by Tricia Goyer
HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
Cover by Garborg Design Works, Savage, Minnesota
Cover illustrations © Marvid, thailerderden10 / Bigstock
Published in association with the Books & Such Management, 52 Mission Circle, Suite 122, PMB 170, Santa Rosa, CA 95409-5370, www.booksandsuch.com.
Published in association with the literary agency of The Steve Laube Agency, LLC, 5025 N. Central Ave., #635, Phoenix, Arizona, 85012.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously.
MADE WITH LOVE
Copyright © 2015 Tricia Goyer and Sherry Gore
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
ISBN 978-0-7369-6129-5 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-0-7369-6130-1 (eBook)
All rights reserved. No part of this electronic publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The authorized purchaser has been granted a nontransferable, nonexclusive, and noncommercial right to access and view this electronic publication, and purchaser agrees to do so only in accordance with the terms of use under which it was purchased or transmitted. Participation in or encouragement of piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s and publisher’s rights is strictly prohibited.
Dedication
To Jacinda Gore, Warrior Princess
Your beauty and grace inspired many. Looking forward to heaven’s family reunion.
Contents
Dedication
List of Recipes
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Epilogue
Reader’s Guide
Connect with Tricia Goyer and Sherry Gore online!
Not Quite Amish
About the Authors
Ready to Discover More?
About the Publisher
List of Recipes
Banana Sour Cream Bread
Blueberry Streusel Muffins
Caramel Corn
Carrot Cake
Chocolate Whoopie Pies
Cinnamon Rolls
Dippy Eggs
Florida Key Lime Pie
Glazed Donuts
Grape Jelly Bars
Hand-Breaded Pork Chops and Creamy Country Gravy
Morning Glory Muffins
Noah’s Mem’s Skillet Pear Ginger Pie
Old-Fashioned Buttermilk Pie
Orange Pie
Pecan Pie
Pineapple Pie
Potato Soup
Raisin Cream Pie
Red-Skin Mashed Potatoes
Shoofly Pie
Soft Pretzels
Southern Breeze Punch
Sweet Potato Pie
Turkey Biscuit Skillet
Underground Ham Casserole
Upside-Down Cinnamon Pudding Cake
Yoder’s Restaurant Chicken Stuffing Casserole
One
Keep your words soft and sweet in case you have to eat them.
AMISH PROVERB
August 15
Lovina Miller opened the refrigerator and slipped her mixing bowl and pie crust ingredients inside to chill. Mem had taught her that to get the best results one had to put in one’s best efforts. Mem had also told her, more than once, to get her mind out of the kitchen and be sociable for a change. It wasn’t as if Lovina didn’t enjoy attending the volleyball games and the church events where bachelors could be found…it was just that she had her mind on other things. On a pie shop. Of her own.
The kitchen window was open. A breeze blew in, ruffling the red and white checkered curtains—one of the few things that had moved with them from Ohio to Pinecraft, Florida.
The breeze wasn’t hot and sticky like most mornings this time of year, and she was thankful. Instead, the southerly wind carried in salty air and the scent of flowers. It smelled of rain too. And maybe of promise? Lovina liked to think so.
She closed the refrigerator door and looked at the six empty glass pie plates on the counter ready to be filled with crusts. Making the crusts was her favorite part, and filling them was a close second. But today they’d have to wait. She had an important assignment. Something inside her said not to dawdle. Could it be the Spirit of God that her grandma used to talk about? Did He really place dreams in the hearts of men and women like Grandma always said? Lovina would do anything to know. It would help her make sense of her inner urgency. The urgency telling her that today baking pies could wait.
The street outside their house was empty except for a gray stray cat that strolled just beyond their white picket fence, striding as if she owned the place.
Pinecraft was a favorite vacation destination for Amish and Mennonites during the winter. In August it was nearly empty except for the hundred or so full-time residents. There was no way Lovina could have a pie shop open by Thanksgiving when the first tourist buses rolled into town, was there? Her mind told her no, but something in her heart told her she needed to keep praying, keep looking, keep dreaming.
A shuffling sounded behind Lovina. One of her sisters was also awake. The loud yawn told her it was Hope.
Lovina turned to see her sister in Amish dress and kapp, with her hair mostly tucked in. Hope was always in too great a hurry to get outdoors to worry about spending time smoothing down her unruly strawberry blonde hair. Much to Mem’s chagrin. This morning a few strands of fine, reddish blonde hair slipped from the bobby pins under her kapp and framed her face.
Hope moved to the window over the stainless steel sink, closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Oh, Lovina, do you smell the gardenias this morning? They are lovely.”
Lovina sniffed the air again. “Is that the flowery scent on the breeze?”
