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Keep reading for an excerpt from Risking Her Amish Heart by Jackie Stef.
Dear Reader,
My son is a teenager, and we’re now in the thick of parenting an almost-adult. We’re teaching him to drive, giving him space to make his own choices and encouraging him to be all that he can be. It’s exciting!
Is it a romantic time in our marriage, though? You might think that the parents of teens have no romance left in their lives, but I beg to differ. My husband and I might be getting older, but we still adore each other, and there is nothing more romantic than knowing we’re in this together. That’s the kind of love that I wanted to show in this story.
If you enjoyed this book, please consider leaving a review. Reviews really help an author to get the word out about her books, and that in turn helps to keep me writing.
I hope you’ll check out some of my other stories. They’re all listed on my website at patriciajohns.com. Take a look—you might find your next read! If you’d like to connect, I have a newsletter where I hold monthly giveaways, and I’d love it if you signed up. As always, if you’d like to reach out and say hello, don’t be shy! It’s always an honor to hear from my readers.
Patricia
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Risking Her Amish Heart
by Jackie Stef
Chapter One
“Daadi? Are you home?”
Grace Ebersol had just arrived at her grandfather’s stone cottage with her suitcase in hand. It was a hot, humid July day in the village of Bird-in-Hand, Pennsylvania, and she was eager to get out of the sun. A gust of earthy-scented air whipped around her, causing the ribbons of her heart-shaped kapp to flap against her face. Perhaps a thunderstorm was brewing, and for sure and for certain, the local farmers were praying for rain.
Summertime in Lancaster County normally brought twenty-three-year-old Grace endless amounts of pleasure. She adored the special time of year when sunflowers and cornstalks stood tall and proud. She enjoyed the sight of gardens bursting with homegrown produce and watching lightning bugs twinkle above fields of soybeans, alfalfa, and golden wheat once night blanketed the quiet countryside. She also usually looked forward to the times when she joined her unmarried peers for picnics, volleyball games, and work frolics.
However, this year Grace couldn’t muster the slightest bit of enthusiasm for all that summer had to offer, not when her heart had been broken and her world turned upside down.
Keep it together. Daadi needs you, so you have to stay strong.
Grace exhaled forcefully to keep her emotions from bubbling over. She couldn’t focus on her sorrow now, not when she’d come to cook and keep house for her elderly grandfather.
Daadi Eli was nearing his eighty-first birthday and until recently, he’d been as nimble as a man who was one-fourth of his age. After losing his wife, Grossmammi Katie, five years ago, Eli had started physically slowing down. He continued to run his custom furniture-making business from the woodshop that was located only a few dozen rooster steps away from the cottage, though Grace wondered how much longer he would be able to keep up that pace.
Grace knocked again and pressed her ear on the door, then listened for any movement on the other side. When she didn’t hear a peep, she tried the doorknob and found that the door was unlocked.
She was pleased to see that things were tidy when she stepped into the small kitchen. Some of her siblings and cousins had been taking turns looking in on rapidly aging Eli, but now it would be Grace’s role to care for her grandfather and his cottage. Grace was tenderhearted, cared deeply for others, and eagerly volunteered to come to her Daadi’s aid. Cooking, cleaning, and providing companionship for her good-natured grandfather would be a pleasure. She’d be staying here in Bird-in-Hand until a daadi haus could be built onto her father’s farmhouse for Eli to move into, though she hoped that project would take longer than expected, allowing her to enjoy the change of pace and scenery for as long as possible.
Hopefully keeping busy will provide a decent distraction. Goodness knows that I’ve been dwelling on my pain for far too long, Grace thought as she placed her suitcase on the shining linoleum floor. Her soul craved a respite from the constant gloom that she just couldn’t shake. Memories of happier times plagued her like a stubborn cold that one just couldn’t get over, no matter how much chicken soup they consumed.
Grace hurried across the kitchen to search the other rooms for Daadi but paused when she noticed a yellow legal tablet on the small kitchen table. A note had been written in unsteady handwriting.
“‘Wilkumme, Gracie. Denki for coming to help your alt Daadi. I’ll be in the woodshop when you arrive. Take your time settling in, and I’ll look forward to catching up with you at suppertime. Love, Daadi.’”
She grinned, imagining her grandfather’s warm voice as her turquoise eyes scanned the note. Satisfied that everything was just as it should be, she picked up her suitcase and made her way through the cottage to the spare bedroom.
The familiar room was just as quaint and inviting as she remembered it to be. It was small, though it had two large windows that let in plenty of light as well as provided a magnificent view of Mill Creek, the gentle stream that separated Daadi’s property from the neighboring farm. A lovely pink, purple, and white quilt stitched in a wedding ring pattern adorned the bed, which had undoubtedly been sewn by Grossmammi Katie. The room didn’t have a closet, but it was home to a large oak dresser that had been expertly handcrafted by Daadi himself, and that was worth more than two closets to Grace.
Deciding to make herself at home, Grace hefted her suitcase onto the bed and undid the latch. She unpacked her clothing, grooming items, stationery, journal, cross-stitching supplies, and well-loved Bible. When everything was neatly stowed away in its proper place, she sat on the bed and surveyed the room. It was simply decorated to the extent that any Amish bedroom would be, yet it felt empty.
She let out a long sigh, knowing that it wasn’t the room that was truly empty.
Grace Ebersol and Ben Zook had been close childhood friends, and their friendship had developed into something more by the time they reached their teenage years. Grace had fallen deeply in love with her beau and had every reason to believe that he had the same feelings for her. As time went on and Grace watched many of her female friends tie the knot, she’d told herself that it wouldn’t be long until it was her turn to be a bride. She was starting to feel impatient but decided to wait for Ben’s proposal. After all, he was the love of her life, and love was worth the wait.
A lot of good that decision did for me. Grace groaned inwardly as she recalled the night that Ben had suddenly broken off their relationship and promptly left their Amish community in one swift move. The unexpected loss of her beau and childhood friend to the outside world felt like a slap in the face, and the sting of that slap never seemed to lessen over time. Nearly eight months had passed since the incident that had turned her world upside down, yet the wound still felt fresh.
Eight months of heartbreak. Eight months of people pestering me to move on, Grace thought as she wiped her teary eyes on the hem of her black apron. Her friends and family urged her to look on the bright side and consider giving love another chance, insisting that plenty of decent fish were in the sea. After the initial sting of her grief had passed, Grace slowly resumed seeking small moments of joy in her daily life. However, she would not allow herself to be tricked by another man into a meaningless courtship ever again. Her heart had been shattered once, and once was enough.
The sound of squeaking door hinges echoed from the other end of the cottage. Daadi must’ve come in to see if she’d arrived. Knowing that she looked a sight from her brief emotional spell, Grace took a moment to compose herself before exiting the bedroom.
As she made her way down the short hallway, Grace heard the gas-powered refrigerator door open, the glass milk bottles it held gently clanging together from the movement.
“Daadi? Are you hungerich? Would you like me to make you something to eat?” Grace asked as she rounded the corner before letting out a shrill gasp.
A young Amish man whom she didn’t recognize stood near the kitchen counter, pouring something into one of two large thermoses. Though he was tall and muscular, he flinched at her gasp like a startled fawn. His blue shirt and black trousers were both covered in sawdust, and a few wood shavings clung to his unruly golden-brown hair.
