Jimmy’s lips were pursed in a frown. “What are you saying? That I favor the others because you can’t walk anymore?”
James shook his head. “You have always been hardest on me. Maybe because I was firstborn. I’m not complaining, Dat. You’ve pushed me hard, and I’m probably a better man because of it. I’m not asking for you to look the other way. I’m just asking you to give me a chance to continue the treatment. It’s helping. It’s giving me hope. I don’t want to lose that.”
“I’ll think on it.” Dat’s dark eyes squinted shut as he stared off in the distance. “But I don’t see why you should be allowed any favors after all you’ve done. Bringing in an Englisher and lying to hide it all from your family. It was wrong, James, and I can’t abide it. The cornerstone of faith is truth, not tolerance.”
“But Dat, it was you yourself who taught me the Golden Rule: Love your neighbor as yourself.”
“We are finished here.” Jimmy leafed through the papers on his desk as if James were no longer there. “I have nothing else to say.”
Swallowing over the knot in his throat, James stared out the window again. That man in the orchard wasn’t Doddy, but Albee Miller. And James’s father could not control everything. He could tell James what to do, and James would likely go through the motions to appease him. But he could not make James turn away from Shandell. James would not give his father that power. James would not give it to any man. James would follow his Father in heaven, who taught man to love his neighbor.
Six weeks later, Rachel leaned against the counter at the Country Store and marveled over the power of Gott to heal. Dear Shandell, who had returned to Halfway after a month in Maryland, now guided her new boss through the shop with confidence and good humor. The hollows in Shandell’s cheeks had filled out, the blue tint was gone from her hair, and her shiny black mane reminded Rachel of a feisty horse. A colt that needed to be trained, but not broken. Nay, you would never want to break such a strong, determined spirit.
Shandell had recovered, and she had returned to Halfway to stay, with a job at the new bed-and-breakfast. Her mother, Chelsea, was also moving to the area to be near her daughter and get a fresh start. Gott was great!
“A FRIEND IN NEED IS A FRIEND, INDEED.” Shandell put her hands on her hips as she admired the plaque. “That’s perfect for us, right, Rachel? I would love to have this for my room.”
Rachel smiled as Elsie removed the plaque from the wall and handed it to Shandell. “It was handcrafted by Adam King, Rachel’s cousin,” Elsie said.
Shandell ran her fingers over the grooves in the wood. “It’s beautiful, but it’s the sentiment that really appeals to me. It will help me remember the time when my life hit rock bottom and Rachel and James pulled me up.”
A smile warmed Rachel’s face at the sweet sentiment, and she beamed with pleasure and intrigue as she watched Shandell guide her boss through the shop.
“Add it to our pile,” Zoey said with a wave of her hand.
Shandell was here to help Zoey Jordan choose merchandise to decorate Halfway’s newest inn. Zoey and her husband, Tate, were the owners of the Halfway to Heaven Bed and Breakfast, scheduled to open in a former Amish farm right next door to Elsie’s home. The inn was being advertised as an authentic Amish experience. “Overnight stays in a historic Amish home!” And though Zoey seemed to have very good intentions, she didn’t seem to know much about Plain living.
“How about these plaques with the sayings painted on them?” Zoey asked, holding up a framed piece made by one of the local Amish women and reading it aloud. “KISSING WEARS OUT, COOKING DOESN’T. Oh, that would be great in the kitchen! Would it be authentic?”
“Many Amish homes have one or two hangings like that on the walls. We don’t have a lot of decoration, otherwise.”
“That’s what I told Zoey,” Shandell said. “I know I’m not Amish, but since I came out of hiding I’ve been inside enough houses to know that flowered wallpaper and chandeliers are not the way to go if you’re trying to create an Amish experience.”
“Oh, I know, I’m learning that lesson. That was my attempt at Victorian decorating.” Zoey rolled her eyes. The woman, who was in her early thirties, had a round face, a bright smile, and a gift for gab. Today she wore a cute little straw hat that framed her fluffy blond hair nicely. “Shandell has a knack for marketing and a love for simplicity—two things that I lack, I’m afraid.” She turned to Shandell, dimples appearing as she smiled. “You vetoed my choices for the names of the rooms.”