“Ja.” Hope chuckled. “Those small white flowers on the bush with the dark green leaves are gardenias…like the name of our street.”
Lovina nodded. “It is lovely, but not quite as good as the aroma of a pie fresh from the oven.”
Hope tucked a strand of hair back into her kapp and took out a paper bag, packing a sandwich she’d made the night before and some fruit for her outing. She shrugged. “To each her own.”
Lovina’s mind turned back to the crusts. She’d been craving lemon meringue for a while, and Dat always enjoyed cherry. She opened the door to the small pantry and pulled out a jar of cherry filling. She t
ried not to compare the pantry to the cellar back in Ohio. She could nearly get lost among all the bins and shelves of jars as a girl. She brushed the top of the jar with her finger, brushing away the dust.
The pies can wait. The stirring came from within. And another thought quickly followed. What if there’s a new property for sale…one perfect for a pie shop?
“Do you want to catch a ride to the beach? I’d love for you to join me and Betty Miller.” Hope’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “I don’t have to be at the Shetler’s house until this afternoon; little Arnie has a doctor’s appointment this morning. His mom is taking him.”
“I’d like to go, but I’m making crusts later…but if you’re up for a quick bike ride first.”
“Pst.” Hope waved a hand in the air. “All you do is ride up and down these same streets. Pinecraft is only eight blocks. Do you think the perfect spot for a bakery is going to pop up overnight?”
Hope’s skin had the slightest tan from being in the sun, and a natural pink tinged her cheeks. Her eyes were blue, like Mem’s, and she had a large dimple in her left cheek. Everyone was always drawn to Hope’s natural beauty. Lovina had noticed how the young bachelors who visited Pinecraft paid extra attention to her sister, who was closest to her in age. But Hope rarely paid them any attention. The bachelors would have a better chance at winning Hope’s attention if they sprouted leaves and smelled like a rose.
The bachelors never gave Lovina the same attention—not that she expected it. She’d learned long ago not to hope that her path would lead to marriage. Most days this didn’t bother Lovina. And days like today there was such anticipation inside that she knew God planned to use her in other ways. Her dream was different from that of most Amish young women, and perhaps that had been God’s plan all along. Hadn’t her grandmother always said that it was a gut thing to trust one’s unknown future to a God who held each person in His palm?
Lovina released a sigh. “You never know when a new property could open up. There are places selling in Pinecraft all the time. And I need to be paying attention, or I’ll miss out.” She placed the can of cherries on the gold-colored Formica countertop and turned, facing her sister and leaning against the counter. “I heard that Elizabeth Bieler, over at the fabric store, is thinking about closing shop. That would be a nice place for a bakery.”
Hope snorted, slipping into her flip-flops. “And where would you put an oven in that small place, in the back storage closet? Besides, Joy would pack up and move back to Ohio if the fabric store ever closed.” Hope lowered her voice and leaned closer. “Yesterday I spotted her piecing another quilt, and she hasn’t even finished the last. And even if something did open up how are you going to purchase it? You haven’t found that rich bachelor yet, have you? None of us have. Poor Mem! We’re going to be the laughingstock of the town. Five daughters and none of them married, and the oldest one twenty-five!”
Hope must have noticed Lovina’s face fall because she softened her tone. She crossed her arms over her light teal dress and offered a gentle smile. Then she stepped forward and placed a soft hand on Lovina’s arm. “It’s a gut dream you have, really it is. I just wish you had left it in Walnut Creek.”
Lovina shook her head. Then she reached for the dishcloth in the sink of warm, sudsy water. She set to work wiping down the countertops that were already clean. “It’s not like that. It’s not like you can pack a dream in mothballs and store it away in the corner of someone’s barn. I choose to have faith that if God placed this dream on my heart, then He has a purpose for it.”
Hope nodded, but Lovina saw pity in her gaze. Hope didn’t understand. Hope was always too caught up in the moment, in the living green things blooming around her, to think too much about the future. This usually wasn’t a problem, unless it was Hope’s turn to cook dinner, which sometimes meant nothing got cooked and they ended up dining at Yoder’s restaurant.
“Ja, well, since everything I try to plant in this place dies I might as well enjoy the beach this morning. Have fun on your bike ride. And if you don’t find a place for your pie shop maybe you’ll find a handsome bachelor.” Hope winked, and then she picked up an apple and took a large bite. “Then again, even if your smile and the aroma of your delicious pies drew him in, those fancy ideas of yours would most likely cause him to run the other direction.”
Lovina narrowed her gaze, and she placed her hands on her hips. “Watch out, Hope. You better keep your words soft and sweet in case you have to eat them. I’m not the only one with big dreams, am I?”
