Books by Vannetta Chapman
PLAIN AND SIMPLE MIRACLES
Brian’s Choice
(ebook-only novella prequel)
Anna’s Healing
THE PEBBLE CREEK AMISH
A Promise for Miriam
A Home for Lydia
A Wedding for Julia
“Home to Pebble Creek”
(free short story e-romance)
“Christmas at Pebble Creek”
(free short story e-romance)
HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS
EUGENE, OREGON
Scripture verses are taken from
The Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
The King James Version of the Bible.
Cover by Koechel Peterson & Associates, Minneapolis, Minnesota
Cover photos © Nancy Brammer, Willard, Givaga, Jim_Pintar / Thinkstock
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ANNA’S HEALING
Copyright © 2015 Vannetta Chapman
Published by Harvest House Publishers
Eugene, Oregon 97402
www.harvesthousepublishers.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Chapman, Vannetta.
Anna’s healing / Vannetta Chapman.
pages ; cm.—(The plain and simple miracles series ; book 1)
ISBN 978-0-7369-5603-1 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-0-7369-5604-8 (eBook)
I. Title.
PS3603.H3744A82 2015
813’.6—dc23
2014044241
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
For my friend,
Kim Moore
Contents
Books by Vannetta Chapman
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
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
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Discussion Questions
Glossary
About the Author
Brian’s Choice
Fall in Love with the Amish of Pebble Creek!
Enjoy These Free Short Story E-Romances
Ready to Discover More?
About the Publisher
Acknowledgments
This book is dedicated to Kim Moore. God smiled on me the evening I found myself sitting next to Kim at the ACFW gala. We didn’t know each other at the time, but what has proceeded from that moment is a lovely friendship and a superb professional relationship. She is an encouragement and a blessing to me, and we enjoy swapping photos of our pets. What more could one want in an editor?
I’d also like to thank the many believers who shared with me the miraculous works of God in their lives.
Thanks to my prereaders: Dorsey, Donna, and Kristy. They have been with me through each release, and they always do a wonderful job finding my mistakes and pointing them out. I appreciate my family and friends who encourage me to continue down this path of sharing God’s grace through fiction. I’m grateful for the help of my agent, Steve Laube, as well as the wonderful staff at Harvest House for publishing this story.
Lastly, I would like to express my gratitude to the Amish communities in Oklahoma. The folks there are friendly and gracious, and I appreciate their help with this manuscript.
If you find yourself near Tulsa, drive east on US-412 for forty minutes until you reach the town of Chouteau. You’ll be blessed by your journey.
And finally… always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ (Ephesians 5:20).
He performs wonders that cannot be fathomed, miracles that cannot be counted.
~JOB 5:9
There are only two ways to live your life.
One is as though nothing is a miracle.
The other is as though everything is a miracle.
~ALBERT EINSTEIN
PROLOGUE
Oklahoma
Late October
Was Anna healed?”
That’s the question I’m most frequently asked. I might be at a high school football game interviewing players and coaches, or at a council meeting covering the newest city ordinance. Sometimes I’m not even on the clock, but Cody’s Creek is a small town, and people know I write for the paper.
Always the question is the same and often it comes out of nowhere. I could be eating a club sandwich at the local diner when someone comes up behind me and, without even an introduction, asks, “Is it true, Chloe? Was Anna healed?”
I suppose they know my name from the newspaper column I write. It’s a biweekly paper, called the Mayes County Chronicle. My name is on half of the bylines. Maybe they recognize me from the accompanying postage-stamp picture.
Why do they ask me about Anna?
After all of the national coverage—the television spots, newspaper columns, magazine features, and an unauthorized book that is coming out with alarming speed—why do they ask me, Chloe Roberts, small-town reporter?
Perhaps because I was there, from the beginning. Or maybe because, as a reporter, I have the r
eputation for being objective. Honestly, I don’t know how anyone could be impartial in a situation like this, though I’ll try. In my heart I suspect that you either believe what you see or you reject it. Whichever side you land on, you then go in search of facts to support that position.
