by Lisa Jordan
“That was the idea.” He nodded toward the basket. “There’s more.”
She pulled out Roman Holiday and Breakfast at Tiffany’s DVDs—she was becoming quite the Audrey Hepburn fan—and then reached for a bag of multicolored gourmet popping corn tied with a yellow ribbon. “Oh, fun. I’ve never seen colored popcorn befo—” She sucked in a sharp breath, covered her mouth and looked at him with suspiciously bright eyes. “Oh, Alec...”
His eyes not leaving hers, Alec took the bag from her, untied the ribbon, and slid the key and the princess-cut engagement ring into his hand.
Kneeling before her and laying his heart at her feet, Alec reached for her left hand. “Sarah, a few minutes ago, you mentioned this house being sold. I was truthful when I said it had been, but what I didn’t mention was I’m the one who bought it. You came into my life when I least expected...or wanted it. You’re the sunshine to my cloudy days. You bring me joy and laughter. I love you with my whole heart. I know I promised to take things slow, but I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife and allow this house to become our home?”
“Yes, Alec. Most definitely, yes.” She gave him a watery smile. Her hand trembled as he slid the ring onto her finger.
Standing, he pulled her into his arms. “Dance with me.”
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she looked up at him with those green eyes. “One small problem.”
“What’s that?”
“I can’t dance.”
He laughed and pulled her closer. “Then I look forward to teaching you.”
“I love you, Alec.”
He’d never get tired of hearing those words or repeating them back to her. “I love you, Sarah.”
She rested her cheek against his chest. “How would you feel about a November wedding?”
He tipped up her chin. “You serious? That’s less than a month away.”
“Exactly.” Her smile spoke of a future that promised very few dull moments. And he was totally fine with that.
“I think I’d like that very much.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, cupped his hand over hers and led her into the kitchen. He turned up the music on his phone and gathered her into his arms, smiling when she stepped on his foot. “Dance with me.”
He’d found his perfect dance partner once again.
* * * * *
If you loved this story,
pick up the first Lakeside book,
LAKESIDE REUNION
And these other stories from
Love Inspired author Lisa Jordan:
LAKESIDE FAMILY
LAKESIDE SWEETHEARTS
LAKESIDE REDEMPTION
Available now from Love Inspired!
Find more great reads at LoveInspired.com
Keep reading for an excerpt from A BEAU FOR KATIE by Emma Miller.
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Dear Reader,
How can we trust God when life breaks our hearts?
Alec and Sarah struggled with that question as they journeyed through their story. I, too, wrestled with that same question when life’s challenges crashed down on our family. Like Alec, I struggled with forgiveness in a situation that still makes my heart ache. But I knew God was beside me every step of the way, and leaning into Him helped me to walk through those dark valleys. I simply needed to look up to see the light.
I clung to God’s promises during those difficult times in my life. Sarah had her life mapped out only to have everything scattered. Alec went through the motions of living as he stumbled through a fog of grief. God had a plan and a purpose for their lives—to give them a hope and a future as long as they trusted in Him.
God sees you even when you’re battling life’s storms. He hasn’t forgotten you. He has a plan for your life. When we align our hearts with His plans for us, He will use us in a way that captures our breath. Are you willing to trust in Him when life breaks your heart? I promise the reward will bless you beyond anything you could even imagine.
I love connecting with readers! Email me at [email protected] or visit me at lisajordanbooks.com.
By His Grace,
Lisa
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A Beau For Katie
by Emma Miller
Chapter One
Millside Amish Community,
Kent County, Delaware
July
Suddenly apprehensive, Katie Byler reined in her horse on the bridge, easing the buggy to a standstill. Next to the dam was the feed-and-grain mill, a business that had been there since colonial times and was one of the few water-powered mills left in Delaware. On the far side was the millpond, a large stretch of water surrounded for the most part by trees. Out in the middle of the pond, a pair of Canada geese bobbed, and overhead, iridescent dragonflies and some sort of birds swooped and fluttered. It was a beautiful sight with the morning light sparkling on the blue-green water, and on any other day, Katie would have taken delight in it. Today, however, she had serious concerns on her mind.
She may have let Sara Yoder talk her into something she’d regret.
Behind her, Sara, the county’s only Amish matchmaker, stopped her mule and climbed down from her buggy. “What’s wrong?” She came to stand beside Katie’s cart. “Why did you stop?” Sara raised her voice to be heard above the rush of water under the bridge. “We’re blocking traffic.”
Katie made a show of looking in both directions, up and down the road. It was a private lane, and anyone using it would be coming to or leaving the mill. At the moment, the parking lot in front of the mill had only one car and it was parked, with no one inside. The lane behind her was empty. “Ne, I don’t think so,” she answered in Deitsch, the German dialect that the Amish used among themselves.
“Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.” Sara folded her arms over her bosom and gave Katie the look from beneath her black bonnet, the look that had given Sara a reputation for taking no nonsense. “You said you would accept the job, and I gave Jehu my word that you would start this morning.”
“I know I agreed to it, but now...” She met Sara’s strong-minded attitude with her own. She liked the middle-aged woman, admired her really. Sara had gumption. She was an independent woman in a traditional society where most widows depended on fathers or sons to provide for them.
<
br /> Katie narrowed her gaze on the matchmaker. Sara didn’t have the pale Germanic skin of most Amish; she was half African American, with a coffee-colored complexion and dark, textured hair. Katie knew Sara’s heritage because she’d asked her the first time they’d met. “How do I know that you’re not trying to match me with Freeman Kemp?” she asked. “Because if you are, I’ll tell you right off, it’s a hopeless cause. He’s one man I’d never consider for a husband.”
Katie and Freeman had clashed when they were volunteering as helpers at a wedding the previous November. She’d been in charge of one of the work parties, and she’d made a suggestion about the way the men were loading chairs into the church wagon. Freeman had taken affront and had behaved immaturely, stalking off to sulk while the other men continued to work. It hadn’t been an argument exactly, but it was clear that although her way was far more sensible, Freeman was offended by being told what to do by a woman. Katie couldn’t have cared less. Growing up with older brothers, she’d learned early to speak up for herself, and if Freeman disliked her because of her refusal to be submissive, that was his problem.
Sara arched one dark brow and sighed. “Poor Freeman is laid up in bed with a broken femur. He hasn’t asked me to find him a wife, and if he did discover he needed one this week, I doubt you’re in any danger of him running you down and dragging you before the bishop.” She shrugged. “It’s because of his injury that he needs a housekeeper. You have no need for concern about your reputation, if that’s your worry. Freeman’s grandmother lives right next to him in the little house. She’s in and out of Freeman’s place all day long, and she’ll provide the chaperoning the elders expect.”
“That’s not what worries me,” Katie muttered. Sara was just like her: she never minced words. “I just don’t want any misunderstandings. Freeman Kemp is one of those men all the single girls moon over. You know, him being so good-looking and so well-to-do.” She nodded in the direction of the mill and surrounding property, the farmhouse and little grossmama haus where his grandmother lived. “I wouldn’t want him to think that I’m one of them.”
Sara laid a small brown hand on the dashboard of Katie’s buggy. “If you’re intimidated by Freeman, I’m sure I can get someone else to take the job. I wouldn’t want to force you to do anything that made you feel uncomfortable.”
“I’m not intimidated by him.” Katie sat up a little straighter, tightened the reins in her hands and gazed ahead at the farmhouse. “Certainly not.” She was probably making too much of a small incident. Freeman had made a remark about her bossiness to a friend of her brother’s not long after the wedding incident, but he’d probably forgotten all about the unpleasantness by now.
“Good.” Sara patted Katie’s knee. “Then there’s no reason to keep them waiting any longer. The sooner you start, the sooner you can put the house in order.”
* * *
“Well, Uncle Jehu, if you hired a housekeeper without my say-so, you can just un-hire her.” Freeman lay propped up on pillows in a daybed against the kitchen wall. “We need a strange woman rattling around here about as much as I need another broken leg.”
“Now, boy, calm yourself,” the older man said quietly in Deitsch. His arthritis-gnarled fingers moved, twisting a cord in a continuous game of cat’s cradle, forming one shape after another. “It’s only temporary. A younger pair of willing hands might bring some order to this mess we call a house.”
Freeman glanced away. His uncle meant no insult. Calling him boy was a term of affection, but Freeman felt it was demeaning sometimes. He was thirty-five years old and he’d been running the family mill since he was twenty. Everyone in their Amish community accepted him as a grown man and head of this house, but because he’d never married, his uncle still thought of him as a stripling.
Uncle Jehu gestured with his chin in the general direction of the kitchen sink where Freeman’s grandmother stood washing their breakfast dishes. “No insult meant to you, Ivy.”
Freeman’s paternal grandmother bobbed her head in agreement. “None taken. I said from the start when I came to live here I wouldn’t be anyone’s housekeeper. I’ve plenty of chores to keep me busy at my own place, not to mention waiting on customers at the mill. And what with my arthritis, I can’t do it all.” She eyed her grandson, sitting up in the bed, his leg cast from ankle to upper thigh, resting in a cradle of homemade quilts. “Jehu’s right, Freeman. This house can stand a good cleaning. There are more cobwebs in this kitchen than the hayloft.”
“You think I don’t see them?” Freeman swallowed his rising impatience and forced himself not to raise his voice. “As soon as I get this cast off, I’ll redd it all up. I did fine before I broke my leg, didn’t I?” He still felt like a fool, breaking his leg the way he did. Anyone who’d been raised around farm animals should have known to take care and get a friend to lend a hand. He’d just been too sure of himself, and his own pride had gotten the better of him.
