The Amish Widow's Christmas Hope Read online

  True love always finds a way...

  Can their temporary house

  become a permanent home?

  After inheriting her uncle’s house, single mother Fern Glick returns to Serenity Ridge with the intention to sell and leave town quickly. But her reluctance to settle so close to former love Walker Huyard—the man who broke her heart—begins to falter as their children forge a bond. With Christmas approaching, spending the holiday together might just be enough to reignite the love they once shared.

  “I’m not giving Eleanor a ride home. Why would you think I was?”

  “Because she told me you were.”

  Walker shook his head. “Neh. That’s not the truth.”

  Fern bristled. “Are you saying I’m not telling the truth about Eleanor telling me that or Eleanor’s not telling the truth about you telling her that?”

  “I’m saying I never had any plans to give Eleanor a ride home, so someone is mistaken.” Walker crossed his arms against his chest. “And it isn’t me.”

  “Well, my ears work fine, so I’m not the one who’s mistaken, either,” Fern retorted. “I guess that means Eleanor must have dreamed it all up! Just like she must have imagined you’re her suitor.”

  Walker faltered backward, dropping his arms to his sides. “I never said I’d take her home. And I’m certainly not courting her—or anyone else, for that matter. She must have gotten the wrong impression.”

  “Just like I must have gotten the wrong impression about how you felt about me?”

  Carrie Lighte lives in Massachusetts next door to a Mennonite farming family, and she frequently spots deer, foxes, fisher cats, coyotes and turkeys in her backyard. Having enjoyed traveling to several Amish communities in the eastern United States, she looks forward to visiting settlements in the western states and in Canada. When she’s not reading, writing or researching, Carrie likes to hike, kayak, bake and play word games.

  Books by Carrie Lighte

  Love Inspired

  Amish of Serenity Ridge

  Courting the Amish Nanny

  The Amish Nurse’s Suitor

  Her Amish Suitor’s Secret

  The Amish Widow’s Christmas Hope

  Amish Country Courtships

  Amish Triplets for Christmas

  Anna’s Forgotten Fiancé

  An Amish Holiday Wedding

  Minding the Amish Baby

  Her New Amish Family

  Her Amish Holiday Suitor

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

  THE AMISH WIDOW’S CHRISTMAS HOPE

  Carrie Lighte

  And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

  —Luke 2:9–11

  And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth.

  —John 1:14

  For my mother,

  who reads my books first and fastest

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Excerpt from The Cowboy’s Christmas Blessings by Jill Kemerer

  Chapter One

  Fern Glick crouched down so her face was level with her children’s faces. “I should be home by lunchtime. Remember to use your best manners and do whatever Jaala asks you to do,” she instructed them.

  Patience, five, nodded obediently, but Phillip was distracted by the chatter of Jaala’s grandchildren as they put on their coats and boots in the mudroom at the opposite end of the kitchen.

  “Can we go outside, too, Mamm?” the six-year-old asked.

  “Jah, of course you may. Be sure to button your coats to the top buttons—it’s chilly out there,” Fern answered. Rising, she kissed the tops of their heads before the pair raced to the mudroom. Fern smiled when she heard the other children welcome them enthusiastically.

  “The kinner sound like they’re already having schpass and they haven’t gotten out the door yet,” Jaala said as she entered the kitchen and took the broom from its hook. “Didn’t I tell you the more the merrier?”

  “That’s true for kinner, but not necessarily for eldre. Especially when it means there aren’t enough beds to go around. I feel baremlich about imposing on you like this when you already have company here for Grischtdaag.”

  “They’re not company—they’re familye,” Jaala said with a wave of her hand. “You and the kinner don’t have to leave on the twenty-third—you’re wilkom to stay here and celebrate Grischtdaag with us.”

  Despite Jaala’s warm hospitality, Fern couldn’t wait to leave Serenity Ridge, Maine. The only reason she was staying until the following Saturday was because that’s when she could secure the most affordable transportation home. If it was up to her, she wouldn’t have returned to Maine in the first place.

  Earlier in the month, she’d been contacted by an attorney regarding her recently deceased uncle Roman’s estate. The attorney said Fern was to receive an inheritance, but he couldn’t provide additional details until she met with him in person. Which meant Fern and her children had to journey nearly one thousand miles from their home in Geauga County, Ohio.

  Fern had arranged to stay with Jaala and her husband, Abram, the district’s deacon, but Jaala hadn’t known her two sons and their families would be visiting at the same time—they weren’t supposed to arrive for another week. The Amish had a knack for making room for everyone, but Jaala and Abram’s modest house was stretched to the limit.

  Jaala was the only person Fern had kept in touch with since she left Serenity Ridge eight years ago, so it didn’t seem right to call on anyone else for lodging. Getting a room at a local inn was also out of the question: Fern spent every cent of the meager savings she’d managed to scrape together on transportation to Maine.

