by Anna Schmidt
© 2012 by Anna Schmidt
Print ISBN 978-1-61626-235-8
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-60742-850-3
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-60742-851-0
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
Scripture quotations are from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®, copyright © 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Some scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
For more information about Anna Schmidt, please access the author’s website at the following Internet address: www.booksbyanna.com
Cover design: Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design
Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, OH 44683, www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Printed in the United States of America.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Part Two
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Part Three
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Epilogue
Discussion Questions
About the Author
Dedication/Acknowledgments
For my wonderful new friends in Sarasota:
You know who you are,
and you know that I could not have done this without you.
Contrary to the Hollywood image, writers rarely work alone. Stories evolve, and for fiction to come alive there must be a foundation in fact. As the saying goes, it takes a village. Here are the generous and supportive and inspiring “villagers” who walked with me every step of the way as this story unfolded:
My agent, Natasha Kern—every story that sees the light of publishing begins with her. She keeps me moving forward by her belief in me and her sometimes very necessary cheerleading to keep me going.
Editor Rebecca Germany gave me the wings to try something I had never tried before, and I will always be grateful to her for that generous gift. I am also indebted to Traci DePree, who in editing the manuscript found ways—large and small—to make it better.
My writing critique group—Donna, Katie, Karen, and Kathleen—read first (and second and possibly third) drafts and were honest enough to say what they thought and suggest solutions to the problems they uncovered. And when they saw the result, they made me smile all over with their enthusiasm for the story.
Members of the Florida Mennonite community located in the unincorporated community of Pinecraft in the heart of Sarasota continue to offer their support and wise counsel. Rosanna and Tanya read the pages and corrected me when I went astray from what people of their Mennonite faith would say and do. Doris and Grace shared breakfasts and lunches with me where we talked about the story and how best to bring it to life.
And for this story, I was so very blessed that the guy who cuts my hair knew an attorney who knew others in the justice system of Sarasota who each generously gave of their time, expertise, experience, and support for the project. They have all requested anonymity, but there are no words adequate enough to thank them.
Prologue
Tessa
Trapped.
Her mind reeled with the possible solutions. She could remain where she was until someone came along, but she was in a lot of pain. And maybe like the guy who fell into the canyon and had to cut off his own arm, she would be better off getting out of this mess herself.
Vaguely she remembered hearing a lot of shouting—both before and after the fact. After all, by the time the shouting started, there was pretty much nothing it could change about the reality that the car was going to hit her.
No, that wasn’t exactly true. On this day after their annual family picnic, on her first day of high school, she’d come out of the house to wait for her cousin Sadie. Down the block a car had turned the corner going fast. Too fast. It hit a patch of water and started to skid, and then it righted itself, although it was still on the wrong side of the street. Then her dad came outside fooling with the umbrella, and she’d started toward him, assuming the erratic driver would continue on down the street. She was smiling because her dad never could figure out how to open an automatic umbrella.
But then he had shouted at her and pushed her away. She’d first thought he was just irritated about the umbrella and getting wet, but then she realized that the crazy driver had turned into their driveway.
The car had suddenly fishtailed—an image that oddly worked under the circumstances—the car as big as a whale flipping its back end to find balance in the pouring rain. And in an instant, Tessa saw the reason for the erratic driving. Sadie was at the wheel, but her hands were in the air, and Tessa thought she could hear her cousin screaming along with her dad.
“The brake,” she mentally shouted now, but words failed her as she saw the car coming at her. It struck her, lifted her, and then dropped her hard to the ground.
For reasons she didn’t understand, she had put out her hands as if to stop the car. Foolish, pointless gesture. She heard her dad yell her name, and that was when everything went silent—and dark—and she felt herself sinking, fighting to stay afloat but being dragged under.
It was only yesterday they had all gathered for the family picnic.…
…the day had been sunny and beautiful
…but in the night had come the rain
…and it was still raining so hard
…and Sadie was screaming
…and her dad was yelling at someone to call 911
…and the bulk of the car was there, silenced at last, but the heat from its engine warmed her
…and she could feel her father’s strong arms cradling her and hear his voice intermittently soothing her and urging her to stay with him
…and then her mother was there, too
…and a lot of other people—people she didn’t know
…and everyone was so very upset
…and she wished she had her journal and Grandpa’s pen so she could write to them—especially her mom and dad�
��and tell them it would be all right.
