Amish Country Christmas by Charlotte Hubbard

The Christmas Visitors

By

Naomi King

1

            “Easy, Clyde. Back up, fella.” Nate Kanagy stood aside as his Clydesdale came backwards out of the horse trailer, sensing Clyde was every bit as excited as he was on this fine December twenty-third. The horse whickered and shook his massive head, then waited patiently beside his brother’s bay gelding while Bram shut the trailer gates. Nate stepped up to pay the driver who had brought them here from Willow Ridge this morning. “Thanks again, Gregg. And a merry Christmas to you.”

            “Merry Christmas to you boys and your family, too,” Gregg replied as he started his van. “Enjoy you new sleigh and courting buggy!”

            “Jah, we intend to!” Nate’s brother, Bram, piped up from behind them. “If you can’t have fun drivin’ a new rig, what’s the point of gettin’ one?”

            The two of them waved as Gregg headed back onto the county blacktop, hauling their empty trailer behind him. Then Nate gazed around the little town of Cedar Creek, Missouri. From where they stood in the parking lot of Graber’s Custom Carriages, the countryside rolled gently beneath a fresh blanket of snow, dotted with tall white homes, silohs, and barns. Deep green cedar trees followed the creek at the bottom of the hill, where cardinals called to each other. Across the snow-packed blacktop, Treva’s Greenhouse sported a sign that said CLOSED FOR CHRISTMAS, but beside it the Cedar Creek Mercantile bustled with buggies and cars alike. “We’ll get our fill of Aunt Beulah Mae’s homemade goodies tonight—”

            “Along with a hefty helping of her nosy questions and Uncle Abe’s looooong stories,” Bram added.

            “—but a special occasion like this calls for some serious junk food.”

            “Jah, let’s hit the merc.” Bram hitched their two horses to the railing on the side of the carriage shop. “No tellin’ what else we might find there. Looks to be a place that stocks everything under the sun, including stuff you never knew you needed.”

            To Nate, Cedar Creek seemed a lot like most Plain communities, in that the businesses were scattered along the roadside, on the farms where their owners lived. Back home in Willow Ridge they didn’t have a carriage maker, so this trip was indeed a treat: their parents had given them their choice of new vehicles on the understanding that he and his younger brother wouldn’t go running the roads in cars like a lot of Amish fellows did during their rumspringa years. At eighteen, Bram had chosen a buggy so he’d be ready for that day when a special girl compelled him to court and marry her.

            Nate, however, had a hankering for a sleigh. Nothing else felt so grand on a winter’s day as skimming across the snow-covered hills—and what could be more glorious than such a ride on a moonlit night? After they ate their snack, he couldn’t wait to hitch Clyde to his new rig and take off. He’d been engaged to a special girl last Christmas, only to learn she’d been seeing other fellows, so at twenty, Nate wasn’t out to impress anybody. These days, he was pleasing himself.

            When they entered the mercantile, he felt right at home. The scent of bulk grass seed, stored in wooden bins along the wall, filled the warm air and a wide wooden staircase led to an open second level where they sold work boots and clothing. A banner on the railing said ABBY’S STITCH IN TIME, and a young woman—Abby, most likely—smiled down at him from her treadle sewing machine. Mesh bags of oranges and locally grown apples and potatoes were displayed by the check-out counter. Nate exchanged greetings with the gray-bearded fellow who was ringing up an order and then followed Bram toward the aisles of bulk snacks that had been bagged and labeled here in the store.

            “Here’s those chocolate coconut haystacks you like,” Bram said, “not to mention trail mix and sweet potato chips and saltwater taffy and—”

            But Nate wasn’t listening. Down the aisle a ways, where they sold livestock supplies, a girl was hefting a mineral block into her pull cart. Her auburn hair glimmered beneath her white kapp, and as she straightened to her full height, she caught his gaze. Held it for a few moments. Then she leaned down again.

            It seemed only polite to see if she needed help.

As Nate headed her way, he wasn’t surprised to hear the tattoo of Bram’s boots on the plank floor behind him. “How about if I get that for you?” he asked as the redhead wrapped her arms around a fifty-pound sack of horse feed.

“Jah, how many of those do you need?” Bram chimed in. “No sense in strainin’ yourself when we toss this stuff around all the time.”

Nate had always heard that blue eyes could twinkle, but now he was seeing it for himself. The young woman looked from him to his brother as though she hid a secret behind her smile. “Not from around here, are you?”

