Books by Beverly Lewis

  The Beginning • The Stone Wall

  The Tinderbox • The Timepiece

  The First Love • The Road Home

  The Proving • The Ebb Tide

  The Wish • The Atonement

  The Photograph • The Love Letters

  The River

  HOME TO HICKORY HOLLOW

  The Fiddler • The Bridesmaid

  The Guardian • The Secret Keeper

  The Last Bride

  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

  Sanctuary (with David Lewis)

  Child of Mine (with David Lewis)

  The Sunroom • October Song

  Beverly Lewis Amish Romance Collection

  Amish Prayers

  The Beverly Lewis Amish Heritage Cookbook

  www.beverlylewis.com

  © 2021 by Beverly M. Lewis, Inc.

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2021

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4934-3381-0

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Dan Thornberg, Design Source Creative Services

  Art direction by Paul Higdon

  To

  Donna Simmons,

  devoted reader-friend

  and constant encourager.

  Contents

  Half Title Page

  Books by Beverly Lewis

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Part 1

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  Part 2

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Back Ads

  Cover Flaps

  Back Cover

  Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me

  all the days of my life:

  and I will dwell in the house of the LORD

  for ever.

  —Psalm 23:6

  Prologue

  SPRING

  It was that wunnerbaar-gut time of year in Hickory Hollow when the earth stirred from its wintry slumber and snow crocuses peeked through the dark soil. The snow had melted more than a week earlier, leaving behind last autumn’s leaves, fallen twigs, and mud. The days warmed and stretched ever longer toward evening.

  Already I had seen our neighbor Deacon Luke Peachey out with his six-mule team, plowing the land he’d purchased from Mamma after my father died in a barn-raising accident fifteen years ago.

  It was time now to get busy with spring housecleaning and fulfilling orders for the framed counted cross-stitch family trees I made to bring in extra money. Tomorrow, however, March twelfth, I would take some time to celebrate my twenty-second birthday.

  After rising at four-thirty to bake two loaves of bread, I set to work scrubbing the upstairs hallway and the spare room, determined to be a helpful daughter and to make up for the chores Mamma could no longer do because of her worsening health.

  That done, I sorted through my drawers of clothing and noticed the small wooden box where I’d saved a few favorite items, including handmade Valentine cards from girl cousins and my sweet younger sister, Britta. Inside was a pinecone, sprayed white and with a dried holly sprig attached to it, a gift from Obie Yoder, my friend since our third-grade year. That had also been the year my brother Eli—ten months older—was struck and killed by a hit-and-run driver not far from our house.

  I paused to glance out my upstairs window at the thick grove of willows below, over near the large pond. The lengthy, supple branches swayed gently as a breeze blew through them. Such a peaceful spot. I thought back to the many times I’d sat in Dat’s old rowboat and cried after Eli’s sudden death, missing my close-in-age brother.

  So long ago now . . .

  Tomorrow, I would mark yet another birthday without my brother or father. Obie was coming to join my family for cake and ice cream, as he’d promised last Saturday at market.

  Just like him, wanting to share the day with me.

  Next morning, I baked a three-layer fudge birthday cake for myself. Baking and decorating cakes was something I enjoyed doing, as well as tending to Mamma’s little shop, open every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. The small cottage where we sold goat cheese, jams, jellies, and Mamma’s famed Amish peanut butter—that fluffy, sweet spread made with marshmallow—was just across the backyard from the house. I also took orders there, as well as at Saturday market in Bird-in-Hand, for my cross-stitched family trees.

  For my birthday get-together, Mamma had invited my older sister, Polly, and her husband, Henry, with their three little ones to come for dessert. My brother Allen and his wife, Sarah, and their six children lived way out in Clark, Missouri, having relocated there last summer. The sudden move had taken Mamma by surprise, as well as everyone else here in Hickory Hollow, but available acreage round Lancaster County was becoming as scarce as hen’s teeth. Allen and Sarah, hungry for land, had joined an established church district there made up primarily of Amish families from Iowa.

  Close as we were, my adopted sister, Britta, soon to be thirteen, was excited about this birthday gathering, even though fewer of us would be present this year. In truth, most of the People didn’t make too much of observing birthdays in any case. Focusing attention on individuals wasn’t our way. Other days on the calendar were far more significant: Christmas, Easter, Baptism Sunday, and the fasting days prior to twice-yearly communion—days linked to God.

