A Simple Winter is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2011 by Rosalind Lauer Excerpt from A Simple Spring by Rosalind Lauer copyright © 2011 by Rosalind Lauer
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
BALLANTINE and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
This book contains an excerpt of the forthcoming title A Simple Spring by Rosalind Lauer. The excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect final content of the forthcoming book.
All scripture taken from The Zondervan KJV Study Bible.
Copyright © 2002 by Zondervan. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Lauer, Rosalind.
A simple winter: a seasons of Lancaster novel / Rosalind Lauer. —
p. cm. — (Seasons of Lancaster; 1)
eISBN: 978-0-345-52672-4
1. Amish—Fiction. 2. Women journalists—Fiction. 3. Lancaster County
(Pa.)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3612.A94276S56 2011
813’.6—dc23
2011028875
www.ballantinebooks.com
Title page photo by Karin Batten
Cover design and art: Melody Cassen
v3.1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
Part One: Look Homeward
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
Part Two: Home Is Where the Heart Is
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
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Part Three: No Place Like Home
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Excerpt from A Simple Spring
About the Author
PROLOGUE
February
ll the seats were taken.
Remy McCallister held on to the straps of her backpack and inched through the train, wobbling around boots and elbows protruding in the aisle. Her father had told her to hop on a plane, but she preferred to keep her feet on the ground and maintain a low profile.
Slithering home after four and a half years of failure.
Weighed down by her heavy backpack, she did a monster walk to the end of the aisle and paused to hold on as the train gathered speed. In all her dreams and plans for the future, Remy had never considered returning to Philadelphia to live with her father. College had seemed so promising when she’d checked in to her dorm for freshman year, and for a while she had succeeded in school, juggling exams and papers and jogs through Washington Square Park. Granted, she wasn’t one of the university’s top scholars, but she was on a steady track toward graduation. Until the seizures.
Disappointment was a sour taste in her throat as she thought of how her body had betrayed her. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t her fault.
It just was.
Clamping her lips together, she popped the connecting door open and marched into the next car, another full house. Halfway through the car she noticed an empty window seat, a spot beside a guy around her age who seemed to be hiding beneath a beanie and a flannel shirt.
“That seat taken?” She nodded toward the window seat.
He’d been zoning out, but her question snapped him back to reality. He stood up and stepped into the aisle. “It’s yours.” He didn’t smile, but his body language was friendly enough. “Let me help you with that.”
“Thanks,” Remy said as she eased off her overstuffed backpack, grateful for his help hoisting it into the overhead bin.
“You carry this around?” he asked. “Is it loaded with bricks?”
“That’s what happens when you have to pack your life into one backpack.” She’d spent the last few days stuffing the rest of her stuff in boxes that would be shipped home. Well … shipped back to Philadelphia. It was Herb’s home, not hers.
She slid into the seat with her newspaper and iPod, figuring that between the two, she could create a look of preoccupation that would give off the signal that she wanted to be left alone. A chance to mull over her failure to launch.
He sat down beside her with liquid grace and an aura heavy with thought.
She suspected he had an interesting story. Fumbling with the earbuds of her iPod, Remy had second thoughts about trying to ward off conversation.
“Mind if I have a look at your paper?” he asked.
“It’s the Post.” She had frequented a newsstand in the Village that carried the Philadelphia newspaper, one jewel in the crown of her father’s media holdings.
“Good. I’m looking for news from the Philadelphia area.”
“Knock yourself out.” She caught a look at him as she handed it over. Strong jaw, a little scruffy on the shave issue, and bold brown eyes so intense they could burn a hole in your heart. Rock star handsome.
With her tunes plugged in, Remy settled back against the window and slid her gaze back to him. He was staring at the front page of her newspaper, just staring. On closer inspection, he looked a little sick, his lips dry, his eyes tinged red. Remy patted the pockets of her ski jacket, then reached in the left one for two snack bars.
“Want one?” she offered.
Weariness shadowed his face as he began to shake his head in refusal, then paused. “Nancy’s Nutty Muesli Bars?”
“They’re really delicious.” She handed him one.
“They are. Nancy is a friend. An old family friend.” He tore open the wrapper and bit into the bar. “So why are you headed to Philadelphia? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“My father is there. I went to college in New York, and I’d stay there if I could.” She didn’t want to go into detail about how she had watched her friends graduate and move on, while she was left to struggle with classes that she had considered cake courses two years ago. Herb’s voice blared in her head: I’m not paying for the six-year plan. If you can’t make the grade, you’re done. Trying to shut down the noise in he
r head, she said, “I’m finished with school. Until I can make other plans, I’m stuck in Philly.”