He blinked. Had he sprouted a second head? Did he sound so very different from the Amish fellows here in Cedar Creek? Or was it Bram’s lovestruck-puppy grin that made her say that? “Just got here from Willow Ridge, truth be told,” he replied. “I’m fetching the sleigh James Graber’s built for me—”

“And he’s got a courtin’ buggy with my name on it,” his younger brother added.

“Well, you couldn’t ask for a better rig, then,” she remarked. “James has even built special carriages for Disney World and the likes of Miss America, you see.”

Nate didn’t know a thing about Miss America, but she surely couldn’t hold a candle to this girl. Her ivory skin glowed, with just a few freckles on the bridge of her nose—tiny ones, that he had to lean closer to see. And then there was the way her eyes widened as she gazed back at him. He caught himself and grabbed the bag of feed she’d been lifting. “So how many of these bags do you need?”

“Four, please. And what’d you say your name was?”

Bram laughed as he, too, hefted a sack of the oats mixture. “Last name’s Kanagy. I’m Bram—the cute one,” he teased, “and Mr. Shy here is my brother Nate. He got burnt by a girl he was engaged to, so now he mostly keeps to his horses.”

Nate closed his eyes against a wave of irritation as he placed a third sack of the rations in her wooden cart. “If you believe everything my kid brother says, well—but you look to be way ahead of him. And your name would be—?”

The redhead looked him over yet again. “Martha. Coblentz.” She pointed to the shelf where the mineral blocks were. “A couple more of those and I’ve got to get on home. Denki ever so much for your help, fellas. Have a gut time with your new rigs.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to invite her for a sleigh ride, yet Nate hesitated. After all, they were only spending the night with their aunt and uncle before returning to Willow Ridge tomorrow, in time to celebrate Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with their family. As though she suddenly needed to be someplace else, Martha strode down the aisle toward the check-out counter, pulling her sturdy wagon behind her.

“Well, you blew that one,” Bram muttered.

“And you, little brother, have a mouth bigger than your brain,” Nate replied under his breath. “We’ll have to work on that.”

 “Jah, Mary?” Martha murmured into her cell phone. She looked behind her as she walked down the road, with the wind whipping at her black coat and bonnet. “You’ve got to come see these two fellas who’re heading over to James’s carriage shop! I just now met them in the mercantile and, well—you can gawk at the both of them all you want, but I’ve already decided to go for Nate.”

“Puh! What makes you think you get first pick?” her twin retorted.

“First come, first served. Be there or be square,” Martha quipped. She loved the way her breath came out in a frosty vapor on this brisk December morning. Truth be told, she was enjoying this day a lot more now that she’d met the two Kanagy boys in the mercantile. “Better get a move on, though, or you might miss them. They’re here to fetch a sleigh and a courting buggy James built for them, and they might head right on home afterwards—unless we give them a gut reason to hang around, you know.”

“Well, I can’t get there any too fast if I’m on the phone with you now, can I?” Click.

Martha tucked her cell into her coat pocket and continued down the snow-covered road as fast as her heavy pull cart would allow. What with her dat and her older brother Owen out working on a house today, the barn chores fell to her, as they often did. It was just as well, because she preferred working outdoors while Mary was happier helping their mamm get ready for today’s meals as well as Christmas dinner. Martha was perfectly capable of placing those heavy sacks of feeds in their covered bins and then setting out the new mineral blocks for the horses, but wasn’t it a fine thing that two gut-looking fellows had come to help her in the mercantile? The boys around Cedar Creek seemed to think she was part of the landscape . . . always there, so mostly invisible. Apparently not worth a second look.

By the time Martha was within sight of the house, here came Mary up the road. Oh, but she had a glint of mischief in her eyes, too! “So what’s in that sack, Sister?”

Mary laughed. “That’s my beeswax, ain’t so?”

“Now don’t go thinking you can have those fellas all to yourself,” Martha protested, playfully blocking her sister’s path. “I was nice enough to tell you about them—”

“And Mamm’s already got her suspicions about me taking out of the house so sudden-like, too. This better be worth my time, Sister!” Mary declared. “After all, it was your dinner—your favorite oatmeal bread and goodies I was baking when you called.”

“Puh! If you don’t think the walk’s worth your while, then I’ll just have some fun with those fellas myself. Not a problem!”

“We’ll see about that, won’t we?”

Martha hurried on down the snowy lane to the barn with her cart, which was harder to pull on the clumpy gravel. No doubt her sister would know a fine opportunity when she saw one, so it was best to put these supplies away and feed the animals in short order. The Kanagy boys didn’t know it yet, but as thanks for helping her they were about to receive a Christmas gift like they hadn’t counted on.