  “Roman must have bequeathed you something substantial,” Jaala speculated as she bent to sweep crumbs into the dust bin. “Otherwise, whatever he left you could have been shipped to Ohio.”

  Fern couldn’t imagine her uncle leaving her anything of significant value. While it was true she’d helped her cousin Gloria care for him for over a year while he was recovering from a stroke and then she’d lived with them for two more years after that, Fern had rarely communicated with Roman since she left Maine. She never visited, either. In fact, she’d even missed Gloria’s funeral five years ago because she’d just given birth to Patience and couldn’t travel with a newborn. And Fern hadn’t been able to leave Ohio to attend Roman’s funeral this past November, either, since she was tending to her cousin’s wife, who was on bed rest during the last month of her pregnancy.

  “I assume he gave the haus and any savings he had to Gloria’s daughter because she’s Roman’s closest living relative,” Fern suggested. She supposed it was greedy, but once or twice she caught herself hoping whatever Roman left her, it was something that could be sold quickly so she could use the money to compensate for the expense of their trip.

  “But Jane’s only seven,” Jaala commented. “If Roman left the haus to her, Walker will either have to manage the property or sell it and put the money in a trust fund for her until she’s of age.”

  Fern turned her back and rinsed a couple stray coffee cups in the sink so Jaala couldn’t read her expression. Walker Huyard, Jane’s father, had been the love of Fern’s life. Or so she believed during the two and a half years they’d secretly courted when Fern lived in Serenity Ridge. The couple had planned to get married the autumn they turned twenty-one, but that September, Fern was called back to Ohio to care for her ailing aunt.

  Initially, Fern thought she’d return to Maine in time for wedding season, but when it was clear she’d be delayed indefinitely, they both pledged to wait however long they had to in order to become husband and wife. Yet Fern had barely been away for two months when she learned Walker had wed Gloria instead. Jane was born the following summer.

  Fern wasn’t merely hurt, angry and disappointed; she was in shock. Barely able to eat, sleep, pray or speak for weeks on end, it was as if she were in mourning for someone who’d died a sudden and unexpected death. She was just beginning to recover physically and emotionally when the aunt she’d been caring for passed away and her aunt’s house was repossessed by the bank, leaving Fern homeless. It was desperation, not love, that had caused Fern to marry Marshall, a widower twelve years her senior. More accurately, it was resignation; Fern had given up believing there was such a thing as true love.

  But in Marshall she’d found a man who, although not outwardly affectionate or expressive, was kind and considerate and until he fell ill, he’d given her a house and stability. In turn, she did her best to offer him companionship and care. The unspoken truth between them was that he’d married
her out of loneliness and she’d married him out of poverty. Over time, their fondness for each other deepened and although Fern never felt toward Marshall the way she once felt toward Walker, she didn’t regret marrying him. How could she, when he’d fathered their two beloved children? Besides, Marshall never hurt me the way Walker did...

  “Ouch!” Fern yelped as the water scalded her fingers, snapping her back to the present.

  “Are you all right, dear?” Jaala asked.

  “I’m fine. I’d better get going—it’s almost nine o’clock.”

  Fern bundled into her coat and covered her prayer kapp with her best winter church bonnet, then stepped outside. It was only the fifteenth of December, but Jaala mentioned that two days before, a heavy rain had frozen over, coating everything with ice. It had since melted, but this morning the air smelled of impending snow. Fern glanced across the dirt driveway toward the barn, where the children were straddling the fence, pretending they were riding horses.

  As Phillip bounced up and down, Fern visually assessed the railing and determined it wouldn’t give way beneath his weight. He was such a sturdy child, built like his father. He had his father’s dark hair and eyes, too. But Marshall’s demeanor was so understated he seemed detached, whereas Phillip couldn’t contain his exuberance for life and his affection for people.

  Patience, on the other hand, was a diminutive replica of her mother—fair-haired, fair-skinned, freckled and petite—but Fern hoped that’s where the similarities ended. Waifish was the word someone once used to describe Fern as a girl and she didn’t want her daughter to grow up feeling like a ragamuffin, too.

  Gott willing, maybe I can get a full-time job at Weaver’s Fabric Shop and I’ll be allowed to bring the kinner to work until they’re old enough to start schul. Then I might be able to afford to rent a place of our own, Fern schemed.

  Shortly after Fern’s husband died two years earlier, she’d had to sell their house—at a loss—because she couldn’t keep up with the mortgage payments. Fern and the children moved in with Fern’s cousin on her mother’s side, Adam, and his wife, Linda, and their children. Fern contributed what she could to the family’s expenses and she helped mind their brood, too. She’d even given up her part-time job so she could manage the household while Linda was on bed rest during her fifth pregnancy. However, in spite of Fern’s helpfulness, the couple had been strongly hinting it was time for her and the children to find another place to live.