“Is it that bad?”
“The city is fine. My father is the problem. Herb is a control freak. If he has his way, he’ll turn me into an automated doll that does his bidding twenty-four/seven.”
“You call your father Herb …?”
“Everyone does. He’s not very paternal.” She stopped herself, not wanting to reveal too much about her father. Over the years, she’d seen the way people’s expressions had changed when they learned she was Herb McCallister’s daughter: the hollow smiles, the hungry glaze in the eyes, looking as if Remy could lead them to a pot of gold.
“So it’s independence you want,” he said, tucking the snack bar wrapper into the pocket of the seat back in front of him. Remy did the same.
“Well, yeah,” Remy said, though that wasn’t entirely true.
What did she want?
She thought of her college roommates, who were off pursuing careers and relationships. These days she got only a few rushed emails from Dakota Ferris, who was attending grad school in Boston. At least once a week she talked with Kiara, who had moved to Chicago to be near her boyfriend, Jayson. Remy knew they’d be announcing a wedding soon. Although Remy had never articulated it before, the relationship thing seemed like the answer to everything else. To fall in love, to connect with a person she could laugh with and talk with and work with … someone to build a home with …
Her heart ached at the realization that love was really what she wanted out of life. A boyfriend. A soul mate. And love was not in sight right now. She hadn’t even dated in months.
“And you don’t want to be dependent on your father,” he said, bringing her back to the conversation. “Is that why you don’t want to return to Philadelphia?”
“Pretty much. But Herb is offering one thing I can’t afford to turn down right now: a job.” The position at the Post was a great opportunity, even if it did put her under Herb’s thumb for a while.
“Where I come from, family is the thing that holds us up. Our foundation,” he said.
He made it sound so much better than the reality. “I’ve never seen it work that way.”
“No?” He cocked his head, his dark eyes penetrating. “Wasn’t your father your greatest teacher?”
She winced. “Not really.” She glanced away, breaking the spell of his dark eyes. “But I’ve had some great teachers. My mom taught me the most, but she died when I was little. I’ve met some awesome teachers in school. Maybe that’s why it’s so upsetting to leave college. I felt like I was getting somewhere. In the process of metamorphosis. You know, a squishy caterpillar about to transform to a butterfly? Some good things were happening, but then … I just started getting these seizures.” It wasn’t something she normally told people about, but he seemed genuinely interested. “The first one was during finals week, last winter. My friends were a big help, but they graduated in the spring. I thought, with the medication I’m on, I’d be able to finish this spring, but … that’s not going to happen now.”
“Because of your father?”
She pressed her palms to her cheeks, admitting defeat. “Yeah, Herb pulled the plug. He doesn’t think I can manage my life.” And maybe she couldn’t. She’d had a seizure two weeks ago … thank God she’d made it to the couch before she went out. “And now I’m headed to Philly. Going backwards.”
“You want to stay away longer,” he said. “And I should have returned years ago.”
“You think so?” She turned to him, curious about his story. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Adam.” He removed the cap and raked back thick, dark hair. “Adam King.”
Remy tried not to stare, though Adam was getting better looking by the minute. “I’m Remy McCallister,” she said, holding for a second to see if he responded to the McCallister name. When nothing seemed to register, she let out her breath and plunged ahead. “So anyway, I’m headed home to the cranky father who wants to run my life. And you? Sounds like you’ve stayed away too long.”
He stared at the newspaper, his lips twisting. “I need to get home.”
“So you live in Philly?”
“West of the city. Lancaster County. I have been living in Providence.” He leaned back, staring off in the distance. “But not anymore.”
Remy sensed his resistance, so she took a lighter tack. “Dude … toss me some details,” she teased.
“Maybe later.” He looked down the aisle, stood up. “I’m going to the snack car. Want something?”
As she shook her head, Adam crumpled up the empty wrappers from the seat backs in front of them and headed down the aisle.
Definitely avoiding the topic. Remy wondered at the forces driving Adam’s turmoil. Or maybe he was just one of those naturally intense guys. She supposed everyone had a personal burden to bear. Every person on this train was dragging something around, the proverbial baggage. It was kind of shallow to think that her issues were any worse than anyone else’s. She leaned against the window and closed her eyes. Within minutes the rocking motion of the train lulled her to sleep.
Somewhere at the edge of her consciousness she felt his return: his weight in the seat beside her, his warmth. When Remy shifted and opened her eyes, Adam sat beside her, staring at the front page of her newspaper once again.