Part One
“Blessed are those who mourn,
for they shall be comforted. “
MATTHEW 5:4
Chapter 1
Emma
Emma Keller had lived in Pinecraft, Florida, her whole life. And from the time that she entered her first year of school, her large extended family had gathered at the beach to bid farewell to the summer and gear up for the busy school year and tourist season that lay ahead. It was in many ways her favorite time of the year. Now, as mothers themselves, she and her younger sister, Jeannie, had assumed responsibility for organizing the day. There was just one problem—Jeannie was nowhere to be found.
Typical, Emma thought, but she was smiling. Her younger sister was such a treasure in the lives she touched, and Emma was certain that wherever Jeannie was, she was making someone’s day a bit brighter.
“Mom will be late,” Jeannie’s fifteen-year-old daughter, Tessa, announced as she helped Emma lay out the food for the noon meal. Around them a dozen other cousins, aunts, and uncles were all pitching in to cover the tables, tend the smaller children, and start fires for grilling the chicken and hamburgers. Emma took a mental roll call and realized that her daughter, Sadie, was also nowhere to be found.
“And have you seen Sadie this morning?” she asked her niece.
Tessa hesitated. “She went somewhere with Mom.”
“Wearing her clothes or yours?”
Tessa grinned. “Hers.” It was no secret that Sadie often longed for the more liberal traditions of the Mennonite faith practiced by her cousin’s family. To that end, she had been caught more than once borrowing Tessa’s clothes. The girls were a year apart in age but close in size. And it only made matters worse that Jeannie condoned this behavior.
“Give Sadie a break, Emma,” Jeannie would say. “She’s got to try her wings a little, test herself. Have a little faith in the way you and Lars have raised her. She’ll be fine.”
For generations, Emma and the rest of her family had dressed in the traditional garb of their conservative faith. The females wore small-print dresses with long or three-quarter sleeves and a skirt that reached at least midcalf. For males, it was a collarless shirt and black trousers held up by suspenders, sometimes with a jacket or vest.
As a girl, Jeannie had dressed as plain as Emma. Then she married Geoff Messner, a high school coach from Sarasota. When Geoff agreed to convert, the couple had joined a more liberal branch of the faith. Now Jeannie dressed in the same clothes worn by any respectable non-Mennonite woman seen shopping on Main Street. And Jeannie did love to shop. Just last spring she had given Sadie a denim jacket with colorful stitching that she’d only worn maybe half a dozen times. It had quickly become Sadie’s favorite item, and she rejoiced in any day or evening cool enough to wear it. Emma would not be surprised to see her daughter wearing it to the picnic despite predicted temperatures in the mideighties.
Emma and Tessa worked in tandem organizing the food into categories—salads, casseroles, meat dishes, and desserts—and Emma couldn’t help but reflect on the differences between her daughter and Jeannie’s. Tessa was quiet, reserved, and—in Emma’s son, Matt’s, words—a brainiac. A sweet girl and an honor student with a maturity that made others—including sixteen-year-old Sadie—turn to her for advice. It was impossible not to marvel at Tessa’s genuine selflessness and attention to others. She had inherited that from Jeannie, of course, but on a whole different level.
“Here they come,” Tessa said, nodding toward her mother and Sadie as the two of them crossed the park, arm in arm, whispering to each other like schoolgirls. “Looks like they have a secret,” she added without an ounce of envy. “Did you bring the pies, Mom?” she called, and Emma knew by the way Jeannie clapped a hand over her mouth that she had completely forgotten her one job—to pick up the pies their eighty-two-year-old grandmother had baked.
“I’ll go get them,” Emma said.
“On your bike? No, you stay,” Jeannie said. “Geoff can go.” She waved to her husband and headed across the park to where he was helping the other men rearrange heavy wooden picnic tables.
“Geoff’s busy,” Emma said as Jeannie came closer.
“Em, it will be hours before we serve the pies, so stop being such a worrywart and let me handle this, okay?”
“Okay.” It was true. Emma was given to worrying. Once when she had been especially concerned about Sadie’s admiration for a group of teens that she had met at a non-Mennonite gathering, she had turned to Jeannie in frustration. “Don’t you ever worry about Tessa? I mean, right now she’s okay, but as she gets older and has more contact with outsiders…?” she’d asked.
“You worry enough for both of us,” Jeannie had assured her, and then she had tweaked Emma’s cheek. “Thanks for that,” she’d added with a grin.
