A Promise of Hope
A Promise
of
Hope
Amy Clipston
B
OOK
T
WO
ZONDERVAN
A Promise of Hope
Copyright © 2010 by Amy Clipston
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ePub Edition MARCH 2010 ISBN: 978-0-310-56396-9
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Zondervan,
Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Clipston, Amy.
A promise of hope / Amy Clipston.
p. cm.-(Kauffman Amish bakery series ; bk. 2)
Summary: An Amish widow with newborn twins discovers her deceased husband had disturbing secrets. As she tries to come to grips with the past, she considers a loveless marriage to ensure stability for her young family…with her faith in God hanging in the balance.
ISBN 978-0-310-28984-5 (softcover)
1. Amish—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3603.L58P76 2010
813’.6—dc22
2009051036
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible,
New International Version-. NIV®.
Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide.
Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers printed in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by Zondervan, nor does Zondervan vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.
In loving memory of my father-in-law, Joseph Martin Clipston Jr., who left us too soon. You’re forever in our hearts.
While this novel is set against the real backdrop of Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, the characters are fictional. There is no intended resemblance between the characters in this book and any real members of the Amish and Mennonite communities. As with any work of fiction, I’ve taken license in some areas of research as a means of creating the necessary circumstances for my characters. My research was thorough; however, it would be impossible to be completely accurate in details and description, since each and every community differs. Therefore, any inaccuracies in the Amish and Mennonite lifestyles portrayed in this book are completely due to fictional license.
Table of Contents
L
uke Troyer blew out a sigh and wiped his brow. The sweltering heat of the carpentry shop choked the air. The heaviness of sawdust, the pungent odor of stain, and the sweet smell of wood filled his nostrils. Tools and loud voices blared while a dozen other men created custom cabinets in the large work area surrounding him.
He placed his hammer next to the cabinets he’d been sanding and headed toward the small break room in the back of the shop. It held a long table with chairs, a refrigerator, and a counter with a sink. He fetched his lunch pail from the large refrigerator and pulled out a can of Coke.
“How are those cabinets coming along?” Mel Stoltzfus asked, leaning in the doorway.
Luke shrugged and gulped his cool, carbonated beverage. “All right, I guess. I’m about halfway through.” Lowering himself into the chair at the small table, he glanced across at a folded copy of
The Budget,
the Amish newspaper, and sudden memories of his father gripped him. Pop had read
The Budget
cover to cover every Wednesday.
“You have plans tonight?” Moving into the room, Mel sat on the chair across from Luke and opened his bottle of iced tea. “Sally told me to invite you for supper. She’s making her famous chicken and dumplings.”
“Danki,
but I have plans.” Luke unfolded the paper and skimmed the articles.
“Ya.
Sure.” Mel snorted. “I can imagine what your plans are. You’re going to work three hours past closing, go home, make yourself a turkey sandwich, and then putter around your shed until midnight. Then you’ll go to bed and start all over again tomorrow.”
Grimacing, Luke met his friend’s pointed stare. “I don’t do that every night.”
“Ya,
you do. You’ve done the same thing every night since your
dat
passed away.” Mel set his bottle down and tapped the table for emphasis. “You nursed your
dat
for eight years. It’s time you started living again. You’re young, so start acting like it.”
Luke blew out a sigh and turned his attention to the paper. He’d heard this lecture from Mel several times since Pop passed away eight months ago. Although Luke knew his friend was right, he just didn’t know how to move on. He’d nursed Pop since he was twenty-one, so Luke didn’t know how to “act young.”
“You know I speak the truth,” Mel said. “You should leave work on time tonight and come to my house. Enjoy an evening of friends, not solitude.”
Luke shook his head and opened his mouth to respond, but the whooshing of the door opening derailed his train of thought. He gaped when he found a ghost from his past standing in the doorway.
“DeLana?” Luke stood, examining the tall, thin woman dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket. Her long, dark hair framed her attractive face, which was outlined with makeup.