  I hurried downstairs to the front room and noticed what a nice job Britta had done polishing all the wood surfaces after school yesterday. Our sister Polly managed to keep her house over in Landisville spick-and-span, even with a babe in arms, an eighteen-month-old toddler, and a school-age son. The last few years, it had fallen to me to take on most of the household chores, since Mamma’s once extraordinary get-up-and-go had been affected by asthma, which had worsened this spring with the melting of the snow. Despite being tired much of the time and having occasional shortness of breath, she refused to see a medical doctor, preferring to use folk medicine—most especially, a syrup from comfrey root, mullein, garlic, fennel seed, and apple cider vinegar—as well as other natural remedies her own Mamm had passed along.

  After Polly and her family left for home that evening, I slipped into my coat to head down to the willows with Obie, while Britta sat on the steps of the potting shed, playing with her three former strays—Tabasco, Lucy, and Daffodil. Britta had been just a toddler when she developed a keen attachment to barn cats. She waved and smiled at Obie and me.

  “I’ll be back soon,” I called as we walked toward the driveway. Obie had worn his Sunday best for my birthday gathering—black broadfall trousers, vest, and coat, with his pressed white shirt. Best as I could remember, he’d never worn his for-good clothes when coming to visit, not even the years he’d spent Christmas evening with us.

  What could it mean? I wondered, half hoping I guessed the answer.

  “Your birthday cake was delicious, ” Obie said, blue eyes shining. “You outdid yourself again, Susie.”

  I smiled. “Glad ya liked it.”

  “Well, I wasn’t the only one,” he said as we headed toward the pond side of the willows. “Henry had seconds, I noticed.”

  He chuckled, and my laughter mingled with his as we strolled around the big pond, talking about whatever came to mind, like we were so good at doing. Like we had always been good at doing.

  He mentioned his fourteen-year-old sister Hazel’s friendship with my younger sister, and I agreed that it was a real blessing they’d recently forged such a strong relationship.

  “Both of them love cats . . . and book learnin’,” I commented, not mentioning that, more recently, Britta had been rather quiet and pensive at home, especially around Mamma. Britta was sometimes prone to moodiness, though, so I didn’t think it was anything to fuss over.

  “Hazel sure seems fond of her. When Britta comes to visit, they hurry off to the barn to visit the new kittens, talking a blue streak,” Obie said, admitting to having overheard them.

  “It’s great to see Britta breakin’ out of her shell. She still prefers her cats, I think, but I’m glad she’s including people in the mix.”

  Obie laughed once more and then fell quiet as we circled back around toward the side of the pond where the willows grew more densely.

  Then, under the delicate covering of budding leaves and greening branches, he slowed his pace. His expression softened as his eyes searched mine. “You know,” he began, “all these years, we’ve been such gut friends.”

  I studied him, still surprised he’d dressed up like this in his church clothes today.

  He shuffled his feet and glanced at the sky, and back at me. Then he said in his deep and mellow voice, one I knew as well as my own, “Here lately, I’ve been thinking ’bout something, Susie. Something important.” His expression seemed so hopeful as he paused to draw a breath.

  “Jah?” I encouraged him along, curious.

  “We’ve always been comfortable tellin’ each other most anything. . . .”

  I nodded, my heart pounding now.

  “So, what would ya think if we—”

  “Susie!” Britta’s voice burst through the willows. “Allen’s callin’ for ya.”

  Obie’s eyes registered surprise, and we turned to see Britta running toward us. Then, stopping abruptly, she said, “Ach! Sorry, I—”

  “What’s goin’ on?” I asked, doing my best to hide my annoyance.

  Britta leaned over, hands on her knees as she caught her breath. “Allen and the whole family want to wish you a happy birthday . . . on the stable phone.”

  I glanced at Obie, dying to know what he was about to say. “I’ll call them back,” I told her.

  Britta jerked her thumb toward the stable. “Okay, but they’re waiting.”

  “Go an’ take your call,” Obie said. “It’s all right.”

  “Are ya sure?”

  He nodded. “We’ll talk another time.”

  I apologized for the interruption, but he waved it away. “Denki for comin’ over to celebrate with me,” I said, watching my sister hurry back up the hill.

  “Wouldn’t have missed it.” Obie smiled again. “Not for anything.”

  Like you say every birthday, I thought.

  Disappointment made my throat dry as I rushed to the stable. I was happy Allen had called, yet I couldn’t help wondering what was on Obie’s mind. “Something important,” he said. . . .

  CHAPTER

  1

  A flagstone walkway led to the long front porch of the old stone house where Susie Mast lived with her widowed mother, Aquilla, and younger sister, Britta. The path curved past a small white gazebo in the side yard near two sugar maples, then around to the back door, which opened into the outer room, where, before he moved away, Susie’s brother Allen had been known to clomp indoors with dirty work boots.

