19
THE MID-FEBRUARY TEMPERATURES CAME WITH A BLAST OF artic air that was keeping most of the community huddled inside with the comfort of woodburning stoves and fireplaces. Luckily, David’s trek to school was a short distance from home. After tending to the cows, Samuel had gone to the farmer’s market to pick up a few things. Normally, it was a task Lillian handled, but the weather was hardly fit to get out and Samuel insisted on making the trip for her.
Lillian was thrilled to see the delivery truck make it up the drive, and even more excited that her surprise would be in place before Samuel returned. She knew her husband had been goggling over the beautiful handmade table in town since before they were married.
She glanced around her Plain kitchen, void of all the gadgets she was once dependent on. It was amazing how she didn’t think about or miss all the modern conveniences she’d grown up with. Everything she needed, she had right here.
With the weather at its worst, Samuel still made a trip to check on Mom and Grandpa daily. His latest report was that Grandpa’s medication was continuing to help him tremendously. The two of them were making regular trips to town and playing lots of chess. Although she had not had an opportunity to talk with Mom, rumor had it that a widower or two in the district were vying for her mother’s attention. Sadly, Lillian knew Grandpa wouldn’t always be around. Mom said she didn’t need a man in her life. But Lillian still hoped that perhaps the right man might come along for her mother, giving her someone to share the second half of her life with.
Lillian was bursting at the seams by the time Samuel’s buggy pulled up the drive. He was going to be so surprised—in more ways than one. She pulled a loaf of bread out of the oven and placed it on a cooling rack on the kitchen counter, near a platter of cookies she’d made earlier. She and David feasted on cookies and milk every day when he returned from school. It had become their special time to talk about the day.
Her heart raced as Samuel pushed open the screen door.
“I reckon my toes are never gonna thaw,” he said, snow still clinging to his long black coat and speckling his black felt hat. “But it sure smells gut in here.” He hung his coat and hat on the rack and entered the kitchen.
Lillian clasped her hands together and smiled as she watched her husband’s face light up.
“Lillian,” he said in awe, his hand skimming the surface of the large table he had been eyeing in town for over a year. He grabbed her in his arms and kissed her tenderly. “But, how—”
“It’s a wedding present, from my mamm.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “I reckon I’ve been wanting this table for as long as I can remember.” His eyes twinkled with boyish appreciation. “This is the best present I’ve ever received. Someday we will fill it up with little ones.”
Lillian smiled. “Samuel,” she said softly, with a hint of playfulness in her tone.
“Ya?” He was still enamored with the new table and matching benches.
“Someday has arrived.”
All the cold weather in the world couldn’t have taken away the warmth in Lillian’s heart when she saw the look on her husband’s face. “You mean . . . ,” he asked, unsure.
She placed his hand on her stomach and smiled. “Ya.”
“Oh, Lillian. I love you so much.”
“And I love you, Samuel.”
Samuel came over to Lillian and held her, then took a seat on one of the benches. Lillian slid in beside him and reached for his hand. “I imagine our family will eat a lot of meals at this table.”
Giving her hand a squeeze, Samuel nodded. “Ya, our family.”
They sat quietly for a while. As the peacefulness and calm she’d so desperately searched for swept over Lillian, she bowed her head and closed her eyes.
Thank You.
Acknowledgments
THANK YOU TO MY FAMILY AND FRIENDS FOR YOUR SUPPORT and encouragement.
To Patrick, for sharing your life with me and believing in me every step of the way. You become more dear to me with each passing day. To my sons, Eric and Cory, you are my most precious gifts from God who inspire me daily. You three are the loves of my life.
Mother, how blessed I am to be your daughter. And what a bonus it is that you are a super, speed-reading, typo-catching queen! And to Daddy, may you rest in peace knowing I write happy endings . . . the way you always thought it should be. Thank you to my Mama, for your unwavering faith in God and me. I know you are smiling from Heaven. To my sister Laurie, who found her true love late in life. May you be blessed with all the happiness you deserve.
To my best friend and lifelong editor, Reneé Bissmeyer. You’ve read more manuscripts than I care to count, and your unwavering support always keeps me going past chapter six. Thank you for believing in me when I had doubts. We both know there aren’t enough pages for me to express what our friendship means to me. You are my “life editor,” as well as my manuscript editor. It is a privilege to dedicate the book to you.
Thank you to Rene Simpson, my dear, dear friend who stepped up to the plate at the very last minute and spent four days at my house editing nonstop until the last revision was complete. And you did it all for “Happy Eggs” and guacamole. You are my hero! Your Samuel awaits. Don’t give up.
To my second family at The Schulenburg Sticker newspaper, your flexibility with my job during my son’s illness, and throughout the publication of this book, far surpasses the employer/ employee relationship. Saying thank you hardly seems enough. A special thank you to my editor at The Sticker, Darrell Vyvjala, for teaching me about the wonderful world of editing. You are my mentor and my friend.
Sue and Darrell Buttrey, the miles may seperate us, but you are forever in my heart. Thank you for your dear friendship and support.