“I did, with good reason. Zoey and Tate wanted to give the rooms names instead of numbers, but I had real issues with the Making Whoopie Pies room. And it seemed wrong to call the lobby restroom the Outhouse.”
Everyone chuckled at that. Elsie’s high-pitched laughter blended well with Ruben’s low, hearty laughter. Such a good couple they made!
And the way Shandell’s face shone when she laughed … it brought Rachel such joy. “Oh, and some paintings!” Zoey rubbed her hands together as she came upon the wall displaying Rachel’s artwork. “We have to have some work by Miss Rachel King, one of our local heroes.”
Although Rachel smiled, part of her wanted to run to the back room of the shop and hide. Such praise made her face grow hot with embarrassment. Funny, how the very thing that had been frowned upon by the Amish community was considered an act of heroism by the Englishers. As she watched Shandell and Zoey choose various paintings, Rachel still felt a maternal tug toward the Englisher girl. Helping her had been a joy, a true blessing, not some fantastic feat. Although Shandell didn’t need her loving care anymore, Rachel knew that they would always be friends. She hoped that the experience of taking care of someone in need had been Gott’s way of preparing her to be a mother.
That was part of her new dream—to marry James and raise a houseful of children in a home close to the orchard so that he could work the land he loved. The notion of having a house in town, here among Englishers, now seemed laughable. Her experience of painting in the art shop had shown her that she was not a city girl, after all. She didn’t know how far he would progress with his new therapy, but that was in Gott’s hands. One thing she did know was that she loved him with all her heart, and a heart full of love was a happy heart, indeed.
Although James’s dat had threatened to forbid further medical treatment, so far he had let James continue going to the clinic six days a week. That was a very good thing, as the treatment was renewing James’s strength and giving him control of his legs, slowly but surely. Still, James worried that his father would change his mind and forbid James from further treatment. James didn’t want to talk about it, so Rachel could only guess at the strain and conflict that had been caused between father and son when James decided to take in the runaway girl.
Rachel was happy to drive him every day. Their special time in the buggy gave them a chance to talk—a very private time that most couples weren’t privy to, except for the weekend courtship nights.
Art at Heart was still the place where she spent most of her days, but after she finished the third painting for Kiki Grant, she began to break up her day with other errands. Being on display, like a tiger in the Philadelphia Zoo, was not something she enjoyed. She now had a hefty sum saved, and she kept the money in a little sachet, tied up with a bow. Their house fund—or so she hoped.
One Saturday night, Rachel was up in the attic room, dabbing paint onto a canvas, creating a crazy quilt of color, when a light appeared at the windows. The beam bounced around the window-panes like a giant firefly.
Stepping into the cool breeze at the open window, she looked down and saw James standing in the yard with a flashlight.
Standing there, as if it was the most natural thing in the world!
“Praise be to Gott!” It was a sight she thought she would never see again.
Rachel hurried downstairs to greet him. “What are you doing here, standing in my front yard?” she teased.
“I came to court my girl.” He smiled
, nodding toward the buggy. “How about a little ride? I’ve got enough control to sit right and steer the horses.”
“Is that so?” She folded her arms across her chest, fighting the tears of joy that stung her eyes. “Oh, James, you’ve come so far! I know you’ve worked for it. You’ve worked hard every day. But it’s such a blessing. I think it’s a miracle.”
“Gott is great. Kumm. Let’s get away before we wake the whole King family.”
Sitting close to James, Rachel was grateful for his warmth as they rode in silence. The silvery moon, the scattered stars, the midnight sky and quiet, rolling hills wove a beautiful, peaceful picture all around them. She had never attempted a night painting, and now she wondered if she could ever capture this lovely serenity on a canvas.
“So, how long have you been driving?” she asked.
“Just a few days. Mark’s been taking me out to practice.”
“And you kept it a secret from me? I thought there were no secrets between us.”
