An Amish Holiday Family Read online

  “You almost walked in front of that car. What were you thinking?”

  Beth Ann fought her fingers, which wanted to reach up and rest on the buttons of Robert’s coat. Keeping them clenched at her sides, she imagined how he’d react if she shared the thoughts weighing on her heart.

  Knowing he deserved an answer to his question, she said, “I guess I was lost in my thoughts.”

  “You need to be more careful. What would have happened to the Henderson kinder if you ended up in the hospital or worse?”

  “I guess you would have become their sole temporary guardian.”

  “This isn’t a joke, Beth Ann. Don’t you realize how important you are to—” He coughed hard. “Don’t you realize how important you are to them? Without you, they’ll be sent to separate foster homes.”

  She nodded as she wished she could be sure she’d heard what she thought she had. Had he been about to include himself in the question about her being an important part of their lives? Had his cough been a way to disguise his

  near slip?

  Jo Ann Brown has always loved stories with happily-ever-after endings. A former military officer, she is thrilled to have the chance to write stories about people falling in love. She is also a photographer and travels with her husband of more than thirty years to places where she can snap pictures. They have three children and live in Florida. Drop her a note at joannbrownbooks.com.

  Books by Jo Ann Brown

  Love Inspired

  Green Mountain Blessings

  An Amish Christmas Promise

  An Amish Easter Wish

  An Amish Mother’s Secret Past

  An Amish Holiday Family

  Amish Spinster Club

  The Amish Suitor

  The Amish Christmas Cowboy

  The Amish Bachelor’s Baby

  The Amish Widower’s Twins

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  AN AMISH HOLIDAY FAMILY

  Jo Ann Brown

  For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

  —Matthew 6:21

  For Farah Mullick.

  Your smile is as beautiful as your kind heart!

  Thanks for loving our books.

  Contents

  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

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Excerpt from The Rancher’s Holiday Arrangement by Brenda Minton

  Chapter One

  Evergreen Corners, Vermont

  “What do you think?”

  At the deep voice behind her, Beth Ann Overholt almost blurted out the truth. I don’t know what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. The voice wasn’t a familiar one, and she was circumspect, even with friends.

  She guessed the man’s question hadn’t been a personal one, and she realized she was right when he asked, “Do you think it can be rebuilt?”

  A ruined covered bridge crossed Washboard Brook in front of her. Part of the span had vanished in last year’s flood, leaving only a board or two stretched across the huge arch closer to her. The other half of the arches was hidden within the tilting structure. She couldn’t remember if, when she’d been in Evergreen Corners last time, the wooden roof had one side lower than the other. The whole bridge tipped to the left in the direction of the brook’s current.

  “I wonder,” she said as much to herself as the man behind her, “how long it can stand at that angle.”

  “Not much longer, I’d say.”

  Beth Ann looked over her shoulder when the man sighed. His face was craggy, as if God had stopped sculpting it partway through, but his deep blue eyes were filled with honest regret. The cold wind blew black hair across his forehead beneath his hat of the same color. Even taller than she was by two or three inches, he wore a dark coat over work-stained broadfall trousers and worn boots.

  Was he one of the Amish volunteers who’d come to Evergreen Corners to help rebuild after Hurricanes Kevin and Gail? She didn’t recall seeing him before. On her previous visits, she’d spent time painting new houses for families who’d lost everything. This time, she’d only been in the small Vermont town since yesterday.

  The man gave her a smile. Though his expression was tinged with sadness, his whole face changed. What had been intimidating became friendly while his eyes glistened with what looked like mischievousness.

  “Are you hoping it’ll fall in while you’re watching?” she asked.

  “The opposite. I’ve been coming out every day or so to make sure it’s still standing.” He sighed. “I don’t know how much longer prayer can keep it from collapsing.”

  “The village must be—”

  “Doing nothing!” His cold voice lashed her like the November wind. “The bridge was damaged during the first hurricane, and the one this year did more harm. Look!” He stretched an arm past her to point at the closer end of the bridge. “See? The abutment is being undermined. If something isn’t done soon, the whole bridge will be lost. Where do they think they’ll find trees big enough to replace those arches?”

  “They’ll have to use steel girders.”

  “What gut will that do? A covered bridge sitting on metal arches? It’d be an abomination.”

  His fervor overwhelmed her, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. She understood his admiration for the bridge. Traveling through the covered bridges of Lancaster County had been one of her favorite parts of living there. Many had been washed away by Hurricane Agnes in the 1970s. The replacements had been built to withstand flooding, their steel components hidden behind a wooden facade. Those using the bridges were none the wiser, and tourists still stopped to photograph the barn-red spans.

  She doubted the man who’d moved to stand beside her wanted to hear that. He was on a quest to keep the covered bridge as authentic as possible.