Upir and the Monster Gang by Sharon Thornton

The Graveyard
In a forgotten graveyard of churning fog and mist, a rickety, old jalopy
chugged up a steep, narrow road. A young boy, sitting in the back seat, was tossed
from side to side as the wheels hit deep ruts. He wore a long black coat that touched
the floor and his wavy hair curled around his pointy ears. Two sharp fangs protruded
over his lower lip. The boy is a vampire and his name is Upir.
Upir contented himself with studying the driver, who was an odd sort. He
was covered with dark reddish fur. His chauffeur’s outfit was three sizes too small
causing his belly to hang out. A jaunty cap rested on his pointed head. Most
fascinating to Upir were the driver’s four arms: two of which were occupied with
steering, a third fiddled with the light switch and the last simply hung out the
window tapping the door.
Upir’s interest faded as the drive grew longer and longer. He wiped a
spot clean on the window and pressed his face against it. He barely blinked as he
watched rows and rows of slanted gravestones pass by. Suddenly, the car jolted to
a stop smashing the young vampire’s face into the window. “Hey!” Upir screamed at
the driver.
The driver turned around. His craggy face was only a shadow in the dim light.
His voice was raspy. “This is where you get out,” he said uncaring.
Through his window Upir saw a large cluster of sycamore trees. “But there’s
nothing here,” he said as a bolt of lightning illuminated a building hidden in the
gloom.
The driver pointed a finger on each of his four hands. “There, in the trees,”
he said.
Upir nervously rubbed one of his shiny fangs. “That’s the camp? Are you
sure?” The driver didn’t answer. He got out of the car and went around to the back.
Upir saw his huge suitcase fly through the air and land in a muddy puddle at
the side of the road. He rolled down the window. “Hey, be careful with that!” he
yelled. Before he could utter another word, one of the driver’s arms opened the
door while another hairy limb grabbed Upir plucking him from the car and setting
him down beside the suitcase. The driver got back in the car and gunned the
accelerator. The old vehicle spun around nearly running over Upir’s foot.
“Watch what you’re doing!” Upir shouted as the car drove out of the graveyard.

With his vampire strength, Upir lifted the humongous suitcase like it weighed
nothing, headed toward the building, and stepped inside the circle of trees. A huge
stone structure towered before him, its blocks gray and blackened with age. Upir’s
eyes widened. Four gigantic columns framed the door where two granite
angels stood on either side. Gargoyle statues guarded the entrance, their ruby eyes
glowing in the dark night.
Upir’s ears stiffened as his enhanced hearing picked up rustling noises above
the treetops. He turned abruptly. Two witches, one young and one old, flew among
the trees. He watched them land several yards behind him. The young witch jumped
off her broomstick, grabbed her bag, and walked slowly toward him.
“Witches,” he thought, “What are they doing here?” Ignoring her, he turned
and proceeded to the gate. Upir held his breath as he read the words etched into
the granite.
NEEWOLLAH
“Doesn’t look like any training camp I’ve ever seen,” he whispered to himself.
From behind him a quiet voice said, “Looks like a mausoleum to me.”
Upir whipped around to see a girl in a black, pointy hat. Her eyes were a
striking purplish blue. She lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”
“Na,” he said pointing at the gargoyles. “They already took care of that.”
“Yeah,” the young witch said. “They are pretty scary.”
“I’m Upir,” the vampire said sticking out his hand reluctantly.
The witch hesitated before shaking it. “I’m Isabelle,” she replied.
“So, you’re a witch,” Upir said hesitantly.
Isabelle nodded. She adjusted the black velvet bag that hung at her waist.
Without thinking, Upir blurted, “But this is Monster Training Camp. A witch
isn’t a monster.”
Isabelle’s eyes filled with tears. She brushed past the rude vampire and
walked briskly toward the door.

