  “Yes, I am…”

  Wait! You’re not married. Jonathan is gone!

  “Oh, I see,” Jeremy said, a note of disappointment in his voice.

  Jenny cleared her throat and managed to say the words she had so long avoided. “That is to say, I….was married. I’m a…widow.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A Mother’s Love

  JENNY STARED AT JEREMY KING. The words she had just spoken reverberated in her mind like hailstones crashing on a tin barn roof.

  I’m a widow. I’m a widow…

  Jeremy looked at her with concern in his eyes. “I’m so sorry. Of course, I couldn’t have known, but I am sorry.”

  “No, you couldn’t have known,” Jenny said. “My husband was killed when the boat he was on exploded off the New Jersey coast. He’s been gone almost a year and…”

  Suddenly the room began to spin, and Jenny felt faint. Strong hands took hold of her, and then she was sitting in a chair against the hallway wall with her face in her hands. Jeremy knelt beside her and put his hand on her arm. After a few minutes the paroxysm of grief passed, and Jenny lifted her head. She looked up at Jeremy as she sorted through her emotions.

  “I’m sorry—I don’t talk about it much. I must look silly to be so…sensitive.”

  “Not at all, Jenny. I’m sorry I upset you. Please forgive me.”

  Jenny reached down and pulled a handkerchief from her bag. She dabbed her eyes and then tried to smile.

  “It seems like all we’re doing tonight is forgiving each other. You didn’t upset me, Jeremy. Jonathan’s death has been extremely hard for me to come to grips with. We were the perfect couple—in all ways, blessed by Gott—so I wasn’t prepared for my life to change so radically. After Jonathan’s death, I moved back home with my parents, and I’ve been pretty much in seclusion for the past several months. Now I’m trying to get my life back together, but as I’ve demonstrated tonight, it’s not so easy.”

  Jeremy took her arm and helped her to her feet.

  “Look, I’m a great listener, and it seems like maybe you need that,” he offered. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to have a cup of coffee and just talk?”

  “What about my bus?”

  “I’ll give you a ride home. I’d be happy to. And you’ll be home about the same time as if you took that clunky old bus that stops at every newsstand and apartment house on the way to…”

  “Apple Creek. I live in Apple Creek. And yes, a cup of coffee actually sounds very good right now.”

  And that is how Jenny Hershberger, an Amish widow with a small child, found herself sharing a cup of coffee with Jeremy King, the handsome young owner of Kerusso Publishing, and telling him about Jonathan. As they talked, Jenny began to sense that somehow the Lord was at work in her life again. She hadn’t felt that way for a long time.

  The next day Jenny sat at the kitchen table with Jerusha. Brilliant rays of light streamed through the window with a shout, proclaiming the arrival of summer in Apple Creek. The kitchen door stood open, and the two women enjoyed a cup of coffee as the sun slowly warmed the coolness out of the morning air. A fresh breeze wafting through the back screen door probed the lace kitchen curtains with gentle fingers, and they responded with a slow, silken dance against the glass. Outside, the farm was bursting with life. The apple blossoms had dropped, and now Jenny could see the little green sets on the McIntosh tree outside the kitchen window starting their long journey toward harvest. Songbirds called gaily to each other in a symphony of chirps and trills, and for Jenny, it seemed that things were finally beginning to feel right in her life again.

  Several of her notebooks were spread on the table, and Jerusha was reading through one of them. Jenny sat silently, hoping her mother would like what she had written. Jerusha was silent for a long time. Then she closed the book she was reading and set it down. Jenny looked at her. She was surprised to see tears in Jerusha’s eyes.

  “What, Mama?”

  “I just read the poem about your papa’s arms. It’s…”

  “What, Mama? It’s what?”

  “It’s so beautiful. When I was reading it, I knew exactly what you meant. I have felt that same strength and tenderness in Reuben all the years we’ve been married.”

  Jenny’s heart filled, and she smiled at her mama. “Thank you, Mama. That’s so encouraging.”

  “Jenny, you have a wonderful gift. I remember many years ago I told you that no one in our community has such a grasp of the history of our people as you do. But along with that you have a wonderful way with prose and poetry. I see in your writing the beginnings of brilliant stories—stories that can tell the world how the Amish stay separated and put the Lord first before everything.”

