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The Christmas Quilt
Patricia Davids
Years ago, Rebecca Beachy kept her reasons for rejecting Gideon Troyer's marriage proposal a secret. Then Gideon left their Amish community. Now, Rebecca crafts quilts to raise money to cure her blindness. She's also busy guarding her heart against love.Until Gideon returns, at risk of being shunned, to make the winning bid on one of her exquisite quilts. Will the quilt—a patchwork promise of rediscovered love—bring Gideon and Rebecca back together again?



Season of second chances...
Years ago, Rebecca Beachy kept her reasons for rejecting Gideon Troyer’s marriage proposal a secret. Then Gideon left their Amish community. Now, Rebecca crafts quilts to raise money to cure her blindness. She’s also busy guarding her heart against love.
Until Gideon returns, at risk of being shunned, to make the winning bid on one of her expensive quilts. Will the quilt—a patchwork of rediscovered love—bring Gideon and Rebecca back together again?
“You are a pilot?” Rebecca asked.
“Yes.”
Sadness settled over her. “I once knew a young Amish man who wanted to fly. Is it wonderful to soar above the earth like a bird?”
“It has its moments. What happened to him?”
She fought back tears. “The lure of the world pulled him away from our faith and he never came back.”
After a long pause, he asked, “Were the two of you close?”
“Ja, very close.” Why was she sharing this with a stranger? Perhaps, because in some odd way he reminded her of Gideon.
“Did you ever think about going with him?”
She smiled sadly. “I didn’t believe he would leave. For a long time I thought it was my fault, but I know now that it was not.”
Booker stepped closer. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because he vowed to live by the rules of our Amish faith. If he could turn his back on God, it was not because of me.”
PATRICIA DAVIDS
After thirty-five years as a nurse, Pat has hung up her stethoscope to become a full-time writer. She enjoys spending her new free time visiting her grandchildren, doing some long-overdue yard work and traveling to research her story locations. She resides in Wichita, Kansas. Pat always enjoys hearing from her readers. You can visit her on the web at www.patriciadavids.com.
Patricia Davids
The Christmas Quilt


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.
—Isaiah 55:8–9
For my cousin Kay. Eternal rest, grant unto her, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace.
Amen.
Contents
Chapter One (#uc8739c03-fd2a-5868-8a62-63c406f4f801)
Chapter Two (#uba86e296-702c-5e7a-b6b3-9207b5840399)
Chapter Three (#uec8e1953-f3f3-5d8a-9b6f-38b59f34491f)
Chapter Four (#u8031b34a-ce51-5721-bed1-4e464c1f66ca)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
“Booker, if you’re gonna die, at least have the decency to go home and do it there.”
Slumped over his desk, Gideon “Booker” Troyer kept his aching head pillowed on his forearms, but managed to cast a one-eyed glare at Craig Murphy, his friend and partner at Troyer Air Charter. “I’m fine.”
“And pigs can fly.” Craig advanced into Gideon’s office.
“If they pay cash I’ll fly them anywhere they want to go.” Gideon sat up. His less-than-witty comeback was followed by a ragged, painful cough. A bone-deep shiver shook his body.
Craig took a step back. “You’re spreading germs, man.”
“So leave.” Was a half hour of peace and quiet too much to ask? The drone of the television in the waiting area supplied just the right amount of white noise to let him drift off.
“You’re the one leaving—for home!”
“I can’t go anywhere until this next load of freight gets here. Then I’m taking it to Caribou.” Gideon barely recognized his raspy voice. He sounded almost as bad as he felt. Almost.
“If I was sick as a dog, you wouldn’t let me fly a kite, let alone your prize Cessna.”
It wasn’t like Gideon had a choice. Their business was finally showing a profit. A small one, but it was something to build on. He’d make today’s flight. If his austere Amish upbringing had taught him anything, it was the value of hard work. “I’ve got a contract to fulfill.”
Shaking his head, Craig said, “We’ve got a contract. I know you think you’re indispensable, Booker, but you’re not.”
The two men had known each other for six years, since their flight school days. It had been Craig who’d given Gideon his nickname on the first day of class. Gideon—Bible—the Book. Hence, Booker. Gideon had returned the favor a few weeks later when their trainer plane experienced mechanical trouble the first two times Craig took the controls. Craig was saddled with “Law” as in Murphy’s Law. If anything can go wrong, it will.
“Are you offering to take this run?” Gideon took a swig of lukewarm coffee from the black mug on the corner of his desk. It turned into razor blades sliding down his throat.
“Yes. Go home and get some rest.”
Gideon looked at him in surprise. “You mean that? I thought you had plans with Melody?”
“We’re sort of on the outs. Caribou in October will be warmer than the reception waiting for me the next time I see her.”
A woman’s voice from the other room said, “That’s because you’re a knucklehead.”
Craig rolled his eyes and raised his voice. “Stop giving people a piece of your mind, Roseanne. It’s almost gone.”
Gideon rose to his feet. The room spun wildly for a second before settling back into his cluttered office.
Craig put out a hand to steady him. “You’re grounded, buddy. Not another word.”
Gideon hated to admit it, but he was in no shape to be in a cockpit. “Thanks, Law. I owe you one.”
Craig leaned closer. “Roseanne is making me do it.”
Gideon cracked a grin. Their secretary’s powers of persuasion were legendary. She might look like someone’s cookie-baking grandmother with her gray hair pulled back in a bun, but she didn’t have a maternal bone in her body.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Gideon promised.
Roseanne came around Craig with Gideon’s coat in her hands. “You will not come back for a week.”
Gideon scowled at her. “Tell me again who’s the boss here?”
Roseanne plopped her hands on her ample hips. “You two might own this business, but I run it. If I come down sick, we’re really in trouble. Who can handle the computer, the phone, the fax machine, invoices, accounts payable and the coffeepot all without leaving her chair?”
“You,” he and Craig said together.
Gideon smiled. “You’re indispensable, Roseanne.”
“And you’re sick. Get out of here and take this with you.” She held out a foam cup with a lid on it.
“What’s this?”
“Your favorite brand of blackcurrant tea. I’d send some chicken soup home with you, but I don’t have any here.”
Blackcurrant tea had been his mother’s surefire remedy for sore throats when he was growing up. He’d thought about sending her a box of this gourmet blend, but he knew she wouldn’t accept it. Not from the black sheep of the family. Gideon was the only one of her five children who’d left the Amish faith.
As if his thoughts of home brought up a connection, he heard the words Amish country on the television. Glancing toward the small screen, he saw a female reporter, bundled against the brisk October chill, gesturing to a row of Amish buggies lined up behind her.
“Roseanne, turn that up, please.” His voice was failing him. The words barely squeaked out.
She sighed, but picked up the remote and raised the sound level so he could hear the reporter.
“Preparations are under way in Hope Springs, Ohio, for this quiet Amish community’s largest event of the year. The Quilts of Hope charity auction is being held here this weekend.”
Craig moved to stand beside Gideon. “Is that where you’re from?”
“Nearby.” Hope Springs was forty miles from his father’s farm, but Gideon had never been there. Until he left the Amish he hadn’t traveled more than twenty miles from the farm where he was born. Now he lived in Rochester, New York, and he’d been to every state and all but one Canadian province.
The camera panned away from the buggies to a group of Amish men raising an enormous red-and-white-striped tent. After a second, the camera swung back to the reporter and followed her until she stopped in front of an intricately pieced quilt hanging on a display frame. “In the past, this event has raised thousands of dollars for the special needs of Amish families throughout Ohio. This year they are helping one of their own.”
Roseanne said, “Now, that’s pretty. I wouldn’t mind owning a quilt like that.”
The reporter ran her hand down the cloth and the camera zoomed in to capture the details. “Rebecca Beachy is the Amish woman who made this incredible quilt.”
“It can’t be.” In an instant, Gideon was transported back to his youth when he had courted the prettiest girl in Berlin, Ohio. The girl who broke his heart and turned him down flat when he’d finally found the courage to propose.
“Someone you know?” Craig asked.