Upir swallowed, wishing he could take back his words. He started to explain
when fierce growls interrupted him. The two gargoyles turned their heads and
snarled. Streams of light flashed from their eyes illuminating the kids in a blood
red glow.
Isabelle ran back to Upir and grabbed his arm. “They’re alive!” she screamed.
A grinding noise caught Upir’s attention; he turned to see the angels rotating.
With a screech, the door moved spilling light from inside the stone walls. “The door,
the door’s opening!” Upir yelled! He glanced up at the gargoyles, pulled Isabelle and
screamed, “Come on, run!”
They ran up the marble steps, past the growling statues and through the
doorway, nearly colliding with a shadowy figure in the passageway. He was bent
over with the weight of an enormous hump; his face drooped like a basset hound.
One eye was brown and dull, while the other, a bulging eye that never closed stared
back at them.
Isabelle’s grip tightened on Upir’s arm. Patting her hand he tried to reassure
her, but then, the creature spoke.
“This way,” he said, his words gurgling with saliva. He grabbed their
belongings and shuffled off in a lurching gait leading the children down winding
steps into the black. Gargoyle torches lighted their next steps as they headed into
the unknown. The unfriendly light danced along the stone walls. As they descended,
the stairs coiled deeper and deeper into the blackness.
“Yuck!” Isabelle squealed, her eyes staring at the floor.
“What?” Upir looked down. Huge black insects with hard shells and
spindly legs darted across his shoe. He stumbled, nearly falling before
grabbing onto the stone wall.
The hunchback looked at his hump and emitted a hair-raising giggle.
“Just beetles,” he coughed.
Upir and Isabelle followed the hunchback down the last set of stairs
that ended at a wide hallway with intersecting passageways. The dancing
flames illuminated several filthy rats as they scurried past, their long,
hairless tails swishing on the ground. On the high ceiling, large furry
spiders dangled from wispy webs. Upir felt Isabelle move closer to him.
Isabelle tapped Upir’s shoulder and pointed. Inside an open
chamber to their left huddled a group of centaur statues. Their braided hair
flowed down their strong and nimble bodies. Isabelle whispered, “They look
like they’re having a meeting.”
Hearing the unfamiliar voice, one of the statues turned. His stony eyes
stared at the witch. He trotted toward her; the rest of the statues
followed. Their faces were angry and their hooves clacked on the stone floor.

The lead centaur stuck his head into the hall and yelled, “Stay out of here! This
is none of your business!” He turned and kicked the door with his hoof. It shut
with a bang.
Isabelle backed away, her voice trembling. “Everything here is alive.”
“Yeah, I noticed that,” Upir said pulling her away from the door. “Let’s go.”
When the kids finally caught up to the hunchback, he was pacing the hallway,
impatient with their curiosity. In the wall behind him were rows and rows of drawers
each bearing a gold plate engraved in ancient writing.
“What are those?” Upir asked.
Throwing his hands in the air, the hunchback shook his head and spoke to his
hump. “Why does Hugo always get stuck babysitting the worthless ones?” Turning
abruptly toward the kids he said, “Those are the remains of the monsters of old.”
Isabelle inhaled sharply. “The original Council of Thirteen!” With a finger, she
traced over the lettering of the one nearest to her.
Upir stepped closer and peered at the small inscriptions. Once again, he
voiced his thoughts aloud. “So this is where my family crest comes from.”
Isabelle dropped her hand and stared at Upir. “Are you related to one of the
original Council members?” she asked.
Upir winced. He didn’t want anyone to know his royal bloodline because it
always changed things. People wanted to be his friend, or sometimes his enemy, just
because of his last name. “Valet Tepes Amarande was my great-great-great grandfather,”
he whispered.
Isabelle’s mouth hung open for a second, “That means your grandfather is
Valet Amarande, Head of the Council of 13?”
Upir nodded.
“Must be nice,” Isabelle said as she stepped behind the hunchback. “We’d
better go.”
“Wait, Isabelle.” Upir reached out to grab her and then stopped himself. “It
doesn’t mean anything. You can’t pick your relatives, right?” He forced a smile.
Her forehead creased and she turned away. “That’s for sure.”
They didn’t speak anymore as they followed the hunchback down a hallway.
He stopped in front of a heavy door and handed Upir his suitcase and a sheet of
paper. “Here’s your schedule and your room. Only half an hour until lights out,” the
ugly creature grumbled.
“Thanks,” Upir said. He turned to say something to Isabelle but she had
already disappeared around the corner with the hunchback. Upir put his hand on the
knob just as someone called out.
“Hey, you!” A noisy group of monster kids headed his way.

Visit book spotlight here
Visit book tour schedule here

Complete Library to Entrepreneurial Wisdom by Ginger Marks

Let’s Talk Turkey

 by Ginger Marks

When do you know it is the right time to bust loose from the 9 to 5 JOB? Do you have what it takes to really make a go of this opportunity we call a home-based business? What if you give up your job and things don’t work out as you planned? These questions and more come to mind when you first begin to consider if owning your own business is right for you.

Right up front you need to look at the numbers. Read the details. A visit to the US Small Business Administration website reveals that 66% of start-up businesses are still operational after 2 years, while only 50% of those remaining will survive another 2 years. Furthermore after an additional 2 years only 40% of those remaining will continue to be serving the needs of the public. This means that after six years out of 100 businesses that opened their doors only about 13 will still be in business.