Ivy shook a soapy finger at him. “Stop fussing and make the best of it.” She dipped a coffee cup in rinse water and stacked it in the drainer. “Maybe the Lord put this hurdle in your path to make you take stock of your own shortcomings. You’ve a good heart. You’re always eager to help others, but you’ve never had the grace to accept help when you need it.” She drew her mouth into a tight purse and nodded. “Jehu’s already arranged the girl’s hire for two weeks.”
“And she’s coming this morning,” his uncle said as he twisted the string into a particularly intricate pattern. “So accept it gracefully and make her welcome.”
A motor vehicle horn beeped from the parking lot.
“Another customer,” Grossmama declared, quickly drying her hands on a dishtowel. “We’re going to have another busy one at the mill. Didn’t I say that buying those muslin bags with Kemp’s printed on them and advertising would pay off? The Englishers drive from all over the state to get our stone-ground bread flour.” Retrieving her black bonnet from the table, she put it on over her prayer kapp, and bustled out the door.
“With a housekeeper, we might get something to eat other than oatmeal,” Uncle Jehu offered his nephew by way of consolation.
“I heard that!” his grandmother called back through the screen door. “Nothing wrong with oatmeal. I eat it every day, and I’ve never been sick a day in my life.”
“Never sick a day in her life,” his uncle repeated under his breath.
Freeman couldn’t help chuckling. He was as tired of oatmeal as Uncle Jehu. There was nothing wrong with his grandmother’s oatmeal. It was tasty and filling, but after eating it every morning since he was discharged from the hospital, he longed for pork sausage, bacon, over-easy eggs and home fries. And he was tired of her chicken noodle soup that they ate for dinner and supper most days, unless a neighbor was kind enough to drop by with a meal. “A few more days and I’ll be up and about,” he told his uncle. “I can take over the cooking, like I used to.”
His uncle scoffed. “Unless you want to end up back in the hospital, you’ll follow doctor’s orders. A broken thighbone’s a serious thing. In the meantime, the house is getting away from us, and so is the laundry.” He shook his head. “It’s a good thing I’m blind. Otherwise I would have been ashamed to go to church in a shirt that’s been worn three Sundays and not been washed and ironed.”
“No. Housekeeper,” Freeman repeated firmly, emphasizing each syllable.
Jehu’s terrier, Tip, leaped off the bed and ran barking to the door.
“Too late.” Uncle Jehu broke into a self-satisfied grin. “Sounds like a buggy coming. Must be Sara Yoder and her girl now.”
“You should send her back. We don’t need her,” Freeman protested, but only half-heartedly. He knew the battle was lost. He wouldn’t hurt the poor girl’s feelings by sending her away now that she was here. He would have to make the best of it.
“Ne. You heard Ivy. I alre
ady hired her.” Jehu didn’t sound a bit repentant; in fact, he seemed quite pleased with himself.
Freeman had a lot of respect for his mother’s oldest brother, and more than that, he loved him. It was a pity when a man couldn’t be master in his own house. Freeman was used to having his grandmother living in the grossmama haus. She’d been part of the household even before his parents died, and the two of them got along as easily as chicken and dumplings. But Uncle Jehu had only come to live with him the previous summer and didn’t always seem to understand that Freeman liked to do things his own way. Caring for his uncle was his responsibility, and he was glad to do it, but he didn’t want to have decisions made for him as if he were still a child.
“Fine,” Freeman muttered, feeling frustrated that he couldn’t even get up to greet Sara and the housekeeper properly. It was demeaning to be laid out in a bed like this. But after a complication the previous week, his surgeon had been adamant. Freeman needed to keep his leg elevated at all times for another three days. “Who is this housekeeper? Do I know her?”
“She’s from Apple Valley church district, but the two of you have probably crossed paths somewhere.”
“You can at least tell me her name if you’re forcing me to have her in my house.”
His uncle looked up, sightless brown eyes calm and peaceful. “Name’s Katie. Katie Byler.”
“Katie Byler!” Freeman repeated. “Absolutely not.” He flinched as he spoke and pain shot up his leg. He groaned, reaching down to steady his casted leg. “Not Katie Byler, Uncle Jehu. Anyone but Katie Byler.” He frowned. “She’s the bossiest woman I ever met.”
His uncle chuckled. “I thought you said your mudder was the bossiest woman you ever met. Ya, I distinctly remember you saying that.” He rose, tucked his loop of string into his trousers’ pocket and made his way to the door. He chuckled again. “And maybe my sister was. But I never saw that it did your father any harm.”
“Please, Uncle Jehu,” Freeman groaned. “Get someone else. Anybody else.”