Patchwork Dreams Read online

  What Others Are Saying…

  Laura V. Hilton has penned a touching story of love and its impact on a hurting heart. A compelling story line and unforgettable characters make Patchwork Dreams a must-read!

  —Penny Zeller, Author, McKenzie and Kaydie (books one and two in the Montana Skies series)

  Laura V. Hilton’s book captured my interest from the start. It opens with raw emotions and doesn’t let up.

  —Mary A. Hake, President, Oregon Christian Writers

  Laura Hilton captures the complicated relationships that spin out of the expectations of family and church. This poignant story is sometimes touching, sometimes humorous, sometimes bittersweet. Readers will find themselves rooting for Becky’s broken heart to heal and to turn to Jacob. Hilton keeps us guessing until the last page.

  —Suzanne Woods Fisher, Award-winning author, The Search

  Laura Hilton combines her expert knowledge of the Amish with exceptional storytelling to create a fast-paced, poignant romance. You will fall in love with her bigger-than-life hero in this first book of her series The Amish of Seymour.

  —Mary Ellis, Award-winning, best-selling author, Sarah’s Christmas Miracle and A Widow’s Hope

  With an amazing twist that makes it fresh, Patchwork Dreams is a wonderful new Amish story that you will want to read from front to back without putting it down.

  —Cindy Loven, Book reviewer, cindylovenreviews.blogspot.com

  Laura V. Hilton conveys a true depiction of God’s transforming love in Patchwork Dreams. It’s a wonderfully written love story between a broken woman with a marred past and the man determined to restore her heart.

  —Ruth Reid, Author, The Promise of an Angel

  A gentle, sweet romance with enough twists and turns to keep you guessing. Laura’s beautifully written novel will satisfy any romance lover!

  —Miralee Ferrell, Author, Love Finds You in Tombstone, Arizona, and Finding Jeena

  Laura Hilton weaves a delightful tale of love, hope, and forgiveness as she carries you into the world of the Amish of Seymour. I thoroughly enjoyed the road to romance in Patchwork Dreams, and I look forward to reading the rest of the series!

  —Susette Williams, Author, Something About Sam and New Garden’s Conversion

  If you love Amish romances, you’ll find Laura Hilton’s writing style engaging and tough to put down.

  —Tammy Barley, Author, The Sierra Chronicles (Love’s Rescue, Hope’s Promise, and Faith’s Reward)

  Patchwork Dreams is an uplifting tale of hope for tomorrow and the power of second chances.

  —Ginny Aiken, Author, the Silver Hills Trilogy, and the Women of Hope series

  Patchwork Dreams is a joy to read.

  —Diana Lesire Brandmeyer, Author, Wyoming Weddings and Hearts on the Road

  Publisher’s Note:

  This novel is a work of fiction. References to real events, organizations, or places are used in a fictional context. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Holy Bible.

  Patchwork Dreams

  The Amish of Seymour ~ Book One

  Laura V. Hilton

  ISBN: 978-1-60374-255-9

  Printed in the United States of America

  © 2011 by Laura V. Hilton

  Whitaker House

  1030 Hunt Valley Circle

  New Kensington, PA 15068

  www.whitakerhouse.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Hilton, Laura V., 1963–

  Patchwork dreams / by Laura V. Hilton.

  p. cm. — (The Amish of Seymour series ; bk. 1)

  ISBN 978-1-60374-255-9 (trade pbk. : alk. paper)

  1. Single mothers—Fiction. 2. Amish—Fiction 3. Seymour (Mo.)—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3608.I4665P38 2011

  811'.6—dc22

  2011000700

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical—including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system—without permission in writing from the publisher. Please direct your inquiries to [email protected].

  Acknowledgments

  I’d like to offer my heartfelt thanks to the following:

  The Swartz family, for allowing me a look at the inside of an Amish home and the outside layout of their farm. And for giving me a taste of their homemade jams and jellies.

  Susanne Woods Fisher, for contacting her sources to settle a few questions to which I couldn’t find the answers.

