A Simple Winter: A Seasons of Lancaster Novel (47 page)

Adam leaned forward, his dark eyes steady on the older woman. “Mamm enjoyed your friendship. You have done nothing to be ashamed of.”

“But my son …” Gina’s eyes glistened with tears. “What he did is unforgivable.”

Nancy handed her a box of tissues, while Adam drew in a breath.

For a second, Remy’s mind flashed to the scene of the murders … the buggy pulled onto the shoulder of the dark winter road. There was some reassurance in knowing that the man with the gun would not kill again. Still, justice could not bring back Esther and Levi King.

“Gina, you know what the Amish believe about forgiveness.” Adam’s voice was gentle as he pressed a fist to his chest and closed his eyes. “I can honestly tell you, there is no hatred in my heart for Chris.”

“After what he did?” Gina put her mug on the side table and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Killing people for money. I know you heard about his moneymaking scheme. Chris’s big ideas about having a hunting preserve on our old land, the back acres your family uses for grazing. He was going to stock it with ring-necked pheasant and charge a fee to the hunters.”

“Like Mason’s Preserve up north,” Nancy said.

Gina nodded. “Only Levi wouldn’t allow it.”

“Dat wanted our land to be a safe haven for all living things. I can see why he would object to a plan like that.”

“Ironically, Chris thought he was doing it all to take care of me. He thought I wanted to buy this land back. He was trying to raise money for it, because of me. As if any of that was important …” Gina shook her head. “I am so sorry, Adam. So very sorry.”

Adam kneeled beside Gina and took her hands. “I know your heart is heavy. Only the Lord God can ease that pain.” He drew in a breath, waiting until she met his gaze. “But I can remove that tree and fix your roof. And you can keep working at your physical therapy until you’re strong again.” He squeezed Gina’s hands. “And right now, you can help Nancy start another pot of coffee because any minute now, there’s going to be a league of men outside working on that tree.”

“Oh, my goodness!” Gina squeezed his hands hard. “You’re a good man, Adam. I wish your mother were here to see what a fine young man you’ve turned out to be.”

Straightening, Adam stood tall, a smile warming his face.

A genuine smile, amid all this heartache.

Remy blinked as she realized there’d been some shift deep inside him. Like shifting sands that begin to build over time and one day … suddenly there is an island in the stream.

Outside the cold nip in the air was fading, the wind dying as Adam circled the fallen tree, as if measuring.

“What happened in there?” Remy asked, following him.

“It’s part of a process, something I’ve been praying for.” His eyes swept over her, warming her. “Have you heard of gelassenheit?”

She squinted as the sun shot out from behind a cloud. “Can’t say that I have.”

“It’s at the core of the Anabaptist faith, and there’s no single word to describe it. It means peace, or tranquility. To be calm or surrender inside. A silence of the soul.”

“It sounds like a beautiful thing.”

“It is.” He turned to face her and extended a hand.

Her pulse raced as she reached out to him, their palms touching with a jolt of their own electricity. And then suddenly, he was pulling her close.

His dark eyes shone with a new intensity, the smooth hum of peace, the light of love.

“Remy … I was wrong to push you away. I tried to punish you, and ended up hurting a lot of people in the process. Myself included.”

She gasped as the planet stopped moving, then turned again, this time on a slightly different axis. The air around them seemed to snap with renewal.

“My heart was broken.” She bit her lower lip, trying to control the swell of emotion. “I didn’t know where to turn, what to do. I just knew that I had to get back here to Halfway and try to salvage something from the life you showed me.”

“I thank God that you came back.” His hands moved to her shoulders, his thumbs gently caressing her neck. “You came home.”

When his lips touched hers, the kiss was sweet, then deeper, with a promise of more. She reached up to his shoulders and
held on tight as sensations fiercer than last night’s winds whipped through her.

He broke off the kiss, lifting his head. “Marry me, Remy. Marry me and share my home and family.”

“Oh, Adam … I can’t imagine a life without you.”

He brushed her lips again, then pulled her close. Remy closed her eyes and breathed with him, her senses alive, her spirit reborn.

“I love you, Remy … even if you are named after a brandy.”

“Call me Rebecca,” she said.

He leaned back. “Before I speak to the deacon, I want you to be sure.” He brushed a thumb along her jaw line. “There’ll be no chance for rumspringa for you.”

“Are you kidding me?” She cocked an eyebrow. “I’ve had a lifetime of rumspringa. I’m ready. I love you, and I want nothing more than to be your wife.”

Was that thundering noise the beating of her heart? She closed her eyes and thanked God for this amazing blessing as the pounding sound grew louder. Galloping horses.

“And then there’s the matter of my ten siblings needing a mother.”

She opened one eye. “Ten? That could be a deal-breaker.”

“They’re very well behaved,” he said with a wink.

“Well, as far as I can see Mary and Jonah are old enough to be on their own, and Sadie and Gabe are well on their way, but I’ll be happy to get to know them even better as their sister-in-law.”

“Aah, they grow up so quickly.”

“The others, you know I just adore them, and I’ll try to guide and help them in any way I can.”

“You’ve been a huge help already. You brought light back into our home. Light and laughter.”

He pulled her hands to his lips and placed a kiss on her knuckles.
“And if ten isn’t enough, we can pray God will bless us with a few children of our own.”

