Simple Amish Love 3-Book Collection

by Rachel Stoltzfus

  “Ya, I know. It doesn’t feel the same way as it did the day of the tornado, but I’m taking no chances. How far do you plan to walk?”

  “Not very far now, not with those clouds,” Jenny said.

  “Ya. Stay within sight of the house, please,” John said.

  “I’ll be inside in less than fifteen minutes, unless the weather gets bad before then,” Jenny said. After fifteen minutes, the clouds were still piling up and racing toward Peace Landing. Looking nervously at the darkening sky, Jenny hurried inside as she felt the first winds starting. Taking her pattern, a drawing pad and her colored pencils, she moved to a room away from windows.

  One hour later, a hard rainstorm hit. Complete with thunder, lighting and wind, it hit and howled around the large, well-built wooden house. Jenny continued to feel nervous. Praying that the storm wouldn’t become any worse, she worked on several different designs for the child’s quilt she was beginning. Two hours later, the storm finally ended, with no damage beyond some tree limbs that had been scattered around the yard around the house.

  “Rebecca, I’m going to the barn to look for any storm damage and to calm the horses down,” John said. “I’ll be back before dinner.”

  “Okay. Be careful. Jenny, how’s your back?”

  “Tensed up.”

  “Bring those wooden massagers and I’ll work on the kinks in your back,” Rebecca said.

  Jenny found the net bag of massagers and brought them to Rebecca, who located the worst of Jenny’s tension. Gently, she pressed a massager on Jenny’s back and helped her work some of the tension out.

  “Go take a warm bath. I think the storm is gone, so you should be okay upstairs,” Rebecca said.

  “Denki, mamm. When I come down, I’ll help with dinner,” promised Jenny.

  “Gut.”

  Thirty minutes later, Jenny was dressed and back downstairs.

  “Denki. I do feel much better. What shall I work on?”

  “We’re having a meat-and-macaroni casserole with vegetables. Work on the salad and break the broccoli apart. I’ll work on the casserole.”

  After dinner, Jacob came to the house. He and Jenny sat outside on the porch swing, talking and snacking on homemade cookies.

  “How’s your back feeling?” Jacob asked.

  “Oh, I have to show you these! Come in – Mara Williams sent a gift down with Mr. Carey. Things for my back and they do help!” Jenny showed the massagers and pillows to Jacob, who grinned.

  “I like that woman! She really knows how to take care of you – and she respects our traditions, too. How do these massagers work?”

  “Mamm rubs them against any sore muscles I have. They really work! Smell the neck pillow . . .” Jenny held the gently fragranced pillow up to Jacob’s nose.

  He sniffed deeply. “Lavender. Nice – this must relax you.”

  “Ya, it does. It helped me today when I was choosing a new quilt pattern. I think my doctor’s going to be happy with my progress next time.”

  Jacob scooted around and looked tenderly at Jenny. He had realized that he was falling deeply in love with her – her friendly and welcoming attitude, her cheerfulness and ability to stand her ground – and her love of the Lord. I can see myself marrying Jenny. I can see us raising a house full of boppli and growing old together.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The rest of that summer continued to be unusually wet and blustery. Peace Landing residents were relieved when no more tornadoes formed, although other areas of Pennsylvania and even Ohio were hit as the summer wore on.

  Jacob and his daed were in the fields on one of the rare sunny days they had. They took that time to look closely at the corn.

  “We’ll have a harvest, Jacob, but it’s going to be small. I’m glad you suggested planting a crop that loves the water and heat we’ve been getting this summer. When we sell it, I think this will help us earn what we need to get through the rest of the year and buy seed and supplies for next spring. Have you found any buyers?”

  “Ya, I have. I sent letters to several and most of them have expressed an interest in buying what we harvest. I think, from now on, we need to have an idea of other crops we can fall back on, depending on the weather we get during planting and growing season,” said Jacob.

  “And?”

