© 2018 by Beverly M. Lewis, Inc.
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
Ebook edition created 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 978-1-4934-1423-9
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
To
Paul and Diane Cucciniella,
my longtime reader-friends
and fellow bookworms!
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
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
Epilogue
Note from the Author
About the Author
Books by Beverly Lewis
Back Ads
Back Cover
Pray, and let God worry.
—Martin Luther
Prologue
AUGUST 29, 1977
If you’re anything like me, you want to plan ahead. Not too far, but enough to feel prepared. Or at least somewhat settled.
I felt that way while stepping out the back door with my little brother Chris on his way to his first day of school at the one-room Amish schoolhouse of Centreville, Michigan. Carrying a shiny red apple for his teacher to show her respect, Chris was gut and ready. I’d taught him to count to fifty in English and drilled him in the alphabet, too.
Chris glanced up at me with his big blue eyes, and I almost leaned down to hug him. He was so adorable in the new school clothes I’d made for him—a pale blue shirt and black trousers—and his thin black suspenders and new straw hat. From the time he was nearly two, I had sewn his clothes, seamstress that I was. After having ten children, Mamma was plumb tuckered out, so she had assigned most of Chris’s care to me once he was weaned.
This day, though, things were about to change. And right quick, too, as our four school-age brothers would burst out of the house at any moment now. Chris would walk to school with them, swinging his little lunch pail in rhythm with theirs, moving ever so quickly into the world of boys and, eventually, young men.
Out near our mailbox, Chris stopped briefly to greet one of Dawdi Schwartz’s peacocks, which had come strutting out onto the dirt road toward us. Then, of all things, if the bird didn’t spread its colorful feathers and just stand there while Chris grinned at him. Dawdi and Mammi Schwartz lived in an addition built onto our uncle Matthew’s farmhouse. With only two bedrooms, it was small, but the sitting room was oversized, unusual for most Dawdi Hauses. Best of all, it was less than a quarter mile from us and a short distance from the three-year-old Amish schoolhouse.
“Mammi Schwartz will prob’ly wave to you on the way home from school,” I told Chris. “On nice days, she might even come out and offer a treat.”
“I like your snacks best, Lena,” he said in Deitsch, anticipation shining on his little face.
I patted his slim shoulder as he mentioned the gathering we’d had last evening at the house. Like usual, I’d helped Mamma with the big feast, even though my sister Emma did most of the everyday cooking. Mamma’s kitchen was always filled with people and delicious food.
Chris licked his lips. “Your chocolate cake made me want more than one slice.”
“I noticed that.” I grinned at him. “But no one paid any mind since it was Dat’s birthday.”
“And the start of school for me,” Chris said with a dramatic nod of his head.
At just that moment, here came Hans Bontrager in his father’s buckboard, his brown bangs peeping out from beneath his wide-brimmed straw hat.
“Hullo, Lena Rose!” Hans slowed his beautiful chestnut-colored horse. “Where are ya goin’ this fine August mornin’?”
I blushed, and little Chris must’ve noticed, because his eyes started blinking right quick. “Oh, just sayin’ good-bye to mei Bruder.”
“A new scholar?” Hans smiled as he studied Chris.
“Jah,” I said. “And eager for book learnin’.”
Hans glanced behind me, where four more of Chris’s and my brothers were coming our way now, laughing and talking. “He might as well join the rest of the Kinner, ain’t?”
I nodded. “This day couldn’t come soon enough for him.”
“Gut thing they finally allowed Amish schools around here, ain’t so?”
I wholeheartedly agreed. Like Hans, I’d had to attend public school. How Dat had despised sending us older kids off to the world thataway! Why, some of the men in nearby Elkhart County, Indiana, had been put in jail for keeping their school-age children home. It had been an awful time for many Old Order families.
Hans picked up the driving lines. “Well, I’ll see ya at the deacon’s house for Ping-Pong come Saturday night,” he said before clicking his tongue to signal his horse forward.
Once Hans was out of earshot, Chris said quietly, “He must like ya, Lena Rose.”
I smiled down at his earnest face. It had long been my hope that Hans and I might court one day, and now that we were an official couple after two months of dating, my dream had come true.
“Ya comin’, Chris?” asked our brother Timothy.
I brushed a stray bit of milkweed fluff from Chris’s hat. “Have yourself a wunnerbaar-gut day,” I said, proud as a Mamma to see him off.
He turned and gave me the dearest smile. “See ya after school,” he called in return. Twice more he looked back, waving each time as though I might disappear from sight.
Standing there, I watched Chris fall into step with our brothers Timothy and Benjamin, ages eight and nine, and the twins—Mose and Sam—ten and a half. All of them hugged the side of the road, bobbing along as they picked up their pace.
Ach, the moment was
