Gabriel's Bride Read online

  Gabriel's Bride, Digital Edition

  Based on Print Edition

  Copyright © 2014 by Amy Lillard

  All rights reserved.

  Printed in the United States of America

  978-1-4336-7754-0

  Published by B&H Publishing Group

  Nashville, Tennessee

  Dewey Decimal Classification: F

  Subject Heading: AMISH—FICTION LOVE STORIES ROMANTIC SUSPENSE NOVELS

  Scripture is taken from the Holman Christian Standard Bible® (hcsb). Copyright © 1999, 2000, 2002, 2003, 2009 by Holman Bible Publishers. Used by permission.

  Publishers Note:

  The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.

  To my father, Stanley Davis. I love you. And I miss you.

  “My sheep hear My voice, I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they shall never perish—ever! No one will snatch them out of My hand.” (John 10:27–28)

  Acknowledgments

  The making of a book is never an easy task. There are always bumps along the road, and some journeys are harder than others. This book had one of those tough routes. Shortly after starting Gabriel’s Bride, my father passed away. He’d been in poor health for a few years and watching him decline was hard, even from five hundred miles away. I was still reeling from losing him when my eighteen-and-a-half-year-old cat died. Not the best time to write a whimsical romance.

  My kind editor told me I could have extra time if I needed it, but all I could see was my daddy’s disappointment that I didn’t uphold my end of the bargain. “Baby girl, get it done” was all I could hear him say. So I plunged ahead with Gabriel’s Bride, determined to finish it on schedule.

  So many times I have heard authors say that they didn’t like a particular book of theirs because they suffered a personal tragedy while writing it. I suppose the book becomes a reminder of times that are impossible to forget and hard to deal with all at once. I did not want Gabriel’s Bride to be that story for me.

  I’m not going to tell you that it was easy, but I knew my daddy would be upset if I didn’t give it my all. So I worked hard, I cried, I rewrote, and I prayed. And I’m proud to say that I finished the book on time and I don’t hate it. I love it. In fact, it may be my favorite of the Clover Ridge books.

  I need to say thanks to my husband and son for putting up with my mood swings and grief as we all mourned the loss of our “poppaw” and beloved Ch’ing Cheng. My “boys” are the best, and I love you.

  Another thanks goes out to my agent, Mary Sue Seymour, and everyone at The Seymour Agency—agents and clients alike. I’m so thankful to be a part of such a wonderful group.

  Thank you to my editors Julie Gwinn and Julie Carobini and the entire team at B&H Publishing. As always, you make me look “good.” And to my dear friends Amy Clipston and Sarah Grimm, thank you for reading and rereading and keeping me sane.

  And of course, I thank our awesome God who extends His patience and love in troubled times, and gives me wonderful stories to share with you.

  1

  The Lord was testing him. It was as plain as that.

  Gabriel Fisher sat down on the bed, its quilt pulled up and neatly tucked in. She hadn’t even slept in it.

  He looked at the note in his hands as if seeing it for the first time. From downstairs, he could hear the sounds of the boys stirring around, arguing over who was going to eat what, too impatient in their hunger to wonder where their sister was.

  Gone.

  He crumpled the paper, not needing to read the words again. Not able to read them through the tears welling in his eyes. His daughter was gone. She had left, wanting to see what the Englisch world could offer her. She wanted to go to school, help animals, make more of herself than she could if she stayed in Clover Ridge.

  Gabriel raised his eyes toward heaven. “Where did I go wrong, Becca?” He dipped his chin and shook his head. “I did the best I could.”

  He rose, his joints popping, his heart breaking. He felt old.

  His baby girl was gone.

  He tossed her good-bye note onto the bed, then retrieved it again, smoothing it back flat. He’d keep it. It might be the last he heard from her. At least for a while.

  Quietly, he shut the door behind him when he really wanted to slam it to expel the growing remorse, regret, hurt, and anger that boiled in his gut.

