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155 pages

English

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She looked once more at the dreaded river. Since Anna's death, it had been such a barrier . . . a place and a moment she could not seem to move past. A line I can't move beyond... The River Tilly and Ruth, two formerly Amish sisters, are plagued by unresolved relationships when they reluctantly return to Lancaster County for their parents' landmark wedding anniversary. Since departing their Plain upbringing, Tilly has married an Englisher, but Ruth remains single and hasn't entirely forgotten her failed courtship with her Amish beau.Past meets present as Tilly and Ruth yearn for acceptance and redemption. Can they face the future in the light of a past they can't undo?

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	02 septembre 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441264909
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0461€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

© 2014 by Beverly M. Lewis, Inc.
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 978-1-4412-6490-9
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
This story 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 any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Dan Thornberg, Design Source Creative Services
Art direction by Paul Higdon
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
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
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Author’s Note
About the Author
Other Books by Beverly Lewis
Back Ads
Back Cover
To Loretta Steiger, with love and gratitude for all the years of our friendship.
Give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness. . . .
—Isaiah 61:3 KJV
Prologue
A UTUMN 1977
M y Amish family would be shocked to lay eyes on me now, considering my chin-length hair, makeup, and jeans. They’d be just as dismayed by my home’s modern appliances—the freezer, the microwave, the dishwasher, all miraculously fueled by electricity. And they’d be stunned at how easily I’ve taken to driving a car, a red car, no less, as if I’d been born an Englisher.
So, needless to say, I’m digging in my heels about returning home for my parents’ anniversary gathering at the farmhouse where I managed to grow up without any of the conveniences I now take for granted.
Honestly, I figure there’s no need to add salt to an open wound. Besides, I’ve never known anyone to celebrate such things in Eden Valley. Not amongst the Plain folk I was raised around.
Even so, my oldest brother, Melvin, wrote urging me to come, adding: And please bring Ruthie. It’ s ever so important. Everyone else will be there!
Everyone ? It seems like decades since I stepped off the screened-in back porch and waved good-bye to poor worried Mamm and Lancaster County. But it’s only been eight years, to be exact.
Despite how quickly I acclimated to the fancy world, my Amish roots are planted deep within me. My Englisher husband confirms that fact frequently as he witnesses my devotion to hard work and my continuing appreciation for gardening, sewing, and cooking from scratch. And I know he values my efforts to inspire a love of the simple gifts—biblical characteristics essential for a happy life—in our four-year-old twin daughters. After all, it’s both a blessing and a challenge to grow up in the world of the English.
Dawdi Mast, my mother’s Daed , would turn in his grave if he knew I’d embraced the fancy life. But believe me, I never abandoned das Alt Gebrauch— the Old Ways—to cause anyone ill. Some probably suspect I fled to escape the enduring strain between my tetchy father and me, and two of my older brothers—Chester, as well as Joseph, one of the twins. Goodness, but Daed and I never saw eye to eye, always feuding about one thing or another, neither of us giving in a speck.
Mainly, though, I had to leave because of little Anna. Precious Anna, never forgotten, forever missed. The memories of my sister’s accident are still so raw and real. Ach , those bitter years following that dreadful day . . . forever impressed on my heart.
Some of the People thought it was the enticing draw of the Conestoga River—the sweep of its power—that lured my five-year-old sister to its blustery banks that mid-July day. Others spoke vorwitzich— boldly—of God’s sovereign will, saying that it was sweet Anna’s time to depart this old world.
But I knew the truth. My little sister drowned because of me.
———
I glanced again at Melvin’s handwritten note and wondered just how hard it would be to step back into the muddle of my Plain family—six married brothers and our aging parents. Melvin had hinted that our father was no longer his vigorous self at fifty-eight.
“Will I regret not going?” I wondered aloud.