One thing I want to clarify here though is the fact that just because they are not in business after six years, those that are not operational could have closed for many other reasons than failure. On the contrary, this could mean that they were so successful that they wisely put together an “Exit Plan” and sold their thriving business or they may have moved or retired. Any number of reasons could account for this low number of viable businesses surviving for a mere six years.

Nevertheless, how do you keep from becoming just another statistic? Looking at the reasons start-up businesses fail will help you understand better what it will take for you to succeed.

Business owners who take the time to sit down and pen a business plan greatly increase their chances of survival. Why? The simple answer is that a business plan not only gives you direction but it details the way you will accomplish each phase of the business development. When you need additional funding what a financial institution is looking for is a clear statement of what you plan to offer and how you plan to take your idea from concept to delivery. Besides these reasons a well thought out business plan will help keep you on the track. It should be—and will be—your roadmap to success.

Insufficient funding is another reason businesses fail. With the business plan in place additional funding can be sought through investors and financial institutions. Consider applying for a small business loan through sources that are there to help you. Angel Investors is one source other than governmental assistance that you might apply to for support if you need additional backing. It is advisable to have at least two years of funding set aside in case things don’t progress quite how you had planned.

As I often recommend, do your homework. Know your market and your competition. Is there even a market for your product or service? Decide who your target market is. Will you offer a product or service that should be geared to a local customer or will your business be better suited for the Internetcommunity? Be sure that you have the proper education and experience to run a business. Lack in these areas can, and often does, lead to poor decision making which can cost you dearly in the end.

On the other side of the coin are the issues that lead to success. Do you have what it takes to be successful? Do you have that education? A proper education enables you to not only make good decisions but ensures you have the base knowledge to skillfully operate a business. Maturity is helpful here as well. With maturity comes the knowledge of how to handle difficulties with finesse. You may also have the resources in place to assist you in case of an unforeseen obstacle may rear its ugly head. Mature business owners, not necessarily the maturity of age, are able to focus on the goal and commitment to success. Actually talent can be a factor here as well. Do you have the natural talent and ability in place to achieve your goals?

Know when and how to expand your business, how to located suppliers and to spend within your budget. Many home based businesses are initially started for emotional reasons. Because many are started with no plan in place and very little start-up capital the home based business is at risk. However, due to the lower expenses many home based businesses are beating the odds and surviving past the expected norms.

So, know what you are in for, be prepared to take the necessary action to achieve your goal and commit to success and you will most likely beat the odds and join the ranks of the successful home based business owners.

You may visit this book tour here to learn more about this book and author

Winter of Wishes by Charlotte Hubbard

Seasons of the Heart

Book 3

Winter of Wishes

By

Charlotte Hubbard

Chapter 1

As Rhoda Lantz stood gazing out the window of the Sweet Seasons Bakery Café, her mood matched the ominous gray clouds that shrouded the dark, pre-dawn sky. Here it was the day after Thanksgiving and she felt anything but thankful. Oh, she’d eaten Mamma’s wonderful dinner yesterday and smiled at all the right times during the gathering of family and friends around their extended kitchen table, but she’d been going through the motions. Feeling distanced . . . not liking it, but not knowing what to do about it, either.

“You all right, honey-bug? Ya seem a million miles away.”

Rhoda jumped. Mamma had slipped up behind her while she’d been lost in her thoughts. “Jah, jah. Fine and dandy,” she fibbed. “Just thinkin’ how it looks like we’re in for a winter storm, which most likely means we won’t have as many folks come to eat today and tomorrow. It’s just . . . well, things got really slow last year at this time.”

Her mother’s concerned gaze told Rhoda her little white lie hadn’t sounded very convincing. Mamma glanced toward the kitchen, where her partner, Naomi Brenneman, and Naomi’s daughter, Hannah, were frying sausage and bacon for the day’s breakfast buffet. “Tell ya what,” she said gently. “Lydia Zook left a phone message about a couple of fresh turkeys still bein’ in their meat case. Why not go to the market and fetch those, along with a case of eggs—and I’m thinkin’ it’s a perfect day for that wonderful-gut cream soup we make with the potatoes and carrots and cheese in the sauce. I’ll call in the order, and by the time ya get over there they’ll have everything all gathered up.”

“Jah, Mamma, I can do that,” Rhoda murmured. It meant walking down the long lane with the wind whipping at her coat, and then hitching up a carriage, but it was something useful to do.

Useful. Why is it such a struggle lately to feel useful? I wish I knew what to do with my life.