  So instead of replying to his outburst, she said, “I’m Elizabeth Overholt, but my friends call me Beth Ann.”

  His smile rearranged his face again, and she couldn’t help being fascinated by how each emotion altered it. “My name’s Robert Yoder, and my friends who want to remain my friends don’t call me Robbie any longer.”

  She laughed, surprising herself. “All right...Robert.”

  “Gut, Beth Ann.” His smile wavered. “I assume it’s okay to call you that.”

  “It is. Have you been in Evergreen Corners long?”

  “About a week. Long enough to get assigned to the team building the final houses. I came to see my sister Rachel and her little girls who live here. When I found out they needed extra hands, I raised mine to volunteer.”

  “It’s impossible not to pitch in when you see how much needs to be done.”

  “Do you live here?”

  She considered telling him she’d come out on the cold day to be by herself and have a chance to think about her future. It seemed bizarre to be asking herself what she wanted to be when she grew up, but she was. However, as she stood by the bridge, her thoughts had been on the past.

  About the job she’d already questioned if she wanted to keep before the doctor she’d worked for retired last year, closi
ng the birthing clinic.

  About her grandmother’s death a month later.

  About her attempt to start her own freelance midwifery practice, which had fizzled out because the Amish women she’d assisted had decided to go to an established clinic overseen by a female doctor. It hadn’t helped that three women under her previous doctor’s care had lost their babies before birth. Each time, Beth Ann had warned the women of the fragility of their pregnancies and urged them to take precautions. Each time, the women had ignored her advice.

  She’d heard the whispers. The doctor she’d worked with was too old and she was too young to be a proper midwife, though she was thirty-three.

  None of those rumors mattered. What mattered was babies had died. She couldn’t imagine losing a child, because she wanted one of her own. She hadn’t had any family since her grandmother’s death. The grief from that loss remained vivid after a year. Beth Ann barely recalled her parents, who’d died when she was young. Her grandfather had already passed away, so it had been her and Grandmother Overholt.

  Her family.

  A tiny one in a community where more than the fingers on both hands were often needed to count the members in one household.

  She did have a lone living relative. Or at least she thought she did. At last report, her aunt, Helen Friesen, lived in California. She’d moved there before Beth Ann was born and had never come home.

  With nothing to hold her to Lancaster County, Beth Ann could go anywhere and do anything she wanted. The problem was she didn’t know what she wanted to do. She hoped time working in Evergreen Corners would give her a chance to make decisions about her future.

  “No, I don’t live in Evergreen Corners,” she replied when she realized he was waiting for her answer. “I’ve come to help whenever I can get away from Pennsylvania. I’ve become an expert at getting paint out of my hair.”

  “I don’t think there’s any painting going on right now,” Robert replied.

  “That’s what I was told when I checked in with Amish Helping Hands yesterday. I’m sure someone will find me something to do pretty soon. I came today to see what happened after this year’s hurricane. Once I’m assigned a job, I won’t have time for sightseeing.” She smiled. “I’m pretty good swinging a hammer.” She held up her gloved hands and wiggled her thumbs. “Haven’t hit either of these in a long time.”

  “Well, in that case, you could help me fix the bridge.”

  She gasped. “You’re doing that?”

  “I wish I could say ja, but it’s wishful thinking.” He edged closer to the brook’s steep bank and stared at the unsteady structure.

  “Are you a carpenter?”

  “I hope to have my own woodworking shop someday, but for now, I’d like to try to save the bridge.”

  Beth Ann couldn’t dampen her pulse of envy. He sounded as if he knew what he wanted to do with his life for months to come. Months? It might take longer to repair the bridge. During that time, he’d be doing what he wanted to do. How she wished she could feel the same about something!

  Something that was possible. What man would want a wife who was in her thirties and wore a brace on her right leg, a reminder of the car accident that had killed her parents when she was four years old? She regretted not spending more time socializing earlier, but she’d learned her lesson when she was dumped by two men in quick succession. Webster Gerig and Ted Contreras hadn’t been very much alike. Webster was tall, thin and outgoing. Ted was shorter and wider and never said two words when one would suffice.

  However, they’d been in complete agreement about one matter. Both of them had been attentive until she stood to walk across the room. They’d paled at the sight of her brace. They hadn’t dumped her right away or even after tasting her attempts at cooking, a skill she’d never mastered. If they had, maybe her heart wouldn’t have been broken so badly. No, both men had waited to end their relationships with her until another woman began to pay attention to them. That had told her she’d been good enough until someone better came along. Though she tried to justify their actions, because who wouldn’t prefer a woman who didn’t walk with a limp and could cook, she hadn’t been able to set aside the hurt and humiliation.

  Telling herself she had enough love in her life with her grandmother, she’d spent the next decade focused on her career. For what? Everything was in tatters. Now she couldn’t wait more than a few weeks to make up her mind, because her savings wouldn’t last forever. She had to figure out by the time the new year arrived what she intended to do with the rest of her life. If only she had some idea what that should be...

