Marrying the woman he once deserted...
A prodigal seeks forgiveness in this Pinecraft Homecomings story
The last thing widowed single mother Verity Schrock expects is to find her former sweetheart back in town—with a baby. Now the bishop and Leviticus Hilty’s father are insisting they marry for their children’s sake. But the wounded warrior hurt her once before. Can a marriage of convenience possibly heal past wounds enough to risk her heart again?
“You didn’t tell your daed what
I said to you, did you?”
“About you not wanting to marry me?” Levi asked. “Nee. I didn’t bring up the subject. It would just upset him. Come with me tomorrow and see Daed. We’ll tell him our feelings together.”
“We’ll see,” Verity murmured, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering. “I spoke with my mudder. About our marriage.”
His laugh surpriswed her. “I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation. She must think Otto’s lost his mind, trying to match the two of us in holy matrimony.”
“She surprised me. She agrees with Otto. Said she and Daed think it’s time I remarry. Seems I’m getting stodgy and set in my ways.”
“Have you gotten stodgy?”
“You don’t want to know what I am, but I’ll tell you what I’ve decided to do.”
“Go on.”
There’s no turning back now. “I will promise to court you, pretend to love you, but that’s all for now.”
“Your promise is good enough for me.”
Cheryl Williford and her veteran husband, Henry, live in South Texas, where they’ve raised three children and numerous foster children alongside a menagerie of rescued cats, dogs and hamsters. Her love for writing began in a literature class, and now her characters keep her grabbing for paper and pen. She is a member of her local ACFW and CWA chapters, and is a seamstress, watercolorist and loving grandmother.
Books by Cheryl Williford
Love Inspired
Pinecraft Homecomings
Her Secret Amish Child
Their Convenient Amish Marriage
The Amish Widow’s Secret
The Amish Midwife’s Courtship
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THEIR CONVENIENT
AMISH MARRIAGE
Cheryl Williford
Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.
—Luke 6:37
This book is dedicated to God and to my two gifted oncologists: Dr. Dennis L. Rousseau, who performed my complex cancer surgery in October of 2015, and Dr. Edsel Lumbca Hesita, who successfully got me through five months of chemotherapy in early 2016. Your wisdom saved my life and kept me writing. God bless you both.
Contents
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
Dear Readers
Excerpt from The Rancher’s Legacy by Jessica Keller
Chapter One
Thunder rumbled in the distance. A peek out the window showed another band of drenching rain coming in from the west.
Finished with a sink of dishes, Verity Schrock wiped the sweat from her face on the sleeve of her dress and hurried out of the steamy kitchen with several ladies following on her heel.
It seemed lately she rushed from one task to another, never finding time to sit down and enjoy a moment of the day.
Fanning her hot face, she quick-stepped down the hall, ready to join the cluster of singers regathering in the great room.
She’d been up since five, long before the old rooster had had a chance to give his first crow of the morning. An experienced cook, she enjoyed the task of making a tower of assorted shoofly pies, a chocolate cake with rich mocha icing, and for herself, a gooey pan of rich golden-brown apple crumble, her favorite dessert.
Taking in a calming breath and clearing her voice, she surveyed the room for the soprano singer’s section and found Bunhild, the community’s seasonal matchmaker standing in the place she usually occupied. Purposely avoiding the meddling old woman, she slipped into the end of the alto singer’s section.
Acting as if she were listening to the song director’s instructions, Verity situated herself closer to Clara Hilty, who was making a point of ignoring her best friend since childhood while holding back a fit of giggles behind her petite hand.
With her gaze straight ahead, Verity’s finger searched for and found Clara’s rib cage, and gave her very pregnant friend a playful poke.
Clara jumped, nearly knocking over the young lady standing in front of her.
Everyone in the lines turned and glared their way.
“Shame on you, Verity,” Clara muttered out the side of her mouth.
Verity leaned in close to her friend’s ear. “You should have warned me Bunhild showed up for singing practice. I could have hidden in the kitchen closet until she’d left.” Putting on a heavy Pennsylvania Dutch accent, Verity held back her own giggles as she muttered in Clara’s ear, “Those Lapp bruders are still marriage-minded, and looking for a pretty young woman like yourself to wed.”
Clara laughed out loud, amused by Verity’s rendition of Bunhild’s heavy northern accent. Verity couldn’t help but laugh with her. For as long as she’d known Clara, which was going on fifteen years, they’d both been consummate pranksters. Nothing had changed now that they were adults.
Still grinning, Clara’s arms came up and rested on her rotund stomach. There would soon be a long-awaited first boppli for her and her husband, Solomon Hilty. Verity couldn’t help but be excited for them—and a little envious. She loved children, especially tiny babies. She had hoped for a half-dozen kinner of her own, but Gott had other plans for her life and gave her and Mark just the one sweet dochder. But she wanted to ignore unhappy memories. Her excitement grew as she thought instead about a new boppli in the community to care for and cuddle.