Her eyes misted at the prospect of having Adam’s baby one day. “A big Amish family,” she whispered.

“We’ll work on that after we’re married. For now, I’d better get to work. It sounds like the men are here.” He hurried away from the fallen oak, playfully tugging on her hand to follow.

As they moved away from the fat tree trunk, the panorama that emerged on the landscape took her breath away.

Horses galloped over the near slope, their riders clad in black with broad-brimmed hats on their heads like New Age cowboys. A line of gray buggies filed down the lane, their steel wheels wobbling over the rutted road. Someone needed help, and the community had sparked to action.

As lemony sunshine broke through the clouds, Remy thanked God for bringing her to this land and into the arms of this community. Men began buzzing around the huge tree with saws, steadily cutting the fat trunk into manageable timber.

When women began to arrive, Remy jumped into the fray. They moved through the workers, serving water and coffee. On the long tables set up on sawhorses, Mary set out trays of sandwiches. Mammi, Nancy, and Gina sat on one of the benches, enjoying the fresh air and the symphony of hammers and saws.

Remy finished pouring lemonade for an older man who’d been rigging a pulley. Then she glanced to the ladder and watched as Adam swung onto the roof. She wanted to savor the sunshine and the lean, handsome man pounding nails into the rooftop. Today was the beginning of their Amish life together, and she had never known such happiness. She prayed to God that their union would be blessed.

Forever blessed.

While writing this book I became aware of the many groups within a community that lend us support, and I am grateful to everyone who helped on this project.

To my agent, Robin Rue, who got it all started: “It’s all good!”

I am grateful to my editor, Junessa Viloria, for her gentle hand in shaping a story, her understanding of the juggling act, and her bright enthusiasm.

I am indebted to Professor Violet Dutcher for her attention to both small details and the big picture of Amish culture. Her personal experiences, her understanding of story composition, and her relationships to people in various Amish communities have been invaluable.

The works of John Hostetler, Donald Kraybill, and Suzanne Woods Fisher provided a wealth of information and insight.

And many thanks to the people in Lancaster County who have inspired my characters and stories and helped verify customs, language, and traditions. Denki.

Read on for an exciting preview of

A
Simple Spring

the next Seasons of Lancaster novel

by Rosalind Lauer

April

h, send the sunshine down my way.…” Sadie King sang the bright song to the green juniper bushes and the chickens and little Sam and Katie and anyone else who wanted to listen on this glorious morning.

All around her on the King family farm, plants and animals were coming alive, blossoming and sprouting green leaves and pushing up strong shoots through the earth. Birdsong filled the air around them, along with the scents of sweet flowers like honeysuckle and wisteria. The sweetness mixed with the sharp smell of the fields, where her brothers had turned manure into the warming soil to make it fertile for more things to grow.

Signs of spring surrounded her, and she poured her joy into the melody that flowed from her heart. God was renewing the farm, breathing life into everything.

Including her.

Sadie was in rumspringa, and her new life included an Englisher boy named Frank Marconi and the wonderful good bounty of music he had shown her. Music outside the Amish community wasn’t just used to praise God. There was jazz and rock and roll, music to dance to, folk music, and songs to sing along to. The English had songs to make you sad and songs that made you feel like you were soaring between puffy clouds.

Like “Blossom,” the song she was singing this morning as she steered her youngest siblings toward the chicken coop.

“Stay out here, Katie. You can start feeding them.” Sadie removed the heavy lid from the seed bucket and grabbed a small handful.

Two-year-old Katie giggled as she tossed feed onto the ground, attracting the flapping hens. “Eat, now! Eat!” she ordered, enjoying this almost as much as the chickens.

“Why do we gather eggs twice a day?” Sam asked as he shooed a handful of hens from the coop. At the age of five, Sam was full of questions.

“If we let the eggs sit for too long, the chickens might hop onto them and break them,” Sadie explained as she reached to the hook inside the coop for the pair of leather gloves. “Besides, we want our eggs to be fresh as can be.”

Most of the chickens had fled the coop, but as usual cranky Lumpig perched on the edge of a nesting box. Her beady eyes dared anyone to come close.

“She always stays inside.” Sam put his pail down, frowning. “Why is she so mean?”

“She’s just keeping watch over her little treasures. Aren’t you, Lumpig?” Sadie held up her handful of feed for the hen to see, then tossed it out the doorway onto the ground outside the coop. “Skit-skat.”

Immediately Lumpig hopped from the nest, flapping her wings and scurrying to her breakfast.

“How do you do that?” Sam asked.

“Just distract her with the feed.”

“Can I do the eggs today?”

“That’s fine, but mind you’re quick about it. Lumpig will be back to guard her eggs again.” Sadie reached for the broom. “You do that, and I’ll sweep up.” As she started to sweep old hay and manure from the corners of the small hut, she launched into a song that made her think of Frank.

“Daydreaming and I’m thinking of you …” When their band was choosing music to learn, Frank always wanted songs that Sadie could belt out, songs that allowed her to hold the notes a long time. “Bluesy songs,” he called them.

“Look at my heart,” she sang, caressing each note with her voice.

Sam worked just fine while she sang; he never minded her music, though one day he noted that she knew a lot of songs. And why did he not hear Sadie’s songs at Sunday church?