“No. There are a lot of Beachys in Ohio. The girl I knew would be married to some Amish farmer or carpenter.” It was the life Rebecca wanted—as long as he wasn’t the farmer or the carpenter. Chances were slim that it was the same woman, but his gaze stayed glued to the screen.
The camera switched to a group of Amish women who were talking. The women didn’t realize they were being filmed. They were dressed alike in dark coats and bonnets. One held a baby on her hip, but it was the woman in the center that he strained to see.
The reporter’s voice cut into Gideon’s thoughts. “The money from this year’s auction is going to help pay for some very specialized surgery for Miss Beachy.”
The camera zoomed in on the group of women and Rebecca’s face filled the television screen. The sight knocked the breath from his body. After almost ten years, his heart still ached at the sight of her. She was more beautiful than ever. Her heart-shaped face with those stunning high cheekbones had matured from the soft roundness of youth into a quiet elegance.
“Why do they wear those odd white hats?” Roseanne asked.
“It’s called a prayer kapp. Amish women believe the Bible commands them to cover their hair when they pray.”
“But they don’t just wear them in church?” Roseanne turned to stare at him, waiting for an explanation.
He wanted to hear what the reporter was saying. “A woman might want to pray anytime, so she keeps her head covered all day. They never cut their hair, either.”
Rebecca’s blond hair must be past her hips by now. He’d seen it down only once. It was the night he talked Rebecca into going to a hoedown with him and his rowdy friends.
Hoedown was a benign name for a weekend-long party with loud music, alcohol and drugs attended by some of the wilder Amish youth during their rumspringa, or running-around time. He had made the most of his rumspringa and partied hard. For Rebecca, that one party had been her only venture on the wild side.
Gideon took the remote from his secretary and turned up the volume. The TV reporter droned on. “Miss Beachy stitched this beautiful quilt entirely by hand. What’s even more amazing is that she is totally blind.”
“How on earth can a blind woman make a quilt?” Roseanne’s skeptical comment barely registered in Gideon’s brain.
Rebecca was blind?
Suddenly, he was gasping for air and coughing so hard his head pounded. It took a minute to catch his breath. Roseanne pulled the lid off the tea and offered him some. He took a grateful sip.
Concern filled her eyes. “Do you know her?”
“I once asked her to marry me. I think if she had said yes, I would be a bearded Amish farmer now.” With a blind wife.
Rebecca was blind. He couldn’t wrap his brain around the fact. Why? When had it happened? The thought of the vibrant woman he’d known living her life in darkness left an ache in his chest that had nothing to do with the flu. Before he could gather more details, the news program moved on to the weather forecast and warnings about an artic front plowing southward delivering early ice and snow in its wake.
Craig said, “I read the Amish don’t believe in health insurance. Is that true?”
“Most don’t. The community would rally round a family that had big medical expenses, but they could only do so much.”
Gideon had to help. He pulled his phone from his pocket and prayed the news station could give him more information. It wasn’t until he tried to speak that he realized his voice was gone. He handed the phone to Roseanne and wrote a quick note on a piece of paper from her desk.
Get me all the information you can about the auction.
After a brief conversation, Roseanne hung up and handed the notepad to him. “It’s at noon the day after tomorrow.”
That gave him one day to rest up. If he headed out early the following morning he could make the six-hour trip there and back. It would be a long day, but doable.
Craig said, “Tell me you’re not going to drive to Ohio.”
Roseanne studied Gideon’s face. “Yes, he is.”

“I know we’re going to have a wonderful time today.”
Rebecca Beachy didn’t share her aunt Vera’s optimism. She folded her white cane and tucked it under her arm. Grasping her aunt’s elbow, she let Vera lead her toward the tent where the quilt auction was about to get under way. Besides Rebecca’s quilt, there were thirty others being auctioned off. Rebecca kept a smile on her face as she followed her aunt even though she was anything but comfortable.
Disoriented by the noise and smells of the fairlike atmosphere, she wished she were back in her aunt’s small home where everything was in its rightful place and nothing was ready to trip her up.
The thought had barely crossed her mind before something hit her legs and made her stumble.
“Sorry,” a pair of childish voices called out. She heard their footsteps as the children ran away.
“Hooligans,” Vera muttered.
“Excited Kinder at play.” Rebecca listened to the sound of the children’s voices as they shouted to each other. A pang of longing escaped from the place in her heart where she kept her fading dreams.
Dreams she once had of being a wife and a mother, of holding a child of her own. She’d had the chance to make those dreams come true years before, but she had been too afraid to take the risk. Had she made the right choice? Only God knew.
“Englisch children without manners,” Vera grumbled. “Come, we’re almost there.”
Rebecca drew a deep breath. Her life was what it was. This was God’s plan for her. Impossible dreams had no place in her dark world.
But if the darkness could be lifted?
She didn’t dare hope for such a miracle. This benefit auction was her aunt’s doing. Rebecca had tried to convince her the surgery was too expensive. They would need more money than would be raised here today. Even if they did manage to cover the cost, there was no guarantee her sight would be restored.
She had argued long and hard to no avail. The auction was under way. It was all in God’s hands, but Rebecca didn’t believe He would produce a miracle for her. She was not worthy. She knew exactly why her sight had been taken from her.
She pulled the collar of her coat closed against a cold gust of wind and ugly memories. An early storm was on its way, but God had seen fit to hold it off until the auction was over. For that she was thankful. At least she and her aunt didn’t need to worry about traveling home in foul weather. They had already made plans to stay in town for several days.
Suddenly, the wind was blocked, and Rebecca knew they were inside the tent. It was warmer than she expected. The smells of hot dogs, popcorn, hot chocolate and coffee told her they were near the concession stand. The sound of hundreds of voices raised to be heard over the general din assaulted her ears. When they finally reached their seats, Rebecca unbuttoned her coat and removed her heavy bonnet. Many of the people around her greeted her in her native Pennsylvania Dutch. Leaning closer to her aunt, she asked, “Is my kapp on straight? Do I look okay?”
“And why wouldn’t you look okay?” Vera asked.
“Because I may have egg yolk from breakfast on my dress, or my backside may be covered with dust from the buggy seat. I don’t know. Just tell me I look presentable.” She knew everyone would be staring at her when her quilt was brought up for auction. She didn’t like being the center of attention.
“You look lovely.” The harsh whisper startled her.
She turned her face toward the sound coming from behind her and caught the scent of a man’s spicy aftershave. The voice must belong to an Englisch fellow. “Danki.”
“You’re most welcome.” He coughed and she realized he was sick.
“You sound as if you should be abed with that cold.”
“So I’ve been told,” he admitted.
“It is a foolish fellow who doesn’t follow goot advice.”
“Some people definitely consider me foolish.” His raspy voice held a hint of amusement.
He was poking fun at himself. She liked that. There was something familiar about him but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. “Have we met?”
“I’m not from here,” he said quickly.
Vera said, “I see the bishop’s wife. I want to ask her how her brother is doing after his heart attack.” She rose and moved away, leaving Rebecca to her own devices.
The Englisch fellow said, “You’ve been deserted.”
She heard the folding chair beside her creak and his voice moved closer as if he were leaning over the seat. Although she knew it was unwise to encourage interaction with an outsider, she wanted to figure out why he seemed familiar. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she heard traces of a Pennsylvania Dutch accent in his raspy speech.
She said, “I don’t mind. I’m Rebecca Beachy.”
There was a long hesitation, then he said, “My friends call me Booker. The quilts on display are beautiful.”
“Are you a collector, Mr. Booker, or did your wife make you come today? That’s often the case with the men in the audience, Amish and English alike.”
“I’m not married. What about you?”
“Nee, I am an alt maedel.”
“Hardly an old maid. There must be something very wrong with the men in this community.”
Flustered, she quickly changed the subject, but he had confirmed one suspicion. He understood at least a little of her native tongue. “Have you been to one of our auctions before?”
“No, but I know what goes into making a quilt like the ones up on stage. My mother quilts.”
“They do take a lot of effort. I’m glad people such as yourself appreciate our Amish workmanship. How did you hear about our auction?”
