Never an Amish Bride Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Glossary

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  The Trouble with Cowboys, by Victoria James

  More from Ophelia London

  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.

  Copyright © 2020 by Mary Decker. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  10940 S Parker Road

  Suite 327

  Parker, CO 80134

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Stacy Abrams

  Cover design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes

  Cover art by Tom Hallman

  Interior design by Toni Kerr

  Print ISBN 978-1-64063-906-5

  ebook ISBN 978-1-64063-907-2

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition July 2020

  Also by Ophelia London

  For Adult Readers

  Abby Road

  Crossing Abby Road

  Perfect Kisses Series

  Playing at Love

  Speaking of Love

  Falling for Her Soldier

  Making Waves

  Sugar City Series

  Love Bites

  Kissing Her Crush

  Wife for the Weekend

  For New Adult Readers

  Definitely, Maybe series

  Definitely, Maybe in Love

  Someday Maybe

  For Teen Readers

  Aimee and the Heartthrob

  Glossary of Pennsylvania Dutch Words and Phrases

  ach: oh, or oh no

  aye: yes

  bobbeil: baby

  bruder: brother

  daed: father

  danke: thank you

  Englisher: non-Amish

  fraa: wife

  Gott: God

  grossmami: grandmother

  gut: good

  gute mariye: good morning

  guten tag: good day

  jah: yes

  kapp: bonnet

  kinnah: children

  liebchen: sweetheart

  maam: mother

  mein freund: my friend

  mutza suit: a formal, collarless black suit worn by Amish men

  nay: no

  Ordnung: a set of rules for the Amish, varies by congregation

  Rumspringa: “Running around.” A period in an Amish teenager’s life before baptism when they are allowed greater freedom.

  wunderbar: wonderful

  ye: you

  Note from the Author

  Ten years ago, my sister moved to Hershey, Pennsylvania, a thirty-minute drive to Lancaster County. Ever since my first visit to Amish Country, I’ve lived in awe and admiration of the “plain” culture and its unique lifestyle. In researching for this novel, I spoke with a woman named Mary Garver, who grew up near an Amish village and still has many close friends who are Amish. Along with some hilarious stories—one about her being one of four people named Mary sitting at a dinner table of five people—she gave me wonderful insights about that particular community’s Ordnung, along with other rules and traditions specific to them. For example: individuals reading from the Bible aloud, “hands off” courtships, and the use of electricity for business purposes. From that, I learned that Amish congregations/communities can vary greatly in their unique customs and practices—which are often unwritten and not taught in church. This fascinated me further, yet what I did see in all the different groups was a love and devotion to God, family, and hard work. I’ve grown to love the Amish people and their desires to live good lives full of service and fortitude. This book is dedicated to them.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Esther Miller stood at the screened back door, shading her eyes from the sun. The comical scene playing out before her had become almost common: Louisa shooing away Levi from the house. Only this time, her best friend was chasing him off with a pitchfork.

  “Lou!” Esther called through a laugh. “You nearly caught him that time!”

  “Ach jah,” Louisa muttered. “Crazy boy thinks he can sneak in here and steal my hot cross buns whenever he wants.” With herculean strength, she jammed the pitchfork into the ground. “If I actually catch him, I might—”

  “Kiss him?” Esther said.

  Louisa whipped around, her black prayer kapp nearly sliding off her bun. “Kiss him? Well, I never.”

  “But you might.” Esther patted Lou on the shoulder as she walked by and back into the sunny kitchen. “I’m kidding you,” she added a moment later. Louisa had become so testy lately when it came to jokes about Levi, making Esther wonder if there might actually be something between them. As far as she knew, her best friend hadn’t been interested in being courted by anyone since last summer.

  Despite that near-engagement, Lou had hardly seemed to mourn the loss at all.

  Esther envied that.

  Her Jacob had been gone for nearly two years, and Esther still didn’t know how to move on. “Closure,” as the Englishers called it. The English bookstore in town had a section of hardbacks all about it. Not that she’d dare read one.

  “It was Gott’s plan” had become the standard answer whenever she’d talk about it with Bishop Abram—the leader of their congregation—or with Maam or her sisters.

  In her heart, Esther knew this was true, but still, she hadn’t been able to allow his memory to leave her heart.

  Why was it Gott’s plan that her betrothed be taken from earth so early? He hadn’t seemed very sick, but then suddenly, it was over. All their plans, her entire future, had washed away like bubbles rinsed off a dinner plate, down the drain…

  And mere weeks before their wedding day.