  The residents of Seymour, for answering my questions and pointing me in the right directions.

  The Ozark Folk Center in Mountain View, Arkansas—specifically, Scott Reidy—for giving me a crash course in blacksmithing.

  The amazing team at Whitaker House—Christine, Courtney, and Cathy. You are wonderful.

  My agent, for believing in me all these years.

  To my critique group—you know who you are. You are amazing and knew how to ask the right questions when more detail was needed. Also, thanks for the encouragement.

  To my husband, Steve, for being a tireless proofreader and cheering section, and my sons, Michael and Loundy, for taking over the kitchen duties when I was deep in the story.

  And in memory of my parents, Allan and Janice, and my uncle Loundy, and my grandmother, Mertie, who talked about their Pennsylvania Amish heritage.

  Dedicated to:

  Steve, my best friend,

  Loundy, my favorite song,

  Michael, my adventurous one,

  Kristin, my precious daughter,

  Jenna, my sunshine,

  Kaeli, my shower of blessing,

  and to God, who has blessed me with these.

  In loving memory of Allan and Janice Price, my parents, and my Uncle Loundy, who have blessed me with some knowledge of our Pennsylvania Dutch ancestors.

  Also to Tamela, my agent, for not letting me give up and for giving sage advice.

  Glossary of Amish Terms and Phrases

  ach—oh

  “Ain’t so?—”a phrase commonly used at the end of a sentence to invite agreement

  Ausbund—Amish hymnal used in worship services. Includes lyrics only.

  boppli—baby or babies

  bu—boy

  buwe—boys

  daed—dad

  danki—thank you

  dawdi-haus—a home built for grandparents to live in once they retire

  Englischer—a non-Amish person

  frau—wife

  grossdaedi—grandfather

  grossmammi—grandmother

  gut—good

  gut nacht—good night

  haus—house

  hinnersich—backward

  “Ich liebe dich”—“I love you”

  jah—yes

  kapp—prayer covering or cap

  kinner—children

  kum—come

  maidal—an unmarried woman

  mamm—mom

  nein—no

  onkel—uncle

  Ordnung—the rules by which an Amish community lives

  rumschpringe—“running around time,” a period of adolescence after which Amish teens choose either to be baptized in the Amish church or to leave the community

  ser gut—very good

  verboden—forbidden

  “Was ist letz?”—“What’s the matter?”

  welkum—welcome

  Chapter 1

  Jacob Miller hunkered on the middle seat of a white van. He wasn’t a prisoner, but he might as well have been.

  Could he say, “I quit”?

  Could he say, “St
op this ride, I want to get off”?

  No, to both questions.

  Despair roiled in his gut as the van passed a McDonald’s on the right, then pulled off the southbound lane of Highway 60, turned left at the light, and continued down a road covered with snow. The ice-laden trees, while beautiful to behold, did nothing to settle his inner turmoil. The heat from the van’s air vents only dispelled the outer chill. This was possibly the worst thing that had ever happened to him—having to leave his girl as he was tossed out like an old copy of the Amish newspaper, The Budget.

  Jacob leaned forward, his black felt hat clutched in his hands, as the vehicle lurched over a bump. Or something. Seymour, Missouri, wasn’t too far from Springfield, which the driver called the “Queen City of the Ozarks.” But the trip dragged by as if in slow motion. Maybe because he’d been dreading it for so long.

  Fearing it.

  Having nightmares about it.

  Mamm’s fourth cousin twice removed lived somewhere in this rural Missouri town. What would his family be like? Would Cousin Daniel be a harsh disciplinarian like Daed? Or would he be more easygoing, like Mamm? Jacob blinked hard, remembering Mamm’s tears when he’d boarded the transport driver’s van for a ride to the bus station.

  He wished he could use his contraband cell phone to call home to talk to Mamm. But his parents didn’t own a phone; there was only the community one in a shack a couple of miles down the road.

