Betrayal (Abram's Daughters Book #2) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Beverly Lewis

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135 pages

English

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Beautifully Repackaged: The Betrayal and The SacrificeIn The Betrayal, Leah Ebersol and her beloved Jonas Mast are separated by hundreds of miles when he accepts an apprenticeship in Ohio. They are confident their love is strong enough to survive, but more than time and distance are conspiring to keep them apart.In The Sacrifice, Leah Ebersol has no choice but to believe the worst: Her older sister, Sadie--and Leah's own beloved Jonas--have betrayed her. Now, two years later, Leah still misses them both, though loyal neighbor Gid continues to bide his time. But when tragedy befalls the Ebersols, Leah must make a difficult choice.

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	01 septembre 2003
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781585586790
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 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.

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Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
© 2003 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 12.21.2017
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 978-1-5855-8679-0
Cover design by Dan Thornberg, Design Source Creative Services
Note to Readers: Although Martyrs Mirror is an actual book, the account of Catharina Meylin is a creation of the author.
Dedication
Dedication
For Pamela Ronn, my ‘‘shadow twin’’ and wonderful-good friend.
Acknowledgments
Acknowledgments
The procedure for the baptismal service described in this book was adapted from the Amish ministers’ manual, Handbuch . I am especially thankful for Plain church members in both Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and Holmes County, Ohio, who were willing and gracious, indeed, to verify essential information regarding baptismal instruction and the baptism service itself.
I offer my truest gratitude to Carol Johnson, my editor and dear friend, along with Rochelle Glöege, Barbara Lilland, and David Horton, all vital members of Bethany’s expert editorial team.
My deep appreciation also goes to my husband, David Lewis, who encourages me daily with his prayers, love, and keen interest in my many writing ‘‘journeys.’’
My brother-in-law, Dale Birch, was a wealth of information regarding the work of a master carpenter. And an unexpected blessing came from Larry Quiring, retired U.S. postal worker, who eagerly answered my questions regarding mail delivery in 1947.
To my partners in prayer, a heartfelt thank you! I value your ongoing spiritual encouragement. May the Lord bless you abundantly for your faithfulness.

For readers who wish to probe deeper into the Plain culture, I recommend the following books:
Amish Society, by John A. Hostetler
The Riddle of the Amish, by Donald B. Kraybill
Strangers at Home, Amish and Mennonite Women in History, edited by Kimberly D. Schmidt, Diane Zimmerman Umble, and Steven D. Reschly
Plain and Amish, An Alternative to Modern Pessimism, by Bernd G. Langin
Martyrs Mirror of the Defenseless Christians, or The Bloody Theatre, compiled by Thieleman J. van Braght

Look for A BRAM’S D AUGHTERS Book Three, The Sacrifice, at your local bookstore!
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Preface
Part One
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
Part Two
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
About the Author
Books by Beverly Lewis
Back Ads
Back Cover
Preface

August 9, 1947 Dear Jonas,
Honestly, you spoil me! I’ve saved up a whole handful of your letters, and only a few months have passed since you left for Ohio. It’s all I can do to keep from running to the kitchen calendar yet again to count up the days till your visit for our baptism Sunday next month. How good of your bishop to permit you to join my church district. The Lord above is working all things out for us, ain’t so?
Your latest letter arrived today in the mail, and I hurried out to the front porch and curled up in Mamma’s wicker chair to read in private. I felt you were right there with me, Jonas. Just the two of us together again.
It’s easy to see the many things you describe in Millersburg—the clapboard carpenter’s shed where you’re busy with the apprenticeship, the big brick house where you eat and sleep, even the bright faces of the little Mellinger children. How wonderful-good the Lord God has been to give you your heart’s ambition, and I am truly happy for you . . . and for us.
Here in Gobbler’s Knob (where you are sorely missed!), there isn’t much news, except to say I know of four new babies in a short radius of miles. Even our English neighbors down the road have a new little one. Soon we’re all going to Grasshopper Level to lay eyes on your twin baby sister and brother. I have to admit I don’t know which I like better—feeding chickens and threshing grain, or bathing and playing with my sweet baby sister, almost three months old. Lydiann is so cuddly and cute, cooing and smiling at us. Dat laughs, saying I’m still his right-hand man. ‘‘Let Mamma and your sisters look after our wee one,’’ he goes on. But surely he must know I won’t be called Abram’s Leah for too many more months now, though I haven’t breathed a word. Still, I’m awful sure Mamma and Aunt Lizzie suspect we’re a couple. Dat, too, if he’d but accept the truth of our love. Come autumn, the People will no longer think of me as my father’s replacement for a son. For that I’m truly happy.
Oh, Jonas, are there other couples like us? In another village or town, hundreds of miles from here or just across the cornfield . . . are there two such close friends who also happen to be this much in love? Honestly, I can’t imagine it.
I miss you, Jonas! You seem so far away. . . .
Leah held the letter in her hands, reading what she’d written thus far. Truly, she hesitated to share the one thing that hung most heavily in her mind. Yet Jonas wrote about everything under the sun in his letters, so why shouldn’t she feel free to do the same? She didn’t want to speak out of turn, though.
Should I tell Jonas about the unexpected visit yesterday from his father? she pondered.
Truth was, Peter Mast had come rumbling into the barnyard in his market wagon like a house on fire. In short order, he and Dat had gone off to the high meadow for over an hour. Sure did seem awful strange, but when she asked Mamma about it, she was told not to worry her ‘‘little head.’’
What on earth? she wondered. What business does Cousin Peter have with Dat?
Part One

