“I can’t decide between them, so please cut me a sliver of both,” Ruth requested after most of the wedding guests had left and the women were in the kitchen, putting away leftovers and doing dishes.
“That sounds gut,” Iris said. “But I’ll serve it—Faith is about to leave.”
“That’s okay. Hunter is still hitching the buggy,” Faith replied. “There’s always time for cake!”
“It doesn’t appear you’ve been eating dessert at all lately,” Willa commented. “Is that how you lost so much weight?”
“Neh, I still have my share of treats, but this past year I’ve done more biking than usual.”
“Even though you don’t have to ride to town anymore?”
“Jah. You see, when Hunter first returned to Willow Creek, I nearly ran into him on my bicycle built for two. It was still dark, and he blamed me for not having a headlamp. I blamed him for walking in the middle of the lane. Last Grischtdaag, we gave each other funny little gifts. I received batteries for my headlamp from him, and he got a reflective vest from me,” Faith explained.
Willa wrinkled her forehead. “But how did that help you lose weight?”
“Well, we decided we couldn’t let our presents go to waste, so for the past year, we’ve been biking together after work as often as the weather allows. With my headlamp and Hunter’s vest, drivers can clearly see us from the front or behind. Anyway, Hunter’s doctor says cycling has been beneficial for his hips, and I guess it’s been beneficial for my hips, too!” Faith said.
“Of course, all of this cycling happened after she finally admitted they were courting,” Henrietta teased. “She tried to keep it a secret, but I knew right away.”
Before Faith could deny it, Iris exclaimed, “So did we, right, Ruth?” Ruth’s mouth was too full to reply, but she nodded vehemently.
“Jah, anyone could see they were smitten with each other,” Willa claimed.
“Hunter Schwartz loves Faith Yoder,” Ivy chimed in, and the room filled with peals of laughter.
Standing in the entryway, Hunter cleared his throat and grinned. “You’re absolutely right, Ivy,” he said. “But now that we’re married, Faith’s name is Faith Schwartz.”
Faith’s heart thumped to hear him call her that. “I suppose it’s time for me to say goodbye,” she said to her friends.
One by one, they embraced her. When it was Henrietta’s turn, her sister-in-law held on to her extra long. “I’m going to miss visiting you.”
“What do you mean?” Faith asked. “You’ll still kumme see me, won’t you?”
“If I’m still wilkom. Things change once a woman becomes a wife.”
“Perhaps, but I still very much need—and want—close relationships with all my female friends and relatives. Especially you, Henrietta,” Faith insisted.
Henrietta beamed and hugged Faith again before ushering her and Hunter out the door. Once they were situated in the buggy, he tucked a wool blanket about Faith’s lap.
“Denki,” she said. Linking hands with him, she leaned her head against his shoulder as they traveled toward town. Just before they turned onto Main Street, she jerked to an upright position.
“Oh, neh,” she fretted aloud. “In my excitement about our wedding, I forgot to replenish the wood box. We’ll freeze!”
Hunter threw his head back and laughed. “Hauling wood upstairs will be my chore from now on, Faith. You’re not responsible for doing everything anymore. You’ve got me.”
“I’ve got you,” Faith repeated, resting her head again.
Once inside the apartment, she lit an oil lamp while Hunter started a fire. Turning from the stove, he noticed she was shivering. “You’re cold,” he said. “Kumme here.”
As he enveloped her in his arms, she suggested, “One gut thing about living in such a tiny apartment is it heats up very quickly.”
“Is that a gut thing? I rather prefer cuddling for warmth.”
Faith tittered. “I have to warn you, it can get pretty hot up here in the summer, especially with the ovens going in the bakery below.”
“If the Lord keeps blessing our shops with success as He’s done this past year, by the summer I’ll be able to build a house of our own. Something bigger.”
“Bigger?” Faith questioned. “I thought you believed big houses were a waste of resources.”
“Only if they’re excessive. Besides, our house won’t be huge. Its size will be practical for both of us and perhaps someday for our kinner,” he said, pausing to kiss the tip of her nose. “Maybe we can even build it on a plot of land near the creek.”
“Oh, I’d like that!” She kissed him back on the lips.
Then he cautioned, “Of course, we’ll have to enroll the kinner in swimming lessons, so they’ll know what to do if they fall into the water by accident.”
It made Faith’s heart swell to hear him speaking as if their babies had already been adopted or born. “I’m not worried. With the grace of Gott, I trust you to keep them safe,” she mumbled dreamily, and nestled deeper into her husband’s muscular, loving embrace.
* * * * *
If you liked this story, pick up these
previous books in Carrie Lighte’s
Amish Country Courtships series:
Amish Triplets for Christmas
Anna’s Forgotten Fiancé
Available now from Love Inspired!
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Keep reading for an excerpt from The Rancher’s Answered Prayer by Arlene James.