I turned toward the kitchen window as Kris’s brand-new apple-red 1977 Buick Skylark pulled into the driveway. He’d taken our girls to run a few “secret errands” after working at Rockport Hardware, where he was now manager.
Promptly, I stuffed the invitation into the nearest drawer, reluctant to broach the topic with my husband as he made plans for my thirty-first birthday, a little more than a week away.
From my vantage point, I watched our identical golden-haired darlings get out of the car, all smiles and giggles, so similar in likeness to little Anna when she was their age. How remarkable that the Lord had seen fit to give me two constant reminders of my youngest sister. Some days, it was almost haunting.
Naturally, Kris had never seen pictures of Anna, because according to the church ordinance, they were forbidden. The second commandment was ever my family’s guide on that subject, yet I’d known Amish couples to stray from the bishop’s strict rule, snapping furtive photos of their newborns.
My twins, Jenya and Tavani, their birthday purchases in hand, scampered toward the front door, eyes bright. All the while, my brain noodled Melvin’s invitation. Can I bring myself to do this? I wondered. Will Daed and Mamm even welcome me?
One thing was sure: I would not return to Amish country without my only living sister as a kind of buffer. And since the chances of Ruth agreeing to go at all, even with me, were slim to none, I finally dismissed the notion and opened my arms to our daughters.
Kris waited patiently for his own hug and inquired about supper, beaming his contagious smile at me as the twins hurried off to their rooms, jabbering to each other.
“Did you find everything you went for?” I teased, going to the fridge.
“The birthday girl’s not supposed to ask questions.” Kris winked. “Isn’t that what you always tell us ?”
Lost in thought, I removed the defrosted chicken, recalling the days I gutted Daed’s chickens and turkeys. Ruthie was the plucker. Oh, the long, tiresome days pulling innards out of those dead birds.
“Hon?”
I turned, dazed, caught between two worlds. “Oh . . . right.” I paused, raising my palms. “No, really, I have everything I want right here,” I said to Kris. “You, the girls, and our life together.”
A quizzical expression crossed my husband’s handsome face, and his dark eyes penetrated mine. “You all right, hon?”
My husband always knew. He just did. But I wasn’t ready to talk about my brother’s note. Not yet. Not until I phoned Ruthie to see how quickly she, too, might dismiss the idea.
I gave Kris a half-hearted shrug, and he touched my arm. “We’ll talk when you’re ready,” he said softly. “Okay?”
“Sure.” I smiled faintly.
Kris nodded and reached for the newspaper on the counter. He headed down the few steps to the family room while I washed my hands to prepare supper.
Truth be told, there was no way Ruth would think of returning to the scene of her own private heartache. “ Nix kumm raus— Nothin’ doing!” she would say. She’d demonstrated real dignity when Wilmer Kauffman ditched her for the Jamborees. And while we both had been taught to forgive, I doubted Ruthie would ever quite forget. In fact, her wrenching disappointment had played right into the joy of having her join me in the English world, five years after my own hasty exit from our secluded Amish valley—yet another reason for our parents’ frustration with me.
I stole her from them. Occasionally, I felt some remorse over that. But now we were both reasonably settled in Rockport, Massachusetts, like two fugitives from the Amish world, living our fancy lives within walking distance of the harbor.
No, pondering Ruth’s painful past and my own unsettled issues, the answer was clear to me. Our Amish siblings would just have to carry on without us at the November celebration. And that’s all there was to it.
Chapter 1
E den Valley .
Someone perceptive had chosen the name for the verdant area where Melvin Lantz and his five married brothers resided. Although empty nesters, their parents, Lester and Sylvia, continued to work the farm at the old homestead just west of Melvin’s, near the turnoff to Stone Road.
Back when that section of God’s green earth was first organized into a rural community of acreage and roads, someone had also decided the narrow road running past Melvin’s big farm should be called Eden Road. It was true that the surrounding farmland and woodlots, corncribs, and lines of fields were often described as almost heavenly by the good folk who lived and worked there, including Melvin himself.
No, there was absolutely no doubt in Melvin’s mind that the Lord God above had reached His mighty hand down and placed a second Eden-like garden right in the midst of them. And as strongly as he felt about it, Melvin couldn’t help but wonder why his sisters hadn’t managed to stay put there with the People.
From the