Becoming Bea (The Courtships of Lancaster County Book #4) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Leslie Gould

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178 pages

English

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Can Bea and Ben Turn Rivalry Into Romance? Beatrice Zook knows God wants her to learn patience toward others. When assisting a family overwhelmed by triplets proves surprisingly successful, her confidence in dealing with others, both young and old, grows. One person she'll never be able to find peace with though is Ben Rupp. They've known each other forever, and Ben understands precisely how to antagonize her. What neither she nor Ben will admit is that beneath all their bickering, attraction awaits. When friends decide to try and bring the couple together, will the pair be able to find true love? Or will they damage their relationship beyond repair?

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	14 octobre 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441264749
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

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

Extrait

© 2014 by Leslie Gould
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 2014
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—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.
ISBN 978-1-4412-6474-9
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover photography by Mike Habermann Photography, LLC
Cover design by Jennifer Parker
Author represented by MacGregor Literary, Inc.
For Thao,
Youngest daughter of mine, strong and beautiful, faithful and fun.
Cause me to know the way wherein I should walk.
Psalm 143:8 KJV

Thou and I are too wise to woo peaceably.
William Shakespeare, Much Ado About Nothing, V.II.61
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Books by Leslie Gould
Back Ads
Back Cover
Chapter 1
I won the third-grade spelling bee with H-A-R-M-O-N-Y. It was a word I loved but was not a feeling I often experienced—except for this moment, sitting on the porch of our farmhouse with my Mamm .
It was mid-October. Autumn. Such a beautiful word and my favorite time of the year. The bright blue sky sparkled above us. Sunflowers, the size of platters, lined the field. And woodsmoke from our neighbor’s chimney drifted across the road.
I couldn’t explain the feeling that swept over me. Harmony, jah , but with a hint of A-N-T-I-C-I-P-A-T-I-O-N, the word that had won me the fourth-grade spelling bee. As if something good was about to happen. To me. And soon.
Although I did my best to follow Scriptures, I was known more for my melancholy than my optimism. But for the moment, I relished the hopeful feeling.
My R-E-V-E-R-I-E, the word Ben Rupp had beat me with in our fifth-grade bee, ended just as quickly as it came when I caught sight of my sister Molly trudging up the pathway, an empty flower bucket in each hand.
“I’m not feeling well.” She stopped under the oak tree next to the sprawling pile of leaves that I needed to finish raking. Her skin was pale, all the way to her blond hairline. She was nearly as white as her Kapp , which was unusual for her, considering she spent every day working outside. She lowered the buckets to the grass and then leaned against the trunk of the tree.
I clutched my journal in one hand and my Bible, which had belonged to my father, in the other.
Mamm started down the steps. “Bea will go down and help.”
“I will?”
Molly lurched, probably at the surprise of Mamm’s volunteering me to help with the farmers’ market in our lower field.
“Jah , you will,” Mamm called over her shoulder. “Go put your things away.”
I detested the Youngie farmers’ market and did my best to avoid it, Saturday after Saturday. But I knew to obey my Mamm, even if I’d just turned twenty-one. She wouldn’t have assigned me the task if it didn’t need to be done.
As Mamm hurried toward Molly, I headed into the house and up the stairs to my room, stashing my Bible, journal, and pencil in my bottom drawer, next to my dictionary and the book of poems I’d checked out from the library. I couldn’t afford to buy books of my own.
I closed the drawer. I was always careful not to leave my personal things out for anyone to paw through. Especially not Molly. She’d snooped once, and I hadn’t been able to trust her since.
When I stepped back onto the porch, Molly was sitting on the wicker settee beside Mamm. “You’ll just need to help load the wagon,” she said. “I decided to close early.”
That wasn’t like her either, but I didn’t comment for fear she’d change her mind.
“The sales have been low for everyone. Not many tourists out today,” she explained. “We’ve sold out of the pumpkins and asters, but that’s all.”
Even I could have predicted the decrease in traffic. I hurried on down the steps.
“Bea,” my sister called out.
I turned toward her.
“ Denki ,” she said.
Mamm nodded in agreement.
I waved my hand as if it were nothing, which they both knew wasn’t true. I hated crowds. And being around strangers.