Thank you to my good friend and critique partner, Carol Voelkel, for finding time to overhaul the manuscript amidst a challenging job, family, and writing projects of her own. Never stop writing!
Thank you to Mary Sue Seymour for recognizing the potential of the manuscript from the first three chapters. It is a pleasure to work with you and call you my friend. Miracles do happen to those who believe.
Many thanks to Barbie Beiler and Anna B. King, who jumped in at the eleventh hour and critiqued the manuscript for accuracy. Your Mennonite and Amish backgrounds provided a wealth of information about the Plain people of Lancaster County.
To the Amish families in Lancaster County who opened their homes and hearts, allowing my endless stream of questions . . . blessings to you all.
A special thank you to Leslie Peterson for her encouragement during the revision process. Your suggestions and edits were delivered with kindness and patience. It was a pleasure to work with you on this project.
A huge thank you to Natalie Hanemann for believing in the book . . . and in me. You alleviated much of my “first-novel fear” by walking me through the process and explaining things as we went along. You, along with the rest of the staff at Thomas Nelson, made this a wonderful experience for me.
And, most of all, to God, for offering me the opportunity to fulfill my dream of writing through words I pray will glorify Him, and for the many other blessings He has bestowed on me.
Amish Recipes
Shoofly Pie
CRUMBS:
11/2 cups flour
1 cup brown sugar
2/3 cup lard or shortening
Combine all ingredients. Mix well. Reserve 1½ cups crumbs to mix with liquid mixture.
Liquid:
1 cup molasses
1/2 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp. soda dissolved in 1 cup hot water
Combine molasses, brown sugar, eggs and soda water. Add reserved crumbs and mix well. Pour into 3 unbaked regular sized pie shells or 2 deep dish pie shells. Top with remaining crumbs. Bake at 350˚ for 60 minutes.
Rhubarb Pie
1 egg
1 tsp. vanilla
2 Tblsp. flour
1 cup sugar
1 cup diced rhubarb
Mix together and pour in regular sized unbaked pie shell. Sprinkle with topping and bake at 425˚ for 15 min. Then turn oven down to 350˚ and put pie on middle rack for 10 min. Next, remove pie and cover edges with foil. Bake 20 more minutes at 350˚.
TOPPING:
3/4 cup flour
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/3 cup butter
Garden Chow-chow
1 gallon cubed unpeeled zucchini (about 4.5 lbs.)
1 qt. sliced onions (one a half large onions)
3 cups carrots (shredded)
2 head cauliflower (chopped)
4 red peppers (chopped)
¼ cup salt
Mix chopped vegetables in large container with salt and let stand 2-3 hours. Drain and put in sterilized jars. Cook syrup.
SYRUP:
11/2 qt. water
1/2 qt. vinegar
1/2 qt. sugar
1 tsp. turmeric
1 tsp. celery seed
3/4 tsp. garlic powder
Heat until boiling. Fill jars with syrup, leaving ¼ inch. Then cold pack* for 10 minutes. Makes 12 pints.
Cooked Celery
Always served at Amish wedding dinners with turkey roast.
1½ qt. cubed celery (about 2 bundles)
½ cup water
½ cup brown sugar
1½ tsp. butter
½ tsp. salt
Cook together on stovetop until celery is soft (about 15 min. on high heat). Then mix together the following:
½ tsp. flour
1 ½ tsp. vinegar
1/8 cup brown sugar
¼ cup cream
Pour into hot celery mixture and stir until thick. Do not boil.
* Cold Pack: Put jars of food in water (up to the neck) and boil for a required amount of time. Lids need to be put on tightly before putting in water.
Reading Group Guide
1. At the beginning of the story, Samuel had some serious qualms about being “unequally yoked” with Lillian, who was an unbeliever. Do you think that Samuel’s worries are justified? Have you ever been in a relationship where you felt unequally yoked? Where did you draw the line between sharing the love and Word of God to unbelievers and being yoked or pulled down by an unbeliever?
2. What are some of the ways the Amish community gathers to help one another in Plain Perfect? Have you experienced similar support in your own community? What can we take away from the Amish example of community and fellowship? Are there any disadvantages to this close-knit community?
3. Why do you imagine Samuel feels guilt that thoughts of Lillian intermingle with his thoughts of Rachel? If you were in his place, do you think you could love again?
4. Do you think Sarah Jane made the right decision to leave the Amish community when she became pregnant with Lillian? What do you think the repercussions would have been had she stayed? Why do you think Sarah Jane never told Lillian who her father was?
5. Why does Lillian have such a hard time accepting everything as God’s will? Are you able to accept the hard times in your life as God’s will? What about the blessings and successes in your life—are you able to credit those to God’s will as well?
6. David always believed that his pop and Lillian would end up together. How does that relate to what Christ teaches us about the faith of children? Compare his eager faithfulness to Irma Rose’s hesitancy. Why do some adults seem to lose that faith?