Rhoda slipped her coat from the peg at the door, tied on her heavy black bonnet, and stepped outside with a gasp. The temperature had dropped several degrees since she’d come to the café an hour ago. The chill bit through her woolen stockings as she walked briskly along the gravel lane with her head lowered against the wind.

 “Hey there, Rhoda! Gut mornin’ to ya!” a voice sang out as she passed the smithy behind the Sweet Seasons.

Rhoda waved to Ben Hooley but didn’t stop to chat. Why did the farrier’s cheerfulness irritate her lately? She had gotten over her schoolgirl crush on him and was happy for Ben and Mamma both, but as their New Year’s Day wedding approached they seemed more public about their affections—their joy—and well, that irritated her, too! Across the road from the Sweet Seasons a new home was going up in record time, as Ben’s gift to her mother . . . yet another reminder of how Rhoda’s life would change when Mamma moved out of the apartment above the blacksmith shop, and she would be living there alone.

As she reached the white house she’d grown up in, Rhoda sighed. No lights glowed in the kitchen window and no one ate breakfast at the table: this holiday weekend, her twin sister Rachel and her new groom, Micah Brenneman, were on an extended trip around central Missouri to collect wedding presents as they visited aunts, uncles, and cousins of their two families. Rhoda missed working alongside Rachel at the café more than she could bear to admit, yet here again, she was happy for her sister. The newlyweds radiated a love and sense of satisfaction she could only dream of.

Rhoda hitched up the enclosed carriage and clapped the reins across Sadie’s broad back. If Thanksgiving had been so difficult yesterday, with so many signposts of the radical changes in all their lives, what would the upcoming Christmas season be like? Ordinarily she loved baking cookies, setting out the Nativity scene, and arranging evergreen branches and candles on the mantle and at the windowsills. Yet as thick, feathery flakes of snow blew across the yard, her heart thudded dully. It wasn’t her way to feel so blue, or to feel life was passing her by. But at twenty-one, she heard her clock ticking ever so loudly.

God, have Ya stopped listenin’ to my prayers for a husband and a family? Are Ya tellin’ me I’m fated to remain a maidel?

Rhoda winced at the thought. She gave the mare its head once they were on the county blacktop, and as they rolled across the single-lane bridge that spanned this narrow spot in the Missouri River, she glanced over toward the new gristmill. The huge wooden wheel was in place now, churning slowly as the current of the water propelled it. The first light of dawn revealed two male figures on the roof. Luke and Ira Hooley, Ben’s younger brothers, scrambled like monkeys as they checked their new machinery. The Mill at Willow Ridge would soon be open to tourists. In addition to regular wheat flour and cornmeal, the Hooley brothers would offer specialty grains that would sell to whole foods stores in Warrensburg and other nearby cities. Mamma was already gathering recipes to bake artisan breads at the Sweet Seasons, as an additional lure for healthy-conscious tourists.

But Rhoda’s one brief date with Ira had proven he was more interested in running the roads with Annie Mae Knepp than in settling down or joining the church any time soon. Ira and Luke were nearly thirty, seemingly happy to live in a state of eternal rumspringa. Rhoda considered herself as fun-loving as any young woman, but she’d long ago committed herself to the Amish faith. Was it too much to ask the same sort of maturity of the men she dated?

She pulled up alongside Zook’s Market. This grocery and dry goods store wouldn’t open for a couple of hours yet, but already Henry and Lydia Zook were preparing for their day. Rhoda put a determined smile on her face as the bell above the door jangled. “Happy day after Thanksgivin’ to ya!” she called out. “Mamm says you’ve got a couple turkeys for us today.”

“Jah, Rhoda, we’re packin’ your boxes right this minute, too!” Lydia called out from behind the back counter. “Levi! Cyrus! You can be carryin’ those big bags of potatoes and carrots out to Rhoda’s rig, please and thank ya.”

From an aisle of the store, still shadowy in the low glow of the gas ceiling lights, two of the younger Zook boys stepped away from the shelves they had been restocking.  “Hey there, Rhoda,” ten-year-old Levi mumbled.

“Tell your mamm we could use more of those fine blackberry pies,” his younger brother Cyrus remarked as he hefted a fifty-pound bag of potatoes over his shoulder. “That’s my favorite, and they always sell out. Mamm won’t let us buy a pie unless they’re a day old—and most of ‘em don’t stay on the shelf that long.”

Rhoda smiled wryly. Cyrus Zook wasn’t the only fellow around Willow Ridge with a keen interest in her mother’s pies. “I’ll pass that along. Denki to you boys for loadin’ the carriage.”