“I caught the story on WHAM.”
Puzzled, she asked, “What is WHAM?”
“A television station where I live.”
“There was a story about our little auction on television?”
“Yes, and about you.”
She frowned. “Me? Why would they talk about me?”
“According to the story, this auction is helping raise money for your eye surgery.” His voice was barely a whisper and fading.
Embarrassment overtook her. The heat of a blush rose up her neck and flared across her cheeks. “Perhaps Dr. White or his nurse, Amber Bradley, told them about me. I wish they had not.”
“I thought it odd for an Amish person to seek publicity. The Amish normally shy away from the spotlight, don’t they?”
“We do not seek to draw attention to ourselves. We seek only to live plain, humble lives. But you know that already, don’t you? How is it that you are familiar with our language?”
“A long time ago I lived in a community that had Amish families.” His voice cracked on the last word.
Sympathy for him overrode her curiosity about his past. “You should rest your voice.”
“How long have you been blind?”
She was shocked by his abrupt personal question. Her reaction must have shown on her face because he immediately said, “I’m sorry. That was rude. It’s none of my business.”
She rarely spoke about the time before she’d lost her sight. It was as if that life, filled with happiness, colors and the faces of the people she loved, belonged to another woman. Remembering the way she lost her sight always left her feeling depressed. It went bit by bit over the course of three years, first details and then colors, beloved faces and finally even the light. God had given her this burden. She must bear it well.
Booker interrupted her moment of pity when he said, “I didn’t mean to pry. Please forgive me.”
He meant no harm. It was her pride and her inability to fully accept God’s will that made remembering painful. “You are forgiven. I learned I was going blind when I was twenty. My sight left me completely seven years ago.”
There was a long period of silence. What was he thinking? Did he feel sorry for her? Did he think she was helpless and useless? She rushed to dissuade him of such thoughts and repeated the words her bishop told her the day the last of her sight failed. “Do not think to pity me. My blindness has been a gift from God.”
A gift meant to show her the error of her ways and lead her to repent.
“How can you call it a gift?” His scratchy voice broke. Because of his illness, or for some other reason?
She smiled sadly. “It is a struggle sometimes, but I know all that God gives us, whether hardship or happiness, is in some way a gift. We learn more about ourselves, and about how much we need God, during times of sorrow than we do in times of joy. I accept my life for what it is.” At least, she tried.
“But this surgery, it can restore your sight?”
“If God wills it.”
“Don’t you mean if the surgeon is skilled enough?”
“God’s miracles come in many forms. If my sight is restored by the skill of an Englisch doctor or by a flash of lightning it is all the work of God.”
“Then I pray He will be merciful. I wish you the very best, Rebecca Beachy.”
She heard his chair scoot back, then the sound of his footsteps until they blended into the hum of activity and voices inside the tent. A sharp sense of loss filled her but she didn’t understand why.
A few moments later, her aunt returned and sat down. Rebecca’s hand found Vera’s sleeve. “Aenti, do you know the man that was just sitting here?”
“What man?”
“He was sitting in the row behind us. He’s Englisch.”
“There are many Englisch here. I didn’t pay attention.”
“I thought perhaps he was someone I should know, but I didn’t recognize his name. He called himself Booker.”
“I don’t know anyone by that name. The bidding is getting ready to start. I pray your quilt does well. It’s lovely.”
“You picked the material. I merely stitched it together.”
Her aunt’s hands were twisted and gnarled with arthritis, making sewing and many daily tasks impossible for her. It was one reason why Rebecca chose to live with her aunt when her vision began to fade. She knew she could always be useful in her aunt’s household.
Vera said, “I do wish you had put your Christmas Star quilt in the auction today. I’m sure it would fetch a fine price and we could use the money.”
“I don’t wish to sell that one, Aenti. It will be a gift when it is done.”
There was something special about the quilt she had been working on for the past several weeks. Something in the feel of the fabrics, the way the seams lay straight and true with so little effort. Her Christmas quilt would not be for sale. It would be a gift for a wedding or for someone’s birthday. She didn’t know who would receive it. God would show her in His own time.
Vera patted Rebecca’s hand. “Anyone that receives such a gift will be blessed. I pray it is God’s will to heal you, child. I pray that one day you may see with your own eyes the beauty you have crafted.”
Chapter Two
Rebecca was still the loveliest woman Gideon had ever laid eyes on, and she had lied to him.
Seeing her in person, it was as if a single day had passed—not ten years. Feelings he thought long dead and buried rushed to life, leaving him shaken. Coming here had been a bad idea.
He stood near the back of the tent where he could keep an eye on Rebecca and the auction proceedings as he pondered the stunning information she’d revealed. The noise of the crowd, the chanting voice of the auctioneer, the shouts of his helpers as they spotted raised hands in the audience, all faded into a rumbling background for Gideon’s whirling mind.
She obviously had no idea who he was, and he needed to keep it that way. His missing voice was a blessing in disguise. If she knew who he was, she wouldn’t have spoken to him at all.
Because he had been baptized prior to leaving the faith he had been placed under the Meidung, the ban, making contact with his Amish family and friends impossible unless he publicly repented and asked for the church’s forgiveness. Bidding for Rebecca’s quilt at this auction would be his roundabout way of giving aid she could accept.
By leaving the faith after making his vows he had cut himself off completely from everything he’d known. There were no visits from his family. No letters or phone calls telling him how they missed him. There had been many lonely nights during his first years in the non-Amish world when he’d almost gone back.
Only having the eighth-grade education the Amish allowed made it tough finding a job. It had been tougher still getting a driver’s license and a social security card, worldly things the Amish rejected. If it hadn’t been for his dream of learning to fly, he might have gone back.
If Rebecca had been waiting for him, he would have gone back.
He hadn’t planned to speak to her today. His only intention had been to come, buy her quilt to help her raise money for her surgery and then leave town. He had the best of intentions—right up to the moment she sat down in front of him.
So close he could have reached out and touched her. So close and yet so far.
His hands ached with the need to feel her fingers entwined with his, the way they used to be when they had walked barefoot down a shady summer lane after the youth singings or a softball game. Life had been so simple then. It was so much more complicated now.
Why, after all this time, did she still have such a profound effect on him? Even from this distance he felt the pull of her presence the same way he felt the pull of the earth when he was flying above it.
He closed his eyes and shook his head. This was ridiculous. He wasn’t some green farm boy enchanted by a pretty face. He was a sensible, grown man long past teenage infatuations. It had to be a combination of the flu and nostalgia brought on by being surrounded by people who shared the heritage he’d grown up with.
Everywhere he looked he saw Amish men with their beards and black felt hats. The women, wearing long dresses in muted solid colors with their white bonnets reminded him of his mother and his sisters.
Shy, solemn and subdued when among the English, the Amish were gentle, loving people, happy to quietly raise their families and continue in a life that seemed centuries out of touch with the modern world.
Would he even recognize his little brothers and sisters if they were here? Joseph, his baby brother, had been six when Gideon left. He’d be a teenager now and ready to begin his rumspringa. He would be free to explore worldly ways in order to understand what he was giving up before he took the vows of the faithful.
Did Joseph long for the outside world that had taken his older brother? If so, Gideon prayed he would go before his baptism. That way he could be free to visit his parents and see his old friends without being shunned. Gideon wondered about them often, thought of driving out to see them, but having left under such a cloud, he believed a clean break was the best way. Was it? How could he ever be sure?
Gideon adjusted his aviator sunglasses and glanced around. He doubted anyone he knew would recognize him. He wore a knit cap pulled low on his forehead. His hair was shaggy and a bit unkempt, unlike the uniformly neat haircuts of the Amish men around him.
His eyes were sunken and red from his illness and the long road trip. Two days’ worth of beard stubble shadowed his cheeks. Glances in his rearview mirror on the way down showed a man who looked like death warmed over. No, no one was likely to recognize him. That was a good thing.
He was an English stranger, not the Amish youth who once asked Rebecca Beachy for her hand in marriage. Confusion swirled through his mind when he thought again of how she had deceived him.