  “I’ve come up with a list of the crops we could grow, depending on the weather we get,” suggested Jacob. Walking to the long shelf, he pulled down a book and extracted a short list. “Here’s what I have. If you think these are a good idea – or a bad one, let me know.”

  Mr. Lapp carefully read through the list, which Jacob had divided by different weather conditions. “This is good, Jacob. We can decide when we know what the weather will be like. We shouldn’t rely only on corn or soybeans. We need other crops that we can sell, either for feed or to food producers. In fact, I’m thinking we should put an additional field into active growing status and keep only one field fallow – just in case. Any money we earn from the extra field can go into savings.”

  “Thank you, daed.”

  “How are things going with Jenny King? How is she recovering?”

  “She’s recovering well – she thinks her doctor will like her progress the next time she sees him. Daed, I’m falling in love with her. I want to ask her parents for permission to ask her to marry me,” said Jacob.

  “Gut, son! She is a good woman and her faith is strong.”

  ***

  At the end of the summer, temperatures dropped, but the rain continued. Area Amish farmers had to time their harvesting carefully in between rain storms to ensure they brought their crops in at the right time. This kept Jacob and his daed busy as they tried to hire harvesting crews for both the corn and the alternate crop they had planted before the tornado hit the area. Every evening, when Jacob got home, he was tired to the bone. After he ate dinner and showered, he was sleepy enough that he went to bed early several nights in a row. Finally, the last of the crops were harvested and stored in warm, dry barns. Jacob rested for several days and worked with his daed to identify equipment that needed repair or replacement.

  The first weekend after the harvest had ended, Jacob went to see Jenny, who was just about done with the child’s quilt. As they sat in the King living room, he held her hand and they talked about what was going on.

  “Church meeting will be at Deacon Bontrager’s farm next week. Would you like to stay after for the sing?” Jacob asked.

  “Ya, if my parents say it’s okay,” Jenny said.

  For the rest of Jacob’s visit, they talked quietly about their faith and events from their respective childhoods. After an evening of laughter and snacking on Rebecca’s snickerdoodle cookies, Jacob gently pressed a light kiss to Jenny’s lips.

  Jenny was amazed – she hadn’t expected the kiss. Her fingers went to her lips as she seemed to hold the soft contact to her face. A soft smile slowly grew as she gazed at her beau.

  Jacob continued looking into Jenny’s large, soft blue eyes. As he gazed into their depths, he like he was sinking down into her soul. Catching himself with a start, he pulled back, giving Jenny a grin.

  ***

  Over the next several days, Jenny carried out her chores with a smile on her face – she kept going back to that moment when Jacob had surprised her with the kiss – her very first kiss. She had to force her mind away from a time that was still far down the road, if it even arrived. At night, she would be in bed, thinking of Jacob – as her husband and the father of her boppli.

  Rebecca noticed – and recognized – the soft, dreamy look on Jenny’s face. She knew it was time to begin monitoring Jacob’s visits a little more closely.

  Two nights later, John came to the house and gestured to Rebecca – Come outside with me. Drying her hands and wrapping a cloak around her shoulders, she told Jenny to finish cleaning the kitchen. “Your daed needs me outside.”

  In the barn, she was not surprised to see Jacob standing inside. She felt sorry for him – his nervousness
was plain to see as he shifted from one foot to the other.

  “Denki for speaking with me. I have been courting Jenny now for almost a year. She is a very special young woman, and I have come to love her. With your blessing, I would like to ask her to marry me next wedding season. When . . . when the tornado came through Peace Landing, I realized how close I came to losing her. I . . . I want her to be a part of my life, as the mother of my boppli,” Jacob said breathlessly.

  While they had expected this announcement John and Rebecca were surprised it had come so quickly. Looking at each other, they communicated silently.

  “Jacob, we appreciate you coming to us. We have seen your growing feelings for our daughter, and I believe she returns them for you,” began John. “I think that tornado reminded all of us of our mortality in the face of God’s power – I know it reminded me of how tiny and insignificant I am.”