“Levi’s fetchin’ your turkeys from the fridge,” their dat Henry said from behind his meat counter. “Won’t be but a minute. Say—it sounds like ya had half of Willow Ridge over to your place for dinner yesterday.”

Again Rhoda smiled to herself: word got around fast in a small town. “Jah, what with Ben and his two brothers and two aunts—and the fact that those aunts invited Tom Hostetler and Hiram and his whole tribe to join us—we had quite a houseful.”

“Awful nice of ya to look after Preacher Tom and the bishop’s bunch,” Lydia said with an approving nod. “Fellows without wives don’t always get to celebrate with a real Thanksgiving dinner when their married kids live at a distance.”

“Well, there was no telling Jerusalem and Nazareth Hooley they couldn’t invite Tom and the Knepps,” Rhoda replied with a chuckle. “So there ya have it. They brought half the meal, though, so that wasn’t so bad.”

“Tell your mamm we said hullo.” Henry turned back toward the big grinder on the back table, where he was making fresh hamburger.

“Jah, I’ll do that. And denki for havin’ things all set to go.”

Jonah Zook stood behind his dat’s counter trimming roasts. Rhoda met his eye and nodded, but didn’t try to make small talk. Jonah was a couple years younger than she, and had driven her home from a few Sunday night singings, but he had about as much sparkle as a crushed cardboard box. And goodness, but she could use some sparkle about now . . .

Rhoda glanced out the store’s front window. Levi and Cyrus were taking their sweet time about loading her groceries, so she wandered over to the bulletin board where folks posted notices of upcoming auctions and other announcements. No sense in standing out in that wind while the boys joshed around.

The old corkboard was pitted from years of use, and except for the sale bills for upcoming household auctions in New Haven and Morning Star, the yellowed notices for herbal remedies, fresh eggs, and local fellows’ businesses had hung there for months. Rhoda sighed—and then caught sight of a note half-hidden by an auction flyer.

Need a compassionate, patient caretaker for my elderly mother, plus after-school supervision for two kids. New Haven, just a block off the county highway. Call Andy Leitner.

            Rhoda snatched the little notice from the board, her heart thumping. She knew nothing about this fellow except his phone number and that he had an ailing mother and two young children—and that he was surely English if he was advertising for help with family members. Yet something about his decisive block printing told her Mr. Leitner was a man who didn’t waffle over decisions or accept a half-hearted effort from anyone who would work for him. He apparently had no wife—

            Maybe she works away from home. Happens a lot amongst English families.

            —and if he had posted this advertisement in Zook’s Market, he surely realized a Plain woman would be most likely to respond. It was common for Amish and Mennonite gals to hire on for housework and caretaking in English homes, so if she gave him a call she could start working there, why—as soon as tomorrow!

            How many of these notices has he posted? Plenty of Plain bulk stores to advertise in around Morning Star, plus the big discount stores out past New Haven. And if he had run ads in the local papers, maybe he’d already had dozens of gals apply for this job. But what could it hurt to find out?

            Pulse pounding, Rhoda stepped outside. “You fellas got all my stuff loaded, jah?” she demanded. Levi and Cyrus were playing a rousing game of catch with a huge hard-packed snowball, paying no heed to the snow that was falling on their green shirt sleeves.

            Levi, the ornerier of the two, poked his head around the back of the buggy. “Got a train to catch, do ya? Busy day chasin’ after that Ira Hooley fella?” he teased. “Jonah, he says ya been tryin’ to catch yourself some of that Lancaster County money—”

            “And what if I have?” Rhoda shot back. “Your mamm won’t like it when I tell her you two have been lolligaggin’ out here instead of stockin’ your shelves, ain’t so?”

            Levi waited until she was stepping into the carriage before firing the snowball at her backside. But what would she accomplish by stepping out to confront him? Rhoda glanced at the two huge turkeys, the mesh sacks of potatoes, carrots, and onions, and the sturdy boxes loaded with other staples Mamma had ordered, and decided she was ready to go. “Back, Sadie,” she said in a low voice.

The mare whickered and obeyed immediately. Rhoda chuckled at the two boys’ outcry as she playfully backed the buggy toward them. Then she urged Sadie into a trot. All sorts of questions buzzed in her mind as she headed for the Sweet Seasons. What would Mamma say if she called Andy Leitner? What if a mild winter meant the breakfast and lunch shifts would remain busy, especially with Rachel off collecting wedding presents for a few more weekends? Hannah Brenneman had only been helping them since her sixteenth birthday last week—

            Jah, but she got her wish, to work in the café. And Rachel got her wish when she married Micah. And Mamma got more than she dared to wish for when Ben Hooley asked to marry her! So it’s about time for me to have a wish come true!