But Emma was all too aware that life could be hard, especially for children growing up in a society that was estranged from the outside world. And especially when they lived in a community on the very outskirts of that world, crossing its boundaries many times a day as they went about their business. She and Lars had decided to allow both Sadie and her fourteen-year-old brother, Matt, to attend the nearby Christian Academy for their high school years as a way of exposing them to the ways of others without losing the focus on their faith in the process. But she still worried. How would her children fare as adults? Would they be content to follow the stricter faith that she and Lars had raised them in, or would they—like Jeannie—want more freedom, more assimilation with the outside world?
“Hi, Mama,” Sadie said, giving Emma a sidelong glance meant to gauge just how much trouble she might be in for being so late.
Where were you? were the words that sprang to Emma’s lips, but she swallowed them, heeding her husband’s advice to temper her first impulse in favor of a more diplomatic approach. “Oh Sadie, there you are. I was looking for you,” she said as if she’d hardly noticed her daughter’s tardiness. “Could you please slice those loaves of bread and set them in baskets—one on each table?”
Sadie blew out a soft sigh of relief and sat down on one of the benches to slice the bread. “Sorry I was late,” she murmured.
Emma understood that Sadie wanted her to ask what had kept her—clearly her daughter was anxious to tell her something. She was fairly glowing with the excitement of whatever adventure she had shared with her aunt. But then Sadie could just as easily take affront to Emma’s inquiry and refuse to tell her what was going on. Patience was the answer, as it so often was when raising teenagers, or so Emma had discovered. “You’re here now,” she said and tucked a wisp of Sadie’s long hair back into place. “When you’ve finished slicing the bread, go find your brother and make sure he’s set up the play area for the little ones; then you can take charge of watching them.”
There was no doubt in Emma’s mind that her son, Matthew, had already completed the list of tasks she’d given him. He—like his cousin Tessa—was very dependable when it came to such things. In some ways, Matt at fourteen was the more mature of her two children. It was Sadie she worried about despite Lars’s assurances that both their children would turn out just fine.
“Can’t Tessa do that?” Sadie begged. “She’s so much better with the kiddies than I am.”
“The children love you and you know it. You’ll make a wonderful teacher one day, Sadie.”
Sadie’s face twisted into an expression of pain. “What if I don’t want to be a teacher, Mama?”
“I thought—”
“What if I want to do something else—something more… exciting.”
“Such as?” This sudden change in her daughter’s outlook for the future gave Emma pause. From the time she was four, Sadie had talked of nothing else but someday being a teacher. “A nurse?”
Sadie’s frown tightened. “There’s more to life than teaching school or being a nurse or housewife,” she protested.
“All noble callings,” Emma re
minded her.
“Sure, and for some people—like Tessa, for example—probably the very best thing. But for somebody like me…”
“You’re sixteen, Sadie. You’ve got time.”
“I want to go places, Mama,” she replied as she filled baskets with bread and covered them with dish towels. “There’s so much beyond Pinecraft.”
Emma looked at her daughter. To Sadie the world outside the boundaries of their lifestyle was exciting and mysterious. To Emma it was frightening, a place where innocence could be crushed in a heartbeat. And yet she understood that to try to dissuade Sadie from her dreams would only make her cling to them more vehemently. “You’ve got time,” she repeated. “Now please go check on your brother.” Clearly weighing the pros and cons of the mundane task of slicing bread in favor of something that at least gave her the freedom to move around the park, Sadie took off at a run. As Emma watched her go, she couldn’t help thinking that Sadie would make a wonderful teacher—and someday a wonderful mother, for she had inherited the best traits of Emma and her sister along with her father’s wry sense of humor and easygoing manner. Lars was right. She was young. In a couple of years, she would sort everything out.
“What’s up?” her husband asked, coming alongside her and nodding toward Sadie. “Why were she and Jeannie late?” His tone held no censure, just simple curiosity.
“Not sure yet, but the two of them have been up to something.”
Lars shook his head and chuckled. “I assume we’ll be the last to know.”
“As usual,” Emma said. She smiled up at the man she had known since she was a young girl. The tall, thin boy who had lived across the road from her parents—an Amish boy then. His grandparents on his mother’s side had been Swedish, and he had inherited the white-blond hair of that side of the family. But his eyes were the deep blue of the sea. Emma had fallen for him the minute she saw him.
He was the eldest of eight brothers and sisters, all of them gathering now in the park, surrounded by spouses and children of their own. When she and Lars were teenagers themselves, she had assumed that he would be drawn to the livelier—and prettier—Jeannie, but it was Emma whom he had courted, announcing to her his intention to marry her as soon as they were of age.