“Long time, no see.” She gave him a wry smile, her brown eyes sparkling. “How long has it been? Eight years?”
Luke nodded. “I reckon so.” He motioned toward Mel. “DeLana Maloney, this is my good friend Mel Stoltzfus.”
She smiled at Mel. “Nice to meet you.”
Mel nodded, speechless.
She honed her gaze in on Luke. “Any chance we can talk? Alone?” She looked back at Mel again. “No offense.”
“Uh, it’s no trouble at all.” Mel stood and started toward the door. He glanced back at Luke, looking puzzled, then closed the door.
Luke turned his attention to DeLana. “How have you been?” he asked.
“Good.” She nodded. “How about you?”
“Gut.”
He cleared his throat. “It’s a surprise to see you here.”
“I bet you thought you’d never see me again, huh?” She adjusted her leather purse on her shoulder.
Luke motioned toward the table. “Would you like to have a seat? I have a spare Coke if you’re thirsty.”
“No, thanks. I can’t stay long.” DeLana rooted around in her purse and pulled out an envelope. “I wanted to ask you about Peter.”
“Peter?” Luke narrowed his eyes in question. “What do you mean?”
“I haven’t heard from him in a few months. I’ve written him a few times, but the letters from him have stopped.” She handed him the envelope. “I was going to mail this to him, but I was wondering if it’s even worth it since he’s cut me off. Do you know why?”
Luke stared down at letters addressed to Peter Troyer in Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania. “No, I don’t. I haven’t heard from him in years.”
“It’s strange.” She shook her head, her diamond-studded earrings sparkling in the light of the gas lamps. “I heard from him every month like clockwork and then it all stopped about five months ago.”
He glanced at the envelope again, his mind clicking with questions. “Bird-in-Hand? Is that where he’s living?”
“Yeah. He said he worked at some Amish furniture place in town.” She folded her arms, pondering. “Shoot, I can’t remember the name of it.”
His brow furrowed in disbelief. “He’s working in an Amish furniture store? Are you certain?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m certain. He mentioned it often, talking about the different projects he was working on.” She pursed her lips. “So you don’t know anything?”
Luke shook his head, processing the information. Peter was living in Pennsylvania and working in an Amish furniture store.
Is he still Amish?
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Like I said, I haven’t heard from him in years.”
She pulled her car keys from her purse, and they jingled in response. “If you hear from him, would you ask him to contact me?”
“Of course.” He held the envelope out to her.
“Would you please give that to him if you find him?” She glanced at her watch. “I’d better run.”
“Let me walk you out.” Luke followed her through the shop and out the front door to the parking lot, his mind flooded with questions about Peter. He shivered in the crisp autumn air.
“It was good to see you,” she said.
“Ya,
it was.” He gripped the envelopes in his hand.
“If you hear from him, would you ask him to write or call me?” she asked. “He has my number.”
“Ya,
I will.” He nodded.
“Thanks. Take care.” She started across the parking lot.
“What was that about?” a voice behind Luke asked.
“Peter,” Luke said, glancing toward Mel. “Letters from him have stopped, and her letters to him have gone unanswered.”
“I’m confused,” Mel said, coming up to glance at the envelopes in Luke’s hand. “Why would Peter be exchanging letters with her?”
Luke waved as DeLana’s SUV sped past, beeping on its way to the parking-lot exit.
“Apparently he’s living in Pennsylvania and working in an Amish furniture store,” Luke said.
“Amish furniture store?” Mel sounded as surprised as Luke felt. “He’s still Amish?”
“That’s what I said.” Luke studied the envelopes again. “It looks like I’m heading to Pennsylvania.”
“Why would you do that?”
“To find out what’s happened to Peter. It’s time for me to use the vacation time I’ve been saving for years.” He headed toward the office to ask his boss for an extended leave of absence.
S
moke filled Sarah Troyer’s lungs and stung her watering eyes. Covering her mouth with her trembling hand, she fell to her knees while flames engulfed the large carpentry area of the furniture store.
