Amish Snowflakes: Volume One: Winter Letters Read online

Winter Snowflakes in Amish Country: Volume One: Winter Letters

  By Sicily Yoder

  Copyright 2012 Sicily Yoder

  Copyright by Sicily Yoder, 2012.  All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form either written or electronically without the express permission of the author or publisher.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are, therefore, used fictitiously. Any similarity or resemblance to actual persons; living or dead, places or events is purely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or publisher. Photo art by Paint Shop and Photo Bucket, and chaoss@Big Stock, SNEHITDESIGN@BigStock, and Paha_L@BigStock.

   

  SPECIAL DEDICATION

  To Gott, who mends the brokenhearted and erases the sins. To a Savior, named Jesus Christ, who found each one of us worthy to die for, on a hill far away, called Calvary. This book is for those who think that they have sinned so much that they can never be fit to be forgiven. May it bring you hope to reach out and bond that special relationship with Christ.

  Having worked with pregnant, unwed women and having seen their low self-esteem and feelings of betrayal, I was inspired to create this series. Gott has not forsaken you, and He will not forsake You. Ask, and Ye will be forgiven...

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  CHAPTER ONE

  Rachael Zook slid into the wooden chair, her deep navy dress hem resting on the floor beneath the wooden desk.  Her face drew a warm, tender glow. Her soft blue eyes glistened against the flaming sparks of the oil lamp, which sat on the right side of the spacious hand-carved desk.  Extending her left arm, she reached for the rose-patterned stationary: a gift from her Englisch neighbor, Carla.  Slitters of gold adorned the upper back of the rose-pink envelopes, forming an elegant golden rose.

  The envelopes must have cost a fortune.

  It seemed like Jeremiah Troyer had lost a fortune too, all for the sake of taking her hand in marriage. The budding relationship had flamed between her and him over a generous slice of Shoofly pie. Jeremiah’s deep, saddle-brown eyes complimented his fine, silky chestnut-colored hair. His daed was a local shopkeeper.  Against his parents’ wishes, he sold off his wicker business to have the liberty to work on Rachael’s daed’s sprawling farm. 

  Rachael thought Jeremiah had been born with the God-given talent of making beautiful wicker furniture out of plain wood.  A person could tell him what they wanted, and Jeremiah always exceeded their expectations.

  He couldn’t exceed her grossidaedi’s expectations. He couldn’t even meet the man’s basic requirements.

  “Rachael, in the Miller familye, we menner have consistently been farmers.  It would be good to keep in the familye.  Once a man gets distracted from the farm, he stops becoming a farming man, and he might as well pack up and head to the city,” Rachael’s Grossdaedi, Ben Zook, had warned.

  Ben had been right: the menner in his side of the familye had all been farmers. However, shortly after she had started courting Jeremiah, Rachael discovered an objection: When Ben was younger, his mamm sold eggs and salt-rising bread to their rural neighbors. She had been a baker.

  They had been more than farmers.

  Ben never accepted Rachael’s objection. The conversation had been detoured to Rachael’s former boyfriend, Elijah Yoder:

  “The man was born to be a farmer.”

  “True.” She had agreed.

  “The man was the fastest in the milich haus.”

  “True.” She believed he held the record.

  “The man loved her more than any other man.”

  “False.” Jeremiah loved her just as much as Elijah had loved her. How could Ben think such a horrible thing? Where were his manners? Didn’t he care about his granddaughter’s happiness, or was he more focused on his own selfish needs?

  Ben still carried his thoughts with him, mentioning Elijah’s hard-work ethic when in the milich haus, or feeding the cows. He even bragged about Elijah while Jeremiah was with him.

  Jeremiah had to think himself unworthy to take Rachael as a fraa. He had asked Rachael, “Will I ever be like Elijah?” The hurt had been obvious through his strained chestnut eyes. “What a shame, to come into a new relationship to find someone comparing you to another man!” Rachael had told Jeremiah.

  Poor Jeremiah, he wanted to do anything to please Ben. He volunteered to help grossdaedi on the farm for no pay.  He scheduled some auction and livestock show trips so he and Ben could bond. To Jeremiah’s shock, Ben kept comparing him to Elijah, saying that he hoped that he could one day be as good at auctions and livestock sales as Elijah. Day by day, Jeremiah’s mood lowered, his eyes became stressed, as did his tone. He was cranky around Rachael, and he even snapped at her a couple of times. 

  Jeremiah jumped at the opportunity to temporarily relocate one state over, in Shipshewana, to work with her bruder, who ran a good-sized dairy farm, selling milk to a nearby Amish cheese factory.  Jeremiah thought the endeavor would make Ben see that he was good enough to take Rachael as his fraa.   