  In fact, the lovely light-purple wedding dress and apron Esther had hand made for the occasion still hung on the inside door of her clos
et, waiting to be worn.

  By now, it had gathered a thick layer of dust.

  Here she was: the tragic twenty-three-year-old non-bride with a wedding dress she would never wear, dried flowers that would’ve been used as simple decorations for the ceremony, and a cellar full of canned goods that were meant to be the newlyweds’ winter storage.

  Two years later, she still sensed pity in the eyes and voices of her married friends and neighbors. Where did she fit in now? For the past few months, Esther had begun to feel completely out of place, even within her own family.

  “Let me help you with that,” she said, needing to get her mind off Jacob, for she’d been dwelling on the disappointment much more often these days. She playfully wrenched the apple peeler from Louisa’s hand after watching her nick her finger for a third time. “You’ve never been able to peel properly.”

  Lou rolled her eyes with a smile. “And yet, I make the best-selling jam in all of Lancaster County.” She paused, the proud smile disappearing off her face. “Well, some say that. I didn’t mean to brag.”

  Humility was a high priority in their Amish order. Next to Gott, family, and hard work, there was no higher attribute than a modest heart.

  At the moment, this was something else Esther wasn’t perfect at. Though she’d rather die strung up like a scarecrow in the middle of a cornfield than admit it, she, too, was a bestseller. Maam had taught her to make soap when she was just a girl. She smiled to herself—with maybe the tiniest touch of pleasure—whenever she thought about that blue ribbon and that nice big check she’d received on her nineteenth birthday. In fact, she was making nearly enough money now to start her own business, instead of just renting a stand at her cousin’s home-goods store.

  There she went again, boasting to herself.

  “So?” Louisa cut into her thoughts. “You haven’t said a word about the wedding.”

  Esther stared at her for a blank yet foggy moment. Was her best friend actually asking about her nonwedding two years ago?

  “Is Sarah letting you help at all?”

  “Oh.” Those clouds of confusion parted, though a different kind of storm settled in. “Not really.”

  Louisa turned to her. “Goodness. When’s the wedding?”

  “Third of November, a Tuesday.”

  “First of the wedding season.” She bit her lip. “Two months away.”

  Esther picked up a towel and began wiping off the counter, really hoping for a subject change.

  She’d already happily married off an older sister and brother, but the thought of Sarah’s upcoming wedding felt different—made her a little sad, maybe—mostly because Sarah was a year and a half younger than Esther.

  Despite our closeness in age, Esther thought as she continued peeling, my sister and I could not be more different. While I’ve tried—okay, sometimes unsuccessfully—to follow the example of Maam by being devout, soft-spoken, and kind, Sarah’s always been a bit more…how to put it? Difficult. Maybe even brash.

  Another small wave of sadness washed over her, not wanting to think ill of anyone, least of all her own sister. Still, their dissimilarities were sometimes glaring.

  They also greatly differed when it came to planning their weddings. For Esther, she’d wanted to involve the whole community. Jacob’s proposal had come so suddenly—almost too late to fulfill all the classes and lessons required before a couple could wed. Both families had been excitedly planning for the whirlwind of preparations ahead.

  Then suddenly, there would be no wedding.

  “Sarah likes things done her way,” Esther said to Lou. “Exactly the way she wants. I love my sister with all my heart,” she added, “but she’s left so much till the last minute because she doesn’t like to delegate.”

  “Well, it is her wedding,” Lou said. “Can’t blame her for wanting it to be perfect.”

  Esther would never admit this to anyone, but secretly she was relieved that Sarah hadn’t asked for her help. Anna, their elder sister, had been married for a while, and Esther had enthusiastically helped her with her wedding preparations. This time—marrying off a younger sister before she herself was married—was almost painful; even harder with Jacob’s death and her disappointment fresh in her mind. She knew it was unkind, but Esther truly believed the less she had to do with the wedding, the better.

  “What color is her dress?” Lou asked.

  Esther immediately pictured her own purple dress hanging in the closet. “I don’t know.”

  Lou frowned. “You haven’t seen it?”

  “She hasn’t made it yet. I don’t think she’s even picked out a color.”

  For a moment, the two friends stared at each other before both cracked up laughing.

  “Good gracious!” Lou said, wiping away a tear. “The poor girl’s going to be in a terrible rush. She’s never been a keen seamstress.”

  “Nor have I,” Esther admitted. “It took a good three weeks for me to get my dress ready, and that was with Maam’s and Anna’s constant help. Jacob’s mother’s, too.”