  Jacob grimaced as the van rumbled past several small businesses and then turned down a narrow dirt road.

  “Not too far now. A bit anxious, are you?” The driver glanced at Jacob in the rearview mirror, then reached forward and adjusted the heat. “Getting a mite warm in here.”

  Jacob made a noncommittal grunt and looked away. The driver had made a couple of attempts at conversation since picking him up at the bus station, but with nausea clogging his throat, he didn’t want to risk opening his mouth to speak.

  How could Daed do this to him? It seemed wrong in so many ways.

  Instead of building his farm in Pennsylvania, Jacob would be working the rocky red clay of southern Missouri. If he were home, he could be drinking a mugful of hot apple cider made from the family’s orchard and then going out to prune the fruit trees, working alongside his brothers—something he’d always imagined himself doing for life.

  Jacob pushed that thought away. Better not to think of what might have been.

  Instead of marrying sweet Susie during wedding season, he’d be spending a year helping out a distant cousin he’d never met. Susie’s warm, brown eyes flashed in his mind. Her quick laugh. Her willingness to try new things, never content to settle for the old. Ach, he already missed her. He reached for his cell phone to send her a text message but couldn’t get a signal. No coverage.

  Well, if Daed thought this would destroy their love for each other, he had another thing coming. Jacob couldn’t imagine living without Susie for a week, let alone a year.

  Bare trees dotted the edges of someone’s property, and in the distance, the rolling hills made a rather hazy background picture. Pretty, though not at all like home.

  Would he be able to get past the homesickness—and this streak of bitterness toward Daed—to embrace this as an adventure? A chance to learn about another part of the country, to expand his boundaries, and, more important, to minister to this needy relative and his family?

  Too bad his pep talk wasn’t convincing. He didn’t like his bad attitude, but it seemed impossible to get rid of it.

  All too soon, the van arrived in the gravel driveway of a large, two-story farmhouse. The trees surrounding the house would provide plenty of shade during the hot summer months, though now they were decorated with dripping icicles. Jacob imagined the wide front porch would be a good place for the womenfolk to shell peas or shuck corn during the harvest. A porch swing hung at one end, possibly a silent testament to a courtship from days gone by.

  A whitewashed barn stood sentry several yards away. With a casual glance around, Jacob noted cows, horses, chickens, goats, and pigs, plus the usual array of dogs and cats.

  The driver pulled to a stop in front of the house. Almost immediately, the front door opened, and a woman appeared, her honey-blonde hair pulled back into a bun and tucked under a prayer kapp.

  She peered out at the van, then disappeared behind the door before reappearing with a wrap tossed over her slim shoulders.

  Jacob opened the sliding door and clambered out of the vehicle as the driver went around to the back to get his luggage.

  “Hello, Tony.” The woman stopped on the porch. She spoke to the driver, but her blue eyes were fixed on Jacob.

  “Miz Becky.” The driver bumped his hat in what Jacob took as a greeting. “Brought your cousin by.”

  Becky nodded. “Jah. That I see. Welkum, Jacob.”

  She didn’t smile, and her eyes remained somber. Distant. As cold as the wind that howled around the corner of the house.

  Jacob hoped the rest of the family wasn’t as distant. Maybe she wanted him here as much he wanted to be here.

  Not so much.

  Jacob straightened his shoulders. Like it or not, he was here. He pulled in a deep breath, trying to get the nausea under control. “Hello, Becky.” He hoped that the smile he aimed in her direction would convey excitement about this new venture. Might as well turn on the charm and start making the best of a bad situation.

  ***

  Becky Troyer didn’t want to look at this Jacob. She didn’t want him here. Not now. Not ever. Besides, she thought the bishop had said that they were sending several boys—not just one—down from Pennsylvania to settle in this area, bringing new blood to the small district. And not the middle of February. In the spring, sometime. Or maybe early summer.

