Gabriel's Bride

Gabriel's Bride, Digital Edition

Based on Print Edition

Copyright © 2014 by Amy Lillard

All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America

978-1-4336-7754-0

Published by B&H Publishing Group

Nashville, Tennessee

Dewey Decimal Classification: F

Subject Heading: AMISH—FICTION \ LOVE STORIES \ ROMANTIC SUSPENSE NOVELS

Scripture is taken from the Holman Christian Standard Bible® (
HCSB
). Copyright © 1999, 2000, 2002, 2003, 2009 by Holman Bible Publishers. Used by permission.

Publishers Note:

The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

To my father, Stanley Davis. I love you. And I miss you.

“My sheep hear My voice, I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish—ever! No one will snatch them out of My hand.” (John 10:27–28)

Acknowledgments

T
he making of a book is never an easy task. There are always bumps along the road, and some journeys are harder than others. This book had one of those tough routes. Shortly after starting
Gabriel’s Bride
, my father passed away. He’d been in poor health for a few years and watching him decline was hard, even from five hundred miles away. I was still reeling from losing him when my eighteen-and-a-half-year-old cat died. Not the best time to write a whimsical romance.

My kind editor told me I could have extra time if I needed it, but all I could see was my daddy’s disappointment that I didn’t uphold my end of the bargain. “Baby girl, get it done” was all I could hear him say. So I plunged ahead with
Gabriel’s Bride,
determined to finish it on schedule.

So many times I have heard authors say that they didn’t like a particular book of theirs because they suffered a personal tragedy while writing it. I suppose the book becomes a reminder of times that are impossible to forget and hard to deal with all at once. I did not want
Gabriel’s Bride
to be that story for me.

I’m not going to tell you that it was easy, but I knew my daddy would be upset if I didn’t give it my all. So I worked hard, I cried, I rewrote, and I prayed. And I’m proud to say that I finished the book on time and I don’t hate it. I love it. In fact, it may be my favorite of the Clover Ridge books.

I need to say thanks to my husband and son for putting up with my mood swings and grief as we all mourned the loss of our “poppaw” and beloved Ch’ing Cheng. My “boys” are the best, and I love you.

Another thanks goes out to my agent, Mary Sue Seymour, and everyone at The Seymour Agency—agents and clients alike. I’m so thankful to be a part of such a wonderful group.

Thank you to my editors Julie Gwinn and Julie Carobini and the entire team at B&H Publishing. As always, you make me look “good.” And to my dear friends Amy Clipston and Sarah Grimm, thank you for reading and rereading and keeping me sane.

And of course, I thank our awesome God who extends His patience and love in troubled times, and gives me wonderful stories to share with you.

1

T
he Lord was testing him. It was as plain as that.

Gabriel Fisher sat down on the bed, its quilt pulled up and neatly tucked in. She hadn’t even slept in it.

He looked at the note in his hands as if seeing it for the first time. From downstairs, he could hear the sounds of the boys stirring around, arguing over who was going to eat what, too impatient in their hunger to wonder where their sister was.

Gone.

He crumpled the paper, not needing to read the words again. Not able to read them through the tears welling in his eyes. His daughter was gone. She had left, wanting to see what the
Englisch
world could offer her. She wanted to go to school, help animals, make more of herself than she could if she stayed in Clover Ridge.

Gabriel raised his eyes toward heaven. “Where did I go wrong, Becca?” He dipped his chin and shook his head. “I did the best I could.”

He rose, his joints popping, his heart breaking. He felt old.

His baby girl was gone.

He tossed her good-bye note onto the bed, then retrieved it again, smoothing it back flat. He’d keep it. It might be the last he heard from her. At least for a while.

Quietly, he shut the door behind him when he really wanted to slam it to expel the growing remorse, regret, hurt, and anger that boiled in his gut.

He wanted to run after her, get in his buggy and scour the county. But she was long gone. Probably already in Tulsa. Staying with strangers. Or at least with people she knew but who were strangers to him.
Englischers
. Too many places she could go in a car. He’d never find her.

He took a deep breath at the head of the stairs, held it in. Let it go. Then started down.

His oldest
bu
, Matthew, stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands propped on his hips. He surveyed his brothers as if he wasn’t sure if he should intervene or walk away.

In that moment, Gabriel realized that Matthew was next. Steady and true, Matthew would turn sixteen next year and get his taste of the
Englisch
freedoms.

“Halt!”

He hadn’t meant to raise his voice quite so much, but there it was, and it was effective. Simon, who had been holding the remains of last night’s pie above his head to keep it away from leaping David and bouncing Joseph, stopped his own jumping and stared at his father. All three of them turned as if only just now aware that their father was anywhere near.

Samuel quietly sat at the table waiting on someone to stop their nonsense and feed him. Poor child. He hadn’t been the same since his sister, Katie Rose, had moved back in with their folks, but that was customary while she and Zane Carson were courtin’. But this . . . this would set Samuel back even more.

Gabriel took a couple more steps into the room, his boys still watching him closely. They knew something was wrong. Their sister had not been about this morning, cooking and laying out their clothes. There was no coffee brewing, no boiled eggs to eat on the way to the barn to jumpstart their morning chores. No Mary Elizabeth.