  “Maybe it’s meant to be a surprise,” Lou said. “Like how Englisher women won’t let their grooms see their wedding dress before the ceremony.”

  “Seems a strange tradition,” Esther said. “And their gowns are so lavish. All that white lace, and they wear it only once.”

  “Jah.”

  For a moment, both women stood in silence. Esther didn’t know what Lou was thinking, but for just a second, she imagined herself in one of those white gowns. Would Jacob have thought she was beautiful?

  Surely not. When he’d returned from Rumspringa, he was as pious as the bishop.

  “I suppose it’s a good thing we make our own plain wedding day dresses,” Lou said, breaking into her thoughts. “And then we get to wear them to every church service for as long as we want.”

  Again, Esther pictured that purple dress—the one she would never get to wear. “Or for as long as they fit,” she joked, not wanting Louisa to notice her mood change. “How’s the music coming along?”

  Esther knew this would be a good subject, as Lou was in charge of the youth choir, and they’d been working on their songs for the upcoming weddings for weeks. Louisa’s enthusiasm was the perfect distraction for Esther’s wandering mind.

  “I wish you would sing with us,” Lou whined while mixing a bowl of blackberry compote with a wooden spoon, sending a burst of both tartness and sweetness into the air. The scrumptious-looking dark-purple concoction would be canned and used at Sarah’s wedding supper, as well as the other weddings that season.

  “No, thanks.” Esther chuckled under her breath. “I’m too old for that group now. I’d feel like their grandmother.” She dropped another peeled apple into the bowl of water. “Besides, I haven’t sung in years. Jacob didn’t like it.”

  Louisa stopped stirring. “You sing like an angel.”

  “I think that’s why.” Esther smoothed down the front of her blue apron until her hands slid into its pockets. “You remember how spiritual he became at the end. He thought my singing was wicked.” She shrugged. “Feared I’d show off too much. I suppose I understand what he meant. That was at the beginning of our courtship. I doubt I’ve sung a note since.”

  “Well, that’s silly—you should.” Louisa grinned. “And in my choir.”

  “Maybe next wedding season,” Esther said for the third year in a row. “Speaking of Jacob…” Knowing the subject had gotten stale with her friends and family, she kept her eyes fixed on the floor. “I’ve been having a hard time lately. I…I understand that everyone has a mission in life—I do, I know that. But, well, Jacob was so young…”

  “I know,” Louisa replied, picking up her spoon and beginning to stir again.

  “I don’t understand—”

  “Esther,” Lou said without looking at her. “It was Gott’s will. That was His plan
for poor Jacob.”

  Esther bit the inside of her cheeks, wanting so much to rebuff this—this unsatisfactory answer—but knew she mustn’t. Even though they were best friends, she didn’t want Lou or anyone to know what was truly bothering her.

  Suddenly, the pressure of a heavy rain began building behind her eyelids. It wasn’t the death of her fiancé that made her want to sob. It was the thought of her struggles because of his death. Doubting her faith was something she’d never expected to feel. Ever. She loved her church. She loved her community, family, the connections she’d had her whole life.

  But after everything that had happened, did she still truly believe?

  And if she did, what did she believe?

  There were still so many unanswered questions that it had become a topic no one would talk about, leaving a depressing confusion to sit heavily on her chest like a bale of hay.

  “Okay, I really do have to go,” Esther said. “I need to take my new batch of soap into town.”

  “Oooh, what kind did you make?”

  “Clove.”

  Louisa’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that allowed? Your wildflower soap smells light and fresh; isn’t clove too strong a scent?”

  Secretly, Esther had wondered the same thing, but the oils she added to scent her soaps were so deliciously beautiful, how could they be improper, even to plain folk?

  “I add only the tiniest of pinches,” she said, then quickly backed up, holding the screen door open. “See you tomorrow?”

  “Jah,” Lou said, still wearing the troubled expression Esther was trying to ignore. “See you later.”

  So far, it had been a mild Pennsylvania autumn, but today the sun was full out, warming all of creation. For a moment, Esther imagined what it would feel like if she peeled back her kapp, allowing the breeze to blow through her hair. Instead, she made sure the pins holding it were securely in place over her tight bun.

  Maam was in the kitchen homeschooling Esther’s three youngest siblings at the long wooden table. They were studying a poem by William Wordsworth. Esther grinned, grateful for the progressive education she’d received at home. Maam loved poetry and never shied away from teaching the English classics. Quotes from the Bible, along with Shakespeare and Keats, were needled into throw pillows on their sofa. Though Maam did tend to flip those to their blank sides whenever Bishop Abram would visit.