“Peter!” Her attempt to scream her husband’s name came out in a strangled cough, inaudible over the noise of the roaring fire surrounding her.
Peter was somewhere in the fire. She had to get to him. But how would she find her way through the flames? Had someone called for help? Where was the fire department?
A thunderous boom shook the floor beneath Sarah’s feet, causing her body to shake with fear. The roof must’ve collapsed!
“Sarah!” Peter’s voice echoed, hoarse and weak within the flames.
“I’m coming!” Sobs wracked her body as she crawled toward the back of the shop. She would find him. She had to!
Turning her face toward the ceiling, Sarah begged God to spare her husband’s life. He had to live. She needed him. He was everything to her. They were going to be parents.
Their baby needed a father.
Standing, she threw her body into the flames, rushing toward the crumpled silhouette on the floor next to the smashed remains of the roof…
Sarah’s eyes flew open, and she gasped. She touched her sweat-drenched nightgown with her trembling hands. Closing her eyes, she breathed a sigh of relief.
It was a dream!
Stretching her arm through the dark, she reached across the double bed for her husband of three years; however, her hand brushed only cool sheets.
Empty.
Oh, no.
Sarah cupped a hand to her hot face while reality crashed down on her. Peter had died in the fire in her father’s furniture store five months ago. He was gone, and she was staying in her parents’ house.
Taking a deep, ragged breath, she swallowed a sob. She’d had the fire dream again—the fourth time this week.
When were the nightmares going to cease? When was life going to get easier?
She rested her hands on her swelling belly while tears cooled her burning cheeks. It seemed like only yesterday Sarah was sharing the news of their blessing with Peter and he was smiling, his hazel eyes twinkling, while he pulled her close and kissed her.
It had been their dream to have a big family with as many as seven children, like most of the Amish couples in their church district. Sarah and Peter had spent many late nights snuggling in each other’s arms while talking about names.
However, Sarah had buried those dreams along with her husband, and she still felt as bewildered as the day his body was laid to rest. She wondered how she’d ever find the emotional strength to raise her baby without the love and support of her beloved Peter.
She’d believed since the day she married Peter that they would raise a family and grow old together. But that ghastly fire had stolen everything from Sarah and her baby—their future and their stability. Her life was now in flux.
Closing her eyes, she mentally repeated her mother’s favorite Scripture, Romans 12:12: “Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.” But the verse offered no comfort. She tried to pray, but the words remained unformed in her heart.
Sarah was completely numb.
She stared up through the dark until a light tap on her door roused her from her thoughts.
“Sarah Rose.” Her mother’s soft voice sounded through the closed door. “It’s time to get up.”
“Ya.”
Wiping the tears from her face, Sarah rose and slowly dressed, pulling on her black dress, black apron, and shoes. She then parted her golden hair and twirled long strands back from her face before winding the rest into a bun. Once her hair was tightly secured, she placed her white prayer
kapp
over it, anchoring it with pins.
Sarah hurried down the stairs and met her mother in the front hall of the old farmhouse in which she’d been raised. “I’m ready,” she said.
Mamm’s
blue eyes studied her. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“No.” Sarah headed for the back door. “Let’s go. I’ll eat later.”
“Sarah Rose. You must eat for the
boppli.”
Her mother trotted after her.
“I’m not hungry.” Sarah slipped out onto the porch.
“Did you have the dream again?”
Mamm’s
voice was filled with concern.
Sarah sucked in a breath, hoping to curb the tears rising in her throat. “I’m just tired.” She started down the dirt driveway toward the bakery.
Mamm
caught up with her. Taking Sarah’s hand in hers, she gave her a bereaved expression. “Sarah Rose,
mei liewe,
how it breaks my heart to see you hurting. I want to help you through this. Please let me.”
Swallowing the tears that threatened, Sarah stared down at her mother’s warm hand cradling hers. Grief crashed down on her, memories of Peter and their last quiet evening together flooding her. He’d held her close while they discussed their future as parents.