“Sit down.” He nodded toward the table. There were chores that needed doing. Cows to milk, eggs to gather, horses to feed, but they needed to know first.

He waited until they had all settled themselves into their seats before he started. He took a deep breath. Carefully avoiding the empty seat where his
dochder
should have been, he looked at each of them in turn. “Mary Elizabeth has gone.”

Matthew’s eyes widened as if he understood, yet could hardly believe that what he had heard was true. He alone remained silent; the other
buwe
began speaking at once, talking over each other, but asking the same questions: “Where has she gone?” and “When will she be back?”

Gabriel shook his head, refusing to answer. “Now, go do your chores. I will make breakfast, and we will not speak of this again.”

They hesitated, but only for a heartbeat, then the sound of their chairs scraping the floor filled the room. They trudged out the back door, their faces reflecting their unasked questions. But they all knew better than to push him.

All but Matthew.

His oldest
sohn
remained seated, his green eyes so like Gabriel’s own filled with concern and dismay. “
Dat
?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“There are horses to feed, Matthew.”

“She’s not coming back, is she?”

Hearing the words spoken out loud nearly broke his heart in two. But he had to push the pain aside. He had to remain strong for all of them. “The horses, Matthew.” His voice came out gruff, not at all like it had the day before.

“Jah, Vatter.”

Gabriel dipped his head as Matthew pushed his chair back and rose from the table. He didn’t watch as his son reluctantly followed his brothers outside to complete the morning chores. Instead, he closed his eyes and uttered a small prayer for her safety and well-being. His Mary Elizabeth was smart, but unaccustomed to the ways of the
Englisch
. He could only hope wherever she was that she was safe and protected from the temptations which made up the outside world.

With an
aemen
and a sigh, he rose from the table and started breakfast.

About noon time, Gabriel came out of the barn, drawn back into the sun by the jingle of a horse bridle and the creak of a buggy. He blinked a couple of times to right his vision as Zane Carson, the fancy reporter who was bound to marry Katie Rose, pulled his buggy to a stop.

“Goedemiddag,”
the
Englisch
-man-turned-Amish greeted, jumping down from the buggy and smacking his horse affectionately on the rump.

For a fancy city boy, Zane Carson had adapted to the Plain ways as if he had been born to them. Yet the bishop had his reservations about allowing him in, making him wait over a year before he could begin classes to join the church. Amish folk leaving the district was more likely than the fancy joining up. With Gideon marrying his own
Englisch
bride . . . well, two
Englisch
asking to join in the same year had the bishop as wary as a fox.

Thoughts of leaving brought Mary Elizabeth’s desertion back to the front of his mind. He sighed and pushed back those thoughts. She was in
rumspringa
. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t return. She hadn’t joined the church. She wouldn’t be shunned for testing
Englisch
waters, but she was his little girl, and he worried about her. Hadn’t known that she was so unhappy with the lot God had provided for her that she felt there was more to be found in the world.

“Wie geht?”
he asked his sister’s intended.

“Gut, gut,”
Zane Carson said, with a dip of his chin. “Deacon Esh sent me. Katherine Yoder passed in the night.”

Gabriel tsked and shook his head. What was it about the night that so many things turned for the bad? “Terrible sad, that. Katherine was a
gut
woman.”

“That she was. Uh, the deacon wants you to accompany him to the funeral.”

“Me?”

Zane Carson shrugged. “I’m just the messenger.”

Unsaid was the truth that Old Ezekiel Esh, for all his obedience to God and heavenly aspirations, was something of an odd duck. A little like Katherine herself. It would do no good to question him on the matter. Compliance was the surest way to discover the method of the old man’s thoughts.

The more logical choice would have been Zane Carson himself, since he had moved in with the deacon, seeing after his farm while waiting for permission to become a part of the community.

No doubt Old Zeke had a motive, but Gabriel would only find out when the old man wanted him to know. Even though Katherine Yoder’s house was no longer in their district, the deacon would naturally attend the services to pay his respects to the family.

“The funeral will be next Tuesday.”

“Is there anything else he needs from me?” There was a mighty lot to do when a body went on to the Lord. With the woman’s niece Rachel being her only kinfolk around, Gabriel expected the responsibility of the district would be far greater than normal.

“That’s all he said.”

Gabriel nodded, his mouth pulling down into a thoughtful frown.

Zane’s deep brown eyes studied him closely. “You alright?” The man was shrewd to a fault.

He didn’t want to talk about it, but soon everyone would know, and there would be no hiding from it. Gabriel sighed. “Mary Elizabeth left last night.”

“Left?”

“Jah.”

Zane blinked once as the meaning sunk in. “She left.”

“That’s what I said.” Gabriel hated the harshness of his tone, but Zane Carson didn’t seem to notice.

“I would have never thought she would—”

He was a
gut
man, his sister’s intended. With any luck and the Good Lord’s grace, Zane and Katie Rose would be allowed to marry soon, maybe even as early as June. Though most Amish waited until after the harvest to speak vows, the couple was understandably anxious to start their life together.