Secret Keeper (Home to Hickory Hollow Book #4) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Beverly Lewis

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150 pages

English

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Readers Eagerly Await the Latest from Beverly Lewis, the #1 Name in Amish FictionWith her love for all things old-fashioned, Jennifer Burns has often been told she's an "old soul," but no one is prepared for the young woman's decision to set aside her modern life in favor of the Old Order Amish world. Yet Jenny does exactly that, adopting Plain dress and settling in with Samuel and Rebecca Lapp while she works as a mother's helper for the bishop's wife--a far cry from her former job as an x-ray technician.The people of Hickory Hollow are curious about the beautiful young seeker among them, one handsome Amishman in particular. But he is not the only man vying for Jenny's affections, and Jenny faces many challenges in the Proving time the brethren have set for her...challenges of the heart, as well as the spirit.Will Jenny's secrets keep her from the peace she longs for? Or will they lead the way home?

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Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	03 septembre 2013
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441262721
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

© 2013 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 2013
Ebook corrections 11.21.2019
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 978-1-4412-6272-1
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
The poem quoted in chapter 18 can be found in its entirety under “Morning Thoughts” in the June 1859 copy of The Friend of Youth and Child’s Magazine .
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 design by Dan Thornberg, Design Source Creative Services
Art direction by Paul Higdon
For Jackie Green, with love.
And . . . for all of my devoted reader-friends whose heart’s cry is to live more simply—if not Amish, then a more peaceable life.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
Epilogue
Author’s Note
About the Author
Other Books by Beverly Lewis
Back Ads
Back Cover
Prologue
T oday’s the day I’ll tell them.
I parked my car beneath the brilliantly red sugar maple tree at the impressive Connecticut estate—my childhood home. It was a yearly custom for my parents to throw a dinner party to celebrate my October birthday.
Twenty-five and still trying to fit in . . . somewhere.
I glanced at the console and spotted a pile of mail tucked away there, including a card from Marnie Lapp in Lancaster County. May this be the best birthday ever, dear Jenny! she’d written beneath her name.
A chance meeting several years ago while on vacation, and curiously enough, Marnie and I had become friends. Despite being Amish, she was one of my closest confidantes.
Getting out of the car, I drew a deep breath and strolled toward the formal entrance. At the grand double doors, I paused to muster up the required poise, straightened my breezy floral skirt, and pushed back my shoulder-length auburn hair. Ready or not, I reached for the gleaming handle and stepped inside the two-story foyer.
My older sister, Kiersten, greeted me, her brown-eyed gaze lingering with unconcealed disapproval on my high-necked blouse and open-toed sandals. “Happy birthday, sister,” she said, waving me into the intimate gathering room near the dining room. “Mom’s knocked herself out, as usual.” Then, pausing as we passed through the doorway, she added, “Oh, and I should warn you. Robb brought along a colleague from work. His name is Frank.” Her eyes communicated the message Not my fault!
So my brother-in-law, Dr. Robb Newburg, was obviously as concerned as Mom about my single state.
I cringed. Now what? How could I possibly reveal my plans?
Attempting to conjure up some enthusiasm, I smiled as Robb rose from his comfortable perch and rushed over to extend his hand. He turned to introduce a good-looking, very tall blond man.
Frank gave me an engaging smile. “It’s great to meet you,” he said, all charm.
“Thanks for joining us,” I replied politely even as my heart sank. I didn’t like the idea of postponing my inevitable news. This was supposed to be the night I actually dared to be honest with everyone.
“My sister’s something straight out of the nineteenth century,” Kiersten declared. “In case you wondered, Frank.” She punctuated her remark with foolish laughter.
Ah . . . Kiersten. True to form, interlacing her banter with shards of truth. She glanced coyly at Robb, who smiled back at me, apologizing with his blue-gray eyes.
“Um, what’s so special about this century?” I asked, glancing over at my brother, Cameron, and his girlfriend, Tracie Wells. “High-tech gadgets aren’t everything.”
Kiersten simpered as she fingered her diamond earring.
“Does this mean you still don’t have a cell phone?” asked Cameron, feigning pain when Tracie poked him.
“Life is far less complicated without one,” I replied.
My own family. After all these years, they still didn’t know what made me tick.