The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.
—William Wordsworth

Never praise a sister to a sister, in the hope of your compliments reaching the proper ears.
—Rudyard Kipling
Chapter One
D og days . The residents of Gobbler’s Knob had been complaining all summer about the sweltering, brooding sun. Its intensity reduced clear and babbling brooks to a muddy trickle, turning broccoli patches into yellow flower gardens. Meadowlarks scowled at the parched earth void of worms, while variegated red-and-white petunias dropped their ruffled petticoats, waiting for a summertime shower.
Worse still, evening hours gave only temporary pause, as did the dead of night if a faint breeze found its way through open farmhouse windows, bringing momentary relief to restless sleepers. Afternoons were nearly unbearable and had been now for weeks, June twelfth having hit the record high at ninety-seven degrees.
Abram and Ida Ebersol’s farmhouse stood at the edge of a great woods as a shelter against the withering heat. The grazing and farmland surrounding the house had a warm and genial scent, heightened by the high temperatures. Abram’s seven acres and the neighboring farmland were an enticing sanctuary for a variety of God’s smaller creatures—squirrels, birds, chipmunks, and field mice, the latter a good enough reason to tolerate a dozen barn cats.
Not far from the barnyard, hummocks of coarse, panicled grass bordered the mule road near the outhouse, and a wellworn path cut through a high green meadow leading to the log house of Ida’s maidel sister, Lizzie Brenneman.
Ida, midlife mother to nearly three-month-old Lydiann, along with four teenage girls—Sadie, Leah, and twins Hannah and Mary Ruth—found a welcome reprieve this day in the dampness of the cold cellar beneath the large upstairs kitchen, where Sadie and Hannah were busy sweeping the cement floor, redding up in general. Abram had sent Leah indoors along about three-thirty for a break from the beastly heat. Ida was glad to have plenty of help wiping down the wooden shelves, making ready for a year’s worth of canned goods—eight hundred quarts of fruits and vegetables—once the growing season was past. Working together, they lined up dozens of quarts of strawberry preserves and about the same of green beans and peas, seventeen quarts of peaches thus far, and thirty-six quarts of pickles, sweet and dill. Some of the recent canning had been done with Aunt Lizzie’s help, as well as that of their close neighbors—the smithy’s wife, Miriam Peachey, and daughters, Adah and Dorcas.
The Ebersol girls took their time organizing the jars, not at all eager to head upstairs before long and make supper in the sultry kitchen.
‘‘I daresay this is the hottest summer we’ve had in years,’’ Mamma remarked.
‘‘And not only here,’’ Leah added. ‘‘The heat hasn’t let up in Ohio, neither.’’
Mary Ruth mopped her fair brow. ‘‘Your beau must be keepin’ you well informed of the weather in Millersburg, jah ?’’
To this Hannah grinned. ‘‘We could set the clock by Jonas’s letters. Ain’t so, Leah?’’
Leah, seventeen in two months, couldn’t help but smile and much too broadly at that. Dear, dear Jonas. What a wonderful-good letter writer he was, sending word nearly three times a week or so. This had surprised her, really . . . but Mamma always said it was most important for the young man to do the wooing, either by letters or in person. So Jonas was well thought of in Mamma’s eyes at least. Not so much Dat’s. No, her father held fast to his enduring hope of Leah’s marrying the blacksmith’s twenty-year-old son, Gideon Peachey—nicknamed Smithy Gid—next farm over.
Sadie stepped back as if to survey her neat row of quartsized tomato soup jars. ‘‘Writin’ to Cousin Jonas about the w