7. What do you think Sarah Jane was trying to find in all of the men in her life? Is there someone you know that is guilty of the same misdirection—that is, filling up the emptiness in his or her heart with bad relationships or material things such as nicer cars and homes? Would you ever broach this subject with him or her?
8. Is admitting your past mistakes helpful or harmful in the raising of children? Was Samuel out of line in his reaction to hearing that Lillian told David all about her worldly past? Should Lillian have denied her past? What do you think would have happened if she hadn’t told David all about her past and just forbidden him from those worldly temptations? Is there a benefit to letting children make their own mistakes?
9. Food is an important theme throughout the novel— the preparation, the sharing, the eating. Is the Amish approach to food and meals different than an “outsider” view? Are there similarities?
10. Why do you think Lillian chose to bury her worldly things in that hole by the lake? Is there anything you wish you could bury in a hole, eliminating from your past and present? What’s stopping you?
11. Why do you think Sarah Jane decided to come back to Lancaster County to visit her parents? What made her stay? Why do you think it took her so long to return?
12. Are there parts of the Amish life you would like to incorporate into your own way of life?
An Excerpt for
Plain Pursuit
1
LUNCH WITH HER EDITOR USUALLY MEANT ONE THING. Trouble.
Carley couldn’t think of anything she’d done to warrant the meeting. Granted, she hadn’t written any award-winning stories for the newspaper lately, but she’d held her own. Every deadline had been met. The stories had been newsworthy. But something was clearly on Matt’s mind. His forehead creased with concern as they took their seats at a small deli near the office.
“They have good burgers here,” Matt said, scanning the menu.
He was stalling.
“I’m just going to have a salad.” Closing the menu, she folded her hands and waited. It was straight-up noon, and the harried waitress was taking orders several tables over. Carley was glad to see her favorite sandwich shop back in business and full of hungry patrons. It had taken months for Houston to recover from the devastating effects of the hurricane, but life had obviously returned to normal.
Normal. Such a loose term, she thought, waiting for Matt to drop whatever news had prompted the lunch.
Matt finally closed his menu and sighed. “Carley, you’re a good reporter . . .” The lines above his bushy brows became more prominent. She waited for the but. He cleared his throat instead, and she took the opportunity to remind him of her tenure.
“I’ve been with the paper four years. I’d like to think I’ve done a good job.” He nodded his agreement, although his expression remained solemn. “What’s wrong, Matt?”
She searched his face, her heart rate kicking up. Matt had been her editor at the paper since she started, and they’d been to lunch only twice. Once as a celebration of sorts when she won a prestigious award, and once when Matt felt an article she wrote had crossed the journalistic line.
She hadn’t won any awards lately.
“Carley, you’ve got plenty of unused vacation. Why haven’t you taken any?” His eyes cut to the jagged scar spanning three inches across her left forearm. Instinctively, her right hand covered the evidence of the event that had forever altered her life.
“I took two weeks off when Mom died.” Where is he going with this? It’s been six months since the accident.
“Carley,” he grumbled, “that wasn’t a vacation, and part of that time you were in the hospital yourself.” He shook his head as the waitress approached.
“I’ll have the grilled chicken salad,” Carley said after Matt ordered his burger and fries. She immediately regretted her decision. What was the point? You couldn’t live forever. She bet her mother would have loaded up with an extra helping of pie on Christmas Day if she’d known it was her last day on earth.
“No, wait. I change my mind. I’ll have a burger and fries too.”
“Good girl,” Matt said after the waitress scurried away. “You’re too thin as it is.”
“Now what were you saying, Matt?” She’d rather get this over with and salvage her appetite.
“I want you to take some vacation time.”
Although his tone left little room for argument, she quickly countered. “I don’t need a vacation.”
“If you don’t see it, then I’ll just come out and say it: yo
u aren’t at the top of your game. You’re a far cry from it, Carley. Your stories lack the zing they used to have. The facts are there, but they’re lacking . . . What’s the word I’m looking for?”
“I have no idea.” She folded her arms across her chest.
“Emotional capacity,” he continued. “You used to weave emotion into your stories—just enough to spruce up the article.” He shrugged, and she saw the pity in his eyes as they locked with hers. “The intensity of your writing just isn’t there anymore.”
“I—I didn’t realize that.” She fought the sudden tremor in her voice. “I’ll work harder.”
When it appeared Matt was going to argue, she dug deep for the truth. “I need to work, Matt. It’s all I have.”
She dropped her gaze, hating the vulnerability she knew her expression revealed. Matt has to understand. I can’t take any time off. What would I do? Until six months ago, her leisure time had been divided among her mother, her boyfriend, and her friends. Now her mom was gone, and Dalton had broken off their three-year relationship. And after one too many declines, her few girlfriends quit asking her to participate in their activities.
She had nothing but work.
“That’s what I mean, Carley,” Matt urged. “You are a beautiful woman with no relationships or interests outside of work. You’re slowly withdrawing from life, and it’s noticeable in your writing.” He leaned over the table. “Carley, on a personal note, we’re worried about you.”
“Who is we?” She knew the answer. “Katrina?”
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