  Having lost both of her parents when she was still a baby, Fern was accustomed to being shifted from one relative’s home to another. Whenever someone in her extended family needed an extra person to work on a farm, mind children or tend to an infirmed elder, Fern would pack up her suitcase and go stay with them until her help was needed elsewhere. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be of service to her extended family members, nor was it that anyone was unkind to her. But Fern had grown up longing for a permanent place to call home.

  I’m twenty-nine and not much has changed, she reflected. I still want a permanent place to call home...but now I want it more for my kinner than for myself.

  Patience’s waving from across the driveway snapped Fern out of her daze. She giggled; the child had misbuttoned her coat, but at least it was fastened to the top. Fern lifted her gloved hand to wave back and then started down the lane.

  * * *

  Walker climbed into his buggy, hoping the meeting with the attorney wouldn’t take long; this was a busy week at work. During the warmer months, he was employed full-time by an Englisch tree service, but in winter, he took odd jobs here and there. From Thanksgiving until Christmas, Walker helped out at Levi Swarey’s Christmas tree farm in the mornings, cutting and baling trees and loading them onto Englischers’ vehicles. The nearer Christmas drew, the more frantic the customers became, and Walker especially regretted leaving Levi short staffed on a Friday, their second busiest day of the week.

  I imagine Roman bequeathed the haus to Jane, he thought as he guided his horse toward Main Street. He figured he ought to feel grateful, but instead the prospect overwhelmed him. Walker wasn’t adept at negotiating legal matters and completing paperwork. Besides, the Lord had already provided him with a good living, and the house he shared with his daughter and mother had room to spare. Either I’ll have to sell the haus and put the money in a trust fund or rent it out until Jane becomes an adult and can decide for herself what to do with it.

  Walker didn’t like picturing his daughter as an adult; she was growing too fast already. He smiled as he thought of her practicing for the annual Christmas program at school; she was so excited it was all she could talk about. Jane had been assigned three Bible verses to recite and although she’d memorized them thoroughly, she kept practicing, worried she might stutter or forget a word. She probably developed that anxiety from being around her groossdaadi. Gloria’s daed was so particular; everything had to be just right and even then, he was rarely satisfied.

  Walker immediately felt guilty for thinking ill of Roman. There was no doubt in his mind the man had loved Jane dearly and wanted the best for her. The problem was, Roman’s sense of what was best often bordered on perfectionism. His standards were almost impossibly high and he had virtually no tolerance for mistakes, big or small. If only he’d exhibited more mercy... Walker shook the thought from his head, remembering one of his mother’s oft-quoted sayings, “If only is a complaint dressed up as a wish.”

  As he journeyed through town, Walker spied a tree toppled in an Englischer’s front yard. It wasn’t a large tree, but its weight was enough to splinter the nearby fence when it landed on it. At least it’s only wood that was fractured. A fence can be replaced.

  Just like that, the memory of the tree-trimming accident came rushing back, as instantaneously as the accident itself. One moment Walker had been strolling across a customer’s lawn toward his employer’s bucket truck. The next moment it felt as if he’d been knocked between the shoulder blades with an anvil. Then there was a black, blank void.

  When he came to, Walker was in the hospital. His foreman explained one of the ropes the crew used to bring limbs down had snapped, causing a twelve-foot branch to swing in the wrong direction. Walker assumed the limb had knocked him flat, but he was told the force he’d felt against his back was his Englisch friend and coworker, Jordan, shoving him out of harm’s way. Although his helmet was cracked, Walker survived the accident with nothing more than a minor concussion. Jordan, unfortunately, suffered a broken neck and skull fracture and perished at the scene.

  It had been eight years, but Walker still shuddered at the memory. Or maybe that was partly from the weather; it was definitely cold enough to snow. He pushed his hat down over his ears and worked the horse into a quicker trot.

  Once he reached Main Street, he stopped to get out and hitch the horse to a post behind the library and then he jogged across the street to the attorney’s office. The receptionist was on the phone, so he hung up his coat and hat and waited until she was free to usher him to the attorney’s office.

  “I’m Anthony Marino,” the attorney said, extending his hand. “Have a seat. The other party should be here soon. Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Water?”

  “No, thank you,” Walker replied in Englisch. He sat down before repeating, “The other party?”

  “Your father-in-law named two heirs for the majority of his estate,” Anthony explained just as the receptionist tapped on the door. He crossed the room to open it, saying, “Looks like she’s here now.”

  Because the woman was wearing a bonnet, Walker couldn’t immediately see her face from where he was sitting. But after Anthony introduced himself, she replied, “And I’m Fern Glick. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Walker gasped audibly and both Fern and Anthony swiveled their heads in his direction. Anthony chuckled, saying, “Obviously, there’s no need for me to introduce the two of you.”

  Fern’s eyes, which were as gray as the snow clouds outside the window, opened wide with apparent disorientation as she looked at Walker. He hardly had a chance to register that she still had a faint smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks before she glanced away. “Neh,” she answered the attorney. “We’re already acquainted.”