Clara’s giggles turned into a delighted smile. “I could have warned you, but it’s so much fun watching you squirm under Bunhild’s gaze.” But then her expression went dead serious. “You know her matchmaking skills are known far and wide, and you being such a young widow makes the opportunity to play matchmaker too tempting for the old girl.”
Verity pretended to adjust her kapp and readjust the pins holding down her bun, so she would have an excuse to lean in close to Clara again. “You’d better watch out. I could tell Solomon how much you really paid for that new sewing machine you bought off that Englisch woman.”
Two spaces down, Pinecraft’s best solo soprano hissed like a leaky gas valve and gave both women a disapproving glare before going back to listening to Sarah Beth’s information on the upcoming fund-raising frolic where they’d be singing at Benky Park.
&nb
sp; When Verity looked back, Clara’s playful smile was gone. “You wouldn’t tell on me?”
“I might,” Verity whispered, her eyebrow raised in a mock threat. But she’d never say a word about the extra twenty dollars spent. The seller had kindly thrown in a sewing basket full of threads and four packs of machine needles. A real deal.
Known for his penny-pinching ways, Solomon Hilty would still grumble about the extra money spent. Verity wasn’t about to blab, but she ought to. Determined to wed Verity off, Bunhild Yoder was no laughing matter, and now she had to deal with her as soon as singing practice was over.
Feeling eyes on her, Verity glanced up and released an irritated sigh. Bunhild was staring at her again from across the room and wearing that exasperating expression of eternal hope. Verity inwardly cringed. “You know I respect Bunhild’s skills as much as everyone in the community, but if I must listen to one more of her sermons on how marriage is Gott’s plan for your life, I think I’ll scream.”
A loud knock at the front door sounded, redirecting Verity’s attention. “Whoops! Excuse me.” She slipped out of line and hurried to welcome the late singer at the front door. Working as Albert Hilty’s live-in housekeeper the last few years had proven to be hard work, but she’d grown to love the aging widower she’d known most of her life and his growing family. Life ran smoothly on the orange grove, which brought a sense of peace to her and her young daughter Faith’s lives.
Verity hurried, convinced it was Helen at the door. She often came late to practices, especially if her precious three-month-old boppli had once again kept her up with night colic.
“Well, it’s about time you got...” Verity’s playful words died in her throat at the sight of a tall well-built Englischer standing on the porch. He wore tight faded jeans and a white T-shirt that strained to cover his broad chest. A baseball cap perched on his long dishwater-blond hair advertised some brand of soft drink she’d never heard of.
Her heart skipped a beat and then two. Overtly handsome men always made her nervous, like ants crawling all over her skin. This one made her extremely nervous. “Oh, I’m sorry... I thought you were Helen.” She took a quick survey of his smiling face and then glanced down at the sleeping dark-haired toddler he held. The pink-cheeked kind looked completely out of place next to the man’s firm biceps. “Are you looking for Albert or Solomon?”
“Both.” He grinned. A dimple appeared in his cheek. “What are you doing here, Verity?”
A chill rushed down her spine. The man’s words were spoken in the same husky voice that sometimes disturbed her dreams at night.
“Leviticus?” It didn’t seem possible. Now that she took a good look he did seem slightly familiar, but nothing like the young Amish boy she’d loved and promised her heart to all those years ago. How many years had it been since Leviticus abandoned Pinecraft and their engagement plans? Nine, maybe ten? Yet here he was on his father’s doorstep, activating the nerves in her stomach.
He flashed a full-blown smile at her, again revealing the familiar dimple near his left cheek. “No one’s called me Leviticus in a long time. My Englischer friends call me Levi.”
Her angst against the man revived, even though she thought she’d forgiven him a long time ago. “I’m not one of your Englisch friends, Leviticus.” She tried hard but couldn’t manage to take her eyes off his suntanned face and the way his blue eyes twinkled behind familiar thick brown lashes.
She detected an angry red scar running the length of his unshaven right cheek. Her gaze dropped to the blond stubble peppered with ginger covering his chin. When he’d left Pinecraft, there’d been no scar and not much stubble, for that matter. He’d left wearing the plain clothes associated with their strict faith. Today, the man he’d become seemed perfectly comfortable in his Englischer clothes and worn-out running shoes.
Averting her eyes, she let him pass through the front door. There were so many reasons why she didn’t want him back in Pinecraft. Forefront in her mind was the way he’d broken her heart and abandoned their dream of a life together. So why is he back? She motioned him farther into the house. “Komm. Your daed’s in the garden. I’ll fetch him for you.” A slight tremble in her voice revealed more about her irritation toward him than she wanted. She made her way past her mother and several chatting women, ignoring their inquisitive expressions and quiet murmurs as they moved down a long hall that led to the great room.
“Verity, wait.” Leviticus tugged at her arm, his fingers barely touching her skin.
