Sacrifice (Abram's Daughters Book #3) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Beverly Lewis

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153 pages

English

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Abram's Daughters book 3, the sequel to the bestselling The Betrayal. This powerful family saga features four Amish courting-age sisters growing up in Lancaster County Pennsylvania, beginning in the 1940s. Life in Gobbler's Knob was all Leah Ebersol ever wanted until her older sister Sadie abandoned faith and family, leaving Leah no choice but to believe the worst, that Sadie--and her own beloved Jonas--had betrayed her. Now, two years later, Leah still misses both Sadie and Jonas keenly. Because of her sister's shunning, she cannot contact either of them but hears through the grapevine that they are married. Loyal neighbor Gid is still biding his time, but on the verge of accepting his courting invitation, tragedy befalls the Ebersols and Leah must again choose between her own happiness and her family. Mary Ruth dreams of becoming a teacher, but it has gotten pushed to the back of her thinking when a nice young Amish boy comes courting. Twin Hannah yearns for her sister to attend baptismal classes with her, but Mary Ruth is not ready to take her &supl;nal vows. How will this family in turmoil &supl;nd peace?

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Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	01 mai 2004
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781585586783
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0432€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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© 2004 Beverly Lewis
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 2010
Ebook corrections 10.4.2012
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 electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
ISBN 978-1-58558-678-3
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
The portion of a poem cited in chapter thirty-four is as quoted in A Joyous Heart by Corrie Bender, published by Herald Press of Scottdale, Pennsylvania, in 1994. The author of the poem is unknown.
Cover design by Dan Thornberg, Design Source Creative Services
The internet addresses, email addresses, and phone numbers in this book are accurate at the time of publication. They are provided as a resource. Baker Publishing Group does not endorse them or vouch for their content or permanence.
Dedication
For Jeannette Green, wonderful friend and “sister.” Beautiful in every way.
Contents
Prologue
Part One
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Part Two
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Beverly Lewis
Back Ads
Back Cover
Prologue
Summer 1949
C ome June, the first song of the whippoorwill reminds me of berry picking . . . and bygone days. Although it has been over two years since Jonas Mast left for Ohio, I still wonder about him, along with my older sister, Sadie, and am able to pray for their happiness more readily than at first.
Especially now, at summer’s onset, when strawberries are ripe and ready for pies and preserves, I think of Jonas. He loved strawberry-rhubarb pie like nobody’s business, and both his mamma and mine made it for him with sugar and raw honey, so it was nothing short of wonderful-good. “Desserts are s’posed to be plenty sweet,” Mamma has said for as long as I can remember. This, with her irresistible wide-eyed smile. These days Sadie is the one baking such delicious fruit pies for Jonas.
Now and again I feel almost numb for the way things turned out between Jonas, Sadie, and me. Close as I was to each of them, it seems they should have cared enough to send some word early on prior to Bishop Bontrager’s strict decree offering an explanation. Anything would’ve been better than this dreadful silence. It’s the not knowing how things got so ver-kehrt topsy-turvy that causes the most frustration in me. The lack of word from Ohio confirms my worst fears. I expect even now Sadie probably wonders if I have any idea she is married to Jonas, or that I feel strongly she stole him away from me. How on earth does she live with herself?
I’m slowly accepting the split between my beau and me, since it would be wrong to pine for a man who belongs to another. Most folk just assume I’ve passed the worst of it and am moving on with life. They will never know truly, because I tend to go about things rather cheerfully . . . and, too, so much time has passed since that devastating autumn. It does still puzzle me, if I think on it, how one minute we were so happily planning our wedding, and then, clear out of the blue, a most peculiar letter arrived saying Jonas suspected Gideon Peachey of carrying a torch for me. Even though I promptly wrote to reassure him of my devotion and love, I never again heard from him. Downright baffling it is.
Of course, if Jonas were privy to my present friendship with Smithy Gid, he might have a little something to go on. But, back then, nothing was further from the truth. Fact was, my heart belonged wholly to Jonas, and nothing and no one could make me think otherwise. Not Smithy Gid, nor his sister Adah, my closest friend. Not even dear Dat and Mamma, though my father has long hoped Gid might one day win my affections.