He’d known her since their school days. They’d grown up on neighboring farms. They had courted for two full years and he proposed to her a week before her twenty-first birthday. Yet she’d just told him she learned she was going blind when she was twenty. Why hadn’t she told him back then?
She broke his heart when she said she’d been mistaken about her feelings for him. Was that the truth or had it been a lie? Her sudden change of heart hadn’t made sense back then any more than it did now.
Did she think he couldn’t handle the truth? Or had she known he would eventually leave the Amish and tried to protect herself from that heartache? Maybe she’d wanted to spare him a lifetime spent with a blind wife.
Shouldn’t that have been his choice to make?
His fingers curled into fists. Had he known the truth he would have stood by her.
Wouldn’t he? Gideon bit the corner of his lip. Would knowing her condition have changed him from a dissatisfied youth itching to leave the restrictive Amish life into one who welcomed the challenge God placed before him?
He knew Rebecca wouldn’t leave the faith. They’d had plenty of discussions about it in the months they were together. She knew of his discontent. When she broke off their courtship, he left home in a fit of sullen temper and cut himself off from everything and everyone he’d known. Because of her.
No, that wasn’t fair. He left because he wanted something only the outside world could offer. He wanted to fly. He’d wanted her more, but without her his choice had been clear.
Would he have married Rebecca knowing she wouldn’t be able to see his face or the faces of their children? He wanted to believe he would have, but he was far from sure.
He watched as several Amish women stopped to speak to her and the woman she sat with. One of them held a baby in her arms while a fussy toddler clung to her skirt. They were the same women he’d seen with her on television. The young mother handed her baby to Rebecca and picked up her older child, a little girl with dark hair and eyes.
Seeing a babe in Rebecca’s arms reminded him of all she had missed in her life. Was it her choice never to marry? How strong she must be to face her hardship alone.
What was the cause of her blindness? Was it some inherited disease she didn’t want to pass on to her children?
The Amish accepted handicapped children as special blessings from God. If she chose not to marry for that reason, then she wasn’t being true to her faith any more than he had been.
Gideon pulled his knit cap lower over his brow. Nothing about the past could be changed. It was pointless to wonder what would have happened if he’d stayed in their Amish community. He’d left that life long, long ago. It was closed to him now.
The past couldn’t be changed but he could help shape a better future for Rebecca. He was here to raise money for her, not to reminisce about unrequited love. As the bidding began on her quilt, he raised his hand knowing it didn’t matter what the quilt cost. He wasn’t going home without it.

Rebecca couldn’t believe her ears when a bidding war erupted over her quilt. With each jump in price shouted by the auctioneer she thought it couldn’t possibly go higher, but it did. Higher and higher still.
Who could possibly want to pay so much for a quilt stitched by a blind woman? She grasped her aunt’s arm. “Can you see the bidders?”
“Ja. It is between an Englisch fellow and Daniel Hershberger.”
“Daniel is bidding on my quilt?”
Her aunt chuckled. “I told you the man was sweet on you.”
The owner of a local mill that employed more than fifty people, Daniel was a well-respected Amish businessman. Although he was several years older than she was, he often stopped by to visit with her and her aunt. Rebecca shook her head at her aunt’s assumption. “I think you’re the one who caught his fancy.”
“He doesn’t make sheep eyes at me when he’s sitting on the porch swing.”
“I have only your word for that. I’m blind. What is the Englisch fellow like?”
“It’s hard to tell. He’s standing at the back. He’s wearing a knit cap and a short leather jacket. He has dark glasses on.”
“Is he young or old?” Rebecca wished her aunt had paid attention to the stranger sitting behind them earlier. Was he the one offering a ridiculously high price for her handiwork?
“Not too young. He has a scruffy short beard that so many Englisch boys seem to like. He looks pasty, like he’s been ill.”
It must be Booker. Rebecca smiled in satisfaction but her delight quickly faded. Was he bidding because of the quality of her work or because he felt sorry for her? It shouldn’t matter but it did. She didn’t want his pity.
But if he wasn’t doing it out of pity, then why?
A strange excitement settled in her midsection when she thought about his low, gravelly voice speaking quietly in her ear. There was something about him that made her want to know him better.
The auctioneer shouted, “Sold!”
As the room erupted in chatter and applause, Rebecca asked, “Who got it?”
“The Englisch.”
Rebecca stood up. “I must go and thank him. Can you take me to him?”
“Let the crowd thin out a little. Everyone is hurrying to get gone because the weather is getting worse. Ester Zook said it was already starting to sleet when she came in.”
Once Booker left the event Rebecca knew she’d never have the chance to speak with him again. “I don’t want to miss him. Please, it’s important to me.”
“Very well. I see him heading toward the front where people are paying for their purchases.”
Rebecca walked beside her aunt against the flow of people leaving the tent and wished Vera would move faster. What if he paid for her quilt and left before she had the chance to thank him? It was foolish, really, this pressing need to speak to him. She didn’t understand it, nor did she examine her feelings too closely. He was an outsider and thus forbidden to her.
Before they had gone more than a few feet, she heard Daniel Hershberger’s voice at her side. “I’m right sorry I couldn’t buy your quilt, Rebecca. It was uncommonly pretty.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” Vera replied, pausing to speak with him, to Rebecca’s dismay.
“I didn’t get the quilt, but rest assured I have donated what money I can to your cause. I’ve already given a check to Bishop Zook.”
Tamping down her impatience, Rebecca recognized Dan’s exceptional act of charity for the gift it was. “Danki, my friend. God will bless your generosity. If you will excuse us, I wish also to thank the man who outbid you for the quilt. Do you see him?”
“Ja,” Daniel replied. “He is in line waiting to pay. Before you go, I wanted to ask both of you to supper this coming Sunday. Unless you have other plans? My sister is coming and she can cook a fine meal.”
“We do not have other plans,” Vera answered before Rebecca could come up with a workable excuse.
Daniel was a good man and a friend, but Rebecca couldn’t bring herself to see him as anything else. If her aunt was right and he wished to court her, he was in for a letdown.
“Excellent. What time shall I expect you?” His delight was clear.
Rebecca waited impatiently for the two of them to work out the details. She wanted to find Booker and speak to him before he left Hope Springs for good.
She wanted to thank him, yes, but there was another reason. One she didn’t understand. She felt compelled to speak with him again. It didn’t make any sense but she had learned to follow her instincts when her sight failed her.
Vera and Daniel continued discussing his dinner invitation. Suddenly, Rebecca couldn’t wait any longer. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go.”
She unfolded her cane and moved forward, swinging it side to side as she went. Vera caught up with her. “Rebecca, what is wrong with you? That was rude.”
“I don’t want to miss speaking to Mr. Booker. Do you see him? Where is he?”
“Straight ahead of you, but slow down before you trip.”

The line Gideon stood in moved quickly toward a set of tables where he could collect his expensive new quilt. He hoped they’d take a personal check. The bidding had far exceeded the amount of cash in his pocket. If they wouldn’t take his check, he’d have to use his credit card and hope it didn’t put him over his limit. This venture was foolhardy and expensive, but he was glad he had come.
When he reached the table, he took off his glasses and hung them on his shirt pocket. “Do you accept personal checks?”
The man at the table looked up and Gideon’s heart dropped when he recognized his cousin, Adam Troyer, beneath the wide-brimmed straw hat. He was ten years older and sported the beard of a married man, but there was no mistaking him. Gideon steeled his heart against the humiliation to come and prayed he wouldn’t be recognized.
Adam’s eyes grew round. “Gideon? Is that you?”
So much for remaining incognito.
Surging to his feet, Adam grabbed Gideon’s hand and began pumping it in a hearty shake. “I can’t believe my eyes. What’s it been? Seven, eight years?”
“Ten,” Gideon croaked.
“Too long. What’s the matter with your voice? You sound terrible.”
“Laryngitis. It sounds worse than it is.”
“What are you doing here?” Adam finally released Gideon’s hand.
“Buying a quilt.”
“Which one?”
“The one made by Rebecca Beachy.” Gideon handed over the yellow card with his number on it.