  He wanted to run after her, get in his buggy and scour the county. But she was long gone. Probably already in Tulsa. Staying with strangers. Or at least with people she knew but who were strangers to him. Englischers. Too many places she could go in a car. He’d never find her.

  He took a deep breath at the head of the stairs, held it in. Let it go. Then started down.

  His oldest bu, Matthew, stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands propped on his hips. He surveyed his brothers as if he wasn’t sure if he should intervene or walk away.

  In that moment, Gabriel realized that Matthew was next. Steady and true, Matthew would turn sixteen next year and get his taste of the Englisch freedoms.

  “Halt!”

  He hadn’t meant to raise his voice quite so much, but there it was, and it was effective. Simon, who had been holding the remains of last night’s pie above his head to keep it away from leaping David and bouncing Joseph, stopped his own jumping and stared at his father. All three of them turned as if only just now aware that their father was anywhere near.

  Samuel quietly sat at the table waiting on someone to stop their nonsense and feed him. Poor child. He hadn’t been the same since his sister, Katie Rose, had moved back in with their folks, but that was customary while she and Zane Carson were courtin’. But this . . . this would set Samuel back even more.

  Gabriel took a couple more steps into the room, his boys still watching him closely. They knew something was wrong. Their sister had not been about this morning, cooking and laying out their clothes. There was no coffee brewing, no boiled eggs to eat on the way to the barn to jumpstart their morning chores. No Mary Elizabeth.

  “Sit down.” He nodded toward the table. There were chores that needed doing. Cows to milk, eggs to gather, horses to feed, but they needed to know first.

  He waited until they had all settled themselves into their seats before he started. He took a deep breath. Carefully avoiding the empty seat where his dochder should have been, he looked at each of them in turn. “Mary Elizabeth has gone.”

  Matthew’s eyes widened as if he understood, yet could hardly believe that what he had heard was true. He alone remained silent; the other buwe began speaking at once, talking over each other, but asking the same questions: “Where has she gone?” and “When will she be back?”

  Gabriel shook his head, refusing to answer. “Now, go do your chores. I will make breakfast, and we will not speak of this again.”

  They hesitated, but only for a heartbeat, then the sound of their chairs scraping the floor filled the room. They trudged out the back door, their faces reflecting their unasked questions. But they all knew better than to push him.

  All but Matthew.

  His oldest sohn remained seated, his green eyes so like Gabriel’s own filled with concern and dismay. “Dat?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

  “There are horses to feed, Matthew.”

  “She’s not coming back, is she?”

  Hearing the words spoken out loud nearly broke his heart in two. But he had to push the pain aside. He had to remain strong for all of them. “The horses, Matthew.” His voice came out gruff, not at all like it had the day bef
ore.

  “Jah, Vatter.”

  Gabriel dipped his head as Matthew pushed his chair back and rose from the table. He didn’t watch as his son reluctantly followed his brothers outside to complete the morning chores. Instead, he closed his eyes and uttered a small prayer for her safety and well-being. His Mary Elizabeth was smart, but unaccustomed to the ways of the Englisch. He could only hope wherever she was that she was safe and protected from the temptations which made up the outside world.

  With an aemen and a sigh, he rose from the table and started breakfast.

  About noon time, Gabriel came out of the barn, drawn back into the sun by the jingle of a horse bridle and the creak of a buggy. He blinked a couple of times to right his vision as Zane Carson, the fancy reporter who was bound to marry Katie Rose, pulled his buggy to a stop.

  “Goedemiddag,” the Englisch-man-turned-Amish greeted, jumping down from the buggy and smacking his horse affectionately on the rump.

  For a fancy city boy, Zane Carson had adapted to the Plain ways as if he had been born to them. Yet the bishop had his reservations about allowing him in, making him wait over a year before he could begin classes to join the church. Amish folk leaving the district was more likely than the fancy joining up. With Gideon marrying his own Englisch bride . . . well, two Englisch asking to join in the same year had the bishop as wary as a fox.

