by Marta Perry
8 tart apples, such as McIntosh
water
dash of salt
1 cup sugar
1 tablespoon cinnamon
Peel and core the apples. Cut into eighths. Place in a pan and add water just to cover. Add salt. Bring to a boil, cover, and turn down to low to simmer for about 10 minutes. Remove the lid, stir, and add the sugar. Continue to cook slowly, stirring, until the apples begin to fall apart into sauce but some pieces are still whole. Remove from heat and add cinnamon. Taste and adjust the sugar and cinnamon as needed. Serve warm or chill in the refrigerator.
Dear Reader,
Lydia’s Hope represents a new challenge for me, as it’s the first time I’ve attempted a “series within a series,” as well as the first time I’ve written an Amish book from the viewpoints of four important characters. I know that challenges help us grow, and I sincerely hope this story has urged me forward as a writer.
Lydia’s story is linked very closely with the next book, Susanna’s Dream, which will follow the continuing tale of the three lost sisters and their efforts to create a bond after so many years apart. I hope you’ll be eager to find out what the future holds for all three women.
I believe the bond between sisters is a very special one. No one else knows you as well as your sister, and no one else understands what it was like growing up in your family. A sister is a precious gift, and I’ve been blessed with a dear sister as well as with four delightful sisters-in-law who are as close as sisters. Writing about sisters gave me an opportunity to express the appreciation I feel every day for their place in my life.
I would love to hear your thoughts on my book. If you’d care to write to me, I’d be happy to reply with a signed bookmark or bookplate and my brochure of Pennsylvania Dutch recipes. You can find me on the Web at www.martaperry.com and on Facebook at facebook.com/MartaPerryBooks, e-mail me at [email protected], or write to me in care of Berkley Publicity Department, Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014.
Blessings,
Marta Perry
An Excerpt from
SUSANNA’S DREAM
The Lost Sisters of Pleasant Valley
BOOK TWO
by Marta Perry
Coming in print and e-book
from Berkley Books
in February 2014
T he shop was too quiet. Susanna Bitler straightened one of the paintings she had on consignment from an Englisch artist and moved on to the display of quilted place mats. Her partner in Plain Gifts, Dora Gaus, might return from her doctor appointment in time to close, but Susanna certain-sure didn’t need help. A rainy weekday in September always meant few customers in the shop.
Unfortunately that gave her too much time to think. Susanna smoothed the skirt of her black dress, a reminder of her mother’s death less than a month ago. She must stop feeling sorry for herself. Mamm’s death had been God’s will, and she wouldn’t have wanted her mother to linger in pain. Still . . .
A sound at the shop door ended the stream of thoughts that might well have her in tears if she weren’t careful. Susanna turned toward the door, arranging a welcoming smile on her face.
The bell tinkled as the door opened, and the smile froze on her face. Not a customer. Her visitor was Nathaniel Gaus, Dora’s son. A nice enough man, she supposed, except that he always seemed to regard his mother’s young partner with a vague disapproval that Susanna found unsettling.
“Nathaniel.” She moved toward him, more than usually aware of her limp, the result of a childhood accident. “I’m sorry, but your mother isn’t here.” Odd that he wouldn’t have known. Dora had lived with her son since the death of his wife several years earlier.
Nathaniel slapped his black hat against his leg to shake off the raindrops that clung to it. With his fair hair and beard, blue eyes, ruddy skin, and broad shoulders, he probably looked like the popular Englisch image of an Amish man, but Nathaniel wasn’t a typical farmer. He owned a successful bulk foods store here in Oyersburg.
“I don’t think I’ve talked to you since your mamm’s funeral.” Nate came closer, forcing her to look up to see his face. “You have my sympathy.”
“Denke.” She blinked, taken aback by the tears that seemed to come too readily when someone spoke of Mamm. “May I take a message for your mother?”
“No, that’s all right. Actually, I came to speak to you.”
Susanna stiffened, thoughts jostling in her mind. “Was ist letz?” She couldn’t imagine Nate seeking her out unless something was wrong.
“Nothing.” He glanced around the shop, his gaze skimming the pottery, the hooked rugs, the assortment of handmade candles, the quilted place mats and carved napkin holders that made Plain Gifts so cozy and welcoming. She and Dora served as the sales point for most of the Amish craftspeople in the area, as well as some Englisch artisans. “The shop isn’t busy,” he observed.