“So, you were the bidder! I didn’t recognize you from across the room. There is a lot of speculation going on about you. This is the most any quilt has brought in the history of Hope Springs.” Adam nodded toward the women folding and packing the quilts into boxes behind him. They were all glancing his way.
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather not have everyone know who I am. Have you forgotten? I’m under the ban.”
Adam’s face grew pensive. “I had forgotten. Like you, I went out into the world for many years, but God brought me home. We would welcome you back to the church with great joy, Gideon.”
“I’m not here to rejoin the faith. I’m only here to help Rebecca. She and I were…close once.”
“I remember. We all thought you’d marry.”
“So did I, but life doesn’t often turn out the way we plan.”
“Many are the plans in a man’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.”
Gideon gave his cousin a wry smile. “I should know that one.”
“It’s from Proverbs.”
“Guess you can tell I haven’t been reading my Bible.”
Adam’s gaze softened. “It’s never too late, Gideon.”
Pulling out his checkbook, Gideon ignored his cousin’s comment and wrote a check for the price of the quilt. “If Rebecca learns the money came from me, from an ex-Amish, she might not accept it. I don’t want to make trouble for her.”
“I understand. After this meeting I will not know you, but it sure is goot to see you. Where are you staying?”
“I’m not staying. I’m driving back to Rochester, New York, tonight.”
“Rochester? Nee, you aren’t driving that way. The sheriff just told us the interstate has been closed south of Akron due to the ice storm.”
“You’re joking.” This was a complication Gideon hadn’t foreseen. He should have paid more attention to the weather forecast before jumping in his car and driving three hundred and fifty miles.
“It’s settled,” Adam declared. “You’re staying with us. My wife, Emma, and I run the Wadler Inn. You can’t miss it. It’s on Main Street at the edge of town. We’re normally booked solid during the auction, but we’ve had a couple of cancellations.”
Gideon glanced around to make sure no one was listening. He leaned closer. “I’m under the ban, cousin. You cannot offer me a place to stay. Just speaking to me could cause trouble for you.”
“You let me worry about that. The bishop here is a good man and just. Unlike your old bishop in Berlin, he is not eager to condemn a man for his sins. He truly believes in forgiveness. Besides, it is my duty to pray for you and to give aid to those in need. You look like you’re in need. Go to the inn when you leave here and tell the man at the front desk that I sent you. There is no need to mention that you are my wayward cousin.”
“Thanks, Adam. I appreciate it. Is there anyone else who might recognize me?” Gideon slipped his sunglasses back on. He knew what Adam was risking by associating with him. He risked being shunned by members of his church. Gideon wouldn’t stay if it meant trouble for Adam.
“Some of my family lives near here, but they did not come today. I’m not sure they would know you. You are much changed.”
Relieved, Gideon signed his check and left it lying on the table knowing Adam should not accept anything from his hand.
With a slight nod, Adam acknowledged Gideon’s thoughtfulness.
Gideon caught sight of Rebecca and her aunt making their way through the crowd in his direction. Turning back to Adam, he said, “As soon as the roads are open I’m out of here.”
Adam’s face grew serious. “Life doesn’t always work out as we plan.”
“If Rebecca asks for my name, tell her I wish to remain anonymous.”
“I can do that. It is good to see you, cousin. I have missed you. All your family has missed you.”
“I’ve missed you, too. How are…how are my parents?”
“I had a letter from them just last week. They are well. Your brother Levi has a new son. That makes four boys for him now.”
“Levi is married? Scrawny, shy Levi?” Gideon found it hard to believe his brother had four kids. He was only a year younger than Gideon.
“Betty and Susie, too. They each have a girl and a boy.”
He had eight nieces, nephews and in-laws he’d never met. How sad was that? “Grandchildren must make my mother happy.”
“Not as happy as having you return.”
Gideon swallowed back the lump that rose in his throat. “When you see them—”
He paused. Coming here had been a mistake. It opened up far too many painful memories. “Tell them I’m doing well.”
Taking his box with the quilt packed inside, Gideon turned and made his way toward the exit. Ten feet short of the opening he heard her call his name.
“Booker, please wait!”
Keep walking. Pretend you don’t hear her.
His feet slowed. He could give good advice to himself but he apparently couldn’t follow it.
What would it hurt to speak to her one more time? After today he’d never see her again. Just this once more.
Turning around, he waited until she reached him. Her aunt hung back, a faint look of displeasure on her face. It wasn’t seemly for Rebecca to seek out an Englisch fellow.
She moved toward him until her cane touched his feet. When she opened her mouth to speak, he forestalled her. “I know what you’re going to say, Miss Beachy, but there is no need.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her face. He memorized the fine arch of her brows, the soft smile that curved her lips. She wore a pair of dark, wire-rimmed spectacles, but he knew her eyes were sky blue. If this was the last time he saw her face he wanted to remember it until the day he died.
“There is always a need to show our gratitude for the kindness of others, Mr. Booker.”
“Consider me thanked. I’ve got to get going.” Any second now he was going to blurt out his identity and undo all of the good he’d accomplished.
He was keenly aware of Rebecca’s aunt standing a few paces back. A burly man came out of the crowd and stood with her, a look of displeasure formed on his face, too. Gideon turned his back to them. It was possible they’d met but he wasn’t sure.
This was nuts. He wanted to see Rebecca again. He’d done that. He wanted to help her and he had.
Mission accomplished. Walk away.
No, what he really wanted was an answer to why she stopped loving him. But that was an answer he was never going to get.
“Good luck with your surgery, Miss Beachy. I wish you every success.” He turned away and walked out into the stinging cold sleet.
Chapter Three
Rebecca held on to her aunt’s arm as they entered the lobby of the Wadler Inn. The instant she stepped inside the building she was surrounded by the smells of wood smoke, baking bread and roasting meat. She felt the heat and heard the crackling of burning logs in the inn’s massive fireplace to her right.
The clatter of cutlery and plates being gathered together as tables were cleared came from her left. The Shoofly Pie Café was adjacent to the inn and accessible through a set of wide pocket doors. The murmur of voices and sounds told Rebecca the doors were open. The discordant noise increased the headache growing behind her eyes.
As her aunt moved forward, Rebecca automatically counted her steps so she could navigate the room by herself in the future. Although she had stayed at the inn several times in the past, she needed to refresh the layout in her mind. She thought she knew the place well, but a chair carelessly moved by one of the guests or a new piece of furniture could present unseen obstacles for her.
The thump of feet coming down the stairs and the whisper of a hand sliding over a banister told her the inn’s open staircase was just ahead. The tick-tock of a grandfather clock beside the stairway marked its location for Rebecca.
“Velkumm.” Emma Troyer’s cheerful voice grew closer as she left the stairs and came toward them.
“Hello, Emma.” Rebecca smiled in her direction.
“I just finished readying your room. I’m so happy you decided to stay with us again.”
“We’re glad to be here,” Vera replied.
Staying at the inn had become a ritual for the two women following the quilt auctions. It was a time Vera truly enjoyed when the work of cooking, cleaning, sewing and running the farm was put on hold for a few days so she could relax and visit her many friends in town.
Rebecca would rather be back in her aunt’s small house. The openness of the inn disoriented her, but she never said as much. Rebecca loved her aunt dearly. Vera deserved her little holiday each year. If Rebecca had insisted on staying home alone, her aunt would have cancelled her plans and come home, too.
Emma said, “Rebecca, I couldn’t believe it when I heard how much your quilt went for.”
“God was good to us,” Vera said quickly.
Rebecca shook her head. “It was not worth that much money. The Englisch fellow who bought it did so out of pity. He saw a story about me on his television. That’s the only reason he came.”
Vera patted Rebecca’s arm. “It matters not what his motivation was. His being there was God’s doing.”
“How much more money will you need for your surgery?” Emma asked.
“Another twenty thousand dollars,” Vera answered.
“So much?” Emma’s voice echoed the doubt in Rebecca’s heart. It was unlikely they could raise enough money in time.