  “Mama, do you really believe that?”

  “I do. As surely as du lieber Gott has blessed me with a gift to quilt, He has gifted you with an ability to write.”

  “Mama, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Last night a man spoke to our class. He owns a publishing company in Akron, and he came to tell us about how his company is interested in publishing books and articles—not only about the Amish, but written by Amish people. He gave the class an invitation.”

  “What kind of invitation, dochter?”

  Jenny hesitated for a moment and then went on. “He said if we have an idea for a story, we should send him a…he called it a one-sheet. That’s a one-page description of a story. And, Mama, this is what made me think that der Gott, der unsere Schritte führt was speaking to me. Jeremy—I mean, Mr. King—said he liked Amish stories and quilting stories.”

  Jenny looked at Jerusha and watched as a slow smile began to spread across her mama’s face. Then Jenny began to spill out her idea in a rush.

  “Mama, I was thinking I could tell the story of the quilt, Jenna’s quilt, and about how you were lost in the storm and you found me and saved me, and how Papa and Uncle Bobby rescued us and how you kept me and made me your daughter.”

  Jenny paused and took a deep breath. “What do you think, Mama?”

  “I think it is a wonderful idea, but I’m not sure what Papa would say. There are so many things in the world that try to tempt us away from our faith. Your papa is very protective of you, but he also knows that you are a grown-up woman and have a strong faith in the Lord and have been observant of the Ordnung all your life.”

  Jenny blushed. “Well, except when I cut off my hair and ran away.”

  “You were nineteen, Jenny. You had just fallen in love with Jonathan, and the most important thing in your life was to find out who your birth mother and father were. We—your papa and I—weren’t listening to the Lord. Finally He had to show me how important it was for you to rebuild the foundation of your life. And when we helped you instead of standing in your way, He blessed you with a revelation of your Amish heritage, a wonderful husband, and a beautiful daughter. The Lord often works in strange ways, but He is always working all things together for good.”

  Jenny moved her chair closer to her mama and leaned against her. Jerusha put her arm around her daughter’s shoulder.

  “Do you think Papa will think it is all right for me to write a book?” Jenny asked.

  “Your papa sees that your gift for writing is healing your heart. I see it also. The things you’ve written about
Jonathan and your love for one another have released you to be present with us instead of lost in your grief. Your papa understands it, and I believe he will support you in this endeavor.”

  “Will you help me, Mama? I need you to tell me the story so I can get everything right.”

  “Yes, Jenny, I will help you.”

  Jenny put her arms around Jerusha and held her tight. “Mama, do you know how I know that Gott is real and He loves me?”

  “How, Jenny?”

  “He gave me you to be my mudder. I have felt His love for me through you all of my life.”

  Jerusha lifted her hand and stroked her daughter’s brow with gentle fingers. Jenny pulled herself under Jerusha’s arm and against her breast, where once again she felt the strong, steady beat of her mother’s heart.

  So Jenny and Jerusha began their journey. When they had a moment in their busy day, they sat together and Jerusha told Jenny the story. Often Jerusha took Rachel up on her lap, and the little girl sat quietly while Jerusha spoke. Jenny took notes, and then later, when everyone was asleep, she worked and reworked what she had written. After a few weeks she could see that the story was good, so she went to Reuben and told him what she was doing.

  Reuben looked at her for a long time. Jenny waited, not sure what he would say. Finally he spoke.

  “Jenny, I think you have a wonderful gift for writing, and I believe it is ein Geschenk vom Gott. My only concern is this. You are a baptized member of the Amish church and have certain responsibilities to the church and to this community. I believe that you’re strong enough in the faith to write this book to the glory of Gott and to keep yourself safe from worldly pursuits. However, I’m not the only one who has a say in this. We have a visiting bisschop over our section right now. He’s here to help in the establishment of a new church in Dalton. He comes from Pennsylvania, and the Amish of Lancaster tend to be stricter in their interpretation of the Ordnung. As a völliger diener of our church, I am obligated to speak to the bisschop about your writing. We must trust the Lord in this. If the bisschop says you must not write the book, will you obey his ruling?”