  Thoughts of leaving brought Mary Elizabeth’s desertion back to the front of his mind. He sighed and pushed back those thoughts. She was in rumspringa. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t return. She hadn’t joined the church. She wouldn’t be shunned for testing Englisch waters, but she was his little girl, and he worried about her. Hadn’t known that she was so unhappy with the lot God had provided for her that she felt there was more to be found in the world.

  “Wie geht?” he asked his sister’s intended.

  “Gut, gut,” Zane Carson said, with a dip of his chin. “Deacon Esh sent me. Katherine Yoder passed in the night.”

  Gabriel tsked and shook his head. What was it about the night that so many things turned for the bad? “Terrible sad, that. Katherine was a gut woman.”

  “That she was. Uh, the deacon wants you to accompany him to the funeral.”

  “Me?”

  Zane Carson shrugged. “I’m just the messenger.”

  Unsaid was the truth that Old Ezekiel Esh, for all his obedience to God and heavenly aspirations, was something of an odd duck. A little like Katherine herself. It would do no good to question him on the matter. Compliance was the surest way to discover the method of the old man’s thoughts.

  The more logical choice would have been Zane Carson himself, since he had moved in with the deacon, seeing after his farm while waiting for permission to become a part of the community.

  No doubt Old Zeke had a motive, but Gabriel would only find out when the old man wanted him to know. Even though Katherine Yoder’s house was no longer in their district, the deacon would naturally attend the services to pay his respects to the family.

  “The funeral will be next Tuesday.”

  “Is there anything else he needs from me?” There was a mighty lot to do when a body went on to the Lord. With the woman’s niece Rachel being her only kinfolk around, Gabriel expected the responsibility of the district would be far greater than normal.

  “That’s all he said.”

  Gabriel nodded, his mouth pulling down into a thoughtful frown.

  Zane’s deep brown eyes studied him closely. “You alright?” The man was shrewd to a fault.

  He didn’t want to talk about it, but soon everyone would know, and there would be no hiding from it. Gabriel sighed. “Mary Elizabeth left last night.”

  “Left?”

  “Jah.”

  Zane blinked once as the meaning sunk in. “She left.”

  “That’s what I said.” Gabriel hated the harshness of his tone, but Zane Carson didn’t seem to notice.

  “I would have never thought she would—”

  He was a gut man, his sister’s intended. With any luck and the Good Lord’s grace, Zane and Katie Rose would be allowed to marry soon, maybe even as early as June. Though most Amish waited until after the harvest to speak vows, the couple was understandably anxious to start their life together.

  “Nor did I.” Gabriel shook his head and stared out over the pasture. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything to Mam and Dat just now. I need to be the one to tell them.”

  Zane gave an understanding nod of his head. “Should I tell them you’ll be around for supper?”

  With five kids to feed and acres of wheat to tend to . . . “Jah. Supper sounds like a fine idea.”

  There was just so much to do.

  Rachel Yoder looked around her, eyes darting from one chore to the next. The supper dishes still needed to be put away, her bed needed to be made, Aenti’s bed needed to be stripped, sheets and bed clothes washed and hung outside to dry in the fresh spring sunshine. There were funeral clothes to ready.

  The thought of the funeral brought tears to her eyes, tears that she fought with all of her being. She didn’t have time to cry; there was too much to do. Aenti surely wouldn’t want her crying. Katherine Yoder believed her life had been lived for the Lord and peace awaited her on the other side. She was happy and joyous at the transition, and Rachel knew that she would want her to be as well.

  Rachel sniffed back the tears and smoothed her hands down her black everyday apron.

  There was just so much to do.

  She turned toward the stairs, thinking of stripping the beds and washing all the sheets. But the house would need to be scrubbed from top to bottom. Aenti may have been a different sort, but she had lived in these parts since she was a child. Her kind-hearted neighbors and members of the surrounding districts would surely come say a final farewell. It was the Amish way.