            Was that prideful, self-centered thinking? As Rhoda pulled up at the café, she didn’t much worry about the complications of religion or the Old Ways. She stepped into the dining room, spotted her cousins, Nate and Bram Kanagy, and caught them before they went back to the buffet for another round of biscuits and gravy. “Could I get you boys to carry in a couple of turkeys and some big bags of produce?” she asked sweetly. Then she nodded toward the kitchen, where Hannah was drizzling white icing on a fresh pan of Mamma’s sticky buns. “Ya might talk our new cook out of a mighty gut cinnamon roll, if ya smile at her real nice.”

            Nate rolled his eyes, but Bram’s handsome face lit up. “Jah, I noticed how the scenery in the kitchen had improved, cuz—not that it isn’t a treat to watch you and Rachel workin’,” he added quickly.

            “Jah, sure, ya say that after you’ve already stepped in it.” Rhoda widened her eyes at him playfully. “Here’s your chance to earn your breakfast—not to mention make a few points with Hannah.”

            Rhoda went back outside to grab one of the lighter boxes. Then, once Nate had followed her in with bags of onions and carrots, and he was chatting with Hannah and Mamma, she slipped out to the phone shanty before she lost her nerve. Common sense told her she should think out some answers to whatever questions Andy Leitner might ask, yet excitement overruled her usual practicality. Chances were good that she’d have to leave him a voice mail, anyway, so as her fingers danced over the phone number, her thoughts raced. Never in her life had she considered working in another family’s home, yet this seemed like the opportunity she’d been hoping for—praying for—of late. Surely Mamma would understand if—

            “Hello?” a male voice came over the phone. He sounded a little groggy.

            Rhoda gripped the receiver. It hadn’t occurred to her that while she’d already worked a couple of hours at the café, most of the world wasn’t out of bed yet. “I—sorry I called so early, but—”

            “Not a problem. Glad for the wake-up call, because it seems I fell back asleep,” he replied with a soft groan. “How can I help you?”

            Rhoda’s imagination ran wild. If this was Andy Leitner, he had a deep, mellow voice. Even though she’d awakened him and he was running late, he spoke pleasantly. “I, um, found the notice from an Andy Leitner on the board in Zook’s Market just now, and—” She closed her eyes, wondering where the words had disappeared to. She had to sound businesslike, or at least competent, or this man wouldn’t want to talk to her.

            “You’re interested in the position?” he asked with a hopeful upturn in his voice. “I was wondering if the store owners had taken my note down.”

            Rhoda’s heart raced. “Jah, I’d like to talk to you about it, for sure and for certain,” she gushed. “But ya should understand right out that I don’t have a car, on account of how we Amish don’t believe in ownin’—I mean, I’m not preachin’ at ya, or—”

She winced. “This is comin’ out all wrong. Sorry,” she rasped. “My name’s Rhoda Lantz, and I’m in Willow Ridge. I sure hope you don’t think I’m too ferhoodled to even be considered for the job.”

            “Ferhoodled?” The word rolled melodiously from the receiver and teased at her.

            “Crazy mixed-up,” she explained. “Confused, and—well, I’m keepin’ ya from whatever ya need to be doin’, so—”

             “Ah, but you’re a solution to my problem. The answer to a prayer,” he added quietly. “For that, I have time to listen, Rhoda. I need to make my shift at the hospital, but could I come by and chat with you when I get off? Say, around two this afternoon?”

            Rhoda grinned. “That would be wonderful-gut, Mr. Leitner! We’ll be closin’ up at two—my mamm runs the Sweet Seasons Bakery Café on the county blacktop. We can talk at a back table.”

            “Perfect. I’ll see you then—and thanks so much for calling, Rhoda.”

            “Jah, for sure and for certain!”

            As she placed the receiver back in its cradle, Rhoda held her breath. What would she tell Mamma? She felt scared and excited and yes, ferhoodled, because she now had an interview for a job! She had no idea about caring for that elderly mother . . . or what if the kids ran her so ragged she got nothing done except keeping them out of trouble? What if Andy Leitner’s family didn’t like her because she wore Plain clothing and kapps?

            What have ya gone and done, Rhoda Lantz?

            She inhaled to settle herself, and headed back to the café’s kitchen. There was no going back, no unsaying what she’d said over the phone. No matter what anyone else thought, she could only move forward.

And wasn’t that exactly what she’d been hoping to do for weeks now?