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Dear Reader,
My favorite summer job during college was working at a bakery. Unlike Faith, I didn’t have a tandem bike, but I did cycle to work in the wee hours of the morning. I loved being the only one on the road that early, and although I frequently sampled the pastries, all my pedaling kept me from gaining weight.
I still enjoy baking, and while I was writing this book I experimented with several new Amish recipes as part of my research. At the same time, I tried to begin a diet. You can probably guess how that went! I’m blessed to have people in my life who support me through my “failures,” and who encourage me to lean on Christ instead of depending solely on my own efforts for success.
I’m grateful God can use our so-called weaknesses, no matter how big or small, for His glory and our good, aren’t you?
Blessings,
Carrie Lighte
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The Rancher's Answered Prayer
by Arlene James
Chapter One
Wyatt Smith glanced at his brother Jacob and back to the old house in front of them. Jake had only said out loud what everyone else was thinking. Barely a speck of white paint clung to the old two-story ranch house. Its once green scalloped shingles had faded to a military gray. The front door hung slightly askew, broken glass and all, and the porch showed gaping holes where floorboards ought to be. Obviously, Uncle Dodd hadn’t spent any money on upkeep in his final years, so why had he sold off all the cattle, and what had he done with the proceeds?
“We’ll make do,” Wyatt stated flatly, ignoring the anxious hammering of his heart.
He and his brothers could camp out, if necessary, until they got Loco Man Ranch whipped into shape, but Frankie, Jake’s three-year-old son and Wyatt’s nephew, needed a safe, comfortable place to live. There had to be three or four habitable rooms in this big old house. Besides, it was too late to change their minds now.
They’d sold three businesses and two houses in Houston to make this move and raise the funds necessary to restock the ranch. Two thousand acres in south central Oklahoma could support a lot of cattle, and Wyatt was determined to bring the ranch back to profitability without selling off any acreage. Sink or swim, the Smith brothers were now officially residents of Loco Man Ranch on the very outskirts of War Bonnet, Oklahoma.
He’d never dreamed that the old house would be in such a sorry state, however. This was where he and his brothers had spent many a happy summer, playing cowboy and riding horseback every day. They’d stopped coming for the summer, one by one, after high school, but they’d each made time to see Dodd at least yearly until circumstances had kept them in Houston, occupied with the deaths of their dad and Jake’s wife, as well as fully taking over the family’s businesses. But they were ranchers now and, like three generations of Smith men before them, their hopes lay in the land beneath their feet. God willing, they were going to put Loco Man back on the map. And put the past behind them.
At least it wasn’t too hot yet. The weather in mid-April was plenty warm but not uncomfortably so.
“Let’s see what we’re up against,” Ryder said, striding forward.
At twenty-five, Ryder stood three inches over six feet, just like his older brothers. Thirty-five-year-old Wyatt prided himself on keeping in shape, but his build was blocky, while Ryder naturally carried his hefty two hundred pounds in his powerful arms, shoulders and chest. All three brothers had dark hair and brown eyes, but Ryder’s hair was straight and black, whereas Wyatt’s was curly and coffee brown. Jake’s slimmer build and wavy hair gave him a more polished air, especially in a military uniform, so naturally he had been the first—and thus far the only one—of the brothers to marry. Wyatt suspected that he still grieved the death of his wife, Jolene, deeply.
Handing his son to Wyatt, Jake carefully followed in Ryder’s path to minimize the possibility of falling through a weak spot in the porch floor. Wyatt waited, with Frankie in his arms, at a safe distance. The existing floorboards proved solid enough. The door, however, presented a challenge.
Jake elbowed Ryder out of the way and reached through the broken glass inset, saying, “My arm’s skinnier than yours.”
Gingerly fumbling for several moments, he frowned, but then something clicked and the outside edge of the door dropped slightly. Jake carefully extracted his arm from the jagged hole and stepped aside so Ryder could pull the door open. Wyatt followed his brothers inside.
Red-orange sand had blown into the entry through the broken glass, dulling the dark hardwood of the foyer floor and staircase. Framed photographs covered the foyer walls, all dulled by a thick layer of dust. Many of them, Wyatt saw at a glance, were poorly framed school pictures of him and his brothers, but others showed a sturdy girl with long, chestnut brown hair and heavy eyebrows, as well as a baby photo of a wrinkled newborn in a pale blue onesie. Everything else looked the same, dusty but familiar.
Antique furniture still stood around the cold fireplace in the parlor, dimmed by time and dirt. The dining-room wallpaper looked faded, and fragile gossamer webs coated the splotchy brass light fixture above the rickety dining table. Wyatt hoped the comfortable, roomy den and Dodd’s ranch office were in better shape, but the important rooms right now were the kitchen and downstairs bath.
Despite the fact that he and his brothers had run through these rooms like wild boys summer after summer, Wyatt felt as if they were trespassing. A lack of human habitation seemed to have reduced the gracious old house to a shabby pile, and made Wyatt abruptly doubt his plan. Then Ryder pushed through a swinging door into the kitchen, and suddenly Wyatt saw home.
