Never an Amish Bride Read online

  After Esther had finished her formal education at eighth grade, her father had built her a little nook off the end of the kitchen—her own soapmaking lab. Even when not filling orders, she considered it her hideaway whenever she was feeling down.

  Over the last year, she’d easily tripled her inventory. Her cousin couldn’t be happier, because those heavier-scented soaps had become very popular, bringing more and more customers and tourists into Yoder’s Home Goods.

  Esther blindly grabbed a box of two dozen from her stash, waved goodbye to Maam, and left out the back. There was no sign of Daed, which meant he was deep in his garden, harvesting the autumn melons for the weekend’s farmer’s market.

  The walk from her house behind Honey Brook Creek to town wasn’t far. She wouldn’t ask Daed to stop working to give her a ride in the buggy, and she’d always been miserable at riding a scooter bike, especially one-handed. There were a few times, however, that she’d hitched a ride in a car with Lou’s cousin, who’d left their order to marry a Mennonite from Icedale. Though Esther was well over twenty, she’d never asked her parents if those joyrides were appropriate. It was one of those things she’d rather ask forgiveness for than permission.

  It wasn’t long before the first small storefront came into view. Catching sight of the bright redbrick building on the south side, like always, Esther automatically steered herself to the north side of the road.

  She hadn’t stepped foot in that building—not in the six months since that person had begun working there. First of all, she hadn’t been sick, so why would she need a medical clinic run by Englishers? Secondly, not only had that person been away from Honey Brook, Pennsylvania, for ten years, but the mystery that surrounded the mere name of Lucas Brenneman still haunted the community.

  He was Jacob’s older brother. She wasn’t sure why, but if ever his name was mentioned in a whisper at a quilting bee or canning frolic, she felt a knot in her stomach. After all, Jacob lived with Lucas for more than a year before he’d asked to court her. Then he’d proposed. A few months later, her poor sweet Jacob went up to heaven.

  Her community wasn’t much on gossip, making Esther wonder how many folks actually knew he was back in town. For, as far as she knew, no one had spoken to him since his sudden return to the area, not even his family. It wasn’t a proper shun—because Lucas hadn’t been baptized before he’d left on Rumspringa all those years ago. And because he’d never returned, folks assumed what wickedness he’d been up to, as well as the wickedness he’d exposed his younger brother to.

  At the age of sixteen, Lucas had flown on an airplane to stay with his cousins in New York. In their church, Rumspringa wasn’t frowned upon, but when word came that Lucas wasn’t coming home, the common “running around” tradition made everyone wary. No one knew where he’d gone, since he’d never bothered writing to his poor parents.

  Which made it an even bigger shock when Jacob had announced he was taking Rumspringa at eighteen with the intent to visit Lucas. The elders of the church were opposed, and though Jacob had had hours of council, there was nothing against it in the community’s rules, the Ordnung.

  When Jacob had returned a year later, he hadn’t talked much about his time away from home or about Lucas. He’d heard some music, watched some TV, and even gone to Disney World, but that was all he’d been willing to share.

  Almost subconsciously, Esther’s gaze slid across the street to that redbrick building. Another gust of wind blew against her body, almost as if it were warning her away from what she suddenly wanted to do—needed to do.

  What had really happened to Jacob? What had Lucas done to his younger brother, and why—after only a year away from home—had he come back so different? Esther knew she couldn’t go on wondering. It was making her miserable.

  Perhaps, if she was brave enough right this second, she could finally get some answers.

  Before she lost her nerve, and while grasping the boxes of soap under one arm, Esther clenched together the top of her wool cape and marched due north.

  Medical Clinic, the sign read over the double doors of the redbrick building. A gold plaque was glued to the window. After the names of three doctors, the list ended with: Lucas Brenneman, physician assistant.

  Esther sucked in a deep breath and pushed through the doors.

  A receptionist desk sat in front, behind a sliding glass window. There was no one at reception, nor were there any patients in the lobby. Esther was ready to ring the little bell on the counter when the door leading to the back began to open.