She said, “Doctor White has told us the surgeon who is perfecting this operation is moving to Sweden to open a special clinic there after Christmas. If we can’t raise the rest of the money before then it will be too late.”
Emma laid her hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. “Do not give up hope. We know not what God has planned for our lives.”
Rebecca swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “I must accept His will in this.”
“Are you hungry?” Emma asked. “We’ve started serving supper in the café.”
Vera said, “I could eat a horse.”
“Goot. My mother has been waiting impatiently for you. I’ll tell her you’re here and we can catch up on all the news. Did you hear my Aenti Wilma over in Sugarcreek broke her hip last week?”
Rebecca said, “You two go ahead. I think I would rather lie down for a while before I eat.”
“Is your headache worse?” Vera asked.
Rebecca appreciated her aunt’s concern. “Nee. I’m sure a few minutes of peace and quiet are all I need.”
“Let me show you to your room,” Emma offered.
“I can find my way,” Rebecca insisted. She didn’t want to be treated like an invalid.
“Very well. I’ve put you in number seven, the same as last year.” Emma pressed an old-fashioned key into Rebecca’s hand.
“Danki. Enjoy your visit.”
She opened the white folding cane she carried and headed toward the ticking clock she knew sat beside the staircase. The clock began to strike the hour. It was five o’clock.
When she located the first riser, she went up the steps slowly, holding tight to the banister. There were fifteen steps if she remembered correctly. When her searching toe found the top of the landing, she smiled. Fifteen it was.
She walked down the hallway, letting her cane sweep from side to side. The rooms were numbered with evens on the left and odds on the right. It took only a few moments to locate her door.
She fumbled with the key for a second and lost her grip on it. It fell, struck her toe and bounced away. The hallway was carpeted. She couldn’t tell from the sound where the key landed.
Annoyed, Rebecca dropped to her knees and began searching with her hands, letting her fingers glide over the thick pile. The carpeting was a concession to the English guests that stayed at the inn. Amish homes held no such fanciness. A plain plank floor or simple linoleum was all anyone needed.
The sound of a door opening across the hall sent a rush of embarrassed heat to her cheeks. A second later the door closed.
She knew who it was. She recognized the spicy scent of his aftershave. Her heartbeat skittered and took off like a nervous colt at a wild gallop.
The silence stretched on until she thought she must have been mistaken. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. She cocked her head to the side. “Is someone there?”
“Can I help?” His raspy voice was a mere whisper.
It was Booker. God had given her another chance to spend time with him. “You have already helped a great deal. The price you paid for my quilt was outrageous.”
“Some works of art are priceless, but what are you doing on the floor?”
“I dropped my room key.”
“Ah. I see it.” A second later he grasped her hand and pressed the cool metal key into her palm, then gently closed her fingers over it.
Waves of awareness raced up her arm and sent shivers dancing across her nerve endings. She didn’t trust her voice to speak as he cupped her elbows and drew her to her feet. The warmth from his hands spread through her body, making it difficult to breathe.
She’d known this dizzying sensation only once before. The first and only time Gideon Troyer had kissed her. Would this man’s kiss light up her soul the way Gideon’s had?
Shame rushed in on the heels of her disgraceful thought. What was the matter with her? This man was Englisch. He was forbidden, and she was foolish to place herself in such a situation.

She was inches away from him. Gideon’s pulse pounded in his ears like a drum as he studied Rebecca’s face, her lips, the curve of her cheek. Behind her tinted glasses he saw the way her full lashes lay dark and smoky against her fair skin. The long ribbons of her white kapp drew his attention to the faint pulse beating at the side of her neck just where he wanted to press a kiss.
She was everything he remembered and so much more. The girl he once loved had matured into a beautiful woman. He longed to pull her into his arms and kiss her. To see if those lush lips tasted as sweet as they did in his memory.
His grip tightened. Suddenly, she grew tense in his grasp and tried to pull away.
He was frightening her. This wasn’t a romantic interlude from their past for her. To her he was a stranger. He released her, took a step back and tried to put her at ease. “Would you like me to open the door for you?”
“No. I can manage.” She retreated until her back was against the wood.
She didn’t look frightened, only flustered. A pretty blush added color to her cheeks. Adam must have known she was staying at the inn. It would have helped if his cousin had given him a heads-up.
Gideon said, “It was nice talking to you. Perhaps we’ll see each other later since the ice is going to keep me here for a day. Wait, should I use the word see, or is that being insensitive?”
“I beg your pardon?” Her flustered look changed to confusion.
“I don’t know how to address a blind person. You’re the first one I’ve met. Can you give me a few pointers so I don’t stick my foot in my mouth?”
Her charming smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. “There isn’t a special way to address us, and you don’t have to be concerned about using the word see. I use it all the time.”
“Good, because I’m thinking it would be hard to have a conversation with you if I constantly had to think up a way to replace every word that relates to sight.”
She nodded slowly. “I see what you mean.”
“Right!”
Chuckling, she said, “I’m sure we’ll run into each other if you’re staying here for a while. The inn isn’t very big.”
“I’d call it cozy.”
“I don’t find it so.”
“Why not?” Was she uncomfortable because he was here?
She shrugged. “It’s not important.”
“Of course it is.”
Following a moment of hesitation, she said, “I feel lost when I’m downstairs. The ceiling is so high that sounds echo differently. It’s that way in this long hall, too. I’m used to my aunt’s small farmhouse. I know where everything is. I can move about freely.”
“You’re comfortable there.”
She smiled. “That’s right. You do see what I mean.”
“If you need help navigating your way around, just ask me.”
Her smile faded. “I’m not asking for your help. I can manage quite well on my own.”
“Ouch. The lady is touchy.”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “I am not.”
“Could have fooled me. That’s not very Amish of you.”
Her mouth snapped shut. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“The Amish are humble folks. Humble people accept help when it’s offered.”
Torn between scolding him and turning the other cheek, as she knew she should, Rebecca pressed her lips closed on her comment. He was baiting her. She didn’t have to respond.
“I’m right. Let me hear you admit it.”
She said, “The Amish strive to be humble before God.”
“Gets hard to do sometimes, doesn’t it?”
She blew out a long breath. “Yes, sometimes it is hard. Anything worthwhile is often hard to obtain. That is why we must depend on God to aid us.”
“Sorry if I offended you.”
“You did, but you are forgiven. My aunt often tells me I am too proud and I must seek humility.”
“It’s a foolish person who doesn’t heed goot advice.”
Hearing her own words tossed back at her made Rebecca smile. “I do need to work on that.”
Downstairs she heard the grandfather clock chiming the quarter hour and realized her headache had disappeared. Conversing with Booker was interesting to say the least. No one had ever asked if talking about her blindness made her uncomfortable. Usually they stammered apologies or sought to avoid mentioning it all together.
“What kind of work do you do?” she asked.
“I own a small airplane charter service.”
“You are a pilot?”
“Yes.”
Sadness settled over her. “I once knew a young Amish man who wanted to fly. Is it wonderful to soar above the earth like a bird?”
“It has its moments. What happened to him?”
She grasped the key so tightly her fingers ached and she fought back tears. “The lure of the world pulled him away from our faith and he never came back.”
After a long pause, he asked, “Were the two of you close?”
“Ja, very close.” Why was she sharing this with a stranger? Perhaps, because in some odd way he reminded her of Gideon.
“Did you ever think about going with him?”
She smiled sadly. “I didn’t believe he would leave. For a long time I thought it was my fault, but I know now it was not.”
Booker stepped closer. “How can you be so sure?”
She raised her chin. “He vowed before God and the people of our church to live by the rules of our Amish faith. If he could turn his back on his vow to God, it was not because of me.”
“I imagine you’re right about that. Have you forgiven him?”
She wished she could hear him speak in his normal voice. It was hard to read his emotions in the forced whisper he had to use. “Of course.”
“If he came back, what would you do?”
“If he came to ask forgiveness and repent I would be happy for him and for his family. I can have Emma Troyer make you some blackcurrant tea. It will make your throat better in no time.”
“That’s what my mother used to do.”