  Now, three days after her birthday, Susie stood in the driveway waiting to welcome her auburn-haired sister home from the one-room schoolhouse a half mile away. She recalled the times when Mamma had stood in this very spot, awaiting her return each weekday afternoon.

  Silently, Susie thanked God for this pleasant afternoon and for the customers who had purchased two dozen jars of Amish peanut butter spread at Mamma’s little shop earlier, as well as some fresh goat cheese. A gut day, she thought, thankful as well for the money Mamma said Allen pitched in each month to help make ends meet.

  Squinting into the sunlight, Susie heard the sound of schoolchildren talking and laughing just around the bend in the road.

  It wasn’t long before Britta and the girls who walked with her came into view. Some wore dark green and plum dresses beneath their black coats, while others wore brighter hues of maroon and blue. Each also wore a dark blue bandanna. As usual, the schoolboys hung farther back, all of them in black broadfall trousers and coats, their straw hats snug on their heads.

  Britta was nearly half a head taller than the other girls her age. They looked toward Susie and waved, then called their good-byes to Britta, who turned and dashed up the driveway.

  “Hullo!” Susie said, happy to see her. “What did ya learn today?”

  “More than my head can hold,” Britta replied.

  “Well, you’re a gut scholar. You’ll be fine.”

  Britta’s dark eyes revealed momentary pride. “Just doin’ my best.” She shrugged, then added, “Oh, and Hazel Yoder an’ I are competing in grammar lessons.”

  “Des gut, jah?”

  “Keeps us both on our toes, even though she’s a grade ahead.”

  Susie smiled as they walked into the house together. “Want a snack before chores?”

  “Applesauce, maybe, but I can get it,” Britta answered.

  “With cinnamon, of course.” Susie beat her to the gas-powered refrigerator and opened the half-full Mason jar of sauce.

  “Ach, you spoil me, sister,” Britta said as she removed her black coat and hung it on the wooden hook on the far wall of the kitchen, near the walk-in pantry. “How would I ever manage without ya?” she teased.

  Susie laughed. “You’d do just fine.”

  Britta shook her head, her face suddenly serious. “Well, it wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.”

  A knowing look passed between them. Susie nodded, touched by the sentiment, but Britta turned pensive and glanced out the window. Then, walking toward the front room, she turned and asked, “Where’s Mamma?”

  “Over at Ella Mae’s.”

  “Prob’ly needed to get out of the house.”

  “She seems to be feelin’ better, so that’s gut,” Susie said. “Ella Mae’s grandson Paul came and picked her up not long ago, and I took over workin’ at the shop till just now.” Susie glanced out the window, looking to see if any customers had come.

  Britta sat down and leaned one elbow on the table, a thoughtful look on her oval face. “Paul’s a newlywed and a busy farmer,” she said. “Where does he find time?”

  “Maybe that’s why he walks so fast,” Susie joked.

  Britta nodded.

  Susie spooned an ample helping of the homemade applesauce into a bowl and set it in front of Britta, whose cheeks were still rosy from the walk home. “In an hour or so, I’ll go an’ get Mamma, after she has tea and time to visit.”

  Britta brightened. “Did ya know that Ella Mae once told me she was as spunky as me when she was young?”

  “Some of us just are.”

  Britta grinned. “Were you?”

  “Not really, but from what Mamma’s said, Allen certainly was.”

  “And still is!”

  They shared a laugh as Susie went to get the cinnamon from Mamma’s spice rack.

  “Wouldn’t it take Schpank to do what he and Sarah did, goin’ to Missouri?” Britta asked. “Or do ya think that shows more grit?”

  “Definitely grit . . . and ambition. It must be awful hard to uproot and start from scratch like they did.”

  “Well, I wish they’d stayed here.” Britta momentarily looked sad as she sprinkled cinnamon over her applesauce.

  Susie opened the fridge to take out some milk.

  “As much as Allen liked Hickory Hollow, I’m still surprised he left.” Britta sighed.

  This gave Susie pause. Sometimes she worried her younger sister might decide to leave Hickory Hollow as well, or at least dip her toe into the world during her Rumschpringe. After all, she adored books and learning new things. Even so, Britta had never so much as inquired about her biological family and whether or not they were Plain. But there were times when she seemed to be deep in thought, which wondered Susie. Thankfully, the season of running around was still a little more than three years away. Susie comforted herself with that thought.

 

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