There was something warm and intimate about this proximity. Another inch and she would be leaning on his shoulder, nuzzling up to the soft, warm flannel of his shirt. She studied him through the twilight slits of her eyes. This was a thoughtful guy, a man with a profound, heavy aura. Was it caused by some sort of pain? A broken heart, maybe? She was dying to know if he had a girlfriend.
No ring on his finger.
Could she get his email or phone number without making a complete jerk of herself?
He turned to her.
Caught, she hugged her arms close and yawned.
“I brought you hot chocolate.” He touched one of the paper cups on the tray in front of him and nodded. “Still warm. It can’t pay back the Nancy’s bar you gave me, but I tried.”
“That’s awfully nice of you. Thanks.” In a world of fancy latte drinks, Remy couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a cup of cocoa. Warmth soaked through her palms as she took a sip. “And you’re still glued to the front page of the newspaper.”
His lips mashed together as he folded the newspaper. “Caught me.”
“So you owe me a story,” Remy said, daring to push the issue. “You never did tell me what brings you back home to Philadelphia.”
“It’s my family. They need me now.”
“Need you, like … for a weekend or a hundred years?”
“For good. I’m heading home to run the family farm and take care of my younger siblings.” He looked away, his jaw clenched. “My parents died this week.”
Remy felt her mouth drop open. That explained a lot. “Oh, Adam, I am so sorry.” Instinctively she squeezed his arm, solid bone and muscle beneath the flannel of his shirt. Ordinarily it would have been taboo to touch a stranger, but she sensed that they had already moved past the bounds of etiquette to a place where two people could reach out to each other. “I had no idea.”
The emotion in his dark eyes was hard to decipher as he nodded.
“What happened? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”
He rubbed his jaw, his eyes flashing on a point in the distance. “I’m not really sure. The details are not clear yet. But the important thing is to move ahead and take care of the little ones. I’m the oldest of eleven.”
“Eleven kids? Wow.” She swallowed back a swell of emotion, imagining the pain of eleven children who had lost their parents. Remy had been just seven when her mother died, and some days she still felt a tug of loss. “Your brothers and sisters must really need you now. Do you have any other family close by?”
He nodded. “Lots of aunts and uncles and cousins. The Amish stay close to their families
.”
Remy tilted her head, trying not to stare at him as images of horse and buggy, broad-brimmed hats, and Pennsylvania Dutch pretzels swam through her mind. “Not to perpetuate a stereotype, but you don’t look Amish.”
“I’ve been away for years.” He rubbed his chin. “But I’ll be shaving this off when I get home. I’ll be back to my black pants and suspenders.”
“Were you away for that trial period?” Growing up in Philly, Remy knew some of the customs from nearby Lancaster County. “When young people are allowed to check out the rest of the world?”
“Rumspringa, yes. But that’s over now. I’m sorry I didn’t end it much sooner. I was planning to return earlier, but I made a business. I build furniture from wood.”
“Handmade furniture …” She nodded. “People must have loved that.”
“It was successful. But I got stuck in my own … Hochmut. Pride, you call it.”
“Caught in your own success,” she said.
“Like a fish on a hook.” He rubbed his jaw, his face pale with sadness. “It took this terrible thing to cut me loose.”
“But you’re so honest about it all,” Remy said. “That’s an unusual quality these days.”
He shook his head. “I know no other way to be.”
“What were your parents like?” Remy asked. In her experience, talking was the thing that helped you work through the bad times.
They talked for the rest of the trip, details about their parents spilling forth as the train sped through the night. Occasionally the conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, a resting place they both respected before illuminating other anecdotes from the past. Adam painted a picture of his father, Levi, as a man of peace, an easygoing farmer who plowed his fields to the symphony of bird-song, a man who maintained his farm as a sanctuary for all living things. He recalled his mother, Esther, as a steady beacon of faith and joy within their home, an apt teacher and a good listener who never seemed to tire of maintaining a home for her family. And his brothers and sisters! Remy couldn’t keep track of them all, though Adam pulled out some anecdotes worthy of a TV sitcom.
Adam’s reveries prompted Remy to share some pieces of her own past, snippets of her mother that seemed too thin and hard to catch, like ribbons in the wind. Her mom had loved games, everything from duck-duck-goose to board games. And bedtime stories. And lullabies about barges floating on water or stars shining in the sky. And baking … Remy recalled trays of buttery shortbread and racks of homemade cookies cooling on the kitchen counter. Peanut butter and chocolate chip and cinnamon snickerdoodles. Sometimes when Remy passed a bakery on the street, she closed her eyes and reached for a snippet from the past.
A Simple Winter: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel Page 1