Rehashing those memories was too painful for Sarah to bear. She missed him with every fiber of her being. Sarah had to change the subject before she wound up sobbing in her mother’s arms—again.
“We best get to work before the girls think we overslept,” Sarah whispered, quickening her steps.
“Don’t forget this afternoon is your ultrasound appointment, ”
Mamm
said. “Maybe we’ll find out if you’re having a boy or a girl. Nina Janitz is going to pick us up at one so we’re at the hospital on time.”
At her mother’s words Sarah swallowed a groan. The idea of facing this doctor’s appointment without Peter sharpened the pain that pulsated in her heart.
Pushing the thought aside, Sarah stared at the bakery her mother had opened more than twenty years ago. The large, white clapboard farmhouse sat near the road and included a sweeping wraparound porch. A sign with “Kauffman Amish Bakery” in old-fashioned letters hung above the door.
Out behind the building was a fenced-in play area where a few of the Kauffman grandchildren ran around playing tag and climbing on a huge wooden swing set. Beyond it was the fenced pasture.
Mamm’s,
Peter’s, and Timothy’s large farmhouses, along with four barns, were set back beyond the pasture. The dirt road leading to the other homes was roped off with a sign declaring Private Property—No Trespassing.
A large paved parking lot sat adjacent to the building. The lot—always full during the summer months, the height of the tourist season—was now empty. Even though temperatures had cooled off for autumn, the tourist season had ended a month ago in Bird-in-Hand.
Mamm
prattled on about the weather and how busy the bakery had been. Sarah grunted in agreement to give the appearance of listening.
After climbing the steps, Sarah and
Mamm
headed in through the back door of the building. The sweet aroma of freshly baked bread filled Sarah’s senses while the Pennsylvania
Dietsch
chatter of her sisters swirled around her.
The large open kitchen had plain white walls, and in keeping with their tradition, there was no electricity. The lights were gas powered, as were the row of ovens. The long counter included their tools—plain pans and ordinary knives and cutlery.
Even though the air outside was cool, Sarah and her sisters still did the bulk of the baking in the early morning in order to keep the kitchen heat to a minimum. Five fans running through the power inverters gave a gentle breeze. However, the kitchen was warm.
Nodding a greeting to her sisters, Sarah washed her hands before pulling out ingredients to begin mixing a batch of her favorite sugar cookies. She engrossed herself in the task and shut out the conversations around her.
“How are you?” Lindsay, her sister-in-law’s young niece, asked after a while.
“Gut,”
Sarah said, forcing a smile. “How are you today?”
“Gut, danki.”
The fourteen-year-old smiled, her ivory complexion glowing. Although she’d been raised by non-Amish parents, Lindsay had adjusted well to the lifestyle since coming to live with Rebecca, Sarah’s sister-in-law. Her parents had died in a car accident, leaving custody of her and her older sister to Rebecca. Lindsay quickly adopted the Amish dress and was learning the Pennsylvania
Dietsch
language as if she’d been born into the community.
Lindsay tilted her head in question and wrinkled her freckled nose. “You don’t look
gut, Aenti
Sarah. Is everything okay?”
“I’m fine, but
danki.”
Sarah stirred the anise cookie batter and wracked her brain for something to change the subject. “You and Rebecca got here early this morning, no?”
“Ya.”
Lindsay began cutting out cookies.
“Aenti
Rebecca was having some tummy problems this morning.” She gestured toward her stomach, and Sarah knew the girl was referring to morning sickness. “She was up early, and I was too. So we just headed out. We had a couple of loaves of bread in the oven before
Aenti
Beth Anne and
Aenti
Kathryn got here.”
Sarah glanced across the kitchen to where
Mamm
was whispering to Beth Anne and Kathryn, Sarah’s older sisters. When her mother’s gaze met Sarah’s, her mother quickly looked away.
Sarah’s stomach churned. She hoped her mother wasn’t talking about her again. She was in no mood for another well-meaning lecture from her sisters. They were constantly insisting Sarah must accept Peter’s death and concentrate on the blessing of her pregnancy. Over and over they told her it was God’s will Peter had perished and the Lord would provide for her and her baby.
