The children joined in, cajoling, their pleas like sweet music.
But Jodi, while seemingly grateful for the invitation, was ready and appeared reluctant to prolong the sting of separation—something Maryanna felt, too.
After more good-byes, they all walked with her to the car and watched her get in, back out of the lane carefully, and wave to them one last time.
“She promised to write,” Tobias said, his small voice breathy.
“Oh, and she will,” Benny assured him.
Leda sniffled, speechless, struggling not to cry.
“Bye-bye, Angel. Come back soon!” little Sarah said as clear as anything in English. The first words spoken in her new language!
“Well, bless your heart,” Maryanna said. Too bad Jodi missed this!
The children returned to the house and to their chores, but Maryanna strained to see the dark blue car make its way down Hickory Lane, east toward Cattail Road. And she stood there counting her blessings, which sincerely included Jodi Winfield, watching till she could see the car no longer.
The next afternoon, the Bird-in-Hand Bake Shop was abuzz with tourists and an abundance of local Plain folk. Maryanna headed up the front porch steps into the familiar, welcoming bakery. Yeasty smells of baked goods, every delicious treat a body might crave, greeted her senses.
She made a beeline for the pastry counter and chose a dozen chocolate whoopie pies, eager to surprise Joshua and the children. More and more, he was thrilled to be invited for supper, and it warmed Maryanna’s heart to see not just Tobias delighted with his good company, but all the children, as well.
The Amish clerk counted out the goodies, adding a thirteenth for the baker’s dozen, and wrapped tissue paper around each one. Turning, Maryanna happened to see Ida Fisher standing over in the next room, looking at small wooden rocking horses. Must be for one of her young nephews, thought Maryanna.
Then, lo and behold, Turkey Dan and his youngest boy, five-year-old Sam, appeared and turned to talk to Ida, Dan’s eyes bright with attention. Seeing the lovely sight was heartening, as Maryanna had regretted the way things fizzled with Dan Zook, although she’d written him a letter in answer to his even before she knew Joshua and she would be courting. There was no reason not to be friendly when they all lived and worshiped in the same church district.
She went right over and greeted them, talking also with young Sam. Ida simply sparkled as she glanced up at Turkey Dan, who grinned down at her.
Later, when Maryanna paid for her treats, she felt good, knowing Dan had someone who cared for him and for his boys—and the same for Ida. The Zooks were getting a wunnerbaar-gut cook if a wedding was in their future. Of course, she didn’t know for sure, but they certainly looked happy together.
Maybe she’ll get a shiny new gas stove from her new husband. Maryanna thought of her own plans for a rather small wedding in a few months in her farmhouse. Only immediate family and spouses would be invited—one hundred fifty relatives in all. Not the more typical wedding she and Benuel had shared as young folk, of course, when four hundred fifty souls had come to witness their vows to God and to each other.
Maryanna made her way outside, feeling the nip in the autumn air. She pulled her woolen shawl closer and walked toward gentle Dandy and the waiting carriage. Looking at the sky, she thought again of Benuel, but without the usual twinge of sadness. She was past her mourning years and looked ahead with expectation to the joyous future . . . just around the corner.
Epilogue
The mid-June sunshine showered the smiling bride and groom with plentiful blessings, and I was ever so sure I’d never seen a prettier day. Jodi and Trent exchanged wedding vows in the newly painted white gazebo behind my house as my own husband, Joshua, and I and the children were privileged to witness the special love between our English friend and her adoring betrothed.
The couple’s well-dressed parents stood on either side of them, and Jodi’s brother-in-law, Devin, along with Trent’s siblings and their spouses, filled up half the gazebo.
Ella Mae Zook had been invited, too, and she sat attentively on a wooden lawn chair in the yard, petting Honey Lou in her lap. My parents sat and observed curiously, as well, none of us ever having attended an English wedding.
Wearing navy blue trousers and a white shirt and tie, Trent leaned down and sweetly kissed Jodi, who looked lovely in her simple wedding gown, just like the angel clothed in white who brought my Sarah home to us. The sun filtered through the gazebo slats above them, falling gently on their shoulders.
Twenty-two barefoot young scholars made a human circle with their hands as they sang “Jesus Loves the Little Children” in German, the only song Jodi had planned, which delighted Trent—I could see it in his eyes.
Then, unexpectedly, little Sarah stepped forward and began to sing in English, her childlike voice ringing out ever so clearly, “ ‘Where is Jesus whom I long for, my beloved Lord and friend?’ ”
Never having heard Sarah sing in English, Jodi turned and, with an affectionate smile, reached for her hand.
There wasn’t a dry eye amongst the adults present, including the English minister from Vermont—Trent and Jodi’s pastor—who fumbled for his white handkerchief before offering a benediction.
For refreshments, Jodi served iced peppermint tea—Ella Mae’s secret recipe. And for Trent’s benefit and to the delight of all the children present, there were dozens of whoopie pies in several flavors.
Trent declared it “the best-ever simple wedding and reception,” clearly taken with Jodi’s surprise.
As for myself, I can say that marriage to Joshua is truly a joy. Honestly, I wish this kind of loving relationship for any woman yearning for a godly and loving lifemate. The Lord God had answered before I ever knew to ask.