  Maybe she should get the clothes ready first.

  Rachel placed her hand on the banister thinking of her aunt’s dresses. What dress should she pick for her aunt to wear? There was nothing white in her closet as far as Rachel knew. Katherine Yoder had never been married. Still she would have a fer gut apron somewhere about. Maybe something made especially for the occasion.

  Chills slid down her spine. She hoped not. How sad for her aenti to stitch a garment knowing that it would be the last thing she would wear.

  “Miss Yoder?”

  She stilled her footsteps, spinning around at the call of the voice.

  The nice Mr. Evans stood near the front door with his Englisch haircut and kind smile. Rachel wondered if that was what got him this job of driving around and retrieving the dead, for his smile alone was sweet enough to calm a family’s grief.

  “Jah?”

  He flashed her that gentle smile. “We’re ready to go now.”

  Rachel dipped her chin, her throat too clogged to speak.

  “We’ll have her back by Monday.”

  Hopefully by then she would find someone to dig the grave. Maybe locate help in sewing the necessary white funeral clothes. Round up a few willing souls to assist her cleaning efforts. “Danki,” she whispered.

  “You’re welcome.” Mr. Evans smiled again.

  Rachel turned away unable to watch as they loaded her only relative in Clover Ridge into the fancy hearse-car. They would bring her back soon enough, embalmed, though not entirely necessary by state law, but needed just the same. The process would buy Rachel a few more days’ time to gather her resources and lay her aunt to her final rest.

  She wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand and continued up the stairs.

  2

  Gabriel loaded Samuel into the buggy bright and early Tuesday morning. Though he lived outside of Katherine Yoder’s district and had not been chosen as a pallbearer for the service, he knew Old Zeke would want to get there in enough time
to visit and make sure everything was in place for the simple Amish funeral.

  Matthew and the other boys were coming in a separate buggy closer to time. Gabriel had just purchased his eldest sohn a buggy of his own, and Matthew was rarin’ to show it off. They had talked about the perils of pride when they’d commissioned the buggy, but Gabriel himself remembered his first conveyance and how anxious he’d been to drive Rebecca home in it. Buwe and their buggies. Some things would never change.

  “We’re going over to get Deacon Esh,” Gabriel told Samuel as he clucked the horses into motion.

  “I like Deacon,” Samuel replied. “He smells like peppermint.”

  “Indeed he does.” Gabriel laughed. Old Zeke had something of a sweet tooth and usually had a pocket full of peppermints to share with willing children.

  For the first time in a long while, maybe even years, Gabriel was alone with his youngest. Not that he hadn’t spent any time with him, just that he didn’t often find the two of them together without a woman tagging behind making sure that Samuel didn’t want or need for anything. He supposed that his sister and his daughter both doted on the young bu, but it seemed the knowledge that he was loved and cared for had made him confident beyond his years. He seemed to take his sister’s desertion well enough. He’d given Gabriel a sad smile and said, “She’ll be back.” He hoped his sohn was right.

  “The woman who died, did she have any peppermint?”

  Gabriel shook his head. “I do not know. Perhaps her niece has some.”

  “Is she old?”

  He remembered another time, a couple years back when he had seen Rachel Yoder. She had been young then, not more than twenty-two or three. Wouldn’t be much older than that now. “I don’t think so.”

  Samuel sighed in only the way a six-year-old can. “Then she ain’t got no peppermint. Only old people got peppermint.”

  Gabriel tried not to laugh as he turned his buggy down the drive toward the Esh place.

  The last couple of years had brought great changes to the once rundown property. Shortly after coming to Clover Ridge, Zane Carson had found favor in Old Zeke’s eyes and the man had sort of adopted the reporter from the city. When Zane had decided to stay in Oklahoma and marry Katie Rose Fisher, Esh had taken him in and given him a place to stay in the community as Zane worked toward lessons and winning over the bishop. In return, Zane had cleaned up the place, made it sparkle like new.