The appliances, cabinets and countertops were hopelessly outdated, and most of the paint had worn off the familiar old rectangular table. Thankfully, however, the room appeared as habitable now as it had the last time Wyatt sat in one of those old ladder-back chairs.
While Ryder checked the water, Jake took Frankie into the bathroom, and Wyatt tried the burner on the big, white stove. Pipes banged as water started flowing. Wyatt struck a match to ignite a tiny flame.
“Looks like we’re low on propane.”
“Pilot light on the hot water heater must be out,” Ryder said, holding his hand beneath the gushing spigot.
“We can heat water on the stove until we can see to it,” Wyatt determined.
Jake returned, Frankie following and hitching up his baggy jeans. “Storage room is full of junk, but everything seems in working order in the bathroom.”
That was good news because unless Uncle Dodd had updated the plumbing, which seemed unlikely, the only shower in the house was in that downstairs bathroom.
“Check the bedrooms,” Wyatt said to Ryder, who strode off at a swift clip for the staircase. “Jake, think you can find a broom?”
Before Jake could even begin to look, the sound of a vehicle arriving turned them both toward the back door.
“Company already?” Jake asked, swinging Frankie up into his arms.
“Folks around War Bonnet are friendly,” Wyatt commented, “but this is ridiculous.” Through the glass inset in the back door, he saw a small, white sedan pull up next to the back stoop. He walked over and threw the deadbolt, relieved that the door swung open easily.
As Wyatt watched, a curvy brunette of average height slid from behind the sedan’s steering wheel. Dressed in a simple gray skirt with a bright pink, sleeveless blouse, she presented a polished, feminine picture. Her short, stylishly rumpled, cinnamon hair framed a perfectly oval face with enormous, copper-colored eyes. Though she seemed oddly familiar, Wyatt couldn’t place her. Maybe she was one of the town kids who the brothers had sometimes played with. Whoever she was, she was lovely.
If this is the War Bonnet welcoming committee, he thought, things are looking up already.
Then she parked her hands on her hips, tossed her cinnamon brown head and demanded, “What are you doing in my house?”
* * *
“Your house?”
After the week she’d had, Tina was in no mood to explain herself, especially not to some big lunk who probably thought he was God’s gift to women. That’s what all the good-looking ones thought, that women should fall at their big feet in stunned silence and stay that way. Well, she’d had enough of biting her tongue and hoping, praying, to be treated fairly. She’d come home—the only place she’d ever thought of as home, anyway—and here was where she intended to stay. Even if the house did look as if might fall down in a stiff breeze.
She reached into the car and grabbed her handbag. “That’s right. My house.” She lifted her chin at the big man in the doorway. “Who are you and why are you here?”
“I’m Wyatt Smith.”
Oh, no. One of the Houston nephews. She should’ve expected this. Another man crowded into the doorway behind
the first, a young boy in his arms. Both had the dark Smith hair and eyes. Wyatt slung a thumb at him. “This is my brother Jake and his son, Frankie.”
Wyatt and Jacoby. Well, that was two of the brothers. “I suppose Ryder is also here.”
Wyatt frowned. “Who are you?” he asked, as if he ought to know her, though they’d never met.
“I’m Tina Walker Kemp.”
If the name meant anything to him, he didn’t show it. He folded his arms across an impressively wide chest.
“What makes you think this house is yours, Tina Walker Kemp?”
“I don’t think it,” she said, placing one foot on the sagging bottom step. “I know it. My stepdaddy left me this house.”
“Your stepdaddy,” Wyatt repeated, his tone skeptical.
“Dodd Smith.”
“Whoa!” Wyatt exclaimed. “Uncle Dodd left us this place.”
She shook her head. “That’s not what the will says.”
“That’s exactly what it says,” Wyatt countered firmly. “And I have the will to prove it.”
Tina lifted her eyebrows. “So do I.”
Just then her six-year-old son, Tyler, yelled, “Mo-om, I gotta go!”
Tamping down her impatience, Tina turned back to the car and opened the door for him. They’d just driven four hours without stopping, after all, and she’d let him have that extra juice box. Besides, if the house was safe for Jake Smith’s son, it must be safe for hers. She signaled for Tyler to join her, and he hopped down out of his seat, having already released his safety belt.
When Tyler reached her side, she automatically lifted a hand to smooth down the spike of reddish-blond hair that always managed to stand up. He automatically dodged her, jerking his head out of reach. The Smith brothers exchanged glances, and Jake stepped back, gesturing at Tyler.
“Come on in.”
Tyler followed without bothering to look to his mother for permission. Sighing inwardly, Tina followed her son up the steps. Tyler squeezed past Wyatt, who didn’t bother to move out of the way. Instead, Wyatt just stood there, challenging her with every ounce of his considerable weight. Mimicking his stance, Tina stopped on the narrow stoop, folded her arms, met his gaze squarely and purred, “Excuse me.”
An Amish Holiday Wedding Page 19