Did she imagine it or did she hear sorrow in his voice? “Is something wrong?”
“I haven’t seen my mother in many years.”
“Why?”
“I’m estranged from my family.”
“That is a very sad thing. Only God is more important than our families. You should go visit them as soon as you can. Thanksgiving is coming in a few weeks. That, surely, is reason enough to put aside your pride and go home.”
“I wish that were possible, but it’s not. Good day, Rebecca.”
She didn’t want him to leave but she couldn’t think of a way to stop him. The carpet muffled his footsteps as he walked away. She waited until she heard him descending the stairs before she entered her room.
She closed the door and leaned against it. What did he look like? Was he handsome or plain? What made him sad when he talked about his family? Why hadn’t he visited them? There were many things she wanted to know about Booker.
And curiosity killed the cat.
The old adage popped into her mind like the warning it was meant to be. She knew full well it was dangerous to become involved with an outsider. Yet there was something familiar about him that nagged at the back of her mind. Something that made her believe they’d met before. If that were true, why wouldn’t he simply say so?
Booker was a riddle. A riddle she wanted to solve. The thought of being cooped up at the inn suddenly took on a whole new outlook. He would be here, too.
Chapter Four
After leaving Rebecca, Gideon descended the stairs of the inn and headed for the café. For the first time in three days he had an appetite. He entered the dining area and was seated by a young Amish waitress.
He accepted an offer of coffee while he studied the menu. After the waitress filled a white mug and set it before him, he added a splash of real cream from a small pewter pitcher on the table. He took a cautious sip of the hot rich blend. Even though his voice hadn’t returned, swallowing wasn’t as painful. A second sip of coffee went down as smoothly as the first. Maybe he was finally on the mend.
Pulling his cell phone from his pocket he clicked the weather app and checked the local weather and road closings again. The storm that had coated the northern half of the state in ice was gearing up to add a foot or more of snow to the rest of the state.
He wasn’t going home tonight, but it was unlikely the roads would be closed for long. Once the storm passed, he’d be on his way. If not first thing in the morning, at least by the afternoon. He sent a text message to Roseanne notifying her that he wouldn’t be in to the office in the morning.
Her reply was succinct. Good!
Gideon closed his phone and turned his attention to the people around him. The café’s customers were mostly Amish enjoying a special treat of eating out after the auction. He remembered many times like this with his family. Although his mother professed to be annoyed with the expense, everyone knew she secretly enjoyed not having to cook.
There were a few non-Amish present in the café, too. He was the only one dining alone. Everyone else sat with family or friends.
His gaze was drawn to an Amish father, a man about his own age, seated with four small children and his wife at the table across the aisle. When their food arrived, the man took his infant son’s hands and held them between his own as he bowed his head in prayer. The baby protested only briefly before keeping still. Children were expected to behave and quickly learned the value of copying their elders.
Gideon knew the prayer the man was silently reciting. It was the Gebet Nach Dem Essen, the Prayer Before Meals.
O Lord God, heavenly Father, bless us and these thy gifts, which we accept from thy tender goodness. Give us food and drink also for our souls unto life eternal, that we may share at thy heavenly table, through Jesus Christ. Amen.
The Lord’s Prayer, also prayed silently, would follow the prayer before meals as well as the prayer after meals. Gideon hadn’t prayed much since he left home. A sense of shame crept over him. He had plenty to be grateful for and no good reason to ignore the blessings he’d received.
The Amish father lifted his head, signaling the end of the prayer for everyone at the table. He patted his son’s golden curls and began cutting up the meat on the boy’s plate. It was a simple act, but it moved Gideon to wonder if he would ever do the same with children of his own.
Maybe it was time he settled down and started looking around for a woman to spend his life with. He hadn’t already because the business took up all of his time. He’d been so intent on making a place for himself in the English world that he’d failed to notice the place he made was hollow and empty of love.
He had few friends other than Craig. He lived in a sterile one-bedroom apartment, ate takeout in front of his flat-screen TV. He had neighbors he barely knew and rarely saw. He’d avoided going to church in spite of Roseanne’s occasional urging and invitations. It wasn’t much of a life when he looked at it that way. Except for the flying. When he was in the clouds he was happy.
He closed his eyes. The smell of baking bread and pot roast filled the air. He thought back to the food his mother used to make. Roast beef and pork, fried chicken, schnitzel with sauerkraut, served piping hot from her wood-burning stove with fresh bread and vegetables from her garden.
As a kid, he never gave a thought to how much work his mother did without complaint. All he’d thought about was escaping the narrow, inflexible Amish way of life. Had it really been so bad?
I must be sick if I’m longing for the good old days.
He sat up and motioned the waitress over. Before he could place his order, the outside door opened and his cousin Adam walked in. Their eyes met for a long second. Adam looked away first. He walked past Gideon without so much as a nod of recognition. Gideon didn’t expect the snub to hurt as much as it did.
Adam was being true to his faith. It was his duty to shun a wayward member, to remind Gideon he had cut himself off from God as well as from his family. Gideon had known for years that he would be shunned if he returned unrepentant, but he had never experienced the treatment firsthand.
Years ago, his mother explained to him that shunning was done out of love, to show people the error of their ways, not to punish them. It didn’t feel that way at the moment. Gideon’s newfound appetite deserted him.
Adam stepped behind the counter and took over the cash register. The waitress beside Gideon’s table asked, “Have you decided what you’d like?”
“What kind of soup do you have?”
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise at his hoarse whisper. “We’ve got homemade chicken noodle soup today. I’ll bring you a bowl. You sound like you need it,” she said with a sympathetic smile.
He folded the menu and tucked it between the sugar jar and the ketchup bottle. “That’ll be fine.”
His soup arrived at the same moment Rebecca walked in.
She stood poised in the doorway to the inn with her cane in hand. She tilted her head slightly, as if concentrating on the sounds of the room. A smile lit her face and she moved ahead to a booth by the window. It was then he saw her aunt seated with several older Amish women. They greeted Rebecca warmly and made room for her to sit with them.
He was impressed that she had been able to pick out her aunt’s voice in the crowded room and locate her without assistance. She moved with a confidence he admired. If being at the inn made her uncomfortable it didn’t show at the moment.
Gideon slowly stirred his soup and unobtrusively watched her.

Was he in the room?
Rebecca wished she could ask her aunt or her friends if Booker was in the café. She didn’t, because she knew it would seem odd. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to her preoccupation with him.
It was bad enough that she had this preoccupation with a total stranger. She didn’t need to share her foolishness with anyone else.
“Nettie, how are Katie and Elam these days?” Vera asked.
“My boy is over the moon with his new sohn. Katie is a fine mudder and a strong woman. Little Rachel doesn’t quite know what to make of her new bruder. She is used to being the apple of her daed’s eye, you know.”
Emma said, “I have some news that I have been dying to share.”
When she didn’t say anything else, Nettie prompted, “Well, what is it?”
“Adam and I are expecting.” Her voice brimmed with barely contained excitement.
“Congratulations. That’s wunderbaar.” Rebecca was truly delighted to hear that her friends were to become parents.
Vera echoed Rebecca’s congratulations and said, “To think you were considered an old maid until a year ago.”
Naomi, Emma’s mother, chuckled. “When Adam moved to town, right away he saw my Emma for the good woman she truly is. It just goes to show God has His plans for each of us in His own time.”
“That He does,” Emma agreed. “Adam and I are going to visit his family and share the news tomorrow. If the weather cooperates.”
Vera grasped Rebecca’s arm. “We must make a quilt for this new blessing.”
Rebecca agreed. “Ja, we will.”
She toyed with her food as her companions talked about babies, the weather and the turnout for the auction. She had made quilts for all the babies of her friends and family, but there were no quilts for children of her own.
She had turned aside every romantic overture that had come her way. There had been a few over the years, but not many. In Hope Springs, the single women outnumbered the men for it was usually the young men who were lured away by the outside world. Why would a man who remained choose a blind woman for a wife when he had healthy ones to pick from?
Besides, none of the men had been Gideon. It was hard to imagine giving her heart to anyone else.