Hope lifted an eyebrow. “A community garden—one that can actually grow food in this sandy soil—is a much smaller dream than a pie shop.”
“Does it matter the size of the dream if one can’t shake it?” Lovina found herself saying. “And if I could shake it I would. It would be easier to find a nice Amish man and settle down like all our friends.”
Lovina padded over to her flip-flops by the back door and slid them on. She tried to ignore the heat tingling in her cheeks. She was close to her four sisters—they did so much together—but rarely had she shared what was deep down inside. Now she knew why. Her sisters didn’t understand. She doubted anyone in her family would. Why had she ever verbalized the near-impossible dream?
“See you after my bike ride!” Lovina called over her shoulder as Hope went to the back porch to retrieve her beach bag and a towel.
Lovina’s flip-flops squeaked as she walked to the carport for her bicycle. She couldn’t imagine wearing flip-flops in Ohio, especially not in public. But things were different here. And to her, “different” didn’t matter just as long as she could still dream. Her pie shop wasn’t something she wanted to give up on. Not now. Not ever.
Pie brought people a moment of joy. Sharing it brought people together. In the busyness of life, people took time to sit face-to-face. To talk and to laugh. A heat swelled in her heart. Joy overwhelmed her at the thought of a pie shop of her own.
But was she fooling herself? Was Hope right? Should she have left her dream packed in the attic rafters, back in Ohio?
She jumped on her bike and started to ride. The fresh ocean breeze brushed her cheeks. The pavement before her was damp from last night’s soft rain, and the sun reflecting off it almost made the road look deep blue too…the color of ripe blueberries. The front door of one of the white cottages on Gardenia Street was open, and a trailer was parked out front, filled with supplies. The whine of a drill came from inside, and though the heat of summer had barely given way to the slighter coolness of fall, work was already getting done to make preparation for winter residents.
Their neighbors Marcus and Becky Yoder had arrived with a driver from Indiana on Saturday. Becky’s aging parents would be along with them for the remainder of the season when they returned in December. The house was in sore need of a new air-conditioning unit. It wasn’t something Lovina’s family was accustomed to on their farm in Ohio—or electricity for that matter—but every home in Pinecraft had it because of the unbearable heat in the summer months. She was surprised how quickly her family adapted to this one major change.
It still seemed strange that this was home now. Would it ever feel that way deep in her heart?
She turned off of Gardenia Street, heading toward the Tourist Church, although there wouldn’t be any buses arriving today or for the next few months.
Lovina’s family had made the journey from Ohio to Florida every season for the last five years until her father’s health made it impossible to maintain their farm. Her father had been premature as a baby and always had weak lungs. The doctor had told Dat if he wanted to live to see his sixtieth birthday a warmer, moister climate would do him good. They sold their house but had kept most of their land, leasing it out. With the money from the sale, and the monthly lease payments, they wanted for nothing…well, that wasn’t completely true. Lovina had her dream that nipped at her heels like an active puppy.
She pedaled faster, scanning the sides of the road to see if any
new properties had been listed for sale. Last night she’d made a list of what she was looking for, and she’d prayed about it. Really prayed. If God owned all the cattle on a thousand hills couldn’t He lead her to the perfect spot for a pie shop?
They’d already been in Pinecraft five months, much to her mother’s chagrin. There weren’t nearly enough eligible bachelors to go around, not that Lovina worried about that now. Once she got her pie shop up and running then she’d start looking—and praying—for the right man.
Lovina rode by the park and paused slightly, noticing a great blue heron. His S-curved neck held a bulge, as if he’d gotten dinner stuck in his throat. Would she ever get used to this place with its strange creatures, fancy flowers, and jewel-colored birds? Would she ever stop missing the sound of Amish buggies on the roadway? More than that, would she ever find the perfect place to open a pie shop?
There had to be someplace close that wouldn’t take too much work. It was only then—after she found the perfect location—that Mem and Dat would even consider her proposal.
It wasn’t every day she asked her parents to sacrifice their whole life savings.
Must-Haves for the Perfect Pie Shop
• Two large bay windows
• 12-ft ceilings for an open, airy feeling
• Close enough to home to walk or bike to, even in the rain
• Storefront needs to face south or west for all-day sunshine streaming through the windows
• Room in front of the shop by the window for making pie
Two
The only time to look down on someone is when you’re bending over to help.
AMISH PROVERB
Noah Yoder held his hat in his hands, picking at some invisible lint on the rim. He stood at the door of the simple cottage. Mr. Hosteler had some work on his shed that needed to be done after the last big storm. Noah knew he was giving the man the best deal in town, but from the folds of the older man’s wrinkled brow—and the narrow gaze of his eyes—Noah could tell he wasn’t going to get the job.