I first met Anna in the fall three years ago. She had moved to Cody’s Creek the summer of that same year. We had no idea, in those first days, how our lives would become intertwined. We couldn’t have envisioned what was ahead—the heartache and joy and confusion. Everyone involved found their lives and their beliefs irrevocably changed. To say we’ll never be the same would be equal to staring down into the majesty of the Grand Canyon and calling it nice. Even when we’re old and these days lie far in the past, I believe the memories of the events surrounding Anna will remain crystal clear.
No, I’m not afraid I’ll forget. That’s not why I’m once again sitting in front of my tablet, with Anna’s name front and center on the blank page.
The reason is actually quite simple. I want to share the details of her story in black-and-white and allow you to choose. I want to cut through all of the fear and controversy. I want to do what I was trained to do—answer who, what, where, and when. As to the why, I’m not sure any of us can answer that question. The why is something you’ll have to wrestle against within your own heart.
You may wonder how I could remember whole conversations, exact times, and precise reactions. I do remember, is the easy answer. But in case you’re skeptical, I also conducted hundreds of hours of interviews and filed dozens of stories. As a reporter, I assure you I’ve done my homework.
I’ll lay out the facts as best I can, and I’ll resist the temptation to sugarcoat any parts. There are moments I’d rather forget, but this story isn’t about us and what we did or didn’t do.
It’s about Anna.
To understand exactly what happened, we’ll need to go back to the beginning, to that day in September when I visited Cody’s Creek and first spoke with Anna Schwartz.
CHAPTER 1
Oklahoma
Tuesday morning, three years earlier
Anna didn’t mind working in the produce stand situated next to the two-lane road. At least the August heat had given way to a slight September breeze, though it didn’t bring much relief. There were times when she wondered if leaving Indiana had been the right thing to do. Oklahoma’s weather was more extreme than she had imagined. The summer had been hotter than anything she’d ever experienced. The heat had brought wave after wave of storms. Warnings of golf-ball-sized hail and tornadoes and strong winds became commonplace.
From the produce stand Anna could see miles of green fields, a few rolling hills in the distance, and an occasional grove of trees. Three white-tailed deer foraged along the edge of the pasture. The sky was a vibrant blue, punctuated by white fluffy clouds. There was no sign of extreme weather that she could see, but then there was the ever popular saying among locals—If you don’t like the weather, wait a minute. It will change.
In the beginning she had been terrified each time she heard the weather alerts from someone who stopped by the stand. The ominous clouds building in the west set her teeth on edge and stole her sleep at night. Now she met such dire warnings with a shrug, same as most of the other residents in Cody’s Creek, Oklahoma, which went to show that a person could become accustomed to anything.
From what she’d heard, the winters were every bit as cold as those in Indiana, with the wind howling across the hills and the snow piling high. After the summer they’d had, Anna almost looked forward to a freezing walk to the phone shack or a buggy ride through snow drifts.
Except buggy rides were few and far between. The black mare was only hitched to the buggy on Sundays and special occasions—weddings and funerals. Anna felt sorry for the old gal and would often walk out to where she was pastured to offer her a piece of apple or carrot. Duchess should be living on a farm up north, where she would be used more often than the tractors which had become a part of everyday life in Cody’s Creek.
Yes, some days she missed home. Other days she still savored the adventure of living in a new place.
Her eyes had opened that morning when she felt the slight northern breeze tickling the sheet she lay beneath. Perhaps she could withstand another Oklahoma summer. Maybe she’d been right to move in with her aenti. Two hours later, she was in the shed they had converted into a produce stand—selling fresh corn, green beans, tomatoes, and squash to anyone who passed by.
Though she’d been in Oklahoma for three months, she still hadn’t found her “place,” or so it seemed to her. At breakfast her aenti had again brought up the Sunday singing as well as which boys would be willing to accompany her on the youth outing. Anna had tried to remain polite but had finally blurted out, “If I’m a burden, please tell me and I’ll go.”
Onkel Samuel had scowled as he shoved another spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. Aenti Erin had tsk-tsked, but it was Mammi who had gently reminded her, “Children are never a burden, Anna.”
She wasn’t a child, but she didn’t point that out to Mammi. Her grandmother was a bright spot in Anna’s move to central Oklahoma. Samuel and Erin were stern and strict. Perhaps the difficulties of farming the red clay soil had soured their disposition, but Anna imagined they had been that way since birth.