  “There are a lot of covered bridges in Vermont,” she said.

  “It would be a shame to lose a single one.” He stuck his hands into his coat pockets as another gust of wind warned it was time to head indoors. “I need to talk to whoever is in charge.” He looked at her. “Do you know who that would be?”

  “Either the mayor or Glen Landis, I’d guess.”

  “Glen Landis is the project manager who coordinates the work for the aid organizations in Evergreen Corners, ain’t so?”

  “The Mennonite Disaster Service is here as well as Amish Helping Hands and a few Vermont groups.”

  “Big job.”

  She nodded. Like everyone else who’d come to Evergreen Corners to help, she had a lot of respect for Glen. He worked long hours, took no credit for his labor and let others receive the gratitude of the local residents who hadn’t known where to turn in the hours after the floodwaters receded.

  Glen was another person who knew what he wanted to do and where he belonged. She prayed by working with these dedicated people, inspiration would come and she’d know what to do next.

  * * *

  Robert wasn’t sure if Beth Ann started toward the center of the village first or if he did. She’d been kind to listen to him obsess about the bridge. Unlike others, she hadn’t told him to focus on the jobs he could do in Evergreen Corners and stop thinking about what might be a lost cause.

  His mouth tightened. He couldn’t believe the bridge was doomed, and he wasn’t about to give up on being part of its reconstruction. He had the skills to bring the bridge back to life. As a boy, he’d sought sanctuary at a nearby house after his daed gave him another beating. The elderly man who’d lived there never had asked Robert why he came. Instead Old Terry, as everyone had called him, entertained a wounded little boy with stories of how he’d fixed up the covered bridges on the roads near his farm. Robert had imagined following in the old man’s footsteps.

  He had his chance if he could figure out how to convince the powers that be in Evergreen Corners to share his passionate desire to see the old bridge repaired. He hadn’t thought of Glen Landis, and he appreciated Beth Ann’s suggestion.

  He glanced at where she walked beside him on the sidewalk that twisted alongside the meandering brook. It was delightful to look a woman level in the eyes. Bright green eyes, Robert noted, the color of the grass in the spring when it first was mowed. They were the perfect complement to her dark brown hair, which glowed red when the sun danced upon what was visible in front of the small kapp that identified her as a Mennonite. She wore a black coat with the hem of her dark blue dress beneath it. The fabric was adorned with small white-and-green leaves, but he guessed the style was like what his sisters wore.

  After seeing the brace in her right shoe, he kept his gaze from it again. It was a simple plastic device. Held in place by a strip of fabric wrapped around the brace and her shin, it was a garish white against her dark socks.

  He wondered why she wore it and if it was temporary or permanent, but didn’t want to make her uncomfortable by asking.

  “Where are you staying?” Beth Ann asked as they reached the old mill in the heart of the village.

  “With other unmarried men in the half-finished apartments in the big barn behind David Riehl’s house. There are three apa
rtments in what used to be the loft. We put up wallboard and molding in exchange for a place to stay.” He smiled as another gust of icy wind swept past them. “The furnace is functioning. I wouldn’t want to sleep in an unheated barn this time of year. How about you?”

  “I was given one of the tiny cabins at the Mountain View Motel out past the high school. It’s a single room with a kitchenette. It would be cramped with anyone else in there, because there’s barely room to turn around.” She looked at him, an unsettled expression on her face. “Not that I’m complaining. The space works for me, and I could share it with another volunteer. It’s not as if we’ll be there much anyhow.”

  “Ja, they keep us busy.”

  She paused by the crosswalks that marked the center of Evergreen Corners. “I’m sure I’ll see you around. At meals if nowhere else.”

  “Most likely,” he said. “Danki for listening, Beth Ann.”

  “I’m glad someone cares about that old bridge. Maybe you’ll be the one to make a difference in its future.”

  “I’d like to think so.”

  “You convinced me, so you’ve got a chance of convincing Glen or the mayor.” She smiled. “I’ll pray you get the answers you want.”

  Robert was astonished how her words eased the strictures that had enveloped him the past month. As he watched her walk up the sloping sidewalk, skirting patches of ice, he doubted she could guess how much he appreciated her listening. He’d spent the morning, while working in the next-to-last house being built by the aid organizations, praying God would bring him a solution to save the old bridge.

  God had sent Beth Ann Overholt. Not only had she suggested people who might help him, but she’d said the right things to bolster his sagging hopes.

  He hadn’t expected to find anyone else out by the old bridge on such a cold afternoon. The last two times he’d come to look at it, nobody had been around. Today, he’d planned to scramble onto it and check the inside. A few queries he’d made had revealed nobody had been on the old bridge since a couple of small kinder had been found up there.