“It’s good to see her taking steps to stretch herself,” Mamm said as I continued on. I knew she didn’t intend for me to catch her words—she’d been talking louder than usual lately, perhaps because her hearing had deteriorated during her illness—but it pained me to know my sister and mother talked that way behind my back. Since Dat had died it was as if Molly had stepped into the role of parent. Something I was sure she relished.
Molly most likely had a touch of the flu that had been going around our district. Even so, we’d been through enough tragedy that I couldn’t help but worry about her. Dat had died two years ago and then Mamm had a brain tumor—benign, thankfully—but still she’d gone through an operation and radiation.
I hesitated for a moment on the other side of the oak tree. In the pasture below, the vendors packed their wares: baked goods, fall gourds, lap quilts, woven baskets, fresh herbs, fall flowers, hope chests, and kraut and sausages. An entire cornucopia of offerings. I had often observed the market while I did the wash on Saturday mornings, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells, thankful I didn’t have to interact with the people.
I inhaled and kept marching.
Our yellow lab, named Love, escorted me to the trail and then stopped and looked up at me with her dark brown eyes. I gave her a pat, even though I wasn’t much of a dog person, but I didn’t bother to tell her to stay. She knew not to follow me.
Not nearly as surefooted as Molly, I confronted the steep slope, doing my best to keep my balance. I didn’t possess the level of comfort my sister had with every inch of our land. Although I couldn’t say I excelled at it, I spent much more time doing housework than I did outside chores, leaving the flower farming to Molly.
But still I loved our home, land and all, and couldn’t imagine ever living anywhere else, although I wouldn’t mind if Molly and her husband, Leon, moved away—close enough to do the work but not in the same house as Mamm and me. I was ready for a break from my sister.
It wasn’t that I didn’t love her. I did, with all my heart. But with Molly, her way was the only way. We were sisters, true, but as different as night and day, starting with my dark hair and brown eyes. Mamm said when I was born she’d expected I’d be just like Molly. But she said it was obvious from day one I wouldn’t be the go-getter my sister was.
All my life I’d lived in Molly’s shadow.
I stumbled over a rock as I reached the pasture, my arms flailing as I regained my balance.
I swiped at a trickle of sweat by my temple. It had been overcast and drizzly for several days, but the weather had turned warm again. Maybe we would have a streak of Indian summer before winter came.
The savory smell of bratwurst made my mouth water as I approached the market. A few Englisch customers bought up the grilled items and pastries, reaping a good sale price.
I kept my head down, hoping none of the vendors expected a conversation from me. My strategy worked—no one even called out a hello—although a stranger, an Amish man I didn’t recognize, turned toward me and stared as I passed him. He was tall, broad, and handsome, and wore a thick, short beard. I could feel his eyes still on me as I hurried along.
When I reached our flower booth, my brother-in-law, Leon, nodded a greeting. He and I were both introverts and had much more in common with each other than either of us had with Molly, proving that opposites attract since she was the one he chose. For a short time, a few hours on a camping trip a year ago last June, I wondered what it would be like to court him, but now he was like a brother to me.
I actually did have a brother—Ivan, my half brother, who at nearly fifty had just married Nell Yoder. She’d been delighted to take on the role of big sister to Molly and me, but Ivan remained more like a favorite Onkel .
I grabbed the handles of two buckets filled with purple mums and marched to the wagon. I hefted them into the back and scooted them along the boards as far as I could. Our horse, Daisy, nickered, and I stepped forward to pet her, although besides not being much of a dog person, I wasn’t a horse person either.
On my way back to the booth I stumbled over my own two feet at the sight of Ben Rupp, who approached Leon.
“Are you going hunting with us?” Ben called out. “The more the merrier.”
Leon responded, “It’s not hunting season yet.”
“It will be—for muzzle-loaders,” Ben replied. “It comes right after bow hunting. Before regular hunting.”
Leon, his back to me, shook his head and said something, but I couldn’t make out his words.
Ben continued, “I have my Dawdi ’s old gun. And I talked the twins and Phillip into buying their own.”
Leon said something else I couldn’t hear.
Ben’s voice was loud, too loud. “You’re going to Montana?”
“Jah. Next week.”
No one had said a thing about Leon going to Montana, especially not as soon as next week. I started marching towar