  Rebecca joined the conversation. “Jacob, I know Jenny shares your feelings. I’ve seen her looking . . . happy and content as she goes through her day. I hope the day comes when you ask her to become your wife – but she still needs to be baptized into our church. She has told me this is what she wishes . . . to fully join the Amish church. She wants to live within the Ordnung.”

  “Jacob, we are overjoyed that you want to marry Jenny, but we would rather see the two of you wait another year before you become engaged. Get to know each other better,” John added.

  Jacob smiled, happy with the responses of his beloved’s parents. “Denki. I am glad you have been honest with me. I will do as you have asked and I will get to know Jenny and her heart much better.”

  That night, at home, Jacob smiled with contentment. Within two years, he and Jenny would be man and wife.

  The End.

  THANK YOU FOR READING!

  I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I loved writing it!

  If so, there is a sample of my book, AMISH COUNTRY TOURS in the next chapter. out a sample of my book, AMISH COUNTRY TOURS in the next chapter.

  And if you want to keep up with new releases from me, just pop over and join my reader list here :)

  Lastly, if you get a chance to leave me a review, I’d really appreciate it (and if you find something in the book that – YIKES – makes you think it deserves less than 5-stars, drop me a line at Rachelstoltzfus@globagrafxpress.com, and I’ll fix it if I can)

  All the best,

  Rachel

  AMISH COUNTRY TOURS

  When Amish widow, Sarah Hershberger, takes the desperate step to save herself and her family from financial ruin by opening her home to Englisch tourists, will her simple decision threaten the very foundation of the community she loves?

  When Amish widow, Sarah Hershberger, takes the desperate step to save herself and her family from financial ruin by opening her home to Englisch tourists, Sarah faces the censure of community leaders as she struggles to balance home, faith, and the intrusion of the outside world. But when John Lapp, a neighboring widower, steps in to help Sarah shoulder her duties, is Sarah strong enough to accept his help? And will opposition to her decision lead the rest of her community to return to an older, more repressive version of their Ordnung? Find out in Amish Country Tours, Book 1 of the Amish Country Tours series.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Thursday, March 26

  I struggle to peddle my bicycle up the hill toward the post office as it starts to rain. This hasn’t exactly been the best of days; the buggy has broken down, I have a custom-ordered crib quilt to ship, that I spent most of the night finishing, and today is the final day to mail my property taxes to avoid another penalty. Which would require more money – that I don’t have.

  Ordinarily, I love the rain, but it makes for a difficult uphill ride in a long, wet dress with cars speeding by. I say a prayer as another car passes, splattering me with mud. I suppose I could have borrowed Deacon Byler’s buggy. But the Byler family comes from a strict, old-order community and I didn’t want the shame of him finding out that I couldn’t pay my taxes when they first became due and didn’t ask the church for help. God forgive me for my pride, but the farm was Jacob’s dream long before we married and all five of my children were born there. I fear that if my family becomes too much of a burden on the community, we could be asked to sell the farm and then my children would ne longer have the legacy their daed intended for them to have.

  As I continue up the hill I think about the uncertain futures of my children. When Jacob died, they didn’t just lose a man who loved them. In many ways they also lost an entire family heritage and the foundation of who they might become.

  My sons lost the man who would teach them to hunt and to work the land, to provide for their own families someday. Whether or not they ever choose to rely on those skills as a primary means of income, Jacob and I always agreed that they were fundamental necessities to surviving in any economy.

  They also lost the role model who could teach them carpentry and cabinet making if any of them ever wanted to forge a different path. Jacob was good with horses too and dreamt of building stalls someday to train and breed them. My sons would have, at the very least, had options for their futures. Who will teach them now? How will they become good husbands?

  I can’t forget that my daughters have lost something irreplaceable too. They lost the one man in their lives who would set the bar for the men they would choose to marry someday, and the relativity of their own roles in a marriage. Who would set the male example for any of my children now?