  “Sorry,” someone spoke, “we’re closed for lunch.” A tall man with dark hair, wearing a white lab coat, came into view. Less than thirty years old, she considered, and friendly looking, maybe even handsome—for an Englisher. He was holding a spoon in one hand and a carton of cottage cheese in the other. “I forgot to put up the sign— Oh.” He lowered the spoon, leaving a dollop of cottage cheese clinging to one side of his mouth.

  Memories suddenly flooded Esther’s mind. The lanky, lean boy spiking a volleyball right at her face. Her grinning partner at the cornhole tournament giving her a high five after they’d won. Sharing a book at Bible study. Trying unsuccessfully to catch his eye during youth singing time.

  Esther’s throat went dry, while her heart beat like a drum the second she locked eyes with Lucas Brenneman.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It gave Lucas pause whenever plain folk came into the clinic—rarer than a five-star restaurant in these parts. But this blond Amish woman with the large blue eyes and fresh-looking complexion stopped Lucas dead in his tracks. She reminded him of someone he knew very well—or maybe used to know. Before it drove him crazy, he was forced to drag out the mental file of when he’d been a kid living in this very community, the mental file he did not like opening.

  But her eyes…

  For a moment, he let his mind go slack, allowing locked-up memories to freely flow. A girl chasing a bunny. A young teen bringing him a pie after he’d broken his leg. A face watching him from behind her Bible.

  His brother’s one true love…

  Moses Miller’s Esther, he thought, somehow remembering the nickname, for there had been four Esthers in their community, one being his own grandmother.

  “Sweet Esther,” he said quietly under his breath, remembering how he himself had shortened her nickname from Moses Miller’s Esther, to M&M’s Esther, to simply Sweet Esther.

  Though three years apart, they’d grown up together. He hadn’t been blind back then; he’d noticed how she’d look his way, paid extra attention, and tried to sit directly across from him in youth group. But, since about the age of five, his brother Jacob had been rehearsing how he’d ask out Esther on their first date.

  There was never a thought of muscling in on his brother’s girl, no matter how pretty her eyes had been.

  As she stared at him from across the lobby, donning the traditional black heart-shaped prayer kapp common for single Amishwomen in Lancaster County, Esther was not wearing the smile he remembered. In fact, her mouth was hanging open, not moving since she’d gasped at the sight of him.

  How could he blame her? Though he’d moved back six months ago, Lucas had been careful not to infringe on Honey Brook, his community for the first sixteen years of his life. Whenever he could, he did all his grocery shopping and car repairs in the neighboring town of Intercourse, or even Hershey, hoping to avoid any awkward moments.

  Like this one.

  “Morning,” he said, then gave her time to unthaw before speaking again. “Esther Miller?” When she didn’t reply, it was Lucas’s turn to feel awkward.

  “Hallo,” she finally said, shifting her body weight.

  After another moment, Lucas snapped fully awake. “Do you need a doctor?” he asked, the obvious reason for her visit finally dawning on him.

  Ever since he could remember, it was uncommon for the Amish comm
unity to seek out English doctors. Therefore, if Esther Miller had done so, something must be very wrong.

  Stepping up, he ignored any embarrassment. “Are you ill or hurt? How can I help?”

  Esther blinked hard, as if waking up. “Oh, no—no! It’s not that.”

  “You’re okay?” He gave her a visual assessment, though it was difficult to see if anything looked out of place by how thoroughly her traditional Amish clothing covered her. Plain gray dress down to her lower calf, blue apron, black cloak, black prayer kapp—the color signifying that she was single. Under the kapp, her hair was the fairest blond, growing lighter since he’d been away. Her cheeks showed the rosiness of a sunny summer.

  “Yes,” she said, straightening her posture. “Perfectly okay. Hale, even. Not a single cavity or freckle.”