Why? What was she waiting for? Was she hoping Gideon would come back and declare his love again? She had turned down his offer of marriage because she loved him. Because she believed he deserved better than a blind millstone around his neck. Fear and the painful knowledge that she didn’t deserve such happiness made her turn away from him.
If she could undo anything in her life, she would change only one thing—the night she slipped away with her sister Grace to join Gideon and his friends at a forbidden party. That one night changed everything.
She shut out the memory. Gideon wasn’t coming back, and she had nothing to show for her sacrifice. One day she would be old and alone, without even her aunt to care for. What would happen to her then? She could go back to her parents, but when they were gone, which of her brothers or sisters would she go to live with? Any of them would take her in, but would they do so with joy in their hearts? It was unlikely.
Would it be so bad to marry Daniel Hershberger? If she did, she would have a house of her own and the hope of children. She might learn to love him in time. Daniel was a good man.
If only the thought of kissing him didn’t leave her cold.
When their supper was finished, Rebecca went back to her room and sat alone on the bed. Her aunt had gone to her friend Naomi’s home for a comfortable evening of visiting. Rebecca had been invited, but used her headache as an excuse not to go. In the silence of her room, Rebecca found herself thinking again about Booker.
How was he feeling? Was he sitting alone in his room as she was? Was he thinking about her? It warmed her to think she might be on his mind.
He was an intriguing man. Perhaps it was just his pitiful voice that made him so. When he could speak plainly, she might find him dull. Or not. She couldn’t get him out of her head.
He’d said he wasn’t married, and she had to wonder why.
Which was a silly thing to be thinking about!
In a fit of disgust, she got up and took out her Christmas Star quilt. She had only the binding to finish. It wouldn’t take long. Perhaps if her hands were busy, her mind wouldn’t wander into forbidden territory.

Early the next morning, Gideon walked out the inn’s front door and entered a world frozen and cocooned in white. Snowflakes continued to fall, settling soundlessly onto the sidewalk behind a shopkeeper who had just cleared a path from his doorway to the street. Tree branches bent low beneath the weight of their white frosting. Everywhere, a hushed silence engulfed the town.
A few hardy souls had already ventured out. Directly across the street, a man worked to uncover his car with an ice scraper that was clearly too small for the job.
The quiet gave way to the jingle of harness bells. As they grew louder, Gideon looked down the street to see a horse-drawn sleigh coming his way. An Amish family with six rosy-cheeked children filling the back of the sleigh drove past him. Their eyes were bright with the excitement of the ride.
The man digging out his car met Gideon’s gaze and grinned. “I’ve got one hundred and fifty horses under the hood for all the good they are doing me at the moment while the Amish go flying by with only one horse. I reckon the simple life has some advantages, after all.”
Gideon grinned as he stood in front of the inn with no particular destination in mind. He just wanted to be out. Out in the clean fresh air of a snow-covered small Ohio town. Hope Springs was a lot like Berlin. A little bigger, but not by much. The same type of stores crowded together off the tree-lined streets.
He noticed antiques for sale and a touristy Amish gift shop down the street. The merchandise there likely came from China and not from the local craftsmen. Across the street was a hardware store. A pharmacy sat sandwiched between the hardware store and a clothing store. A little farther on a gas station sat at the corner.
Hope Springs wasn’t that different from a hundred other Ohio towns. Oddly, after ten years in the city, Gideon felt right at home on these streets. Time to explore a little. Left or right?
Before he made up his mind he heard the door of the inn open behind him. To his surprise, Rebecca came out. She was bundled up against the cold in a heavy, dark blue woolen coat. A black bonnet covered her head. In one hand she clutched her purse. In the other hand she held her white cane. With little hesitation, she turned left and began walking down the sidewalk swinging her cane lightly in front of her.
He should have spoken, but he wasn’t sure how his voice would sound this morning. What if she recognized him when he spoke?
Gideon followed her and watched as she tested the height and depth of a snowdrift in her path at the corner. She wasn’t really going to try and find her way around town in these conditions, was she? Where was her aunt? Why wasn’t someone with her?
To his astonishment, she made her way over the snowdrift easily and continued across the icy street. It was then he saw an obstacle she couldn’t detect with her cane. There was no way for her to know the snow-laden branches of the trees that lined the avenue were hanging at shoulder level. She was about to walk into a cold surprise. He tried calling out a warning but his voice failed him.
Galvanized into action, Gideon hurried after her. He raced across the slick street as fast as he dared. Rebecca would get a face full of snow in another few steps. He tried again to call out. This time he managed to croak, “Rebecca, stop.”
She paused and turned her head as if searching for the source of the pitiful sound he’d made. He reached the curb but hit a patch of ice on the sidewalk. His feet flew out from under him and he landed with a painful thud at Rebecca’s feet.
He moaned and rubbed the back of his smarting head. When he opened his eyes, she was standing over him, her face silhouetted against the cloudy winter sky. He knew from memory that her eyes were the blue of a bright summer’s day but she held them closed now behind her dark glasses.
He wanted her to open her eyes so he could see them. He wanted to see all the memories they held of their time together.
He wanted her to see him.
Two words, his name, would be all it would take to let her know who he was. If he said those two words would she turn away? Would she shun him? He couldn’t take that risk.
“Are you all right?” She located him with her cane and bent down to assist him.
He gave a groan as he managed to leverage himself to sitting position. “I think so,” he whispered.
“Booker?”
“Yes.”
She slipped her hand beneath his elbow. “You poor man. Let me help you.”
“Thanks.” He accepted her assistance as he rose to his feet and dusted the snow from his clothes.
“Are you sure you aren’t hurt?”
“I’ve got a pretty hard head.”
“You shouldn’t rush on these slippery walks. What were you thinking? Where were you going in such a hurry?”
It wasn’t the first time he’d been chided for his lack of common sense by this woman. He’d missed her occasional scolding as much as he’d missed her tenderhearted sweetness.
“I was hurrying to save you from walking into some snow-laden branches hanging over the walkway.”
Her frown changed to the smile he adored. “Bless you for your concern, Booker. I would not enjoy getting a face full of snow.”
“I didn’t think you would.”
“Now that I have been warned, I will be fine. Thank you for your concern.”
“Where are you off to on such a cold day?”
“To the fabric shop.”
“I was going that way. Do you mind if I walk along with you?”
She arched one eyebrow. “You are going to the fabric shop?”
“I didn’t say I was going to the fabric shop. I said I was going that way. Two different things. If you would rather walk alone I understand.”
She shook her head and started walking. “I don’t mind the company, but you must promise not to continually try to help me.”
“Why shouldn’t I offer my help?”
She swung the cane from side to side, tapped it briefly on the sidewalk in front of her. “Because unless I ask for it, I don’t really need it.”
“All right, but three steps ahead of you are those low branches.”
She moved closer to the building. “Am I clear if I walk over here?”
“Yeah. Are there any other rules I should know?” For a few words his voice came out strong and normal before breaking again. He froze, wondering if she would recognize him now.
“You should not grab a blind person. It’s rude. You should not shout at someone who is blind because most of us can hear quite well.”
“Can I ask questions or is that rude, too?” He kept his voice to a whisper. It might be best to stay silent but he didn’t want to give up this opportunity to spend time with her.
“Questions are okay.”
“Is it true that your hearing becomes more acute?”
“No. A blind person’s hearing does not change. We simply pay more attention to what we hear.”
He glanced down the walkway ahead of them. “I guess that makes sense. How will you know when you have reached the fabric shop?”
“Because I have been here many times.” She stopped in front of a store called Needles and Pins.
“You counted your steps.”
“I often do, but that’s hard when I’m carrying on a conversation.”
“I don’t understand how you did it, then.”
“The answer is right under your feet.” She tapped the sidewalk through the layer of snow that hadn’t yet been removed.
“I still don’t get it.”
“Listen.” She took a step back and tapped again.
He listened intently, wanting to learn all that she was willing to teach. She stepped forward and tapped twice more. This time he heard the difference in the sound. Crouching down, he swept the snow aside. “It’s brick, not concrete.”

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