  Ben kept tabs on Jeremiah’s progress, mainly, because he wanted him to fail.  Ben made daily trips to their phone shanty to ring up her bruder.  He urged her to share her love letters with her daed and mamm. He wanted to know about all the comings and goings in her life.

  Rachael hid some of the love letters. He needn’t find out about the quilt shop. It was her and Jeremiah’s safe haven, a place to be together. The quaint shop was a place to hold each other and hear no ridicule, a place of love. They had been meeting there secretly for a long time, even before Jeremiah relocated to Shipshewana. Jeremiah and she spent their holidays in Shipshewana, instead of joining the rest of the familye to Pinecraft, Florida.

  The shop was on the edge of Shipshewana, an Amish tourism destination, alive with food, culture, and major shopping. The late owner, a pianist and master quilter, willed the shop to her daughter. The daughter flat-out refused to sell the shop because none of the potential buyers suited her. One day, while strolling down the bustling sidewalk of Main Street, the daughter overheard Rachael singing one of the songs that she had written. She was quite taken by her voice and claimed her to be an instant artist. She had a dream for Rachael and Jeremiah to reopen the shop and sell Amish wares. She wanted Rachael to teach music lessons.

  Her plan was flawed, but Rachael just couldn’t tell her. Rachael kept saying, “One day, but not now.”  Tucking the dream in the back of her heart, she looked forward to her bi-annual trip to Shipshewana, to feel the piano’s smooth keys under her fingertips, and to hear the beautiful harmony of the music. Singing sweet songs of love in Jeremiah’s ears motivated her to keep the dream alive, thus Jeremiah held the key to the quilt/music shop and her heart.

  If only I could buy the shop, teach children to sing, and sell my beautiful quilts and Jeremiah’s wicker baskets, Rachael often thought.

  Jeremiah could sell his wonderful wicker furniture, and Rachael could sell her colorful quilts, teaching music lessons in the evenings.

  But he wouldn’t be a farmer.

  Plan failed.

  The approval of her grossdaedi was important to him; therefore, his dream never prospered.

  If only the Ordnung wasn’t so string, Rachael had thought. Elijah knew about the shop, although Rachael and Jeremiah wanted to keep it a hidden treasure.  They wouldn’t invite Elijah back to the shop because he’d brought in beer, luring them into the temptations of the flesh.  The Good Book said to not be led into temptation, but she had given in to her own flesh, ju
st for one night.  Today, she regretted the sins, and she hoped to make things right with Gott.

  Rachael still had feelings for Elijah, although she wouldn’t admit it. Elijah exited the Amish to join a biker club. Was his visit to Shipshewana his last attempt to reel her in? She still loved him, but not his partying lifestyle.

  I shouldn’t have drunk the beer with Jeremiah and Elijah, she thought, as she remembered the night that she’d gotten pregnant. After further thinking, she became defensive: But, I was in Rumspringa. Many young girls get drunk during this time. They were encouraged to get drunk.

  It had been allowed.

  In Rumspringa, the youth were encouraged to try out the Englisch world. Worldly activities, such as watching movies, drinking, and smoking are allowed in Rumpsringa. After the “becoming of age period,” they either return to their Amish life or leave. Most return, mainly, because they don’t have the strong outside support system like most Englisch youth. Their whole world is secluded in their close-knit Amish community.

  On the night at the Shipshewana shop, Rachael could remember donning a couple of beers, and playing the beautiful grand piano. She would have been okay if she hadn’t gazed into Elijah’s warm, loving eyes. It was like an instant replay of all the fun times that they’d had back at home: the long buggy rides, the warm, secret kisses by the lake, and the snuggly embraces under the night stars. The memories of what could have been had overwhelmed her, so she’d donned a couple more beers, and before she knew it, she was partying high. But so were Jeremiah and Elijah, so she had thought. Somehow, Jeremiah had gotten close enough to be intimate with her. They were in love; she couldn’t blame him.

  Rachael turned her thinking to the boppli: her boppli. Thank Gott for Jeremiah’s mamm, thought Rachael. The woman arranged to have the baby adopted. The bishop hadn’t found out about it. Everything had gone well, and Rachael learned a valuable lesson: the grass on the Englisch side wasn’t greener.

  If only Elijah hadn’t been shunned and hadn’t run, this wouldn’t have happened, thought Rachael. There would be no guilt about adopting a boppli out the illegal way.

  But he left the Amish, and she’d sinned with Jeremiah.

  If only Elijah hadn’t messed up. She’d warned him about the illegal electronics.

  It had all started with a cell phone and computer laptop that Elijah wasn’t supposed to have.  He’d kept the forbidden items hidden in a small, locked chest that was tucked in the back of his bedroom closet. 

  “But we need to know the weather, Rachael Renee!  Elijah had always said when he’d lean down, unlock the chest, and quietly swing the laptop out. 

