Waiting (Lancaster County Secrets Book #2) , livre ebook

Baker Publishing Group - Woods Fisher Suzanne

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

128 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

Jorie King has been waiting for Benjamin Zook to return home to Lancaster County so they can marry. When news arrives that Ben has been killed, Jorie finds comfort in the friendship of his brother Caleb. That friendship ripens into love, and it seems that they are meant to be together. But when the unexpected happens, their worlds are turned upside down once more. Will Jorie trust God to lead her into the arms of a new man?A multifaceted story about complex people living the simple life, The Waiting is the second book in the LANCASTER COUNTY SECRETS series. Readers will find themselves transported into the world of the Amish and deeply invested in these wonderful characters.

Informations

Publié par	Baker Publishing Group
Date de parution	01 octobre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781441213013
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0202€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

© 2010 by Suzanne Woods Fisher
Published by Revell a division of Baker Publishing Group P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287 www.revellbooks.com
Ebook edition created 2010
Ebook corrections 10.23.2018
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 978-1-4412-1301-3
Scripture used in this book, whether quoted or paraphrased by the characters, is taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
Published in association with Joyce Hart of the Hartline Literary Agency, LLC.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Love and thanks to all my family, near and far.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
Reading Group Questions and Topics for Discussion
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Other Books by Suzanne Woods Fisher
Ads
Back Cover
1
Morning dew shimmered in the warm summer sun as Jorie King led the last horse to a paddock by the road. She unhitched the halter and gave the horse a swat on his hindquarters to hustle him into the pasture. She couldn’t help but smile. A stubborn one, he was. Must be part mule.
As she swung the gate closed, she noticed a car at the end of the driveway. A stranger leaned against the hood of the car, his arms crossed against his chest. When the man spotted Jorie, he waved to her and called out, “Hey there! Ma’am! Any idea how far to a gasoline station?”
Jorie latched the paddock gate and walked over to him. “About two miles,” she said, pointing up the road.
The man regarded Jorie with mild curiosity, tilting his head as he appraised her prayer cap and Plain clothes. “My car ran out of gas.”
Jorie spotted her neighbor across the street, leading some cows to their pasture to graze. “Ephraim!” she called out, waving to the boy. “Ephraim, would you bring a can of gasoline down here?”
Ephraim did a double take when he noticed the stranger. Jorie swallowed a smile at the boy’s reaction—not many men in Stoney Ridge had skin the color of chocolate. A few cows split off and wandered into the cornfield before Ephraim suddenly remembered them and rounded them up. He guided them through the pasture gate, locked it, and waved to Jorie as he ran up the long drive to the barn.
Jorie waited for the tall dark man to speak again. The stranger seemed at ease with silence. His gaze followed Ephraim until he disappeared into the barn, and then the man’s eyes swept across the countryside in front of them. “I think that might just be the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”
Jorie looked over to take in the sight of the farm: the two-story white frame house nestled against a hill. A gray-topped buggy leaning on its traces by the large barn. About halfway up the drive, a ribbon of a creek wove parallel to the house. On the banks of the creek sat an enormous willow tree that provided shelter to a handful of sheep. And surrounding the house were acres and acres of fields, straight and even rows of corn and wheat. The only sound punctuating the stillness was a distant neighbor calling for his cows. “That’s Beacon Hollow. It belongs to my neighbors, the Zooks.”
“Clear to see they’re good farmers,” he said as his eyes scanned the farm.
They stood silently, waiting for Ephraim, listening to the husky whisper of the dry August corn in the fields. “The Zooks have always been farmers,” she finally said, breaking the quiet. “They were some of the first settlers around here. Now the land is farmed by four brothers.” She looked up the drive to see Ephraim on his way down the hill, lugging a red can of gasoline with two hands. “Ephraim is one of the brothers.”
“Don’t tell me they’re all as young as him, managing a big farm like that!”
Jorie smiled. “No. He’s the youngest. The oldest brother is Caleb. He and his wife Mary Ann are really running the farm. Matthew—he’s eighteen—he does quite a bit of work.”
“Where’s the third brother?”
Jorie hesitated. “That would be Ben. He’s in Vietnam.”
The man looked at her curiously. “Pardon me for asking, ma’am, but I thought the Amish didn’t fight in wars.”
Jorie’s chin lifted a notch. “He’s not fighting. He’s a conscientious objector.”
Ephraim crossed the road with the full gas can and gave a shy nod to the stranger. The man poured the gasoline into his tank and tightened the cap, then handed the can back to Ephraim. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet, opened it, and took out a few dollars to hand to Ephraim. “Let me pay you for the gasoline.”
Ephraim shook his head. “No n-need.”
The man offered the money to Jorie, but she waved it away.
“I’m beholden to you. And I like to pay my debts.” He peered into his wallet. “Say, do you like wild animals?” When Ephraim’s eyebrows shot up with interest, the man smiled and held out two tickets. “These are tickets to the Mezzo Brothers’ Circus & Menagerie that just came to Lancaster. Most of the animals are on the shady side of retirement, but there’s a young cougar. The trainer said he just bought it off of a trapper in West Virginia last week.”
Ephraim shot a sideways glance to Jorie before accepting the tickets. She smiled and gave a brief nod. If Cal and Mary Ann objected, she would explain the circumstances, maybe even offer to take Ephraim to the circus. Everybody knew how he loved animals.
He put down the gasoline can to study the tickets, a look of wonder on his face. “They r-really have a c-cougar?”
“They used to roam free in Pennsylvania,” the man said. “The last one was killed in the 1930s.” He put a hand on his car door, but his gaze had settled on the horses behind Jorie, as if watching them eat was the most fascinating thing in the world. “Are those Belgian drafts?”
“Percherons,” Jorie said.
Ephraim pointed to Jorie’s driveway. “That l-leads to S-Stoney Creek, the K-Kings’ farm. They b-breed Percherons.” He looked back at the man. “Most every P-Percheron around here is f-from the K-Kings. N-No one knows horses l-like Atlee K-King.” He gave Jorie a shy smile.
She was surprised and pleased that Ephraim spoke to the man. He didn’t talk much, especially around strangers, self-conscious of his stutter.
“They sure are beautiful creatures,” the man said. A colt peered over the pasture fence at them for a moment, then tossed his dark mane and trotted off down a dirt trail to join his mother.
The clang of a dinner bell floated down on the wind. Ephraim’s head jerked toward the farmhouse at Beacon Hollow. “Friehschtick!” Breakfast! He gave a quick nod to Jorie and the man, grabbed the empty gasoline can, and set off at a sprint up the long drive to the farmhouse.
Jorie shrugged, lifting her palms. “When you’re thirteen years old and growing like a weed, mealtimes are serious business.”
The man got into his car, turned on the ignition, leaned his head out the window, and grinned. “Meals are serious business at any age.” As he drove off, he called out, “Thank you, ma’am, for your help.”
Ma’am? Wasn’t that a term the English used to address older women? Jorie put her hands up to her cheeks. She knew it seemed vain, but being called ma’am made her feel older than her twenty-four years. A horse leaned his heavy head over the fence, sniffing for grass, and pushed his nose at her, making her stumble a step. She caught herself and whirled around, laughing. “Leave it to you, Big John, to remind me not to take myself too seriously.” She stroked his forelock. “Especially on a beautiful Sunday morning like today.” She gave him a pat and went up to the farmhouse to get ready for church.