Suzanne’s unfinished baby quilts will soon be ready for a new little one—my first baby with Joshua, who was surprised when I showed him the pretty cradle quilts Suzanne had started were now finished. When he realized what I was doing and why, he reached for me—much too gently I must say—and took me into his arms to kiss me. Of course, I told him I wouldn’t break just because I’m in the family way.
My children have received the daily blessing of a loving stepfather, and when Joshua and I tuck them in each night, we see the contentment in their eyes and thank the dear Lord for erasing the loneliness and replacing it with such happiness.
Jodi and I exchange letters faithfully once a month, and I recently shared with her that Joshua sold his farm, thankfully to another Amish couple. It’s always wonderful-gut to keep the land with the People.
When Joshua and I have family worship with Benny, Leda, Tobias, and Sarah, we always end by giving thanks for the Lord’s protection over their little sister that frightening night nearly a year ago. Truly, God’s love is the greatest miracle of all.
Author’s Note
While on a springtime book tour, I stumbled upon an intriguing article in a homespun Southern newspaper. I leaned in, gasped, and reread the lead line: Amish child falls out of carriage and goes missing.
“What an incredible story idea!” I told myself. After reading onward and discovering—much to my relief—that the real-life child was found twenty-four hours later, I began to write my own version, pouring all the angst of my own mother-heart into poor Maryanna Esh’s. I truly felt little Sarah’s terror, as well as Jodi Winfield’s astonishment. And my heart was ever so tender to dear Ella Mae Zook’s sincere wisdom.
As always, there are many wonderful people to thank, beginning with my own darling husband and partner in fiction, David Lewis. I could not manage all the ideas whirling in my brain, let alone get them down on paper, without Dave’s encouragement and loving support. And his helpful cooking!
I’m beyond grateful to David Horton, the head of Bethany’s terrific fiction team. And I offer my ongoing appreciation to my amazing editor, Rochelle Glöege, and to Ann Parrish and Helen Motter.
My heartfelt gratitude to Dr. D. Holmes Morton fo
r his remarkable work at the Clinic for Special Children in Strasburg, Pennsylvania—located in the middle of a former cornfield. Also, deep appreciation to my astute consultant, Donald Kraybill, whose book The Amish is enlightening to anyone eager to understand Amish life and tradition.
I am thankful to Jim Smucker, Erik Wesner, Brad Igou, and Hank and Ruth Hershberger. Other Amish and Mennonite research assistants requested to remain anonymous but are equally important to my work and to its accuracy.
I am devotedly indebted to my partners in prayer, including Dave and Janet Buchwalter, Dale, Barbara, and Lizzie Birch, Donna DeFor, Debra Larsen, and my loyal Facebook friends, who take prayerful intercession seriously. What a difference it makes!
My cheery friend Martha Nelson offered her very own “fiery cornflakes” anecdote for this book, for which I am still smiling . . . and thankful. And where would Tobias Esh and his siblings be without my sister, Barbara Birch’s, original and catchy lyrics (“Person, Place, or Thing”) set to the tune of “The Farmer in the Dell”? Thanks for sharing with my reader-friends!
Denki to Eli (“Small”) Hochstetler of Berlin, Ohio, who prayed the Lord’s Prayer in German at my request as we shared a special dinner, his eyes filling with tears as he said the reverent amen. I’ll never forget!
If you’re interested in information regarding the annual autumn Bird-in-Hand Half Marathon or the Vella Shpringa, please check online.
While the fictitious bishop in this story staunchly rejects contacting the police in the case of little Sarah Esh, many other present-day Amish communities in Lancaster County do utilize 9-1-1 for emergencies.
Saying thank-you is simply never enough, my faithful reader-friend. An inspiring and compelling story is always my cherished goal . . . from my heart to yours.
Soli Deo Gloria!
Beverly Lewis, born in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, is the New York Times bestselling author of more than ninety books. Her stories have been published in eleven languages worldwide. A keen interest in her mother’s Plain heritage has inspired Beverly to write many Amish-related novels, beginning with The Shunning, which has sold more than a million copies. The Brethren was honored with a 2007 Christy Award.
Beverly lives with her husband, David, in Colorado.
By Beverly Lewis
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HOME TO HICKORY HOLLOW
The Fiddler
The Bridesmaid
The Guardian
THE ROSE TRILOGY
The Thorn • The Judgment • The Mercy
ABRAM’S DAUGHTERS
The Covenant • The Betrayal • The Sacrifice
The Prodigal • The Revelation
THE HERITAGE OF LANCASTER COUNTY
The Shunning • The Confession • The Reckoning
ANNIE’S PEOPLE
The Preacher’s Daughter • The Englisher • The Brethren
THE COURTSHIP OF NELLIE FISHER
The Parting • The Forbidden • The Longing
SEASONS OF GRACE
The Secret • The Missing • The Telling
The Postcard • The Crossroad
The Redemption of Sarah Cain
October Song • Sanctuary (with David Lewis) • The Sunroom
Amish Prayers
The Beverly Lewis Amish Heritage Cookbook
www.beverlylewis.com
Resources: bethanyhouse.com/AnOpenBook
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