What did they know about loss? They both had their husbands and children, living and healthy.
“I best go check on the
kinner
on the playground,” Lindsay said, wiping her hands on her apron.
Sarah picked up the cookie cutter. “I’ll finish cutting out your cookies.”
“Danki.”
Smiling, Lindsay crossed the kitchen and disappeared out the back door toward the playground set up for Sarah’s young nieces and nephews.
“Sarah,” a voice behind her said. “How are you today?
Mamm
mentioned that you had a rough night.”
Sarah glanced over at Beth Anne and swallowed a groan. “I’m fine,
danki.
And you?”
I wish you all would stop worrying about me.
Beth Anne’s blue eyes mirrored her disbelief, and Sarah braced herself for the coming lecture.
“You can talk to me. I’ll always listen.” Her older sister squeezed her hand.
“I appreciate that, but there’s nothing to say. I didn’t get much sleep last night, but I’m
gut.
Really.” Sarah turned back to her cookies in the hopes Beth Anne would return to work and leave her alone with her thoughts.
“I know you’re hurting,” Beth Anne began, moving closer and lowering her voice. “However, you must let Peter’s memory rest in peace. You need your strength for your
boppli.”
Sarah gritted her teeth and took a deep breath, trying in vain to curb her rising aggravation. Facing her sister, she narrowed her eyes. “I know you mean well, but you can’t possibly know what I’m thinking or what I’m feeling. I lost my husband, and you have no idea how that feels. I know I need to let go, but how can I when Peter’s
boppli
is growing inside me? Grieving is different for everyone, and it can’t be rushed.”
Beth Anne’s expression softened. “I just want what’s best for you.”
“Then leave me alone and let me work.” Sarah faced the counter. “I have a lot of cookies to make. We sold out yesterday.”
“If you need to talk, I’m here.” Beth Anne’s voice was soft.
“Ya. Danki.”
Sarah closed her eyes and prayed for strength to make it through the day.
Late that afternoon, Sarah lay on the cool, metal table at the hospital and stared at the monitor while a young woman moved her instrument through the gel spread on Sarah’s midsection.
Sarah watched the screen and sucked in a breath while the ultrasound technician pointed out anatomy. Sarah wondered how many years of schooling it had taken for the young woman to figure out which was the spinal cord and which was the heart when it all resembled a bunch of squiggly lines.
Miranda Coleman, Sarah’s midwife, interrupted the technician and moved over to the monitor. “Do you see that?” Miranda asked the young woman in a hushed whisper. “I believe that’s…”
“Yeah, you’re right,” the technician said with a grin. “I think so.”
“This is something.” Miranda folded her arms and shook her head. “Well, that explains her sudden weight gain.”
“What?” Sarah started to sit up, her heart racing with worry. “What’s wrong with my
boppli?”
Her eyes full of concern,
Mamm
squeezed Sarah’s shoulder.
Miranda chuckled. “Nothing’s wrong, Sarah.”
Sarah held her breath and wished Peter was by her side to help her shoulder the news. “Please tell me what’s going on.”
“Sarah Troyer, you’re doubly blessed,” Miranda said with a smirk. “You’re having twins. I guess one was blocking the other when we did the last ultrasound.”
“Zwillingbopplin?”
Sarah gasped. Lightheaded, she put her hand to her forehead.
How would she ever raise twins alone?
Later that evening, Sarah stood on the porch and studied the rain falling in sheets on the fields across from her parents’ farmhouse. Rubbing her swollen abdomen, she swallowed the sorrow surging through her.
Zwillingbopplin.
The word had haunted her since it left Miranda’s lips. Sarah had tuned out Miranda’s voice while she discussed Sarah’s prenatal care for the remainder of the pregnancy. She’d heard the midwife say Sarah was now “high risk” and would be referred to an obstetrician for further care. Beyond that, Sarah had just stared at her midwife and pondered the news.