In the corner of the room, our father was hunched over one of his many research books, oblivious to the undercurrents. All the better. Wouldn’t want to spoil things for Mom. Such parties translated to fun and socializing for her—the more, the better. Dad, however, preferred to immerse himself in his work as a research scientist for a pharmaceutical company, more at home with books than with people.
I went over to say hi. “What’re you studying, Dad?”
He glanced up as if just realizing I was there. He blinked at me, a vague look on his face, apparently still deep in thought about his book. So typical of my cerebral father. “Hi, Jenny.”
Not “Happy birthday, honey.”
Then Mom appeared in the dining room archway, impeccably coifed, pretty eyes smiling. She was ready to serve dinner and motioned gracefully without a word, contentedly leading the way.
The chandeliered space was adorned with silver streamers, and matching candles flickered across the gleaming table. We’d celebrated numerous birthdays here in Mom’s favorite room, yet I’d never stopped feeling out of place.
Once we were all seated, I tried to make conversation with my mother, but she was eager to talk about an upcoming gala instead.
The prime rib was wonderful. But with Frank seated next to me at the table, it wasn’t easy negotiating our forced meeting. Really, Mom? The uncomfortable pauses between Frank’s upbeat comments—and his attempt to ask me out—were the last things I needed at my final dinner party in the modern world.
And sitting there with my family gathered near, I wondered, If I were to disappear, would they even notice?
After dinner, my mother produced a spectacular chocolate layer cake and lit the birthday candles. Kiersten studied me like a lab tech with a specimen while Mom coaxed me to blow out my candles, as if I were still six. “The evening’s not perfect without a birthday wish. Make it a good one, Jenny.”
Making wishes was the easy part. It was the end result that was iffy. Despite that, I closed my eyes to appease her, knowing all too well my mother’s dearest wish—that I’d settle down and marry. The sooner, the better.
I puffed out the candles, but my wish had nothing to do with a man—not that I was opposed to marriage and a family of my own. More times than I could count, I’d imagined what it would be like to live in a simpler era, when people actually listened to one another.
The ideal world . . .
But there would be no announcement tonight. Hours after the superb meal, we parted ways and I drove to my modest condo on the outskirts of Essex. Inside, I hurried to my bedroom and sat on a chair to reread Marnie’s card. Remembering the serene Pennsylvania setting that was her home, I savored the thoughtful birthday greeting, then scanned the sparsely furnished room where I’d hatched my secret plan.
Not even my closest friends had seen my room. Not that they were missing much by their standards. My cherished decorating style was essentially Early Attic.
I breathed out the number of my years, “Twenty-five,” and rose to reach for my scuffed antique silver brush on the simple dresser. I pulled it vigorously through my hair, eager to lose myself in something other than my parents’ decked-out home or frivolous table chatter. I stared into the antique oval dresser mirror, recalling how Kiersten always introduced me: “My sister’s an old soul. . . .”
Absolutely, I agreed. I was born too late.
Turning from the mirror, I strolled to the cozy window seat and opened its top. Inside were scores of clippings from my subscription to a Lancaster newspaper, arranged by categories I’d labeled more than a decade ago. I recalled the first time I’d heard of the Amish. I was only eleven when I was transfixed by a TV documentary.
People actually live and dress that way?
Mom hadn’t known how to react back then; my fascination with the simple life perplexed her. “What can they be thinking—no cars, no electricity, and even some outhouses?” she’d mused aloud.
Regardless, by the time I was fourteen, I’d devoured everything written about the People, including novels with Amish settings. I yearned to know why the Plain folk continued to live as though they were locked in time. Several years later, my first road trip had led me to Lancaster County, where I had returned each summer thereafter, walking barefoot along the dusty byways and stopping at roadside vegetable and fruit stands, relishing the way the sweet, juicy peaches split right open. What fun it was to make small talk with the more outgoing Amish girls. I met Marnie Lapp at one such stand, and she agreed to exchange letters with me, apparently curious about why an Englisher girl was so taken with all things Plain.
Oh, hers was such a gloriously peaceful world, one firmly grounded in the past. I sincerely desired the stability of Amish tradition and hoped my own personal issues might simply disappear in such an established, dependable community. I’d held that hope within me for years now—I’d even committed it to prayer. After all, God gives His children the desires of their hearts.
If only my earthly family—my parents, especially—had taken the time