“No secrets, just a surprise.” He turned the buggy into a farm lane and pulled the reins to stop. When he turned toward her, he seemed hearty and strong, his shoulders so broad and his legs secure on the running board. “At first I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”
“Oh, but hope is a very good thing.” She flattened her hands against his chest, loving the warmth there. “I never stopped hoping for you, James … and for the two of us.”
He wrapped the reins on the stump and slipped his arms around her waist. “You never did. I was lost in the dark for a while, but you? You were like the brightest star in the sky, always shining, lighting the way. You showed me the path …” He walked his fingers along her shoulder, tickling her slightly as his fingertips trailed up along her jaw. He pressed a fingertip to her lips. “You showed me the way back to you.”
Rachel thought her heart would burst with love and joy as he gently cupped her jaw and pressed his lips to hers. His kiss was a wild explosion of stars and sunlight and blossoming flowers. Oh, the power of his kiss!
She pressed her body closer, entering the warm cocoon of his arms. He smelled of wood smoke and lavender, and his body was the perfect fit for hers as she pressed against him. This was where she belonged, tucked into James’s arms, loving him, needing him. Her senses tingled and her pulse raced as they tumbled from one kiss to another, lost in each other under the starry sky. Time slipped away as they nestled together.
Her lips were swollen from kissing when he slid his mouth across her cheek to her ear. “I love you,” he whispered, his breath hot and moist against her bare neck.
“And I love you.” Her voice was husky from passion.
“I’m glad you’re taking classes to get baptized. I know it’s only the beginning of June, but autumn will be here before you know it. First baptism, and then wedding season. I can’t wait to marry you, Rachel, if you’ll still have me.”
“I want to marry you, for better or worse,” she said. “Though I may want a proper proposal, Mr. Lapp.”
“We’ve been through that. I gave you a proper proposal years ago. Don’t tell me you gave away our clock?”
“How could I do that? I’ve kept it close. Sometimes right under my pillow at night. Sometimes the ticking sound is soothing.”
“Well, I’m glad it’s still working.” He grinned. “Did I ever tell you the riddle about the clock?”
“Two hands, one face, always runs, but stays in place.”
His brows shot up. “You really do know me well.”
They chuckled together, and then he captured her hand and pressed it inside his jacket. Amid the welcome warmth, she could feel the steady thump of his heart. “Feel that? It beats for you, Rachel. One day that clock may burst its springs, but as long as this heart beats, it beats for you.”
In the back of her mind, she had always known that, but it was oh-so-sweet to hear him say the words.
The screen door slapped closed behind her as Shandell went out on the back porch. “Sorry,” she called, knowing that the noise could be annoying.
“No worries,” Zoey answered from the kitchen window. “That door spring is on Tate’s fix-it list, which seems to be getting longer every day. Good thing he likes to tinker.”
“Good thing,” Shandell called as she headed out to the clothesline to check the two quilts drying in the sun.
The fan quilt, with its turquoise border and colorful fans repeated in small blocks, was dry and smelling springtime fresh. She eased it from the line, folding it first in half, then quarters, careful not to let it touch the ground. The lovely old quilt had been in Zoey’s family’s attic for years, which explained the need for a good washing to get out the musty smell. But now that it was clean, Shandell understood how this beautiful handmade quilt had inspired Zoey to open the Halfway to Heaven Bed and Breakfast. With her arms full, she headed toward the porch, her flip-flops slapping on the wood.
Since she’d come out of hiding, summer had unfurled in Halfway, with bold blue skies, scorching heat, and fields of green. Even now as she gazed out from the porch, the sky and fields opened up around her, broad and bright with possibility.
New possibilities, every day. She had not imagined the blessings God had in store for her when she’d been holed up in the sugar shack. But once Doctor Trueherz and his wife took Mom and her under their wing, so many other things had fallen into place. Celeste had won over Mom, and Dr. Trueherz had introduced them to Dylan Monroe, a therapist and social worker who had helped Shandell in so many ways. Dylan had hooked her up with a free group therapy session over in Paradise, and he had been awesome in getting her this job at the Jordans’ inn, a position that included room and board.