  Rachael had guessed that the weather radios hadn’t been good enough for him. But they had been good enough for the bishop, because the bishop had ordered him shunned. 

  And then he left.

  “I love you so much, Rachael Renee,” Elijah had said, but Jeremiah had said it too, and on more than one occasion, and he had meant it. 

  Grossdaedi needed to give Jeremiah a chance.

  But he wouldn’t, so far.  But that would change.  Jeremiah was spending a whole winter season in Shipshewana to prove that he could be an asset to the familye. 

  A light knock on the door startled Rachael, and she tossed the stationary back into the box, got up, and strode to the bedroom door, where her daed, Earl, stood, his face paled, his eyes a dull blue, and his mouth anxious.

  He has that look on his face: the look of crisis, one of a sudden loss, thought Rachael.

  Someone is gone.

  He cleared his throat and broke a few words, “Bishop Troyer and Bruder Yoder are downstairs.  They are asking to speak with you.” He gave a firm nod, turned and walked down the hallway to the stairs.

  Rachael’s legs shivered as she stood in the doorway. Daed took hard times well, but, today, his anxiety shown. Something bad had to have happened for him to be edgy.

  Eyes widened, her brow arched high, Rachael blurted, “I did it.  I was singing a song this morning that wasn’t from The Ausbund. I’ve brought this evil upon our familye.  Oh, why did I sin, again?”

  Rachael composed twelve beautiful songs on a grand piano, in an abandoned shop in Shipshewana, Jeremiah by her side. The songs would only leave her lips when she was alone or with Jeremiah, for she had written the songs for him.  This morning, the abundant rays of yellow sunshine lifted her mood and enticed her to sing. Nonetheless, she knew what the Good Book said about sinning: one can bring satan into their home by being disobedient to the rules.

  Closing the bedroom door behind her, she turned and strode down the hallway. Nervously, she grabbed the stairwell banister with one hand.  She would make the best out of the bad news. Willing her feet down the stairs one step at a time, she grimaced.  Bad news was not good. Two of her bruders worked in nearby Berlin, in a wood business.  Her eldest bruder had married a good Amish girl and settled down in Shipshewana. They had three kinner, and his fraa, Maria, had just announced that she was expecting twins.

  Oh no!  It’s the twins.

  Over the past five years, Maria endured two miscarriages.  How could God allow her to lose two more bopplis? Waiting until the second trimester to announce the news of the boppli had been a safe haven. They should be out of the woods.

  Did the twins take a turn for the worse?

  Rachael made her way to the living room, her knees still knocking. Her chest felt tight, like a vacuum had a hold of her. Bishop Troyer and Bruder Yoder sat on the couch next to her daed.  Her mamm, Martha, and her oldest schwester, Mary, sat stiffened in folding chairs across from them, their eyes still. 

  “Gut Mariye, Rachael Renee.” Bishop Troyer addressed, in a rather calm tone. His large, mahogany eyes looked rested and tame. Bruder Yoder’s hazel eyes twinkled as he nodded.

  Rachael noted that Bishop Troyer spoke her middle name. Rather odd, because only Elijah made a habit of doing such. Oh, No!  Was Elijah injured?

  “Gut Mariye, Bishop Troyer,” Rachael replied, her arms trembling. 

  Bishop Troyer pointed to the empty chair that was to her schwester’s left. Slowly, Rachael forced a smile and took a seat. Feelings of anxiety washed over her as she eyed the bishop.

  Who has died now?  Oh, Lord, please don’t let it be Elijah or the twins! thought Rachael. Her gut ached, and her palms were clammy and streaming sweat.

  The bishop’s brow narrowed and his chest let out a stressed sigh.  He cleared his throat and then mumbled, “The good Lord numbers our hairs; that is what the Good Book tells us, isn’t it?” His words gathered a string of nods.  He leveled his deep brown eyes with Rachael’s paled baby blues.  A look of sorry sprinkled his tight face.  “No matter what happens, the Lord will never forsake us, Rachael Renee.”

  What happened to Elijah?  Oh, surely he hadn’t messed up permanently this time, struck out. It couldn’t be. But it was. And she knew it.

  Rachael swallowed a lump, her mouth curving downward, as she laced her sticky fingers and rested them in her lap.  “It’s Elijah Yoder, isn’t it?  He’s wrecked on that motorcycle. He made a turn too sharp. Hasn’t he, Bishop Troyer?”  Tears pressed out of the corners of her eyes, and her sadness received a soft smile from Bishop Troyer and Bruder Yoder.  Her familye remained quiet, and no one else cried.

  The must have known it, but didn’t tell me. They didn’t want to see me cry.

  But they should have known.  Betrayal always brought tears, even in confession.

  And Rachael had a confession.

  She silenced her lips, but not forever.  One day, she would tell about the baby…