  All that my family had lost in Jacob’s death was bad enough without losing our home too! As a mamm I feel it’s my God-given responsibility to do whatever I can to keep that from happening.

  Lost in my thoughts, I’m startled by another passing motorist and react by swerving slightly. The front tire of my bicycle wedges itself into a rut along the outside edge of the pavement. It has been etched into the blacktop by the steel wheels of the many Amish buggies that travel this road into town. I struggle with the handlebars to steer myself out of it but the hem of my dress catches in the chain, and my bicycle and I, go toppling over into the muddy gravel on the side of the road.

  ‘Pride goeth before a fall.’ I can hear my daed say, just as if he were sitting on the wet ground next to me. The only difference being that daed would have been laughing at the situation and I’m much too frustrated to laugh at the moment.

  I scoot myself over to retrieve my purse from the grass and my package which is now lying in a puddle, then struggle to free my dress from the steely jaws of the bike chain. It’s my newest dress and I don’t want to tear it because I don’t have the spare time or the desire to make another. In just two more months I will ne longer be required to clad myself in black from head to toe as a symbol of mourning. In fact, I hope to never own another black dress for as long as I live.

  I loved my husband dearly and I accept that it’s my wifely duty to honor his memory by keeping with the traditions of our faith – but the mourning attire only seems to prolong my grief and sadness. It only honors his death, not his memory. Because in life, Jacob always preferred seeing me in lighter colors.

  Just as I begin to pray for God’s help, another car passes by and splashes me with muddy rainwater. I hang my head down and sigh. I realize that I’m probably going to have to give in and rip my dress free before someone runs me over. Just as I put my foot against the frame and begin to tug, I hear the rhythmic clop and prattle of a horse and buggy coming up behind me.

  “Oh Lord, please let it be anyone but Deacon or Esther Byler,” I pray, but as the words escape my lips, I’m too ashamed of myself to even turn around and look to see who it is.

  “Are you okay?” a man’s voice calls out to me.

  I turn as the man climbs out of the buggy and steps towards me. “My dress got caught in the chain,” I explain, squinting to look at him through the rain pelting my face.

  He tries to rotate the wheel but it doesn’t budge. “Hold on,” he says over the pounding rain. He runs ba
ck to the buggy and returns with a pair of pliers.

  “Your chain is jammed. I’ll get you loose but you’ll have to get it fixed before you can ride it again,” he explains as he frees me from the bike. “Can I offer you a lift somewhere?”

  “I’ve got to get to the post office in town but I live back in Hope Landing,” I explain.

  “I’m going near the post office now. If you don’t mind an extra stop, I can take you home afterwards.”

  “I don’t mind,” I assure him, as he carefully pulls me to my feet.

  He helps me onto the seat with my package, loads my bicycle to the buggy and steers us back onto the roadway headed for town.

  “I’m Sarah Fisher.”

  “I’m John Troyer. “Your hand is bleeding, are you sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine; I must have scraped it on the pavement when I fell. I had hoped I could make it back home before the rain started.” I wrap the front hem of my apron around my hand self-consciously.

  “It must be a pretty important package to go to all of this trouble on a day like today.”

  “It’s a crib quilt for an expectant mamm. I’m a quilter. The baby’s due in a few days.”

  “Are those your quilts at Yoder’s store?”

  “I have a few quilts for sale there, but the ones on display were made by Deacon Byler’s wife and daughter. I’ve been quilting since I was old enough to thread a needle but only started selling my quilts after my husband died last May.”

  John Troyer is a tall, handsome man in his middle thirties with a deep voice, a gentle smile, and kind, hazel eyes. His full head of dark brown hair is about the only physical feature that reminds me of Jacob. But he seems to carry that same purposed, thoughtful demeanor that I always admired in my husband, even in a crisis. “Where are you from Mr. Troyer?”

  “Please, call me John.”

  I smile modestly.

  “I bought the old Schwartz farm on the south end of Hope Landing.”

  “Och, how long have you been in the community?”