As soon as Caleb Zook tucked his beard to his chest, a signal for silent prayer before breakfast, Ephraim bowed his head slightly and watched for Cal to close his eyes. Then he quietly stretched out his hand so that it rested on the handle of the syrup pitcher, ready to make his move as soon as the prayer ended. He closed his eyes, and halfway through the prayer, he felt Cal gently place his hand over Ephraim’s and squeeze hard, really hard, until Ephraim released his grip and slipped his hand into his lap.
“What do you think we should do tomorrow?” Cal asked as soon as prayer ended, reaching out for the syrup pitcher.
Ephraim settled for the bowl that held steaming scrambled eggs. “C-cut hay,” he said, dishing out a spoonful of eggs onto his plate before taking a mammoth bite.
The sound of footsteps thundering up the wooden porch stairs, two at a time, interrupted the discussion as the door swung open and warm air swooped in. “Sorry to be late,” Matthew said, scraping his boots on the mat. He gave Ephraim a sideways glance. “Thought you were coming back to the barn to help me sterilize those milk cans.”
Ephraim shrugged. He had gotten distracted when Jorie called him down to help the man who needed gas, then completely forgot about Matthew waiting on him for help.
As Matthew pulled out a chair and sat down, he picked up the bowl of scrambled eggs and started to dish them onto his plate.
“First, wash up,” Cal said. “Then, prayers. Then, eat.”
Matthew pushed himself away from the table and went to the sink to wash his hands. “Where’s Mary Ann and Maggie?”
“Upstairs,” Cal said. “Maggie’s having trouble with her hair. We can’t be running late today for meeting.”
Ephraim’s eyes followed the syrup pitcher as Cal set it down, and Matthew grabbed it as he sat down at the table. Ephraim sighed as he watched his brother pour a small river of