  Lucas almost smiled at the detailed reply, even though he hadn’t been big on smiles lately—being so near his father again.

  “You’re Lucas Brenneman,” she said.

  “I am.” He even flashed the name badge on his lab coat.

  “You look different.” She tilted her head to one side, while her shoulders visually dropped in relaxation. “The same but different.”

  “I could say that about you, too.”

  Finally, her lips curved into a smile that reminded him of simpler times. “Please, no. I was just a girl when you—”

  She cut herself off, maybe fearing the mere mention of the subject was taboo.

  “When I left,” he finished for her. He didn’t know how to continue, and she still hadn’t said why she was there, standing in the middle of the lobby clutching two boxes in one arm, eyes staring at him as if he had something strange hanging out of his mouth.

  After a moment of silence, she lifted a hand, gesturing toward his face. “You have something right there.”

  Her gesture caused him to touch his tongue to the side of his mouth. Quickly, he dipped his chin, wiping the entire area with the back of his hand. “Cottage cheese,” he mumbled, feeling a little dopey and quite like that sixteen-year-old he’d been the last time he’d seen her.

  “Almost like the strawberry ice cream.”

  “Pardon?” he said.

  “After the Chupps’ barn raising, you got into the homemade ice cream and smeared it all over your face like a mud pie.”

  Lucas stared at her.

  “We were just kids,” she added.

  “I remember,” he said, crossing his arms. “It was strawberry.”

  “Like I said.” She exhaled a light, feminine giggle.

  He couldn’t help smiling now, picturing the scene nearly perfectly. “We got in so much trouble—Noah Otto and me. I had to do all the early-morning milking for two weeks.” He felt his smile grow, which seemed a little strange, since he’d worked so hard at not allowing himself to dwell on his childhood.

  “I interrupted your lunch,” Esther said. “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s no problem. Are you delivering something?” He gestured at the boxes she held.

  “Soap.”

  “To me?”

  “Why would you ask that?”

  This was getting weird. If the woman simply wanted to gawk at him—at the man who’d left family and home ten years ago, only to return without warning and without seeking reconciliation from family or church—hadn’t she seen enough?

  “Mr. Lucas,” she finally said, using a formal, very non-Amish title. “I wonder if you have some time. I need to talk to you.” She bit her lip, appearing suddenly unsure. “I think.”

  He felt his eyebrows lift. “Talk?” he repeated. To me? “The clinic doesn’t open again for almost an hour. Would you like to come on back?” He nodded toward the door behind him that led into his office.

  She clutched the boxes in her arms like they were protecting her. “Can’t we talk right here?”

  He tried hard not to smile again. According to their Ordnung, it was okay for two single adults to be alone. Yet perhaps Esther Miller found it unnecessary to be secluded.

  “Would you like to sit?”

  She glanced at the chair he offered but shook her head. “Have you ever heard of closure?”

  “Of course,” he said, not knowing where in the world she was going with that.

  “Good, because…well…I need it. And I’m sure this all seems utterly out of the blue, my showing up here like this, jah? I haven’t seen you since…that last day. But I have questions, so many that my mind is full of them.”

  Questions about him? About where he’d been since he’d left on Rumspringa? Hadn’t his mother shared with the community all his letters? For years, he’d written home at least once a month. Though he never received a letter in return, he kept writing, knowing his mother would feel more at ease if he kept her updated. When he’d written that he’d come back to Honey Brook, however, with no response, he finally stopped.

  “Well,” he began, unsure of where to begin. “My cousins in New York invited me to stay with them. I’d always planned on going there for Rumspringa, so—”

  “My questions,” she cut in, “are about Jacob.” She paused to take in a deep breath. “I want to talk about Jacob.”

  Lucas felt a cold hand reach into his chest and squeeze.

  During his time away, he’d gotten word that Jacob and Esther were engaged. He’d been pleased for his brother—securing his childhood crush for the rest of his life. Even though he knew that life would be short.

  The hand around Lucas’s heart clenched tighter.