  Maybe the rest were coming later. Or maybe not. All Becky knew was that Mamm had gotten letters from her family in Pennsylvania saying that they were sending Jacob out. Now. In February. Made her wonder what this man had done to make his family send him away so soon. And did they really want him here, potentially defiling the community?

  Ach, her attitude. Becky had thought she’d gotten it all worked through, but seeing this stranger brought it all back.

  Still, she couldn’t keep her eyes off this man. He was tall, even standing next to Tony, and she’d thought Tony was big. Jacob stood at least half a head higher. And he was very handsome, with sandy blond hair and eyes that were so blue, he might have fallen straight from heaven and soaked up the color from the skies as he passed through on his way to earth. He was clean shaven, too, a sign he wasn’t married. Broad shoulders. A dimple in the left cheek.

  Her stomach flipped.

  There was a spark of something in his eyes, a glint that reminded Becky of the mischievous boy who used to sit across from her at the one-room schoolhouse when she was young enough to go, right before he reached forward and stabbed Lindy Beuler’s braid to the wood desk with his pocketknife.

  Jah, this one was trouble. Too cute for his own good, and dangerous underneath.

  Becky straightened, realizing she was being rude, staring like she was. The driver had unloaded the van of luggage, along with a blue bicycle, and now he and Jacob stood there next to the vehicle, both of them staring up at her. Behind her, her younger sisters jockeyed for position, trying to move her out of the doorway so they could see.

  Becky forced herself to move and felt the hem of her skirt brushing against her bare ankles. “Ach, sorry. Please, welkum, welkum. Won’t you kum in? Daed is in the barn, and Mamm has gone to a quilting, but she should be home soon.” She gripped the shoulder of whichever sister was pressed up against her and looked down. “Abbie, run to the barn and tell Daed that Jacob has kum.”

  Abbie twirled a lock of hair around her finger, stared at Jacob for a second longer, then took off at a run toward the barn.

  Jacob reached down and picked up some of his bags with one hand while removing his felt hat with the other. “Nice to meet you, Becky.” His acce
nt was different from those around here. As he climbed the steps, Becky moved further from the door, allowing him access to the house. He’d be sleeping in the dawdi-haus next door, in the spare room upstairs across from Grossmammi and Grossdaedi’s room, but Grossmammi had gone to the quilting bee with Mamm, and Grossdaedi had taken the buggy to the store an hour ago. She didn’t feel comfortable sending him over there for the first time when no one was home.

  It was getting hard to breathe with Jacob standing so close to her. She backed up another step and noticed that her fourteen-year-old sister, Katie, held the front door open. “Go on in. I’ll make you some tea. Or coffee. Whichever you’d like.” She looked back at Tony, who had followed Jacob with another bag. “Can you stay for lunch?” she asked him.

  “Oh, no, no. Have to get back to the missus. Thanks for the offer. We’ll be seeing you, Miz Becky.” He placed the rest of Jacob’s luggage inside the door.

  Following Abbie, Daed approached from the barn, so Tony turned away to speak to him. Becky followed Abbie, Katie, and Jacob inside to the warm kitchen. The scent of bread baking filled the air. Pans of cookies waited to go into the oven as soon as the bread was done. Daed’s sweet tooth always expected a couple of cookies when he came in from the fields, and their supply had run low.

  Katie had already seated Jacob at the long table and had filled the kettle with water, putting it on the stove to heat. Becky grabbed some potholders, peeked inside the oven, and checked the bread. It was nicely browned, so she opened the door and removed the five pans, one at a time.

  “Care for a crust, Jacob?” Katie lifted a knife.

  “Jah, sounds good.”

  Becky glanced around in time to see his nod. But his eyes weren’t on Katie. Instead, they were locked on her.

  Her heart pounded. Could he feel the strong attraction that made her almost forget to breathe? She told herself to concentrate on the cookies so that she wouldn’t drop them or burn herself on the hot oven rack. But she couldn’t look away. Instead, she wished she could pull up a chair, plunge into his friendship, and delay the inevitable.

  The door banged open. Cold wind swirled in with her father.