Susanna tried to quell the defensive feeling that sprang up at what she felt was dismissal in his tone. “Once school is in session, most of our shoppers come on Saturdays. Things will pick up as we get closer to Christmas.” Probably Nate didn’t have such cycles in his bulk foods business. Folks always had to eat.
“I suppose.” A frown settled between his straight brows. “That’s why Mamm is always so tired around the holidays.”
Susanna wasn’t sure whether that was a criticism or not. “I suppose we both work extra hard then. We could always get a girl in to help out if needed.”
His frown seemed to deepen. “Mamm has family to occupy her, especially at the holidays. It’s different for you.” He stopped, seeming to hear what he’d just said. “I mean—”
“It’s true that I don’t have any kin here in Oyersburg now that my mother has passed. But I don’t know what that has to do with you or the shop.” Her temper, usually under firm control, slipped a bit. “Why don’t you say what it is you want to say, Nate, instead of beating around the bush?”
He blinked, as if startled that she would speak her mind to him. “Ja, well, the point is that my mamm isn’t getting any younger.”
She could imagine Dora’s reaction at hearing her son say such a thing. “None of us are.”
A flash of exasperation crossed his face, but he reined it in quickly. Nate was a man who didn’t let his feelings show. “True enough. I didn’t come here to argue with you, Susanna. I came to ask for your help.”
“Then you’ve a funny way of going about it,” she said, still nettled. It seemed to her that Nate was entirely too fond of getting his own way.
His face relaxed into a smile, his blue eyes warming in an expression she’d never seen before . . . one that gave her a funny, prickling feeling along her skin. “Komm, Susanna. I apologize. Let me start over, ja?”
Most women would have trouble resisting the smile that appeared so rarely on his face, and she didn’t seem an exception. “Ja, all right.”
He nodded. “Well, then, Susanna, I would like your help with my mother.”
Her breath caught. “Is something wrong with her?”
“No, no.” He touched her sleeve lightly in reassurance, and she seemed to feel his warmth right through the fabric. “She is getting older, that’s all, and I fear she’s working too hard. She ought to be able to take it easy now that her kinder are grown.”
Susanna tried to imagine the ever-busy Dora sitting in a rocking chair with her knitting instead of being up and doing. She couldn’t.
“Maybe your mamm doesn’t want to take it easy.”
“Sometimes people aren’t the best judge of what’s good for them,” he countered.
“True enough.” A frown wrinkled her forehead. “If you think Dora should take more time off, I am happy to spend more hours in the shop.” Probably everyone knew that she had little else in her life just now.
“Ach, we both know how she is.” His smile invited her to agree with him. “She’d be in here every day anyway just to make sure things were running fine.”
Susanna realized she was staring at him, studying his face for any clues as to what he was really saying. “You know I would do anything for Dora, but I’m not sure how I can help.”
His gaze sharpened as if he’d finally reached the heart of the matter. “You can, Susanna. You can persuade my mother to give up the shop.”
The words fell with such stunning swiftness that they shocked her into immobility. Nate went on talking, but his voice was only a background to the panic that swept in as she realized the impact of his proposal.
“. . . you might buy my mother out if you wanted to run the shop on your own, of course. Or I thought maybe since your mother is gone, you’d want to move back to Ohio, where you grew up. You’d have friends and kinfolk there. I’m sure the shop was a good solution when you had your mamm to take care of, but now you’re free to—”
“No.” The word came out with explosive force.
For a moment Nate didn’t speak. “No what?” His brows gathered together like thunderclouds forming.
“No, I will not try to talk Dora into doing something I don’t think she wants to do.” A few other words crowded her lips, words about bossy men and people who thought they had all the answers, but she held them back.
“I think I know what is best for my mother.” His voice had hardened.
“And I think your mother knows what’s best for her.”
Nate’s shoulders stiffened. “Then I guess we don’t have anything more to say to each other.” He settled his hat squarely on his head and stalked out, disapproval in every line of his body.
The door closed hard enough to make the bell nearly jangle off its hook. Susanna froze until Nate had passed the shop window and disappeared. Then she clasped her hand over her lips.
She would not cry. She would not give in to despair.
But if Nate had his way . . .
The money she had left after her mother’s final illness was nowhere near enough to buy out Dora’s half of the business. What was she going to do? She didn’t have anything else.