The icing on the cake had been her mother’s decision to move up here. Dylan had helped Mom in her job search, and Celeste Trueherz had found a small house for her to rent—an adorable little cottage with a rose trellis and a wishing well. Mom deserved a fresh start, and Shandell was glad Chelsea had found a friend in Celeste. Whenever Shandell stopped by, those two were either on their way to the movies or sitting on the patio, sharing stories and iced tea. Yup, the town of Halfway now seemed like a much kinder place than it had when she’d first gotten stuck here.
Even the sheriff, Hank Hallinan, was now one of her go-to guys. He had scared the stuffing out of her when he’d first started interviewing her at the clinic. She had thought back to those days she’d been riding around aimlessly with Gary, and wondered if maybe she was guilty of some crime.
“If someone steals gas but you don’t know it and you’re riding in their car, does that make you an accessory to the crime?” she had asked him.
He had mulled that over. “You didn’t know?”
“I didn’t. Well, I knew about some things he stole. Some fried chicken and snacks. But that was after he took the stuff. And then, when he started stealing in front of me, I tried to talk him out of it. I told him to pay. I also told him to take me home. I begged him to take me home. He didn’t listen.”
“As far as I can tell, you had no intention of breaking the law,” Sheriff Hank had told her. “If anything, you were a victim yourself. With a little more of a chronology and some corroboration, we might be able to charge him with attempted kidnapping.”
“Oh.” Shandell didn’t want to hurt Gary; she just wanted him out of her life, forever. “I’ll tell you everything that I remember, but honestly, I don’t know why he got so obsessed with me riding around with him. I was never his girlfriend.”
“For whatever reason, he targeted you. That happens sometimes.” He sat back, his sheriff’s badge winking in the light. “We’re lucky things turned out this way. It was wise of you to hide out for a while.”
Looking back on the past two months, Shandell couldn’t believe the drama in her life. A road trip. A runaway. Attempted kidnapping. Living Amish. Homeless. A medical miracle. Her life sounded like a supermarket tabloid!
Now, as she centered the quilt
on the double bed in the room called Rural Retreat, she took in the space with its wall plaque, plain white curtains, and walls painted a pale shade of peach. There was a watering can in the corner that Zoey had painted turquoise and filled with silk flowers, and the old dresser was polished to a shine, though its edges bore some cuts and nicks, signs of true wear and tear. Maybe the room held a bit more decoration than most Amish homes, but it was more authentic than the chandeliers and wallpaper that Zoey had initially chosen.
On the wall adjacent to the bed was one of Rachel’s paintings—one of Shandell’s favorites because it showed the sugar shack with its roof coated with a layer of sparkling snow. Shandell had a fondness for that old cabin because her life changed there. But of course, the place was just an old shack. People like Rachel and James were the ones who had saved her when she had nowhere else to turn. People like Dylan Monroe and the Trueherzes were the catalysts of change. And her new bosses, Zoey and Tate, had the courage to take a chance on her, and trust her with their home and their van.
Fluffing up the flowers in the watering can, she surveyed the room with a surge of pride. Rural Retreat was ready for guests, as were two other rooms on this floor. If they stayed on track, the inn would be ready to open next week when their first group of guests was booked. Apparently, lots of people wanted to experience how the Amish lived.
So far, Shandell was committed to working for the Jordans through the summer. After that, she wasn’t sure, but she was glad to have options. Zoey kept saying that she hoped Shandell would stay on, and Dylan had steered her toward a community college in Lancaster County that would let her make up her missed high school classes in the fall. Shandell liked the Jordans, but she didn’t want to make them surrogate parents; if she stayed on, it would be as an employee, earning her keep. “You’re at a crossroads in your life, with many choices to make,” Dylan had told her. “And just because you choose one direction doesn’t mean you can’t change your mind. Go forth. Make mistakes and learn from them. The path is yours. Just keep moving ahead.”
A Simple Hope Page 27