  Their future was never to be. Lucas had known that all those plans his little brother had shared when they’d been together would be nothing more than daydreams.

  Because of our father.

  The thought still turned his stomach.

  Especially since he knew Jacob wouldn’t have told anybody about what had happened when he’d come to him, and he’d begged Lucas to never share it, either. As far as Lucas knew, that dark secret had died with his brother.

  “I can’t help you,” he said, snuffing out that tiny glimmer of light from his past.

  Her lips dropped into a frown. “But I need to know. I need to know so much about so many things. Other things!”

  “What other things?”

  “Well, for starters, there’s the youth choir and all that wasted food we’d been gathering!” she exclaimed. “And what about my dress? It’s still my favorite. What do I do now?”

  Frankly, the woman wasn’t making sense.

  “He was so young. And it was over like that.” She snapped her fingers. “All of it. Why? When you love someone, are you supposed to just stop? Bishop Abram and Mother say the same thing every time.”

  Lucas opened his mouth, ready to give the righteous, pat, Amish knee-jerk answer he remembered from years ago: “It’s all God’s—”

  “Stop!” Her shout made him flinch. “If you say it’s Gott’s will, I’ll throw something at you.”

  Completely taken aback, Lucas couldn’t help smiling, finding her burst of anger not only amusing but completely out of character for a traditionally submissive Amish woman.

  Still, he couldn’t help teasing her. “Miss Esther, our lives are in God’s—”

  He had to swerve out of the way when she threw a brick of soap at him. Then another. He caught the next with one hand.

  This pint-sized plain woman had a flaming hot temper.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, knowing he’d taken it too far when two blazing red patches bloomed across her cheeks. “I couldn’t help it. Forgive me.”

  “Fine,” Esther said. “Please just give those back,” she added, referring to the three bars of soap she’d hurled at him. He quickly picked them up and handed them over. While doing so, Lucas noticed each had a very pleasing smell. Something earthy but not quite like the lightly scented soap his mother used to use
at home.

  Curious, he was about to inquire, but then hints of a warning in her eyes returned.

  Better ask about it later.

  Later? What later? It’s probably bad enough she’s here right now. She’s got to be worried about being seen.

  Still unsure of the point, he knew that whatever it was that had caused her to step through those glass doors must’ve been very important.

  “Go on,” he said after an inward shrug. “I’m listening.”

  Esther was still breathing hard, her temper not quite under control. But she began speaking…something about flowers again and that dress. And then all the whys, just as before.

  Honestly, Lucas was having a difficult time following her train of thought. She was speaking so quickly, gesturing with her free hand. “I’m good at making these,” she continued, holding up one of the bars of soap. “But the Bible, and Bishop Abram—”

  “Abram King?” he couldn’t help interrupting. “He’s your current bishop?”

  Esther’s eyebrows bent in confusion at being cut off. “Jah.”

  “Huh.” Lucas rubbed his chin. “Once, he thought I’d vandalized the side of his barn when I hadn’t. In fact, I’d been away from home that entire day. He still blamed me and told my folks.” He shook his head. “Sure hope he’s more forgiving now.”

  “Anyway,” Esther said after a long pause, probably ignoring his words completely, “the bishop and the Ordnung and the Bible say it’s wrong, but I don’t understand why I should feel guilty.”

  Despite her rambling, Moses Miller’s Esther had grown up to be mighty cute. Cuter even than the Englishwoman he’d taken on two dates back in New York. But he quickly thwacked that out of his brain. It was a waste of thought—she’d been engaged to his brother. Girls like that were hands off forever.

  Plus, she was Amish. Absolutely no point in giving her any kind of second thought.

  Fortunately for him, Esther continued to weave an un-follow-able story, pausing only to ask another why? Most of the time, it didn’t seem Lucas needed to contribute more than a nod here or there. Even though he’d told her he would not talk about Jacob, she apparently needed to vent about a bunch of other random things.