With the revelation of Aunt Lizzie’s secret to me to Mary Ruth and Hannah, too my father’s and grandfather’s health seems much improved and both Mamma and Aunt Lizzie have a new spring in their step, in spite of the vacant spot at the supper table. Sadie’s absence is a constant source of worry, especially since she’s been shunned from the Gobbler’s Knob church. And Dat was right; the bishop after a reasonable time insisted Sadie’s letters be returned unopened. It’s no wonder she stopped writing along about Christmastime after leaving for Ohio. I wish to heavens I might’ve been allowed to read those things she wrote to us.
Some days it seems as if my sister has been away for years on end. But if that were true, I’d be thought of as a maidel by now, which I’m surely not. I am still only nineteen a few years under the limit of the expected marrying age though if Smithy Gid had his way, he and I would be hitched up already.
The berry patch calls to me even now as I help Dat with morning milking. Seems there’s something nearly sacred about creeping along the mounded rows, the blissful buzz of nature in my ears, long runners tripping at my bare feet as the blistering sun stands high and haughty in the sky and the tin bucket steadily fills with plump red fruit. Being out there alone with the birds and the strawberry plants, beneath the wide and blue heavenly canopy, soothes my soul and sets my world aright. At least for a time . . .
Part One
What doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?
Micah 6:8
Chapter One
T he morning Mamma quietly announced her baby news, Leah hung back a bit, standing near the kitchen door, while her twin sisters, especially Mary Ruth, were overjoyed at Mamma’s being in the family way again. Many of the Old Order viewed it as shameful to share such things with unmarried children, but both Mamma and Dat felt otherwise and didn’t hesitate to include their four eldest daughters, though discreetly.
“Since Lydiann’s a toddler and not so little anymore, it’ll be fun to have a baby around again,” declared Mary Ruth.
“And wonderful- gut for Lydiann to have a close-in-age brother or sister.” Hannah’s smile stretched from ear to ear as she seemingly took the news in her stride, much as Dat must surely have, too, when Mamma told him in private earlier.
Leah had suspected nothing of this from Dat, although he’d had plenty of opportunity to say something during early-morning chores. Her father had never been one to speak of personal things; she knew this firsthand, because, for some time now, she had been asking for information relating to her own birth, to no avail. “For goodness’ sake, Leah,” he would say each time she brought it up, “be grateful the Good Lord made you healthy and strong, that you were born headfirst. What else wouldja care to know?”
But there were certain things she did ponder, such as who her first father might be. Lizzie, however, seemed unable to discuss the subject. Is it too hard to dredge up the past? Leah wondered. Or was Lizzie simply unwilling to bring it up for fear of implicating a member of the Hickory Hollow Amish church, miles away? There were also nagging questions concerning the day Leah was born in the Ebersol Cottage, but she couldn’t bear to ask them of Lizzie.
Mary Ruth broke the stillness, glancing furtively at Leah as she said, “Maybe Dat will finally get a real son.”
“Aw, pity’s sake,” Mamma said, shaking her head at Mary Ruth. She went to sit on the wooden bench next to the kitchen table, fanning herself with the hem of her long black apron. Her round face was flushed from the heat of the wood stove, where she had two strawberry pies baking.
“But . . . if the baby is a girl,” Hannah spoke up, “there’ll be less sewing to do.”
Leah spoke at last. “Only if we get busy and make plenty of little afghans ’tween now and December. Lydiann was a spring baby, don’t forget.”
At this Leah caught Mamma’s sweet and gentle smile. “That’s my Leah, always leaning toward the practical.” Mary Ruth continued to chatter, asking where Lydiann would sleep once the wee one came.
Quickly Hannah suggested, “Why, she can sleep with us. Ain’t so, Mary Ruth?”
Mamma laughed at that. “I daresay there wouldn’t be much sleeping goin’ on. Not as wiggly as that one is!”
Leah turned and slipped outdoors, going to the hen house, where she scattered feed to the chickens. Inside, she leaned against the rickety wall, watching them peck the ground near her bare feet. “Honestly,” she said right out, “I don’t know whether to be happy or sad about a new baby.”
The hens paid her no mind, but the lone rooster cocked his head and eyed her curiously. In all truth, she had forced a smile about Mamma expecting a little one come next Christmas. Here, with only the chickens for company, she recalled the months before two-year-old Lydiann came into the world. Mamma had been ever so tired . . . nauseated, too. At close to forty-five, she was not nearly as energetic and strong as in years past, but there were a good many women that age or older in the family who had no trouble birthing babies. Leah was glad her mother came from a long line of such women. Indeed, she was happy at the prospect of Dat’s having his first son