Verity looked down at his tanned fingers pressed against the paleness of her arm and sent him a cautionary look. Don’t touch me. Don’t you ever touch me again.
He released his hold, his questioning expression carving lines in his forehead.
She forced herself to relax. It was just Leviticus come home, after all. He meant nothing to her anymore. “You’ll find Albert next to the rose garden.”
He nodded, and then glanced back at the collection of women clustered in the living room. “Have the women gathered to pray? Is someone sick?”
She shook her head, shoving her trembling hands into her apron pockets to keep her reaction to him hidden. “Nee, the church choir is having a singing frolic in the park this weekend. There’s been so much destruction in Pinecraft since the hurricane. Some of the women have planned a dinner to raise much-needed funds. Clara was kind enough to offer the choir use of the farmhouse so we could practice.”
Verity could still feel the gaze of several choir members on her, watching and wondering. Should she mention to Leviticus that his father had had a stroke less than a month ago and was still in a weakened condition? No. It was best she stayed out of the Hilty family business. She was the housekeeper, after all. Not family. She’d leave that conversation for Albert and his son.
“Who’s Clara?” Leviticus’s eyebrows knitted together.
She spoke over the sounds of the choir warming up again. “Clara is Solomon’s fraa. Your brother was courting her when you left, but that was a long time ago. No wonder you’ve forgotten.” Like you forgot me, she added silently.
The women began to sing in sweet harmony. The words to “Amazing Grace” filled the old house, reminding her that Gott had all things under control. Even this awkward situation with the man who had once been her beloved. She tried to sound casual, like someone who didn’t care that the man standing next to her had torn her young heart into a million pieces. “Solomon and Clara are living here now, but it’s temporary. Hurricane winds did some interior damage to their haus down the grove a few days ago and Albert took them in till it’s repaired.”
“And you? I guess you’re married by now and have your own haus and kinner.” His warm blue-eyed gaze pinned her down like a bug to cardboard.
She went cold inside. She spoke matter-of-factly but was anything but inwardly calm. “Ya, I was married to Mark Schrock, but I’m a widow now, with a young dochder named Faith. She’s with my younger schweschders while I’m busy with the ladies.” Her gaze dropped to the child sleeping in his arms.
“I’m sorry about the loss of your husband.” His words sounded sincere enough, but in the past, his words had seemed sincere, too. Especially after his mother’s funeral, when she was seventeen and he had tried explaining why he was leaving Pinecraft, setting her back on the shelf as if they’d meant nothing to each other. That day he’d rambled on without making a lick of sense, especially when he’d suggested his mother had been overworked by the church and his father until the day she dropped dead from exhaustion. Hadn’t he realized women like his mother thrived on being needed and never complained?
The kind in his arms stirred and stretched, drawing his attention. Flushed with sleep, the little girl made grunting sounds and then settled down. His blue-eyed gaze roamed the child’s face as he tucked a pink blanket in around her chubby legs. A long, slim finger ran lovingly down the side of her rosy cheek.
She caught a glimpse of the baby’s pursed pink lips. A trickle of milk seeped from the side of her sweet mouth. At least Leviticus had become responsible enough to keep the child well fed. “I see time’s brought changes to all our lives. Is your fraa with you?”
He looked her over, his expression calm. “Nee. I never married.”
He seemed comfortable enough with his statement. Like having a child out of wedlock was an everyday occurrence for Englisch men like the one he’d become. “She’s a cute boppli. What’s her name?”
“Naomi, after my mudder.” He grinned, his beguiling dimple flashing again, tempting her to reach out and touch it as she had a hundred times in the distant past.
He laughed. “I tend to call her Trouble when it’s three in the morning and she’s screaming blue murder with a wet diaper.” He remained warm and friendly, even though Verity knew she had to be frowning his way. His playful personality had always been so irritating, yet so appealing to her.
“Babies are known for waking at the worst times.” Drawn in by his smile, she relaxed a tiny bit. She thought of Faith’s first year and all the sleep she’d lost rocking her in the chair Mark had fashioned for her before the accident took his life. Sadness replaced her half smile with a frown. “Komm, you must be eager to see your daed after all these years.”
“You don’t have to come along with me. It hasn’t been that long. I know where the garden is.” His tone was gentle, but firm. He stepped past her and out the door without a backward glance.
“It’s been longer than you think, Leviticus Hilty,” she whispered, dealing with what felt like a dismissal. She watched his long stride eat up the distance between the porch and the wood gate surrounding the rose beds. To his retreating back, she muttered softly, “Much longer.”
Clara was suddenly by her side, crowding her out of the doorway with her big belly. Her friend’s brow arched as she asked, “Who’s that?”
Leviticus strolled alongside the sheds beside the house, over to where his mother’s rose garden bloomed in perfumed profusion. “That’s your bruder-in-law, Leviticus Hilty.”
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