Rachel's Garden

Table of Contents

 

 

“I loved
Leah’s Choice
by Marta Perry! More than just a sweet Amish love story, it is a complex mix of volatile relationships and hard choices. I couldn’t put it down. I highly recommend it!”

—Colleen Coble, author of
The Lightkeeper’s Daughter

“Leah’s Choice
is a wonderful, fresh addition to the growing collection of novels about the Amish life. Marta Perry has created characters that I came to care for deeply and a plot that kept me guessing at every turn.”

—Deborah Raney, author of
Above All Things
and
the Hanover Falls novels

“Leah’s Choice
captured me on the first page—complex characters, unexpected conflicts, and deep emotion. Make the right choice. Savor this special book.”

—Lyn Cote, author of the Texas Star of Destiny series

“What a joy it is to read Marta Perry’s novels!
Leah’s Choice
has everything a reader could want—strong, well-defined characters; beautiful, realistic settings; and a thought-provoking plot. Readers of Amish fiction will surely be waiting anxiously for her next book.”—Shelley Shepard Gray, author of the Sisters of the Heart series “Leah’s Choice by Marta Perry is a knowing and careful look into Amish culture and faith. A truly enjoyable reading experience.”

—Angela Hunt, author of
Let Darkness Come

“I was moved and challenged by Leah’s honest questioning, her difficult choices, and most of all by the strength of her love and faith.
Leah’s Choice
is a lovely book. Simply lovely.”

—Linda Goodnight, author of
Finding Her Way Home

“Leah’s Choice
takes us into the heart of Amish country and the Pennsylvania Dutch, and shows us the struggles of the Amish community as the outside world continues to clash with the Plain ways. This is a story of grace and servitude as well as a story of difficult choices and heartbreaking realities. It touched my heart. I think the world of Amish fiction has found a new champion.”

—Lenora Worth, author of
The Perfect Gift

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This is an original publication of The Berkley Publishing Group.

 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Copyright © 2010 by Martha Johnson.

 

All rights reserved.

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PRINTING HISTORY

Berkley trade paperback edition / March 2010

 

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

 

Perry, Marta.

Rachel’s garden / Marta Perry.—Berkley trade paperback ed.

p. cm.—(Pleasant Valley; bk. 2)

eISBN : 978-1-101-18571-1

1. Amish—Fiction. 2. Lancaster County (Pa.)—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3616.E7933R33 2010

813’.6—dc22

2009047800

 

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I’d like to express my gratitude to those whose expertise, patience, and generosity helped me in the writing of this book: to Erik Wesner, whose
Amish America
newsletters are enormously helpful in visualizing aspects of daily life; to Donald Kraybill and John Hostetler, whose books are the definitive works on Amish life; to Louise Stoltzfus, Lovina Eicher, and numerous others who’ve shared what it means to be Amish; to the unnamed Plain People whose insights have enriched my life; and most of all to my family, for giving me a rich heritage upon which to draw.

CHAPTER ONE

A
flicker of movement from the lane beyond the kitchen window of the old farmhouse caught Rachel Brand’s eye as she leaned against the sink, washing up the bowl she’d used to make a batch of snickerdoodles. A buggy—ja, it must be Leah Glick, already bringing home Rachel’s two older kinder from the birthday party for their teacher.

Quickly she set the bowl down and splashed cold water on her eyes. It wouldn’t do to let her young ones suspect that their mamm had been crying while she baked. Smoothing her hair back under her kapp and arranging a smile on her lips, she went to the back door.

But the visitor was not Leah. It was a man, alone, driving the buggy.

Shock shattered her curiosity when she recognized the strong face under the brim of the black Amish hat. Gideon Zook. Her fingers clenched, wrinkling the fabric of her dark apron. What did he want from her?

She stood motionless for a moment, her left hand tight on the door frame. Then she grabbed the black wool shawl that hung by the door, threw it around her shoulders, and stepped outside.

The cold air sent a shiver through her. It was mid-March already, but winter had not released its grip on Pleasant Valley, Pennsylvania. The snowdrops she had planted last fall quivered against the back step, their white cups a mute testimony that spring would come eventually. Everything else was as brown and barren as her heart felt these days.

A fierce longing for spring swept through her as she crossed the still-hard ground. If she could be in the midst of growing things, planting and nurturing her beloved garden—ach, there she might find the peace she longed for.

Everything was too quiet on the farm now. Even the barn was empty, the dairy cows already moved to the far field, taken care of by her young brother-in-law William in the early morning hours.

The Belgian draft horses Ezra had been so pleased to be able to buy were spending the winter at the farm of his oldest brother, Isaac. Only Dolly, six-year-old Joseph’s pet goat, bleated forlornly from her pen, protesting his absence.

Gideon had tethered his horse to the hitching post. Removing something from his buggy, he began pacing across the lawn, as if he measured something.

Then he saw her. He stopped, waiting. His hat was pushed back, and he lifted his face slightly, as if in appreciation of the watery sunshine. But Gideon’s broad shoulders were stiff under his black jacket, his eyes wary, and his mouth set above his beard.

Reluctance slowed her steps. Perhaps Gideon felt that same reluctance. Aside from the formal words of condolence he’d spoken to her once he was well enough to be out again after the accident, she and Gideon had managed to avoid talking to each other for months. That was no easy thing in a tight-knit Amish community

She forced a smile. “Gideon, wilkom. I didn’t expect to be seeing you today.”

What are you doing here?
That was what she really wanted to say.

“Rachel.” He inclined his head slightly, studying her face as if trying to read her feelings.

His own face gave little away—all strong planes and straight lines, like the wood he worked with in his carpentry business. Lines of tension radiated from his brown eyes, making him look older than the thirty-two she knew him to be. His work-hardened hands tightened on the objects he grasped—small wooden stakes, sharpened to points.

He cleared his throat, as if not sure what to say to her now that they were face-to-face. “How are you? And the young ones?”

“I’m well.” Except that her heart twisted with pain at the sight of him, at the reminder he brought of all she had lost. “The kinder also. Mary is napping, and Leah Glick took Joseph and Becky to a birthday luncheon the scholars are having for Mary Yoder.”

“Gut, gut.”

He moved a step closer to her, and she realized that his left leg was still stiff—a daily reminder for him, probably, of the accident.

For an instant the scene she’d imagined so many times flashed yet again through her mind, stealing her breath away She seemed to see Ezra, high in the rafters of a barn, Gideon below him, the old timbers creaking, then breaking, Ezra falling as the barn collapsed like a house of cards ...

She gasped a strangled breath, like a fish struggling on the bank of the pond. Revulsion wrung her stomach, and she slammed the door shut on her imagination.

She could not let herself think about that, not now. It was not Gideon’s fault that she couldn’t see him without imagining the accident that had taken Ezra away from them. She had to talk to him sensibly, had to find out what had brought him here. And how she could get him to go away again.

She clutched the shawl tighter around her. “Is there something I can do for you, Gideon?”

“I am here to measure for the greenhouse.”

She could only stare at him, her mind fumbling to process his words. The greenhouse—the greenhouse Ezra had promised her as a birthday present. That had to be what Gideon meant.

“How do you know about the greenhouse?”

The words came out unexpectedly harsh. Ezra was gone, and plans for the greenhouse had slipped away, too, swamped in the struggle just to get through the days.

He blinked, apparently surprised. “You didn’t know? Ezra and I went together to buy the materials for your greenhouse. He asked me to build it for you. Now I’m here to start on the work.”