Mammi, on the other hand, was sunshine personified.
A car pulled into the drive, and Anna set aside her mending. She wasn’t very good at it anyway. She’d never cared much for sewing and it showed, but her onkel insisted she stay busy while minding the booth.
The woman who walked toward her was pure Englisch. Black curls bounced inches above her shoulders, and dark sunglasses accented her high cheekbones. She wore tight blue jeans, a light fluffy shirt trimmed in lace, and leather boots. Anna had never considered leaving the Amish, but there were times she’d trade in all four dresses hanging in her bedroom for one Western outfit.
“Good morning.”
Definitely from Oklahoma, her accent was strong and Southern. As she removed her glasses, Anna realized the visitor was also a tad older than she had first thought. She revised her estimate of the woman’s age to somewhere between twenty-five and thirty.
“Gudemariye. Can I interest you in some vegetables?”
“Yes.” The woman smiled and then confessed, “Actually, I don’t cook much, but I imagine my mother would love some of the green beans. You could throw in a few tomatoes and four ears of corn too.”
As Anna filled the order, the woman fiddled with her sunglasses, finally tucking them into her purse. Pulling out a ten-dollar bill, she placed it on the counter with a smile. “My name is Chloe Roberts, and I’m a reporter for the Mayes County Chronicle.”
“My name is Anna. Anna Schwartz. Your job must be very challenging. There’s not much to report on around these parts.”
“My main office is in Tulsa, but my area is Cody’s Creek. It’s true we don’t have the excitement of a large city, but folks like to read stories about their neighbors.”
Anna only nodded as she made the change for Chloe’s order and pushed it across the counter to her.
“Especially their Amish neighbors.” Now there was a definite twinkle in Chloe’s eyes.
“Oh, ya? Curious, are they?”
“Indeed. I get questions every week.”
“Like what?”
“Mostly about your way of life. For example, the tractor thing has people stumped. Lots of folks don’t understand why so many Amish now drive them into town. How did that happen? Why not drive a car if you’re going to abandon the horse and buggy?”
Anna waved away the questions. “It’s difficult to explain to an Englischer.” In truth, she barely understood it herself, but why bring that up?
“Today I’m working on a different subject entirely. I’m reporting on the growth of the cottage industries among Amish families.” She paused, and then she added, “By cottage I don’t mean small homes—”
“Ya, I know what cottage industry means. I work in one.”
Chloe pocketed the change. “Do people do that to you often?”
“Do what?”
“Assume you don’t understand something.”
“Often enough.”
“I apologize. Let me begin again. My boss wants me to report on the Amish in Mayes County, and in particular the rise of home businesses. Could I ask you a few questions? I promise not to sneak any pictures with my phone.”
Anna couldn’t help laughing at that. It had been a slow morning, as most weekdays were, and it was nice to have someone to talk to. “If you promise, then I would be happy to help.”
“Have you lived here all your life?”
“Nein. I moved here…” She stared at the top of the shed as if it would crystallize the events since she’d left home. “A few months ago. It was early July.”
Chloe had pulled out a small pad of paper and a pen and was taking notes. “Where did you live before?”
“Indiana. Goshen, Indiana.”
“Also a small town.”
“It is. Have you been there?”
“We used to visit Chicago once a year to see my cousins. My mom would always insist that we take the toll road east and shop in the Amish communities.”
“And now you have your own Amish community.” Anna was actually enjoying this conversation. The woman was easy to talk to, especially for a newspaper reporter. Though come to think of it, her onkel probably wouldn’t approve.
“You take all of this interest well. I know many Amish are irritated by it.”
“No use being irritated by what you can’t change, or so my mammi says.”
Chloe nodded. “She sounds a lot like my mother.”
Anna considered that a minute. She didn’t believe her grandmother and this woman’s mother would have much in common, but perhaps she was wrong. “What can I tell you about operating a vegetable booth?”
They spoke for another ten minutes about farming, the tourist traffic, and the response from the local grocery stores. The answer to the last topic was mixed. While they were willing to buy farm-fresh produce from the Amish and mark up the prices to sell in their stores, they were less enthusiastic about all of the independent produce stands popping up.
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